Category: English

The Ashworth Group’s annual summit. My mother, Victoria Ashworth, stood on the stage, ready to announce the company’s heir. Everyone in the ballroom, from the board members to the press, turned to look at me—her son, the Vice President of seven years. But the next second, she announced that my cousin, Connor, would inherit the mantle and serve as the company’s new Chief Executive Officer. The entire hall erupted in a stunned silence, then a low, confused murmur. I stared at her, shock quickly turning to a trembling rage. “Eight years I’ve run this company, and I’m your son,” I demanded, my voice tight. “Connor just graduated. On what planet does he deserve the CEO position?” My mother’s expression was cold, utterly devoid of warmth. “Because Connor is stronger than you,” she replied. “He will surpass your eight years of accomplishments in one.” I froze. Then, a furious, bitter laugh escaped me, tilting my head back as it echoed through the silence. I knew that wasn’t the real reason. It was her constant need to maintain ‘perfect optics,’ to frame every decision as a sacrifice for the family’s perceived moral integrity. Since she insisted on giving everything that was mine to Connor, time and time again, I would take my core team, start my own empire, and finally stop being her son. … 1 My laughter stunned the entire room. The wide, business-like smile on my mother’s face vanished, replaced by a deep frown. “Did you forget your meds this morning, Ryan? What is this spectacle?” she hissed. “I’ve gone mad, yes,” I countered, dropping the smile and locking eyes with her. “You drove me to it.” “When this company was collapsing, I was the one working under 100-degree heat to land clients, collapsing from heat exhaustion a dozen times to stabilize the situation.” “I designed our breakthrough product, pulled an all-nighter for an entire week, nearly dying on the floor! That product exploded. That’s when we started turning a profit!” Every word I spoke was hard and undeniable. Heads in the crowd nodded in agreement; they all knew the truth of my efforts. Only my mother’s face grew colder. She grit her teeth. “Enough! What is this loud, unseemly shouting? You are embarrassing me!” “I acknowledge you’ve had some accomplishments, but they still don’t measure up to Connor’s. He just returned and already closed the deal with OmniCorp International.” “You,” she finished, a cruel, final twist of the knife, “worked a year and couldn’t seal that agreement.” Hearing that, I felt like I’d been struck by lightning. I was completely blindsided. That deal, the biggest in company history, was my year-long effort—the one that cost me countless red-eye flights and nearly drained my health. My mother had promised to announce the good news at the gala, but instead, she’d just handed the credit to Connor. All to appear fair, all to maintain her perfect, untouchable optics. Connor, stepping in with practiced fake humility, spoke up. “Aunt Victoria, my qualifications aren’t enough. I truly shouldn’t take this CEO spot.” “Let my cousin, Ryan, have it. Please don’t let this ruin your family relationship. I’m happy to serve as his Deputy.” Listen to him. So humble, so magnanimous. It secured him a position, guaranteeing him a comfortable life as the guaranteed runner-up. My mother didn’t even notice the blatant manipulation. She snapped at me again. “Look at Connor, you brat! See how gracious he is! Then look at you—you do nothing but provoke me.” “The CEO position is final. Connor will take it.” “I will fire anyone who objects. Including you.” Her eyes pinned me with a stark, terrifying threat. Beside her, a smug, barely perceptible smirk touched Connor’s lips. The whispers around the room intensified. Some pitied me. Many mocked me. Others were already sucking up to Connor. My heart felt dead. Looking at my mother one last time, I said, “Then let Connor be your son.” “I quit.” The entire hall fell into a perfect, absolute silence. Everyone, including my mother, stared wide-eyed, unable to comprehend that I had just renounced my family. I turned immediately, walking toward the exit. But as I reached the corridor, my mother’s voice followed me. 2 “Ryan.” She grabbed my arm, her manicured nails digging in. “Can you not be an adult for once? Fighting with me in front of all those people? It’s utterly humiliating.” “Connor’s parents died young. We have to take care of him!” “And right now, I have to maintain optics! As soon as I win the Entrepreneur of the Year award, I’ll find a way to get you the CEO spot. Now, come back inside, apologize to everyone, and tell them you’ll gladly be Connor’s Deputy.” I had foolishly thought she was having a change of heart. I had been wrong. This was another brutal blow. “I earned an acceptance to an elite MBA program on my own merit,” I said, my voice raw. “And you revoked my spot and gave it to Connor, who was sleeping through community college.” “You said it was to ‘maintain optics.’” “You said he was poor and lonely and I had to yield.” “You said you’d let me go later.” “But what was the result?” I looked up at her, demanding an answer she couldn’t give. This pattern had repeated my entire life. When I excelled in school, I was pulled out of the best programs. My mother always cited ‘optics.’ But she immediately leveraged her influence to slip the underperforming Connor into the exact spots I had been denied. For years, I wondered if I simply wasn’t good enough, if I hadn’t tried hard enough to earn her approval. Now, I finally understood: no matter how high I climbed, I would never be enough. I would never be worth more than a single word: “Optics.” It was as if I’d ripped a hidden secret from her chest. My mother’s face reddened with rage. “Ryan, if you continue this tantrum, you will never be allowed back in this company!” Her gaze was icy and full of pure threat. “Fine.” This time, I didn’t back down. I turned and walked away. She stood there, frozen. Her mouth opened, as if to yell or plead, but in the end, she said nothing. Stepping out of the hotel, the frigid December air was like my mother’s cold words—bitter, piercing, and sharp enough to cut through my heart. “Mom,” I whispered to the wind. “I have the ability to stand on my own, even without you.” Taking a deep breath, I pulled out my phone and messaged Sasha, a graduate student I knew from the city’s investment circles: Heard you’re loaded and have nowhere to put your cash. Interested in investing in me? [I am!] Sasha replied instantly. [Meet me at the usual spot tonight. We can talk about it. Might even show you the new abs I’ve been working on!] I cracked a small, weary smile. Since she found out I’d broken up with my girlfriend, she loved to tease me. I headed home to pack. The moment I walked through the door, I found my father, Robert Ashworth, already sitting on the sofa. “Dad, I…” Before I could finish, he snatched a throw pillow from the couch and threw it at my face. “Why did you publicly undermine your mother? Why do you constantly target Connor?” “It’s just a CEO position. The name is still Ashworth. Why does it matter who sits there?” He had already heard everything. And as expected, there was no comfort, no warmth. Only a torrent of accusation. I took a slow, deep breath. “It’s all Ashworth. Why does it matter who your son is?” I replied simply. “Let Connor call you Mom and Dad from now on.” I had no energy left for a fight. “You—” My father lunged forward, his open palm cracking against my cheek. “It’s because you are always so childish and disrespectful! That’s why you don’t deserve the CEO position!” I swallowed the metallic taste of blood and suddenly laughed. “Dad.” “I’m childish? I’m disrespectful?” “Tell me, since you brought Connor home, haven’t I given him everything—the best food, the best toys, the best opportunities?” “The private school spot, the MBA program, you gave them all to him. I even took the fall that time he hit someone with the car.” “In college, you kept me deliberately poor for ‘optics,’ giving me a miserable hundred dollars a week for groceries, while Connor got three thousand dollars a week in allowance.” “Did I ever rebel? Have I not been obedient enough?” Faced with my quiet, devastating inventory, my father was struck silent. I didn’t linger. I walked into my room, quickly tossed a few belongings into a duffel bag, and prepared to leave. “What is this? Running away?” my father called out. There was no regret in his voice, only outrage. I didn’t answer. I just walked silently out the front door. His final shout chased me down the driveway: “Ryan Ashworth! So you didn’t get the CEO spot! Don’t be so melodramatic!” “You ungrateful, disrespectful son! If you walk out that door tonight, don’t ever come back! I’ll pretend I never had a son!” 3 I’d heard those words too many times since childhood. But there was a foolish, stubborn hope for kinship, a desire for recognition that always held me back. This time, I slammed the front door behind me. The cold wind outside felt better than the false warmth inside that house. I didn’t have a car. My mother said it was to maintain optics—she didn’t want people to accuse her of spoiling me. My father said Connor didn’t have a driver’s license yet, and they didn’t want him to feel bad. I reached the curb when a high-end luxury sedan screeched to a halt beside me. The window powered down, revealing the stunning face of Sasha. I slid into the passenger seat. “Why are you here? I thought we were meeting at the usual place?” “The whole city knows you disowned your family,” Sasha replied, pulling out into traffic. I blinked, then opened my phone. The news feeds were already buzzing. [Ashworth Group Discards Son, Appoints Nephew to Take Over Family Empire. Major Gala Planned for Tomorrow to Celebrate!] [Breaking: Ryan Ashworth Chooses to Cut Ties with Parents, Reportedly Homeless!] The gossip mill moved fast. Seconds later, I saw texts from my parents: [Without the Ashworth name, who will recognize you? I advise you to think carefully!] [Don’t be so selfish! Come home immediately and apologize to your mother and Connor. Beg their forgiveness. Otherwise, you’ll starve on the streets, and no one will bury you.] I didn’t reply. I just laughed. Starve? No one will recognize my face? We would see. I followed Sasha into a chic, dimly lit cocktail lounge. As I looked up, a familiar silhouette came into view, and my pupils instantly constricted. It was Tara, my childhood sweetheart, my ex-girlfriend. At this very moment, she was nestled in Connor’s arms, a sickeningly sweet smile plastered across her face. “Oh, senior,” Sasha murmured, rolling her eyes. “You’re such a goof. They were hooking up the whole time they were studying abroad.” Boom. My head felt like it had been hit with a wrecking ball. I felt utterly ridiculous. My parents had actually tried to tell me a long time ago to hand Tara over to Connor. Their absurd reason: they worried people would say they used the Ashworth power to pressure her into marrying me. I had refused violently, enduring a brutal, public shaming from my mother—a deliberate cutting of resources and reputation—yet I still wouldn’t let go. Later, Tara went abroad. We stayed long-distance for four years, and I paid for everything. But the day she returned, she broke up with me. Her eyes were red when she said it. “Ryan, the pressure from your parents is too much. They will never approve of us. We have to break up. I don’t want to drag you down.” She blocked me everywhere. I spent months wallowing in a confused, self-flagellating guilt, convinced I hadn’t given her the security she needed. This scene before me was a slap in the face. Tara saw me and her eyes widened in surprise. She quickly dropped her head, but Connor forcibly grabbed her hand and pulled her over. “Cousin Ryan.” Connor smiled, a poisonous, sickly sweet expression. “I’ve been meaning to tell you this for a while, but I didn’t know how to bring it up. Please don’t be mad.” “Tara and I? We’re true love!” A cold fury exploded in my chest. I raised my hand to punch him. But Tara swiftly stepped in front of Connor. “Enough, Ryan!” “Do you have any respect for yourself as an older brother? How dare you try to hit Connor!” 4 I stood there, my arm trembling. “Why… why would you do this?” Tara stayed silent for a few seconds, then replied, “Because you’re a cast-off! Connor is the pride of your aunt and uncle! The future heir of the Ashworth family!” The words hit me like a physical blow. A scythe had just hacked a piece of my heart out. I laughed, the sound hollow. Love. Kinship. Both utterly worthless in the face of cold, hard profit. Sasha started to step forward to argue, but I stopped her, grabbing her arm and turning away. More words were pointless. The only thing left was to prove with success who was stronger, who would shine brighter, and who would have the final laugh. “Cousin.” Connor rushed up behind me. “My corporate celebration dinner is tomorrow! You simply must come.” He handed me an invitation, his mouth curled into a mocking smile. I realized then: this meeting wasn’t accidental. Connor had set this up. Why else would he be carrying an invitation with him? “I’d be delighted.” I took the envelope. I walked out, a cold smile forming on my lips. As we got into Sasha’s car, I turned to her. “I need a favor.” “Don’t worry,” Sasha said, patting her chest. “Everything for tomorrow is already set.” We exchanged a look. No more words were needed. We understood each other completely. The next day, I arrived promptly at the grand hotel where my mother was hosting Connor’s celebration dinner. The guests hadn’t arrived yet. My parents, Connor, and Tara were all standing together, their faces hardening when they saw me. “Hmph.” My mother sneered. “Look how considerate Connor is. He still remembers to invite you, no matter what. And you? All you know is petty jealousy!” “Apologize to your mother and Connor,” my father added, following her lead. “We’ll let yesterday go. This is your last chance to be sensible.” They weren’t even trying to hide their satisfaction with Connor and Tara’s relationship. It seemed their ‘optics’ crusade was just a tool to separate Tara and me so they could secretly push her toward Connor. “Cousin, there are no grudges that last overnight in a family. Just humble yourself,” Connor mocked, his smile wide. Tara, beside him, quickly chimed in. “They were kind enough to offer you the Deputy position, Ryan. It’s a recognition of your limited abilities. You should be grateful.” I met their patronizing statements with a disdainful smile. “Who said I was here to attend the banquet?” My parents frowned, then burst into scornful laughter, thinking I had lost my mind. Just then, a long line of luxury cars began pulling up outside. “Come on,” my mother snapped, pushing past me. “Forget this disrespectful brat. Let’s greet our guests.” She led my father, Connor, and Tara to the entrance. The city’s elite had arrived. But they all stopped at the hotel door and wouldn’t move inside. My mother looked confused. “Everyone, what are you waiting for? Please come in!” No one moved. “They’re waiting for my permission.” I slowly walked to the door, placing myself at the head of the assembled crowd.

