The night before my wedding, I found Brooks and a stranger in my bed. Proud as he was, that was the first time I’d ever seen him weep. His voice shook as he explained, claiming he was blackout drunk, that he’d mistaken her for me, and that it would never happen again. The young woman, her face flushed, confessed that she’d secretly loved Brooks for years and deliberately bribed a hotel clerk for his room key. She fell to her knees and swore she would disappear from our lives forever. For the next eight years, we were the picture of a perfect couple, envied by everyone we knew. Then, on Brooks’s thirtieth birthday, I specifically took time off work and endured an eleven-hour international flight to give him a surprise. Stopping at a corner store for a bottle of water, I overheard a woman talking on the phone beside me. “You’re so clingy. It’s only been an hour, and you’ve practically blown up my phone.” “Just wait. This girl is going to wear you out tonight.” A jolt of something—curiosity, perhaps—made me glance over. I froze. The woman was the same girl from eight years ago. 1 Years had passed, and she clearly didn’t recognize me as she walked over to the checkout. I couldn’t hear what the person on the other end was saying, but she pouted playfully into the phone. “No, I’m not cold. I’m wearing plenty. You can check later if you don’t believe me.” “You can reach right inside, slide your hand down my waist, and keep going until you hit…” On an impulse I couldn’t explain, I pulled out my phone and texted Brooks. [Brooks, are you off work yet?] No reply. The woman reached out and took two boxes from the shelf for ‘Intimate Products.’ Same brand, same flavor, same size—the one Brooks and I always used. Her voice was sickly sweet. “It’s your birthday, so it’s your call how many times we go.” I glanced down at my phone. Still nothing. After paying, I followed the woman outside. “Stop rushing me,” she whined. “I see your car.” The London rain was hitting my face, cold as ice. I tightened my coat around me and hit the call button with a trembling hand. A cold, automated female voice replied: “The number you have dialed is temporarily unavailable.” I understood instantly. He had his phone on ‘Do Not Disturb.’ This year, he’d told me his overseas branch was so busy that he couldn’t take calls once he stepped into the office. It wasn’t the first time I couldn’t reach him. A sleek Bentley was parked a short distance away at the corner. “Brooks!” The woman hurried forward and opened the passenger door. I turned my head slightly to look. One look was all it took to nail me to the spot. The window was half-down, and the man in the driver’s seat looked composed and expensive. She twisted her body and leaned in to plant a light kiss on the corner of his mouth. He smiled, a familiar, fond look of resignation. “Always the baby,” he murmured. The streetlights were dim, but I saw his face clearly. The owner of that face had been by my side for my entire thirty years. At three, we held hands walking into kindergarten. He’d sneak the candy the teacher gave him into my palm. “I’ll protect you. Don’t cry.” At sixteen, he copied a movie scene and hid a drawing of me inside a textbook. When I found it, his ears turned bright red. “I just like you. So what?” At nineteen, during our first kiss, he was so thrilled he bought out the entire restaurant’s tab. “I want to shout it out—I’m the happiest guy in the world.” At twenty-two, when I accepted his proposal, he swore in front of both our families that he would only ever love me. Everything came to a screeching halt the night before our wedding. When I opened that hotel room door, he and a stranger were naked and tangled together. The day was a blur of chaos. Everyone said he was drunk and had made a mistake. They said I, his childhood sweetheart, should give him a second chance. Even the girl knelt and begged for forgiveness. She took all the blame, saying she bought the room key, only to fulfill her foolish secret crush fantasy. Brooks, who had always been so proud and dominant, cried until his eyes were red that day. Seeing my silent tears, he picked up a fruit knife and aimed it at his own heart. “Stella, I know I’ve failed you. “If you don’t believe me, I’ll cut myself open and show you—there is truly only you in my heart!” Tears blurred his face. His voice kept shaking. “Please don’t leave me, my love. I’m begging you. You know I’ve loved you for so long.” “If you reject me, I’ll die. I truly will die…” After that, I sealed the memory away. Sharing life for so many years, I thought we were inseparable, destined to go from being children’s playmates to growing old together. But in this second. Our thirty years. It finally all came crashing down. 2 Dazed, I returned to the apartment. My mother texted me: [So, how did Brooks react when you told him you were pregnant? He must be thrilled!] I took a deep breath, swallowed the bitterness in my throat, and replied with a forced calm: [Not yet. I just got to his apartment. Haven’t told him.] The apartment door opened, and Brooks walked in, having returned after dropping Quinn off. Our eyes met. His flickered with unnaturalness for a second, then quickly settled into a calm facade. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? I would have picked you up from the airport.” My expression was flat. “I wanted to surprise you.” He smiled, walking over to gently ruffle my hair. “I hate how much I missed you.” “The flight must have been exhausting. All this trouble just to adjust your time zone for a birthday.” Before Brooks could say anything more, his phone buzzed. He looked down to reply, his eyes softening with that familiar tenderness and patience. Then he looked up apologetically. “I’m so sorry, but I have a client meeting tonight. My poor girl will have to be lonely.” Before I could speak, he went to the closet and pulled out a garment. I understood immediately. He came back to retrieve the intimate item the woman had forgotten. I had used a week of my vacation time, missing a huge client meeting, to arrange and decorate this temporary overseas apartment for him, bit by bit. But now, the unique vase I’d spent an afternoon hunting for and personally carried over from the States was gone. Even the photo of us stuck to the refrigerator had vanished. A sharp, wet chill seeped into my heart through my rain-drenched clothes. I abruptly stood up, dragging my suitcase toward the door. Brooks followed. “Are you upset?” He wrapped his arm around my shoulder from behind. “The apartment hasn’t been cleaned. I’ll book you a five-star hotel nearby.” “I promise, I’ll spend the whole day with you tomorrow. Deal?” He tilted his head, intending to kiss me, just as he always did. A strange, unfamiliar scent of citrus and spice wafted into my nostrils. It was her perfume. I turned my face away, but Brooks didn’t seem to notice and rushed out the door. By the elevator, a rough-looking guy whistled at me, his eyes leering. “How much, beautiful? He doesn’t want you, I’ll take his sloppy seconds.” He grabbed my arm. “He has a girlfriend. I’ve seen her. They’re neighbors here. He dotes on her, carrying her from the garage all the way up. She always looks so happy. What makes you so desperate?” He reached out and pinched my waist, trying to lean in for a kiss. Reflexively, I brought my heel down hard on his foot. As he yelped in pain, I pulled my suitcase and fled through the fire exit. I didn’t dare stop to check the scrape on my knee after tumbling down the stairs; I just ran straight for the airport. Sitting aimlessly in the boarding hall, I was consumed by one question. Why did Brooks cheat again? In the first two years of our marriage, I was constantly plagued by nightmares. In the dream, Brooks was naked, wrapped around a strange girl. I’d wake up in tears. He would hold me, soothing me over and over. “It’s all my fault. I hurt my poor baby wife.” He changed the passwords on all his devices to my birthday, and introduced me at every public event as his wife. He gave me a detailed rundown of his day—who he saw, what he did. If he had to travel and stay out of town, he would keep a video call open all night, listening to my breathing until he fell asleep. We were both painstakingly trying to repair the broken trust. Where did it all go wrong? Vaguely recalling the woman’s name, Quinn, I opened a social media app to search. It took me less than a minute to find her among the many accounts with the same name. The reason was her profile picture: it was taken in Brooks’s office back home. 3 The hanging abstract painting behind her was one I’d personally commissioned from a renowned artist. I had pleaded with the artist, even standing outside their studio in high heels for an entire afternoon, just because Brooks had once mentioned he liked their style. Quinn was a moderately famous travel blogger with a decent following. I scrolled down. The posts related to Brooks started three years ago. Quinn and a man holding hands, the background our high school track field. [Finally dating my high school dream guy!] It was the same spot where Brooks and I had first held hands at sixteen. The night wind was cool, and his palm was slick with nervous sweat. “When we’re old and gray, we’ll come back here together.” The middle of August two years ago—our wedding anniversary. Brooks said he had an urgent business matter and couldn’t be there. But in her feed, he was sitting with Quinn, eating street food. Last New Year’s Eve, I was hospitalized with a high fever from the flu. Brooks appeared in Quinn’s video, intensely focused as he disinfected a small scrape on her finger. My hand holding the phone was shaking. Brooks’s face wasn’t visible in any of the photos. But the familiar cuff of his expensive jacket and the texture of his palm made it impossible to keep lying to myself. Quinn’s latest post refreshed on the screen. The image showed a lacy maid outfit, so revealing it made my stomach churn. [Bought it but forgot to bring it. Glad someone remembered! Tonight’s reward is all his.] So that was it. That was what Brooks had returned to the apartment to fetch. The fans in the comments were joking. [Your hubby has good taste! Sis, you spoil him!] Quinn replied: [Can’t help it. I asked him today when he fell for me.] [He said it was eight years ago, the first day I was brave enough to tell him I liked him. He said my eyes were frighteningly bright, and he never forgot it.] [Just thinking that he’s been thinking about me all these years melts my heart.] I pressed my lips together so tightly they hurt. But the tears were disobedient, streaming silently down my face. Quinn posted a video next. The camera focused on a large bed covered in rose petals. A woman’s voice giggled. “My followers want me to ask you, now that you’re thirty, do you have any new plans for our relationship?” A man’s low laugh replied. “Plans?” “I do want a baby. Will you have one for me, baby?” The camera shook, and the sound of clothes intensely rubbing together filled the silence. My fingers were numb; I misdialed several times before I finally called Brooks. The phone rang three times, then finally connected. My voice trembling, I asked, “Brooks, am I still in your future plans?” He was silent for a few seconds, then said casually, “Of course, you are. Why wouldn’t you be?” “Oh, by the way, my parents mentioned you had a surprise for me. They’ve asked me about it several times. What is it?” I heard Quinn’s low, urgent voice in the background. “Husband, if you don’t pay attention, I’m going to punish you.” If I hadn’t seen them, I would have been foolish enough to believe she was a subordinate. My eyes swept over the shredded pregnancy test report I’d tossed in the waste bin. I spoke softly. “It’s gone.” The surprise was gone. The past love, the future we’d planned. All gone. Brooks’s patience wore thin, a hint of anger creeping into his voice. “Why are you throwing a fit?!” “I’ve turned down over ten international partnerships for you, all because you’re constantly suspicious!” “I’m with a client tonight for our future. Can you just give me a break?” Tears fell again, and I managed a slight, bitter laugh. “You’re right, Brooks.” “I’m just throwing a fit.” “When you get back home, we’re getting a divorce.” 4 Brooks was the one who hung up first. He scoffed. “Fine. Be dramatic.” The dial tone cut out, hitting my heart like a drumbeat. I didn’t sleep a second during the twelve-hour flight back. It wasn’t until I lay on the operating table, and the anesthetic poured into my veins, that I found any release from the relentless pain. When I found out I was pregnant, I was truly overjoyed. I thought this would be the new beginning for Brooks and me. Just a few months more, and the baby would have been here. Happiness was within reach. But now, everything was lost. After resting for a day, I received a message from Brooks. [I’m back. Family dinner tonight. Don’t you dare give my parents the silent treatment.] [Stella, you’re not a teenager anymore. Your tantrums need a limit.] I replied that I would attend. By the time I composed myself and arrived at the Brooks family’s estate, both families were already there. Brooks sat down next to me. He looked at my averted face, his tone laced with exasperation. “Are you still mad?” He pulled out a necklace and pressed it into my hand. “It was my fault. Is that enough?” “Take this as my apology. Smile for me, huh?” My palm was icy cold. Just yesterday, before I went into the operating room, Quinn had posted a new update. The messy bed was covered in gifts. She unwrapped them one by one: a limited-edition crocodile skin bag, custom-made luxury perfume, a diamond bracelet… She wrinkled her nose at this very gold chain. “The style is so dated. I don’t want it.” The person filming laughed indulgently. “I’m the one having a birthday, you’re getting the gift, and you still complain? I’ll just throw it away, then.” I loosened my grip, letting the necklace fall to the floor. Brooks frowned. “What more do you want from me? Take it or leave it.” Brooks’s mother smiled kindly, trying to ease the tension. “I heard you specifically flew to London for Brooks’s birthday, and he couldn’t even be with you because of work. He was wrong about that.” My mother stepped in, attempting to smooth things over. “You, young lady, are about to be a mother. You can’t be so temperamental; it’s bad for your health.” “A… mother?” Brooks was stunned, turning to look at me in disbelief. “Stella, you’re pregnant?!” He shot up from his seat, his lips twitching into an uncontrollable smile. “I’m going to be a father, right?!” The coldness in his eyes melted away, replaced by unconcealed excitement. I didn’t look away, taking in every flicker of emotion on his face. But was this real, or was it another performance? I couldn’t tell. And I didn’t care anymore. Both sets of parents burst into laughter. “Look at this fool.” I spoke softly. “No.” “I had an abortion.” The atmosphere froze. The excitement on Brooks’s face solidified and then cracked. His eyes darted around in panic for a few seconds, then he managed a forced smile. “Stella, don’t joke like that.” I didn’t answer, pulling the pre-prepared divorce papers from my purse. Then I let a faint smile touch my lips. “Brooks, I saw Quinn.” “If we don’t divorce, do you expect her to be your mistress forever?