I was simultaneously moonlighting as a sugar baby for two billionaire brothers. The older brother preferred sultry and seductive, so I showed up in lace lingerie and a bunny tail. The younger brother preferred innocent and pure, so I catered to his tastes with oversized white dress shirts and black thigh-highs. Because of my top-tier professional skills, I had never been caught. Until one day, I got sloppy, and a paparazzo managed to snap a few photos. The hashtag “Vance Brothers Suspected of Sharing the Same Kept Woman” skyrocketed to the top of the trending charts. When the younger brother came storming up to the front door, absolutely furious, I was currently sitting on his older brother’s lap, acting cute and trying to coax him for a new bag. 1 The other girls in my sugar baby networking group felt incredibly sorry for me. They knew I was the kept woman of Liam Vance, the second son of the Vance family, but that Liam never, ever touched me physically. “Chloe is so gorgeous, why did she have to end up with a prude like Liam Vance?” “I heard Liam is saving himself for his first love, so he refuses to touch Chloe.” “Poor Chloe, living like a widow at such a young age. How is she supposed to survive this?” As I listened to them gossip, I grabbed two tissues and dabbed at nonexistent tears. It was true; Liam never laid a finger on me. He paid me $10,000 a month, and his only requirements were that I eat dinner with him, go for drives, and chat. This kind of lifestyle was honestly comfortable as hell. Because I had so much free time, I decided to take on another gig and found myself a second sugar daddy. Since moonlighting like this was a severe violation of professional ethics, I could only do it secretly. I didn’t dare let the other girls know. Right now, Harper was hugging me sympathetically. “Chloe, being deprived for so long is bad for your health. Why don’t you find a new sponsor?” “What about Arthur Vance, the older brother? He controls billions in assets, he’s unmarried, single, and super hot. Why don’t you go try your luck with him?” “Give it a rest,” another girl nearby chimed in to warn me. “I heard Arthur Vance already has a kept woman. She’s just incredibly mysterious; nobody knows who she is yet.” “Don’t go wading into those muddy waters.” I took a massive gulp of my drink, not daring to say a single word. Right at that moment, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Arthur Vance. “Wait for me at the penthouse tonight.” I obediently replied with an “Okay.” To tell you the truth, that mysterious sugar baby Arthur Vance was keeping… was also me. 2 Arthur was completely different from his younger brother. He was wild and unrestrained. His entire body seemed to radiate an endless, inexhaustible physical energy, and he absolutely loved tormenting me in bed. After walking into the penthouse, I took off my black trench coat, revealing the sexy fox lingerie set underneath. I even specifically accessorized with a fluffy pair of animal ears on a headband. Arthur was clearly very receptive to this. His Adam’s apple bobbed a few times, his eyes instantly darkened, and even his breathing grew heavier. He unbuttoned his dress shirt with one hand, slowly pulled off his leather belt, and waved me over. “Come here. Sit.” I obediently sat on his lap, hugging his arm and acting spoiled. “I made this headband myself. Do you like it?” His scorching hot palm pressed tightly against my short skirt, his voice raspy: “I love it.” I took the opportunity to wrap my arms around his neck, using my softest, sweetest voice: “I saw a new limited-edition bag yesterday.” “Mhm. Buy it.” Arthur’s tone was dismissive, but the grip of his hand was strong. He squeezed my waist rhythmically, his fingertips slowly tracing circles on my skin. As our lips tangled together, he roughly yanked off my fox tail. He tilted my chin up, leaned close to my ear, and whispered: “Is my little fox illiterate?” “What?” I looked at him, confused, and blinked. The corner of his mouth curled into a smirk, and his hand moved to the zipper of my skirt: “I want to do a full investigation of my little fox’s academic credentials. Does that sound good?” In a haze of scorching, suffocating heat, Arthur held me on his lap. He was in a great mood today. Seeing how turned on he was, I took the chance to ask: “I want to buy a condo downtown.” “I’ll buy you one tomorrow.” He glared at me in dissatisfaction, increasing the pressure of his hands, making me let out a soft whimper of pain. “Little gold digger, stop thinking about money and focus on me,” he reminded me in a hoarse voice. Honestly, I didn’t want to be this money-hungry either. Arthur was incredibly good to me. Whether it was material things or emotional affection, he thoroughly satisfied me. I was dangerously close to actually falling in love with him. But that was the day I discovered the truth about this world. It turned out that the world I was living in was actually a smutty romance novel. The two Vance brothers were the male leads, and their shared “first love” was the female lead. And I was just the temporary female side character acting as a placeholder after the first love left. When the first love returned to the States, the two brothers would fight over her, getting violently jealous. Because the first love hated me, the brothers would find various ways to imprison me, torture me, and eventually lock me in a psychiatric ward until I went insane. The story ended with the three of them living shamelessly and happily ever after together. As for the minor side character, me? I died a miserable, tragic death in the dead of winter. Once I learned the truth, I immediately snapped out of my romantic delusions and focused entirely on grabbing as much cash as possible. The first love wasn’t due back in the country for another year anyway. I’d just work a little harder, hold down two jobs, and once I saved enough money, I’d run away. Right now, the tension in the room was skyrocketing, but my phone started ringing at the absolute worst possible time. Ring after ring, like a grim reaper demanding my soul. Arthur released his grip in annoyance, signaling me to deal with it quickly. I was just about to silence it when I saw a massive wall of texts from Harper. “Chloe, you absolute bitch! How could you hide this from me for so long?!” “We’re both sugar babies! What gives you the right to work two jobs and make double the money?!” “And here I was feeling sorry for you! Turns out you’re living better than any of us!” I slowly typed a single “?”. She replied immediately: “Stop playing dumb! I know Arthur Vance’s mysterious kept woman is YOU.” Arthur was sitting right next to me, his shirt already off, waiting for me. I didn’t have the time to ask her how she found out. I could only beg her: “Keep it a secret for me! I’ll explain everything later!” “Too late. Everyone knows.” A terrible premonition suddenly washed over me. My heart jumped into my throat. The next second, she forwarded me a trending topic from Twitter. The hashtag glaring back at me was: “Vance Brothers Suspected of Sharing the Same Kept Woman.” 3 My hand was trembling violently as I clicked on the link. There were two photos attached. The first one showed me eating dinner with Liam. He was feeding me a bite of food, wiping my mouth, and looking at me with eyes so full of affection you could pull strings from them. The second one was far more explicit. It was me and Arthur making out on an outdoor balcony. I was dressed in my little bunny outfit at the time. Those goddamn, unethical paparazzi! Invading my privacy and completely ruining my hustle! Harper was still messaging me: “Do the brothers know about this yet?” “No,” I replied honestly. Harper: “Are you insane?! I highly advise you to run for your life immediately.” “Arthur might not have seen the news yet, but my guy told me Liam definitely knows.” At the exact same moment, Liam sent me a text message. It contained just one simple word: “Excellent.” I shuddered in terror, tears almost springing to my eyes. Liam looked gentle and easygoing on the surface, but when he got angry, he was absolutely terrifying. Beside me, Arthur was getting impatient. With a long arm, he scooped me back into his embrace. “Are you done dealing with that? If you’re done, it’s my time now.” He grabbed my hand, guiding it from his thick pecs down his torso, letting me feel his rock-hard eight-pack abs, stopping right at his V-line. “Chloe, help me take this off,” he coaxed me in a raspy, seductive voice. But in a life-or-death crisis, who the hell has the mood for this?! I gritted my teeth and pulled my hand back. “Arthur, not tonight.” “I just got a message. My little sister is sick with a high fever. I have to go back and take care of her.” I pushed him away, grabbed my black trench coat off the rack, and threw it on. “Next time. We’ll do it next time.” Arthur gave me a look, forcibly suppressed his physical urges, and grabbed his car keys. “I’ll drive you.” “No need,” I was just about to refuse when the doorbell suddenly rang. From outside the door came Liam’s voice. It was impossible to tell if he was happy or angry. “Arthur, are you home?” 4 The moment I heard Liam’s voice, I was so terrified I dove behind the sofa. Arthur opened the door. Liam’s tone was freezing cold, cutting straight to the chase: “Arthur, do you know Chloe?” “I do. You can call her your sister-in-law.” Arthur crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. “What, you know her too?” The corners of Liam’s mouth curled into a mocking smirk. “I do. You can call her your sister-in-law.” The room suddenly fell dead silent. So silent my heart was literally quivering in my chest. Arthur looked baffled. “What the hell are you talking about?” “Haven’t you checked the trending news?” Liam quickly tapped his phone screen a few times and shoved it in front of Arthur’s face. “To put it simply, the sugar baby I’m keeping and the sugar baby you’re keeping… are the exact same person.” The air in the room froze solid once again. I have no idea what they said to each other after that. I stealthily crept toward the back door of the penthouse and escaped. I needed to get as far away from these two psychopaths as quickly as possible. Once I was out the door, I sprinted down the street, my mind racing as I calculated my future. Even though the promised designer bag and the condo vanished today, the savings I had hoarded over the past year still amounted to a few million dollars. It was enough to cover living expenses for me and the girls at the orphanage for the next few years. It was just a shame. I really wanted to hoard a little more. Seeing that I was getting further and further away from the penthouse, and no one was chasing me, I finally relaxed. I viciously kicked a pebble on the side of the road. “Those two idiots! If they had just been more careful, they wouldn’t have dragged me down with them!” Just as the words left my mouth, my neck suddenly felt cold. An icy hand hooked its fingers under my necklace. Liam appeared right in front of me. He stepped toward me, forcing me to back up several steps until my back hit a streetlamp pole. His tone was cold and thin, carrying a trace of cruel amusement. “Chloe. My brother is easy to fool, and I’m easy to appease. Is playing both of us brothers at the same time really fun for you?” I tried to run in the other direction. But over there, Arthur—wearing a white dress shirt, his neck bearing the red scratch marks I had just left on him—was walking toward me step by step. His expression was dark and unreadable. He looked down, rolling up his shirt sleeves, and quietly blocked my only escape route. “Chloe, I highly suggest you explain exactly what the hell is going on here.” With nowhere left to run, I leaned weakly against the streetlamp. My palms were sweating from pure terror, but I forced my face to remain perfectly calm. “I was just working two jobs, wasn’t I?” “When you guys hired me, neither of you said I couldn’t freelance on the side.” Liam looked like he was about to laugh from sheer rage. He reached out to grab my wrist. “Do I really need to spell that out for you?! Isn’t that just basic professional ethics?!” But he never got to touch me. Arthur’s lips were pressed tightly together. He intercepted Liam’s hand and gave me a long, deep look. His gaze was so freezing and intense I didn’t dare meet his eyes. I just dropped my head, staring at our long shadows cast by the streetlamp. Liam was about to say something else when his phone suddenly rang. It was the first love, Mia. The street was completely silent, and the voice on the other end of the line was crystal clear in my ears. “Liam, I’m back in the States. I just landed.” “I tried calling Arthur too, but he’s not answering. Could you do me a favor and let him know?” Oh, wow. The first love returned a whole year earlier than she did in the original plot. Liam was completely absorbed in the phone call. Seeing my chance, I bolted away from him. He was too busy talking on the phone; by the time he realized he wanted to chase me, it was too late. As for the other guy, I quickly glanced back over my shoulder. He was still standing in the exact same spot, his head tilted slightly, his right hand slowly tracing the red scratch mark on his neck. The streetlamp cast a thin shadow beneath his eyelashes, making his already complex expression look even darker and more unpredictable. From the looks of it, he had absolutely no intention of chasing me. Makes sense. The first love is back. Who has the time or energy to deal with a fake replacement? I figured as long as I avoided running into Mia and causing any conflicts, I probably wouldn’t end up with the horrific, tragic ending written in the original book. By the time I got back to the orphanage, it was 10:00 PM. The younger girls had all gone to sleep. I put the cash I had withdrawn into a thick envelope and handed it to the orphanage director, who was like a mother to me. This was a private orphanage that took in abandoned baby girls. Some had severe illnesses, some came from destitute families, and some were simply dumped here because they were born girls. For as long as I can remember, I had lived at this orphanage. The director was my mother, and the mother of all the children here. Two years ago, she was diagnosed with a severe heart condition and needed emergency surgery. The surgery cost was astronomical. I emptied out all my savings, but it still wasn’t enough. Driven to a dead end, that was when Liam Vance found me. 5 At the time, Liam stared at my face for a long while, smiling a very gentle, polite smile. “Chloe, you look exactly like the girl I love.” “I have a business proposition for you. Are you interested?” The so-called “proposition” was for me to accompany him for meals and chat with him. He would pay me $10,000 a month, with a minimum contract of one year. I had absolutely no reason to refuse. That very day, his secretary handed me a comprehensive checklist. It detailed all of Mia’s daily habits, her dietary restrictions, and her fashion style. The secretary strictly ordered me to memorize the list. I understood. Since I was playing a body double, I had to mimic the original perfectly. But during my very first dinner with Liam, I made a mistake. He had ordered a massive spread of food. During the meal, I picked up pieces of the assorted shrimp stir-fry a total of four times. Liam’s expression slowly turned sour. He lifted my chin, pointing a long, elegant finger at the plate of shrimp, and said softly, “Chloe, your acting was bad today.” “No matter how much she likes a dish, she would never, ever eat from it more than three times in a single meal.” His tone was airy and light. “You acted out of character this time. I’m going to have to dock your pay.” Three thousand dollars, gone just like that. My heart was practically bleeding. Later, the orphanage director suffered severe organ rejection after the surgery and needed expensive anti-rejection medication. It was another massive expense. I explained the situation to Liam and begged him for an advance on my salary. He smiled so hard his eyes curved into crescents, but his words were bone-chillingly cold. “Chloe, pushing your luck is a terrible habit. She would never do something like that.” He refused to give me the money, but I desperately needed it. So, when Arthur Vance offered me $100,000 a month, I nodded enthusiastically and agreed instantly. In front of Arthur, there weren’t nearly as many rules and restrictions. He never mentioned Mia, and I pretended I didn’t know she existed. Right now, looking at the heavy envelope, the orphanage director refused to take it. “Chloe, the money you’ve given the orphanage over the years is more than enough. You even paid for my surgery! I absolutely cannot accept this money.” I forced the envelope into her palm. “You have so many girls to take care of, please just keep it. Don’t worry about me. I have plenty of savings of my own.” “Also, Mom, I’m leaving.” I gently hugged the director. “I’m moving to Chicago. I won’t be back for a few years.” In New York, the Vance brothers could easily ruin my life with a snap of their fingers. It was best if I got as far away as possible. I booked a flight leaving in three days. During these two days, neither of the Vance brothers reached out to me, but Harper brought them up. “The original first love really is treated differently than fake body doubles like us.” “Did you see the fireworks over the Hudson River last night? They went on for over an hour, cost millions of dollars. I heard Arthur did it specifically to celebrate Mia moving back to the States.” I suddenly remembered a conversation I had with Arthur not too long ago. I was lying exhausted against his chest. He was idly playing with my hair and asked me in a raspy voice, “Chloe, besides money, is there anything else you like?” I thought about it and answered, “Fireworks. The kind that light up half the sky.” He didn’t seem entirely satisfied with that answer. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, and after a long time, mumbled, “Okay. Next time, I’ll put on a fireworks show over the Hudson River just for you.” It’s true what they say. Men are liars. He put on the fireworks show, alright, but it absolutely wasn’t for me. “Chloe, are you listening?” On the other end of the line, Harper was still blabbering away. “Tonight, Liam is throwing a massive, ridiculously expensive welcome-home banquet for Mia.” “Whatever she gets, you deserve too! Since you’re moving to Chicago, your girls are throwing you a massive farewell party right now!” Harper sent me an address. Thinking that I wouldn’t see her for a few years, I decided to go have one last get-together with her. But when I arrived, something felt wrong. Wasn’t this farewell party a little too high-end? Weren’t there a few too many people here? Amidst the clinking glasses and chatter, I spotted Mia wearing a blue, diamond-encrusted evening gown. Standing on either side of her were Liam and Arthur. All three of them turned and looked directly at me. My footsteps halted. I looked down and pulled out my phone. Exactly one second ago, Harper had sent me a text. “I sent you the wrong banquet hall name! The one in the front is Liam’s welcome party for Mia. Whatever you do, DO NOT go in there! It’ll be so awkward!” She sent a new location pin. “Come here. The girls are all waiting for you.” “Don’t be jealous of her fireworks show. I bought you sparklers!” I cursed Harper a thousand times in my head. I knew she was flaky, but I didn’t know she was this flaky. I kept my head down, planning to back out of the room pretending nothing had happened, when Mia walked toward me. “Are you Chloe?” She held a wine glass, looking at me with a sweet, assessing smile.