1 Wesley was a star student sponsored by my family. To dodge an arranged marriage, I hired him to play my boyfriend for two years. The deal was simple: if he didn’t fall for me by the end, we would part ways amicably. We did everything sweet couples do. We dated on campus, met the parents, and eventually set a wedding date. Until the day of the wedding. In front of a room full of guests, he pulled another woman close and kissed his bride. Except the bride in that white gown was my best friend. He turned to me and said, “A deal is just words on paper. Life moves on. Minnie is the one I love.” Everyone waited for me to lose my mind and cause a scene. Instead, I just shook my head and let out a quiet laugh. “When a lapdog forgets his place, you don’t fight him. You toss him out.” … I stood in the dressing room, staring into the full-length mirror at the custom designer gown I hadn’t taken off yet. The grand wedding meant for me had become someone else’s fairy tale. The door burst open with violent force. In walked Wesley, the man I had loved for two years, alongside Minnie, the friend I had trusted for half a decade. Everyone in our social circle knew Wesley was a charity case elevated by my family. His parents were broke farmers. My family had covered every penny of his expenses, from high school prep to his top-tier university degree. Tuition, room, board, wardrobe, allowance, we paid for all of it. I used to believe that no human heart was made of stone, that warmth could melt anyone. So I poured everything into him, falling for him for real. Wesley stood tall, sharp and handsome in his tuxedo. There wasn’t a trace of guilt or panic in his eyes. Only cold indifference, laced with a flicker of annoyance. Minnie clung to his arm like a delicate vine, draped in a bridal gown. Her pale cheeks blushed with a sickeningly sweet glow, though a sinister gleam of triumph danced in her eyes. They walked toward me side by side. “Eva,” Wesley spoke first, his tone unnervingly calm. “It isn’t what you think.” I stared at him in silence, refusing to cry, refusing to scream. “Our two-year agreement is up. I’ve played my part. You used your family’s financial favor to tie down two years of my youth. To me, this was never love. It was a golden cage.” He reached up and gently brushed a loose strand of hair behind Minnie’s ear. The tenderness in his eyes was a level of devotion he had never once offered me. “Minnie is my soulmate. We love each other. We endured nearly two years in secret because of your overbearing claim on me. If you hadn’t held that financial debt over my head, we would have been together long ago.” Minnie’s eyes instantly welled with tears. She timidly clutched Wesley’s sleeve, letting out a soft sob. “Eva, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to steal your wedding. Wesley and I are truly in love. We couldn’t control our feelings.” A tag-team act, twisting facts upside down. I couldn’t help letting out a cold, bitter laugh. Wesley spoke up again, perfectly composed. “Minnie and I already registered our marriage abroad. Our love is official now, and I’ve given her the title she deserves.” “However, I won’t turn my back on your family’s support, nor will I ruin your reputation. Next week, I’ll register a domestic marriage with you.” “From now on, we won’t interfere in each other’s personal lives. I will give you the respect of being my legal wife in public, and you will continue to back my research and provide resources. Once I am fully established, everything will work out for both of us.” Outside the room, staff and guests passed by, whispering among themselves. Their eyes kept darting toward me. Some offered pity, some enjoyed the drama, while others looked away in awkward silence. Wesley was utterly convinced I was hopelessly in love with him. He believed my pride wouldn’t allow me to walk away empty-handed after two years, nor would I let myself become the laughingstock of the city. He assumed I had no choice but to swallow the insult and remain his financial backing. I lowered my head, taking one last look at the pristine white dress. When I raised my eyes, my gaze was ice cold. “Don’t bother.” A flash of genuine surprise flickered across Wesley’s face. I slowly reached up and ripped the veil from my hair. “Keep your true love. Keep your legal title for Minnie.” “The debt is cleared. Wesley, you and I are done.” 2 I turned and walked away. Behind me, Wesley’s voice dropped to a dark register. “Think carefully, Eva. If you walk out that door today, I won’t give you a second chance.” My steps never slowed. My phone vibrated in my hand. It was a text from my mother: Eva, I’ve sent a driver for you. Come straight home. In those few words, I could feel her barely suppressed rage. She had never approved of Wesley from day one, but I had been stubborn. I stepped into the car and told the driver, “To the office. I have work to handle.” At the corporate headquarters, top floor. My assistant, Hannah, knocked and entered. “Ms. Montgomery, the tech department is asking if we have a backup for the core code in Wesley’s research proposal.” “No,” I said, taking a sip of black coffee as the bitterness coated my tongue. “I trusted him too much back then to bother with a non-disclosure agreement.” Hannah hesitated, looking like she wanted to say more. “Speak up.” “Wesley just posted on his feed.” She handed me her tablet. On the screen was a wedding photo of him and Minnie. The caption read: So glad it’s you. Wesley had even replied to a comment below: Thank you everyone. It wasn’t an easy road for Minnie and me, but we made it. Then a text notification popped up from Wesley on my phone. Eva, we need to talk. I didn’t reply. It’s about the technical proposal. Our usual spot. If you don’t show up, you’ll regret the consequences. That spot was the high-end Japanese restaurant where we had our very first date. Back then, he had just won an academic scholarship and claimed he wanted to treat me to dinner. I had once canceled a board gala just to squeeze onto a crowded subway in an evening gown to meet him there. In the private dining booth, Wesley was already waiting. “Eva, I apologize for what happened today.” “But we agreed from the start. Two years. If I didn’t love you, we’d part ways with dignity.” He emphasized the word dignity. “You were the one who took it seriously and insisted on planning a wedding,” he paused. “Playing along with you until now is more than generous on my part.” I picked up my glass of sake, forcing down the urge to splash it across his face. “So you deliberately waited until the wedding ceremony to humiliate me? Was that your idea of dignity?” “It wasn’t like that…” “Get to the point,” I snapped, cutting him off. “I’m not wasting another second on you.” He pulled a document out of his leather briefcase, looking resigned. “I can let your company keep using the tech proposal.” “Your terms?” “First, your family continues to fund my doctorate project. Second, Montgomery Corp guarantees exclusive investment in my new venture for the next five years.” “Third,” he looked straight into my eyes, his tone brimming with unshakeable confidence, “we still get legally married.” I set down my glass. “I can understand the first two demands. But why the third?” Wesley gave a low, cynical chuckle. “Eva, don’t be naive. You announced in front of everyone that our debt was settled. How am I supposed to climb the social ladder after that? Everyone will call me a gold-digger who used a rich girl and discarded her.” “So you’re just trying to save face.” His expression turned dark. “It doesn’t matter what you call it. What matters is public perception. You know how hard I worked to get where I am today.” Of course I knew. Every step of his climb was built on my family’s money and connections. “Wesley, I refuse every single one of your terms.” He snapped his head up, stunned by my blunt refusal. “When I say a bridge is burned, it stays burned.” I grabbed the document and ripped it into pieces right in front of his face. The composed mask he wore finally shattered. He stood up abruptly. “Are you insane? Do you have any idea how critical this project is for your firm? If your father finds out…” “I already know.” The paper door slid open. My father stood at the entrance, dressed in a sharp suit, the gray hair at his temples slightly more pronounced than the last time I saw him. He didn’t even spare Wesley a glance. He looked only at me and said softly, “Eva, let’s go home.” Wesley stood frozen in place. I followed my father out to the car. Inside the vehicle, he broke the silence. “Eva, do you know what makes me proudest of you?” I didn’t answer. “It’s not your grades or your business sense,” his eyes crinkled with quiet warmth. “It’s that when you fall, you never sit around waiting for someone to pick you up.” My nose stung, and tears finally spilled over my lashes. 3 The next morning, I gathered my emotions and prepped for work. Passing my father’s study, I caught his hushed voice on the phone: “Delay it a bit longer. Eva just went through a rough patch, I can’t add to her stress right now…” I pushed the door open. My father hung up instantly, putting on a calm smile. “Heading to the office today? I’ll have Thomas drive you.” “Dad, are you hiding something from me?” “What could I possibly hide?” He waved his hand dismissively. “Your old man is doing just fine.” I didn’t push further, but an unsettling dread settled deep in my chest. A week later. In the middle of an executive board meeting, my phone buzzed incessantly. It was my mother. “Eva, get to Central Hospital right now! Your father… he collapsed. They’re trying to revive him…” My mind went completely blank, the world going dead silent. By the time I rushed to the hospital, my father was already inside the Intensive Care Unit. My mother sat alone on the corridor bench, her eyes bloodshot, clutching a medical chart so tightly her knuckles turned white. “Mom, what happened to Dad?” She looked up, her lips trembling violently. “He was diagnosed with leukemia three months ago. He hid it from both of us and underwent chemotherapy in secret.” “He wouldn’t let me tell you. He didn’t want to distract you…” My legs gave out, and I had to lean against the wall to stay upright. “His condition deteriorated rapidly. He needs an emergency bone marrow transplant.” She handed me the report. “I’ve been tested, along with all our relatives. None of us are a match. Eva, you’re his last hope.” “Test me right now.” The cross-matching process took three agonizing days. For those three days, I spent my mornings by the hospital bed and my nights drowning in corporate files. On the afternoon of the third day, inside the chief physician’s office: “Ms. Montgomery, your results are in.” The doctor adjusted his glasses, his voice heavy with sympathy. “Regrettably, your marrow is not a match for your father.” I stood there, stunned. “How is that possible? I’m his biological daughter…” “Genetic compatibility can be unpredictable,” the doctor explained gently. “We will search the national donor registry immediately, but you should also ask friends and acquaintances to get tested.” I walked out of the office, staring blankly at the bustling hospital corridor. Then I posted a public update on my social feed: My father is critically ill and urgently requires a bone marrow match. A substantial reward will be provided for a suitable donor. Overnight, the news rippled through the entire high-society circle. Early the next morning, an unexpected figure appeared outside the ICU. Wesley. “What are you doing here?” I frowned, my voice cold. “Your father is sick. I came to see him.” His tone was unnervingly tender, and he even reached out as if to smooth my hair. “You look so exhausted.” “I don’t need your pity. Get out.” I turned to walk away, but he grabbed my wrist. “Eva, I got tested.” I snapped my head around to glare at him. He handed me a laboratory document. It showed a perfect ten out of ten match for transplant compatibility. I stared at the paper, my emotions a chaotic storm. Wesley gave me a subtle, triumphant smile. “Eva, I’m glad. Maybe this is our second chance.” His voice was soft, but every word hit like a brick. “I will donate my marrow. But only on one condition: we get back together.” I met his gaze coldly. “And Minnie is just fine with that?” “I spoke with Minnie. She understands,” he paused, stepping closer. “Eva, over these past few days, I realized I still can’t let you go.” He put on an earnest look. “You used to be so high and mighty, and my insecurity made me crave Minnie’s admiration. But after you left, I realized you’re the one I love. I hope it’s not too late.” I let out a mock laugh. “So you want to have your cake and eat it too?” He pulled me into an embrace. “Minnie will move abroad later. I’ll visit her occasionally. As for us, we’ll stay here as the perfect power couple.” He paused, lowering his tone. “Besides… your father’s illness can’t wait.” “Fine.” I heard my own voice reply, eerily calm. “I agree. But you donate your marrow first and ensure my father’s surgery is successful.” He pulled a pre-drafted legal document from his coat pocket and held it out. “Sign this.” I glanced down at the title: Binding Agreement: Eva Montgomery agrees to legally marry Wesley upon successful organ donation, with a five million dollar breach penalty. I picked up a pen and signed my name without an ounce of hesitation. Marriage, after all, was just words on a piece of paper. 4 Wesley wasn’t in a rush to schedule the surgery right away. And I didn’t push him either. Instead, I acted like a devoted girlfriend again, appearing downstairs at his apartment complex every morning to deliver fresh coffee and warm breakfast sandwiches. “You have a sensitive stomach. Stop skipping breakfast.” As he took the coffee, his fingers brushed mine, making him freeze for a brief second. “Eva, you don’t have to do all this…” “I want to treat you well,” I offered a soft smile. “I used to be too proud and distant. Looking back, I was terrible to you.” “It’s really good,” he murmured, taking a sip. Soon enough, Wesley became far more attentive. At first, it was, “Don’t bother bringing breakfast, sleep in a little.” Then it turned into, “Let’s go to that Japanese place, for old time’s sake.” Over sushi, after a few drinks, his eyes grew slightly glazed. “Back when I won my first scholarship, I didn’t have enough to treat you. I was terrified you’d look down on me, so I saved up half a month of food money just to book this place.” “I know,” I said gently. “You wore your only sweater without holes in it that night. The collar was washed completely pale,” I placed a piece of salmon on his plate. “I also know you came here beforehand to check the menu prices and calculated the math three times before asking me out.” He froze, his eyes slowly turning red. “Eva, you…” “I never looked down on you,” I looked into his eyes with absolute sincerity. “You were the one who assumed I was looking down on you.” That night, he walked me back to my apartment building and stood in the courtyard for a long time. The moment I pulled my curtains shut, I sent a text to Minnie. Minnie, Wesley is going to the hospital for a checkup tomorrow. Want to join us? She replied instantly: What are you playing at, Eva? Bragging? Wesley still has feelings for you, and I don’t want to come between you two. But he’s saving my dad right now, so I just want to be good to him. Don’t mind me. A five-minute silence followed on the screen. Fine. I’m coming. The next morning, Minnie showed up at the hospital lobby right on cue. The second she walked in, she wrapped her arm around Wesley’s, her voice dripping sweet. “Wesley, I missed you so much.” Wesley instinctively glanced at me. I smiled gently. “You two catch up. I’ll go grab our queue numbers.” When I returned, Minnie was wiping away tears, her voice choked. “You said you only loved me! You promised you’d end things with her as soon as her dad’s surgery was over…” I walked over as if I hadn’t heard a word and handed the ticket to Wesley. “It’s your turn. Head on in.” He didn’t move, staring at me. “Did you hear that?” I chuckled, reaching out to straighten his collar. “Hear what? Go on, I’ll be right here waiting for you.” Minnie’s face turned completely pale in an instant. Because she realized that the way Wesley looked at me had entirely changed. From that day on, Minnie began throwing desperate tantrums. She posted old photos with Wesley on her social feed with captions like: Nostalgia is poison. I liked every single one of her posts and commented below: You two were so sweet back then. She messaged me, calling me a fake bitch. I replied: Minnie, I genuinely wish you both the best. If Wesley wants private time with you, I can step back anytime. Minnie took a screenshot and sent it to Wesley: Look at how fake she is! Wesley frowned heavily. “Minnie, can you stop making a scene? Eva has been more than generous to you.” Minnie completely lost her mind. She couldn’t understand why the harder she pushed, the closer Wesley drifted toward me. Later, I offered to treat Minnie to dinner as an apology. The three of us sat at the same table. Minnie kept a sour face the entire evening. I smiled and placed food onto her dish. “Minnie, you’ve lost weight recently. Eat a bit more.” She sneered, “Eva, cut the hypocritical act.” I set my fork down, my eyes turning slightly red. “I know you hate me, but I always considered you a friend. I haven’t tried to stop you and Wesley from being together, have I?” Wesley grabbed my hand and snapped at Minnie, “Minnie, that is enough!” Minnie slammed her utensils down and stormed out. I urged him softly, “Go after her. Don’t leave her alone.” He hesitated for a second, then ran out. Five minutes later, he returned alone. “Put her in a cab?” I asked. “Yeah.” He sat down beside me and suddenly pulled me into his arms. “Eva, how can you be so good to me?” 5 Wesley began showing up at my family’s corporate office with increasing frequency. He volunteered to optimize the core algorithms for our tech department, working past midnight and showing up the next morning with dark circles under his eyes just to see me. “Don’t push yourself so hard,” I handed him a mug of warm milk. “I want to help you,” he looked into my eyes. “In the past, I only thought about taking resources from your family. I never realized that you needed someone to rely on, too.” I smiled quietly, saying nothing. The bone marrow transplant surgery finally went smoothly. On the day my father was discharged, Wesley came to pick us up. He bowed deeply to my father. “Sir, I’m sorry. I was an idiot in the past.” My father looked at me, but I remained silent. “If you truly treat Eva well going forward…” My father let out a long sigh. “As her father, what more can I say?” Wesley’s eyes welled with heat, and he dropped to his knees right there, bowing his head to the ground. I pulled him up, dusting the dirt off his knees. “Alright, let’s just live a good life from now on.” In the car, he gripped my hand tightly. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. If you’ll have me.” I didn’t answer, turning my head to watch the neon lights streak past the window. Have you? Of course I will. In the days that followed, Wesley became a changed man. He turned down every social invite and arrived at my office every day at five on the dot to pick me up. He began memorizing my favorite foods, my tiny habits, and every random thought I voiced. He even went out of his way to delete all of Minnie’s contact info. Minnie came to find me once, her makeup ruined from crying. “Eva, you won, alright? Can you please just give him back to me?” I handed her a tissue. “Minnie, I didn’t steal him. He chose to stay on his own.” “You’re lying! You deliberately played nice, acted all generous in front of him, and drove me crazy so he would hate me…” I smiled gently. “If that’s what you want to believe, there’s nothing I can say.” That night, Wesley asked me what Minnie had wanted. I said, “She misses you. Do you want to give her a call?” He shook his head. “No. Some people belong in the past.” On Friday, Wesley reserved an entire restaurant, claiming he had a massive surprise for me. When I arrived, the place was filled with red roses and white balloons. He dropped to one knee, opening a velvet box revealing a sparkling diamond ring. “Eva, marry me.” I looked at the ring and smiled softly. “Alright.” He leapt up in excitement and embraced me tightly, his voice trembling. “I will treat you right for the rest of my life.” I whispered in his ear, “Tomorrow at eleven, let’s go to the courthouse and register our marriage.” Wesley squeezed me even tighter. The next morning, I silenced Wesley’s relentless flurry of incoming calls and switched my phone completely off. Out in the scorching summer sun outside the city registry office, Wesley was drenched in sweat. Suddenly, a text notification flashed on his tablet from his lab junior. Senior, did you see the news? What news? Eva… it looks like she’s already married.