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The company was rolling out new vehicle allowances, and Patrice from HR was collecting our car details. When she saw the Kia Forte I’d filled out, she actually laughed. For a long time. “Jax, sweetie, why do you need a mileage allowance?” she said, still chuckling. I frowned, confused. She leaned in conspiratorially. “You can just run a few Uber shifts on your way to and from the office, right?” I thought she was kidding. She wasn’t. The allowance was denied. I cornered Bryce Sullivan, the Vice President who’d once been my manager, to appeal. He didn’t even look up from his desk. “Look at this, Jax,” he said, shaking his head. “You bought this car barely a year ago and you’ve already put fifty thousand miles on it.” “Do you think I’m running that many sales calls? Don’t be insulting. You’re definitely driving for hire. Why should the company subsidize your side hustle?” The whispers spread like wildfire through the office group chat. “Riley says he’s out running deals, but he’s really out collecting fares.” “Hey, Jax, what’s the surge pricing for a ride home? LOL.” I didn’t bother to respond. I just smiled, logged into the system, and with a quiet click, I hit ‘Delete’ on the million-dollar account I’d been nursing for six months. For good measure, I cleared the hundred-plus prospective clients I’d cultivated over the quarter. After all, what difference does it make if the company tanks? I’m just an Uber driver. … It was the seventeenth time I went to Bryce to plead my case for the car allowance. I laid a neat stack of expense reports on his working desk. “Bryce, these are my validated trips from last month. Can we finally process my allowance?” He leaned back in his leather chair, picking up a receipt and flipping it over with an air of mild annoyance. When he didn’t speak, I felt the familiar urge to justify myself, a pathetic reflex I hated. “That one,” I rushed to explain, pointing. “That’s the trip to the motor plant. You asked me to go overnight, remember? I drove over eleven hundred miles straight.” He gave a noncommittal grunt and picked up another one. “That’s the one where I handled the emergency warranty issue at the vehicle factory. The client was furious. I know I didn’t file the pre-approval, but I called you the minute it was resolved!” He scoffed and grabbed a third. “And this one is…” He cut me off, his voice ice-cold. “Enough, Jax. All these receipts, all these ‘validated’ trips, only add up to about two-and-a-half thousand miles. But your vehicle information shows four thousand miles this month.” He stared me down. “We’re adults here. Do we need to spell it out? We don’t penalize you for driving for Uber on your own time—that’s your choice—but you’re not getting an allowance for it.” I bit back a groan. “Bryce, I have a commute. I also drive to appointments you send me on the fly—the ones that don’t get a trip report. But I haven’t been driving for hire.” He swept the receipts off the desk onto the floor. “Denied.” A surge of genuine panic made me forget the papers scattered around his Italian loafers. “Bryce! It’s been a year! A whole year of collecting evidence for you. It’s clear I’m not doing ride-share! The new interns drive better cars and they have an allowance, but I’m still waiting!” He looked at me with open contempt. “You compare yourself to them? They drive a Mercedes. You drive a Kia.” “Besides, the math doesn’t add up. How can I verify you’re not hustling on the side? And honestly, it’s a twelve-hundred-dollar-a-year allowance. Why the theatrics? Go close two more deals, and you’d cover it. Stop wasting my time.” His dismissiveness was the final insult. I slammed my hand on his desk. “Bryce! Have some decency! You steal my accounts, you gut my bonuses, and now you’re nickel-and-diming me over the car allowance! What, are you scared of me?” Bryce started to laugh, holding his stomach. “I’m just enforcing policy. And you think I’m scared of you?” He flung the office door open, grabbed my arm, and dragged me into the hallway. He pointed to the rows of cubicles. “Hey, everyone! Jax Riley here says I’ve been stealing his business and skimming his bonuses!” Then he turned back to me, jabbing his finger into my chest, speaking loud enough for the entire floor to hear. “Jax. Now they all know. What are you going to do about it?” “You drive a Kia Forte. You are not getting an allowance.” “Here’s some free advice: Go run those ride-share shifts and earn the allowance yourself. It’ll save you the effort of begging me. Now, grab your paperwork and get out of my office!” My face was burning. I could hear the immediate chatter. “He’s making a scene over twelve hundred bucks? Wow, he must be desperate.” “I heard he’s doing six thousand miles a month. He’s definitely hurting for cash.” “Probably maxed out his credit cards. No wonder he’s so intense about a few dollars.” I didn’t yell. I didn’t swing. I bent down, silently gathered the shredded receipts, and walked back to my desk. I didn’t want the allowance. I wanted respect. I wanted fairness. Since they wouldn’t give it to me, I’d take it back myself. I tossed the torn-up receipts into the trash bin and opened my work log. Jackson Riley, Sales Performance: Year 2020; Clients Secured: 27; Revenue (USD): $1.28 million; Stolen by Bryce Sullivan: 15 clients ($750K); Year 2021; Clients Secured: 27; Revenue (USD): $5.26 million; Stolen by Bryce Sullivan: 38 clients ($3.22M); Year 2022; Clients Secured: 121; Revenue (USD): $10.18 million; Stolen by Bryce Sullivan: 81 clients ($6.96M); By this year, I had secured 167 clients and $31.21 million in revenue. The company credited me with less than 20% of it. Bryce was a junior VP when I started. By taking my accounts—my blood, sweat, and miles—he’d ridden a career rocket. He went from a used Toyota to a flashy Mustang GT. My sales figures were the lifeblood of that department, but I was stuck in neutral. No promotions, no awards, just the same stagnant salary. I’d bought the Kia only because driving was essential, but even that modest purchase was a target for their scorn. He didn’t just take my clients, my bonuses, and my reputation. He had to take the last twelve hundred dollars too. It was twelve thousand dollars over the years. Not life-changing money, but it was my last sliver of dignity, and he was grinding it into the floor. Enough. I compiled years of evidence—the stolen accounts, the skimmed bonuses, the allowance denials—and bundled it into one explosive file. I addressed it to the company’s internal Ethics and Compliance department. I hit ‘Send.’ There was no going back. I glanced up. Sam, the new intern, was standing right behind me. I kept my expression neutral. “Still no car allowance, Jax?” Sam asked, the feigned sympathy in his voice failing to hide the smirk. “It’s wild how the company treats a ‘top producer’ like you.” I ignored him and walked away. That afternoon, I got a call. “Mr. Riley, the company takes these allegations very seriously. We will have an internal investigation and a result shortly.” Bryce, you forced my hand. I’m simply reclaiming what is mine. The next day, the office was buzzing. Everyone was watching me. When I reached my cubicle, my personal effects were already packed into a box. No one would tell me who did it. Sam, the intern, only said that Bryce was waiting for me in his office. I sneered. My report had worked. Bryce was retaliating. I headed straight for the confrontation. Patrice from HR was already there. Bryce stood up immediately, his face tight with feigned fury. “Jax Riley! You have the audacity to show your face here? You actually reported me?” I looked him straight in the eye, fearless. “Why wouldn’t I? I’m not the one who’s been stealing from this company for years. I have proof, Bryce. You’re done. I will get back everything you took.” Bryce smiled a cold, triumphant smile. He slammed a thick file on the desk. “This is your ‘evidence,’ correct?” My stomach dropped. Compliance had handed my report right back to him. The game was rigged. Bryce threw his head back and laughed, a maniacal, victorious sound. “I truly admire your idiocy, Jax. Did you honestly think anyone would side with a nobody like you? You’re just a low-level sales guy. I could crush you like an ant. You think the board is going to sacrifice me, their golden boy, for you, a loser?” I lunged, grabbing his silk tie. “How did you get here, Bryce? You climbed over my back! I wasn’t competing with you! All I asked for was what was mine! Just approve the stupid allowance! Why did you have to push me this far?” He shoved me back and smoothed his tie. “Why? Because you’re a machine, Jax. An efficient, hungry machine. Keep you hungry, you keep running. Feed you, and you get ideas. You think you’re irreplaceable? Any person with a tenth of your drive could do your job if they had this platform. Even Sam.” I turned, and Sam was standing in the doorway, wearing a sickly, satisfied smirk. Bryce tapped his knuckles on the desk. “Did you think I was blind to your little moves? I was waiting for your complaint, Jax. This isn’t a self-defense, it’s a self-destruct.” He started pulling documents from the file. “This is a record of your private chats with clients. You’ve been offering kickbacks! You have the nerve to bypass company policy? How much of the company’s revenue have you pocketed, Jax? Confess!” My face went pale. I stumbled backward. “No! That’s fabricated! I never offered kickbacks! You’re framing me! You bastard, you used the lowest trick in the book!” Bryce remained calm, totally assured. “I knew you’d be stubborn.” He pulled out his phone and played an audio clip—a conversation between me and Sam. “Jax, your numbers are incredible. What’s the secret?” “Listen, Sam, the sales game is about playing both sides. You promise the client a discount to lock in the deal, then you negotiate with the company. The back-and-forth—that’s how you land the accounts.” I wheeled around, looking at Sam, who gave me that uncanny, knowing smile. “Don’t look at me, Jax. I’m just following your advice. Playing both sides.” I was furious, pointing a shaking finger at him. “You altered that! That’s not what I said! You spliced my words!” Bryce cut me off. “Spare me the outrage, Jax. We know who you are. Now look at these.” He pulled out several phone screenshots from the file. They were logs from a major ride-share application, showing I had been driving on the platform since 2025. He pointed a victorious finger at me. “The rest of it—the kickbacks, the lies—I could almost believe were an overzealous salesman being aggressive. But the Uber driving? That was the icing on the cake. A Kia Forte and a side gig. It suits you, Jax. Denying your allowance was the right call after all!” I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted blood. I had never, ever driven for a ride-share service. It was all a complete fabrication. Bryce was framing me. But the silence from Patrice and the snide whispers outside the office told me everything. “He actually was an Uber driver! I knew it! All that talk about being broke—he must be drowning in debt!” “And he accused Bryce of stealing? I heard Bryce was just cleaning up Jax’s mess, reassigning clients that Jax had barely touched. What a fraud.” Desperate, I turned to Patrice for a shred of integrity. She looked at me coldly. “Jax, I’m just here to deliver the company’s decision. We were initially only going to issue a verbal reprimand for your accusations against a VP. But given the clear evidence of your other activities, which violate company policy and damage our reputation…” Bryce interrupted, cutting her off with a false show of mercy. “Patrice, it’s fine. Jax brought us a lot of business. Let’s call it even. Just fire him. No need to pursue legal action for the theft or the fraud.” I glared at him, fire in my eyes. “It’s a frame job, you rat! Don’t play the hero! I never did any of that! You want to take me to court? Let’s see who is cleared then!” Patrice frowned. “Jax, you’re making this difficult. Bryce and the company are letting you walk away clean, and you’re insulting them?” I threw my head back and laughed—a bitter, hollow sound. “Walking away clean? My performance tops the department every year! Seventy percent of our revenue came from my accounts! And my salary? It’s been stuck at minimum for years! My bonuses are gutted, and I’m always the lowest paid! Why? You approved everyone’s car allowance except mine for a year! You call that ‘not difficult’?” Bryce sneered. “You think sales are just about bringing in the contract? There’s client maintenance, back-office work—the others do that. Stop complaining about fairness.” I pointed at him. “You dare say that? Who drove eleven hundred miles last month to save a contract? Who puts thousands of miles on their car every month? They sit in the office watching TikTok and drinking coffee, and they all have allowances, but I…” Bryce slammed his hand down. “You bring up the allowance one more time, and I swear I’ll bury you! We have undeniable proof you run a side gig! Keep pushing, and I will sue you for everything you’re worth!” I didn’t flinch. “Bring it on, Bryce. Let’s see whose reputation is ruined in court!” Bryce exploded. “Patrice! Fire him! Now! Then instruct Legal to file the complaint! The evidence is rock solid!” Patrice hesitated. “Bryce, let’s all just calm down.” Suddenly, I felt a calm wash over me. I stood up straight. “You know what? Fine. I quit. Let’s just call it a day.” Bryce lunged, eager to press his advantage. “You think you can just walk away? Not a chance! I will sue you! That audio, that evidence—it’s all real. Sam downloaded it from your phone. I was going to be generous, but you’ve lost your chance. We’ll see you in court!” I looked at Sam, whose face was a mask of smug satisfaction. I left the office in a daze. My belongings were tossed onto the curb outside the building. My former colleagues were already lining up to watch the drama. “Bryce gave him an out, and he still pushed it. This is what happens to arrogant people.” “He’s going to be sued for a million dollars. He’ll be driving that Kia for Uber for the rest of his life to pay it off.” A few days later, sitting in my rented apartment, the court summons arrived. Bryce was actually suing me. Then my phone rang. It was Sam. “It’s done. All the evidence is in their hands.” A slow, satisfied smile spread across my face. Bryce had taken the bait. “Excellent,” I said, sitting up. “Initiate the next phase.” Yes. All of it had been my plan.

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“What kind of career is that? Playing on your phone?” My mother, Carol Jensen, lobbed the question across the heavy linen tablecloth, and the sudden quiet made me feel the weight of twenty-something pairs of eyes settling on me. I set down my chopsticks. I didn’t say a word. This was the annual, obligatory family dinner. Aunts, uncles, cousins—we were packed into a private room at a mid-tier catering hall. My mother lived for these gatherings. The larger the audience, the grander her performance. “Look at your sister, Jessica,” she declared, pointing to the woman seated next to the head of the table. “A civil servant. Stable. Dependable.” She gestured toward me with a practiced flourish. “And you? You quit a real job three years ago. Now you just sit home all day, staring at that screen.” I glanced at the small, sleek metal trophy sitting on the bookshelf back in my apartment. It was the top industry award I’d won last year. She thinks it’s an online-ordered knick-knack. “Mom,” I smiled softly. “Let’s just eat.” My phone vibrated in my pocket. I ignored it. 1. “Posting videos is hardly what I’d call ‘work,’ Carol.” My cousin, Jessica, picked up the thread, her tone laced with that familiar, saccharine superiority. She was wearing a new, creamy ivory trench coat today, a designer piece that probably cost upwards of a thousand dollars. The kind of coat that screamed I have arrived. “Our city planning department is hiring for a new digital media role. It’s a competitive process. You need a top-tier degree, a solid background…” She trailed off, letting out a small, pitying laugh. “But never mind. It’s not your thing.” Aunt Lena chimed in from across the table. “Jessica’s right, Stephanie. You’re not getting any younger. It’s time to find something legitimate.” I didn’t engage. From childhood, I’d been the one to be weighed, measured, and found wanting. I came in second in the class; Jessica came in fifth. Mom said, “Your sister is strong in the humanities. Math is just pulling her down.” I got into the state’s flagship university; Jessica went to a local college. Mom said, “The school name isn’t everything. Your sister has better people skills.” The day I quit my corporate job three years ago, all the relatives happened to be visiting. My mother railed at me in front of everyone, calling me “crazy,” “ungrateful,” and “an embarrassment.” That night, alone in my tiny studio apartment, I launched my first live stream. Seven viewers. It seems darkly funny now. “So, Stephanie,” Aunt Deb leaned in conspiratorially. “How much do you actually make with these… videos? A month?” “Enough,” I said. “Enough is what? A few thousand?” “Mmm.” I took a long drink of water, deciding against any form of explanation. It wouldn’t matter. They wouldn’t believe that someone who “plays on their phone at home” could earn a living. Just as my mother wouldn’t believe that the “decoration” on my shelf was the highest award in my industry. Mark, my husband, sat beside me. He hadn’t said a single word in my defense. His eyes, when they met mine, held the same look as theirs. My phone vibrated again. I hit the mute button and kept eating. 2. Three days later, Jessica called. “Stephanie, I need a favor.” I was in the middle of editing a video, my own voice playing back in my headphones as I meticulously smoothed out the audio. “What is it?” “My department is doing a new promotional video, and my boss put me in charge. You know how to do all that techy stuff, right? Just whip it up for me. Think of it as practice.” I stopped the mouse cursor mid-screen. “Jess, I have work.” “What work? Posting videos? How busy can you possibly be?” She let out a small, dismissive laugh. “I won’t make you do it for free, of course. I’ll take you out to dinner when it’s done.” In the background, I heard my mother’s voice bleed through the phone. “Stephanie, what’s the big deal? Just help your sister. Her job is demanding. You’re just sitting around anyway.” I stared at the timeline on my screen. I’d been editing this one four-minute video for four hours straight. “Fine.” I hung up after the single word. That evening, Jessica forwarded the assets. It was a total mess: no script, no storyboard, and the camera work was shaky and poorly lit. I reorganized, edited, color-corrected, added subtitles, and sourced royalty-free music. It took me two days. I sent the final cut. Her reply: “Got it.” No ‘thank you.’ No ‘great job.’ Nothing. Late that night, I opened my dashboard. Followers: 3,847,521. The comment section was buzzing: “Where’s Stephanie? Missing my dose of wisdom.” “Waiting for Stephanie, can’t sleep.” “Take care of yourself, Queen. No rush.” I stared at the screen for a long time. Three million people were waiting for me. My family thought I was “sitting around.” I offered a dry smile, changed the project’s status to “URGENT,” and kept working. 3. The following weekend, Mark and I went to his parents’ house for dinner. Mark’s mother, Barbara Grant, pulled me into a long hug the moment I walked in, immediately followed by a meticulous inspection. “Stephanie dear, what have you been up to lately?” “Working,” I said. “Working? Still doing that…” She mimed a slow, lazy swipe of a screen. “That thing?” Mark was changing his shoes by the door. He interjected without looking up. “Mom, it’s just a hobby. Something she does to pass the time.” I shot him a look, but he didn’t meet my gaze. “Stephanie, I’m going to be honest with you.” Barbara guided me to the couch, her tone heavy with concern. “A woman needs a proper, stable job. Look at Mark. He works so hard, busting his butt for over eight thousand a month. What kind of example are you setting, playing on your phone at home?” I said nothing. “Find an office job. Even if the pay isn’t great, it’s respectable.” She patted my hand. “If you keep this up, think of the stress you’re putting on Mark.” Mark walked over from the entryway and stood beside his mother. “She has a point, Stephanie. Why can’t you just get a real job?” I looked at him. This man, who had stood before me two years ago and promised, “I support whatever you choose to do.” “I understand,” I said. That night, back home, my best friend Sasha texted me. Stephanie, you seriously need to tell them what you’re doing. No need, I replied. How is there no need? You make more money than their entire family combined. Why are you letting them talk to you like that? I stared at the text and didn’t reply. Why? Because they had never once asked what I was doing, choosing instead to only see me “staring at a phone at home.” And mostly, because I didn’t feel like explaining. Explaining to people who have already decided they won’t believe you is the most pointless waste of energy. 