Category: English

Ever since I was plagued by Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), all I wanted was to die. But then a damned “System” dragged me into some melodramatic, dog-eat-dog “real vs. fake heiress” romance novel. In my first life, I was the swapped-out, fake heiress. The whole family, from top to bottom, only had eyes for the real one. She’d self-harm to frame me, then my adoptive parents threw me into a dog training camp. And my so-called adoptive brother? He forced me to “pay for my sins with my body.” I torched that house, then jumped into a river to end it all. The main characters were wiped out, the mini-world collapsed. So the System threw me into the next one. In my second life, I was the real heiress, but again, the whole family favored the fake one. She faked illnesses to set me up; my biological parents extracted my blood to treat her anemia. My biological brother even forced me to take those unspeakable photos, making me the scapegoat for her. Just as that fake heiress, Brittany, was gloating in front of me, the System suddenly warned: [Host, you cannot engage in any more extreme behavior in this world, or your body in the original world will permanently die!] I smiled. Extreme or not, it didn’t really matter. Mainly… I just wanted to die. 1 So I walked straight up, grabbed Brittany by the hair, snatched a blood bag, and poured it down her throat. “Anemic, are we?” “Blood transfusions are so slow.” “You need to chug it down!” The blood bag burst, splattering blood everywhere. Nurses screamed, backing away in unison. I snatched a needle and kept poking holes in myself. “Go on, little glutton, drink up, it’s all yours!” The plot of this world dictated that Brittany faked anemia, and my biased biological parents would then use me, with my rare blood type, as a living blood bank. I’d already given up on life, so dying from excessive blood loss seemed convenient. And I could even drag someone down with me before I went. Not a bad deal. Brittany struggled desperately, terrified, her face and hair covered in crimson. The scene was grotesquely eerie. “Cough, cough… Help me…” My parents, Nathan and Evelyn, rushed forward to stop me. “Stop it now!” “Are you insane?” I wasn’t insane. I just wanted to die. The doctors in my original world called it Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. When triggered, I exhibited severe violent tendencies. That’s why, in the first world, after being treated unfairly, I violently burned down the entire “family.” The System then teleported me to this second world. It also threatened me not to kill anyone else, or my original body would die. Laughable. PTSD not only comes with violent tendencies but also severe suicidal ideation. The System wants me to passively endure abuse, so I’ll first unleash my violence on these people, then use the System’s hand to end myself. A win-win situation, no loss there! 2 A large group of bodyguards burst in and subdued me. Nathan and Evelyn held the dishevelled Brittany, their hearts aching, not knowing what to do. As for me, my face was pale, like a demon from another world, mocking the hypocritical affection before my eyes. Nathan saw my indifferent expression, his face darkening suddenly. He slapped me across the face. “How could I have given birth to such a lunatic!” “You almost killed Brittany just now!” “She’s been weak since childhood, and timid. All she asked for was a little blood, what’s there to make a fuss about?” “Just as expected from someone raised outside, no manners at all!” My hands and feet were restrained, so I rammed my head hard into Nathan’s nose. With a cry of “Ouch,” Nathan clutched his nose, tears and snot streaming down his face. “You’re out of control!” “I’m your father!” Evelyn, seeing this, abandoned comforting Brittany and rushed forward to scold me. “You child, how could you lay hands on your father?” “Brittany would never act like this…” I cut her off with a cold laugh. “You yourselves said I was raised outside. You gave birth but didn’t raise me, so what kind of parents are you?” “Brittany was spoiled by you for eighteen years; isn’t it natural for her to be filial?” “Her adoptive parents abused me since childhood, making me live worse than a dog. You didn’t avenge me, you even extracted my blood for her. Any debt of birth, it’s been paid.” “If you still think it’s not enough, then keep drawing! Draw until I’m dry!” “I’ve wanted to die for ages anyway!” Nathan and Evelyn’s faces turned ashen, too angry to speak. A normal nurse on the side, gathering her courage, intervened. “Mr. Miller, Mrs. Miller, Miss Lane has already given 1000cc of blood. She also has external injuries; continuing to draw blood would really cause problems…” Brittany had ingested quite a bit of blood earlier and now felt nauseous and queasy. She quickly agreed with the nurse’s suggestion. “Mom and Dad, let’s just go home.” “Don’t let my sister upset you too much.” Nathan turned and left, while Evelyn sighed incessantly. “I don’t know where she picked up such bad habits. Not only does she lie and slander her adoptive parents, but she also threatens her parents with her life. You were so well-behaved when you were born…” “Forget it, you don’t have to come home today. Go out and temper your personality for a while.” “Come back when you’ve learned your lesson.” The group left in a swarm. I remained, suddenly feeling a surge of intense sorrow. It was this body’s instinctive grief. According to the plot, Nathan and Evelyn also loved the real heiress, they just weren’t good at expressing it. Later, they would weep over the real heiress’s corpse, filled with remorse. They would severely punish the lying Brittany, send Brittany’s adoptive parents to prison, and avenge the tragically dead real heiress. Finally, they’d inherit the family fortune and spend their lives in remembrance. The real heiress had silently endured harm from her family, all for a love as cheap as theirs. I wiped away the body’s tears and laughed aloud. Love that isn’t obvious, isn’t love at all. There’s no such thing as someone with a “sharp tongue but a soft heart.” Anyone who hurts you with their words has a sharp heart. The Millers hadn’t even bothered to change the real heiress’s surname back, which proved they didn’t care. To torment myself for a non-existent love, to endure abuse, was truly not worth it. I didn’t follow the plot to the pigeon-hole apartment the real heiress rented; instead, I walked straight to the hospital rooftop. Since bleeding out didn’t kill me, I’d just jump. Sensing my intense will to die, the System issued a warning. [Host, you cannot engage in self-destructive behavior, or your original world body will die!] I ignored the warning, spread my arms, and leaped. How wonderful. Now both worlds would be clean. 3 The anticipated scene of my head splattering didn’t play out. A pair of strong hands gripped my wrist tightly. I looked up and saw a handsome, aristocratic man. He was staring at me with utter disgust. “Brittany said you’ve been causing a scene at the hospital all day, and upset Mom and Dad terribly.” “What, just because you’re a Miller by birth, you think you can control us?” “Dream on.” “No one in the Miller family cares if you live or die.” Ethan Miller, my biological brother. According to his character profile, he was a doting brother. Even during Evelyn’s pregnancy, Ethan had already taken on the role of big brother. Every day, he’d read fairy tales to the sister in Mom’s belly. The little fellow personally built a princess room and put all his most beloved toys in his sister’s room. But the sister he doted on now was the fake heiress, Brittany, not me, his actual blood relative. And in the future, the sister he’d dote on would be a cold corpse, not the living me before his eyes. My gaze was completely unwavering, calm as if I were looking at a stranger. “If you don’t care, then get lost.” Ethan’s face darkened. He yanked me back onto the rooftop and pushed me down onto the rough concrete. “Are you out of your mind?” “Weren’t you constantly saying you wanted to come home, asking me for a chance?” “What, you couldn’t keep up the act for long, so you changed the script?” “No one’s going to pity you for playing the death card.” “If you really want to die, don’t pick a crowded place and make people go to the trouble of saving you!” According to the original plot, the real heiress genuinely admired her brother. She’d make useless crafts to please her brother, who owned countless luxury items. She’d also endure stomach pains to cook him a warming soup. But all she ever got in return was humiliation and ridicule. I would never waste another ounce of my energy. I ignored his roars and ran downstairs. I saw a nurse pushing a cart, snatched the surgical scissors from it, and aimed for my heart. The nurse’s face went white with fear. I gave her a reassuring nod. “Don’t worry, this won’t get you into trouble. Once I die, this world will collapse…” Before the scissors could even pierce my clothes, my hand was again tightly gripped by Ethan. He was breathing heavily, his expression a mix of anger and confusion. “You really want to die?” “Then you’ll die after you’ve served your last purpose!” Ethan pulled my hand and locked me into an all-black commercial van. After a bumpy ride, I was brought to an abandoned warehouse. The floor was littered with Brittany’s indecent photos. Ethan’s voice was chilling. “You had someone Photoshop Brittany’s indecent photos to ruin her reputation. So I’ll make you take a real set.” “We’ll tell everyone that you were the original subject of these photos.” “Anyway, you’re going to die, so you surely won’t care about your reputation, will you?” 4 I knew this part of the storyline. Ethan believed Brittany’s photos were Photoshopped, but in reality, Brittany had gotten herself into trouble by hooking up with various people in private. I, the real heiress, was just a scapegoat. Ethan gestured for several burly men to come forward and restrain my hands and feet. A flood of unpleasant memories surged into my mind. Being framed, disbelieved, humiliated… I was triggered again. My whole body trembled uncontrollably, and I bit and clawed desperately at the approaching men. “Don’t touch me!” “I didn’t do anything! Why are you doing this to me?!” “Ethan, is your brain just for decoration? Why do you believe everything Brittany says without checking? Even a pig is smarter than you!” Ethan’s eyelashes fluttered slightly, and a flicker of indecision crossed his face. Just then, his phone rang. Ethan glanced down at it, and his tightly furrowed brow relaxed. “Hello, Brittany? Don’t worry, I promised I’d get you revenge, and I always keep my word.” “Selene Lane knows she did something wrong and is just pretending to want to die. I won’t fall for it.” Hanging up the phone, Ethan didn’t look at me again. Instead, he nodded to his subordinates, walked straight out of the warehouse, and lit a cigar. Countless flashbulbs flared repeatedly, blinding me. I was like a trapped animal in a cage, struggling, biting, howling helplessly… Finally, the flashbulbs died out, and the main door swung open. A man radiating an icy aura strode in, rushing over. He carefully removed his own jacket and covered me with it. “Don’t be afraid, it’s all over.” Ethan stood behind the man, his voice laced with naked contempt. “Nicholas, don’t be fooled by Selene’s pitiful act.” “She was throwing a fit and wanting to die just a minute ago, but she couldn’t keep the charade up.” “Someone who truly wants to die wouldn’t make such a pathetic scene just from having photos taken. They wouldn’t scream like that.” “Anyone who didn’t know better would think we were slaughtering a pig…” Ethan hadn’t even finished his sentence when the man in front of him changed his expression. “No, her tongue!” Blood began to flow profusely from the corners of my mouth. It turned out that, under the immense mental anguish I had just suffered, I had bitten off my own tongue. The intense pain finally suppressed my fear. The System blared frantic alarms. [Host violating self-harm protocol!] [Detecting a decline in host’s life signs in this world. Original world life will be erased!] I used my last ounce of strength to open my eyes and look at the face of the man holding me. Even at this point, the System’s plot was still diligently reminding me. This person was Nicholas Vance, the arranged marriage fiancé of the real heiress in this world. He was once the real heiress’s only light but had fallen for the fake heiress, Brittany, abusing the real heiress physically and emotionally. I was amused by this ridiculous plot, and blood streamed heavily from my nose and mouth. Nicholas was sobbing, his brows furrowed in anguish. He gave me a subtle sense of familiarity. He didn’t seem like a character from a novel; he was more like someone from real life. Before I lost consciousness, I thought I heard Nicholas yelling desperately into the void. “Stop it, she’s not going to make it!” “Selene, hold on!” “Please, don’t die…” 5 When I regained consciousness, I found myself back in the Vance family’s mansion. Private doctors filled the entire room. The Miller family was also present. “Nicholas, what did the doctor say? Is Selene alright?” The System simultaneously broadcast my physical condition in my mind. [The Vance family utilized top-tier medical equipment to reattach your tongue. Life essence has returned, and the mission continues.] Upon receiving Nicholas’s affirmative reply, the Miller family breathed a sigh of relief. Evelyn’s attitude even shifted slightly. “Actually, Selene has a point. She grew up outside, and it was our neglect that led her astray.” “She caused trouble, but we, as parents, also bear responsibility.” Ethan, however, remained dismissive. “Even if she’s unhappy, Brittany was just a baby when she was swapped. She’s innocent; she shouldn’t be taking her anger out on Brittany.” “Brittany is supposed to debut as a star in the future. How can she do that if those photos get out…” Nathan slapped Ethan across the face. “You can’t actually make her take those kinds of photos! She’s your sister too!” “Now she’s bitten off her tongue, it’s disgraceful!” Ethan, having been hit, still complained. “I wasn’t actually going to release the photos.” “She’s throwing tantrums without limits; you shouldn’t keep spoiling her.” “I think she’s faking it, just to make you soft-hearted and make Brittany suffer!” Brittany stood by, utterly innocent, fluttering like a white flower. “It’s okay, I’m not a Miller by birth after all. It’s natural for Mom and Dad to prefer my sister…” Evelyn’s heart ached, and Nathan changed his tone. “No one can replace Brittany.” “Nicholas, how about we transfer Selene to the Miller family’s private hospital? You two aren’t married yet, after all.” “Brittany is the one who’s truly devoted to you, otherwise, this engagement…” Nicholas’s face was grim, his tone polite yet distant. “Selene remains the one I’m engaged to. That won’t change.” “Selene’s suicide attempt, even if it was a tantrum, needs to be taken seriously.” “She holds grievances against you all. It would be best for her to recuperate at the Vance estate before returning.” The Millers looked reluctant, but since Nicholas was sending them away, they had no choice but to leave. Brittany looked at Nicholas with immense longing. The Millers noticed this and pulled Nicholas aside for a hushed conversation. Nicholas glanced back at my semi-conscious form, then finally nodded. Once the room was quiet, Nicholas returned to my bedside and stroked my rough hand. “Selene, your tongue is injured, so you can’t speak for a while.” “Don’t worry. If the Millers don’t want you, the Vances will be your family from now on.” “I am your beloved, and that will never change.” “Just trust me, and everything will pass, okay?” I didn’t speak, acting as if I truly believed Nicholas’s words. I slowly recovered at the Vance estate. Nicholas was indeed very thoughtful. Not only did he prevent the Millers from visiting me, but he also had all the walls in the Vance mansion’s rooms padded, and the windows sealed. No sharp tools were allowed in my sight; all food was prepared and brought in sealed paper containers. Nurses guarded me around the clock, eliminating any potential dangers. The night I could speak again, Nicholas carried me to the largest, most luxurious padded room on the top floor, and we embraced. Nicholas was gentle throughout. I even had the illusion that I was loved. But after a few days of intimacy, Nicholas called in the family doctor for a comprehensive check-up on my body. The doctor’s eyes lit up. “Mr. Vance, Miss Lane is successfully pregnant!” Nicholas looked at my belly with tears in his eyes, his gaze filled with the joy of something lost and then found. “Selene, we’re having a child.” “Once the baby is born, they’ll be the heir to both the Vance and Miller families, and you will always be my only wife.” I didn’t say anything more. Even though my tongue had fully recovered, I had become completely silent, staring blankly at the sky every day. The doctors could only explain this phenomenon by saying that the high levels of estrogen secreted during pregnancy had softened my personality. Six months later, on Brittany’s and my birthday, Nicholas threw a grand birthday banquet for me. The entire Miller family was in attendance. They all looked pleased at my swollen belly. Only Brittany privately showed me a sneer. “Do you think Nicholas marrying you means he truly loves you?” “He’s doing it all for me.” “My body is delicate and frail, not suited for childbirth. And you, with your matching rare blood type, are the perfect surrogate.” “What’s in your belly is Nicholas’s and my fertilized egg.” “Once you give birth to our child, all you’ll get is an empty title: Mrs. Vance.” “No one will ever love you.” “Mom and Dad, Brother, Nicholas, even the baby in your belly—they’re all mine!”