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391295”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My acting is as trash as dog shit. No director was willing to hire me, so I had to pay out of my own pocket just to get a role. Juggling acting and side hustles, I was constantly operating at a loss. Until my agent booked me a reality TV show. The original plan was just for me to show my face and build a little presence. I never expected that I would instantly blow up on the trending charts. None of the celebrity guests on the show knew how to cook. I raised my hand and said: “I know a little bit about cooking.” So, using whatever ingredients were on hand, I whipped up an eight-course feast. The sweetheart ingenue’s makeup melted off. I raised my hand and said: “I know a little bit about makeup.” After I worked my magic, she was so thrilled she wanted to hire me as her personal makeup artist. In the middle of the night, a water pipe burst in the house the production team provided. I raised my hand and said: “I know a little bit about plumbing.” That very night, I skyrocketed to the top of the trending charts. The top comment read: Of the 360 trades in the world, sister, why don’t you just pick a different one?! 1 Other actors get paid to work. I had to pay to get acting gigs. This all started with my very first audition. I was auditioning for the role of a blind person. My performance was so breathtakingly realistic that it scared the director out of his chair. He personally escorted me out on the spot: “Ma’am, I asked you to play a blind person, not a zombie from The Walking Dead!” From that day on, my reputation preceded me. Within a hundred-mile radius of Hollywood, not a single casting director dared to hire me. My agent deeply regretted her choices, particularly the choice to sign me so early. But, out of professional obligation, she still tried her best to get me work. Even though they were all just extra roles and bit parts. As a result, my reputation only grew. When I played a corpse, I actually fell asleep, and when I was supposed to have a post-mortem twitch, I didn’t move a muscle. The director almost had a heart attack from stress. When I played a background maid, my voice was louder than the lead actress’s. When I played a lackey, I tripped the female lead while trying to walk menacingly. Not only did I lose the role, but I had to fork over my entire month’s salary to cover the medical bills and ruined costumes. Given all of the above, I truly couldn’t get a single role anymore. Left with no other options, I had to get creative. Not only did I work for free, but I actively paid money to get cast. For a single bit part with three lines, I had to network through eighteen different connections. I even had to bribe the casting director’s dog with premium organic dog treats. This went on for three years. I was still stuck at square one. My acting was still garbage, and I was still only booking tiny extra roles. Even the savings I had built up from working odd jobs before entering the industry were almost gone. With no other choice, I had to pick up side hustles between acting gigs just to survive. In my spare time, I did DoorDash deliveries. The only problem was, occasionally, I’d accidentally deliver food to a set I was working on, which was a little awkward. But doing food delivery just didn’t pay enough. So, I started looking into maintenance work. Things like being a locksmith or fixing toilets. Low stress, high pay. Or I’d go work as a line cook at restaurants that were too busy and needed an extra hand tossing the wok. Over the past three years, I juggled acting and odd jobs. Of the 360 recognized trades in the world, I’ve probably dabbled in every single one. 2 When my agent called me, I was in the middle of changing a lock cylinder for a young woman who lived alone. I had just popped the old cylinder out when my phone rang. My agent, Maggie’s, voice sounded incredibly excited. “Stella, I got you a fantastic gig!” “It’s a live-streamed reality show! It’s packed with A-listers, and the buzz is already massive. You are going to ride some serious coattails on this one!” “To get you on this show, I literally begged every single connection I have. I bought three different producers dinner. I’m deducting all those expenses from your paycheck, by the way.” What?! Deducting it from my paycheck? Wait a minute, do I even have a paycheck? I let out a bitter laugh. “Maggie, I’ve been operating at a loss for years. There’s literally nothing left to deduct from me. Why don’t you just dock my credit score instead?” However, my agent didn’t share my pessimism. She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Listen, there are two massive pop idols, an Oscar-winning actress, and two ‘sweetheart’ ingenues. The drama and trending potential are going to be off the charts! Just standing in the background will get you more exposure than you’ve had in your entire life. Your popularity is going to skyrocket! You’ll have so many scripts thrown at you, you won’t even have time to read them all!” Hearing her say that, I started floating a little. If that happened, did that mean I could finally get some more significant roles? I’d settle for the evil step-sister! Or even the female lead’s quirky best friend! Anything was better than my current status of only ever having three lines! So, I immediately promised: “Don’t worry, Maggie! I will perform my heart out on this reality show. I will fight for every second of screen time and ride this wave to the top!” After finishing the lock installation for the young woman, I rushed home without stopping. I stayed up all night compiling dossiers on all the other guests on the show. I didn’t realize until I looked them up, but the lineup was terrifying. They were all currently trending, highly talked-about celebrities. The kind of people who could sneeze and end up on the front page of TMZ. The day the production company announced the cast lineup, the post surpassed a million retweets in half an hour. I was absolutely dumbfounded. Looking at the comments underneath, it was even more spectacular. The top comments were entirely fan bases cheering for their idols. Obviously, none of them were cheering for me. The only few comments that mentioned me went something like this: “Who is that girl at the end? Stella? Never heard of her. Is she a regular civilian?” “The producers are getting creative, bringing in an average Joe.” “Wow, I want to go! This Stella girl is so lucky.” Meanwhile, I, Stella “The Civilian”, was crying a river of tears in my heart. 3 The day of the reality show recording. To make a good impression on the crew, I arrived on set extremely early. I spent my time bringing coffee and kissing up to all the production staff. Not long after, the other guests began to arrive one by one. I practically tripped over myself rushing to help them carry their luggage. Mainly to steal some screen time. And to build up some goodwill. The live-stream comments noted: [This civilian girl really knows how to play the networking game.] Of course I do! I’ve spent the last three years in the industry doing nothing but networking! Just as I was helping the ‘sweetheart’ ingenue, Daisy, lift her suitcase, the Oscar-winning actress next to her, Serena, suddenly let out a shriek. “Ah! My zipper is broken!” Serena had brought a simple duffel bag today to save hassle, but the zipper had derailed after only two pulls. She frustratedly ran a hand through her hair. “I wonder if there’s a tailor or repair shop nearby.” I gently set Daisy’s suitcase on the ground. Dusting off my hands, I walked over to Serena. “Let me take a look.” The three people gathered around automatically stepped aside to give me room. Serena frowned. “You know how to fix zippers?” I picked up the bag, inspected it carefully, and confirmed it was a minor issue. I turned back and replied, “I know a little bit about it. Do you mind if I use my teeth?” After getting a bewildered but affirmative nod from Serena, I clamped my teeth down on the zipper track until I bit open a large enough gap on the derailed side. Then, I fed the bottom teeth of the zipper back into the slider. Once I confirmed it was pulled all the way to the bottom, I bit down again, clamping the gap I had just created firmly shut. After finishing, I zipped the bag up and down a few times to ensure it was smooth, then handed it back to Serena. “All done.” Serena took the bag, looking completely incredulous. “That’s it?” I waved my hand casually. “Minor issue.” Except it was a little hard on the molars. The live stream went wild: [Learned something new today.] [Looks like the civilian they hired is actually a seamstress.] [It’s alright, isn’t that just a basic life hack?] [Civilian Stella actually has some skills.] [Civilian sister, I’m a little worried about your dental health.] Thank you. My teeth are feeling a little breezy right now. 4 The room assignments were sorted out. I was sharing a room with the sweetheart, Daisy. The Oscar winner, Serena, had her own room. The two pop idols were sharing a room. By the time we unpacked, it was already high noon. Unsurprisingly, everyone’s stomachs were growling. Naturally, ordering Uber Eats was strictly forbidden. According to the rules of the show, we had to use the ingredients provided on-site, and we had to prepare a total of eight dishes. I took inventory of the vegetables on the counter. Eggs, eggplant, cabbage, pork belly… Okay, making eight dishes wouldn’t be a problem. So, I looked excitedly at the others. “Let’s each make one dish! What does everyone know how to cook?” Daisy was the first to raise her hand. “I know how to make boiled eggs.” Girl, I don’t think that counts as a dish. The comments: [Aww~ Our Daisy is so cute~] Serena also raised her hand. “I know how to make steamed eggs.” Sister, I don’t think that counts as a dish either. The comments: [Wow~ Our Serena is so amazing~] Next to them, the pop idol, Mason, raised his hand: “I know how to make scrambled eggs.” I was sweating profusely. Why is everyone obsessed with eggs?! Holding onto a final shred of hope, I asked, “Does anyone here know how to actually cook a meal?” The group nodded in perfect, silent unison. No. I rubbed my temples, feeling a headache coming on. We were out of time. If we didn’t cook soon, everyone was going to starve and turn into actual zombies. I took a deep breath and started issuing commands. “Serena, help me chop the eggplant. Daisy, julienne the potatoes. You two handsome guys, prep the cabbage leaves and dice the pork belly…” Once everyone had chopped and washed all the ingredients, I smoothly fired up the stove and started cooking. High heat, aggressive stir-frying, occasional wok-tossing. So skilled it was almost heartbreaking. The others watched, completely dumbfounded. “Stella, you actually know how to cook like a chef?!” I offered a modest smile. “I know a little bit about culinary arts.” The comments: [Those wok tosses do not look amateur.] [I bet the civilian sister’s real job is a chef!] [The guy above me, the answer is already on the board and you’re still guessing.] After a grueling forty minutes, the final dish was brought to the table. It was a full-blown feast, a perfect balance of meat and vegetables. Braised pork ribs, spicy chicken stew, chili pork stir-fry, tomato and egg stir-fry, braised eggplant, hot and sour shredded potatoes, braised pork belly, and a steamed egg custard. Eight dishes. Absolute perfection. Everyone couldn’t stop praising the food as they ate. “Stella, you’re amazing! This is so delicious!” Of course it is. If it tasted bad, they docked my pay. “You’re literally at the level of an executive chef.” Because I am a professional. Back when I was slinging woks at the restaurant, I could crack an egg with one hand. My cooking was so good it brought in a ton of repeat customers for the owner. 5 Everyone was eating, drinking, laughing, and chatting. Only Daisy, sitting next to me, seemed down. She kept checking herself in a compact mirror. I put a piece of braised pork belly into her bowl. “Daisy, why aren’t you eating?” Daisy pulled a long face. “My makeup is ruined.” While I was cooking earlier, Daisy had been my dedicated sous-chef, constantly running back and forth handing me things. After being smoked out by the grease and cooking fumes for half an hour, her makeup had completely melted off. Even though she had a great natural base and didn’t look bad, she definitely wasn’t looking her best. The comments were filled with sympathy: [Aww, our poor Daisy. She doesn’t know how to do anything, but she was helping out the whole time, and she didn’t even have time to touch up her makeup.] [Oh no. Daisy cares about her appearance more than anything. She probably doesn’t even want to look up at the camera.] [This show doesn’t allow outside assistants. I wonder if Daisy even brought her makeup bag.] I asked, “Daisy, did you bring any makeup with you?” Daisy pulled a cushion puff and a lip tint out of her pocket. “I left in such a hurry, I only brought these two.” I nodded. “That’s enough. That’s plenty.” Daisy looked completely lost. “Huh?” Five minutes later, Daisy was staring at herself in the mirror, absolutely thrilled. “Stella, you’re incredible! How did you achieve a full-face makeup look using only a puff and a lip tint?!” I smiled and replied, “I used the puff to heavily set the center of your face, which creates a highlighting effect. Then I used the lip tint for blush and to lower the outer corner of your eyes. But the main reason it looks so good is because you have a great base to work with. Otherwise, even the most skilled hands couldn’t paint a masterpiece.” Back in the day, to make extra cash, I ran around to countless different gig locations. At my peak, I did makeup for 58 people in a single day. They called me the “Hustling MUA.” Daisy was floating on air from the compliment. “Stella, why don’t you come be my personal makeup artist? The pay is highly lucrative!” It sounded incredibly tempting, but I still waved my hand. “I just know a little bit about it. I still have my main career.” Even though my main career lost me money, I truly loved it. The live comments exploded: [To the person guessing chef earlier, still wanna bet? I’m guessing Civilian Stella’s job is a makeup artist.] [Are you stupid? Didn’t she just say she has a main career? She’s not a makeup artist!] [Seeing how skilled she is, it really doesn’t look amateur. What the hell does she actually do?!] That night, the hashtag “What Exactly is Stella’s Job?” skyrocketed to the top of the trending charts. 6 That evening, we all went back to our respective rooms. I was lying in bed scrolling on my phone, and the second I saw the trending hashtag with my name on it, I sat bolt upright. I rubbed my eyes. Holy monkey, am I seeing things?! I, Stella, actually made it onto the trending charts?! I was ecstatic. I was losing my mind. Everyone must have been blown away by my charm today. After all, a gorgeous girl who can cook, carry luggage, and is a master of social networking? Who wouldn’t love that? Let’s see how everyone is praising me. I happily clicked on the hashtag. A massive headline immediately caught my eye: What Exactly is Stella’s Job? My smile froze on my face. What is my job? I’ve been acting for three years, and you’re asking me what my job is?! Okay, fine, I admit it. The dramas I’ve been in are all super niche indie stuff, or I was just an extra. It’s understandable if people don’t know. But wasn’t it written right there in the guest introductions below the show’s description?! Stella, Actress! Is that not clear enough?! I frantically clicked on the official cast introductions for our reality show. Stella, Civilian. Me: “?” Don’t mess with me. Wait, when the show first premiered, I explicitly remember it saying “Actress”! I planned to demand an explanation from the producers tomorrow. However, by the next day, I had completely forgotten about it. Because today’s challenge was brutal. Setting up a street stall. Everyone had to choose a street vending stall they liked and sell products. As long as a customer approached, we had to serve them, and we would be graded on our performance. The two handsome pop idols chose the easiest option: grilling hot dogs. Serena chose something slightly easier: applying phone screen protectors. The only thing left was the slightly more difficult option: making street crepes. Everyone looked at me. “Stella, we’re counting on you.” I rubbed my forehead and forced a bitter smile. Street crepes. I actually did know a little bit about that. 7 I was planning to show off my skills. But after waiting for half an hour, not a single customer showed up. Bored out of my mind, I looked around. Figuring I’d go steal some screen time at the other stalls, my eyes landed on Serena’s booth. A young woman was standing in front of the stall, looking quite unhappy. She kept rushing Serena: “Are you done yet? I’ve been waiting for almost twenty minutes.” Serena was sweating profusely from nervousness. “I’m so sorry, this is my first time applying a tempered glass protector. I’ll be done in just a second.” I walked over. “Serena, what’s wrong?” The customer spoke up: “I just need a screen protector applied. She’s gone through five or six of them and still can’t get it right. I’m in a rush.” I took the phone from Serena and whispered, “Serena, you grabbed the wrong model size. Let me handle it.” Serena sighed helplessly: “I’ve been looking through this pile of protectors for half an hour, I can’t find the exact model match.” I carefully inspected the pile. Indeed, there wasn’t an exact model match. But phone screens are mostly similar; there should be another model that fits well enough. I rummaged through the pile and finally found one. The old, cracked screen protector hadn’t even been removed from the customer’s phone yet. Serena probably thought the new one was supposed to be applied directly over it. I picked at the corner of the phone screen, slowly and carefully lifting it up until the old protector separated from the screen. Then, I peeled the entire sheet of cracked glass off. I tossed the broken protector into the trash can. I pulled out an alcohol prep pad and meticulously began wiping the phone screen. The comments: [Stella knows how to apply screen protectors too?!] [She looks so focused, it doesn’t look like she’s faking it.] [So Stella’s actual job is running a phone repair kiosk?] [Highly likely. An amateur wouldn’t have that much patience.] I wiped the screen until there wasn’t a single speck of dust or fine hair left. Then, I slowly peeled back one corner of the new tempered glass protector, pulled the backing off halfway, and carefully aligned it with the phone screen. I gently lowered it, smoothly pulling the rest of the backing off, waiting for the glass protector to slowly adhere to the screen. Once everything was done, the three of us let out a long sigh of relief. The live stream comments also let out a sigh of relief: [Phew, it’s finally applied. We four are amazing.] [No wonder I can never apply screen protectors right. Turns out I just don’t have enough patience.] [Case closed. Stella is absolutely a phone kiosk worker. If she’s not, I swear I’ll eat a shoe on live stream.] [The guy above me is getting bold with these bets.] After sending the customer off, Serena looked at me, her eyes filled with amazement. “I never expected you to know how to apply screen protectors too.” I waved my hand casually. “I know a little bit about it. I’m used to applying them for myself.” In reality, there was a period of time where I constantly set up a stall under an overpass selling phone cases. Naturally, I had to apply screen protectors too. Because of my absolute patience, rigorous attention to detail, and excellent technique, I attracted a massive crowd. At my absolute peak, I applied 140 tempered glass screen protectors in a single day. My hands were practically smoking by the end of it.