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391197”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My sister and I are twins. From the moment she was born, my sister, Harper, was labeled a “high-demand” baby. She needed constant attention, endless soothing, and deep, consistent affection. Any slight discomfort sent her into a fit of raw, heart-wrenching screams. I, on the other hand, was “low-demand.” I rarely cried, caused no fuss, and was, to my parents, blessedly easy. So, on the day of the divorce, standing outside the Registrar’s office, my parents only argued about one thing: who would take Harper. My mother, Valerie, shielded Harper with her body. “Harper is fragile. Who will care for her when I’m not around?” My father, Mitchell, reached for Harper’s suitcase. “She’s coming with me! My place is closer to the best high school. It’s better for her future.” I stood awkwardly beside them, my fingernails digging deep crescents into my palm. I finally managed a quiet, almost pleading question. “What about me?” My mother glanced at me, as if she were noticing me for the first time that day. “Paige, you’ve always been so sensible, so low-maintenance. Go with your dad. Your sister is still young; she needs me.” My father immediately frowned, cutting her off. “No! I only want Harper. I’m the one who raised her!” They tossed my name back and forth like a worn tennis ball, neither of them wanting to catch it. Finally, my mother sighed in exasperation, pulling out her phone. “Fine. Let’s just start a group chat. Anything about Paige, we’ll discuss it in there.” The group was created instantly, its name a blunt, transactional title: Ellison Minor Communication. My father was quick to post the “Group Rules”: a. By the 15th of every month, both parties transfer $200 to Paige. b. Any single expenditure over $15 must be put to a group vote. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. I remembered the phrase they always repeated: “You’re the older one, your sister needs more. You have to be the bigger person, Paige.” It turned out that by always being the bigger person, I had given up even the right to be fought over. 1 The school dorms were emptying one by one as winter break began. I stood alone in the small room, surrounded by the mess of packing, my frozen fingers waiting for a reply. It had been two hours since I’d sent the message to the group chat. [Mom and Dad, I’m done with school today. Could someone please come and pick me up?] The academy was thirty miles from home, and there was no direct bus line. I had exactly $5.20 to my name—not nearly enough for an Uber. After what felt like an eternity, my phone vibrated. It was a long voice message from my mother. My heart hitched, and I tremulously pressed play. My mother’s voice, distant and slightly muffled, drifted out. “Call your father! I’m with your sister in Key West for the winter. It’s warm here, and her chest is so delicate; she can’t handle the biting cold back home. It makes her cough instantly.” My eyes burned as I stared at the screen until it automatically dimmed. She didn’t send anything else. I took a shaky breath, gathered my courage, and, holding onto a sliver of hope, directly @-ed my father in the group. [Dad, Mom says she’s busy. Could you possibly come?] A moment later, my father didn’t reply with words. He dropped a photo into the chat. He and his new wife were beaming over a luxurious platter of oysters and a prime rib, their faces flushed with the warmth of the trendy steakhouse. This was immediately followed by a voice note, thick with irritation. “Now you decide to find me? Where were you three days ago? Can’t you see I’m tied up? The school is huge, doesn’t it have a library or something you can hang out in? Figure it out yourself!” My throat tightened, and tears instantly blurred my vision. My hands trembling, I typed out a detailed explanation, every word a near-plea. [Dad, I asked in the chat three days ago. You might not have seen it… The dorm is truly locking down soon. I have nowhere to go.**] After another excruciating few minutes, a notification popped up. My father had sent a transfer: $50. Below it were two lines of cold, functional instructions: [Find yourself a holiday job with room and board.] [You’re old enough now. Don’t expect the family to solve everything for you. I have my own life to manage!] A year ago, when they divorced, both parents had desperately fought for Harper. Both saw me as a burden. The easiest solution had been to dump me into this remote, full-time boarding high school, out of sight and out of mind. My mother always suspected I secretly favored my father; my father always thought I was secretly aligned with my mother. And so, the communication group became their battlefield—a place for mutual evasion. The four hundred dollars a month was barely enough for food. Any other expense, if it exceeded that punitive fifteen dollars, was subject to the “family court.” Early in the semester, the school requested a $20 Student Activities Fee. I typed the message carefully, weighing every word. [Dad, Mom, the teacher needs twenty dollars for the Student Activities Fee, for shared class expenses.] My mother’s voice reply, half an hour later, was full of derision. “Those fees are a scam. They don’t use the money for anything useful. We didn’t have those silly fees when we were in school, and we turned out fine. I vote no.” My father quickly followed up with text: [I didn’t pay for that stuff either. I vote no.] I was the only one in class who didn’t pay the fee and was publicly singled out by the teacher. While the other students watched a movie or printed study guides, I had to keep my head down, pretending to read, burning with shame. After a few more votes, I finally understood. The “voting” was a mere formality. The result was always predetermined. They had no intention of spending a single extra dime on me. Every last penny, they felt, would be a waste. I would rather skip meals than face that humiliating inquisition in the chat again. My phone vibrated again. It was Harper. She’d updated her social media. The photo grid showed her in a brand-new, expensive sundress, beaming. The caption: Even though Mom and Dad are separated, their love for me hasn’t shrunk one bit! Celebrating the holidays by the beach—I’m so incredibly happy! I stared at the photo grid, the ability to process emotion momentarily gone. The realization that your parents don’t love you is truly a slow, painful process. It’s like being cut by a dull blade, slice after slice. It doesn’t kill you, but the pain is endless. I forced myself to absorb the message. From now on, I had no home. 2 I dragged my suitcase two long, frozen blocks down the street. My face was numb from the biting wind when I finally found a small diner with a handwritten sign: Dishwasher Wanted. On Christmas Eve, I ate a pack of the cheapest ramen, boiled in an electric kettle in the cramped, airless storage room that served as my break area. As the crushing loneliness washed over me, my mother called. I hesitated but ultimately answered. “Paige? Where are you? Did you eat a holiday dinner?” I stared at the swirling, oily surface of the ramen. My throat seized up. “I’m eating now,” I managed, dryly. “Oh.” She paused, seemingly unsure how to proceed, before her conversation naturally steered back to the center of her universe. “Your sister was so happy today. We had a huge seafood feast for dinner—King Crab, lobster, abalone…” She stopped again, as if remembering I was on the other end, and stiffly changed the subject. “You haven’t been running around, have you? It’s chaos outside during the holidays. Be safe.” I clenched my phone, my knuckles white. A sudden, sharp wave of intense grievance and anger surged through me. The tears I’d held back all day finally spilled over. I forced myself to speak past the sudden, painful lump in my throat. “Do you truly care how I’m doing, where I’m staying, or what I’m eating?” The other end of the line went silent for a second. Then, my mother’s voice shot back, shrill and wounded. “Paige Ellison! I am your mother! How dare you speak to me like that? I’m worried about you, and this is how you repay me? You ingrate! You’re just like your father! We gave birth to you, we raised you…” I hung up, lifted my chin, and fought hard not to let the tears fall again. When the winter break ended, I returned to the academy with the couple thousand dollars I’d earned washing dishes. On the first day of the new semester, someone tagged me in the group. My Dad: [@PaigeEllison Heard you made a couple thousand dollars working? Great. You can handle your own living expenses from now on.] My mom instantly agreed, the perfect partner in crime: [Agreed. Harper’s piano lessons are expensive this semester. It’s good you can be self-sufficient.] I stared at those two lines of text. My chest felt like it had been slammed by a heavy weight—a brief, suffocating pain, followed by absolute numbness. From that day on, I became a machine. I studied relentlessly. Every hour was spent reviewing, and I signed up for every single academic competition I could find. My friends and teachers, noticing my plight, often helped me out with meals or small necessities. By the time of the final senior year mock exam, my name was posted on the Honors Board—Top 20 in the entire class. The day grades were released, my mother tagged me in the chat. [Heard your mock results were pretty good?] My father immediately chimed in. [Really Top 20? Your college application needs to be for Finance or Computer Science. That’s where the real money is.] After two years, they were finally, collaboratively, planning my future. I felt a wave of nausea, an impulse to vomit right there. I typed a single, cold word in reply: [Fine.] My phone exploded with notifications. My Mom: [What is that attitude? You think you’re hot stuff just because of one test? Ingrate!] My Dad: [With that disposition, no wonder we always preferred Harper! You have absolutely no respect!] I was about to fire back one of my own when a new message popped up. It was my mother. I could practically hear the calculator clicking in her mind. Her text dripped with a chilling greed: [How much did we spend raising you to eighteen? You will pay it all back when you get a job!] My father immediately put a price tag on me: [At least forty-five thousand dollars. Every penny is due.] [We invested too much in you to just give it away!] Forty-five thousand. Staring at the number, a wave of profound coldness washed over me, starting at my feet and shooting straight to my head. They had kept a ledger. Every dollar spent on me had been recorded as a debt. For Harper, it was always open-handed, no-questions-asked generosity. Utterly and completely disillusioned, I calmly exited the group chat. Then, I blocked and deleted “Dad,” “Mom,” and “Sister.” When I finished, a lightness spread through my body. 3 After graduation, I found a job as a server at an upscale bistro. One evening, while carrying a tray of appetizers, I heard a familiar voice. “Harper, what do you want? Daddy’s treating!” My body froze. I slowly turned my head. At a table near the window sat my father in a new suit, my mother with a delicate clutch, and Harper was reading the menu. Harper pouted playfully. “Oh, Daddy, all these dishes look so boring…” My father waved a dismissive hand. “Then order the most expensive thing on the menu!” My mother glanced up, and her eyes locked onto mine. Her look of shock quickly morphed into a subtle, mocking smirk. “Well, well. Look who it is. Isn’t this our little college grad?” Harper looked me up and down, a flicker of disdain in her eyes. “Paige, are you working here? That looks so hard.” I tightened my grip on the heavy tray, my nails biting into my palm. “Welcome. Are you ready to order?” My father let out a harsh chuckle. “You were pretty tough when you blocked us, weren’t you? I thought you’d gotten some high-powered job, but you’re just carrying plates.” My mother chimed in. “Seriously, blocking your own parents. We thought you were too good for us.” I lowered my eyes and repeated the question. “Are you ready to order?” After they ordered, my mother casually asked, “I heard you did well on the exam?” “She asked you a question!” My father tapped the table, annoyed. “Cat got your tongue?” “I did fine,” I said. “And ‘fine’ means what score?” my mother pressed. “Scores aren’t official yet.” “But what did you estimate? You didn’t choke and miss the cutoff, did you?” For the next hour, I was their personal servant, spun around like a top. “Paige, cut my steak, please. These claws make it impossible.” “Make sure there are no bones in the fish. I got stuck last time.” “The water is too cold, go get me a refill with lemon.” Harper’s condescending demands came one after the other. Even the surrounding patrons glanced over, confused by the strange dynamic. I kept my head bowed, repeating the mantra: Just get through this. Save the money and leave. Finally, they finished. Harper wiped her mouth with a cloth napkin and raised her chin elegantly. “Check, please.” I brought the bill. “The total is three hundred eighty dollars.” My father took the bill, tossed it back on the table, and said, “Let’s go.” The three of them stood up and started to walk away. I froze, then hurried to intercept them. “You haven’t paid yet.” Harper blinked at me, feigning an innocent, confused expression. “Paige, you’re treating your parents, aren’t you? It’s the least you can do.” “I’m treating you?” I couldn’t believe my ears. “Of course,” my mother scoffed, utterly convinced of her entitlement. “You work here. Just deduct it from your paycheck.” My father was already near the door, turning back impatiently. “It’s just a dinner bill, for Christ’s sake. Stop making a scene.” The blood rushed to my head. I looked at the delicate, expensive-looking gold bracelet on Harper’s wrist. It was a recent birthday gift from my mother. I had never once had a birthday celebration in my life. I lunged forward and, with a swift pull, snatched the bracelet from her wrist. “Ah—!” Harper shrieked. “What are you doing?” “Since you won’t pay the bill, this is collateral!” 4 “You’ve lost your mind! How dare you steal your sister’s bracelet!” My father reacted first, roaring in anger. He swung his arm and delivered a savage slap across my face. “CRACK—!” The sound was sharp and deafening, making my ears ring. My vision momentarily swam. The force of the blow sent me stumbling backward, crashing into a nearby table. Silverware and dishes clattered and shattered on the floor. Next, my mother grabbed a handful of my hair and started dragging me toward the exit. “Let go of me! What right do you have?” I struggled, but she half-pulled, half-dragged me, until we were outside on the sidewalk. She violently shoved me onto the pavement and started shouting at the top of her lungs, gathering a crowd. “Everyone, look at this shameless thief! This is my older daughter! She just stole her sister’s gold bracelet!” “It’s worth thousands! How could I have given birth to such a disgrace!” I sat sprawled on the cold concrete, my cheek swollen and throbbing, my hair disheveled, and my uniform stained. I looked up at my mother, unable to comprehend the words. This was the “mother” I had sought validation from for eighteen years. This was the “love” I had desperately waited for. Now, it had materialized as the sharpest, most malicious knife, plunged directly into my public shame. “I didn’t steal! I didn’t!” I tried to explain, but my words were repeatedly drowned out by my mother’s hysterics. She clutched her chest, acting as though my actions had shocked her to the core. “She was always sticky-fingered as a child, and now she’s grown up into a thief! She’s trying to kill us with stress!” The crowd instantly swarmed, murmuring judgments. I covered my swollen face, catching sight of a few familiar faces—classmates from the academy. They stared at me in shock, whispering to one another. “Isn’t that Paige Ellison?” “She was our class Valedictorian. She’s a thief?” “Tsk, tsk. You really never know what’s going on beneath the surface…” Standing at the center of the mob, I felt as if I were being crushed by giant, suffocating mountains. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t climb over them. I instinctively looked at my father. He stood apart, arms crossed, his face devoid of sympathy. Instead, there was a clear, terrible glint of self-satisfied pride. Encouraged by the crowd’s condemnation, my mother gripped my arm tighter. “Hand over the bracelet! Get down and apologize to Harper!” Harper hid behind my father, clutching her red, claw-marked wrist. “Paige, I would have given you something else if you asked! Why did you have to steal?” “I didn’t steal!” I screamed. “They tried to dine and dash—” “Lies!” My father cut me off, his voice severe. “We raised you! And you try to extort us over one meal? Ingrate!” More and more people gathered, their judging whispers like needles stabbing my skin. “Kids these days are terrifying.” “Her parents wasted their time.” “Someone call the police and arrest her!” My mother forcibly pushed my head down. “You apologize to her right now! Or this isn’t over!” I was shaking, tears streaming down my face. The last, fragile thread of longing for any kind of familial bond snapped completely. Just as she was about to force me to my knees, I found a wellspring of strength I didn’t know I had. I straightened my back and screamed with everything I had. “I’m calling the police!” The crowd instantly fell silent. My mother subconsciously released her grip. “W-what did you say?” I wiped my eyes and spoke clearly, one word at a time. “I said I’m calling the police. I am reporting you for theft of services, for public assault, and for criminal defamation.” I pulled out my phone with a trembling hand and firmly dialed 9-1-1. “Hello, police? I need to report a crime…”

