The golden boy of our school lived for dares. During our three years of high school, he was always either making some poor freshman bark like a dog on the football field or leading a crowd to confess their undying love to the cafeteria chef. On the morning of our AP Finals—the ones our college futures rode on—his chaotic streak hit a peak. He boarded the charter bus early and hid everyone’s exam passes. He called it “the ultimate senior prank.” “Better start looking, guys!” he grinned, dangling a blank envelope. “If we find them, we walk in together. If not… well, there’s always next year.” Just as I knitted my brows to stop him, glowing lines of text began scrolling across my field of vision like a live stream chat. [Our golden boy is so cool. I can’t believe he’s playing a prank this big during the AP Finals.] [Ugh, the side character is so annoying. Here he goes again with the lecture.] [Just let him talk. He tries to call the cops and ruin the golden boy’s exams, but the female lead secretly sabotages his Ivy League application out of spite. With her family squeezing him out of every opportunity, he spirals into depression and ends it. Meanwhile, our golden boy, carried by her family’s wealth, ends up as the youngest MD in the country.] I froze. My thumb hovered over my phone screen, where I had already dialed 911. Slowly, I closed the emergency call screen. Instead, I opened my email, tapped the official offer from Cambridge University, and clicked “Accept”. … A second later, a slender hand reached out and snatched my phone. I looked up, straight into Serena’s guarded eyes. “Don’t even think about snitching,” she said, her voice sharp. “Taylor is just trying to take the edge off. I’ll hold onto your phone until the game is over.” Before I could say a word, Taylor peeked out from behind her shoulder, his eyes wide and watery. “Liam, I know you’ve never liked me, and Mr. Henderson always takes your side,” he whispered, sounding incredibly small. “But this is our last day together. I just wanted to make a memory. Even if they suspend me for this, I don’t care.” With those few words, he turned the entire bus against me. The kids who had been hesitating seconds ago instantly rallied around him. “Seriously, Liam, stop acting like the hall monitor. Why does everything have to be a federal case?” “Ignore him. They’re not going to cancel the exams for the whole honors class just because we’re a few minutes late.” “God, a senior prank during the actual finals? If we vlog this, it’ll go viral on TikTok in seconds!” “Come on, Taylor, let’s do it! If we get caught, we all take the blame together. We’re not snitches.” [Wow, our boy really is everyone’s favorite. He has the female lead to coddle him, and the whole class to shield him.] [Our precious boy is crying! It breaks my heart. When is this annoying side character going to exit the story?] [This is the part where the sidekick snaps because nobody is listening to him. He’s about to lose his mind.] I stared at the text hovering in the air and let out a soft, dry laugh. “Who said I was going to snitch?” I said. “Actually, I’m in. Let’s play.” The scrolling text froze. Even Serena looked taken aback. “Are you serious?” she asked, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. “You’re not trying to pull something, are you?” Seeing the sheer distrust in her eyes, I knew the scrolling text wasn’t a hallucination. It was the absolute truth. This was not the girl who had promised we would conquer the Ivy League together. I let out a self-deprecating laugh, snatched my phone back from her hand, and hurled it straight out the open window. “Now do you believe me?” I asked. Serena stared at me, a flicker of genuine panic crossing her eyes. Taylor’s jaw went slack. He clearly hadn’t anticipated me throwing my own life-line out a window. “Well, look at that. Our class president finally got a personality,” Paula, our track captain, yelled. She glanced at Taylor, and seeing no objection, she grinned. “Let’s go all out then! Everyone power down. No phones, no trackable GPS, completely off the grid!” She held her phone up, waving it like a trophy, her thumb pressing down hard on the power button. “Watch me!” she cheered as the screen went black. “Anyone who doesn’t turn theirs off is a coward.” The cabin erupted. Some eagerly yanked out their phones; others hesitated, looking to Taylor for validation. Taylor quickly recovered his composure, flashing a bright, easy smile as he shut his phone down. “If Liam’s on board, let’s do it,” Taylor said. “No distractions. Let’s make this unforgettable.” Serena reached out, suddenly hesitant. “Isn’t this a bit too far? What if we actually miss the gate?” Paula rolled her eyes at me and laughed. “Then I guess we’ll see who has the worst luck today.” Taylor winked. “Exactly. It’s a game. There have to be winners and losers.” With that, a chorus of digital chimes echoed through the bus as everyone turned their phones off. Serena bit her lip, then powered her phone down, too. [Wait, why isn’t the sidekick stopping them?] [Yeah, and with everyone’s phones off, what if there’s an emergency?] [What are you worried about? The sidekick is right there. If anything goes wrong, he’s the perfect scapegoat anyway.] I stared at the floating words, a cold smile forming on my face. They were right. If I had refused to play, I’d be labeled a killjoy, a stuck-up snob. If I played, the game would be rigged so I’d lose. When other kids lost, they got silly dares. But when I “lost” Taylor’s games in the past, my worst photos became the class group chat icon, my private messages with Serena were leaked to make me look like a pathetic simp, and I was eventually pressured to give up my spot in the prestigious National Math Olympiad. Serena had gone from fiercely protecting me to finding me rigid, suffocating, and boring. And now, she was actively participating in a stunt that could ruin my entire academic future. But they had no idea. This time, I was the one holding the deck. Watching their eager, stupid faces, my lips curved upward. Idiots. You want an immersive experience? You won’t even realize you’ve walked into your own slaughter. Taylor clapped his hands, throwing a provocative glance my way. “Alright, let the game begin.” He produced a black envelope seemingly out of thin air. “Clue number one: Look beneath your feet.” The bus erupted into pure chaos. Paula was the first to drop, sliding flat onto the dirty floor to pull a crumpled piece of paper from under a seat. “Damn it! It’s blank.” “That’s just a decoy,” Taylor said, his eyes curving into crescents. “The real passes are hidden much, much better.” People were kicking seats, banging into armrests, and dumping their backpacks onto the floor. Loose-leaf paper scattered everywhere. The aisle quickly became a bottleneck of bodies—squatting, crawling, reaching up to the overhead bins. The sharp scent of sweat mingled with cold breakfast sandwiches. Paula tore through the overhead racks, ripping open bags with enough force to dismantle the bus. “Are they inside the seat covers?” someone yelled. A row of students began peeling back the fabric, running their fingers through the grime of the seams. “Nothing here!” “Ugh, gross… I just touched old gum.” Some cursed, some laughed, and those who grew tired of the hunt slumped back into their seats, panting. Jordan was moving through the crowd, filming the whole thing with his digital camera. As Taylor’s loyal shadow, he made sure to shout, “Taylor, you’re a genius! This is way better than listening to some stuck-up snitch.” Taylor clapped, cheering them on. “It’s our last ride together, guys! We have to make it count. Keep looking!” But as the minutes ticked away, not a single valid exam pass was found. The floating text began to shift from blind praise to creeping doubt. [Wait, he stuffed the passes into his clothing? Who on earth is going to find them there?] [This is kind of messed up. It looks like he’s trying to drag everyone down with him.] [The person above must be a hater. Our boy only cares about the female lead anyway; he doesn’t need some stupid exam.] [Um, maybe the other kids do? Like Liam? He worked his butt off coming from that small town just to get this shot.] My gaze sharpened, landing on Taylor, who was still bouncing around the bus. No wonder he was wearing that oversized hoodie. No wonder he was asking questions instead of actually searching. The passes were on him. He was treating his entire class like toys, letting them sweat for nothing. But this class wasn’t his playground. This was the AP Honors tier. The pride of the academy. This was the class for which Mr. Henderson had worked himself to exhaustion, teaching us from a hospital bed when his health failed. My fists clenched at the memory. Despite everything, a part of me still couldn’t bear to watch it all burn. Taking advantage of a sudden lull in the complaints, I looked Taylor dead in the eye. “Are the passes actually on this bus, Taylor?” Taylor’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second. “What is that supposed to mean, Liam?” I gestured to the wrecked cabin. “Forty minutes. Forty-five people. And not a single pass has turned up. That’s statistically impossible.” Serena frowned, stepping defensively in front of Taylor. “It just means Taylor did a good job hiding them. If you have time to complain, why don’t you go dig through the trash cans?” “Yeah! We’re having fun. Even if we’re late, it’s worth it.” “Looks like he’s getting cold feet. Want to back out now, Liam? Too late.” The voices pressed in on me from all sides. Standing behind Serena, Taylor offered me a smug shrug. I pointed a finger at him and opened my mouth to speak. Before the words could leave my throat, Paula screamed from the front of the bus. “I found one!” She pulled a crumpled slip of paper from the inner lining of the trash bin and held it high. “Whose is it?” the crowd surged forward. She flattened the paper, squinted at the photo, and turned to grin at me. “Well, look at that. It’s Liam’s.” “Here you go, Chief.” She thrust the paper toward me. But before my fingers could fully close around it—”rip”. The paper split in two. Half remained in my hand. The other half dangled from Paula’s fingers. “No need to thank me,” she said, dusting off her hands. “That’s what you get for accusing Taylor. Consider it incentive to apologize. Honestly, it looks better this way.” The bus erupted into cruel laughter. “Nice one, Paula!” “Seriously. Taylor was just trying to help us destress, and Liam’s been trying to ruin the vibe from start to finish.” “Wait, is that legal? How is he supposed to get into the test center?” someone whispered. Serena pushed her way through the crowd. “Alright, that’s enough. We only have fifteen minutes left. Keep looking.” She glanced at the torn paper in my hand and sighed, her voice laced with mild irritation. “Once we get off, I’ll walk you to the administration office to print a duplicate. We have enough time.” I looked down at the torn slip, my chest tightening. “Don’t bother.” Serena stiffened, her expression hardening. “Fine. Have it your way.” Taylor bit his lip, his eyes turning watery again. “Liam, I… I didn’t mean for this to happen. I’m so sorry…” “It’s not your fault,” Serena said, taking his hand. “He’s just jealous of you. Ignore him. Let’s go.” As she led him away, Taylor cast a quick, mocking smirk back at me over his shoulder. [Okay, now I actually feel bad for the sidekick.] [Are you serious? He brought this on himself. Didn’t he just try to expose our precious boy?] [Yeah, Taylor was obviously planning a grand reveal to surprise everyone. Liam had to ruin the moment. No wonder the female lead ruins him later. Who would tolerate someone constantly trying to humiliate their guy?] [Am I the only one who thinks Liam has had a miserable life from the start? He was almost abused by his stepmother in middle school. When the female lead saved him back then, he thought she was his savior, but she was just setting him up for a worse fall.] [Get over it. She saved some poor stray kid back then for fun. Did he think he was entitled to her for life? He didn’t know his place, so he got put in it. Totally deserved.] The comments scrolled in an endless, dizzying blur. I sank into my seat, holding the torn slip of paper, my hands shaking uncontrollably. But in that moment, the fog in my mind cleared completely. The comments were right. My life had been hard enough. Why was I still trying to save people who wanted to drown? For the first time, I felt a wave of profound relief. Thank God I saw those floating words. Thank God I had already accepted Cambridge. As for them? They were no longer my problem. “Where is it? Seriously, this is getting weird.” “Hey, did anyone in the student council find theirs?” “No. I checked under the seats, the overheads, and the trash again. Nothing.” “Taylor, come on, give us another clue! Time’s almost up.” Taylor stamped his foot playfully. “I told you, it’s beneath your feet! Keep looking. See? Liam’s was in the trash.” Serena glanced at her watch. “Stop panicking. The gates stay open for fifteen minutes after the test starts. We just need to make it by then. Take your time.” Easy for her to say, but the tension in the bus was reaching a boiling point. The laughter died out. The only sound left was the frantic rustling of paper and bags. Exactly five minutes before the scheduled start of the exam, Mr. Henderson burst onto the bus. “The exam is starting in five minutes! What on earth are you all doing in here?” He was drenched in sweat, gasping for air as he clung to the doorframe. “Mr. Henderson, we’re just playing a little dare,” Taylor said, blinking innocent, wide eyes. “We’re looking for our exam passes.” “Have you lost your minds?” Mr. Henderson’s voice cracked. “Do you know what today is? Who hid them? Bring them out right now!” Taylor shrank back, and Serena instantly stepped forward to shield him. “Mr. Henderson, there’s no need to yell. We all agreed to this. You’re going to scare Taylor.” “Exactly,” Paula added, crossing her arms. “We know what we’re doing. Stop treating us like kids.” “Just let us finish the game.” Mr. Henderson pointed a trembling finger at them, his face turning pale with sheer disbelief. He turned to me. “Liam, what is going on? Why didn’t you stop them? And why is your phone off?” I didn’t answer. I just kept my eyes glued to the torn piece of paper in my hand. His eyes followed mine. When he saw the ripped ticket, he froze. “Who… who did this?” I slowly looked up. “Don’t ask, Mr. Henderson. It doesn’t matter.” He knelt in the aisle, looking at the torn paper, then swept his eyes over the class. Nobody met his gaze. “We’ll deal with this later,” he breathed, his voice shaky. “Everyone off the bus. Go to the testing center now.” Nobody moved. “Mr. Henderson, Liam wanted to play too,” Paula said defensively. “Yeah, he’s just playing the victim now.” “You always take his side anyway.” Mr. Henderson inhaled deeply, his voice sounding entirely broken. “Please. Just go take the test. Okay?” Silence. He grabbed my arm and pulled me off the bus. “Come on. Let’s get you a duplicate.” As our feet hit the asphalt, the first warning bell rang across the campus. Students were filing through the main gates. Only a few stragglers were sprinting. Mr. Henderson took two steps, then hesitated. “Go to the office quickly. I have to go back and get them off that bus.” I nodded. I didn’t say a word. By the time I walked out of the administrative office with my duplicate pass, shouting had erupted at the school gates. “What do you mean you forgot? My mom will literally kill me if I miss this test!” “You’re the one who hid them! How do you not know where they are?” “It’s a huge stack of paper! Where could you possibly have put them? Think!” Taylor was surrounded by the class, sobbing hysterically. “I… I forgot because Liam was staring at me and putting so much pressure on me! I panicked!” But this time, the blame-shifting didn’t work. Serena’s face was white. She was frantically dumping the contents of Taylor’s backpack onto the pavement, searching over and over again. Mr. Henderson stood near the entrance, his phone pressed to his ear, his forehead creased with deep, anxious lines. “Yes, the AP honors class… there’s an issue with the exam passes…” He hung up. Redialed. Hung up again. When he looked up, his eyes were bloodshot. “I’ll… I’ll try to find another way,” he muttered, though the hope had drained from his voice. He looked ten years older. A crowd of parents, who had gathered to support their kids, began to swarm Taylor. Their voices grew sharp and frantic. “Find them right now! If my daughter misses this exam, I will sue your family!” “A prank? Are you insane? What kind of delinquent plays with people’s futures like this?” Taylor kept his head down, tears streaming down his face. “Can we just print duplicates?” a parent cried out. “How? The gates are already closing! They won’t let them register once the timer starts!” “Then what? We just give up? A whole year of prep gone?” “My son spent two years studying for this standard matriculation!” The scene quickly descended into hysterics. Mothers started sobbing, fathers barked into their phones, and some ran to the security guards, begging, “Please, just let them in! The teacher is right here, he can vouch for them! Let them take the test!” But rules were rules. The guards looked away. The proctors stared coldly at their clipboards. Everyone watched in stunned silence as the heavy iron gates slowly swung shut. With a heavy, final “click”, the padlock snapped into place. Then, Taylor’s eyes landed on me. His face lit up with a sick kind of hope. “Liam! Liam has the early-admission honors pass from Stanford! He can talk to the board! He can get the school to schedule a makeup exam for us!” In an instant, every single eye in the crowd locked onto me. Paula was the first to jump on it. “Yes! He has the board’s ear! He can get us a makeup test!” “The administration won’t let the entire AP honors class fail! They’ll listen to him!” “Liam, please. Just help us. One call from you is all it takes.” The waves of voices crashed over me once more. Only this time, they weren’t screaming insults. They were begging. [As expected of our darling Taylor. He turned the tables on the sidekick in two seconds.] [Are you people seriously cheering for this? Your moral compass is completely broken.] [Wait, why does the sidekick look so calm? Does he have a trick up his sleeve?] I ignored the floating text, choosing instead to quietly watch the comedy unfold before me. It was poetry, really. Twenty minutes ago, they had ripped my exam ticket to shreds. Now, they were looking to my achievements to save their lives. Serena stepped forward. She looked at me, her lips parting, but no sound came out. She didn’t beg me herself. But she didn’t stop the others from begging either. “The Stanford honors track?” I said, my voice echoing in the sudden silence. They fell completely quiet, hanging on my every word. “I’m afraid that won’t work. An hour ago, I turned down Stanford. I accepted my offer from Cambridge University instead.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “518499”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The day we buried my mother, the sky broke open in a torrential downpour. Gideon stood beside the headstone, his coat immaculate, utterly refusing to bow his head or kneel in the mud to pay his respects. “It’s a Harrington rule,” he’d whispered, his voice cold and dry despite the dampness in the air. “We only kneel before God and our own blood. Not to anyone else.” The whispers started immediately among the gathered relatives, sharp as the rain. My father’s eyes were rimmed with red, his face flushing with embarrassment as he tried to smooth things over. “It’s fine, really,” Dad murmured, offering a tight, apologetic smile to the whispering crowd. “Gideon… well, he went to Oxford. He isn’t used to our old-school ways. A simple nod of respect is plenty.” I knelt in the freezing mud, watching him offer a perfunctory, barely-there nod. At the time, I truly believed it was just his nature. I thought Gideon Harrington was simply too proud, too unyielding, to bend for anyone. Until three days later, when I happened to drive past St. Jude’s Sanctuary on the outskirts of the city. There, on the steep stone steps leading up the hillside, I saw him. He looked like a different man. His expression was one of absolute, desperate devotion. Every three steps, he dropped to his knees. Every nine steps, he prostrated himself fully on the cold stone, his forehead pressed hard against the wet steps. His forehead was already bruised and bleeding; his expensive trousers were soaked through with mud and dirty water. I slammed on the brakes, got out of the car, and intercepted Simon, his closest friend, who was waiting at the bottom of the steps. I demanded to know what Gideon was begging for. Simon couldn’t look me in the eye. He shifted his weight, his gaze darting toward the trees. “Hazel… look, it’s…” “Daphne’s doctor found a tumor. It’s benign, but… Gideon came here to pray for her. He’s doing a penance walk to get her a blessing.” Daphne. The ex-girlfriend he had loved for years. The one who had walked away, yet somehow never truly left. At that moment, the air left my lungs. I felt a coldness so absolute it felt like physical pain. Without a word, I slipped my wedding band off my finger and tossed it into the deep, dark waters of the sanctuary’s wishing well. … When I got back to the house, the hallway was dim. My father was kneeling on the floor by the entryway, tenderly wiping a few stray drops of rainwater from my mother’s framed portrait. In the black-and-white photograph, Mom smiled her warm, familiar smile—the one that made you feel like she was about to pop her head out of the kitchen any second, asking if Gideon wanted a hot bowl of soup after his long day. Hearing the door click, Dad scrambled to his feet, his joints popping. “Hazel, is Gideon done with his meetings?” he asked, trying to sound cheerful. “If he’s exhausted, tell him he doesn’t have to stay for the vigil tonight. He should rest.” I looked at the portrait, a heavy, suffocating tightness squeezing my chest. Exhausted? It was the night before my mother’s seventh-day vigil—the traditional night to honor her spirit—and her son-in-law hadn’t even shown his face. My phone buzzed in my hand. A text from Gideon. Daphne has her pre-op scans tonight. She’s terrified to be there alone. I’m going to be late. It wasn’t a life-or-death surgery. It was a routine, outpatient scan for a benign growth. Yet, her fear outweighed his respect for my dead mother. Seeing me stare at my phone in silence, Dad slowly walked over to the dining table. He lifted the ceramic bowl covering a plate of cold pasta and vegetables. “I’ll keep it warm in the oven,” Dad murmured, his voice so soft it barely carried across the quiet room. “Just in case he gets back late and hasn’t eaten.” The sheer vulnerability in his voice made my throat ache. All my father knew was that Gideon was a wealthy, powerful businessman from a prominent family, and that my marrying him was seen as a massive step up for the Prescotts. That was why, even when Gideon refused to show proper respect at the burial, Dad had forced himself to smile and make excuses. He was so terrified of Gideon mistreating me that he swallowed every ounce of his own dignity. I walked over and gently placed my hand over his to stop him. “Don’t worry about it, Dad,” I said quietly. “He won’t be eating here tonight.” I took the plate into the kitchen and scraped the food straight into the trash can. As I turned around, my phone lit up with a notification. It was an Instagram update from Daphne. She had posted a picture of a silver Saint Jude medallion resting in her palm. In the edge of the frame, the cuff of Gideon’s tailored coat was unmistakable. Her caption read: Someone told me that if he took every painful step for me, I’d never have to walk in fear again. Below it, mutual acquaintances had already left comments: Gideon really is one of a kind. Nothing compares to childhood sweethearts. I stared at the medallion on the screen for a long, agonizing moment before locking the phone. Gideon slipped into the house at two in the morning. The living room was dark, save for the flickering flame of the memorial candle on the altar. He brought the cold night air in with him, along with a small white bakery box. “I stopped by the bakery down the street,” he said, setting the box on the coffee table. “I know you haven’t eaten all day.” Inside were the glazed lemon tarts I used to love. I didn’t look at them. “Where were you today, Gideon?” His hand paused on his tie. “Just handling some business.” His voice was flat, perfectly controlled. I raised my eyes to meet his. “Does business usually require kneeling on ninety-nine stone steps, Gideon?” His fingers went completely still. A subtle, defensive frown creased his forehead. “Hazel, she’s sick. I only did it because she’s sick.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “My mother loved you like her own son, yet you couldn’t be bothered to show a single gesture of respect at her grave. But Daphne gets a benign tumor, and you’re willing to bloody your knees on stone steps to buy her peace of mind?” Gideon took a step toward me, reaching for my hand. “I know you’re grieving your mother, Hazel. But Daphne was terrified. The doctors said the tumor is in a delicate spot. I was just trying to give her some comfort.” I pointed to my mother’s portrait on the mantelpiece. “Don’t explain it to me. Turn around and say it to her. Tell her that ‘Harringtons only kneel to God and blood, not to strangers.’” The kitchen door creaked open slightly. My father stood in the shadow of the doorway, holding a fresh plate of food. He looked caught, frozen between stepping forward and retreating. “Hazel, please, don’t raise your voice,” Dad pleaded softly, his eyes darting toward the walls, terrified the neighbors might hear. “Gideon just got home. Let him eat something warm first.” Watching my father shrink himself to keep the peace made a hot, sharp pain flare in my chest. My nails dug into my palms. My phone buzzed again. It was a message from Simon. Hazel, I shouldn’t have kept this from you. The sanctuary keeps a donor registry for these prayer walks. If you want proof, I can get it for you. Gideon’s gaze followed mine down to my hands. His eyes locked onto my left hand. His brow furrowed deeply. “Hazel, where is your ring?” “It got dirty. I took it off.” I brushed past him, walking toward the closet to grab a change of clothes. Gideon grabbed my wrist, his grip tightening until my bones ached. “What is this supposed to mean?” he hissed, trying to keep his voice down but failing to hide his irritation. “I visit a sanctuary for a sick friend, and you decide to take off your wedding ring? Aren’t you overreacting?” I looked at him, my expression dead. “Let go of me, Gideon.” He took a sharp breath and released his grip. “Hazel, be reasonable,” he said, throwing his hands up. “Your mother is gone. Nothing we do can change that. But Daphne is still here, and she’s living through a nightmare. She’s scared, she’s hurting, and she’s spiraling.” His words cut through me like a physical blade. In his mind, he was a savior to the living. And in that grand, heroic narrative, minimizing my mother’s passing was a perfectly acceptable casualty. My father, unable to rest, wrapped his cardigan tighter around his shoulders and stepped into the living room. “Gideon has a point, Hazel. We have to care for the living,” Dad said, his eyes pleading with me to let it go. “Your mother… she was a kind soul. She wouldn’t want any bad blood over this. Don’t be difficult, sweetheart.” The more accommodating my father tried to be, the deeper the resentment burned in my chest. I stepped forward, gently but firmly pulling my father behind me. “Dad, Mom might have forgiven him,” I said, my voice echoing in the quiet room. “But I won’t.” Gideon’s jaw tightened. Before he could reply, his phone began to vibrate in his pocket. The screen lit up with FaceTime. Daphne. He answered it without hesitation. Daphne’s pale face appeared on the screen. She was sitting in a sterile hospital room, clutching the Saint Jude medallion tightly in her fingers. “Gideon,” she whispered, her voice cracking with tears. “The nurse said I can be admitted for observation tomorrow morning.” She sniffled, looking directly into the camera. “Can you come stay with me? I’m so scared to be alone in here.” Gideon shot me a defensive look, almost as if to spite me. “I’ll be right there.” He hung up and grabbed his coat from the rack. As he walked past the memorial table, his eyes fell on a worn, dark sandalwood rosary resting beside the candle. My mother had worn those beads around her wrist for as long as I could remember. After the funeral, Dad couldn’t bear to let them go, keeping them on the mantel as a physical piece of her presence. Gideon reached out and picked them up. “Daphne has a rough morning ahead. I’ll take these to help calm her nerves,” he said, slipping the rosary into his pocket as if it were a common trinket. “Your mother won’t be needing them anymore anyway.” I threw myself in front of the door, blocking his exit. “Put them back,” I whispered, my entire body shaking with fury. Gideon sighed, his expression hardening into pure impatience. “I’ll bring them back tomorrow, Hazel. I’m not going to lose them. She’s falling apart right now and needs something to ground her.” “That belonged to my mother!” My voice cracked. “You are taking my dead mother’s rosary to comfort your ex-girlfriend?” Gideon’s face darkened. “Do you have to make everything sound so ugly, Hazel? It’s a piece of wood. I can buy you ten identical ones tomorrow if it matters that much.” I let out a harsh, dry laugh. “Do you really think your money fixes everything, Gideon?” My father gently tugged at the hem of my shirt from behind. His hand was trembling violently. “It’s alright, Hazel,” Dad whispered, his eyes swimming with unshed tears. “Your mother was a generous woman. If it helps keep someone safe… she wouldn’t mind.” Taking advantage of my sudden hesitation, Gideon pushed past me and stepped out into the hallway. Before the elevator arrived, he turned to his assistant, who was waiting in the corridor. “Arrange for the most expensive floral wreaths and memorial donations to be sent here tomorrow. Make sure the vigil looks impeccable. I don’t want anyone whispering.” The heavy front door clicked shut. I stared at the empty space on the mantelpiece, and the tears finally spilled over. My phone rang. It was Simon. “Hazel, the Harrington family is planning to turn the vigil into a public relations stunt tomorrow,” his voice was quiet, filled with warning. “If you’re going to make a stand, don’t do it alone. I’ll be there.” After hanging up, I walked to my mother’s dresser and opened her jewelry box. Underneath her vintage brooches lay a small, folded piece of paper. She had written it in secret, right after receiving her terminal diagnosis. Her elegant handwriting was shaky, weakened by the illness: Hazel, my sweet girl, I know how deeply you feel things, and how often you bend to keep others happy. But if life ever becomes too heavy, remember that you have the right to choose your own path. We will always stand behind you, no matter what. I squeezed the note tightly in my fist. I understand, Mom. I’ve got it. By the next evening, my family’s old house was packed with guests. The Harringtons arrived with a massive entourage, turning a private mourning into a spectacle. My mother-in-law, Helena Harrington, sat regally in our old high-backed armchair, wearing a dark, custom-tailored charcoal silk dress. She didn’t look at my mother’s portrait once. “Hazel, we are all deeply saddened by your mother’s passing,” she began, her tone transactional as she sipped her tea. “But Gideon is facing a public relations nightmare online right now. You need to release a statement.” She set her cup down with a soft, deliberate click. “Whatever marital issues you have can be dealt with behind closed doors. We cannot have the family name dragged through the mud.” I stood by the altar, looking at her cold, manicured face. “And what exactly did he do that requires my defense, Helena?” Helena’s smile faded. “Just post a short update. Say that Gideon went to the sanctuary to pray for a dear family friend, and that your marriage is as solid as ever. Let everyone know that the rumors about his lack of respect for your mother are completely unfounded.” “Was it also an unfounded rumor when he refused to bow at her burial?” I asked, my voice deadly quiet. Helena’s expression hardened. “Gideon is a Harrington. His respect is not cheap, Hazel. Your mother was a retired high school teacher; she didn’t require that level of deference from him. Don’t let your family overreach.” In the corner of the room, my father’s shoulders flinched. He looked smaller than ever. A sudden commotion at the door interrupted us. A delivery courier walked in carrying a massive arrangement of white lilies. The card was signed by Daphne. I know Margaret would have understood Gideon’s kind heart in trying to save a life. I stared at the pristine white petals, a wave of nausea washing over me. She hadn’t even shown her face, yet she managed to twist Gideon’s performance of penance into a noble, heroic act of mercy. She was even using my dead mother to validate it. Helena nodded in approval. “You see? Even while battling an illness, Daphne knows how to show proper etiquette. Thomas, perhaps you should talk some sense into your daughter.” She turned her cold gaze directly toward my father. “Once a woman is married, she cannot keep bringing her family’s drama into her husband’s household.” My father stood up, looking utterly lost. He rubbed his worn hands together, his back hunched as he stepped toward Helena. “I… I apologize, Mrs. Harrington. Hazel is just emotional right now. We didn’t mean to cause any trouble for your family.” His voice was so low it was practically a whisper. I squeezed my hands so hard my knuckles turned white. Right then, Gideon’s phone rang again. He tapped the screen, and Daphne’s panicked voice echoed into the room. “Gideon… there are reporters and photographers outside my room. They’re shouting questions at me… I can’t leave. I’m terrified…” Gideon stood up instantly, grabbing his car keys. I took a step forward, blocking his path once more. “Today is my mother’s vigil, Gideon.” Gideon looked at me, his eyes wide with anxiety. “I know, Hazel. But Daphne is alone. She can’t handle a media frenzy by herself.” I pointed toward the corner of the room. “My father is alone, too.” Gideon’s jaw set into a cold line. And then he delivered the words that finally broke whatever was left of my heart: “Your father at least has you.” He stepped around me, his stride hurried and resolute as he headed for the door. He paused briefly at the threshold, reaching out to touch my arm, but I recoiled. “We’ll talk when I get back,” he muttered. He gestured to his assistant to handle the remaining guests and walked out without looking back. Simon entered the house just as the door closed. Ignoring the Harringtons entirely, he walked straight over to me and handed me his phone. On the screen was the official donor log of St. Jude’s Sanctuary. At the very top, under the most prominent prayer requests, was a line that stood out in bold print: Gideon Harrington offers penance and prayer for Daphne Coyle. May she find healing, safety, and a lifetime of peace. My father leaned in to read the screen. He stared at those words for a very long time. Slowly, the tension that had held his fragile shoulders upright for days simply collapsed. He didn’t make any more excuses for Gideon. He just turned around, looking at my mother’s portrait, and asked in a dry, raspy voice: “Hazel… when your mother passed, he wouldn’t kneel for her?” “But he knelt in the mud for someone else?” I looked at the tears spilling over his weathered cheeks and nodded slowly. My phone buzzed in my hand. A message from Gideon. The Harrington Group’s Anniversary Gala is tomorrow night. I need you by my side. Daphne will be there too—don’t make things difficult for her. The Harrington Group’s Gala was held in the grand ballroom of the Four Seasons. The room was a sea of silk, diamonds, and clinking champagne glasses. Shareholders, business partners, prominent media figures, and high-society regulars filled the space. Gideon, looking flawless in his custom tuxedo, stood near the entrance greeting guests. When he saw me walk in, the tension in his shoulders visibly eased. He assumed I was there to play my part, to keep up appearances. He had his assistant slide a folded piece of paper—a pre-written speech—into my hand. “Don’t be difficult tonight, Hazel,” he whispered, his voice low and commanding as he leaned in. “We have to protect the family name.” I squeezed the paper in my hand and said nothing. Midway through the evening, Daphne suddenly gasped, clutching her chest as she swayed on her feet. Gideon moved on pure instinct, rushing forward to catch her before she could fall. The host on stage, sensing the shift in the room, seamlessly adapted his script. “Tonight, our CEO also wishes to extend his deepest gratitude to a very special lifelong partner.” Gideon didn’t correct him. Instead, he guided Daphne to the head table, seating her directly in the chair that belonged to me. Meanwhile, a polite waiter escorted me to a quiet table near the back of the room. I sat in the shadows, watching the laughter and warm conversation flowing at the main table. Suddenly, my gaze locked onto Daphne’s wrist. There, wrapped around her pale arm, was the worn, dark sandalwood rosary Gideon had stolen from my mother’s altar the night before. I stood up, walked across the ballroom, and stopped directly in front of them. Gideon’s face went pale when he saw me standing there. “She was incredibly anxious tonight. I just let her wear them to ground herself,” he whispered quickly, trying to cut me off. I looked down at Daphne. “That belongs to my mother.” Daphne immediately slipped the beads off her wrist, her eyes welling with instant, delicate tears. “Hazel, I am so, so sorry,” she whimpered, her voice trembling. “I didn’t think your mother would mind…” She let the apology hang in the air, a subtle but sharp jab, dragging my deceased mother into her performance. Gideon stood up abruptly, shielding Daphne behind him. “Hazel, don’t do this here,” he hissed in a low, dangerous whisper. “Whatever you want to settle, we will do it at home.” I looked up at the face of the man I had loved for three years. “My mother’s dignity. How much is that worth to you, Gideon?” Gideon’s jaw went rigid. “Do you have to be so incredibly dramatic?” Helena stepped forward, holding her glass of champagne, her eyes drilling into me. “Hazel, you need to remember your place. Your presence at this gala is a privilege granted by the Harrington name.” I looked at her, and a laugh bubbled up in my chest—a sound so hollow it brought tears to my eyes. “And did your family offer my mother any dignity on the day we buried her?” The immediate area fell deathly quiet. I didn’t wait for her reply. I turned on my heel and walked directly onto the stage. Before the host could react, I took the microphone from his hand. I pulled the divorce papers from my purse and slammed them onto the podium. Then, I gave a brief nod to the AV booth at the back. Simon had taken care of the rest. The massive LED screens behind me flickered to life. Three things flashed in high-definition before the entire room: First, a screenshot of the official donor log from St. Jude’s Sanctuary. Second, a grainy video captured by a bystander showing Gideon Harrington on his knees in the pouring rain, dragging himself up ninety-nine stone steps. Third, a video from my mother’s funeral, showing Gideon standing stiffly by her casket, utterly refusing to bow his head. The videos looped, side by side. A suffocating silence descended upon the grand ballroom. I gripped the microphone, my voice steady, clear, and carrying to every corner of the room. “My mother loved Gideon Harrington like her own child. When she passed, he told me his dignity was too precious to bend for a stranger. But when Daphne Coyle was diagnosed with a benign tumor, he dragged his knees through the mud up ninety-nine stone steps.” I looked down at Gideon. His face was entirely devoid of color. “Gideon, I’m done fighting for a place in your life.” The room erupted. Camera flashes began to go off like lightning. Reporters pushed forward like sharks sensing blood in the water. Gideon panicked. He shoved his way through the crowd, stumbling toward the stage. “Hazel, please—listen to me, it’s not what you think…” I stepped back, away from him. As he reached the edge of the stage, his knees seemed to buckle beneath the sheer weight of the moment, dipping toward the floor. I looked at him and smiled softly, the feeling entirely gone from my heart. “We’re done, Gideon.”