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1 The heavy glass doors of City Hall were slowly gliding shut when Danny called to cancel our marriage registration. “Lilah lost her cat,” he said, his voice laced with stress. “She’s terrified and crying alone in the street. I really can’t leave her.” I froze, the cool marble floor beneath my heels suddenly feeling unsteady. “We can get registered anytime,” he added, as if explaining something obvious to a child. “If the cat wanders too far, she’ll never get it back.” Through the receiver, I caught the soft, wet sound of a girl sobbing, followed by a fragile murmur: “Please tell your girlfriend not to be mad at me…” I looked down at the creased document folder in my hands. “Danny, we scheduled this appointment a month ago. Nana is sitting at home right now, waiting for us.” A heavy sigh echoed through the speaker. In all the years we had been together, whenever he sighed like that, I was always the one to back down. “Go find her cat then,” I whispered. He exhaled, relieved. “I knew you’d understand. You’ve always been the sensible one.” Once upon a time, I was the one who received that gentle protection. The first time we crossed the Old Mill Bridge, I had been trembling with fear. He held my hand tightly, promising he would never let go. The bridge was still there. The cold wind still swept through the valley. But the hand holding mine had opened and let me fall. … “Stella, sweetie, why are you back alone?” Nana was standing by the porch gate, watching me from down the lane. Last night, she had carefully wrapped my birth certificate and legal IDs in a red velvet pouch, placing it in my palm. “Once you cross that bridge, you’ll start your own family,” she had whispered. Now, the pouch sat in my purse, its crimson drawstrings dangling loose. I didn’t want to compromise anymore. “Something came up at his office,” I lied softly. “We couldn’t make it today.” Nana offered a reassuring smile. “Work is important. A good man takes his responsibilities seriously. It’s normal to be busy.” She paused, wiping her dusty hands on her apron. “When’s the next open slot? Don’t you need to make an appointment online?” I lowered my eyes. “We’ll see.” She didn’t press further. Taking the red velvet pouch, she placed it on the dining table and slowly smoothed out the wrinkled edges. “I’ll keep this safe for you. You’ll need it next time.” Her eyesight was poor. It had taken her three frustrating attempts to thread the needle last night just to embroider a small gold luck symbol on the cloth for us. My phone chimed with a text from Danny. Lilah has calmed down. I’ll come pick you up tonight. Explain things to your grandmother. Don’t let her worry. I stared at the screen for a long time. So he knew Nana would worry. He simply didn’t care enough to show up anyway. At seven in the evening, Danny’s black sedan pulled up at the mouth of the alley. Nana walked me to the gate, holding the red pouch in her frail hands. “Stella, take it with you. What if you can register tomorrow morning?” Before I could decline, Danny stepped out of the driver’s seat and took the pouch from her with a polished smile. “Don’t worry, Nana. I’ll handle everything.” His voice was smooth and calm, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Nana smiled, the deep wrinkles around her eyes crinkling. “Danny, Stella can be shy and anxious. Take good care of her.” Danny glanced at me, his eyes cool. “She isn’t that fragile anymore, Nana. Though she does like to get stuck in her own head sometimes.” Nana missed the edge in his voice and patted my hand gently. “When building a life together, don’t fuss over minor setbacks.” As the car rolled over the Old Mill Bridge, the streetlights flickered on one by one. That bridgehead was where I had waited for him earlier today, staring at the City Hall building across the street. Danny tossed the red pouch onto the center console. “I’m sorry about today.” “Lilah’s cat means everything to her,” he continued. “She grew up with no family security. She doesn’t have many people to rely on.” “I know.” “Good.” He let out a soft breath and reached over to pat the back of my hand. “Stella, you and she are different. You have your grandmother, and you have me. She only has herself.” I pulled my hand back, letting his fingers brush uselessly against the velvet pouch. “Don’t hold a grudge over something so small,” he urged. “We can pick another day for the license.” I heard my own voice ask quietly, “If it were my paperwork that went missing today, if I were the one crying alone outside City Hall, would you have come?” Silence stretched inside the car. Then he let out a short, amused chuckle. “You wouldn’t cry over something like that.” Those words settled over me like a layer of frost. Because I wouldn’t cry, I could be kept waiting. Because I wouldn’t cry, I was expected to yield. Because I wouldn’t cry, I could always be placed last. When the car stopped outside my apartment complex, Danny unbuckled his seatbelt and held out the red pouch. “I booked a nice table for dinner tomorrow night. My treat to make it up to you.” I didn’t reach for it. His brows pulled together in a slight scowl. “Stella, that’s enough. Don’t drag this out.” I stared at the deep red cloth. “Danny, do you even remember what day it is?” Impatience flickered across his features, though he kept his tone even. “Our registration day. Of course I remember.” “No.” I picked up the pouch and pushed the car door open. “It’s also the anniversary of my parents’ death.” Danny’s hand froze on the steering wheel. As I stepped out into the chilly night, I heard him call my name behind me. The light fixture on the second floor landing was broken, leaving half the stairs swallowed in darkness. My phone buzzed in my pocket. I’m so sorry. I forgot. I stood in the shadows on the stairwell, staring at the glowing screen. I didn’t reply. 2 A wave of hushed whispers drifted from the hallway outside the open office door. Lilah stood near the entrance, holding a stack of pristine folders. She had dropped off documents at our firm before, but today was different. Danny was standing right behind her. The department manager rushed over with a warm smile. “Mr. Mercer, who is this?” Danny answered smoothly. “This is Lilah. She’s being temporarily reassigned to your team to help organize project archives.” The manager nodded briskly, then turned toward my desk. “Stella, why don’t you show her the ropes? You work closely with Mr. Mercer anyway, so it’ll make communication easier.” Lilah walked over to my desk, her voice soft and timid. “Stella, I’ll be in your care. I am so sorry about yesterday. Danny told me you wouldn’t stay mad, but I still couldn’t sleep a wink worrying about it.” I looked at her, my posture rigid. “Our team is extremely busy right now. Organizing archives isn’t just filing papers.” Danny stepped forward, his knuckles rapping twice against my desk. “Lilah learns quickly. Just give her a quick walkthrough.” “I don’t have time.” His voice dropped an octave, laced with a quiet warning. “Stella, keep your personal feelings out of the workplace.” The room fell dead silent. Several coworkers turned to stare. Someone whispered in the corner, “Wait, are they having a fight?” Lilah’s eyes instantly welled with tears. “Stella, please don’t be hard on Danny. I can go to another department. Really, it’s fine…” Danny glanced down at her, his expression softening immediately. “You don’t need to go anywhere.” He turned back to me, his jaw set. “She just wants to learn. There’s no need to be so defensive.” Looking at the man I had loved for six years, I suddenly felt like I was staring at a stranger. “If that is your decision, Mr. Mercer, then we’ll follow standard company procedure.” He blinked, visibly caught off guard. I had always called him Danny. When I was annoyed, I still called him Danny. The title “Mr. Mercer” was reserved for joking in front of clients. This was no joke. At lunch, Lilah trailed behind me in the cafeteria, clutching a pink bento box. “Stella, please don’t blame Danny,” she pleaded quietly. “He’s under a lot of pressure lately, and he’s been taking care of me on top of everything else. He probably just didn’t pay attention to the details.” My best friend, Brooke, sat down next to me and let out a harsh laugh. “He can’t pay attention to his own fiancée, but he has all the time in the world to worry about your crying fits?” Tears spilled over Lilah’s lashes. People at nearby tables began turning around. She panicked, hastily wiping her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I just feel like Stella already has so much. Her grandmother adores her, and Danny loves her. I grew up with nothing, so I guess I just got a little greedy…” Danny walked over with his tray, casually pulling a paper napkin to dab the tears from her face. “What are you crying for?” Lilah shook her head. “It’s nothing. I just said the wrong thing.” Danny looked over at me, his forehead creased with deep frustration. “She just got here. Do you really have to do this?” I didn’t bother explaining. Months ago, I would have explained. I would have dissected every painful detail for him to understand. But when someone has decided not to listen, every word you say sounds like unreasonable nagging. I grabbed my tray and stood up. Danny reached out and gripped my wrist firmly. “You haven’t finished eating.” “I’m not hungry.” “Stella, sit down.” His grip wasn’t painful, but it was firm enough to lock me in place. I looked down at his fingers wrapped around my wrist. That was the same hand that used to lead me across the old stone bridge. The same hand that had forgotten I was waiting for him on the anniversary of my parents’ deaths. I yanked my wrist free and walked straight out of the cafeteria. Behind me, I heard Lilah’s timid voice. “Danny, you should go after her. I’ll be okay on my own.” Danny hesitated for a moment. Then he said, “Eat your lunch first.” That night, Danny didn’t come to my apartment. He sent a single text message. Let me know when you’ve cooled off. I stared at the glowing phone screen, remembering the countless times we had argued over the past year. Every single conflict ended with that exact phrase. It was as if all my hurt and boundary setting were nothing more than a childish tantrum that simply needed time to fade. 3 The next morning, during our project status meeting, the manager beamed at the team. “Lilah put a lot of heart into organizing the archives for the Old Mill Bridge Renovation Project. Mr. Mercer reviewed it and said her core concept looks great.” The projection screen lit up. The slide displayed my initial draft, right down to the punctuation marks in the subheadings. Lilah stood up, her voice trembling slightly with performative nervousness. “I put this together last night using Stella’s old notes as a reference. If anything looks wrong, please feel free to correct me.” I looked up at Danny, sitting at the head of the conference table. “That proposal is mine.” The room plunged into awkward silence. Lilah’s face drained of color. “Stella, I didn’t mean to steal your work! I thought since you put it in the shared team folder, it was meant for me to use.” The manager looked uncomfortable, but Danny smoothly stepped in to bridge the gap. “Stella, Lilah was just formatting the material. There’s no reason to embarrass her in public.” “It’s my intellectual property,” I said coldly. “I know,” Danny replied, his tone infuriatingly steady. “Which is why I said she was just organizing it.” Lilah immediately hung her head, tears dripping onto her notebook. “Danny, leave it alone. It’s all my fault.” Danny kept his eyes fixed on me. “Moving forward, you two will co-manage the Old Mill Bridge project. The credits will list the project team, not individual names.” The tip of my pen snapped against the paper, leaving a dark, ugly line across my notes. I had fought for six months to get assigned to the Old Mill Bridge project. That bridge was the road that led to Nana’s house. The vintage lamp posts along its stone parapets had broken down years ago, and I had deliberately designed the blueprints to preserve the original stonework. I wanted to restore it because it was my way home. “Stella, I always thought you knew how to keep work and personal life separate,” Danny said, his tone dripping with quiet disappointment, as if I were the one letting everyone down. After the meeting, Lilah cornered me in the breakroom. “Stella, do you really hate me that much?” she sobbed softly. “I know you think Danny favors me, but I swear I never wanted to take anything from you. When I was little and had no one, Danny helped me out once. I’ve always viewed him as an older brother.” Seeing my lack of reaction, her tears flowed faster. “Please don’t be so cold to me. It really scares me.” I picked up my mug and stepped around her. “If you’re scared, stay away from me.” She froze. The next second, Danny stepped through the doorway, pulling her behind his shoulder. “Do you really have to bite everyone’s head off today?” I raised my mug. “I just told her to keep her distance.” “She was trying to apologize!” “She stole my work.” “I told you, that was a misunderstanding!” I stared directly into his eyes. “If I were the one who took her work today, would you call it a misunderstanding?” Danny went quiet for a moment. “You wouldn’t do something like that.” A faint, bitter smile touched my lips. It sounded like trust. But I knew better. He only said it because he knew I was mature, sensible, and obsessed with keeping up appearances. I was the safe option, the one who would never make a mess or make him look bad. By mid-afternoon, the manager informed me that the core files for the bridge project were being handed over to Lilah temporarily. The official reason? I was “emotionally unstable.” Brooke was furious and threatened to march into the director’s office, but I grabbed her arm. “Leave it.” “How can you just let this slide?” she demanded, her eyes blazing. I closed my laptop. “Because if I make a scene, he’ll just say I’m making a mountain out of a molehill.” Before the workday ended, Danny walked over to my cubicle and set a small velvet box on my desk. “For you.” Inside was a delicate sterling silver bracelet. It was undeniably pretty. But I instantly recognized it. Lilah had posted a picture of the exact same bracelet on her social media feed at noon with the caption: He says every girl deserves to be spoiled. I pushed the box back toward him. “Danny, do you buy your pity gifts in bulk now?” He stiffened, then released a heavy, irritated sigh. “Lilah saw it and thought it looked nice, so I bought an extra one while I was at the shop. Why do you insist on turning everything into something ugly?” I didn’t answer. My phone rang. It was Nana. I picked up, and her cheerful voice filled my ear. “Stella, sweetie! Danny called me earlier. He said you two are coming over for dinner tomorrow night!” “I’m making your favorite lotus root soup. Come early, okay?” I looked up at Danny. He lowered his eyes, taking my silence as an acceptance of his peace offering. A tight knot formed in my throat. “Oh, and Stella,” Nana added warmly, “I stitched a few extra luck symbols onto that red velvet pouch. Everything is going to go smoothly this time, I just know it.” I gripped the phone tightly. “Okay, Nana.” Hearing that single word, the tension in Danny’s jaw finally relaxed. 4 When we drove to Nana’s house the next day, Lilah was sitting in the back seat. “Stella,” Lilah said sweetly, handing a gift basket toward the front, “Danny mentioned your grandmother likes soft pears, so I picked some up on the way.” I shot a glance at Danny. He avoided my gaze and locked the car doors. “Lilah was home alone with nothing to do,” he said casually. “It was on the way, so I invited her for dinner. She has great manners. Nana won’t mind.” Lilah immediately leaned forward. “Maybe I should just get out. I don’t want to make Stella unhappy.” Danny gripped the steering wheel and stepped on the gas. “Sit back.” As the car crossed the Old Mill Bridge, I put my hand into my coat pocket, my fingers brushing against the soft red velvet pouch. Nana had reminded me to bring it, saying she wanted to take a photo of us after dinner for good luck before our next trip to City Hall. When we pulled up to the gate, Nana was already waiting outside. Her smile faltered slightly when she saw Lilah step out of the car. Danny spoke up immediately. “Nana, this is my friend Lilah. She was in the area, so I brought her along to visit you.” Lilah handed over the fruit basket with a sugary smile. “Hello, Nana! Danny talks about you all the time.” Nana took the basket, forcing a polite smile. “Well, come on in and sit down.” At the dinner table, Nana ladled a steaming bowl of lotus root soup and reached out to set it in front of me. Danny reached across the table, intercepted the bowl, and placed it right in front of Lilah. “Her stomach has been bothering her,” Danny said smoothly. “She needs something warm first.” Nana’s hand hovered in midair, frozen. Lilah quickly gestured in panic. “Oh no, please! Stella should have it first.” Danny glanced at me. “Stella doesn’t care about one bowl of soup.” I stared down at my empty bowl. Brooke had asked me recently when Danny had changed. The truth was, he hadn’t changed overnight. It didn’t start with a massive betrayal. It started with a bowl of soup, an umbrella given away, a missed promise, a forgotten wait. Each moment was tiny. So small that if I complained, I sounded petty. Nana quickly filled another bowl for me, offering a slightly strained smile. “There’s plenty more in the pot.” Lilah sat beside Danny, her eyes dropping to the red velvet pouch resting beside my place setting. “Oh, that’s so pretty.” Danny picked it up, examining the intricate gold thread. “Nana’s embroidery is amazing.” Nana chuckled softly. “My eyes aren’t what they used to be. The stitches are crooked, don’t mind them.” Lilah lowered her head, her voice dropping to a tragic whisper. “My mom used to stitch things for me when I was little. But after she passed, no one cared about me anymore.” I looked up, my eyes locking onto Danny’s. “That pouch is for my marriage license.” The smile faded from Danny’s face. “Lilah was just making a comment, Stella. Don’t be so overly sensitive.” Lilah hastily put the pouch back down. “I’m sorry, Stella! I shouldn’t have said I liked it.” I reached across the table to retrieve the pouch, but Danny’s palm slammed down over it, blocking my hand. “Stella, not in front of your grandmother. Don’t make a scene.” “I’m not making a scene.” “Then finish your dinner first.” His palm pressed firmly against the velvet, flattening the small, carefully stitched gold letter of my name underneath his hand. I looked at his fingers, and suddenly, the urge to argue completely evaporated. Nana picked up her tea glass and offered to put the pouch away in the cabinet. At that moment, a sharp meow sounded from near the doorway. The white cat Lilah had brought in her carrier had slipped free. It leaped onto the dining table, its back claws catching on the red velvet pouch and dragging it off the edge. The pouch tumbled onto the dusty threshold, rolling straight into a patch of wet mud near the door. Nana gasped, hurrying over to pick it up. “Oh dear, oh no, it can’t get dirty…” Lilah panicked, dropping to her knees. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t hold onto the carrier!” Danny bent down, picked up the muddy pouch, and casually dusted it against his trousers. “It’s fine. A quick wash will fix it right up.” I held out my hand to take it, but Danny pulled it out of reach, setting it casually on a side table. “It’s just a piece of cloth, Stella. If it’s ruined, I’ll buy you a new one. Don’t be unreasonable.” Nana froze in her tracks. Her vision was failing. It had taken her three long nights under a dim lamp to stitch that pouch. It wasn’t just a piece of cloth. It was her quiet joy, her belief that I was finally going to have a home of my own. I stared at Danny. “Apologize to her.” He frowned, annoyance flaring in his eyes. “I already said we can clean it.” “Apologize to Nana.” “Stella, stop pushing it.” Lilah began to sob uncontrollably. “It’s all my fault! Please don’t fight! I’ll buy a new one to replace it, I promise!” Nana waved her hands frantically. “No, no, it’s alright! The little creature didn’t mean it.” The last bit of warmth in my chest died completely. Danny looked at me, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “See? Even Nana says it’s fine.” I walked over to the side table and picked up the red velvet pouch. The wet mud had already soaked deep into the fabric, staining the gold embroidery. Slowly, I unzipped my bag, pulled out my legal documents, and slipped them into my coat pocket. “You’re right,” I said quietly. “It doesn’t matter anymore.” “And we don’t need to get a marriage license anymore, either.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “616407”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Six months into an online relationship and my boyfriend still refused to meet up in real life. Desperate for answers, I hired a food delivery guy to go do some undercover detective work. When the delivery guy finished his mission, he called me with a desperate plea. “Look, sis, just cut your losses. That guy isn’t tall, he isn’t handsome, and the main thing is, he looks like he’s pushing sixty! He was literally holding a cane!” Hearing that, I completely lost my mind. I logged right into the chat app and pounded out a message: You ancient geezer! We’re over! The next day, I dragged my miserable body into the office, only to overhear my coworkers gossiping. “What on earth set off Mr. Mitchell today?” “I know, right? Why is he running around asking everyone for links to anti-aging face masks?” 1 When I received the phone call from the delivery guy, I felt like my world was collapsing around me. On the other end of the line, he was still painting a vivid picture. “I swear I’m not making this up, girl! When the door opened, I stood there in complete shock. The guy wasn’t tall, wasn’t handsome, and looked like he was about sixty years old. He even had a walking cane in his hand!” “You’re in the prime of your youth. Find someone else. Otherwise, if people see you two together, they’ll think you have an old age fetish!” I mumbled a response in a complete daze, having no idea how I even hung up. By the time my senses returned, tears were streaming down my face like a river. No wonder he always refused to meet me. He was literally so old that moving around was a challenge! And those generous CashApp transfers he kept sending me over the months, were those his retirement pensions?! The thought made me sob even harder. Sniffling, I opened my phone to send all the money back to him. The moment the chat interface popped up, my phone vibrated. My online boyfriend had sent a text: Thank you for ordering afternoon tea for me, baby~ Are your nails done yet? How about I buy you some boba tea? I almost threw up right then and there. The mere realization that I had been calling this old geezer “babe” for half a year made my stomach churn with intense nausea. Oblivious to my sudden meltdown, he kept sending messages: Still getting your nails done? Text me when you’re finished, okay? I’ll reimburse you. A string of large cash transfers followed immediately after. When it came to money, he had never been stingy. Of course! Someone who doesn’t have a job to go to spends money with total freedom! Simmering with rage and resentment, I rejected all the cash transfers and aggressively hammered on my keyboard: No need. I never imagined you were such a wrinkly old fraud. Even saying ‘we’re breaking up’ makes me feel disgusted. Don’t ever contact me again! 2 After sending the message, I blocked and deleted him in one swift sequence, then began packing up everything in my apartment. The clothes and bags the old fraud had bought me? Thrown out! The shopping gift cards he had topped up for me? Sold off! The artisanal cured sausages he had personally smoked and sent over… I hesitated for a second. The old guy actually had incredible culinary skills. Those sausages tasted way better than anything bought from a store. Wait, I was looking for a boyfriend, not hiring a private chef! What good were delicious sausages?! So, I packed up the sausages along with the rest and threw them all into the dumpster downstairs to feed the local stray dogs. I didn’t step foot outside for the entire weekend, curling up on my sofa and wallowing in sorrow. It wasn’t until Monday morning that I finally put on some makeup and dragged myself to work. The moment I stepped into the company, I sensed an unsettling atmosphere. A storm was clearly brewing. “Melanie!” A coworker waved at me frantically. “Hurry up and scan your badge!” I hurried over to clock in and asked in confusion, “What’s going on? Everyone looks so panicked.” My coworker let out a heavy sigh. “Mr. Mitchell is back from the regional branch, and he’s in a horrific mood today! Half a dozen colleagues went into his office to give reports and got chewed out until they were practically weeping!” I froze for a moment. Bryce Mitchell was back? Our big boss had been inspecting the regional branches for almost six months, and he was finally returning to headquarters? I had only joined the company during those six months, so I had never actually interacted with him. Older colleagues said that while he was a bit distant, he wasn’t difficult to get along with. Looking at the situation now, though, it seemed those rumors were completely dead wrong. “He can’t just lose his temper for no reason, right?” I asked, bewildered. “Who set him off?” My coworker looked around to make sure nobody was nearby, then leaned in close to whisper, “Word on the street is that his girlfriend dumped him!” “And it was an out-of-the-blue, total blackout breakup!” 3 It really was the season for breakups… Connecting it to my own tragic situation, I couldn’t help but sigh. Curiosity got the better of me, though. “People don’t just break up out of nowhere. There has to be a reason, right?” My coworker squeezed out a few words through her teeth. “Apparently, she dumped him for being too old…” I sucked in a sharp breath. “Bryce Mitchell is old?!” Isn’t he not even thirty yet?! On top of that, with a face that looked like a male model, he still got dumped for being too old? Just what kind of ethereal goddess was his girlfriend?! Right as the words left my mouth, the elevator doors across from us chimed open. The doors slid back, and I locked eyes directly with the person standing inside. It was Bryce Mitchell. I had no idea whether he had heard my loud remark, but his icy gaze sent a shiver straight down my spine. “Mr. Mitchell,” my coworker greeted him hastily, and the bustling hallway went dead silent in an instant. I instinctively took two steps back and followed suit. “Mr. Mitchell.” Bryce gave a lukewarm response and stepped out of the elevator. Just as it seemed he was going to walk right past me, his footsteps abruptly stopped. The next second, he turned his head and locked his gaze squarely on my face. “Which department are you from?” 4 I stood there, momentarily stunned. My team leader quickly chimed in beside me. “This is Melanie Foster, the new hire in the planning department.” Bryce stared at me for a few more seconds before issuing a quiet command. “Have her come to my office later to present her project report. I want to see the quality of our new recruits.” The team leader nodded frantically in agreement, but my mind was spiraling. Why on earth did a low-level rookie like me have to give a personal report to the CEO? “Don’t be nervous,” my team leader comforted me once Bryce had walked away. “You’ve been following this project from the start anyway. Getting some face time in front of the big boss will do wonders for your career when you want to lead bigger projects later.” Since things had already come to this, I had no choice but to gather my files and head up to the executive suite. Bryce’s office was on the seventeenth floor. It had magnificent natural lighting, but the silence inside was terrifying. I spent a long time mentally preparing myself at the door before finally knocking. “Come in.” A deep voice echoed from inside. I let out a slow breath and pushed the door open. “Mr. Mitchell, I’m here to present the project report.” Bryce sat behind a massive mahogany desk, his face devoid of any expression. “Go ahead.” I had indeed been tracking this project closely, so I knew the structure and details inside out. I spoke continuously for about ten minutes before wrapping up. “That covers the main scope, Mr. Mitchell.” Bryce didn’t speak immediately. He simply flipped through the document I had brought. After a long moment, he raised his head, his sharp features unreadable. “Are you nervous?” I gave an honest nod. “A little.” Bryce showed no reaction to that. He lowered his eyes again, finished reading the final set of data, and tossed the folder onto the desk with a light thud. “Go down to HR and process your handover.” I froze. “Mr. Mitchell?” Bryce looked at me, his voice flat and calm. “You’re not suitable for the planning department.” My heart instantly dropped into my stomach. Was he firing me?! 5 Panic surged through me, and I hurriedly tried to salvage the situation. “Mr. Mitchell, I know my presentation had flaws, but I’m more than willing to learn from the seniors in the department! Please give me one more chance!” Bryce paid no attention to my plea. He turned to his computer and started typing, looking very much like he was drafting an email to HR. Watching his hands move, I knew there was no turning this around, and a wave of bitterness washed over me. Isn’t the saying go that when you’re unlucky in love, you’re lucky in your career?! How come I ended up losing both my love life and my job?! The more I thought about it, the more miserable I felt. Suppressing my rising emotions, I forced myself to ask, “Mr. Mitchell, can you at least tell me where I failed? Just so I can learn from my mistakes and not repeat them at my next company.” At that, Bryce finally looked up. His gaze lingered on my reddened eyes for a moment, and an expression of subtle helplessness crossed his face. “Why would you go to another company? To work as a corporate spy?” I pouted slightly. “Aren’t you firing me?” Bryce seemed to let out a quiet, amused breath. “When did I ever say I was firing you?” He pointed to the folder on his desk, his tone indifferent. “You managed to turn such a tiny piece of work into a comprehensive ten-minute breakdown. Keeping you in the planning department is a waste of talent. Come work in the executive suite.” I blinked, not quite understanding. Bryce was forced to turn his computer monitor around so I could see it. Only then did I realize that he wasn’t typing a termination notice at all, but an internal transfer form. He was reassigning me to his personal office! “Complete your handover this morning, and report to my office this afternoon,” Bryce said, giving me a quick glance. “Any issues with that?” My heart stopped aching, my eyes stopped watering, and I nodded like a toy bird on a spring. “No issues at all!” Bryce gave a quiet hum and pushed the folder back across the desk. “Head back and pack your things.” I responded happily and stepped forward to take the file. Yet, when my fingers touched the cover, I couldn’t pull it away. I paused, looking up, only to see Bryce pressing his hand firmly on the folder, his knuckles slightly white. “Your nails…” He stared at my fingers, his dark eyebrows pulling into a faint frown. “They look somewhat familiar.” 