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The day they lowered Neil’s tiny casket into the ground, I didn’t just bury my son. I buried the woman Garrett Blackwood used to despise. After Neil died, I methodically shed every habit my Major General husband had found irritating. He started staying out late; I stopped asking where. He left his phone on the counter, full of explicit, flirtatious texts; I kept my eyes on my book. Even the day of the funeral, when he sent a detached, “Emergency meeting. Can’t break away,” I accepted it with unnerving calm, organizing the entire service alone. His aide, a young man named Jensen, watched my swollen, bloodshot eyes and leaned in to whisper. “Colonel Blackwood really couldn’t get out of this one, ma’am. He promised he’d come straight here when it’s done. He might still catch the last prayer.” I didn’t answer. I just placed my child’s ashes into the small, waiting crypt. Just as I was about to signal the crew to seal the vault, Garrett’s armored vehicle roared into the cemetery. He was soaking wet, still in his fatigues, and he hadn’t even killed the engine. “Quinn! Why didn’t you wait for me? Neil was my son too!” My voice was flat, an airless expanse. “Your duties are demanding, Garrett. Neil would understand.” My excessive compliance seemed to irritate him more than any scream could have. He opened his mouth to argue, but the murmuring of the small military crowd froze him in place. “Colonel Blackwood is really something for Tina Price, isn’t he? Rushed the specialty meds over the second he heard her K9 was sick. Didn’t even check on his own son.” “Yeah, only showed up for the funeral once Tina’s dog was stable.” Garrett’s hands clenched at his sides. He watched me with sharp, defensive eyes, bracing for the hysterical outburst he expected, the one he had always weaponized against me. But my eyelashes didn’t even tremble. I simply took the shovel and quietly covered the crypt with the last clod of earth. … 1 “Tina and I are just comrades! I swear, I only see her as a little sister! And Neil’s death was a tragic accident!” I nodded, already walking toward my car. “I know. The wind is picking up. You should head back to the base.” Garrett hurried after me and grabbed my arm. “If you’re angry, take it out on me. Scream. Hit me. Anything but this cold shoulder.” I looked at him with genuine curiosity. He used to despise my emotional outbursts, lecturing me that a military spouse must be rational and disciplined. Now that I was calm and controlled, he found me “cold.” As I was about to pull my hand free, his secure communication device vibrated. Garrett’s brow furrowed, but he answered the call. “I’m busy. Can this wait until tomorrow?” A woman’s voice, thick with tears, came through the tiny speaker. “Garrett, Ragnar’s having another seizure… could you please come check on him?” Ragnar was Tina’s K9. Garrett glanced at me. Seeing no reaction, he instantly capitulated. “Okay. I’m on my way.” He hung up, and I pulled the car door open for myself. I hadn’t secured my footing, and I stumbled slightly. “Watch it!” He reached out and steadied me with a firm grip. I gently pushed his hand away. “Go on. A K9 is a combat partner. You should see to him. It’s the right thing to do. Drive safe.” I even reached in and handed him his uniform cap. Garrett took the cap, a strange, sharp pang hitting his chest. He got into his vehicle, but before pulling away, he looked at me. “I’ll be home for dinner tonight.” “Good. I’ll wait for you.” Garrett did not come home. I cooked three dishes and a soup. I waited from dusk until late into the night. I heated and reheated the meal until, finally, I dumped it all into the compost bin. At two in the morning, Tina updated her social media. [With you here, I’m afraid of nothing. Thank you for being my rock.] The photo was a candid shot of Garrett in profile, kneeling to give the K9 an injection. His brow was knitted in intense concentration, but his movements were tender. I hit ‘like.’ Then, I connected to my secure channel. “Dad, the divorce papers will be finalized in seven days. About the National Security Advisor you mentioned… I’m willing to meet him.” For the next week, I practically lived at the Research Institute, trying to drown my numbness in data and diagnostics. My colleagues avoided my eyes. Whispers trailed me in the corridor. “Quinn’s an iron woman… back to work the day after her son’s funeral.” I ignored them, continuing to calibrate parameters. Tina walked past, carrying a thermos, and stopped by my workstation. “Quinn, I’m so sorry for your loss. Try not to push yourself so hard.” Her voice was low, but loud enough for everyone to hear. “If only someone had been more attentive that day, maybe your son could have been saved…” I tightened my grip on the electronic stylus. Garrett had never explained swapping Neil’s specialty medication. Instead, he let the rumor fester, effectively pushing the blame onto me. That afternoon, during the Base’s mandatory meeting, Garrett’s father, the General, slammed a file onto the conference table. “Quinn Blackwood! Don’t think your family name gives you carte blanche to be this reckless!” “You pulled a three-day marathon session for a breakthrough experiment while your child was burning up with fever! How did my son marry such a cold-blooded woman!” I looked at Garrett. He deliberately avoided my gaze. “Dad, about this…” “Silence!” The General rose, towering over the table. “This is what happens when you indulge her!” He strode toward me, then raised his hand and struck me across the face. “That’s the first slap, for killing my grandson!” I staggered backward, my cheek stinging. A heavy silence fell over the room. Behind the General, I saw Tina Price struggling to suppress a satisfied smirk. “And that’s the second,” he said, raising his hand again. “For costing the Base a critical research partnership!” “The lead representative heard you neglected your own flesh and blood. They called our family heartless and pulled all funding this morning!” The second blow was heavier. My ears rang, and I tasted iron. Garrett finally jumped out of his chair. “Dad!” “What, are you still defending her?” Garrett moved in front of me. “To hit her, you have to go through me.” The General was shaking with fury, his finger nearly touching my nose. “Look at this! Garrett is still covering for you!” “I’ve indulged you too much, Quinn! You’ve become a threat to military discipline!” The third slap never landed, but my vision went black. I collapsed. I woke up in the Base clinic. Garrett was sitting on the edge of the bed. “Tina… she grew up on a frontier outpost. Besides me, all she had was Ragnar.” He paused. “Can you just overlook it this one time? Please?” I closed my eyes. “Quinn, let’s start over. We’ll have another child. I’ll give you any compensation you want.” I finally turned to him, my throat dry. “What if I say no?” He froze, his brows tightening. “Don’t be dramatic.” I felt the phantom ache on my cheek. “I’m not being dramatic. I just want to know—” “Do I still have the right to say no?” His last thread of patience snapped. “Rest up. I’ll come back later.” He left quickly. As the door swung shut, I heard Tina’s voice: “Garrett, is Quinn okay? This is all my fault for asking you to bring the medication…” Garrett’s voice instantly softened. “It’s not your fault, Tina. She’s the one spiraling.” I stared at the ceiling, and silent, effortless tears tracked down my temples and into the pillow. I thought I had cried them all out when my son died. The next day, I was discharged. A serviceman drove me to the Base housing complex. I walked in and saw Tina sitting in the living room, chatting and laughing easily with Garrett’s parents. Ragnar, the K9, was lying at her feet. Hanging from his collar was the small, engraved military tag my son used to cherish. I had polished that tag myself when Neil turned one. His name was carved on the back. After he died, I burned all his toys and clothes, but I’d kept that tag. It was my only tangible memory. “Quinn is back!” Tina stood up right away. “Ragnar just loves this tag. Garrett said Neil didn’t need it anymore, so he let Ragnar wear it for a bit.” I didn’t speak. I walked over and gently tugged the tag off the K9’s collar. Startled, Ragnar snapped, sinking his teeth into the back of my hand. Blood welled up instantly. “Quinn! What the hell are you doing?” Mrs. Blackwood rushed over. “It’s just a piece of metal! Why are you fighting with a dog?” “Yes, Quinn. If you’re upset, I apologize. Please don’t scare Ragnar.” I clutched the tag tightly, blood oozing between my fingers. Garrett walked in just then. Seeing the scene, his face hardened. “What’s the drama now?” Tina immediately stepped forward. “It’s my fault, Garrett. I shouldn’t have given Ragnar the tag.” Garrett looked at me, his eyes full of reprimand. “It’s a dog tag. You gave it away. Why are you making such a scene?” He snatched the tag from my bleeding hand and clipped it back onto the K9’s collar. “The world doesn’t revolve around you, Quinn!” I looked at the transfer orders tucked away in my purse. I turned my back on them and walked upstairs. The next day, I went to the Institute. My assistant said the research partner’s representative was in the conference room, demanding an explanation from me personally. I grabbed my briefing notes and pushed the door open. Representative Rebecca Shaw, the lead negotiator, looked at me and her face turned cold. “CTO Zhou, I hear you neglected your son to the point of death just to run an experiment? We are hesitant to partner with such a cold-blooded researcher.” I stood straight. “Representative Shaw, the situation that day was…” “The situation is irrelevant,” she cut me off, holding up a hand. “The entire system knows the story now—that you put your career first and let your own flesh and blood die for a project. I am a mother. I can’t in good conscience work with someone so heartless.” The officers around the table muttered among themselves. Garrett sat to the left, silent. I took a deep breath. “How would you like to resolve this, Representative?” She slid a glass of clear liquor toward me. “Drink this. Apologize publicly and say that you failed as a mother. We’ll call it even.” My doctor had strictly forbidden alcohol due to a severe stomach condition. I looked at Garrett. He averted his eyes, yet again. “The Representative is giving you an out, Quinn. Take it.” My hands were shaking as I picked up the glass. The entire room was waiting for the show. Behind Garrett, Tina wore a knowing smile. The first sip burned my throat. The second made my vision blur. When I finished the last drop, I inverted the empty glass on the table. “I apologize. I was wrong.” Representative Shaw finally smiled. “Very well, CTO Zhou.” I rushed into the restroom, throwing up until I was dry-heaving. Blood mixed with the liquor on the porcelain sink. I gripped the edge, my legs too weak to hold me. Garrett followed me in, his face tight. “Are you alright?” I rinsed my mouth. “I’m fine.” “You shouldn’t have pushed yourself if you can’t hold your liquor.” “Didn’t you tell me to drink it?” He choked on the words. He reached out to wipe the blood from my mouth. I took half a step back. “Colonel Blackwood, this is a Base facility. Be mindful of appearances.” His hand froze in the air. That afternoon, the General summoned me to his study. A new agreement was spread out on his desk. “You will automatically waive all pension and indemnity rights related to Neil.” “Furthermore, your researcher status will be revoked. The Blackwood family will not support idlers.” I had been wondering how to get Garrett to sign the divorce papers. This was unexpectedly convenient. Just as the pen was about to hit the paper, Garrett burst in. “Dad! Don’t sign that!” “What, still protecting her?” Garrett looked at me, a flicker of guilt crossing his eyes, and his throat worked hard. “Tina is pregnant. It’s mine.” The pen slipped from my fingers, leaving a long, dark streak across the document. The General froze, then erupted in ecstatic joy. “Are you serious?!” “Just confirmed. Two months.” “This child was conceived just before Neil passed… it must be providence!” Tina appeared in the doorway. “Quinn, I’m so sorry.” The General had already forgotten me. He looked between Garrett and Tina. “Wonderful! Wonderful!” “Two months? Garrett, you finally did something right!” I stood still, a ringing sound in my ears. Two months. That was just over two months ago, right before Neil was gone. Now I understood. Garrett walked over, trying to embrace me. “We can raise this child together. It can be ours, okay?” I looked at him, feeling an overwhelming, terrifying sense of unfamiliarity. The three of them excitedly discussed the new life, none of them noticing I quietly slipped the agreement off the desk. That night, I packed a single suitcase. I had burned all of Neil’s photos, keeping only a micro-negative embedded in my old ID tag. The one military tag—I had to get it back. As I left my bedroom, I saw Tina standing by what used to be my son’s room. The room was empty. She was instructing a serviceman to move in K9 training equipment. “This will be Ragnar’s new activity room,” she announced. She saw me and gave a sickly sweet smile. “You don’t mind, do you, Quinn? Garrett said it was just sitting empty.” I looked at the small, engraved tag she had tossed carelessly into the waste bin. My knuckles turned white. “Oh, Quinn, there was one thing I never told you.” “Don’t blame Garrett. Neil and Ragnar had seizures at the same time. The vet said both needed the drug immediately.” My body went cold. Garrett had told me he hadn’t known about Neil’s seizure. “Garrett said Ragnar was bigger and breathing heavier, so he saved him first.” “Neil was five years old. He would definitely hold on.” It wasn’t that he was too late. It was that he chose to let go. I wiped away the last bit of moisture from my eyes, retrieved the tag from the trash, and walked out without a word. When Garrett returned home, he was carrying a box from my favorite old-school bakery. “Quinn, we need to talk this through—” But all he saw was an empty living room and the document on the dining table. The Divorce Report. Both signatures were already complete. The next second, the pastry box slipped from Garrett’s hand, and he staggered backward, collapsing.