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When the world ended, my entire family woke up with miracles in their veins. Everyone except me. To them, I was just dead weight, the only powerless one in a squad of elite survivors. But they didn’t know the truth. I wasn’t useless. I was the anchor—their living hotspot. Only within a five-hundred-yard radius of me could they wield their magnificent, terrifying gifts. Without me, they were as vulnerable as anyone else. So, I stayed glued to their side, never letting them out of my sight. And in return, believing I was a fragile, ordinary girl who needed constant protection, they held me close, keeping me safe like a precious secret. Until the day my brother pulled a girl out of a screaming horde of the infected. A girl who looked so much like my mother it made my breath hitch. That was the day I found out I was the imposter. The fake daughter switched at birth. Once she was brought back into the fold, she unlocked a rare space-manipulation ability, a pocket-dimension storage system that allowed her to stockpile endless supplies for the camp. But during our next scavenging run, she grabbed my arm, yanked me out of our defense circle, and threw me straight toward a grocery store crawling with the infected. “You’ve been playing princess in my house for twenty years, you useless leech!” she hissed, her voice dripping with venom. “Everyone else is out here bleeding, and you think you can just hide in the back and ride our coattails?” I broke free from her grip, desperate to make her understand. “I can’t go in there! If I die, your powers, all of them, they’ll—” I didn’t get to finish. I couldn’t even get the word vanish out of my mouth before the cold, heavy metal of a gun barrel pressed hard against my forehead. … “Go in, or I’ll blow your useless brains out right here.” Cassie’s voice was ice. Cold, calculated, and malicious. My scalp prickled. The terror of facing her gun was far worse than the mindless groans of the monsters lurking nearby. Go in empty-handed? She wasn’t just asking me to scavenge. She was executing me. And the people who had spent my entire life promising to protect me? They stood by, completely silent. Cassie had deliberately sent our parents and my brother to scout another block. Right now, there was no one to speak for me. Suddenly, a rusted piece of rebar, slick with dark, coagulated blood, was thrust into my line of vision. It was Jared Caldwell. He was the quiet one in our group. Silent, stoic, and completely powerless—just like me. “Take it,” Jared said, his voice low but steady. “Stay right behind me.” He didn’t have any powers either. He was just a normal guy, yet he was the only one brave enough to stand between me and a bullet. I managed a small, grateful smile, my fingers wrapping tightly around the cold iron. Seeing this, Cassie let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Look at that. The useless helping the useless. What is this, a tragic romance movie in the middle of the apocalypse?” She tapped the side of my face with the gun barrel, her lip curling. “You two trash bags really do belong together.” I grit my teeth, giving her one long, silent look. I couldn’t die. Not because I was afraid, but because the lives of everyone in this camp—including hers—were tethered to my heartbeat. The supermarket entrance loomed before us like the open maw of some sleeping beast. Clutching my makeshift weapon, I followed Jared into the shadows. The stench of rot was thick enough to taste. Between the towering metal shelves, dark silhouettes drifted, emitting low, guttural clicks. We moved cautiously toward the canned goods. Suddenly, a tiny metallic clink echoed through the aisle. A single brass bullet casing rolled across the floor, stopping right at my feet. Cassie had thrown it. Groooaaarrr— The sound broke the silence, and a snarling shape lunged from the darkness directly at my throat! My heart hammered against my ribs. Adrenaline taking over, I swung the rebar with everything I had, driving the jagged tip straight into the creature’s milky eye. As I yanked it free, three more emerged from the shadows, snapping their jaws. Jared didn’t hesitate. He stepped in, his back pressed against mine. Together, we swung, stabbed, and fought, our movements falling into a desperate, rhythmic dance of survival. Meanwhile, Cassie walked behind us like she was on a Sunday stroll, shielded by a ring of our family’s elite guards. With a casual wave of her hand, she swept canned soup, boxed rice, and dry goods into her pocket dimension. Holding a lavender-scented handkerchief to her nose, she scoffed. “Hurry up! This is why normal people are such a drag. An evolved human could clear this room with a flick of their wrist, and you two are taking all day.” By the time we finally cleared the aisle, the shelves were completely bare. Our own backpacks held nothing but a few pitiful sleeves of hardtack crackers. Then, Cassie’s eyes locked onto a heavy, bolted metal door at the back of the store. “The main warehouse,” she whispered, her eyes lighting up with greed. Without a second thought, she reached for the handle. “Don’t open it!” I screamed, a cold dread seizing my chest. But it was too late. She yanked the heavy door open. A foul, humid wind rushed out, and with it, a massive, mutated hound—shaggy, blood-matted, and twice the size of a wolf. Cassie shrieked. But instead of running, she reached out, grabbed my shoulder, and pulled me violently in front of her to block the attack. My pupils dilated. Time slowed down. I could see the yellowed, serrated teeth of the beast inches from my neck. Then, a brilliant flash of purple lightning cut through the gloom, striking the beast directly on its skull. The hound collapsed, instantly charred to ash. It was my brother, Brody. I turned around, gasping for air, only to see Cassie throwing herself into Brody’s arms, sobbing hysterically. “It’s her fault! The useless thing… she was running around like a headless chicken, she almost got me killed!” Brody stroked her hair, his eyes softening as he murmured, “I’m here, Cassie. You’re safe now. Don’t cry.” But when his eyes shifted to me, the warmth vanished, replaced by a gaze as cold as winter stone. “If I had been a second later, Cassie would have been torn apart.” “Gwen, I don’t ever want to see you pull a stunt like this again.” By then, our parents had rushed in, panic written all over their faces. My mother grabbed Cassie’s hands, checking her for scratches, before immediately casting a shimmering, iridescent kinetic shield around her. My father, without saying a word, channeled his healing light over Cassie’s body, even though she didn’t have a single scratch on her skin. Only when they were absolutely certain their precious biological daughter was unharmed did they turn their attention to me. Not with worry. With disgust. My mother looked at my blood-spattered, disheveled clothes and sighed, her voice tight with anger. “If you don’t have powers, Gwen, you need to stay locked up in the safe zone. Stop coming out here and making a mess of things!” “Cassie spent twenty years suffering in the slums because of a hospital mistake. I will not let her get hurt. Not even a little.” My father frowned, letting out a long, heavy sigh. “Gwen… to make sure you learn your lesson this time, I won’t be healing your cuts. Maybe a little pain will teach you some respect.” I opened my mouth, the truth burning at the back of my throat. I wanted to scream it at them. But I knew it wouldn’t matter. From the moment Cassie stepped through our door, their hearts had completely shifted. Whenever Cassie shed a single tear, they would look at me with silent guilt, asking me to give her my bedroom, my favorite sweaters, my share of the fresh milk. I had been relegated to a damp, drafty apartment on the outermost edge of our compound, while Cassie took three-hour hot baths in a world where water was more precious than gold. Even this dangerous scavenging run was put together just because Cassie wanted to find some high-end designer makeup. They called it compensation. My fingers tightened around my palm, where the hard brass bullet casing Cassie had thrown was biting into my skin. I had loved them. I had considered them my flesh and blood. But Cassie wanted me dead, and they were letting her do it. Seeing the family rally around her, Cassie’s face twisted into a smug, triumphant grin. She tilted her head, pointing a manicured finger at my dusty backpack. “Hand over everything you scavenged. It belongs in my space.” I froze, my face pale. “I fought for these… Jared and I nearly died for these crackers…” “And?” Cassie sneered, laughing as if I’d said something hilarious. “You lived high on the hog under the Galloway name for twenty years. You stole my life. You stole my parents. What’s a few packets of crackers compared to that?” “This isn’t a tax, Gwen. This is back-payment.” “You’re a parasite who took over my nest. It’s time you paid me back.” Her words were sharp, her hatred raw and suffocating. Brody pinched the bridge of his nose, looking at me with a tired, dismissive expression. “Gwen, please. The mix-up at the hospital is a sore spot for Cassie. Just let her have the backpack.” Without waiting for my answer, he reached over, unclipped my pack, and tossed it at Cassie’s feet. Cassie looked inside, wrinkling her nose at the cheap crackers. “Is this it? Gosh, normal people really are pathetic.” Brody ruffled her hair, his voice dripping with affection. “Don’t let it ruin your day, kiddo. Come on, let’s go find that perfume you wanted.” As their backs retreated down the aisle, I stood frozen in the dark, my chest feeling as though it were filling with lead. During our afternoon break, neither Jared nor I were given any rations. Exhausted, bruised, and lightheaded from hunger, I could feel my vision swimming. Since all our food was locked away in Cassie’s pocket dimension, I forced myself to stand up and walk toward the trucks to find her. But as I approached Brody’s armored SUV, I stopped. Cassie was sitting in the passenger seat, taking a bite out of a crisp, red apple, her fingers playfully tugging at Brody’s sleeve. “Brody, you’re just too soft on her,” she pouted. “Gwen has no power, and she’s a magnet for trouble. Keeping a parasite like her around is just a waste of good food. When the real hordes hit us, she’s going to get us all killed.” Brody chuckled, flicking her forehead affectionately. “She might be useless, Cassie, but she hasn’t done anything unforgivable yet. I can’t just dump her on the side of the road.” Useless. The word felt like a physical weight, pressing down on my lungs. A wave of nausea washed over me. Not from hunger, but from pure, unadulterated disgust. On the very first day of the outbreak, we were all just terrified human beings. My parents and Brody had been cornered in our driveway by a dozen snarling, flesh-eating monsters. They had been paralyzed, screaming, unable to even run. I was the one who grabbed a shovel, screamed at the top of my lungs, and drew the pack away from them. I ran until my lungs burned, dodging teeth and claws by mere inches. It was in that terrifying moment of life and death that a strange, humming warmth had bloomed deep inside my chest. I had unlocked my gift. And at that exact second, my parents and Brody felt their own powers ignite. My mother raised her hands and conjured a shimmering, impenetrable shield, stopping a lunging zombie inches from my face. My brother summoned a web of crackling purple electricity, frying the monsters in an instant. My father ran to me, his hands glowing with a warm, soothing light that closed my scrapes. That night, they had clung to me, weeping, asking me what magnificent power I had received. When I told them my power didn’t let me throw fire or lightning—that I was just a living generator, a “hotspot” that allowed their powers to exist—they had laughed, hugging me tightly. “It doesn’t matter if you can’t fight, Gwen,” they had whispered. “We will protect you forever.” Their love back then had been real. Their disgust now was just as real. Suddenly, a dark, wrapped square appeared in front of my face. “Eat it,” Jared whispered. “It’s still sealed.” My heart swelled. A chocolate bar in this barren wasteland was worth its weight in gold. I shook my head, pushing his hand away. “I can’t take your food, Jared.” But Jared was stubborn. He pressed it firmly into my hand, his dark eyes fierce with sincerity. “It was always yours.” “A year ago, when I was starving in the outer sector, you gave me half your sandwich. All I had left was this chocolate bar. I saved it for you.” I stared at him, my throat tightening. Then, a soft, genuine smile broke through my exhaustion. I tore the wrapper, snapped the bar perfectly in half, and handed one piece back to him. “We share.” But before our fingers could touch, a sharp hand smacked the chocolate out of my grip. Cassie’s shrill voice cut through the air like a siren. “Gwen! How dare you steal from our supply cache!” The chocolate landed in the dirt, covered in gray dust. I slowly stood up, looking straight into her eyes. “I didn’t steal anything. If anything, you’re the one who withheld our lunch.” Cassie sneered, her voice rising to make sure the entire camp could hear. “You contribute absolutely nothing to this squad, Gwen. Why on earth should you get fed?” Her shouting quickly drew a crowd. The other combatants and scavengers began to gather around us. Cassie picked up the dirty chocolate wrapper and held it high above her head. “Look at this, everyone! She thinks because she was raised a Galloway, she can just leech off us forever. And now, she’s stealing premium rations from our vault to feed her little stray dog!” The crowd erupted. “Seriously? Stealing from the vault? That is so cheap!” “I’ve been sick of Gwen for months. She’s the only one who gets a free ride while the rest of us risk our necks!” “Cassie is the real Galloway, and her pocket dimension keeps this entire camp alive!” “Gwen is just a charity case. An ungrateful parasite. We should kick her out!” “Yeah! Exile her!” The sea of angry faces parted as three familiar figures pushed their way to the front. My mother’s eyes were red, looking at me with a mixture of shame and fury. “You’re fighting with Cassie over some useless boy? You are dragging our family name through the dirt, Gwen!” My father stepped in front of Cassie, his face hard with disappointment. “Ever since Cassie came back, you’ve turned into a bitter, jealous stranger, Gwen. You hate that she’s our flesh and blood, and you hate that she has a real gift.” Brody’s face was like granite, his tone icy. “We never held your lack of power against you, Gwen. But stealing from the camp’s survival reserve is where I draw the line.” “The people want you gone, and honestly, I can’t blame them.” My heart didn’t just break; it froze over. So this was my “unforgivable crime”? I let out a soft, dry laugh. “Exile me?” I raised my head, letting my gaze sweep over the angry crowd, finally resting on the cold, indifferent faces of the family I had loved for twenty years. “If I leave, you will regret it. Every single one of you.” “The moment I walk away, those magnificent powers you’re so proud of? They will vanish. Completely.” For a second, there was silence. Then, the Galloways burst out laughing. My mother’s face was filled with mockery. “Vanish? Gwen, listen to yourself. You have officially lost your mind. You are a powerless, ordinary girl.” My father shook his head in disgust. “You would make up a pathetic lie like that just to keep your warm bed?” Brody’s eyes held no warmth, his voice dropping to a freezing whisper. “Get out.” “Don’t make me drag you out myself.” To emphasize his point, he drew his sidearm, pointing the dark, hollow barrel of his pistol straight at my head. At that exact moment, a blood-curdling roar ripped through the trees. The ground began to vibrate. “Oh god! It’s a Goliath class!” someone screamed. “An alpha zombie! It’s leading a horde right to us!” Brody’s face paled. He immediately turned to the squad. “Fall back! Defensive positions, now!” A sea of gray, rotting bodies began to pour over the ridge. In the ensuing chaos, Cassie’s face twisted with pure malice. She subtly stuck her foot out, trying to trip me into the path of the oncoming stampede. But she was too eager. Her foot caught my ankle at an awkward angle, causing her to lose her balance and face-plant hard into the dirt. To my parents and Brody, who had only seen the sudden movement, it looked like I had shoved her. “Gwen! How dare you hurt Cassie!” Brody roared, his face contorted with rage. He lunged forward and kicked me hard in the ribs, sending me sprawling. Screeech— The alpha zombie was almost upon us, its towering, mutated frame shadowing the clearing. With a ruthless glint in his eyes, Brody drew a hunting knife from his belt and sliced it clean across my left wrist. “Since you’re so eager to kill, you can be useful for once. Distract the alpha. Bleed for us.” The thick, metallic scent of fresh blood immediately filled the air. Brody gave me a violent shove, throwing me directly into the path of the towering monster. The roaring horde closed in around me, swallowing me whole. My parents didn’t even look back. Only Jared went wild, trying to break through the line of guards to reach me. “Gwen!” he screamed, his voice cracking with desperation. As the monsters closed in, I screamed back, “Jared, run! Don’t look back!” Surrounded by teeth, claws, and the stench of death, a sudden, violent surge of heat exploded from the depths of my soul. My hidden gift—the dormant, quiet anchor inside me—didn’t just activate. It evolved. I looked through the gaps in the rotting bodies, my eyes locking onto the retreating figures of the three Galloways, who were desperately shielding Cassie as they ran. A parasite? A useless normal? No. Without me, you are the powerless ones. “Since you no longer choose to be my family,” I whispered, the words tasting like iron, “I am taking back everything I ever gave you.”