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1 On my first date with billionaire’s son Leo Maxwell, he mocked my $200 dress—saved from months of part-time work—calling it cheap polyester that would “shock” him. He made me take it off and burned it. Left shivering in the snow in a thin top, I endured laughter from him and his cashmere-coated friends. The next day, he blocked me with his Ferrari at school, loudly apologizing with a Van Cleef necklace. “Country folks aren’t picky about fabric. Use this for better clothes, or my card.” Amidst stares and whispers, I refused the gift and broke up with him. He smirked. “Still upset? Name your price.” I pushed past him. “I want nothing. Just leave me alone.” All I wanted was my dignity. … Leo didn’t respond. His gaze swept over my roommate, Grace, who stood behind me. He casually placed his hand on her shoulder, his tone dismissive. “Hailey, your temper is getting out of hand. All I did was call your name once. You never talked about breaking up when I used to buy you gifts.” He paused, his eyes flicking towards me, then back to Grace. “Look at her, she’s so unreasonable compared to you. How about you be my girlfriend?” My heart pounded. Grace didn’t push his hand away. Instead, she leaned closer to him, smoothing things over with a smile. “Hailey’s just being dramatic, Leo. Don’t be mad.” Leo chuckled, deliberately raising his voice. “Mad about what? If someone doesn’t appreciate me, there are plenty who will.” He turned to Grace, his fingers kneading her shoulder. “Be my girlfriend, and next week I’ll buy you that new designer bag. What do you say?” Grace’s eyes lit up, and she was about to speak when Leo suddenly gestured to me with his chin. “What do you say, give in now, and I’ll pretend this never happened. Otherwise…” He deliberately paused, his hand sliding down to clasp Grace’s wrist. I sniffled. I looked at the hand that had held mine countless times, and suddenly, my tears stopped. My voice was steadier than I expected. “No, thank you. When it’s over, it’s over. I wish you both well.” I turned and walked away. Leo’s smile froze on his face, then he let out a scoff. “Don’t act tough. You’ll be back to me within three days. But for today, I guess I’ll just have to spoil my new darling.” He deliberately drew out his words, his eyes fixed on me. He was waiting for me to turn back. I heard Grace’s laughter blend with his words, growing fainter with each step I took. Back in my dorm, I sat on my chair, and the tears I’d held back finally streamed down. It was the weekend, and my roommates were out. I cried for a long time before I recovered. I packed up the necklace, the plush toys, and other small items he had given me, sealing the box and placing it by the door, intending to return them in a few days. By the time I finished tidying up, it was evening. I opened my phone to see a photo he’d posted. Grace was in the passenger seat of his car, holding a bubble tea and smiling. The caption read, “New beginnings.” On the dashboard was the acrylic plate Leo had once put there to appease me, inscribed with “Hailey’s Spot.” I stared at the photo for two seconds, feeling a heavy ache in my chest. I called my best friend, Mia, then turned off my phone and left. Mia was waiting for me at the hotpot restaurant. Seeing my swollen eyes, she didn’t ask questions, simply spooned meat into my bowl. Halfway through the meal, when my emotions had stabilized, she quietly asked, “Why did you really break up? Was it just because he came to school for you?” I lowered my head, stirring the soup in my bowl, and gently shook my head. “No.” 2 When I first met Leo, I had no idea who he was. He rolled up to me in a beat-up old van, and my younger brother, mistaking him for a kidnapper, gave him a good beating. Later, I found out his luxury car had been scratched by a farm vehicle, and he was given the van to drive while his car was being repaired, which was how he ended up in our village. He stayed at our house to recover, occasionally plucking wildflowers by the roadside to give to me. One day, as I was picking corn in the fields, he leaned in, smiling. “You look beautiful picking corn. Go out with me, and you won’t have to do this kind of work anymore.” I thought he was joking and casually agreed. It wasn’t until he recovered and came to pick me up in his luxury car that I realized he was a rich young heir. Mia put down her chopsticks. “So why the sudden breakup?” “He always drives his fancy car to school to block me. Students gather around, whispering about me being a ‘gold-digger.’ He hears it but never explains, even joking with his friends, ‘She’s the one who threw herself at me.’” I pursed my lips, lowering my gaze, my nose tingling again. “Last time, I saved two months’ salary to buy a dress, spent two hours doing my makeup to meet him, and he didn’t even glance at it. When he pulled me towards his hotel, the dress snagged on his watch, and he tore it right off, annoyed.” “He always does this. Afterwards, he buys me a plush toy or a necklace as compensation.” I looked down at the cooling soup in my bowl. “This time, he called my name at the school gate again, and everyone was staring. I suddenly woke up. Eight years. I don’t want to coddle him anymore.” Mia sighed, not pressing further. After dinner, she dragged me to a karaoke bar. I sang until my throat was hoarse, but at least I didn’t cry any more. In the private room, I had two beers, and my head started to feel heavy. Mia, seeing my state, didn’t stay long, dropping me off at the dorm around ten. The hallway lights were off. I fumbled in the dark, pushing open the door. Seeing Grace’s bed empty, my heart sank. Thankfully, I was too exhausted to think much else. I took off my coat and collapsed into bed. I wasn’t woken until noon the next day by my phone ringing. I answered without checking the caller ID. On the other end, it sounded like one of Leo’s friends, his voice frantic. “Hailey, get to Leo’s house now! He drank so much last night, saying he didn’t want to live without you. He’s really bad!” My mind reeled, my heart pounding. I hung up, didn’t comb my hair or change my clothes, and jumped on my scooter, rushing to Leo’s house. On the way, I was so flustered I took a wrong turn, and a truck almost hit me. I didn’t catch what the driver yelled, but I gripped the handlebars and sped on. Finally, I arrived at Leo’s apartment building, breathless from running, wanting only to be faster. But the moment I pushed open the door, I froze. A room full of people surrounded the sofa, laughing. Leo was lounging in the middle, and Grace sat on his lap, feeding him grapes. He naturally opened his mouth to take them. He used to always say he didn’t like grapes, preferring me to peel mangoes for him. But when I’d cut and brought them to him, he wouldn’t eat them, just ruffle my hair and say, “So obedient.” Leo saw me, raised an eyebrow, and turned to his friends, chuckling. “I told you she’d come. I won won the bet.” 3 Someone laughed and handed him an envelope filled with money. He took it and gave it to Grace, then looked at me, his eyes full of mockery. “Hailey Vance, you really can’t live without me, can you? You heard something happened to me, and you rushed over without even washing your face?” The others joined in the teasing. One guy laughed and called out, “Hailey, Leo already said he doesn’t like you. You’re broken up, and you’re still chasing after him? Is no one else interested in you?” Another chimed in, “Leo, look how desperate she is. Maybe she wants to come back and continue serving you, hoping to get back together!” “Yeah, right, wasn’t she acting all high and mighty before? Now she’s practically throwing herself at him?” “What breakup? I bet she’s just playing hard to get…” I stood there, unable to stop the tears from streaming down my cheeks. Seeing me cry, Leo’s mockery deepened. He pushed Grace off his lap and walked over to me, pinching my face, forcing me to look at him. “What are you crying for?” He leaned in, his breath heavy with alcohol, and lightly touched my lips, his tone flippant. “Now you regret it? Beg me, and I’ll…” Before he could finish, I slapped him. “Smack!” The laughter in the living room instantly ceased. Everyone gasped. Leo’s face froze, his eyes instantly turning cold. He frowned and pushed me away. “Hailey Vance, you dare hit me? Over such a trivial matter?” Grace immediately rushed over, pulling on Leo’s arm, soothing him softly. “Leo, don’t be angry. She’s just jealous, she’s gone crazy.” Then, she glanced at me. “She was always like this in the dorms, always getting too close to guys in class, deliberately trying to make people misunderstand. Didn’t she just want all the guys to fawn over her? Now she’s trying to act innocent.” I wiped away my tears with the back of my hand, my eyes bloodshot, my voice rising. “Leo Maxwell, I must have been blind to ever be with you. From today on, I will never look for you again. If you die, it has nothing to do with me!” Leo froze for a moment, a flicker of panic in his eyes, but then he scoffed. “Last time you threw a tantrum, didn’t you come back to me within three days, clutching the plush toy I gave you? Now you’re trying this again? Fine, I’ll wait. But when you regret it, don’t come begging me.” He leaned back on the sofa, pulling Grace closer, then whispered something to his friends, utterly convinced I’d return. He didn’t even glance at me again. I didn’t watch the merriment in the living room anymore. I turned and walked out. Just downstairs, I saw my scooter lying crooked by the roadside, its back tire flat, punctured by someone unknown. I struggled to push the bike towards the dorm, the path dark, with one or two drunk people occasionally passing by. My heart pounded, and I quickened my pace. Thankfully, I made it back to the dorm safely. The boxes were still by the door. I grew angrier the more I thought about it, kicking them into a corner before collapsing into bed. 4 The next morning, I carried the boxes to the post office. When I tried to pay by scanning the QR code, my phone repeatedly flashed “Insufficient balance.” I clicked into my transaction history and saw it clearly: yesterday afternoon, Leo had used the shared payment feature to transfer the only two thousand three hundred and fifty dollars left in my account—money I had painstakingly saved from two months of part-time work. “Miss, stop dawdling! There are people waiting behind you!” The post office worker’s voice was impatient. Several students in line looked over, and some recognized me, whispering. “Isn’t that the little bird who broke up with her sugar daddy? I heard she used to spend all of Leo’s money. Now that she’s been dumped, she’s broke.” Another student, sounding scornful, spoke louder. “What ‘little bird’? They call them ‘golden canaries,’ but really, she’s just a prostitute. And I heard this kind of person even won some award, right?” … Those words pierced my ears, incredibly harsh. I instinctively gripped my phone, told the post office worker, “Give me five minutes,” and ducked into the alley behind the post office to make a call. “Mom, I want to borrow some money…” My mother’s voice, booming through the phone, hurt my ears. “You ungrateful wretch! I told you not to mess with rich people, but you wouldn’t listen! Now they’ve dumped you, and you’re coming to the family for money? I say you deserve it! You little hussy…” I bit my lip, not daring to reply. Hanging up, I had no choice but to carry the boxes towards Leo’s house, my arms aching from the cardboard digging into them the entire way. A few items fell out as I juggled the boxes, and I clutched them in my hand. Just as I reached the entrance of his complex, I saw Leo’s car pull up. Grace was in the passenger seat, surrounded by several luxury shopping bags. She deliberately held them up when she saw me. The car stopped, and Leo rolled down the window. He glanced at the boxes in my arms, a subtle sigh of relief, then raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “I told you you couldn’t live without me.” He then pointed to a bench nearby. “Here, wait here. Grace and I are going to buy a bag up ahead. I’ll be back for you later.” Before I could say, “I’m here to return your things,” he hit the gas, and the car sped off. Grace poked her head out the window, waving triumphantly at me. … I dumped the boxes at Leo’s front door and turned to leave. I needed to make money. That two thousand dollars, I decided, would just be his payment for all the meals he’d bought me. I wasn’t going to ask for it back. That afternoon, the department suddenly announced a commendation ceremony for the “National Scholarship” recipients. My advisor had called me the day before, asking me to prepare a speech, saying I’d speak as a representative. But the one who walked onto the stage to receive the award was Grace. She wore a new designer dress Leo had bought her, her face even paler than usual. She held a certificate in her hand and, as she came down, deliberately walked over to me, whispering, “Hailey, someone reported you for misconduct, so you can’t blame me for getting the award.” Seeing my frown, she continued in a low voice, “I failed five courses, you know. Leo helped me contact the professors to change my grades. Seriously, without him, how would I ever graduate?” She then added, “Oh, Leo also told me to tell you that your hard work means nothing compared to his word.”