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On Christmas Eve, the sixth year of our marriage, the family was having dinner. George’s father, whose dementia was advancing, suddenly spoke up out of the blue: “Did you prepare the savings bond for my grandson?” “I miss him so much. It’s a shame he’s not with us for the holidays this year.” George was an only child, and we had only one daughter, Ruby, who was five. I froze, assuming the old man was just confused again. I laughed gently and explained: “Dad, George and I only have one daughter, Ruby. Where would a grandson come from?” “Right, honey?” George was holding his fork, and he mumbled an unnatural acknowledgement. Before I could process it, I heard his father say again: “It’s the grandson. George took me to see him. He lives right downstairs.” I went still. There was someone living downstairs: a newly moved-in single mother. And she did have a child—a five-year-old boy. After a brief, suffocating silence, I put down my napkin, walked into the kitchen, and pulled a pan of warm rolls out of the oven. Smiling at George, who was just about to stammer out an explanation, I said: “You two go on and eat. I’m going to take a basket of these rolls down to the new neighbor downstairs.” 1 From closing the kitchen door to stepping into the elevator, I took exactly thirty seconds. Thirty seconds later, I was standing outside the apartment of the woman who, according to my father-in-law, housed his five-year-old grandson. Knock. Knock. “Who is it?” The door opened. A woman younger than me, with a low, slightly messy braid, stood in the entryway. She looked pale, trying for a veneer of confused innocence. My gut told me immediately: She was the one. As soon as she saw me, her composure shattered. Her face went a shocking white, and her hands began to shake uncontrollably, as if I were some kind of nightmare she had tried to suppress. “C-can I help you?” A boy ran up behind her. “Mommy, who is it?” “Go back to your room!” The woman shrieked, her voice shaking with panic. Yet, she had the nerve to live one floor below me, separated from my home, my husband, and my daughter by only a thin layer of concrete. “I’m your upstairs neighbor.” I cut straight to the chase, right in front of her child. “I was curious. My father-in-law mentioned that your son is his beloved grandson.” The woman’s hand instantly tightened on the doorknob. Her eyes, filled with dread, darted back to her curious son, before she forced a thin smile and offered her explanation. “Oh, that. It’s because I ran into your… husband when I was picking my son up from kindergarten one day.” She struggled over the word “husband,” and I caught the flicker of deep resentment in her eyes. “He told me your father-in-law is very ill and dreams of having a grandson, so he specially asked me to play a part, just to fulfill the old man’s wish.” “I’m truly sorry if this has caused you any trouble.” It was an impeccably airtight explanation. It not only cleared her name but also subtly threw shade at me for failing to give the old man a grandson. I might have believed her if I hadn’t noticed the framed photo on the wall behind her. It was a picture of a seemingly perfect family of three, standing beneath the twinkling lights of the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree. The man’s face was blurred, deliberately obscured. The woman, however, was clearly the one standing in front of me. I zeroed in on the photo. The date printed on the corner was January 8th—my daughter Ruby’s fifth birthday. George had told me he had a mandatory, last-minute business trip and couldn’t make it home from the airport. Apparently, his “business trip” was a photo shoot under the most romantic holiday display in New York. I glanced down at the entryway again. In the shoe cabinet, a pair of men’s size 11 Italian leather loafers were tucked intimately beside the woman’s nude stilettos, glaringly close. I remembered clearly: George wore a size 11. My hand, holding the basket of warm rolls, clenched until my knuckles were white. I forced myself to act nonchalant and handed the basket to her. “Happy Holidays,” I said. “Th-thank you.” The woman nervously reached out. A flash of gold on her wrist burned my eyes. It was a gold bangle, identical to the one I was wearing. “That’s a beautiful bangle… is it solid gold?” I stared at her wrist, my heart hammering. Because I knew that the one on my wrist was fake. George’s words echoed back to me: “Sophia, the price of gold is crazy right now. It’s not a smart buy. I’ll get you a gold-plated one for now—a placeholder. When the market dips, I’ll buy you the real one.” He had sounded so sincere. I hadn’t thought twice, happily accepting the cheaper substitute. I’d even posted about it on Instagram: A million dollars is nothing compared to your truth. Thinking of that post, which was still pinned to the top of my profile, my smile nearly cracked. The woman’s face, already pale, went completely ashen. But then, a look of haughty defiance flashed in her eyes. Her chin tilted up slightly, a deliberate challenge. “Of course, it’s real. George took me to the jewelry district himself to pick it out. It’s a full fifty grams of solid gold.” “He said that even though gold is expensive, if I love it, the money is never an issue.” “Unlike some people who settle for a gold-plated token. A woman has to treat herself well, don’t you agree?” I nodded, a soft laugh escaping me. “You’re absolutely right.” “Happy Holidays.” With that, I placed the basket in her trembling hands and turned, walking toward the elevator. I didn’t go back upstairs. I went straight down to the complex’s private garden. From there, I called my father, who was still at his office in Manhattan. He was the CEO of Harrington Global, and George’s direct, though distant, boss. “Dad, I’m changing my mind.” I deleted the Instagram post bragging about George’s devotion. My voice was unnervingly calm. “Cancel the Senior Vice President role you were planning to give George, and cancel the private medical team for his father. Get me the best divorce lawyer in the state. I’m leaving George.” “Yes, he’s cheating.” “And the child is the same age as Ruby.” 2 When I returned to my father’s penthouse, George must have gotten a frantic call from the woman downstairs. He had visibly relaxed. Since I hadn’t made a scene, he clearly assumed his affair was still safely hidden. Just as foolish as I used to be. Using a vague excuse—that my father wanted to see Ruby for a few days—I bundled my daughter up and we left. George didn’t suspect a thing. He walked us to the car downstairs, playing the part of the devoted father perfectly. But I still noticed it. After seeing us off, the elevator stopped on the second floor. Her apartment. “Mommy.” Ruby leaned her soft cheek against mine, confused. “Why did the elevator stop on the second floor? We live on the third floor.” I smiled faintly, touching my forehead to her hair, my voice colder than the winter air. “Because Daddy is going to do something bad. And soon, we won’t need this home anymore.” That evening, after I’d tucked Ruby into bed, my father called me into his study. His tone was heavy, laced with the heartache of knowing his daughter had been betrayed. “I told you the minute I met George that he wasn’t worth it. But you were stubborn and insisted on marrying beneath you.” “Look at the mess he’s made.” I pursed my lips, picking up the folder on the desk and opening it. One hundred twenty pages. Every page was irrefutable evidence of George’s infidelity. 2021. The night before our wedding. While I was in the bridal suite, chatting with my maid of honor, sleepless with excitement for my life with George, he was in a dive bar, meeting a bottle service girl named Brooke. They were “in love at first sight.” From meeting to sleeping together, it took them two hours. He couldn’t even wait for our wedding night to pass. 2022. I was pregnant. I was throwing up constantly from morning sickness, unable to keep anything down. George, claiming to be at a mandatory corporate training seminar, was across town at an OB/GYN, accompanying that girl to her prenatal appointments. 2023. Our daughter’s first birthday. We threw a huge party. George gave her a pair of miniature gold bangles, symbols of luck and safety. Now, the lab report in the file explicitly stated: Gold plated. Silver core. Another lie. And then 2024, 2025, 2026… A huge, frigid void opened up in my chest. It wasn’t just the shock of George cheating. It was the realization that he didn’t even love our daughter. Yet, when she was born, George was the one who personally named her Ruby—meaning precious gem. Trembling, I closed the file. My phone vibrated—a notification from our home security app. I had secretly activated the apartment camera before leaving. On the video feed, the Christmas dinner I had spent all day preparing was still steaming on the table. My father-in-law sat at the head of the table, nervously pulling out the huge gift card he had prepared, slipping it into Brooke’s son’s hand. “Happy Holidays, my good boy.” George had his arm around Brooke, and they were feeding each other, a disgustingly intimate picture of domestic bliss. Suddenly, Brooke glanced at her son, who was absorbed in counting his money, and spoke: “George, my mom is nagging me again to bring you home. She doesn’t know about us. I can’t hide it much longer.” “Since your wife is at her parents’ place, why don’t you host my family for a holiday dinner tomorrow?” “It would stop my relatives from whispering that Cody is… a bastard.” George frowned, hesitating. He finally picked up his phone and sent me a text. Honey, how long are you staying with your dad? Should I bring you some toiletries? My phone screen was split. One side showed my husband and his mistress planning their faux family dinner. The other showed George’s pathetic attempt at a check-in. I didn’t hesitate. I tapped out a response: No need. Dad and I are heading to our summer house tomorrow to see some extended family. Won’t be back for a few days. The message was sent. The next second, I got his reply. Okay, sweetie. You enjoy your time with your dad. Don’t worry about things here. Tell Ruby her daddy loves her. In the concurrent camera feed, George leaned in and gave Brooke a hard, satisfying kiss on the cheek. “Fine. Dinner tomorrow, then!” Brooke smiled. I smiled, too. A holiday dinner, you say? If George was hosting, it wouldn’t be so strange for his lawful wife to attend, would it? 3 The next day, The Peninsula Hotel. My father had called the manager early, arranging for us to be placed in the adjoining private dining room. Through the hidden serving window, I could clearly hear every sound and movement next door. George, true to form, sent a probing text the moment I sat down. Wife, where are you now? Did you see the relatives? Are the roads safe? I knew he was testing me. On the freeway. Traffic jam. Won’t get to the summer house until tonight. I texted back dismissively. The chat showed him typing, followed by a small cat emoji indicating acknowledgement. Stolen from Brooke, I guessed. I frowned in disgust and didn’t reply. At that moment, the party next door started to arrive. Leading the way were George, in a sharp suit, and Brooke, holding the hand of the little boy, who was wearing the same style of gold bangle as my daughter. They looked like an enviably happy family of three. Next came a pair of elderly, distinctly academic-looking parents. Then, three or four other relatives clustered together. Brooke gracefully ushered everyone to their seats, proudly introducing George by her side. “Mom, Dad, this is George. I’ve told you about him. My husband.” “He’s been working overseas, but he made a special effort to come back this year so he could spend the holidays with you.” George nodded with a practiced reserve, and followed up with a greeting. “Hello, Mom and Dad. It’s a pleasure.” In our dining room, Ruby tugged on my hand, her large eyes filled with confusion and fear. “Mommy, who is Daddy calling? Why did that lady say Daddy is her husband?” “And why is that boy wearing the same bangle as me? Daddy said he only gave one to me.” I stroked her head reassuringly, saying nothing. Next door, Brooke’s mother beamed, taking George’s hand. “Good, good. Our Brooke was so secretive about you before. We thought…” “George, her father and I have been teachers all our lives. We value character above all else. Seeing you here today puts my mind at ease.” At these words, Brooke’s face instantly tightened. I knew she felt a prick of guilt. Then, Brooke’s father spoke up, patting George’s shoulder. “George, your mother and I don’t have any grand wishes, just that our daughter finds happiness and doesn’t make any foolish mistakes.” “Seeing you two so happy as a family today, I feel a weight lifted off my shoulders.” As they spoke, both elderly parents’ eyes grew red-rimmed. It was obvious that Brooke’s five years of single motherhood had been a source of immense social pressure for them. “Alright, alright, why are we getting sentimental on Christmas?” Brooke’s aunt chuckled, breaking the heavy atmosphere. “Our little Brooke has always been a good girl. She’d never be like those shameless women out there in society, would she? Brother, Sister-in-law, you worry too much.” “Right, Brooke?” No amount of foundation could hide the awkward flush on Brooke’s face. She nodded stiffly. “Yes, Aunt is right.” “Exactly. Brother, don’t overthink it. You and Sister-in-law have been teachers your whole lives. Of course, you raised a good daughter.” Brooke’s uncle added, laughing. The atmosphere was becoming warmly convivial. Everyone was laughing, except for the hosts. Through the hidden window, I could clearly see that Brooke was gripping George’s hand so tightly her knuckles were white. So terrified, yet she still chose to be the other woman? I gave a small, cold laugh. Slowly, I took Ruby’s hand, stood up, and walked out, stopping at the door of the adjoining private dining room. Inside, Brooke’s relatives were pushing for a wedding. “George, since you’re back in the country and the boy is growing up, when are you two getting married? It would settle my and her father’s hearts.” Brooke’s mother asked expectantly. “Yes, I’ve already prepared the dowry. As long as you and our daughter are happy, we’ll do anything.” Brooke’s father smiled. “Exactly. I think the tenth of next month looks good.” “The fifteenth works, too. They’re both lucky days.” The relatives chatted excitedly, completely missing the fact that George and Brooke’s faces had gone from pale to green. “Wait a moment.” Finally, George couldn’t help but interrupt them. “Brooke and I can’t get married yet. Because…” “Because he’s already married, and his child is five years old. And Brooke is the woman he cheated with.” I pushed the door open, leading my daughter inside. “Honey, tell me I’m wrong?” The expressions on George and Brooke’s faces froze.

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

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Three years with the man of my dreams, and just as we were starting to talk rings, my body became a prison I shared with my cousin. Now, all I can do is watch her, wearing my skin, as she embraces, kisses, and… well, does everything else with him. In the dead of night, my Adam, who should have been with my cousin—in my body—suddenly knocked and squeezed his way into the room, pulling me into a hug, ready to kiss me senseless. “Celeste…” He mumbled my cousin’s name, and a bucket of icy water was thrown over my heart. I shoved him away. Celeste Wells. That was my cousin’s name. 1 From a young age, I knew I wasn’t as likable as Celeste. My mother would often tap my forehead in frustration, sighing, “Daisy Wells, tell me, why can’t you be more savvy? Looks are one thing, but can’t you at least be clever? Pay attention to Celeste; she’s so sharp.” Celeste was beautiful, effortlessly outgoing, and she had a knack for charming every adult she met. At holiday gatherings, she always walked away with more coveted gifts and more social currency than I did. I, Daisy, was plain, timid, and aside from decent grades, I felt utterly forgettable. The bravest thing I’d ever done was pursue Adam Holloway. I chased him for an entire semester, writing dozens of clumsy notes, inventing elaborate “chance” encounters, bringing him water during his intramural basketball games, and studying beside him in the library. One night, as we were leaving the library, I was fumbling to hand him a Bluetooth earbud, when he suddenly grabbed my wrist. “Daisy Wells,” he asked, his voice low, “are you even trying to chase me?” He looked down at me, his impossibly handsome face inching closer, his breath warm. My heart hammered so hard it felt like it might escape, and my face and ears flamed. “I… I’m a disaster of a pursuer.” Adam just smiled, then lowered his head and kissed me. “Then let me show you how it’s done.” When Adam and I started dating, everyone around us was stunned. One of my less-than-friendly roommates was cuttingly passive-aggressive: “Her? She’s so mousy and dresses like a librarian. I bet she had to pull some major strings to land Adam.” I once asked Adam why, out of everyone, he chose to be with me. We were crammed onto a commuter rail train, and he had me circled in his arms because of the crowd. He answered casually, resting his chin on my head, “Because you’re my girl.” Celeste later told me that a man only resorts to calling you ‘cute’ or ‘my girl’ when he can’t find any real, outward qualities to compliment. That summer, Celeste came to visit me in Newport, and Adam drove with me to the station to pick her up. He walked ahead, dragging her ridiculously large suitcase, while Celeste leaned in to whisper to me, “Oh my God, Sis, your boyfriend is my absolute dream guy.” My stomach dropped. Celeste had always been the one to take things from me—toys, attention, even friendships—and my family always insisted I be the bigger person. She was the gilded shadow I could never escape. If Celeste decided she wanted Adam, I knew I would lose. I had no fight in me against her. Over the next few days, I showed Celeste around, and though Adam offered to join us, I stiffly refused. I forced a brittle smile. “No, that’s okay. I’ll hang out with her. It’s a holiday weekend; the city’s going to be crowded. You know how you hate noisy places.” Adam looked at me, a long, searching look, before he suddenly pulled me close, pressing a hard kiss to my lips. In broad daylight, I glanced around, embarrassed, and quickly pulled away. He gave me a wounded, theatrical look. “Fine. I’ll just drown myself in the lab then. Let me know when my future Mrs. decides to grace me with her presence.” 