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I was serving dinner when my son accidentally knocked his bowl of soup onto the floor. He stood there, shivering violently, not daring to look at me. “What are you crying for? You can’t even hold a bowl of soup steady. You’re just as useless as your father!” “Why did I even give birth to you? You’re nothing but a drag!” 1 I stood with my hands on my hips, my voice shrill enough to pierce the thin walls of our damp, hundred-and-fifty-square-foot basement apartment. Jude’s hand froze on the doorknob. He was holding a plastic bag of marked-down bread, his knuckles white from the strain. He looked at me, then down at Sammy, who was shivering on the floor. The dark pools of Jude’s eyes clouded over with a heavy, painful shadow. “Maeve…” his voice was raw, barely a whisper. “Listen to him. He’s only six.” “So what if he’s six?” I sneered, slamming my hand onto the rickety wooden table. “Six years old and he still doesn’t know how to walk on eggshells? He’ll end up just like you, starving to death in this rat hole!” Jude lowered his gaze. He didn’t say a word. He walked over, knelt down, and used his sleeve to wipe the tears from Sammy’s face. The cuff of his shirt was frayed, washed out to a pale gray. “Daddy,” Sammy whimpered, “I’m hungry…” “Daddy will get you something,” Jude said, pulling a crumpled twenty-dollar bill from his pocket. It was what he had earned this afternoon hauling upright pianos at the music shop. After cleaning up the mess on the floor, he glanced at me one last time. There is no anger in his eyes—just a crushing, suffocating exhaustion. He patted Sammy gently on the back and walked out the door. The moment the door clicked shut, my knees buckled. I slid down and collapsed onto the linoleum floor. In my head, the System’s electronic voice went off like confetti cannons. [Incredible! Absolutely villainous! The male lead’s Heartbreak Index is off the charts!] [Reward of $15,000 has been deposited! Next mission preview: Kick the male lead out on a freezing winter night. Let him catch a raging fever in the cold so he can cross paths with the destined Female Lead in his deepest despair!] I took a slow, shaking breath. This job paid well, but it was soul-crushing. Every time I completed a mission, my conscience took a brutal beating. Now that Jude was gone, Sammy instantly dropped the act. The trembling, pitiful little boy disappeared. “Mom,” he said, sitting cross-legged in front of me like a tiny, critical director. “That last line—’starving to death in this rat hole’—the delivery was great. Solid nine out of ten. But that ‘dead weight’ bit at the beginning? You hesitated. It felt a little forced.” “Oh, really? You want to try being the bad guy?” “I can’t,” he said, throwing his little hands up. “I’m cast as the victim. But hey, when Daddy hugged me just now, I wiped some spit and snot on his shoulder to make it look more realistic.” I silently pulled out fifteen hundred dollars from my stash and handed him his cut. He scoots over, slides the money into a metal cookie tin hidden beneath the bed, and peeks back out. “Mom, can I get a little extra this time? I want to buy Daddy a nice pair of work gloves. His hands are all cracked from moving those pianos.” “No,” I said, keeping my face stern. “A ninety-ten split. That was the deal we made.” “Gotta teach financial literacy early, right?” He pouted, but then pulled a few bills from his own stack and pressed them into my palm. “You buy them then, Mom. You have better taste anyway.” I held the crumpled cash, a sudden lump forming in my throat. The cookie tin held Sammy’s “acting fees.” We put on these cruel dramas to trigger the System’s rewards, then pool the money to buy Jude pain-relief patches, knee braces, and the expensive stomach medicine he refused to buy for himself. Three months ago, I woke up with this entity in my head. It told me I was the “evil ex-wife” in a classic redemption romance novel. My job was to abuse the fallen male lead, Jude, and his son, until the gentle female lead appeared to save them. Then, I was supposed to run off with whatever money I could steal, leaving them to suffer in poverty until she healed their broken hearts. My first instinct was to tear the System apart. But then we negotiated. It agreed to pay me a hefty cash reward for every “cruelty mission” I successfully completed. I did the math. Jude’s hands had been severely injured years ago when his family went bankrupt, and now hauling pianos left him in agonizing pain every night. Sammy was severely malnourished, a head shorter than other kids his age. And we were living in a basement where black mold crept up the walls. Between playing the villain and ensuring they actually survived, I chose a third path. I played the cruel stepmother, Sammy played the abused child, and we split the profits, secretly using the money to keep Jude alive. “By the way, Mom,” Sammy says, shoving the tin back under the bed. “When Daddy picked me up from school yesterday, he stood outside the pharmacy for a long time. He didn’t go in. His stomach must be hurting again.” “I know.” I reached under my pillow, pulled out my phone, and ordered stomach medicine and heating patches. “Later, pretend you’re going out to play. Grab the package from the Amazon locker and tell him… tell him you found it.” “Ah, the classic ‘I found it on the street’ routine,” Sammy rolled his eyes. “Mom, can we get a more challenging script next time?” I ruffled his messy hair. “We’ll see.” 2 The next mission from the System came fast. [Major Winter Heartbreak! Kick the male lead out of the house. Force him to spend the night under a bridge in twenty-degree weather. Once his fever hits 104, the Female Lead will make her grand entrance and nurse him back to health!] [Reward: $30,000!] That night, a brutal blizzard hit the city. There is no heating in our basement. Even wrapped in our thin blankets, I could see my own breath puffing into white clouds. Jude sat at the edge of the mattress, studying an old sheet music score under the dim glow of a cheap desk lamp. It was a piece he wrote years ago. Once, his only dream was to be a concert pianist. But when his family’s business collapsed, he lost the means to play, and those compositions became nothing more than useless scraps of paper. I took a deep breath and picked up a basin of cold soapy water. “Jude,” I said, stepping over. “You were twenty minutes late tonight. The soup is ice cold.” He looked up, dark bags weighing heavily under his eyes. “The shop had a last-minute delivery.” “A last-minute delivery?” I let out a mocking laugh. “Does a last-minute delivery pay an extra twenty bucks? Does it put real food on your son’s plate?” “Maeve…” “Don’t say my name!” I raised my voice, making sure it carried. “I must have been blind to marry you. From a brownstone to a basement, from a pianist to a glorified mover. Jude, this is all you’ll ever be. Just accept it!” He pressed his lips together, his jaw clenching tight. I steeled my heart, raising the basin, and threw the water directly at his chest. The cold water drenched his shirt instantly, sticking to his skin. He shivered violently, but he didn’t flinch. He didn’t move. “Get out!” I pointed to the door. “I can’t stand the sight of you. Go freeze your head and think about what a pathetic failure you are!” Jude slowly stood up. Water dripped from his collarbone, splashing onto the floor. He looked at me for what feels like an eternity. His gaze was so intense, so dark, it felt like he was trying to etch my face into his memory. “Okay,” he said quietly. Just one word. Soft, but so heavy it made my chest ache. He turned and grabbed the thin jacket draped over the chair. It was a jacket I secretly bought for him, lined with a hidden down layer I had hand-stitched inside. To him, though, I had claimed it was just a cheap rag I found in a donation bin. He opened the door, and the freezing wind and snow howled inside. Sammy poked his head out of the covers. I gave him a quick nod. He caught on instantly. He jumped out of bed barefoot, crying out as he threw himself toward the door. “Daddy! Daddy, don’t go! Mom, please don’t make him leave!” Jude’s silhouette froze in the doorway. He turned around. Sammy clung to his leg, sobbing hysterically. “Daddy, it’s too cold outside! You’ll freeze!” The crying sounded so painfully real. For a second, even I couldn’t tell if he was acting. Jude kneeled down, using his wet sleeve to wipe Sammy’s face. “Be good, Sammy. Daddy’s just going out for a little bit. Just a little bit.” “You’re lying!” Sammy buried his face in Jude’s neck. “You’re not coming back! Mom says you’re useless and you can’t afford to keep us, so you’re going to abandon me!” My heart twisted violently. Sammy and I usually go over our scripts before every scene. But this line… I never wrote this line. Jude was trembling. He pulled his son close, his voice cracking. “Daddy will never abandon you. Never.” He looked up at me one last time. There was no hatred in his eyes. Only a silent, desperate plea. A quiet, humbling prayer that said: “Don’t do this. At least not in front of our son.” I turned my face away, forcing my voice to sound like ice. “Take your little drama outside. Don’t ruin my night.” Jude stood, gently nudging Sammy back into the room, and quietly closed the door behind him. The howling wind was instantly cut off. Sammy’s tears stopped on a dime. He wiped his face, ran to the small basement window, and stood on his tiptoes to peer out. “Mom, Daddy’s heading toward the highway overpass.” I grabbed the backpack I had prepared hours ago. Inside was a thick fleece blanket, a thermos filled with hot ginger tea, some over-the-counter fever reducers, and hand warmers. “Lock the door behind me. Don’t open it for anyone. I’m going to drop this off. Stay warm.” “Got it,” Sammy climbed back into bed. “I know the drill.” I pulled on my mask and beanie, slipping out the back door. The snow was falling hard now. Jude’s figure was just a tiny speck beneath the streetlights. He walked slowly, stopping occasionally to cough. Even with the extra insulation I sewed in, that jacket was barely enough for a night like this. I took a shortcut to the overpass, hiding the backpack behind a stack of abandoned concrete slabs in the darkest corner. Then, I hid inside a large, rusted drainage pipe nearby, watching him walk in. He stood in the darkness for a long time, then slowly slid down against the concrete wall, pulling his knees to his chest. He looked so small. Like a child abandoned by the entire world. I bit down on my hand to keep from sobbing out loud. Jude sat there for about ten minutes before he noticed something. He reached behind the concrete slab and froze. He pulled out the thick blanket. He stared at it for a long, silent moment, then felt the warmth of the thermos. And then, he did something that made the blood run cold in my veins—he raised his head and looked directly at the drainage pipe where I was hiding.