4. A month later, the promotional video I’d made for Jessica’s department went viral. It hit two million views. Her department head praised her by name, saying she “hired a very professional team.” A team. I sat at my computer, reading the text from my sister: The boss praised me today! Said the video was fantastic and put me in charge of all future projects. No “thank you.” No “you did this.” Not a single mention of my name. I scrolled up the messages. When she’d sent the assets, she’d said: “You help me whip it up.” I helped her whip it up. To her boss, it was her credit. At the next family dinner, my mother brought it up again. “Your sister’s video! Over two million views! Her boss says she’s talented, and they’re grooming her for the next promotion.” Her voice was bursting with pride. Jessica, sitting next to her, smiled and waved a hand dismissively. “It was nothing, Mom. Just a really good agency.” “An agency?” Aunt Deb asked. “The team I hired,” Jessica said. My hand froze, clutching a fork. She looked at me quickly. There was a flicker of guilt in her eyes, but mostly a smug certainty—you won’t say anything anyway. My mother went on. “Stephanie, look at your sister. That’s what I call ambition. You, on the other hand, sitting around…” “Mom,” Jessica interrupted, cutting her off. “It’s fine. Don’t say anything.” What was that tone? It was protective. Like she was saying, don’t pick on the poor, unemployed little sister. But I had spent two all-nighters creating that video. “I’m finished,” I said, putting down my fork. “You’ve barely touched your plate,” my mother frowned. “Something came up. I have to leave.” I stood up and pulled my car keys from my purse. Mark grabbed my arm. “What is with the attitude?” I looked at him. His eyes said it all: Don’t make a scene. Give me face. Can’t you just suck it up for an hour? “I don’t have an attitude.” I removed his hand, turned, and walked out. Behind me, I heard my mother’s voice: “Honestly, that child is becoming impossible.” The elevator door closed, and my phone vibrated. Caller ID: Mr. Alistair. 5. Mr. Alistair’s call was about the upcoming annual gala. “Stephanie, next Friday. The company awards show. You’re the anchor for the evening.” I was standing alone in the parking garage. My voice was calm. “Okay.” “Did you check the numbers? You’re number three on the annual earnings list.” He chuckled. “The top two are massive content houses. You’re a solo creator. That’s huge.” “I know.” I hung up and sat in my car for a long time. Number three. Annual income: two million dollars. I had never told any of them this number. They didn’t ask, and I didn’t say. What difference would it make? Would my mother suddenly change her tune and say, “My daughter is successful”? No. I started the car and drove home. The next day, my mother-in-law called again. “Stephanie, what exactly do you make a month?” Her tone was more direct this time. “I asked Mark, and even he couldn’t give me a straight answer. Is this job even reliable?” I gripped the phone, looking out the window. “Enough.” “Enough is not enough. I need to know the figure, Stephanie.” She stressed the last word. “It’s hard enough for my son to support you. You can’t be so vague.” Support me? I laughed inwardly. We’d been married for two years, and we were strictly splitting the bill. His salary was his savings; my income was my expense. He didn’t know what I saved; I didn’t know what he saved. “Barbara,” my voice was flat. “I support myself.” “Don’t take this the wrong way, but is this video-posting thing going to last forever?” I didn’t answer. “You should find a proper, stable job while you’re young. Even a low-paying office job. Staying home all day… when the neighbors ask, I don’t even know what to tell them.” I listened to her ramble for ten full minutes. “I understand,” I said. I hung up and looked at my dashboard data. The video I’d posted yesterday had 17 million views. One comment read: “Stephanie is the most insightful person I’ve ever watched.” I swiped the screen and exited the app. Insightful? If I were truly insightful, I wouldn’t let these words still sting. 6. On Wednesday, Jessica showed up at my door. This time, she didn’t call. She just appeared. “Stephanie, big news.” She pulled me inside, her eyes gleaming. “My department has a huge new project this year, and my boss put me in charge of the entire communications strategy.” I poured her a glass of water. “And?” “The last video did so well, he thinks I have a real knack for this.” She paused. “This project is massive. State-level visibility. If I pull this off, I’ll be promoted to Director of Communications.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “390833”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My boyfriend was just publicly dragged on Twitter by an A-list actress. Attached to the scathing thread was a video—him wrapping an arm around my waist as we entered a hotel, and then emerging in the early hours of the morning. The rising star, Jade, publicly announced their breakup: [Caspian, I never thought you were this kind of person.] The evidence was irrefutable. The trending topics exploded instantly. “HOLY SHIT, Jade is a queen!” “Wait, when were those two even dating?” “Kinda a shame, their looks together were amazing…” “Is no one curious who the girl in the video is?” I put my phone down, the sheer, crushing absurdity of it all making my head spin. Caspian and I had been childhood sweethearts. Eight years. And now, Jade was his official girlfriend? What did that make me? 1 It took less than half a day after Jade’s post—the one outing Caspian as a cheat—for my personal details to be fully exposed. Paparazzi swarmed the entrance to my office. My phone was drowning in an endless tide of harassing texts. The lies and vitriol wove themselves into a dense, suffocating net, threatening to pull me under. I hid in the company restroom, calling Caspian countless times. He didn’t answer. In desperation, I tried to clarify the situation online. “Are you seriously implying our Jade is the side chick? Are you okay?” “Only a mistress would have the audacity to jump out and try to clean up her mess. Shameless.” As a private citizen, my own Twitter account had zero influence. The few comments I did receive were all condemning me for playing the victim. The wave of abuse grew hotter, faster. In a single afternoon, I had become the public’s punching bag—the home-wrecking ex. I took a deep breath, intending to text HR to ask for time off, but a notification from them beat me to it: “Selena, your personal affairs are causing serious disruption to the company. Please take a temporary leave of absence. Handle your private matters, and then you can return to work.” Temporary leave, she said. After years in the corporate world, I knew exactly what HR meant. It wasn’t a vacation. My phone suddenly buzzed. [Don’t do anything. I’m sending someone to pick you up.] It was Caspian. My mind involuntarily replayed every tender detail of his and Jade’s courtship in her post—the small, sweet moments of their newfound love. My heart felt pierced, a dull, aching throb. I stared at the text for a few seconds, but decided to follow his instructions anyway. At the very least, I needed to see him face-to-face and demand an explanation. Under the cover of several of his security team, I slipped into Caspian’s tinted van. He wasn’t inside. His manager, a severe woman named Regina, gave me a cold, clinical look. “You’ll stay at the hotel we’ve arranged for a few days. Wait for word from Caspian.” I didn’t speak, instead watching the passing scenery blur outside the window, my fingers unconsciously tracing the surface of the wristwatch on my left wrist. “Caspian has the matching one to that watch,” Regina suddenly said. “You two have been together for nearly eight years, right?” Her tone was flat. “Every Valentine’s Day, he orders a custom-made pair of matching watches from overseas. He was always very devoted to you.” I froze, feeling distant and hazy. Caspian and I wore the watches for a reason. When we were children, Caspian and I were the least-wanted kids in the neighborhood. His mother had left his father and him for another man. His dad was a heavy drinker who often beat him; once, Caspian ended up in the emergency room. As for me, I had no parents and was raised by my aging, often confused Nana. Every time someone pointed a finger at me and screamed, “The crazy woman’s granddaughter is crazy, too!” Caspian would step up, swinging his fists and hitting them hard. Driven by a desperate need to escape our lives, we were the two best students in the whole area. One day, I was sick with a fever. Nana was boiling me a pot of rice porridge, but she forgot to turn off the gas, and the kitchen caught fire. Luckily, Caspian had come over to study. He found it in time, calmly called for help, and put the fire out. But both of our wrists were badly burned. When we first started dating, Caspian and I were struggling. We were dirt-poor. Yet, for our very first Valentine’s Day, he saved up money from odd jobs for months to buy that first pair of watches. That night, he leaned into my ear, his breath hot and tender on my neck. “Selena,” he whispered. “I promise I’m going to give you a good life.” Later, he was discovered by a scout, and his first role made him an overnight sensation. He did give me a good life. Every Valentine’s Day after that, he gifted me a new pair of matching watches. But this year, there was no watch. In fact, he hadn’t spent Valentine’s Day with me at all. I had cooked a huge meal at home and waited for him all night. Where was he? In Jade’s post, the script had wrapped on Valentine’s Day, and everyone was celebrating with drinks. The two of them had secretly slipped away, strolling through the streets and visiting an amusement park, just like a normal couple. As the Ferris wheel reached its peak, Caspian, still masked, had tentatively kissed her. She removed both their masks and kissed him back, smiling. 2 I stayed in the hotel for two days. I forced myself not to check Twitter, and I didn’t contact anyone. On the third day, Caspian finally appeared. I had a fever and was weakly holding onto the doorframe as I reached for water. I looked up and met Caspian’s deep, dark eyes. He looked thinner, which only made his already sharp features look harder, more angular. Dressed in black, he stood there, an icy, detached presence. I leaned against the doorframe, suddenly drained. It occurred to me that today was our eight-year anniversary. Last year, for our seventh anniversary, Caspian’s show was on hiatus, and we had planned a trip to a quiet coastal town. But at the airport, we were ambushed by the paparazzi. The person who inadvertently rescued us was a random female celebrity, also passing through. “Why is she at the same airport as Caspian?” “Didn’t she publicly declare her crush on him last month? Are they really together?” The reporters swarmed, pushing me out of the inner circle and surrounding her and Caspian. Flashbulbs went off everywhere. The actress, who was clearly savvy about PR, saw the situation and her face immediately flushed. “We’re just celebrating the end of filming together, that’s all!” she gushed. Seeing that Caspian didn’t stop her, she leaned slightly into his chest, feigning embarrassment. Caspian looked down at her, a gentle smile on his lips, his eyes soft enough to melt. The airport erupted in noise and shouts. But then, he turned his head and looked my way, his eyes filled with a flash of quick apology. That night, the top news items were all about Caspian and that actress. And me? I wanted to post my nine vacation photos on social media, but I didn’t even dare tag the location, terrified that someone would dig up my account later and cause him trouble. That evening, Caspian held me tightly, his chin resting on the crown of my head, his voice firm and earnest. “Just wait a little longer, Selena. Next anniversary, I’ll tell everyone you’re my girlfriend.” 3 My thoughts returned to the present. I was about to speak, but Regina suddenly emerged from behind Caspian and patted me down thoroughly, only leaving once she was satisfied I wasn’t carrying anything. “Were you afraid I brought a recording device?” I asked. Caspian, however, acted as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He smiled. “Selena, I missed you.” I felt a sudden, confusing mix of the urge to laugh and utter bewilderment. After last year’s anniversary, our time together had become increasingly rare. He was busy filming and doing promotional tours. I had to keep telling myself to be understanding. One day, I was curled up on the couch and couldn’t help but post a frustrated thought on my private feed, saying I wished someone was there. The next morning, I opened my eyes and there he was. He’d seen my post and flown in overnight from the set. Opening the door to him, I was ecstatic, kissing him almost frantically. He just laughed, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. “I missed you too. Every part of you.” By the end, I was gasping, gripping his arm like a fish desperate for water. Because he had an early call time, Caspian was gone before dawn the next day. I stood in the empty apartment, forlornly watching his retreating back from the window, and realized he’d left his suitcase. I opened it. It was completely filled with all my favorite snacks. At the very bottom of the snacks was a signed photo of a stage actor I loved. I’d heard a rumor from a fan account on Twitter that Caspian had turned down several appearances and spent three months secretly studying method acting. It was for me. Even later, when the rumors of him and Jade were rampant, I chose to believe him. I genuinely didn’t know how Caspian and I had reached this point. “The post, Jade… aren’t you going to explain yourself?” “Explain what?” “All those news articles said you fell for each other on set. I never doubted you; you called it PR spin, and I trusted you. But now?” “If you fell for Jade, you should have just told me. We would have broken up. Why did you lie to me?” “Did cheating on me with another woman feel exciting? Did it make you feel powerful?” “Why did you put me through this?” Caspian looked at me, silent. “Do you have any idea what the last few days have been like? Do you know what people are saying about me online?” My throat was dry and tight. I almost couldn’t bring myself to speak the next words. “Caspian, some of those so-called ‘leaks’—the things that paint me as the obsessed ex—you were behind them, weren’t you?” Caspian’s face darkened, but his voice remained calm. “Selena, it’s not what you think.” I looked at him, temporarily lost for a response. The Caspian who would fight anyone for saying one harsh word to me was now watching from the sidelines as I faced a torrent of public abuse, perhaps even fueling it. After all, throwing me under the bus gave his team the necessary time for crisis management. Looking at the man in front of me, I suddenly felt bone-weary. I didn’t want to fight anymore. “Caspian, let’s break up.” “I won’t agree.” He gripped my hand tightly and tried to touch my face, but I coldly pulled away. “My feelings for Jade…” He paused, as if searching for the right excuse, and irritably lit a cigarette. It took him a long moment to answer. “After the fire when we were kids, I’ve always been afraid of fire. On set, there was a major explosion scene, and I couldn’t get into character. She kept encouraging me.” “The roles she and I played in that drama had a deep emotional connection. I’ve never gotten so lost in a role before.” “I just… couldn’t snap out of it.” He suddenly stubbed out the cigarette, his expression growing more irritated and gloomy. Watching him, I laughed—a short, bitter sound. “So you’re saying you were just momentarily confused, and you never actually felt anything for her?” Caspian fell silent. I stared at him. “Did you sleep with her?” Caspian’s face paled slightly. “I waited for you all night on Valentine’s Day. You wouldn’t answer my calls. You were with her, weren’t you?” He looked at me wordlessly, his lips moving, but no sound emerged. A sudden tickle in my throat made me cover my mouth and cough violently. A cool hand reached out and felt my forehead. “You have a fever.” Caspian’s brow furrowed. He grabbed his phone. “I’ll call someone to bring medicine.” Seeing the faint look of concern on his face made my stomach churn. I turned away and dry-heaved. “Stop pretending. It’s disgusting.” A fleeting shadow crossed his eyes. He watched me for a few seconds, then suddenly wrapped an arm around my waist and guided me to the sofa. When I tried to struggle, his fingers moved from my waist to my back, pressing a spot that forced me to slump against his chest. “Selena,” his voice dropped from above me, a low, hoarse sound tangled with an inexplicable coldness. “You said no matter what happened, you’d never leave me.” Seeing that he was about to kiss me, I fought with all my might. “If you have any respect for me left, let go.” Caspian’s body went rigid for a moment, and then he finally released me. “I’m sorry.” The air grew quiet. I looked at him. “I will break up with you peacefully, and I won’t use any information you gave me to fuel the online frenzy. But first, you have to tell the truth, clarify all the facts, and clear my name.” After a moment of silence, Caspian’s throat bobbed. “I can’t do that.” “Selena, I’ve already made a statement. The public won’t care about this for long. If you just compromise one more time, and wait for this whole thing to blow over—” “Compromise one more time?” I interrupted him. “What exactly does that mean?” A sudden, terrifying clarity washed over me. My hands trembling, I pulled up Twitter—the app I had been avoiding for days. The top trending topic was Caspian’s public statement. [I apologize for consuming public resources, so I want to start by apologizing to everyone. Selena and I were indeed a couple, but due to certain issues, we had to separate. Later, while filming, Jade and I began a relationship. It was only when I saw Selena again that I understood why she had broken up with me. She suffers from a hereditary mental illness. She came to find me that night because she was experiencing an episode, mistakenly believing we were still together. The darkness that night led to a visual misunderstanding. I deeply regret not telling Jade about this beforehand, and I apologize to her. Selena, upon regaining clarity, is also very apologetic and will be releasing her own statement to clarify the matter.] I stared blankly at the screen. “So, you came here today—” “To ask me to tell the world I’m mentally ill? To say that I, your crazy ex-girlfriend, was harassing you?” 4 Caspian’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Selena, Regina will give you the statement draft shortly. Memorize it. She’ll film a video of you.” “Once this is over, we can go back to how things were—” Slap. The sound was sharp and sickeningly loud. I put every ounce of my desperation into it, snapping Caspian’s head to the side. The overhead light caught the blood welling up from a thin scratch my nail had left on his cheek. The air went silent for several seconds. Caspian lowered his head, then calmly gripped my hand, a chilling tenderness leaking into his eyes. “Does your hand hurt?” I didn’t pull away. I just looked up and asked quietly, “Do you know what day it is?” Caspian paused, slightly stunned. “Last year, on our seventh anniversary, you promised me that on the next anniversary, you would tell everyone I was your girlfriend.” I smiled faintly. “Today is our eighth anniversary. And you’re asking me to tell the world I’m mentally ill.” Caspian’s face went chalk-white. A year. Not a long time, but not short, either. The eight years of love Caspian and I built, piece by painful piece, were destroyed in a single year—and left utterly unrecognizable. He knew. He knew how terrified I was of being labeled mentally ill because of my grandmother’s condition. He knew. Looking at this man, I felt a dizzying sense of alienation. “Caspian, you are so arrogant. You relied on our eight years, you relied on the fact that I loved you so much, assuming I would forgive your betrayal, sacrifice my dignity, admit to being a lunatic for you, and still want to be with you after all of this.” “But why should I?” “I loved the you who protected me from bullies. The you who would fly to me with surprises, no matter how busy filming was. The you whose eyes and heart were only for me.” I looked at him calmly, every word precise and deliberate. “I do not love this man—this bottomless, sickening stranger you’ve become.” Caspian’s grip tightened, dark emotion swirling in his eyes. Slowly, deliberately, I pulled my hand from his grasp. “Not only will I refuse to record any video, but I will find a journalist and tell them the truth.” “I advise you to think carefully,” Regina’s voice cut in from behind me. Regina met my eyes and raised the phone in her hand. The screen was shattered—it was my phone. “My apologies. We needed to ensure your cooperation, so I took some measures. Of course, we’ll replace it, but naturally, there won’t be any messy text messages on the new one.” Regina pulled a new phone from her purse and placed it in my hand. “If you want to expose him, all you can prove is that you didn’t break up last year.” She smiled. “While you’ve been at the hotel for the past two days, we’ve cleared out your apartment. All the evidence of your relationship is gone. That includes all the gifts he’s given you this year, and all your travel receipts from visiting him on set since January.” I looked at Caspian, disbelief washing over me. His face paled, and he shifted uncomfortably, avoiding my gaze. After a long silence, I spoke slowly. “I have backups.” Regina’s expression shifted. “Eight years. I have backups of all our chat histories, our travel receipts. They are not on this phone, of course.” I stared coldly at Caspian. “My demand is unchanged. You post the full truth on Twitter and publicly apologize to me. That way, we can maintain the last shred of dignity between us.” Caspian suddenly laughed, a flicker of sarcasm in his eyes. “Backups?” I took in his expression, a painful, indescribable mix of sorrow and asphyxiation bubbling up in my chest. I grabbed my bag and turned to leave, pausing at the door. “I’m giving you two days to consider.” 