During my heaviest year, I literally sat on the school bully until he cried. The harder he cried, the more riled up I got. I threw a leg over him, pinned him down, and gave him a few good twists. Something felt… uncomfortable against me. Ever since that day, the moment he saw me, he’d run faster than the speed of light. Three years later at a college reunion, my former classmates were joking around: “Chloe is so skinny now, she couldn’t squish Liam until he cried even if she tried!” Liam, sitting across the table, leaned forward slightly and crossed his legs. My entire body flushed hot, and my face turned as red as a tomato all the way down to my neck. 1 I had honestly forgotten what Liam even looked like. For all of high school, he ran the opposite direction the second he saw me. And he was fast. So fast that my memory of his face was completely blurry. On the very first day of high school, my desk neighbor warned me. Liam Vance was the grandson of the richest man in the city. He was a complete menace. If you saw him walking down the hall, you took a detour. My mom had also warned me that going to a city high school meant I needed to keep my head down and absolutely avoid offending anyone. I kept that firmly in mind. Then, one day, I saw him cornered on the edge of the athletic field. It was one against five. Five upperclassmen had him surrounded. He saw me from afar and yelled out. “Chloe!” I squinted, took a few steps closer to see clearly. Once I realized it was him, I turned around and walked the other way without looking back. Shortly after, I heard his screams of agony. Back in the classroom, I was worried something really bad had happened to him. So I told the whole class, and then I told our homeroom teacher. By the time the teacher led the whole class out to find him, his clothes were torn, one side of his face was swollen like a balloon, and he had a black eye like a panda. It was the first time I had ever seen him up close. The swooning girls in my class always said Liam was tall, handsome, and had striking, almost mixed-race features. But right now? He looked like the guy who collected scrap metal back in my hometown. I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. And my eyes met his. He stood up, hissed in pain, pointed a finger at me and said, “You just wait, you’re dead.” The homeroom teacher immediately kicked him right in the butt, making him yelp in pain. The very next evening, right after I walked out of the cafeteria, he and his little posse blocked my path. I hid the fried chicken drumstick I was holding behind my back and swallowed hard. I had just taken my first bite. I hadn’t even swallowed yet. If the chicken got cold, it wouldn’t taste good anymore. Because of that, I completely forgot my desk neighbor’s and my mom’s warnings. I sounded incredibly irritable. “Are you annoying or what? Just because I didn’t help you? If I had helped you fight and won, wouldn’t you have looked even more pathetic?” The lackeys behind him looked down, clearly embarrassed that I had hit the nail on the head. He stiffened his neck and yelled at me: “Fatty Chloe! You’re as fat as a pig and you’re still eating chicken!” That’s it? So childish. I pushed past him to walk away, but he grabbed my arm. I jerked my arm away, and accidentally dropped my chicken drumstick on the ground. It’s fine, I thought. I can pick it up, wash it off, peel the breading off, and still eat it. But then he stepped forward and stomped on my chicken. He even twisted his ankle back and forth to grind it in. My gaze slowly traveled upward until it locked onto his face. Anger erupted in me like a volcano. I let out a roar and tackled him to the ground. He already had one arm in a cast from yesterday, and his other arm was no match for my substantial weight. I planted my butt squarely on top of him. “Give me back my chicken! You owe me my chicken! I only get to eat chicken once a year! Waaah…” Liam’s face turned beet red, and two streams of tears slid from the corners of his eyes. A crowd started forming. Someone yelled, “Go get a teacher!” Hearing that, his lackeys scattered and ran for their lives. The harder Liam cried, the more worked up I got. I threw a leg over him, pinning him down like I was riding a horse, and gave him a few good twists. Just like what he did to my chicken drumstick. For some reason, though… something felt uncomfortable against me. Eventually, some classmates pulled me off him. I mourned that chicken drumstick for a whole month. I was so grief-stricken and angry that I studied until I ranked number one in our grade on the monthly exams. Only then did I emerge from my depression. 2 From that day on, whenever Liam saw me, he’d bolt without a trace. Liam’s admission to our school wasn’t through normal channels. His mom was on the school board. I heard his middle school test scores were so low he wouldn’t have even qualified for the worst high school in the city. Students like me, who had been on the low-income financial aid list since childhood, hated people like him the most. Especially since he destroyed my chicken drumstick. But there was nothing I could do to him. In fact, I was terrified of him. I was afraid he would complain to his mom and get my financial aid revoked. Or just make up an excuse to get me expelled. For an entire semester, I waited for my homeroom teacher to tell me to pack my bags. Every night I had nightmares about being chased by a vicious dog. The dead dog would run right up to my face, bare its fangs, give an evil laugh, and its face would morph into Liam’s. It wasn’t until after the final exams that the homeroom teacher announced he had some news. Inside the stuffy, enclosed classroom, a cold sweat ran down my spine. I was already planning how to break the news to my mom. At worst, I’d just go work in the mines with her. The teacher calling my name pulled me back to reality. “Chloe, the school has established a new scholarship. Since you ranked first in your grade, you’ve been awarded eight thousand dollars.” That wasn’t just a scholarship; that was life-saving money. Not only did I have money for living expenses, but my mom wouldn’t have to risk getting black lung disease working in the mines just to make a few hundred extra dollars a month. The teacher also praised Liam. His grades had shot up from dead last to the middle of the pack. My desk neighbor whispered that Liam had a crush on a girl, the most popular girl in our grade, Mia. Mia consistently ranked in the top ten, and she had publicly stated she would never date a guy with worse grades than hers. Liam’s desk was piled high with New Year’s cards from girls. He shoved all of them into his desk drawer. The only one he carefully placed into his backpack was the one from Mia. After that, he completely settled down and stopped causing trouble. Occasionally, when we crossed paths, I didn’t even have to hide from him, and he never called me “Fatty Chloe” again. Actually, wait. He just completely refused to even look at me. By the time we graduated high school, he had become the “cold and aloof heartthrob” all the underclassmen obsessed over. He rejected countless girls, supposedly just waiting for Mia to say yes. After graduation, my only interaction with him was when we picked up our diplomas. The homeroom teacher told me Liam’s mother had asked him to pass on a message. “She says thank you to the pretty, chubby girl in your class. Her sitting on Liam finally knocked some sense into him.” I scratched my head and smiled. His mom was pretty funny. When I turned around, Liam happened to be standing right outside the office door. Our eyes met; he immediately looked away, and I looked down at the floor. We walked past each other, and I never saw him again. 3 I honestly hadn’t planned on attending this college reunion. Heading into my senior year of college, I was juggling part-time jobs and frantically applying for internships. I was completely overwhelmed. My old high school desk neighbor, Sarah, urged me: “You should come! It’s good networking for the future.” “Plus, Liam is the one organizing it this time.” “Remember him? The guy you sat on until he cried?” I rubbed my forehead and cut her off: “Can we please not bring that up? I’ll go, I’ll go, I’ll go.” Standing in a quiet corner, holding my phone, my face was burning red. It was only much later that I finally understood why it felt so… uncomfortable that day. On the day of the reunion, to show how little I cared, I didn’t wear any makeup. I specifically wore a faded, washed-out tracksuit and carried a canvas tote bag from a cheap grocery store. Sure enough, when I arrived, I was the most shabbily dressed person there. In stark contrast, Liam, who was pushing 6’2″, stood out effortlessly in the crowd. He had broad shoulders and a strong back, and the top two buttons of his crisp white dress shirt were casually undone. It made me think of that chicken drumstick from years ago, and I involuntarily swallowed hard. As soon as I walked in, Sarah dragged me right over to Liam. “Boss Vance, remember her? Chloe!” A wave of good-natured laughter rippled through the group around us. “Chloe is so skinny now, she couldn’t squish Liam until he cried even if she tried!” Hearing that, Liam’s expression became slightly unnatural. He leaned forward slightly and crossed his legs. My entire body flushed hot, and my face turned as red as a tomato all the way down to my neck. I fanned my face frantically with my hands. “It’s so hot in here! I’m gonna go step outside for some air.” “If you’re hot, just take your jacket off!” Sarah, with lightning speed, reached over and yanked the zipper of my track jacket down. I had bought this jacket back when I hadn’t lost the weight yet, so it hung on me like a massive potato sack. With her pull, the jacket easily slid off my shoulders. Revealing my upper body, dressed only in a thin camisole, directly facing Liam. He lowered his gaze, taking in my entire chest area without missing a detail. I panicked and frantically pulled the jacket back up over my shoulders. Sarah wouldn’t shut up. “Wow, the parts that weren’t supposed to shrink didn’t shrink at all!” “If you sat on someone now, you’d still make them cry, just for a different reason!” While nervously adjusting my collar, I snuck a peek at Liam. The tips of his ears were bright red. 4 It wasn’t until Liam spoke up that we realized he came with an agenda. “I started a tech company back in our hometown, and we’re currently hiring.” “The pay and benefits are excellent, and we provide housing and meals. If anyone is interested, please send me your resume.” Sarah nudged me in the ribs. She handed me her phone, showing the profile of Liam’s company. “Doesn’t this perfectly align with your major?” I felt conflicted. I had hoped to never cross paths with Liam again in my entire life. I had never told anyone, but I had actually seen him at a gay bar where I was working part-time. It wasn’t that I was judging him, it just made me feel weird whenever I thought about it. But I really wanted to go back to my hometown. My mom, worried about me working so much while in school, had secretly gone back to working in the mines and ended up getting a lung disease. I wanted to go back so I could take care of her and keep an eye on her. Our hometown was a traditional industrial city; tech startups like his could be counted on one hand. And the existing ones were usually just neglected branch offices with no real career prospects. The salary listed on Liam’s job posting made my heart race. That night, I tossed and turned, and the dreams started again. In my dream, a giant white dog came running toward me, wagging its tail, and tackled me to the ground. It licked me all over until I was giggling uncontrollably. Then the big dog lifted its head, and its face morphed into Liam’s. I woke up covered in a cold sweat. He’s haunting me. Suddenly, my phone rang with an unknown number. “Ms. Davis, we are calling from Vance Tech. We would like to invite you for an interview next week.” It was Liam’s company. But I hadn’t even submitted a resume. Then, my mom’s attending physician texted me, saying they were scheduling her surgery for next week. I simply said “Okay” into the phone. Since I was heading back to my hometown anyway, I might as well check it out. On the day of the interview, Liam wasn’t there. I had a great conversation with the Chief Technology Officer. I didn’t even have to do an internship period; I was hired full-time immediately. And there was no pay cut during the probationary period. I always knew I was a good student, but I didn’t realize I was that good. It would be rude to refuse such an offer. However, because the time for my mom’s surgery was suddenly moved up, I had to delay my start date by a day. First thing in the morning on my first day, I ran into Liam in the elevator. I respectfully greeted him: “Good morning, Boss.” His Adam’s apple bobbed a few times, but he didn’t say a word. The elevator chimed. Just as the doors opened a crack, I lifted my foot to step out. Through the gap, I saw a pair of long, gorgeous legs waiting outside. The elevator doors opened fully. It was Mia. She completely ignored me and threw herself directly into Liam’s arms. “Liam! You said at the meeting yesterday you weren’t coming into the office today!” “Something came up.” I stepped out of the elevator and turned around. Liam had his hands up in surrender, letting Mia hang off his neck, smiling at her with pure indulgence. 5 The moment I sat down at my desk, my manager called me into his office. “Mr. Vance’s executive assistant position hasn’t been filled yet. You have a great academic background, so I need you to fill in for a while.” “Is that really appropriate—?” “What I mean is, won’t Mia mind?” “Mia—? Oh, you mean the boss’s wife. Why would she mind?” “Mr. Vance is giving you an incredible compensation package, show a little tact.” The boss’s wife. Makes sense. But my chest felt inexplicably tight. My butt hadn’t even warmed my new desk chair yet. I grumbled under my breath as I packed up my things and headed upstairs. Right outside Liam’s office was the executive assistant’s desk. Since I was here, I figured I should go say hi to the boss first. I pushed the door open. He was facing the door and I startled him. He frowned and asked me why I didn’t knock. Behind him, facing away from me, Mia was leaning over, her arms propped up on his desk. That posture. My face instantly burned bright red. “Sorry to interrupt.” I backed up a few steps and closed the door for them. A few seconds later, Mia walked out, giving me a playful, assessing look. She took a few steps forward, rubbed her lower back, and let out a soft sigh. From inside the office, Liam yelled “Come in,” making me jump. He was leaning back in his office chair, rubbing his temples with one hand. “I yelled a little too loud just now. Don’t take it personally.” My mom always said: if someone respects you an inch, you respect them a mile. I cleared my throat. “Not at all, Boss, you’re too polite. You can yell at me if you want, you can even hit me if you want.” He looked up, suppressing a smile at the corner of his mouth. “I can hit you?” “Sure.” His lips parted, a half-smile playing on his face. “Girls should learn how to protect themselves.” “I’m very good at protecting myself! You should worry about protecting yourself. Did you forget what happened when we fought, I—” Why do I have a mouth?! He closed his eyes and waved his hand. “Get out.” Back at my desk, I buried my head in organizing documents. Liam suddenly opened his door and threw a uniform at me. “Change into this. You’re coming on a business trip with me.” Change, sure. I’ll change right now. A white button-down shirt, a fitted blazer, a pencil skirt, and black tights. My body proportions—my chest and waist measurements—make buying clothes incredibly difficult. But this uniform fit like it was custom-tailored for me. I looked at myself in the mirror and gave a very serious, professional salute. Walking out of the restroom, I practically crashed into Liam. He must be sick or something. His ears were always bleeding red. 6 It was my first time flying, and it was in First Class. I asked Liam: “Next time, could you book me in Economy and just pay me the difference in cash?” He turned away and completely ignored me. The plane hit sudden turbulence, and I let out a yelp. Before the sound even faded, I was already pulled into his chest. His Adam’s apple bobbed right next to my ear, and his voice drifted down from above me. “Coward.” I looked up and met his eyes. His gaze was hazy. He slowly lowered his head, and it looked like he was about to kiss me. I swallowed hard and struggled to say: “I have boundaries.” He let go of me, sat back in his seat, and turned his face away. My heart was pounding, my palms were sweaty. He didn’t look at me again until we got off the plane. Well, what could I do? He was the boss, and I was terrified of getting fired. I helped him with his luggage, I told him jokes. I even kept dropping hints. “Mia is so beautiful, it’s hard to find anyone prettier than her, right?” “Whoever gets to marry Mia is incredibly lucky. Anyone who doesn’t cherish her deserves to be impotent for life.” His expression finally cracked. He gave me a very strange look. “You really like her?” “Of course I do!” “Is that why you worked at that kind of place?” “What kind of place?” “Mr. Vance!” A voice called out, interrupting our conversation. A guy holding a pick-up sign ran over. He had sharp eyebrows and bright eyes, easily as handsome as Liam. “My name is Ryan. I graduated from City High too.” “Technically, that makes you two my underclassmen.” I sweetly called out, “Nice to meet you, Ryan!” Liam glared at me. I pouted. You’re the vendor here, why are you acting so arrogant? How are you going to close this deal? These rich trust fund kids really don’t understand how the real world works. I continued turning on the charm for Ryan. “Ryan, your company is notoriously hard to get into, you must be amazing at what you do!” “We are so honored to have this opportunity to visit. Next time you come to our city, I’ll bring you some local specialties!” Liam’s face grew darker and darker. Does he even want to do business or what?