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Ever since Wesley and I got together, I became the textbook definition of the perfectly devoted girlfriend. My best friend, Victoria, always used to scold me for it. “A woman needs her own ambition, Mallory. What’s the point of clinging to a man like a lapdog all day?” “Wesley used to be a serial player. You think he hasn’t seen women bend over backward for him before?” “You need to use your own magnetism to keep him hooked, otherwise, he’s going to get lured away by someone else sooner or later.” I would just smile, nod, and carefully place the perfectly peeled shrimp into the bento box I was packing for Wesley’s lunch. Victoria would sigh, looking at me with absolute devastation. “You really have zero self-respect. What on earth makes that walking red flag good enough for you?” Victoria had an incredible career and razor-sharp competence; she was the undeniable main character of her own life. Naturally, she harbored a deep-seated contempt for Wesley and his endless history of casual flings. I, on the other hand, was painfully ordinary. It had taken me five grueling years to finally win Wesley over, and I counted my lucky stars every single day. Then came my birthday. Wesley took a phone call, claimed there was an absolute emergency at the office, and rushed out the door so fast he left his apartment keys sitting on the coffee table. I grabbed the keys and chased after him. Only to stumble upon them in the dimly lit alley right below our apartment building. Victoria had her arms hooked tightly around Wesley’s neck. They were kissing, utterly lost in each other. I stood frozen for a long moment. Then, in the silence, I quietly tossed the keys in my hand into the rusted trash can by the curb. 1 The keys hit the bottom of the empty metal bin with a dull, hollow “clack”. Under the sickly yellow glow of the streetlamp, the two embraced figures jolted apart and turned toward the sound. The second Wesley saw me, he shoved Victoria away in a sheer panic. The blood drained from his face, leaving behind an unfiltered, raw terror that he couldn’t mask. “Mallory? What are you doing down here?” The biting wind of early winter slashed through my clothes, sinking straight into my bones. My body began to violently tremble. It felt as if every inch of my skin had been instantaneously stripped of its warmth. I rubbed my freezing hands together and managed to mumble, “Nothing. Just came down to grab something from the bodega.” My mind was a sprawling expanse of static. It was as if the cold had frozen my ability to process complex thought. Victoria casually lifted a thumb to the corner of her mouth, wiping away the lipstick Wesley had smudged. A sharp, breathy laugh slipped past her lips. “Mallory, you’re still as terrible a liar as ever. Look at you, stiff as a board. It’s so unnatural.” “You were just keeping a tight leash on Wesley, right? Checking up on him. It’s fine, it’s just who you are.” I squeezed my numb fingers into fists, my nails digging into my palms. My lips parted, but not a single sound came out. What was I supposed to say? My best friend of over a decade was standing in an alley with the boyfriend I had chased for five years. She looked so poised, so brazenly unapologetic, that it almost made “me” feel like the one who had done something wrong. Victoria playfully punched Wesley’s arm, her tone teetering between teasing and scolding. “Wesley, you really don’t know your own strength when you’re going at it, do you? You completely ruined my makeup!” Wesley frowned, swatting her hand away with aggressive discomfort. “Enough, Victoria! Shut up.” Victoria suddenly giggled, the sound sharp and bright in the quiet alley. “Oh, Wesley, why are you in such a rush to push me away? Are you worried Mallory is going to care?” She turned her gaze to me. “This is nothing. Mallory won’t make a fuss over a little thing like this. Besides, now that she knows, it just means we don’t have to hide it anymore, right?” She looked at me, her smile easy, her voice carrying that familiar, effortless cadence she always used with me. “Mallory, I know exactly how much you love Wesley. You aren’t going to hold this against us, are you?” Back in high school, whenever I encountered a math problem I couldn’t solve, I would take it to Victoria. She was so brilliant, so capable; it only ever took her a few sentences to point out the core of the issue. And then, with that exact same effortless cadence, she would ask, “Mallory, this equation is simple. You won’t mess it up again, will you?” But right now, standing in the freezing cold, I couldn’t bring myself to nod like I did when we were kids. My facial muscles were so paralyzed I couldn’t even force the corners of my mouth into a grateful smile. Wesley stepped forward and grabbed my hands. He looked me up and down, a deep frown creasing his forehead. “Mallory, even if you don’t trust me, how could you run out here without a coat?” “If you catch a chill, you’re going to be up all night with a fever again.” He stripped off his heavy parka and draped it over my shoulders, meticulously zipping it up to my chin. I had picked out that heavy winter coat for him myself. Premium goose down, designed to keep out the chill even in sub-zero temperatures. Yet, standing at the mouth of that alley, enveloped in his coat, my hands continued to shake uncontrollably. I took a deep, jagged breath and pulled my hands out of his grasp. Then, I willed my stiff, frozen legs to move. And I ran. Look at me. I really was this pathetic. No matter how hard I tried, I could never handle a situation with the effortless grace Victoria possessed. Aside from fleeing, my brain couldn’t formulate a single method of survival. I heard Wesley shout my name behind me, his footsteps starting to follow. But I didn’t want to see his face. Not even for a second. I slammed the apartment door shut, locking Wesley and his desperate calls out in the hallway. He stood on the other side of the wood, his voice muffled but frantic. “Mallory, you have to believe me. I promised you I wouldn’t mess around with other women anymore, and I meant it!” “Just open the door, baby. We can talk about this. Please!” I sat alone in the dark living room, staring blankly at the birthday cake on the dining table. My mind was a chaotic hive, buzzing so loudly I thought I might go deaf. I didn’t know how much time passed before the noise outside the door finally ceased. Wesley must have realized he didn’t have his keys and eventually gave up on knocking. The lavish feast I had spent hours cooking had gone entirely cold. When he had told me he’d be free to celebrate my birthday with me, I had been over the moon. I had woken up at dawn to prep all his favorite dishes. Like a ghost, I picked up my chopsticks, grabbed a piece of the spicy Cajun chicken I had made, and placed it in my mouth. The moment the spices hit the back of my throat, a violent coughing fit seized me. Right at that moment, someone knocked on the front door again. A stranger’s voice called out, “Delivery for this unit!” I practically leaped to my feet and threw the door open. Only to find myself face-to-face with Victoria’s beaming, unbothered smile. “Hey, Mal! Wesley had an emergency and had to run back to the office, so I came over to celebrate your birthday with you!” 2 The delivery driver standing behind Victoria awkwardly shoved a paper bag into my hands. He glanced at Victoria, then at me, and offered a polite smile. “Happy birthday, ma’am! You’ve got a really great friend here.” With that, he hurried off down the hall. Victoria cheerfully draped an arm around my stiff shoulders. “Open it, Mal! Let’s see if you like your gift.” I looked down. Inside the delivery bag was the exact bottle of designer perfume I had mentioned to her in passing a month ago. Under normal circumstances, I would have smiled, told her I loved it, and kissed her on the cheek. But right now, there wasn’t a single drop of joy left in my barren heart. I looked up, locking onto Victoria’s face. Without thinking, the question slipped out. “Why are you doing this?” Her smile faltered for a fraction of a second before she casually patted my shoulder. Her tone was breezy, light as air. “You know me, Mal. My career is the focal point of my life. Sleeping with guys is just how I relieve the pressure.” “You’re always going on and on about how good Wesley is to you, how attentive he is. I guess I was just a little curious. I’ve never actually tried a guy like him before.” “And I have to say, he’s probably the best I’ve ever had. Especially when we did it in his office. You can’t even imagine how good it is for stress relief.” “You’ve got decent taste, Mallory. I’ll give you that.” My hand trembled. The paper bag slipped through my fingers. “Crash.” The sharp, distinct sound of the glass perfume bottle shattering against the hardwood floor echoed in the quiet apartment. I had always known Victoria and I viewed the world differently. She was incredibly open and transactional when it came to men. If she wanted someone, she got him. But none of her relationships ever lasted, and she honestly couldn’t care less. To her, men fell into one of two categories: professional rivals, or objects for physical release. I had always assumed Wesley fell into the first category for her. They were both fiercely ambitious, undeniably arrogant people. It made sense that they naturally rubbed each other the wrong way. But I had forgotten a crucial detail: because they were both so exceptional, they were the ones who truly understood each other. Victoria bent down, glancing at the dripping paper bag with a sigh of pity. “You’re always so clumsy. It’s fine, I’ll buy you another bottle tomorrow.” The faint, elegant floral scent of the ruined perfume filled the air, thick and cloying. A wave of nausea surged from my stomach to my throat. I closed my eyes, my voice coming out like sandpaper. “Don’t bother. I don’t want it.” Victoria narrowed her eyes just a fraction. “Mallory, you aren’t actually going to throw a tantrum and ruin our friendship over a man, are you?” “I let it slide when you act like his personal maid, trailing behind him and pouring his coffee, but if you’re actually going to get mad at me over him, I’m not going to tolerate it.” I shook my head slowly, offering her the only truth I had left. “I don’t know.” Everything had happened too fast. My painfully average brain was short-circuiting under the weight of it all. Victoria used to tell me how much she despised men with heavy romantic baggage. She swore that if she ever settled down, it would be with a guy who had a clean slate, someone who only had eyes for her. Because of that, she always treated Wesley with thinly veiled disdain. She never gave him the time of day when we hung out. She called him a “walking red flag.” He called her an “ice queen.” Even when we shared a dinner table, the two of them would trade subtle, barbed insults disguised as conversation. I was always the peacekeeper, caught in the middle, smoothing things over and defending them to each other. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine they would end up in bed together. Victoria let out a bright, radiant laugh, as if a massive weight had been lifted from her shoulders. “I knew it. You’re the best, Mal.” “You mentioned you wanted to marry him, that you were planning to take him back home to meet your parents. I promise I won’t steal your husband.” “But you know how many women he’s been with. His body is never going to be exclusively yours. We’ve both just been so overwhelmed with work lately, we wanted the thrill of something new. Neither of us took it seriously.” Her mouth kept moving, forming words, but my eyes drifted to the Chanel handbag slung over her shoulder. Hanging from the strap was a small, plush leather sheep charm with a little pink bow. It looked utterly ridiculous against the sleek, elegant leather of the bag. But the problem was, I had seen an almost identical sheep charm—this one with a blue bowtie—stuffed inside Wesley’s luggage. It was blindingly obvious they were a matching set. About a year ago, Wesley had returned from a business trip in Europe. I was unpacking his bags when the little plush toy fell out of a side pocket. Since he was never the type to buy cute trinkets, I had casually asked him about it. Wesley had given a nonchalant shrug. “A client’s kid was obsessed with them. I ended up getting roped into buying one.” His tone had been so fond yet exasperated, making it sound like an endearing inconvenience. I hadn’t thought twice about it. I believed him completely. But seeing the pink one now, an entire year’s worth of tiny, overlooked details suddenly slammed into place. How Victoria, who supposedly hated Wesley, would always bring his favorite artisanal chili crisp when she came over. How Wesley, when complaining about how annoying Victoria was, would perfectly omit the hazelnut syrup from the coffee order because he somehow knew she was violently allergic. And how, when Victoria came with me to drop off lunch at his office, the receptionist had greeted both me “and” Victoria by name. I had foolishly smiled at Wesley back then and said, “Wow, your front desk staff is amazing. They even remember Victoria.” Victoria had pinched my cheek, laughing. “I’m your best friend, Mal. Of course they remember me.” And Wesley had smiled that easy smile of his, saying it was just standard protocol. I had been so busy happily unpacking his lunch that I completely missed the dark, electric undercurrent passing between them. Every single memory was a dull blade sawing against my ribs. Staring into Victoria’s beautiful, clear eyes, I forced out every word with deliberate precision. “Leave. I don’t want to celebrate my birthday.” 3 Victoria’s perfectly arched brows drew together. She was visibly displeased. “Mallory, you—” Before she could finish, her cell phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID, and the irritation vanished from her face instantly. She answered it. “Wesley, I thought you had a work emergency? Why are you calling me?” “Well, perfect timing. Your girlfriend is throwing a tantrum. You need to talk her down.” A beat later, Victoria’s eyes slid over to me. Lazy. Triumphant. She said, “Mal, Wesley wants to talk to you.” Before I could even agree or object, she put the phone on speaker. His deep, magnetic voice filled the room. “Mallory, look, I know you’re upset, but it’s not what you think.” “A few weeks ago, Victoria was getting pressured to drink by some aggressive clients at a dinner. I couldn’t just sit there and watch, so I stepped in. I took her home, and things just got a little blurred…” Victoria rolled her eyes, letting out a soft scoff. “Mallory, you know I deleted every other girl from my phone the day we started dating. But she’s your best friend. I couldn’t just abandon her.” A fiery, suffocating rage erupted in my chest. My breathing turned ragged. Right. The love of my life slept with my best friend to “save” her. What a noble, perfectly rational excuse. Just last night, as we lay in bed, I had been describing my dream wedding to him. He had held me so tenderly, whispering softly against my ear, “Whatever you want, baby. As long as I get to marry you, I don’t care what the wedding looks like.” He had nuzzled his face into my neck, his hair tickling my skin until I laughed. “I’m so lucky to have you,” he had murmured. “I don’t know who else in the world would ever treat me as well as you do.” His words had been so poetic, so deeply affectionate. They had made me laugh with pure, unadulterated happiness. And now, their utter shamelessness was making me laugh all over again. “Wesley, I threw your keys in the garbage. Don’t bother coming back.” The nausea sitting heavy at the back of my throat threatened to spill over. I gripped my hands so tightly my nails broke the skin, using the physical pain to keep from throwing up. Wesley let out a heavy sigh, his tone shifting into tired condescension. “Can you just stop acting crazy for one second? I’m about to walk into a meeting. I’ll come home and deal with this tonight.” The call clicked off. Victoria raised an eyebrow, a flash of genuine surprise in her eyes. “Mallory, even if you’re pissed, you don’t need to take the joke that far, do you?” “You accepted his parade of ex-girlfriends without a fight. Besides, I just told you I’m not trying to take him from you. Just marry the guy and be happy.” “You literally brought him water when he was nursing his ex-girlfriend through a fever. Why are you suddenly drawing the line here? Aren’t you afraid you’re going to push him away?” I lowered my eyes. It felt like someone had hollowed out my chest with a spoon. She was right. When I was desperately trying to win Wesley over, she had witnessed every single pathetic, humiliating thing I did. In her eyes, I was a woman who would gladly sacrifice every ounce of her dignity and temper just to keep Wesley happy. And she wasn’t wrong. I “was” that spineless. I was so pathetic that even after catching them making out, I didn’t even have the courage to scream. Victoria unhurriedly pulled a slim cigarette from her purse. The lighter “clicked”. The tip glowed orange. She took a long drag and blew a stream of smoke into the air between us. “Mallory, I’m only warning you because you’re my best friend. Wesley and I are incredibly sexually compatible.” “I won’t actively try to steal him from you, but if you keep pushing him away like this, and he decides to jump ship? Don’t blame me.” “You can take your time to think about it. I’ll let myself out.” Through the haze of the cigarette smoke, Victoria’s expression suddenly looked foreign to me. Like a stranger’s. The heavy door shut with a definitive “thud”, leaving me alone. 4 It wasn’t until my phone buzzed with a text from Victoria that I realized I had been sitting in the dark, silent living room until late into the night. She wrote: [Wesley knows you go to bed early, so he said he wouldn’t bother coming back tonight since he’s working late.] [Since you already know, I figured I wouldn’t hide it from you anymore.] Following the text was a photo. It was Wesley, eyes closed in deep sleep, his damp hair resting against his forehead. Beneath him were the distinctive dark satin sheets of Victoria’s bed. I noticed immediately that he wasn’t wearing the dress shirt he had left the apartment in. He was wearing a familiar men’s pajama top. I had seen the matching women’s set hanging in Victoria’s closet a hundred times. In the photo, the collar of the pajamas was slightly unbuttoned, revealing fresh, dark red marks scattered across his collarbone. Jarring and violently bright. They had clearly been made very recently. Another message popped up: [He was just too exhausted today. He’s crashing at my place. Don’t worry, he’s in good hands.] The tight, agonizing string that had been holding my brain together abruptly snapped. The phone screen went dark, reflecting my plain, unremarkable face. I curled my freezing body into a tight ball, feeling as if every drop of strength had been siphoned from my veins. I couldn’t even keep a steady grip on my phone. Then, the screen lit up again. It was my mom, checking in via text: [Hey honey, are you out celebrating with Victoria for your birthday?] I was so incredibly thankful she hadn’t called. I wouldn’t have known how to manipulate my voice to lie to her. I forced my stiff, rigid fingers to move. I typed back a completely fabricated response: [Yeah!] I even attached a giant, grinning emoji. The screen dimmed for a second before lighting up again. My mom was a fast typer. [You’re twenty-eight today. When are you bringing Wesley back home to visit?] I stared at the glowing words, entirely paralyzed. I had previously told my mom that things with Wesley were incredibly stable. That I was going to bring him home for the holidays this year, and that we would probably start looking at rings soon. Now, it was all a sick, twisted joke. Sensing my hesitation, my mom quickly sent another message. [You aren’t getting any younger, sweetie. You aren’t a big-shot executive like Victoria. You need to find a good man and settle down.] [Mom knows best. Time isn’t kind to women. You really need to lock down a timeline with him.] I blinked, my eyes burning with unshed tears. Growing up, my grades were perfectly average. My jobs were unremarkable. The thing I heard most from my parents was: “Why can’t you be a little more like Victoria?” There were times I tried. I would study until my eyes bled, but I couldn’t even come close to her class ranking. I hated to admit it, but whenever I looked at Victoria, I was consumed by awe. And underneath that awe, a deeply rooted, quiet inferiority. The first time I met Wesley was right after I entered the corporate world. He was the liaison for a massive client account, and within three sentences, he had effortlessly resolved a project bottleneck that had been plaguing our team for weeks. One look was all it took for me to realize he was cut from the exact same luminous cloth as Victoria. He had that magnetic, untouchable gravity that made an insecure girl like me instantly drown. To me, brilliant people like Wesley and Victoria were like the moon. I could look up at them, admire them from afar. But I was just a tiny, insignificant moth, desperately fluttering my wings, trying to get a little closer to the light. For a brief moment, the moon’s light had landed on me, and in my absolute delusion, I thought I could keep it forever. I sniffled quietly, wiping my nose as I typed a few words back to my mom. [Mom, I’m so tired. Can I come home?] If you can’t catch the moon, you have to stop chasing it. It was time to wake up. [Of course. I’ll be waiting for you, baby.] I backed out of the chat and opened Wesley’s. His contact name was still “Mr. Pierce”—the formal title I had saved him under years ago when I boldly asked for his number under the guise of work. I took a deep breath, pressed the microphone button, and sent him a single voice memo. “Wesley, it’s over.”