6 I instinctively lowered my head to look at my hands. Since it was my lucky zodiac year, I had specifically gotten a bright cherry-red gel manicure, a style I had actually chosen together with that old fraud from my online relationship. Now, looking at this shade of red gave me a sudden surge of irritation. “Yeah, this style is really popular this year. A lot of girls got it done,” I gave a forced smile, secretly deciding to get them removed the moment I got home tonight. Bryce looked at my nails, then looked at my face, and ultimately said nothing more. He simply waved his hand to dismiss me. The rest of the morning was a chaotic blur. By the time the transfer paperwork was finished, it was already lunchtime. I finally caught my breath and headed down to the cafeteria. My appetite had been terrible over the past two days, so I only ordered a simple bowl of vegetable noodles. After sitting down, I habitually pulled out my phone, took a picture, and sent it to my pinned contact: Baby, lunch check-in~ After sending it, I set my phone down and started eating. Two bites in, a strange, creeping realization hit me. Didn’t I already delete that old fraud’s chat?! Then who in the world had I just sent that update to?! My heart leaped into my throat. I frantically grabbed my phone and unlocked it. When the screen lit up, my eyes went completely dark. My current pinned contact was… Bryce Mitchell! Just half an hour ago, I had added the big boss’s contact through his assistant and pinned him at the top as instructed. Who could have guessed I’d make such a fatal blunder right off the bat! “Bad habits are going to be the death of me…” I groaned internally, my fingers flying as I tried to unsend the message. But the two-minute window had already passed, leaving it permanently delivered. Even more terrifying, my phone vibrated in the very next second. Bryce had actually replied: Who are you calling ‘baby’, Melanie? 7 Dying of embarrassment, I typed out a panicked explanation: I am so sorry, Mr. Mitchell! I sent that to the wrong person… Bryce didn’t seem to mind. He simply asked: That’s all you’re eating? I answered truthfully: My appetite hasn’t been great these past couple of days. Bryce’s end went quiet, and he didn’t reply again. Assuming he was just engaging in polite small talk, I put my phone away and focused on my food. Because of the transfer paperwork, I had come down to the cafeteria late. Paired with my habit of chewing slowly, the cafeteria had mostly emptied out while my bowl of noodles was still half-full. There was still half an hour left of the lunch break. Just as I was debating whether to keep eating or head upstairs for a nap, a shadow suddenly fell across my table. Looking up, I was surprised to see Bryce’s executive assistant. “Still eating?” She smiled warmly and handed over a high-end food container. “An addition to your lunch.” I blinked, taking it carefully. Opening the lid, an incredible aroma wafted out, revealing several beautifully prepared gourmet dishes. “Wow, thank you!” My appetite instantly returned. As I dug in, I caught a glimpse of the restaurant logo on the container and gasped softly. “Wait, this place is ridiculously expensive!” The assistant waved a dismissive hand. “Mr. Mitchell’s treat. Enjoy as much as you like.” I let out a soft whistle. “I have to say, working in the executive office has its perks. Free high-end meals!” The assistant laughed softly. “Not usually. Mr. Mitchell rarely orders takeout; he usually eats at the cafeteria with everyone else. I guess he just wanted a change of flavor today.” I blinked, thinking to myself how lucky I was to score a free luxury meal on my very first day. The afternoon passed smoothly with light tasks. I spent most of the time shadowing the senior assistant, and left work right on time. After returning home and finishing dinner, I flopped onto the couch, ready to launch a mobile game. The second I logged into my account, my screen flashed wildly with notifications, 99+ popping up so fast the phone vibrated right out of my grip. It took a full minute for the phone to settle down. Only then did I spot the culprit, who was, unsurprisingly, that old fraud. I had blocked his chat app, but I had completely forgotten to remove him from my game friend list! Looking at the glowing couple badge hovering above our avatars, a wave of disgust washed over me. I moved to sever the in-game bond immediately, but a private message popped up a split second faster: Baby, you finally logged on! Baby, why did you break up with me? QAQ I cringed at the text. How old was he, still using cute kaomoji emoticons? Absolutely nauseating! Refusing to even reply, I opened his profile to remove him. But right before my thumb tapped ‘Delete’, another message flashed on the screen: I’m not even thirty years old yet! I know I’m a bit older than you, but I’m hardly an ancient geezer, right? Baby, is there some kind of misunderstanding between us!! 8 Not even thirty? For real? I froze, completely bewildered. There was a massive difference between thirty and sixty! Even if he aged poorly, he couldn’t possibly look thirty years older than his real age! Fearing I wouldn’t believe him, he sent another message right away: Baby, if you don’t believe me, I can send you a photo! Forget it. Nine out of ten online photos were heavily edited, and the tenth was usually someone else entirely. Zero credibility. Seeing that I still wasn’t responding, he unleashed his ultimate card: Baby, let’s meet up in real life. Once you see me with your own eyes, you’ll know I’m not lying to you. I hesitated. If he actually had the nerve to suggest an IRL meeting, there was a very high probability that he wasn’t a sixty-year-old man after all. Besides, we had been talking for half a year, and our personalities and interests matched terribly well. If we really went our separate ways over a stupid misunderstanding, I would feel a genuine sense of regret. After a moment of deliberation, I typed back: Fine. We can meet. But I pick the time and place. He became instantly ecstatic: Baby, you finally replied to me! I’ll listen to you! Wherever you say, we’ll go there! After thinking it over, I chose a bustling downtown shopping mall purely for safety reasons. Even if the guy turned out to be some kind of creep, he wouldn’t dare try anything under the watchful eyes of a huge crowd. Once the meeting was set, he started pleading again: Baby, can you add me back on the chat app? I really can’t get used to not saying good morning and good night to you. I gave him a icy response, telling him we would discuss it after meeting in person, and then immediately logged off. The next day was Tuesday. Morning traffic was an absolute nightmare. I sprinted into the building and managed to clock in right on the dot, only to find everyone in the executive office already seated. “I’m so sorry I’m late,” I apologized nervously. The senior assistant shook her head. “It’s fine, we just got here too.” “Oh, right,” she pointed to my desk. “Mr. Mitchell brought some home-style delicacies prepared by his house cook for us to share. Yours is right there.” Looking at the box on my desk, I thought to myself that Bryce was actually a pretty decent boss. “Is he not in a bad mood today?” The assistant smiled. “Yeah, he seems to be in a pretty good mood, actually.” Men really were unpredictable creatures. I opened the box on my desk, and one item inside instantly caught my attention. It was a pack of cured, smoked sausages. 9 The packaging looked strikingly similar to the ones the old fraud used to mail to me. I pulled out a piece and took a bite. Holy crap, even the flavor was identical! Could it be the exact same recipe? Puzzled, I asked the assistant, “Where is Mr. Mitchell’s house cook from?” She shook her head. “I’m not sure. Somewhere local, I think.” I hummed thoughtfully, wondering if that old fraud had just bought some commercial gift packs off the shelf to fool me back then. I originally wanted to find an opportunity to ask Bryce about his cook, but the executive suite proved to be insanely busy. Bryce himself was constantly traveling between branches, so it wasn’t until Friday’s weekly summary meeting that I saw him again. Maybe it was just my imagination, but throughout the entire meeting, Bryce seemed completely distracted, repeatedly checking his wristwatch. Checking the time so anxiously, did he have a date tonight? I didn’t have time to gossip, though. The moment the clock struck the end of the workday, I rushed straight to the shopping mall. Friday night traffic was brutal. By the time I reached the mall entrance, I was already twenty minutes late. Fearing he might think I was flaking on purpose, I logged into the game to send a quick message: Traffic was terrible, I just arrived at the mall entrance. Almost at the exact same moment, a reply popped up on my screen: I’m so sorry, baby! I’m late too, I just pulled up to the entrance T^T I blinked. You’re at the entrance too? North entrance or South entrance? Just as the text sent, a sharp notification chime sounded from a short distance right in front of me. It was the distinct sound of an incoming game message. I instinctively looked up, only to lock eyes with a terrifyingly familiar face. It was Bryce Mitchell. Why was he here? I stood frozen for a second before letting out a stiff, dry greeting. “Mr. Mitchell, what a coincidence.” Bryce stared down at me, his dark eyes deep and unreadable. “It really is a coincidence.” He looked at me, then down at the phone tightly clutched in my hand, his expression turning strangely complex. “Melanie, what are you… doing here?” 10 Telling my boss I was here to meet an online boyfriend felt wildly embarrassing, so I couldn’t bring myself to say it. Seeing my silence, Bryce’s gaze grew even darker. He took a few steps closer, opening his mouth to speak, when someone called my name from behind him. “Melanie!” I turned my head and saw an old college classmate I hadn’t seen in ages. A flash of inspiration hit me, and I turned back to Bryce. “I’m meeting a friend for dinner!” Bryce visibly stiffened, clearly caught off guard by that answer. He stared at me, repeating slowly, “You’re… meeting a friend?” I waved at my classmate not far away and nodded rapidly. “Yes, yes, my friend is already here! I’ll be going now, Mr. Mitchell!” Without waiting for his response, I bolted toward my classmate, grabbed her arm, and practically dragged her away while whispering for her to play along. Fortunately, Bryce didn’t chase after us. When I stole a backward glance after putting a significant distance between us, I saw him standing completely alone under the streetlamp, looking inexplicably… desolate. “What’s the story there?” my classmate whispered, nudging me. “Did you have a fight with your boyfriend? Damn, Melanie, your boyfriend is gorgeous!” I shook my head frantically. “That’s my boss!” She stared at me in disbelief. “Then what was that? The way he looked at you was anything but innocent!” I didn’t know what to say to that. With a stoic face like Bryce’s, what could anyone possibly read from it? Entering the mall, I parted ways with my classmate and hurried toward the reserved restaurant. It was peak dinner hour, but thankfully I had booked a private dining room in advance. Once inside, I let out a massive sigh of relief and sent a message to my online date: I’m in the private room. Sending you the room number now. He replied instantly: I’m at the restaurant too, baby! Coming in right now. My heart took a sudden, violent leap, and the hand holding my phone began to tremble uncontrollably. Time seemed to compress into a single fraction of a second. Almost the very moment I set my phone down, the door to the private room was knocked and pushed open, a figure stepping right into view… 11 When I saw who stepped through the door, I froze. “Ma’am, I am so sorry to bother you. We just received notice that due to a circuit maintenance issue, the mall will experience a temporary blackout for about ten to thirty minutes. It might affect your dining experience.” Standing at the door wasn’t an online boyfriend, but a restaurant waiter, looking thoroughly apologetic. “We are deeply sorry for the inconvenience. Would a fifty-dollar voucher be acceptable as compensation?” I blinked. “So I can’t eat here right now?” The waiter nodded apologetically. “We sincerely apologize for ruining your plans. We will also provide a free parking voucher.” “Uh… alright then.” I grabbed my jacket and stood up to follow the waiter out of the room, then suddenly remembered something. “Wait, the person I was meeting…” Before I could finish my sentence, the lights flickered once and went completely black. The mall had lost power. The customers knew what was happening, so there wasn’t widespread panic, but with so many people and children around, the restaurant quickly degenerated into a noisy chaos of shuffling feet and startled gasps. Standing on the steps between the private rooms and the main dining hall, I completely lost my footing in the dark. “Ma’am? Ma’am, please follow me. Don’t stand in the middle of the stairs, it’s not safe!” The waiter’s voice was right in front of me, but I couldn’t see a single thing. I had mild night blindness, which essentially made me as blind as a bat in pitch darkness. “Excuse me, could you turn on your phone flashlight for a second?” I reached out blindly, trying to find a railing to hold onto, but the moment my hand extended, a panicked customer rushing down the stairs slammed hard into my shoulder. “Watch out!” The waiter’s warning came a fraction of a second too late. I was already pitching forward, falling toward the steps below. Just as I braced for impact, a pair of strong arms reached out through the dark and caught me firmly. In the very next second, a bright beam of flashlight illuminated the space between us. 12 The flight of stairs wasn’t high, but my forward stumble carried decent momentum. The person who caught me took a forced step back from the impact, yet his arms remained locked securely around my waist, holding me safely against his chest. Scared out of my mind, it took me several seconds to catch my breath and look up. “Thank…” My voice choked in my throat as I met the face illuminated by the light. “Mr. Mitchell??” Looking at Bryce’s familiar features, my mind went blank. “Why are you here?” Bryce looked down at me, a tight frown pulling at his brow. “Are you hurt anywhere?” I shook my head slowly. “You came just in time.” Still bewildered, I pressed on, “Were you coming here to eat too?” While this restaurant was popular, its status was hardly high-end enough for an executive like Bryce to frequent. A sudden thought struck me, and I pointed upward toward the higher floors. “Mr. Mitchell, did you get the wrong floor? The upscale steakhouse is on the fifth floor.” Bryce looked at me with a faint trace of helplessness. “Am I not allowed to eat here?” I scratched my cheek. “It’s not that, but that steakhouse up there clearly suits you much better.” “What’s the point of fitting the restaurant?” Bryce stared down into my eyes, suddenly reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair away from my face. His voice softened into something gentle and intimate. “Fitting the person is what matters.” The gesture was so outrageously affectionate that I froze in place. “Um… excuse me, you two…” Behind us, the waiter spoke up nervously in the dark. “Who should I give the meal vouchers and parking pass to?” Bryce raised his head, extending a hand smoothly. “I’ll take them.” The waiter hesitated. “But the private room was booked under the lady’s name…” Bryce gave a quiet, firm nod. “We’re together.” “The person she came to meet is me.”

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Three years into my studies abroad, my mom issued an emergency decree: get back home immediately. Word had reached her that my childhood friend, Jasper, was being thoroughly played by a master-level gold digger. The girl was calculating every move, luring him in, taking his money and his heart, and turning him into a walking ATM. Jasper’s mom was completely out of options. She begged me, his childhood “white moonlight,” to fly back and strip away the scammer’s sweet, innocent facade. At the time, I was strolling along the riverbank in Florence, taking a photo for a passing couple. I replied nonchalantly, “Look, everyone has to suffer a little for love. Besides, if it’s a mutual trap, who cares? How bad could it really be?” My mom went dead silent over the phone for two seconds. “There’s a green field on top of his head big enough to race a herd of wild horses.” 1 My childhood friend, Jasper, had been targeted by a top-tier green tea manipulator. She didn’t just demand an astronomical bride price. On the very eve of the engagement party, she insisted on adding a brand-new luxury sports car to the deal. Jasper was willing to swallow the disrespect, but his mother wasn’t. After conspiring with my mom, they decided to throw a Hail Mary and summon me back to save Jasper from his own romantic stupidity. Fearing this was just a trick my mom pulled to lure me home, I reached out to my best friend, Phoebe. Phoebe promptly sent me a album’s worth of photos showing the girl cozying up with other men. Damn. There really was a whole cavalry riding on Jasper’s head. I didn’t waste another second. I booked an overnight flight and landed just in time to crash the engagement banquet. The party was held on the thirty-second floor of Starlight Grand Hotel. It was obvious Jasper had poured his heart into setting it up, though the same couldn’t be said for his bride-to-be. Before my plane took off, I learned from a mutual friend that everything had been set and invitations sent. Then Whitney, the bride, suddenly demanded a new car at the last minute. The elevator doors chimed open, and the sharp click of my high heels broke the tense standoff in the room. Under the gaze of dozens of guests, I lunged forward and threw my arms around Jasper’s neck. “I missed you so much, babe!” I squeezed and kneaded his handsome, bewildered face. “Why did you lose so much weight?” Beside him, Whitney, wearing a champagne-colored mini dress, visibly froze. She was petite, pale, with soft features and almond eyes. Objectively speaking, a classic beauty. The exact “innocent first love” archetype that straight guys fell for instantly. Brushing a strand of hair behind my ear with my flashy manicure, I leaned toward Jasper and whispered softly, “This is it?” “Jasper, who is she?” Whitney asked, her voice soft and sweet like honey. I hopped down and turned to face her, my tailored crimson dress bold and striking. “Oh, you must be my bro’s girl!” I shook her hand enthusiastically. “Jasper talks about you all the time! You look so thrifty and traditional, not materialistic at all.” Around us, mutual friends stopped eating, drinking, and scrolling on their phones. Everyone was practically begging for popcorn. Whitney eyed me up and down, keeping a perfectly harmless smile on her face. “Is that so? How come Jasper has never mentioned you to me before?” I raised an eyebrow. Okay, she had some moves. I looked over at Jasper, a guy whose IQ and EQ were on completely different planets. He didn’t pick up on the subtle jabs at all and was actually preparing to make a friendly introduction. “Harper, this is Whitney, my fiancée. Whitney, this is Harper. We grew up together.” I promptly shoved him out of the main battlefield. “Oh, he probably just didn’t want you to overthink things,” I said smoothly. “We practically shared the same cradle growing up. His dad was strict, so whenever he got in trouble, he’d hide at my place. We ate together, hung out together, basically shared everything. But honestly, what’s there to worry about? Us girls should stick together.” I playfully flicked the back of Jasper’s head. “Don’t worry, Whitney. Now that you two are together, I’m definitely on your side.” The overwhelming flood of information left Whitney momentarily speechless. She could only offer a strained smile. “Well… thank you then.” “I heard you have your eye on a new Honda?” I continued, analyzing the situation with utmost seriousness. “Jasper is being way too stingy. When I went abroad, he gifted me an Acura. How is he being so clueless now? You definitely shouldn’t back down on this.” The entire banquet hall fell dead silent for a few seconds. Nobody expected me to shift the conversation so fast. But what came next was even faster. “Since Whitney isn’t satisfied, let me just cancel this engagement party. Marriage is a huge deal. You should only hold the party when all the terms are settled.” Before Whitney could recover from her utter shock, I was already waving down the event host. “Wait! Who are you to cancel it just like that?” someone shouted from the guest tables. “Why are outsiders interfering in their relationship?” She even brought her own hype squad? I smirked slightly. “Outsiders shouldn’t interfere. So, are you his insider?” Felix, my other childhood friend who had leaked the info to me, spat out a mouthful of red wine. Low giggles rippled through the crowd. Jasper frowned slightly, stepping between Whitney and me. “Alright, Harper. You traveled a long way back. Let’s keep the peace.” “I am keeping the peace! We’re all just chatting and laughing,” I said, poking his chest lightly with my fingernail. “Since the floor is already booked, why don’t you convert this into a welcome-back party for me instead?” Whitney finally lost her composure. “Harper, was it? You just got back, so you might not know this. Booking a private floor at Starlight Grand is extremely difficult, and reservations can’t be modified on a whim.” I crossed my arms and remained silent. Felix looked like he was about to burst from holding in his laughter. “Whitney, you might not know this since it’s your first time here, but the CEO of Starlight Grand is actually her dad.” 2 After the party dispersed, Jasper’s mother insisted I come over to their house. I excused myself, claiming I needed to adjust to the jet lag, and promised to visit another day. Jasper offered to drive Felix and me home. As for Whitney? She was “urgently” called away by her company. The male lead behind the wheel remained completely silent. In the back seat, drowsiness finally caught up with me, and I drifted into a light nap. Only Felix, sitting beside me, was enthusiastically sending voice notes to friends who hadn’t made it to the event. “You guys hated Whitney and flaked on the party. You missed out big time.” “Queen Harper returned today and completely wiped the floor with her.” I rolled my eyes. “Why don’t you add ‘All hail the Dragon Lord’ while you’re at it?” Felix’s fox-like eyes curved into a mischievous smile. “Trying to play the green tea game in front of you is like trying to teach Shakespeare how to write English.” That much was true. Unlike Jasper, I had never been particularly popular with the older generation growing up. In math class, I used to draw portraits of the handsomest boy in the room, fold them into paper airplanes, and toss them across the aisle, watching his face turn bright red. I was once dragged into the office by an angry middle-aged female teacher and scolded severely. She strongly advised my homeroom teacher to move me to the “seat of shame” right beside the podium. “Sure thing,” I had said, playing with a pencil without even looking up. “Just don’t ask me to design the school bulletin boards for the next couple of semesters.” In middle school, I hated wearing the stuffy school uniform jacket during hot summers, so I tied it around my waist. The patrolling dean caught me and berated me for lacking modesty and decency. I looked at the righteous, overly paternal man for a second, then smiled and tapped my left cheek. “That’s funny. Your son didn’t seem to mind it at all.” The boy I drew back then was Felix, who later moved into our neighborhood compound. The dean situation was eventually solved by Jasper, who spent hours sweating over a three-thousand-word self-reflection essay on my behalf. The three of us formed an inseparable trio ever since. Jasper lived up to his clean-cut reputation. While other boys were covered in sweat and rolling in the dirt, he kept a neat buzzcut and crisp, pristine shirts. I used to think that if the neighborhood voted for the “Ideal Son-in-Law,” he would easily top the list. Felix was equally handsome. The very first time I felt self-conscious about my appearance was because of him. But he had a sweet tongue; even when he broke the rules, he maintained a polite, obedient front. Then there was me. The most common evaluation I received was: “So young, yet so flashy and manipulative. Doesn’t look like a proper girl.” “Her parents are busy with business and neglect her upbringing. Look at her, showing off her shoulders and legs all day. How improper! Only my foolish boy would fall for that.” “Tell me about it! But if she ever tried to be my daughter-in-law, I’d refuse.” At the time, Jasper and I were walking on the shaded side of the alley, and those sharp whispers floated down clearly from above. He immediately used both hands to cover my ears. Even though it was early spring, sweat had broken out across his forehead. Jasper looked down at me and said softly, “Don’t listen to them. You are yourself.” The sunlight shifted, catching the tips of his messy hair and eyelashes. He looked impossibly handsome. In the quiet space of our shared breath, his face flushed red as he made his very first promise to me. “Harper, it’s not up to them to want you or not. I want you.” 3 Before I could reunite with all my old friends, I was summoned by my ridiculously busy father. He pointed at trending clips and social media posts, asking me what was going on. I gave the screen a quick scan. The original post title was: So, in the end, I still lost to his childhood white moonlight. It was a long, emotional essay detailing how meticulously she had cared for Jasper and how deeply she loved him, only for me to return from abroad and turn their engagement party into my personal welcome-back bash. The attached photos included sneaky snaps from the venue and a pitiful selfie of her with red, crying eyes. The comment section was a chaotic mess: Holy crap, novel trope in real life? Did she crash a wedding? So shameless! Stealing someone’s man? Total pick-me energy. Lacking boundaries is terrible, but her face is stunning. Honestly, who wouldn’t be confused? Are your morals following her looks? No matter how pretty she is, you can’t do that! After reading through, I handed the phone back to him. “So, did you call me here because this happened at Starlight Grand and hurts the corporate image, or because you actually care about your daughter?” “Of course—” “Of course it’s about Starlight’s reputation,” I took a deep breath, stepping back while looking at him. “Otherwise, you would have known that my mom was the one who called me back. It’s been five days since I landed in San Francisco from Florence.” With that, I turned and walked out. It didn’t matter. It was a fact I had known for a long time. It was simply being reconfirmed once again. I adjusted my emotions while driving, and by the time I stepped into the private lounge, I was back to my usual self. “Hey, welcoming our heiress back! Did you bring back a handsome Italian souvenir?” “Nope.” “That doesn’t sound like you,” my best friend Phoebe pinched my cheek. “Who are you keeping yourself pure for, huh?” My heart skipped a beat. My hand holding the wine glass paused for a fraction of a second. Felix took a deep breath and dramatically clutched his chest. “Harper, I didn’t expect… I’m so moved. I accept your proposal.” “?” I passed my wine glass over to him. “You haven’t even had a drink yet. What kind of drunk talk are you spewing?” The lounge erupted into exaggerated laughter and teasing. Jasper sat quietly in a dim corner, wearing a light blue shirt. Shadows fell across his brow, hiding his expression. “You guys backed the wrong pair! Who do you think Harper came back for?” “Oh right! Why is Jasper being so quiet?” Someone finally noticed the supposed main character, turning everyone’s attention toward him. “Harper didn’t come back once during her two years of grad school, yet she rushed back specifically for you!” “Isn’t she a hundred times better than the Ginger Girl?” “Don’t compare Ginger to Harper. Is she even worthy?” Phoebe leaned over to explain the nickname to me. “Ginger refers to Whitney.” “Why?” She grinned wickedly. “Because ginger never blooms, no matter how much water and fertilizer you give it.” Clatter. Jasper set his fork down on his plate with noticeable force. The room went instantly silent. He had a notoriously gentle temper and almost never lost his cool. It was rare to see him with such a cold expression. I was somewhat surprised. “You can keep your personal opinions about Whitney,” he said calmly. “But we haven’t broken up. In front of her fiancé, you shouldn’t talk about her like this.” “Fiancé? You gave yourself that title, didn’t you?” Phoebe snapped back sharply. “Jasper, what kind of fiancée demands a luxury car the day before the engagement? If Whitney really loved you, we wouldn’t say a single word!” “I work long hours. She brings me meals, cleans my place, and takes care of everything. Is that not love?” “Ha! If some handsome sucker threw ten grand at me every single month, forget being a maid, I’d call him daddy!” Felix and I spoke in unison without any warning. “Woah, woah, let’s not go that far.” Then we looked at each other across the round table. “Why are you copying…” Double synchronization. The tension in the lounge suddenly turned hilariously awkward. I cut him off with a look and pulled down Phoebe, who was about to stand up in frustration. “I’m going out to the hallway for a smoke,” Felix ran a hand through his hair, chuckling lazily. “Keep it down in here. People outside might think we’re running a fight club.” “Shut up, you instigator,” I poked him playfully, sending the golden boy off before turning back to Jasper. “Go on.” “Hmm?” “Other people’s opinions aside, you know your relationship with Whitney best. I want to hear the full story straight from your mouth.” “Why did your mom frantically reach out to mine, begging me to come back and reason with you?” Jasper softened his tone. “It’s just about the bride price. Harper, you know that while I’m not swimming in cash, I can afford it. My mom thinks Whitney is materialistic, but she just doesn’t understand her. Whitney works incredibly hard. She came here alone with no background or family support. Since I love her and have the means, why shouldn’t I make the girl I love comfortable?” Honestly, Jasper had always been a man of few words. This was the first time I had ever heard him speak so candidly, openly, and passionately. He was clearly head over heels. It seemed the purpose of my trip back home was… I smiled, and before I could offer my blessing, the lounge door was suddenly kicked open. The excitement in Felix’s eyes was practically overflowing from his expression. He pointed a thumb over his shoulder at Jasper. “I stepped out for two minutes, only to catch your true love flirting with another man by the window.” 