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The plane was going down. My fiancé, the pilot, gave the only life vest to the woman he called his “first love.” I didn’t argue. Didn’t even make a scene. I readily agreed. Because in my past life, when faced with the same choice, my fiancé – the pilot – had given the life vest to me, his pregnant fiancée. The plane had spiraled rapidly, and his first love, without a life vest, was horrifically killed by the impact upon landing. Later, pregnant, I naturally married my fiancé. But on our wedding night, he imprisoned me in the basement, beating me with a baseball bat until I miscarried. “If you hadn’t used your pregnancy to blackmail me into giving you the life vest, Penelope wouldn’t have died so horribly.” He forced my head to pound against Penelope’s gravestone, nine hundred and ninety-nine times. He made me endure repeated pregnancies and miscarriages, a grotesque repayment for my supposed sin. I was tormented until I broke, taking my own life. When I opened my eyes again, I awakened with all the memories of my past life. This time, I would grant his wish… … The entire cabin plunged into chaos, rocking violently. Less than ten minutes until impact. I shielded my swollen belly, pressing myself against the seatback, my face ghostly pale. Just as pale as mine was the co-pilot, who was distributing the emergency equipment. There was only one life vest left. But in the last row, both Penelope Dillon and I still needed one. And Penelope, of course, was my fiancé Ethan Dillon’s first love. The cockpit door burst open, and Ethan strode out. The moment she saw him, Penelope’s eyes welled up. “Ethan, I’m so scared…” Penelope was beautiful, with soft, almond-shaped eyes now brimming with tears. Ethan didn’t spare me a glance. He swept Penelope into his arms, comforting her. “Hush, don’t be scared, I’ll protect you.” He cooed softly to the woman cherished in his heart, completely forgetting that barely a step away sat his seven-month pregnant fiancée. Only when the co-pilot prompted him did Ethan remember me. His eyes met mine, and his brows furrowed, his voice sharp with annoyance. “I told you pregnant women on planes are bad luck. But no, you had to get jealous and follow me. Now you’ve endangered everyone on this plane, are you satisfied?!” He was a renowned handsome pilot on the entire airline, and most passengers in the cabin trusted him implicitly. Hearing his words, the already terrified passengers went ballistic, hurling curses and vile accusations at me and my unborn child. A five-year-old even threw a metal airplane model at me, its sharp wing slicing my forehead. Blood instantly gushed out. As everyone on the plane directed their fury at me, a flicker of triumph and provocation danced in Penelope’s eyes. She choked out, addressing Ethan, “But Ethan, there’s only one life vest left. What do we do?” Tears streamed down her face as she spoke. “Maybe… maybe you should give the vest to Anya, Ethan. She’s carrying your child… As for me, if I can just be with you in my last moments, I’ll have no regrets…” Ethan’s eyes instantly turned red. He hugged Penelope tightly, kissing her hair repeatedly, his voice deep with reassurance. “Never, Penelope. Meeting you was the luckiest thing that ever happened to me. I won’t let anything happen to you.” With that, he reached out, snatched the only life vest from the co-pilot’s hand, and swiftly secured it onto Penelope. Once she was wearing it, a smattering of applause broke out among the passengers. Everyone seemed touched by their profound love. Only the co-pilot spoke up for me. “Captain, what about your fiancée?! There are less than two minutes until impact, and she’s pregnant, she won’t make it!” Ethan, however, stared at me coldly, a knowing glint in his eyes. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? Using my child to blackmail me into giving you the only life vest, just to kill Penelope! Do you know she’s the most talented dancer in the world, with boundless potential?!” “You can’t ruin her because you couldn’t achieve your own dancing dreams! You manipulative wretch, I won’t let you succeed!” His hysterical shout was piercing, even above the plane’s increasingly loud, sharp descent. But I remained perfectly calm, not raising my voice or making a scene. After the agonizing experiences of my past life, I had long seen the true face of the man I had loved for over a decade. He had never loved me. If that was the case, I would no longer hold any expectations for him. This time, I would grant his wish. I would leave his life forever. In the final, desperate moments, the co-pilot tried to remove his own life vest for me, but I stopped him. I looked up, my gaze steady, at the stunned Ethan. In the final second before the plane exploded, I mouthed to him: “I don’t want you, and I don’t want your child.” I deliberately released my hands from my guarded belly. In the instant of freefall, I lost consciousness. Until my body plunged into the icy cold ocean. My bones were fractured by the final blast of the plane’s explosion. My once swollen abdomen was unnaturally concave, and my ears were deafened. The world became silent. Warm blood gushed from my head, stinging my rapidly cooling face. The deep blue sea was already stained red with blood. I floated semi-conscious, alone in the water, a vast halo of light shimmering before my eyes. Within that halo, vast debris of the plane floated, and above them, rescue helicopters descended. A rope ladder unfurled from a helicopter. Ethan, his face anxious, was climbing the ladder, cradling an unharmed Penelope, but he was angrily intercepted by the co-pilot, whose forehead was bleeding. I squinted, trying to read their lips. The co-pilot mouthed: “You animal! Your wife and child are still in the ocean, and you only care about saving your old flame?!” He was truly incensed on my behalf, even though our acquaintance wasn’t particularly deep. Fortunately, he had survived this time. Not far away, Ethan appeared even more enraged than the co-pilot. “Penelope twisted her ankle! Do you know how devastating that is for a genius dancer like her?! As for why I’m not saving my wife and child, that’s my business, what does it have to do with you?” He then swept a contemptuous glance at the co-pilot, his tone sneering. “Or are you my wife’s lover? Why else would you care so much about her?!” Even though I had already witnessed Ethan’s coldness, his callous words still cut me deeply. The co-pilot’s face turned white with fury. But he still insisted on sending me for treatment first, only to be warned by Ethan: “Sam Brooks, you’re just an intern co-pilot. As one of your chief examiners, I have the right to grade your future career. If you keep meddling, I think you might need to find another job.” Seeing that Sam was unmoved, Ethan said in a deep voice, “You might not care, but what about your girlfriend in the control tower?” Sam’s face instantly went pale; he hesitated. Ethan watched his subordinate, now visibly intimidated, with satisfaction. Almost out of a twisted sense of mercy, he looked at Sam with disdain, then glanced at me with a cold sneer on his lips. “Don’t be fooled by her act. She’s best at twisting facts, playing the victim, and lying. She lied about Penelope having thugs harass her, which made me miss Penelope’s most important competition trying to ‘save’ her.” “Afterward, I found out it was all her own scheme, just to make Penelope miss the competition and fail to get into college. She’s a wicked woman! I was tricked into getting her pregnant, then she used the child to force me into an engagement. Now she’s trying the same trick again to kill Penelope?!” “I’ve long seen through her manipulative ways. If she wants to play the victim and freeze in the ocean, then let her freeze!” With that, he turned his back, cradling a faint but blushing Penelope in his arms, and ascended into the helicopter. The helicopter’s propellers churned the sea into giant waves. My strength gave out; I could no longer hold on. As the final wave crashed over me, my consciousness was completely swallowed by darkness. My relationship with Ethan hadn’t always been this hostile. Before senior year of high school, I was his most cherished treasure. His phone and computer lock screens were set to my birthday. Our relationship soured when Beth Vance, the daughter of my family’s housekeeper, transferred to our class. Half a month after she arrived, I fell down the stairs one morning and broke my shin. At the time, I was preparing for a very important dance competition. Beth took my spot. That’s when I learned she also studied ballet, and she was exceptionally good. Ethan thought so too, just like I did. During the two weeks I was recovering at home, Beth became Ethan’s deskmate. Ethan made the first move. Beth had been cornered and “bullied” in the restroom by my best friends, and Ethan, passing by, rescued her. From that day on, Ethan became Beth’s knight. And I became the most irrelevant, most disgusting, villainous side character in their ambiguous romance. But in my past life, I was unwilling to let Ethan be stolen away, and I engaged in many childish acts of jealousy. When Beth set me up, I didn’t find evidence immediately, which made Ethan dislike me even more. Eventually, he even blocked me for Beth’s sake, and told both our parents he would never marry me. His only true love was Beth. Heartbroken, I fell into severe depression and went abroad for four years of university, staying away from him. But to my surprise, when I returned home, I found Beth had also gone abroad. Ethan, too, was heartbroken and despondent. I returned to his side, encouraging him to pursue his dreams. He chose to become a pilot, because Beth loved dancing, and this way, he could personally fly Beth to her competitions. I had originally planned to give up on him. But on the night Beth and Ethan argued and broke up, Ethan got drunk and forced himself on me. Afterward, he produced a drug test report from the liquor bottle, accusing me of being a shameless, conniving woman. In truth, I didn’t know who had drugged him. Helplessly, after that night, I became pregnant. Ethan was then pressured by his parents into getting engaged to me. During this time, Beth returned home. Ethan started not coming home, spending entire nights at her place. His behavior drove my past self to mad jealousy. To catch him cheating, I even booked a flight on the same plane as Beth. Then, at the critical moment, I pulled out the agreement his father and I had signed, stating that if I died, he wouldn’t inherit a penny of his fortune. Only then did Ethan agree to give me the life vest. I just never imagined that Ethan had never loved me or the child in my womb. Fortunately, I had a second chance. It was time to cut my losses. When I reopened my eyes, I saw a stark white ceiling. I was in the intensive care unit, hooked up to a ventilator, my breathing shallow. Seeing me awake, the nurse was overjoyed. “Ten ribs fractured, severe damage to both eardrums, skull fracture, punctured lung… You’re incredibly lucky to be alive!” She spoke quickly, my consciousness just pulling away from the memories of my past life. Even my soul ached. Half a month later, when I was discharged, Ethan still hadn’t shown up once. Uncle Dillon called him countless times during that period, but Ethan dismissed them all as lies concocted by me to deceive his parents. “Anya, you’re full of schemes and always trying to manipulate me, but now you’re dragging my parents into this act too? I’m truly ashamed of you!” He claimed he had more important things to do, which was to accompany his first love, as the heir of Dillon Enterprises, to various business events, building momentum for Beth’s upcoming debut.

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My husband and I were invited to a high-profile charity auction over the weekend. During the bidding, his secretary and I both set our sights on the same oil painting. I intended to compete fairly, but my husband, in a blatant display of disrespect, “lit the sky lantern” for her—committing to outbid any price just to secure the win for his assistant. “Elena Vance, you’re nothing but a dog I keep at home,” he sneered in front of the city’s elite. “What right do you have to compete with me?” As the room fell silent and other bidders retreated, I snapped my fingers at the auctioneer. “Whatever Mr. Sterling bids, I’ll raise him… by one dollar.” 01 The moment the words left my mouth, every guest in the ballroom turned to stare at me. A heartbeat later, the room erupted in laughter. “Is this woman insane? She’s trying to outbid her own husband? Does she just have money to burn?” “She’s not just crazy; she’s hollow. A trophy wife trying to challenge Silas Sterling in public? She has no idea what she’s doing.” “I heard about her. Sterling’s been keeping a little ‘ornament’ at home for years. I didn’t expect to see the vase crack in person.” As the whispers grew into roars, Silas’s face turned a dangerous shade of crimson. He stood up abruptly, pointing a trembling finger at me. “Elena! Put your hand down right now! Do you hear me?” “You’re spending my family’s money. How dare you have the nerve to compete with me?” I leaned back in my chair, looking at him with practiced indifference. “Silas, I am your wife. I suggest you find a shred of politeness when addressing me.” “I like the painting. Why should I step aside for someone else?” “And for the record,” I added, my gaze sharpening into ice, “I haven’t spent a single dime of your family’s money. Don’t let your imagination run wild.” Silas looked like he was about to explode. “Listen to me, Elena. I told you—in public, you address me as Mr. Sterling.” “You’re a stray I took in. You have nothing to do with my success!” I sighed, pinning him with my stare. “Mr. Sterling, are you truly going to gamble your reputation against mine for the sake of a secretary?” I had sensed the disrespect the moment I walked into the gala. As his wife, I should have been seated next to him at the head table. Instead, I had been relegated to a dark corner in the back. I had tolerated it for the sake of his father, the elder Mr. Sterling, who had always been kind to me. I thought a woman of my stature could afford to be patient with a self-important husband. But then I saw who was sitting in my seat: his secretary, Maya Rivers. She was a fresh college grad with nothing to offer but youth, yet here was my husband, ready to burn his company’s capital to stroke her ego. The fire in my chest began to rise. “Elena, you think you’re someone?” Silas continued, relentless. “I don’t take orders from you. You’ve lived off my wealth for years. What do you have to fight me with?” He turned to the crowd, his voice booming. “I’m bidding on this painting for Maya. And I’m going to win it.” Maya didn’t even wait for me to respond. She turned in her seat, tossing a provocative look my way. “Mrs. Sterling, I suggest you give up,” she smirked. “If you upset Mr. Sterling, your comfortable little life might come to a very abrupt end.” She let out a condescending giggle. “A trophy wife should know how to stay on the shelf. Don’t you agree, Elena?” The crowd laughed again. Even the auctioneer looked like he was suppressing a smile. I merely waved a hand dismissively. “So, Miss Rivers, you’re determined to see this through to the end?” Maya’s eyes were full of contempt. “It’s not about determination, it’s about reality. You’re a housewife with no career. What are you bidding with? Allowance money?” “Mr. Sterling just lit the sky lantern. That’s an unlimited bid. Do you even know what those words mean?” I tilted my head and smiled at her. “Maya, you’ve made a mistake. I’m not like you.” “I’ve never needed a man to pay for my things.” The room sneered again. “Good lord, the girl is delusional. Without Sterling, she wouldn’t even have made it past the valet.” “She’s just riding his coattails. Host, just call the result. Don’t waste our time.” The insults didn’t touch me. I was telling the absolute truth. If I weren’t trying to save Silas a shred of dignity, I could have announced right then and there that I was the one who owned the controlling interest in Sterling Global. Seeing my silence, Maya grew bolder. “See? I told you. Without a man’s backing, she’s got nothing. How embarrassing.” I didn’t let her finish. I slowly raised my bidding paddle. “Who said I was finished?” “If it’s a matter of money, trust me—I have plenty.” 02 The entire ballroom froze. Even the auctioneer hesitated, his hammer hovering in mid-air. Professionally, he couldn’t close the bid as long as a higher offer was on the floor, even if he doubted my liquidity. Silas’s roar shattered the silence. “Elena! You’re really doing this? You’re going to humiliate me here?” I glanced at Maya, then back at him. “Yes.” Silas’s face contorted. “Fine! Let’s see how deep your ‘allowance’ goes!” He thrust his paddle into the air. “One million dollars!” Everyone in the room knew the rules of the “Sky Lantern.” Once you light it, there is no backing out. You either win, or you go bankrupt trying. If Silas was willing to bet his company for a secretary, I was happy to play. “One million… and one dollar!” The guests exchanged looks of pure amusement. They were watching a train wreck. None of them knew that three years ago, when the Sterling family was on the brink of collapse, Silas’s father had come to me with a marriage contract and a plea for help. I married Silas to settle an old family debt. I had spent three years being insulted and ignored, but watching him light the sky lantern for another woman was the final straw. “Elena, you don’t have that kind of money! This is a legal auction, not a flea market!” Maya was losing her cool now, her face pale. “If you win and can’t pay, you’ll go to prison!” I smiled at her. “Don’t worry about my bank account, Maya. Worry about your boss. Sky lanterns don’t have a ‘stop’ button.” Silas was livid. He raised his paddle again. “You want to play?! I’ll show you! Ten million dollars!” The room went wild. This was a charity auction. The items were nice, but nothing was worth ten million—especially not this piece, which had been painted by a talented child, not a grandmaster. “Mr. Sterling is so generous,” I said, standing up and clapping lightly. “The children in the rural charities will appreciate your sacrifice.” “But… since it’s for a good cause, the more the merrier.” I raised a single finger. “Ten million… and one dollar.” 03 The atmosphere changed. People were no longer just laughing; they were baffled. The people in this room were the titans of industry. Silas was only here because I had spent three years quietly building Sterling Global into a powerhouse. I could see the greed in Silas’s eyes. He thought he was winning a power struggle. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Silas announced to the room. “I want to make it clear. This woman is my wife in name only. I am not responsible for her bids.” “If she defaults, Sterling Global will not cover her.” I almost laughed out loud. “Mr. Sterling, I wouldn’t be so quick to sever ties if I were you.” “You’re the only one who lit a sky lantern tonight. If you can’t pay, you might find yourself begging me to save you.” Maya stood up, screeching. “Elena, you’re delusional! You’re a housewife! You think you can outmatch a corporation?” I shook my head, looking at her with pity. “It’s hard for you to grasp, I know. But it’s the truth.” “If you don’t believe me, let your ‘boss’ try one more time.” Maya scoffed. “Oh, we’ll try. I want to see you crawl out of here in handcuffs.” I remained perfectly calm. “I told you, Maya. I don’t use a man’s money to buy my toys.” The whispers started again. “She’s just talking big. If she were that powerful, why would she stay home?” “Exactly. Silas is a rising star. She’s just a footnote.” I stood up slowly, scanning the room. “I don’t just look down on the Sterling family,” I said clearly. “I look down on every single person in this room.” I wasn’t a business expert, but I knew character. Since I had entered, these “titans” hadn’t discussed charity once. They had spent the entire night flattering Silas and mocking a woman they didn’t know. The room turned on me instantly. Even the host frowned. “Madam, we do not welcome such disrespect at this auction.” I looked at him. “Oh? And what kind of person am I, exactly?” Maya rushed onto the stage, snatching the microphone from the host. “You’re a failure, Elena!” Her voice echoed through the speakers. The businessmen in the audience stood up and cheered. Even Silas was grinning, enjoying my “downfall.” In that moment, I realized how stupid I had been to save this family. Maya raised the mic again. “Now you know why Mr. Sterling wouldn’t let you sit with us, Elena.” “Because… you don’t belong.” 04 I suppressed my anger and spoke coldly. “You sound like you’re trying to convince him to divorce me, Maya.” Maya’s grin widened. “Since you’re so self-aware, I’ll stop pretending.” “Yes. I am much better suited to be the Mrs. Sterling than you are.” I stared at her. “Go on. What else?” Maya tossed her hair. “He’s divorcing you!” I paused, then looked at Silas. “Is she telling the truth? You want a divorce?” Silas leaned back, his eyes full of loathing. “She’s right. I’ve wanted this for years. I only stayed because of my father.” “Since everyone is here to witness it, let’s make it official.” “I, Silas Sterling, am divorcing you!” My voice was flat. “Are you sure?” “Have you really thought this through, Silas?” Without a word, the man pulled a set of divorce papers from his jacket pocket. “Elena, don’t bother begging. I’ve never felt anything for you.” I looked at the papers and sighed. “You came prepared, didn’t you, Mr. Sterling?” “Every single second,” he nodded. “I’ve wanted you gone since the wedding day.” Maya started clapping, and the guests joined in, hooting and hollering. I felt a small, sharp smile pull at the corners of my mouth. “Well, if the mood is this festive, it would be rude of me to say no.” “I agree. We’re getting a divorce. But…” Silas was ecstatic. He didn’t let me finish. “Great! Now that that’s settled, tell me how much you want to disappear. I’ll pay you to stay away.” I waved him off. “Don’t worry about the settlement yet. We still have an auction to finish.” “My bid is ten million and one dollar. Are you still in, Silas?” I knew Silas. His ego was his greatest weakness. Seeing me still challenging him, his face went dark. “Elena, don’t push your luck.” I arched an eyebrow. “What? The great Chairman of Sterling Global is scared of a ten-million-dollar bid?” That did it. “Fine! Let’s see how long your mouth stays open!” “Twenty million!” “Twenty million… and one dollar.” Silas was sweating now. “Thirty million!” “Thirty million… and one dollar.” Silas’s hand was shaking as he raised the paddle again. “Fifty million!” The price was astronomical. Silas’s forehead was drenched in cold sweat. I chuckled softly. “Silas, if we’re doing this for charity, let’s stop playing with small numbers.” “I bid… one hundred million dollars.” The room went dead silent. Everyone here was worth millions, but having one hundred million in liquid cash for a single painting was unheard of. Silas was stunned into silence. Maya stepped forward again. “You little brat, this is an auction, not a video game!” “Anyone can scream a number. Can you actually produce the funds?” Silas’s eyes lit up. “Maya is right! Why should I match a fake number?” He turned to me with a venomous grin. “Elena, if you don’t have that hundred million, you’re looking at serious federal charges.” Maya grabbed the mic and screamed at the audience. “We demand a proof of funds! Right now!” I smiled. “Finally, you asked the right question.”