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391294”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

When Arthur Vance, the heir to the most powerful family in New York, was at his absolute lowest, I became his girlfriend. For three years, he lived in my tiny apartment, ate my food, and drank my water. The day he finally reclaimed his throne, I used my very last dime of savings to buy him a parting gift. I was preparing to say goodbye. But through the door, I heard him talking to someone: “She’s not my girlfriend. I’ll just keep her around as a kept woman, like a little canary.” I hid the gift behind my back. Forget it, I thought. Leaving without saying goodbye is fine too. Later, he knelt in front of a church altar for three days and three nights, begging God just for a chance to see me one more time. 1 Holding the gift bag, I walked up to my cheap apartment. I had been rehearsing my farewell speech the entire walk home. But through the thin walls, I heard Arthur’s voice. “Evelyn isn’t my girlfriend. From now on, just consider her a kept woman, like a canary I keep by my side.” His tone was casual, but the words pierced straight through me like a sword. I gripped the handle of the gift bag tightly. It felt like my heart was stuffed with cotton, making it impossible to breathe. So, this was what I was in his eyes? 2 The apartment door suddenly swung open. A man in a sharp, tailored suit saw me and froze. I instinctively took a half-step back. Behind him, Arthur was still wearing the cheap T-shirt I had bought for him at Target. Seeing me standing outside the door, his expression instantly stiffened. “Evie, why are you home so early?” I hid the gift bag even further behind my back. I squeezed out a smile. “Got off work a bit early today.” Without waiting for him to say anything else, I used buying boba tea as an excuse, turned around, and practically ran down the stairs. 3 My apartment was in a rundown neighborhood, but the moment you stepped out of the alley, you hit the bustling, neon-lit heart of the city. Looking at the blinding neon lights I used to find so beautiful, my vision completely blurred. Unable to suppress the overwhelming pain, I finally let the tears fall, releasing everything I had been holding back. I heard two girls walking past me, talking excitedly. “The Vance family heir is so freaking hot.” “It’s like a real-life Succession drama.” Right now, the entire city was gossiping about the exiled Vance heir finally reclaiming his billionaire status. And Arthur Vance was that heir. I pulled out my phone. My TikTok feed was completely flooded with news about Arthur. I clicked on a video I had already watched that afternoon. His handsome, aristocratic face looked directly into the camera. He politely declined a more in-depth interview, but said he wanted to thank one specific person. When reporters pressed him for a name, he refused to answer. How hilarious. I had actually been arrogant enough to believe he was talking about me. 4 Three years ago, Arthur lost a brutal war for control of his family’s empire and was banished from New York. I “picked him up” in a small rural town upstate. At the time, he was practically blind from an injury, and his legs were broken. He had been thrown out of a moving car, looking no better than a homeless beggar. After I took him into my tiny house, he tried to end his own life multiple times. I stayed by his side, quietly keeping watch, until he finally gave up the idea. He never talked about his past. But I knew exactly who he was. Arthur Vance. The former golden boy of the New York elite. Because when he was in high school, he casually circled a name on a map for a charity project. That single action changed the lives of all the impoverished kids in my hometown. Including me. The Vance family established a charity foundation in his name. Every kid in our town, boy or girl, had their high school and college tuition fully paid for by the foundation. Unfortunately, the foundation only lasted for a few years. I just happened to be part of the very last batch of college graduates who benefited from it. When I started high school, I actually met Arthur once. He was pale and looked a bit sickly back then. He came as the representative of the foundation to hand out the scholarship checks to us. Making eye contact with him was like looking directly at the sun. He was so dazzling it hurt your eyes. He forcibly suppressed a look of intense impatience to take a group photo with us. 5 The next time I saw him, I had already graduated college and was working as a sales associate at a luxury boutique on Fifth Avenue. He walked into the store wearing an immaculate bespoke suit, his aristocratic face carrying a trace of cynical world-weariness. The store manager and the regional director personally rushed to assist him. The security guards outside immediately set up velvet ropes, preparing to clear the store. I heard a coworker next to me whispering in pure envy: “It’s Mr. Vance.” “If you close one sale with him, you won’t have to worry about your quota for the rest of the month.” I watched from a distance, the corners of my mouth curling up slightly. I hadn’t seen him in years, and he had changed so much. The awkwardness of the high school boy was gone. He had the commanding presence of a grown man. His features were sharper, his aura even more untouchable. My coworker bumped my arm, thinking I was daydreaming about something impossible. “He’s gorgeous, right?” “Stop dreaming. He’s the crown prince of New York.” I snapped back to reality, my smile unfading. Suddenly, Arthur took a phone call. He started cursing violently, a mix of furious English and something else, before storming out of the boutique like a hurricane. Based on the one or two sentences she caught, my coworker instantly started spinning the gossip mill: “The Vance family succession war is getting bloody.” “The media is saying the old man is on his deathbed, and the second branch of the family is highly likely to seize control.” Arthur was the son of the eldest branch. But his father had been in a severe car crash years ago and was in a vegetative state. I silently prayed that he would win this ruthless, blood-soaked battle for the billionaire throne. I never expected that a few months later… When I went back to my hometown upstate, I would “pick up” the man who lost that exact battle. 6 During the months I stayed with him, his broken legs slowly healed. Eventually, he listened to my advice and stopped wallowing in self-pity. He agreed to go to the hospital to treat his eyes. I emptied out my entire life savings and took out loans to pay for his surgery. We eventually moved to Chicago. Sometimes, I would stand with him on a high balcony, looking eastward, toward New York. But he never explained why. Until the anniversary of his mother’s death. That day, he suddenly pulled me into a crushing embrace. He buried his face in my neck, trembling violently, and spat out words laced with pure agony: “They killed my mother. Then they banished me from New York and forbade me from ever stepping foot there again.” I felt something freezing cold against my neck. It was the tears he had been holding back for so long. He told me all the vile, filthy secrets of his family. I cried with him, and I didn’t forget to encourage him. “As long as there’s life, there’s hope.” 7 After that, we stayed in Chicago for three years. We holed up in the tiny apartment I rented. During the day, I went to work at a luxury boutique downtown. Arthur stayed home, busy with his own secretive affairs. Occasionally, at the store, I would serve wealthy clients visiting from New York. I would listen to them gossip about the shifting power dynamics of the Vance family. Until recently, when I heard that the current head of the Vance family had been implicated in a murder scandal. And the eldest son, who had been declared a permanent vegetable, had miraculously woken up. The leadership of the Vance empire was about to change hands. I knew that Arthur was highly likely to reclaim his position as the crown prince. I had been preparing my goodbye speech for a long time. But over the past few days, every time I practiced it in my head, I couldn’t stop myself from choking up. Today, I heard that people from New York had arrived to see him. I took the absolute last bit of money I had managed to scrape together over the past six months. I bought a designer silk pocket square at my boutique. I thought it would be a dignified parting gift. The massive gap between our social classes meant our story ended here. But I never imagined that was what Arthur truly thought of me. Tears of profound grievance kept falling. It took a long time before I finally wiped them away and walked into a boba shop. 8 An hour later, I walked back into the apartment holding two cups of boba tea. Arthur had taken a shower and was wearing the cheap pajamas I had bought for him. He didn’t offer a single word of explanation about the man in the suit. He just stared at me with his deep, dark eyes, as if waiting for me to ask. I don’t know why, but the tiny apartment I usually found so cozy suddenly felt suffocating. The cheap wallpaper was peeling in the corners, revealing the crumbling drywall underneath, making the place look even more impoverished. I subtly looked away and forced a casual tone. “It’s a new flavor from the boba shop. I waited in line for over half an hour.” As I spoke, I unwrapped a straw, poked it in, took a massive sip, and then handed it to him. “Try it.” He didn’t take it. A heavy, dead silence spread between us. I awkwardly pulled my hand back. Of course. He was about to go back to being a billionaire heir. Why would he want to drink this cheap, sugary garbage anymore? Let alone share a cup with someone like me. But I still remembered when we were first together. He used to complain about me eating junk food, but he would still lean over and take a sip from my boba tea. A wave of bitter acidity washed over my chest. I pretended I was sweating, set the boba tea down, and walked toward the bathroom. 9 When I came out after showering, the overhead light suddenly started flickering violently. After a few seconds, it burnt out completely, plunging the room into total darkness. Arthur walked over, wrapped his arms around me, and coaxed me gently. “It’s okay. I’m here.” The pain I had forced down surged right back up to my chest because of that one sentence. It felt like thousands of tiny needles were being driven into my heart. Wave after wave of suffocation. If he hadn’t just told his guy that I wasn’t his girlfriend… If he hadn’t literally said he was going to keep me as a “canary”… With how deeply affectionate he sounded right now, I really would have believed he actually loved me. In the dark, he tried to kiss me. I turned my face away to avoid it. I reached up to push him away, but then I heard him say: “Evie, we’re going to be together forever.” I gave a soft “Oh.” My heart was rapidly sinking into an abyss. Together forever? As your kept woman? 10 I didn’t let Arthur see my emotions. I fumbled in the dark to find the hairdryer. He turned on his phone’s flashlight to illuminate the room and helped me dry my hair. He also said he really loved the pocket square I gave him. Only then did I realize he had already opened the gift I bought. The explanation I had prepared died on my lips. I just gave an “Mhm” and said, “I’m glad you like it.”

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A prominent billionaire family in New York was hiring a high-paid “Sleep Consultant” with one single condition: You can coax the young master to sleep, but you absolutely cannot sleep with the young master. I got the job solely because I lacked ambition and loved money. After officially starting, the young master intentionally made things difficult for me. First, he got me drunk. Then, with his bathrobe half-undone, he tried to force me to violate my professional ethics and took pictures as blackmail. In a fit of rage, I used his bathrobe belt to tie his hands and feet, bullying him right back. “If I’m going down, I’m taking you with me!” If I was going to lose my job, he wasn’t going to get a wink of sleep tonight either. 1 Looking at the massive line of gorgeous women ahead of me, I was dumbfounded. The “easy $10,000-a-month gig” my friend told me about had a waiting room that looked like a Miss America pageant. Everyone was dressed to the nines, in all shapes and sizes. Aside from me, every single person was busy touching up their makeup. The Vance family, one of New York’s absolute top-tier billionaire families, was currently mass-recruiting Sleep Consultants. They were incredibly generous, hiring seven candidates at a time, each given a one-night trial. Even if you didn’t pass the trial, you still got paid for a full week’s work. The only catch: you had to pass the initial interview. I graduated with a degree in psychology, although I hadn’t worked a single job related to psychology since leaving school. But $10,000 could solve a lot of my problems. My younger sister could focus on her SAT prep instead of working three part-time jobs over the summer. My grandmother’s nursing care fees would be covered, meaning we wouldn’t have to rely on my aunt’s charity and endure her constant sneers. Even if I failed the trial period, I’d still walk away with a couple of thousand dollars. But looking at this fierce, competitive “spectacle” in front of me… “Hey girls, are you all here applying for the Sleep Consultant position too?” I asked a few of the beautiful women chatting nearby, just to make sure I wasn’t in the wrong place. They looked me up and down, their eyes filled with disdain upon seeing my completely out-of-place, casual outfit. “Obviously.” “Heh, ‘Sleep Consultant.’ Who knows what that actually means,” one scoffed. “I heard from people in their circle that the young master, Arthur Vance, used to throw wild parties all the time when he studied abroad.” “Yeah, I heard Arthur Vance plays rough. He won’t get sleepy until he tortures someone to the point of passing out…” “No wonder they need one girl per night. Who could handle that?” “If you actually think they’re paying $10,000 just to have someone read bedtime stories, you’re kidding yourself.” I shuddered. So it really isn’t a decent, legitimate job. Sigh. Looks like I made this trip for nothing. I decided I was going to eat every single gourmet pastry provided in the waiting area to make up for the Uber fare I spent getting to this Upper East Side mansion. Just as I was full and preparing to sneak out, someone called my name loudly. “Next, Chloe Davis.” 2 When I pushed the door open, I let out a soft burp. The beautiful assistant leading the way shot me a glare, then bowed slightly to the person inside: “Madam, the candidate you requested is here.” The grand hall was opulent, with massive Impressionist oil paintings hanging on the walls. Sitting in the center of a plush sofa was a highly elegant, graceful woman. Her snow-white skin, maintained with mountains of money, made it impossible to guess her real age. She flipped through my written assessment, looking increasingly satisfied. “Are these your honest thoughts?” she looked up, scrutinizing me. At the time I filled it out, I just wanted to leave, so I answered randomly and had completely forgotten what I wrote. I just nodded. “You’re hired.” Me: ? “People who love money are easy to communicate with. You’re exactly who I’m looking for.” Mrs. Vance made the decision on the spot. I became the only person hired that day. Simply because my love for money was brutally honest, and I was the least ambitious-looking person in the entire building. 3 The head butler told me I was starting tonight. “The young master hasn’t slept a wink in three days.” “Why can’t your young master sleep?” I asked cautiously. The butler suddenly stopped walking. “You don’t need to know that, and please do not ask the young master.” As he showed me the layout of the mansion, he went over the rules, ending with a stern warning. “Miss Davis, please strictly adhere to professional ethics. Know what you are allowed to do, and what you absolutely cannot do.” “You may coax the young master to sleep, but you may not sleep with the young master.” “The young master has already chased away several young women with ulterior motives.” “If you are thrown out, do not expect the Vance family to show any mercy.” “I wish you success.” … Arthur Vance’s bedroom was at the very end of the third floor. Not even moonlight reached it. It was incredibly gloomy. Rumors said that Arthur Vance, the meticulously groomed heir to the Vance empire, had been ruined by his stepmother. Years ago, in a horrific car accident, Arthur’s biological mother and their driver were killed instantly. Arthur, who was in the same car, barely survived and spent over six months bedridden recovering. But in those short six months, his father had already remarried, and the new stepmother had even moved into his deceased mother’s bedroom. The son who survived completely changed. The once gentle, brilliant golden boy became dark, isolated, and highly volatile. He also developed a bizarre condition where he was entirely unable to fall asleep after dark. The previous Sleep Consultants hired for him either had impure intentions or terrible skills. In short, every single one failed. After getting the job offer, I immediately pulled out my phone and crammed on all the Vance family gossip. Who knew how much of it was true and how much was fake? Whatever. I’m here now, might as well make the best of it. I took a deep breath and knocked on the massive wooden door. $10,000, here I come. 4 “Enter.” The voice was freezing and depressed. “Good evening, Mr. Vance.” A massive wall of floor-to-ceiling windows had only a sliver of the curtains open, revealing the unbeatable New York City skyline. The room only had a few dim sleep lights on, flickering faintly. A subtle, dark fragrance floated in the air. The room was huge. The bottomless darkness felt like it could swallow a person whole. A tall, lean young man stood by the window, holding a glass of ice water, looking distant and unapproachable. He had probably just showered; the water from the ends of his hair dampened his collar. A silk bathrobe traced his perfect physique. The dark, ornate patterns made the skin on the back of his neck, his wrists, and his ankles look even paler and colder. Those broad shoulders, that narrow waist, that perfect V-taper… If you don’t show some restraint and dress like this, practically begging for it… No wonder the girls before me got the wrong idea. I coughed lightly twice to make my presence known. “You’re the only one today?” The young man turned around and glanced at me. His face, with striking, sharp features, was exposed in the moonlight. His eye sockets were deep, his eye color incredibly cold. Wait, buddy, do you normally do group sleep-coaxing sessions? “Mr. Vance, would you like to rest now?” It was my first time doing this, and I honestly had no idea how to start. Arthur Vance reached out, yanked the curtains shut, blocking out the last ray of moonlight, and walked toward the massive bed. I looked around. I didn’t see a single chair I could pull up to the bed. Am I supposed to sit on the young master’s bed to coax him? That doesn’t seem appropriate. Stand next to the bed? Like I’m giving a corporate presentation? He’d never fall asleep like that. Thankfully, there was a plush, long-pile rug surrounding the bed. I plopped down onto it. I pulled the book I had prepared out of my bag: Peppa Pig. Arthur leaned against the headboard, his eyes lowered. Seeing what I was doing, veins visibly popped on his forehead. Hold on, don’t get mad, let me explain. “Hehe, my nephew listens to this every day and falls asleep in five minutes.” He let out a cold laugh. “How old is your nephew?” I stammered, “Three…” I started reading Peppa Pig. I read, and I read, and then I zoned out… Shit! It was morning. I wiped the drool off my face. The bed was completely empty, leaving only the imprint of me slumped against the side of it. On my very first day on the job, I fell asleep before my boss did. RIP my career. 