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1 All of Saint Christopher knew about Damien Shepherd, the ruthless enforcer of the Shepherd crime family, and the untouchable “golden canary” he kept. She was a blind social worker, living in the squalor of the city’s poorest district, yet as pure as a white magnolia blooming in hell. This purity made Damien, who had risen from the brutal streets of the city’s underworld, dote on her like a precious gem. And I, his lawful wife, was nothing but a detested ornament. “Anastasia Vance, sign this. Those two mansions in the Highlands and the casinos in Port Royal are yours.” I refused to divorce him, so he resorted to his most vicious tactics. He threw me off the Port Royal docks, and one after another, my family’s cargo ships mysteriously sank. Finally, he kidnapped my parents, cementing them into pilings at the bottom of the Port Royal Bay. “Sign the papers, or watch them be cast alive into the foundations. Your choice.” I knelt, begging him, my forehead bleeding from hitting the ground, but the roar of the cement mixer swallowed my parents’ desperate faces. “No!” Then I opened my eyes again. I was back on the very day I first learned of Penelope’s existence. This time, I would grant his wish and leave for good. But when I truly died before him, Damien Shepherd lost his mind. … In my past life, I’d only ever heard a single voice message on Damien’s encrypted phone. It was a soft, timid female voice calling him “Damien, darling.” Reborn, I wanted to see for myself. What kind of woman could make a cold-blooded monster, forged in the depths of Saint Christopher’s crime underworld, learn tenderness? “Uncle Fitz, arrange for my parents to leave for England via a secret route within three days. I’ll join them as soon as I can.” After instructing my trusted old family retainer, I contacted Saint Christopher’s top lawyers to draft divorce papers. I needed to sever all ties with Damien and reclaim my offshore assets. I had less than a month. Then, I went to the Lower Quarter. This was the poorest, most chaotic part of Saint Christopher, rife with gambling dens, street gangs, and sex workers. At the end of a narrow, sewage-strewn alley, Penelope stood before a cramped, dilapidated community welfare center. Holding a white cane, she smiled, handing out free boxed meals to several homeless people. She wore a faded white dress, her eyes unfocused but clear and bright. “Slowly now, there’s enough for everyone. Today, we even have extra pulled pork.” Her voice was soft, starkly out of place in the murky, squalid district. No wonder Damien cherished her. “Blind hag! Watch where you’re going! You’re in my way!” Suddenly, a deranged thug overturned a table. The broken neck of a beer bottle lunged directly at her. I stood nearby, instinctively wanting to step aside. But Penelope, acting on pure instinct, shielded the children who were grabbing for food. “Chink!” The shattered glass deeply pierced her shoulder, crimson blossoming rapidly on her white dress. But she didn’t cry. Instead, she fumbled to reassure the terrified children clinging to her. “Don’t be scared, Penelope isn’t hurt. Someone will protect us.” I froze. That blinding red brought back memories of my parents, ground into the cement mixer in my past life. Back then, I cried until my eyes were nearly blind, and Damien only offered me a cruel, retreating back. In the welfare center’s makeshift first-aid room, I watched her pale, serene face, and finally, I couldn’t stop myself from stepping forward. “You’re a social worker? This place isn’t for you. These people don’t deserve your help.” I spoke coldly. She recognized that my voice wasn’t from the neighborhood and smiled, shaking her head. “Madam, Mr. Shepherd says that as long as I have a kind heart, the heavens will watch over me. These people are just sick, not bad.” Mr. Shepherd. Damien Shepherd. The man who, in the Port Royal Bay area, had carved up dozens without a flicker of emotion, was teaching someone about benevolence? “Beep, beep” Her custom wristwatch chimed. I’d commissioned that watch from a Swiss master years ago for Damien; it had the most advanced real-time vital sign monitoring. He’d found it too bothersome and thrown it into the trash without even opening the box. Now, it graced her slender wrist. She pressed to answer, and Damien’s voice, usually cold enough to make one shiver, now held an undeniable tension. “Your location shows an abnormal heart rate and dropping blood pressure. What happened?” Penelope’s face flushed, her tone flustered. “Damien, I’m fine. Just a little scratch. Everyone at the welfare center is very kind. It was just my own clumsiness…” “Wait for me.” The call ended. A mere five minutes later, the roar of an engine echoed from the street. Damien’s Rolls-Royce had traveled from Midtown to the Lower Quarter in just five minutes. He was always resourceful, and his radar seemed to pinpoint only her. And me, his lawfully wedded wife of five years? Last month, I was kidnapped by his rivals, nearly assaulted in an abandoned warehouse. I hid in a water tank, calling him for help, but he only sent a subordinate with a message: “A Shepherd wife who can’t even protect herself deserves to die. Damien Shepherd has no use for weaklings.” That was the difference. “I have something else to attend to. I’m leaving.” I tossed a wad of cash onto the table, considering it payment for the meal, and turned to go. One month. If I could just make it through this month, I could completely disappear from this world. 2 Some time later, I went to the top floor of Shepherd Group with the divorce papers. I needed to get his signature while his attention was entirely on Penelope. This way, I could smoothly disentangle my assets and prepare for what was next. “Mrs. Shepherd, Mr. Shepherd is in an important meeting and isn’t seeing anyone.” The bodyguard, a formidable presence, blocked my path like an iron tower. A meeting? I peered through the half-closed blinds, past the bulletproof glass door. I clearly saw the man who never took painkillers even for bullet removal, kneeling beside Penelope. With the finest tweezers, he was meticulously picking tiny shards of glass from her wound. Penelope flinched in pain. He immediately stopped, his breathing even softening. He pressed his forehead against hers, soothing her with a tenderness I had never heard. “Penelope, darling, it’ll be over soon. From now on, I’ll assign ten men to follow you. If anyone ever makes you bleed again, I’ll wipe out their entire family.” Was that Damien Shepherd? The uncrowned king of Saint Christopher? I once took a rival’s blade for him, earning thirty-nine stitches on my back. His only response then was a cold glance: “If it hurts, endure it. Don’t play pitiful in front of me.” After that, I never dared to cry out in pain. “Madam.” The bodyguard looked uneasy. Maintaining a blank expression, I handed the documents to him. “When he has a moment, tell him to sign these.” I expected him to send his legal team to fight over the assets, given the intricate intertwining of Shepherd and Thorne interests. I had even prepared to give up seventy percent of my fortune. But five minutes later, the bodyguard returned with the signed papers. He hadn’t even bothered to look at the specific terms, simply scrawling his signature, bold and unhesitating, on the last page. His signature cut through the paper, devoid of any lingering sentiment. Holding the thin document, I felt an incredible lightness. At eighteen, my father had offered me as a sacrifice to this emotionless madman, a pawn to ensure our family’s survival in the business wars. He had no sense of pain, no bottom line, no understanding of love. I had tried to prepare his meals daily, to tend to him when he returned late at night, smelling of blood. I had even unhesitatingly stood by him during the internal power struggles of the Shepherd family, only to be kidnapped and nearly drowned by his political enemies. I thought my five years of devotion would melt the iceberg. It turned out, icebergs do melt. Just not for me. The divorce cooling-off period still had half a month left, and Damien hadn’t returned to our estate in the Palisades once. This conveniently allowed me to transfer my remaining assets. To avoid arousing his suspicion, I continued my routine of shopping and afternoon teas, contacting my people in London only in secret. One day, passing an old-fashioned tea room in Port Royal, I unexpectedly saw Penelope. She was in a corner with a sharply dressed man, who seemed to be pulling at her. “Sister!” Though blind, Penelope’s hearing was exceptionally acute; she recognized the click of my heels. She pulled her hand free from the man and fumbled her way towards me, clutching my sleeve tightly. Seeing the bodyguards trailing me, the man cursed under his breath and walked away. “Who was that?” I coldly shook her hand off, not wanting any contact. Her eyes reddened, her voice trembling. “He’s an old acquaintance I once helped. He developed a gambling addiction and keeps asking me for money. Today, he even tried to lay hands on me… Sister, could you just have a cup of tea with me? I’m a little scared.” In my past life, Damien had called her a lotus blooming in the mud, the purest light in Saint Christopher. I hadn’t believed it then. But seeing her now, looking so frightened, I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of certainty. I initially wanted to refuse. But glancing at my watch, I had an hour until I was due to pick up a fake passport from a contact in the black market. So, I took her to a nearby private dining restaurant. I just wanted her to stay safe and out of trouble, so it wouldn’t eventually fall back on me. We had just settled into the private room, and the food hadn’t even arrived, when she suddenly clutched her stomach, her forehead covered in cold sweat. 3 “What’s wrong?” I stood up. “Sister, I’m so sorry.” She clutched the tablecloth, gasping for breath. “I’m pregnant. It’s Damien’s.” Pregnant. My heart lurched, a sharp blade twisting inside me. “He’s been pushing himself so hard lately, trying to quell the opposition from a few of the Shepherd family’s elders. I didn’t want him to be distracted because of me, so I never told him.” Penelope’s lips were bitten raw from pain. Damien Shepherd had never touched me in our five years of marriage. He said he found women’s touch disgusting and deemed procreation a tedious charade. Turns out, he just found me disgusting. If I didn’t leave immediately, and Damien discovered her pregnancy, and then realized I was still in Saint Christopher and knew everything. Given his suspicion and ruthlessness, he would undoubtedly repeat the tactics of my past life, striking first by targeting my parents! I immediately excused myself to the restroom and called Uncle Fitz. “Uncle Fitz! Rebook our flight for tonight! Forget the luggage; we’re taking a boat to international waters to switch ships immediately!” But just as I hung up, a sharp scream suddenly pierced the air outside the private room. This was followed by a “Bang!” a gunshot! A dozen thugs, armed with machetes and iron bars, kicked open the restaurant door. “Kill the blind girl! Damien Shepherd took down our boss’s stronghold; today we’ll take his woman’s life in return!” The scar-faced leader immediately zeroed in on Penelope in the private room. Clearly, they were well-prepared and had already tracked her movements. Penelope shrieked in terror, stumbling blindly, knocking over a chair. I could have escaped through the back door, but the horrifying image of my parents being buried alive in my past life flashed through my mind. I knew Damien too well. If anything happened to Penelope in front of me today, whether I was involved or not, Damien would pin the blame on me. He would assume I, out of jealousy and hatred, had hired these thugs. To ensure my parents’ safe departure, I gritted my teeth. I grabbed a red wine bottle from the table and, with a “Crash!”, shattered it against the corner of the table. “Run!” I pulled Penelope, desperately fleeing towards the kitchen’s emergency exit. But I’d forgotten she was blind, and now, pregnant and utterly terrified. Just as we were about to reach the door, she tripped hard, dragging me down with her. “Run? Well, Mrs. Shepherd is here too. Perfect, a two-for-one deal! Let’s take care of both of them!” The scar-faced thug grinned menacingly as he caught up, kicking me hard in the back. I felt as if my spine was about to snap, a mouthful of blood rushing to my throat. Several heavy steel pipes swung down. “The blind girl is pregnant! Boss, why don’t we cut her belly open and send Damien Shepherd a grand gift?!” A junior thug suggested venomously. Penelope cowered in the corner, letting out a desperate plea. “Don’t touch my baby, please!” The scar-faced leader grabbed my hair, dragging me. “Let’s deal with the lawful wife first! The high-and-mighty Mrs. Shepherd of the Shepherd family, let’s see what she’s really made of!” Several dirty hands tore at my clothes. I tried to fight back, but after the heavy blow, I was utterly defenseless. Just as my coat was completely ripped open, and despair threatened to engulf me, a deafening barrage of heavy gunfire erupted from the doorway! “Boom! Boom! Boom!”