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My eight-month-pregnant sister-in-law was pushed to the ground, suffering a massive hemorrhage, and rushed to the hospital. Driving by, I simply rolled up my window, pretended I saw nothing, stepped on the gas, and left. In my previous life, I was the one who found her unconscious and bleeding. I rushed her to the hospital immediately. But the situation was critical. The severe bleeding triggered an amniotic fluid embolism. My husband was the top obstetrician in the city. I frantically called him, begging him to get to the hospital. Instead, he assumed I was throwing a jealous tantrum because he was having dinner with his first love and her family. He thought I was using his sister’s “accident” to force him to come back. By the time my in-laws finally arrived, my sister-in-law was dead—the doctors couldn’t save her from the embolism. His entire family blamed her death on me. They believed I deliberately misled my husband, effectively killing her. My brother-in-law, rushing back from out of town, believed their poisonous lies. Driven mad by grief, he hacked me to death with a machete right at his wife’s funeral. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the very day my sister-in-law was pushed and began hemorrhaging. 1 My mind reeled. As the red light lit up ahead of me, I instinctively hit the brakes and stopped at the intersection. Screams and panicked shouts erupted from the sidewalk. “Call an ambulance! A pregnant woman fell! She’s bleeding everywhere!” My hand immediately gripped the car door handle. But the moment I was about to push it open, memories flooded my mind—my husband and my in-laws pointing their fingers at my nose, cursing me, blaming me for her death. And then… I touched my own stomach. In my past life, this was where my brother-in-law’s machete had hacked me until I was nothing but a bloody pulp. Phantom pain shot through my muscles, making my whole body twitch. I pulled my hand back. The light turned green. Without a moment’s hesitation, I slammed the gas pedal and drove away. To prevent my in-laws from using me as a scapegoat again, I went straight to my mother-in-law’s house. “Mom, Arthur is working overtime today, so I bought some fish and brought it over for you.” I walked in, pretending not to notice her frantic, guilty expression as she hastily hung up a video call. “Elena, you’re here…” Before she could finish, her phone rang. The moment she answered, the color drained from her face. Tears instantly spilled from her eyes. Her legs gave out, and she practically crawled and stumbled toward me. “Hurry! To the hospital! Sarah fell!” I already knew, but I put on a perfectly shocked expression. I helped her to the car and sped to the maternity hospital where my husband worked. In this life, without my intervention, a bystander had called the ambulance that brought my sister-in-law, Sarah, to the hospital. By the time we arrived, she was already in the operating room. “Family members, sign here. The patient is 32 weeks pregnant. She fell and suffered a massive hemorrhage. We must perform an emergency C-section.” Just like in my previous life, my mother-in-law signed the papers with trembling hands. I turned to her and said, “Arthur is the best obstetrician in the city. He told me he’s working overtime today. Just in case, I should probably go get him.” She hesitated for a second, then nodded. I called Arthur’s number. Three calls in a row went unanswered. “Mom, Arthur might be busy. I’ll go up to his department and find him.” My mother-in-law’s eyes darted nervously, but she nodded. The moment I walked away, she pulled out her phone to call him herself. I knew he wasn’t at the hospital at all, so naturally, I wasn’t going to waste my energy looking for him. Standing in the stairwell, I watched my mother-in-law dial Arthur’s number over and over. Her expression morphed from composed, to anxious, to sheer panic as tears streamed down her face. A cold smile crept onto my lips. She had no idea that her precious son, eager to enjoy a quiet, uninterrupted evening with his first love, had put his phone on silent long ago. The video call she hung up right before I walked into her house was from Arthur. He had called to ask her to keep me occupied so I wouldn’t interrupt his romantic rendezvous. Watching her pace like a cat on a hot tin roof, I purposely jogged back to her, panting heavily. “Mom! Arthur’s colleagues said he isn’t working overtime today! And he’s still not picking up his phone!” A fleeting look of guilt crossed her face, but she still covered for him. “He was probably called out for an emergency consultation. If he’s not answering, just try again in a little bit.” Right then, Aunt Martha—Arthur’s aunt—and Sarah’s in-laws rushed down the hallway. Aunt Martha glared at me, her eyebrows immediately shooting up in anger. “Where is Arthur? Isn’t he an obstetrician? What use are you standing here? Why haven’t you told him to get down here?!” Aunt Martha was my late father-in-law’s older sister. Since he passed away, she had an iron grip on all the family’s affairs. In my previous life, the moment the doctor pronounced Sarah dead, before I could even process it, Aunt Martha slapped me twice across the face. “You are her sister-in-law! You’re supposed to look out for her like a mother! How could you just watch her die?!” In this life, I certainly wasn’t going to give her that opportunity. I put on a bitter, helpless smile. “Aunt Martha, I can’t reach him. He told me this morning he was working overtime, but I just checked his department. His colleagues said he didn’t come in today, and his phone goes straight to voicemail.” My mother-in-law mumbled something under her breath but ultimately stayed silent. “Are you an idiot? If he doesn’t answer, keep calling! Useless!” Aunt Martha screeched. I quickly took out my phone and dialed, one call after another. Finally, on the tenth attempt, the call connected. 2 I instantly put it on speakerphone. “Honey…” “Are you sick in the head?! Why are you calling me over and over again? I told you I’m working overtime! I’m busy, do not bother me!” “Arthur, Sarah fell down and is hemorrhaging! She’s in the operating room right now and hasn’t come out! If you’re not at the hospital, where are you?!” There was a pause on the other end. Then, a woman’s sickeningly sweet, artificial voice echoed through the speaker. “Oh, your wife doesn’t trust you. She went to the hospital to check up on you! Arthur, won’t your colleagues get the wrong idea? Elena, really, if you have an issue, you should just ask Arthur directly. Going to his workplace to cause a scene is one thing, but making up a curse about Sarah having an accident? That’s just malicious.” “No, I didn’t! Arthur, Sarah really is in the operating room. If you don’t believe me, you can—” “Get lost! If you’re going to lie, at least try to make it believable. Sarah is at her mother-in-law’s house, how could she fall? Throwing a jealous fit is fine, but there’s a limit. Going to my workplace to cause trouble? If this ruins my year-end evaluation, I swear I’ll kill you!” Before I could say another word, he hung up. The group of people gathered outside the operating room, previously whispering among themselves, fell dead silent. I smiled bitterly, putting on a deeply wounded expression. My mother-in-law looked away, avoiding everyone’s gaze. Aunt Martha looked momentarily embarrassed but said nothing. Sarah’s in-laws exchanged disgusted looks and sighed. Just then, the operating room doors burst open. A nurse rushed out, her face pale with panic. “The patient is experiencing an amniotic fluid embolism! You’re Dr. Sterling’s family—can someone please contact him immediately?!” My eyes flickered. Everything was playing out exactly as it had in my previous life. My mother-in-law’s legs gave out, and she collapsed onto the floor. Aunt Martha could no longer maintain her aloof facade. She frantically dialed Arthur’s number, muttering, “It’ll be fine, it’ll be fine. Arthur is the best obstetrician. He’s saved several patients with amniotic fluid embolisms before. He can definitely save Sarah!” The golden window for treating an amniotic fluid embolism is only a brief ten or so minutes. It’s literally a tug-of-war with the Grim Reaper. Over the past three years, Arthur had successfully saved five mothers from it, losing only one. That was why he had become the top surgeon in the maternity hospital. Aunt Martha’s call connected. She screamed, crying into the phone, “Arthur, get to the hospital right now! Your sister has an amniotic fluid embolism! You’re the only one who can save her!” From the other end came the sound of children screaming and playing, mixed with the laughter of adults clinking glasses. “Aunt Martha, Elena goes crazy, and you join her? Enough is enough! I revolve around her 365 days a year. I finally come out just to get one day of peace, can you all just let me be? Lily and I have nothing going on. Her family came back from out of town, and I’m just having dinner with them. Just for today, can you stop calling me?!” “Arthur, I am not lying! Your sister is really dying! It’s an embolism, and you’re the only one who can save her! I’m begging you, come back right now, or you’ll regret it for the rest of your life!” “I’ll regret it if I do go back!” Arthur’s voice was cold, entirely devoid of warmth. Hearing his voice, my mother-in-law completely broke down. She grabbed the phone, screaming, “Son! Your aunt isn’t lying! Your sister is really dying! Even if you don’t believe Elena, and you don’t believe your aunt, do you not even believe me?! Come back right now!” I couldn’t help but sigh inwardly. To me, a mother-in-law who knew her son was cheating and helped him cover it up was a piece of trash. But to Sarah, she was a genuinely good mother. “Arthur, did you hear your mother?! Would your own mother lie to you?! Hurry back!” Aunt Martha stomped her feet in panic. “Mom, you…” Arthur’s voice finally sounded hesitant. “Ah! Arthur! My eye, my eye hurts so much!” A woman’s fragile cry of pain suddenly rang out, accompanied by an adult scolding a child. “How could you shoot a marble at your aunt’s face?!” Arthur’s voice immediately turned frantic with concern. “Lily, does it hurt? Don’t move, I’m a doctor, let me take a look!” Then, Arthur spoke into the phone, his tone returning to a rushed, icy state. “Mom, stop acting. Even if what you’re saying is true, it’s useless. I just drank a lot of alcohol. I can’t drive, and I can’t get back in time.” With that, he hung up. The phone slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor. My mother-in-law’s head slumped against the tiles, and she didn’t move. Aunt Martha knelt on the floor, tears streaming silently down her face. “How did Arthur become like this? How could he… how could he abandon his own flesh and blood for a woman on the outside? Animal. He’s an animal…” I helped my mother-in-law up. Looking at the massive, swelling bruise on her forehead from hitting the floor, I truly felt it wasn’t worth it to have given birth to a son like that. However, I didn’t pity her. Because in my previous life, she had a hand in driving me to my death. I don’t know how much time passed before the operating room doors opened again. “We’re sorry. We did everything we could.” 3 Two lives lost in an instant. My mother-in-law looked like her soul had been ripped out. She refused to eat or drink, simply clutching Sarah’s clothes and weeping. Aunt Martha, furious beyond belief, recounted everything that happened at the hospital to every single relative, cursing Arthur as a monster. When Sarah’s in-laws found out the baby she had been carrying was a boy, they cried even harder. David, Sarah’s husband, rushed back from out of town that very day. When he saw the lifeless bodies of his wife and child, his face twisted in agony, his eyes bloodshot. He simply couldn’t accept that he had only been on a business trip for three days, and the wife he had dreamed of a happy future with right before he left was just… gone. After hearing the truth from his parents, David wiped his tears and silently began organizing the funeral with me. No one thought to notify Arthur. Especially after finding out he had been dining with Lily’s family at a hotel directly across the street from the hospital, yet hadn’t even bothered to walk over and verify the truth. Even my mother-in-law was completely disillusioned with him. But a major event like this… how could I possibly let Arthur miss it? The day before Sarah was to be buried in their hometown, I paid someone to notify him. On the day of the burial, a light drizzle fell from the sky. I stood by the car holding an umbrella, watching the crowd carry Sarah’s coffin out of the mourning tent. In my past life, it was on this exact day that I was hacked to death by David. My blood, mixing with the rain, had rolled out a red carpet for my sister-in-law. Before the coffin even cleared the doorway, Arthur’s car screeched to a halt. He stormed out, full of rage, and sprinted toward me. I watched him with a numb expression, not saying a word. Smack! He looked at the black-and-white portrait I was holding and slapped me hard across the face. “You bitch! To trick me into coming back, you actually dared to curse my sister?!” I crashed to the ground. The portrait slipped from my grasp and landed in the mud, covering half of Sarah’s face, leaving only a pair of cold, lifeless eyes staring silently at Arthur. Arthur’s eyes were bloodshot. I don’t know if it was fear or fury that unleashed the beast inside him, but every trace of the gentle, refined doctor was gone. He looked at me with pure malice and lunged. “You bitch! I’ll teach you to lie! I’ll teach you to curse my sister! I’ll kill you!” I let him punch and kick me, keeping my eyes fixed on Sarah’s portrait. Sarah, I repeated in my mind, look closely at who your real enemy is. When you go down to the underworld and file your complaint with Yama, don’t name the wrong person. “Enough! What the hell are you doing?!” Hearing the commotion, the people inside the mourning hall rushed out. Aunt Martha shoved Arthur away violently, crying and screaming, “You animal! Your sister could have been saved! We called you so many times! Your mother practically got on her knees and kowtowed to you! And just because of one word from that little slut on the outside, you left her to die! You killed your own sister, and now you come to her funeral to cause a scene?! What do you want?! What the hell do you want?!” Arthur stumbled back a few steps, a look of desperate, terrified denial on his face. “Aunt Martha, what are you talking about? How could Sarah really be dead?! She was just trying to trick me! How could you all help her trick me?! Is it because she’s pregnant? You’re all helping her lie to me for the sake of the baby?!” I curled into a ball on the ground, letting the rain hit my face, washing away the tears pouring from my eyes. So… Arthur knew I was pregnant at this time in my past life too. “You’re all lying to me! I want to see Sarah! Sarah! Sarah!” Arthur screamed, trying to charge into the mourning hall, but was forced back the very next second. The heavy black coffin, carried by eight strong men, slowly emerged from the doorway. 4 “Didn’t you want to find Sarah? There she is.” Aunt Martha wiped the rain from her face, pointing at the coffin with biting sarcasm. Arthur stumbled toward the coffin, his legs giving out, and he collapsed onto the muddy ground. “Who is this act for? Your wife begged you to come back, you said she was lying. I told you to come back, you said I was lying. Your mother kowtowed and begged you to come back, and you said she was lying too. Did you really think we were lying? Or is your sister’s life just worth less to you than having dinner with a woman on the outside?” “No, it’s not like that! Sarah is my sister! I practically raised her! I loved her like my own daughter!” Sarah and I never had a good relationship. Although she lost her father early, she was treated like a precious treasure by her mother and Arthur, resulting in a spoiled, arrogant personality. Coupled with Arthur’s dismissive attitude toward me, she never showed me an ounce of respect. Every time she saw me, she was bossy and spoke to me with disdain. In the past, I was always forced to compete with her for a place in Arthur’s heart. She won every time. Arthur defended her unconditionally, every single time. Now, she had finally been forced to compete with someone else. And losing just once cost her her life. Maybe this is what they call karma. Smack! Arthur’s continuous denial enraged Aunt Martha, and she slapped him across the face with all her might. Enduring the heavy, dragging pain in my lower abdomen, I felt nothing but a dark satisfaction. If I wasn’t so physically weak right now, I would have loved to beat him senseless myself. Someone helped me up from the ground. Holding my sister-in-law’s portrait, I stood to the side, my head bowed, carefully wiping the mud off the glass. I let the blood pool and run down my legs beneath my skirt. My baby, Mommy is so sorry. Go find a mother and father who will actually look forward to your birth. I had just wiped the photo clean when Arthur violently shoved me again, directing all his misplaced rage onto me. “It’s you! You killed my sister! She was perfectly fine at home, why would she suddenly fall?! It’s all your fault! You cursed jinx, give me my sister back!!!” I crashed to the ground again. The portrait smashed into a puddle, my legs slick with blood. But neither Aunt Martha nor Arthur seemed to even notice. “Elena, you’ve always been jealous of Sarah! You were jealous of how much I loved her! But she’s my real sister! How could you kill her?! You murderer, I’ll kill you!” Arthur’s face was contorted, twisted in a demonic snarl. Like a rabid beast, completely devoid of humanity. He was even more unhinged than in my previous life. Ah, right. In my previous life, they had a reason to blame Sarah’s death on me. Because I was the only one standing outside the operating room. No one else heard the phone call I made to him. He could spin the story however he wanted. But in this life, his mother, his aunt, and Sarah’s in-laws all knew exactly what he did. He couldn’t deflect the blame anymore. This was just the fury of a humiliated man. He couldn’t even convince himself with his own lies, so naturally, he lost control. I swallowed the retort on the tip of my tongue, wrapped my arms around my head, and curled into a tight ball. Today was the day of Sarah’s burial. Even if the Sterling family didn’t care, the Hayes family wasn’t going to let Arthur delay the auspicious hour. Sure enough, as the coffin was loaded onto the hearse, David supported his parents and walked out of the mourning hall. “Arthur, get the hell out of here. Do not dirty my wife’s path to the afterlife!” 