2 Three years into our relationship, I finally brought Adam home for Christmas break. Celeste’s family lived nearby, and my dad, with the brilliant idea of “letting the youngsters bond,” booked us a group of suites at a thermal resort outside the city. When we arrived, we found out it wasn’t just the three of us. There was a fourth person—a stranger. The guy smiled, extending his hand. “Gale Abbott. I’m a neighbor of Celeste’s.” From the way Gale looked at Celeste, it was clear he was completely gone on her. Later that evening at dinner, he was overly attentive, warning Celeste, “Celeste, you’ve been having those allergies lately. Maybe skip the Spicy Shrimp Scampi?” Celeste accepted his concern with a shrug, but her eyes kept drifting toward Adam. Adam ignored them both, ordering the Scampi anyway. Then, he looked at Celeste (who was in my body) and added coolly, “Daisy loves shrimp. If you have an allergy, just don’t eat it yourself.” That night, I’d had a little too much wine. Lying next to Adam, I asked him again, blearily, “Adam, why do you actually like me?” He was just as tipsy, rolling over to kiss me, his answer dismissive and soft. “Because you’re my girl.” I hesitated, swallowing the real question I wanted to ask. What if you had met Celeste first? But just as he was starting to get serious, I pushed him away, pulling the duvet over my head. “I’m sleepy.” His reply was quiet, a little cold. “All right.” I never could have predicted that I’d wake up as Celeste. The door creaked open early the next morning, and someone slipped in, shutting the door quietly behind them. She smiled, looking down at me. “Sis.” Staring at that familiar, yet now utterly alien face—my face—I used every ounce of willpower I had to stop the horrified scream bubbling in my throat. “Celeste?!” She was wearing my body, and she walked calmly to the edge of the bed and sat down. She cut me off before I could speak. “I wouldn’t try to tell Adam, if I were you. It’s too unbelievable. He’ll think you’ve had a breakdown.” The air rushed out of me, leaving me utterly defeated. She was right. Adam was rational, science-minded. I’d sound insane. Celeste looked at me, a slow, triumphant smile spreading across my lips. “Besides, haven’t you always been jealous of me?” “Consider this a trade. I’ll lend you my body for a few days, and you’ll lend me your Adam for a while.” 3 At breakfast, I watched Celeste, in my own body, perch next to Adam, batting her lashes as she cooed into his ear. “Honey, I need those peeled. I’m too tired.” “Babe, I want a bite of your bagel.” “Darling, I heard they have private couples’ mineral baths here. Should we go try one later?” The scene was a physical assault. My eyes burned. I hunched over my plate, blindly shoveling food into my mouth. Suddenly, a hand reached over, silently placing a fresh napkin in front of me. I looked up. It was Gale. His lips were pressed into a thin line, his expression clearly unhappy. I belatedly realized he liked Celeste. He must think I (Celeste, in this body) was jealous of my own sister—or rather, my own body—and was sulking. That certainly wouldn’t please him. I sucked in a shaky breath, forcing a small smile, and took the napkin from his hand. “Thank you.” But then Adam’s chopsticks reached out, placing a piece of Truffle Parmesan Fries on my plate. I snapped my head up, staring at him. Adam cleared his throat, avoiding eye contact. “You mentioned last night that you can’t eat seafood. I saw you really liked these fries, so I ordered a second batch.” My heart plummeted. I was in Celeste’s body. Celeste’s recent allergy to seafood was something Gale mentioned briefly last night. And the fact that she liked those specific fries was also a new, small detail. He was attentive. He remembered. He was caring—about the wrong person. I pushed back my chair. “I… I’m not feeling great. I’m going back to the suite to rest.” Gale was blocking my path. When I didn’t move, I had to prompt him. “Excuse me? Could you step aside, please?” “I’ll walk you back,” Gale said, standing up and following me. On impulse, I glanced back. I met Adam’s eyes. The look he gave me was purely, openly worried. And it was directed at me—at Celeste’s body. Walking back, I stayed silent, terrified of betraying myself. Gale broke the silence first. “Are you sick? Should I get you something from the pharmacy?” “No… thank you. Just a headache, maybe from not sleeping well. I’m sure a nap will fix it.” I stopped at the door, saying goodbye. He really was a good-looking guy—taller than Celeste, with ink-dark eyes that, for some reason, felt strangely familiar. “Your sister… she seems a little different today.” My heart skipped a beat. I tried to sound natural. “Does she? No, I think she’s just being normal with her boyfriend. That’s what girls in relationships do, right?” I was inwardly panicked. How could he be so perceptive? Gale watched me, a flicker of something knowing in his deep-set eyes. “Not every girl. At least—I don’t care for that kind of attention-seeking.” 4 Back in the suite, I realized I’d left my phone back at the table in my haste. I didn’t know Celeste’s passcode, but thankfully, she used face-ID. Opening her texts, I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of unread messages. A stream of guys—asking her out, flirting, suggesting late-night drives. It was an existence I’d never known. My own phone usually only had messages from Adam and my best friend, Jordan. This overwhelming, exhausting flood of attention was the reality of being a gorgeous, popular girl. I only replied to a few messages from her parents, then tossed the phone aside and fell into a heavy sleep. Somewhere between waking and dreaming, I saw Adam. He was wearing his vintage Michigan State jersey, looking clean and radiant, walking toward me on the court. He grabbed my wrist, pinning me against a concrete wall, leaning in for a kiss. I turned my head, avoiding his mouth, and asked the same question. “Adam, why do you like me?” He smiled tenderly. “Because you’re so beautiful, so fun, and you have such an outgoing personality.” The joy flared for only a second before I looked into the nearby mirror. Staring back was Celeste’s bright, dazzling face. I went instantly cold. It was Celeste’s face! I shot up in bed, gasping for air. I wiped the cold sweat from my forehead, realizing belatedly it was just a nightmare. But the dream was too vivid. It had ripped open the deepest part of my insecurity, exposing it to the light. A knock sounded on the door. I assumed it was Celeste, but when I opened it, I found Gale. “What’s wrong?” I asked, my voice still hoarse. The next second, a warm hand landed on my sweat-damp forehead. “You’re running a slight temperature. Definitely coming down with something.” Gale held up a paper pharmacy bag. “I got you some cold medicine and a cup of soup. You didn’t eat this morning; have the soup first, then the meds.” I looked up at his clear, sky-blue eyes, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu. Gale was truly kind to Celeste—attentive to an almost obsessive degree. Yet, she didn’t want him. She wanted the one man who was already taken. Was this the cliché of wanting only what you couldn’t have? I drank the soup and took the pill. As the headache began to recede, I felt sticky with sweat. I asked Gale, “I feel gross. I’m going to go soak in the thermal pool for a while. Want to join me?” Gale readily agreed. However, as soon as we reached the pool area, I spotted two familiar figures. Celeste, in my body, was aggressively pinning Adam against a stone wall, whispering something up at him. Then, she grabbed his collar, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed him. I froze, staring. The dull, persistent ache in my chest surged, turning into a wave of pain that made me sway. A hand shot out and steadied my shaking body. I turned to see Gale’s eyes fixed on mine. He asked quietly, “You’re in love with him?” I nodded, the movement painful. “But he’s your sister’s boyfriend.” The hand holding me was warm, but his words were like an icy wind, carrying a strange, knowing edge. “Celeste, you’re beautiful, but that’s not a golden ticket. Adam chose Daisy for a reason. That means he genuinely loves her. You can’t just barge in.” I shook my head weakly, biting down hard on my lip to stop the tears. “You don’t understand.” How could I tell him? This illogical, unscientific disaster had led us here. The person Adam was with was me, yet she wasn’t. And I, living in Celeste’s body, could clearly feel the increasingly urgent, almost hungry desire in Adam’s eyes when he looked at me. “Stop crying.” Gale’s voice was suddenly right by my ear, a gentle sigh in his tone. The next second, I was pulled into a warm, solid embrace.

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I had been in a car wreck. A nasty concussion. And it had wiped my fiancé right out of my mind. Not only had I forgotten him, I’d been vicious. I’d told him I only loved my ex-boyfriend and ordered him to get the hell out of my life. When he stood waiting for me, heartbroken, on the street below my apartment, I’d walked downstairs and dumped a bucket of ice water on his head. Then, on the day he was set to marry someone else, I remembered everything. 1 The day the memories returned wasn’t marked by any special occasion. No medicine mix-up, no near-drowning, and certainly not another car crash like the one that had stolen my past in the first place. I was just sitting there, curled up with a book. I wasn’t even reading anything profound, just a line that spoke of a tree and how it wouldn’t be so green if it knew the sorrows of the world. I was thinking, Of course, it’s easier to be the fool, to know nothing, to have no clue… …no clue… Suddenly, my brain detonated. A blinding rush of fragmented scenes flashed behind my eyes. His eyes, red-rimmed, asking if I didn’t want him anymore. His voice, choked, asking if I’d ever regret this. The time he took me to the lake to fly a kite, the string slicing his hand… The tidal wave of memory was immediate and suffocating. My head clogged and throbbed with the sudden influx of a life that wasn’t mine until seconds ago. I grabbed the phone, my fingers flying to the number I knew better than my own name. That number—the one that had always been answered instantly, no matter the hour—was now met with a cold, metallic voice: “We’re sorry, the number you have dialed is currently busy.” I hung up and immediately dialed my oldest friend, Darian. “Darian, where is Cas? Where is he right now?” Darian and I had been friends since we were kids; I knew his family, the Eastons, had corporate ties with Cas’s family, the Blackwoods. He had to know. During my amnesia, my friends had all patiently, sometimes desperately, urged me to give Cas a chance, to at least try to get to know him again, warning that I’d regret it otherwise. But I hadn’t been able to hear them. I’d been too lost in my own fog. The raw panic in my voice was all Darian needed to hear. He understood immediately. “Rory, did you… did you remember?” “Yes, everything. I remember. Tell me where he is. I have to go to him.” I was sobbing, barely able to breathe. His reply was heavy, reluctant. “Maybe… maybe you shouldn’t.” “Why? You know I’ve wanted this, Darian. You always told me I’d regret it,” I cried, the words tearing out of my throat. “Please, just tell me. I need him. I need to see him…” “Rory,” he said, his voice quiet and devastating. “He’s getting married today.” The receiver felt like a bolt of lightning against my ear. When Cas had desperately tried to hold onto me, he’d asked: “Rory, do you remember promising to marry me? You said you wanted pure white bellflowers everywhere, and a dress like a thousand stars. I remember all of it. If you throw me out like this and I marry someone else, won’t you regret it?” The memory of my reply then was a physical stab in my chest now. I had looked him straight in his pleading eyes and said, with icy detachment: “Just let me go, okay? I hope you marry someone quickly and permanently, so you can stop bothering me.” 2 Darian’s voice came back through the phone, sharp with old resentment. “You were so sure, Rory. You told everyone you wouldn’t regret your choices, even if your memory returned.” “I do regret it! I regret it! Is that not allowed?” I wailed, slamming the phone down. I wiped my face and stumbled out the door. Darian’s sleek black car was already idling at the curb. He was always there, no matter how unreasonable, how wild my decisions were. He wouldn’t abandon me. “Darian, I—” I began, shamefaced. He cut me off, his expression unreadable. “I was going anyway. Get in. You won’t stop until you see it for yourself.” Tears welled again. I choked them back and climbed into the passenger seat. He tapped a local address into the GPS—a venue in New Haven, the city where we had gone to college. The silence in the car was thick with unspoken history. Cas’s family estate was in New Haven, and that’s where we’d attended university. He’d transferred into my major, and his student ID number was sequentially right after mine. It had felt like fate. After graduation, when I insisted on moving back to Manhattan to find a job, he hadn’t hesitated for a second. “Rory,” he’d promised, “wherever you go, I go. We’re never separating.” I’d been so touched, my eyes blurring with tears. “You’re the best! I’ll take care of you.” But less than six months later, I’d shattered him into pieces and he’d retreated, devastated, back to New Haven. After he left, Darian would watch me from across a table at a bar, nursing a drink, while I pretended not to care. His gaze was always complex. “Rory, are you really sure you won’t regret this?” “No,” I’d insisted. “What if you remember?” “The doctors said it’s a million-to-one shot. How would I remember? Besides, even if I did, I probably still wouldn’t regret it.” And now I had remembered. And I regretted it. Regretted it so fiercely I wanted to die. Darian dropped me off at the entrance of the Grand Regent Hotel and went to find parking. I stood alone on the pavement. I hadn’t even made it inside the ballroom, but I was already stunned. The scale and lavishness of the wedding went far beyond anything I could have imagined. White bellflowers were everywhere, a sweeping cascade of them from the entrance onward. Pure, dense, and blindingly white. “Wedding must have bellflowers,” his voice echoed in my memory. He always loved bellflowers. He used to tell me: “Rory, you’re just like a bellflower—so pure and beautiful.” He had described our wedding to me countless times. For a flashing, insane moment, I thought I was hallucinating. Could this be my wedding with Cas? Was I still in that hospital bed, trapped in a nightmare, waiting to wake up? My daydream dissolved the moment I saw the enormous welcome sign at the entrance. White florals framed the display, making it solemn and utterly exclusive. “Mr. Caspian Blackwood and Ms. Kendall Lynch. A Match Made in Heaven.” Kendall. Of course, it was her. The girl who had always wanted to be with him had finally won. Below the main announcement, a secondary line was engraved, solidifying the union: “The heir of Blackwood Group and the daughter of Lynch Enterprises: A perfect union of power and pedigree.” The photo of the happy couple, all beaming smiles, was drowned in the white floral sea. They looked sweet, warm, and utterly right. I watched the stream of luxury cars and the distinguished, wealthy guests flowing past me and understood with painful clarity: Even without the recent betrayal, it never would have been me. 3 Kendall was Cas’s childhood friend. The kind who had supposedly been trailing after him for over a decade. She had even transferred to our university the day after Cas did. She was beautiful, savvy, and wealthy, and she wasn’t shy about spending money on people, quickly becoming a kind of social queen. When our class played a charity basketball game, she kitted out the entire men’s team in custom-designed jerseys. For our group retreat, she had a full semi-trailer of high-end gear hauled in to set up the party. No one disliked her. So, when Cas and I first got close, the whispers about me were vicious. “Kendall and Cas are soulmates, a family arrangement. Rory is just the cheap distraction.” “Rory is poor, she’s just latching onto the richest guy she can find.” “Rory’s necklace must be stolen. There’s no way she could afford something like that.” I was poor, but I wasn’t without pride. For a long time, I wouldn’t speak to Cas, wouldn’t allow us to have any interaction, and certainly wouldn’t accept his attention. Eventually, Kendall must have decided I was too beneath her to bother with and stopped trying to actively exclude me. She even started skipping classes. Cas, however, had none of the arrogance of a rich kid. He was hardworking, serious about his studies, and always prepared study guides for everyone before finals. Once, he took me to the university’s quiet lake. He said he wanted to fly a kite for me. He ran across the grass, holding the string, looking a little clumsy but full of vibrant energy. He really was the most infectious, radiant person I’d ever met. I was lost in my own thoughts when he ran back, pulling the kite behind him, and shouted over the wind: “Rory! You’re my kite!” The wind was strong by the water, and his hair blew across his face. He grinned, his teeth straight and dazzling white. He handed the spool to me. Distracted, I missed the catch. The spool tumbled, and the string began to unwind in frantic circles. He scrambled to retrieve it, slowly winding the line back in. He finally came back to me, holding the collected kite and spool. His palm was cut by the taught string, red dots of blood welling up. He just smiled. “No big deal.” In that moment, not falling for him was impossible. Cas assured me that Kendall was just a friend, maybe a family friend, a little sister. He swore he had no interest in her. If he did, he wouldn’t be with me. So, I tried to ignore Kendall’s occasional harassment. I could handle the gossip. But about a year into our relationship, Kendall started actively inserting herself into our lives. More accurately, into his life. She’d drag him to lunch. She’d insist he come shopping with her. She’d always include him in her exclusive parties. Her parties were always in high-end, member-only venues, full of complicated social rituals. I knew she wanted to watch me fumble. She wanted me to feel utterly out of place, to get the message that I didn’t belong. I managed to hold my own, but I was exhausted by it. She was constantly sitting too close to him, insisting they sing duets together, or “accidentally” drinking from his glass. I finally exploded at Cas. He promised he would draw a firm boundary with her. Not long after that, I had the car crash and lost my memory. “Hurry up! The bride’s bouquet! Just finished the custom requests!” I turned to see a frantic wedding coordinator shoving a bouquet into my hands. “Long wait! Ms. Lynch’s changes are done! Get this to her, please!” Then she rushed off. I must have looked like a stunned venue assistant, standing there in my plain clothes. I stared at the bouquet—bellflowers woven together, diamonds subtly set in the arrangement. A bitter laugh caught in my throat. I resigned myself and walked inside. After fumbling through three wrong doors, I pushed open the door to the bridal suite. The room was bright, lit with a glowing, starlight-like