4 The room exploded into shocked silence. All our friends exchanged bewildered glances. Jasper’s composure was almost unbelievable. “It’s probably her boss.” “Well, her boss is certainly attentive,” Felix shook his head with a sigh. “My boss never sends me flowers.” What?! One second Phoebe was mocking Jasper for being a hopeless romantic, and the next second she was fiercely defending her friend, her face red with rage. “Screw this! Perfect timing to settle the score for her online smear campaign too! Watch me tear that fake bitch apart!” The group scrambled to hold her back. “Don’t deploy the nuclear option!” “This restaurant isn’t ours! We can’t wreck the place!” “Calm down! Calm down!” “Phoebe, sit down,” I said calmly. “Certain things can only be resolved by the main parties involved.” Jasper looked pale. Before leaving, he offered us a polite nod. “I’m sorry. I’ll resolve this and come back as soon as possible.” I dropped a few peeled shrimp onto Phoebe’s plate. She finally sat back down, grumbling as she ate, “He’s tall, handsome, smart, an elite professional! How did he end up so brain-dead in love?” Everyone in the lounge ate in silence, wondering what kind of storm Jasper was about to walk into. After all, she was his first love. To prevent him from doing something drastic out of heartbreak, Felix was assigned the heavy duty of keeping watch from a distance. I slowly sipped my soup, feeling an inexplicable restlessness creeping into my mind. I couldn’t pinpoint the source, like a tangled ball of yarn with no loose end. Was it because of Jasper? Words spoken in our youth meant nothing. Why take them seriously after all this time? Was it because of Felix? Having a crush on him was ancient history from elementary school. Even Jasper had moved on, so how could a guy who naturally attracted women like Felix stay focused on one person? “Let’s wrap it up,” Felix returned, pulling out the chair next to me, Jasper’s former spot, and sitting down casually. “Where is he? Why are you back alone?” I asked. “Do you care that much?” A faint flush of alcohol tinted the corners of his eyes. His cool fingers lightly tapped the tip of my nose. He draped an arm over the back of my chair, effectively leaning over me. “Why don’t you go after him then?” I frowned. “Felix, you know I hate the smell of smoke.” He stared at me with hazy, dark eyes for a moment, then obediently sat back upright. He almost looked a little pouted. I sent him to keep watch, so why did he come back smelling like a brewery? Dinner was effectively over. Seeing his state, I doubted we’d get any useful information out of him. Everyone packed up their things and paired off to head home. Felix was genuinely tipsy. Phoebe and I had to haul him from both sides just to drag his heavy frame into my car. Just as I was congratulating myself on staying sober, Phoebe turned around and stepped straight into her family’s Mercedes. Great. So I was the sole driver left to handle the mess. Starting the engine, I glanced at Felix slumped in the passenger seat. Annoyed yet helpless, I leaned over to fasten his seatbelt, only for him to catch my hand. We were old friends, so a little touch was nothing. But… The warm, dim light inside the car contrasted with the chilly night air outside, making the heat where our palms met feel dangerously intimate. I feigned annoyance. “What are you doing?” Felix mumbled something incoherently under his breath. Left with no choice, I leaned my upper body completely over him to listen closer. Hearing what he said, rage exploded in my chest, and I landed a quick punch right against his ribs. “Sleep with you?! Listen to yourself! Are those human words?! Felix, you dare harbor those kinds of thoughts about me?! Believe it or not, I’ll tell your dad tomorrow! You—” My punch sent him into a coughing fit, unable to utter a full sentence. “Get out of my car right now! What are you leaning closer for? Do you want me to—” His hand reached past me, grabbing… the bottle of mineral water in the center console. The second half of my sentence froze in my throat. I watched in total, dumbfounded silence as he unscrewed the cap and chugged the water down, his throat moving rhythmically, his long fingers gripping the bottle tightly. A deep flush spread all the way to his ears. Oh… He meant water. After finishing the water, he tossed the empty bottle cleanly into the roadside trash can outside the window. He turned back to look at me, his expression extremely complex and hard to read. “Harper, I really wonder what on earth you learned at the Florence Academy of Art.” I felt like dying of embarrassment. The sheer humiliation was off the charts. Maybe I should just board a plane back to Italy right now. Clearly, I was no longer suited for survival in this city. A playful glint surfaced in Felix’s eyes as he enunciated each word clearly: “Give… me… water. Water. Not that.” I glared at him fiercely. “Shut up! You’re getting a free ride and you still have so much to say? That water was two bucks. Venmo or CashApp? Pay up right now!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “616405”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 To get back at the golden girl who made my high school a living hell, the second graduation ended, I stole her photos and dove into online dating. I scored eight boyfriends at once, each one a totally different type. By day, I worked shifts at the local convenience store. By night, I flipped on a voice changer and flirted with them. As college move-in day drew near, I dumped them one by one with the flimsiest excuses. Block, delete, clean sweep. When I got to the very last guy, he was stammering into his mic, nervously asking to meet up in real life. I hit him with pure ice. “I don’t do timid men. We’re done.” I blocked him instantly, dropped my phone, and sank into bed with a satisfied sigh. Suddenly, floating lines of glowing text hovered right before my eyes. [LMAO this side character is unhinged! The lengths she goes to just to mess with the main girl!] [Her absolute worst scheme was just catfishing guys with the lead’s pictures.] I clutched my phone, my head throbbing with pure rage. The girl who called me a trashy orphan, dumped leftover cafeteria grease on my head, and tried to strip my clothes off in front of everyone gets to be the “main girl”? [Honestly though, she’s so tragic. She was supposed to be the real Belmont heiress…] My eyes snapped open. The golden girl’s last name was Belmont. … The floating comments kept scrolling across my vision like a live stream playing directly inside my brain. [She has no idea she’s the true Belmont heiress.] [She was kidnapped as a baby! Her birth mom went into severe depression, and if they hadn’t adopted the current lead, the mom wouldn’t have survived.] [The Belmont parents never gave up searching. They still remember her birthmark. Any time they hear of a girl with a crescent-shaped red mole on her shoulder, they travel out to check in person.] [They spent eighteen years doing charity work just to build good karma for her safe return.] The massive revelation slammed into my chest. I couldn’t breathe. I wasn’t abandoned. I had parents who loved me. They had never stopped searching for me, chasing down every single rumor no matter how small. And Giselle Belmont, the mean girl who had spent three years tormenting me, was nothing more than an adopted substitute. I lay on that creaking cot all night, staring at the cracked ceiling while memories of high school flooded back. Freshman year, Giselle stood at the podium in a designer dress I couldn’t even name, introducing herself with effortless grace. I sat in the back corner by the window, wearing a faded uniform, the strap of my cheap sandals bound together with three layers of clear tape. When she walked past my desk, her nose wrinkled in disgust. Later I realized she was disgusted by the faint scent of mothballs clinging to my clothes. At first, she maintained her image as a gentle, charitable rich girl. Until the day of orientation camp when we were changing clothes in the locker room. She pushed the door open and caught sight of the red, crescent-shaped mole beneath my collarbone. Everything changed after that. She treated the entire class to high-end French dining, casually mentioning she was sick of eating it. Meanwhile, I hid in the cafeteria eating ninety-cent noodles, thinking a splash of soy sauce was absolute luxury. When it was my turn for classroom duty, she accidentally knocked over an ink bottle and forced me to scrub the floor on my knees. During gym class, she tripped me during the half-mile run, then pretended to help me up while loudly claiming I was just clumsy. She and her clique called me a charity case, mocking me for having no family and barely scraping together tuition. I had no proof to report her because she covered her tracks flawlessly. For three miserable years, I was forced to endure her cruel glare, wrapping myself in oversized clothes, barely daring to show my face. I swallowed my anger for three long years. The only revenge my teenage mind could cook up after graduation was using her photos to catfish guys, making her future boyfriends think she was a serial player. Now the floating comments were telling me that everything Giselle enjoyed belonged to me. Her last name, her wealth, her status, every step she took while stomping on my dignity, belonged to me. [If only she’d go reclaim her family! She’d never be bullied again, and she wouldn’t have to worry about tuition or rent.] I touched the smooth skin below my collarbone. She had targeted me so relentlessly because she knew she wasn’t blood. She knew her adoptive parents were still searching for their biological daughter, and she was terrified of being cast aside. So she treated any girl with a red mole on her shoulder as a mortal threat. A cold smile spread across my face. Catfishing a few guys with her pictures was far too light. I could make her pay a much steeper price. 2 I didn’t rush off to claim my real parents right away. Instead, I poured all my energy into my part-time job to save up for tuition and expenses. On orientation day at the university, I ran straight into Giselle again. “Sienna!” She jogged over with a bright beam, her voice loud enough to echo down the entire hallway. “We ended up in the same dorm hall! What a crazy coincidence! Is your suitcase heavy? Let me help you with it!” She reached out for my battered suitcase with practiced warmth, as if three years of petty malice had never happened. I smiled softly and handed the heavy bag over. “Thanks so much, Giselle.” She froze for a fraction of a second, clearly caught off guard by my smooth cooperation. [Look at the lead putting on her angel act again. Doesn’t she get tired?] [She just wants a ugly duckling around to make her look like a swan.] [The funniest part is that the side character’s catfishing actually worked! One of the guys showed up on campus looking for Giselle, calling her a heartless ghoster.] [Giselle is losing her mind right now. She has her eyes set on the sole heir of a billionaire family, so her reputation needs to stay squeaky clean.] I smirked inwardly. I played along perfectly. As Giselle hauled my heavy suitcase, I followed right behind her with soft words of gratitude. When she offered to make my bed in front of our new roommates, I handed her tissues to wipe her sweat. In front of everyone, she declared, “We went to high school together, so we know each other inside and out.” I nodded beside her, agreeing with a sweet, docile smile. Our roommates looked at us with envy, gushing about how close we were. That was Giselle’s first shield in college. To rebuild her persona as the flawless campus darling, her very first step was using a poor classmate to highlight her own generosity and wealth. I was the perfect prop. At the freshman welcome gala, Giselle took a seat right next to me. Before the opening act even finished, she launched into her routine. “Do you know Jasper Sinclair? The sophomore heartthrob? His family is insanely wealthy. Half the girls in our department are dying to get his contact info, but he shuts everyone out.” “Did you get it?” I asked, feigning curiosity. Giselle let out a subtle, triumphant laugh. “He actually added me himself. He came up to me out of nowhere, asking what I like to do, even asking if my throat had ever been injured or anything…” She touched her delicate neck, smiling radiant satisfaction. “See? He even paid attention to small details like that. He’s totally into me, isn’t he?” [I am dying of laughter! Jasper is literally trying to figure out if she’s the girl who catfished him LMAO!] Giselle missed my strange expression and continued her boastful chatter. “Do you think he’s going to make a move soon? I was worried I wouldn’t find anyone up to my standards in college, but I get scouted on day one! I guess when you’ve got it, you…” Her sentence cut off abruptly as a tall, icy-looking guy walked up to our row. “Giselle Belmont. Do you have a minute? I need to talk to you.” Giselle perked up instantly, shot me a playful wink, and floated after him like a delicate butterfly. I stayed in my seat, staring at the back of Jasper’s head. A memory suddenly flashed through my mind. A raspy, panicked voice over a late-night voice call: “Baby, please don’t leave me! I have super thick skin, I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t toss me away…” That desperate voice overlapped perfectly with the icy wall of a man standing right in front of me. I almost burst out laughing right then and there. It was him. The absolute last guy I had dumped, the poor soul I had ghosted without a single word of explanation. He had tracked down Giselle to verify something, while Giselle genuinely believed her charm was working magic. I felt zero guilt for fooling Jasper Sinclair. I only felt pure, unadulterated joy waiting for Giselle’s inevitable downfall. 3 Jasper was no fool. The girl he had talked to online complained about cafeteria staff having shaky hands, gushed about convenience store skewers being better than fancy restaurant food, and vented about bizarre customers from her evening shifts. The real Giselle, on the other hand, only ever talked about three things: how much her handbag cost, the per-person price at high-end dining spots, and which powerful executives her dad was doing business with. So Jasper began looking elsewhere. When he walked into the campus convenience store where I worked my night shift, the floating text went wild. [He already knows Giselle isn’t the girl! Now he’s just roaming around the convenience store.] [He looks at literally everyone like they’re his ghosting ex. He’s like a heartbroken widow!] [He’s testing the side character now! After all, whoever used Giselle’s name and photos had to be someone close to her!] When I scanned his energy drink at the register, I had to bite my cheek to keep from laughing. Behind Jasper’s stony, aristocratic face, he was probably losing his mind every single day. Giselle, meanwhile, was ready to explode. She had assumed Jasper was already in her pocket, another admirer bound to bow down before her. Instead, the prize was slipping through her fingers. She watched in disbelief as Jasper shifted his “coincidental” encounters from her to me. From the convenience store to the study hall to the track field, he seemed to pop up wherever I was. After three days of brooding, she finally cornered me in the cafeteria. “Sienna. You and Jasper Sinclair have been awfully cozy lately.” I slowly swallowed my soup. “I haven’t really noticed.” Giselle’s smile twitched for a split second. “You’re a penniless charity case. Don’t go delusional thinking a guy like him would ever look at you.” I gave a helpless shrug. “Then go get him yourself. It’s not like I have him on a leash.” Giselle choked on her rage and stomped off. From that day on, whenever Jasper “happened” to run into me, Giselle would miraculously spawn a short distance away, glaring daggers. I purposefully dropped a few subtle details from the past while chatting with Jasper. His eyes lit up instantly. His suspicion grew stronger by the second. He was almost certain I was the voice behind his screen. “Why did you…” I looked at his hesitant, handsome face. Jasper was undeniably drop-dead gorgeous, stupidly rich, and surprisingly devoted. But the hatred inside my heart ran far too deep. I wasn’t going to spare anything or anyone if I could use them to my advantage. [Jasper is kind of pitiful though.] [Pitiful my ass! Is he more pitiful than the female lead’s victim? She catfished him for two months without taking a dime of his money or anything physical. What did he lose besides a little pride?] [Exactly! While he was sipping fifty-dollar pour-over coffee, Sienna was drinking tap water!] [Next month is the university anniversary gala! Her birth parents are attending as major donors! If only they could reunite!] I stopped paying attention to Jasper’s awkward attempts at small talk and headed straight to the student center to sign up as an anniversary host. Since I didn’t have fancy performing arts training, hosting was my best shot at standing on that stage. A few days later, the results were posted. Giselle strolled into our dorm room with a dazzling smile. “Congrats, Sienna! I heard you got picked as one of the stage hosts!” I was honestly surprised. Everything had gone suspiciously smooth. “This is the centennial celebration, so tons of VIP guests are attending. Since it’s your first time hosting, you need to look presentable.” Giselle leaned in close, her voice dripping with affectionate concern. “I have a couture gown in my closet that would look stunning on you. Why don’t I lend it to you?” Our roommates swooned with envy. “Sienna, your friend is amazing! Borrowing a real couture dress?” “I’ve never even seen couture in real life! Giselle is so generous!” “They were high school besties, of course she doesn’t mind!” Their praise satisfied Giselle immensely. [DON’T ACCEPT IT! Giselle is setting a trap! She bought itching powder and lined the entire inner dress with it!] [Once she puts it on, she’ll break out in hives and scratch herself raw on stage! Her reputation will be completely destroyed!] [And the gala is being live streamed in 4K! The recording will be saved in alumni archives forever!] [Just reject her! The school provides rented gowns for hosts anyway!] I simply offered a sweet, innocent smile. “Sure! Thank you so much, Giselle.” 4 Giselle delivered a stunning dusty pink gown to my room shortly after, repeatedly reminding me that I absolutely had to wear it for the gala. I agreed enthusiastically, then promptly sealed the dress inside a heavy-duty garment bag and never touched it again. On the afternoon of the centennial gala, the backstage dressing room was chaotic. When Giselle pushed open the door, her eyes landed on me. I was wearing a simple, elegant sapphire-blue dress. “Why aren’t you wearing my gown?” Her tone carried a sharp edge of anger. “The fit wasn’t quite right,” I said with an apologetic smile. “Thank you though! I’ll make sure to get it dry-cleaned and returned to you.” Giselle’s eyes flickered, and she quickly smoothed her expression. “It’s fine. That blue one looks nice too. Good luck out there!” Ten minutes later, I stood in the wings waiting for my cue. Giselle came walking through the crowded hallway holding an open tub of body paint. With a sudden, clumsy stagger, she slammed right into me, spilling dark paint all across my chest. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” It was textbook bad acting. I froze in place while everyone around us turned to stare. “I didn’t mean to!” Giselle projected her voice across the room. “I tripped on someone’s bag, I am so, so sorry!” Passersby rushed over with paper towels and makeup remover. Someone mumbled under their breath, “What good is an apology? She has to go on stage in three minutes!” I didn’t blow up. “I’ll just modify it.” I reached into a nearby prop kit, grabbed a sharp pair of fabric shears, and sliced right through the stained neckline with a clean snip. I trimmed the fabric along my collarbone, transforming the high-neck gown into a dramatic off-the-shoulder cut. My entire upper chest and shoulders were instantly exposed. Right beneath my right collarbone, a distinct, crescent-shaped red mole stood out against my pale skin under the bright lights. I stood up and spun around in front of the mirror. The raw edge sat perfectly below my neck, looking like an intentional, modern design. The remaining paint flecks wiped away easily with cleansing wipes. A few female crew members gathered around, gushing with praise. “Wow, your hands are so quick! That looks ten times better!” “The original neck was a little stiff, but this looks so regal!” “If I hadn’t watched you cut it, I’d think it came like that!” I smiled gently, securing the altered seam with hidden safety pins so it wouldn’t shift on stage. Giselle stared at the red mole, her jaw clenched so tight her muscles bulged. She had a cello solo scheduled tonight. Both of her parents were sitting in the front row. If they saw Sienna Lane… “Ruining a rental dress provided by the university means you’ll have to pay for it out of pocket,” Giselle warned coldly. The surrounding students shifted uncomfortably, eyeing Giselle with sudden dislike. She claimed it was an accident, yet now she was rubbing salt in the wound. “It’s not a rental,” I replied with a calm smile. “I bought this dress off a secondhand app for twelve dollars.” Giselle’s face paled. She realized how terrible she sounded and tried to backpedal, but I gave her no chance. I took my microphone, passed right by her shoulder, and stepped out onto the massive stage under the glare of high-definition 4K broadcast cameras. The spotlights locked onto me, illuminating the crescent red mark clearly for the entire audience. [HER PARENTS ARE LOOKING AT THE SCREEN RIGHT NOW OMG!] [HER MOM IS IN THE VIP FRONT ROW! SHE SAW THE MOLE!] Mrs. Evelyn Belmont, who had been making polite conversation with the university dean, suddenly froze. Her eyes locked onto the giant screen, and her voice began to tremble uncontrollably. “Nick… look at the stage. The host’s shoulder…” Mr. Nick Belmont fought back his rising panic, his voice thick with emotion. “We need to speak to that girl. Right now.” 5 Backstage, Giselle frantically typed out a text to Jasper. “Sienna is unbelievable. She deliberately cut her dress to show off her chest and shoulders. Who is she trying to lure in?” In the past, she had talked mess about me constantly, and Jasper had always remained silent, never taking the bait. This time was different. A reply popped up instantly. “I think she looks stunning. And I really dislike the way you talk about other women. Let’s delete each other.” Before she could process it, her screen refreshed. User has enabled privacy settings. You are no longer contacts. Giselle stared at her phone in absolute disbelief. She had spent three whole months working on Jasper. Everyone on campus believed Jasper was pursuing her, a rumor she had intentionally fed through vague smiles and subtle hints. Now, she was dumped before they were even official, cast aside without a single explanation because he had never belonged to her in the first place. What drove her truly insane was that Jasper had blocked her specifically to defend me. Giselle shook with violent fury. I was walking toward the private dressing room, reaching up to detach my lapel mic and receiver. The room was completely empty, everyone else was still out front watching the show. The moment Giselle slipped inside, she locked the heavy door behind her. Without a word, she reached over and pressed the power button on the microphone pinned near my chest. Seeing the small indicator light go dark, she rested against the vanity table, looking down at me with pure, unadulterated contempt. “Sienna, do you really think showing off a bit of skin is going to get you a ticket into a rich family?” I kept my head down, staring at the mic receiver, saying nothing. It was a defective piece of equipment I had picked up at a flea market. The wiring was reversed. When the light was on, it was muted. When the light went dark, it was live. Both body mics were patched directly into the main auditorium sound system. Before stepping on or off stage, I always adjusted the toggle. Dealing with Giselle required attention to every microscopic detail. “Are you deaf? I’m talking to you.” Believing no one was listening, she threw away her polished mask entirely. I raised my head, my eyes rimmed with sudden red. “Giselle… I don’t understand…” Giselle let out a harsh sneer. She felt completely secure. She had verified there were no security cameras, no witnesses, and she had personally switched off my microphone. She didn’t have to play the benevolent heiress anymore. “Did you think Jasper looking at you meant he actually liked you? A wealthy guy like him just finds a trashy orphan like you entertaining. Once he gets bored, he’ll toss you in the gutter. Who do you think you are?” I remained silent, tears welling up in my eyes. “And the hosting spot?” She poked her index finger hard against my shoulder. “You think you won that on merit? I told the student council president to pass you!” “I just wanted to see you put on a pretty dress and stand on that stage, breaking out in hives and scratching yourself like a dog live on camera.” She pulled her hand back, her tone dripping with genuine disappointment. “Too bad you knew you didn’t deserve good things and bought a cheap secondhand rag instead.” My voice cracked into a soft sob. “Why do you hate me so much… I thought you changed… I thought you weren’t the person you were in high school…” “Why would I change?” Giselle snorted in disgust. “A lowlife like you was born to be stepped on by me. Didn’t three years of high school teach you your place?” As she spoke, she grabbed the collar of my dress and yanked down violently. Two safety pins popped, and the fabric tore with a loud rip. “I’ll shred this garbage right now so you have to walk out naked!” “Giselle, stop!” I screamed, struggling back. “If you do this here, aren’t you afraid people will find out?” Giselle glared down at my panic, enjoying every second. “Nobody will ever believe you! Everyone knows we’re best friends. I was just helping my sweet friend change into a better dress…” She yanked again, trying to tear the seam completely. A deafening BANG echoed through the room as the heavy dressing room door was kicked open. [THE OUTSIDE WORLD HAS COMPLETELY EXPLODED OMG!]