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1 My husband, Archer, has changed lately. He stopped wearing cologne, claiming the scent was too strong. His phone had become an extension of his hand; he’d frequently smile at it, lost in thought. I suspected he was seeing someone. After tucking our two kids into bed, a message popped up from his mistress. “The unloved one is the home-wrecker. I advise you to divorce Archer now.” Another message immediately followed. “I’m pregnant with his child! He’s head-over-heels in love with me right now.” I feigned ignorance, deleted the messages, and blocked her number. He was just cheating, not bankrupt. And frankly, his infidelity was a good thing. … Then, his mistress showed up at our doorstep, her several-months-pregnant belly thrust forward in a brazen display. “If you don’t divorce him, I’m staying here. You’ll even have to care for me after the baby’s born.” My expression remained flat, her provocations stirring no emotion within me. “No need,” I said calmly. “Archer will hire you a confinement nurse. He’s got money to spare.” I pulled out my phone, intending to activate the robot vacuum, but stopped. I didn’t want her to fake a fall and cause trouble. So, I just sat opposite her and called Archer. “Your girlfriend, with her baby bump, is here.” Archer rushed home from his office, a whirlwind of disheveled hair. His usual gentle demeanor was replaced by a strained look. He stood in the entryway, a mix of guilt and annoyance at his mistress’s impulsive visit etched on his face. The mistress stared at me, dumbfounded. She hadn’t expected me, the wronged wife, to be so calm. “Aren’t you angry?” she demanded. “Your husband cheated, and you’re calling him to deal with me?” I ignored her, turning instead to Archer. “Handle this. Don’t let her cause a scene; it could be bad for the company.” I paused, my gaze sharp. “By the sound of your call, you left something important unfinished at work? I’ll go clean up the mess for you.” As I walked past him, he grabbed my wrist. His mouth opened, then closed, as if searching for an excuse – a reason I might accept, one that could somehow justify his very pregnant mistress. I gently pushed his hand away. “No explanations needed.” I took his car keys from him. “Trust me, the company’s affairs are in good hands.” I gave him a pointed look. “Don’t forget to switch on the robot vacuum.” I closed the door, faintly hearing his mistress’s escalating protests. My footsteps quickened to the car, and the sounds from inside faded away. The company was Archer’s brainchild. I had started as his secretary. With my fair skin, pretty face, and solid business skills, I caught his eye. He pursued me relentlessly. Our engagement, then our marriage, made us the picture of a perfect couple in everyone’s eyes. He used to be so romantic. He’d fuss with his hair before going out and dress up specially for our shopping trips, saying he wanted to be worthy of me. My messages were answered instantly; if I ever ignored him, he’d bombard me with texts. He worked out daily, promising to keep his abs for me to touch. When I was busy with company affairs, he’d pull me aside, insisting I just sit and watch, saying even that was tiring enough. “He loved me,” I thought, “that’s what he said.” But then he stopped loving me. Company matters were unceremoniously dumped in my lap, and any mistake earned me a public dressing-down. Outings with me became a chore; he’d stare at his phone, dress carelessly, and make no effort. So, when he recently started primping again and doing push-ups at home, I knew. He had found someone else to love. “Ms. Thorne.” “Ms. Thorne.” In the conference room, the executives rose to greet me. I began to sort out Archer’s mess. As dusk settled, Archer entered his office, quietly shutting the door, his eyes discreetly observing me. “I picked up the kids,” he said. 2 I threw myself into work. Though it was his company, I benefited too. Every success meant more money for me, more security for my two children. Seeing my preoccupation, Archer pulled up a chair and sat beside me. “I’m sorry. I was wrong,” he began, his voice laced with regret. “I never thought she’d come directly to you. I warned her not to. But she insisted on confronting you, using her pregnancy to demand a divorce.” I paused, turning my head to face him. “So, do you want a divorce?” Without a second’s hesitation, Archer shook his head. “No, I don’t. I truly love you. What happened with her was just a moment of weakness.” I curved my lips into a faint smile. “Then you just handle it.” His expression was etched with anxiety. “You… you’re not angry?” Before I could answer, he quickly added, “I know you must be furious. I wronged you. What do you want? A house? A car? A house for your parents? Or company shares? Anything you want.” Watching his contrite face, I said, “Shares, then. Not for me, but for our two children. For their future.” Archer’s guilt deepened. He grasped my hand, weeping for a long time. I honestly didn’t understand. He was the one who cheated. Why was he crying? Archer owned 80% of the company shares. He built the company from the ground up, and only gave up a fraction of shares when it went public. He was brilliant, with an astute business sense. Whatever he touched turned to gold. That’s what I valued about him—even if he went bankrupt, he had the ability to rise again. He allocated 20% of the shares to me, and 10% to each of our children, promising, “There won’t be a second time. I know you worry about the children’s inheritance. I’ve already had the lawyer draft a will; our children will inherit the bulk of my assets. Her child… a smaller portion, okay?” Archer asked cautiously. I still didn’t grasp the extent of his guilt. He felt guilty, yet he still cheated. Wouldn’t it be simpler to be unburdened by guilt and just own it? After all, it was his money. He could give it to whomever he pleased. Would he really refuse to give his mistress’s child shares if I told him not to? I indulged his performance. “Fine, whatever you say.” My compliance seemed to ease his discomfort, his expression visibly less constrained. “Just don’t let it affect the company,” I added after a moment’s thought. That night, his mistress texted me, gloating: Don’t think Archer isn’t divorcing you because he loves you. It’s just bad for the company! He’ll divorce you eventually! Even if he doesn’t, my child will have an inheritance! I deleted the message without a second thought. Because her child wouldn’t inherit a thing. 3 If his mistress didn’t cause trouble, I generally didn’t meddle in his private life. We had been married for ten years, and our relationship had long since evolved into something akin to familial affection. Our eldest was in middle school, and the younger was about to graduate from elementary school. Juggling the kids’ schedules alone was exhausting. Add to that our social obligations, maintaining ties with his parents, and mediating between friends and business partners within our social circle—these demands consumed most of my energy. But then his mistress targeted my eldest son. I found out when he called me, saying some woman claimed to be his stepmother. I rushed over immediately. I could be indifferent to most things, but not when it came to my children. I arrived at the school gates to find his mistress standing next to my son, a smug smile on her face as she looked at me. I walked over, placing myself in front of my son. “What do you want?” She folded her arms, facing me. “Just introducing myself to your son as his future stepmother. Is there anything wrong with that? Archer is only postponing the divorce with you for now. He promised me he’ll divorce you eventually.” This involved my son, and potentially the company’s reputation. After all, this was an expensive private school. Only the wealthy and influential sent their children here. Several business deals had actually originated through my son’s classmates, through gradual introductions. Already, a few curious onlookers were starting to observe us. I snapped. “Get lost.” Seeing my anger, she surprisingly backed down, a smile playing on her lips. “Well, well, Ms. Thorne, I never thought you’d lose your temper. I thought you were made of paper, never showing any emotion.” Slightly provoked, I said coldly, “If you don’t leave now, I’ll have someone take you to the hospital for an abortion.” She gasped. “You wouldn’t dare! Archer wouldn’t let you get away with it.” I lifted my chin, lowering my voice in a menacing whisper. “If you don’t disappear, the media will suddenly swarm this area, and your story will be plastered everywhere. Guess which is more important to Archer: you, or his company’s reputation?” She panicked. She glared at me, unwilling to give up but afraid to make a move. She was after money. If Archer’s company ran into trouble, she’d lose out. And Archer would hate her. After she left, I turned to my son, my expression complex. My eldest son gestured for me to get into the car. Once inside, he said, “Be careful with our sister. I’m worried she might try to harm her.” I nodded. That evening, during dinner, after our daughter had finished eating and gone upstairs, he spoke up. “Dad, someone came to see me today and told me to call her my stepmother.” Archer immediately guessed who it was and said, looking uncomfortable, “She’s just crazy. Don’t worry about her. Nothing like that will happen again.” My son nodded calmly. “Hmm. I don’t want our sister to know.” Archer made a quick exit, leaving my son and me in a silent understanding. I guess I’m a gold-digger too.

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It was our third wedding anniversary. I got a text from the car wash. The annual pass I’d topped up at the beginning of the month had already been used up. They were asking if I wanted to renew. I looked up at my wife, Sarah, who was massaging my shoulders. “Why are you getting the car washed every single day?” I asked. Her hands tensed for a split second. She laughed it off, a little too quickly. “The new project sites out in the country are all mud tracks. You know how I am about cleanliness.” When I didn’t say anything, she sighed and pulled out her phone, sending me three hundred dollars. “Alright, you big cheapskate, stop the act. I’ll pay for it myself, happy? If you keep pretending to be mad, I’m gonna have to get rough with you.” I didn’t play along like I usually would. Instead, I looked at her, my face a cold mask. “Let’s get a divorce.” 1. Sarah froze. A second later, she draped herself over me, her eyes wide with a practiced vulnerability. “Honey, is this the role-play you want to try today?” she purred. “Can we pick a different one? I don’t like the ‘divorce’ storyline.” As she leaned in, her gaze hazy with allure, I instinctively took a few steps back. “I’m not kidding, Sarah. I want a divorce.” The seductive look on her face hardened. “Are you angry?” she snapped. “Is it because I forgot to get you an anniversary gift? Or because I’ve been working late all month and haven’t spent enough time with you? Can’t we talk about this like adults? Why jump straight to divorce?” I just stared back at her, the silence stretching between us. I knew she was waiting for me to cave, to soothe her like I always did. But not today. After five long minutes, I stood up and grabbed my jacket. A flash of panic crossed her face. She shot up and threw her arms around me, her eyes a desperate mix of seduction and pleading. “Alex, you’re scaring me when you’re this cold. Whatever you want to do, I’ll play along, okay? Just please, don’t be angry.” I pushed her away, disgusted. “This whole act of yours is making me sick.” Sarah stood there, stunned. Then, her shock curdled into furious indignation. “Alex! What the hell is wrong with you today? Divorce? Sick? Don’t tell me you’re humiliating me like this because I used up your damn car wash pass.” My expression didn’t change. “Yes,” I said flatly. “It’s because of the pass. So, will you sign the papers?” Her face was a mask of disbelief. “Don’t be ridiculous! I already explained it to you. I can’t show up to work the next day in a car caked in mud, can I? Besides, I sent you the money! You’re the one who didn’t accept it. I’ve been working overtime for a month straight, and you don’t even care. Today is our third anniversary, and I made sure to come home early for you. And what do I get? You throwing a tantrum and trying to solve the problem by getting rid of me…” Seeing her spiral into hysterics, I cut her off. “Look in a mirror. Can you see the difference between yourself and a raving lunatic right now? I’ll send you the divorce agreement later.” With that, I turned and walked out. 2. I had just started the car when Sarah threw herself in front of it, her face streaked with tears. I slammed on the brakes, but I think I still clipped her. She scrambled to her feet and started yanking frantically on the locked passenger door. Seeing her face drain of color, I rolled down the window. Her eyes met mine. She forced a shaky smile. “Honey,” she sobbed, “it hurts so much. Please don’t go. I know you’re just angry! I’m sorry. Whatever I did to upset you, I’ll fix it, I promise!” I stared at her, my face blank. “Move. You’re blocking the road.” When she didn’t budge, I stomped on the accelerator. The roar of the engine sent her scrambling out of the way, her face a mask of pure terror. In the rearview mirror, I saw her collapse onto the pavement, a helpless, broken figure. “Alex, come back! Don’t do this to me…” I looked away and set the GPS for the nearest hotel. Once in my room, I emailed her the divorce papers I’d prepared. My phone, finally quiet, lit up again with her name. A sharp, unexpected pain lanced through my chest. After a moment of hesitation, I switched it to airplane mode and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. The next morning, I saw her the moment I stepped into the hotel lobby. She looked exhausted, her expression a pathetic mix of pleading and submission. Standing behind her were her parents, their faces tight with barely concealed rage. Here we go again. Whenever Sarah and I fought, she’d call in her family for backup. Her father would play the bad cop, her mother the good cop, and her older brother, Daniel, would swoop in as the well-meaning peacemaker. The outcome was always the same: no matter who was right or wrong, I would end up apologizing to Sarah, and we’d make up. But this was different. This was divorce. I had said the word, and today, they were all going to be disappointed. Her father stepped in front of her, his face dark. “Alex. You’d better have a damn good explanation for this.” I met his furious gaze calmly. “Dad, there’s nothing to explain. I’m divorcing Sarah.” Her mother flinched, then took my arm. “Alex, honey, don’t be like that. Your father and I are here to help you two work things out. You haven’t had breakfast, have you? Let’s all go to the restaurant next door, sit down, and talk this through properly.” As soon as we were in a private room, I got straight to the point. “Mom, Dad, the divorce agreement gives the house and car to Sarah. I’ll take the cash.” Her father shot to his feet, but her mother quickly pulled him back down. “Alex,” she said, shocked, “you’ve already drawn up the papers?” “Just calm down. Divorce is a serious thing. Look at Sarah, her eyes are completely swollen from crying all night. What on earth did she do to make you this angry? You tell me, and I’ll sort her out.” I took a deep breath. “Mom, don’t bother. There’s no point.” Tears immediately welled up in Sarah’s eyes. “Honey, what do you mean, ‘no point’?” she whimpered. “Just because I used up your hundred-dollar annual pass, you’re going to throw away everything we have?” “From now on, I’ll give you my entire salary, okay? Just please, don’t say that word. It hurts too much…” My face was stone as I met her gaze. “Do you really need me to spell it out for you? You make me sick.” Her parents’ composure finally cracked. Their faces turned ugly. Just then, the door opened, and Daniel rushed in, looking like he’d driven all night. He surveyed the tense scene, then clapped me on the shoulder with a forced smile. “Hey, what’s with all the long faces? Is everyone just hangry? Come on, brother-in-law, let’s you and I go hurry the food along.” Before I could object, he was pulling me out of the room. 3. Out on the restaurant’s terrace, Daniel offered me a cigarette. “Alright, man, talk to me. What happened? Sarah called me last night, crying her eyes out, saying you’re dead set on a divorce. I asked her why, but she couldn’t give me a straight answer. I told her she must have really pushed your buttons this time, because a guy as easygoing as you wouldn’t just snap like this.” I lit the cigarette, but as I went to speak, my eyes were drawn to a distinct hickey on his collarbone. Daniel was adopted. We’d always gotten along well. He was five years older than Sarah and had a long-term girlfriend, but they’d never married. The story was that her job was top-secret, so she couldn’t be brought around the family. Whenever Sarah and I visited his apartment, we’d often see sex toys left casually on the sofa. He followed my gaze and quickly buttoned the top of his shirt, a smug grin spreading across his face. “Ah, yeah. Girlfriend’s a little clingy, you know how it is. We don’t get to see each other every day. Better hide this from the folks, or I’ll never hear the end of it.” Seeing that look of smug satisfaction on his face, I suddenly lost all desire to talk. I stubbed out my half-smoked cigarette and turned to go back inside. “Let’s go back.” A look of frustration crossed his face. “Alex, wait. You haven’t told me anything. We can’t go back like this. We’re family. Whatever the problem is, we can talk it out!” I let out a bitter laugh. “The feeling’s just… gone.” As I reached the private room, I saw the door was ajar. I could hear his father’s furious voice from inside. “Crying, crying, that’s all you do! He treats you like this, and you’re still trying to win him back? Have some self-respect!” “But he was so good to me before yesterday!” Sarah’s voice was raw and hoarse. “I can’t let him go! I don’t believe he could be this cruel!” Her mother spotted me at the door, her eyes shooting daggers. “Alex, we’ve been good to you since you married Sarah, haven’t we? The house, the car, we paid for them together. We even covered all the renovations. And now you’re going to divorce her over a car wash pass?” Sarah looked up, her tear-streaked face a mess. The moment she saw me, she forced a pathetic, broken smile. “Honey, I was wrong. I promise I’ll never spend another cent of your money. I’ll pay for everything from now on… And I know I haven’t been around enough. Tomorrow, I’ll ask for a transfer to a less demanding department. I promise I’ll be home waiting for you every single day when you get off work. Can we please not get a divorce? I’m begging you…” She looked like she was about to shatter into a million pieces. Daniel’s expression shifted from confusion to outrage. “Alex, you’re divorcing my sister over a car wash pass? What kind of man are you?” 4. Daniel’s face flushed with anger. “People would laugh you out of town! Sarah supported you when you quit your job to figure things out! Have you got no conscience?” He drew back his fist to punch me. But Sarah threw herself in front of me. She took the full force of the blow to her face. Staggering, she braced herself on the table. “Dan, don’t… don’t blame him…” She collapsed before she could finish the sentence. In the next instant, Daniel was scooping her up in a panic and running for the door. His parents shot me a look of pure venom before rushing after him. I looked at the untouched breakfast spread on the table and sat back down. A few minutes later, my grandfather called. The moment I answered, his furious voice exploded from the speaker. “Alex! Are you trying to kill me? What is this nonsense about a divorce? If your in-laws hadn’t just called, I would have never known you were capable of such shameless behavior! I don’t care where you are, get your ass to the hospital right now!” He hung up before I could say a word. I finished my cigarette, paid the bill, and slowly made my way to the hospital. When I got to the room, Sarah’s mother was gently feeding her soup. My grandfather was by their side, offering apologetic smiles to her parents. The second he saw me, he grabbed a nearby broom and swung it hard against my shins. “Alex, have you lost your damn mind? You heartless bastard! Sarah has given everything to our family for years, and what do you do? You throw it all away over a hundred bucks? Did I ever deprive you of anything while raising you? How could you do something so disgraceful?” He didn’t stop swinging. On the bed, Sarah cried out in alarm, struggling to get up. “Grandpa, stop! Don’t hit him! It must hurt! This is the first time he’s ever been like this with me, I must have done something to make him really angry!” “Honey, just say something! Tell me what I did wrong, I’ll change, I promise!” Her mother, her face a mask of disappointment, took the broom from my grandfather’s hands and glared at me. “Look what you’ve done. Your grandfather is almost eighty years old, and you’re still causing him this much stress!” A doctor walked in, frowning. “What is all this commotion? This is a hospital! And you,” he said, looking around at us, “the patient was brought in unconscious after being struck, correct? That’s assault!” He looked at Sarah with sympathy. “Ma’am, would you like me to call the police?” Sarah stared at him for a second, then an irrepressible joy burst into her eyes. “Oh, no, doctor, it’s all a misunderstanding! My family is wonderful, don’t you worry.” The doctor gave her a complicated look, recited a few instructions, and left. The moment he was gone, Sarah stumbled out of bed and, in front of everyone, took my hand and placed it on her stomach. Her face was glowing. “Honey, we’re having a baby. Let’s not get a divorce, okay? We can be a happy family.” 5. The room fell silent. Everyone was waiting for my answer. I pulled my hand away and met her gaze, my expression unchanged. “You’re pregnant? Get rid of it.” “We’ll finalize the divorce as soon as you’re out of the hospital.” The color drained from Sarah’s face. She stared at me in disbelief as tears streamed down her cheeks. Her father lunged forward and slapped me hard across the face. “Alex, that’s your child in her belly! Forget this nonsense about divorcing over nothing, but now that she’s pregnant, how can you say something so heartless?” He turned to his devastated daughter and pulled her into a hug. “Honey, if he wants a divorce, he can have one. You and the baby, Dad will take care of you!” I fiddled with my phone, swallowing the bitter taste in my mouth. “I’ve sent the divorce agreement to the family group chat. If there are no issues, let’s get this over with quickly.” My grandfather was trembling with rage. He stepped forward and slapped me again, just as hard. “Who gave you permission to give up this child? That’s our family’s bloodline! Alex, I’m telling you right now, unless you’re prepared to disown me as your grandfather, this child is a part of our family, and Sarah is staying our daughter-in-law!” I swallowed the blood in my mouth and glanced at my phone again, my voice tight with restraint. “Grandpa, I’m not—” He snatched the phone from my hand. “You and that damn phone! I swear I’m going to smash—” His words died in his throat. His eyes locked onto the screen. In that instant, his towering frame seemed to shrink, to become old and stooped. He stared, wide-eyed, his hand scrolling frantically as his face drained of all color.