luminescence. The woman in the mirror seemed to radiate light. Kendall was wearing a massive dress with an enormous train, tiny water-based diamonds sprinkled everywhere, exposing her beautiful neck and arms. “Cas! I sent you to get the flowers, what took you so long—” She called out happily, then turned and saw me. Her smile froze and her expression immediately turned cold. “You. What are you doing here?” Wordlessly, I extended the bouquet to her. “I just ran into it. Here.” She took the flowers with a look of distaste and immediately grabbed a bottle of floral spray and misted the bouquet. “You can go now,” she dismissed me, waving a manicured hand impatiently. When I didn’t move, her expression changed to a wary probe. “Did you remember?” I nodded once. A flicker of panic crossed her face, quickly replaced by a victorious smile. She patted my shoulder—a gesture of false camaraderie. “We owe you everything. You gave him up. You saved his life.” I didn’t want to say another word. I turned to walk away. The room was too beautiful, she was too beautiful, and her dress was like a thousand stars. The stars Cas had promised me. 4 I was a few steps down the hall when I realized a piece of delicate chiffon fabric was snagged on my shoulder. It must have caught on something in the dressing room. I needed to return it. As I reached the door, I heard Cas’s voice inside. “I waited for half an hour, I didn’t see anyone—wait, you already have it?” Kendall’s voice, smooth and falsely contrite, responded: “Cas, Rory was just here. She brought the bouquet to me. She said she was so happy to see us together, that she hopes we’ll be eternally happy, and that you should never think of her again.” The doorknob rattled, as if someone was preparing to open the door. I was about to slip away when I heard Kendall continue: “She doesn’t want to see you, Cas. She remembered a while ago, but she’s marrying her ex-boyfriend now, and she won’t look back. Think about those messages. She told you herself that he’s the one she loves the most.” Ex-boyfriend…? Chat logs…? Suddenly, everything clicked into place. The fog of my partial recovery cleared with stunning, brutal force. After my accident, I had actually started to like Cas again. He had been so patient. “Rory, I’m sorry I rushed things. It doesn’t matter if you don’t remember. We can start over. You can fall in love with me again. We don’t need the past.” I was just about ready to let go of the past and start a new relationship with him. Until that night, when he took me to a friend’s gathering. When I was in the restroom, Kendall—the only other woman there—cornered me. “Rory, your timing was impeccable,” she’d said, her voice dripping with poison. “Even if Cas was determined to break up with you, he couldn’t just dump a girl in a coma.” Kendall told me Cas’s family had always despised me because I was an orphan with no connections. Cas, under pressure, was planning to end the engagement. The day of the accident, she insisted, we weren’t going to look at wedding venues; he was going to break up with me. The only reason he hadn’t was because breaking an engagement after a life-threatening accident would ruin the Blackwood Group’s reputation. He was only taking care of me until the PR fallout faded. I was reeling. “He never said any of this to me.” “We’re all friends here. I’ve watched you both,” she continued, pushing her advantage. “I even told him to cherish you and ignore the whole ‘perfect match’ business. But you don’t remember anything now. You’re fundamentally incompatible. Did you know Cas can’t eat spicy food? And you’re constantly putting chili in his meals.” I hadn’t known. Since I’d left the hospital, Cas had done all the cooking, and he often made spicy food. I assumed he liked it too. “Do you know you’re supposed to accompany him to corporate functions? Do you understand the language they speak? Have you ever been to those places? Can you afford the clothes? Do you know the constant pressure Cas is under because of you?” I stared blankly as her mouth moved. “If you truly haven’t remembered, just let him go, okay? Dragging him down with your illness is selfish.” Her words resonated with the self-sacrificing part of me. I couldn’t ruin his life. I went home and immediately began to distance myself, preparing to move out. The day I was moving my last boxes, Kendall knocked on my door. Her eyes were red. “Since you’ve made the decision, can you be crueler? Make him give up? This uncertainty is hurting him. Just tell him you love someone else. Like an ex-boyfriend or something.” She said Cas was drunk and waiting downstairs, desperate for an answer. I agreed. I went upstairs, filled a bucket with water, and poured it over his head. When he looked up, stunned, I spoke every word with measured coldness: “I don’t love you. I have someone else I love. Can you please stop bothering me? Just get out of my life.” He was speechless for a long time, then his expression turned to ash. “But… didn’t you two break up?” “It was a misunderstanding.” “So, the messages are real,” he whispered, utterly defeated, pulling himself off the pavement. “I didn’t want to believe it. Fine. I won’t bother you again.” I turned and ran back inside, holding back tears, and forgot to ask the one thing that mattered: How did he know the person I loved was an ex-boyfriend? The truth was, I didn’t have an ex-boyfriend. While I was recovering in the hospital, a guy had requested to follow me online. He claimed to be an ex-boyfriend, said we broke up over a misunderstanding, and just wanted to check on me and be friends. I believed him and accepted. I was struggling to recognize Cas and was constantly lost in my memory loss, so I chatted with this guy occasionally. It was mostly small talk and venting about the pain of losing my past. There was never anything romantic. When I decided to try and start over with Cas, I explained everything to the ‘ex’ and blocked him. How did Cas know about that? The “chat logs” he mentioned—I hadn’t understood them then. But hearing Kendall reference them today, I finally saw the crystal-clear picture. Kendall had told him. That “ex-boyfriend” was a figment of her manipulation, possibly her own online persona or a paid accomplice. She had fabricated the messages, or heavily edited them, and sent them to Cas, claiming I didn’t love him. He hadn’t believed her and came downstairs drunk to confront me. She then pleaded with me to use the ‘new lover’ excuse to reject him. She used my own amnesia, my vulnerability, and the fact that I didn’t recognize her as a threat to make me personally destroy my future with Cas. He gave up. He left. She won.

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I only found out after I died that I was the sacrificial pawn in a “Golden Girl” novel—the scorned side character whose miserable end paved the way for the protagonist’s glorious ascent. My death, apparently, jolted my neglectful, son-obsessed parents into valuing a daughter. It taught my arrogant younger brother compassion—which he then lavished upon the heroine. It made my cold childhood crush regret his callousness—which he then compensated the heroine for. And the heroine, Phoebe, basking in the glow of all this undeserved affection, magnanimously forgave them on my behalf. “She’d want me to be happy, even from the afterlife.” Happier in the afterlife? Bullshit. When I opened my eyes again, I was fifteen. It was the very day my parents brought Phoebe home. 1 “Juniper Wallace, what are you doing just lying there? Get up and make sure your sister’s room is ready!” My mother, Elaine, viciously twisted my ear, yanking me straight off the bed. The blinding pain snapped me back to the present. I wasn’t dead? I stumbled to the mirror. Seeing my own impossibly young, pale face, my eyes welled with tears. My death in the last life hadn’t been sudden. Before it happened, I’d known I was seriously ill. I begged Mom and Dad to take me to the doctor, but they were taking Miles to the amusement park and ignored me. I had to smash the meager savings I’d hoarded from years of recycling cans and bottles just to drag myself, step by agonizing step, to a local clinic. The clinic doctor, seeing how critical my condition was, called an ambulance to the city hospital. But it was too late. I died from severe depression and long-term malnutrition that led to kidney failure. A miracle couldn’t have saved me. Yet, when they first heard the news, there was little emotional tremor. They were almost relieved—one less mouth to feed, one less bill. But slowly, the consequences set in. No one woke up early anymore to make their breakfast. No one came home early to cook dinner and wait for them. The sheets and duvet covers weren’t changed weekly. The laundry wasn’t folded neatly and put away in the drawers. And when my parents were angry, there was no longer a human punching bag. They began to regret how vile they had been to me, how obsessively they prioritized Miles. They started staring at my grainy, unflattering funeral portrait, weeping through the nights. So, they funneled all that belated guilt and debt into Phoebe, the sister they’d shipped off to the country two years earlier. They bought Phoebe the best clothes and fed her the finest food. My cynical younger brother, Miles, suddenly became a doting, reformed older sibling, and from that day on, Phoebe never had to lift a finger. The most monstrous part was Phoebe herself. She had witnessed my entire miserable life, yet she had the audacity to declare to them: “June won’t blame you in the afterlife, Mommy and Daddy. She’d want you to be at peace. After all, we’re family.” My soul had nearly detonated with rage. Phoebe never suffered my pain, so how dare she forgive everyone on my behalf? Later, I learned the truth: I was the book’s expendable character, and Phoebe was the celebrated heroine, designed to build her “Golden Girl” status on the rubble of my life. I remembered protecting Phoebe before I died, taking all the parental abuse and neglect onto myself to shield her from a similar fate. But on the night I died, Phoebe was downstairs. She heard my cries for help but did nothing. She wouldn’t even corroborate my story, knowing our parents thought I was being dramatic. She never said a word. 2 The familiar scene jolted me out of the flashback. I twisted hard, shaking free from my mother’s grip, and stared at Elaine with cold, lethal fury. Perhaps it was the first time she had ever seen that look in my eyes, because she actually flinched and recoiled slightly. But in an instant, my mother recovered, her face contorting. She struck me across the face with a hard slap. “Are you trying to test me, looking at me like that? You need a good beating!” My parents’ obsession with a son was the axis of our lives. I was the firstborn. When Phoebe was born—another girl—they broke. They sent her to a distant relative’s farm when she was two. They got lucky with their next pregnancy: Miles. After he was born, our home was finally filled with celebratory cheer. I always thought Phoebe had it worse, being separated from them so young. But all their resentment was redirected to me. Even before Miles was born, they began calling me a jinx, a failure who couldn’t bring them a son. After Miles arrived, the neglect became habit: daily abuse, incessant criticism, and all the household chores dumped onto my shoulders. In reality, Phoebe was loved by the relatives in the country. She didn’t have pretty dresses, but she had all the unconditional love two old people could give. In that moment of clarity, I realized the only truly pitiful person was me. I held my burning cheek, silent, the hatred in my heart a heavy, unmoving stone. Mom dragged me downstairs. By the front door stood Phoebe, timid and nervous. Her skin was a healthy tan, and her cheeks were plump. I, in contrast, was skin and bone, my collarbone prominent. “Mommy, Daddy, I missed you so much! I thought you didn’t want me anymore.” Phoebe burst into tears and threw herself into their arms. They wouldn’t have even bothered bringing her back if the elderly relative hadn’t passed away. Phoebe recounted a tearful tale of hardship, heavily implying our parents were cruel for abandoning her. Since they were already racked with guilt—and convinced Phoebe was the “lucky charm” who brought them Miles—they showered her with compensatory affection. I was too young to see the cunning spark in Phoebe’s eyes back then. I hadn’t noticed she showed zero grief when her guardian died, or that she never mentioned visiting the surviving relative since she’d been back. I should have known then: Phoebe was a self-serving opportunist, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. After a tearful family reunion huddle, Phoebe acted as if she’d just noticed me, her eyes becoming doe-like and pathetic. “I’m so envious of you, June. You got to stay here with Mommy and Daddy and live a good life. I never even got to see them.” 3 It was the exact same scene, the exact same words as my past life. Back then, ignorant of the truth, I felt an immediate kinship with Phoebe, believing her life had been rough. We were both daughters in this awful house. Fearing she’d suffer as I did, I protected her fiercely, always stepping in front of her. Even when she messed up, I took the blame. And that white-eyed wolf, in return, forgave my abusers on my behalf after I died. Not this time. I won’t be a coward. I won’t beg for a shred of affection that was never mine. I managed a chilling smile. “I’ll admit, I’m a little envious,” I said, my voice sweet as poison. “Looks like Gramps and Grandma fed you well.” Phoebe froze, clearly not expecting me to call attention to her weight. She was speechless. My mother wheeled around, glaring at me. “What is that supposed to mean? Are you blaming us for starving you, you ungrateful wretch? Are you lacking food or clothes in this house?” If this were before, I wouldn’t have dared talk back. I was too afraid, and a sliver of me always hoped that if I just kept quiet, they might still care. I was just waiting to be loved. But I had already died once. They were the reason I didn’t live a full life. I let out a cold, sharp scoff. “You tell me, Mother. Don’t you know the answer already?” Elaine lunged as if to hit me again, but I was already back in my room. I shut the door and ignored the stream of vulgar curses directed at me from the hallway. I was only fifteen; I couldn’t physically leave. But I could claw my way toward a new future. That night, Phoebe knocked on my door. I was finally reading, something I’d never had the time or energy for in the past life, my grades a hopeless mess. Now, let someone else deal with the chaos downstairs. I wasn’t sacrificing my future for them. I didn’t want to answer, but Phoebe was persistent, her soft tapping utterly grating. I yanked the door open in annoyance. Phoebe stood there, wearing one of my new dresses. It was stretched tight across her body, but she clearly loved it. “June,” she said, looking innocent. “Mommy said she didn’t have time to take me shopping, so she let me wear your new dress. You aren’t mad, are you?” It was true. My mother rarely bought me clothes. This dress was bought before the school year, a token meant only to save face. Now, Phoebe had gotten to it first. It was exactly what I expected, and I felt nothing. I had been ignored for so long that I was used to it. An article of clothing was nothing; I’d spent years eating their leftovers. I just couldn’t figure out why Phoebe had bothered to come and gloat. Did she need proof that she was the favored daughter now? This petty Mean Girls routine felt tiresome. 4 I just gave a flat, indifferent grunt: “Oh.” Phoebe’s face visibly clouded over. She clearly wanted me to throw a fit, to fight with her so she could showcase her superior maturity and compliance, proving to Mom and Dad that she was the only daughter worth keeping. But Phoebe had miscalculated. In this house, only Miles was unconditionally cherished. Phoebe and I were merely the failed products. Right now, Phoebe was novel, but I hadn’t died yet, so their regret was still shallow. Phoebe stood frozen for a moment, then immediately burst into fake tears. “June, do you hate me? If you’re upset, I’ll give the dress back right now!” I watched her coldly, and simply held out my hand. Phoebe blinked, confused. “You said you’d give it to me,” I explained flatly. Now it was Phoebe’s turn to feel awkward. She clutched the hem of the dress, unable to take it off, and instead began to sob hysterically. Mom and Dad rushed into my room, drawn by the noise. Seeing Phoebe crying, Elaine didn’t ask a single question; she raised her hand to hit me. “How dare you! You’re the older sister, and she just got here! How could you make her cry?” I darted back, easily dodging my mother’s swing, and fixed her with a hard, level gaze. “Phoebe came in here, wearing my new clothes to provoke me. She said if I was unhappy, she’d give it back. I told her I was unhappy, and she won’t return it. Now she’s crying. What exactly did I do wrong?” My parents were prejudiced, but they weren’t stupid. And now that I had found my voice, I wouldn’t be silenced. Last time, Phoebe often tried to pit us against each other, but I always covered for her. Now, she wouldn’t treat me like a soft target. Phoebe was crying without a scratch on her, and our parents hated unnecessary drama. Mom and Dad looked skeptically at Phoebe. She only cried harder. “June, you misunderstood! I was just worried you’d be angry, but you shouldn’t say such cruel things! You said I was a child they didn’t want! They love me!” Ah, that was her real goal. My parents’ eyes immediately hardened with rage. Sending Phoebe away was the thing they were most ashamed of; the neighborhood had scorned them for it. Phoebe had just ripped off their social fig leaf. Phoebe had some low-level cunning; she’d figured out how to wound our parents just hours after arriving. I calmly reached into my backpack, turned on my voice recorder, and played back the entire conversation—all of Phoebe’s sniffling drama and manipulative lines. I’d bought the recorder with hoarded money to practice my English pronunciation. Now, it served a better purpose. Mom and Dad’s faces went pale. Phoebe panicked and grabbed Elaine’s sleeve. “Mommy, June is scary! She’s recording our own family!” Elaine gently stroked Phoebe’s head. “There, there, darling. Go get some rest.” 5 It was the expected reaction. I hadn’t presented the evidence for justice; I knew they were biased, and I was the least-favored child. If this were my previous life, I would have been heartbroken. But now, it was irrelevant. I knew what I wanted, and their flimsy affection was no longer necessary. On the first day of the school year, I used to wake up before dawn to make breakfast. This time, I left early and bought breakfast with my own savings. From now on, I would eat well and regularly. I wouldn’t waste away from malnutrition. I also applied for on-campus housing. Before, my parents flat-out refused; they needed me for chores. I went to my guidance counselor, Ms. Peterson. Though my grades were weak, she was kind-hearted and guaranteed the deposit for me, even covering the first month herself. I promised her I would study relentlessly, get into a good university, and repay her kindness. She even provided me with a bedding set. My throat burned. A stranger, a person with no blood connection to me, had done this. My parents had only ever treated me like a tool. After that, I stayed on campus, only returning for necessities on weekends. I studied under the desk lamp every night. My grades skyrocketed from the bottom percentiles to the top of the class. Ms. Peterson was delighted. Phoebe, spoiled and enabled by her country relatives, was completely unmotivated. Relying on our parents’ misplaced guilt, she simply slacked off. She was two years younger, but her grades were already abysmal. When it came time for the high school entrance exams, I placed first in the entire district and was accepted into the elite magnet school. Before graduation, Ms. Peterson held my hand and told me to keep pushing. She only wanted me to succeed. I promised her, tears streaming down my face. Returning home afterward, I prepared myself for the inevitable storm. I knew my parents hadn’t dared cause a scene at school; they were waiting for me. The moment I stepped inside, a porcelain mug flew past my head, clipping my forehead. A thin line of blood immediately trickled down my temple. “You ungrateful wretch! You think you can just show up when you feel like it? Why didn’t you just stay dead outside?” 