5 Leaving the hotel, I clutched my burning forehead and hailed a taxi to the hospital. Lying in the bed, receiving an IV drip, I opened Twitter. I scrolled through the comments under Caspian’s “clarification” post. The first was from Jade: “Seriously?” Caspian replied: “Yes.” The second: “I apologize for speaking harshly before. The fact that you’re still this kind to a mentally ill ex means you’re definitely not a cheat.” The third: “Good thing you broke up. That mental illness is scary.” The fourth: “When is that Selena going to post her clarification?” Caspian replied: “Soon.” I closed my eyes, dropping the phone. The truth was, I didn’t have any backups of the chat histories or travel receipts. For eight years, I had trusted him implicitly, loved him completely. I didn’t dare save full-face photos of him in my phone, and I rarely posted on my feed, limiting myself to maybe a distant back shot or his hand reaching out. I didn’t even tag locations when we traveled. How could I have backups? The irony was that I had collected the chat history from the past year. I treasured those few messages like sacred relics. I hadn’t been oblivious to Caspian’s growing coldness and distraction over the last year, but I kept telling myself he was just too busy. On Valentine’s Day, I had created a private Twitter account, a place where I copied and saved our scarce chat logs and his voice messages. I would pull it up and look at it every time I missed him late at night. It was set to ‘only me’ viewing. Now, by a twist of fate, it had become my weapon. I spent two days alone in the hospital, getting my IV drip. Caspian’s Twitter was silent, and he hadn’t contacted me. In the next bed, an elderly woman was feeding her sick granddaughter. I watched them blankly, a sharp pang hitting me—I missed Nana. After completing the discharge procedure, I called a major fan account I’d connected with while pretending to be a fan visiting Caspian on set. I got the contact information for a well-known journalist, and then hailed a car to the care facility. Three years ago, Nana had a sudden heart attack at home. I was at work, and Caspian, who had just finished filming, rushed her to the hospital. The doctor said Nana was too old and prone to anxiety and delusions; she needed round-the-clock care and shouldn’t stay at home. I was sobbing, my legs too weak to stand. Caspian held my waist steady, gently wiping my tears. “I promise I’ll find the best care facility for Nana.” The Caspian of the past was truly wonderful to Nana and me. I wanted to see her before the inevitable, final break with him. I walked the familiar path to Nana’s room. The caregiver looked up, surprised. “Your boyfriend picked Nana up this morning. Weren’t you taking her to get family photos done?” Bzzzz. My head went numb, an icy chill shooting from my feet to the crown of my head. I turned sharply and bolted from the facility, dialing Caspian’s number with trembling hands as I ran. The call connected quickly. “Where are you?” “Where did you take Nana?” “She’s disoriented, she doesn’t recognize anyone! Caspian, what are you trying to do?” The background noise was loud, muffled flashes of camera lights faintly audible. “I’m at the press conference.” Caspian’s low voice sounded in my ear, as if from a great distance. I felt momentarily dazed. “What press conference?” “I know you don’t have a backup.” A sigh came over the phone. “Selena, you loved me too much. How could you have backups?” A wave of bitterness surged in my chest. I spat out the words through clenched teeth. “So what? What do you want to do to Nana?” “I won’t hurt her.” Caspian’s voice was low, trembling. “Selena, I have no other choice. Since you won’t come forward, I can only have Nana clarify for you.” “I taught Nana a few lines. She’s going to say them in front of the cameras. Her memory is excellent—she’s remembered them all.” Tears streamed down my face. I gritted my teeth. “Caspian, don’t make me hate you.” There was a moment of silence. “Selena, I will protect Nana. Don’t worry.” … By the time I rushed to the hotel, the press conference had been going on for a while. Without a pass, I was stuck outside. On the large screen, the media had packed the room, setting up equipment and adjusting lenses, frantically snapping pictures of Jade and Caspian. I was surprised Jade was even there. I overheard staff talking nearby. Caspian had three goals for this conference: First, to have the “mentally ill” ex-girlfriend make a clarifying statement. Second, to officially announce his relationship with Jade. Third, to announce that he and Jade would co-star in a new romantic comedy. In a daze, I saw a pale, confused face, lined with deep wrinkles, appear on the big screen. “Selena’s condition has worsened, and she regrettably can’t be here. This is Selena’s grandmother.” Caspian held Nana’s hand and brought the microphone to her lips. Nana looked at Caspian helplessly, her eyes clouded. It took her a long moment to speak, her voice trembling. “Selena… is… is sick. Can’t come. She… she and Caspian broke… broke up last year.” After choking out the few sentences, Nana immediately shrank back behind Caspian, as if the microphone were a monstrous threat. “She definitely looks unstable. That Selena must be…” “It’s a pity, a whole family of mental cases.” Hearing the reporters’ whispers, my nails dug into my palms. I wanted to rush in immediately. “Selena?” A low voice sounded near my ear. I turned my head and stared blankly at the well-dressed man in the light gray shirt. “I’m Dominic, the journalist you contacted earlier.” “I can get you inside.” I wiped away my tears with the back of my hand and nodded silently. The moment I entered the room, I froze. Caspian and Jade were kissing. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath. The venue was silent, broken only by the continuous flashing of the cameras. In my sight, Jade’s eyes were lightly closed, her hand slowly moving to wrap around his waist. Caspian seemed to smile, cupping the back of her head, deepening the kiss. A sudden shriek broke the deathly silence. “You can’t kiss her!” I followed the sound, my breath catching in my throat. Nana stood in the corner, her hunched body now rigidly straight, her eyes bloodshot, looking as distraught as a child. “Selena is your girlfriend! You never broke up!” The room burst into chaos. Nana tried to stop them, but rushing forward, she tripped over a chair leg and fell hard to the floor. The sudden turn of events plunged the scene into an absolute frenzy. Someone called the police, someone called an ambulance, and the cameras kept flashing relentlessly. “Nana…” I rushed onto the ambulance. Staring at the unconscious Nana, my head felt like it had been hit with a hammer. All the blood in my body seemed to have turned to ice.

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My family didn’t just punish me for being too sharp, too honest. They erased me. For a decade, I was exiled to a locked-down industrial processing facility far out in the Arizona desert. It wasn’t enough to make me wear a chemical mask for fourteen hours straight, seven days a week. Even off the line, I wasn’t allowed to speak to anyone. It was their definition of ‘tough love’: “Cure that venomous tongue of yours, and learn to shut up.” Day after day, year after year, I lived the same monotonous loop, not even allowed home for Thanksgiving or Christmas. In the tenth year, desperate for the bus ticket back East, I took a triple shift for the foreman’s son who had a fever—seventy-two hours straight on the line. The machinery’s roar was the last thing I heard before I collapsed. The fever, combined with the extreme exhaustion, permanently ravaged my vocal cords. The day I received the medical report, my brother found me. Spencer rolled up in a gleaming Rolls-Royce, looking pristine in a bespoke Italian suit. “Ashley,” he said, his voice dripping with condescension. “Ten years. Mom and Dad say the punishment is over. Are you finally rid of that temper?” “Come home with me, Sis. The family is having a proper reunion this year.” I stared at him, my mouth opening, but no sound came out. … I was wearing the factory’s threadbare canvas coat, permanently permeated with the smell of cheap oil and chemicals. “Get in. What are you standing around for?” Spencer frowned, his perfect features momentarily marred. “Ten years, and you’re still so… vacant? Can’t you even greet someone?” I looked at him, my throat feeling like a wad of ice-soaked cotton was lodged deep inside. I wanted to call out, “Brother,” but my vocal cords produced nothing more than a raw, hissing whisper of air. “Fine. I guess the ten-year fix worked. You finally learned to be quiet.” He gave a short, cruel laugh. “Your mouth used to be a toxic waste pump. Guess silence really is golden after all, huh?” I silently opened the door and curled up against the far corner of the back seat. Spencer caught my eye in the rearview mirror. “Fasten the seatbelt. And please, don’t rub against the upholstery. I just had the car detailed.” I looked down at my hands—thick with calluses, the nails packed with black grime. They trembled as I reached for the buckle. Click. The sound was shockingly loud in the luxurious silence of the car. “Listen up. Mom and Dad invited all the relatives over for dinner tonight.” “You need to behave. Don’t bring that gutter attitude you used to have.” He paused, letting the silence fester. “This decade was your own doing, Ashley. Don’t come home playing the victim. We did this for your own good—to temper you, so you don’t embarrass yourself when you finally marry.” For my good? Throwing me into a sealed facility, confiscating my ID, cutting off all contact—that was for my good? Forcing me to breathe in caustic agents for fourteen hours a day—that was for my good? For ten years, I’d existed like a ghost in a machine. Because I was muted. Truly, completely muted. “Ashley! I’m talking to you!” His voice snapped. “Are you deaf and dumb? Can’t even let out a grunt?” I steadied myself, turned, and locked my dead gaze on him. “Fine. Play your little game.” “Let’s see how long you can keep the act up.” “You have another coming when we get home.” The Rolls-Royce glided into the familiar, exclusive Kensington estate. Spencer pulled into the drive and exited immediately, not bothering to wait for me. I pulled out my single piece of luggage—a tattered, canvas utility bag, a gift from a kind co-worker, holding everything I owned. “Oh, Spencer is such a success! I hear the company’s IPO is right on track!” “Richard is such a great father. Two accomplished children. What a fortunate man.” Mrs. Gable, the housekeeper, saw me and her smile froze, replaced instantly by a look of undisguised disdain. “Well, look who decided to grace us with her presence. The eldest daughter is back.” That single, barbed announcement hit the living room like a power outage. The excited chatter stopped cold. All eyes swiveled to me. “Still remember the way back, do you?” My father, Richard, set his expensive china cup down. “Ten years. How was the reflection?” I stood in the grand marble foyer. My worn sneakers, still dusty from the industrial zone, stood out against the polished floor. I wanted to change shoes, but of course, there were no slippers waiting for me. Ten years. This house had long ago purged any trace of my existence. I simply kicked off my sneakers and stepped onto the cold marble. The chill shot straight up from my soles to my skull. “Ashley, come here and let your mother look at you.” My mother, Victoria, didn’t rise. She merely waved a hand, the gesture resembling one calling an errant stray. “A bit thin. But much calmer now.” “That wild look is gone. Good.” “I guess your brother was right. That place certainly knows how to whip someone into shape.” My brother? It was my beloved brother who suggested sending me to hell? “Mom, she’s perfectly docile now,” Spencer said, strolling over and resting a possessive hand on my shoulder. “Didn’t argue once on the ride. Quiet as a lady.” “Is that so? Good. Then our tough love wasn’t wasted.” “Since you’re fixed, you can stay home. Run errands for Spencer’s company. Do some low-level administrative work.” “Just don’t go out and embarrass the family.” Administrative work? I had been an honors student with a full scholarship to a top-tier university. In their eyes, ten years of suffering only qualified me to fetch coffee and file papers? Spencer leaned in, his voice a low warning in my ear. “Don’t push your luck. All the relatives are watching.” Just then, my Aunt Candace approached, a handful of mixed nuts clutched in her hand. “Oh, honey, is that Ashley? Why are you dressed like that?” “You look like you just stumbled off a freight train. When was the last time those clothes were washed?” She dramatically covered her nose and stepped back two paces. “What is that smell? It’s awful.” The surrounding relatives began to whisper, their eyes narrowed in judgment. “A lost cause, really.” “How did the Kensingtons produce a daughter like that?” “Thank God Spencer is the successful one.” I stood at the center of the glittering room. On the back of my hand, a blister from the day before, courtesy of a hot piece of machinery, had split open during my nervous fidgeting. Yellow pus mixed with blood seeped out, a white-hot agony. No one noticed. My mother, clearly sensing I was an embarrassment to her facade, stood up with an impatient sigh. “Alright, that’s enough. Go wash up and put on some clean clothes.” “Mrs. Gable, show her to the guest room.” The guest room? What about my room? I glanced up at the window on the second floor that used to be mine. “Oh, that room is Spencer’s private collection now,” my mother dismissed, waving a hand. “You weren’t using it, so it was just wasted space.” “The guest room is fine. It gets good light.” I had lost my voice, and now, even my last physical foothold in this house had been completely erased. I was shown to a small room next to the housekeeper’s pantry on the ground floor. Mrs. Gable tossed me a bundle of old clothing—her leftover cleaning uniforms. “Here, Miss Ashley. Make do. Your things were tossed ages ago.” “The Mistress says to help in the kitchen after your shower. We’re short-staffed for the New Year’s Eve party.” I took the clothes, which reeked of mothballs, and retreated to the bathroom. Hot water cascaded over me, stinging the small, unhealed cuts and scrapes. I looked at the person in the mirror. Straw-like hair, sunken cheeks, and dull, vacant eyes. A vicious red scar circled my neck—a result of clawing at my own skin during the delirious fever. I opened my mouth, facing the glass, and tried to force a sound. “Hhh—aaah.” After the shower, I left the work uniform untouched. Instead, I pulled my one decent item from the utility bag. It was a cheap, red synthetic sweater, bought for me by my co-workers. “Ashley,” they’d said. “Wear red for the holidays. It’s festive.” I put it on. It was scratchy and itched my skin, but it gave me a fleeting warmth. Mrs. Gable was directing a few temp staff in the kitchen. “If you won’t talk, then work,” she ordered. “Peel these. And be quick about it.” I silently squatted and picked up a peeler. This motion was second nature. On the assembly line, every movement had to be timed to the fraction of a second. Slow down, and the line supervisor would scream until your ears bled. I mechanically skinned potatoes, listening to the laughter and accolades echoing from the living room. “Spencer, I hear you bought your parents a seaside condo?” “Yes, well, they worked hard. It’s time for them to relax.” “Such a devoted son! Unlike that other girl—ten years and not a single call.” “Don’t mention her. Bad luck.” My father’s booming voice cut in. “It’s a good night. We won’t discuss that rebellious daughter.” “Come on, everyone, have some more champagne.” My knife slipped an inch. The sharp blade sliced a neat cut into my fingertip. Blood bloomed instantly. I didn’t pause. I lifted the finger, sucked the metallic tang of the blood into my mouth, and kept peeling. One, two, three… I didn’t stop until the entire basket of potatoes was done. My hands were wrinkled and ghostly white from the ice water, the cut on my finger weeping white. “Good. Now take this out.” Mrs. Gable pointed to a platter of glazed ham she had just finished. “Careful. Don’t drop that. The platter is an antique.” In the living room, the long dining table was laden with food. Everyone was seated except for one space—the tightest corner, where a backless, round stool had been placed. That was my spot. I placed the heavy ham platter in the center of the table. As I was about to sit down, Spencer’s voice stopped me. “Wait.” He swirled a glass of red wine. “Little Sis, since you’re back, don’t you think you should offer a toast to your elders?” “It’s tradition.” My father nodded approvingly. “He’s right. It’s respect. You might have been disrespectful before, but now that you’re reformed, you need to show some class.” “Pour the drinks.” Spencer slid a glass decanter of strong rye whiskey in front of me. I looked at the clear liquid. My stomach seized up. The facility’s poor conditions had left me with chronic, severe digestive issues. The doctor had warned me against even a drop of alcohol. I shook my head and pointed to my abdomen. “What? Too good for us?” Aunt Candace’s voice was venomous. “Back five minutes and already pulling rank?” “Your brother is honoring you. Don’t be rude.” Spencer’s face darkened. “Ashley, don’t make me lose my temper.” “It’s Christmas Eve. I don’t want a scene.” A scene. He’d always hit me when I displeased him as a child. My parents never intervened, only saying, “Your brother is teaching you discipline.” I took a deep breath and picked up the decanter. I poured a measure of the potent whiskey for every elder at the table. When I got to Spencer, he deliberately held his glass high. The whiskey sloshed over the rim, splashing onto the sleeve of his bespoke suit. “Smack!” He slammed his hand on the table and rose. “Are you blind?! You did that on purpose!” “You really do need a beating, don’t you?” He raised his hand, ready to strike. My mother quickly stepped in. “Stop it, stop it! It’s the holidays. Don’t lower yourself.” “Ashley, clean up your mess! Now!” I pulled a napkin from the holder and reached out to wipe his sleeve. Spencer roughly shoved me away. I stumbled back, hitting the corner of the small, backless stool with my lower back. A sharp, blinding pain shot through me, leaving me gasping for air. But I made no sound. Not because I chose not to. Because I couldn’t. Spencer tore off his jacket in disgust and threw it to the floor. “Useless, honestly.” “Worse than a waitress.” “Sit down and eat. Just looking at you ruins my appetite.” I quietly righted the stool and perched myself on the edge. The bowl in front of me remained empty. I watched them toast each other, revel in their perfect family moment. I was just a silent backdrop, there to make their happiness look brighter, their success feel more earned. The wine flowed, and the atmosphere peaked. My father, slightly drunk, his face flushed, raised his glass again. “To my relatives! I want to say a few special words.” His voice was loud and proud. “You all know ten years ago, Ashley was out of control. A venomous mouth, constantly offending people.” “To teach her a lesson, your mother, Spencer, and I made a difficult choice. We sent her away for some heavy-duty reform.” “These ten years have been hard on us, too, but for a child’s future, you must be ruthless!” The relatives nodded in unison. “Yes, Richard, you made the hard choice.” “A father’s sacrifice!” My father smiled, satisfied, and pointed at me. “Now, you see the result! Our method worked!” “Look at Ashley now! So quiet! So compliant! She does what she’s told, doesn’t cause a scene.” “As we say: The stone must be polished to become a gem!” My mother’s eyes watered with performative emotion. “Yes, Ashley. Stand up. Thank your father and your brother.” “Without them, you’d still be rotting in some ditch somewhere.” Spencer leaned back, idly playing with a lighter, a smirk of triumph on his face. “Little Sis, say something.” “It’s been ten years. We’d love to hear your voice.” “Even just ‘I’m sorry’ would be a start. Show some remorse.” “Come on, Ashley. Say a few words.” Every eye was on me again. Say something? I wanted to say: I despise you. I wanted to say: Where were you when I was being abused in the barracks? I wanted to say: What were you doing while I was feverish and desperate for that ticket home? I wanted to say: I hurt. My throat hurt. My heart hurt more. Spencer’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Ashley, don’t disrespect our father.” “He asked you to speak. Are you deaf? What is this, some kind of protest?” “I swear, I’ll send you back there for another decade.” Another ten years of that dark, dehumanizing existence? I instinctively flinched. “Speak!” My father lost his patience. “If you don’t open your mouth and apologize tonight, then get out of my house and never come back!” “The Kensingtons don’t house ungrateful filth!”