5 David grabbed Arthur by the collar and landed a brutal punch to his face, pinning him to the ground and striking him twice more. Aunt Martha immediately stepped forward to intervene. “David, stop! You’ll kill him!” Enduring the pain wracking my body, I let out a cold laugh. What a perfect, united family sharing the same name. “It’s not my fault! It’s all her! It’s Elena! She was jealous of Sarah, so she deliberately misled me and wouldn’t let me come back! She killed Sarah!” Arthur roared, actually trying to scramble up from the ground to attack me again. The veins on David’s forehead bulged. If his parents hadn’t been standing right there, he might have actually fallen for Arthur’s lies. He shoved Arthur hard back onto the ground, pulled out his phone, and shoved a security video in his face. It was the footage from the day of the accident. In the video, a young boy suddenly ran over from a distance, violently shoved Sarah to the ground, and then kicked her directly in her pregnant belly, shouting vicious curses at her, calling her a “fat pig” and a “monster.” I had, of course, sent this video to David anonymously. In my past life, protected by Arthur, Lily’s nephew—the true culprit—had completely escaped responsibility until the day I died. In this life, I naturally wasn’t going to let him off the hook. “Didn’t you say you wanted to beat Sarah’s murderer to death? Look! This little monster is the murderer! Lily’s older brother’s son, Tommy! Go beat him to death! Go kill him!” Arthur grabbed David’s phone, watching the video over and over again. When he clearly saw the boy’s face, he shook his head, muttering, “No, it can’t be. It couldn’t possibly be Lily’s nephew! Someone must have manipulated him!” “Arthur, Sarah is dead, and you’re still defending outsiders?!” I held up Sarah’s black-and-white photo, pointing it at him. “Look at her! She was your own sister!” Arthur snapped his head toward me. “Yes! It was you! It must have been you! You jealous bitch, you couldn’t stand seeing me and Lily together, so you deliberately manipulated Tommy! You wanted to kill two birds with one stone—destroy Lily and kill Sarah!” I laughed coldly. “Arthur, you don’t love me, and you defend the woman on the outside at every turn. Fine, I accept that. But Sarah was your own flesh and blood. She is dead, yet every word out of your mouth is about Lily. Arthur, do you have even a shred of humanity left?” The moment my words fell, David let out a guttural roar, raining a barrage of dense, heavy punches down on Arthur’s face, over and over again. If friends and relatives hadn’t rushed in to pull him off, David truly would have beaten Arthur to death right there. Everyone thought David was just lashing out in a moment of impulsive rage, but I knew the truth: David didn’t want to live anymore. He didn’t hack me to death with a machete like he did in my past life, all thanks to the security video I sent him. It let him know that the ones who killed Sarah weren’t just Arthur, but Lily, and her entire family. David, please don’t disappoint me.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391375”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Growing up, every woman I knew was in love with Bennett. It didn’t matter if they were the arrogant, untouchable heiresses or the refined, overachieving seniors. Bennett was the sun, and everyone else was just a planet caught in his orbit. Then came the accident. A high-speed crash that left the younger sister, Maisie, blind, and the older one, Margot, paralyzed. Bennett did what he does best: he ran. He fled to Europe, leaving me behind with a heavy request: Take care of them for me. They hated me for it. They convinced themselves I was the one who drove him away, that I had schemed to get him out of the picture. They made my life a living hell, treating me like a stray dog they were forced to feed. I endured it all—the insults, the coldness, the impossible demands—all for the sake of the massive paycheck that kept my family afloat. But the day I finally hit my “freedom number” in my savings account, I didn’t just walk away. I flipped the table. “I’m done being your punching bag. I quit.” I expected them to scream. I expected them to throw things. Instead, Maisie—the sister who hadn’t seen a glimmer of light in months—snapped her eyes open and locked onto me with terrifying precision. And Margot—the sister who supposedly couldn’t walk—was already at the door, closing it with a click that sounded like a trap snapping shut. 1 The bowl hit the floor with a wet, heavy thud. The soup was meant for my face, but Maisie’s aim had suffered since she lost her sight. Hot broth splattered across my sneakers, soaking into the canvas. “Where is Bennett? He said he was coming today. He promised.” Maisie sat perfectly still, her eyes closed, her long lashes casting shadows over her pale, elegant face. She looked like a porcelain doll someone had tried to break but couldn’t quite shatter. I knelt down immediately to pick up the ceramic shards. Bennett was likely in London by now, probably at some underground club or a gala. The moment he realized Maisie and Margot had destroyed their bodies racing for his attention, he vanished. To him, they weren’t tragic figures; they were liabilities. “He’s dealing with some things, Maisie,” I said, my voice practiced and neutral. “He told me he’d be here as soon as the dust settles.” “Liar.” Her voice was a sharp blade. “He told me he’d overcome anything to be with me. It was you, wasn’t it? You did something to make him leave.” She reached out, her hands clawing through the air until she found the sound of my breathing. “Don’t move,” I warned, seeing her bare feet inches away from the broken porcelain. “There’s glass everywhere.” She didn’t listen. She stepped forward, her skin pressing into a sharp edge, but she didn’t even flinch. She found me, her fingers tangling into my hair, pulling my head back so I had no choice but to look up at her sightless face. “You’ve always wanted this, haven’t you, Casey?” she hissed. “You wanted him gone so you could have me all to yourself. You’re the reason he’s hiding.” The pain in my scalp made me want to shove her away, but I stayed still. I had loved her once. That was the pathetic truth. But Bennett hadn’t left because of jealousy. He left because he was a coward who couldn’t handle the sight of a wheelchair or a white cane. I couldn’t tell her that. Not if I wanted to keep getting paid. Bennett had promised me five thousand a month just to keep them happy and keep his name clean in their ears. “Tell them I love them,” he’d said. “And for god’s sake, don’t call me.” I was a college kid from a family that lived paycheck to paycheck. I needed that money. I needed to keep my mouth shut and play the martyr. Maisie kept screaming at me to call him, to apologize for whatever imaginary sin I’d committed. I remained silent, a ghost in my own life. It was only when a single, cold tear escaped my eye and landed on her wrist that she finally stopped talking. 2 My mother was the housekeeper for Bennett’s family. I grew up in the shadows of their mansion, the “plus-one” by necessity, never by choice. My mother’s mantra was simple: Make Bennett happy. If he’s happy, we’re safe. I followed him to the elite private high school on a scholarship that felt more like a leash. That was where I met Maisie. In that world, wealth was the only armor that mattered. The kids there didn’t bother with the “help’s kid,” but their lackeys—the ones desperate for a crumb of status—needed someone to kick. One afternoon, while I was doing Bennett’s chores in the school’s courtyard, a group of them cornered me. They called me Bennett’s lapdog. They laughed about how much dignity a person could sell for a tuition check. I held my broom and kept my head down. I was the quiet one. Even my mother wished I was more like Bennett—bright, loud, effortless. She never understood that I didn’t have the luxury of being reckless. They started pushing me, bored with my silence, when a girl stepped out from behind a massive oak tree. Her blazer was draped over one shoulder, her tie loosened with a deliberate, messy grace. “God, you guys are exhausting,” she said, yawning. “I’m trying to nap, and all I hear is the sound of insecurity. Move.” That was Maisie. She was the princess I had dreamed about, the one who stepped out of the light to save the boy in the dirt. I fell for her in that moment. Hard. Later, she fell for Bennett. She used me to funnel gifts to him, occasionally tossing me a gourmet cupcake as a thank-you. Those tiny crumbs of kindness were enough to fuel a fire in me for years. I hid my feelings so deep they became a part of my DNA. No one knew. Not even the internet—I only wrote about her on a private, anonymous blog, calling her “The Light.” Until Bennett found it. He walked up to Maisie at a party, slinging an arm around her. “Hey, I’m playing matchmaker. My boy Casey here is obsessed with you. You two should get a room.” I remember the ice that filled my veins. I tried to laugh it off, tried to pull him away. Maisie’s reaction was swifter. “Are you joking? I wouldn’t even date you on a good day, Bennett. Why would I want the guy who disappears into the background the moment the lights come on?” They laughed. They turned it into a game of tag, chasing each other across the lawn while I stood there, rooted to the spot. I couldn’t even look up. I just gripped the hem of my shirt and waited for them to finish, because as long as my mom worked for his dad, I had to stay. I watched them for years after that. I saw her playfully mess up his hair; I saw him flirt with her and her older sister, Margot, playing them against each other like a deck of cards. Now, my hair was finally long enough for her to grab, but she wasn’t doing it out of love. She was doing it to hurt me. 3 After I cleaned up the glass, I saw her sitting on the rug, her heels bleeding onto the fibers. She didn’t seem to care. I went downstairs to grab the first-aid kit. Margot was in the living room, her wheelchair parked by the floor-to-ceiling windows. she was reading a financial magazine, her glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. She looked up as I passed. “Are you alright, Casey? Maisie’s moods have been… difficult. I’ll talk to her.” Liar. She had listened to the entire ten-minute tirade from downstairs without lifting a finger. She liked having me as the lightning rod. It kept the storm away from her. I’d been taking care of them for a month. Maisie was the volatile one, but Margot was the one who truly unnerved me. She was composed, “proper,” and terrifyingly smart. She was a top graduate from the same university I attended. The first time I really “met” her, she was a guest speaker at school. It was raining, and I was hauling a dozen heavy packages for Bennett, my raincoat tucked over the boxes to keep them dry. I slipped on the marble stairs right as she was walking out, surrounded by a swarm of admirers. She had knelt down, her silk dress hitting the wet pavement, and helped me gather the boxes. She was so gentle then. I actually thought she was different. But then, a week into this job, I took her to the park. She complained about the sun on her legs, so I draped my own jacket over her lap while I ran to the kiosk to buy a proper throw. When I got back, my jacket was gone. “A kid ran by and grabbed it,” she said, her voice smooth and sympathetic. “I’m so sorry, Casey. People can be so cruel.” Later that evening, as I rolled her toward the exit, I saw a flash of navy blue in a trash can near the gate. It was my jacket. A $120 jacket I’d saved up for. I asked a gardener nearby if he’d seen who threw it away. “The lady in the chair,” he said, not even looking up from his shears. That was when I knew. Margot didn’t just dislike me; she found me subhuman. My belongings were filth in her presence. I took the jacket home, washed it three times, and vowed never to let her see me wear it again. 4 I couldn’t quit. Not yet. Between Bennett’s “hush money” and the sisters’ exorbitant salary—they paid me nearly $8,000 a month just because I was “reliable”—I was finally solving my family’s problems. My father’s dialysis was covered. My mother could finally breathe. So I played the part. When Maisie cried for Bennett, I texted him. Please, just send her something, I wrote. Dude, I’m literally seeing a girl who’s a literal countess right now, Bennett replied. Just tell her I’m buried in grad school work. Make something up. I told her he was studying. She laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. “Bennett never studied a day in his life. He bought his way into a degree. Try again, Casey.” Eventually, I begged him for a voice note. “Hey Maisie, you little brat,” Bennett’s voice boomed through the phone, bright and effortless as always. “I’m grinding over here so I can come home a success. Wait for me, okay? Miss you.” Maisie saved that clip. She played it until her phone battery died, over and over, huddled in the dark of her room. Did she really love him that much? I remembered her buying him a $20,000 diamond watch for his eighteenth birthday and tossing me a twenty-dollar bill for the “delivery fee.” That was my value in her eyes. The price of a pizza. On my own eighteenth birthday, I was alone in a classroom at midnight, finishing the homework Bennett and Maisie had dumped on my desk so they could go out for omakase. I remember looking at a small potted ivy on the windowsill, the moonlight turning the leaves silver. I had whispered Happy Birthday to the plant. I told myself they were good people. Maisie had saved me from bullies once. Bennett had given me a path to a better education. I forced myself to be grateful. I suppressed the jealousy until it felt like a dull ache I could ignore. The moon is in the sky, and I am on the ground. I never reached for it. And even when the light hit me, I knew it didn’t belong to me. 5 As the weeks passed, Maisie grew darker. The girl with the loose blazer and the collarbones that looked like wings was gone. Bennett stopped replying altogether. I told him she was getting suspicious. Don’t mention her to me again, he texted back. She’s blind, Casey. What’s she going to do? I’m moving on. I suggest you do the same. My heart sank. I deleted the chat immediately. By the second month of her blindness, Bennett had officially ghosted her. Maisie knew. One afternoon, she threw her phone against the wall, shattering it into a dozen pieces. “He’s not coming back, is he?” she whispered. “He never loved me. Now that I’m broken, I’m just a chore.” “Don’t say that,” I said, my voice steady with a lie. “He’s just busy. He’ll be back for the holidays. He told me to tell you to take care of yourself.” She let out a harsh, cold laugh. “Liar.” “My sister saw his Instagram,” Maisie said, her voice dropping to a dead flat tone. “He’s in the Maldives with some blonde. He’s done with us.” She looked like a wounded animal, curled up on the massive king-sized bed. She buried her face in the pillows, her shoulders shaking. I kept lying. I told her the woman was just a friend, a business contact. I used my most honest, “good guy” voice to spin a web of comfort. She didn’t move. After a long silence, she uttered two words. “Get out.” I left, closing the door softly. Downstairs, Margot was reading. She didn’t look up. “She’s taking it well, I assume?” I nodded. Margot didn’t show a flicker of sympathy for her sister. Instead, a small, dark smile touched her lips. “I knew it would end this way. At least she wasn’t too deep in. I can’t believe she actually fell for a player like Bennett.” I felt a sudden need to defend him—or maybe the version of him I needed to believe in. “He’s not a player. He’s just… overwhelmed.” Margot shrugged, glancing at her useless legs. “I was going to make him fall for me, you know. Just to show Maisie how pathetic he was. But the idiot wanted both of us. He wanted a competition. And look what it cost—my legs and her eyes. A very bad investment.” She spoke about her own tragedy like a failed business merger. There was a cold, simmering rage beneath her words, directed at the ocean between her and the man who had caused this. She looked at me then, her eyes narrowing behind her frames. “You won’t be a ‘bad man,’ will you, Casey? My sister is fragile now. She can’t take another hit.” Her voice was sweet, but her eyes were like a predator’s. I felt a chill run down my spine. I shook my head, unable to find the words. 6 Summer storms in the Northeast are sudden and violent. Margot hated the rain, so she usually went to bed early. Around nine, I would have to carry her to bed. Her legs were still too weak to support her weight. In the beginning, it was awkward. I wasn’t the strongest guy, and she was tall. I’d have to hook her arm around my neck, her chin digging into my shoulder, and lift with everything I had. The first time I did it, she was stiff, her usual mask of politeness slipping into a look of pure disgust at our proximity. “I’m sorry,” I muttered as I tucked her in. “I know this isn’t ideal. We could hire a female nurse if—” “No,” she snapped. “This is fine.” That night, she made me scrub the mud out of the foyer rug until 3 AM as punishment for “clumsiness.” I learned. I became a machine. I learned to anticipate her needs—a pillow for her lower back, a glass of water the moment she cleared her throat. Once, she sat with her lips pressed thin, looking pained. I realized she needed the restroom but was too proud to ask. I brought her the medical basin and said softly, “I’ll empty it immediately. No one has to know.” She exploded. Her face turned a panicked shade of red. “What is wrong with you? Take me to the bathroom properly.” I was confused. I thought I was being helpful, minimizing the “shame” of being carried. But I did as she asked. When I put her back in bed, she looked at me with pure venom. “You’ll never get anything from me, Casey. You’re just the help. Remember that.” “I wasn’t looking for a bonus, Margot,” I said quietly. Tonight, it was pouring again. I finished putting Margot to bed and went to check on Maisie. Her room was empty. The balcony door was wide open, the curtains whipping in the wind like ghosts. Rain was spraying onto the hardwood floors. My heart hammered against my ribs. I ran to the railing, looking out into the darkness and the silver sheets of rain. 7 I grabbed a black umbrella and a slicker, making sure the front door was locked behind me. The estate was on the edge of the woods, isolated and dark. The streetlights along the driveway flickered, casting long, eerie shadows. I found her half a mile down the road. She hadn’t gone far. How could she? She was navigating by memory and the dull sensation of light against her clouded vision. She wasn’t trying to escape; she was just trying to feel something other than the suffocating silence of her room. She stood under a flickering streetlight, drenched. The orange glow hit the water on her face, making it look like she was melting. She looked small. Defeated. I walked up to her and held the umbrella over her head. I had to stand on my tiptoes to keep it high enough. “You’re not Bennett,” she whispered, her voice raw. “He’s never coming. Because I’m a freak now.” “Maisie, let’s go back.” “I called him,” she said, her voice shaking. “I heard a girl laughing in the background. He didn’t even realize it was me at first.” She let out a sob that was swallowed by the thunder. “I thought we were it. I thought racing him that night… I thought it was a game we were playing together.” “He’s probably just out with friends,” I lied, though the words tasted like ash. “The time difference, you know?” She laughed, a jagged, ugly sound. “How are you dumber than I am?” I didn’t answer. I just gently took her sleeve and began to lead her back toward the house. “When we get back, you need a hot shower,” I said. “I’ll dry your hair so you don’t get a headache.” She was silent for a long time. Then: “Do you remember the track meet in senior year? I tripped during the 400-meter. You and Bennett both ran toward me.” I remembered. I had been terrified. I’d reached out to ask if she was okay, if she needed the nurse. But Bennett had gotten there first. He’d laughed and asked, “How are we supposed to win now, princess?” Maisie had stood up, ignored my hand, and grinned at him. “Watch me win it anyway.” I had pulled my hand back and disappeared into the crowd. We reached the front door just as the rain began to taper off. Neither of us said another word. 8 After that night, a strange truce formed. Margot didn’t ask where Maisie had gone, and I didn’t tell her. I kept my head down. My real life was happening in the margins. I was a Sustainable Agriculture major. My dream was the Research Institute. I wanted to spend my life in a lab or a field, away from the toxic glitter of people like the Lins. I needed the money for my future—for a life where I didn’t have to carry anyone’s secrets. One afternoon, while pushing Margot through the garden, I found myself staring at the soil. It was rich, loamy. This would be perfect for potato cultivars, I thought. I was mentally drafting a paper on tissue culture when Margot snapped her fingers. “Casey? I’ve called your name three times.” “Sorry. I was thinking about my thesis.” She looked amused. “And what does someone like you study? Business? Hospitality?” “Vegetable Science,” I said. Margot actually laughed. It wasn’t a mean laugh, for once. It was genuine, bright, and musical. “You’re a nerd, aren’t you? A little farm boy buried in a scholarship.” “I want to increase crop yields,” I said, feeling a rare spark of pride. “I want to do something that actually matters.” She leaned back, her eyes softening behind her glasses. “I didn’t think people like you existed anymore. So earnest.” “Casey! Get up here!” Maisie’s voice drifted from the second-floor window. “I want you to read to me!” Ever since the rainstorm, Maisie couldn’t go ten minutes without calling for me if she knew I was with Margot. I started to head inside, but Margot grabbed my wrist. The warmth of her hand was startling. “Casey,” she said, her voice dropping the playfulness. “Don’t get ideas just because Maisie is clinging to you. Bennett was out of her league, but you… you’re not even in the game. Don’t let her convince you otherwise.” The invisible wall slammed back into place. My dream, my hard work—to her, it was all just a quaint hobby for the help. “I know my place, Margot,” I said, my voice cold. I pushed her inside and headed upstairs. Maisie was waiting, holding a lamp base, banging it against the railing like a drum. “Read to me! You left off in the middle of The Little Prince!” “Give him back, Maisie!” Margot shouted from downstairs. I felt like a chew toy being pulled between two bored predators. I went up to Maisie, but I could feel Margot’s eyes on my back the whole way up. 9 Five months in, the call came from my mother. They found a kidney for my father. But the donor’s family wanted a “gratitude gift”—a hundred thousand dollars under the table to cover their own debts. Plus the surgery, the recovery… we needed a hundred and thirty thousand. My mother was hysterical. “I asked Bennett’s father. He’s lending us thirty. I scraped together ten from the aunts. But we’re still sixty short. Casey, please. You work for those wealthy girls. Ask them. Beg them. Your father is running out of time.” I sat on the bathroom floor, the phone pressed to my ear, tears blurring my vision. How could I ask them? To them, sixty thousand was a handbag. To me, it was my father’s life. I checked my savings. I had thirty thousand from my salary. I just needed thirty more. I walked into the living room, my heart in my throat. I approached Margot first. “I… I was wondering if I could get an advance on my salary. For a few months. My father…” Margot didn’t even let me finish. She didn’t look up from her tablet. “The contract says monthly payments, Casey. No advances. It’s a professional boundary.” “But it’s an emergency. He needs a transplant.” She finally looked at me, her eyes icy. “That’s a very creative story. Is this the part where the loyal servant reveals his true colors? You’re just here for the payout, aren’t you?” I swallowed my sob and turned to Maisie, who was sitting nearby. I grabbed her hand. “Maisie, please. I’ve done everything for you. I just need a loan. I’ll work it off for free for a year.” Maisie wrenched her hand away as if I’d burned her. “So all that ‘kindness’ was just a setup for this? You were just waiting for the right moment to hit us up for cash?” I stood there, paralyzed. I did my job that night. I carried Margot to bed. I dried Maisie’s hair. We didn’t speak. I took a month’s leave. I sold my thesis. I had a paper that was almost ready for a major journal, a breakthrough in potato genetics. My advisor said it was my ticket to a Ph.D. I sold the data and the credit to a rich grad student who needed a win. It wasn’t enough. I begged. I knelt in front of the donor’s family. I gave them my ID, my student records, my soul. I promised them every cent I would ever earn. I still needed five thousand for the hospital fees. I walked down a dark alley in the city and dialed a number scrawled on the back of a bathroom stall. “I heard you pay for blood and plasma. Does the offer still stand for… more?”

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The day Madison found out she was pregnant, she nearly broke my ribs with how hard she hugged me. Her eyes were rimmed with a fierce, watery red. “Miles,” she whispered, her voice thick with a solemn promise. “I’m going to do this right. I’m going to bring our baby into this world and give them everything.” To everyone we knew, Madison Miller worshipped the ground I walked on. They called her a “husband-spoiler,” the kind of woman who treated her partner like a prize. That lasted until I saw the video. It was an intimate, lingering clip followed by a string of photos, sent from her first love. I watched her for a moment. She was standing in the middle of the half-finished nursery, adjusting the rails of the crib we’d picked out together. I walked up to her, my voice unnervingly steady. “Don’t have the baby, Madison.” I felt her entire body go rigid, the air in the room suddenly turning cold. “Madison,” I added, the words tasting like ash. “I want a divorce.” … The wooden rattle Madison had been holding slipped from her fingers, thudding softly against the plush nursery rug. She looked up at me, her face a mask of pure bewilderment. “Miles?” She stepped toward me, reaching out to catch my hand. “Is this a joke? Because it’s not funny.” She looked so earnest, so genuinely pained, that for a second, I almost believed I was the center of her universe. I could feel her hand trembling against mine. “Miles, stop it. You’re being dramatic.” She thought I was throwing a tantrum. I felt a hollow, bitter chill settle in my chest. “I’m not joking.” I pulled my hand back, a dull ache throbbing behind my eyes. “I’m dead serious.” “Madison,” I said, my voice rising just enough to tremble. “You told him you wanted to give him a baby. You told him that if it was a boy, you’d name him Beckham, and if it was a girl, she’d be Becca…” I was trying to stay calm. I really was. I wanted a clean break. I wanted us to end things with the same grace we’d supposedly lived by. But looking at her face, all I could think about was the night we conceived. How she’d curled into me, flushed and breathless, looking at me with those same expectant eyes and saying, “Miles, if we have kids, I want one of each. A boy named Beckham and a girl named Becca.” I’d asked her why those names. She’d just smiled and said she liked the rhythm of them. I hadn’t pushed. I thought they were beautiful. Now, the irony felt like a physical weight, crushing the air out of my lungs. “It wasn’t because you liked the rhythm, Madison,” I said, my teeth chattering as a chill took over my entire frame. “It’s because his name is Beckett.” “The one who got away. The one you’ve been pining for since you were nineteen.” “It’s not what you think!” Madison’s eyes welled up instantly, her voice desperate. “Then what is it?” I screamed, the dam finally breaking. “If you love him so much, just tell me! I would have let you go! Do you think I’m the kind of man who begs to stay where he isn’t wanted?” I grabbed a stuffed animal from the crib and hurled it at her. It hit her shoulder and fell, but she didn’t flinch. Instead, she lunged forward and wrapped her arms around me, squeezing so hard I could barely breathe. “No! No, Miles!” she sobbed into my chest. “I’m sorry. I messed up. I know I messed up, but please—” I wanted the divorce. I wanted to walk away with a shred of dignity. But Madison didn’t let it happen. Instead, she called in the reinforcements. By that evening, our spacious living room was packed. Both of our families were there, sitting in a semi-circle like a tribunal, staring at me as if I were the one who had committed a felony. Madison’s aunt leaned back, eyeing me with naked contempt. “You’ve got quite the nerve for a guy who lives on his wife’s paycheck,” she sneered. “Madison works her tail off every day to provide for you and that baby. You’re sitting here in a house she bought, acting like a child.” Madison’s mother reached over and squeezed my hand, her voice a poisonous blend of sympathy and manipulation. “Miles, honey, Madison isn’t the type to cheat. Why would she have married you if she didn’t love you? She’s devoted to you. She wouldn’t have asked us all here if she wasn’t desperate to save this marriage.” She looked at my mother, who nodded sharply. “Miles! Stop this nonsense right now!” my mother snapped. “You won’t find another woman like Madison. She’s stable, she’s loyal, she’s a provider. What more do you want?” My father didn’t even look at me. He just stared at the floor, his voice gruff and final. “Forget about the divorce. If Madison says she wants to stay, you stay. If I hear you bring this up again, I’ll personally make sure you regret it.” I sat there, surrounded by the people who were supposed to love me, being torn apart by a pack of wolves while the woman who had betrayed me sat quietly at the center of it all. Finally, Madison spoke. “Miles, I never wanted to lose you.” She took my hand in front of everyone. “I can explain everything. I’ll show you.” To prove her “sincerity,” she pulled out her phone and called Beckett on speakerphone. She demanded he tell me the truth—that they were “just friends,” that nothing happened. “My husband is trying to divorce me because of you!” she shouted into the phone. “Tell him the truth, Beckett!” On the other end, Beckett let out a bored, sharp laugh. “I was just messing with him, Maddie. Is he really that sensitive? What a head case.” Then his voice shifted, turning cruel as he addressed me directly. “Look, man, I dated her for years. Everyone has a past. You expect her to be a blank slate? You think you’re so clean?” The room went silent. I felt the pressure in my chest reach a breaking point. After hours of being bombarded by my parents and hers, after watching Madison play the victim, I snapped. I lunged for the phone. I was going to tell him exactly what I thought of him. I was going to end this. Slap. The sound echoed through the room. My head snapped to the side, my cheek stinging with a heat that radiated down to my jaw. I looked at Madison, stunned. She was trembling, her hand still raised, her face a mask of panic. “Miles, I… I didn’t mean to—” “Hah! Did she just hit you, Miles?” Beckett’s voice crackled through the phone, laughing. “I’m telling you, man, Madison is my dog. She does what I want. She gives me the confidence to say this to your face—you’re nothing.” “Go ahead,” Beckett challenged. “Tell your wife to come over and give me what I deserve. Oh wait, she already does that in bed—” “Enough!” I roared. But Beckett wasn’t done. A moment later, a text came through. It was a photo of our living room. My living room. “I like the way the place looks, Miles,” he’d messaged me earlier that day. “It’s exactly what I asked for.” I froze. Beckett’s voice came through the phone again, smug and oily. “Did Madison let you help with the decor? Probably not. Because I told her years ago that if we ever got a place, I wanted the Hamptons-chic look. The navy accents, the crown molding. It’s all for me.” He then sent a photo of Madison as a teenager, glowing with happiness, holding a specific pair of his-and-hers keychains. I looked at the bowl by our front door. The same keychains were sitting there. “She made those for me,” Beckett said. “And she kept them for you.” I looked at Madison. She was crying now, reaching out for me with a hand that had just struck me. It was pathetic. It was nauseating. “What are you even pretending for, Madison?” I whispered. “If you love him this much, why did you ruin my life?” I turned to my parents, to the aunts and uncles who had gone silent. “Are you still going to tell me I can’t leave?” I asked, my voice cracking. “Are you blind? Can’t you see? I don’t exist in this house. I’m just a placeholder for a man she actually wants.” The tears started then, hot and uncontrollable. I couldn’t stop them no matter how hard I rubbed my eyes. I was breaking down, right there in the center of the room. Madison dropped to her knees. She grabbed my legs, sobbing. “Miles, please. Hit me. Just hit me back! Do whatever you want, just don’t leave me!” She was wailing, a sound of pure, selfish desperation. “I love you! I won’t let you go!” I thought it couldn’t get any worse. But as she knelt there, my mother-in-law stepped forward and slapped me again. “How dare you humiliate my daughter!” she screamed. “She’s been nothing but good to you!” Madison’s aunt grabbed my hair, yanking my head back. “You’re a parasite! You’re a curse on this family! Men like you should just crawl into a hole and die!” I was being pulled, scratched, and screamed at. My scalp burned, my face throbbed, and my soul was being crushed under the weight of a dozen people telling me I was the villain for being betrayed. My own mother was crying. “Miles, every woman makes mistakes! No one stays with just one person forever. Don’t be so arrogant!” “A divorced man is damaged goods,” she sobbed. “Who’s going to want you after this? You’ll be alone forever!” My father stepped into my line of sight, his face purple with rage. “No one in this family gets a divorce. I won’t have the Miller name dragged through the mud because you can’t handle a little drama. You want to leave? Fine. Go die then. It’d be less of an embarrassment.” Their words were Madison’s shield. She crawled back to me, wrapping her arms around my waist. “Miles, I’ll block him. I’ll never speak to him again. I promise! We have a baby coming! Please, forgive me!” The noise was deafening. The screaming, the crying, the accusations. It was a suffocating wall of sound, stealing the oxygen from the room. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. “Why?” I screamed, a raw, primal sound that tore through my throat. “Why me?” The night ended in chaos. The stress was too much; my heart skipped, then hammered, then felt like it was being gripped by a frozen hand. I collapsed. I spent a week in the hospital. Madison was nowhere to be found, but Beckett’s social media was a goldmine. There was Madison, helping him pick out furniture for his new “bachelor pad.” There was Madison, laughing as they cooked a steak dinner together. There was Madison, smiling in a flower-arranging class, holding a bouquet that matched the one from a photo of them ten years ago. Beckett had posted a side-by-side: a grainy photo of them as teens and a high-def shot of them now. The caption read: True love always finds its way back home. Madison had liked the post. The doctor stood by my bed, looking at my chart. “Mr. West, your heart attack was stress-induced. You need to keep your emotions stable. I suggest a change of scenery. Get away for a while.” My phone buzzed. A text from my mother: Madison bought your brother that new iPhone he wanted. It was over a thousand dollars. How can you say she doesn’t love you? She’s so good to this family. Stop being difficult and come home. Then a message from Madison’s mother: I talked to a psychic. She says it’s a boy. Stop this nonsense. You’re our only son-in-law. Finally, a text from Madison herself: Hey baby, I’ll be back tonight. I cut my business trip short. I miss you. My parents’ indifference. Her family’s pressure. And Madison’s clumsy, transparent lies. She thought that because she’d deleted Beckett’s number in front of me, I wouldn’t know she was still with him. She thought I was a fool. “Miles, what do you want for dinner?” she texted. “I’ll bring it to the hospital.” At the same time, a DM from Beckett: “Maddie says she’s tired of taking care of a sick dog. She’ll wait until the baby is born, then she’s kicking you to the curb. Enjoy being the nanny for my kid.” That was it. The last straw. I looked at the screen until my vision blurred. A sad, jagged laugh escaped my lips. I typed back to Madison: [Madison.] [I want those soup dumplings from the place you took me on our first date.] I’d never been in love before her. I’d never been cherished. My parents’ love was like sand—it always slipped through my fingers. But that day, years ago, watching her blow on the hot dumplings, pushing the best ones toward me with a goofy grin… I thought I’d finally found a home. I thought I was enough. I waited until midnight. Madison never showed up. Instead, I got a text from Beckett: “Give us thirty minutes. We’re almost finished. Then I’ll let her go.” My heart felt numb. The pain had moved past hurting; it was just a cold, dead weight now. I walked up to the hospital roof. I sat on the ledge, dangling my feet over the edge, watching the parking lot. A familiar black Audi pulled in. I dialed Madison’s number. I watched her step out of the car, looking panicked, rushing toward the hospital entrance while pressing the phone to her ear. “Miles? I’m almost there, I’m so sorry, the traffic—” “Madison,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Look up.” The wind whipped around my ears. Madison paused, her head tilting back. She saw me—a thin, fragile silhouette against the night sky, looking like I could be blown away by a stiff breeze. Her heart must have stopped. I heard her scream through the phone, a raw, guttural sound. “NO! Miles, don’t!” She sprinted for the doors, but she was too late. The sound of the impact was like a crack of thunder, shattering whatever was left of her soul.

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I can see a death countdown above everyone’s head. And my wife, Seraphina White, her death date was today. For ten years, she had maintained the pretense of being infertile. But today, she brought home a five-year-old child, along with her long-term secret lover, Alaric Sterling. She laid it all out for me, while the family elders circled, urging me to be magnanimous. “Cain, Seraphina hasn’t had it easy. A woman, you know, always wants children. Just think of it as gaining another son, there’s nothing wrong with that.” I looked at the rapidly ticking countdown above her head: [00:01:30]. I said softly, “I will not acknowledge this child of unknown origin.” Seraphina looked at me as if I were a fool she had utterly outmaneuvered. Her eyes gleamed with triumph. She smugly wrapped her arm around Alaric’s waist and announced, “Whether you acknowledge them or not, I will never abandon them, father and son. From now on, I’ll be with you during the day, and with him at night…” Countdown: [00:00:10]. I calmly stated, “In that case, let’s get a divorce.” Her eyes widened in fury, but then she clutched her chest and collapsed. The countdown hit zero. 1 The moment Seraphina collapsed, the entire White family living room fell into a dead silence. Alaric, who a second ago had a triumphant smile, now had all the color drained from his face. His scream ripped through the air. “Seraphina! Seraphina, what’s wrong! Wake up!” The five-year-old boy stood still, his face utterly bewildered, then burst into loud sobs. I stood rooted, watching the completely extinguished numbers above Seraphina’s head. There was nothing there now. She was dead. “Quick! Call an ambulance!” “It’s you! Cain Stowell! You drove her to her death!” Alaric suddenly looked up, his bloodshot eyes glaring at me. I pulled out my phone, my fingers steadily dialing for emergency services. Then, I dialed the police. “Hello, officers? My wife suddenly died. I suspect the gentleman with her is involved.” My voice was not loud, but it clearly carried to every corner of the living room. Alaric’s sobs ceased abruptly. He stared at me in disbelief, as if I were insane. “You… you’re talking nonsense! How could I harm Seraphina!” I lowered my gaze, no longer looking at him. The ambulance and patrol car arrived almost simultaneously. The emergency doctor checked her on-site, then regretfully shook his head. “Time of death approximately ten minutes ago. Preliminary diagnosis is sudden cardiac arrest.” The police began their routine: cordoning off the scene and questioning witnesses. My in-laws, Mr. and Mrs. White, rushed in upon hearing the news. My mother-in-law, seeing Seraphina on the floor, rolled her eyes and fainted, caught clumsily by my father-in-law. When she slowly came to, her first action was to charge at me, hand raised to strike. “You good-for-nothing! Did you poison her food? My daughter was perfectly fine! How could she just drop dead?” Her hand was stopped by an officer. I looked at her face, twisted with rage. The countdown above her head showed [3 years 2 months 11 days]. Not long, but enough for her to suffer. My unusual calmness became the biggest suspicion in their eyes. “Mr. Stowell, please come down to the station with us to cooperate with the investigation.” I nodded, took my phone, and followed the officers out. As I passed Alaric, he was holding the child, looking at me with a mix of venomous resentment and triumph. He thought I was finished. I glanced at the brightly lit [52 years 6 months 3 days] above his head, a faint, almost imperceptible curve on my lips. 2 The interrogation room lights were blindingly white. The officer opposite me asked routine questions, and I answered calmly. “What was your relationship with your wife like?” “Ten years of marriage, what do you think?” I retorted. “She brought her lover and illegitimate child home. How did you react?” “I didn’t want her to bring the child back.” The officer tapped the table, leaning forward, his gaze sharp. “Then why did you suggest divorce?” “Because he wanted me to share a room with them, father and son. I found it disgusting,” I said frankly. The officer fell silent, seemingly judging the veracity of my words. I added, “Seraphina White has a hereditary heart condition. She never told outsiders about it, not even her parents.” “She relied on medication to manage it, but I suspect she was too emotional today and forgot to take her medicine.” The officer immediately called to verify. I sat calmly in the chair, awaiting the results. My countdown ability had been with me since I could remember; it never made mistakes. Seraphina’s death was predetermined, and had nothing to do with me. But they wouldn’t believe it. Two hours later, the preliminary autopsy report came in. Cause of death: acute massive myocardial infarction. No toxic substances were found in the deceased’s blood or stomach contents. Combined with my testimony, and the medical records and medication found in her study safe, everything was perfectly logical. My name was cleared. As I walked out of the police station, dawn was just breaking. The White family’s car was parked at the entrance. My mother-in-law and Alaric were both there. Seeing me emerge, my mother-in-law immediately rushed towards me. “You scumbag! My daughter was perfectly healthy! How could she have a heart condition? It’s you! It must be you, you good-for-nothing, who killed her!” She was like a madwoman, held back tightly by my father-in-law. Alaric, clutching the child, was crying, his eyes bloodshot. “Mom, please don’t… Seraphina… she must have been too happy, finally having her own child… It’s all my fault. If we hadn’t come back and agitated Cain, Seraphina wouldn’t have…” His words, seemingly conciliatory, subtly shifted all blame onto me. See, what masterful manipulation. I watched their family drama unfold with cold indifference, my heart utterly unmoved. I walked up to Alaric. “Seraphina is dead. What do you plan to do with your child?” Alaric’s sobbing paused. He instinctively shielded the five-year-old boy. “This is Seraphina’s flesh and blood! Of course, I’ll protect him and make him happy!” “Oh.” I nodded. “Then good luck.” I walked past them, hailed a taxi, and drove straight away. Behind me, my mother-in-law’s curses grew sharper. I returned to the villa, which no longer felt like a home. Seraphina’s body had been taken away, but the cold scent of death still lingered in the air. I started packing; I didn’t want to stay in this place for another second. 3 Seraphina White’s funeral was exceptionally grand. Business elites, relatives, and friends—everyone came. As her husband, I stood there in a black Chanel suit, my face calm, accepting various looks of sympathy or scrutiny. Alaric also came, leading the boy named Julian White, dressed in white, weeping uncontrollably, as if he were the true Mr. White. My mother-in-law, leaning heavily on my father-in-law, shot me hateful glances throughout. During the eulogy, my mother-in-law suddenly attacked. In front of all the guests, she pointed a finger at me and cursed. “You useless man! You killed my daughter, and now you want to come and claim our White family fortune? I’m telling you, as long as I live, you won’t get a single penny!” She lunged at me, trying to tear at me, but was pulled away by a nearby relative. I stood still, not moving an inch, not even raising an eyebrow. “Mom, please calm down. Seraphina, in the afterlife, wouldn’t want to see you like this.” My address of “Mom” only stoked her fury further. “Who’s your mother! Don’t call me that! I don’t have a son-in-law as malicious as you!” Alaric chose that moment to “faint” into her arms, causing a chaotic scene. “Alaric, Alaric, what’s wrong?!” “Quick! To the hospital! He’s practically half a son to the White family now!” A solemn funeral had completely devolved into a farce of fighting over inheritance. I watched with cold eyes, finding it utterly ridiculous. After the funeral, it was time for the will reading. The White family’s exclusive lawyer, Mr. Davies, opened the file. Everyone held their breath, especially Alaric and my in-laws; they were certain Seraphina would leave her fortune to her “son.” Mr. Davies cleared his throat and began to read. “I, Seraphina White, hereby make this will… All property under my name, including but not limited to fifty-one percent of the White Group’s shares, three properties, and all bank deposits, securities…” He paused, looking at me. “Shall all be inherited solely by my legal husband, Mr. Cain Stowell.” The air was deadly silent. Everyone’s gaze focused on me—shock, confusion, anger. Alaric’s face instantly drained of color, and he swayed precariously. My mother-in-law was the first to react, letting out a shriek. “Impossible! This will is fake! How could my daughter leave all her money to this scumbag? This will must be fake!” 4 Mr. Davies calmly presented the notarized documents and date of the will. “Mrs. White, this will was drafted ten years ago and holds full legal validity. Ms. White did not execute a new will afterward.” Ten years ago. That was when we were most in love. She feared that if anything happened to her, I would be left alone, so she took me to get it notarized together. She had probably never imagined she would die so soon, without even having the chance to revise her will for her secret lover and illegitimate child. Truly, man proposes, God disposes. “I don’t believe it! I don’t believe it!” My mother-in-law lunged to snatch the will, but was stopped by security. My father-in-law’s face was ashen, his eyes glaring at me. “Cain Stowell, you knew about this will all along, didn’t you?” I didn’t answer, simply stood up and adjusted my cuffs. “Mr. Davies, please expedite the property transfer procedures.” With that, I turned and walked away, no longer paying attention to the chaos behind me. What was mine, I wouldn’t give up a single cent. I underestimated their shamelessness. That same evening, as soon as I returned home, I found the digital lock had been changed. I rang the doorbell, and the housekeeper opened the door. She looked at me with a troubled expression. “Sir… the elder Mrs. and Mr. White…” I pushed past her and walked in. In the living room, my in-laws, Alaric, and the boy Julian White, sat on the sofa like they owned the place. My suitcase was thrown by the door, its contents scattered on the floor. My mother-in-law sat with one leg crossed over the other, cracking sunflower seeds, barely lifting an eyelid when she saw me. “Oh, still remembered to come back? I thought you’d run off with my daughter’s money.” I walked up to her, looking down at her. “This is my home. Why are you here?” “Your home?” My mother-in-law sounded as if she’d heard the funniest joke. “This house was bought by my daughter; her name is on the deed! She’s dead, so this belongs to the White family! What right do you, an outsider, have to live here?” Alaric spoke softly, “Cain, please let us stay. Julian and I need a place to live… Auntie also missed her grandson, that’s why she moved in.” His words reminded me. Seraphina was dead. According to inheritance law, her parents and children are first-line heirs. But in the presence of a will, the will takes precedence. This house was now mine. “Whose name is on the deed doesn’t matter. What matters is, the will states this house belongs to me.” I took out my phone, ready to call the police. My father-in-law suddenly stood up. He was an educated man, more concerned with appearances than my mother-in-law. “Cain, we’re not here to fight you for the house. It’s just that Seraphina just passed, and we’re heartbroken. We want to stay a few more days in the place where she lived, to be with her.” He played the emotional card. “And Julian is Seraphina’s only bloodline; we want to get closer to him. Don’t worry, once we’ve stabilized emotionally, we’ll move out naturally.” I looked at his “sincere” face, then at the countdown above his head: [8 years 1 month 20 days]. I smirked internally. They weren’t trying to mourn the dead; they were clearly trying to squat here, forcing me to hand over the property. I put my phone away and nodded. “Alright, in that case, you can stay.” I wanted to see what tricks they would pull. My concession, in their eyes, was weakness. The next day, I found my master bedroom had been taken. Alaric and Julian White had moved in. My clothes, my accessories, my belongings—all were thrown out, piled on the guest room floor. My mother-in-law stood with hands on her hips at the master bedroom door, like a victorious general. “This is my grandson’s room! You, a good-for-nothing who’s been relying on my daughter for ten years, what right do you have to the master bedroom? Go sleep in the maid’s quarters over there!” Alaric, wearing my silk pajamas, leaned against the doorframe, giving me a provocative smile. “Cain, I’m sorry. Julian gets restless at night and will only sleep here. Your things… I was going to help you tidy them, but Auntie said they were bad luck and told me not to touch them.” He finished, stroking Julian White’s head, his face full of contentment. “The doctor said Julian is a smart child. The White family will rely on this little man, Julian, in the future.”

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My period cramps were so bad I couldn’t get out of bed, so I asked my boyfriend to run to the store for some tampons. He turned around and posted a photo of me curled up in pain on his Instagram Story, meant for his “Close Friends” list. “Bro, who understands this? GF makes me buy her tampons, I ask her to Venmo me the $10 back, and I’m the bad guy?” The replies to his story were ruthless. “She acting up again? I got your back, bro! Going Dutch is the only way. Don’t let these females walk all over you!” “Why should you pay for her bleeding? She’s just using you for a free ride!” Keeping our relationship “50/50” was his idea—to keep things “pure,” he claimed. For the past year we’d been dating, everything from expensive dinners to a single bottle of water was split down to the exact decimal point on Venmo. Except, it was always on his terms. Clearly, this wasn’t the first time he’d posted something like this. He just forgot to hide it from me this time. Looking at those disgusting comments, a lump formed in my throat. So, we’re strictly going Dutch, huh? Fine. Two can play that game. 1 My fingers trembled as I refreshed his page, trying to convince myself that maybe Brandon was just trolling. But the more I scrolled through the replies, the colder my heart got. Line by line, it was nothing but a mockery of me. “Bro is speaking facts! 50/50 or nothing!” “I’d ask for the money back too. Why should guys be walking ATMs?” “She’s seriously crying over $10? And she made you play delivery boy?” I clicked his profile picture again and again. Three times. Five times. There was no mistake. It was Brandon, the man I’d been with for a year. My jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached. Over a ten-dollar box of tampons, I had become a “gold digger” in the eyes of his frat-bro friends. And Brandon? He was the poor, victimized boyfriend. Refusing to let it go, I logged into my burner account. Since it wasn’t blocked from his main feed, I could see everything. A sickeningly detailed “Dating Ledger” was plastered all over his highlights. Every post felt like a slap in the face. There was a post from the day I got my bonus and treated him to a $300-a-head steakhouse. He posted a picture of the Starbucks coffee he bought me the next day with the caption: “Equality in relationships. The perfect 50/50.” There was my birthday, when he took me to the pier to watch the fireworks. He took gorgeous photos of me, raking in comments about how “romantic” he was. He conveniently left out that the limited-edition sneakers I bought him that morning cost $800. Everything I gave Brandon was carefully chosen and expensive. What he gave me was always “sentimental” garbage—a cheap keychain from a carnival game, or a buy-one-get-one-free phone case from Temu. Just yesterday, he used a coupon to get a $3 pack of paper towels for free, then Venmo requested me for $1.50. I had brushed it off, thinking he was just overly meticulous about finances. Now that I thought about it, whenever the first of the month rolled around to pay rent and utilities for our shared apartment, his banking app conveniently “crashed,” leaving me to quietly cover the whole thing. I’d never held it against him. I genuinely thought he was just a frugal guy saving for our future. Clutching my phone, a chill washed over me. I couldn’t tell if it was the period cramps or the sickening realization of the truth. One comment under his post made my blood run cold. “Brandon is taking the crown for the ‘Zero-Dollar Dating Challenge’ this year! That $5k prize pool is yours, man. You gotta treat the boys to drinks!” Brandon’s reply: “Don’t worry, once her cramps are gone, I’ll make her pay for dinner. I’ll treat her to a $10 Chipotle bowl later. Massive ROI on this one.” My stomach violently turned. I thought his strict 50/50 rule was about building an equal partnership. I didn’t realize I was just a row on his Excel spreadsheet. What I thought was a two-way street was just him treating me like a low-risk, high-yield stock. Money really is a mirror. It shows whether someone is afraid of not giving you enough, or afraid you’re asking for too much. Trembling, I opened our text thread and typed out: Let’s break up. But wait. Just breaking up? That was letting him off way too easy. My thumb hovered over the send button, then I slowly backspaced. Just as I deleted the last letter, the front door clicked open. Brandon strolled in, sipping a Coke, and tossed the box of tampons onto the coffee table. 2 “Babe, you still hurting? Let me make you some hot tea,” he said smoothly. “Oh, by the way, just Venmo me $15. Ten for the tampons, and I bought myself a Coke as a delivery fee. I won’t charge you a service tax though.” He chuckled at his own joke and turned toward the kitchen. Staring at his back, I felt a wave of dizziness. My cramps were always severe, and Brandon used to always jump up to make me tea. He even watched YouTube videos on acupressure to rub my lower back when it got really bad. “Women have it so hard,” he used to say. “Seeing you in pain makes me hurt too.” Back then, I thought I’d hit the jackpot. I thought I’d finally found a good one. I didn’t realize his “gentleness” was a cheap act funded entirely by my bank account. He handed me the mug, snapping me out of my thoughts. Suppressing the urge to throw the hot water in his face, I took it and forced a pale smile. “I feel a lot better. You know what? To thank you, let’s go out for a massive seafood lunch. My treat.” His eyes instantly lit up. He practically hopped over to the sofa, rubbing his hands together with a grin stretching ear to ear. “Seriously? That’s awesome. Hey… do you mind if I invite a couple of the guys? We haven’t hung out in a while. It’ll be fun, and we can all get crab!” I opened my mouth, then shut it, nodding sweetly. “Whatever you want! The more the merrier.” While he turned his back to call his frat brothers, I quickly texted my best friend, Harper. “Emergency. I’m staying at your place tonight. Pick me up after work.” Harper replied instantly: “Staying over? Trouble in paradise? Did Mr. Excel Spreadsheet finally snap?” “I’ll explain later. It’s worse than you think.” I curled up on the sofa, watching Brandon out of the corner of my eye. He was practically vibrating with excitement on the phone, no doubt calculating how much he could milk out of my wallet today. By noon, Brandon’s three “bros” from the comment section were waiting outside. They exchanged smirks the second they saw me. Brandon proudly threw an arm over my shoulder, puffing his chest out. “Alright boys, order whatever you want today! Don’t hold back. Right, babe?” I nodded, playing the role of the sweet, clueless girlfriend perfectly. “Exactly! Eat up! Don’t be shy.” We piled into my Porsche Macan and headed straight for the most expensive waterfront seafood spot in the city. The kind of place where the lobster is flown in daily and you don’t get out for less than $200 a person. As soon as I parked, my phone buzzed. A Venmo request from Brandon. “Hey babe,” he said, tapping his phone. “The IRS mileage rate is 67 cents a mile. We drove about 10 miles, so I just requested $6.70 for the gas. I don’t want to owe you anything!” The guys snickered in the backseat. “Brandon, you’re wild for that,” one of them said. “Hey, we keep it fair,” Brandon grinned. Once inside, the boys flocked to the fresh catches like vultures. King crab, premium oysters, massive lobsters… they pointed at the most expensive items on the ice. They even ordered imported sparkling water. 3 Brandon wasn’t done. He pointed at the top-shelf wine list. “Let’s get two bottles of the Cabernet! It’s a celebration, right?” He turned to me. “Babe, what do you want?” I waved my hand gently. “Oh, nothing for me. I can’t eat seafood, remember? You guys go ahead.” He was already looking back at the menu. “What? It’s too loud in here.” I just smiled and played hostess. Once we sat down, I poured Brandon’s water, handed him napkins, and played the doting girlfriend. “Babe, seafood is too heavy for you when you’re cramping. I ordered you a side of clam chowder, but I had them take the clams out,” he announced proudly. “Damn, Brandon, boyfriend of the year!” one of his friends cheered. Brandon soaked it up, completely losing himself in the praise. He started bragging about his “50/50 philosophy.” “It takes discipline, boys. Like on Chloe’s birthday. I took her to the pier, bought some sparklers, took some aesthetic photos. Boom. Way more meaningful than a Gucci bag, right?” “You gotta find a girl who gets it,” he continued, gesturing at me. “We split everything. Dinners, rent, down to the Uber rides. Strict 50/50.” He gave me a thumbs-up. I smiled back, looking like a woman blinded by love. “Wait, how do you split a pizza?” one guy asked, laughing. “Easy. Count the slices. Or just pay for your own toppings.” I kept smiling, though a storm was raging in my head. The sparklers for my birthday? I bought them. He said “I’m not the one holding them” and made me pay the $15. Our matching anniversary iPhones? I bought them. His gift to me was the plastic case they came in. Plates of steaming, garlic-buttered seafood began flooding the table. The guys dug in like they hadn’t eaten in weeks. I took a few sips of my potato soup, then stood up, grabbing my purse. “Where are you going, Chloe? The lobster just got here!” one of the guys called out with his mouth full. The table went quiet. Eight eyes snapped to me. “Just running to the restroom,” I said softly. Brandon rolled his eyes and waved his crab cracker at me. “Girls take forever in the bathroom. Let her go, let’s eat before it gets cold.” The guys laughed and immediately went back to tearing apart crab legs. Once they were stuffed, leaning back and groaning about food comas, Brandon finally realized I hadn’t come back. “Where the hell is she?” he muttered. He stood up, walked toward the restrooms, and called my name. Nothing. Annoyed, he reached onto the table to grab “my” phone to call me—and froze. 4 “Wait… this is my phone!” Brandon yelled. “I thought this was hers!” The three friends exchanged nervous glances. Brandon’s hands started shaking as he grabbed his phone and dialed my number, trying to sound calm. “Babe? Where are you? You’ve been in the bathroom forever. We’re waiting for you.” I slowly pushed open the private dining room door, stepping inside. I sneered internally, but my face remained perfectly blank. “It was stuffy in here. I went outside for some fresh air. What, did you think I was going to dine and dash?” Brandon’s face cycled from red to white. He awkwardly let go of my arm. “N-no, of course not. Just worried about you. Lots of weirdos outside.” Trying to ease the tension, he pointed at the destroyed table. “Babe, the lobster was incredible. What was your favorite? We should definitely come back.” I looked at the absolute carnage on the table. Empty shells, picked-clean claws, empty wine bottles. Then I pointed to my pristine, spotless plate. “I wouldn’t know. I didn’t eat any of it. I’m allergic to shellfish.” Brandon blinked, processing this. Then he smacked his forehead with a forced, dramatic groan. “Oh my god, I completely forgot! I am so sorry, babe. Tell you what, I am cooking you dinner tonight to make up for it. My treat.” Looking at his exaggerated performance, I just felt exhausted. “It’s fine. I’m tired. Let’s pay the bill and go home.” I flagged down the waiter and asked for the check. Taking the leather folder, I pulled out my card. “Let’s see… I had the potato soup, which was $15. Plus the $5 seating fee. That’s $20.” I tapped my card on the machine, the screen flashing Approved. I slid the leather folder over to Brandon. “I paid for my half. Your turn.” Brandon’s smile instantly vanished. He stared at me like I was speaking a foreign language. He slowly looked down at the receipt. His eyes bugged out. His voice cracked into a high pitch. “One thousand, two hundred dollars?!” He practically jumped out of his chair, grabbing my arm again. “Wait, babe… you’re making me pay this?” Oh, sweetie. You’re breaking down over the appetizers? I have a whole main course planned for you.

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My boyfriend’s childhood sweetheart lost a game. The penalty was to slap a female friend in the room. And the only other woman there, was me. She stood up, acting all hesitant. “I don’t know, Victoria is older than us. She probably doesn’t like the kind of games we young people play.” The rest of the crowd jeered: “If you don’t slap her, you have to down your drink.” Mia looked conflicted. “But I’m severely allergic to alcohol.” My boyfriend nudged me toward Mia. “Just let her slap you, it’s not a real slap anyway, just for show.” “Mia is allergic to alcohol, she can’t drink. Don’t make this hard for her.” I thought I misheard him. I asked again. Noah was slouching lazily on the couch. “I said just let her slap you, it’s not real, we’re just playing a game.” I froze. “What if I don’t want to?” Mia smiled and explained. “Victoria, I won’t really hit you.” “I’ll just lightly tap your face, and we can say I passed the dare.” I still flat-out refused her. The others started hollering again. “Then drink! Mia downs the drink in front of her and it’s over.” Mia looked at the shot glass in distress. “But I’m allergic, what am I supposed to do if I can’t drink?” My boyfriend beside me got annoyed. He curled his lip. “You really can’t just play along and pretend for a second?” “Mia is allergic, stop giving the poor girl a hard time.” I stared at him. “I’m giving her a hard time?” “Aren’t you?” I let out a dry laugh. “Let’s break up.” The eyes of the entire room snapped toward us. Noah looked stunned. “Break up? Why? Just because Mia has to slap you for a game?” “Yes, just because of this.” Mia laughed awkwardly. “It’s just a game, Victoria, don’t take it so seriously.” “Noah is just worried about me. When I was a kid, I accidentally had two sips of liquor and immediately passed out on the floor, unable to breathe. He was so terrified he gave me CPR right then and there.” She nudged the two friends sitting next to her. “Ugh, I told you guys we shouldn’t play this. Victoria is a few years older than us, she doesn’t get the fun of the game and now she’s mad.” Every word was dripping with passive-aggressive condescension. I wasn’t about to indulge her. “Why do I need to ‘get’ this kind of game? A bunch of people using a game as an excuse to grope each other?” I pointed at one of the guys. “Does your girlfriend know you’re passing water mouth-to-mouth to other women?” “And you, your wife is home nursing your baby, and you’re sitting here with another woman in your lap calling her babe.” “And dragging innocent bystanders into this, running up to someone just to call them ugly for no reason, what is wrong with you?” “Whether you’re actually playing a game or just using it to cheat, you know best.” Noah’s frat brothers turned beet red at my words. Someone muttered under their breath. “It’s literally just a game, taking it way too seriously.” “Told you not to date older women.” “Generation gap.” “Almost 30 and still such a buzzkill.” I pushed open the door of the VIP room. Without looking back. “That’s right, I am a buzzkill, so this older woman is out of here.” “They’re a bunch of toxic losers.” After venting to my best friend, I felt a lot better. “Vic, are you really going to break up with your golden retriever boyfriend this time?” “After all, with how hot he is, you used to say you’d give him anything if he just shed a tear.” I’ve always been a sucker for a pretty face. Noah had a gorgeous face and an incredible body. And his skills in bed were phenomenal. He checked every single one of my boxes. I had indeed said things like that in the past. But if looks were all there was… Anyone would get tired of it eventually. I stared at the nineteen missed calls from Noah on my phone. And made up my mind. “Yes, I’m really breaking up with him this time.” My best friend smiled and shook her head. “Alright, I’ll bet three days.” “In less than three days, he’ll definitely come begging for you back, and you’ll forgive him.” I didn’t have to wait three days. Because Noah was already at my door to repent. When I got home. Noah was kneeling on the front porch. It was raining outside. He was completely drenched. Even though he clearly arrived a while ago, he made no effort to change out of his wet clothes. The thin white dress shirt clung to his skin, tracing the smooth, muscular lines underneath. He kept his head bowed. “I was wrong.” “I panicked back there, I’m sorry.” I stepped around his body. And sat straight down on the couch. “What were you panicking about?” “I…” I lit a cigarette. Taking my time to speak. “You were panicking that she might actually have an allergic reaction if she drank that shot, right?” Noah stayed silent. “Yes. I promised Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan I’d take good care of her.” “Acute anaphylaxis is serious, she could go into shock.” I blew out a ring of smoke. “So you needed her to slap me?” “She wasn’t actually going to slap you.” Noah panicked and tried to explain. “She wasn’t really going to hit you. Look, I messed up, Vic, can you forgive me?” My face hardened. “There were so many other ways to get her out of that dare. You could have taken the shot for her, or let her accept whatever the penalty was for losing.” “But you didn’t. Your first reaction was to make me play along and be her prop.” “You didn’t want her to drink, and you didn’t want her to be punished.” “So you offered up my face.” “When I refused, you guys had the nerve to say I was being a buzzkill.” “Who gave you the right?” Noah kept apologizing while moving closer to my side. He carefully took off my high heels. “It’s my fault, Vic.” “I didn’t think it through, I’m so sorry.” I pushed him away coldly. “A person’s subconscious first reaction exposes a lot of problems, do you know that?” “Noah, you don’t love me nearly as much as you think you do.” Noah had begged me to go to this party. Normally, I hate attending things with the younger college crowd. Noah gave me the puppy dog eyes and pleaded for five days. “Just this once, please?” “My friends all really want to meet you.” “And my neighbor just moved back from Europe, she wants to meet you too.” “Neighbor?” “Yeah, my old neighbor.” I knew Noah had a childhood sweetheart he grew up with. Their families lived right across the hall from each other. Noah’s mother died early. His dad became violently abusive whenever he got drunk. During Noah’s dark childhood. It was Mia’s family that gave him love and care. Later, Mia’s family moved to Europe. The two of them gradually lost touch. Noah met me in college. We met, fell in love, and the relationship was pretty smooth sailing. Right around our three-year anniversary. Noah suddenly got news that his childhood crush was moving back to the States. “Vic, she’s literally just the neighbor who lived next door to me growing up.” I looked at the picture on Noah’s phone. A sharp nose, big bright eyes. “She’s pretty.” Noah wrapped his arms around me. “You’re not actually jealous, are you? Relax, I don’t mix business with pleasure. I’ve always seen her as a little sister.” “If I had any feelings for her, we would have dated a long time ago.” As we spoke. Noah’s lips found mine again. In the heat of the moment. Noah whispered in my ear: “You know me, I don’t like young girls. Girls my age are too much drama, I like older women.” I was six years older than Noah. The year he started college as a freshman, I went back to campus for a recruiting event. I was incredibly stressed out and busy at the time. While walking through the student center, I accidentally bumped into a guy coming the other way. The iced coffee in his hand spilled all over me. The kid realized my blouse was designer and expensive. He bowed his head and apologized. “I’m so sorry. Please tell me how much the shirt costs, I’ll pay you back in full.” I was too busy with work. I just waved him off. “Don’t worry about it.” I didn’t expect him to latch onto me because of it. “Please, if you won’t let me pay for the shirt, at least let me do something else to make it up to you.” “If there’s anything else I can help you with, please let me know, otherwise my conscience won’t let it go.” “Miss Sterling,” “Victoria,” “Boss,” “Beautiful”… He haunted me like a charming little ghost, popping up everywhere until he wore me down. Until we finally ended up sleeping together. My best friend laughed at me. “Never thought you’d fall for a younger guy.” I stuck my tongue out. “Dating a younger guy actually has its perks.” In the days that followed. He was like a loyal puppy. Satisfying my every need. I just didn’t expect. That no matter how good the dog is, if he sees a wild bone outside, he’s going to want a taste. In the month before Mia came back to the States. Things subtly started to change. Once, Noah was in the shower. His phone suddenly got a call. It was an international number. I remembered him mentioning his childhood friend who lived abroad. So I answered the call. I said “Hello” twice, and asked “Who is this?” A hostile voice suddenly demanded from the other end. “Who the hell are you?” I replied politely. “I’m Noah’s girlfriend. He’s in the shower, but I’ll tell him you called as soon as he’s out.” Before I could even finish. She slammed the phone down and hung up. When Noah got out, I told him what happened. His expression instantly changed to pure panic. He didn’t even care that the water dripping from his hair was soaking his clean shirt. “Did you say anything else to her?” “No, that was it.” “Okay, I got it.” He grabbed his phone. I don’t know what he texted her. But that night. That international number called him fifteen times. Until Noah finally picked up the last call. I heard the voice on the other end say: “Wow, Noah. You get a girlfriend and you wait until now to tell me?” That was when I realized. That he had completely hidden our relationship. He never told his childhood friends about me. And that welcome-back party. Was actually a firing squad set up specifically for me. The moment Mia arrived, she completely bypassed me and made a beeline for Noah. Only after hugging him and kissing his cheeks did she remember I was there. She pointed at me: “Noah, who is this?” Noah put his arm around my waist. “My girlfriend, Victoria.” Mia covered her mouth in exaggerated shock. “Oh! So she’s your girlfriend? I honestly thought she was one of your corporate managers.” Noah’s other frat buddies snickered along with Mia. “Haven’t seen you in a few years, didn’t know you were into this type, bro.” I suppressed my anger. And reached out my hand amicably. “Hi, I’m Victoria.” When she looked at me again, her eyes were filled with an inexplicable, fiery hostility. “I’m Mia, Noah’s childhood sweetheart.” Realizing that sounded a bit out of line. She quickly added: “Hahaha, I’m kidding, please don’t be mad. I’m just the girl who grew up in the apartment next door to him.” At the dinner table. They came at me from every angle. Prying into my career, probing about my income. Interrogating me on how Noah and I got together. “Victoria, you’re almost 30, when are you and Noah planning to tie the knot?” “Too bad Noah is only 24, he probably won’t settle down this early.” “If Noah doesn’t want to get married, aren’t your parents breathing down your neck?” “Are you really willing to wait until he’s 30 to get married?” “But if he’s 30… you’ll be 36.” “Victoria, does anyone ever call you a cougar for dating him?” I shot down these questions one by one. “I’m not in a rush, my family doesn’t pressure me.” “Marriage? Depends entirely on my mood.” “My family doesn’t have a royal bloodline to pass down, so I’m not stressing about having kids.” “Cougar? Never heard of it. I’ve heard of a sugar baby though, I wonder if that means the same thing.” Until Noah finally decided to step in and rescue me. “Alright, stop messing around guys, Victoria and I have a long way to go, we haven’t thought about marriage yet.” I don’t know why. But when Noah said that. His eyes kept darting over to Mia. Even an idiot could tell. That there was absolutely some history between him and Mia.

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When I saw the “Unattainable Queen” of my college years again, her empire had crumbled into dust. Her company was bankrupt, her daughter was permanently injured, and the “perfect” high-school-sweetheart husband she’d once worshipped had vanished into thin air. At a park in downtown Chicago, Margot Vance—now a shadow of her former self—approached my food truck with trembling hands. “Can I… can I just buy half a sandwich?” she whispered, her eyes avoiding mine. I didn’t say a word. I just nodded and handed her two full meals, on the house. Years passed. We built something new from the wreckage. We became a power couple, rising back to the top of the city’s elite. On the day Margot’s new firm went public and her daughter, Maya, received her acceptance letter to Harvard, a ghost appeared at the celebration. Sebastian looked exactly as he did in the old photographs—young, handsome, wearing a crisp white shirt that made him look like a tragic hero from a classic novel. He moved with a practiced, gentle grace. Ignoring my parked Rolls-Royce, he pulled out a stack of hand-drawn “Daddy Coupons” and handed them to Maya as a graduation gift. “Maya, remember these? You loved them when you were little. With these, you can have Daddy’s time whenever you want.” Then, he placed a heart-shaped river stone into Margot’s hand. “Margot, this represents my heart. It hasn’t changed. Not for a single second.” Only after this performance did he turn to me. His eyes were cold, dripping with effortless disdain. “During the years I was lost with amnesia, I appreciate you looking after my wife and daughter,” he said, his voice smooth. “But now that the original is back, the substitute can leave.” I raised an eyebrow and looked at Margot. When Sebastian first disappeared, she had spiraled into a clinical depression that lasted three years. She had tried to end her life seven times. I was curious. I wanted to see how the woman who swore she would never forgive him would choose today. 1 Margot stood there, the stone clutched in her palm, staring at Sebastian with an expression I couldn’t read. But I knew. The moment Sebastian appeared, the grip she had on my hand tightened so hard it bruised my skin. I smiled inwardly, keeping my face a mask of calm, and gently patted her hand. “Sebastian,” I said, my voice cutting through the tension. “You regained your memory right after Maya’s accident and just as Margot’s first company went under? That’s a hell of a coincidence, don’t you think?” I wasn’t just accusing him; I was throwing a lifeline to Margot’s logic. Margot set the stone down on a nearby table. “Sebastian, please leave. You aren’t welcome here.” The rejection hit him like a physical blow. Sebastian’s eyes instantly welled with tears. “Margot, how can you do this to me? I had amnesia. I didn’t stop loving you. I didn’t stop loving our daughter.” He turned his gaze toward me, pointing a finger. “How could you betray me while I was lost? You’re only with him because he’s a vulture circling the family assets. Can’t you see that?” Before anyone could blink, the sound of a sharp crack echoed through the hall. Margot hadn’t hesitated. She had slapped him across the face. “George is my husband,” she hissed. “I won’t let anyone slander him.” Sebastian touched his cheek, tears streaming down. “You hit me for him? Fine. If this is how it is, I don’t want to live. I’ll give you what you want.” He turned and bolted toward the roof of the hotel. The guests gasped, some rushing to stop him, but Margot stood like a statue. “Let him go,” she said coldly. “Don’t stop him.” But Maya broke. “Mom! That’s my father! Do you want him to die?” In her rush to follow him, she knocked over the twenty-three-tier custom cake and the champagne tower I’d ordered for her. Glass shattered, and gold-leaf frosting smeared across the floor as she ran for the elevator without a second look at me. The party was a ruin. Margot insisted on seeing me to the car first, but I’ve known her long enough to see the cracks. She was already gone, her soul hovering somewhere on that rooftop. Sure enough, as soon as the valet closed my door, she leaned in. “George, I just remembered something urgent at the office. I need to handle it.” She didn’t wait for an answer. She turned and ran back into the building. Ten minutes later, my contact inside the building sent a video to my phone. In a deserted stairwell, Sebastian had Margot pinned against the wall. He was kissing her—hard, desperate. Margot didn’t kiss him back, but she didn’t push him away either. Her hands were balled into fists at her sides, her knuckles white. After a long, suffocating silence, Sebastian pulled back. “Admit it, Margot. You still love me. Why are you lying to yourself?” He grabbed her hand and forced it open. “Look at your palms. You’ve dug your nails in so deep you’re bleeding.” “Enough,” Margot whispered, pulling her hand away. “When you left me, you should have known there was no coming back.” Sebastian stared into her eyes. “Fine. Then I’ll go finish what I started on the roof.” As he turned, Margot’s hand shot out and gripped his wrist. “I thought you didn’t care?” he mocked. “Why are you holding me?” She didn’t answer with words. She pulled him in and kissed him back—an aggressive, hungry, devastating kiss. The wet, rhythmic sound of their breathing filled my earbuds. Finally, she pulled away, her hand moving to his throat, gripping it almost like she wanted to choke him. “Sebastian, hate lasts longer than love. I want you to spend the rest of your life drowning in the guilt of what you did to us.” I felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head. The string I’d kept pulled taut since Sebastian appeared finally snapped. I turned off the feed. That night, I called my lawyer. I started the inventory of our shared assets and pulled out the divorce papers Margot had signed months ago as a “legal precaution” for the merger. I signed my name next to hers. I had always hoped this was a safety net I’d never need. I didn’t expect to fall into it so soon. 2 Eight years ago, Margot Vance was the undisputed titan of the Chicago tech scene. I was a nobody, a ghost in the back of the room. I remember watching her on a stage at a tech summit; she looked like an untouchable marble statue—cold, elegant, and brilliant. I was in the last row, clutching a brochure, not even brave enough to clap too loudly. Six months later, I found her in a crowded night market. I was running a food truck to scrape together seed money for my startup. Margot was pushing a wheelchair; Maya, with a heavy cast on her leg, sat inside. The glory was gone. She was so broke she had to ask if she could buy half a sandwich. From the whispers on the street, I learned the truth. Margot had been defrauded by a partner she trusted like a brother. Her empire collapsed in a month. Then Maya broke her leg in a freak accident, and Margot’s mother suffered a stroke from the stress. In the three days following the collapse, Sebastian’s family scrubbed any mention of the Vances from their lives. Sebastian himself vanished that same night. Margot broke. The depression hit her like a tidal wave. I couldn’t get the image of them out of my head. Every night, I watched for them. I started giving them “samples”—full meals hidden in small bags. Eventually, we talked. I brought her into my world—AI development. I had the vision; she had the sharp, serrated edge of a veteran CEO. We were a perfect match. Naturally, we fell in love. Or so I thought. While Sebastian was in Europe, reportedly marrying a French heiress and spending his days at spas, I was cleaning Margot’s mother’s bedpans. In the dead of a Chicago winter, my hands were cracked and bleeding from washing their linens in cold water when the heater broke. While Sebastian was learning floral arrangement and sipping Earl Grey, I was studying physical therapy techniques to massage Maya’s atrophied leg muscles. I carried that girl—already five-foot-five back then—up and down the stairs for her rehab sessions. While Sebastian was traveling the world for “inspiration,” I was sleeping two hours a day to keep our new company afloat, terrified to close my eyes because I was afraid Margot might try to hurt herself again in the middle of the night. And now, Sebastian’s heiress had gone bankrupt. After ten years of being a lapdog, he wanted to come back and harvest the fruit I had planted. He wanted me gone. The hell he does. I was pulled from my thoughts by the sound of the front door. Margot walked in, her phone on speaker. Her legal team was asking if she wanted to file a defamation suit against Sebastian for his comments at the party. I looked at her. Her eyes flickered away. She hesitated, then shook her head. “Forget it,” she said. “Let’s just let today go.” She noticed me then and hung up quickly. “George… I just don’t want any more drama with him. It’s cleaner this way.” “What if I say no?” I asked. “What?” She looked startled. I had never used that tone with her—cold, clinical. “What if I told you I don’t agree? What if I want him prosecuted for slander? What will you do?” “Do you have any idea how important today’s IPO was for our stock price?” I continued. “This isn’t just a ‘squabble.’ It was a calculated attack on our brand.” Margot sighed, looking at me with a touch of patronizing exhaustion. “George, it was a minor scene. Don’t blow this out of proportion. I’ve already handled the PR team.” Her voice was soft, but it made my chest tighten. “Come on,” she said, reaching for my hand. “Don’t be like this. I’ll take you to dinner.” She started pulling me toward the door, not waiting for my consent. 3 She took me to a bistro I hated. I had told her a dozen times the salt air there made me nauseous, but she never remembered. We hadn’t even looked at the menus when Maya walked in, leading Sebastian by the hand. “Mom, Dad didn’t have anywhere to eat, so I brought him,” Maya said, her voice defiant. I stood up to leave, but Margot grabbed my arm. “George, it’s just a meal. Don’t be petty.” Sebastian shot me a smirk that was gone in a flash, replaced by a humble, “house-guest” smile. He sat down and started arranging the silverware for Margot and Maya as if he were the master of the house. I sat back down. Fine. I wouldn’t starve myself for his sake. I pulled out my phone to scan the QR code for the menu. As I looked through the options, Margot and Maya began ordering in sync—both picking the heavy, cream-based dishes Sebastian loved. They caught each other’s eyes and shared a small, knowing smile before correcting the duplicates. I ignored them and ordered what I liked. Sebastian suddenly turned “thoughtful.” “This is so much food. The four of us can’t possibly finish all this, can we?” Margot glanced at the digital cart. Without a word to me, she deleted everything I had ordered. I snatched the phone back and added them back in. Margot looked embarrassed for a second, then rubbed her temple and stayed quiet. While we waited for the food, Sebastian leaned toward Maya. “Show me that school form you mentioned. The emergency contact one.” Maya pulled a paper from her bag. In the “Mother” column was Margot’s name. In the “Father” column, she had already written Sebastian’s. I stared at the ink. I remembered when Maya’s leg had finally healed, but she still walked with a limp. The kids at school called her “The Broken Doll.” The local bullies used to corner her after class. She never told Margot; she didn’t want to add to her mother’s stress. I found out when I saw the bruises. That day, I went to the park where those kids hung out. I didn’t even bring a weapon. I just stood there. They hit me with a wooden bat until my legs gave out, but every time I fell, I stood back up. I didn’t stop until they were terrified of me. They never touched her again. After that, I spent every evening helping Maya with her stretches, retasking her brain to walk without the limp. From that year on, her emergency contact had always been me. But Sebastian comes back, does nothing, and the world resets to his orbit. I ate my meal in silence. Sebastian took a bite of a spicy dish, and both Margot and Maya reached out simultaneously to stop him, knowing his stomach was sensitive. He laughed, took the half-chewed bite out of his mouth, and dropped it into Margot’s bowl. “Don’t want to waste it,” he said. Margot didn’t even blink. She just picked it up and ate it. After dinner, Sebastian said he wanted a private word with me. He told Margot and Maya to head to the car. I tried to walk away, but he followed me like a shadow. It turns out, the man was truly unhinged. We reached a Y-junction on the sidewalk, near the parking lot entrance. Suddenly, he shoved me. The two branches of the Y divided us. Margot’s SUV and Maya’s sedan were both pulling out of the lot, accelerating toward the street. When they saw us in the middle of the road, their headlights flared. The screech of brakes filled the night. To the left: me. To the right: Sebastian. In that split second, the laws of physics and the loyalty of hearts collided. Both cars veered. CRASH. It wasn’t a clip. It was a solid, bone-shattering impact. The pain was a physical wall that slammed into my senses. My body felt weightless, then impossibly heavy as I hit the asphalt. I heard the wet sound of my own bones snapping. Blood, warm and metallic, poured from my forehead, filling my mouth. Through a haze of red, I saw Sebastian standing perfectly fine on the other side of the road. He mouthed two words at me: “You lose.” I could hear Margot and Maya’s voices, frantic and high-pitched. They weren’t calling my name. They were screaming for Sebastian. I woke up in the hospital to the sound of an argument. “Sebastian, do you have any idea how dangerous that was? You can’t play games with traffic! I told you, I have a life now. Get out of my house!” “No! If I can’t have you, no one can. I only left because I was sick. It wasn’t my fault! You’re mine, Margot. You’ve always been mine.” “Admit it, Margot. You and Maya still love me.” The shouting went on for half an hour. Neither of them would back down. Maya was in the middle, playing peacemaker, trying to soothe them both. They looked like a family. A messy, dysfunctional, perfectly matched family. I tried to reach for the water glass on my bedside table. My hand shook, and the glass shattered on the floor. The room went silent. Margot finally walked over, taking my hand with a look of practiced concern. “George, you’re awake. Thank God. I was so worried.” “Get out,” I croaked. “All of you. Get the hell out.” My roar was enough to finally clear the room. For the next few days, Margot tried to “prove” her loyalty by making Sebastian act as my nurse to “atone” for the accident. He used the time to torture me. He put insects in my food. He “accidentally” tripped over my oxygen line while I was sleeping. He switched my meds. I ended up back in the ICU twice. Margot yelled at him, but she never kicked him out. I saw her then for exactly what she was. I banned all visitors, hired my own private security, and finally discharged myself. 4 The first thing I did was head to the office for the final asset split. But when I walked through the doors, the world had changed again. The minimalist, professional grey-and-glass interior I had designed was gone. It had been replaced by gaudy gold accents and velvet furniture. I walked toward the boardroom. Usually, I led these meetings. Today, Sebastian was at the head of the table. “I don’t care who you thought was the man of the house before,” Sebastian was saying to our senior leads. “From now on, I’m the one in charge. I’m the legal husband here. Certain people who stole what wasn’t theirs will be escorted out soon. I suggest you choose your side wisely.” When he finished, several industry titans—men who wouldn’t have looked at Margot if I hadn’t brokered the deals—started clapping. Margot had used her remaining social capital to buy him a seat at the table. I remembered when I was sick during our first year. I had a rare, agonizing nerve condition. I asked Margot to use her contacts to find a specialist. She told me she “didn’t want to call in favors” for something personal. I spent two months in agony, just white-knuckling through the pain. Love and indifference are two different universes. I reached for the door handle, but someone grabbed my arm. It was Maya. She handed me a legal notice. “This is from Mom. It’s a formal transfer of shares. My dad is going to be a founding partner, just like you.” She looked at me with a cold, detached pity. “Look, you don’t have kids. This company was always going to come to me anyway. My dad joining now is just moving up the timeline. There’s no point in fighting it.” “You don’t have kids.” I laughed. When we first married, Maya was so fragile I agreed not to have more children so she wouldn’t feel replaced. Later, as the company grew, the stress of the Vance family’s internal board-room wars took such a toll on my health that I missed two windows for IVF. By the time the dust settled, my body was too broken to try again. Margot had held me while I cried from the physical pain of my surgeries, swearing she would never let me suffer again. And all that sacrifice earned me was: “You don’t have kids anyway.” I shoved past her, went to my office, and started packing. Margot walked in as I was clearing my desk. “George, what are you doing?” “Taking out the trash,” I said. She winced at my tone. “Are you mad about Sebastian? Look, don’t misunderstand. Maya said his presence is good luck for the brand this year. It’s just branding. Think of him as a mascot. After the fiscal year ends, I’ll phase him out. Don’t overthink it.” “And the shares? Does a ‘mascot’ need voting stock?” Margot stammered. “He… he has no degree, George. He has no job. How is he supposed to survive in this city without an equity stake? It’s just…” “Stop.” I opened the door to escort her out. Suddenly, Sebastian came stumbling down the hallway. His clothes were torn, and there was blood on his face. “Margot! Save me!” he gasped, clutching her sleeve. When he saw me, he flinched, shrinking back. “George… I’m sorry. I’ll leave. I’ll leave Chicago. I’ll never see her again, I promise…” He let out a single, perfect tear. Then he turned and limped toward the exit, looking like the loneliest man on earth. I was stunned. His acting was so good I almost believed I’d hired a hitman to beat him. I looked at Margot. She was expressionless. “Do you really think I did that?” I asked. She stepped forward and hugged me. “I know you, George. You wouldn’t do that.” I felt a tiny spark of relief. At least she wasn’t completely gone. But the next morning, my lawyer called. “George, Margot just used her tie-breaking vote to remove you from the board. Your entire stake has been ‘temporarily’ reassigned to Sebastian under a loyalty clause. And… she’s issued a gag order. No one is allowed to tell you the time or location of the IPO bell-ringing. She’s taking Sebastian instead.” I sat in the silence of my empty apartment. The IPO was the culmination of a decade of my life. And she was giving my moment to a ghost. My heart didn’t break. It just went cold. The day of the IPO, Sebastian was dressed in a custom-made tuxedo that cost more than a mid-sized sedan. He looked every bit the victor as he led Margot onto the podium at the exchange. The host invited Sebastian to the center of the stage. Margot took his hand, lifting it toward the bell. Just as they were about to strike…

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Chapter 1 My husband couldn’t forget his first love. He spilled his true feelings in a private VIP room at a club, drunk out of his mind. “I’ve loved her for years. I was too late to confess before, and she got married. Now she’s divorced, but I’m the one who’s married.” I didn’t get angry. I just stayed by his side. My husband despised me. He thought I was a pathetic, clingy woman with no sense of self, an obstacle standing between him and his first love. He was desperate to divorce me. Every time he brought it up, I refused. What he didn’t know was that he was just a target for my mission. I only needed to refuse his request for a divorce three times, and the system would force the mission to end. … When I rushed to the club through the pouring rain, I arrived just in time to hear Arthur say, “I’ve loved her for years. But before I could confess, she got married.” “Now she’s divorced, but I’m married.” One of his friends teased him, “Well, you could always get a divorce too.” Arthur’s drunken voice dripped with contempt and disgust. “That woman is obsessed with me. There’s no way she’d agree to a divorce.” “You guys have no idea. Every time I see her buzzing around me, it just annoys the hell out of me. She has absolutely zero personality or sense of self.” “She can’t even compare to a single finger on Chloe’s hand.” I froze outside the door of the VIP room. Behind me, the sharp click of high heels echoed down the hallway. It was Arthur’s beloved first love, Chloe. “Evelyn, you’re here. Why aren’t you going in?” She spoke up proactively, flashing me a brilliant, arrogant smile. Malice hid in her beautiful eyes. “What are you eavesdropping on out here?” The people inside finally noticed me. Their faces instantly changed, shooting guilty looks toward Arthur. For a split second, Arthur looked sober and panicked, but his expression quickly hardened into something cold. “You heard that?” The room was packed. To save Arthur’s ego, I played dumb. “What? I just got here.” Arthur let out a disgusted, cold laugh and turned his head away, refusing to look at me. I walked into the room to help him up. “It’s late. Let’s go home.” Arthur ruthlessly shoved me away, his impatience boiling over. “Didn’t I tell you I wasn’t coming home tonight? Why the hell did you come looking for me? Do you know how annoying you are?” He was drunk, and he didn’t bother reining in his temper. His expression was colder and more hostile than I had ever seen it. It made him look like a stranger. No, not entirely a stranger. He had been treating me like this for quite some time now. Ever since his first love announced her divorce. “Arthur, don’t talk to Evelyn like that. She only came to pick you up because she cares about you,” Chloe chimed in with fake sweetness. “How about this? Evelyn and I will take you home together. Is that okay?” Looking at Chloe’s face, Arthur’s expression slowly softened. “Okay.” So, I ended up driving while Arthur and Chloe squeezed together in the backseat. I don’t know if Arthur was actually blackout drunk or just doing it on purpose, but he laid his head directly on Chloe’s lap, acting as intimate as a couple deep in the honeymoon phase. The sight made my eyes burn. Chloe offered me a fake apology. “Evelyn, please don’t misunderstand. Arthur is just drunk. Please don’t fight with him over me.” I didn’t say a word. I had absolutely zero desire to waste my energy dealing with a manipulative “pick-me” girl. But Chloe wouldn’t stop. “You really are a boring person. No wonder you and Arthur have been married for five years and still haven’t developed any real feelings for each other.” Chapter 2 Those words struck a nerve. It was true. Once upon a time, I used to fantasize that Arthur and I would have an arranged-marriage-turns-to-true-love kind of romance, that feelings would grow over time. But in the end, Arthur loved his first love more. When the car stopped, Chloe ignored me and practically carried Arthur into the house herself. I didn’t try to stop her. I just sat in the car, looking at the photo I had just taken. The next day, when Arthur sobered up, I showed him the photo. It was a picture of him sleeping deeply on Chloe’s lap, while Chloe gazed down at him with deep affection. Arthur stared at it in a daze, and then a look of joy washed over his face. I bet he was secretly thrilled that Chloe’s eyes looked so full of love for him. So, I intentionally threw a massive fit, demanding an explanation. “What exactly is going on between you and that homewrecker, Chloe?!” Arthur immediately frowned. “Evelyn, stop using such ugly words. Have some class, will you?” I yelled angrily, “Even if I don’t have class, I’m still your wife! I have the right to keep you in line, and I have the right to curse out that homewrecker you’re messing around with!” My words were harsh, and Arthur’s face darkened just as expected. He glared at me coldly. “What? Am I not your wife? Do I not have that right?!” “Then let’s get a divorce,” Arthur said, his expression filled with revulsion. “Evelyn, let’s get a divorce.” I shouted excitedly, “I refuse! Arthur, I will not agree to a divorce!” Arthur gave me a “just as I expected” look, as if he knew all along I wouldn’t agree. Utterly sick of me, he slammed the door and left. Once he was gone, I dropped the angry facade and calmly pulled out a chair to sit down. I finally got him to bring up divorce on his own. Six years ago, the system pulled me into this world and assigned me the mission of making Arthur fall in love with me. For six years, I worked diligently, playing the role of the deeply devoted lover, sacrificing everything to marry him. At one point, I even developed genuine feelings for him. But Arthur still didn’t love me. My mission was a failure. Now, as long as Arthur brought up divorce three times, the system would force the mission to end, and I could return to my original world. Now, there were only two times left. When Arthur came back, I was in the study organizing my illustration drafts. After marrying Arthur, I became both a full-time housewife and a full-time illustrator, gaining a small following online. Right now, I was organizing the manuscript for my very first graphic novel. I had spent over two years preparing it. I originally planned to publish it in this world, but since I was leaving soon, I decided to take the work back to my original world with me. Hearing the sound of Arthur opening the door, I closed my manuscript folder, looked back at him, pretended nothing had happened, and said gently, “You’re back?” Arthur’s expression was stiff and awkward, like he wanted to say something but was holding back. I stood up and walked toward him. Even though I knew he had something to say, I played dumb. “I made your favorite soup. I’ll go get you a bowl.” As soon as I walked out of the study, I immediately understood why Arthur had that expression. Chloe was there, and she had her luggage with her. “Evelyn,” Chloe smiled warmly at me, adding a touch of apology to her tone. “I’ve been getting harassed by some crazy fans lately, and it’s not safe at my place. Could I crash here for a few days until things blow over?” I looked at her expressionlessly and didn’t say a word. Arthur, looking guilty, spoke softly to explain. “It’s true. Some fans found out Chloe’s address. They knock on her door every night and even follow her.” Seeing that I remained silent, Arthur started to get impatient, his brow furrowing. “There really is nothing going on between Chloe and me. We’re just friends who have known each other for years. She’s in trouble right now, I can’t just ignore her.” “Evelyn, there has to be a limit to your unreasonable behavior. Stop testing my patience. We’ve been married for years, can’t you show a little maturity? Stop acting like a spoiled child.” “Fine.” I looked away and said to Arthur, “I agree to let her stay.” Chapter 3 Why wouldn’t I let her stay? Only if she moved in would the conflicts between Arthur and me escalate faster, which meant I could hear him bring up divorce for the second time much sooner. The sooner I could leave this world, the better. Arthur looked at me in total surprise. The look in his eyes was strange, as if he was still dissatisfied. “What, I agreed and you’re still not happy?” Arthur frowned and warned me, “Don’t try any funny business. If I find out you’re bullying Chloe behind my back, I won’t let it slide easily.” I wanted to laugh. He was supposed to be my husband, but right now his loyalty was entirely with an outsider. I really wanted to ask, Arthur, in all the years we’ve been together, have you never felt even a shred of genuine affection for me? Arthur ignored me and quickly went downstairs to help Chloe with her luggage and prepare the guest room. While he was at it, he enthusiastically offered, “Evelyn made some restorative soup in the kitchen. Once we’re done unpacking, I’ll bring you a bowl.” “Evelyn might not be great at much else, but her cooking is top-notch. You haven’t been feeling well, let her cook for you and help you get your strength back these next few days.” I let out a dry, speechless laugh. Arthur, did you really think that just because we got married, I became your servant? That no matter how you treated me, I would never leave you? I really want to know how you’re going to react when I’m gone. I walked downstairs, went into the kitchen, drank a bowl of soup myself, and then poured the rest of it straight down the drain. I spent all day making that soup. I’d rather pour it out than let you two toxic pieces of trash drink it. I went back to the study and continued organizing my comic. It didn’t take long for Arthur to storm into the study, demanding, “Where’s the soup you made?” I kept my eyes downcast and said coldly, “Poured it out.” “What?!” Arthur sounded like a completely different person, his tone explosive. “Evelyn, what is the meaning of this? If you didn’t want Chloe to stay, you could have just said no! Instead, you play nice to my face and then pull this petty, passive-aggressive bullshit behind my back!” I countered coldly, “If I had said no, would you not have gotten angry?” Arthur stared at me, speechless. I stared back at him, waiting to see if he would bring up divorce for the second time. But I was disappointed. He didn’t. Arthur slammed the door and stormed off again. Late that night, after washing up and getting into bed, I could hear Arthur and Chloe drinking and chatting in the living room. The atmosphere sounded incredibly cheerful; even from upstairs, I could hear their laughter. I don’t know how much time had passed, but while I was deep in sleep, I felt someone hug me from behind. It was Arthur. His breath was scorching hot and reeked of alcohol as he affectionately kissed the back of my neck. I felt utterly disgusted and shoved him away forcefully. “What are you doing?” Arthur sobered up a bit, complaining, “You’re my wife, what do you think I’m doing?” Seeing my entire body radiating rejection, his face gradually darkened. “This is your duty as a wife, Evelyn. If you’re going to keep acting like this and refusing to let me touch you, then get the hell out of my house.” Ever since I discovered Arthur was cheating, I had refused to let him touch me. It had been almost three months now. “Your house?” I asked. Arthur looked smug, as if he was absolutely certain I would submit. “You married me with absolutely nothing to your name. I owned this house before we met, so of course it’s my house. Evelyn, did you forget? You were the one who begged me to marry you.” “Now, if you won’t let me touch you, get out!” Chapter 4 I was left speechless, then silent, and finally, I started laughing. Back then, he was my mission target. To complete the mission, I really did beg him to marry me. I couldn’t deny that. I just never expected that this man, who I once genuinely had feelings for, would use that to attack my dignity. “Fine, I’ll leave.” I opened the closet and packed a few essentials. Before walking out the door, I paused slightly, waiting for Arthur to say something harsh, like threatening to divorce me if I dared to step outside. But Arthur completely misunderstood my hesitation. He mocked me mercilessly, “Didn’t you say you were leaving? Go on, get out!” His tone made it clear he was convinced my threat to leave was just a manipulative tantrum, not a genuine intention. I felt like the fire needed just a little more fuel. So, I marched over to the guest room where Chloe was staying and started pounding on the door. I wanted to manufacture a massive fight, something that would push Arthur to finally say the word “divorce.” Arthur quickly rushed downstairs and grabbed my arm. “What are you doing, Evelyn?! Are you crazy?!” I struggled. “Let go of me! Arthur, don’t think I don’t know what’s going on in your head. You like Chloe, right? Well, I’m going to ask her right now if she likes you back.” I thought this would force Arthur to bring up divorce, but to my absolute shock, he raised his hand and slapped me across the face. I instantly went quiet. Arthur froze too. He looked panicked and at a loss for what to do. His lips moved, perhaps realizing what he had done and wanting to apologize. But in the end, he didn’t apologize. He just said, “Go back to your room.” I was utterly disappointed in Arthur. I stared at him, my eyes bloodshot, on the verge of tears. Arthur avoided my gaze. “Evelyn, if you keep acting this crazy, I’m genuinely going to divorce you.” I finally heard the words I had been waiting for. Even though I was thrilled on the inside and wished we could sign the papers immediately, I had to hold back. Acting aggrieved and furious, I let tears stream down my face. “I refuse.” I turned around and walked out of the house. Finally. Finally, just one more time, and I can leave. I walked the streets for a long time before stopping. Looking at the empty roads and the dim yellow streetlights, I felt a sudden sense of aimlessness, like I had nowhere to go. Six years ago, when I arrived in this world, my entire life revolved around Arthur. I had been focused on him for so long that I didn’t even have my own social circle. Thankfully, I hadn’t given up on my career. When I returned to my original world, I could still use my new work to become a successful comic artist. Thinking of that, I suddenly felt a wave of frustration. How could I have forgotten to bring my comic manuscript with me?! It seemed I had to find an excuse to go back and pack it up. I found a hotel to stay in temporarily. For days, Arthur didn’t reach out to me. I didn’t want to waste time pointlessly, so just as I was preparing to swallow my pride, go back, and force Arthur to bring up divorce one last time… something happened. Chloe posted my comic on her social media art account. Even though it had been converted from hand-drawn pages to digital art, the character designs, the storyline, and even the storyboards were completely plagiarized. I was so furious I saw stars. I immediately called Arthur. I called several times, but Arthur didn’t answer. Eventually, his phone was just turned off. I tried to calm down. I logged online, tagged Chloe, and publicly exposed the fact that she had plagiarized my work. Like me, Chloe was a professional illustrator. The difference was that I focused purely on drawing, while she leaned heavily into being an influencer. She had previously capitalized on her divorce to gain massive online traffic, and she was currently riding a wave of popularity. Chloe denied the plagiarism accusations, claiming I was slandering her. She demanded I produce evidence, or she would force me to issue a public apology. My original manuscripts were all back at the house, so naturally, I couldn’t produce them right then. Consequently, her fans swarmed my accounts, burying me in insults and hate messages. The volume of notifications was so massive it caused my phone to freeze. Chapter 5 I called Arthur while in a cab heading back to the house. This time, he finally answered. I could clearly hear the guilt in his voice. Being cautious, I turned on the call recording feature beforehand. “Did you take my manuscript and give it to Chloe?” Arthur didn’t admit it, instead asking, “Where are you?” “Answer my question, Arthur! You know perfectly well that comic is the result of years of my hard work!” Arthur sounded impatient. “I’ll compensate you. What do you want? I’ll buy you a house, how’s that?” I gritted my teeth. “I’m asking you, why did you give my comic to Chloe?! That is my work!” “Didn’t I say I’d compensate you? Once Chloe gets the revenue from the comic, she’ll compensate you too.” Arthur once again shattered my understanding of how low he could sink. “Delete those posts online. If you agree, I promise I will never bring up divorce with you again.” “Ha.” I laughed out loud. Never bring up divorce again? My biggest dream right now was for him to bring up divorce. “Keep dreaming,” I said fiercely. “Arthur, I am getting my work back.” I hung up the phone and immediately posted the recording online. It instantly caused a massive uproar. The hate comments subsided slightly, but there was still a huge amount of skepticism demanding I produce concrete proof. Otherwise, who knew if the recording was real or faked? The cab stopped. I got out and ran toward the house. Arthur and Chloe were both in the living room. Chloe’s face was covered in tears. She leaned pitifully against Arthur’s shoulder, sobbing. When she saw me, she immediately put on a pleading expression. Arthur stared at me coldly, as if I were his worst enemy. I only cared about one thing. “Where is my manuscript?” Arthur didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he marched over, roughly grabbed my wrist, snatched the phone I was using to record a video, and smashed it violently against the floor. He glared at me and said, “Evelyn, you’ve disappointed me so much. You said you loved me, that your whole life was devoted to me. But when I ask you to sacrifice this one little thing, you refuse, and you even post our recording online.” His expression was full of disappointment, entirely focused on blaming me. “Are you trying to destroy me? You never used to be like this. You used to be obedient and compliant. That was the version of you I liked.” “The way you are now, I have absolutely zero interest in you.” “Let’s get a divorce, Evelyn.” Arthur stared into my eyes, a deep sense of expectation and certainty hiding in his gaze. He assumed that I would definitely refuse, that I would submit to him, and that in order to stay by his side, I would agree to all his demands. But he didn’t know that this was the final strike. He had now brought up divorce three times. This time, I didn’t need to refuse. Because the system had already determined that my mission was about to be forcefully terminated. I was free to leave. Chapter 6 I looked at Arthur’s confident expression and suddenly smiled. “Okay,” I told him. “Let’s get a divorce. Right now!” This time, it was Arthur’s turn to freeze. His pupils contracted as he stared at me in disbelief. “Evelyn, I said I want a divorce!” He couldn’t believe it. He thought I must have misheard him, so he ridiculously asked again, “Do you really have the guts to divorce me? Can you really bear to do it?” I looked straight into Arthur’s eyes and told him, word by word, “Even if you ask me ten thousand times, I will only give you one answer: I agree to the divorce.” “Arthur, honestly, I’ve wanted to divorce you for a long time. I refused before just to give you a chance, but you constantly disappointed me.” “Now, if you want a divorce, fine. I don’t care.” I walked around him and headed straight upstairs to the study. When Arthur proposed divorce for the third time, I could have left immediately. But I still hadn’t gotten my comic manuscript back. It was the one thing I needed to take back to my original world. I had to find it. So, I chose to stay for an additional three days. After three days, I would be forcibly extracted. I rushed upstairs and yanked open the drawers, but my comic manuscript wasn’t there. I had no choice but to return to the first floor. Arthur was still standing in the living room, looking stunned. Chloe held his hand, whispering to him, “You’ve always wanted a divorce, maybe it’s for the best. As for the comic, I’ll go apologize.” She wiped away her tears, looking incredibly fragile and pitiful. “Let the internet attack me, Arthur. You shouldn’t sacrifice yourself for me anymore. Now, it’s my turn to sacrifice for you.” Chloe squeezed Arthur’s hand, a flash of triumph in her eyes. I really couldn’t stomach this disgusting performance any longer. I walked over and interrupted them. “Arthur, I’ve agreed to the divorce. Where is my artwork? Give it back.” Arthur slowly looked up, glaring at me with bloodshot eyes. “Evelyn, do you really hate Chloe that much? You’re willing to sacrifice our marriage just to destroy her?” I sneered. “Our marriage was destroyed by you a long time ago. Arthur, I don’t want anything from you right now. I just want my comic manuscript back.” Arthur stared at me. “Then sign the divorce papers first.” “Fine.” He called his lawyer, who quickly drafted the divorce agreement. Arthur printed it out and placed it in front of me. “If you really want a divorce, sign it right now.” I picked up the pen without hesitation. But just as I was about to sign, a bad feeling washed over me. I flipped back through the agreement and realized that Arthur wasn’t just demanding I leave with nothing. He had also inserted a mandatory clause forcing me to forfeit all ownership rights to the comic, transferring the copyright to Chloe completely free of charge. I pointed at the clause. “Delete this.” Arthur looked at me coldly. “You want a divorce? This is the condition.” I mocked him, “Arthur, could it be that you actually can’t bear to divorce me? What, don’t you want to be with your beloved Chloe anymore?” Chloe looked up, staring at Arthur with hidden anticipation. But Arthur didn’t even look at her. Instead, he stared intensely at me. “Evelyn, I said it. You want a divorce, this is the price and the condition. If you don’t sign, don’t ever think about getting a divorce.”

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