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At five, I ran away. My stepmother said, “Your mother is dead. This house doesn’t want you.” My stepsister tossed my toys, calling me a stray. My dad? In a meeting, phone off. I packed my bag with my eight dollars and started a livestream, as Mom taught me. “Hi, I’m Molly Geller, five. My mommy’s dead, my daddy doesn’t want me. I’m running away. Can you talk to me?” Viewers jumped from zero to a hundred thousand. Comments exploded: “Whose child is this?!” “Call the police!” “Wait, isn’t that Riverside Estates behind her? A Geller Corp project? And her last name is Geller?!” That night, the whole internet searched for Molly Geller. My father faced a press mob: “Is it true your daughter ran away?” “Your new wife is seen abusing her online, any comment?” “Your daughter says you abandoned her. What do you say?” I saw his face then—pale as paper. 1. I Decided to Run Away My name is Molly Geller, and I’m five years old. Mommy gave me my name. Molly, like a little sprout, she’d say. She hoped I would be tenacious like a blade of grass, able to grow anywhere. But now, Mommy is dead. Three months ago, a big truck took her away. And just like that, I went from being my mommy’s daughter to the Geller family’s “stray.” The Geller house is huge. It has a garden, a swimming pool, and so, so many rooms. Mine is the smallest one, at the very end of the hall. The window looks out onto a brick wall, so I have to keep the light on even during the day. My stepmother calls it the “guest room.” But I’ve been a guest for three months. The real daughter, Sophie, is eight, three years older than me. Her room is across the hall. Her window overlooks the garden, where the sun is so bright it could give you a tan. Every day, she tells me the same thing: “This is my house. You’re just a stray. What gives you the right to live here?” I never know how to answer. Because she’s right. This isn’t my home. My home used to be a tiny forty-square-foot apartment. But Mommy always made my little bed so soft, and she’d leave a piece of candy on my pillow. She’d kiss my forehead and whisper, “Goodnight, my love.” That little bed is gone now. Sold for forty dollars. Stepmother said it brought bad luck. Today is my birthday. My fifth birthday. When I woke up, I tied my hair in pigtails in front of the mirror. Mommy taught me how—two little sprouts, one on each side. Super cute. I didn’t do a very good job. One is higher than the other. But it doesn’t matter. I can’t see them anyway. Pigtails tied, I put on my little backpack. It’s pink with a little white bunny on it, a gift from Mommy. Inside, I have the eight dollars I’ve saved for three months, a picture of my mom, and a piece of candy—the last one she ever gave me. I haven’t been able to bring myself to eat it. I opened my door and went downstairs. At the top of the stairs, I heard my stepmother on the phone. “Yes, the party tonight is all arranged. Sophie will wear that little Chanel princess dress… That stray? Don’t worry about her. Just make sure she stays in her room. We can’t have her embarrassing us.” I waited on the landing until she hung up, then continued down. Stepmother frowned when she saw me. “Where do you think you’re going?” “Out to play,” I said. “Play? The house is busy today. Don’t go running around.” She waved her hand dismissively, like she was shooing a fly. “Go back to your room.” I didn’t move. “Ma’am,” I said, looking up at her. “Today is my birthday.” Stepmother paused for a second, then laughed. It was the same smile she always wore for guests, but since we were alone, it looked different. Wrong. “Your birthday?” She looked me up and down. “What birthday? Your mother’s dead. Who’s going to celebrate with you?” “I’ll celebrate by myself,” I said. This time, she laughed even louder. “Fine, you do that. Now get out of here. You’re in the way.” I started for the front door. Halfway there, a voice called from upstairs. “Hey, stray!” I looked up. It was Sophie, still in her pajamas, her hair a mess. “What’s that in your hand?” I clutched my backpack tighter. “It’s my backpack.” “Let me see it.” I stayed put. She stormed down the stairs, grabbed the strap of my bag, and yanked. She was bigger than me, and the backpack was ripped from my hands. She unzipped it and dumped everything onto the floor. Eight dollars in coins scattered everywhere. My mommy’s picture landed face down. And the candy rolled under the sofa. “Is that all?” Sophie sneered. “Pathetic.” She picked up the photo. “Who’s this? Your mom? She’s ugly.” “Give it back,” I said. She ignored me, holding the photo high above her head. “Come and get it. If you can reach it, it’s yours.” I jumped, but I couldn’t reach. I jumped again. Still too short. At eight years old, she was a whole head taller than me. “Can’t get it, can you? Haha!” She laughed and ran outside. “Catch me if you can!” I chased her out, through the yard, into the garden, all the way to the edge of the swimming pool. She stood there, dangling the photo of my mom. “Call me ‘big sister.’ Say it, and I’ll give it back.” I didn’t say anything. “You won’t, huh?” Her hand opened. The photograph fluttered down, landed on the water’s surface, and slowly began to sink. I froze. It was the only picture I had of my mommy. She hated having her picture taken. This was from my third birthday, at the park. In the photo, Mommy was smiling so happily, holding me, making a peace sign for the camera. Now it was at the bottom of the pool, the image blurring. “You give me back my mommy!” I screamed, shoving her with all my might. Sophie lost her balance and fell backward onto the ground. She stared at me for a second, then burst into tears. Stepmother rushed out of the house. “What happened?! What’s wrong?!” Sophie pointed at me. “She pushed me! She tried to drown me!” Stepmother’s face turned black with rage. She lunged forward, grabbed me by the collar, and lifted me off the ground like a kitten. “What do you think you’re doing?! You dare touch my daughter?!” I dangled from her grip, my feet kicking in the air, struggling to breathe. “My mom… my mom’s picture… she threw it in…” “I don’t care about some stupid picture!” she shrieked, throwing me to the ground. “You listen to me. Your mother is dead, and this house doesn’t welcome you! If you want to stay, you behave. If not, then get out!” I landed hard on the stone patio. Pain shot through my knee, and tears welled in my eyes. But I didn’t cry. Mommy said crying doesn’t help. You have to be strong. I pushed myself up, brushed the dirt off my clothes, and walked to the edge of the pool. I stared at the photo, a faint shape at the bottom. The water was too deep. I couldn’t reach it. Sophie was still wailing. Stepmother was hugging her, cooing and cursing at me. I stood there for a moment, then turned and went back inside. I picked up my coins, one by one, and put my empty backpack on. Then I walked out the front door. No one stopped me. At the gate, I glanced back. Stepmother was still comforting Sophie. She hadn’t even looked my way. The gate was huge and ornate, black iron with gold filigree. I pushed it open and stepped through. A long road stretched out before me, lined with villas even bigger than ours. I didn’t know which way to go. But Mommy always said, just keep walking forward. You’ll always find a path. 2. I Started a Live Stream After about ten minutes, my legs got tired. I sat down on a small planter by the side of the road, hugging my backpack. The sun was warm on my skin. A little cat was napping nearby, its eyes squeezed shut, looking perfectly content. I remembered what my mom taught me. “Molly, if you ever get lost, or if you run into a bad person, you open this.” She had pointed to an icon on my phone. “It’s called a live stream. You press it, and people will be able to see you. You have to tell them who you are, where you are, and what’s wrong. People will help you.” That’s what she said. I took out my little phone—the one she left me. It was old, with a crack across the screen, but it still worked. I tapped the icon. My face appeared on the screen, pigtails and all, one high, one low. I looked into the camera and said: “Hi, Misters and Misses. My name is Molly Geller, and I’m five years old. My mommy is dead, and my daddy doesn’t want me anymore. I’m going to be a runaway now. Can you talk to me so I’m not lonely?” In the corner of the screen, the number of viewers changed from 0 to 1. Someone was here. A comment floated across the screen: ??? Another viewer joined. Whose kid is this? Why is she all alone on the street? And another. Little girl, where are your parents? I read the comments and answered them one by one. “I don’t have parents anymore. My mommy’s dead, and my daddy… my daddy doesn’t want me.” “I’m at… I don’t know where this is. There are lots of big houses.” “I have my backpack, with eight dollars inside. I’m going to be a runaway.” More and more comments started to appear. OMG this poor baby! Someone call the police! Can anyone get a location?! Wait a second, that villa behind her… isn’t that the Riverside Estates? The Riverside Estates? Isn’t that a Geller Corporation development? Geller Corp? As in, Richard Geller’s company? What did she say her name was? Molly… Geller? Her last name is Geller?! I looked down at the screen. I didn’t know a lot of the words. But I knew they were talking about me. “Geller Corporation is my daddy’s company,” I said. “My daddy’s name is Richard Geller.” The chat exploded. ????? Richard Geller?! The real estate tycoon?! Wait wait wait, doesn’t Richard Geller only have one daughter? The one who was in that magazine, Sophie something? That’s his stepdaughter! Is this one his biological kid? That can’t be right, Richard Geller’s first wife died, right? I remember seeing it in the news… Is this kid telling the truth? I was a little confused. The comments were moving too fast for me to read. But I saw one: Sweetie, what’s your dad’s phone number? I can try calling him for you. I thought for a moment and recited a string of numbers. I had memorized it. Mommy taught me to call it if I was ever in trouble. But every time I called, it just said, “The number you have dialed is currently busy.” It never went through. A comment appeared: I called it! It’s ringing! No answer! Another one: Keep calling! Don’t stop! I watched the number of viewers on my screen climb. 17 people. 35 people. 82 people. 196 people. It just kept growing. A man in the chat said: Little one, don’t move. I’m calling the police for you. An officer will be there soon. “Okay,” I said. “Thank you, Mister.” A woman wrote: Molly, are you hungry? Are you thirsty? I touched my tummy. “I’m hungry.” I hadn’t eaten anything all day. There’s a convenience store! Do you see it? With the blue sign! I stood up and looked. There it was, a little store with a bright blue sign shining in the sun. “I see it.” Go there! I’m ordering you a delivery! Just wait! I didn’t know what a “delivery” was, but I did as she said and walked toward the store. A kind-looking woman was standing behind the counter. She looked surprised to see me. “Are you all by yourself, sweetie?” I nodded. “Where are your parents?” I thought for a moment. “I don’t have any.” Her expression softened, and she didn’t say anything else. I sat down on a little bench outside the store and waited for the “delivery.” The stream was still running. The comments kept flying by. I just followed her! This is heartbreaking! Took a screenshot! Posting to social media! Get more eyes on this! People are already spamming the Geller Corp official accounts! Go upvote! I didn’t understand most of it, but I knew they were trying to help me. The delivery really came. A young man in a yellow uniform pulled up on an electric scooter, holding a bag. “Who’s Molly Geller?” I stood up. “That’s me.” The man handed me the bag, his brow furrowed. “Are you all by yourself, kid?” “Mhm.” He knelt down and lowered his voice. “Did someone hurt you?” I didn’t know how to answer that. The chat went wild. Way to go, delivery guy! Get the details! Ask her where she is! Look at her eyes! Her expression! Something definitely happened to her! The delivery man glanced at my phone and saw the comments scrolling by. He blinked. “Are you live streaming?” I nodded. His expression grew more and more serious as he read the chat. “Okay, kid. You stay right here. I’ll wait with you for the police.” I nodded. The bag smelled so good. Inside was a hamburger and a can of Coke. I sat on the bench outside the convenience store, taking small bites. Someone in the chat commented: Look at the way she’s eating. She was starving. Another wrote: My heart is breaking for this little girl. And another: Richard Geller is human garbage! I’m going to his social media page right now to tear him a new one! The delivery man was squatting next to me, watching the stream on his own phone. After a moment, he looked up. “Kid,” he said. “You’re famous.” 3. The Whole Internet Was Looking for Me I didn’t know what “famous” meant. But I knew that more and more people were showing up outside the convenience store. First, it was a woman, filming me with her phone. Then, a group of teenagers, pointing and whispering from a distance. And then, a white car with red and blue flashing lights pulled up. The police were here. A tall, thin police officer walked over and knelt in front of me. “Are you Molly Geller, little one?” I nodded. “Did you come out here all by yourself?” I nodded again. He looked around, then glanced at my phone. “Can I see your phone for a second, sweetie?” I handed it to him. He looked at the comments scrolling across the screen, and his expression changed. “Okay, little one. How about you come back to the station with me? It’s too hot out here.” “Do you have food at the station?” I asked. He paused for a second, then smiled. “Yes. We have food.” I stood up, dusted off my shorts, and followed him to the police car. The delivery man in the yellow uniform ran over and pressed a slip of paper into my hand. “Here’s my number, kid. Call me if you need anything.” I took the paper and said thank you. As the police car pulled away, I looked out the window. A huge crowd was standing outside the convenience store, all of them holding up their phones, filming me. The kind woman from inside the store was standing in the doorway, wiping her eyes. “Why is that lady crying?” I asked the police officer. He was quiet for a moment. “Because she feels bad for you.” “I don’t need anyone to feel bad for me,” I said. “I just need my mommy’s picture.” And then I remembered. My mommy’s picture was still in the swimming pool. “Mister,” I said, tugging on his sleeve. “Can you take me to get my mommy’s picture?” “What picture?” he asked. “My mommy’s picture. My sister threw it in the swimming pool.” He froze. He exchanged a look with the officer who was driving. Then he took out his phone, looked at something, and his face became very complicated. “Sweetie, does your dad… does he know you’re out here?” “No,” I said. “He never answers my calls.” He fell silent again. We drove for a little while and stopped in front of a small building with a sign that said “Police.” I followed the officer inside. It was full of people. Some were in uniform, some were in regular clothes, and some were holding big cameras. The moment I walked in, everyone turned to look at me. A woman officer rushed over and knelt in front of me, taking my hand. “You must be Molly. Are you hungry? Thirsty? Cold?” I shook my head. “I just had a hamburger.” She paused, then shot a glare at the people with the cameras. “Who let you in here? Get out! Don’t scare the child!” The men with the cameras backed out of the room. The officer led me into a small office, sat me on a sofa, and brought me a glass of water and a box of cookies. “Molly, can I ask you a few questions?” I nodded. “What’s your name and how old are you?” “Molly Geller. Five.” “What’s your mother’s name?” “Lily Reed.” The officer wrote in her notebook. “And your father?” “Richard Geller.” Her hand paused. “Are you sure?” I nodded. She was quiet for a few seconds. “Why did you leave home by yourself today? Where’s your mother?” “My mommy’s dead,” I said. “A big truck hit her three months ago.” The officer’s eyes grew red around the edges. “And… who do you live with at home?” “My stepmother, and my sister.” “Are they nice to you?” I thought about it, but I didn’t know what to say. The officer looked at my face and seemed to understand. She stood up, went outside, and spoke quietly with some of the other officers. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but they all looked very serious. A little while later, she came back. “Molly, are you hungry?” “I just ate.” “Are you tired? Do you want to take a nap?” I was a little sleepy. I had woken up very early, walked for a long time, and my tummy was full. I nodded. The officer led me to a small room next door. There was a little bed with clean sheets. “You can sleep here. I’ll be right outside. Just call if you need anything.” I lay down on the bed, hugging my little backpack. Inside was my eight dollars, and my mommy’s picture… No. My mommy’s picture was gone. My sister threw it in the pool. Suddenly, I wanted to cry. But I didn’t. Mommy said crying doesn’t help. You have to be strong. I closed my eyes. Just before I fell asleep, I heard people talking outside. “…it’s the number one trending topic on social media…” “…the Geller Corp official page is getting destroyed…” “…has he responded yet?” “…their PR team is trying to bury it, but they can’t…” I didn’t understand it all. But I knew they were talking about me.