5 I thought I was definitely getting fired. I was thrilled. Working one day and getting paid for a whole week? I was ecstatic. But the butler told me the young master was quite satisfied with me and wanted me to keep up the good work tonight. Satisfied? With Peppa Pig?! Taking this money was starting to make my conscience feel a little guilty. On the second night, I changed my approach. I asked the butler for some lotus seeds, longan, and lily bulbs, and made a bowl of soothing sweet soup. Arthur took a reluctant sip and offered his critique: “Too sweet.” I only made one bowl. Thinking he didn’t want to drink it, I grabbed it back and tasted it. “It’s fine! I only put half a piece of rock sugar in it.” He stared at his empty hand, then glared at the bowl in my hand, looking a bit angry. And because he was angry, he refused to sleep. Sigh. On the third night, I warmed up some milk for him, lit some aromatherapy incense, and started telling him gossip about my old boss. Yes, “Sleep Consultant” was just a side gig. During the day, I was a regular corporate drone working a 9-to-5. Arthur didn’t drink his usual ice water. He held the warm milk I gave him, tilted his head, and listened quietly. His eyelashes were very long. When he focused on someone, he looked incredibly affectionate. If the gossip I was spilling wasn’t so utterly unhinged, you’d think he was listening to a symphony. “You said he gets handsy with you guys?” Arthur suddenly interrupted. “Just smacking our butts or patting our shoulders as he walks by.” It was disgusting, but the girls were too angry and scared to speak up. His brow furrowed slightly, a trace of emotion rolling through his eyes. That night, I got really hyped up telling the stories, and he was completely engrossed listening. Sleep? What sleep? On the fourth night, I found a very long, incredibly boring, sleep-inducing movie. I dragged him to the mansion’s home theater to watch it. I preemptively chugged three cups of black coffee (which tasted like herbal medicine) to ensure I wouldn’t doze off before my client did. But when I woke up, the sky had fallen. Not only did I fall asleep. I fell asleep leaning against Arthur. Not only did I lean against him. I also drooled all over his shoulder. “…I’ll wash the shirt! I’m so sorry!” I was so terrified I practically bounced up, apologizing profusely. He slowly stood up, rubbing the shoulder I had been crushing all night. His long, elegant fingers started unbuttoning his shirt. I immediately turned my back— Daytime indecency is highly inappropriate! A soft dress shirt was thrown over my head, blocking my vision, and a large hand patted my head. “Dry clean only.” On the fifth night, I dragged the long-limbed Arthur into doing hot yoga. But my technique was flawed, and I almost bent him in half backwards. If it had been a different kind of “bending,” he probably would have chased me out and beaten me up. On the sixth night, I had him take a medicinal petal bath, then told him to lie face down on the bed. As the essential oils dripped onto his beautifully sculpted back muscles, I clearly felt Arthur shudder. I rubbed my palms together to warm them up and, copying a YouTube video, gave him a sleep-inducing massage. But for some reason, the muscles under my hands grew stiffer the more I massaged them. Wherever I pressed, it turned rock hard. The thin layer of muscle under my hands grew hotter and hotter, breaking out in a fine sweat. His face was buried in the pillow, and the tips of his ears were absurdly red. I whispered, “Mr. Vance, do you have a fever?” Then I was grabbed by the collar and thrown out of the room. Immediately after, the sound of running water came from the bathroom. Tsk, this young master. Not only is he hard to coax to sleep, but he’s a germaphobe too. I washed my hands spotlessly clean before I started the massage! On the seventh night, before the sun even set, Mrs. Vance called me in for questioning. She was a bit surprised I had managed to last six days, but she didn’t call me in to encourage me; she gave me an ultimatum. “Arthur still hasn’t been able to fall asleep after dark these past few days.” “I heard you almost broke his legs?” I forced an apologetic smile. “Not broken, not broken. Tonight will definitely be the night.” “If you don’t succeed tonight, don’t bother coming back next week.” Tonight, it was do or die! 6 So that night, I brought a bottle of dry red wine to see Arthur. He was wearing the same silk bathrobe from the first time we met. The color was slightly different; this one was dark red. The fabric clung to him, highlighting the peaks and valleys of his muscles. The belt was tied loosely, his chest faintly visible through the deep V-neck. Dressing like this, what is he trying to do? I looked away, poured two glasses of wine, and handed one over. “Mr. Vance, thank you for putting up with my nonsense these past few days.” We had tried every sleep remedy in the book, even though they all failed. He took the wine glass but didn’t let go, his palm wrapping over my freezing cold hand. “Do you want me to drink this?” He stared at the dry red wine coating the inside of the glass, looking thoughtful. Getting drunk makes you sleepy. I refuse to believe I can’t drink you under the table. I nodded. He suddenly tightened his grip, yanking my hand toward him. Holding my hand, he downed the entire glass in one gulp. As I was staring in shock, his eyes locked onto my lips, and he suddenly leaned down— My lips were pried open by a soft, hot tongue. My jaw was pinched and tilted upward. The rich, intoxicating aroma of wine exploded between our lips as the sweet liquid was fed into my mouth. I choked in shock and shoved him away. The scarlet liquid spilled all over both of us. I struggled to stand up, but Arthur’s eyes darkened. He pinched my jaw again and fed me the other half of the glass. His lips were glistening, and the emotional tidal wave in his eyes was terrifyingly hot. My brain buzzed. An inexplicable, burning heat ignited in my chest, traveling from the points where he touched me all the way through my limbs. Arthur Vance had a volatile personality, but his body was truly a masterpiece crafted by the gods. From the strands of his hair down to his ankles, he hit every single one of my aesthetic preferences perfectly. By the time I fully processed what was happening, Arthur was already pinned back into the pillows by me. I took back the initiative. I only had one bold idea in my head: Make him cry. Arthur lay on his back, the corners of his eyes flushed red, his expression dark and unreadable, his breathing rapid. His bathrobe was half-undone, the collar wide open, his pale chest stained with a red hue. I grabbed his neck, my hand sliding down that collarbone I had been admiring for days. “Mr. Vance, are you feeling sleepy?” He let out a low, deep laugh, his voice incredibly raspy. “What do you think?” Saying that, he grabbed my knees and pulled me forward, positioning me exactly where he thought I should sit securely. I smiled faintly, leaning down intending to kiss his bobbing Adam’s apple— Click. A faint sound sliced through the quiet night. I paused, finally realizing something was wrong. The next second, the world spun upside down. I was thrown off the bed by Arthur. He rolled me up in the blanket, gathered all the clothes I had shed during our struggle, and threw the whole bundle into the bathroom. “Don’t bother coming back tomorrow.” Through the frosted glass door, Arthur’s voice was cold and hard. “With these photos, that woman will never let you step foot in the Vance estate again.” Photos? A shiver ran down my spine. I suddenly understood Arthur’s inexplicably proactive and ambiguous behavior. What a brilliant honey trap. The warning from Mrs. Vance right before I was hired flashed through my mind: Whoever dares to climb into Arthur’s bed won’t be allowed to take a single penny with them. If these photos were exposed, wouldn’t all my hard work over the past seven days be completely wasted? My brain instantly sobered up. I pressed myself against the door, begging desperately: “Mr. Vance, I was wrong. You can file a complaint against me, but can you please open the door first?” No response from outside. I kept begging, “What I did just now was wrong. I shouldn’t have gotten handsy with my boss.” The silhouette outside the door shifted, seeming to hesitate. “I just want to apologize to you face-to-face.” The door opened. Arthur had his back to me, his voice angry. “Are you dressed?” I took a deep breath and walked step by step until I was right behind him. “Dress for what? Since you’re going to—” Then I violently kicked my leg up! I aimed directly at the leg I had almost broken a few days ago and stomped down with all my might. Caught completely off guard, he dropped to his knees on the floor. Taking advantage of the moment, I yanked the belt off his bathrobe and swiftly tied his hands and feet together. Finally, I bit down hard on that trembling Adam’s apple. “If I’m going down, I’m taking you with me!” If I lost my job… He wasn’t going to get a wink of sleep tonight either. 7 “Get off!” “You got it.” I obediently shifted my weight downward. “Hiss… don’t move!” The young man’s voice was terrifyingly hoarse, sounding like he was grinding his teeth into dust. He told me to get off, I literally went down, and now he doesn’t want that either. Tsk. So hard to please. Arthur’s hands were tied behind his back, his ankles bound together, and the other end of the belt was secured to the bedpost. He was arched over, his dark red bathrobe pulled down to his elbows, his forehead damp with sweat, enduring immense pain. I checked the spot I had kicked earlier; there was no redness or swelling. Why was he acting like he was in so much agony? “Get out…” He tells me to get out and I just leave? Then all my tough talk was for nothing! We haven’t settled the score yet! But honestly, foot pain… can it really hurt this much? Arthur’s eyes were squeezed shut, his breathing heavy. His eyelids were flushed, his lips slightly bleeding. The Adam’s apple I had bitten rolled slightly beneath his thin skin. Broken, muffled groans escaped his lips, like he was desperately trying to suppress something. Watching him made my face burn and my mouth go dry. Could this be an advanced version of a honey trap? I jumped off the bed. Using some life hacks I learned from TikTok, I efficiently dug out every single hidden spy camera and recording device in the room. I pulled out all the memory cards and tossed them next to Arthur’s face. “No evidence for you now.” Just as I was feeling smug, I heard the man chuckling into the bedding. “Are you an idiot? Have you never heard of cloud storage?” Right now, he was clearly the meat on the chopping block and I was the butcher, yet I still felt an overwhelming sense of defeat, like he had me completely figured out. I decided to go all in. I rummaged through the nightstand, found the silk sleep mask Arthur wore during the day, and slipped it over his eyes while he was distracted. The dark green mask hugged his sharp facial contours perfectly. A high bridge of the nose, a strong brow bone. A tight jawline radiating dangerous sex appeal, his Adam’s apple bobbing with every breath. “Chloe Davis!” The sudden darkness made him instantly tense up, his voice trembling. “Oh, so Mr. Vance actually knows my name.” I provocatively scratched him under the chin. After being called “Hey, you, that girl, come here” for days, I was already pissed off. My fingertips trailed down from his burning cheek. “Do you know how to write my name?” The muscles under my hand instantly tensed. I poured the rest of the dry red wine into a glass and dipped my fingertips into the scarlet liquid. Then, on his sweat-sheened abs, I started writing, pressing down hard with every stroke! 8 A few days ago, for the sake of my sleep-coaxing career, I specifically went and learned massage techniques. But after only a few presses, the young master threw me out and ran off to shower, acting like I had contaminated him. “Didn’t you say my hands were dirty?” I muttered as I wrote. “Now I’m going to use my dirty hands to write on your body, stroke by stroke!” I’ve always had a naturally cold constitution; my hands and feet are freezing year-round. Wherever I “wrote,” the skin beneath my “pen” turned bright red. By the end, the writing was illegible. The sweat and wine blended together, making his skin look as red as if he were having a severe allergic reaction. Arthur completely lost his ability to speak. The only sound was his wet, heavy panting. His fists were clenched tightly behind his back, his knuckles completely white. Some deeply repressed emotion was on the verge of losing control. Looking at the young master I had bullied so thoroughly, my brain felt like it was short-circuiting. While I was zoning out, the wine glass tilted, and the remaining liquid poured all over Arthur. The red wine trailed down his chest, over the V-line, and pooled down. Soaking into the dark red bathrobe. The sweet, intoxicating scent of alcohol exploded in the air. My heart raced. Staring at the wine spilled all over him, a terrifying thought flashed through my mind: I want to lean down and clean it up for him… No, no, no! Chloe! Lust is a knife dangling over your head! Arthur looked like he was in absolute agony. After screaming my name, he hadn’t said a single word. If it weren’t for his increasingly rapid breathing, I would have thought he passed out. He curled his body up like a tightly drawn bow, every muscle tense to the extreme. I gently tried to roll him over, but he desperately twisted away, seemingly trying to hide something. I glanced down, noticing the massive, poorly concealed tent pitching in his robe, then looked at the dry red wine in my hand… “Arthur Vance! There was something in the wine?!” I let out a delayed, high-pitched screech. Arthur smirked coldly. “You didn’t know?” How the hell was I supposed to know?! So that’s why he asked, “Do you want me to drink this?” He thought I spiked it! “If I knew, do you think I would have let you kiss… kiss me for that long?!” Thinking back to how he pinched my jaw, kissing me while feeding me the wine… he was trying to drag me down with him! What a sinister motive! Truly an evil capitalist with no good intentions! “I didn’t know there was something in the wine.” Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Makes sense. Seeing as you didn’t even know where to sit.” Hey! You don’t have to insult me too! “Then do you know who spiked it?” Arthur seemed to see through everything, but he just wouldn’t say. I brought the dry red wine. It was a $99 bottle I bought from the supermarket when it wasn’t on sale, which hurt my wallet. But those kinds of drugs are supposedly very expensive. A single pill probably costs more than my entire bottle of wine. The empty wine glass rolled onto the floor… The glasses were provided by the butler. The butler had no reason to harm his own young master. So the target had to be me. But why use a kamikaze tactic just to mess with a lowly temp worker like me? Weren’t they afraid the drug would be too strong and I’d actually sleep with their young master? “I thought you were smart.” Arthur scoffed. “I overestimated your ambition.” Now I was angry. Insulting my intelligence was one thing, but saying I had no ambition?! I am greedy for money and I love good-looking men. How does that mean I have no ambition?! Saying that, I yanked him closer to me, completely ignoring the red marks the belt left on him. “Since the misunderstanding is cleared up and I wasn’t trying to murder you… can we just keep tonight a secret? And my paycheck…” “No. You’re not getting it.” “You!” Fine! Playing nice doesn’t work, huh? Then I’ll play hardball! “If you don’t pay me, I’ll go ask Mrs. Vance. If Mrs. Vance doesn’t pay me, I’ll go to the tabloids and expose your entire family!” I threatened. “Heh. Make sure you contact a few different outlets.” How could his 98.6-degree lips utter such freezing words?! I was just debating my next move to torture him when I suddenly heard a knock on the door. “Arthur, it’s me.” The voice was languid and seductive. “I heard noises coming from your room. Are you okay?” It was Mrs. Vance. Arthur’s stepmother, Susan. 9 A minute ago I was boldly threatening to go to Mrs. Vance, but now that she was actually here, I chickened out. If she saw this room, this bed, her stepson, and the state he was in… I probably wouldn’t just lose my paycheck; I’d end up as the defendant in a lawsuit. Arthur’s face changed drastically. In three quick moves, he broke free from the remaining restraints on his hands and feet and ripped off the sleep mask. Then, he used the bedsheets to wrap me and all my belongings into a massive bundle and stuffed me directly into his massive wardrobe. “Don’t make a sound,” he ordered with a cold face, shutting the wardrobe doors. He also grabbed an incredibly ugly winter coat on his way out. I have been a law-abiding citizen for over twenty years. This was my first time hiding in a closet as a voyeur. It was stressful, thrilling, and terrifying. I held my breath and peeked out through the crack in the doors. I saw Arthur quickly pull his bathrobe shut, tie the belt tightly, throw on the ugly winter coat, and zip it all the way up to his chin. He was completely, hermetically sealed. “Why are you wearing so many layers? Are you not feeling well?” the woman asked in a sweet voice. “No. What do you want?” Arthur only opened the door a crack, standing rigidly behind it, with no intention of letting anyone in. “Arthur, I’m very worried about you.” The voice was melodic and filled with deep concern. First she hires someone to coax him to sleep, then she visits him in the middle of the night. For a stepmother to go to these lengths, it’s truly commendable. I was just getting moved by this display of billionaire family bonding when I was suddenly blinded by a flash of white skin. Susan forced her way into the room. Arthur instantly sprang back, like he had touched something filthy. I quickly clamped a hand over my mouth. The scene unfolding in front of me was absolutely shocking. The Mrs. Vance who was so elegant and poised during the day was now knocking on her stepson’s door in the middle of the night wearing a sheer, lace slip dress. Her cleavage was half-exposed, her curled hair was loose, and her cheeks were flushed. Her immaculately maintained skin glowed softly in the moonlight, and the way she looked at Arthur was so deeply affectionate and ambiguous, she looked like a lovestruck teenager. She reached out, wanting to adjust Arthur’s collar, but he immediately dodged, completely unreceptive to her advances. “I’m fine. You should go back. My dad will be home soon.” “Your dad? Who knows where he’s off messing around. Where’s the girl?” Susan ignored her stepson’s clear signal to leave and walked straight into the bedroom. She glanced at the messy bed. “Wearing a sleep mask at night?” I broke out in a cold sweat. She paced around the room, and just as she was about to walk up to the wardrobe— “You don’t need to look for her. I kicked her out.” Arthur’s tone was hostile as he blocked Susan’s path. “I thought you liked her?” Arthur sneered. “Whether I liked her or not, couldn’t you see it on your security cameras?” I shivered. That little punk played me again. So the cameras were installed by Mrs. Vance, and she knew every single move we made over the past few days. My paycheck… is definitely completely gone now. “I was only worried about your safety, that’s why I…” Mrs. Vance took a step closer, her eyes glued to her stepson, practically pulling strings of affection. “Were you worried she was going to climb into my bed, or were you worried I was going to voluntarily sleep with—” SLAP! The crisp sound of a slap echoed through the room. A clear, red handprint quickly formed on the side of Arthur’s face. But the very next second, Susan acted like she had a split personality, her voice full of heartbreak: “I’m sorry, Arthur, I just got anxious.” She tried to touch her stepson’s face, but he turned his head away to avoid her. “None of those girls are genuine, they’re all just after your money. Only I…” “Then thank you so much for your concern, Mother.” Arthur sneered. “Don’t call me Mother! I am not your mother!” Susan suddenly snapped, backing Arthur up against the edge of the bed. “You used to call me Ms. Susan…” Arthur scoffed. “Oh, so you still remember that you used to be my tutor.” Listening to this conversation, I felt like the oxygen in the wardrobe was running out. My brain couldn’t process the sheer volume of information being thrown at me. I was a little dizzy. No wonder Mrs. Vance was so hyper-sensitive to the candidates’ outfits during the interview and picked me, the most unremarkable one. No wonder she repeatedly emphasized that I could coax him, but absolutely could not sleep with him, and forbade me from having any inappropriate thoughts about Arthur. No wonder Arthur said that if Mrs. Vance found those photos, I would never be allowed back. Mrs. Vance is in love with her own stepson?! If that’s the case, then why did she make Arthur drink the spiked red wine? The butler gave me the spiked glass. It was obvious who gave him the order. Staring at the security cameras, knocking on the door at the perfect moment… She wanted to use me to drug Arthur, and then step in to take my place so she could sleep with him… I violently shuddered. Holy shit! Can someone please Men in Black flash my memory right now?! After accidentally stumbling upon the biggest, dirtiest secret of a billionaire family, am I even going to make it out of here alive?