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In the fifth year of my marriage to Chloe, she brought her first love, Ryan, right in front of me and asked: “Ethan, if I divorce you and marry Ryan, would you be our best man?” She had no idea that the man standing in front of her was actually my clone. He was created with only one purpose: to obey her every command. Without a single second of hesitation, my clone smiled and agreed. Chloe flew into a rage. She glared at him and spat, “You spineless wimp! Do you just do whatever the hell I tell you to do? If I asked for your life, would you just give it to me?” My consciousness, trapped deep inside the clone’s body, could only let out a bitter, silent laugh. *Chloe, I don’t have a second life left to give you.* 1 *BANG!* My body was sent flying by Ryan’s car. The man who hit me scrambled out of the driver’s seat, rushing over with a face full of fake, theatrical panic. He cried out, “Chloe! I swear Ethan threw himself in front of the car! It’s not my fault!” Chloe is my wife. Today is our fifth wedding anniversary. She rolled down the car window, frowning slightly as she glanced at my crumpled body on the asphalt. Her voice was ice-cold. “Don’t worry about him, Ryan. He’s just acting. He’s fine.” She sat comfortably in the passenger seat, not even bothering to open the door. “Ethan, stop embarrassing yourself with such pathetic acting.” Her feet seemed glued to the car floor. She wouldn’t take a single step toward me. Seeing that I wasn’t moving, her frown deepened. “Enough, Ethan. How long are you going to play dead? Get up.” If this were before, the clone would have jumped up the second he received her command. But the violent impact of the car had caused a temporary glitch in his neural system. So, she waited, but there was no response. Losing her patience, Chloe finally opened the door, seemingly planning to drag me up herself. But before she could step out, Ryan grabbed her arm. His voice trembled slightly. “Chloe, don’t touch him. Let’s just call 911. If something actually happens to him, we don’t want to get sued…” Before he could finish, Chloe interrupted him with an annoyed huff. “He got hit at barely fifteen miles per hour. What could possibly happen to him? He’s just throwing a tantrum.” Sure, fifteen miles per hour won’t kill a man. But it still hurts. It still breaks bones. But Chloe didn’t care. Then again, if she had ever cared, how could she have failed to notice over the last five years that the “Ethan” standing by her side was a fake? The real me died five years ago when I failed my mission to win her heart. This body was just a clone I created to fulfill my promise of “loving her forever.” My soul was bound to this synthetic shell. I could feel its emotions and its physical pain. But I couldn’t control it. And honestly, there was no need to. When I made this clone, besides giving him my DNA, I only programmed him with my happiest memories of Chloe. He was literally engineered to be a simp customized just for her. I thought that by leaving him behind, he would keep Chloe happy and loved in a world without me. But there is always an exception to every rule. And the exception in our marriage was Ryan. 2 Today was supposed to be our fifth anniversary. Following the programmed memories of her favorite things, the clone bought a bouquet of blood-red roses and went to Chloe’s office building. The lobby was packed with people whispering and pointing. The clone squeezed through the crowd, only to see Chloe standing in the center, blushing as Ryan knelt before her on one knee. Ryan held her hand, looking up at her with puppy-dog eyes. “Chloe, will you marry me and let me give you the life you deserve?” The clone stood frozen in the crowd, his database unable to process this scenario. This was something that had never happened in my memories. Under Ryan’s intense gaze, Chloe’s eyes began to wander. She swept her gaze over the crowd and stopped right on my clone. Her eyes locked onto him, her voice dripping with provocation. “Ryan, I’m not technically divorced yet. Are you sure you want to propose to me right now?” Ryan followed her gaze and smirked when he saw my clone. The next second, he pulled out a diamond ring. He slid my wedding band off Chloe’s finger without any resistance and slipped the new diamond onto her ring finger. Chloe stared at the clone, waiting for a reaction. But the clone just walked up to her, holding out the roses. “Chloe, happy anniversary. I got these for you. Do you like them?” The smugness in Chloe’s eyes instantly vanished, replaced by an explosive rage. She slapped the bouquet out of his hand, scattering red petals all over the floor. “Ethan! Are you blind? Didn’t you just see another man propose to your wife?!” The clone looked down at the ruined roses, confusion flickering in his eyes. He gently grabbed Chloe’s hand and asked anxiously, “Chloe, why are you angry? Is it because you don’t like roses anymore?” Chloe didn’t say a word. She just stared into his eyes. I knew what she was looking for. She wanted to see some real emotion—jealousy, anger, madness. But the clone disappointed her. His eyes held nothing but pure, innocent confusion. Not a single trace of anger. After staring at him for what felt like an eternity, Chloe let go of his hand and let out a cynical laugh. “Ethan, you really are incredibly generous. Since you’re so open-minded, how about you serve as our best man when Ryan and I get married?” 3 Nobody knew that my soul, trapped inside this artificial body, was curling up and screaming in agony. My original mission in this world was to make Chloe fall in love with me. Technically, once we got married, my mission was complete. According to the System’s original script, Chloe was supposed to die in a car accident shortly after our wedding. But I truly, deeply loved her. I couldn’t bear to let her die. So, I traded my own life with the System, asking it to transfer her fatal car accident to me. The System agreed. With the last of my remaining time, I built this clone. The clone was born for Chloe. He would love her forever and obey her every word. Even if her commands were ridiculously cruel, he would comply. Hearing Chloe’s request, the clone’s confusion melted away into a bright, innocent smile. “Really, Chloe? If I act as your best man, will that make you happy?” Chloe’s gaze turned incredibly cold. “Ethan, you are unbelievable. Is it true that you’ll do literally anything I ask?” “Yes, Chloe,” the clone answered instantly. Chloe’s face turned pale, completely choked by his response. Ryan chimed in from the side, “Chloe, since Ethan is totally cool with it, why don’t we go to City Hall today? We can sign the divorce papers and register our marriage at the same time.” Chloe didn’t say no. She let Ryan drag her by the arm toward the exit. As Ryan passed my clone, he intentionally shoved his shoulder hard against him. The contempt and triumph on Ryan’s face were clear. The clone stood there, a look of mild confusion on his face. He didn’t understand why Chloe still looked so unhappy even though he had agreed to her request. Halfway to the parking lot, Chloe stopped. She told Ryan to go bring the car around while she marched back to the clone. “Ethan, do you think this is a joke? You stopped loving me a long time ago, didn’t you?” Chloe screamed at him, her voice shrill with frustration. I found it hilarious. The one who stopped loving was clearly her. If she still cared, how could she be flaunting another man in my face? Maybe she just wanted to see the old me—the one who would get jealous and lose his mind for her. But she would never see that man again. The man who could feel jealousy and rage was already dead. The clone didn’t possess complex human emotions. He couldn’t feel jealousy or resentment. Unlike the real me, he would never complain about her lifestyle. Even if she stayed out all night partying with Ryan, the clone would only quietly prepare a perfect breakfast for her when she returned. He would never question her. Isn’t this exactly what she wanted? So why did she still look so miserable? 4 Chloe waited for a response, but the clone just stood there, waiting for her next command. Her voice raised another octave. “Ethan! I’m talking to you! Why aren’t you answering me?!” The clone listened to her carefully, his voice firm and sincere. “No, Chloe. I will love you forever.” Chloe sneered, her lips curling with disgust. “I hate your hypocritical face more than anything, Ethan. Fine. You said you’d fulfill any request, right?” The clone nodded. “Yes, Chloe. Anything.” Chloe laughed darkly as she opened the passenger door of Ryan’s car. She looked back and said, “In that case, if I tell you to go die, would you do it?” The clone nodded. “Yes.” Chloe laughed hysterically, almost like a maniac. It took her a long time to calm down before she said: “Fine. Go die then.” My soul felt like it was being ripped apart. I never, in my wildest dreams, thought Chloe would ever say those words to me. Having received the direct command, the clone didn’t hesitate. The moment Ryan started the engine and accelerated, the clone threw himself directly in front of the car. Maybe because I had been lying on the ground for too long, Chloe finally got out of the car. She walked over in her high heels, her steps slow and deliberate. Due to the heavy impact, my clone’s automatic gene-repair sequence had kicked in. When she finally pulled me up, she saw the small pool of blood on the pavement. For the first time, panic flashed across her face. She let go of me instantly, letting my body drop back onto the asphalt. Chloe clung to Ryan, her hands shaking violently as she dialed 91

She kept whispering to Ryan, trying to convince herself: “Ryan, it’s fine. It’s not your fault. Ethan threw himself at the car. Even if he dies, it has nothing to do with you.” A cold, mechanical voice echoed in my mind. *“Ethan, do you regret it now?”* Five years ago, when I transferred Chloe’s fate to myself, the System had asked me the exact same question. Back then, I had answered without hesitation: *“No.”* I had even begged the System to delay my physical death so I could finish building the clone to love her in my place. The moment the clone was successfully activated, my original body finally died. The car crash had left my body completely mangled. To prevent Chloe from being traumatized, I begged the System to erase all traces of my physical corpse. At that moment, the cold mechanical voice of the System actually showed a hint of pity. *“Ethan, do you want to know why Chloe was supposed to get into that car accident in the first place?”* In my silence, it told me: *“In Chloe’s life script, she was destined to die in a car crash on her way to see the person she loved most.”* On the day I took that crash for her, the person she was rushing to see was Ryan. It was only then that I realized Chloe’s true love had never been me. Even though the clone’s self-healing sequence had started, the physical pain was excruciating. The suffocating sensation made my soul tremble. For some reason, I suddenly remembered the first time I met Chloe. That day, when I first arrived in this world, she had risked her own life to save a little girl playing in the middle of a busy street. In my original world, people were cold and indifferent. Nobody would have cared about a stranger’s child. Maybe her heroic aura back then was just too bright. It blinded me so completely that even now, I still looked at her through a soft-focus filter. Before my consciousness faded again, I whispered to the System: *“System, I don’t regret it.”*