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My millionaire father believed in raising me the hard way. To build my endurance, he made me walk twelve miles to school. To teach me frugality, he made me eat the dog’s leftovers. To strengthen my body, he made me wear nothing but a thin shirt in the dead of winter. I followed every one of his cruel rules without question. Because he was my father. Then came the school fundraiser. I begged him for a little money to donate. He slapped me across the face and told me to earn it myself. When I didn’t donate a single cent, the teachers and students branded me, the daughter of a tycoon, as selfish and cold-hearted. I was berated by my teachers and tormented by my classmates. When my father found out, he didn’t defend me. He stormed into the school and bragged about his “tough love” methods, publicly parading every single one of my humiliations for all to see. That was when I finally broke. I threw myself from the roof of the school. Now, reborn, I walk into my father’s alumni gala, draped in millions of dollars’ worth of jewelry. … The searing pain of the fall vanished in an instant. My vision swam back into focus. My father’s grating voice was droning on in my ear. “Veronica, just because we have money doesn’t mean you can throw it away. Do you have any idea how many loaves of bread you could buy for ten dollars?” My mind reeled. I died, didn’t I? I was back. Back to the moment I asked my father for money for the school fundraiser. His eyes were filled with disgust as he picked up his cup of thousand-dollar tea and took a lazy sip. “Get back to your room! You’re an eyesore. Not a damn thing like Jessica.” His voice dripped with contempt. “Is asking for money all you know how to do? I feed you, I clothe you, and still, you’re never satisfied!” I lowered my head. “I’m sorry, Dad. I was wrong.” His tirade cut short. He seemed stunned by my quick apology. In my past life, I hadn’t given in so easily. I had argued, and for my defiance, I got a brutal beating instead of the money. My eyes swept over the opulent mansion before I turned and walked towards the damp, crumbling basement. My room. In my last life, my father’s “tough love” doctrine meant I got the worst of everything—food, clothes, and shelter. I was constantly malnourished, and the scurrying of rats in the walls kept me awake most nights. Meanwhile, my classmate, Jessica, lived in our house like a princess. She was more of a Pierce than I ever was. It was only after my death that I learned the truth. Jessica was the daughter of my father’s mistress and some other man—a child he pathetically believed was his own, lavishing her with a love I had never known. I picked up the old phone in my room and dialed a number I knew by heart. It connected almost instantly. “Veronica, darling? Is everything alright?” A sharp pain tightened in my chest. In my past life, after my parents’ divorce, I had obeyed my father and never contacted my mother, believing she didn’t love me. But after I died, her hair turned white overnight. She murdered my father to avenge me. Only then did I understand. I had always been in her heart. I fought back the lump in my throat. “Mom, I miss you… Can you come home? And… could I borrow some money…?” There was a moment of silence on the other end, then the sound of something crashing to the floor. Her voice, when it came, was laced with panic. “Veronica, are you in trouble? Did he hurt you?” The sobs I’d held back for two lifetimes finally broke free. Reborn, I would not be a victim again. I would make every single person who wronged me pay. The next morning, I emerged from the basement to find my father and Jessica eating breakfast. The table was laden with a gourmet spread I had only ever dreamed of. My meals were usually worse than what we fed the dog. Jessica saw me and put on a show of kindness. “Veronica, come and eat!” Before I could respond, my father’s face darkened. He slammed his hand on the table. “She doesn’t deserve a damn crumb! Get to school, now. If you’re late, I’ll beat you half to death.” He sneered. “Useless girl, always looking for a handout! Is asking for money all you’re good for?” I felt the blood drain from my face as I caught Jessica’s triumphant, mocking gaze. Without a word, I turned and left. My father was right about one thing; I had to hurry. We lived in a sprawling estate in the suburbs, miles from the school. To build my “endurance,” he forbade me from ever taking a car, forcing me to walk the entire way. In my past life, the daily twelve-mile trek had left me with a permanent disability. Jessica, of course, was always chauffeured in a luxury car. Everyone at school thought she was the Pierce heiress. I walked to the main road, hailed a cab, and settled into the back seat, calmly eating the breakfast I’d bought. Playing by my father’s insane rules? I wasn’t that stupid anymore. I stepped out of the cab just in time to see Jessica gliding out of a gleaming black sedan, a smug look on her face. I ignored her and started walking towards the school gates. Suddenly, she shoved me hard from behind. I stumbled and fell, my hands scraping against the rough pavement. “You took a taxi?” she hissed, her voice low and menacing. “Do you want me to tell your father? Don’t come crying to me when he beats you to a pulp!” My breath hitched. As I tried to get up, one of her bodyguards kicked me squarely in the ribs. Pain exploded in my chest. “Don’t you know who you work for?” I managed to gasp. The bodyguard remained silent, his face a cold mask. Jessica’s eyes flashed with jealousy, but her smirk never wavered. “Oh, please. Your father doesn’t even consider you a Pierce. You’re just trash. A pathetic little reject nobody wants.” With that, she sauntered into the school, surrounded by her fawning friends. My palms throbbed with a fiery pain. It took me a long moment to push myself to my feet. Just wait, Jessica. Your time is coming. The title of Miss Pierce? I wouldn’t want it if you gift-wrapped it for me. In the classroom, everyone was busy with the fundraiser. I limped to my desk. Suddenly, Jessica stood up and dramatically stuffed a thick wad of hundred-dollar bills into the donation box. “It’s our duty to help those in need,” she announced to the room. The teacher beamed at her, and the students murmured in admiration. Then, Jessica turned her gaze directly to me. “Veronica, how much are you donating? If you’re short, I can lend you some.” One of her lackeys immediately chimed in. “Jessica, you’re just too kind. Always doing good deeds.” Another one shot me a contemptuous look. “Not like some people. A millionaire’s daughter who’s too cheap to donate to charity. How selfish can you get?” I stood up. “Is the size of your heart measured by the size of your donation?” Jessica’s friend scoffed. “Oh, right. Coming from a cheapskate like you, who won’t even part with a single penny…” The class erupted in laughter. Even the teacher looked at me with disapproval. “Alright, that’s enough. Veronica, it’s your turn to donate…” I walked slowly to the front, pulled a few hundred-dollar bills from my pocket, and pushed them into the box. Jessica’s face fell. “Where did you get that money?” she demanded. I let out a short, sharp laugh. “Do I need to report my finances to you?” She flushed, suddenly aware of the strange looks she was getting from our classmates, and quickly returned to her seat. After class, Jessica left in her fancy car. I stayed behind to study for a while, waiting until I knew my father would be home, then I called a cab. The moment I stepped through the front door, a vicious slap cracked across my face. It sent me staggering, and I could taste the metallic tang of blood in my mouth. My father’s face was a mask of pure revulsion. “You little whore! Just like your tramp of a mother!” Jessica—no, her mother, Sandra—rushed to his side, tugging at his sleeve with a pitiful expression. “Mr. Pierce, Veronica must not have meant to… she was probably just trying to take a shortcut… finding other ways… to make money…” The insinuation hung in the air, and my father’s rage exploded. He ripped the leather belt from his trousers. “You worthless girl! I’ll teach you!” he roared, the belt whistling through the air. “I’ll teach you to be lazy! I’ll teach you to seduce men!” The leather bit into my skin again and again. Pain radiated through my body, a roaring in my ears. I scrambled to get away, but there was no escape. Finally, his arm tired. He threw the belt to the floor. Sandra immediately started massaging his shoulder, the two of them looking like the perfect father and daughter. My vision darkened. I let the tears well up in my eyes, my voice trembling as I began to sob. “Dad, I didn’t do any of those things. I’ve always listened to you… You told me to be frugal, and I was. I never disobeyed you…” He snorted. “Then where did the money for the donation and the taxi come from?” I hesitated for a calculated second, then spoke in a small, timid voice. “It… it was from Jessica…” Sandra’s face went pale. Jessica, who had been watching from the stairs, rushed down. “Veronica! You can’t just lie like that… When did I ever give you money?” My father’s eyes blazed. “You dare lie to me again? I’ll beat you to death!” I kept my head down, my words choked with tears. “Jessica said she felt sorry for me because I had it so tough… so she gave me a gold chain as a handout. I sold it…” Jessica froze, her eyes wide with panic as she looked at our father. Because I wasn’t lying. Once, to humiliate me, Jessica really had tossed a gold bracelet at my feet like I was a beggar. My father saw the look on her face and understood instantly. He spun around and slapped her so hard she fell to the floor. She cowered there, too terrified to speak. My father’s entire philosophy was built on making me suffer. Anyone who interfered with his “method” was challenging his authority. Jessica giving me money was the one thing he couldn’t tolerate. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Jessica wailed, crawling on the floor. My father turned back to me, his voice cold. “Get back to your room.” I turned, and as I walked away, a slow, triumphant smile spread across my face.