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “616404”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 My brother went into cardiac arrest. I called Greyson twenty-seven times before he finally answered. “One hundred thirty-six thousand dollars? Harrington funds are for commercial growth, not your family’s bottomless pit. Start a crowdfunding campaign. I’ll send the link. You’re an adult, Norah. Stop relying on others to clean up your mess.” Numb with cold outside the ER, I returned to our estate at 2 A.M. for my brother’s records. Through the study doors, I heard Greyson speaking tenderly to his assistant. “Order a four-hundred-thousand-dollar pink Porsche Panamera for Jasmine. Put it on the corporate account. She scraped her knee today. Scars don’t suit a young girl. Have it drive her daily.” Jasmine was an intern of seventeen days. Spotting me in the hallway, Greyson nodded approvingly. “Adults solve their own problems. I donated ten dollars to your crowdfunding page, by the way. I had to show some support for my wife.” I gave a hollow reply and walked into the study. Clarity struck like a blow. He had the resources. I simply wasn’t worth the expense. I pulled the divorce papers from the drawer and signed my name, stroke by stroke. From this moment on, we were strangers. … When Greyson’s ten-dollar donation cleared, my brother Lucas saw his heart rate drop below twenty for the third time. The nurse rushed toward me, her voice panicked. “Mrs. Harrington! He needs to be moved to the hybrid operating room immediately. We need the initial deposit of one hundred thirty-six thousand dollars cleared right now.” I stared at my phone screen. Donor: Greyson Harrington. Amount: $10. Note: Adults must learn to carry their own weight. I dialed his cell again. When he finally answered, his irritation spilled through the speaker. “Norah, how long are you going to keep throwing this tantrum?” “Lucas went from ventricular tachycardia to fibrillation,” I rasped, my throat raw. “The doctor said any further delay will cause brain hypoxia. Please, loan me the money. I will sign a formal promissory note.” He let out a dry, dismissive laugh. “Do you have any idea how much your brother has cost over the years? Harrington capital drives enterprise, Norah. It is not an endless treasury to keep your family on life support.” Inside the trauma bay, someone shouted, “Prepare the defibrillator!” My knees gave out. I collapsed onto the cold tile floor. “He is only twenty-two years old. I am begging you.” “Begging will not change reality. People need to face consequences. You cannot dump your financial risks onto others every time life gets hard.” The line went dead. A second later, a text arrived with a link to a public assistance form. Then came the notification for his ten-dollar contribution. 2 At two-thirty in the morning, I returned to the estate to retrieve Lucas’s medical history files. The main hallway was dark. Greyson stood near his study doorway, his voice softer than I had ever heard it. “Forget the waiting list at that Swiss rehabilitation clinic. Pay extra for the VIP expedited track. Jasmine scraped her ankle today. A girl should not have to live with scars. Book her for the full scar-restoration package while she is there.” He hung up, noticed me standing by the stairs, and frowned. “Why are you back?” “To get his old medical records.” He extended a hand toward the folder in my grip. “How is he doing at the hospital?” “Still in critical care.” He hesitated for a second. “I already made a donation.” I looked up, meeting his eyes. “Ten dollars?” His face darkened. “The amount is irrelevant. What matters is the gesture.” So ten dollars was his idea of a meaningful gesture. “And what about Jasmine?” I asked softly. “She scrapes her ankle, and you buy her a VIP spot at a private clinic in Switzerland?” Greyson’s eyes turned sharp and cold. “Jasmine is different. Her older sister saved my life. Her family sacrificed for me.” “So Lucas’s life has to yield to hers?” “Stop dragging your brother into every conversation!” he snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut. “Nadia died in that warehouse fire years ago! Can your family stop using sickness and guilt to bleed me dry?” The words slammed into my chest like a blunt blade. Perhaps realizing he had crossed a line, he retrieved a first-aid kit from the cabinet and gently applied a bandage to my cracked fingernail. “Pain is manageable, Norah. Do not turn your pain into an excuse to make demands.” Years ago, when Harrington Corporation faced a massive liquidity collapse, Greyson was hospitalized with severe gastric bleeding. I stayed by his bedside for three days and three nights without sleep. Every hour, my phone vibrated with calls from aggressive creditors. I spent those nights holding a wet cloth to his forehead with one hand and begging investors for loans with the other. I secured every penny through sheer desperation. I weathered those dark nights so he would not have to. When he finally woke up, he gripped my hand and whispered, “Norah, I owe you my entire life.” Over time, he gave his gratitude to the Ross family, his gentle patience to Jasmine, and reserved only cold, condescending lectures for me. I pulled my hand back, walked into the bedroom, and retrieved the divorce decree. I had revised those documents many times before. The first time was when he abandoned our anniversary dinner to attend Jasmine’s birthday party. The second time was when he casually referred to Lucas as a long-term financial liability. Tonight, the final thread snapped. I signed my name at the bottom. Norah Prescott. My hand did not tremble as the ink dried on the paper. The next morning, I did not go to the registrar office. I went straight to the law firm beneath the Harrington corporate tower. Mr. Bennett, my attorney, reviewed the file line by line. “Are you certain you want to proceed with a litigated divorce?” I nodded without hesitation. “Yes. We can attempt mediation, but do not let him stall.” At ten-forty, a text from Greyson popped up on my screen. [Jasmine is getting her ankle evaluated today and she is feeling anxious. Stop acting out. We will talk at home tonight.] I stared at the message for a moment before typing back. [If you want to talk, contact my attorney.] He called immediately. I declined the call, switched my phone to silent, and headed straight back to the ICU. 3 Lucas was awake, an oxygen mask fitted tightly over his pale face. When his eyes caught mine, a dim spark lit up his expression. “Sis,” he rasped softly. I leaned over his bed, gently brushing his hair back. “Does it hurt?” He shook his head, then looked past my shoulder. “Did Greyson come with you?” I tucked the heavy blanket around his shoulders. “He is busy with work.” The faint light in his eyes dimmed, but he quickly forced a soft smile. “He runs a massive company. It makes sense that he is busy.” My throat tightened so much it hurt to breathe. Lucas had always admired Greyson. He used to say Greyson was like a lighthouse, that as long as you could see a faint beam of light in the dark, you could endure anything. Only now did I realize that light was never meant for us. It was a spotlight, shining brightly on the Ross family, on his corporate empire, on every respectable person in his inner circle. It never once touched the dark corner where we stood. That afternoon, the hospital accounting desk issued an urgent payment notice. I took my mother’s heirloom jade bangle, my father’s vintage pocket watch, and the diamond engagement ring Greyson had bought me, laying them out on the counter of a downtown pawn shop. The shopkeeper evaluated the items quietly. “In a hurry?” “It is to save a life,” I said. He offered a price far below market value. I did not bother to negotiate. When the clerk tried to run my card for the remaining balance, the machine beeped red. A transaction failure notice flashed on my phone screen. My supplementary card had been restricted. Category blocks: Medical Institutions, Pawn Services, High-Value Wire Transfers. Minutes later, Greyson’s executive assistant called my line. “Mrs. Harrington, Mr. Harrington noted that you are currently under emotional distress and might make impulsive financial decisions. He placed a temporary risk management hold on your cards. He mentioned that you need to practice better long-term asset allocation.” I gripped the receiver tightly, my knuckles turning white. “Tell him I will be handing a record of this action directly to my divorce attorney.” Half an hour later, my online medical campaign was flagged. System Alert: [Your campaign has been suspended due to reports of exaggerated medical claims and unauthorized celebrity brand association.] The platform support agent confirmed that an official corporate account had filed a verified complaint. The claim stated that I was weaponizing my status as the spouse of the Harrington Corporation CEO to gain public sympathy, severely damaging corporate reputation. I stared at the ten-dollar donation sitting at the bottom of the frozen page, and a bitter laugh escaped my lips. Greyson would not offer help. And he would ensure no one else could, either. That evening, he walked into the hospital ward holding a stack of high-interest medical financing forms. “The credit limit on this medical loan is substantial,” he said, setting the papers on the bedside table. “Sign it, and the funds will be released today. Also, delete that fundraising link immediately.” I looked at him coldly. “Why?” “You are my wife. Publicly begging for money ruins the reputation of Harrington Corporation.” “My brother is dying, and your primary concern is brand image?” His brow furrowed into a deep crease. “My concern is preventing you from degrading yourself into a beggar! Pawn shops, high-yield loans, public charity, why do you resort to these dramatic scenes instead of managing things properly? Why must you always demand resources from me?” “Because you are my husband,” I said flatly. He scoffed. “A husband is not an automated teller machine.” “And a wife is not a high-risk asset for you to manage and restrict.” His expression turned instantly hostile. “Norah, you are becoming unbearable.” “I used to believe that if I endured everything quietly, you would feel a little empathy,” I replied in a low voice. “Then I realized that my silence only made it easier for you to walk all over me.” I picked up the loan documents and tore them down the middle, page by page. “I will find my own way.” Greyson glared at the torn paper on the floor. “Then you had better remember this moment. Do not call me in the middle of the night crying for help.” 4 After he slammed the door shut, Lucas opened his eyes. He looked at the torn paper scattered near the trash bin and spoke in a frail whisper. “Sis.” “Yeah?” “Six years ago… the person who pulled Greyson out of that burning warehouse was not Nadia Ross.” My hand froze over the water glass. “What did you just say?” “It was me,” Lucas whispered, his breath raspy. “I was sixteen. I went into the fire and dragged him out.” I stood frozen beside his bed. After that catastrophic fire six years ago, everyone claimed Nadia Ross had saved Greyson’s life. Nadia died from her injuries, and Greyson transformed his guilt into an eternal obligation toward the Ross family. Meanwhile, Lucas had returned home that night coughing up blood, suffering from severe smoke inhalation and permanent myocardial damage. He told me he had simply inhaled smoke near the perimeter. He begged me not to tell my new husband. I grabbed his trembling hand. “Why didn’t you tell me?” A faint, tired smile touched his lips. “You had just married into his family, Sis. If I came forward then, it would have looked like we were demanding a reward. Nadia was dead, and dead people cannot defend themselves.” My throat burned with unspeakable pain. “So you stayed quiet for six years?” “I never planned to hide it forever,” he murmured, staring up at the harsh fluorescent lights on the ceiling. “I guess it is just too late now.” I placed my hand gently over his mouth. “Stop talking nonsense.” He crinkled his eyes softly. “Sis… I would really love a glass of warm water.” I hurried out to the nurse’s station to fill the pitcher. As I rounded the corner of the corridor, a delicate voice called out to me. “Norah.” Jasmine Ross stood near the VIP elevator, a small square bandage neatly taped over her right ankle. She was holding a leather folder from the private rehabilitation center. Looking at that tiny piece of gauze, a surge of absurd bitterness hit me. Lucas was lying in a standard ward, denied basic medical hardware over a missing deposit, while she occupied a VIP recovery spot for a minor scrape. I stopped in my tracks. “Six years ago, at the logistics warehouse… did your sister actually step foot inside those flames?” Jasmine’s face paled for a fraction of a second before her lips trembled into a wounded pouts. “Norah… how could you speak about my deceased sister like that?” Her voice was not loud, but it carried perfectly across the quiet hallway. Right on cue, her phone rang. Jasmine picked up, her voice instantly dropping into a delicate, tearful whine. “Greyson… I am fine. Norah was just asking me a few questions about my sister.” A few seconds later, she held the phone out toward me. Greyson’s voice hit my ear like a frozen blade. “Norah, are you harassing Jasmine now?” “I am asking about the fire,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “What actually happened that night.” “I warned you never to bring up Nadia!” he growled. “She sacrificed her life! Must you drag a dead woman into your petty, calculating schemes?” Calculations. Always calculations. I let out a soft, mirthless breath. “Greyson, if you wake up one day and realize you knelt at the wrong grave, repaid the wrong debt, and protected the wrong person… what will you do?” He sneered through the speaker. “That day will never come. I know who pulled me out of those flames.” The line snapped shut. Jasmine lowered her phone, wiping away an imaginary tear. The timid expression on her face vanished, replaced by a cold, triumphant smile. “Norah, you need to learn your place. Some debts belong to people who know how to keep them.” I met her gaze evenly. “Stolen debts always burn the hands that hold them.” 5 That evening, I returned to the estate to retrieve my official identification documents. Jasmine was lounging on the velvet sofa, her leg propped up on a plush ottoman. Greyson was crouching beside her, carefully unwrapping her bandage. When I stepped through the foyer, Jasmine flinched and drew her foot back. “Norah… please do not misunderstand. Greyson was just saying the hospital dressing was too rough.” Greyson did not bother to offer an explanation. I walked past them without a word, entered the master bedroom, and gathered my passport, marriage certificate, and the original copies of the property collateral agreements I had signed years ago to rescue his firm. Greyson followed me inside, closing the door firmly behind him. “Are you truly taking this to court?” “Yes.” He gripped my wrist tightly. “Lucas is still in the ICU. If you blow everything up right now, who is going to back you financially?” I looked up into his eyes. “I do not need your backing. I just need you to stop standing on my neck.” From the living room, Jasmine’s soft voice drifted through the door. “Greyson… my ankle is throbbing again.” Greyson’s hand unclasped from my wrist almost instantly. In that final second, the last lingering echo of hope inside me died completely. I returned to the hospital that night. On Lucas’s pillow lay a small scrap of paper with his shaky, uneven handwriting. [Sis, if I do not make it through this, please stop begging him.] [I just want you to be okay.] I crumpled the paper tightly in my palm and sat by his side until dawn. Two days later, Lucas suffered a third critical collapse. The attending physician informed me that he required immediate placement on a temporary circulatory assist unit. There was only one available console left in the hospital inventory. Another patient was next in line, waiting for payment confirmation. If we could not clear the deposit within forty minutes, the unit would be reallocated. Cost: One hundred thirty-six thousand dollars. My bank accounts remained frozen. The funds from the pawn shop were entirely depleted. The crowdfunding page was still under audit. I sat in the stairwell, scrolling down my contact list until my finger stopped at Greyson’s name. I knew I should not call. But through the heavy doors behind me, my brother was losing his fight against time. The first call went unanswered. The second was rejected. On the third attempt, the call connected. The background was loud with activity, the sharp clinking of crystal glasses, loud applause, and Jasmine’s delighted voice ringing out. “Greyson, am I truly eligible for this corporate honor?” Greyson’s warm laugh carried through the line. “Your sister would be proud of you.” I held the phone tightly to my ear. “Greyson.” The noise on his end quieted slightly. “What now?” “Lucas needs a circulatory assist device right now. I am short one hundred thirty-six thousand dollars. I will sign a formal loan agreement.” He did not ask about my brother’s condition. Instead, his tone turned icy. “Did you call because you know I am attending the Ross family memorial gala tonight?” I froze. His voice boiled over with suppressed anger. “Today is the anniversary of Nadia’s passing. Jasmine is representing her family publicly for the first time. Are you calling right now just to make a scene and humiliate me in front of everyone?” Listening to the blaring alarms down the hall, I found myself completely speechless. My brother was fading away on an operating table, and his only concern was that my desperation was embarrassing him at a party. “If it were Jasmine lying in that bed waiting for equipment right now,” I asked softly, “would you hesitate?” Silence hung heavy on the line. The silence was an answer in itself. A moment later, he spoke coldly. “Jasmine would never use an illness to manipulate me.” I closed my eyes. “Greyson, you will regret this.” He let out a harsh laugh. “The only thing I regret is that on the night I agreed to marry you, I missed Nadia’s final phone call. Stop testing my patience, Norah.” He hung up. A nurse burst through the double doors at the end of the hall. “Mrs. Harrington! The doctor needs you to sign the high-risk consent form immediately!” The doctor handed me the clipboard, his face grim. “If we cannot secure the assist device, the surgical risk spikes dramatically. You need to be prepared.” My hand trembled as I signed my name. My phone chimed again. It was Greyson. His voice had softened slightly, as if he were finally condescending to offer a crumb of patience. “I had my assistant contact a private credit lender. The interest rates are higher, but the approval process is fast. Go sign the paperwork.” I looked at the red warning lights outside the operating room. “The hospital needs the funds right now, not tomorrow.” He was quiet for a second before sighing. “Then there is nothing more to be done. Everyone has their own fate to accept.” The moment those words left his mouth, the double doors burst open once more. “Family! The patient has gone from fibrillation to complete asystole!” My phone slipped from my fingers, hitting the linoleum floor with a sharp clatter. The speaker was still on. Greyson’s voice floated out into the hallway. “Norah? Stop pretending you cannot hear me.” Inside the trauma bay, voices screamed over the alarms. “Start chest compressions!” “Epinephrine, one milligram!” “Push it now!” Twenty minutes later, the doors opened slowly. The lead surgeon pulled down his surgical mask, his face pale. “Mrs. Harrington… we did everything we could.” When they rolled Lucas out, his face was covered by a white sheet. I tried to step forward. My feet felt as though they were nailed to the floor.