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The day I was kidnapped, the abductors called my fiancée of five years, demanding a $50,000 ransom. But she only sounded irritated on the other end. “Ethan, you know I don’t have that kind of money.” “I just lent our remaining fifty thousand to Julian.” My fiancée was supposedly poor, yet she didn’t hesitate for a second to give away all our savings to rescue her childhood crush. But after my death, as my spirit floated by her side, I discovered the truth. She was actually a billionaire heiress from New York’s elite high society. She hung up the phone and laughed about it with her friends. “Ethan has officially gone crazy. He actually thought I’d fall for some fake kidnapping scheme just so he could play the victim.” But when my cold corpse was finally laid out in front of her, she completely lost her mind. The sharp blade pierced my heart. Strangely, the pain only brought a sense of relief. Nobody knew the pure hell I had endured in those final hours before my death. They had used a knife to carve into my skin, inch by inch, letting my blood pool onto the cold floor. They were professional torturers. Every single cut was calculated to bring maximum pain without killing me instantly. Finally, they drove the blade straight into my heart, ending my miserable life. When I opened my eyes again, I was standing inside a luxurious VIP lounge. The loud, chaotic music gave me a pounding headache. I looked around, completely lost as to why my soul had ended up here after death. Then, my eyes fell on Madelyn, who was sitting right in the center of the crowd, leaning comfortably in Julian’s arms. Julian gently stroked her hair. Madelyn didn’t pull away. She just rested her shoulder against his, looking completely relaxed. They looked like a perfect, picture-perfect couple. It pierced my eyes like a physical blow. I rushed forward, trying to pull her away from him, but my hands passed straight through her body. It was useless. Both Madelyn and Julian were dressed in designer clothes. The people surrounding them kept tossing out flattering compliments. Didn’t Madelyn tell me that Julian’s family was going through a financial crisis? Wasn’t that why she kept taking our money to bail him out? But looking at this luxurious lounge, the groveling crowd, and the effortless aura of wealth and arrogance radiating from both of them… None of this looked like a family struggling to survive. My mind went blank. Suddenly, the words of my killers flashed back to me. “Man, this guy is pathetic. What’s fifty grand to a billionaire heiress like Madelyn Sterling? But she wouldn’t even spend a single penny to save his life.” “She and Lord Julian are a match made in heaven. Who does this trash think he is? Pathetic.” I felt something wet on my face. One of the kidnappers had spit on me. In my memory, I raised a hand to wipe the filth away, but I could only watch helplessly as they threw me back into the dark corner of the warehouse to rot. Before I closed my eyes for the last time, I actually thought it was funny. I thought those thugs had the wrong person. Maybe it was just someone with the same name. Because in my world, Madelyn was just a hardworking girl from a poor background, struggling to get by. How could she have anything to do with some elite high-society family? But now, looking at the glamourous Madelyn in front of me, raising her champagne glass as everyone toasted to her… Her dominant status in this room was glaringly obvious. I stared at her, memorizing every detail of her face. I desperately searched for even a single difference between this woman and the Madelyn I knew. But no matter how hard I looked. She was Madelyn. The girl I had loved for five years. The fiancée who had promised to marry me. I remembered the phone call the kidnappers had made to her. They had asked for fifty thousand dollars. But she had only reacted with annoyance. “Julian is in a tough spot. I already gave him the last fifty thousand we had. Your little tantrums won’t work on me anymore.” “I literally have no money.” The kidnapper had paused, letting out a dark chuckle. “Miss Sterling, if you don’t pay up, Ethan Vance is going to die today.” “Then let him die.” Those were the very last words I heard from her before my heart stopped. And just as she wished, I was dead.

I first met Madelyn at a charity event for low-income college students. She was wearing a simple white dress. Her innocent, fresh face stood out instantly in the crowded room. When I approached her, she looked up and smiled softly. “Are you here to help me, sir?” That single smile completely captured my heart. I nodded like an idiot. She let out a sweet laugh. “You’re funny.” After that, I sponsored her through her remaining college years. She told me she was an orphan. She said she had been bullied constantly at the orphanage. I was the very first person who had ever reached out to help her. I thought I was saving her life. After graduation, Madelyn struggled to find a job. Knowing how hard it was for a young girl to survive in the city, I offered to take care of her. She agreed. And just like that, we became a couple. Even on the nights I worked late, no matter how exhausted I was, I would always bring home small surprises for her. Anything to make her smile. Seeing her happy was enough for me. During our five years together, she told me she wanted to focus on her fashion design. So, I told her to stay home and focus on her art. I took care of all the bills. I started working double shifts and doing DoorDash deliveries after my regular job. It was exhausting, but the thought of Madelyn waiting for me at home made all the pain melt away. She used to curl up in my arms, her voice incredibly sweet. “Ethan, once my designs get noticed, we’ll finally live the good life.” The good life. I gave everything I had for that promise. But now, the stranger standing before me had clearly been living the good life all along. Just as Madelyn was about to bring the champagne glass to her lips, Julian gently stopped her. “Your stomach has been acting up lately. Don’t drink so much.” Madelyn looked at him, her eyes filled with tenderness. “Since when do you control me?” Julian snatched the glass from her hand and drank it in one gulp. He teased, “How can I not? Your stomach issues only started because you used to skip breakfast every single day.” So… that was the real reason? I stared blankly at the empty glass in his hand. I first found out about her stomach problems when she had a severe case of acute gastroenteritis. She told me it was because she had to drink too much during client dinners at her previous jobs, and her stomach was practically ruined. Back then, my heart ached for her so much. I spent hours learning how to cook gentle, stomach-soothing meals for her every day. But the more it had hurt back then, the more ridiculous I felt now. Someone in the crowd started teasing, “So, Miss Sterling, when are you and Julian finally getting engaged? We’re all waiting for the big news.” Madelyn didn’t answer. Instead, her gaze fell onto the diamond ring on her finger. The diamond wasn’t huge, but its brilliant cut showed it wasn’t cheap either. I had saved up for months, working endless overtime and delivery gigs, just to buy her that ring. When I placed it on her finger, she had looked so incredibly happy. Another friend noticed her gaze and sneered, “Don’t tell me our billionaire heiress actually fell for that poor loser? That ring looks so cheap.” Julian also looked at the ring, waiting for her reaction. Madelyn casually slid the ring off her finger and tossed it to the person who had spoken. “You like it? Keep it. It’s not worth anything anyway.” A wave of laughter erupted in the room. “Of course! What high-end jewelry hasn’t Miss Sterling seen? Why would she care about this piece of garbage?” The ring was kicked onto the floor. Someone stepped on it maliciously, and the once-shiny band was quickly covered in dirt and dust. Julian smiled, pinching Madelyn’s cheek gently. “Who called you earlier, by the way?” Madelyn replied lazily, “Ethan. He hired some cheap actors to stage a kidnapping. He actually tried to extort fifty grand from me.” “He’s completely lost his mind.” A sharp pain flared in my chest—a pain far worse than the blade that had pierced my heart. Julian’s eyes darkened. “Aren’t you afraid it might be real?” Madelyn let out a dismissive laugh. “Ethan is dirt poor. Who in their right mind would kidnap him?” So, in her eyes, the life I had worked myself to the bone to provide for her was just a “dirt poor” existence she looked down on. As she spoke, Madelyn pulled a luxurious velvet box from her bag and handed it to Julian. Julian opened it. Inside was a ridiculously expensive luxury watch. “What’s this for?” Madelyn shrugged. “I bought it with Ethan’s money. He saved up fifty thousand over the years. This watch was basically all he could afford.” “That’s what he gets for fighting with me. Consider this his punishment!” My soul felt entirely cold, even though I was already dead. Madelyn had taken the savings we had pinched and scraped for years to buy Julian a luxury watch, yet she refused to use that exact same amount to save my life. Before my kidnapping, Madelyn and I had the biggest fight of our lives. She had demanded our savings, claiming Julian’s family business was in trouble and she needed to help him. Naturally, I refused. Ever since Julian had reappeared in her life, Madelyn had changed. Her warmth and sweetness were gone, replaced by endless cold shoulders and insults the moment I walked through the door. When I refused, she had screamed at me, “Ethan, how can you be so heartless! This is a person’s life we’re talking about!” We had parted on terrible terms. I had driven to a quiet park to clear my head, and that was when I was snatched. And now, the money she claimed was to “save a life” was used to buy a toy to make Julian smile. Julian frowned, tossing the watch casually into the trash can. “His money? Gross. I don’t want it.” I felt a rush of cold despair wash over my soul. The watch bought with my life was thrown into the trash like garbage. Just like how Madelyn had thrown me away.

After the party, Julian wrapped his arm around Madelyn’s waist as they walked to his car. He leaned over to fasten her seatbelt. The air inside the car grew warm and heavy. Julian stared into her eyes, slowly leaning in for a kiss. The moment his lips touched hers, Madelyn flinched as if she had been shocked. She quickly pulled back and wiped her mouth. Julian’s face immediately turned incredibly dark. “Maddy, what is wrong with you?” Madelyn seemed surprised by her own reaction too. She sat up straight, flustered. “Just drive. I’m tired. I want to go home.” Watching her pull away, I remembered how I used to protect her. Madelyn was beautiful, and she used to get harassed quite a lot. Every single time, I was the one who stood up to chase those creeps away. Afterward, I would look at her seriously and say, “Maddy, you’re my girl. Promise me you won’t let other guys get too close to you.” “I get jealous easily.” She would hug me and pout, “I know, dummy. My heart only has room for you. Why would I ever look at anyone else?” Was she… remembering those times now? I laughed at my own foolishness. To a rich girl like Madelyn, I was probably just a temporary distraction. Why would she ever care about my words? To her, I was just an entertaining clown. Madelyn had Julian drop her off at our apartment. Before leaving, she gave the still-pissed-off Julian a brief hug. “Don’t be mad. If I don’t go back tonight, Ethan will get suspicious.” Julian spat coldly, “Why don’t you just dump him already?” Madelyn hesitated for a second before mumbling, “I’m not bored of him yet.” After watching Julian drive away, she walked into our apartment. In the past, whenever I didn’t have to work late, a warm, home-cooked meal would be waiting for her on the table. But lately, she had been coming home later and later, and she hadn’t touched a single bite of my food. Now I knew why. It all started when Julian came back. Madelyn called out into the empty, dark apartment. No one answered. Annoyed, she threw her designer bag onto the couch. “Still throwing a tantrum? Get over yourself.” *I won’t. I will never fight with you again, Madelyn. Because I will never appear in front of you again.* I whispered the words into her ear, but she couldn’t hear a thing. After removing her makeup, she sat on the couch scrolling through her phone until midnight, but the front door never opened. She cursed under her breath and dialed my number. It went straight to voicemail. Her anger flared. She slammed her bedroom door shut and locked it. “Fine! If you don’t want to come back, then never come back!” She kept checking her phone, but there was not a single Snapchat notification or text from me. Eventually, she fell asleep with her phone in her hand. I stood by her bedside, quietly watching her all night. The next morning, Madelyn rubbed her sleepy eyes and opened her bedroom door, habitually calling out, “Ethan, I want bagels from the bakery down the street. Go grab them.” It had been her routine for years, and eventually, it became my habit too. Every single morning, before the sun even rose, I would stand in line to get her favorite fresh bagels. But today, there was only silence. The apartment was exactly as she had left it last night. No one had been home. Her face went cold as she dialed my number again. After a long ring, just when I thought it would go to voicemail, the call actually connected. But a stranger’s voice came through. “Hello? Do you know the owner of this phone?” She had blocked my main number during our last fight, so she must have used her work phone to call me this time. Madelyn frowned, her voice icy. “Where is Ethan? Put him on the phone!” There was a long pause on the other end. “He’s… he’s dead.” “It looks like a homicide. The police are currently investigating. If you know him, please contact the station immediately.” My breath caught. I stared intently at her face, searching for any sign of grief. But after a brief shock, she actually laughed out loud. “Are you kidding me? Has Ethan gone completely insane with this acting?” “Tell him to stop playing games. I’ll find a way to give him back that fifty thousand.” The voice on the other end sounded incredibly weary. “Ma’am, I am serious. He is dead…” Madelyn’s tone snapped. “Are you done? Is Ethan really going to act like this just because he’s throwing a fit?” “Fine! Tell him he never has to come back!” She slammed the phone down, turned on the TV, and began aggressively flipping through channels. Then, a local news broadcast caught her eye. I looked at the screen too. It was a breaking news report about a homicide. A male body had been found in a warehouse. His face had been heavily mutilated beyond recognition. Looking at the blurred-out photo on the screen, the feeling of my blood draining away rushed back to me. The phantom pain made me want to scream. There was no doubt about it. That mutilated corpse was me. But Madelyn merely scoffed, quickly switching the channel. She muttered, “Why is the news always so depressing? Ethan actually thinks he can scare me with this cheap drama.” “So pathetic.” 3 The doorbell rang. Madelyn opened it to find Julian standing there with breakfast. Julian looked around the modest apartment with clear disgust before handing the food to her. Madelyn smiled, taking the food and curling up on the couch to eat. Julian paced around the small living room, finally stopping in front of a framed photo on the shelf. It was a photo from our very first trip together, after we had saved up for months. We had taken so many photos that day, but this was the only one Madelyn had liked. Julian frowned, picking up the frame and walking over to her. Madelyn glanced at it casually. “Oh, that’s just a photo from some old trip. What about it?” Julian leaned in close, his breath brushing against her ear, his voice dropping low. “I don’t like seeing photos of you with him.” “Throw it away, okay?” Madelyn stared at the photo, showing a rare moment of hesitation before gently pushing him back. Seeing her hesitate, Julian’s expression soured. “Madelyn, you know Ethan was nothing but a toy to you.” “I am your real fiancé. You are supposed to marry me.” “Our families arranged this years ago.” Madelyn quickly softened her voice to soothe him. “Okay, okay, I know you get jealous easily. It’s just a stupid picture. If you want to throw it away, go ahead.” Satisfied, Julian pulled the photo out of the frame and slowly tore it into tiny pieces right in front of us. I lunged forward, trying to grab the pieces, but my hands swept through nothing but air. I could only watch as our only memory was shredded into dust. Just like the love I once had for her. I had cherished that photo more than anything. Madelyn knew that. She just didn’t care about my feelings. To her, I was just a fool she could manipulate at her whim. She and Julian were the ones who truly belonged together. Once the photo was completely destroyed, the playful mood seemed to vanish. Madelyn asked quietly, “What are we doing today?” Julian took her hand, gently rubbing his thumb over her skin. “Let’s go shopping.” Madelyn hesitated. “Today…” She unlocked her phone, checking the date. An alert popped up on her screen—it was the same news report from earlier. The police were now desperately trying to identify the victim’s body. Madelyn frowned, quickly swiping the notification away and locking her phone. “Not today…” Julian cut her off. “Why? Do you have other plans? With Ethan?” Madelyn remained silent. Her silence was the answer. Because today was our scheduled appointment to finalize the wedding suit and gown. I stared at her quiet face, a pathetic spark of hope rising in my chest. Did she… actually remember? Julian’s voice broke the silence, cold and demanding. “Madelyn, choose. Me or Ethan?” “Don’t tell me you actually fell for that loser.” Madelyn’s eyes widened, and she immediately denied it. “Are you crazy? How could I ever be serious about Ethan?” “I don’t have any plans today. Let’s go.” Once again, when given a choice between me and Julian, she chose Julian. It wasn’t the first time. Ever since Julian returned, she had made this choice countless times. And no matter how much I begged, she always chose him. Because she knew I would never truly get mad at her. She knew how desperately I loved her, which was why she felt she could trample all over my dignity without consequence. On Madelyn’s last birthday, both Julian and I had prepared celebrations for her. I had booked the absolute best restaurant I could possibly afford. She had invited a group of her friends, and after dinner, I drove her and Julian to a club. On the way there, a truck suddenly lost control and swerved directly into our lane. My instinct took over instantly. I threw my body over Madelyn in the passenger seat. The impact was deafening, and the entire world spun as our car flipped over. The driver’s side door was crushed completely, pinning my legs beneath the steering wheel. But my first thought was still Madelyn’s safety. When I blinked through the smoke, my heart shattered. Madelyn had a small cut on her forehead, but otherwise, she was completely fine. Because I had shielded her with my own body. But she was already dragging a semi-conscious Julian out of the backseat, walking toward the crowd gathering on the street. She never once looked back at me. Shard of glass dug deep into my legs, the agonizing pain keeping me brutally conscious. I croaked her name, begging for help, but she kept walking. Only when the ambulance arrived did she finally mention to the paramedics that someone was still trapped in the front seat. I was rushed into emergency surgery. Julian, having received immediate attention, was completely fine. But my leg was permanently damaged from being pinned under the wreckage for too long. During my entire hospital stay, Madelyn only visited me once. She looked at my bandaged leg, a flicker of guilt and disgust crossing her eyes. “About that night… I panicked and forgot you were still in the car. It wasn’t on purpose.” I had stared at her quietly, feeling something die inside me. But I still forced a smile. “It’s fine. I know.” I loved her so much that I chose to ignore the obvious truth: her heart had already left me.