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My husband, a pilot, had to work on New Year’s Eve. So I decided to surprise him, secretly booking tickets for me and our daughter on his flight. In business class, our daughter hugged her doll and asked brightly, “Mommy, can I go see Daddy fly the plane?” Before I could answer, the woman in the next seat laughed. “Is the little one’s dad a pilot?” I nodded. “What a coincidence! My husband’s a pilot too,” she said, beaming. “But he’s an ace captain. Promoted ahead of everyone, even though he’s so young!” Looking at her proud expression, I offered a small smile. “My husband works hard, too. He’s finally earned his position.” A few moments later, my husband’s deep, steady voice came over the intercom. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking…” A warmth spread through my chest, but then the woman leaned closer. “That’s my husband,” she whispered conspiratorially. “Doesn’t he have a wonderful voice?” My entire body went rigid. The woman then casually flicked her wrist, showing off a luxury watch. “He felt so bad he couldn’t be with me on New Year’s, so he spent all of last night making it up to me. He gave me this and insisted I fly with him today to keep him company.” My eyes locked on the watch. I recognized it instantly. It was the promotion gift I’d given my husband just two days ago…

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Under a video of me selling stir-fried rice from my street stall, a scathing comment went viral: [She dumped her poor boyfriend for a rich one back then, only to find out the poor boyfriend was the Crown Prince of the capital. That gold-digger must be fuming, huh?] I replied: [Oh yes, furious, can’t sleep. Do you know him? Could you put in a good word for me?] That very night, someone trashed my stall. As I was cleaning up the mess, a pair of gleaming leather shoes stopped in front of me. I looked up. It was my “poor” ex-boyfriend, Brandon Fitzgerald. 1. It wasn’t that I hadn’t imagined a reunion with Brandon. But I certainly hadn’t pictured myself looking this dishevelled. Brandon was dressed in a bespoke suit, the aura of power radiating from him, an inherent authority in his gaze. Our eyes met, and he indifferently shifted his focus, then spoke, “Manager Hayes.” His voice was unhurried, yet carried a heavy, palpable pressure. “When did the company entrance turn into a marketplace?” A man, wiping cold sweat from his brow, rushed forward. He kicked aside the scattered cooking pots, grumbling, “Who allowed you to set up a stall in front of the company! Clean this up immediately!” “Be careful, I’ll have the city wardens fine you to death.” A rag was flung at me, carrying a sour smell. Brandon’s expression remained unchanged; he didn’t even twitch an eyelid. I couldn’t afford the fine. I squatted down, picked up the rag, and gently wiped the ground, kneeling. As I wiped near Brandon’s feet, his fingers seemed to curl slightly. For a moment, I thought he might pull me up. My eyes must have deceived me. He remained standing ramrod straight, aloof and distant, keeping everyone at arm’s length. A surprised voice rang out from behind him. “Is that… Emily?” A brightly dressed woman stepped forward, covering her mouth in disbelief. “Oh my god, it really is you.” “Didn’t you emigrate with your rich boyfriend? How… how did you end up like this?” It was my high school classmate, Sarah Evans. I hadn’t expected her to be working at the same company as Brandon. Now, she was impeccably groomed down to her hair, standing shoulder to shoulder with Brandon, a picture of a perfect couple. “Don’t bother cleaning, you’re a top university graduate, you shouldn’t be doing this kind of work.” She quickly pulled me up, intimately linking her arm through mine, and told Manager Hayes, “Manager Hayes, could you please ask the cleaning staff to work overtime?” “This is an old classmate of mine and Brandon’s. She used to be even better at academics than me.” Manager Hayes was shrewd. He masked his surprise and stepped forward, apologizing with a flattering smile. Sarah’s face was full of concern. “Emily, let’s find somewhere to catch up.” “Back then, you just left with that rich boyfriend without a word. Everyone thought you were living the good life abroad and didn’t want to disturb you.” “What exactly happened? How… how are you selling stir-fried rice?” “Look at your hands, they’re so rough! Your down jacket is shedding feathers, how can you even wear that!” She had manicured, meticulously cared-for hands, long and pale, which made my swollen, frostbitten hands look like ugly carrots. But before, Brandon used to say I had natural pianist’s hands. I knew Sarah wanted to embarrass me. But it didn’t matter anymore. My tone was calm. “We broke up.” Sarah subtly glanced at Brandon. Seeing his indifference, a flicker of glee crossed her eyes, but her face showed regret as she comforted me. “It’s alright. We’ll just live steadily from now on.” “As classmates, we’ll definitely help where we can.” “Brandon, doesn’t facilities need a cleaner?” Brandon looked at her and said coldly, “Sarah, it’s time to go.” Sarah winked playfully. “Brandon, why don’t you go ahead and wait for me in the car? I’ll be right there.” Brandon said nothing, stepping down the stairs. His gaze was cool and directed straight ahead, never once straying towards me. As he passed, only the sleeve of his overcoat brushed imperceptibly against the back of my hand. My fingertips suddenly trembled, as if uncontrollably trying to catch that breath of wind. But it was an empty grasp. He didn’t stop. A bottle of mineral water suddenly splashed onto my face. “Emily Smith, how dare you try to seduce Brandon Fitzgerald?” 2. The icy water droplets dripped down my loose hair. With the crowd dispersing, Sarah dropped her act, her eyes blazing with undisguised mockery and resentment. “What? Are you deliberately putting on a pathetic show here, hoping to make Brandon feel soft? What a dream!” “You dumped him for that rich boyfriend back then, and he went crazy, searching the whole world for you.” “He dropped out of school, abandoned his projects. The moment he heard anyone might have seen you somewhere, he’d rush off without a second thought, completely dazed, he even fell onto the tracks and almost got run over.” “Someone like you actually thinks he’d still have feelings for you? He said it himself, you’re the person he hates most. “Did you see him even glance at you just now? He doesn’t even want to mention you, because you disgust him.” Her voice was unnaturally clear in the night, like thumbtacks, pressing one by one into my heart. But my chest felt numb, like rotting flesh, incapable of feeling pain. The phrase “he hates you most” echoed endlessly in my mind. Let him hate me. It didn’t seem to matter much. I wiped the water from my face and pushed my cart, intending to leave. Sarah placed a foot on the cart, sneering, “Running away, old classmate? “You’re so desperate to act trashy, so I have to give you a big gift in return. Look at this, what is it?” Sarah raised her right hand, revealing a diamond engagement ring the size of a pigeon’s egg. “Brandon and I are getting married. As old classmates, I’ll send you an invitation.” “But we’re getting married in Bali, and flights and hotels aren’t cheap. With your income, tsk, a round trip would mean frying rice for several years. I won’t put you through that, after all, our levels are different.” “So, please get lost and don’t even think about pursuing Brandon, otherwise—” Her lips curled upwards, and she slapped the partitioned containers off my cart, scattering ham and cured meat all over the ground. “Emily Smith, I couldn’t beat you in school, but now, I can easily crush you.” She crushed the meat and vegetables on the ground with her heel, her voice triumphant. “Security, keep an eye on this person. Drive her away every time she shows up.” “Don’t let any trash sit in front of the company.” “Ugh, Brandon will have to buy me another pair of lambskin shoes. These are dirty now.” She sashayed away, leaving behind the mangled meat and vegetables. I stood silently in the wind for a few seconds. Then, I squatted down to pick up the meal containers and any edible pieces of meat and vegetables. I didn’t have much money left; I couldn’t afford to waste food. A black Maybach drove past me, its dark shadow enveloping me. The rear window was halfway down, and in the shifting light and shadow, Brandon’s face was clearly visible. Sarah clung to his arm, cooing something. He turned his head to respond, his gaze inadvertently sweeping over my face, like looking at an unimportant stranger, indifferent and unfamiliar. The car’s lights faded into the distance, merging with the bustling city. I picked up the last piece of cured meat and prepared to go home. A security guard came over and quietly said, “Don’t take it to heart, miss. It’s hard to be the boss.” “But they usually don’t bother street vendors. Did you upset them?” Upset them? The night wind dried my dripping hair. Yes, I had. In high school, Sarah liked Brandon, but Brandon only had eyes for me. Now, the tables had turned. She should be satisfied. Was Brandon relieved too? 3. When I met Brandon, his name was still Nathan. He was a high school student. His parents had killed each other in an argument, and his relatives divided up their belongings, all calling him a bastard and refusing to take him in. On a freezing winter night, he stood on the street in a worn down jacket, with nowhere to go. His cool, distant eyes held a hint of a breakdown on the verge, as if he would shatter with the slightest touch. That day, I happened to be helping at my dad’s small food stall and saw him, on the brink of breaking. My heart softened. I ran over, asking for his help in an exaggerated tone. “My dad’s new stir-fried rice is terrible, but he insists it’s delicious. Could you try a bite and help me judge?” He looked at me, startled, then after a moment, slowly nodded. After that, he became a part of our little food stall family, studying under the lamp, tutoring me with my homework, helping my parents out, becoming one of us. I loved the clean, fresh scent of soap on him, I loved his cool, quiet tone, I loved the way his eyes would drop when he looked at me. A young girl’s affections bloomed wildly in my heart. The night after our final exams, a girl confessed to him. His smile was gentle, and I thought he’d accepted. My heart felt like it had fallen into a vat of vinegar, so sour I couldn’t speak, so I ran off to a karaoke bar to sing love songs. When he found me, I was singing “The one who loves you most is me~,” tears and snot flowing. He laughed helplessly, pulling me home. I refused, pouting, “You’re someone else’s boyfriend now, why are you still bothering with me? Don’t you have any boundaries?” He instantly guessed what was going on, and exasperated, flicked my forehead. “What’s your mouth for? Can’t you even verify things?” I stared at him blankly. He looked at me evenly, and said seriously, “I turned her down. I have someone I like.” Under the moonlight, his eyes shone like stars, making my heart pound. “Who?” I asked, burying my head. “Who do you think?” He laughed wryly. I guessed the answer. It felt like fireworks exploded in my heart, but my mouth remained stubborn. “I don’t know.” A soft kiss landed on my lips. “Do you know now?” That night, my face burned red. Holding his hand, under the hazy moonlight, I kissed him awkwardly and greedily. I felt as happy as if I owned the whole world. And I believed we would always be this happy, forever. Until an ordinary afternoon, a distinguished lady knocked on our door, presenting a paternity test report. We then learned that Nathan, now Brandon, was the lost young master of the wealthy Fitzgerald family in the capital. She pushed a bank card towards us. “Five million. That’s enough to cover your family’s expenses for Brandon over the years. From now on, cut ties.” My dad angrily threw the card back, saying we didn’t take Nathan in for money, and we wouldn’t abandon a family member for money. Mrs. Fitzgerald smiled composedly. “I’m doing this for your daughter’s good too.” She looked at me, her gaze frank. “Brandon doesn’t know about this yet. We’re observing him to see if he qualifies to return to the Fitzgerald family. He’s excellent in every aspect, except for you as his girlfriend.” “I wouldn’t mind leaving him as a gold nugget buried in the dirt, or even using certain means to ensure he never rises. But if he one day learned the truth, do you think he would hate you? Our home fell into a dead silence. My mom wanted to call Brandon, but my dad wouldn’t let her. That year, Brandon was in his final year of college. He’d given up his graduate school spot to start a business with some friends, and they were in a critical phase of their project. “We can’t ruin him,” my dad said, stubbing out a cigarette, making his decision. “I’ll sell the stall, and we’ll move.” I refused, every cell in my body resisting leaving. He was the boy I loved with all my heart; how could I bear to let go? How could I bear to let him experience the pain of abandonment again? He would go mad. I argued with my dad. “I’m not leaving! Why should I break up with Brandon just because of a few words from her?” “I’m going to tell Brandon; he has a right to know.” My dad slapped my phone out of my hand, demanding, “Do you really want him to hate us for life? And is that kind of family one we can marry into? Marrying up is like swallowing needles.” “You have to listen to me on this. Break up with Brandon, and don’t contact him again.” “Impossible!” I stared into my dad’s eyes, red-rimmed. “As long as Brandon doesn’t break up, I’ll be with him even if the sky falls!” “This is between Nathan and me. You don’t need to meddle!” “Smack!” A slap landed on my face. It was the first time my dad had ever hit me, and his whole hand was trembling. That night, I stormed out of the house in a fit of pique, took a cab to the train station. I was going to the capital; at least Brandon should have a choice. But before I could reach Brandon on the phone, the hospital called first. They said my dad was in a car accident. On his way to find me, he was run over by an out-of-control truck. He died instantly. 4. But fate’s punishment didn’t cease with my remorse. In the morgue, seeing my father’s broken body, my mother suffered a heart attack out of grief and was admitted to the ICU. Our meager family savings were no match for this bottomless pit. I sat on the bench outside the emergency room, terrified and desperate, my mind filled with the thought that I was to blame. Brandon’s mother appeared at that moment. With just one sentence, she arranged for the nation’s top heart specialist to treat my mother. The medical expenses that were crushing me were merely a few casual figures in her mouth. My mom was saved, but due to the immense shock, she developed mental health issues. One moment, she’d be holding me, calling me “Emily,” the next she’d smash a teapot over my head, cursing me as a “jinx,” saying I killed my dad, asking why I didn’t just die. Mrs. Fitzgerald looked at me with pity. “Do you want to continue?” “You see, even heaven doesn’t approve of you two being together.” Before, I would have certainly jumped up and cursed her. But the overwhelming self-reproach and internal struggle had drained all my strength. I couldn’t even summon hatred for her. I only hated myself; hated my willfulness, my impulsiveness, and even hated that I fell in love with Brandon. “Let me show you Brandon. He’s been busy with a joint project lately. You haven’t seen him in days, have you?” She opened a video. In the video, Brandon, wearing a white lab coat, was intently discussing something with a girl. A person I knew down to the last hair, yet in that moment, he felt as foreign as if I had never known him. “This girl is Brandon’s classmate, and also the heir to a company. “Even the most soul-matched lovers, at least need to understand what the other is saying. Emily, can you understand?” I couldn’t understand. They were speaking English, yet it sounded like gibberish to me. How could I be so stupid! “You don’t need to worry about your mother’s medical expenses.” “But your studies will probably have to stop for a while. However, I will give you enough money so you’ll never lack food or clothing.” She picked up my phone. “Call Brandon.” “Of course, you can refuse me, but your mother’s medical care will stop tonight.” She was threatening me, yet she was my only lifeline. The call connected, and Brandon’s gentle, joyful voice almost shattered me. He eagerly shared his latest achievements with me, what he had discovered, what breakthroughs he had made… In the past, I would always enthusiastically react, showering him with praise until he blushed. But at that moment, I had a splitting headache and just wanted to go crazy. I couldn’t understand, not a single word. “Stop talking! Let’s break up.” The joyful voice came to an abrupt halt, then he laughed lightly. “Let me guess, what day is it today? April Fool’s?” “Nathan, I’m serious.” A long silence, so long I thought the call had disconnected, before he finally asked, his voice raspy, “Did I do something wrong to upset you?” “Is it because I’ve been busy with projects lately and haven’t spent enough time with you? I’ll come back right now.” “Emily, I can change anything you don’t like. Don’t say break up, please?” My fingernails almost dug into my palms. My whole body felt like it was being ground by a blunt knife, aching to the point of breaking, but when I spoke, it was with forced ease: “It’s not your fault, I just got tired of it.” “To be honest, there’s a rich guy at school pursuing me. He offered five million for my whole family to go on vacation, and said he could help us emigrate.” “Dating anyone is dating, why would I stay with a poor guy like you?” Brandon’s breath hitched, and he pleaded earnestly, “I’ll earn five million, just wait for me, okay?” “I know I can’t give you a wealthy life right now, but I’ll work tirelessly. In less than three years, I promise I’ll hand you five million.” “So please don’t break up, don’t go with him, okay?” He begged desperately, almost abandoning all his pride. He was on the verge of shattering. I was on the verge of dying. But I had no path left. “What if you can earn five million?” I retorted with extreme sarcasm. “Yes, you’re brilliant, you have boundless potential, but can you really compete with generations of family wealth?” “For the sake of my family raising you, don’t hold me back from a good life.” Ignoring his near-broken cries, I quickly hung up the phone. One more second, and I was afraid I would break down, go crazy, lose my mind and tell him everything in tears, crying out for a hug. But I couldn’t. I curled up on the floor, my whole body aching as if my bones were being pulled apart. Clutching my chest, I cried until I was almost suffocating, so pathetic that even Brandon’s mother didn’t mock me further. She stroked my head. “If it weren’t for the complications, I’d quite like you.” “Bright and innocent, like a little sun. But these are useless qualities in an elite family.” “I’ll arrange for you to leave; accommodation and hospital care are all set.” “You should go soon.” She tossed my phone into a fish tank, then handed me a new one. “Your phone is broken. Use this one from now on; I’ve already arranged the SIM card for you.” Like the phone drowning in water, I could no longer contact the outside world. After that day, I completely lost touch with Brandon. The feelings I thought were monumental were gradually worn away by my mother’s daily scolding, turning into wounds, resentment, and illness. I poured out the last few pills from the bottle and swallowed them all at once. 5. The bad reviews escalated. Overnight, netizens dug up the identity of the “poor boyfriend.” Brandon Fitzgerald, heir to the capital’s Fitzgerald family and CEO of Sterling Group. Netizens, like hungry beasts, tagged me relentlessly. [Gold-digger, you’re selling stir-fried rice outside Sterling’s office, are you trying to get back with him?] [Please, just uninstall the dating app. Getting back together isn’t for a gold-digging B like you.] [I’m a Sterling employee. Last night, the gold-digger’s stall got trashed. Our CEO just walked past, didn’t even glance at her, and got straight into his Maybach.] [Could the gold-digger have hired people to trash it herself? LOL, our CEO has a fiancée, you know!] It had been a long time since so many people talked to me. My spirits lifted, and I replied to each comment: [What’s embarrassing about it? Is there anything wrong with bravely pursuing love?] [Your CEO isn’t avoiding looking at me; he’s afraid to, afraid of falling for me again.] [So what if he has a fiancée? As long as they’re not married, I still have a chance, don’t I?] The netizens exploded, filling the comments with insults, calling me shameless, and even tagging his fiancée, Sarah Evans. Sarah quickly replied: [Sorry for the trouble, everyone. Life is tough, just trying to grab some traffic. Think of it as entertainment for you all.] [However, if you defame our CEO, our legal department will pursue it~] I turned off my phone, laughing and rolling around on the bed. Dr. Lee said I needed to talk to people more, better to be carefree than to overthink, otherwise I’d get sick, and then I’d need medicine. But I found that netizens were more effective than medicine. I could say anything, and hundreds, even thousands, of people would respond to me. Besides them, who else would talk to me like this, coax me into happiness? My pots and pans were smashed, so I couldn’t set up my stall for now. But rent was due soon. I pulled on my yellow waterproof jacket, hopped on my scooter, and went to deliver food. Five consecutive orders were all from Sterling Group. I couldn’t refuse them; I’d be fined. Thanks to the delivery job, I entered Sterling, sharing an elevator with the corporate elite. The floor numbers flashed rapidly, and my thoughts were restless too. If I hadn’t dropped out, I’d probably be working in a place like this now. I went to a top university too. In a daze, I wasn’t paying attention and missed my floor. And it was lunchtime, so several elevators were crowded. Only the elevator outside the side door was empty. Without thinking, I ran over, frantically pushing the button. The elevator doors opened, and I rushed inside. Two men in suits reached out to stop me. “This is a private elevator. Please use…” I brazenly pleaded, “Please, my delivery is almost overdue, I don’t want to be fined…” They tried to push me out, but a cold, stern voice came from behind. “Let her in.” The man in the suit stepped aside. Only then did I see that standing at the very back was Brandon Fitzgerald. He wore gold-rimmed glasses, and behind the lenses, a pair of eyes stared coldly at me.