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I was born deaf and mute. My entire relationship with my boyfriend existed through typed messages on our phones. Wanting to surprise him on our anniversary, I secretly bought a pair of high-tech glasses that transcribed ambient speech into real-time text directly onto the lenses. While waiting for him to get off work, I decided to try them on in the bathroom after my shower just to admire myself. I never expected two lines of text to flash across the display: “Bro, when are we moving in?” “Don’t rush. Wait till she comes out. Be careful this time. We can’t end up playing her to death like the last one!” 1 At first, I thought the glasses were malfunctioning. But the next two transcribed sentences sent me plummeting into an icy abyss. “Man, when she was trying on outfits earlier, I could barely hold myself back!” “It was just a nurse costume. Get a grip, you pathetic bastard!” Reading those words, a terrifying chill shot from the soles of my feet straight to the top of my head. Today was my one-year anniversary with my boyfriend. Besides the glasses, I had bought a seductive nurse outfit, hoping to give him an unforgettable night. I never dreamed that while I was trying it on, two twisted predators were hiding inside my home. The fact that they dared to communicate so openly meant they knew I was deaf and mute. It also meant their presence here was no random act of violence. It was a calculated ambush. “Bro, you talk big, but you were drooling too…” “Shut your mouth!” “Heh. She’s gorgeous and her body is insane. Shame she’s a mute and can’t scream. Still, way better than that kindergarten teacher from a few days ago!” The kindergarten teacher! My knees went weak, and I nearly collapsed onto the wet tiles. A few days ago, a young female teacher in the industrial district was brutally raped and murdered. Her naked body had been covered in horrific wounds, her fingernails caked with wood splinters. Before being strangled to death, she had endured unspeakable torture. The killer was still at large, plunging the entire city into panic. I never imagined these two monsters hadn’t fled the city. Worse, they had chosen me as their next target. I couldn’t just sit here and wait to die. I needed to call the police immediately. Then terror struck me. My phone wasn’t in the bathroom. I had left it on the living room table. “Why is she taking so long? Bro, should I go check on her?” “Stay put! Idiot, last time you moved too early and almost spooked the target. Wait until she drinks the medicine before we move!” The medicine? I suddenly remembered the mug of hot flu medicine I had brewed right before stepping into the shower. It had been too hot to drink, so I left it to cool on the dining table. They must have spiked it with sleeping pills. A spark of clarity pierced my panic. As long as I hadn’t consumed that drink, I was safe. They were waiting for the drug to take effect. Holding my breath, I turned off the shower and dried myself off. I even took my time tapping toner onto my face, forcing myself to sound normal. When I reached for my clothes, I realized my nightgown was still sitting on the bed in the adjoining bedroom. I had no choice but to step out completely bare. The bedroom was dimly lit by a faint nightlight. I scanned the room casually. The only place big enough to hide a human body was under the bed. Even though I forced myself not to look directly down, my peripheral vision caught it anyway. My blood ran cold. Under the edge of the bed frame, I saw half a face. A single eye gleamed with filthy desire, and a bright red tongue was slowly licking a pair of dry lips. I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out. Walking calmly to the bedside, I grabbed my nightgown and pulled it over my head. The moment the hem brushed my legs, I felt a wave of skin-crawling warmth near my ankles. A hand was hovering inches from my bare flesh. One quick snap of that wrist, and I would be dragged down into an inescapable nightmare. Fortunately, I pulled the gown down fast. Trembling internally, I walked out of the bedroom and headed toward the dining table. This spot was out of their direct line of sight. I snatched my phone and instantly sent a silent text to emergency services. The reply came quickly: Officers were dispatched, estimated arrival in twenty minutes. I needed to find a safe place to hide. Twenty minutes. Surviving twenty minutes in a small apartment with two ruthless murderers was impossible. I had to escape. To reach the front door, I would have to walk right past them. I needed a bulletproof excuse to open that door. Three seconds later, I grabbed the kitchen trash bag and walked steadily toward the entrance. Predictably, they noticed. “Bro, why is she throwing out trash now? Did she see me earlier? Is she trying to run?” By the time those words flashed on my lenses, I was already at the door. Just as I reached out, thinking freedom was within my grasp, another line of text popped up: “What are you scared of? We’ve got someone posted outside. She’s not going anywhere!” 2 My hand shook so violently I almost dropped the doorknob. Memory flooded back to an hour ago. I had picked up the package containing these glasses at the delivery locker and put them on immediately. I lived on the neglected outskirts of town. To get home, I had to walk through a pitch-black, narrow alley without streetlights. The moment I entered the alley, text had appeared on the lenses: “Thump, thump, thump (Footsteps).” It was impressive technology, capable of picking up sound cues. I found it novel, so I softened my pace. Yet the glasses kept transcribing. Then, the words shifted: “Bro, she’s almost home.” I had turned around, but the alley behind me was empty. I assumed the sound came from behind the courtyard walls along the path, so I paid it no mind. It wasn’t until I reached my building and passed under a streetlamp that I noticed two shadows stretched out on the pavement behind me. Someone had stalked me all the way to my front door. And that person was standing right on the other side of the frame. I dug my fingernails into my palms, forcing myself to stay composed. I had already picked up the trash bag. I had to open this door, or they would know something was wrong. Grit my teeth, I pulled the door open. The hallway sensor light flickered on, revealing a dark figure standing right on the threshold. A thick, heavy hand reached out directly for my throat. My heart stopped beating. The next second, the hand grabbed my wrist gently and held a phone screen in front of my eyes. [Where are you going?] Relief flooded my chest as I recognized the phone cover. It was my boyfriend. Before I could process it, he gently guided me back inside and seated me at the dining table. He typed quickly: [I’ll take out the trash. Drink your medicine and rest. You’re sick.] He was as gentle and attentive as always. Seeing him turn toward the door, panic seized me again. I grabbed his sleeve. We couldn’t separate now. I typed back frantically: [Babe, I want to go out for tacos instead.] I didn’t dare tell him about the killers in the house, terrified he might react recklessly and provoke them. [You have a cold. Let’s do it another day. I brought your favorite braised pork ribs, I’ll heat them up for you.] [No, today is our anniversary. We need to celebrate properly.] He reached out and gently ruffled my hair. [You usually hate eating out. What’s going on with you tonight?] Tears stung my eyes. Even though he was a few years older, he had always taken care of me with meticulous patience. Two sentences in, and he already knew something was off. Just as I opened my mouth to figure out how to warn him, alarm bells suddenly shattered my thoughts. My boyfriend always used spaces instead of punctuation marks when texting. Always. The man sitting in front of me had typed every single comma and period with flawless precision. This man was not my boyfriend. 3 I glanced down at his hands. Thick veins bulged across the dark skin, utterly unlike my boyfriend’s softer, plumper hands. Because they had similar builds, and because he wore a black face mask under the dim hallway lighting, I hadn’t realized it right away. He typed another message, prompting me: [Talk to me. What’s wrong with you today?] I forced my tears back and pouted playfully: [It’s our one-year anniversary! I wanted to give you a special surprise!] He pressed on: [What surprise?] As he typed, the cuff of his jacket shifted slightly. A smear of fresh blood stained the dark fabric. It belonged to my real boyfriend. My stomach churned, tears threatening to spill over. I typed out carefully: [I bought a super sexy outfit. I’m going to put it on right now so you can see.] I grabbed the nurse costume off the chair and turned toward the spare bedroom. His hand clamped down around my wrist like a iron vice. Through the dim light, his eyes held no warmth whatsoever. [Don’t rush. Drink your medicine first. It’s getting cold.] There was no escaping this. I gave a heavy nod, picked up the mug, and gulped the lukewarm liquid down in one go. Then I hurried into the spare bedroom and threw the lock. Setting my phone down, I sent him a quick text: [I’m going to do my makeup. No peeking!] The moment he replied with a playful emoji, I pulled a thick duvet over my head and shoved two fingers deep down my throat. A minute later, staring at the vomited mess on the bedding, silent tears streamed down my face. My real boyfriend was dead. And I probably wouldn’t survive long enough for the police to arrive. We were quiet, harmless people who had never wronged a soul in our lives. Why was this happening to us? Text flashed across my glasses again: “Nice work, Rick. You played him like a fool. Where’d you hide his body?” “Can’t tell you that, Boss. I hid him somewhere so good nobody will ever find him.” Reading those words, I wiped the tears from my cheeks and stood up. My boyfriend had cared for me for over a year. I couldn’t let him die without even leaving a body behind to be laid to rest. I had to survive. “Fine, you get the credit this time. You get to go first with the girl.” “Thanks, Boss. When do we go in?” “The sleeping pills take five minutes to hit. Give it a little longer.” They really had spiked the drink. I checked the time. I had less than three minutes before they realized I wasn’t falling asleep. The police wouldn’t make it in time. I had to rely on myself. The only exit left in this bedroom was the window. I lived on the third floor. There were no ledges or pipes to step on outside. Jumping meant death. Bedsheets! I could tie the sheets together into a makeshift rope. I yanked the sheets off the bed and tied them tight, but when I dropped them out the window, they were far too short. Suddenly, a lit window directly across the alley caught my attention. These old townhouses were built extremely close together. The distance between my window and the opposite building was less than five feet. If someone on the other side reached out, they could easily help me cross! Even better, the tenant living across was a polite man named Mr. Warren, who had moved in just a few days ago. I had helped him carry some boxes on his move-in day, and he had been so grateful that he added me on messaging, promising to buy me dinner sometime. He could save me. I threw several small items across the gap, bouncing them off his glass, but there was no response. Was he not home? No, the lights were clearly on. Even if he stepped out, he had to be nearby. Desperate, I pulled out my phone and messaged him: [Mr. Warren, please help me! Come home quickly!] Sweat slicked my hands as I waited, terrified he was too busy to check his phone. To my shock, his reply came back almost instantly: [What happened? What’s wrong?] Before I could type another word, the glasses flashed a new line of transcribed speech: “Boss! She just texted me!” 4 My scalp went completely numb. The polite, soft-spoken Mr. Warren was one of the killers. “What did she send you? Let me see… Damn it, this bitch found us out!” A sudden shudder ran through me, and I whipped around. The wooden bedroom door rattled violently as heavy boots slammed against it. “She locked the door from the inside! She’s trying to run! Move out of the way, I’ll kick it open!” If they broke through, I was dead. I had to gamble everything on one crazy bluff. I scrambled onto the bed, pulled up my skirt, snapped a quick selfie, and hit send. The violent thudding against the door abruptly stopped. “Wait, Boss! She sent me another message. It’s a photo! What the hell does this mean?” In the photo, I had pulled up my hem to reveal my bare legs. Under the low light, my eyes were half-lidded, painted with heavy, seductive desire. “Boss… I think she’s trying to hit on me.” “Don’t be an idiot! She asked for help earlier, she obviously knows we’re here!” “Hold on! Let me ask her. She can’t run anywhere anyway, what’s the harm? Boss, please, just let me reply!” A second later, my phone buzzed. [What is this picture supposed to mean?] Seeing that notification, my frantically pounding heart slowed just a fraction. He was my last sliver of hope. If I couldn’t hook him, I was dead. I deliberately waited a few painful seconds before replying: [Mr. Warren, do I look pretty?] The glasses immediately transcribed his vocal reaction: “Hahaha! Forty years on this earth, and a woman is finally coming on to me… Boss, watch me play hard to get!” My phone buzzed again: [You’re very pretty. But I deleted the photo. You have a boyfriend, you shouldn’t be doing this.] I typed back instantly: [Don’t talk about that useless loser! He wouldn’t even take me out for dinner on our anniversary… I don’t know why, but I feel so tired and dizzy right now. Every time I close my eyes, I just see you carrying those boxes without your shirt on… so manly… Mr. Warren, can you come help me?] Even without hearing his voice, the transcribed text conveyed his mounting excitement clearly. “Damn, she’s so desperate! Boss, Rick, I’m begging you guys, let me go first tonight! I want to feel what it’s like when a girl actually wants me!” “I still think she’s playing you.” “Screw off! Look at these muscles, what woman doesn’t want this? Boss, come on, please?” “Whatever. If something goes wrong, don’t blame me.” “She’s trapped like a rat, she can’t escape! Heh!” A moment later, his text arrived: [This isn’t right… How am I supposed to help you?] [I don’t know, I just miss you… It feels terrible… But my boyfriend is still out in the living room. Never mind, forget I said anything…] [Don’t wait! Stay right there, I’ll lure him away and come straight to your room!] [I’m so sleepy… You better hurry…] A few seconds passed before his final message popped up: [Okay, he stepped outside for a moment. Open the door quickly, I’m right outside.] [Wait, Mr. Warren, are you serious?… Okay, I’m opening it now…] I suppressed a wave of nausea, drew a sharp breath, and walked to the door. I didn’t open it right away. Instead, I peered through the tiny gap under the frame. Sure enough, there was only one pair of shoes standing there. This was the critical moment. The instant I unlocked the door, a completely nude Mr. Warren lunged inside, wrapping his thick arms around me and pressing his foul, reeking mouth toward mine. I twisted my head away to dodge his lips, reaching behind his back to throw the lock again. Blinded by lust, he didn’t even notice. He shoved me roughly toward the bed, his dirty hands grabbing at my body. Enduring intense disgust, I let him push me, guiding his weight step by step toward the open window. When my back hit the window sill, I suddenly pivoted, pinning him back against the frame. Because he was short, he instinctively yielded to my movement, stepping backward until he was sitting precariously on the low ledge. Just as he grinned, expecting me to service him, I summoned every ounce of strength I had and shoved him backward with all my weight. Text flashed across my lenses: “Aaagh!” Then, absolute silence. 5 By the time I crawled under the spare bedroom’s bed, the remaining two men realized something was wrong. Text flickered wildly across my glasses. “What happened? Rick! Open the damn door! Speak up, you bastard!” “Boss, move back, I’m kicking it in!” “BANG!” “Boss, look! There’s a rope made of bedsheets tied to the frame! That bitch… she tied the sheets together! Rick! Boss, look down there, there’s a shoe on the pavement! The bitch jumped!” “Rick! That bastard… If he survived that fall, I’m going to kill him myself!” “Boss, we need to move now! If the cops show up, we’re all done for!” “Don’t panic. You stay and guard the front door! I’ll go down and check. Falling from this height, even if she’s alive, she couldn’t have crawled far!” The leader wasn’t completely fooled. He had left one man behind at the main door. It didn’t matter. I couldn’t escape the apartment, but I could stay hidden until the police arrived. However, this spare bedroom was no longer safe. Once the leader ran downstairs, I slithered out from under the bed on all fours. Checking to make sure the living room was clear, I crawled into the master bedroom and squeezed beneath the main bed frame. The most dangerous place was the safest place. They would never expect me to loop back into the main bedroom. Despair was easy to endure; it was the agonizing tick of hope that burned away at my sanity. I checked the time on my phone every five seconds. On the thirteenth check, the glasses picked up approaching footsteps in the hallway outside. Barely a minute had passed. Had they come back already? Or was it the police? The transcribed words shattered my hope. It was the killers. “Boss, you didn’t catch her? How could she move so fast?” Curiously, the leader didn’t answer right away. After a heavy pause, his transcribed speech appeared: “Third, come here. Pull on this sheet rope.” I didn’t understand his motive, but the dread in my chest flared back up. “See that? It came loose with one light tug… Did you see anyone leave through the front door while I was downstairs?” “No! I stood right by the entrance the whole time. Nobody came out.” “She didn’t jump. She’s still inside this apartment.” That single sentence was like a sledgehammer crushing my ribs. “Bitch! Trying to play me… Is she here? No! Not here either. Looks like she isn’t in this room.” I was trapped. The two bedrooms faced each other directly. Once they finished searching the spare room, the master bedroom was next. I pressed my back as far into the dark corner beneath the headboard as possible, squeezing against the wall. It wasn’t enough. The moment they crouched down to look, they would spot me instantly. I needed to distract them. Using my boyfriend’s phone, I sent a text straight to the leader: [I already called the cops. They’ll be here any second. You guys are dead!] Sure enough, a dark shadow froze right in the doorway of the master bedroom. “Boss, she just texted me.” “What did she say?” “Read it yourself… Boss, maybe we should just run. What if she really did call the police…” “SMACK!” “Use your brain! She’s a deaf-mute! How the hell could a mute call emergency services?” The shadow stepped back and disappeared into the hallway. A few seconds later, the glasses displayed another string of words: “I don’t know how you’re doing this, but I know you can hear me. Listen close: when I catch you, I’m going to skin you inch by inch! Third, text her and ask where she’s hiding.” Reading that, a strange realization clicked in my head. He was smart enough to figure out I could hear them, yet stupid enough to ask where I was hiding, as if I would tell him. Just as I pulled up the police dispatch confirmation screenshot to send him a final bluff, the entire room plunged into pitch darkness. The main breaker clicked off. The killer had cut the power. 6 In total darkness, if I dared to send a message, the screen’s light would give away my position instantly. But if I remained silent, it would confirm I was still hiding in the apartment. Worse, my nightgown was so sheer it did nothing to block the glow of a screen… While I panicked, the leader issued his next order: “No reply yet? She’s definitely still in the apartment. You search the master bedroom, I’ll check the living room. I’m skinning her alive tonight!” “Boss, I really think we should leave. What if the cops show up?” “Shut up! You want Rick to have died for nothing?” “He was led around by his dick, he deserved it…” “SMACK! Shut up and go search!” “Fine.” It was obvious the third guy was reluctant. His boots stopped near the foot of the bed for a few seconds, but he didn’t lower himself to check underneath. Instead, he shuffled toward the wardrobe. Now was my chance. While his back was turned to open the closet doors, I muted my phone, pulled up Rick’s contact, and hit the voice call button. Rick had undressed right near the spare bedroom doorway earlier. His phone was sitting on the floor out there. “Boss! Rick’s phone is ringing! Is it that woman calling?” The third guy rushed out of the room to search for the ringing phone. I seized the opening, sent the police dispatch screenshot to his phone, and added a message: [Your time is up. Enjoy prison.] Seeing the image, the third guy panicked. “Boss! Look! Look at this, she really did contact the police! We have to go! She’s definitely already escaped!” “Bullshit! If she had escaped, she’d try to trick us into thinking she was still inside so we’d get caught! Are you stupid?” Reading those transcribed words, I wanted to punch myself. Why hadn’t I thought of claiming I was still inside to lure them to stay? “Boss, look at the time! The twenty minutes are almost up! Even if she’s still here, we’re running out of time. Let’s leave now and come back for her later!” “Fuck you! Since when do you tell me what to do?” The glasses transcribed a rapid series of harsh slaps. “I’ve killed plenty of people, and I’ve never been played by a woman! If I don’t slaughter her tonight, I won’t sleep a wink! You won’t search? Fine! I’ll search myself!” “Boss, you’re crazy! If you won’t leave, I am! Have fun getting caught!” The third guy’s heavy footsteps hurried toward the front door and disappeared. Only the leader remained, walking heavily into the master bedroom. “I know you’re in here. Come on out. Don’t count on the cops saving you, you can’t run! What do you say? Will you come out yourself… or should I come find you?” He wasn’t bluffing. Police cars couldn’t drive into these narrow, dense alleys. Even with GPS tracking, navigating this maze on foot would take time. They wouldn’t locate this exact door instantly. I had to fight for my life. My fingers wrapped around a heavy iron pipe I had pulled from under the bed frame earlier. I braced myself. The second his head lowered, I would drive it straight into his face. “Not in the closet… then you must be under the bed.” A large hand gripping a butcher knife pressed down against the floorboards. Slowly, his dark head ducked down beneath the frame. I instantly flipped my phone flashlight to maximum brightness, blinding him point-blank. While he raised a hand to guard his eyes, I thrust the iron pipe forward with everything I had. He caught it effortlessly. Under the harsh white glare, his eyes were bloodshot, his face twisted into a grotesque, jagged grin. “Found you, sweetheart.”