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

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Exactly one week before our wedding, my fiancé, Arthur Vance, told me he was going on a trip with his ex-wife and their daughter. The trip would last five days and four nights. They would get back just in time for him to marry me. By the time I found out, his happy family of three was already a thousand miles away. That night, I called him frantically, dialling his number over and over like a madwoman. I finally managed to get him to come back early. With red, tear-filled eyes, I confronted him: “She is your ex-wife. You are about to get married. How could you justify spending the night out of town with her?” He rubbed his temples, the look in his eyes cold and entirely apathetic. “Evelyn, I already abandoned them to come back here.” “What more do you want from me?” 1 People always say that in a first marriage, you guard against mistresses. But in a second marriage, you guard against the ex-wife. I always thought something like that would never happen to me. But reality delivered a brutal, crushing blow. According to our original schedule. In exactly one week, Arthur and I were getting married. He had been incredibly busy with work lately, so the burden of finalizing all the wedding details fell entirely on me. I had been running around like a headless chicken for days. I naively assumed that, just like me, he was working overtime desperately trying to clear his schedule so we could get married. But this morning, he suddenly called me. “Evie, my daughter is throwing a tantrum and wants to go on a trip. I need to go spend some time with her.” The hand I was using to address wedding invitations trembled violently. A thick drop of black ink slid unsteadily from the tip of my fountain pen. It fell. And landed with a soft splat. Blooming across the dark red envelope. In the bottom left corner, our two names written side-by-side: [Arthur Vance & Evelyn Miller] The ink bled across them. Instantly blurring them beyond recognition. The smile on my lips faded. I put the pen down and lowered my eyes. “Didn’t you say you were swamped at the company? You don’t even have time to help plan our wedding, but you have time to take your kid on a trip?” The line went silent for a moment before he finally offered an excuse. “Chloe found out I was getting married and cried all night.” “If I don’t agree to this, I’m afraid she’ll never call me ‘Dad’ again.” His voice was filled with helplessness, but also an overwhelming, undeniable indulgence. Chloe was the only daughter he had with his ex-wife. Naturally, she was his absolute treasure. My grip on the phone tightened instinctively. I opened and closed my mouth several times, but I couldn’t force a single word of objection out. What could I possibly say? Tell him not to see his kid? Say that I needed him more right now? “What’s wrong? Are you mad?” Sensing my mood had soured, he let out a low chuckle. He even sounded amused as he teased me: “You’re not actually jealous of a little kid, are you?” I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and suppressed the suffocating frustration rising in my chest. I silently comforted myself: [At least he told me before he left.] [Besides, that’s his daughter. She’s his flesh and blood, a bond he can never sever. How can I possibly compete with her?] I compromised. But I still couldn’t stop my nose from stinging. My voice carried a grievance I couldn’t quite hide. “I’m not mad.” “Just… try to come home early tonight.” The phone was quiet for a second. Finally, he offered a vague, non-committal hum. “Mhm.” 2 Back in the day, Arthur’s divorce from his ex-wife, Sarah Holt, was notoriously ugly. At the time, the Vance family business was on the brink of bankruptcy. His father committed suicide by jumping off a bridge, and his mother fell severely ill from the shock. Outside, they were drowning in massive debt. Inside, his mother’s medical bills were astronomical. The pressure was already suffocating him. And it was at that exact moment that his high school sweetheart and wife, Sarah, filed for divorce. She demanded full custody of their daughter. And she demanded that the Vance family liquidate two-thirds of their remaining assets as child support. Having the majority of his family’s wealth siphoned away was undoubtedly a fatal blow. But having the love of his life abandon him in his darkest hour? For Arthur, that was a soul-crushing betrayal. I heard that Arthur barely survived that period of his life. I thought that since things ended so horribly between them… That he would never, ever have any entanglements with her again in this lifetime. But today, the vague hesitation in his voice gave me a sudden, inexplicable sense of dread. For the entire afternoon. I was trapped in a state of restless, suffocating anxiety. I sat cross-legged on the rug. I looked up and scanned the room. Everywhere I looked was celebratory wedding red. On the floor, beside me, in the distance… Red wedding decorations were scattered everywhere. It was supposed to be the most joyous color imaginable, but it couldn’t spark a single ounce of happiness or excitement in me anymore. I hugged my knees and rested my head on them. I let time slip away, second by second. And I let the freezing chill in my heart spread slowly through my entire body. I glanced at my phone screen over and over again. Unlocked it. Locked it. Unlocked it again. Locked it again. Over and over. But since that phone call this morning… Arthur hadn’t sent me a single message. I grew exhausted from waiting and eventually dozed off. Until my 10:00 PM alarm went off. I jolted awake from my hazy sleep. I looked up and instinctively scanned the room. My heart plummeted. [No one.] [Arthur isn’t back yet.] I pulled down my phone’s notification bar. [Nothing.] [Absolutely nothing.] The emotions I had been suppressing all day instantly exploded. I tapped his familiar contact name and dialled Arthur’s number. 3 The first time, no one answered. The second time, after ringing three times, it finally connected. I didn’t speak. The other end of the line was silent too. After just a few seconds of silent standoff. I realized the person who answered the phone wasn’t Arthur. “Sarah?” The person on the other end let out a soft laugh. “It’s me.” The heart that had been suspended in my throat all afternoon finally crashed heavily to the floor, sinking to the very bottom. I bit down hard on my lower lip. The pain forced me to stay calm for a moment. Even though the truth was glaringly obvious. I still stubbornly, desperately asked: “Why are you there? Didn’t Arthur say he was just taking his daughter out for the day?” She burst out laughing. The sheer, unadulterated triumph in her laugh was completely undisguised. “I’m her mother. How could I possibly leave my child?” “Besides, we’re going to be out of town for so many days this time. He’s a grown man who can barely take care of himself; how is he supposed to take care of a kid?” My brain short-circuited. For a second, I literally couldn’t process what she meant. The questions tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them: “What do you mean?” “What do you mean ‘so many days’?” “Wasn’t he just taking her out for the day?” “He told me he was coming home tonight.” She feigned surprise, but her tone was dripping with blatant showing off. “Oh, you didn’t know?” “My little Chloe wanted to see the ocean, so Arthur drove us down to Miami.” “We’re staying here for five days and four nights.” I stood frozen in place. The joints in my fingers slowly turned white as my grip on the phone tightened. Miami was over a thousand miles away from where we lived. Arthur absolutely did not tell me that “spending time with his kid” meant travelling that far. Or that it meant spending multiple nights out of town with his ex-wife. I was shaking with rage. My voice trembled uncontrollably. “Put Arthur on the phone.” Sarah let out a soft, mocking laugh. “I can’t. He’s in the shower.” “I’m actually just about to bring him his underwear.” “He still has that exact same habit. Every time he showers, he forgets to grab his clothes.” 4 Faintly, through the phone, I heard Arthur’s voice: “Sarah, I forgot my clothes.” His tone was perfectly natural and casual. Like a completely normal husband calling out to his wife. At the same time, it indirectly proved that everything Sarah just said… was entirely true. [They’re divorced, yet he has absolutely zero boundaries with her!] Arthur’s blatant lying filled me with a burning, suffocating rage. Sarah’s mocking laughter still echoed in my ears. I collapsed onto the sofa. Trembling uncontrollably. I gritted my teeth, biting down viciously on my lower lip. It wasn’t until I tasted the faint, metallic tang of blood that I instinctively let go. The call had already been disconnected. Leaving me completely humiliated, frozen in place, forced to digest these agonizing emotions all by myself. But… why? What gave them the right to humiliate me like this? I refuse to allow them to trample all over me while I sit here fully aware of what they’re doing. I licked the broken corner of my lip. I picked up my phone again. And called Arthur back. No answer. I kept calling. Until the 19th try, the call finally connected. This time, Arthur was the one who answered. “Evie, my phone was on silent earlier. What’s wrong? Why are you calling so frantically?” His tone carried a rare, minuscule trace of apology and guilt. By now, I was completely calm. My voice was entirely flat, devoid of any emotion: “Where are you?” He cleared his throat unnaturally, his defensive posture noticeably shrinking. “I… I’m in Miami. Chloe said she wanted to see the ocean, so I brought her.” “Is Sarah there too?” “…” “Yeah.” After a long pause, he finally admitted it. I closed my eyes, suppressing the chaotic emotions churning behind them. “If you rush back tonight, I will pretend none of this ever happened, and our wedding will proceed as planned.” “Evelyn! How the hell am I supposed to explain that to my kid if I leave right now?!” His voice instantly spiked several octaves. His tone was filled with sheer anger and explosive frustration. I immediately hung up the phone. Then I locked the screen and turned the phone off. I didn’t want to hear any explanations right now, and I refused to compromise. I only wanted the exact result I demanded. 5 Arthur arrived home at 4:00 AM. I was curled up on the sofa. I hadn’t slept a wink all night. I had replayed a million different scenarios in my head of what would happen when he got back. How we would confront each other, how we might even have a screaming match. But none of that happened. When he walked through the door, he just shot me an icy, detached glance. Then he started unpacking his luggage, completely ignoring me. I had become invisible to him. The rage I had been building up all afternoon felt like it was punching a wall of cotton. This was exactly what everyone around him said about him: He has such a great temper. It was true. From the day Arthur and I met to the day we started dating. Five whole years. We had never had a single fight. It wasn’t that we didn’t have conflicts. We just couldn’t fight. Every time we had an issue, he would just use those calm, emotionless eyes to quietly watch me lose my temper. And then he would drop a single sentence: “You need to calm down.” Clearly, this time, he was planning to use the exact same cold-treatment tactic. The suffocating, dead silence in the room made it hard for me to breathe. After a long silence. I still chose to speak first: “Are you not going to explain what happened today?” The air pressure in the room dropped even lower. He stopped what he was doing. And looked up at me. His brow was furrowed with deep impatience: “My kid wanted to see the ocean, what was I supposed to do?” I practically roared back at him simultaneously: “Then when you called me, why didn’t you say you were going so far away? And for five days and four nights?!” “Furthermore, going on an overnight trip out of state with your ex-wife… do you think that’s appropriate behavior for a man who is about to get married?!” He froze in place. A flash of embarrassment crossed his eyes. He knew he was in the wrong. His tone involuntarily softened a bit: “It was super rushed at the time, I didn’t have time to tell you.” “Besides, if I had told you, would you have agreed to it?” “Look, Chloe was already crying her eyes out because she thought me getting married meant I was abandoning her.” “If I rejected her one tiny request on top of that, do I even deserve to be called a father?” Every word he said was perfectly articulated, armed with flawless logic. But I was shaking with sheer, absolute rage. Gritting my teeth, I forced out the suffocating resentment I had been holding in all day: “If you want to play the role of ‘Father of the Year’, did it have to be right now?!” “You have the time to take your ex-wife and your kid on a vacation, but you don’t have the time to help plan our wedding?” “Did you ever even care about us getting married in the first place?” He stood there, looking at me with absolute, freezing calm. The way he looked at me was filled with exhaustion and barely concealed tolerance. “Evelyn. I already abandoned them to come back here.” “What more do you want from me?”

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My husband planned to throw me to the lions in Africa so he could swallow my $20 million fortune whole. But he never expected that the lions wouldn’t eat me—they actually let me pet their heads! What broke him even more was that the cannibal tribe complained my makeup made me taste “toxic” and refused to eat me, setting their sights on his “premium marbling” instead! In this meticulously planned “black widow” scheme, who is the real prey? 1 That day, my husband, Liam, and I were vacationing up in the rural Midwest when we got separated. He was holding my purse, which had my phone in it. I’m clumsy, easily scared, terrible with directions, have bad eyesight, and tend to speak without thinking. Someone like me without a phone might as well be completely helpless. Liam was practically crying with panic, terrified that I had been kidnapped by human traffickers and would spend the rest of my life trapped in some remote mountain holler. He looked for me for hours and almost called the cops. Right then, he got a call from an unknown number. A gruff voice asked, “Hey buddy, is your wife named Chloe Vance?” Liam was overjoyed and quickly said yes. The next sentence sent chills down his spine. “She’s with me right now. You better hurry.” Liam panicked and begged, “I’ll give you whatever you want! Please, don’t put her in a car without plates, don’t take the backroads without cameras, and whatever you do, don’t traffic her deep into the mountains where there’s no cell service!” The guy on the other end let out a hearty laugh. “Then you better hurry up, or it’ll be too late.” What made him even more miserable was hearing me scream through the phone: “Liam! Where the hell are you?! Hurry up and come get me!” Following the address provided, Liam sprinted over, only to see me surrounded by a group of burly men. He cried, “Baby, are you okay?!” I told him I was fine and that we needed to thank these nice guys. I explained that I was terrified, so I quietly asked the guy next to me, “Excuse me, sir, could I borrow your phone to make a call?” But I couldn’t remember Liam’s number. Fortunately, before we left, he made me memorize it just in case I got lost. His number was easy: 555-0199-01XX. I just couldn’t remember the last two digits. The guys were incredibly helpful, dialing numbers one by one. Seeing this, the other guys joined in to help too. Thank God we tried so many combinations, and we finally got the right one. Liam wanted to treat the guys to dinner, but they said they had to hit the road and didn’t have time. We watched them drive away into the wind. Afterward, I asked Liam if I was smart. He smiled indulgently and said, “Baby, you are so smart. Do you want to go to Africa next month to see the big lions???” 2 Liam’s last plan hit a slight snag. He thought he could leave me in the rural Midwest to get trafficked, pulling off the classic “marry the rich heiress and inherit everything when she ‘disappears’” routine. He didn’t expect me to proactively ask for help, ruining his scheme completely. However, it proved one thing: the rumors about human traffickers in that area were completely false! This time, he arranged a trip to Africa. He wasn’t going to fail again. The plane slowly descended over Africa. Through the window, the endless, sprawling continent came into view. Vast savannas, winding rivers, and faintly visible herds of wild animals. Liam’s heart raced with excitement. He was grinning so hard he could barely suppress it. Once the plane landed, Liam gently shook me awake. I had been sleeping soundly on his shoulder, my breathing steady, my long eyelashes casting a soft shadow on my face. I was beautiful, but the $20 million in my bank account was what truly captivated him. “Baby, we’re here,” he woke me up gently. I rubbed my eyes, groggy. “We’re here? Africa?” He nodded with a smile, his eyes seeming to say: Yes, we’re here. Your final destination. Stepping off the plane, I looked around like a curious child. He followed closely behind, pushing the luggage cart, his eyes scanning the arrivals area intently. To ensure this mission was a success, Liam’s boss had specifically assigned him a partner, posing as a taxi driver. Finally, he spotted him in the crowd—Samuel, an elite hitman of mixed descent. Samuel subtly made a throat-slitting gesture. It was their secret signal. “Baby, our ride is here. Let’s go,” Liam said gently. I gave a small “Oh” and obediently got into the car. As soon as I got in, my chatterbox mode activated, and I started talking to Samuel. When I found out he was a local, I got even more excited and started babbling a bunch of incomprehensible sounds. Both Liam and Samuel froze, asking what language I was speaking. I smiled proudly. “I’m speaking Swahili! I just learned it on the plane! How is it? Is my accent good?” Liam looked completely bewildered and immediately glanced at Samuel. Samuel, living up to his reputation as an elite hitman, reacted instantly. In broken, heavily accented English, he replied, “You… speak very well. But here, we speak English.” I instantly deflated. I was hoping to show off to a local, but it turned out we needed to speak English. My English wasn’t great to begin with. This was a total failure. But Liam was so sweet. He immediately comforted me. “It’s okay, baby! I speak English, and I’m fluent! With me here, don’t worry, you definitely won’t get lost this time!” To make me feel secure, he had me recite my phone number again. “555-0199-01… oh gosh, look at my stupid brain, I forgot the last two digits again.” I opened my mouth in dismay. He looked absolutely ecstatic, continuing to comfort me. “It’s fine, baby! Last time you forgot three digits, this time you only forgot two! You’re already doing so much better!” I smiled shyly. “Am I really that good?” He kissed my forehead, speaking with infinite tenderness: “Yes, you really are amazing!” But honestly, even if I could remember my number, what good would it do? My phone didn’t have an international roaming plan. I couldn’t make a call anyway! What made him even happier was that his boss had booked us a luxury desert tent resort. Upon check-in, the hotel staff repeatedly warned us absolutely not to go outside at night, as there were prides of lions roaming the area. “Oh? Lions at night?” He smiled smugly. He was definitely thinking: This is going to be easier than I thought! Liam turned to me. “Baby, do you want to see the big lions outside the tent tonight?” I nodded enthusiastically. “Of course! I even want to feed them myself!” Finally, he couldn’t hold back a loud laugh. “Feeding the lions is a great idea! You definitely have to do it yourself! You have to get right up close and personal!” 3 However, when he went to find me that night for a late-night snack, he discovered I was completely gone! There was only a single slipper and a few drops of blood on the floor. He was dumbfounded. He hadn’t even prepared to make his move yet! Did I just voluntarily go feed the lions myself??? Liam frantically knocked on Samuel’s door, anxiously asking where I went. Samuel looked equally confused, scratching his head, saying he didn’t know and assumed I had been with Liam the whole time. Liam froze, a suspicion creeping into his mind: Did Samuel go behind my back and make a move early? But Samuel vehemently denied it. As an elite hitman, he valued professional ethics above all else. He would never act without Liam. Liam believed him. If Samuel didn’t even have basic professional courtesy, how could he be ranked as an elite hitman? Liam rushed out of the room, yelling my name into the night: “Chloe! Chloe! Where are you?!” However, the only response was the low, terrifying rumble of a lion pride in the distance. Startled, he immediately jumped back inside the hotel, ran to the front desk, and yelled in his fluent English: “Help! My wife is missing! Help me find her!” The hotel staff panicked immediately. A group of them grabbed stun batons and ran out to start searching. Normally, the outdoor lights at the desert tent resort were kept off at night, but now they were all flipped on, illuminating the campsite as brightly as day. The group began searching the perimeter, but there was absolutely no sign of me. He was in complete hysterics now, screaming: “Chloe! Where are you?! Come out! Chloe!” His shouting woke up the other guests, who began stepping out of their tents. He asked everyone he saw: “Have you seen my wife? She’s 5’5″, has a great figure, very beautiful, but not very smart. Have you seen her?” The guests shook their heads, saying they hadn’t seen me. He continued shouting, his voice echoing across the vast, empty savanna, sounding incredibly tragic. Soon, the local police arrived and joined the search. Hours passed, and still, they found absolutely nothing. By this point, Liam was sobbing uncontrollably, while subtly giving Samuel a look out of the corner of his eye. Samuel discreetly gave him a thumbs-up, praising his incredible acting skills. The group was preparing to call off the search for the night, saying they would resume at daybreak. Before leaving, they comforted him: “Don’t worry, she’s definitely going to be fine.” Liam cried and replied: “Thank you. I’m sure she’s… passed on… fine!” Just as the police were getting into their cars to leave, he pulled out his phone, preparing to report the “success” to his boss. Suddenly, a familiar laugh echoed from the distance. He looked up and was completely dumbfounded—I had appeared! I was covered in sand, my hair was a mess, but I ran over giggling, holding a thick tree branch in my hand, looking like I had just returned from an adventure. “Chloe?!” he yelled in disbelief, looking like he had seen a ghost. I ran up to him, dusted the sand off my clothes, and said cheerfully: “Honey, why are you crying? I just went out to feed the big lions!” “Feed the lions?!” His eyes widened, his voice cracking. “You… how did you feed them?! The lions didn’t bite you?!” I proudly waved the tree branch in my hand. “I used this like a giant cat teaser wand! They were so well-behaved, they even let me pet their heads!” He was completely stunned. His brain was a chaotic mess. This is wrong. This is completely wrong! How could I possibly return completely unscathed from a pride of lions? Right then, Samuel walked over and whispered to him: “Bronze-tier Liam, something isn’t right here. How could the lions possibly let her pet them?” Liam nodded, suspicion taking root in his mind: Did she know about my plan all along? Or… is she not the ‘idiot’ I thought she was? 4 The next day, according to the plan, Samuel drove an open-top safari Jeep to take us out to see the lion prides on the savanna. Liam gave Samuel a questioning look: [This time, it has to be foolproof, right?] Samuel returned the look: [Don’t worry, Bronze-tier Liam. My plan is meticulous.] Liam seemed relieved, putting his arm around me as we admired the beautiful savanna scenery. I leaned against his shoulder, saying excitedly: “Honey, it’s so beautiful here! Look over there, there are so many pretty sheep!” He smiled and nodded. In his head, he was definitely sneering: Yeah, it’s beautiful. Soon, your corpse will be even more beautiful, blending perfectly with nature! The Jeep drove deeper and deeper into the pristine savanna. I asked, sounding a bit worried: “Is it going to be dangerous? I heard there are a lot of wild beasts out here.” He patted my shoulder, comforting me: “Don’t worry. With me here, even if an elephant charges us, we’ll be perfectly fine!” I smiled sweetly. “It’s so good to have you here.” Just then, a herd of antelopes sprinted past in the distance, followed closely by a herd of frantically galloping zebras. Then, several lions appeared in our line of sight, actively hunting. Trailing behind them was a pack of hyenas—often jokingly called the “proctologists of the savanna” for their brutal hunting methods. This was raw, primal nature you only ever see on the Discovery Channel! I started screaming in pure excitement, grabbing Liam and yelling: “Wow! This is so thrilling! Look at that lion, it’s running so fast!” Liam started screaming too, but not because of the lions. He was screaming because several hyenas had surrounded the Jeep, looking up at us. One of them was even trying to jump onto the vehicle. “Samuel! Drive! DRIVE!” he roared like a madman. Samuel frantically tried to start the car, but the engine simply wouldn’t turn over. Sweating profusely, he yelled at me: “Stop screaming! Look down at the car!” I looked down and cheerfully waved my hand. “Hi, little doggies! How are you?” Liam almost passed out, shooting me a vicious glare. More and more hyenas were gathering around. They were baring their teeth, their eyes vicious. They were clearly starving. Just as the first hyena was about to jump onto the Jeep, Samuel finally managed to start the engine and floored it, peeling out of there. Liam slumped back into his seat, patting his chest. “That was close. One second later, and those ‘proctologists’ would have given me an involuntary surgery.” I, on the other hand, wasn’t panicked at all. I was even waving goodbye to the hyenas. “Bye-bye, little doggies! Bye-bye! We’ll come see you again tomorrow!” Once the Jeep was well out of the lion pride’s hunting territory, everyone finally breathed a sigh of relief. Samuel was also covered in cold sweat. With an unusually serious expression, he turned to me. “Earlier, you absolutely should not have been screaming while the lions were hunting. It easily attracts other predators.” I rubbed my hands together, looking incredibly pathetic. “I’m sorry… I was just cheering for the zebras to escape, and rooting for the lions to get their meal.” Liam and Samuel exchanged a look. The exact same thought crossed both their minds: What kind of psychotic logic is this woman operating on? Samuel leaned close to Liam’s ear and whispered something. It sounded like he was saying: “When that first hyena was about to jump up, you really should have pushed her out, and then we could have driven off. We’re deep in the savanna, nobody would ever know.” Liam’s face clearly showed shock. He was definitely thinking: He’s right! Why didn’t I think of that?! He looked at Samuel with admiration. Truly worthy of the title Elite Hitman! They communicated with their eyes, deciding to find an opportunity to strike tomorrow. While they were discussing how to execute me tomorrow, I leaned over and asked them cheerfully: “Honey, what are you guys talking about? Are you talking bad about me?” Liam quickly shook his head, forcing a calm expression. “No, no. We were just discussing where to go tomorrow.” I blinked innocently. “Can we go see a primitive indigenous tribe? I heard they’re really cute too!” He and Samuel exchanged a look, wild joy erupting in their hearts: There’s a cannibal tribe deep in this savanna! My heart was erupting with even wilder joy: Yeah, there’s a cannibal tribe deep in this savanna, but who ends up eating who is still up for debate. 