6 My mother looked noticeably haggard. Since I left, she had to take over all the chores. She never considered how exhausting it was for me, a teenager, to handle all of it alone. I casually wiped the blood away. Phoebe walked in from outside, a smug look of schadenfreude on her face. My father, Arthur, sat on the sofa. He never physically hurt me, but his passive indifference was equally chilling. Miles was on his tablet, headphones on, as if the entire household existed merely to serve his entertainment. I placed the acceptance letter from the magnet school on the coffee table. “I’m going to school. I can’t focus here.” Mom froze. She snatched the letter, read it closely, and her expression immediately shifted from thunderous rage to a triumphant smile. I knew the truth: my parents, while prioritizing Miles, were slaves to social image. They neglected me not just because I was a girl, but because my grades made me worthless. If I had tried to ask to board at school before, they would have said no. In their minds, my only value was as a household servant until I was old enough to be married off for a high dowry, which would then be used for Miles. I had to succeed, to prove my value. Since I couldn’t change my gender, I had to change my external worth. “Oh, my June is so smart! Did you really get this score?” I didn’t react to their sudden joy or attention, just nodding numbly. I only wanted to survive; otherwise, I would have walked out and never looked back. Arthur’s perpetually grim face finally cracked a smile. He snatched the letter from Elaine, beaming. “They said my family wouldn’t produce an academic star! I’ll show them! My daughter is going to the best school in the state!” Miles’s grades were pathetic, and Phoebe’s were unmentionable. The atmosphere in the house changed instantly. Miles remained oblivious, but Phoebe’s expression darkened to a storm cloud. Elaine turned to Phoebe. “You finished your semester too, right? Where are your grades?”

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After my father went to prison for embezzling company funds, my mother, a university professor, loved to use me to “prove her integrity” to avoid suspicion. To avoid suspicion, she forced me to hand over the guaranteed graduate school admission spot that belonged to me to the student ranked second in the department. When I participated in an academic competition, just because the judge was an old classmate of hers, she stormed into the venue and forcibly dragged me out to withdraw. Now, with the class fund missing, she acted as if she had caught me red-handed, stripping off my jacket in public to search me. Trembling all over, amidst the mocking gazes of the whole class, I heard her self-righteous voice: “Precisely because she is my daughter, I must not cover for her! Who knows if she learned from her father who’s in prison?” “Take off your clothes! Let everyone see if you are clean!” At that moment, looking at her face full of a sense of justice, I gave up resisting. Mom, since you want to “avoid suspicion,” then this time, I will grant your wish… My jacket was roughly torn off by her, and I stood in the center of the lecture hall podium wearing only a thin shirt. My mom shook my jacket over and over again, even reaching into the sleeves to feel around. There was nothing. Just then, a boy in the front row bent down and yelled. “Professor, the money is here! It’s in the crack of the podium, looks like it was blown in by the wind.” He held up the envelope containing the class fund. The whole class was in an uproar. I looked at my mom. She didn’t have the slightest sense of guilt, but instead let out a long sigh as if relieved of a heavy burden. Then she threw the jacket back at me in front of the whole class. “Good! As long as you didn’t steal it!” “It seems my strict discipline has worked, you didn’t follow your father’s old path.” “What are you standing there for? Why don’t you bow to everyone?” I froze in place, asking in disbelief. “Bow?” She said matter-of-factly, “Yes! Thank the classmates for their supervision, thank everyone for helping you prove your innocence!” “Lily, remember this, precisely because the blood of a criminal flows in your veins, we must be more open and aboveboard than others, more able to withstand scrutiny!” Under her forcing gaze, amidst the strange looks of the whole class. I mechanically bent down and took a bow. At that moment, my dignity was shattered to pieces. After returning home, I collapsed. A high fever came fiercely, my whole body burning like fire. In a daze, I heard my mom talking on the phone in the living room. Her tone was impassioned, showing off. “Mom, you don’t know how scary the scene was today.” “At that time, I thought, even if she is my own daughter, I will absolutely not tolerate it!” “Yes, I stripped her clothes and searched her, so what? A clear conscience needs no defense!” “Now the college leaders all praise me for being selfless, saying I deserve to be a model of teacher ethics.” “Only in this way can we wash away the stain left by that dead ghost, so that when Lily goes out in the future, people won’t poke her in the spine.” I lay in bed, tears flowing from the corners of my eyes into my ears. My throat was smoking dry, and my head was splitting with pain. I struggled to get up, pushed open the bedroom door, and supported myself against the wall to walk to the living room. “Mom… Mom… I feel so sick… Can you take me to the campus hospital… please…” My mom hung up the phone, turned her head, and looked at me scrutinizingly. “Fever?” She walked over, reached out and touched my forehead, then sneered. “Lily, you’re addicted to acting, aren’t you?” “Going to the hospital for this little temperature? Are you trying to escape tomorrow’s final exam?” “Let me tell you, when your dad was on trial, he loved to fake illness. You really don’t learn the good things, but pick up the bad things instantly!” I argued weakly: “I didn’t… I really feel dizzy…” She suddenly became furious, “Still pretending!” Then she rushed into the kitchen, caught a large bowl of cold water, pinched my chin, and forced it into my mouth. “Aren’t you having a fever? Drink some cold water to cool down!” The ice water choked into my windpipe, I coughed violently, and the water spilled all over me. But she didn’t care, pouring until more than half of the bowl of water went down. “Go back to your room! If you don’t get first place in your major tomorrow, see how I deal with you!” She pushed me into the room and locked the door behind her. I slumped behind the door, slapping it desperately, listening to her laughter as she continued to watch TV in the living room. My consciousness gradually blurred. I thought, if I just died like this, would she regret it even a little bit? The next morning. I was splashed awake by a basin of cold water. My mom stood at the door, looking down at me dripping wet, holding a cell phone. The flash blinded me. Her fingers tapped quickly on the screen. A few seconds later, a message popped up simultaneously in the college staff group and the student group. The accompanying picture was a photo of me lying miserably on the ground. The caption: [This is the daughter of a criminal, psychological quality is too poor, faking fainting to escape the exam. Teachers, please punish severely, no need to give me face.] In the end, the aunt next door heard that the commotion was wrong and forced her way in by knocking on the door, and took me to the hospital. The doctor said it was acute pneumonia, and if I had come half a day later, my brain would have been fried. During my hospitalization, my mom didn’t visit me once. She said the medical bills were too expensive, I brought it on myself, and let me reflect on myself. The day I was discharged and returned to school, it happened to be the college’s selection for the poverty grant. This money was a lifesaver for me. After my dad went to prison, the family savings were frozen. Although my mom’s salary was not low, she never gave me living expenses. She said she wanted to raise me poorly to prevent me from turning bad. I even had to squeeze the money to buy sanitary pads from my teeth. I was the most qualified person to apply. The review meeting was held in the large lecture hall. My mom was the department head and had veto power. When it was my turn to state my case on stage, I kept my head down and spoke about the difficulties at home. The audience was silent, and many counselors showed sympathetic looks. Just when I thought it was a sure thing this time, my mom stood up. She strode to the podium and snatched my application form. My mom adjusted her glasses and spoke righteously into the microphone: “I oppose giving the grant to Lily.” Even the dean was stunned: “Professor Smith, Lily’s situation indeed meets the criteria…” My mom interrupted the dean and pointed at my nose, “Meets what criteria?” “She is my daughter, I know best! Is she short of money? She is not! What she lacks is backbone!” “For a child from this kind of family background, if you give her money, she will turn around and buy cosmetics, compare herself with others, and learn bad things! We cannot encourage this kind of unhealthy trend!” She turned around and pointed at the class president, whose family ran a chain of supermarkets. “I think it should be given to the class president. Although his family is well-off, he is excellent in both character and learning, and this money is a kind of honorary recognition for him. As for Lily…” She sneered, “It’s good to be a little poor. Starving is just right. So as to save her from thinking about lust when she is warm and well-fed, and taking the money to do those shady things.” Trembling all over, I pleaded in a low voice. “Mom… I don’t even have money for lunch…” She shouted sternly, “Shut up! Don’t embarrass me here! Get down!” The grant was finally given to the class president. To survive, I started going to the recycling station near the school on weekends to sell scrap paper and plastic bottles. I dug out bottles from the trash cans and crushed them flat. The dozen or so bucks I got in exchange allowed me to buy a few steamed buns. But this humble path to survival was also blocked. That day as I was weighing the items, a few students taught by my mom passed by. They took out their phones and filmed me, laughing and mocking. “Look, the top student in the major is picking up trash!” “Professor Smith is so respectable, how did she give birth to a beggar?” Half an hour later, my mom rode her electric scooter and charged into the recycling station. Her face was ashen. She rushed up, snatched the money from my hand, tore it to pieces, threw it on the ground, and stomped on it a few times. “Lily! Will you not be satisfied until you piss me off to death? I am a dignified university professor, and you’ve thrown away all my face! Picking up trash? Are you trying to tell the whole world that I abuse you?” I cried and went to pick up the torn pieces of paper on the ground: “That’s my food money… I’m hungry…” She grabbed my backpack, which contained my professional books and the only family photo. “You deserve to starve to death!” “Since you like trash so much, then stay with the trash!” She used all her strength to throw my backpack onto the conveyor belt of the running trash compactor. “No!” I screamed and lunged forward, but was held back tightly by her. A huge sound of metal crushing sounded, and a few seconds later, both the books and the photo were turned into ruins. My mom pointed at my nose, spit spraying on my face: “You are born a lowly wretch! Not properly attending a good university, insisting on diving into the trash heap! Just like your dead ghost dad, mud that can’t be plastered on a wall!” I slumped on the ground, looking at the flattened bag. Mom, why do you have to bully me too… Both the bag and the books were gone. I could only borrow books from classmates or copy books in the library. Just when I was most desperate, a newly hired lecturer, Mr. Miller, came to the college. Mr. Miller was very young. He noticed my predicament and talked to me privately. After class that day, he handed me a brand new set of review materials for the grad school entrance exam, as well as a few professional extension books. “Lily, your grades are very good, don’t give up.” “This is lent to you by the teacher, you don’t need to return it. Knowledge can change your destiny, you have to believe in yourself.” That was the first time I had felt kindness in a long while. I covered the books with newspaper and hid them deep in the desk drawer in the study room. I secretly took them out to read every night. However, during a major class on Friday, my mom suddenly rushed into the classroom and flipped my desk over. Books scattered all over the floor, and those new books covered in newspaper slid to her feet. She tore open the book covers and saw the message written by Mr. Miller: [May you be like a sunflower, growing towards the sun.] My mom was so angry her muscles twitched, “Good! Good!” “I was wondering why you’ve been so absent-minded lately, it turns out you’re being slutty! Growing towards the sun? I think you want to have a teacher-student romance, you want to use unspoken rules to climb up!” The whole class exploded, and the students watched this scene with excitement. I hastily explained. “Mom, don’t talk nonsense! That was lent to me by Mr. Miller…” She didn’t listen at all, grabbed the books, and rushed to the podium. “Lent? What male teacher would privately give a female college student books? And write such sappy words?” At this time, Mr. Miller just happened to walk into the classroom. My mom threw the books hard at Mr. Miller’s face, and blood seeped out. Mr. Miller held his forehead in shock. “Professor Smith, what are you doing?” My mom pointed at him and cursed loudly, “What am I doing? I should ask you what you are doing!” “You beast in human clothing! Academic scum! Pervert! My daughter is only twenty, and you seduce her? Exchanging a few lousy books for her body?” “Do you have any shame? I have already called the police! I will also report you to the university party committee for harassing female students!” Mr. Miller was so angry his face turned red: “You… you are simply unreasonable! I just saw she was pitiful…” My mom turned around and yelled to the whole class, “Pitiful? What’s pitiful about her? I think she is a slut!” “Everyone see clearly! This is the consequence of being unchaste! From now on, whoever dares to talk to this male teacher is going against me!” The next day, Mr. Miller was forced to be suspended and left. The whole school was spreading rumors that I was unchaste, seducing the teacher in order to get a guaranteed admission to grad school. Dead mice started appearing in my desk drawer, and a piece of paper with the word “vixen” was stuck to my back. That night, I wrote at the end of my diary. [I miss Dad. Even if he is in prison, he never hit me.] The next day at the all-department assembly, my mom stepped onto the rostrum as the keynote speaker, holding my diary in her hand. “Before announcing this week’s discipline, I want to read a diary entry first. This was written by my daughter Lily. Everyone listen, to what extent the thoughts of this shameless thing have gone bad!” “She actually misses that criminal! Her dad embezzled public funds, a parasite on society! She is not ashamed of it, but misses him instead?” “What does this show? It shows her bones are bad! Her thoughts are completely rotten!” Thousands of pairs of eyes stared at me. I bit my lip hard until I tasted blood. Mom, if this is your so-called “education”, then you have succeeded. You killed your daughter with your own hands. Rumors have a life of their own. Hooligans from outside the school started blocking me on my way back to the dorm, whistling and asking me “how much for one night”. There was even one time, I cried and asked her for help as she was walking out of the school gate, thinking she would at least consider her identity as a mother and drive them away. But she just stopped, glanced at me with disgust, and sneered in front of those hooligans. “Flies don’t bite seamless eggs. If you didn’t wink at them, would they pester you? Don’t embarrass me here!” After saying that, she left without looking back, leaving behind the hooligans’ even more unbridled laughter. Later I found out that my mom complained to her colleagues in the office. “This child has hooks in her eyes, she is born a vixen, I can’t control her either.” When these words spread, I became the recognized “slut”. Wednesday afternoon, physical education elective course. A girl in the class lost a pack of sanitary pads. It was originally a small matter, but a few boys who usually liked to play pranks turned their eyes to my backpack. They stuffed a colorful little box into the side pocket of my bag. It was a box of condoms. Actually, that was confiscated by my mom from other students a few days ago. She didn’t throw it away, but deliberately placed it on the prominent entryway cabinet at home. She was testing me, also fishing. But I didn’t touch it. I didn’t expect this box of things to appear in school, in my bag. When that boy shouted “Lily has condoms in her bag”, I was completely stunned. The next second, my mom rushed into the classroom. She obviously had received the news long ago. She rushed to my seat and grabbed that box. At that moment, I saw the excitement in her eyes. She held the box of condoms high up, showing it to the whole class. “I knew it… I knew it!” “Everyone look! This is your good classmate!”

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Because I didn’t get home on time to present a welcome gift to Elias’s illegitimate daughter. He punished me by making me kneel in the snow and reflect for three hours. Subsequently, I received news that my grandmother had been kicked out of the Dawson family villa and sent to a rental apartment. I just calmly dialed my assistant’s number. “Please print another copy of the M&A agreement for Mr. Sterling.” 01 When the butler reported to Elias that his canary had returned to the country with her daughter. Elias was finalizing the details of our wedding anniversary celebration with me, which was seven days away. Upon hearing the news, he immediately instructed the butler to remove the anniversary decorations. And to decorate the Sterling villa into a dream castle for a little princess. He added ten times the budget to buy gifts, insisting on coaxing the mother and daughter back. After giving his orders, he explained to me lightly: “I just want to compensate the child for the fatherly love she missed all these years. If you don’t make things difficult for them, they won’t shake your position as Mrs. Sterling.” I didn’t speak, thinking about how to successfully secure the M&A agreement for the Sterling Group in the afternoon. The deadline for the valuation adjustment agreement (VAM) I signed with Elias during our arranged marriage is in exactly seven days. Once this M&A deal is completed, I will fulfill the last clause of the agreement. The rest is what Elias owes me. Before I left for work, Elias suddenly stopped me. “They will arrive home at 5 PM. I expect you to be home on time to give my daughter her welcome gift. Don’t play any tricks.” To ensure everything went perfectly, there were many details to finalize for the M&A. Even though I rushed home, disregarding the slippery, snowy roads and nearly getting into an accident, I was still ten minutes late. Looking at the gift I prepared, Elias was very cold. “Luna, giving a show of strength to someone coming to our door for the first time is wrong.” He turned and instructed the butler. “Make her kneel in the snow for three hours to reflect on her mistakes.” Three hours later, I saw the message from my assistant. My grandmother had been kicked out of the Dawson family villa and sent to a rental apartment. I rubbed my freezing, numb knees. Calmly, I dialed my assistant’s number. “Please print another copy of the M&A agreement for Mr. Sterling.” 02 After instructing my assistant to take good care of my grandmother. I entered the house again. A little girl wearing an Elsa princess dress rushed over and squirted water all over my face with a toy water gun. “You big bad witch, why are you in my daddy’s house?” A woman in a white lace nightgown stopped her with a gentle tone. “Mia, you can’t be impolite to others.” She tilted her neck, revealing patches of red hickeys. Even though I had seen her countless times on Elias’s phone screen. Her appearance still made my heart skip a beat for a few seconds. The little girl didn’t stop her actions, instead aiming the water gun at my body. Chloe looked meaningfully at my ruined makeup, a smile playing on her lips. “Mrs. Sterling, the child is just playing Elsa casting a spell, please don’t hold it against her…” Soaked and shivering from the cold, I was about to change my shoes and go find Elias to sign the papers. The little girl, with unknown strength, suddenly pushed the shoe-changing stool away. Stepping on the puddle on the floor, I fell heavily to the ground. My forehead hit exactly on the corner of the shoe-changing stool, and blood immediately gushed out. The nanny tried to reach out and help me. Chloe glared at her, and she retracted her hand, explaining to me in a low voice. “Madam, sir instructed that we should treat Miss Chloe as the hostess of the house…” When Elias arrived upon hearing the noise, the little girl had already started crying. She grabbed Elias with one hand and clutched her chest with the other. “Daddy, this auntie just accidentally fell and is bleeding, I’m so scared…” My pupils dilated. Even though I was mentally prepared, I was still shocked by the little girl’s superb acting skills. Elias frowned at me. “Why are you glaring at Mia? You’re not going to tell me she made you fall, are you?” I gritted my teeth and stood up. “I was careless.” Elias nodded impatiently. “You’re an adult, next time remember not to make a fool of yourself in front of the child and scare her.” Noticing my bleeding forehead. He pursed his lips and told the nanny to get the first aid kit for me. He then hurriedly went upstairs carrying the child. Chloe followed Elias smugly. At the corner, she looked back at me with contempt. Mouthing word by word: “What do you have to compete with me?” 03 After the nanny helped me treat the wound, I went back to my room to pack my personal belongings. When I finished packing, Elias stumbled back in. Two buttons of his shirt were undone, with a smudged lipstick mark on it. He saw the room looked much emptier and sneered. “Are you trying to remind me that I should have bought a gift for you too? Luna, don’t forget your place!” Elias and I had an arranged business marriage since childhood. Later, my parents died in an accident, and my uncle seized all the shares of the Dawson Group. Elias unilaterally announced the cancellation of our engagement and kept a beautiful canary by his side. But Old Mrs. Sterling recognized only me and, before she died, ordered Elias to marry me. Upon learning this, Chloe left the country overnight. Elias, heartbroken over losing his love, forced me to sign a VAM agreement. Within eight years, I had to earn a billion dollars for the Sterling Group, and he would give me 30% controlling shares of the Dawson Group, but I had to divorce him. I didn’t have much affection for Elias. To get the Dawson Group back, I treated my marriage as a business all these years, striving to make everything go his way. But now, the words of apology were on my lips, yet I couldn’t say them. Seeing me not replying for a long time, Elias’s tone softened. “The child just came back, I have to bond with her. When she accepts me, I’ll have them move out.” Smelling the alcohol on his breath, I stepped back, avoiding his hands that were ready to hug me. Elias frowned. “I know you’ve always wanted a child. Chloe had a hard time alone abroad all these years, so I just had a little drink with her. I promise, starting tomorrow, I won’t touch a drop of alcohol, and I’ll give you a healthy baby, okay?” I smiled inwardly. During these years of business marriage, I never thought of bringing a child into such a family. Every day after he fell asleep, I would regularly take a birth control pill. I calmly handed over the documents in my hand. “This is the M&A agreement for the subsidiary, please sign it, Mr. Sterling.” Elias took the pen, scribbled his name, his frown deepening. “Don’t you have anything to ask me?” I opened my mouth, wanting to say something. The little girl appeared at the bedroom door holding a stuffed animal. She pouted. “Daddy, I can’t sleep alone, I’m scared… Can I sleep with you?” Elias looked at me somewhat hesitantly. I had already closed the file. “I’ll go to the study.” Elias breathed a sigh of relief. The little girl cheered and threw herself into Elias’s arms. “The witch is gone, now Daddy is all mine!” Elias paused his movement of hugging her, but still smilingly held her in his arms. “With Daddy here, my little princess has nothing to fear! Tell me, how do you want Daddy to coax you to sleep?” 04 A doodle was stuck on the study door, depicting a witch’s hat and broom drawn in a child’s handwriting. I frowned and ignored it. “Ah—!” Pushing the door open, I was startled. It was crawling with spiders of all sizes… Elias rushed over angrily. “Luna, how long are you going to make a fuss? Mia was just about to fall asleep and you woke her up!” The little girl followed behind him timidly, and before I could speak, tears streamed down her face. “Daddy, I specially decorated this for auntie. Is auntie doing this because she doesn’t like me?” A spider crawled out from the crack of the door, and Elias’s face turned pale. Shortly after we got married, Elias took me back to the Sterling family’s old mansion to pay respects. His cousin’s little nephew accidentally threw a toy spider onto my coat. I was terrified and threw myself into Elias’s arms on the spot. At that time, disregarding his sister-in-law’s dark face, he taught the little nephew a lesson. “If you dare to scare your aunt again, I’ll break your legs!” Afterwards, he teased me: “Is Mrs. Sterling so afraid of spiders?” But after returning home, he ordered the servants to clean every place in the house where bugs might grow. “Apologize to Mia!” Elias’s cold voice pulled my thoughts back. “Mia kindly prepared the room for you. As an elder, have you thought about how sad the child would be with such a reaction?” Chloe came out of another bedroom, looking sleepy. She pulled the child into her arms, her tone carrying a mother’s fierce resolve. “Mrs. Sterling, I know you have issues with me, but the child is innocent. Direct your dissatisfaction at me, don’t target the child.” She rubbed the little girl’s head, her tone gentle. “Mia, Mommy told you long ago that auntie wouldn’t welcome us, but you insisted on following Daddy back. Now you know how sinister people can be, right? Come with Mommy. Even if we live in a rental, it’s better than suffering here!” The little girl pouted and burst into loud wails. Chloe turned to leave. Elias glared at me fiercely. “I said Chloe is also the master of this house. Whoever dares to make them suffer, get out of the Sterling family!” I didn’t want to stay another night in the Sterling house anyway. I just didn’t want my grandmother to see my disheveled state and worry about me. Ignoring Elias’s ugly expression, I went to the nanny’s room. “I’ll leave first thing tomorrow morning.” 05 Early in the morning, I was woken up by a noisy sound. The little girl was clamoring to build a swing in the garden. She gestured, directing the servants where to put the swing. “Put it right where this laurel tree is!” Chloe also helped command the servants. “Didn’t you hear my daughter say to cut down this tree?” A servant looked up at me and explained in a low voice: “But this is Madam’s favorite tree, Sir never lets anyone touch it…” I was born in August when the laurel flowers were in full bloom. My parents named me Luna (Moon) and personally planted a laurel tree at the Dawson family villa, symbolizing purity and wealth. After my uncle seized the Dawson Group, he used underhanded means to sell my parents’ villa. Shortly after we married, Elias somehow heard about this. He spent a fortune to buy back the Dawson family villa. And transplanted the laurel tree to the Sterling family’s garden. He said as long as the laurel tree is there, it’s like my parents are still guarding me. At that time, a trace of warmth suddenly emerged in my heart. Maybe when the VAM agreement ends, I can try to truly accept him, even give him a child… The little girl started crying and shouting. “I don’t care, I want the swing right here!” Chloe looked at me provocatively. “If I remember correctly, Mrs. Sterling seems to have been kicked out by Mr. Sterling last night?” She gently comforted the crying little girl. “Everything Daddy has is yours, no one dares to say no.” I took the suitcase handed to me by the nanny. “Miss Chloe, it doesn’t matter if you haven’t read much and don’t understand basic legal knowledge, but it’s not good to be a bad influence on the child.” I looked at the little girl, mimicking Chloe’s gentle tone. “During the years auntie and your daddy have been married, half of your daddy’s assets belong to auntie, that part isn’t yours.” Chloe’s face looked terrible. The little girl, with tears in her eyes, looked at me in disbelief. “Enough!” Elias’s deep voice came from behind. “Luna, how can you use legal jargon to destroy a child’s innocence?” In the second year of our marriage, Elias was set up, and a sex scandal broke out. The Sterling Group’s stock plummeted, wiping out hundreds of millions in market value. It was me who staked out lawyers for days and hired PR firms to suppress the matter. When I fainted from low blood sugar, he held me in his arms, his heart aching. “It hurts me to see you worrying so much for me. Just stay home and be Mrs. Sterling from now on, okay?” I almost believed it was true. Fortunately, my uncle had taught me a lesson earlier. You can’t completely trust even the closest people. What you hold in your hand is the most real. “Mr. Sterling, I’m just telling the truth. If you feel offended on behalf of your precious daughter, please send me a lawyer’s letter.” I turned and left. As the car started, Elias chased out, his face deadly pale. “Luna, I didn’t mean that…” I ignored him and stepped on the gas pedal.

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