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1 I have mild prosopagnosia, commonly known as face blindness. My fiancée, Amy, always treated my condition like a running joke. She loved teaming up with her best friend, Becca, and my supposed best friend, Jack, to test me in crowded places. During art exhibits or shopping trips, they would throw on identical masks and challenge me to pick Amy out of a crowd. If I guessed wrong once, I had to pay for dinner. If I guessed wrong twice, Amy would cross her arms and sneer: “We’ve been together for five years. Do you ever actually look at my face?” Today, during our wedding photo shoot, they decided on a whim to play another round of “Find the Bride.” A dozen women dressed in identical white bridal gowns stood in a line with their backs to me. Jack nudged me forward, urging me to use my instincts to pick Amy out. I stood there, my hands frozen at my sides. Jack took my wrist, a smirk dancing on his lips. “Don’t press him, guys. Amy isn’t even in the lineup.” The room erupted into laughter. On the nearby vanity table lay a note Amy had left behind: If you can’t even recognize your own fiancée, figure out how to host tonight’s rehearsal dinner by yourself. I read the note, pulled out my phone, and called the venue to cancel tonight’s rehearsal dinner. A face I could never recognize was a face I no longer wanted to look at. … After canceling the event, I forwarded the confirmation slip to the wedding planner. The coordinator asked over the line, “Mr. Sean, the ballroom and floral arrangements are completely set up. Canceling now incurs a thirty percent cancellation penalty. Are you absolutely sure?” “I am sure. Refund the remaining balance to my account.” “Does Miss Amy know about this?” “There is no need to notify her.” I hung up, grabbed a cab, and returned to the condo I owned. The moment I unlocked the front door, Becca’s voice drifted out from the living room. “Amy, I lost the bet! I can’t believe he came back in less than two hours!” Amy laughed softly. “I told you he couldn’t handle the venue staff on his own. He can’t even recognize a face, let alone organize a rehearsal dinner. In the end, he’s always going to come back and crawl to me for help.” The three of them were huddled around the coffee table eating hotpot. Amy’s jacket lay crumpled on the floor. Jack was wearing my custom red engagement suit. I had ordered that suit half a month ago and had the tailor adjust the fitting three separate times. Becca pushed her phone toward Amy. “A bet’s a bet. I’ll cover your pre-wedding getaway. Pick whatever hotel you want.” Jack stood up and reached for my shoulder. “Sean, you’re back! Amy just wanted to teach you a lesson. Don’t let a stupid game ruin your rehearsal dinner.” I stepped back, dodging his hand. “The dinner is canceled.” Amy dropped her chopsticks. “What did you say?” “I just called the wedding coordinator. The ballroom reservation is canceled.” “Who gave you permission to cancel it?” “I signed the contract, and I paid the deposit.” Amy marched over, reaching into her pocket to snatch my phone. “Sean, there’s a limit to throwing tantrums! I told you to go to the venue alone to build your confidence. If you can’t even handle a simple setup, how are you going to be a husband?” I put my phone securely inside my bag. “You weren’t at the venue. Who was I supposed to rehearse an engagement with? Myself?” “I was just going to be a little late. If you had found the venue on your own, I naturally would have shown up.” “The note you left explicitly said to figure it out myself.” “That was said in anger! Are you seriously telling me you couldn’t tell?” I looked down at the jacket on Jack’s shoulders. “Take it off.” Jack gripped the lapels. “What?” “That is my engagement suit.” “I was just trying it on! Since the dinner is canceled, letting it sit in the closet is a waste anyway.” “That suit was tailored to my exact measurements. Doesn’t it feel uncomfortable on you?” Amy grabbed Jack’s arm to stop him. “Don’t take it off. Keep wearing it. He doesn’t know what’s good for him, so stop coddling him.” I swallowed the bitter nausea rising in my throat. “So my clothes are just available for him to wear whenever he wants?” “He’s your brother, not a stranger!” “Then what about my fiancée? Can he borrow her whenever he wants, too?” Amy’s face darkened instantly. “Watch your mouth! Jack and I are completely innocent. You have a filthy mind, so you see filth in everything.” She took a step closer, her voice laced with sharp authority. “Sean, apologize to Jack right now. Do that, and I’ll pretend this little stunt with the rehearsal dinner never happened. Tomorrow I’ll take you to buy our wedding bands.” Amy raised her hand to pinch my face playfully, but I took a sharp step backward. Her hand froze in midair, her tone dropping an octave. “Your face blindness is an illness you’ve enabled for way too long. If you don’t fix it now, what happens when we have kids? Are you going to pick up the wrong child from daycare? We do all of this for your own good!” Becca dropped a piece of cooked beef into Jack’s bowl. “Just ignore him. When he gets hungry, he’ll come out to eat on his own.” Amy pointed toward the kitchen. “Go get a bowl and chopsticks. The financial loss from canceling the dinner comes out of your personal account, and tomorrow you will reschedule with the wedding planner.” I didn’t answer. I turned around and walked straight into the bedroom. I locked the door behind me, pulled my suitcase from the closet, and placed my property deed and passport inside. Laughter soon erupted from the living room again. Becca asked, “So are we still going on the single’s trip?” Amy replied, “Of course we are. He made such a mess today, so letting him stay home and reflect on his behavior is for the best.” I dialed the number for a real estate agent. “Hello, I want to list my condo for sale. Urgent sale.” The agent asked, “Is anyone currently residing in the property?” “Starting tomorrow, you can bring buyers to view the place at any time.” The agent verified the property records. “Mr. Sean, you are listed as the sole owner, but there is an outstanding mortgage. We can transfer the title under escrow, but an urgent sale means dropping the asking price slightly. Can you accept that?” “Yes. Find a buyer within three days if possible.” “With such a tight timeline, the price might need to go even lower.” “As long as the legal procedures are solid, you can negotiate the price.” After sending over my property documents, I logged into my company’s internal portal. A managerial position had opened up at our southern branch to lead a new independent project. It was over six hundred miles away, and the application deadline was midnight tonight. I submitted my transfer request and set my start date for three days from now. I turned off my phone, packed my laptop, my legal documents, and a few changes of clothes. The next morning, I wheeled my suitcase out of the bedroom. Amy stepped into the hallway, blocking my path. “Who are you trying to impress with that suitcase? Planning to run back to your family to complain again?” “I’m going to the office.” “You bring a suitcase to work?” “It contains project files.” My phone buzzed with a text from the real estate agent: A client was coming to inspect the condo in thirty minutes. The agent already had the single-use digital lock code I provided. I needed Amy out of the apartment. “Let’s go.” Amy smirked. “See? Was it really that hard to be reasonable yesterday?” When we arrived at the luxury jewelry store, I realized Becca and Jack were already waiting inside. Jack walked up with a wide smile. “Sean, don’t get the wrong idea. Amy said having extra eyes would help give better recommendations, so I came along.” Amy handed my suitcase to a store clerk for safekeeping. “Jack has better taste than you. We’re going to wear these wedding bands for a long time, so what’s wrong with having him help take a look?” The sales associate laid out several sets of rings on a velvet tray. “You two can try them on for size first.” Just as I reached out my hand, Jack pointed to a display case nearby. “Amy, isn’t this watch gorgeous?” Jack strapped the luxury watch onto his wrist and looked at me. “Sean, what do you think?” “If you like it, buy it yourself.” Amy frowned instantly. “Is that how you talk? So you’re giving Jack an attitude over a simple gesture?” Jack immediately unbuckled the strap. “I don’t want it anymore. Please don’t fight because of me.” Becca pressed the watch box down firmly. “Amy bought it for you, so just take it. Sean ruined his own rehearsal dinner, and he still has the nerve to grudge a watch?” Amy pulled out her black card. “Box it up.” “What about our wedding bands?” I asked quietly. “With your current attitude, do you really think you deserve to have me buy you a ring?” She completed the transaction and handed the gift bag straight to Jack. “When you learn how to respect people, then we’ll buy the rings,” she said coldness in her eyes. “Respect who?” I countered softly. Jack glanced outside the glass store front. “Yesterday’s game wasn’t finished. There are plenty of people here in the mall, so let’s test you one more time. If you can pick Amy out of the crowd, I’ll give this watch back to you.” Amy agreed immediately. “Deal. If he gets it wrong again, he can forget about having a wedding for the rest of his life.” Jack had already raised his phone camera. “Sean, I’ll record it for you this time.” I didn’t move an inch. Jack pointed the lens directly at my face. “Don’t be nervous. Amy is right here in the mall. You’ve been together for five years, so you can definitely recognize her.” “I’m not playing.” Amy unbuttoned her coat and handed it to Becca. “He’s just afraid of losing. We are playing today whether he likes it or not, otherwise he’ll never fix this defect of his.” A few shop assistants from a women’s boutique downstairs were all wearing identical black trench coats. Amy put on a face mask, slipped off her signature bracelet, and let Becca lead her into the group. Before walking off, she looked back at me. “We’ll be right outside three storefronts down. If you’ve ever actually looked at me, there’s no way you’ll get it wrong.” Jack started recording. “Sean, go ahead.” “I told you, I’m not playing.” He stepped in front of me, blocking the exit. “You can’t run away every time you face a problem. We’re doing all of this just to help you become a bit more normal.” “I have mild prosopagnosia. I am not abnormal.” “I didn’t mean it like that. But if you can’t even recognize your own fiancée, Amy gets hurt too.” “She gets hurt, so she wants you to record video footage of me failing to mock me later?” Jack lowered his phone slightly. “I just wanted a memory. Once you’re cured in the future, looking back at these videos will just feel funny.” “Delete all the old videos.” “They’re already posted in the group chat, how am I supposed to delete them?” “You never had my consent to post them.” “We’re all friends here, it was just a joke! Why do you always take everything so seriously?” A sharp pain twisted in my stomach, and cold sweat broke out across my forehead. The sales associate poured a cup of warm water and handed it to me. “Sir, why don’t you take a seat first?” Jack raised his phone right back up. “Sean, stop acting like you’re sick. Amy is still waiting for you. It’s only three stores over, just walk past and take one look.” The sales associate stepped firmly between Jack’s camera lens and my face. “Sir, this gentleman explicitly stated he does not want to participate. Why are you still filming him?” “We’re his friends! He has face blindness, and we are helping him!” “Knowing he has face blindness and forcing him to identify people in public—you call that helping?” The smile vanished from Jack’s face. “This is our private business, it has nothing to do with you.” Jack clutched the jewelry bag tighter. “You don’t understand the situation at all! Sean agreed to the test himself, we didn’t force him!” I looked at him coldly. “When did I ever agree?” Amy and Becca walked back into the store. Amy demanded the moment she stepped inside, “Why didn’t you come look for me?” “Because I didn’t want to.” “I stood there for fifteen minutes, and you didn’t move a single step?” Becca pointed an accusing finger at the sales associate. “Were you the one driving a wedge between them just now? This is between Amy and her fiancé, who are you to stick your nose in?” The associate stood her ground. “He was clearly physically unwell, yet you were still pressuring him to play games. If something happens to him, are you going to take responsibility?” Amy swept a cold glance over me. “He’s an expert at playing the pity card. Whenever he gets the answer wrong, he puts on this exact miserable face.” “I am not acting.” “Then prove it to me. Go out there and try right now.” “I won’t go.” She turned her head and commanded me coldly, “Apologize to Jack, then go find me. If you can’t recognize me today, you can walk all the way home by yourself.” My phone vibrated in my pocket. A text from the real estate agent popped up: The buyer accepted your asking price and has paid the earnest deposit. I’ve sent over the official contract for your digital signature. I opened the document and signed my name on the final page. Once the digital contract submitted, the agent called me directly. “Mr. Sean, the buyer is in a hurry and wants to take possession as soon as possible. The remaining mortgage will be cleared through the escrow account, and we can handle the title transfer on your behalf.” “Proceed.” “How should we handle the furniture?” “Leave everything to the buyer.” “There are personal belongings of someone else inside the unit. Are you sure you don’t need to inform her?” “The contract specifies a clear deadline for vacating the premises. Handle it according to the legal terms.” I hung up, walked over to the counter, and took my suitcase back from the clerk. Amy stepped directly in front of me. “Where do you think you’re going now?” “I have business to take care of.” “Finish today’s test first!” “I won’t.” “Then forget about buying the rings! And don’t bother coming to tonight’s single’s party either!” I walked right around them and headed straight out of the jewelry store. Amy didn’t chase after me. Her voice echoed coldly from behind: “Let him go! He can’t even recognize roads properly. In half an hour, he’ll be calling me begging for help.” I got into a taxi and immediately received a message from my company’s HR department: Sean, your transfer request has been approved. The southern branch requires you on-site as soon as possible. What is the earliest you can report? I can report tomorrow. The project is urgent, so the company will reimburse today’s flight ticket. I checked the flight schedule—there was a flight departing in two hours. I booked it on the spot. Amy called my phone, but I let it ring. Notifications flooded our four-person group chat. Amy typed: No need to wait for him. Tonight we go to the lounge. Let him reflect outside by himself. When he learns his lesson and apologizes, then he can come back. Becca replied: I’ve already booked the hotel. Next week we head straight to the resort for an early getaway. Amy: He ruined the rehearsal dinner, so he lost the right to go. Just the three of us. Upon reaching the airport terminal, the wedding coordinator called me one last time. “Mr. Sean, Miss Amy called inquiring about the rehearsal dinner. She refused to accept the cancellation and demanded we reinstate the booking.” “I signed the contract. She has no legal right to reinstate it.” “She also insisted that you bear the full penalty fee.” “Deduct it from my deposit.” “The remaining balance will be refunded within seven business days.” “Understood.” After completing check-in, I handed my luggage over to the airline staff. Group chat notifications were still flashing. I tapped the settings button and left the group chat permanently. Amy’s call came through again. This time, I answered. “Sean, where the hell did you run off to?” “Is there something you need?” “Get over to the lounge right now! Jack is willing to forgive you. Apologize to his face, and we can put today behind us.” “I am not coming.” “Don’t throw away my patience! The condo is our home. If you don’t show up tonight, don’t bother coming back to sleep!” “Okay.” Amy paused, caught off guard. “What do you mean ‘okay’?” “It means exactly what I said.” “Are you hiding somewhere crying again? I’m telling you, that trick doesn’t work on me anymore! If you’re so tough, don’t ever come back!” “Got it.” I ended the call, systematically deleted Amy, Becca, and Jack from my contacts, and added all three numbers to my block list. When the boarding call sounded over the speakers, I powered down my phone. Right before the plane lifted off the tarmac, a final message arrived from the real estate agent: Mr. Sean, the buyer will inspect the property tomorrow morning and change the digital locks. Is that acceptable? I typed back two simple words: It is.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “616401”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Jason stole my diary. He flaunted it in the dorm. “Helen wasn’t even that hard to get. Took me three months to seal the deal. Weren’t you guys dying to know what she scribbles in this thing every day? Let’s read it together.” His roommates crowded around him, hyping him up. “Bro, obviously she’s writing pages of love confessions about you.” He flipped to the first page. [I agreed to date Jason just so I could be a little closer to him.] He flipped to the second page. [Why did he have to be Jason’s roommate?] The entire dorm went dead silent. 01 When Jason came to find me, he looked like he was about to be sick. I knew immediately that he had read my completely fabricated diary. Hilarious. That’s what you get for being a thief. Hope it eats you alive. I let out a cold, cynical laugh in my head, but on the outside, I kept my smile impossibly sweet and pure. “Jason, what brings you here?” He just stared at me. A few heavy seconds passed before his voice dropped into a low, strained register. “Helen, you’re my girlfriend now. I want to introduce you to my roommates.” I immediately plastered a look of sheer joy onto my face, pretending not to notice that his expression was darker than a thundercloud. “Really?” I asked, lacing my voice with the perfect amount of nervous excitement. “I finally get to meet your friends?” Jason ground his teeth together. “Yeah. We’re getting dinner tonight.” I paused, biting my lip as if I’d just remembered something terrible. “But I have my shift later…” He whipped out his phone without a second thought. A notification popped up. He had just CashApped me twenty grand. “Call in sick,” he demanded. “Tell them you have an emergency.” I immediately hit refund and put on a mask of righteous refusal. “I can’t take your money. How could you even ask me to?” He sent it again. I refunded it again. He sent it a third time. Finally, after Jason aggressively added a note saying “Voluntary Gift” and snatched my phone to forcefully accept the transfer, I let the charade end. Taking a highly satisfying mental screenshot of my new bank balance, I looked up at him with teary, moved eyes. “Jason, you’re so good to me.” 02 I am a student at St. Jude’s Academy. I am also the absolute poorest scholarship student on this entire campus. Jason, on the other hand, is one of the wealthiest blue-bloods wandering these halls. His specific dorm room is practically the academy’s own untouchable elite squad. They even have an unofficial fan club. Jason’s biggest daily struggles consist of deciding whether to fly to London or Paris for the weekend, or whether he prefers scuba diving or snowboarding. My daily calculations are vastly different. I have to figure out how to maintain my spot for the highest academic grants, calculate how many part-time shifts I can physically survive this month, and meticulously maintain my persona as the fragile, innocent girl-next-door. The persona is crucial for getting sympathy and maintaining friendly terms with the student body, so I don’t end up bullied and ostracized like the poor girls in teen movies. On top of that, I have to mentally track which food delivery coupons are stacking, which stores offer free birthday freebies, and the exact rotation of grocery store discount days. This is the life of the poor. Tedious, exhausting, and endless. Originally, Jason and I minded our own business. We existed in parallel universes. That was until some ridiculous rumors started floating around campus. People whispered that I was impossible to get. That some guy chased me for six months and failed. They also said I wrote in a diary every single day, and that it held my deepest, darkest secrets. My reaction? Pure confusion. First of all, I had no idea who this mystery guy even was. I didn’t know anyone was chasing me, period. The second a lecture ended, I was already sprinting out the door for work. If people talked to me, I usually just smiled, nodded blankly, and let the words go in one ear and out the other. As for the diary I supposedly wrote in every day? It was my accounting ledger. I’ve had a habit of meticulously tracking my expenses by hand since I was a kid. But those rumors somehow piqued Jason’s interest. Not only was he obsessed with finding out what was in my “diary,” but he also made a bet with his roommates about how many months it would take to get me into bed. I rejected him time and time again. He remained relentlessly, aggravatingly persistent. Then came the breaking point. Jason showed up at the upscale restaurant where I waited tables, paid a customer under the table to humiliate me, and then dramatically stepped in to play the hero. That was the moment I snapped. After my manager tore into me, I walked back out to the dining floor, my uniform still damp and smelling of spilled soup. Under Jason’s watchful gaze, I clenched my jaw tight enough to crack a tooth, forced a trembling, grateful smile, and said softly, “Thank you, Jason.” You don’t want to be a decent human being? Fine. You can be my personal ATM instead. 03 Jason took me to a high-end French bistro. When we arrived, all three of his roommates were already seated at a plush corner booth. Even though they tried to hide it, I could feel the sheer weight of their stares burning into me. People are so predictable. None of them actually liked me, but the second they thought I was secretly in love with one of them, and that I only used Jason to get closer, their fragile male egos and morbid curiosity skyrocketed. The smugness radiating off them was practically suffocating. A bunch of voyeuristic trust-fund brats. I cursed all three of these bored rich boys to hell and back in my head, but my face remained a mask of polite shyness. I even added a micro-detail, gently pulling my hand out of Jason’s grip. It was the ultimate subtle giveaway of a girl terrified to hold her boyfriend’s hand in front of her true crush. Jason felt it instantly. His expression darkened again. He grabbed my hand back, lacing our fingers with a bruising grip, though his voice remained sickly sweet. “Helen, these are my roommates. You’ve probably seen them around campus.” I nodded, pressing my lips into a tight line, completely refusing to speak. Knowing Jason, I knew he would never confront me openly. First, his ego could never handle admitting he snooped through my diary. Second, he definitely felt played and was currently burning alive with the need to figure out which roommate was the “him” in my entries. Third, the sheer competitive drive. The moment he realized I was into his roommate, I stopped being a casual bet and transformed into a prize he had to keep at all costs. Men. So predictable. Rich or poor, they’re all the same. Their thoughts are broadcasted right on their faces, decoded in a fraction of a second. As we reached the table, Jason was still burning holes into the side of my head, trying to track my eye movement to guess which roommate I was swooning over. But why would I ever give him the answer? I didn’t look at a single one of them. Instead, I looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Jason, aren’t you going to sit down?” Jason remained entirely speechless. 04 The atmosphere at the table was wound tighter than a snare drum. Oliver broke the silence first. “Jason, we haven’t ordered yet. Why don’t you see what Helen… uh, what your girlfriend wants.” Oliver had these bright, golden-retriever eyes, strong features, and dimples when he smiled. He exuded this effortless, sunny optimism. I honestly didn’t blame him. If my family owned ten historic estates in the city center, I’d be pretty damn optimistic too. He slid a leather-bound menu toward me. The page was a dizzying blur of French culinary terms. I couldn’t recognize a single dish. I could, however, read the numbers on the right. One appetizer cost my entire month’s rent. The sheer audacity of the prices was making me want to eat the rich. I gently pushed the menu back, offering a timid smile. “I’ve never had any of this before. You guys can just order for me.” Oliver took it back. “Alright, Jason, you take the lead. You definitely know what she likes.” Jason had absolutely no clue what I liked. All he knew was that I usually inhaled whatever was put in front of me. But I knew exactly what to do. I had done my homework. The files uploaded by their unofficial fan club were highly detailed. Jason loved mangoes. But Oliver was deathly allergic to them. So, I furrowed my brow slightly and whispered to the waiter, “Excuse me, none of these dishes have mango in them, right?” The table plunged into silence once more. Jason stared at me. Oliver stared at me. I looked around, the picture of pure confusion. “Is something wrong? I just asked because I can’t eat mangoes.” Before Jason could even open his mouth, I delivered the checkmate. “Jason, you didn’t know?” Under my soft gaze, Jason completely froze. He couldn’t admit he didn’t know. After all, his current persona was the deeply devoted boyfriend who had spent months winning my heart. But if he claimed he knew, it would be a blatant lie. Because I just made it up. I love mangoes. I literally drank a massive mango slushie this morning. Oliver, quick on his feet, smoothed things over. “Wow, what a coincidence. I’m allergic to mangoes too.” I sent a silent prayer of gratitude to the senior girls in the drama club for all the acting tips they’d shared. I also thanked the universe for the few indie film extras gigs I did for cash. I lowered my eyelashes, sitting in quiet stillness for a long moment. When I finally lifted my gaze, I let my eyes meet Oliver’s, making sure my expression was unbearably soft and tender. When he finished speaking, I murmured, “Yeah. What a coincidence.” In reality, my peripheral vision was working overtime, scanning all three guys across the table. Look down, look up at Oliver. Look down, look up at Sebastian. Look down, look up at Zane. I made sure no one felt left out. Everyone got a dose of the lovesick gaze. Three parts lonely, three parts admiring, two parts melancholic, and two parts restrained. My eyeballs were practically cramping, but it was hands down the Oscar-winning performance of my life. Oliver stiffened. He looked completely out of his depth. He shifted out of his relaxed, leaning-back posture, sitting up straight. Then, he shot a covert, highly disapproving glare at Jason. 