5 In the morning, Liam thoughtfully ordered room service for breakfast. I put on a full face of gorgeous makeup and wore a slip dress that exposed most of my back. Then, I ate the entire breakfast until I was completely stuffed. He smiled and nodded, his eyes never leaving me, as if he were admiring a piece of art that was about to be destroyed. “Baby, you look so beautiful today. Come on, eat some more. As much as you want. You’re going to be hungry all day today.” I knew exactly what he meant. He wanted me to expose as much skin as possible so the cannibals would be interested in me. He wanted me to eat a lot so the cannibals would have a full meal. Hahaha, he was so incredibly thoughtful and considerate towards the cannibals! How sweet! In the car, Samuel drove, Liam sat in the passenger seat, and I sat in the back, happily taking in the scenery. Liam kept looking back at me. His eyes held a complex mix of emotions, primarily a twisted sense of joy, as if saying: Goodbye, my dearest wife. The car drove deep into the savanna, wandering aimlessly, before finally parking on a grassy hill. Samuel looked at the map, muttering, “This is right. It should be right here.” Liam leaned over, grumbling, “What’s going on? Weren’t they right here last time?” I stood up, grabbed my binoculars, and looked around. The area was wide open, and there wasn’t a single soul in sight. They were getting frustrated and anxious. I decided to give them a helping hand! I pulled a megaphone out of my bag and shouted: “Cannibal tribe, where are you?! I brought you some food! Come out!” Liam and Samuel stared at me in absolute shock. Their faces practically screamed: This bitch really knows how to get things done! Soon, a few tribesmen decorated in body paint appeared in the distance. They stopped a short way away, looking left and right cautiously. “That’s the cannibal tribe!” Samuel whispered, a trace of excitement in his voice. Liam nodded, the corners of his mouth turning up. He could practically see the finish line. We got out of the car. The tribesmen surrounded us, eyeing us with wary suspicion. I cheerfully waved my hand. “Hi! How are you guys?!” Then, they swarmed us. They completely surrounded us and, with extreme “enthusiasm,” escorted us into their village. Liam and Samuel were instantly dumbfounded. Wait, we agreed you were only supposed to eat her! Why are you taking all of us?! I looked excitedly at the thatched huts in the village, pulling out my phone and snapping selfies non-stop. “Wow! Honey, look! A barbecue grill!” “Wow! Honey, look! The cannibals know how to use knives!” “Wow! Honey, look! What are they sprinkling on that? Is that cumin and chili powder?!” Liam looked at me smugly, nodding repeatedly. He was definitely thinking: I’m going to let you experience a live-action roasting very soon. His eyes were sparkling, as if the $20 million was waving right at him. Finally, after a long wait, the tribal chief came out to see us. His eyes constantly scanned between the three of us. When his gaze landed on me, a look of pleasant surprise washed over his face, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed audibly. I felt a bit strange. I quickly turned to Samuel and asked, “What does that mean?” Samuel looked grim. He whispered, “Cannibal tribes prefer to eat young women. Tender skin, soft meat. You’re on your own this time.” I paused, finally realizing: Today, I’m wearing a backless dress. To the cannibals, I’m basically a beautifully packaged premium cut of meat! I instantly panicked and looked at Liam. “Honey, save me!” Liam looked helpless, but he couldn’t completely hide the excitement in his voice. “Baby, I’m so sorry. It’s just the three of us, and they have an entire village. We can’t fight them. Let’s be husband and wife again in our next life! Wuu wuu wuu.” My heart instantly turned to ash. I was doomed. I knew I shouldn’t have come here. Just as I closed my eyes, waiting for death… suddenly, the tribal chief waved his massive hand. I felt my entire body lighten. A sudden, unprecedented sense of relief washed over me. “Huh?” I opened my eyes and realized the cannibals had actually let me go. Instead, they were tying up Liam and Samuel!

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The year I was an undercover cop, to prove my loyalty, I took a bullet for the mafia boss. Somewhere along the way, I lost my memory for three years. The day I woke up and regained my senses, I barely reached my hand out before the man expertly dropped to his knees and pressed his face into my palm. He pouted pitifully: “Can you hit me a little softer today? I have a board meeting to run later.” 1 I was absolutely dumbfounded. “B-b-b…” I couldn’t even get the word “boss” out of my mouth. Arthur Vance lowered his eyes, gently rubbing my hand. “There are a lot of outsiders here. Save it for when we get home, okay?” Wait. Is this still the ruthless, cold-blooded mafia boss who killed without blinking an eye? My last memory of him was him pointing a gun right at my forehead, his eyes filled with pure disgust as he snarled: “Stay the hell away from me!” Back then, let alone touch him, just looking at him wrong would earn you a death glare. But now? Not only is he initiating contact, he looks like a well-trained, obedient puppy. The craziest part is that everyone else in the room is looking at us like this is a completely normal, everyday occurrence. I was so terrified I tried to yank my hand back. The man gripped it tighter, a dangerous glint flashing in his eyes. “Honey, why aren’t you hitting me?” “You still have your eye on that pretty boy, don’t you?” “I’ll have him shipped off to work in a diamond mine in Africa so he gets tanned.” Unreasonable and petty. But Arthur Vance was a man of his word. I gritted my teeth, raised my other hand, and slapped him across the face. Smack! The sound echoed crisply. The man didn’t dodge an inch. That beautiful face instantly turned red on one side. My hand was shaking. I was terrified that the next second, he was going to pull the gun from his waistband and blow my brains out. Instead, the man touched his cheek, his lips quivering slightly. “That hurts.” What am I supposed to do about it?! You literally asked me to hit you! Do you want me to blow on it for you too?! Just as the thought crossed my mind… Arthur dropped to both knees, pressed his face into my palm, and nuzzled it. “Honey, blow on it.” Oh my god! Just end me now! 2 Three years ago, I was sent undercover. But I got off to a terrible start. I couldn’t even get close to Arthur Vance’s inner circle. He walked around with a massive entourage of bodyguards everywhere he went. I had no choice but to go undercover as a worker in a high-end nightclub he owned. I finally managed to stake out a night when he actually showed up. Desperate for a quick promotion, I insisted on putting on a show by opening a beer bottle with my bare hands. The bottle cap flew off and hit Arthur right on the nose. The beer sprayed everywhere, completely drenching his bespoke tailored suit. That night, I truly learned what a genuinely terrifying death glare looked like. As punishment, I was assigned to guard the bathroom doors. I guarded those doors for an entire month. Finally, I caught Arthur coming to the club again. He was here to discuss business this time. My superiors told me he was likely dealing in illegal trades lately. They ordered me to keep a very close eye on him. I begged the club madam for a chance to get in the room. The madam looked at me with an incredibly complicated expression. “Even though you’re gorgeous and have a great body… but—” She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. “The boss isn’t into guys!” Oh, right. I always had a short pixie cut. When I applied for the job, I heard all the pretty girls had to have long hair. So, with no other option, I just lied and said I was a guy. I stomped my foot in frustration. “What if he actually is into guys?!” “Look at him! He comes here and never touches any of the girls. He’s always alone!” The madam looked like she had a sudden epiphany, completely convinced by my logic. She found me a sheer, see-through outfit. I waved my hands frantically. No way. I have a large chest. I’d be exposed instantly. I heard these wealthy, high-status men usually have very specific, weird kinks. So I asked for a school uniform. I didn’t wear a drop of makeup, just put on some strawberry-flavored chapstick. When I pushed the door open and walked in, the men inside simultaneously set down their drinks. A kind-looking older man warned me, “Kid, I think you have the wrong room.” I looked at Arthur, whose face was completely blank, and timidly called out: “Mister.” The man frowned. “You’ve got the wrong person.” I ran over, pretending to trip over an empty bottle on the floor. Executed a flawless sliding kneel. My face almost crashed directly into Arthur’s crotch. So awkward. The man reached out a finger and poked my forehead, pushing me back. “Where exactly are your eyes looking?” I looked up, massaging his leg. “Mister, please, take me in.” The tears came right on cue. “My dad is a gambling addict, he lost all our money. My mom is deathly ill, and my younger sister is just a kid. We’re about to starve.” Arthur toyed with his silver lighter, his face completely unmoved. “I’ve heard this exact story no less than ten times.” So what? This time, no matter what he said, I wasn’t leaving. I was going to take back everything I had lost! One of his subordinates walked in. “Boss, Mr. Shaw is here.” Warning bells went off in my head. My superiors told me to pay special attention to this guy. Arthur’s face grew slightly stern. He stood up and stepped around me. “Get out.” No. “Then promise you’ll take me in.” The man’s eyes, dark and deep, stared at me. “Are you an adult?” I nodded. He looked away, scoffing. “That’s unfortunate. I don’t like adults.” ??? I knew it. He really is a massive pervert. Before I could say anything else, that Mr. Shaw walked in. His eyes darted between me and Arthur with a playful smirk. “I didn’t realize Boss Vance was into this kind of thing. You should have said something! I have plenty of these at my place.” Arthur pulled out his gun, pressed the cold barrel directly against my forehead, his eyes freezing. “Stay the hell away from me.” I hung around outside the door, acting completely shady. Constantly observing the situation inside. Suddenly, an argument erupted. I followed Arthur’s subordinates and barged in. I saw that Mr. Shaw holding his bleeding forehead, pointing a gun right at Arthur: “Go to hell!” Right as he was about to pull the trigger— In that fraction of a second, I didn’t think at all. I just purely didn’t want Arthur to die that easily. I sprinted over incredibly fast. In the exact moment I tackled the man to the ground, the gunshot rang out. In my final moment of consciousness… I heard Arthur’s furiously angry voice: “Are you a fucking idiot?!” If I hadn’t pushed him out of the way, that bullet would have gone straight through his skull. Miraculously, I survived. But… I lost my memory. After losing my memory, my personality completely changed. According to the summaries of bystanders: A total pervert. I’d hug Arthur and demand kisses over the slightest disagreement. I’d barge into the bathroom while he was showering and try to measure his “dimensions” with my hands. Even more absurdly, I demanded to sleep on his abs every single night. A total social butterfly. When we were out, the identity I claimed was “Arthur Vance’s Ancestor.” I loved hugging Arthur and calling him “Hubby” regardless of the setting or who was watching. Relying entirely on how much he spoiled me, I constantly stirred up trouble wherever we went. Also, extremely violent. I slapped Arthur at the drop of a hat. When I went overboard, I even used restraints. The basement of the Vance mansion was entirely filled with tools I had prepared specifically for Arthur. 3 I slammed my hand on the table and stood up. “Absolute bullshit!” Ben’s entire body violently shuddered. “M-m-m-ma’am, it’s absolutely true. You really did act like that.” He was the personal bodyguard Arthur had assigned to me. He was a great guy, no real flaws, except he stuttered a lot. Honestly, I already knew all the things I had done during the years I had amnesia. But I just couldn’t accept it. I kept trying to hypnotize myself into believing it was all a fever dream. I quietly asked Ben: “When I hit Arthur… did he not fight back at all?” Ben picked at his fingers. He was recalling how, every single time the Madam hit the Boss, not only did the Boss not get angry, but he looked like a submissive little housewife, rubbing her hand and asking if she wanted to go another round. “F-f-f…” “F-f-f…” Fought back? That can’t be right. If he fought back, how do I still have all ten of my fingers? “F-for the record, it was useless. You just hit him even harder.” Ben finished the second half of his sentence, looking at me with pure terror. “The Boss said, only a man with a wife gets the privilege of being hit. Since we don’t have wives, we don’t have anyone to hit us, which means we’re pathetic.” I went completely silent. Now that my memory was back, I was stressed about the progress of my mission. I contacted my superior. My superior replied with a string of question marks. “Aren’t you dead?” Me: “Are you cursing me? Watch it, or I’ll file an HR complaint!” Superior: “Ooh, is my little baby throwing a tantrum? You want me to take away your little milk bottle?” Me: “…Did I offend you somehow? Why are you talking so much trash?” My superior continued being sarcastic: “I wouldn’t dare. You’re Arthur Vance’s precious little baby now. When I couldn’t reach you anywhere, I thought you had been kidnapped. I finally found you on the street and tried to bring you in, and what happened?” What happened was I treated my superior like a human trafficker. I remembered. I remembered everything. He got more and more agitated as he spoke: “You called me an ugly old fossil! Said I was basic and hideous! Said I couldn’t even compare to a single finger on your precious baby Arthur!” “I was so furious I couldn’t eat for three days and three nights!” “How am I ugly?! I’m the goddamn flower of the department!” I was wrong. I apologize. Eventually, we got down to business. My superior told me everything had been investigated. That Mr. Shaw had been arrested. As for Arthur, because he was instrumental in helping the police catch Shaw, he was awarded an “Outstanding Citizen” commendation. They investigated him top to bottom, inside and out, and found absolutely nothing illegal. It’s just that during the time I had amnesia, Arthur kept me under incredibly tight surveillance, and the department didn’t dare alert him. The biggest issue was that I literally couldn’t be separated from Arthur, throwing massive tantrums if he left. It gave the department a huge headache, so they just decided to leave me with him. As for right now, I needed to figure out a solid, believable excuse to leave him on my own. Right before hanging up, my superior gloated: “It looks to me like he genuinely loves you. He lets you hit him and curse at him. If you just pack up and leave… who knows, hehehe…” What the hell are you ‘hehehe-ing’ about, you old fossil?! 4 Just as I was nursing a massive headache over this, Arthur’s assistant called me. “Madam, you didn’t check in today?” Me: “Check in on what?” He sighed. “No wonder.” Then he pleaded with me: “Madam, please come quick and coax the Boss. He’s about to blow up the entire company.” Leave it to me! I’m on my way! I didn’t know the way, so I had Ben drive. He looked like he was about to burst into tears. “W-w-w-waaah.” I thought he was just overwhelmed with emotion. I patted his shoulder. “From now on, you’re my right-hand man. Do a good job!” “No, Ma’am, what I wanted to say is… I’ve f-f-failed my driving test f-f-five times.” Useless! I made him act as a human GPS instead. Half an hour later, I deeply, profoundly regretted this decision. We came to an intersection. I asked Ben which way to go. He rolled down the window and practically stuck his entire head out. “S-s-st…” “S-s-st…” Straight, right? Got it. I even sped up a little. Ben’s face turned completely red: “S-steer right!” …I should just throw him out of the car. We drove a little further and came to a fork in the road. Ben excitedly pointed at an overpass: “U-u-u…” “U-u-u…” I turned the steering wheel and went up onto the overpass. His face was filled with absolute regret. He slapped his knees with both hands, almost jumping out of his seat: “U-usually it’s a dead end up there! Last time I came this way, I was stuck in traffic all day!” Motherfucker. Thanks to Ben, by the time we arrived at Arthur’s company building, it was already night. Arthur’s assistant was a true professional. According to the security guard, he had been waiting on the curb for me since the afternoon. “Sorry about that. Traffic was terrible.” He gave a mysterious, polite smile. “It’s no problem at all. A little waiting is nothing.” Then he walked ahead of me to lead the way. He walked with a severe limp. “Assistant Zhou, what happened to your leg?” Ben jumped in to answer: “It must be p-p-p-paralyzed!” Assistant Zhou gave him a stern look: “Do not swear in front of the Madam.” (In Chinese, “paralyzed” and “motherfucker” sound very similar when stuttered). 5 It wasn’t until I arrived that I belatedly realized something. What exactly was I supposed to do here? Assistant Zhou smiled: “Madam, please do not hold back. Feel free to unleash everything.” There’s definitely a hidden meaning in that! Once I got to the executive suite, I finally understood. Arthur was being harassed by a woman. “So what if she took a bullet for you back then?” “I know you’re infinitely tolerant of her out of gratitude. But Arthur, you’ve done more than enough! Hasn’t every single thing she’s done over the past few years made you a laughingstock? Do you know what people outside are saying about you?” The man was sitting improperly, leaning diagonally in his executive chair, resting his chin on his hand, his eyes glued to the cell phone on his desk. His tone was completely dismissive: “What are they saying?” The woman scoffed: “They say you’re completely whipped. That you have no spine. That you get beaten by a woman every single day and have absolutely zero dignity.” Eavesdropping outside the door, I guiltily wiped the sweat from my forehead. Arthur’s mind clearly wasn’t in the conversation. “Oh.” “It’s all just jealousy.” The woman was absolutely shocked. Then, her eyes turned red with grievance as she asked him, “If you value her that much, then what about me? What am I in your eyes?” I remembered who she was now. She was the daughter of one of Arthur’s most loyal subordinates—Sarah Zhao. Rumor had it that the subordinate saved Arthur’s life back in the day, but died in the process. Arthur honored that life debt by raising Sarah like she was his own biological younger sister. Ah, that explains it. In the past, I had definitely witnessed the fate of other women who tried to harass him. In the end, every single one of them was so terrified that they would cross the street to avoid him. Arthur didn’t even look up. “You’re overthinking it.” “You aren’t even in my eyes.” Sarah refused to accept defeat. Crying, she said: “If I was there back then, I would have taken the bullet for you too! What’s so great about her?!” I tossed a button into the room. “Ah! A cockroach!” Sarah shrieked loudly and hid behind Arthur. Once she realized she had been pranked, she was furious and indignant. “That doesn’t count!” “Chloe, you cheated!” “Honey.” Arthur’s eyes lit up, and he walked over. “You finally came to pick me up from work.” Honestly, looking at him, I was still pretty terrified. I instinctively took a step back. The man froze, looking confused. His eyes filled with hurt. Sarah still refused to give up, clinging to him. “Chloe, you don’t even love Arthur! You just use him as a punching bag to vent your anger! You don’t even give him the most basic dignity! Let’s be honest, you’re either after his face or his money. You’re a terrible woman!” Damn it. I couldn’t argue with that. I felt like she had a point. Arthur’s face turned terrifyingly cold: “Get out.” Okay, fine. I should probably slip away while I can. This is perfect—I won’t even have to agonize over an excuse to break up with him. I had just turned around when the man grabbed my wrist. He said, “I was telling her to get out.” Sarah was dumbfounded. Ben and Assistant Zhou were highly observant. They stepped forward, one on the left, one on the right, and physically dragged her away. “Ever heard of first come, first served? No cutting in line!” The door closed. It was incredibly soundproof; I couldn’t hear a single thing from outside. I felt a bit lost on what to do. I was just trying to figure out how to break this slightly unfriendly atmosphere. “Honey.” Hm? Arthur leaned in and loosely wrapped his arms around me, afraid to squeeze too tight: “I haven’t seen you in so long. I missed you so much.” Didn’t we just see each other this morning? The entire left side of his face was still swollen. I didn’t dare move. The man nuzzled against my ear: “Why… why didn’t you hit me today?” I stayed silent, entirely focused on forcing my shaking hands to stay still. It was so weird. I had developed muscle memory from hitting him. The moment Arthur’s face got close, my hands literally started itching. I offered a few awkward, forced laughs: “After hearing what Sarah said just now, I reflected on myself. I really shouldn’t trample on your dignity like that. So I decided I need to fix this bad habit of hitting you.” Arthur immediately let go of me. He took a deep breath and pulled out his gun. I asked him, trembling, what he was doing. The man stepped past me, heading for the door, grinding out a single sentence through his teeth: “Going to kill Sarah Zhao!”