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My mom told me my dad had terminal lung cancer, and his treatment would cost $500,000. So, I dropped out of middle school and went to work in an illegal, underground sweatshop. I got paid ten cents for every part I assembled. I worked sixteen hours a day. For the sake of my dad’s life, I didn’t dare to stop for even a second. But on my sixteenth birthday, I ran a dangerously high fever. Clutching a ten-dollar bill I had secretly saved, I wanted to slip out to a local clinic. My mom ripped the bill right out of my hand. “Stop being so dramatic! Just drink some hot water and get back to work. Taking half a day off means losing your attendance bonus!” So, I dragged my shivering, burning body back to the assembly line. Until a bank notification popped up on my phone screen: *“Your account ending in 8888 has transferred $50,000 to Hunter. Memo: Down payment for son’s new townhouse.”* I froze. Then, my mind flashed to my dad’s rosy, healthy cheeks. And my brother Hunter’s brand-new truck and expensive Yeezys. ###

My heart went completely, utterly cold. Late that night, I crawled out of the sweatshop’s moldy dorm. An agent stopped me in the alley and asked if I wanted to make real money. Free housing, free meals, and $25,000 a month. My brain was foggy from the fever, but I still muttered out of instinct, “How much is the agency fee?” He stared at me, shocked, and said, “No fee. Actually, I’ll give you a $300 advance right now.” I took the cash and, without a single shred of hesitation, stepped onto the bus heading toward the border. I squeezed the three hundred dollars tightly in my hand. This was the first time in my entire life that I actually held money that belonged to me. Before this, my paycheck was automatically routed to my mom’s bank account the second it hit my card. The bald man sitting next to me, Frank, kept eyeing me up and down with a greasy, creepy smile. “Hey kid, you look pretty young. What’s a girl like you going to a place across the border for?” I ignored him, burying the cash deeper into my jacket pocket. “That place eats people alive,” Frank muttered, leaning in. “Once you cross over, your life isn’t yours anymore.” I wasn’t afraid of dying. In fact, that place sounded like heaven to me. Because the agent said they provided free food and housing. I wouldn’t have to drink tap water to fool my stomach just to save fifty cents on a piece of bread. I wouldn’t have to collect plastic bottles in the freezing winter in thin canvas shoes just to buy my brother limited-edition sneakers. “We’re here,” the driver barked, slamming on the brakes. The metal door rattled open. In front of us was a towering barbed-wire fence. A few heavily tattooed men carrying rifles walked toward the bus. The passengers started panicking. Some cried; some wanted to turn back. Only I stood up quietly. I was the first one to step off the bus. The smuggler in charge was a guy with a nasty scar across his face. People called him Scarface Nick. He gave me a surprised look. “You aren’t scared?” I shook my head. I flashed the three hundred dollars in my hand and tucked it back. “I took the money. I’ll do the work.” Nick smirked. It was the kind of look a merchant gave to a cheap piece of cargo. “Great. I love the ones who know their place. Take her to Zone C.” Zone C. Even though I had never been here, I had heard the whispered rumors on the bus. That was the holding pen for the “hostages.” If you didn’t meet your quota, you were beaten, forced to sell your blood, or worse—harvested. I was shoved into a damp, mold-smelling room. There were only a few filthy, stained mats on the concrete floor. A terribly thin girl, Lily, shivered in the corner. She looked at me with terror-filled eyes. “Run… run while the gate is still open…” she whispered, pointing a trembling finger at a small, half-welded window. I walked over, looked out at the pitch-black jungle outside, and then shut the window tightly. I lay down in a corner. “I’m not running.” Why would I go back? To keep earning medical bills for a father who faked cancer? To keep buying houses and cars for a brother who did nothing but drain my blood? To listen to my mother scream at me about how I was a useless, worthless daughter? My fever was still raging, making my skin burn. Before my consciousness drifted away, I touched the cheap phone in my pocket. There was a scheduled text message I had drafted a long time ago but never dared to send. Now, I could finally send it. ###

Meanwhile, inside the family’s newly purchased luxury apartment, the lights were bright. The dining table was piled high with ordered lobster and premium ribeye steaks. Hunter chewed on a lobster claw, impatiently tapping the table. “Mom! When is the rest of the renovation money coming? The designer said we still need ten grand for the custom furniture!” “Why hasn’t Chloe’s salary been deposited yet?” The “Chloe” he was talking about was me—his younger sister, who was currently working herself to the bone in a sweatshop. My mom, Brenda, wiped the grease from her mouth, her forehead creasing into a deep frown. She unlocked her phone and checked her banking app. It was empty. “That little brat is losing her mind!” Brenda slammed her phone onto the table. “Today is payday. Her money is usually in my account by now.” “Is she slacking off again? Just because I took ten dollars from her last time, she dares to throw a tantrum?” Sitting at the head of the table was my dad, Arthur. He looked completely healthy, his face flushed red as he poured himself another glass of expensive Bourbon. Did he look like someone with terminal lung cancer? Not even close. He let out a loud burp and waved his hand dismissively. “Call her! Is she trying to quit?” “If she doesn’t want to work, bring her back and marry her off! The creepy old landlord down the road offered $30,000 for her. That’s enough to buy Hunter a private parking space.” Brenda immediately dialed my number. “The number you have dialed is currently switched off…” Hearing the automated voice, Brenda’s temper flared instantly. “She turned off her phone? How dare she!” She immediately called the manager of the sweatshop—her distant cousin, who was paid to keep an eye on me. As soon as the call connected, loud machine noises and angry shouting echoed through the speaker. “Brenda! I was just about to call you!” “Your girl ran away!” Brenda froze. Her mind went blank. “Ran… ran away?” She looked out the window at the dark night, murmuring, “It’s the middle of the night. Where could a young girl go? The streets are so dangerous… what if she runs into bad people?” “Mom! What the hell are you thinking about?” Hunter slammed his fork onto the plate, violently cutting off Brenda’s tiny shred of motherly instinct. “If she ran away, what about my house renovations? What about my parking spot?” “If she actually cared about this family, why would she run? She’s just selfish! She wants to keep all her money for herself!” With that roar, the last bit of worry on Brenda’s face vanished. It was replaced by a furious sense of betrayal and panic over losing her cash cow. Yes. If her daughter ran away, who would pay for her son’s lifestyle? Worry? How much was that worth? Arthur’s face darkened too. He slammed his glass down, a vicious glint in his eyes. “Find her! We must bring her back!” “I don’t care if she’s dead or alive, as long as she’s breathing, drag her back to work!” “If she refuses, we’ll pack her off to that landlord immediately. Not a single penny of that thirty thousand can be missing!” Brenda spat, her chest heaving with rage. She gritted her teeth and dialed 911. “Dispatcher? I want to report a theft!” “My daughter stole $50,000 from our home and ran off with some guy!” “Go arrest her! She’s been a thief since she was a kid. She’s evil to the core!” To force the police to act, and to drag back the daughter who dared to escape her cage, she effortlessly threw the filthiest lie onto her own child. ###

At the police station. Officer Miller, an experienced cop, frowned as he looked at the couple sitting across from him, both dressed in flashy, expensive clothes. Brenda was still throwing a hysterical fit. “Officer! Why are you guys so slow?” “It’s been two hours! Why haven’t you caught that little brat yet?” “That’s fifty thousand dollars! That’s my husband’s life-saving money!” Arthur chimed in, clutching his chest and coughing weakly. “Yes… I have terminal lung cancer. I need that money for my surgery…” Officer Miller threw a folder onto the table with a cold stare. “Terminal lung cancer?” “Arthur, this is your medical report from the general hospital last month.” “Aside from a slightly fatty liver and mild high blood pressure, you are as strong as an ox. Your lungs are perfectly clear. Not even a single spot. Care to explain your ‘terminal cancer’?” Arthur’s face stiffened, his eyes darting around. “That… that was a misdiagnosis! The first doctor told me it was cancer…” “Enough!” Miller slammed his hand on the desk. The loud bang made Hunter drop his phone. “We checked Chloe’s bank statements.” “Every single payday, her entire check was instantly transferred to an account under the name of Hunter. Is this what you call ‘theft’?” “Also, we just raided that illegal sweatshop.” Miller turned his screen around, showing several shocking photos. A dark, damp workshop, piles of heavy metal parts, and a wooden cot with nothing but a thin, torn sheet. On the small crate next to the bed sat a half-eaten jar of cheap pickles and a pack of the cheapest painkillers. “This is where your daughter lived?” “Her coworkers said she worked sixteen hours a day. She didn’t even dare to take a sick day when she had a 104-degree fever.” “Because she believed her dad was dying and needed the money.” Miller’s voice shook with suppressed fury. “You took the blood money she earned with her life to eat steaks, buy luxury apartments, and drive trucks.” “Yet you lied to her that her father had a terminal illness just to force her to slave away for you?” “Are you people even human?!” The interrogation room fell dead silent. A young female cop standing next to Miller, Officer Avery, had red eyes, glaring at the three of them with pure disgust. Brenda’s face flushed red, then turned pale. But she quickly raised her chin defensively. “So what? I’m her mother! I gave birth to her and raised her. She owes me!” “Besides, we only lied to give her some motivation to work hard!” “Young people today are lazy. If you don’t push them, they’ll never know their potential!” Hunter muttered under his breath, “Exactly. I’m the son, the one who carries the family name. It’s her duty to support me.” “Officer, stop lecturing us and just find her. Since she left, there’s no one to clean the house.” Miller’s hands were shaking with rage. He had been a cop for twenty years. He had seen bad people, but he had never seen parents this vile. Just then, a tech officer burst into the room, his face completely pale. “Captain! We tracked her!” “Chloe’s phone signal pinged one last time near the southern border!” “And… the border patrol cameras caught the bus she boarded last night.” “It belongs to Scarface Nick. He’s a notorious cartel smuggler who takes captives to the lawless compounds across the border!” “What?!” Miller stood up so fast his chair screeched against the floor. Brenda and Arthur looked completely clueless. “Across the border? Like a vacation? How did that brat have money for a trip?” Hunter, however, realized what it meant. His face drained of all color. He spent all his time online. He knew exactly what those cartel compounds were. “Mom… that’s… that’s where they run scams and harvest organs…” “Once you go in, you never come out.” Brenda froze, the color slowly leaving her face. “Har… harvest what?” she stammered. “But… people die there! Why would she go to a place like that…” Terror washed over her, but then she shrieked, “That stupid girl! She must have been blinded by the high pay they promised! She got scammed! What does that have to do with me?” “I gave her food and clothes! She walked into that hellhole herself! She’s doing this to punish us! Even if she dies out there, she brought it on herself!” ###

Arthur panicked too. He gripped the edge of the table, his lips trembling. “Officer, you must have made a mistake. She’s usually too scared to even walk down a dark street. How could she cross the border? What if… what if she really doesn’t come back…” But he quickly straightened his back, coughing to cover his fear. “Hmph! Maybe a little suffering will do her some good! Kids today think they’re so tough. Once she gets beaten up out there, she’ll realize how good she had it at home!” “I bet she went to that dangerous place on purpose just to scare us and make us beg her to come back! No way!” … In the briefing room of the Border Police Station. The atmosphere was suffocatingly tense. The family had been brought here overnight. Officer Miller threw a freshly intercepted video onto the table in front of them. “Take a look.” “This was sent by an informant across the border. It shows the group of captives smuggled in yesterday.” The video was blurry and shaky. The background showed a dark, thick jungle and armed guards holding rifles. A group of exhausted, thin people were being forced off a truck like cattle. In the corner, a small, frail figure stood out. She was wearing a faded school hoodie, clutching a small bottle of water. Though her face was blurry, Brenda recognized her instantly. It was Chloe. The daughter who always kept her head down at home and never dared to speak loudly. In the video, a muscular guard was whipping a man who walked too slowly. The sound of the whip hitting bare skin made everyone in the room shudder. “Officer! Can… can you still save her?” Arthur finally lost his composure. “I don’t need the treatment anymore… I don’t want the money! Just bring her back to work on the farm! That place looks like a death trap!” Miller looked at him with sheer disgust. “Save her? That is a lawless wasteland controlled by ruthless cartel syndicates.” “Going in there is a death sentence.” “And according to our intel, this batch of people was bought to be ‘blood bags’ and ‘donors’.” “Donors?” Hunter squeaked. “Living organ donors,” Officer Avery added coldly. “They drain your blood, take your corneas, and harvest your organs until there’s nothing left of you. That is the place you forced her into.” “She literally sold herself to raise the surgery money for a father who faked cancer.” “According to the smuggler we arrested, right before she crossed, she was still asking if she could get a $50,000 advance on her salary.” “Because her mother told her that her dad’s surgery was still $50,000 short.” At that moment, the last bit of color drained from the family’s faces. Brenda slumped into her chair, her lips shivering. “I… I just said that randomly…” “I just wanted her to make more money… I didn’t want her to die!” Suddenly, Brenda lunged forward, grabbing Miller’s sleeve so hard her nails tore into the fabric. She screamed hysterically: “Officer! You’re a cop! You have to save her! She went there to save her father’s life! We lied to her… we ruined her!” “Please, go save her! If you’re too late… Chloe will be gone forever!” Miller coldly pushed her hand away. “You’re crying now? It’s too late.” *Ding.* Suddenly, Brenda’s phone lit up on the table. A scheduled text message from Chloe popped up on the screen: *“Mom, the boss gave me an advance of $50,000. Dad can have his surgery now. Don’t worry about me.”* Those few words felt like a red-hot iron branding Brenda’s eyes. She shrieked in pain, and the phone clattered to the floor. Arthur stared at the message, then raised his hand and slammed a hard slap across his own face, letting out a guttural, animal-like sob. Just then, the border patrol radio crackled to life. Through the static, a tense voice came through. “Report! We have an update from the border!” “The cartel compound’s weapons depot just exploded!” “It triggered a massive chain of explosions and a raging fire! The entire compound is swallowed in flames!” “No survivors!” “While clearing the perimeter, we recovered a charred backpack.” “Inside was an ID card. The name is… Chloe.”

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My biological mother thought my six-year-old self was a drag on her chances of marrying into a wealthy estate. So, she dumped me under a highway overpass. To get a bite of food, I grabbed the leg of a passing street punk and wouldn’t let go. “Hey, big brother, your boots are dirty. Let me wipe them for you.” “Hey, big brother, are you thirsty? I can go steal some water for you.” A bunch of street punks looked down at me. “Damn, this kid knows how to hustle. Fine, let’s keep her. She’s our little sister now.” From that day on, I had twelve gangster brothers. They never taught me any grand life philosophies. They only taught me one thing: if someone bullies you, beat them to a pulp. Because of this, in twelve years, my twelve brothers had never actually been in the same room together. Either one was doing time for breaking someone’s leg, or another was locked up for cracking someone’s ribs. But against all odds, I studied hard, got into college, and became the only university student from our run-down neighborhood. Yet, on the very first day of classes, my roommate lost her luxury necklace and pointed the finger straight at me. Our academic advisor, the dorm supervisor, and the roommate’s rich parents marched right to my place, demanding to search it. I blocked the doorway. “Can we please just resolve this at the school office?” The roommate’s mother shoved me aside. “Guilty conscience, huh? I want to see exactly what kind of trashy home breeds a thief!”

I stood at the door of my off-campus place, looking at Mrs. Miller, our academic advisor, who had her usual “just-following-protocol” face. Behind her stood a middle-aged couple practically dripping in designer labels, and Chloe, my roommate, leaning against the hallway wall with a smug smirk. “May,” Mrs. Miller said, adjusting her glasses. “If you really have nothing to hide, you should let us and Chloe’s parents take a look inside. It’s the best way to clear your name.” Chloe’s mother sneered at me, scanning me from head to toe before her eyes settled on my faded, worn-out canvas sneakers. She let out a loud, dramatic sigh. Chloe stepped forward, lowering her voice, but making sure everyone in the hallway could hear: “May, you could barely afford the tuition deposit, right? I heard you’re only here on financial aid. With your background, who else would steal my four-thousand-dollar Tiffany necklace? Who’s going to believe you?” I ignored her and looked straight at Mrs. Miller. “Mrs. Miller, can we please just handle this through the campus board?” “Why are you so scared?” Chloe’s father took a step forward. He had a massive gold pinky ring and pointed his finger right in my face. “My daughter’s necklace is the latest Tiffany collection! Four grand! If it wasn’t you, then who? We are searching your place today. I want to see what kind of trashy family raises a thief!” Chloe laughed out loud beside him. I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms. “Fine,” I said. “Let’s go.” As we walked out of the campus gates, Chloe kept pace right next to me, her high heels clicking loudly on the pavement. “May, do you even know who bought me that necklace? My boyfriend. The one who drives the Mercedes,” she said, tossing her hair. “Honestly, you’re not ugly. Why do you do stuff like this? Why not just find a guy to take care of you? What’s the point of finishing college if you’re just going to be broke forever?” I stopped and turned to look at her. “Was that Mercedes rented or borrowed?” I asked flatly. “Because last week, I saw him riding a rental scooter outside the gate.” Chloe’s face went rigid. Her mother overheard and immediately rushed over. “How dare you speak to my daughter like that! Chloe’s boyfriend is in business! What does a charity-case student like you know about anything?!” I didn’t reply. I just kept walking. But my mind drifted back to my twelve brothers. When I was six, my birth mother, Eleanor, abandoned me under a highway overpass because I was getting in the way of her marrying a rich guy. She left me with twenty dollars and never looked back. I huddled under that overpass for two days, dizzy with hunger. Then, I saw a crew of guys walking down the alley. The leader had bleached blonde hair, a cigarette dangling from his lips, and walked like he owned the streets. I was tiny, but I had survival instincts. I rushed out and wrapped my arms around his leg. “Hey, big brother, your boots are dirty. Let me wipe them for you.” “Hey, big brother, are you thirsty? I can go steal some water for you.” The crew looked down at me. “Kid’s got game,” the blonde guy said, spitting out his cigarette. “Fine, we’re keeping her. She’s our little sister now.” From that day on, I had twelve brothers. The oldest was Jax, the blonde leader. The second was Leo, the big guy with a scar across his face. The third was Blade, skinny as a rail. The fourth was Hammer, the one with fists like iron. All the way down to the twelfth, whom we called Gizmo. He picked the name himself, saying a weird street name keeps you safe. They never taught me morals. They only taught me one rule: *If anyone messes with you, let your fists do the talking.* So, for twelve years, the twelve of them were never all together. Someone was always in county jail for breaking a collarbone or cracking a rib. But they loved me fiercely. When I was a kid, we were dirt poor. We lived in a rundown trailer park that leaked rain in the summer and let in freezing wind in the winter. But my plate always had the best cuts of meat, scooped out of my brothers’ own bowls. When I was seven, a boy at school cut a chunk of my hair off and mocked me for having no parents. I didn’t cry. I didn’t say a word when I got home. But Jax somehow found out. The next day, that boy showed up to school with a completely shaved head, crying his eyes out all day. When the teacher asked who did it, the boy just whimpered that someone had pinned him down in the bathroom with a razor. When I asked Jax about it, he was eating instant ramen and didn’t even look up. “What? I was at the internet cafe all night. Don’t look at me.”