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My mother was forced into a divorce. The woman who destroyed our family was my aunt. My mother, who only wanted to keep her child, was coerced into leaving with nothing. On the day of the court hearing, in front of everyone, I announced that I would live with my father. I was twelve years old. My revenge was just beginning. 1 The woman who clawed her way to the top was my mother’s own sister, Isabelle. She was only twenty-six then, with a stunning face and a body that moved with a dancer’s grace. Her eyes held a sly, fox-like charm. A woman like that should have been married, but she wasn’t. The most likely reason was the little girl always at her side—my cousin, whose father was a mystery. My grandparents had worried themselves sick over her. On their deathbeds, they made my mother promise to always look after her “immature” little sister. My mother, honoring their final wish, took Isabelle in, only for Isabelle to crawl into my father’s bed. My mother, a woman of gentle and refined character, couldn’t bear the sight. The betrayal shattered her, and she fell ill. I can still see Isabelle’s tear-streaked face at my mother’s bedside, a pathetic performance of remorse. “Eleanor, I couldn’t help it… I truly couldn’t,” she sobbed. “And… Richard and I… we’ve had feelings for each other for years.” Then, the final blow: “Besides, this isn’t the first time he’s strayed.” A paternity test obliterated the last vestiges of love my mother held for my father. It turned out that my cousin, the girl with the unknown father, was my own half-sister. The double betrayal from her husband and her sister was too much. My mother’s health collapsed. Isabelle was still Isabelle, but I could finally see the wolf hiding beneath the sheep’s clothing. In that moment, it felt as though I grew up overnight. That summer, Isabelle was a constant presence, always weeping, begging my mother to “think of the children” and not make a scene. My mother, believing there might still be a shred of decency in her, considered settling things quietly for my sake. But that wasn’t what Isabelle had in mind. “Just divorce him, Eleanor,” she said, her tone suddenly devoid of tears. “Your daughter has had ten years of a happy family. Isn’t it my Sophie’s turn?” “Sophie, darling, go ask your auntie.” She pushed my five-year-old cousin toward the bed. “Auntie Eleanor, please,” Sophie whimpered, her performance as flawless as her mother’s. “You already have Hope. Can’t you please give me my daddy back?” She even managed to squeeze out real tears. Shameless. Utterly shameless. 2 My mother was cornered, and the shameless vulture knew it. Isabelle quit the job my mother had found for her and moved into our house, refusing to leave until she got what she wanted. “The child is here,” she’d declare, shoving Sophie forward. “Do what you want with us.” “Auntie, please don’t hurt me,” Sophie would wail, her eyes like faucets she could turn on at will. The house filled with the constant noise of a child’s crying and my aunt’s histrionics. It was suffocating. Under this constant assault, my mother’s spirit began to crumble. In the days that followed, I overheard her arguments with my father. The ugly truths they screamed at each other painted a filthy picture of the adult world. Sleep became impossible. I’d wander the halls of our old family mansion at night, a ghost in my own home. My father’s family had been in business for generations, and by his time, we were wealthy. My parents had lived in this house, inherited from my grandparents, since their marriage. It was a beautiful old place, and my father was sentimental about it. When parts of the woodwork began to decay, he’d sooner seal off a room than have it replaced. “This house holds all my childhood memories,” he used to say. “Tearing it down would destroy the soul of this place.” He was a man who cherished the past, and he had always been tender and devoted to my mother. I once dreamed of marrying a man just like him. But with the rose-tinted glasses shattered, the real man was uglier than I could have imagined. One night, I saw him sitting alone at the bar downstairs, nursing a drink. The past few days had aged him. “Richard, why are you still up?” A soft, feminine voice drifted from the shadows. It was her. Isabelle, draped in a pale green silk nightgown, stretched languidly in the dim light, a picture of seductive grace. “Can’t sleep. Care to join me for a drink?” she purred, holding a bottle of wine in one hand and a delicate glass in the other. Years later, I would often wonder how my father fell for her trap. The only answer I could ever come to was human weakness. The more focused a person is, the more susceptible they are to distraction. There is no such thing as absolute rationality, especially when temptation is dangled so perfectly. Never fight a battle against human nature. You will always lose. 3 After Sophie’s parentage was revealed, Isabelle moved in for good. My mother grew paler each day, but all she could do was cry. Isabelle, with terrifying speed, put down roots. She replaced the maids and the driver. By the time my mother realized what was happening, she was completely isolated. My father, likely tired of the fighting, retreated to his office, leaving my mother and me alone to face the siege. At the dinner table, Isabelle and Sophie acted like the true mistresses of the house, even taking my mother’s and my seats. “What do you want from me?” my mother finally whispered, her spirit broken. Isabelle just smiled. “I only want a better life for Sophie, Eleanor. You’re a mother. Surely you understand.” Her fox-like eyes twinkled, but there was a coldness in them that was terrifying. The invasion wasn’t limited to my mother. Sophie began her own subtle campaign against me. She decided she liked my room and simply moved in, insisting we share it. After dinner, she would make a show of calling my father’s office, only to hang up abruptly the moment I walked in. “You know, Hope,” she’d say, her voice dripping with false sweetness, “I was always so jealous of you. Every time I visited Grandma’s, you had a new dress.” “I used to wish you’d grow up faster, so I could have your hand-me-downs.” She held up a long, floral dress. “But now, I get new clothes too.” It was my size. Her behavior was bizarre and unsettling, a constant, low-level torture. Finally, my mother couldn’t take it anymore. She sat Isabelle down and demanded to know what it would take for her to leave. I expected a screaming match, a final, ugly confrontation. But what happened next shocked me. “I’m leaving this afternoon. I’ve already bought the tickets,” Isabelle said, her voice crisp and final. My mother was stunned. So was I. “Take care of yourself, Eleanor,” she added. “Are you really…” “Yes. I’m a woman of my word. You couldn’t drag me back here if you begged.” The next day, she and Sophie were gone. It all happened so fast, and the relief was intoxicating. “Hope, darling,” my mother said, her smile weak but genuine. “It’s over now. Everything that happened… it’s in the past.” The past few months had been a nightmare. An autumn breeze blew in through the open window, carrying a chill. The potted plant Isabelle had brought as a gift had grown, its leaves swaying in the wind. Would she really leave so easily? My question was answered three days later. My father, who had been avoiding the house for weeks, came home. He came home to fight with my mother. It turned out Isabelle had filed an anonymous tip with the SEC. “Do you have any idea how much trouble I’m in?” he roared. “If my friend on the inside hadn’t warned me, I’d be ruined! Can you just stay away from your sister? All you do is cause problems!” He was genuinely terrified. So terrified that he’d completely forgotten why Isabelle had come to our house in the first place. Defeated, my mother called her. Isabelle didn’t answer all day. Late that night, the phone finally rang. “You were looking for me, Eleanor?” “What do you want, Isabelle? Where are you? Let’s just talk this out.” “So you’re asking me to come back? Is that it? Fine. Then we do this on my terms. A divorce. You get to keep your child. Nothing else.” Compared to my mother’s strained, anxious voice, Isabelle’s was light and airy. In the dead of night, it sounded otherworldly, like a death sentence whispered by a demon. It was the sound of my mother suffocating. 4 The result was exactly what Isabelle had demanded: a divorce. My mother left with nothing. My father, in a magnanimous gesture, said my mother could take me with her. He understood the bond between a mother and child, he said. Left with nothing? Even at my age, I understood what that meant. Isabelle wanted my mother out on the street, without a penny of the family fortune that was rightfully half hers. My mother could have sued, could have charged my father with bigamy, but she didn’t want me to have a father with a criminal record. She chose to endure it. I begged her to fight. I didn’t care about my father’s reputation. But she insisted I was too young to understand the consequences. So, at the custody hearing, as the judge made his final ruling, I looked my mother in her shocked, disbelieving eyes and chose my father. I had to protect her. She couldn’t be left destitute. Because she didn’t get custody of me, she was forced to renegotiate the settlement. In the end, she walked away with a small but significant portion of my father’s assets. My courtroom stunt had thrown Isabelle for a loop. Her perfect plan was marred by my sudden defiance. But she recovered quickly. “You can still call me Aunt Isabelle, if you like,” she told me later, a triumphant smile on her face. “Or whatever you prefer.” “In this house, you call people by their proper titles,” my father interjected, already completely under her spell. “Then Hope can call me Mom, just like I do,” Sophie chimed in, her eyes wide and innocent. After my mother left, I saw the full extent of Isabelle’s cunning. When it came to understanding my father, my mother never stood a chance. My mother’s concern was that of a wife; Isabelle’s was that of an employee managing her boss. She could manipulate his moods with ease, making her requests at the perfect moment. She was like the proverbial frog in boiling water, slowly tightening her control. For my father, she provided emotional validation. For me, she provided endless psychological abuse. She would parade their “happy family” in front of me, then mock me viciously the moment my father was out of sight. But I had learned to control myself. When things became unbearable, I would visit my mother. As long as I had her, I could endure anything. For her, I had the courage to persist. Isabelle would grow old. I would grow up. One day, I would be strong enough to protect my mother. With that goal in mind, I threw myself into my studies. I excelled, winning awards and competitions. But it wasn’t long before Isabelle, under the guise of “concern for my health,” began to cut back my extracurricular classes. With no way to pay for them myself, I had to give up the things I loved. Sophie, meanwhile, took my place, becoming the star pupil of my former teachers. Even then, Isabelle worried I was “overworking my brain.” The year I started high school, she took an uncharacteristic interest in my grades. Without my consent, she changed my academic track from humanities, which I loved, to science. “It’s for your own good,” she’d say after every blow, smiling that serene, chilling smile. I watched as faint crow’s feet appeared around her eyes, but the cruelty in them only sharpened with time. I knew she was only holding back because she hadn’t yet secured the ultimate prize. Six months into the school year, I heard the news. “Hope,” Sophie announced, her voice filled with glee. “I’m going to have a baby brother.” This time, she didn’t even bother with the pretense of “we.” It was her brother. I later found out Isabelle was already seven months along. Despite her age, she had been meticulous, and the pregnancy was stable.

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