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My inseparable roommate just presented as an Enigma. He bit my gland, his eyes obsessed. “Milo, you smell so good.” “I want you to have my babies…” I slapped his eager “Little Caleb” that was pressed against my leg. Roaring in anger: “Look clearly! I’m an Alpha! I’m not the one getting topped!” Caleb Vance pondered for a moment. He grabbed my waist and switched our positions. Then pressed my shoulders down, hard. A white light flashed before my eyes. Caleb looked at my unfocused gaze and thrust viciously. “Yeah, you’re on top.” “I’m inside.” 1 “Caleb, grab me a towel! Door’s unlocked.” A moment later, a slender, knuckly hand reached through the crack. “Don’t do this again.” “Come on, what’s wrong with ordering a bro around?” I opened the door, raising an eyebrow at him: “I won’t let you run errands for nothing. Big benefits for you.” I puffed out my 45-inch chest, tone proud: “Big, right?” “So many little Omegas in our college are drooling but can’t touch. You’re my best bro, free squeeze for you.” Before Caleb could react, I grabbed his hand and put it on my pec. Then flexed, making it jump twice. “How is it? My gym results this year aren’t bad, right?” Caleb is half a head taller than me. Steam filled the bathroom, obscuring his expression. I could only hear his usually clear, magnetic voice turn slightly husky. “Mn, not bad.” I smiled smugly, pulling his hand further down. “Not done yet. Abs went from six to eight, thigh muscles are much stronger too. Feel it.” This Alpha trained hard for a year just to show off today. However, just as I was moving Caleb’s hand to my lower abdomen. He suddenly used force and broke free. “No time for your nonsense.” “Assignment’s not done yet.” With that, he turned sharply. Bang. Slammed the door shut. I held the towel, very confused. It’s the start of junior year, haven’t even recognized all the professors. Where did the assignment come from? A moment later, I realized. Caleb is lean, the cold scholar type. Although both Alphas. Seeing my robust muscles. He must be jealous, feeling inferior. As Caleb’s best bro, I decided to help him out. So, after lights out. I quietly climbed into Caleb’s bed. 2 “Milo?” “Who let you up here?” Caleb’s voice was shocked and hoarse. Mixed with a trace of unbearable panting. A strong scent of lime pheromones hit my face, sinking my heart. As an S-class Alpha, controlling pheromone leakage is engraved in his bones. Unless sick or in a rut. “Are you okay?” I was worried. Immediately turned on the flashlight. “Don’t turn on the light!” Too late. The phone light lit up the bed like day. Caleb leaned against the headboard. Right hand raised, blocking the glare. His phone screen quickly went dark. But sharp-eyed me still saw it was a photo of someone. I crawled over, flicked the “Little Caleb” that was greeting me proudly. Smirking: “Pheromones so strong, thought you were sick. Didn’t expect you were jerking off.” Caleb pulled the quilt to cover his lower body. “Get down!” “No! We’re bros, continue, don’t be shy.” I nudged him with my elbow, asking: “Which star’s photo were you looking at? Tell me so I can avoid a trap.” “Can’t get off for so long, this star must be bad.” Caleb’s face darkened, fair earlobes dripping blood red. Eyes closed, ashamed and annoyed: “Milo.” “You’re crossing the line.” 3 I chuckled, unbothered: “Just bros, what’s wrong with a flick?” “Two years of college, every time I ask you to pee or shower together, you refuse. This is my first time seeing it.” Recalling the scene just now. I praised sincerely: “Bigger than mine. You kid really hide it well.” “Being your Omega must be blissful…” Caleb is used to being cold. Usually when I talk dirty. He’d glare at me annoyed, telling me to shut up. But today, he inexplicably asked: “You really think so?” See. No Alpha dislikes hearing others praise their size. I nodded, touching the hot tent through the quilt. Joked: “If I were an Omega, you’d definitely give bro a good time.” Caleb’s handsome brow raised slightly. “Really?” I bluffed: “Naturally!” As soon as the words fell, lime pheromones surged. Like a storm, instantly filling every corner of the dorm. “You’re in a rut?” I turned, ready to climb down to get suppressants. Who knew Caleb suddenly moved. Grabbed my ankle and pulled back. Pressed his whole body on my back. “Milo, you smell so good…” 4 Pajamas torn open. Caleb buried in the back of my neck, sniffing lightly. I sensed nothing wrong, face proud instead: “Naturally, my pheromones are rare honey scent!” Where I couldn’t see. Caleb’s Adam’s apple moved slightly. Pitch-black eyes dyed with desire inch by inch. “Want to bite.” “What?” I didn’t hear clearly. Although Caleb isn’t as buff as me. But his 6’3″ height pressed me breathless. Not to mention he’s in a rut, burning hot. Little Caleb was hard as a rock against my lower back. So hot I moved uncomfortably. “Caleb, get up, I’ll get you suppressants.” Caleb unmoved. Thumb rubbing the back of my neck. Heavy breathing sprayed on my ear, causing my glands to heat and swell. Honey scent spilled out in wisps. Hooking with the lime in the air, intertwining. Then concentration skyrocketed. By the time I realized something was wrong. It was too late. Sharp canines pierced my nape unexpectedly. Lime pheromones forcibly poured into my body. Tears sprang from my eyes in pain, toes curled, gripping the sheets wanting to escape. Caleb pressed me down with his waist. Slender fingers interlaced with mine undeniably. Pinning me dead to the bed. Pheromones unique to Caleb roamed and crashed inside me. My glands got hotter and hotter. Eyes instantly filled with mist, limbs going soft. As if entering Omega heat. “Caleb Vance, stop!” “I’m an Alpha! Your best bro! Not an Omega to mark!” Unknown which word triggered him. Caleb suddenly moved, pulling down my pajama pants. Murmuring almost obsessively: “Milo, you smell so good…” “Want you to have my babies…” Damn. Just a rut, why so slutty? I struggled violently. But froze instantly feeling the terrifying size, scalp tingling. “Wake up! I’m an Alpha! Have a fart!” Even swept by desire turning into a beast. Caleb maintained the scholar’s habit of answering every question. Low husky voice rang in my ear. Sexy as hell. “Alphas have a reproductive cavity too.” “Deep enough, chisel open, can conceive…”

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My mother brought me into the Hayes family when she married Mr. Hayes. That’s when I first laid eyes on my stepbrother, Jackson Hayes, and fell completely, hopelessly in love. To be his wife, I clung to him relentlessly, alienating friends and family alike. Eventually, I got what I wanted. But after we married, Jackson remained as distant as ever. Even in our most intimate moments, there was no warmth, just a cold, empty physical release. One night, at a dimly lit bar, I overheard his friends asking him, “Why did you give up on Leslie Olson, the elegant heiress, to marry Astrid Sheen, your willful, naive stepsister?” Jackson had simply chuckled, a weary, almost resigned sound. “Just responsibility,” he’d said. “She wouldn’t survive without me.” He didn’t love me. He was merely paying for our foolish drunken mistake. I stumbled out of the bar, my mind a blur, only to be struck by a speeding sports car and flung back to my seventeenth year. Given a second chance, I vowed to mend the regrets of my past, with one crucial exception: I would no longer chase Jackson Hayes. Yet, that very night, Jackson cornered me against the door, his eyes glistening with unshed tears for the first time in either of our lives. “Astrid Sheen,” he pleaded, his voice raw, “Look at me. I love you too…” 1 The exact moment I realized I’d been reborn, I was standing by the dining table, holding a steaming Dutch oven. “Astrid? Why are you just standing there? Put that pot down, it’s scalding hot!” My mom’s anxious voice snapped me back to the present. I quickly lowered the heavy pot, but my fingertips were already flushed scarlet. Everyone at the table was looking at me: Mom, my stepfather Mr. Hayes, and… Jackson. This was the day I’d insisted on cooking a special breakfast stew for Jackson, knowing he suffered from stomach issues. I’d nearly set the kitchen on fire, terrifying poor Mrs. Miller, our housekeeper, half to death. My gaze instinctively found Jackson. My stepbrother. His sharp eyebrows were subtly furrowed, his thin lips pressed into a tight line. His eyes, fixed on me, held a hint of impatience. I gave a self-deprecating smile. No matter how much I’d poured out my heart, it had always been a futile, one-sided affair. In my previous life, at this very moment, I’d declared with a heart full of hope, “Jackson, this is a special stew I made just for you! Please try it and tell me if it’s good. If you like it, I’ll make it for you every day!” All the boundless affection of a young girl had been slow-cooked into those tender, savory grains. But Jackson had simply frowned, his gaze flicking to my reddened hand. “The Hayes household has a housekeeper, Astrid. There’s no need for you to do such unnecessary things.” I’d frozen on the spot. Later, I’d cried myself to sleep, only to wipe away my tears the next morning and resume being Jackson’s devoted shadow. Thinking of that, I took the first bowl and served it to my stepfather, Mr. Hayes, who sat at the head of the table. I gave him a sweet, playful smile. “Dad, Mom said you’ve been working so hard lately, so I made this special stew to help you feel better.” Mr. Hayes’s face registered a flicker of surprise, then he burst into hearty laughter. “Ah, a daughter’s thoughtfulness is truly unmatched! I won’t enjoy this stew for free, young lady. Your allowance will go up by a thousand next month!” I thanked him with feigned delight, then served a bowl to Mom. “It’s my first time cooking, Mom,” I said, putting on a pout. “You simply have to praise me.” I placed the third bowl in front of myself, then sat down and began to eat. A subtle awkwardness settled over the table. Mrs. Miller, sensing the shift, started to clear her throat, moving to serve Jackson. “Mrs. Miller,” I said, my voice deliberately casual, “Jackson doesn’t care for stew. Don’t trouble yourself.” Jackson’s fork paused mid-air. He said nothing, a silent acceptance. Mrs. Miller halted her movements. I slowly ate my stew, a silent vow forming in my mind. Jackson Hayes, I, Astrid Sheen, will never again do a single thing for you, nor shed another tear. 2 Soon after dinner, there was a knock at my door. It was Mom. She was dressed in a pearl-white silk nightgown, her face bare of makeup yet still stunningly beautiful. A stark contrast to the previous life, where worry had etched fine lines across her face because of me. I couldn’t help but throw myself into her arms. In my last life, the person I’d wronged most wasn’t myself, but her. After she divorced my birth father, she’d married Mr. Hayes. Back then, I hadn’t understood her, believing she was superficial and greedy, betraying my own father. All the while, Mom endured my unreasonable tantrums, struggling to maintain her delicate position within their affluent circle. When my infatuation with Jackson—and the drunken night we’d spent together—came to light, the Hayes family was furious. Jackson faced their severe reprimand, and I was thrown out of the house. Mom begged me to go back and apologize, but I’d screamed at her, “I haven’t done anything wrong! I’m pursuing true love! I’m not like you, driven by greed and vanity, fickle and untrustworthy!” I’d stood there, chin defiantly raised, but her hand never struck. She left in tears, yet every month, she’d still transferred thousands of dollars to me, terrified I’d suffer out in the world. Later, when I finally married Jackson, Mom’s life within the Hayes household became even more difficult, and she grew increasingly melancholic. It was only then I learned my birth father owed a substantial amount of money. Mom, fearing the creditors would harm me, had rushed to marry Mr. Hayes, seeking their protection. And I had brutally broken her heart. Now, smelling her familiar scent, tears welled up uncontrollably. Mom gently patted my back, soothing me. “What’s wrong, my little princess? Are your fingers still hurting? Let Mom put some cream on them.” She took out a tube of burn cream and gently massaged it in. “My sweet girl is growing up. Thank you for calling him ‘Dad’ today. I promise you, darling, I’ll never let you suffer any injustice again.” With tears still clinging to my eyelashes, I grinned. “As long as you’re happy, Mom, I’d call him anything he wants!” “What nonsense are you talking, you silly girl! Look at your hand, so burned. Please, darling, never step foot in the kitchen again.” Her movements softened even more. “Jackson said this burn cream is the most effective. Your hand will definitely feel better by morning.” I paused. “Jackson, you mean?” “Yes. The house ran out of burn cream, and I was just about to go buy some when Jackson came back from outside and handed me a tube.” “He said he bought it by mistake, that he’d grabbed the wrong one. He’s such a private boy, always a bit awkward. But he’s truly a good brother, cold on the outside, warm on the inside…” The burn cream in front of me was the exact same brand Mom had given me in my previous life. Had Jackson bought it then too? I pursed my lips. What a performative gesture. Disgusting. 3 The next morning, when I came down for breakfast, Jackson had already finished. His empty bowl still sat on the dining table. The air held a faint, savory aroma. “Mrs. Miller, did you make that breakfast stew?” Mrs. Miller glanced at Jackson, then stammered a little. “No, Miss Astrid, no stew. I prepared some mini quiches. Would you like a few?” Strange. Too tired to ponder it, I replied, “I’ll have eight, please. And a generous drizzle of good olive oil, thank you, Mrs. Miller.” Before the quiches were ready, Mr. Hayes and Mom came downstairs. There was a pleasant atmosphere between them, and I felt genuinely happy for her. If their relationship was strong, Mom would have unwavering support within the Hayes household. After finishing my mini quiches and the usual boiled egg, I stood up, ready to head to school. “Mom, Dad, could I have the driver take me to and from school from now on?” Jackson’s hand, which had been reaching out towards my backpack, froze awkwardly above it, then slowly lowered. Mr. Hayes and Mom exchanged puzzled glances. “Astrid, you’ve been a little odd since yesterday. Weren’t you the one who always insisted Jackson drive you, even if it meant taking the long way?” I lowered my gaze. “I was thoughtless before. Jackson just took over the company; he’s incredibly busy. He really shouldn’t have to drive me.” Mr. Hayes nodded, a look of satisfaction on his face. “Astrid’s grown up. Alright, then Old Man Robert will drive you from now on.” At the word “brother,” Jackson’s body gave a subtle tremor. In my past life, I had always refused to truly acknowledge Jackson as my brother, stubbornly calling him “Jackson” instead of “brother Jackson.” Even after we married, in moments of passion, I’d sometimes slip and call out “brother.” He would always tremble, then fiercely tell me to shut up. Sleepless last night, I’d come to a realization. I didn’t truly hate Jackson. Even if he hadn’t loved me, he had never mistreated me. What I hated more was the foolish moth-like devotion within myself… Jackson’s deep voice interrupted my thoughts. “Dad, Mom,” he said, using the casual address for his stepmother, “since Astrid doesn’t need a ride, I’ll head to the office now.” His expression was unreadable as he turned and walked away, his long legs carrying him swiftly. I let out a breath of relief. This life, we would simply be step-siblings. 