05 Jason was sitting right next to me. From his angle, he completely missed the visual masterpiece of my eye acting. But he didn’t miss my physical acting. Like right now. Before the food even arrived, I very naturally reached over and moved the cup of hot tea away from my own placemat, sliding it across the table. Jason stopped moving and stared at me. I looked straight past him. “President, shouldn’t you take your medicine first?” Sebastian was the student council president of our academy. At St. Jude’s, where the students practically ran the administration, he was basically the local emperor. Sebastian wore silver-rimmed glasses. He had this classically handsome, refined face. He looked like old money personified, always impeccably polite, but keeping a freezing distance from everyone around him. In short, he was a massive snob. But again, I understood him. If I were the sole heir to a global Fortune 500 conglomerate, I’d be even more insufferable than him. Jason snapped at me, “What medicine? What are you talking about?” I let my eyes linger on Sebastian, holding his gaze. Jason was clearly losing his mind. The muscle in his jaw was practically vibrating as he shot Sebastian a lethal, “so it’s you” glare. “I tried out for the student council recently, but…” I started, letting my voice trail off into a melancholic sigh. I left plenty of blank space for their imaginations to run wild. A few seconds later, I visibly pulled myself together, forcing a bright, brave smile. “So, I found out the President has a bad stomach.” There was absolutely zero correlation between those two statements. I did try out for the council. And the reason I didn’t get in was that I failed the very first round of interviews. I had applied for the position of Council Secretary, which was basically the emperor’s right hand. I took the application incredibly seriously. I even quit two of my part-time jobs just to prepare. I was absolutely determined to get that role. First, as secretary, I would be second-in-command. I could walk around St. Jude’s like I owned the place. Second, I would only ever have to suck up to Sebastian. If anyone else tried to boss me around, I could just drop a “the President needs me” and watch them back off. Third, I was usually too busy to care about extracurricular credits. I literally pulled weeds on campus for extra cash. But working directly for the council? My academic credits would be maxed out effortlessly. Fourth, and most importantly, I figured I could slowly win over the masses, stage a coup, or just wait for Sebastian to graduate early, leaving me as the new reigning monarch. Who wouldn’t be tempted by that kind of power? I certainly was. I even studied Sebastian’s files meticulously. He had gastric issues. The classic, generic CEO stomach illness. I made sure to memorize it, knowing it would be a perfect tool for kissing up to him later. But despite scoring first place on the written exam, I was booted in the first interview. Because I couldn’t compete with the girl who had just donated a million dollars to the council’s event fund. She was the president of Sebastian’s fan club, throwing endless piles of cash just to breathe the same air as him. I tossed and turned all night after that, genuinely wondering if I got plastic surgery to look like Sebastian, someone would throw a million dollars at me too. I watched the sunrise and still couldn’t let it go. But Sebastian definitely knew nothing about this. He could never have guessed my dark, treasonous plans to usurp his throne. Right now, he just looked slightly stunned. His pale tea-colored eyes locked onto mine, a complex swirl of emotions shifting behind his lenses. After a long pause, he said, “Thank you.” I immediately blurted out, “…You never have to thank me.” Jason looked like he was about to spontaneously combust. His eyes were practically shooting lasers, glaring at Sebastian. Meanwhile, I simply lowered my head, murmuring softly, “You’re all Jason’s friends. It’s the least I can do.” Then, I secretly reached out and hooked my pinky finger around Jason’s. His blazing fury froze solid on his face. He whipped his head toward me, only to find me smiling at him, my eyes curved in a crescent, looking utterly, innocently sweet. Jason was rendered completely speechless. He silently turned his head back toward the table. But he didn’t unhook his pinky from mine. 06 Jason’s final roommate was Zane. He had the kind of face that practically invited trouble, possessing the sharp, striking bone structure of a runway model. Even though he always looked halfway to sleep and dressed like he couldn’t care less, slipping on a plain white tee made him look like he was headlining a designer campaign. Because of this, he sat at the very top of the academy’s “Most Smashable” list. I have no idea who invented that list, but they were a genius for finding a loophole in the school’s strict anti-gossip firewall. Back then, Zane and Sebastian’s fan clubs were in an all-out turf war over the number one spot. I took fifty bucks from my desk-mate, guiltlessly rejected the class rep’s aggressive lobbying, and cast my vote for Zane. My desk-mate claimed Zane was incredibly laid-back, easily the most approachable guy in their elite circle. She even showed me his social media. He replied to almost every single comment. But my eyes were entirely locked on the actual content of his post. Zane had uploaded a screenshot casually mentioning that his mutual funds had a solid return that month. The string of zeros was blinding. I counted them one by one. Tens, hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands, millions… twenty million. I took a moment to imagine a reality where my monthly passive income was twenty million dollars. If that were me, I would love absolutely everyone on this earth. I would be entirely devoid of negative emotions. But Zane genuinely had real problems. His father had four wives and three sons. His mother was the first wife, but she was the least favored. His father never gave him an ounce of paternal love, only cold, lifeless money. I felt deeply sorry for him. Because if someone handed me that much cold, lifeless money, I would gladly offer them the most scorching, passionate fatherly love imaginable. So, for a long time, whenever I looked at Zane, my gaze was filled with warm, parental affection. That was until Jason decided to make my life hell, and my hatred officially extended to their entire suite. I hope every single one of these entitled, meddling snobs rots. 07 During dinner, Zane and I barely exchanged a single word. Not until I excused myself to the restroom. When I walked out, Zane was leaning against the tiled wall, watching me. He must have just splashed water on his face. His dark hair was slightly damp at the edges, a stray drop of water tracing the sharp line of his brow bone. I immediately averted my eyes, playing the skittish fawn. “Zane.” He looked thoughtful for a second before a slow, easy smile spread across his face. “Helen. We aren’t total strangers, are we?” I quickly ducked my head, kicking into high gear with my performance. I hid my hands behind my back, pinching my own fingertips until the knuckles turned white. We had actually crossed paths before. One of my old part-time jobs was at a late-night diner right next to the luxury racing club he frequented. Every time he finished burning rubber on the track, I was still on shift. “Haven’t seen you around lately,” he noted. I was genuinely surprised. We had barely exchanged three sentences back then, yet he actually remembered me. “It wasn’t a good fit,” I replied vaguely. Why else does anyone change jobs? The pay wasn’t good enough, obviously. And I had found something that paid more. But Zane’s imagination clearly took a wild detour. His expression shifted into something incredibly subtle. He asked, “Then back then… why were you always still there every time I left?” I wanted to scream. Because I was on the clock! I had to wait to clock out, or I would have been gone hours ago! But Zane was staring at me with intense, searching eyes. I took a few seconds to let the silence stretch, then lifted my gaze to meet his, making sure my eyes looked devastatingly earnest. “If you saw a light still on when you were leaving… did it make you feel a little happier?” According to my research, Zane was notorious for wasting electricity. His penthouse was always blazing with lights, burning brightly through the entire night. Combining his background, his deep-seated family trauma, and his whole vibe, I made an educated guess: the guy was terrified of the dark. Just like stomach ulcers, nyctophobia was apparently a must-have fashion accessory for the ultra-rich. Sure enough, Zane’s casual posture faltered. He looked completely caught off guard. Before he could recover, I walked right past him. Just as I passed his shoulder, I paused my steps and let my voice drop to a breathy whisper. “I just want you to be happy, Zane.” 08 After dinner, Jason walked me back to my dorm. He immediately started fishing for information. “So, my roommates aren’t too bad, right?” I nodded, then rose slightly on my tiptoes, leaning close to him. Whatever he was about to ask died in his throat. He watched, mesmerized, as I reached up, my arm brushing his neck, and plucked a stray fallen leaf from his hair. We were standing dangerously close. His breathing hitched, his eyes dropping to stare at my face. I smoothly pulled the leaf back, hiding it in my palm, and looked up at him with a bright, adoring smile. “Your friends are great, Jason. But to me, you’re the best.” He didn’t speak for a long time. This arrogant, high-and-mighty heir had clearly never been in a real relationship. Even after we officially started dating, he hadn’t even held my hand properly, too obsessed with figuring out how to steal my diary. He was a decent thief, sure, but in the game of pure, romantic manipulation? He was way out of his league. I would bet my life he had never dealt with a move like this before. “I’ve never had food that expensive before,” I added softly. “Thank you for spending so much on me.” “What do you usually eat, then?” he blurted out. I stayed quiet. Something seemed to click in his head, and a flash of regret crossed his face. When he had been “chasing” me, eight out of ten times he bumped into me, I was eating from a cheap takeout styrofoam box. The other two times, I was choking down convenience store rice balls or discounted bread. The dining halls at St. Jude’s were notoriously overpriced. But I didn’t see the problem. What’s wrong with boxed lunches? There are elite-tier boxed lunches out there. The one I frequented was a hidden gem I had struck gold with—cheap, delicious, and massive portions. The owner always slipped me extra crispy pickled cucumbers and radishes, and since I paid for a monthly meal plan, she gave me a massive discount. But Jason clearly didn’t share my culinary worldview. He looked instantly agitated, pulling out his phone and aggressively tapping the screen. “You’re my girlfriend now. Stop eating that garbage,” he said, his voice gruff. “Take the money. If I’m busy, buy yourself something decent. When I’m free, I’ll take you out.” Garbage? It had carbs, a protein, and a vegetable! I mentally apologized to the sweet lunch lady on his behalf. On the surface, I slipped perfectly into my fragile, hesitant persona. After a few rounds of weak protests, I reluctantly accepted the transfer. “Honestly, just eating with you makes me happy,” I said. “Even instant noodles would taste amazing.” Then, I reached into my bag and pulled out a small plastic Tupperware container, handing it to him. Inside was a bizarre, lumpy mango concoction that looked like a culinary disaster. “I can’t eat mangoes, but I know they’re your favorite,” I said softly. “I tried making this this morning. It doesn’t look great, and I wasn’t even going to give it to you… you can just throw it away if you don’t want it.” It really did look terrible. It was the leftover pulp and absolute dregs from the mango slushie I had made myself that morning. I had meant to throw it in the trash but forgot. As I handed it over, my sleeve slipped down just enough to reveal a cluster of faint, red spots on my wrist. It looked exactly like an allergic reaction. —During dinner, when Oliver mentioned that people with severe allergies break out in hives just from touching the fruit, inspiration struck. I had rushed to the bathroom and drawn them on with a red pen. Jason’s gaze zeroed in on my wrist. He went totally mute. Only after I frantically yanked my sleeve down, playing the part of someone trying to hide her sacrifice, did he finally let out a low, rough “Yeah.” “I’m going to head up now, Jason,” I said. “See you tomorrow.” “See you tomorrow,” he echoed. I walked up the stairs and stopped at the third-floor landing, peering out the window. Sure enough, Jason was still standing by the entrance, frozen like a statue. Then, the statue moved. The statue opened the container and started eating my biohazard waste. The statue looked like it wanted to gag, but it powered through, swallowing the disgusting mush down. Two minutes later, my phone buzzed. Jason: Thank you, baby. It was delicious. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I let out a sharp, breathless laugh. Feeling guilty? Feeling regret? Heart bleeding for me? Realizing you’re a complete monster? Oh, honey, we are just getting started. Jason, you absolute amateur.

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I paid my private security three hundred grand a year, and he just slapped me across the face in front of twenty people. After he struck me, he looked right at my wife. Valerie was holding a glass of red wine. she smiled at her so-called guy best friend. “Are you less angry now?” Her best friend adjusted his platinum cufflinks and gave a satisfied nod. I did not feel the pain in that moment. All I felt was the crushing realization that in this marriage, I was treated worse than a stray dog. I clenched my fists. I decided right then and there that starting today, I was taking back every single thing I had ever given her. Piece by piece. 1 When the slap landed on my left cheek, I did not hear the crack of the impact. What I heard was the collective gasp of everyone in the room. There were over twenty people in the VIP lounge. Some were my business partners. Some were Valerie’s socialite girlfriends. The rest were friends brought by Dominic, her platonic guy best friend. Bruno hit hard. When you pay a bodyguard three hundred thousand dollars a year, you expect them to pack a punch. My head snapped forty-five degrees to the side. The metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth. I did not move. I stared at the highly polished marble floor. It reflected my face perfectly. The left side of my jaw was already swelling. “Adam, are you okay?” someone whispered. It was my executive assistant, Simon. He stood a few feet away, his face pale with shock and fury. I slowly lifted my head. Valerie was lounging on the velvet sofa, her legs crossed, a red stiletto dangling from her heel. She tilted her wine glass, gesturing toward Dominic. “Well? Do you feel better?” Dominic, wearing a tailored cashmere coat, smoothed out his cuffs with agonizing slowness. “Barely,” he chuckled. “Tell your husband to watch his attitude next time. I do not like the way he looks at me.” I shifted my gaze to Valerie. She did not even glance my way. Her eyes were entirely glued to Dominic. I knew that look all too well. It was pure, desperate flattery. She looked at him not like a friend, but like a master she was terrified of upsetting. Bruno stood next to me. His head was bowed, his massive hands trembling slightly. “Boss, I am so sorry,” he muttered under his breath. “Mrs. Valerie said… if I did not hit you, she would make you fire me and blacklist me from the security industry.” I did not look at him. I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth with my thumb. I stood up straight. The room was so dead silent you could hear the hum of the AC unit. My business partners were staring at their phones or their shoes, desperately avoiding eye contact. Not a single person spoke up for me. Of course they did not. In their eyes, Adam being a total pushover for his wife was old news. I had tolerated it for three years. It started when Valerie first called me a useless coward in front of our friends. It escalated when she used my credit card to buy Dominic a birthday present. It peaked when she kicked me out of our master bedroom and forced me to sleep in the study. I endured it for three entire years. I genuinely believed that if I compromised enough, I would eventually earn her respect. I thought that if I drowned her in wealth and luxury, she would wake up and realize who actually loved her. But tonight, she ordered the bodyguard I paid for to slap me across the face. In front of twenty people. Just to stroke another man’s ego. I took a deep breath. The string that had been pulled taut in my chest for three years finally snapped. “Simon,” I said. My voice was eerily calm. My assistant immediately stepped forward. “Yes, Boss.” “Bring the car to the underground garage. Wait for me there.” “Understood.” As Simon turned away, I saw his knuckles turn white from gripping his phone so hard. I did not spare Valerie another glance. I turned on my heel and walked out. From behind me, Dominic let out a loud, mocking laugh. “He is leaving? He does not even have the guts to say a word? Valerie, your husband is such a…” “Dominic,” Valerie interrupted, her voice dripping with amusement. “Leave it. That is just how he is. I am used to it.” Just how he is. Used to it. I did not break my stride. I walked out of the lounge, down the corridor, and stepped into the elevator. As the steel doors slid shut, I reached up and touched my left cheek. It was hot and swollen. Did it hurt? Yes. But the pain in my chest was infinitely worse. It felt like a vital organ had been violently ripped out of my ribcage. I stood in the elevator for a few seconds. Then I pulled out my phone and dialed a number. “Lawyer Reed. Be at my office tomorrow morning at ten.” “Adam? It is late. Did something happen?” “I am getting a divorce.” The line went dead silent for two seconds. “…Understood. I will be there at ten.” I hung up. My heartbeat was steady. Steadier than it had been in three years. 2 I did not go home that night. I had Simon drive me to corporate headquarters. I slept on the leather sofa in my office. Well, I tried to sleep. Mostly, I just stared at the ceiling and thought. When did my marriage to Valerie become this toxic? Probably two years ago. Right around the time Dominic entered the picture. Dominic was a trust fund kid who studied abroad and ran a mediocre import business. He was smooth-talking, well-dressed, and endlessly charming. Valerie swore they were just college buddies. A purely platonic friendship. I believed her. Then this “platonic friend” started taking my wife out for dinner, coffee, and art exhibits three times a week. I brought it up once. Valerie smashed my favorite coffee mug against the wall. “Can you stop being so insecure? He is my friend! Are you just paranoid that everyone wants to sleep with me?” I dropped the subject. Later, she started using my supplementary black card to buy Dominic gifts. An eight-hundred-dollar leather belt. Twelve-hundred-dollar designer sneakers. A thirteen-thousand-dollar Rolex. I gently told her it was inappropriate. Valerie just gave me a look of pure disgust. “You make millions. What is wrong with spending a little pocket change? Dominic has helped me through so much. I cannot even buy him a thank-you gift? You are so cheap it is embarrassing.” Cheap. I kept my mouth shut. Not long after, I was evicted from my own bedroom. Her excuse was that I snored and ruined her sleep. I had never snored a day in my life. I was just exhausted. My company was closing a massive acquisition, and I had pulled all-nighters for two weeks straight. My body was giving out, and I might have snored a few times. She could not tolerate it for a single night. I moved my clothes into the study. From that moment on, our marriage devolved into a business transaction. She spent my money, lived in my penthouse, drove the cars I bought, and swiped her way into the elite country clubs I paid for. And what was my return on investment? Public humiliation. Being treated like a servant by her male best friend. Getting slapped by my own payroll security. I sat up. The sky outside the floor-to-ceiling windows was getting light. Seven-thirty in the morning. I booted up my laptop and pulled up every single financial asset tied to Valerie. Real estate. The riverfront penthouse. Market value: three million dollars. I bought it before we got married, so it was legally mine. But I had added her name to the deed after the wedding as a gesture of love. Vehicles. A Porsche Cayenne and a Mercedes G-Wagon. The Cayenne was her daily driver. I bought the G-Wagon because she complained the Porsche did not look intimidating enough on the road. Both were registered in her name. Credit cards. Three platinum supplementary cards. Total credit limit: five hundred thousand dollars. Her average monthly spend was roughly forty thousand. Memberships. Golf clubs, luxury spas, the equestrian center. Annual fees totaled over a hundred grand. I went through the spreadsheets line by line. Over the last three years, I had blown nearly five million dollars on Valerie. Five million dollars. And it bought me a slap in the face. At exactly eight o’clock, Simon knocked and walked in. He brought black coffee, a breakfast sandwich, and a fresh dress shirt. He took one look at my bruised face but said nothing. I changed my shirt and took a bite of the sandwich. “Simon.” “Yes, Boss.” “I have three tasks for you today. Top priority.” “Name them.” “First, call the bank. Cancel all three of Valerie’s supplementary credit cards immediately. Cut them off.” Simon blinked in surprise. Then he gave a firm nod. “Done.” “Second, the Porsche and the Mercedes. I paid for both in full. Look into the legal paperwork required to transfer the titles back or impound them.” “Understood.” “Third, contact the property management at the penthouse and sync with the legal team. I am initiating the process to remove her name from the deed.” Simon looked up at me. There was a very complex emotion swirling in his eyes. Relief? Vindication? Probably both. “Adam,” he paused carefully. “Once I pull these triggers, Valerie is going to wage a nuclear war.” I leaned back in my chair and touched my swollen cheek. It still throbbed. “I know.” “Are you… absolutely sure?” “It has been three years, Simon.” I looked him dead in the eye. “I was slapped in public. I have never been so deeply degraded in my entire life.” “I was hit by a man I pay. Ordered by my own wife. Just to make her little toy boy laugh.” “Tell me, what exactly is left to hesitate about?” Simon did not say another word. He nodded sharply and walked out to execute my orders. At ten o’clock on the dot, Lawyer Reed arrived. I gave him a brief rundown of the situation. He adjusted his glasses. “Adam, if we go to litigation with your current financial paper trail and evidence… you have a massive advantage.” “Explain.” “The penthouse is a pre-marital asset. Even though her name was added, if we can prove she is at fault in the marriage…” “I can prove it,” I said. I pulled open my desk drawer and slid a flash drive across the desk. “This contains two years of her credit card statements, wire transfers, and a few… highly inappropriate chat logs.” Reed took the drive, raising an eyebrow. “You have been building a case this whole time?” I shook my head. “No. I just have my banking alerts turned on. Every time she wired money to Dominic, my phone pinged. I just never deleted the emails.” “Also,” I paused. “The VIP lounge last night had security cameras. The footage of the assault should still be on their servers. Subpoena it.” Reed stood up and extended his hand. “Adam, consider it done. I am taking this case.” We shook on it. After he left, I poured myself a glass of scotch and sat by the window. The morning sun was blinding. For the first time in three years, I felt like I could finally breathe. My phone vibrated on the desk. It was Valerie calling. I watched it ring for a few seconds. I did not answer. A minute later, a text popped up. “You did not come home last night? Where the hell are you?” Not a single ounce of concern. Just pure, entitled interrogation. I flipped the phone face down. I took a sip of scotch. Do not panic yet, sweetheart. The show is just getting started. 3 Around eleven-thirty, Valerie’s second text came through. “My card is declining. What is going on? Fix it right now.” Still barking orders. She had spoken to me exactly like this for three years. Never a discussion. Never a polite request. Just commands. I left her on read. At noon, the third text arrived. “Adam, what the hell are you doing?! I am at the salon, and my card keeps getting rejected. Do you have any idea how humiliating this is?” Humiliating. I get slapped in the face in front of my peers, and that is fine. But her card getting declined at a hair salon is a tragedy. I put my phone away and went down to the corporate cafeteria to grab lunch with Simon. Halfway through my steak, my phone rang again. It was not Valerie. It was Bruno. I debated for a second, then picked up. “Boss.” Bruno’s voice was low, like he was trying not to be overheard. “What do you want?” “Mrs. Valerie told me to ask you why the cards are frozen.” I cut a piece of steak, put it in my mouth, and chewed slowly. “Bruno, do you honestly think you have the right to pass messages for her?” Dead silence on the other end. “Boss, about last night… I am truly sorry. I just…” “Save your apologies,” I cut him off. “You made your choice. But you are a grown man. You know choices have consequences.” “You are no longer on my payroll. You are fired.” “Boss, wait!” “I will not sue you for breach of contract. Just disappear.” I hung up. Simon watched me, looking like he wanted to say something. “Spill it.” “Bruno has been with you for three years…” “Yes. Three years.” I put my fork down. “And in those three years, I treated him like family. I paid for his mother’s surgery out of pocket. I covered his little brother’s college tuition.” “But he still chose to hit me.” “I do not care what his excuse was. He raised his hand against me.” Simon nodded solemnly and went back to his food. At two o’clock, I went back to my office. I had seven missed calls from Valerie. I ignored all of them. At two-thirty, she sent a massive paragraph. “Adam, what is your problem? Are you throwing a temper tantrum over that tiny little joke yesterday? Can you grow up? It was a prank! Dominic did not even care, why are you being so dramatic? Unfreeze the cards right now, I have a spa appointment tomorrow.” A tiny little joke. A prank. I stared at those words until my vision blurred. Having her husband assaulted by a hired guard in front of twenty people. To her, it was a joke. I let out a long, slow exhale. I typed a reply. “We will talk when I get home.” I dropped the phone on the desk. I picked up a pen and grabbed a notepad. I wrote down my action plan. Step 1: Cut off all financial supply. Done. Step 2: Reclaim the vehicles. Step 3: Remove her name from the real estate. Step 4: Audit and reclaim all massive wire transfers made during the marriage. Step 5: Divorce. I reviewed the list. Then I added one final line at the bottom. Make her realize what losing me actually means. At five o’clock, I left work early. I drove straight to the penthouse. It was a two-hundred-square-foot luxury condo overlooking the city skyline. It cost me three million. The custom renovations cost another half a million. Every piece of Italian furniture, every chandelier, I picked out myself. I unlocked the door and walked in. Valerie was pacing the living room, looking furious. She was wearing a silk robe, her hair messy, yesterday’s makeup smeared under her eyes. When she saw me, she practically lunged forward. “Adam! You finally showed up! What the hell kind of game are you playing?!” I calmly took off my shoes, slipped on my house slippers, and sat on the sofa opposite her. I stared at her with zero emotion. “Sit down.” She froze. She was definitely not used to this tone. In the past, my voice was always soft, compromising, and pleading. Not today. She frowned, crossing her arms as she sat down, her foot tapping aggressively against the rug. “Speak. What is going on?” “Your cards are frozen.” “I know they are frozen! I am asking you WHY!” “Because I called the bank and froze them.” Her eyes went wide. “Excuse me?” “All three supplementary cards are canceled. Permanently. They will not be reactivated.” Valerie opened her mouth, but no words came out. Then she let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Is this a joke?” “No.” “Adam, have you lost your mind?” Her voice shrilled. “You are doing this over that stupid little incident last night…” “Stupid little incident?” I cut her off. My voice was not loud, but the sheer venom in it made her flinch. She had never seen me look at her like this. Cold. Absolute, freezing detachment. “You ordered the man I pay to protect me, to slap me across the face in front of a room full of my peers.” “Just so you could impress your little boy toy.” “And you call that a ‘stupid little incident’?” Valerie’s lips parted. “You… you are just being insecure! Bruno barely even touched you, your face is barely even…” “Valerie.” My voice dropped an octave. She instinctively shut her mouth. “Take a very close look at the left side of my face.” I turned my head. My jaw was visibly swollen, and a dark purple bruise was blooming near the corner of my mouth. She glanced at it, her eyes flickering with something like guilt, but she instantly looked away. “Well, you cannot just cut me off! How am I supposed to buy anything? You are my husband, providing for me is your job!” My job. Hearing those words fall from her lips made my three years of patience feel like a pathetic comedy. “Starting today,” I stood up, towering over her. “It is not just the cards.” “The cars, the house, every single asset I funded out of my own pocket. I am taking it all back.” Valerie looked completely paralyzed. “What are you talking about?” “I want a divorce.” The words hit the floor like a live grenade. The living room went deathly silent. Valerie sat frozen on the sofa. Her expression morphed from shock, to disbelief, and finally, to explosive rage. “A divorce?” She jumped to her feet, screaming so loud her voice cracked. “Who gave you the right to divorce me, Adam?! Are you sleeping around? Do you have another woman on the side?!” I turned and walked toward the master bedroom. No, the study. The study had been my bedroom for three years. “My lawyer will contact you. If you refuse to settle, we will take this to trial.” “You…!” A loud crash echoed behind me. She had grabbed a crystal vase off the coffee table and hurled it at the wall. I did not look back. I walked into the study and shut the door. I locked it. I sat down at my desk. My heart was steady. My hands were perfectly still. I felt absolutely zero regret. My phone buzzed on the desk. It was a random number. I answered it. “Adam?” It was Dominic. I leaned back in my chair. “What do you want?” “Valerie just called me crying,” he said. He sounded incredibly relaxed, almost amused. “Are you not overreacting a little bit? We were just drunk and having fun last night. You are a grown man, why are you being so sensitive?” I stayed silent for three seconds. “Dominic. Listen to me very carefully.” “Yeah?” “From this second forward, whatever happens between you and Valerie is none of my business.” “If you want to be her sugar daddy, step up.” “She burns through forty grand a month. If you can afford to keep her, you have my deepest respect.” The line went completely silent. I ended the call. I blocked his number.

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