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After the fake heiress died, her diary—left at a local shelter—was leaked online. It chronicled her silent suffering, her resilience, and her “selfless” love for the family. In an instant, the internet was in tears, and my family was drowning in regret. I, the one who had hidden the fact that she had terminal cancer, became the ultimate villain. My brother screamed at me: “I would have stayed broke for the rest of my life just to keep Maya alive!” My parents were livid: “Who gave you the right to choose for us? We didn’t want the money; we wanted our daughter!” I was blacklisted, cyberbullied, and kicked out of the house. I eventually died on the streets, cold and alone. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day Maya received her terminal diagnosis. 1 “Promise me, Chloe. Don’t tell anyone I’m sick, okay?” Maya was clutching my hand, her eyes swimming in tears. Her voice trembled with a humility that bordered on begging. Even with the bitterness of my past life, seeing her look this fragile made me hesitate for a heartbeat. “Dad lost everything in that venture capital deal. The house is gone, Mom is confined to her bed with depression, and Caleb is working three jobs just to keep Dad out of legal trouble. If they find out I have cancer, it will destroy them. I can’t be another burden… I just can’t.” What a tragic script: the bankrupt father, the fragile mother, the protective brother, and her—the dying saint. In my last life, I fell for it. Shortly after she told me this, she “ran away.” To make sure the family wouldn’t look for her, she rebranded herself as a shallow gold-digger. She posted photos partying at clubs with questionable men, told Caleb she was done with being poor, and was seen on the arms of wealthy older men at high-end galas. She broke their hearts to “save” them. And she made sure every single detail of her “noble sacrifice” was recorded in that diary. Three years after she died, Caleb became the new titan of the tech industry. My parents got new investments and rebuilt their lives. And I, who had worked double shifts in silence to support them through the dark times, finally took my place as the “real” daughter of the Vance family. But the good life lasted only a few days. A famous “missing persons” influencer found her diary and read it live to millions. Overnight, Maya became a martyr. My parents and Caleb, unable to handle their own guilt, turned their grief into a weapon and aimed it at me. “Why did you hide it? I don’t care if she’s gone; you will never replace her! I only have one sister, and it’s Maya!” Caleb had shouted during a press conference where he publicly disowned me. I had tried to argue: “Maya begged me! She didn’t want to be a burden! I wanted you guys to have a future! We only had enough money left for one of us to start over, and I respected her choice!” Caleb threw me aside, roaring, “Did you respect my choice? You knew how much she meant to me! Don’t pretend you did it for me—you did it for the money! That money could have bought her more time! Who gives a damn about a career?” I turned to my parents, but the locks were already changed. My suitcases were tossed onto the sidewalk like trash. “If it wasn’t for Maya, we never would have brought you home from the foster system,” my mother hissed. “You’re a curse. If it weren’t for you, she’d still be here. Get out before we do something we won’t regret.” The hatred in their eyes was seared into my soul. That was the moment I realized: no matter how hard I worked, I would never belong. Success makes people forget the grit of the past; they prefer to believe their glory is due to talent, not the luck of someone else’s sacrifice. But this time, I won’t let them live with “what ifs.” 2 “What’s going on in here?” Caleb pushed the door open and walked toward us. Maya tightened her grip on my arm, whispering one last time, “Please, Chloe…” I didn’t let her finish. I shook her hand off. Maya froze, confused. “Chloe, why…” Because I know you’re a diary writer, and I’m tired of being the villain. I turned to Caleb and blurted out, “Maya is sick. It’s stage four cancer.” Caleb stopped dead, the exhaustion on his face replaced by sheer terror. Maya started shaking her head frantically. “No, no, I’m fine. Chloe is just stressed, she’s joking…” I stayed cold and clinical. “She has the biopsy results in her pocket. Look for yourself. We need to tell Mom and Dad immediately. She needs treatment now.” Maya instinctively clutched her pocket. Caleb lunged forward and snatched the crumpled medical report from her hand. As his eyes scanned the words “Malignant” and “Metastasized,” he actually swayed on his feet. Maya burst into tears. “Please, don’t tell them! Mom can’t handle this, and Dad is already at his breaking point with the bankruptcy… Caleb, please,姐姐 (Sister), please…” She sobbed until she couldn’t breathe, and then, a spray of blood erupted from her nose, staining the floor. Caleb’s face went ghost-white. “We’re going to the hospital,” I said. Maya kept protesting, saying it was a waste of money, but Caleb scooped her up in a protective, commanding hold. “Maya, enough. We’re going.” First, they ran a full diagnostic panel. The results were undeniable. “It’s aggressive,” the oncologist explained. “It’s spread to multiple organs. We can try a combination of surgery, radiation, and chemo, but she’s young—it’s hard to say how she’ll respond. And frankly, the costs will be astronomical.” Caleb didn’t hesitate. “We’ll do whatever it takes.” The doctor nodded and handed over the admission forms. “You’ll need to pay the initial deposit at the billing office. She’ll need 24-hour care.” Caleb took the stack of papers and led Maya to the inpatient wing. “The initial deposit is $5,000. Will that be card or insurance?” the clerk asked. Caleb’s jaw tightened. Our insurance had lapsed after the company went under. “Give me a minute. I need to make a phone call.” I sat with Maya on a plastic bench, watching Caleb pace outside. I saw him looking desperate, then forced to smile, then kicking a trash can in rage. It took him until the office was nearly closed to scrape together that $5,000. I knew exactly what he did. He had to swallow his pride and beg the “trust fund kids” he used to look down on for a loan. In my last life, he would have starved for a week before asking them for a dime. This time, his “noble pride” was the first thing to go. “Don’t worry,” Caleb told Maya, his voice thick with emotion. “Money isn’t an issue. As long as you’re okay, I’ll handle everything.” Maya looked at him with worshipful eyes. I looked at the hospital walls, smelling the bleach. To the rich, this is a place of healing. To the poor, it’s a meat grinder for your soul and your bank account. 3 The $5,000 was just the cover charge to get into the game. From here on out, every breath Maya took inside those walls would cost a fortune. The bed, the IV, the saline, the oxygen—it would all add up to a mountain of debt a ruined family could never climb. When we arrived at the hospital, we took an Uber because it was an “emergency.” When we left, we walked to the bus stop. On the cramped, smelly bus, Maya cried again, begging Caleb to let her die. But Caleb, fueled by the “hero” narrative, just poured more “never give up” rhetoric into her head. “We’re family, Maya! We don’t quit on each other! You just fight the cancer; I’ll fight the world!” “Caleb… I don’t deserve a brother like you…” They hugged. It was like a scene from a low-budget soap opera, if you could ignore the smell of the city bus and the tired commuters staring at them. When we got back to the cramped apartment we were renting, my parents were sitting on a small cot. On the table was a stack of cash—$300,000. My dad had sold his vintage Rolex collection; my mother had sold every designer bag and pair of heels she owned. It was exactly $300,000. In my last life, this was the seed money. Caleb used this $300,000 to invest in his college roommate’s startup, “RiceTech.” That company eventually went public, making my brother a billionaire and saving the Vance legacy. Dad looked at Caleb with weary eyes. “Caleb, we got the money. Take it to your friend, Sam. Invest it in RiceTech. We’re betting everything on this. We need this win to get back on our feet.” Caleb looked at the money, then at the hospital forms in his hand. He walked over and handed the medical reports to Dad. “What is this?” Dad asked. As they read the words “Stage IV,” the room went silent. Mom started to wail. Dad’s lips thinned into a hard line. Maya’s tears fell onto the floor. “Dad, Mom… we can make money later,” Caleb said, his voice cracking. “But Maya is running out of time.” Dad looked at the $300,000—their last hope of ever being “important” again. Then he looked at Maya. “We treat it,” Dad said, his voice dead. “We have to.” 4 With that one sentence, the “Vance Family Renaissance” was dead. The “Maya Recovery Project” began. Dad got a job at a construction site. Mom started waitressing at a diner. Caleb went to work at RiceTech, but not as a partner—as a lowly entry-level salesman on commission. And me? In my last life, I dropped out to work three jobs to keep the lights on while they grieved. This time, I took a formal leave of absence from college to be Maya’s 24-hour hospital companion. “Chloe, since I got sick, everyone has cried. Even the nurses. But you haven’t. Why?” Maya asked me one day from her hospital bed. I was busy organizing her meds. I didn’t look up. “Crying doesn’t pay the bills, Maya. Why waste the energy?” She gave a sad little smile. “I know you’ve hated me since you came home. I just don’t understand why you told them. If I had just disappeared, you all would be rich by now. You’d be the only daughter. You’d be happy.” I used to think that too. But I’ve learned that the “unloved” child is never happy, regardless of the money. But what about the “beloved” child? Let’s see how that goes. “Don’t overthink it,” I said, tucking her in. “Just focus on the ‘heroic battle’ everyone expects of you.” I stayed on the tiny cot in her room every night. Not out of love, but because I had to make sure she didn’t try to pull her “disappearing act.” Every time she tried to crawl out of bed to run away, I “caught” her and called the nurses to “save” her. The first surgery cost $100,000. Then came the targeted radiation. Then the experimental chemo. The “pure love” of the family was at its peak during the first month. They visited every day with flowers and prayers. But the bills kept coming. By the second month, Maya’s organs started to fail. She needed a kidney. Mom and I weren’t matches. Dad and Caleb were. Dad was too old for the stress of the surgery, so Caleb, the “noble brother,” went under the knife. Maya woke up to Caleb’s missing kidney. She cried with gratitude. The family was “united.” Only I heard the surgeon’s hushed warning in the hallway: “Kidney failure is just the beginning. Next will be the liver, then the heart. You’re pouring money into a sinking ship. You’re mutilating a healthy young man to give a terminal patient a few more months of agony. I strongly suggest hospice.” 5 Once Caleb recovered, he went back to work. But things at RiceTech were moving fast. The company was hitting its stride, but Caleb couldn’t keep up. He couldn’t go to the late-night networking drinks because of his health. He couldn’t travel for the big deals. He was grumpy and exhausted. Eventually, his friend Sam had to hire someone else to lead the sales team. Caleb was sidelined. His dreams of being a “tech mogul” were dying in a cubicle. “It’s not fair!” he roared one night in our cramped kitchen. “My vision was right! I should be the one on the cover of Forbes! Instead, I’m selling software for peanuts just to pay for another round of chemo!” The resentment was starting to rot the “noble” facade. Mom, who used to have weekly manicures, now had cracked, bleeding hands from scrubbing floors. She had to dig out clogged drains with her bare hands. She started bringing home leftover scraps from the diner for our dinner. Dad, the former executive, was being belittled by a foreman half his age. Every cent he made went into the black hole of Maya’s medical bills. By the fifth month of treatment, their memories improved. They finally started “remembering” what the doctor said about the chances of success. “Maya, the doctors… they say it’s not looking good,” Mom whispered during a visit. “Maybe we’re just making you suffer for nothing.” “We did our best, honey,” Dad added. “We really did. We gave everything.” Maya couldn’t even speak. She had lost her hair, her skin was yellow, and she was skeletal. She just watched them with tears leaking from her eyes. During those months, she had been “washed” five times—full blood transfusions. Every major organ had been poked and prodded. She was in a living hell. She had begged to stop. She had begged them to let her go. But back then, they were “too noble” to listen. They had forced her to stay alive. Now, she was a vegetable with a price tag. Caleb held her hand, crying—but they weren’t tears of love anymore. They were tears of mourning for his lost life. “I’m sorry, Maya. I can’t do this anymore. Next time your heart stops, I’m signing the DNR. Go to heaven, okay? Be happy there. I love you.” Maya nodded weakly. She was ready to die. But the universe has a sick sense of humor. Maya didn’t die. She started to get better. Against all odds, the experimental treatment worked. She stabilized. She could eat. She could sit up. She could talk. The doctor was amazed. “It’s a miracle. She can go home. She’ll need years of expensive rehab, and she’ll never be 100% independent, but she’s alive.” Maya cried with joy. She thought she had been given a second chance. But when I looked at my parents and Caleb… I didn’t see joy. I saw the look of people who had just been told their life sentence was being extended. 6 “How is she still alive?” I heard my mother whisper it in the middle of the night. We were all squeezed into a one-bedroom apartment. Parents on the bed, Caleb on the sofa, Maya and I on a mattress on the floor. Dad sighed heavily. “I don’t know. We prayed for her to live, and now she is. But how do we pay for the $10,000-a-month rehab? We’re already a million in debt.” “She’s a burden,” Mom hissed. “A million dollars to keep a cripple alive. If we had just invested that money three years ago, we’d be in a mansion in the Hamptons right now.” “Don’t say that,” Dad muttered. “But… yeah. Life is over for us. We’re just ATMs for a ghost.” They didn’t realize Maya was awake. I saw her shoulders shaking. I saw the silent tears soaking the pillow. The “Saint” was finally seeing the “noble” family for what they were. I patted her shoulder and mouthed: “It’ll get better.” She nodded, trying to believe me. The next morning, Mom didn’t make her usual sad oatmeal. She went to the bakery and got expensive donuts and coffee. “Everything looks so good,” I remarked, reaching for a donut to give to Maya. But Mom pulled the tray toward Dad and Caleb. “Let them eat first. They have to go work twelve hours. Maya can have the leftovers.” Maya saw the coldness in Mom’s eyes. She shook her head and said she wasn’t hungry. “You have to eat to get better,” Mom said, her voice sharp. “If you don’t get better, you can’t work. We need another income. We can’t support two freeloaders forever. Chloe needs to go back to work too.” Caleb frowned. “Mom, Maya can barely walk. And who’s going to take care of her if Chloe works?” “We’ll rotate,” Mom said firmly. “I’ll do Mondays, Dad will do Tuesdays, you do weekends. We have to make this work. We need the money.” Maya whispered, “Was it a mistake to save me?” No one answered. Dad just bit into his donut and said, “We’ve made a lot of mistakes. We can’t afford any more.”

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