4 Standing at the classroom door, I felt a wave of disorientation. It had been years since graduation; who could possibly remember their senior year seating arrangement? Thankfully, I still had my best friend, Chloe. Round-faced, with a messy bun and black-rimmed glasses, Chloe Thorne suddenly tackled me from behind. “Wifey! Were you waiting for me?” I turned and playfully pinched her cheek. “Of course I was.” I followed Chloe to our shared desk. Glancing at the day’s schedule on the whiteboard, I pulled out my math textbook. I asked, feigning casualness, “Where did we leave off in math yesterday?” Chloe stared at me, her face a mask of horror. “Whoever you are, get off my wifey! Astrid Sheen would never, EVER utter the word ‘math’ during morning homeroom, a sacred time for gossip!” I rolled my eyes, wanting to tease her. “Alright, I’ll tell you the truth: I’m reborn. In my last life, I just missed out on my dream university. This time, I swear I’m going to study hard and reclaim everything that should have been mine…” Chloe’s eyes widened. “Really? Then can you tell me next week’s lottery numbers?” I spread my hands. “Sadly, no. But I can tell you this year’s English Literature essay topic.” I scribbled a line on a piece of paper: “A single bloom does not make a spring.” Chloe giggled, tucking the paper into her English notebook. “My wifey’s never wrong! I’m going home tonight to memorize sample essays!” Watching Chloe’s radiant smile, my nose prickled. In my past life, she’d worked so hard, only to miss her dream university by a single point. The pressure of retaking the entrance exams had been too much; her personality had completely changed, and we’d gradually lost touch. And me? My head was always full of romance and foolish crushes; my scores hadn’t even come close to a respectable university. After becoming Mrs. Hayes, I’d often heard people comment on me. “Pretty, yes,” they’d say, “but willful, ignorant, just a pretty face with no substance.” With this second chance, I would right every one of those regrets. I squeezed Chloe’s hand. “Let’s work hard together and get into a great university!” 5 Picking up senior year knowledge again was anything but easy. After a full day of studying, my brain felt like it had been cracked into eight pieces. As dismissal neared, I got a text from Mom. “Darling, traffic’s a nightmare over here. The driver won’t make it in time to pick you up. Jackson will take you home today; I’ve already told him.” The dismissal bell rang, and I slowly packed my backpack. Chloe looked at me, utterly astonished. “Usually, the moment that bell rings, you’re the first one out the door! What’s wrong? Not in a rush to see your crush today?” Then I remembered. I’d confided all my secret teenage crushes to Chloe. She just didn’t know that the object of my affection was my own stepbrother. I nodded. “No, I don’t like him anymore.” Chloe clapped me on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit! There are plenty of fish in the sea; a strong woman like us shouldn’t waste her time on just one guy!” Despite her words, I wasn’t ready to be alone in a car with Jackson. After all our past intimacy, it would be far too awkward. I texted him: “Teacher kept us late. You go on home. I’ll just grab a ride later.” With my backpack slung over my shoulder, I wandered aimlessly around campus, killing time. Suddenly, a slightly nervous voice spoke from behind me. “Astrid Sheen, even though the man-made lake isn’t waist-deep, it’s pretty cold if you fall in.” Huh? I realized then that I’d unconsciously wandered to the edge of the man-made lake behind the school. I stopped and turned. The boy who’d called out to me wore his school uniform jacket over jeans. He was handsome, with sharp, defined brows. A gust of wind ruffled his dark hair, revealing a flash of crimson tucked beneath. It waved like a mischievous antenna, greeting me. “Ethan?” I asked. He froze. “You know me?” Our school had a pretty strict dress code. Only one person dared to defy it by wearing jeans instead of uniform trousers and dyeing his hair. Ethan Blackwood, the school’s notorious troublemaker. I’d heard that whenever teachers complained to Ethan’s dad, his dad would donate funds for a new school building or equipment. Even this small man-made lake had been built by him. “Who in this school doesn’t know you?” I retorted. “But how do you know my name?” A suspicious blush spread across Ethan’s face. “Oh, you know… from the campus’s Top Ten Singers competition last semester. You sang really well. I just… remembered.” I tilted my head. This school troublemaker was nothing like the rumors. He was actually kind of… cute? Was it because my mental age was several years older than his, making me see him like a little kid? 6 Ethan walked up to me. “I saw your back just now, you looked really down. Is something bothering you?” I thought for a moment, then replied, “I’m alright. Just had a bad dream last night.” “Must be all that senior year stress,” he said. Ethan reached into his uniform pocket, then opened his hand in front of me. A red-wrapped caramel sat in his palm. His eyes crinkled into a smile. “Have a piece of candy. Sweet lips, sweet heart, and maybe you’ll have a good dream tonight.” That vibrant, youthful face somehow soothed my agitation. I took the candy from his palm, unwrapped it, and popped it into my mouth. “Thanks.” My fingertips brushed his palm. It felt cool and a little damp, as if he’d broken out in a light sweat. He quickly shoved his hand back into his pocket. “It’s getting dark,” he said. “Let’s head home together.” We chatted idly as we walked towards the school gates. Ethan was surprisingly good at conversation; I don’t think I stopped smiling the entire way. We even exchanged numbers. By the time we reached the main gate, my ride-share car had just pulled up. I waved to Ethan. “I’m off! See you at school tomorrow.” Ethan seemed reluctant to end our conversation. “How about I give you a ride home? It’s late, and it’s not safe for you to be alone.” On the roadside, a matte black Porsche Cayenne was parked. Jackson Hayes leaned against it, smoking. The collar of his white shirt was slightly unbuttoned, the cigarette glowing intermittently between his fingers. His dark gaze swept over Ethan from head to toe, then settled on me. “Astrid Sheen,” he commanded, “come here.” 7 “You… why didn’t you leave?” I stared at Jackson, surprised. He extinguished his cigarette butt on a nearby trash can. “I replied, telling you I’d wait. Didn’t you see it?” I pulled out my phone to check. “It was on silent. My apologies.” There was no way around it; refusing again would be too obvious. I paid the waiting fee, canceled my ride-share, and prepared to go home with Jackson. Just as I was about to step forward, I felt a gentle tug from behind. Ethan had taken hold of my sleeve. “Is he… family?” I nodded. “He’s my stepbrother, yes.” Ethan stiffened, like a small, bristling wolf cub, his eyes filled with wary concern. “Does your brother have a bad temper? I feel like he’s a little angry right now. He wouldn’t… hit you when you get home, would he?” I couldn’t help but laugh, albeit without humor. “No, he wouldn’t. It’s just an extra half-hour wait.” In my previous life, I’d once smashed an antique vase he’d bought for half a million dollars, and Jackson hadn’t laid a finger on me. Ethan frowned. “I wasn’t talking about that… How about I still take you home?” Jackson opened his car door, his gaze fixed steadily on me. “Get in. We’re going home.” Why did it feel like… the atmosphere was all wrong? Were these two squaring off against each other? Ethan’s voice, however, held a hint of mischievous invitation. “Astrid, fancy a ride on a motorcycle?” My eyes lit up. “You ride a motorcycle to school?” Ethan’s lips curved into a smug smile. “Got my motorcycle license the day I turned eighteen. Don’t worry, it’s perfectly legal.” Unable to hide my excitement, I waved at Jackson. “You go on ahead. My friend will take me home.” With that, I grabbed Ethan’s hand and pulled him away, completely missing Jackson’s face, which had turned as dark as a storm cloud.

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On our wedding night, Cole confessed that he was a celestial warrior sent down to undergo a mortal trial, already betrothed to a celestial fiancée. He didn’t even lift my bridal veil, his voice cold and hard. “You cared for me for two years. As repayment, I can grant you two wishes.” “Aside from asking me to stay.” I clenched my fingers, peering through the red gauze at his distant, emotionless gaze. “Can you do anything? Can you bring someone back to life for me?” He let out a quiet breath, a flicker of relief crossing his face. “Your mother? Yes, I can. You two shared a deep bond; it’s only right.” I lowered my head, guilt churning in my stomach. The truth was, I lied to him. My mother was the person I hated most in the world. The one I wanted to resurrect was my husband, Liam. He had died two years ago, on the very day I saved Cole. 01 You shouldn’t pick up strangers from the side of the road. I knew that. But I still saved Cole’s life. Because he was useful. I had known for a long time that he was a celestial warrior. And I even knew his celestial fiancée. Two years ago, my husband Liam fell off a cliff and died. I buried him, my heart shattered into a million pieces. Just as I was contemplating ending my own life, heartbroken and desolate, I suddenly heard the celestial fiancée’s voice. “How did you get so badly injured…? Cole, wake up!” I gasped, quickly hiding in the tall grass to watch. Cole lay motionless on the ground, blood at the corner of his lips. His face was astonishingly handsome, so beautiful it felt sacrilegious to even look. My heart leaped into my throat. I quickly averted my gaze, but out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flash of golden light. The celestial fiancée used her divine power, and Cole slowly stirred. His voice was like clear spring water splashing over jade. “Sierra, what are you doing here?” “A mortal trial cannot be aided by external forces. Go back.” The celestial fiancée looked utterly wronged. “I was worried about you…” “Worried I might fall for a mortal woman and jeopardize our engagement to the Phoenix Clan?” Cole cut Sierra off with a mocking, increasingly cold tone. “Rest assured, celestial fiancée, I remember my mission. I will return to the celestial realm in two years.” “Now, leave.” Even from afar, I shivered, chilled by the cold aura radiating from him. Sierra persisted, unwilling to leave. “I wanted to see who would save you. What if she’s prettier than me?” Cole grew impatient. “If you don’t leave and delay the timing, and this mortal trial of love fails, our engagement will still be canceled.” “It’s only two years. Afterwards, I will grant her two wishes.” “Mortals are greedy. Once they get what they want, they likely won’t cling on.” Sierra sniffled, pouting playfully. “Alright, then. But you promise not to fall for her, no matter who charms her into marriage. And absolutely no wedding night!” “Mmm.” Cole agreed. Sierra looked at him a few more times, then reluctantly departed. After she left, Cole lay back down. He pressed his ring finger to his heart, then coughed up a mouthful of blood. My eyes widened in shock, his words echoing in my mind: “I will grant her two wishes.” This was a celestial being. Surely, he could help me bring Liam back? My heart pounded like a drum. After a moment, I gathered my courage and ran to his side. “Sir, are you alright, sir?” “This jade token will grant you free passage in and out of the Underworld.” Cole’s voice pulled my scattered thoughts back into focus. He opened his palm, and a flash of white light revealed a smooth, luminous jade token. My eyes lit up. I immediately snatched off my bridal veil. My movements were so quick that the red gauze tangled in my hair ornaments, pulling out a strand of hair. A faint smile flickered in Cole’s eyes. “So eager? It seems you miss your mother very much.” I took the jade token, tears welling up in my eyes. “Yes, I miss him dearly.” “The jade token will guide you to the Underworld. Just state her name, and a Reaper will bring your mother back to life.” He raised his hand, seemingly intending to tuck a stray lock of my hair behind my ear. I quickly turned my head, avoiding his touch. His fingers stiffened slightly, then slowly retreated. “Have you thought about your second wish?” “Wealth, power, extended lifespan.” “Just name it, and I will grant it.” I clenched the jade token in my hand, shaking my head softly. “No need. I have no other desires.” After two years together, I understood Cole somewhat. If I dared to ask for anything else, he would immediately retract the jade token and turn his back on me. Sure enough, Cole nodded, satisfied with my answer. “Ivy, you are not greedy, and you are so understanding, never making things difficult. I am truly sorry for what I’ve put you through.” I smiled bitterly. “I understand that compared to the celestial fiancée, I am insignificant. I wouldn’t dare to harbor such illusions.” The more compliant a woman, the more guilt a man feels. Hearing me, Cole sighed. “Actually, if you truly can’t bear to part with me, I could return and discuss it with Sierra, persuade her to let me take you as a concubine.” “There’s no need for that…” It was getting more absurd by the second. I twitched my lips, stood up first, and politely said, “Celestial warrior, you have undergone a mortal trial for two years. I’m sure you’re eager to return. I won’t keep you any longer.” “Perhaps you can come back and visit someday.” “Very well.” Cole nodded, giving me a deep, searching look before transforming into a streak of white light and departing. 2 The next day, news spread throughout the village that Cole had run off in the middle of the night. Aunt Martha, my neighbor, stood on the other side of the wall, raising her voice deliberately. “Did you hear? Ivy Rivers’ handsome husband ran off! I saw it myself; he was picked up by a grand retinue!” “I told you! How could such a handsome man fall for her? He must be a powerful figure from Newhaven, and Ivy Rivers just got lucky, picking him up off the street.” Aunt Sarah gasped. “He ran off on their wedding night? Doesn’t that make Ivy Rivers a deserted wife?” “Do you think someone will come for her and take her back to Newhaven in a few days?” “You two need to stop reading so many romance novels…” I smiled wryly, my voice calm, almost amused. I was a widow, and most villagers looked down on me, but they weren’t malicious. For the past two years, as I cared for Cole, they had gossiped about me finding a new lover right after my husband’s death. But no one had ever exposed the fact that I was already married. For that alone, I was grateful. “Ivy, I told you long ago that Cole didn’t care for you, but you wouldn’t listen!” Aunt Martha, producing a handful of sunflower seeds from somewhere, began cracking them. “That man, after you saved his life, did nothing all day but read books and practice sword fighting. He clearly never suffered a day in his life and treated you like a servant.” “Tell Aunt Martha the truth, is he from Newhaven?” I gave her a mysterious look. “He’s more powerful than anyone in Newhaven. He’s a celestial warrior from the heavens!” “…” Aunt Martha and Aunt Sarah fell silent, a rare occurrence. After a moment, they exchanged glances. When they looked at me again, their voices were filled with sympathy. “She must be heartbroken, lost her mind?” “Oh well, what can you do? She’s my neighbor. I’ll slaughter a hen for you to get your strength back.” I smiled softly and turned back into the house. No chicken for me. I was preparing to move. Everyone in the village knew Liam had died two years ago. If he came back to life, wouldn’t he be seen as a monster? I needed to find a distant village, where no one knew us. Over the next two days, I sold what I could, gave away what I couldn’t. Then, I packed my belongings and moved to Maplewood Village, a dozen miles away. After tidying up my new small courtyard, I pulled out the jade token Cole had given me. The jade token flashed with white light, conjuring an ethereal barrier. I looked left and right, confirming no one was around. Then, I stepped inside. 3 The Underworld was filled with chilling winds. My hand trembled as I handed Cole’s token to the Underworld Official. He glanced at it, frowning suspiciously. “This is a Celestial Warrior’s token. How did you get it? Did you steal it?” “I must report this to my superiors. I can’t just let people pass through.” “Of course, of course.” I nodded like a bobblehead, my heart pounding with suppressed excitement, and stepped to the side. He pulled out a talisman to contact Cole. “Celestial Warrior Cole, your token has appeared in the hands of a mortal woman. She wishes to revive someone. Do you grant her request?” My heart hammered in my chest, my blood rushing to my head. My face flushed with tension. Just as the Underworld Official finished his question and seemed about to move on to other duties, I bravely stepped forward and stopped him. “Sir, the Celestial Warrior hasn’t replied yet. Where are you going?” He looked annoyed. “Celestial Warrior Cole is a busy man. How can he bother himself with such a trivial matter in the Underworld? If you’re in a hurry, you can leave now.” My face froze, the boiling blood in my veins slowly turning cold. But just then, Cole’s clear, detached voice came from the talisman. Only one word. “Granted.” 4 Cole’s unusually prompt response made the Underworld Official take immediate notice. He not only released Liam’s soul at once but, without me even having to ask, crafted a physical body for him. After two years, Liam’s appearance was exactly as it had been. He still had that same look, where his eyes would crinkle in a smile the moment he saw me. Seeing his somewhat pale face, tears streamed uncontrollably down my cheeks. Before my mind could even process it, my body had already rushed into his arms. “Ivy…” He held me tightly, his voice catching. “I can’t believe we’d ever see each other again. How did you bring me back?” My body stiffened. Even though Cole and I hadn’t even held hands during our two years together, I still felt a ridiculous pang of guilt. I dared not utter Cole’s name. I only said, “I met a celestial being…” Thankfully, Liam didn’t press for details and followed me out of the Underworld. For the next few days, we were inseparable, joined at the hip. All the traditional joys of success and marriage felt insignificant compared to this. I realized now that life’s greatest joy was truly finding what you thought was lost forever. The hardships of caring for Cole over the past two years vanished like smoke. Liam was as thoughtful as ever. He wouldn’t let me do anything, keeping the house spotless. Two months passed quickly, and I still felt like I was dreaming. I was always afraid of waking up and finding him gone again. Fortunately, that never happened. However, Liam’s body was visibly weakening, and gray hairs had subtly appeared at his temples. I constantly worried, asking if he felt unwell. He simply smiled. “Everything’s fine. I just feel a bit heavier.” “But this is good enough. At least I can be by your side.” He didn’t seem to mind, but I couldn’t rest easy. I didn’t want to lose Liam again, like I had two years ago. So, I lied, telling him I was going to the city for supplies, and instead headed to Serpent’s Peak. Two years ago, when I first saved Cole, I was also very weak. Liam had just died, and even though Cole’s appearance offered a glimmer of hope, my spirits were low. Cole, perhaps fearing I might die and his mortal trial would fail, told me there was an herb on Serpent’s Peak that could replenish vital energy. I asked him, “Will you pick it for me?” He was reading at the time. He turned a page, then looked up. “No time.” He was too lazy to go, and I had no heart for it. The matter was dropped. But two years later, today, I had to retrieve that herb for Liam. He had saved me from my mother, the slave trader. For both gratitude and love, I couldn’t bear to watch him leave me again. I packed some dried provisions and walked for what felt like an eternity before reaching Serpent’s Peak. After a grueling climb to the summit, and a long search, I finally spotted the herb. Just as I reached out to pluck it, a sharp voice suddenly rang out behind me. “Stop! That’s mine!” I turned around, meeting Sierra’s furious gaze. Beside her, Cole, dressed in white, looked genuinely surprised. “Ivy? What are you doing here?” Sierra gasped. “You know her? Is she… is she your mortal trial?” My heart nearly stopped. But my hand, heedless of the danger, yanked the herb free and tucked it into my sleeve. Sierra’s face instantly darkened. I forced a smile, turning to leave. “What a coincidence. See you around.” 5 “Give me that celestial herb!” Sierra flashed in front of me, blocking my path. “How dare a mere mortal like you use a celestial item? Give it back!” She was surprisingly strong, yanking my arm, trying to snatch the herb away. Cold sweat broke out on my forehead, but I clung on desperately, refusing to let go. “I got it first!” “Give it to me, or don’t blame me for being rough!” Sierra wasn’t backing down. I wouldn’t either. “It’s mine!” “Ivy, is your mother unwell?” Cole frowned. “This celestial herb is the only one of its kind in the world. Sierra’s spirit pet is injured, so please let her have it.” He continued, his voice softer, “Your mother is old; even with this celestial item, it would be a waste.” I felt as though I had plunged into an ice cellar. My voice trembled as I spoke. “It’s not for my mother. It’s for me. I’m sick and desperately need this herb to save my life.” Cole’s brows furrowed deeply. He scrutinized me from head to toe. Sierra grew impatient. “Cole, are you being foolish? She’s so strong; she doesn’t look sick at all!” Cole’s face darkened at Sierra’s words. “Ivy Rivers, when did you learn to lie?” “Hand the celestial herb to Sierra at once.” His meaning was clear: unless I was on my deathbed, the herb was to be surrendered. Knowing I couldn’t overpower them, I immediately knelt. “Celestial Warrior Cole, in exchange for the two years I cared for you, please let me take this celestial herb!” “Don’t you still owe me a wish? I’ll use it for this herb!” Cole sighed, his voice heavy with disappointment. “You were the one who said you had no other desires. Now you want me to grant your second wish?” He looked at me, his gaze sharpening. “Were you pretending then, secretly wanting more?” I looked up, stunned, meeting Cole’s chilling eyes. After two years of living side-by-side, he still saw me as nothing more than a greedy mortal. In my daze, the celestial herb in my sleeve floated uncontrollably out and flew towards Cole. He caught it, then handed it to Sierra. I stood up, ready to snatch it back. He looked at me, his gaze as cold as ice. “To act so brazenly in front of a celestial fiancée, Ivy Rivers, you must be tired of living.”

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I was born with a mission. My umbilical cord blood was meant to cure my brother’s leukemia. He recovered, but years later, he sent himself to prison for murder. I became my parents’ only child, basking in all their love. Until the year I turned ten, when my parents died in a car crash on their way to pick him up from prison. I hated him. 1 My mother had treasures in her metal tin box. Being a curious kid, I naturally peeked inside when the adults weren’t home. Inside the tin was an old, faded ultrasound report. It read: [Cord Blood Match Successful. Donor: Fetus; Recipient: Caleb (Eldest Son)] Caleb was my brother, fifteen years older than me. Since I was old enough to understand, he had been in prison. My parents never talked about what he did. But every time Mom came back from visiting him, her eyes were swollen. Dad would just smoke silently on the porch all night. Before I turned ten, my entire impression of my brother was: a vague name, a stranger who made my parents cry, and the sole reason for my existence. Yes, I knew. I was never the crystallization of my parents’ love. I was just proof of their love for Caleb. Mom’s health wasn’t good. She risked a high-risk pregnancy at an older age only because Caleb had leukemia and needed a newborn’s cord blood to survive. The day I was born, Caleb’s surgery was a success. And I was just a “useful tool” in this family. But karma works in mysterious ways. Who would have thought the brother wrapped in my parents’ love would commit murder and end up behind bars? That year, I was five. I was too young to remember why Caleb went to jail. And honestly, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that I went from being a “tool” to being my parents’ only child. But the good times didn’t last. The year I turned ten, Caleb finished his sentence. Mom and Dad left early that day, full of hope, ready to give Caleb a fresh start. Then, the bad news came. A truck’s brakes failed, and it smashed into their sedan. Dad died instantly. Mom held on until the hospital, where she said only one sentence to me: “Baby, take care of your brother.” I didn’t understand. Why ask me to take care of him? Wasn’t I the child who needed taking care of? Before I could argue, Mom closed her eyes forever. At the funeral, I stared at my parents’ stiff smiles in their black-and-white photos, then at the stranger kneeling before the coffins—the brother I hadn’t seen in five years. He slammed his forehead against the concrete floor, thud, thud, until blood seeped out and mixed with his tears. Relatives whispered, their gazes pricking my back like needles. “Poor thing, losing her parents so young…” “Stuck with a murderer for a brother. What’s she going to do?” I gripped my sleeves, nails digging into my palms. Then I rushed over and shoved him with all my strength. “It’s all your fault! If you hadn’t gone to jail, Mom and Dad wouldn’t have gone to pick you up! They wouldn’t have died!” Caleb swayed from my push but didn’t look up. He just slammed his head harder. That night, after the funeral, Caleb found me in the dim living room. He wore ill-fitting old clothes, his eyes sunken like a skeleton. “Baby.” His voice was hoarse as he reached out to touch my head. I dodged. “Don’t touch me,” I said. His hand froze in mid-air, then slowly dropped. 2 We lived in a small town where there were no secrets. Gossip traveled faster than the wind. Soon, everyone knew: Caleb was out. He was a murderer. Not only was he morally bankrupt, but he was bad luck—he got his parents killed. And his sister, Chloe, orphaned at a young age, was now stuck living with a killer. When I returned to school, my homeroom teacher looked at me pointedly during roll call. “Chloe, your family situation is special. If you have any difficulties, tell me.” The whole class turned to stare. During recess, boys surrounded my desk, grinning maliciously. “Chloe, did your brother really kill someone?” “How did he do it? Knife or rope?” “Are you going to kill people too?” I buried my head in my arms, pretending not to hear. On the way home, girls from the next class pointed at me. “That’s her. Her brother was in prison.” “Stay away from her. A murderer’s sister can’t be any good either.” I ran home and threw my backpack on the floor. Caleb was in the kitchen boiling noodles, wearing Mom’s old apron, clumsily cracking eggs. “You’re back, Baby?” He turned, forcing a smile. “Almost ready. Egg noodles today.” Looking at his face, which resembled Dad’s, I suddenly exploded. “Why did you come back?! Why didn’t you die in prison?! Do you know everyone is laughing at me! Calling me a murderer’s sister!” The water in the pot boiled, steam blurring his face. He turned off the stove, his back to me, shoulders trembling slightly. After a long time, he said: “…I’m sorry.” That night, I heard him crying in the living room—suppressed whimpers like a wounded animal. But I didn’t go out. I hugged Mom’s pillow and told myself: I hate him. I had no obligation to understand or sympathize with him. If not for him, my parents wouldn’t have been in that car crash. If not for him, I wouldn’t be pointed at every day. He was supposed to be saved by my cord blood, yet he “repaid the favor” by turning my life into a mess. I was done with him. I hated him. 3 Caleb started working odd jobs. Construction during the day, helping at a night market stand in the evening, and assembling cardboard boxes late into the night. Maybe because of his major surgery years ago, his health was poor. He coughed often and looked perpetually pale. But he spent every cent he earned on me: a new backpack, new clothes, even random books I mentioned wanting. I have to admit, Caleb took good care of me. But the environment I grew up in was a swamp. In eighth grade, I ranked first in my grade. For the parent-teacher conference, he borrowed a decent shirt and combed his hair neatly. But the moment he walked into the classroom, the whispers started. “That’s Chloe’s brother?” “He looks honest enough. Who would have thought…” “Murderers don’t have it written on their faces.” Throughout the meeting, he kept his head down, fingers gripping his knees tightly. On the way home, walking behind his slightly hunched back, I suddenly said: “Let’s move.” He stopped but didn’t turn around. “Where to?” “Anywhere,” I said. “As long as no one there knows you’re a murderer.” He was silent for a long time. “Okay.” A month later, we moved to the provincial capital, two hundred miles away. Caleb used all his savings to rent a small studio apartment. We slept in bunk beds. He found a job at an electronics factory, working three shifts. The night we moved, lying on the unfamiliar top bunk, I stared at a crack in the ceiling. “Hey,” I said. Rustling from the bottom bunk. “Yeah?” “Why did you go to prison?” Silence. Long, suffocating silence. Just when I thought he wouldn’t answer, he whispered: “…I did something wrong.” “What did you do?” “Something very bad.” His voice was light as a sigh. “Baby, don’t ask anymore.” “Just know that… I’m sorry to you, and sorry to Mom and Dad… that’s enough.” I turned to face the wall. Like this again. Always like this. I never had the right to know. 4 Turns out, miracles do happen. Caleb worked at the factory for barely six months before the factory owner’s daughter took a liking to him. Her name was Vanessa, five years younger than Caleb. Fresh out of college, sent by her father to learn management at the factory. Rumor had it she couldn’t take her eyes off Caleb the moment she saw him. Okay, I admit, Caleb was good-looking. Even malnourished and exhausted, he inherited the best features of our parents—deep eyes, a high nose bridge. When he was silent, he had a broken, tragic beauty. Vanessa chased him openly. Bringing him lunch, medicine, even staying late when he worked overtime. Coworkers urged him, “Caleb, just say yes! That’s the owner’s daughter! You’ll skip twenty years of struggle!” Caleb always shook his head. “I’m not worthy.” Until Vanessa’s father—Mr. Xu—personally talked to him. That night, Caleb came home late. He sat in the dark living room, chain-smoking. He never smoked. “What happened?” I couldn’t help asking. He stubbed out the cigarette, voice dry. “Mr. Xu… knows I went to prison.” My heart sank. Of course. The background check came back. It’s over. Job gone. Can’t stay in this city either. “He asked about what happened,” Caleb continued. “I told him everything.” I closed my eyes in despair. “And?” “And…” Caleb looked up, his eyes scary bright in the darkness. “He said next month has a lucky day. He asked if I wanted a Western or traditional wedding.” I was stunned. Crazy. I thought. Mr. Xu must be crazy to want a murderer for a son-in-law. But crazy is good. I thought again. After all, the Xu family was truly rich. Who wouldn’t want to cling to such a big tree? 5 The wedding was simple, just ten tables in the factory cafeteria. Caleb wore a rented suit, stiff as a puppet. Vanessa wore a white wedding dress, smiling sweetly. During the toast, she walked up to me, her expression complicated. “Chloe, right?” She raised her glass. “We’re family now.” I raised my soda, saying nothing. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. On their wedding night, Caleb moved into the Xu family’s two-story house. I stayed in the rental, thinking I could finally have some peace. The next morning, Caleb came to get me. “Pack your things. We’re moving.” “I’m not going.” “Baby,” he used a stern tone for the first time. “You have to.” “Why? Vanessa obviously doesn’t like me!” “Because she’s my wife,” Caleb looked at me, eyes suddenly reddening. “You’re my only family left in this world, Baby. I can’t leave you behind.” In the end, I moved. Vanessa prepared a room for me. North-facing, small, but clean. She was polite on the surface, but it was a cold, distant politeness. I could feel she hated me. Not me as a person, but my identity as “Caleb’s sister.” Living in the Xu house felt like charity. Vanessa didn’t mistreat me. Food, clothes—better than most of my classmates. But she barely spoke to me. She looked at me like I was a flawed item she was forced to accept. Caleb, caught in the middle, became more and more silent. He was promoted to team leader at the factory, busier than ever. At home, he had to deal with Vanessa and her controlling father. I could see his exhaustion, but he never complained. When I was fifteen, I got into City No. 1 High School, the best in the province. Most importantly, it was a boarding school. The day I got the acceptance letter, Caleb was as happy as a child. He cooked a feast. Vanessa was happy too, even happier than Caleb. At dinner, she gave me a rare genuine smile. “Chloe is amazing. Boarding school is great, you can focus on studying.” I knew what she meant: I’m moving out. She finally doesn’t have to see me every day. The night before school started, Caleb came to my room and shoved a bank card into my hand. “The password is your birthday. Buy whatever you need. Don’t save.” “Does Vanessa know?” “…Yes.” He was lying. I saw the unease in his eyes. “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll study hard, become independent soon, and… I won’t trouble you guys anymore.” Caleb opened his mouth to speak but just ruffled my hair. “Baby’s all grown up.” His palm was warm, but I dodged it.

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My mother had a parenting philosophy: “Kill the chicken to scare the monkey.” I was the chicken. My brother, Leo, was the monkey. From the time I was four, my mother used this tactic. If Leo broke a bowl, I knelt on the floor to pick up the pieces. If Leo broke someone else’s toy, I wrote the apology letter. My mother said, “You’re the big sister. You didn’t watch him properly, so it’s your fault.” When I was eight, Leo stole money from the convenience store down the street. When the fat owner came knocking on our door, Leo didn’t hesitate to point at me: “It was Penny! She took it!” My mother’s face changed. Then, she shoved me toward the owner. “Mr. Davis, I didn’t teach my child well. It’s my fault.” “I’ll give my daughter to you as compensation. Hit her, scold her, do whatever you want.” Little did she know, once the owner took me away, I never came back. 1 My mother pulled the fat owner, Mr. Davis, aside. I didn’t hear what she whispered, but I saw her press a wad of cash into his hand. Mr. Davis looked hesitant, then finally nodded. “Mom?” I called out softly. She didn’t look at me. Mr. Davis’s greasy hands grabbed me by the collar, lifting me up like a baby chick. He yelled at my brother, who was frozen in fear, “See this? This is the price of stealing and lying!” I was confused. Didn’t Mom pay him back? “Mom!” I screamed. Leo rushed over, grabbing my hand tightly, wailing: “I won’t steal anymore! I swear! Put my sister down!” Mr. Davis sneered and started carrying me out the door. “Too late! Why didn’t you think about your sister when you were stealing?” Leo threw himself at Mom’s feet, hugging her legs. “Mom, I was wrong! I really was! Don’t let him take Penny! Please!” He cried his heart out, banging his forehead on the floor. My mother looked down at him, and a satisfied smile actually appeared on her face. “Remember this, Leo. Because of your mistake, you don’t have a sister anymore.” Then she turned to Mr. Davis. “Take her far away. Don’t let her brother see.” “Mom!” I panicked completely. In that moment, I finally understood. She wasn’t joking. She really didn’t want me anymore. I was shoved into a beat-up van. A rag was stuffed in my mouth, my hands and feet bound. The car drove for a long time, until the sun dipped low and the sky turned dark gray. Finally, we stopped at a remote village I’d never seen before. When the warehouse door opened, a smell of mold hit me. “There’s water if you’re thirsty, bread if you’re hungry.” Mr. Davis pointed to some boxes in the corner. “Stay put. Your mom will come get you in two days.” Bang. The iron door slammed shut. I heard him on the phone outside: “Don’t worry… far away… won’t find her… money is separate…” The warehouse was pitch black. Only a high ventilation window let in a sliver of blurry moonlight. I waited for a long time. Mom didn’t come. Dad didn’t come either. Did they really abandon me? The thought pierced my heart like a needle. No, they wouldn’t. Mom said this was just an act, just to scare Leo. I told myself this over and over, like a mantra. But it got darker and darker. Strange noises started in the warehouse. Rustling sounds. Like rats, or something else. I was terrified. I wanted to go home. The urge became overwhelming. I started stacking boxes, one by one. I climbed up shakily, standing on tiptoes to reach the window. My fingertips finally touched the cold frame. I pushed with all my might— Crash! The boxes beneath me suddenly gave way. The world spun. The back of my head slammed onto the concrete floor. A dull thud. Strangely, it didn’t hurt. 2 I scrambled up, realizing something was different. Even without a light, I could clearly see the boxes scattered on the floor, even the dust floating in the air. I tried to restack the boxes. My hand reached for a box, but passed right through it. I froze. I tried again. My fingers went through the cardboard without any resistance, like passing through mist. Did I… did I get superpowers from the fall? Just like in the TV shows? My heart pounded. If I really had superpowers, could I fly home? Would Mom praise me? I tried sticking my foot through the wall. It went through. Surprised and delighted, I ran around the warehouse, passing through box after box. It was just like TV! But why… couldn’t I touch anything? The question burrowed into my mind like a worm. Forget it. Go home first. Home. I want to go home. The moment the thought surfaced, my vision blurred. Wind roared in my ears. Village roads, trees, streetlights… everything flew backward. The next second, I was standing at my front door. I phased through the door, shouting: “Mom, I’m back! I think I have magic powers!” Mom had her back to me, busy in the kitchen. The counter was piled with food. The smell of braised pork filled the house. Today was Leo’s birthday. “Mom?” I called again. She didn’t turn around. It was as if she didn’t hear me. My heart tightened. Before, when I made a mistake, she would ignore me like this until I admitted my fault. She must still be angry. Fine, I’ll find Leo first. He’ll be so scared when he sees I can walk through walls. Just then, the front door opened. Dad walked in, looking dusty but smiling, carrying a toy train. “Tired?” Mom wiped her hands and went to greet him. “Took a few days off. Just in time for Leo’s birthday.” Dad’s voice was gentle. “Daddy!” I ran to him. But he walked right past me to Mom. Leo ran out of his room crying and threw himself into Dad’s arms. “Daddy! Go get Penny back! The owner took her! Mom said she doesn’t want her anymore!” Dad froze, looking at Mom. “What happened?” Mom walked over quickly and whispered in Dad’s ear: “Leo won’t stop stealing money no matter what we say.” “I made a deal with the store owner. It’s just an act to scare him. I told him we gave Penny to him as payment.” Dad frowned immediately. “Nonsense! This… what if you scare him too much? Where’s Penny?” “In the owner’s warehouse. She’s safe. I told him to make sure she’s fed.” Mom’s tone was relaxed. “You didn’t see Leo before! If he doesn’t feel pain once, he’ll never learn!” I heard it. It was an act! It was all an act! Mom didn’t abandon me! A rush of warmth hit me. I was so happy I wanted to jump, and I actually floated up a bit. Leo was still crying. “Daddy, go get Penny back, please… I’ll never steal again!” I floated in front of Leo, trying to pinch his cheek. “Don’t cry, dummy. We were tricked.” My fingers passed through his cheek. Dad spoke sternly, “Leo, you made a big mistake this time. Your sister has to bear the consequences for you.” The light in Leo’s eyes went out. “Mom!” I floated to Mom. She was putting the braised pork onto a plate. I wanted to hug her from behind, but my arms went through her body. “Mom, thank you for not abandoning me.” She couldn’t hear. She turned with the plate, walking right through me to the dining table. Dad rubbed Leo’s hair. “Leo’s cried enough… I think it’s time. I’ll go get Penny tomorrow morning.” “Wait two more days.” Mom’s voice turned cold. “He needs to understand thoroughly that some mistakes mean losing things forever.” “But Penny…” “Penny is fine. She has food and water. She’s safe.” Mom interrupted him. “We have to be tough this time.” Two more days? But I’m right here. I floated between them, waving my arms frantically. “Dad! Mom! I’m right here! Can’t you see me?” “I’m back! I really came back!” Mom suddenly shivered, rubbing her arms. “Why is it suddenly cold?” She walked to the window to close it, completely failing to notice I was standing right in front of her. My hand passed through her shoulder. Why can’t I touch? Why can’t they see? Why… can’t they hear? A cold voice sounded in my heart: Because I’m already dead. 3 “Because I’m already dead.” The realization washed over my soul like ice water, freezing me in place. I floated blankly in the kitchen, watching Mom set the table. Leo pushed his rice bowl onto the floor, screaming, “I won’t eat without Penny!” Mom raised her hand but didn’t strike. She just said coldly, “Don’t eat then. Starve.” She bent down, picked up the spilled rice, and threw it in the trash. Her movement was decisive, like throwing away something useless. Just like… throwing me away. The thought pierced me. Memories I didn’t understand before flooded back. Mom once laughed with a neighbor, “Penny is a ‘Sibling-Bringer.’ As soon as she came, her brother followed. It works like magic!” I didn’t understand what “Sibling-Bringer” meant back then. I just knew Mom looked happy as she patted my head. But after Leo was born, she rarely patted my head anymore. Her eyes followed Leo. She hugged him, kissed him, called him “precious.” Dad too. His first words after work were always, “Where’s Leo?” His shoulders became Leo’s exclusive seat. I just followed behind, carefully tugging his shirt, afraid he’d forget me. Once I had a fever and curled up on the sofa. Mom fed Leo first before coming to touch my forehead. “So hot.” She frowned, her tone annoyed. “Always causing trouble.” In the end, it was Dad who got up in the middle of the night to carry me to the hospital. On the way, he sighed, “Penny, you’re the big sister. Be sensible. Don’t tire your mom out.” So, “Sibling-Bringer” meant that once I brought my brother, my mission was over. I wasn’t a “lucky charm” anymore. I was just a sister who needed to be “sensible.” When dinner was almost over, Mom brought out the cake and lit the candles. Leo was forced to make a wish. “I wish for Penny to come back.” Leo started sobbing again. “Stop crying! Your sister is being punished for you! If you don’t change, next time…” She didn’t finish, but her eyes were like winter wind. Dad smoothed things over. “Alright, your wish will come true.” “Really?” “Really. Dad promises.” Hope lit up Leo’s eyes. But I’m already back. I floated above the cake, watching the flickering flame. Your wish came true a long time ago. You just don’t know it. After dinner, Mom washed dishes at the sink. I wanted to wipe her sweat, but my hand passed through her forehead. She used to say my hands were cold. Now I couldn’t even touch her. Dad walked over, brows furrowed tight. “Maybe we should get Penny back? She’s timid.” “No.” Mom looked up instantly, voice hard. “If we get her now, Leo’s lesson is wasted. Just one day? What will he remember?” “I’m worried. Penny’s been afraid of the dark since she was little. Does the warehouse have lights?” “Yes, I told him to leave a light on at night.” There are no lights. I wanted to say. Only a high window. I tried desperately to tell them, but my voice was like wind through a crack. Suddenly, I had an idea. I focused, staring at the kitchen pendant light. I imagined it was my hand, my eye. Flicker. Just flicker once. I chanted in my mind. Zap. The light really flickered. Mom looked up. “Voltage fluctuation?” “Probably.” Dad didn’t pay attention. I focused again. This time, I stared at the family photo on the fridge—taken last year, me in a yellow dress in the middle. Fall. Let them see me. The photo didn’t move. I tried again, using every ounce of will. The corner of the photo lifted slightly, then stuck back. Is that all I can do? Mom wrapped the leftover cake and put it in the fridge. I knew it was saved for me. But I could never eat it again. Late at night, neither parent slept. Mom was in the living room folding clothes—my little dresses and socks. She folded slowly, picking them up and putting them down. She picked up my favorite red dress, fingers lingering on the small flower at the collar. Dad was on the balcony, chain-smoking. “You think,” Dad’s voice came through the glass door, muffled. “Does Penny think we abandoned her? That kid is sensitive…” “She won’t,” Mom said, but her voice lacked confidence. “I told Mr. Davis clearly. Just scare her for two days. Feed her well…” “When she’s back, we’ll explain properly. Treat her doubly well.” They fell silent. Dad put out his cigarette and sighed. “I’m still worried. I’m going to get Penny now.” “Act or not, we can’t let a child spend the night there. She must be terrified.” 4 Dad’s hand just touched the doorknob when Mom shouted: “If you go tonight, I’m taking Leo and leaving.” Dad’s back stiffened. “She’s only eight…” “If you get her now, she suffered for nothing, and Leo was scared for nothing. This family will never have peace.” Mom didn’t budge. “Do you want to raise a thief, or do you want to destroy this family?” “But Penny…” “She’s perfectly safe.” Mom cut him off. “Mr. Davis took the money; he knows what to do.” “If you go now, you’re slapping me in the face and ruining this family.” Dad slowly turned around. Under the light, his face was pale as paper. I saw his fingers trembling. When he used to hold me, those hands were big and steady. He could lift me so high. Now they were shaking terribly. Go, Dad. I floated in front of him. If you pick me up, I’ll tell you I don’t blame you. I just fell. It doesn’t hurt. I focused again. Not on the light, not the photo. On Dad. I wanted him to feel me. I reached out my transparent hands and gently covered his trembling ones. Though I couldn’t touch, I could feel his warmth. Dad suddenly froze. He looked down at his hands, eyes confused. “What is it?” Mom asked. “Nothing…” Dad mumbled. “Just felt like… Penny is here.” “You’re imagining things.” Mom’s tone softened. “Go sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.” “Just… two days.” He finally said, voice barely audible. “Two days later, I’m getting her immediately.” “You promise?” Mom stared at him. Dad didn’t speak. He just nodded very, very slowly. He walked back to the sofa, sinking into it, burying his face in his hands. The light fell on his head. I saw several white hairs I’d never seen before. I floated to him, wanting to touch his hair, but my hand passed through again. Being dead meant you couldn’t even comfort your dad. Just then, Leo’s door cracked open. An eye peered through the gap, filled with fear. He heard. He heard everything. 5 The next day, Leo was gone. When Mom found out, his little bed was empty, the quilt folded messily. It was the first time he’d folded his own quilt. “Leo?” Mom called, heading to the bathroom. Under the bed, in the closet, on the balcony… nothing. Her voice started to shake. “Did he go to the store to find his sister?” I was faster than them. The thought barely formed before I floated to the convenience store. Leo was there. The neighborhood was quiet in the early morning. Only a few elderly people were exercising. Leo stood at the store entrance, gripping his shirt hem. Mr. Davis was unloading goods. Seeing him, he paused. “Leo? Why are you…” “Uncle Davis.” Leo’s voice was small but firm. “Please, let my sister go.” He pulled a handful of change from his pocket. Bills, coins. He placed them carefully on the ground in a row. “This is all my savings. I give it all to you.” “I’ll never steal again.” Then, he knelt down and thud, kowtowed to the owner. “I really, really won’t do it again. Please let Penny come home…” Another kowtow. His forehead turned red quickly. “Kid, get up…” Mr. Davis panicked, trying to pull him up. But Leo was glued to the ground, kowtowing again and again. People started stopping. Ladies buying groceries, grandpas walking dogs, kids going to school. They cast strange looks. “What’s going on?” “Isn’t that Old Davis?” “Why is the kid kneeling? And kowtowing…” Whispers surged like a tide. Mr. Davis’s face turned red then white. He pulled out his phone, dialing frantically. “Hello? Mrs. Zhang?” He turned his back, whispering. “Your son is kneeling at my place… Yes, kowtowing… people are watching… I can’t keep up this act!” Hanging up, Mr. Davis pulled Leo up forcefully. “Your mom is coming. We’ll go get your sister, okay?” Leo’s eyes lit up. “Really?” He scrambled up, ignoring the dust on his knees. “Penny can really come home?” “Really, really.” I floated beside Leo, wanting to brush the dust off him. My fingers passed through his knees. I could do nothing. But I saw the light in his eyes. That determination to “save my sister” made him look like a little hero. My parents arrived quickly. Mom tried to grab Leo, but he dodged. “I want to go get Penny.” His tone was persistent like never before. Mom froze. Dad squatted down, looking Leo in the eye. “Leo, Dad promises. We’re going to get Penny right now.” “You promise?” “Dad promises.” On the way to the warehouse, Leo was restless. He pressed his face against the window, staring outside without blinking. “Are we there yet?” “How much longer?” “Will Penny be mad?” Mom held his hand, whispering, “No, Penny won’t be mad.” Her voice was gentle, but I saw her hand shaking. Dad was silent, driving fast. I floated on the car roof, watching the familiar city flash by beneath me. The sun was bright, shining on the streets, on the people, on those who were alive and could feel warmth. And I was just a transparent shadow. We arrived at the warehouse. When Mr. Davis unlocked the door, his hands were trembling. “Penny is right inside. I brought bread and water yesterday…” he babbled. Leo couldn’t wait and rushed in: “Penny!”

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