But I saw the electric clippers tucked in his back pocket. When I was eight, a local creep tried to touch my face in the alley. Again, I said nothing. But the next day, that creep was kneeling in front of our porch, his face swollen like a balloon, begging for my forgiveness. Blade was leaning against the wall, smoking. He smiled when he saw me. “Hey, sis. This guy wanted to apologize, so we helped him find his manners.” Later, I found out Blade had taken on that creep and four of his friends by himself. Blade spent two weeks in the hospital, but when he came home, he brought me a cheap hair clip. “Got it from a street vendor for two bucks. Don’t hate it,” he grunted. I still have that clip. … “May! Why are you walking so fast? Guilty conscience?” Chloe’s voice snapped me back to reality. She jogged up to match my pace, a smug smile plastered on her face. “Are you scared of us seeing how you live? I heard the area you live in is basically a slum. Are you renting some sketchy room? Or do you live with your weird relatives?” I ignored her. My phone buzzed. I pulled it out and saw a text from Gizmo, my youngest brother. *“Hey sis, how was orientation? Get your butt home quick, the guys put together a huge surprise for you!”* A surprise. My palms started sweating. I knew exactly what their “surprises” looked like. The day I finished my high school exams, they said they had a surprise. I ran home excited, only to find a guy kneeling on our living room floor. It was a bully from the high school next door who used to corner me for lunch money. My brothers had handled him before, but that day, he was black and blue, sobbing. “I’m sorry! I’ll never do it again! Please tell your brothers to let me go…” Jax was sitting on a lawn chair, eating watermelon. He tossed the rind aside when he saw me. “Sis, this guy wanted to apologize face-to-face. We just facilitated. You satisfied? If not, I can make him kneel a bit longer.” What was I supposed to say? So, seeing the word “surprise” now made my heart race. Chloe leaned over to peep at my screen before I could lock it. “Ooh, who’s texting you?” she sneered. “Some street trash boyfriend? Figures. With your background, you’d only attract lowlifes.” I shoved the phone into my pocket and remained silent. She leaned in closer, whispering, but loud enough for Mrs. Miller and her parents to hear. “May, are you embarrassed of your home? Don’t worry, being poor isn’t a crime.” She tossed her hair. “But stealing is. That necklace is four grand. You can’t even pay your tuition—how are you going to pay me back? If you hand it over now, we can settle this privately. Otherwise, once we search your place and find it, I’m calling the cops.” I stopped walking. “I didn’t take it.” Chloe rolled her eyes. “Sure, you didn’t. Let’s see what you say when we find it.” Her mother caught up and grabbed my arm tightly. “Why are you stopping? Trying to run?” “I’m not running,” I said, trying to pull away. “Not running?” Her mother gripped harder, her sharp acrylic nails digging painfully into my skin. “You look like you’re about to bolt! We should hold her down, otherwise, she’ll run for sure!”

Chloe chimed in immediately, “Yes! Hold her!” Mrs. Miller turned around, frowning, but she didn’t stop them. Chloe’s father walked over. “Mrs. Miller, I agree. If she runs, who pays for the four-thousand-dollar necklace? We need to secure her.” Mrs. Miller hesitated, then nodded. “May, just cooperate for now. It’s for everyone’s peace of mind.” Chloe’s mother pulled a nylon strap from her designer bag, trying to bind my wrists. I violently yanked my arm back. “Back off.” Chloe’s mother gasped. Chloe froze. Mrs. Miller’s frown deepened. “May! Show some respect to your elders!” “I said, back off,” I glared at them. “I didn’t steal anything. You have no right to bind me.” Chloe’s father lunged forward to grab me. I dodged. Chloe sneered, “May, you want to fight? I can get you arrested for assault!” “Go ahead,” I spat, staring her down. Her father lunged again. I raised my hand to block, and somehow, my fist connected squarely with his jaw. Honestly, I don’t even know how I threw that punch. Maybe it was the muscle memory from the self-defense moves my brothers drilled into me, or maybe I was just pushed to my limit. Chloe’s father groaned, stumbling back against the brick wall. “You struck my husband!” Chloe’s mother shrieked, throwing herself at me and grabbing my hair. Chloe joined in, clawing at me. Mrs. Miller was shouting “Stop it! Stop it!” from the sidelines, but no one listened. I was pinned to the gravel ground. My scalp burned from being pulled, and I took a couple of hits to the face. During the scuffle, something slipped out of my pocket and clattered onto the concrete. It was a jade amulet. A pale green piece, carved in the shape of a little rabbit. Blade had given it to me. On my thirteenth birthday, Blade had just gotten out of county jail after a three-month stretch for protecting his crew. He was visibly thinner, but he smiled when he saw me and pulled this amulet from his pocket. “Happy birthday, sis.” When I asked where he got it, he just told me not to worry about it, that it was a good piece. Later, Jax told me Blade had taken it from some rich prick who tried to hustle their crew. The guy used the jade to buy his way out of a beating. Jax said it was worth a lot of money and told me to keep it safe. I had kept it close to my chest for years. I never took it off. Chloe snatched the jade off the ground. “What’s this?” She turned it over, her eyes lighting up. “Mom, look! This is real jade!” Her mother leaned in, and the two whispered frantically. Then Chloe looked up at me, triumphant. “May, you can’t even afford college. Where did you get a piece of jade like this? This is worth thousands! You definitely stole this from somewhere!”

“Give it back!” I scrambled up from the ground, reaching for it. Chloe held it high, stepping back. “You dare try to steal it back?” Her mother shoved me away. “This is clearly stolen property! We’re giving this to the police!” “Give it back!” I lunged, grabbing for the amulet. In the chaotic struggle, there was a sharp, sickening *crack*. The jade flew out of Chloe’s hand, smashed against the brick wall, and fell to the pavement. It shattered. It broke into several pieces. The little carved rabbit split right down the middle. I froze. Chloe froze too. Then she shrugged. “Whatever. It was stolen anyway. Let’s go to your place. I want to see what else you’ve hidden.” I knelt down, carefully picking up the broken shards of jade, cradling them in my palm. My eyes stung. But I didn’t cry. My brothers told me: *Our family doesn’t cry.* I tucked the shards into my pocket, stood up, and kept walking. Chloe muttered behind me, telling her mom I was definitely a serial thief. I ignored them. After a ten-minute walk, we reached the trailer park at the edge of the city. The alleyways were narrow, littered, and overhead wires hung like chaotic spiderwebs. Chloe laughed out loud. “May, you actually live here? Is this even fit for humans?” Her mother covered her nose. “Ugh, what is that smell? Disgusting!” Chloe’s father, nursing his bruised jaw, sneered, “No wonder she’s a thief. Growing up in a dump like this, how else would she survive?” Mrs. Miller pinched her nose but remained quiet. I walked up to our rusty metal gate. Chloe nudged me. “What are you waiting for? Open it! Let’s see your little rat hole.” Her mother added, “Yes, open it! Get your parents out here! I want to see who raised a brat like you!” I pulled out my keys, my hands trembling slightly. Not out of fear. But because I could see shadows moving through the cracks of the door. There were voices. More than one person was home. I pushed the door open. And I stopped dead in my tracks. Sitting in the living room was a massive circle of men. Twelve of them. Every single one was there. Jax, the oldest, still had his bleached hair, but today it was neatly combed. He wore a brand-new T-shirt and actually looked presentable. Leo, the second, still had his facial scar, but he had squeezed into a buttoned-up white shirt, looking incredibly uncomfortable. Blade, skinny as ever, sat upright, smiling the moment he saw me. Hammer, the fourth, sat with his hands on his knees, posture perfectly straight. The fifth, the sixth, the seventh… All the way to Gizmo, who had actually washed his hair and slicked it back with so much gel a fly would slip off it. On the table in front of them sat a massive cake. Written on it in clumsy frosting was: *Congrats on College, Sis!* Jax was the first to stand up, smiling as he walked toward me. “May, you’re back! We were waiting for you. It’s your birthday, so we all chipped in and got a—” He stopped mid-sentence. He saw the people behind me. He saw the red marks on my face. He saw my messy hair, my dirty clothes, and the mud on my sleeves. The smile vanished from Jax’s face. Leo stood up. Blade stood up. Hammer stood up. One by one, all twelve of them stood up. Behind her mother, Chloe whispered, “Who are these guys? May’s relatives?”

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My mom has severe mobility issues, so I hired a nanny to look after her. But my mom kept insisting that the nanny was verbally abusing her and stealing her money. I installed security cameras all over the house, but the footage only showed my mom screaming like a lunatic at a silent nanny. Because of this, I had several huge fights with her. The nanny, Martha, looked incredibly hurt every time: “If it weren’t out of respect for you, Claire, I would have quit months ago!” But I started to wonder… if she was suffering so much in our house, why did she refuse to quit? *** **1** My mom sneered when she heard Martha’s tearful words. “Oh, cut the act, Martha!” “Claire, listen to me. I might be old, but I am not losing my mind!” “Fire her! Right now!” I was drowning in a major project at work, my husband, David, was out of town on business, and I had already left our kid with my mother-in-law. I literally had zero time or energy to take care of her myself. “Mom, this is the fourteenth nanny we’ve had! If we fire her, the agency won’t even send us anyone else!” “I checked the cameras, Mom. Martha didn’t say a single word. Can you please stop making a scene?” Maybe it was because I was so stressed lately, but I snapped. My voice was sharp, and I even had stress ulcers in my mouth. Seeing my exhausted state, my mom’s shoulders slumped. “Fine. Once you’re old, you’re just a burden to everyone.” I rolled my eyes, walked out of her room, and turned to Martha. “I’m so sorry, Martha. My mom has a terrible temper. Thanks for putting up with her.” I pulled out a $100 Target gift card that my company had given me and slipped it into her hand. “Take this. Get yourself some treats on your day off. Please, just hang in there for me.” Martha sighed and took the card. “Claire, honestly, if I didn’t see how hard you work, I would have… well, never mind. It’s my job, after all.” “Oh, by the way, I made some organic honey grapefruit tea. You should take a jar home. It’s great for stress.” Martha took a glass jar from the fridge. She insisted I take it. Before leaving, I looked back at my mom’s room. “Mom, I’m heading out. Call me if you need anything.” My mom just waved her hand dismissively, not even looking at me. As soon as I got into my car, I opened the security app on my phone. The live feed showed Martha kneeling on the floor, massaging my mom’s feet. “Helen,” Martha said on screen, her voice gentle. “You’re older than me, but you have to understand your kids have it hard. You keep calling Claire back home every two days. I know you miss her, but she has a career to focus on.” My heart ached when I heard that. It was true. I had been chasing this client for three months. It was the peak of my busy season. But at the same time, my mom’s diabetes complications had left her bound to a wheelchair. I was desperate, which was why I had gone through fourteen nannies. Her temper had only gotten worse since she got sick. Martha was the only one who had lasted. She had been with us for six months now. I sighed. But suddenly, my mom’s sharp scream pierced through my phone speaker. “You’re mocking me again! You psycho! Get away from me! Get away!” “Let go of me! It hurts! Claire, look at her! She’s stabbing me!” I quickly rewound the footage. But Martha’s mouth hadn’t moved at all! There was no sound of abuse on the recording, yet my mom was screaming in terror. She shoved Martha away, causing Martha to stumble onto the floor. Martha looked up with tears in her eyes. “Helen, I know you don’t like me, but I’ll stop talking, okay?” “Just please don’t stress Claire out. She’s so busy.” “Get out of here! You snake!” I couldn’t watch it anymore. I wanted to yell at my mom through the camera’s speaker, but I stopped myself. Just then, my coworker leaned over my desk, seeing my miserable face. She tapped my shoulder. “Is your mom throwing another tantrum?” “Yeah. She keeps saying the nanny is abusing her. I installed cameras, but they show absolutely nothing. She was never like this before.” “Maybe you should get her evaluated for Alzheimer’s? I heard sudden personality changes and paranoia are early signs of dementia.” Her words made me freeze. It was true. Ever since my mom lost her mobility, she had become a completely different person. I thought it was just because of her illness, but could there be another reason? After finishing my shift, I went back to my own apartment. I didn’t go to my mom’s place because I was just too exhausted. I wanted to get one day of rest and visit her the next morning. But that night, my phone rang. It was my mom, sobbing. “Claire, come quick! She’s doing it again!” *** **2** I jumped out of bed, threw on a hoodie, and rushed to my car. When I parked downstairs at my mom’s place, I instinctively opened the security app to check the playback. The footage showed Martha bringing a basin of warm water to wash my mom’s feet. But out of nowhere, my mom suddenly started screaming obscenities at her and kicked the basin over, splashing water everywhere. My head throbbed. I went upstairs, unlocked the door, and walked in. Martha was on her knees, drying the hardwood floor with a towel. Seeing me, she let out a long sigh. “Claire, I think Helen’s mental state is deteriorating. You really need to take her to a neurologist.” My mom went ballistic. “You liar! You fake bitch! How dare you frame me!” “Claire, she—” “Enough, Mom! I am exhausted!” My head was pounding so hard I felt sick. I had never felt this level of frustration before. “Why do you keep doing this? We’ve gone through fourteen nannies! Are you trying to drive everyone away?” “Do you have any idea how hard my life is right now?” My mom gasped, staring at me in shock, unable to speak. Martha stood beside her, looking deeply hurt. “Helen, I’ve told you a hundred times, I never said those things. If you keep doing this, I’m going to lose my mind!” Hearing this, my mom lost it. She furiously rolled up her sleeves. “Look! She doesn’t just abuse me, she stabs me!” She grabbed my hand. “Claire, I raised you. I’m your mother. Do you really not believe me?” I sighed, completely drained. “Mom, if you really believe that, let’s just call the police.” My mom choked. “The police?” Martha stepped in. “Actually, let me call them. I don’t want Helen to think I have something to hide, and I don’t want you caught in the middle, Claire.” Martha pulled out her phone and dialed 911 right in front of us. My mom sneered. “Fine! Call them! Let’s see how long you can keep up this act!” I watched Martha’s face closely. There wasn’t a single trace of panic. Ten minutes later, two police officers arrived. My mom immediately told them that Martha was abusing her and stabbing her with needles. “Look at my arms! Look at these marks!” I leaned in to look. Indeed, there were tiny, red, swollen puncture wounds on her arms. Martha calmly spoke to the officers. “Sir, nanny agencies have strict rules against carrying sharp objects. I was fully vetted. I have no idea why she is accusing me of this. You are welcome to check the security cameras.” I nodded and showed the officers the footage. There was absolutely no sound of Martha speaking, let alone abusing her. My mom was shaking with rage. “You’re all in on this! Get out! All of you, get out of my house!” One of the officers looked at my mom, his face serious. “Ma’am, if you call us out here for a false report again, we will have to take legal action.” My mom froze. “What?” “Filing a false police report is a crime.” The officer then turned to me. “Does your mother have a history of mental illness? You should really get her checked out.” I was mortified. I apologized profusely, escorted the officers out, and turned to apologize to Martha. Martha patted my shoulder gently. “It’s okay, Claire. Before I took this job, the agency told me your mom was difficult. But you’re around my daughter’s age, so I understand.” “Taking care of parents is just a heavy cross we have to bear.” My mom screamed from her room, “Shut up, you witch!” Martha shook her head. “I’ll ignore that.” I couldn’t control my anger anymore and turned to my mom. “Mom, stop it! I’m working overtime, sleeping three hours a day, and you’re pulling this crap? Look at me! I look like a corpse! I beg you, just stop!” *** **3** I threw my hands up in defeat. My mom took a deep, shaky breath, slowly turned her wheelchair around, and rolled into her bedroom without saying another word. I wondered if I had hurt her feelings, but I literally had nothing left in me to comfort her. I asked Martha to keep an eye on her, and since I couldn’t bear the thought of driving back to my place, I went into the guest bedroom and collapsed onto the bed. Right before I drifted off, a thought popped into my head. I pulled out my phone and opened the camera app. I watched the footage again, frame by frame, zoomed in. Martha’s lips definitely did not move. Yet, my mom’s physical reaction—the way she flinched and screamed—was extremely genuine. My mom was a gentle, sweet woman before she got sick. She wouldn’t act like this for no reason. And those puncture wounds on her arms were real. But Martha didn’t have any needles in her bags. I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Finally, I opened Amazon and ordered a few hidden spy cameras. The next morning, I took a sick day from work. I sent Martha out to the grocery store, and while she was gone, I hidden-installed the cameras all over the house. I even attached a tiny button-sized spy camera to one of my mom’s cardigans. My mom watched me do this, looking confused. “Claire?” “Mom, I want to protect you. But you have to cooperate with me. Tell me the absolute truth—what is going on?” “I couldn’t find any evidence before. If you’re telling the truth, I won’t let anyone hurt you. But I can’t accuse someone without proof.” My mom looked incredibly vulnerable. “She really does abuse me, Claire. But her mouth doesn’t move. The voice… it just comes out of her.” I stared at her, stunned. Later that afternoon, I drove to the agency, *Joyful Care*, bringing a box of expensive donuts. The manager, Leonard, recognized me immediately and smiled. “Hey, Claire! Are we looking for nanny number fifteen?” I shook my head. “Actually, no. I’m here to thank you for sending Martha. She’s been a lifesaver.” “My mom’s mind has been a bit fuzzy lately, and she’s been giving Martha a hard time. I just wanted to make sure Martha feels appreciated.” “I’m sure you’ve heard about the police incident.” Leonard waved his hand. “Oh, don’t worry about it. It’s part of the job. You shouldn’t feel guilty.” “By the way, what does Martha like? I want to get her a nice gift, maybe send her and my mom on a small day trip to get them out of the house.” Hearing this, Leonard let his guard down completely and started chatting away, telling me all about Martha’s background and habits. When I walked out of the agency, my hands were clenched into tight fists. I ran to my car and sped back home. Halfway there, my phone buzzed. It was a video from Martha. She was in the kitchen making apple pies, while my mom was yelling in the background. *“Are you coming home for dinner, Claire? I’m baking pies,”* Martha’s text read. In the video, my mom’s eyes were bloodshot. “My daughter will destroy you when she finds out!” Then, Martha walked closer to my mom. Her back was completely blocking the main security camera. The audio on the main feed was silent. But the tiny button camera on my mom’s cardigan captured everything crystal clear: “You old piece of trash. Keep crying. Let’s see if anyone believes you.” “You think complaining to your daughter will save you? You called the cops, and they almost locked *you* up. You’re a useless, paralyzed waste of space.” Hearing those words, I almost blacked out from rage. That psychopath! She had fooled us all! On screen, Martha suddenly shoved my mom into the bathroom. My mom let out a blood-curdling scream! Through the hidden camera, I saw Martha pull something small and sharp from her pocket and viciously jab it into my mom’s mouth!

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “443806”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster