My dad? He’s the quintessential villain, the kind of deranged secondary character you love to hate. He’d planned to drug the heroine, intending a classic kidnap-and-imprisonment scenario, but ended up being intercepted by a forgotten side character—a woman who secretly adored him. That woman, my mother, vanished overnight after I was born, leaving me on his doorstep. Naturally, my dad wanted to wring my neck. I’d often hear him loading a gun, muttering, “If it weren’t for this burden, Mina and I would be together! One day, I swear, I’m going to finish her off.” The next moment, I’d bat my big eyes, piping up in my baby voice, “Dada.” His menacing scowl would freeze solid. He’d grumble about me being bad luck, yet still make me the best formula, kicking a bodyguard when the water was too hot. His murderous intent never truly wavered. Until I was six. That’s when Mina, the heroine who’d been using my dad as a backup, finally showed up. “Just get rid of this bastard, and I’ll agree to be with you.” My dad was crouched on the floor, assembling a Lego castle for me. He didn’t even pause, just let out a dismissive scoff. “You? Don’t flatter yourself.” 1 The moment I woke up in this new body, things were dire. I realized I was an infant, dangled upside down in mid-air. The bodyguard holding me was on his knees, trembling. On the plush leather sofa in front of us sat a man. He was undeniably handsome, but in a darkly charismatic way, with eyes like shards of ice that could give you chills with a single glance. This was my dear, utterly unhinged father, Victor Howard. “Since that woman fled, this thing is useless. Dispose of it.” His voice was devoid of warmth, as if he were discussing a bag of trash. I was terrified, desperate to scream for help, but only whimpers and cries escaped my throat. It was then that the system, in its usual slow manner, finally came online and briefed me on the plot. Victor Howard. The story’s unhinged secondary villain, madly in love with the heroine, Mina Vance. Seeing Mina about to marry Ethan Thorne, the penniless hero with a brood of younger siblings, Victor spiraled into darkness. He prepared sedatives, chains, and a secluded room, planning one last, desperate act. But despite all his meticulous planning, he hadn’t accounted for being waylaid by Elara Miller, a forgotten side character who’d secretly harbored feelings for him. Elara was a ruthless one herself. Mimicking Mina’s style, she slept with Victor, then disappeared, only to drop me, still a newborn, at the gates of the Howard Estate a year later. Tucked into my swaddling was a note: “She’s yours. Get a DNA test if you don’t believe me.” The plot was so ludicrous it made my head throb. Before I could internally curse out the system’s entire lineage, Victor’s gaze swept over me. My crying made his brow furrow into a knot of annoyance. “Too noisy.” The kneeling bodyguard tentatively asked, “Mr. Howard, shall we… take care of the child now?” No! Please, no! I’d just gotten this new life, don’t cancel my account already! Seeing Victor about to nod, my survival instincts flared, and I choked back my cries. The system had told me I looked remarkably like Victor. Especially these eyes, a spitting image of his. Even a blind man could tell I was his biological child without a DNA test. So, I blinked furiously, tears welling in my eyes but not quite falling, my nose bright red, trying my hardest to be adorable. Sure enough, when Victor saw my eyes, he paused. The murderous intent in his gaze softened ever so slightly. After a long moment, I heard him scoff coldly: “Keep her for now.” “Once I find that woman, we’ll settle everything together.” My heart, which had been lodged in my throat, finally settled back into my chest. 2 “Keeping her” basically meant tossing me into a guest room and leaving me to my own devices. Victor’s grand estate was eerily quiet, not even a nanny in sight. I was a baby, for heaven’s sake! I had my pride, but more importantly, I needed to eat! No one paid me any mind, so I cried. From morning till night, until my throat was raw and I nearly fainted from hunger. Finally, Victor got fed up with my incessant wailing. He stomped in, face dark, and summoned a line of bodyguards. In a fit of exasperation, he hired eight nannies for me. Money really did solve everything. In less than two months, I transformed from a scrawny monkey into a plump, smiling little dumpling, happy to greet everyone. One day, Victor was passing by the nursery. My sharp eyes spotted him instantly. I don’t know where I found the courage, but I stretched out my two chubby little hands in his direction, giggling, wiggling in the nanny’s arms, desperate to get to him. The nanny, ever quick to please, quickly chimed in, “Look, Mr. Howard, how much the baby adores you!” “Who told you to call her ‘the baby’?” Victor shot back, his face stone cold. The nanny’s face went white, terrified she’d be thrown to the dogs the next second. Victor glanced at me. Just as everyone expected him to erupt, he took off his chilled overcoat, tossing it carelessly to a nearby aide. Then, he walked over and took me into his arms. It was the first time my father had held me. His posture was stiff, as if he were cradling a bomb. His chest was hard and unyielding, uncomfortable against me, but I didn’t dare move. I forced a wide smile, showing off my two tiny front teeth, and snuggled my head into his chest. In that instant, I felt Victor’s body tense. The scent of baby formula drifted into his nose. He didn’t even realize it, but the harsh lines on his face softened considerably. He frowned and asked the nanny, “Didn’t she eat today? She feels so light, all bones.” I glanced down at my arms, which looked like Michelin tires. Ah, the classic “you’re skinny because my dad thinks you’re skinny” syndrome. The nanny wiped a bead of cold sweat. “Mr. Howard, the child… well, eating too much can cause indigestion. Her current weight is perfectly healthy.” Victor grunted in response, then disdainfully handed me back to the nanny. He turned and walked away. Watching his distant, aloof figure, the nannies huddled together, whispering: “Does Mr. Howard like her or not?” “I doubt it. You know Mr. Howard’s temper. This child is just an accident. Who knows, she might be sent away any day.” “I heard the mother really messed with Mr. Howard. The fact he even let the child live is a miracle. Expecting fatherly affection is pushing it.” “Oh, poor thing. She’s so adorable…” My head ached from their chatter, so I simply closed my eyes and pretended to sleep. As long as he didn’t kill me, I could survive. Victor was already willing to hold me; that was the first step to victory. First, secure the powerful protector. 3 My progress was faster than I’d anticipated. One day, Victor, for reasons unknown, decided to personally feed me. He held the bottle, gravely attempting to shove it into my mouth. I stared in horror at the temperature indicator on the bottle: 70 degrees Celsius! Dad, are you trying to scald me to death so you can inherit my diapers? I shook my head violently, but he’d put a woolen hat on me, wrapping my head like a ball, making it impossible to move. I tried to push his hand away, but my hands were tightly swaddled. My eyes were wide as saucers, but Victor, mistaking it for coquettishness, curved his lips into what he thought was a gentle, yet chilling, smile. “Good girl, drink up.” Good girl, my ass! I frantically called for the system in my mind. Just as disaster was about to strike, the doorbell rang. A woman’s voice drifted in: “Victor, it’s me.” Mina Vance. The heroine who had driven Victor to madness. They hadn’t seen each other since their last falling out. Victor’s hand twitched, nearly dropping the bottle. He shoved it into the nearest nanny’s hand, his expression instantly darkening. The nanny, taking the bottle, winced as the heat seared her hand. She looked at me, and I looked at her. Our eyes met, a shared moment of narrowly averted catastrophe. The nanny whispered, “This poor child, without a mother, it’s truly sad.” Another nanny leaned in. “Miss Vance is here; Mr. Howard will definitely send the child away. We’ll all be out of a job.” “Shhh, quiet. We need to protect the baby.” My heart warmed at their words, but my ears were perked up, listening intently to the commotion outside. “Mr. Howard, this is the wedding invitation for Julian and me.” Mina’s voice sounded delicate, almost tearful. “I still hope for your blessing.” “Get out.” My dad was succinct, not even glancing at the invitation. Mina, undeterred,’s eyes immediately welled up. “Victor, you know I grew up without parents. I’ve always seen you as an older brother. For the most important moment of my life, I truly hope you can be there.” With that, she again offered the crimson invitation. Victor stared intensely at the card. His fists clenched, knuckles cracking, veins bulging on the back of his hand. It was clear he was holding back. Holding back from strangling Mina, or perhaps dismembering the man named Julian. Mina truly was ruthless. She knew Victor was unhinged, yet she was practically dancing on his landmines. Making him watch the woman he loved marry someone else? Wasn’t this just pushing him further into madness? According to the original plot, if Victor actually went to the wedding, he’d surely cause a fatality, leading to a grim ending behind bars. If he went to prison, my support system would collapse. My days of luxury and abundance had barely lasted a year! No, I absolutely couldn’t let my dad go to jail. I took a deep breath, gathered my energy, and spat out my pacifier. Under the nannies’ astonished gazes, I faced the living room and, with all my might, shouted: “Da…da!” “Dada…!” “Dada dada!!!” The living room fell into a deathly silence. The invitation slipped from Mina’s hand, hitting the floor with a soft thud. Victor abruptly turned his head. He didn’t even spare a glance for the aghast Mina, stumbling into the room. His amber eyes were filled with shock and panic. He rushed to me, his hands trembling. “You… what did you just call me?” I again extended my little arms, like lotus roots, struggling to reach his neck. This time, Victor didn’t hesitate, scooping me up. His movements were surprisingly fluid, almost painfully so. I hugged his neck, rubbing my face against his, deploying every trick in my tiny arsenal, smiling as sweetly as I possibly could. I kept calling out in his ear: “Da…da.” “Giggles, da…da…” The corners of Victor’s eyes reddened. He looked at me, his gaze complex and unreadable. Finally, he held me tight against his chest, his voice hoarse: “Daddy’s here.”

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I’ve always dreaded my birthday. Every year, on that day, I had to kneel before my mother’s grave for an entire day. Mom died from an amniotic fluid embolism, the very day she gave birth to me. From then on, I became the family’s culprit. Dad hated me. My grandparents never gave me a kind look. They all said I was the one who killed Mom. On my eighth birthday, I cautiously tugged at Dad’s sleeve, speaking in a small voice, “Dad, I feel so unwell today. Can I… not go to Mom’s grave?” But Dad’s eyes turned red, and he roared at me, “Your mom died giving birth to you! If you don’t go to her tombstone and repent, how can you face her?” He wouldn’t listen to my explanations. Like discarding trash, he dropped me in front of Mom’s tombstone and walked away without looking back. Watching Dad’s retreating figure, I let out a soft laugh. Dad, when I die, will you stop hating me then? 1 Dad had long since disappeared from sight, leaving me alone at the tombstone with a pile of unburned paper money. I curled up, leaning against the cold stone. “Mom,” I whispered, “Auntie Doctor said I have a very serious illness. My stomach will hurt constantly, until I die.” As I finished speaking, the pain in my belly intensified, like a thousand ants burrowing into my flesh. The wind grew stronger, whipping my hair into a tangled mess and blowing the ashes of the paper money onto my neck. I raised a hand to wipe them away, only to feel cold sweat on my face. “Mom, when I die, will I finally see you?” “When I do, please don’t dislike me like Dad does, okay? I didn’t mean to make you die…” I lay prostrate against the tombstone, too weak to move from the pain, my gaze fixed on Mom’s smiling face in the photo. Suddenly, I remembered what my grandparents used to say. They said Dad and Mom were childhood sweethearts, growing up together, always inseparable. Later, they grew up, naturally married, and lived very happily. Grandma even said Mom was the smartest and prettiest girl on the whole street. She could sing, dance, and paint, and Dad always doted on her like a little princess. Grandma also mentioned that, as I was nearing birth, Dad was ecstatic every single day. He bought tiny clothes and toys for me in advance, telling everyone he met that he was going to be a father. But everything changed on the day I was born. Dad never got to see Mom deliver me safely. Instead, he received news from the doctor. The doctor said Mom didn’t survive an amniotic fluid embolism. Dad, who had been eagerly anticipating my arrival, instantly turned red-eyed upon hearing the news. He went wild, trying to rush into the delivery room to strangle me. It took several doctors to hold him back and save me. From that day on, I became his enemy, the murderer who killed Mom. The sky slowly darkened, and the snow fell heavier, like goose feathers drifting everywhere. I suddenly remembered Grandma mentioning on Mom’s death anniversary that it was also a day of heavy snowfall when Mom left, a cold that made everyone shiver. The searing pain in my stomach, which had been agonizing moments ago, slowly lessened as the snowflakes drifted down. I braced myself against the tombstone and slowly sat up, gazing towards the direction of home. These past years, Dad hadn’t fared well either. Since I could remember, I’d never seen Dad smile. Every day, besides work, he would stare blankly at Mom’s photo. I wanted to go back. Anyway, my remaining days were few. I might as well do something for Dad now. The house was eerily quiet; Dad hadn’t come home from work yet. I gathered the dirty clothes from the sofa into the laundry basin, poured in detergent, and scrubbed them clean one by one, hanging them on the line in the yard. My hands were red and raw from the cold, but I didn’t stop. After the clothes were hung, I took a broom and swept the entire yard and inside the house. Chinese New Year was coming soon. I wouldn’t be here for it, but I hoped Dad wouldn’t look so gloomy this year. Done with the chores, I dug out the pocket money I had saved for a long time from my backpack. Counting it, it was exactly $87.5. This was just enough to buy some groceries. Clutching the money, I walked to the market, selecting some green vegetables Dad liked, potatoes, and the occasional cut of pork belly he bought. Fearing Dad might forget, I found a sticky note and scrawled “Eat the greens soon, pork belly in the freezer,” then taped it to the fridge. With little change left, I stood outside the cake shop, hesitating for a long time before finally going in. In all my eight years, I had never had a birthday cake. My deskmate said cake was delicious, sweet, a hundred times better than candy. Today, I wanted to fulfill this one wish. I entered the shop and bought the smallest cream cake. It had a tiny strawberry on top and a single candle. Snowflakes landed on the cake box, as if celebrating with me. Back home, I carefully placed the cake on the table, gently opening the box. I didn’t eat it immediately. Instead, I copied how people celebrated birthdays on TV, clasping my hands, closing my eyes, and making a serious wish to the tiny candle. My first wish was that after I died, Dad would live happily, no longer staring blankly at Mom’s photo, no longer trapped by sadness. My second wish was that in my next life, I would still be Mom and Dad’s daughter. I would definitely be good, and I would definitely not let anything happen to Mom again. As I came to the third wish, I paused. Was it too greedy to make so many wishes at once? But I really wanted to be greedy just one more time. I knew my time was short, so for my third wish, I wanted my stomach to stop hurting. Even if it was just for these last few days, could I spend them peacefully? After making my wishes, I picked up the small fork, dug out a tiny piece of cake, and put it in my mouth. A sweet sensation bloomed on my tongue. My deskmate hadn’t lied; the cake was truly, truly sweet. I held the fork, about to take a second bite, when the front door suddenly creaked open. It was Dad, returning with the smell of alcohol on him. My heart tightened, and I instinctively pushed the cake further onto the table. As soon as Dad entered, he saw the cake. “You’re not kneeling at your mother’s grave in repentance, and you dare to come home and sneak cake? Do you deserve to eat this cake?!” No sooner had he spoken than he strode over, raising his hand and sweeping the cake to the floor. Before I could react, there was a sharp smack, and a burning pain instantly flared on my cheek. I was stunned, tears immediately rolling down my face. Dad hated me, but he had never hit me before. This was the first time. Suddenly, a wrenching cramp, more violent than any before, tore through my stomach, like countless sharp knives twisting simultaneously. The pain made me curl up on the floor, clutching my belly tightly with both hands. Dad still stood there, his chest heaving. He raised his hand, seemingly intending to strike again. I trembled with fear, begging through my tears, “Dad, don’t hit me… I won’t eat it, I won’t ever eat it again.” My words made Dad’s raised hand freeze. He stared at my pale face, and his uplifted palm unconsciously lowered. But the next second, he averted his eyes, simply snarling, “Get out, go to your mother’s grave now. Don’t come back without my permission!” I bit my lip, enduring the excruciating pain in my stomach, and slowly crawled up from the floor. Outside, the snow was falling even harder, and the biting wind felt like knives cutting my face. I hunched my shoulders, inching my way back to Mom’s grave. Kneeling before Mom’s tombstone again, I buried my head in my knees, my voice choked with tears, softly talking to Mom: “Mom, I’m sorry, I made Dad angry again.” “He saw me eating cake and shouted at me fiercely, knocked the cake over, and slapped me. It’s the first time Dad has ever hit me, but I don’t blame him. I shouldn’t have secretly come home to eat cake today.” I paused, then looked up at Mom’s photo. “Mom, but I did get to taste the cake. Even though it was just a small bite, it was really, really sweet.” “I’m already very satisfied. This was my first birthday wish in eight years, and it came true.” The snow continued to fall, landing on my hair, on my shoulders, slowly turning me into a little snowman. Looking at Mom’s picture, I suddenly felt lost. To be honest, my memory of Mom’s face was always hazy. All these years, I’d never once dreamed of her. Was Mom blaming me too, for causing her death? Was that why she wouldn’t come to see me, not even in my dreams? I couldn’t hold back anymore; large tears rolled down my face, the emotional pain spreading through me. “Mom, I really didn’t mean it… I didn’t want you to die…” No sooner had I spoken than a gush of metallic sweetness surged into my throat. A mouthful of fresh blood burst out, splashing onto the pristine white snow. The excruciating pain in my stomach instantly peaked. My vision went black, and I could no longer stand, collapsing. I don’t know how long passed before I woke up. There was no longer the biting cold, nor the heart-wrenching pain. My body felt light, like a feather. I looked down and realized I was curled up in front of Mom’s tombstone, my small body largely covered by white snow. So, I had died. I tried to move, but my body floated up involuntarily. A gust of wind carried me, uncontrollably, towards the direction of home. I drifted through the yard gate, directly towards the second floor. That small, secluded room on the second floor; Dad never allowed me near it. Every time I curiously peered towards its door, he would snap at me. But now, I passed through unimpeded. As soon as I entered the room, I froze. The walls were covered with Mom’s photos: her with a ponytail, her smiling radiantly in a wedding dress, candid shots of her cooking in the kitchen. Each photo was perfectly preserved. Dad sat on the floor, leaning against the wardrobe, tightly clutching a pale yellow sweater. His shoulders trembled violently as he murmured Mom’s name over and over: “Clara… how much longer can I hold on?” He buried his face in the sweater, crying like a helpless child: “The way I treated our daughter, will you blame me?” “But I truly couldn’t control myself. Every time I saw her, I remembered you left because of her…” “I hate her, but in reality, I hate myself. I hate myself for not protecting you.” I floated in mid-air, watching him weep, broken and helpless, and tears instantly welled up in my eyes. So, Dad didn’t truly hate me. He just mistook his guilt for Mom, his responsibility for himself, as anger towards me. All these years, he had suffered more than I had. I yearned to rush to him, to tell him I understood everything, to wipe away his tears. But my hand passed through his body again and again, unable to touch anything. I circled him frantically, desperately shouting: “Dad, I don’t blame you!” “Please stop tormenting yourself! Mom wouldn’t want to see you like this either, Dad, please cheer up.” Dad cried for what felt like an eternity, finally stopping. He staggered to his feet, walked to a cabinet in the corner of the room, and pulled out a bottle of liquor. He raised the bottle, tilting his head back to take a large gulp. The burning liquid slid down his throat, but he seemed to feel nothing, only exhaling a heavy sigh. As long as I could remember, Dad was especially fond of drinking, often getting completely drunk. But I’d heard Grandma say that when Mom was alive, Dad never touched alcohol.

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1 The year I became a bottomless pit, I was sixteen. I could eat ten pancakes for breakfast and still feel empty. For my sixteenth birthday, my parents asked me what I wanted. “A trip to a fancy all-you-can-eat buffet,” I said. It had been so long since I’d felt truly full. Seeing the desperate hunger in my eyes, my mother’s face instantly darkened. “Mila, why do you always have to act like your father and I starve you?!” “It was the same at dinner tonight. Your sister takes the last two slices of roast beef, and you put on this whole pathetic show.” “You already had two helpings! There’s a limit to how far you can go competing with your sister!” For the thousandth time, I tried to explain. “I’m really not full yet.” Her hand cracked across my face. The sting was sharp, shocking. “Still lying?!” she snapped. “What kind of girl isn’t full after two plates of food? You’re obsessed with getting attention, aren’t you? You don’t even care about your own body.” The blow brought tears to my eyes. As I ducked my head, clutching my burning cheek, I saw my sister, Nicole, spitting the perfectly good pieces of roast beef into the trash can. … Who was the one really competing for attention? Nicole was already full. But she saw my fork still moving, so she deliberately scooped the last of the meat onto her plate. And Mom had praised her. It’s a blessing to have a good appetite. Then, Mom, why is it just an act when I have one? Maybe it was because I hadn’t grown up with them. I’d spent most of my childhood living with my grandparents, so I wasn’t as close to her as Nicole was. Thankfully, the next day was my Aunt Carol’s birthday. She was hosting a buffet at a hotel. Finally, a real meal. I had been eating for a while when my mom showed up, late from work. The moment she saw my heaping plate, her expression soured. “Mila, are you eating that much again!?” Nicole looped her arm through Mom’s, a sweet smile on her face. “Mila has a great appetite. She’d already finished two plates before you got here.” “Wow, Mila, you can really eat,” a cousin I didn’t know well remarked, genuinely impressed. She was rail-thin and always struggled with her appetite. I managed a weak smile in her direction. “It’s alright.” My mother’s face grew even darker. “You think that’s something to be proud of, Mila?” she hissed. “It’s your aunt’s birthday party, and you’re just here to freeload. Have you no shame, eating this much?” “Look at your sister, how beautiful her dress is. Now look at yourself, in those shabby clothes.” I bit my lip, my eyes darting to Nicole in her sleek, form-fitting dress. Then I looked down at my own plain denim overalls. Mom crossed her arms, rolling her eyes. “Jealous? Keep eating like that, and you’ll be wearing potato sacks for the rest of your life. What man would ever want you?” Nicole giggled, covering her mouth. “Mom, don’t even worry about it. There are plenty of guys with weird fetishes. Fat admirers, even. Someone will take her in.” My eyes started to burn. Mom’s voice sharpened with impatience. “Your sister and I are just trying to help you be more disciplined! Why are you crying?” “I work in the print shop at your school. Everyone knows we’re mother and daughter. When you eat like a pig, how do you think that makes me look?” Ever since I started high school, my appetite had exploded. And ever since then, my mother was always angry. She was convinced it was some tactic my grandmother had taught me to win her favor, refusing to believe that I was simply, painfully, hungry. 2 Nicole giggled and leaned into Mom. “Don’t be mad, Mom. Her brain is probably so full of food she can’t hear good advice anyway. Let’s just ignore her.” The curious stares from the surrounding relatives felt like needles on my back. Humiliated, I turned to escape the room. “What’s wrong?” Aunt Carol, seeing the commotion from across the room, started walking over. A jolt went through me. It was her birthday. She’d always been kind to me, sneaking me snacks whenever she visited. I couldn’t let a fight between my mother and me ruin her party. I quickly wiped the tears from my eyes and told my aunt it was nothing. As more relatives began to gather, my mother reluctantly softened her expression. “It’s nothing. I was just giving Mila a little lecture.” She stepped beside me and, for show, placed a single lettuce leaf on my plate. “I don’t know what to do with you. If you want to eat, then eat. Don’t want you saying I play favorites again.” I numbly speared the lettuce with my fork and put it in my mouth. As I looked up, my eyes met Nicole’s. She shot me a contemptuous smirk, and my heart dropped. It was the same look she’d given me the first night I came back to live with my parents a year ago. I knew she hated me. Hated that I’d come home and stolen a piece of our parents’ attention. So she was always, in ways big and small, manipulating Mom into thinking I was in a constant battle with her for their affection. But I was their daughter, too. The new year was approaching, and the food street outside our school was buzzing with promotions. A fried chicken place was holding an eating challenge. Finish their designated portion of chicken in thirty minutes, and the meal was free, plus you’d get a fifty-dollar gift card. After school, I went by myself to try it. But just as I was about to step inside, a voice stopped me. It was my mother, who had just driven out of the school parking lot. “I was wondering where you’d disappeared to after class. Sneaking off to another one of these disgusting eating challenges?” The disgust on her face was plain to see. “You’re not going in there. It’s embarrassing.” I’d barely eaten anything at the birthday party yesterday before fleeing in shame. And now she was trying to stop me again. I was too hungry to argue. I just turned and walked into the shop. I was the only one attempting the challenge, so all the customers turned to watch me with curiosity. When the owner brought out the massive platter of fried chicken, a wave of gasps rippled through the room. My mother’s face was a mask of fury. She tried to physically drag me out. “If you want fried chicken, I’ll make it for you at home! Why do this with everyone staring? Are we monkeys in a circus?” “Or do you just love being the center of attention this way?!” Her words cut right through to an old wound. When I was little, my kindergarten teacher once scolded me for constantly eating, calling me an attention-seeker. When my mother found out, she’d confronted the teacher, telling her I could eat as much as I wanted. But after ten years apart, why had that same protection turned into a weapon, a boomerang thrown back to hurt me? “Just go home,” I said, pulling my arm from her grasp. I asked the owner to bring the timer. Seeing she couldn’t change my mind, my mother shot me one last venomous glare and stormed out of the restaurant. As she left, I heard her mutter a curse under her breath. I lowered my head and started eating the chicken. A single tear fell onto the plate. “What’s wrong, little lady?” the owner asked, surprised. I looked up and forced a smile. “It’s nothing. Your mustard sauce is just really strong.” 3 After successfully completing the challenge, I walked home alone. Mom, Dad, and Nicole were at the dinner table, laughing and talking. My dad reached for a bowl to get me some food, but my mother’s voice cut through the air. “Don’t you dare get her anything! She’s been out making a spectacle of herself for a crowd. She’s already stuffed, I’m sure. Wouldn’t even remember to come home for dinner.” My dad hesitated, then put the bowl down. The picture of the three of them, a happy family, stung my eyes. A silent, cold war began between my mother and me. My already tight food budget, which she strictly controlled, was cut again. A girl with a normal appetite could have maybe gotten by on it. But not me. I was hungry every day. A dull, constant ache that left me listless. I didn’t have the energy to fight with her anymore. “Mila, my stomach suddenly feels awful. I brought this spicy chicken stir-fry but I really can’t eat it. You can have it.” My angel of a deskmate handed me her lunchbox. She had only eaten one piece of chicken; the container was still practically full. “Thank you so much!” After she left, I pulled out my fork and prepared to dig in. Suddenly, an exaggerated gasp came from the classroom doorway. “Mom, look! I think Mila is eating someone’s leftovers!” Then came my mother’s furious roar. “Mila! What are you doing?!” Her yell made me flinch, a pavlovian response. I fought the urge to run, determined to just have one decent meal. But the fragrant, two-tiered lunchbox was snatched from my hands. My mother glared down at me, her eyes burning with rage. “Do you have any self-respect?” she hissed. “Begging for your classmate’s leftovers? If people see this, they’ll think I abuse you!” “Would it kill you to eat a little less?!” Nicole stood behind her, arms crossed, looking down at me with the same condescending expression. I closed my eyes, trying to keep my voice from trembling. “Give me back the lunchbox.” “Mom, I just want to be full.” She scoffed. “Full? Your sister can’t even finish one serving at lunch, and I just saw you eat two in the cafeteria! Can’t you have some self-control?” “After that fried chicken challenge the other day, I was ashamed to even look at you. A body stuffed with greasy, fried food… What’s the difference between you and a pig ready for slaughter?” A ringing started in my ears. I wanted to scream at her, to fight back. But whenever my anger peaked, my body betrayed me, and the tears would start to flow, rendering me speechless. I could only stand there silently, trying to grab the lunchbox back. My mother sneered, flicked open the lid, and handed it to Nicole. “Go on. Throw it out.” I lunged forward, but Mom grabbed my arm, her sharp nails digging into my skin. “Let’s see if I can’t cure you of this disgusting habit today.” Nicole smiled, walked over to the trash can, and tipped the container. The entire meal tumbled into the filth. “Still hungry, sister?” she called out. “You can always dig it out of the trash.” 4 When I got home that evening, the smell of food filled the air. Mom was making my sister’s favorite: BBQ ribs. But as I climbed the stairs, a cold sweat soaked through the back of my shirt. I knew the feeling. My blood sugar was crashing. Leaning against the wall, I shuffled to the kitchen doorway. My voice was weak, airy. “Mom, I don’t feel so good. Can I please have just one rib? Or one of Nicole’s cookies, anything…” Without turning around, she moved the freshly cooked ribs to the highest shelf, out of my reach. Her tone was laced with disbelief. “Don’t feel good? You had two full meals at the school cafeteria at noon, and it’s barely been a few hours. Mila, did you just smell the meat and get greedy again?” “No,” I whispered. My vision started to speckle with black dots. I gripped the doorframe to stay upright. “Mom, I’m really dizzy. My heart is pounding.” “Wait,” she snapped impatiently. “The soup is almost ready. We’ll eat when your father gets home. Have you forgotten your manners? What kind of girl whines like a hungry pig before dinner is even served?” “I’m not being greedy…” The ringing in my ears grew louder, drowning out my own voice. “Mom, please. Just a piece of candy.” “How long are you going to keep up this victim act?” She finally glanced back at me, her eyes cold and disgusted. “Look at your sister, quietly doing her homework in her room. She’s never like you, always crying about being hungry or sick, finding new ways to get attention!” “You, hypoglycemic? You eat so much every day, with all that fat on you? Who are you trying to fool!” A deep chill spread through me, and a pins-and-needles sensation crawled up my limbs. I knew I was running out of time. I turned, using the wall for support, and started back toward my room, intending to call for an ambulance. Her scolding voice followed me. “Go back to your room! Don’t get in my way while I’m cooking. I’ll call you when dinner is ready.” “You’re infuriating. A perfectly good girl, not using her mind for anything useful, just scheming about how to eat more, how to get more attention.” I couldn’t hear what she said after that. Relying on instinct, I struggled to turn my doorknob. My hand was so weak I couldn’t even hold my phone. In the last second before I lost consciousness, I heard Nicole’s bright voice from the living room. “Mom, the ribs smell amazing! I’m so hungry, I’m going to grab one now.” In a complete reversal of her tone with me, my mother’s voice was warm and gentle. “Help yourself, sweetie. I made them just for you.” A tear slid down my cheek as I closed my eyes, and the world went black. I was jolted awake again by the sound of my father coming home. “Wow, dinner looks great tonight! Where’s Mila? It’s not like her to be late for a meal.” Dinner was ready? A flicker of hope sparked in me. I pushed myself up from the floor, ready to eat. Strange. After that short nap, I wasn’t hungry or dizzy anymore. My hand reached for the doorknob. I pushed, but the door didn’t open. Instead, my palm passed straight through the metal. I froze. I looked down at my hand. It was translucent. Stunned, I turned around. There, on the floor, was my body, twisted and stiff. I vaguely recalled reading a fact somewhere: acute hypoglycemia can be fatal. So… I was dead.

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Midnight. My phone was vibrating off the hook. Brenda from 1107 had tagged me eighteen times in the residents’ group chat. “To the young lady in 1207, the holidays are coming up. Try to find some decency!” “The way you beat that child every day… the noise is going to give me a heart attack!” I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and typed back. “I live alone. You must be mistaken.” Suddenly, Doris, the owner of 1307, jumped in. “Honey, when you’re wrong, just admit it. Being stubborn won’t get you anywhere.” “I’m a stickler for details. When I heard the child screaming, I went door to door, listening. It was definitely coming from your apartment.” 1. Brenda was still tagging me. “Stop hitting him! You’re going to kill him!” “The poor thing has cried his voice hoarse. It breaks my heart to listen to it!” “What did he do, commit a mortal sin? Why are you beating him to death?” It was a warm early summer night, but a sudden chill ran down my spine. After buying the apartment, I’d installed blackout curtains to help me sleep. At eleven, the world had been silent. Now, the pitch-black room felt like a place where a monster could materialize and press its face against mine at any moment. The hair on my arms stood on end. I scrambled out of bed, flicking on every light in every room. Only after checking every corner that could possibly hide a person did the fear begin to recede. I looked back at the group chat. 99+ new messages. The neighbors were all chiming in. “LOL, 1207 went silent after getting called out.” “Hasn’t 1207 only been here a little while? I remember her, a real pretty girl. Didn’t expect her to be a mom already, and with such a bad temper.” “You can choose your friends, but you can’t choose your neighbors. You make enemies now, but you’ll come crawling for help one day, and no one will be there for you.” One resident, hiding behind the anonymity of not listing their apartment number, made a crude joke. “What kind of screaming are we talking about? A real kid crying, or one of those adult women who puts on a baby voice?” “Haha, you read my mind. Maybe our pretty neighbor is just playing a certain kind of ‘game.’” “The old ladies just can’t keep up with the times. They don’t know about those games, so they misunderstood, hehe.” … I gritted my teeth and typed a reply. “Brenda, I live alone. I was almost asleep when you started tagging me.” “If you don’t believe me, you’re welcome to come up and see for yourself.” I then addressed the upstairs neighbor. “Doris, you said you were listening at doors. Are you sure you didn’t get the apartment number wrong?” After a brief silence, a reply came from Doris’s account. “This is Doris’s husband. She’s gone to bed. I’ll have her message you tomorrow.” Just then, Brenda tagged me again. “Honey, you said you were almost asleep, but I can see your lights are all on. Do you sleep with the lights on?” That set the neighbors off again. “It’s true, I just stuck my head out the window. Even the living room light is on.” “Wow, our neighbor is really something. Sleeping with all the lights on. Must be nice to be rich!” “I just went and listened at 1207’s door. It’s quiet for now, but there’s a broken action figure on her doormat. One of the arms is snapped off.” “Yikes. You think the kid broke his toy by accident, and she beat him half to death for it?” “What a terrifying mother. Maybe she’s bipolar?” “Whoa, that’s creepy when you think about it. She even invited Brenda to her apartment. What if she was planning to lock the door and come at her with a knife? These days, the crazies get away with murder.” I was completely speechless. I wanted to just leave the group and be done with it. But for the sake of neighborly harmony, I had to explain, point by point. “I only turned the lights on after I saw the messages in the group.” “As for the toy, some kid probably broke it and just left it at my door.” I started a video recording on my phone, doing a continuous shot of every room, and sent it to the group. “Just me. No child.” Still, some were unconvinced. “What does that prove? The kid is probably hiding in a closet or under the bed.” “The people upstairs and downstairs both say it’s you, and you still won’t admit it?” “Am I the only one who thinks something is off here? Maybe 1207 has some bad juju attached to her?” “You mean, like a ghost?” “OMG! Peace, prosperity, and all that jazz.” “Alright, alright, it’s late. This is getting out of hand!” Brenda stepped in to play peacemaker. “Honey, children need patience. You can’t solve everything by hitting them.” “It’s late, so I won’t come over. Just stop and go to sleep.” Staring at the now-quiet group chat, I was at a loss for words. It felt like I’d been caught in a storm that had nothing to do with me. It was nearly one in the morning, and I had a business meeting the next day. I had to get some sleep. I never expected that the next evening at nine, Brenda would start tagging me again, this time spamming the chat with a dozen 60-second voice messages. 2. “Honey, it was wrong of me to call you out in the group yesterday instead of messaging you privately. It’s all my fault, and I apologize.” Her words were slurred, and she sounded like she was crying. “I’m an old woman. If I drop dead, I deserve it. But my little grandson is only five years old! When he can’t sleep, my life is a living hell!” “Please, I’m begging you, have a heart! Stop beating your child and smashing things every night!” Then, Brenda’s son, Rick, started spewing filth in the chat. “1207, you bitch! You dare hit my mother?” He posted a photo of Brenda. There was a clear handprint on her face, swollen to half an inch high. “Everyone look at this! The psycho in 1207 doesn’t just abuse her own kid, she hit my mom too!” “My mom was just walking my son downstairs, and this woman came out of nowhere and slapped her!” “She even threatened my son! Said if he ever dared to squeak in the group chat again, she’d make sure our family never gets another full night’s sleep!” The group chat erupted in righteous fury. “Is this woman even human? She disturbs her neighbors, and instead of apologizing, she slaps them?” “Who does she think she is, acting so high and mighty?” “Threatening a child is unforgivable! Get out here and apologize! @12-7 Ms. Grace.” BANG, BANG, BANG. Someone was pounding on my door with incredible force. It was Rick, Brenda’s son. His face was a mask of rage, and he was holding a meat cleaver. “Get out here and apologize, you bitch!” The cleaver struck my door, making a sharp metallic clang. My heart hammered against my ribs. I scrambled to call property management and the police. I dragged the door jammer into place before I dared to speak. “Please, calm down and listen to me. I didn’t hit your mother. I don’t even know what she looks like. There must be a misunderstanding.” Silence for two seconds, then the pounding started again, even more violent than before. “You fucking bitch, you hit my mom and you won’t even admit it! Get the hell out here!” Seeing that Rick was beyond reason, I had no choice but to find my lease agreement and post a picture of it in the chat, showing I was the sole occupant. “I am single, I have no children, and I have never laid a hand on any neighbor. This is all a huge misunderstanding!” “If I really had a child, wouldn’t one of you in this building have seen them? Has anyone, any single one of you, ever seen me with a child?” The residents, who had been waiting for me to respond, flooded the chat with dozens of messages. “Who knows if that document is real or photoshopped.” “Besides, there are plenty of young women these days who mess around and have a baby they keep secret. If they have it at home and don’t register it, who’s to know?” “I’ve never seen her with a kid, that’s true. But I know one thing: criminals always hide their crimes. You probably just make sure to sneak the kid in and out when none of us are around.” Then, Doris from upstairs posted a video. “Have a look, everyone. I recorded this at 1207’s door. This old lady doesn’t lie!” The video was shaky and a little blurry, as if filmed on a handheld phone. The camera started at the elevator and moved down the hall to a door. As it got closer, a faint crying sound became clearer. When the phone was pressed against the door, the sound exploded, filling the speakers with the piercing screams of a small child. The world spun around me. How was that possible? It was undeniably my apartment. The number was clear, as was the fingerprint lock and the anime character sticker I’d put on it myself. The group chat went into a frenzy. “Haha, you asked for proof, you got proof.” “OMG OMG OMG the drama!” “Everyone be quiet, I want to hear 1207’s excuse for this one.” “@12-7 Ms. Grace, is that your apartment?” I braced myself and typed. “Yes, that’s my apartment.” Just as I was about to explain further, a telemarketer called. I rejected the call, only to see that my unfinished message had sent. I quickly deleted it, but the vultures watching the chat had already seen it. Rick clearly saw it too. He became even more agitated. “What do you have to say for yourself now?” “I might not have much, Rick, but I’ve got brute strength! I swear I’m going to drag you out of there and beat you to death today!” He started ramming his shoulder into the door. The small chandelier above me swayed with the vibrations. “Get out here, you bitch!” Forgetting about the group chat, I checked the door jammer with trembling hands, terrified he would actually break the door down. Just as I was about to call property management again, I heard voices outside. “Sir, please calm down! Don’t do something you’ll regret.” “Give me the cleaver first. We promise we will handle this properly!” Property management was here! I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. My back was soaked in cold sweat. Once I was sure they had the cleaver from Rick, I opened the door. Three property managers were holding Rick back, though he was still cursing at me. I was about to explain when two police officers stepped out of the elevator, their sharp eyes fixed on me. “Are you Ms. Grace, the resident of 1207?” “We received a report that you are a suspect in a child trafficking and abuse case. Please come with us to cooperate with the investigation.” 3. At the police station, I explained everything from the beginning. “I don’t have a child, and I certainly did not assault Brenda.” “As for trafficking and abuse, that’s just ridiculous. You just searched my apartment. Did you find a child, or any evidence that a child has ever been there?” “There has to be something wrong with Doris’s video.” The officer’s face was stern. “Our technical team analyzed the video. There are no signs of tampering.” My mind went blank for a second before I forced myself to stay calm. “I can’t explain the video right now, but I know I didn’t hit Brenda. The security footage will prove it.” The lead investigator walked in. “The building is old. The surveillance systems in the common areas and hallways are severely damaged. We can’t retrieve any footage.” “However, the time you entered the building is consistent with the time Brenda was assaulted.” The officers looked at me with a mixture of suspicion and scrutiny. “Ms. Grace, we don’t wrongfully accuse innocent people, but we don’t let criminals go, either.” In the end, due to a lack of concrete evidence, I was released. The police instructed me not to leave the city so they could continue their investigation. It was three in the morning when I walked out of the station. I wiped my exhausted face and found the nearest hotel to crash in. When I woke up, my phone was flooded with notifications. The residents’ group chat was celebrating the news of my arrest. “Justice is served!” “I heard she was taken in on suspicion of trafficking. Human traffickers deserve to die!” “They should investigate her for sex work while they’re at it. I heard 1207 paid for her apartment in cash. A woman that young… how could she afford over two million dollars unless she’s a mistress to someone?” Brenda and Doris were also in the chat. “Slept like a baby last night, a rare treat. My little grandson was so happy.” “Brenda, dear, wicked people always get what’s coming to them. My heart aches for what you’ve been through.” When I returned to my building, the elevator doors opened to the sight of my front door splattered with red paint. Piles of stinking garbage lay on the floor, swarming with flies. My next-door neighbor peeked his head out, a look of disappointment on his face. “Oh, you’re out already? Well, hurry up and clean this mess. The whole hallway stinks.” Another neighbor on my floor slammed their door with a resounding crash. “So annoying. Living on the same floor as someone like her is the worst luck.” From start to finish, not a single person was willing to hear my side of the story. I dug my nails into my palm and ordered a cleaning service online. Jenna, one of the property managers, sent me a message. “Grace, people are saying your apartment is haunted by a vengeful spirit. And a lot of residents have complained to me about you, calling you a plague on the community and wishing you were dead.” “I’m worried someone might do something extreme. Have you considered selling or renting out the apartment?” Reading that, a fire ignited within me. I had just bought this place. I hadn’t done anything wrong. Why should I be the one to leave? Whether it was a vengeful spirit or a person playing games, I was going to find out. I collected myself and replied to Jenna. “To prove my innocence, I want you to stay at my apartment for the next three nights. Let’s see if they still hear a child crying then.” “In return, I’ll prepay my HOA fees for the next two years.” “On one condition: you don’t tell a soul about this.” Jenna replied quickly. “You have a deal.” That night, Jenna slipped into my apartment unnoticed. “Don’t worry, Grace. No one saw me.” For three consecutive nights, the building was as peaceful as a still lake. Brenda even praised me in the group chat. “The young lady has finally seen the error of her ways. It’s been so quiet lately.” “As for the slap, I’ll let it go. Young people can be impulsive. I understand.” When Jenna left in the mornings, she would look at me cautiously. “Grace, do you think… it could actually be haunted? Like, it only acts up when you’re alone.” “Maybe you should really think about moving.” I said nothing, but the fire inside me burned hotter. The next day, everything changed. Brenda was carried to my front door on a stretcher.

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My parents are the main characters in a billionaire romance novel. They were supposed to have a marriage of convenience that blossomed into a deep, lifelong love. However, an interloper, determined to win my father’s affection, not only orchestrated my parents’ divorce but also caused my mother’s death, taking me with her. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the moment my father’s company was on the brink of bankruptcy, and my mother, mistakenly believing he was cheating, was demanding a divorce. “Let’s get a divorce!” my mother seethed. My father, exhausted, nodded. “Fine. I’ll go draw up the papers.” I panicked, my spirit circling frantically around my mother. [Mom, don’t divorce him! Dad didn’t cheat, and his company isn’t going bankrupt. It’s all a trap set by the interloper!] [Dad is the hero of this little world, and you’re the heroine. She wants to take your place, so she framed him to make you misunderstand!] [After the divorce, she’ll have you lured into a human trafficking ring. You’ll miscarry from the torture, and they’ll end up harvesting your kidney! Meanwhile, she’ll help Dad through his ‘crisis,’ win him over, and become the new heroine of this world!] [Mom, this isn’t about fighting for a man, it’s about fighting for your life! Don’t be impulsive!] My mother froze for a second, then burst into tears. “I say we get a divorce, and you agree just like that! I knew you never loved me! You cheat!” 1 My father flinched slightly, a self-deprecating look on his face. “The company is in trouble right now. I completely understand why you’d want a divorce. I’ll cooperate whenever you’re ready.” My mother stomped her foot in frustration. “Whether you believe me or not, I was just saying that because I was angry! I’m not getting a divorce!” Thinking she had other concerns, my father sighed, weary and resigned. “Don’t worry. You can have the house and the savings. I’ll take on all the debt. It won’t affect you.” Seeing that he was unmovable, my mother resorted to being unreasonable. “I knew it! If my father hadn’t used his favor to pressure you, you never would have married me!” “You agreed so quickly. You’ve wanted to divorce me for a long time, haven’t you?!” At that thought, genuine tears welled up in her eyes. My father’s expression grew even more tired and helpless. “What do you want, Cindy? Can you just tell me straight?” His tone only fueled my mother’s anger. But, in a surprising turn, she didn’t explode. Instead, she took a deep breath and said patiently, “Someone sent me a message saying you were at a hotel with an influencer. They even sent a picture!” My father sneered. “And where is this picture?” “It’s on my phone!” My mother snatched her phone from the dining table and opened her photo gallery. But the picture wasn’t of my father and an influencer. It was a photo of a ridiculously muscular man flexing. “Damn it!” My mother yelped, nearly dropping the phone. She stammered, trying to explain, “I’m not lying! The picture I received really was… of you and some influencer kissing in a hotel hallway. I don’t know why it changed into… this!” My father just stared at her and laughed coldly, clearly not believing a word. Unable to prove her innocence, my mother simply declared, “I don’t care! I’m not getting a divorce!” I gave her a spiritual thumbs-up. [Way to go, Mom! This isn’t about fighting for a man, it’s about fighting for your life! Don’t divorce him. Let’s drive that interloper crazy!] The more she wanted to replace my mom, the more we had to make it difficult for her! But wait, why was my mom acting so differently from the last time? Could it be… she was reborn, too?! My father stared at my mother, his face a blank mask. His voice was mocking. “Whatever you want. Just let me know when you decide you want a divorce. I’m ready whenever.” “I’m sleeping in the guest room tonight. You can have the bed.” With that, he went into the master bedroom, grabbed his pajamas, and went to shower in the guest bathroom. My mother looked like she was about to cry, and I couldn’t help but wail. [Well, it looks like we’re still doomed. Dad definitely thinks this is all some drama Mom cooked up, and his heart is broken.] [But that’s not the most important thing! The most important thing is…] [Is Mom going to get rid of me in a fit of rage? Then I would have been reborn for nothing!] [Waaah, Mommy, don’t kill me! If you have me, you can get tons of child support from Dad later. You can be a rich, single mom living your best life!] A flicker of amusement crossed my mother’s face. She looked down at her belly and whispered gently, “It’s okay, sweetie. Mommy’s not going to… kill you.” I did a happy little flip in the air. [Great! Mom’s not going to kill me! This rebirth wasn’t a total waste!] My mother let out a small laugh. “Don’t worry. I won’t let your rebirth be for nothing.” I nodded vigorously. [Good, good.] Wait. Something wasn’t right. How was my mother talking back to me? Could she… hear my voice?! 2 It turned out my mother could hear my voice, but she couldn’t see me. And no, she hadn’t been reborn. While my father was in the shower, my mother and I quickly and quietly schemed. As for why the photo changed, we both had the same theory—the interloper was likely bound to one of those legendary “systems”! She used the system to create the fake photo and then change its content. I didn’t know the interloper’s true identity. In my previous life, I only made it to seven months in the womb. Since the interloper never directly confronted my mother, I never learned who she was. The only reason I knew about her and the final outcome was because a voice had revealed the general plot to me as I was being reborn. My mother and I agreed that our top priority, besides stopping the divorce, was to figure out who this interloper was. Ten minutes later, my father emerged from the bathroom in his pajamas. He gave my mother a cold glance before heading to the guest room. Even I could tell how much her talk of divorce had hurt him, especially now, during his most difficult time. But my mom hadn’t brought it up because of his company’s problems, which made her the wronged party, too. My mother stared at the closed door for a moment, then went into the bedroom, changed her clothes, and hurried out of the apartment. [Mom, don’t run away from home!] [As long as you’re not divorced, you’re the rightful wife! We can’t lose our nerve before the battle even begins!] My mother smiled and reassured me, “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’m not that foolish. I’m just going to buy a pregnancy test.” [Oh. That’s necessary.] [Dad is actually a very loyal and honorable man. In the last life, when he found out you’d been tricked and taken, he tried to rescue you. But by then… you were already gone.] “Okay, sweetie, please stop. That’s a bit heartbreaking.” [Okay, okay.] … My mother went to the pharmacy outside our complex, bought three pregnancy tests, and then stopped for a bowl of spicy noodles before slowly heading home. When she opened the door, she found my father sitting on the sofa, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers. The air was thick with tension. My mother froze for a second but said nothing, walking straight to the bathroom. None of the three tests showed two lines. We were both disappointed. It was probably just too early. It seemed we’d have to wait a few more days to use our secret weapon. When my mother came out of the bathroom, dejected, my father was still on the sofa. She was about to say something to soften the mood when he spoke first. “Let’s go register the divorce tomorrow morning. Right now, the most I can give you is twenty thousand in cash. You can have this apartment and one of the cars.” My non-existent heart skipped a beat. My father had truly given up on her. To be fair, he had built his company from scratch, and it had only started taking off a few years ago, so he wasn’t incredibly wealthy. With his company in trouble, he was genuinely giving her everything he could. My mother stated her position firmly. “I am not divorcing you!” My father sighed again, resigned. “Have it your way. But my offer still stands. Whenever you’re ready, I am.” He stood up and walked toward the door. My mother grew anxious. “Where are you going?” “An emergency at the office,” he explained coolly. “I have to work late.” “Oh.” My mother didn’t say anything else until he was almost out the door. Then, she couldn’t help but call out, “Come back home when you’re done!” My father turned and looked at her for a moment. “Okay,” he said softly. 3 My parents were living a “marry first, love later” script. They hadn’t known each other before the wedding, so there was no emotional foundation. My grandfather had once done my father a great favor. On his deathbed, he worried about my mother, his beautiful but naive daughter. He asked my father to look after her. To put my grandfather’s mind at ease, my father proposed marrying her. My grandfather, fearing my mother would fall for the wrong person, agreed. Not wanting her dying father to have any regrets, my mother didn’t object. My father was always busy with work, either working late or traveling. They rarely saw each other, had little in common, and thus, their relationship wasn’t close, and their trust was fragile. According to the original plot, their feelings were supposed to deepen during his company’s crisis. But then, the interloper showed up and ruined everything. The thought of the interloper kept my mother awake. She tossed and turned, and finally, unable to sleep, she picked up her phone. At 2:30 AM, another message came from an unknown number. It was a picture of my father lying in a hotel bed with a woman whose face was obscured. My mother, knowing I was hovering nearby, immediately covered the screen. “Baby, avert your eyes!” I giggled. [Mom, that picture was definitely faked by the interloper’s system.] “Even if it’s fake, you can’t look!” she said sternly. [Okay, Mom, I won’t look!] “If you peek, I’ll spank you!” Not trusting me, my mother tried to quickly do something with the photo while keeping it covered, but she soon let out a curse. “Damn it!” [What’s wrong, Mom?] I asked, curious. “The picture changes every time I try to do anything with it!” she said through gritted teeth. After a moment’s thought, she found my father’s number and called him. The phone rang and rang until it went to voicemail. She tried a second and a third time with the same result, and finally gave up. 4 My mother didn’t sleep a wink. After breakfast, she finally dozed off on the sofa. The moment she fell asleep, so did I. I don’t know how much time passed, but we were both startled awake by the sound of the front door opening. My father walked in, dragging his exhausted body. His eyes were bloodshot, and his face was covered in stubble. My mother quickly sat up. “Have you eaten? I can make something.” My father shook his head. “Don’t bother. I have to go out of town for a business meeting. I’m just going to take a shower and leave.” My mother’s face fell. “Oh. I’ll pack your bag.” She was only halfway through packing when he finished his shower. He stood in the bedroom doorway, dressed and ready to go, watching her busy herself. When she finished, she turned and saw him. “Is there anything else you need?” “No, that’s everything.” He paused, then added, “If this deal goes well, the company won’t just survive the crisis, it’ll be stronger than ever.” I knew he was trying to reassure her, but it also showed he still believed she was planning to leave him. My mother hesitated, then said politely, “Well, I hope it all goes smoothly.” My father didn’t say anything more. He walked over, took the suitcase from her, and after a moment, said, “Take care of yourself. You can call me anytime, for anything.” My mother nodded. “I know.” … After my father left, I couldn’t help but ask: [Mom, aren’t you going to ask him where he was last night?] Even though I also believed the photo was fake, the fact was that he hadn’t come home at all. My mother smiled. “Sweetie, your father looked like he’d been working all night. He reeked of corporate exhaustion.” Though I’d never been a corporate drone myself, I’d seen plenty of uncles and aunts who had worked themselves to death. They all had that same exhausted look my father had when he came home. Yep, my mom was right. Dad had been slaving away at work, not on a date with some other woman. 5 Although my father told my mother to call him anytime, she didn’t want to disturb his important business, so she didn’t. Instead, he was the one who called her every evening for a short chat. They weren’t exactly close, but it was a start. My mother and I were both happy about it. After all, latching onto my father’s success was a pretty good deal. The morning my father was due back, my mother finally got a positive pregnancy test. Two lines. Not wanting to distract him from his work, she decided to wait until he was home to tell him. My father got home around two in the morning. My mother had planned to wait up for him, but she drifted off to sleep. When her alarm went off, she woke up to find his side of the bed empty. She checked the guest room, but he wasn’t there either. Confused, she went out to the living room and found him sitting on the sofa, his face like stone. He was clearly in a bad mood. My mother grew nervous. As she was about to ask what was wrong, he spoke first. “I’ve drafted the divorce agreement. Take a look and see if there’s anything you want to add.” He handed her a document. My mother stared at him in disbelief. “Why?!” My father looked away. “There’s no why. I just suddenly feel that… we’re not right for each other. I’m sorry. Besides the house, car, and savings, I’ll give you twenty percent of the company’s shares.” My mother laughed, a bitter, angry sound. “Ha.” Even I didn’t believe there was “no why.” Everything had been fine when they talked on the phone the night before. Her eyes welled with tears. “Are you cheating on me?” My father looked at her, stunned for a moment, but he didn’t deny it. My mother fought back her tears. “In that case, I want thirty percent!” She knew thirty percent was an outrageous demand. But to her surprise, my father barely hesitated before nodding. “Fine. I’ll print a new one.” She was shocked by how easily he agreed, but she didn’t say anything. As for me, I certainly had no objections. My mom having money meant I had money. More was always better!

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1 It was New Year’s Eve when the pregnant woman from next door started pounding on my door, her voice a venomous shriek. “Open the damn door, you bitch! What the hell are you burning in there!” Her insults continued, laced with threats. “You better not be burning anything! If the smoke hurts my baby, I swear I’ll kill you!” Baffled, I opened the door. “I’m not burning anything.” She didn’t believe me. She shoved past, a wild look in her eyes, and stormed into my apartment, sniffing the air like a bloodhound. She checked every room, her frantic search turning up nothing. Finally, defeated, she left, but not before shooting me one last hateful glare. Two hours later, she was back, hammering on my door again, one hand covering her nose. “I told you to stop! The smoke is thick, it’s coming into my place!” I’d had enough. I ignored her and called building management. “The woman in the unit next to me keeps accusing me of burning something. She’s harassing me. Can you please send someone up to deal with this?” The man on the phone asked for my floor number, then his voice turned hesitant. “Ma’am… are you sure? There’s no one living in the unit next to you.” My blood ran cold. I rushed to the peephole. The pregnant woman was still there, her face a mask of dark fury, her lips moving as she muttered curses. “Open up!” … On the phone, the manager was still talking. “We’ve double-checked, ma’am. You’re the only resident on your floor. The unit next to yours is still a shell. It’s completely empty. Are you sure you’re not mistaken?” Exasperated, I pressed my phone against the door. “Just listen! Can you hear how insane she’s being?” I hissed. “Her door is open, the lights are on! It’s fully furnished. What do you mean no one lives there?” I expected him to hear her and immediately send help. Instead, a beat of silence, then confusion. “Hear what, ma’am? I don’t hear anything.” A hot flash of anger shot through me. “Are you telling me I’m hallucinating? That I’m both seeing and hearing things?” His tone turned apologetic, almost placating. “Please don’t be upset, ma’am… We’ll send someone up right away to check it out.” I finally felt a sliver of relief and shouted through the door at the woman. “You can’t just do whatever you want because you’re pregnant! One more word and I’m calling the cops! Let’s see what they think about your little burning story!” The woman outside went quiet for a second, then her voice rose to a screech. “You think you’re the only one who can call the cops? Fine! I’ll call them and the fire department myself! We’ll see who gets taught a lesson!” I smirked, leaning against the door. “Good. I’ll be waiting. Let’s see who educates whom.” Five minutes later, the building superintendent arrived, rapping lightly on my door. “Ma’am? You called about a pregnant woman?” My face was a grim mask as I opened the door and looked around the hallway. She was gone. She must have gotten scared when I mentioned the police. I let out a cold laugh and marched over to the neighboring door, pounding on it with my fist. I mimicked her earlier tone. “Open up! Weren’t you going to call someone to teach me a lesson? They’re here now, so why don’t you come out?” A fine layer of dust puffed up from the door with each knock, as if it truly hadn’t been opened in a very long time. I coughed, expecting her to burst out, ready for another fight. But there was no answer. The silence from within was absolute. So, she was just messing with me. I rolled up my sleeves. “You can hide all you want! The police will be here any minute. Let’s see how long you can stay in there!” Still nothing. The superintendent was watching me as if I’d lost my mind. After a moment, he wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. “Ma’am,” he said cautiously, “we have master keys for all the unfinished units. I happen to have the key for this one. Would you… would you like me to open it, just to show you?” 2 He said it with such conviction, as if behind that door was nothing but a concrete shell. But I didn’t believe him. I rolled my eyes. “My parents were here when this place was being renovated. They told me a newlywed couple moved in next door.” “Now you’re telling me it’s an empty shell? Who did my parents see, then? Ghosts?” My words echoed in the late-night quiet of the hallway, casting a sudden chill. The superintendent was a young woman, and she shivered, hugging her arms. “Please, ma’am, don’t say things like that.” “We keep detailed records of every renovation in the building. I checked before I came up. The unit is vacant… It’s New Year’s Eve, you’re… you’re not trying to tell me a ghost story, are you?” She was pale with fear, inching away from me. I was half-annoyed, half-amused. “A ghost story? Are you kidding me? There’s no such thing as ghosts! I don’t believe in any of that nonsense.” “I saw her with my own two eyes! She even came into my apartment and walked around! How could she be a ghost?” “You don’t believe me? I’ll show you the security camera footage from my doorbell!” I pulled out my phone, ready to prove I wasn’t crazy. Just then, the elevator dinged. Two police officers and three firefighters rounded the corner, their expressions serious as they looked from me to the superintendent. “Who reported a disturbance and a possible fire?” I raised my hand, putting my phone away. “That was me.” “Sorry to bother you all so late, especially on New Year’s Eve, but this is just too much. It’s supposed to be a peaceful night.” “Here’s what happened…” I explained everything, how the pregnant woman had knocked twice, how she’d even barged into my apartment. I opened my door for them. “See for yourselves. The only thing I’ve cooked tonight was a pot of pasta. I haven’t been grilling or burning anything.” “But my neighbor, the pregnant woman, insisted I was. Please, check for yourselves.” The young superintendent stood beside me, looking like she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. She just watched as the officers and firefighters did a thorough sweep of my apartment. A firefighter gave the final verdict. “All your appliances are in order, and there are no fire hazards whatsoever. The apartment is perfectly safe.” I threw my hands up. “See? I told you!” “I don’t know what’s wrong with that woman, insisting I was burning something. If you ask me, she’s the one burning something!” The firefighter nodded at me. “It’s good she was concerned. It shows she’s conscious of fire safety. If you don’t mind, we’d like to check next door as well.” He walked over to my neighbor’s door and knocked. “Hello, fire department. Is everything okay in there?” The apartment remained eerily silent. I crossed my arms, a cynical smile on my face. “That’s what she did before. Plays dead when you knock, but she had plenty of energy to bang on my door.” The firefighter glanced at one of the police officers, who stepped forward and knocked again, louder this time. No response. The officer turned to the superintendent, his brow furrowed. “What’s the situation with this resident?” The superintendent wiped sweat from her pale face, her voice trembling. “Th-this unit is vacant. It’s an unfinished shell.” “I tried to tell you all earlier, but this lady…” she trailed off, gesturing to me, “she didn’t believe me.” “I brought the key. Should I… should I open it for you?” 3 At the officers’ request, the superintendent produced a key and unlocked the door. I expected to see the furnished apartment I’d glimpsed through my peephole. But as the door creaked open, it swung back and hit the wall with a dull thud, sending a cloud of dust into the air. The floor was rough, unfinished concrete. Through the window openings, which were still missing glass, an icy gust of wind swept in, sending a shiver down my spine. I broke out in goosebumps. The superintendent’s voice was strained. “You see? It’s not even finished. There’s no pregnant woman here.” “Maybe… maybe the woman you saw lives on a different floor?” The possibility was a relief. I nodded at the police and firefighters. “Well, I definitely saw her.” “My doorbell camera recorded everything, when she forced her way into my apartment. I wouldn’t file a false police report.” I pulled out my phone again and showed them the footage. It was from around ten p.m. I was on the couch, laughing at a comedy special on TV, when the doorbell rang. The video clearly showed the confrontation, me letting the pregnant woman inside. It showed her pacing through my living room, searching for a source of smoke, and leaving in a huff. Before she left, she pointed a finger at me. “You’d better hope I don’t smell that again!” The video ended there. The officers and firefighters visibly relaxed. “She must live upstairs or downstairs,” one of them concluded. He pointed to the woman on my phone screen. “Do you recognize this resident? Which unit has a pregnant woman living in it?” he asked the superintendent. The young woman squinted at the screen for a long time before shaking her head. “I’m not sure. I’ll have to ask my colleagues or my manager.” But it was New Year’s Eve. Most of her colleagues were at home with their families. The ones who answered their phones said they didn’t know. One of them joked, “I don’t think anyone lives on that floor at all. Janie, you didn’t run into a ghost on New Year’s Eve, did you?” Janie, the superintendent, flinched and snapped back. “Don’t say things like that! This resident is new, that’s why you don’t know her! And the police and fire department are standing right here with me! Ghosts? Give me a break!” She hung up and called her manager. The phone rang for a long time before someone picked up. Janie wished her a Happy New Year, quickly explained my situation, and then asked, “Cindy, do you remember how many pregnant residents we have in this building? I’m still new, I can’t keep track.” The manager’s voice, Cindy’s, sounded tired over the phone. “A pregnant woman… yes, there is one, on the floor above hers.” “But I think she’s only a few months along. And she’s very sweet-tempered. She doesn’t seem like the type to yell at people.” I frowned and spoke up. “Cindy, it’s me. The woman who was yelling at me was huge, looked like she was about to give birth. It couldn’t be the person you’re talking about.” “Can you think of anyone else? A very pregnant woman in this building?” There was a two-second pause. Then, Cindy’s voice rose, filled with uncertainty. “Is that… Faye?” I was about to answer when her voice started to shake. “But… you can’t be. You died in that car crash, didn’t you?”

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1 The express train pulled out of the station. I’d just come back from the restroom, and over a thousand passengers had vanished. I refused to believe it, frantically dialing the station’s help line. The agent on the phone insisted that due to a severe blizzard, Express Train G404 had been canceled. It never left the station. But I was sitting right there, in the warmth of a first-class seat. Even more terrifying, when I tried to call my mother, the number came back as disconnected. And the world outside the window, once a snowy landscape, had dissolved into a colorless, gray void… When I opened my eyes again, I was screaming in a psychiatric hospital. The doctors increased my dosage, even subjected me to electroshock therapy, all to make me forget the train. During an exercise period, I threw myself from a tenth-story window. And now, I was back. A second chance, on the same day of the holiday rush. “Attention passengers, the train is now approaching the platform…” My head snapped up. I stared at the crimson letters on the departures board. “Train G404, now boarding.” I pinched my thigh, hard. The pain was sharp, real. This time, I would find out the truth, even if it meant dying on this train. … I looked down at the sweat-dampened blue ticket in my hand. Train G404, Car 05, Seat 12F. Grabbing my suitcase, I bolted for the gate. I tumbled through, luggage and all, just a second before the barriers slid shut. The white bullet train sat silently on the tracks. With a trembling hand, I reached out and touched its cold, steel skin. The frantic beating in my chest finally slowed. It wasn’t a hallucination. I dragged my suitcase toward car 05. Shoving my way through the crowded aisle, I finally reached my seat. A man in his forties, his clothes worn from labor, was sitting there, peeling an orange, just like the last time. He looked up as I approached, awkwardly pulling his woven duffel bag closer to his legs. “Sorry, miss. Got a lot of stuff here. Let me make some room for you.” I stared at him for three long seconds. Then I reached out and patted his arm. It was warm, the muscle beneath his sleeve firm. He was a living person. “It’s okay,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “A little crowded, but it’s cozier that way.” I let out a long breath, heaved my suitcase onto the overhead rack, and sank into my seat. I glanced out the window. A platform attendant was waving a green flag. A sharp beep sounded. The doors hissed shut, and the train began to move. I pulled out my phone, opened my map app to track our GPS location, then leaned back and closed my eyes. Just three more hours, and I’d be home. “Water, miss?” The man beside me offered a bottle of water, his smile kind. “You’re sweating. Must be in a hurry to get home for the New Year, eh?” I took the water, a warmth spreading through my chest. “Yeah. In a hurry. My mom’s waiting.” “Heh, me too,” he said, his eyes crinkling into a smile. “Been working all year. This is the day I live for. My little girl wanted cherries, so I got her a whole crate.” I twisted the cap off the bottle but only took a tiny sip. This time, I wasn’t going to the restroom. I would hold it until we arrived, no matter what. 2 Last time, they locked me away like I was crazy. This time, I needed irrefutable proof. I opened my phone’s camera and started recording. “It is currently 3:20 PM on February 16th, 2026. New Year’s Eve.” “I’m in car number 05 of the G404 Express.” I narrated quietly, panning the camera across the car. The lens captured the young couple in front of me sharing a cup of instant noodles. In the aisle, a young mother struggled to soothe her wailing infant. Diagonally behind me, a few older men were playing a loud game of cards, the snap of their hands hitting the table echoing through the car. Finally, I turned the camera on the man next to me. “Hey, want to say hi? A little holiday travel documentary,” I said with a smile. He looked a bit shy, covering his face with one hand as he offered me half of his freshly peeled orange with the other. “Don’t film me, I’m a mess. Here, have an orange. It’s sweet.” “Thanks,” I said, making sure to capture the orange, and the digital watch on his wrist, in the video. I saved the clip and immediately uploaded it to my family’s group chat, then posted it to my social media. Caption: “Full speed ahead! Mom, get the dumplings ready, I’ll be home soon!” As the replies rolled in from aunts and uncles—emojis wishing me a safe trip—the last knot of anxiety in my stomach loosened. I had video. I had witnesses. I had a GPS trail. Not even God himself could call me a liar this time. I popped a segment of the sweet orange into my mouth. It was delicious. “Miss, do you feel that…?” the man beside me suddenly asked, his brow furrowed. “Is it just me, or is this ride getting really rough?” I paused. “Is it?” I glanced down at the water bottle on the tray table. The surface of the water was vibrating violently. “And… my ears are ringing,” he said, rubbing them with a pained expression. A cold dread trickled down my spine. Last time, I’d been so focused on getting to the restroom that I hadn’t paid any attention to my surroundings. Just then, the train’s PA system crackled to life with a piercing shriek of static. “Screeeeee—” Everyone in the car clapped their hands over their ears. The baby’s cries intensified. Grumbling turned to angry shouts. “What the hell is going on? Conductor!” “They’re going to make us deaf!” I whipped my head toward the window. A dark, gaping hole loomed ahead. A tunnel. The instant the front of the train entered the tunnel, the lights inside the car flickered. An immense pressure slammed into us. It felt like my head was being squeezed in a vise, my eyeballs about to burst from their sockets. The baby’s cries became a high, thin wail. The man’s curses warped into a low, guttural groan. “Sir! Sir, are you okay?” I gasped. Just as my hand was about to touch his sleeve… Crack! A sharp snap echoed in my mind. The lights went out completely. A second later, they flickered back on. I was panting, my hand still hovering in the air. But the man beside me was gone. I shot to my feet and scanned the car. The couple with their noodles, the mother with her baby, the men playing cards… In a single second, they had all evaporated. The entire train car was spotless, as pristine as a factory model. Even the creases on the seats had been smoothed away. I was the only one left, standing alone in the aisle. The half-eaten orange was still in my hand, its juice dripping onto the floor. “Aaaah!” A scream ripped from my throat as the familiar, suffocating despair crashed down on me once more. 3 I burst out of car 05, stumbling blindly through the train. Car 04 was empty. Car 03 was empty. The dining car was also empty. Over a thousand passengers, along with the luggage that had clogged the aisles, had all vanished. Outside the window, the blizzard was gone, replaced by a churning, chaotic grayness. I couldn’t see a thing, only the roar of the train reminding me that I was still alive. “Is anyone there? Hello!” “Conductor! Anybody!” I ran, shouting, but my voice was swallowed by the silence. Driven by desperation, I reached the connection between cars and slammed the emergency intercom button. “Bzzzt… bzzzt…” Only static answered. Calm down, Anna! You’re not the same naive girl you were last time! My hands shaking, I pulled out my phone. One bar of signal. I immediately dialed my mom. Ring… ring… ring… Answer, Mom! Please, please answer! “Hello? Anna?” The call connected! The moment I heard her familiar voice, a wave of relief washed over me. I slid to the floor and broke down, sobbing. “Mom! Mom, help me! Something’s wrong with the train! Everyone’s gone!” There was a two-second pause. “Anna? Honey, what are you talking about? What do you mean everyone’s gone?” “The train! G404! I’m on it!” I screamed, the words tumbling out in a rush. “It was full of people, and then suddenly they all disappeared! I’m the only one left!” “Anna… is it happening again?” My mom’s voice was laced with a new, terrifying edge of fear. “Are you still in the city? Are you just upset you couldn’t get a ticket?” “No! I got one! I’m on the train!” “You’re lying!” she suddenly shouted. “They just made an announcement at the station! It’s all over the news! The blizzard caused a power failure on the line. Train G404 was canceled! Everyone who had a ticket is here getting a refund right now!” It was happening. It was all happening again, just like last time. My panic reached a fever pitch. “That’s impossible! I have the ticket in my hand! I’ve been on this train for an hour! Mom, look at the group chat! I sent a video! I filmed the other people in the car!” I fumbled with my phone, switching back to the messaging app. “Look, Mom! The video in the group chat! That’s my proof!” I heard my mom fumbling with her phone on the other end. “What am I supposed to be looking at? The only thing in here is a video of you talking to an empty train car!” she cried, her voice breaking. “Anna, are you sick? Please don’t scare me like this!” Talking to an empty car? My body went rigid. I looked down, my thumb trembling as I pressed play. On the screen, I saw myself, holding my phone with a bright smile, excitedly narrating to the camera. “It is currently 3:20 PM on February 16th…” The background was a car of empty seats. “Hey, want to say hi…?” my video-self said, cheerfully panning the camera to the seat beside me. It was empty. There was no construction worker, no duffel bag, no golden-yellow orange. “No… no…” I stared at the screen, my grip on the phone so tight I thought it would shatter. “That’s impossible! I ate the orange! Look! Look at my hand!” I thrust my left hand forward. I was still clutching the half-eaten piece of fruit. But the video showed something different. I watched myself pop empty fingers into my mouth and pretend to chew. A wave of nausea and cold dread washed over me, starting from my toes and crawling up my spine. Am I losing my mind? No! I refused to believe it! The sweet, tangy taste of the orange was still on my tongue. It was real! “Mom! Believe me! I’m on the train!” I pleaded. “It’s still moving! It’s going really fast!” “Anna, where are you? I’ve already called the police! They’re tracking your phone right now!” my mom sobbed. “Don’t go anywhere! Just stay where you are!” The police… yes, the police would figure it out! “Mom, tell them to check! I have GPS! I’m moving! I’m really, really moving!” I switched back to my map app. The little blue dot representing me was flying across the map at an incredible speed. The display read: 190 mph. See! That was the proof! Who on earth can run at nearly two hundred miles an hour?! 4 Ten minutes later, a call came through from an unknown number. “Is this Ms. Anna Reid? This is Detective Morgan.” “Detective! Help me! I’m on train G404, and all the passengers are gone!” I clung to his voice like a lifeline. “Ms. Reid, I need you to remain calm.” The detective’s tone was strange, as if he was trying to suppress some strong emotion. “We’ve just pinpointed your phone’s location.” “You see it, right? I’m moving! The train is heading toward my hometown!” “Yes, we see that,” he said, pausing for a beat. “Your phone is indeed moving at approximately 190 miles per hour, and its location is tracking along the main North-South rail line.” “But…” “But what?” My throat tightened. “But we have the real-time dispatch map from the national rail network. At this very moment, there are no trains operating on that line. Not even a freight train.” “What does that mean?” My tongue felt thick and clumsy. The detective’s voice hardened. “Ms. Reid, are you carrying some kind of illegal signal jammer or GPS spoofer? I need to warn you, disrupting the rail network during the holiday season is a federal offense.” “No! I’m on the train! It’s a bullet train! It’s white! Why won’t any of you believe me?” I screamed, tears and snot streaming down my face. “Ms. Reid,” the detective asked suddenly, “do you have any history of mental illness?” His question was like a bucket of ice water. Last time, that’s exactly what they had asked. “I have a history of depression, from work-related stress,” I said, my teeth clenched. “But I’m not crazy! I can tell the difference between reality and a hallucination!” “And I have my ticket!” “Tickets can be faked.” “I have a video!” “Your mother showed it to us. You’re alone in it.” “I have an orange! The man next to me gave me an orange!” “You can buy an orange anywhere.” The world had built a perfect, logical prison around me, and the only conclusion was that I was insane.

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When my husband gave his entire fifty-thousand-dollar bonus to the girl from the spa for her heart surgery, I lost it. I smashed everything in our apartment to pieces, screaming the most vicious things I could think of. “Get out. I don’t want to catch whatever disease you picked up from her.” “If you and that woman die in the street, I won’t even spit on your graves.” “You pathetic bastard! A leopard can’t change its spots, can it? You’re just trash!” Alexander heard me, then slowly, deliberately, crushed his cigarette out with his bare hand. A cold smirk twisted his lips. “Right. You’re the saint here.” “Forgetting who stripped naked and climbed into my bed at eighteen? Who walked around campus with a baby bump under her sweatshirt?” The trust I had given him for years transformed into a blade, and he plunged it straight into my heart. What Alexander didn’t know was that in the instant those words left his mouth, I gave up on our marriage. And on our second child. … The room fell into a dead silence. The friends who had come to play peacemaker stared, their hands clapped over their mouths in shock. Only the people closest to you know exactly where to stick the knife to make it hurt the most. I can still remember that baby, dissolving into a pool of blood on a dirty bathroom floor. We were just two broke students, unable to scrape together even the few hundred dollars for a proper procedure. All we could afford were some pills from a back-alley clinic. In that foul-smelling restroom, a tearing pain ripped through my stomach, a pain that felt like it would never end. An eighteen-year-old Alexander held me, his own tears spent as he sobbed. “I’m sorry, Ava. It’s all my fault. I’m an animal, it’s all my fault…” And now, thirty-year-old Alexander was using that same horrific memory to call me cheap. All for that girl from the spa. My face was ashen. I felt like I was about to collapse. I couldn’t form a single word. Alexander rubbed his brow, a flicker of regret in his eyes. Our friends rushed to his defense. “Ava, it’s not really Alex’s fault this time. That girl, Hailey, she ambushed him outside his office.” “Yeah, she was on her knees, begging, saying she couldn’t go on. Alex just felt sorry for her.” “Come on, it’s the holidays! There’s nothing a married couple can’t get through.” A long time ago, I might have believed that. That he just felt sorry for Hailey. A spa worker who hadn’t even finished high school—I never imagined he could actually fall in love with her. Not until he started moving heaven and earth to find specialists for her heart condition, year after year. Not until she mentioned she wanted to see the world, and he brought her as his date to the company’s annual gala. Not until she complained about her dysfunctional family, and he personally took her to an amusement park to make up for her lost childhood. They kissed at the top of the Ferris wheel. I only found out because a photo from the park’s security camera ended up on social media. The man who never had time for dinner with me had become someone else’s shoulder to lean on. We had our first explosive fight. Alexander swore she kissed him, that he was just too stunned to push her away when she started crying. The argument ended with him writing a letter, promising he’d never come home late again. I never imagined that would be the beginning of an endless cycle: fights, silent treatments, reconciliations. Sometimes it was over a tube of lipstick in the passenger seat. Other times, the scent of another woman’s perfume on his suit. He grew more impatient, colder. I became more and more hysterical. Now, I was just tired. Alexander had given Hailey so much. Money, love, time. He might as well give her my title, too. I managed a weak, hollow smile. “We won’t be a married couple for much longer.” Alexander stared at me in disbelief. “You’re going to divorce me? Over fifty thousand dollars?” “Ava, there’s a limit to this drama!” After all this time, after he had pushed my boundaries for her again and again, he still thought our marriage was indestructible. How absurd. As we stood there, deadlocked, his phone rang. I knew from the ringtone who it was, and a fresh wave of rage washed over me. For countless nights, that sound was my signal to stare at the ceiling alone until sleep finally came. After a few brief words, he grabbed his coat. “Where do you think you’re going? You are not leaving!” I blocked his path, incredulous. We were in the middle of this, and he was running to her. “We’ll talk when I get back.” “If you walk out that door, we’re getting a divorce!” “Alex, man, just say something!” one of his friends pleaded. “Bro, maybe you should stay with Ava for a bit. She’s not in a good place…” Everyone could see I was on the verge of a breakdown. Everyone but him. He didn’t see it, or he didn’t care. Alexander’s voice was laced with impatience. “We’ve said everything there is to say. She’ll cool down in a few days and see sense.” “We’ve been together for over a decade. You think we’re going to break up over something so small?” A bitter laugh escaped my lips as the front door slammed shut. In the living room, our huge wedding portrait lay shattered on the floor, a casualty of the fight. My tears hit the cold hardwood. For years, I had made excuses for him, tolerated and forgiven him time and again. But Alexander was no longer the boy who used to sneak out to buy me a greasy bag of takeout. I was the only one left clinging to the dying embers of a memory, fooling myself day after day. But now, even I couldn’t keep up the lie. I went straight to the hospital. The doctor told me that because of the first abortion, my uterine lining was already severely damaged. Another one could leave me unable to ever conceive again. I listened with my head down, completely numb. I signed the forms, took the anesthesia, and lay down on the operating table. I didn’t cry when the cold instruments entered my body. I just stared at the stark white light overhead, remembering that sweltering afternoon when I was eighteen. That dim, filthy bathroom stall, Alexander holding me tight, his palms slick with sweat, his eyes full of tears. The pain and fear were real then. And the love in his eyes was real, too. It’s just a shame that his love was now reserved for someone else. After the procedure, a nurse helped me off the table, murmuring post-op instructions. I steadied myself against the wall, each step a dizzying effort. The sharp, antiseptic smell of the hallway stung my nostrils. And there, in my most vulnerable moment, I saw my husband. He had his arm around another woman, his face wearing that familiar, gentle expression. I watched them talk, my heart a placid, dead sea. Hailey, dressed in a hospital gown, leaned weakly against Alexander’s chest. He must have been going to handle her admission paperwork because he left her for a moment. Hailey saw me. She froze, then her voice turned timid. “Ava? What are you doing here? Did you follow us?” “Alex is just being nice and keeping me company since I have no one. Please don’t misunderstand.” The words “no one” were spoken with deliberate, heavy emphasis. The pain in my abdomen was intense. I had no energy to play her games. But just as I turned to leave, Hailey bit her lip and rushed toward me. “Ava, that fifty thousand dollars is just the price of a few of your handbags, but it’s my life! The doctor said if I don’t have this surgery now, it’ll be too late! Please, don’t take this money from a dying woman! When I’m better, I’ll work like a dog to pay you back, I swear.” Without warning, she dropped to her knees, clutching at my pants, tears streaming down her face on command. “I’m begging you, please don’t take my life-saving money! I just want to live!” Her desperate cries echoed through the waiting room. All eyes turned to us, brows furrowed in judgment. “What kind of person is she, trying to take a sick woman’s money?” “She looks well-dressed, but her heart is made of stone!” “The poor girl is on her knees! Have some compassion…” A cold sweat broke out on my forehead from the pain. I tried to pull my leg away, but Hailey collapsed to the floor, her body trembling. Just then, Alexander pushed through the crowd and saw the scene. His face turned to thunder. He yanked Hailey to her feet and glared at me, his eyes blazing with undisguised disappointment and fury. “You followed me to the hospital? Are you so relentless that you’d chase her down for the money for her surgery? Do you have any compassion at all?” It was the same accusation he’d thrown at me on our anniversary when Hailey had called him away. “She’s so pitiful, don’t you feel anything as a woman?” “How can you be so cold-hearted?” I was so tired of hearing those words. Whatever. But maybe it was because we had fought so much lately. Maybe his anger had blinded him. Alexander took a step forward and shoved me, hard. “Say something! What the hell do you want?” The push sent me staggering backward. I lost my balance and fell, my tailbone cracking against the hard, cold tile. A tearing, explosive pain ripped through my lower abdomen. The crowd gasped. My face contorted in agony. Alexander froze. He had no idea why a single push could topple me, a woman who had always been so healthy. Just as he had no idea that in the hours he had spent fussing over Hailey, the last thread connecting us had finally snapped. He instinctively bent down to help me up, but I flinched away.

1 Late at night, my best friend’s voice, hoarse and breathless, came through on a voice message. “Six-foot-two, eight-pack, a body built by the gods… girl, I’ve hit the jackpot!” I got the picture instantly, my heart swelling with a familiar pang of envy for her. But the next second, when I saw the photo she sent, my entire body went rigid. In the picture, a man’s bare chest was a canvas of love bites and teeth marks, but the face above it was one seared into my soul. It was my husband of six years, Major General Eason Pierce. … Anna’s voice messages kept coming, a chaotic mix of illicit sounds and her broken, panting words. “Nina… mmm… we’ve been… ah… together for three years…” “He wants… oh… to marry me…” My mind was a snowstorm of white noise. My hands trembled as I tried to type. Eason and I had a marriage of convenience, a contract that had expired just last month. I’d cautiously asked him then if we could maybe not get a divorce. But Eason had said he didn’t want to endanger my daughter and me. He was the youngest Major General on the base, a prime target for terrorists who often went after military families. So, for six years, no one besides our parents knew he was my husband. I thought it was his way of protecting us. Only now did I realize it was all so he could be with the woman he truly loved, out in the open, without a single shadow of complication. I choked back a sob and managed to ask, “Didn’t you say he was a high-ranking officer? Aren’t you afraid of retaliation if you marry him?” Anna sent me a screenshot. The message, from that all-too-familiar profile picture, contained more words than he’d said to me in the past month. “Anna, the fact that I’m proposing means I can protect you. I promise.” “If you’re worried, I can transfer half of my assets to you right now. And I’ll draw up my will. Our child will be my sole heir.” “Anna, I have the most magnificent wedding planned for you. All I need is for you to say yes.” Tears blurred my vision, a sharp pain lancing through my heart. I remembered our own wedding. To keep it secret, we didn’t even take photos. Just a quick, sterile trip to the courthouse. I remembered giving birth, completely alone, not even daring to write my husband’s name on the forms. I remembered my daughter being taunted in kindergarten, called a pathetic little girl with no dad. A tide of bitterness and grief washed over me, threatening to pull me under. Just as I was about to tell Anna that this man, her man, had once signed a marriage certificate with me, another message came through from her. “Nina, let’s meet up tomorrow. Our old spot.” Fine. Some things were better said face to face. 2 I went to the familiar old diner where we used to grab food back in our academy days. The moment we met, Anna grinned and handed me a wedding invitation. The cover was embossed with gold foil. Inside, a photo of her and Eason, beaming. Below it, their signatures, side-by-side. “He said he wanted to show how much he values my friends and family, so he signed every single one of their invitations by hand,” Anna said, her eyes soft with a light that I recognized all too well whenever she spoke of her fiancé. The words I had practiced, the truth I had come to tell, all caught in my throat. I was silent for a long time before I finally found my voice. “Anna,” I said softly, “I can’t make it to your wedding. I’m being transferred away from the base soon.” Anna’s smile faltered. “What? Why?” “I got divorced.” Her eyes instantly reddened. “Did that bastard hurt you? Tell me who he is! I’ll have my Eason teach him a lesson!” The truth rolled to the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed it back down. I squeezed her hand tightly. “Anna, your fiancé… what’s he like?” “Eason is wonderful to me,” she said, a gentle warmth spreading through her eyes. “You’ll see when you meet him.” Before the words had even faded, her face lit up and she waved towards the door. “Eason! Over here!” I had imagined confronting Eason a thousand times, in a thousand different scenarios, but never like this. He walked towards us, his uniform immaculate, the star on his epaulet glinting under the diner lights. I stared into his eyes, searching for a flicker of panic, a hint of guilt. There was nothing. His stride hesitated for a fraction of a second when he saw me, but he recovered instantly, extending a hand with practiced ease. “Good to meet you, Doctor Collins. Anna mentions you often. I’m Eason Pierce, her fiancé.” His voice was as steady as ever, as if we were truly strangers meeting for the first time. I slowly raised my hand to shake his. My mind flashed back to six years ago, to him kneeling before me under the regimental flag. He’d slipped the ring on my finger and whispered, “Hello. I’m Eason Pierce, your husband.” “This life, I am loyal to you, and to our country.” Anna’s gaze lingered on our joined hands, a flicker of confusion in her smile. “Hey, you two… you’re looking at each other kind of funny. Have you met before?” The air in the diner seemed to thicken, to freeze. Before Eason could speak, I pulled my hand back and pasted a calm smile on my face. “No, we haven’t.” I turned to him, my voice clear and steady. “General Pierce, a pleasure to meet you. I’m Nina Collins, Anna’s best friend.” Eason retracted his hand, his posture ramrod straight. “Likewise. This is the first time.” “So formal on the first meeting!” Anna teased, lightly punching his arm. “Nina and I have been through hell and back together. If you ever dare to bully me, she’ll come after you with a scalpel, I swear!” Eason managed a small smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “With Doctor Collins watching over me, I wouldn’t dare.” The air in my lungs felt thin, suffocating. I had to get out of there. Now. “Alright, you two lovebirds can have your moment. I don’t want to be a third wheel,” I said, grabbing my coat. My tone was so breezy it felt like a lie even to myself. “Anna, I’m so happy for you. I have to get back to the hospital, I’ve got a surgery.” “Nina—” Anna started, trying to make me stay. “Remember, it’s a secret for now,” I cut her off, giving Eason one last, deep look before turning and walking away. It wasn’t until I found an empty corner outside that my strength gave out. I leaned against the cold brick wall, clamping a hand over my mouth to choke back the sobs that threatened to tear me apart. My phone vibrated in my pocket, the special ringtone I’d set for him grating on my nerves. I wiped my face and answered. Two encrypted messages: “Waiting for you at the house.” “Return at once.” 3 When I got home, Eason handed me two plane tickets. “The earliest flight tomorrow. Take Lily and go south for a few days.” “Come back after my wedding with Anna is over.” I stared at the cold glint of the star on his shoulder, my voice eerily calm. “Eason, Anna and I met at a field hospital on the border. She took a bullet for me.” “So, since you’re willing to lie to me for six years just to marry her, you had better treat her right.” “If you ever hurt her, I swear I will expose everything and make sure she leaves you.” Eason stared at me for a long moment, a ghost of a mocking smile on his lips. “Done with the theatrics? This marriage with Anna has been two years in the planning. I will not allow for any accidents.” “That includes you.” He paused, his gaze turning complex. “You can have whatever you want as compensation. A promotion to head of surgery, shares in the military hospital, even… I could retire from the service.” I froze. For Anna, he would even give up the stars on his shoulders. So he was capable of sacrificing everything. It was just that the impulse had never been for me. “This is the only thing I’m asking of you,” Eason said, seeing the stunned look on my face. A rare note of weary pleading entered his voice. “Take Lily on vacation. Once the wedding is over, I’ll arrange everything. I’ll compensate you and our daughter properly.” He said compensate, as if the scraps left over from his grand wedding could erase six years of deception and betrayal. I was silent for a long time before I asked a question I never thought I would have to ask. “Eason.” “When you decided to marry her, did you ever, even for a second, think about what would happen to Lily and me?” He turned his face away, his jawline clenched tight. It was a long time before he spoke. “I did. But I was more afraid that if Anna found out, she would never forgive me.” Seeing him, ready to throw away his entire future for another woman, the fire that had burned inside me for six years suddenly went out. “Fine. I’ll take Lily and go.” Eason visibly relaxed, the tension in his eyes easing. “I’ll change the tickets to the first flight out tomorrow. Your accommodations will be arranged according to the highest standards for military families.” “Don’t bother,” I said with a faint smile. “General Pierce, I wish you a happy marriage.” 4 The next day, I held Lily’s hand as we walked into the airport. With half an hour until boarding, Lily leaned against my leg and whispered, “Mommy, will we be able to see Daddy’s big training planes from the new place?” “Yes,” I said, crouching down to straighten her collar. “And we’ll see stars even brighter than the ones on Daddy’s shoulders.” My phone vibrated. It was Anna. I picked up, and her frantic voice spilled out. “Nina… I’m being followed. A military jeep has been tailing me since yesterday afternoon. I’m in my dorm now, and there’s a shadow outside the door…” “Have you called base security?” “Eason isn’t picking up his phone,” Anna’s voice was thick with tears. “Nina, I’m scared…” I looked down at Lily’s small, upturned face, then at the boarding gate display. “Lock your door. I’ll call the guard platoon right now. I’ll come over as soon as I get Lily settled.” After hanging up, I crouched down to look my daughter in the eye. “Lily, Auntie Anna needs Mommy. Can you go back to the compound with the orderly for now? Please?” Lily nodded fiercely. “Mommy, go help Auntie fight the bad guys.” After sending my daughter off, I rushed to the base security office. I had just stepped into the main hall when I collided with Eason, who was storming out. Our eyes met, and his turned to ice. I was about to speak, but he grabbed my wrist and dragged me around the corner of the hallway. “Nina, what are you trying to pull?” “Anna’s in there, I need to—” “Enough,” he cut me off, his eyes dangerously dark. “You arranged for that car to follow her, didn’t you? After loving me for all these years, did you really think I’d believe you’d just walk away?” Every word was a poisoned needle, stabbing into my heart. So he knew. He knew I loved him, knew I didn’t want to leave, knew how much this was killing me. “Let go of me! Anna is waiting.” “Leave now, and I’ll pretend this never happened,” Eason warned, his voice low. “Don’t push me.” “Eason!” Anna’s voice called from behind us. She hurried over, her eyes darting between us before settling on his hand clamped around my wrist. “Anna, are you hurt?” I tried to step forward, but Anna subtly moved to block my path. “I’m fine,” she said, linking her arm with Eason’s and smiling at me. “Eason brought guards with him. Nina, thanks for coming, but…” She rested her head gently on his shoulder. “I have my fiancé to protect me now.” I watched Anna’s natural, possessive gesture, watched Eason raise a hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, and suddenly felt like an intruder. “I should go then,” I managed, forcing a smile. “Anna, stay safe.” “You too. Be careful on your way back.” Anna’s smile was as bright as ever, but it lacked the warmth and intimacy we once shared.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391048”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 After pulling a 38-hour shift, I found myself transmigrated into a cheesy romance novel—as the doomed sister of the devoted second male lead. In the novel, my brother not only pines after the popular female lead for years, but he also drains the family fortune for her. In the end, he even sacrifices himself to save the male lead, earning nothing but a few worthless tears from the girl. The moment my brother dies, the original owner of this body, a pampered heiress, is instantly orphaned. Targeted by the female lead’s admirers, she ends up destitute on the streets, freezing to death. What a joke. I spent twenty years utterly alone in the real world. There’s no way I’m letting this ridiculously handsome and wealthy brother of mine walk the same tragic path. I swear on my life, I will protect my golden goose of a brother! So when the female lead, her eyes red-rimmed, holds my brother’s black card and says to him with deep emotion, “Alistair, why did you take so long to get here…” I dash forward and flash Penelope a sweet smile. “Don’t be sad, Penelope. My brother was late, it’s not like he died young!” “So, does this mean your boyfriend’s black card isn’t activated for you yet?” … Penelope, who had been crying dramatically in my brother’s arms, freezes mid-sob. She whips her head around to look at Alistair. My brother is stunned by my words. He slowly pushes her away, his eyes filled with a new kind of scrutiny and doubt. “Penelope… are you and Conrad together?” Penelope clearly didn’t see that coming. Her expression flickers for a second before she adopts a look of tragic, romantic indecision. “Alistair, has your sister misunderstood me?” “It’s true that Conrad has been pursuing me,” she says, her shoulders trembling with a perfectly pitched, nasal tone. “But I haven’t made up my mind. He’s not as thoughtful and gentle as you are.” Her whole masterclass in manipulation sets off alarm bells in my head. Seeing the softened look in my brother’s eyes, I can practically hear the sound of money flying away again. “That’s not right, Penelope,” I cut in, swiftly derailing her pity party. “Didn’t you and Conrad make it official last night?” As I speak, I snatch her phone with a playfully innocent expression. I quickly find a specific post on her Instagram and shove it in Alistair’s face with a naive grin. “Silly brother, look! You missed it! You didn’t get to congratulate them!” It was a post Penelope made last night. The photo showed two hands, fingers intertwined under candlelight. The caption was pure saccharine bait: [After all this time, I’m so lucky to have finally found you.] Of course, Alistair could never have seen this post. Penelope had long since put him on a restricted list. After my performance, I clap a hand over my mouth as if I’ve just realized my mistake. “Oh! Did I say the wrong thing?” Alistair’s face turns to stone. He stares at the two entwined hands on the screen, his eyes slowly turning red. His voice is hoarse when he finally confronts Penelope. “Why did you block me from seeing this?” “What am I to you?” Penelope shoots me a venomous glare before scrambling to do damage control. “Alistair, I blocked you because I care about you so much! I was afraid it would hurt you to see it…” “Wow, you’re so thoughtful, Penelope!” I say, looking at her with wide-eyed admiration. “Since you’re so considerate, you definitely won’t be asking my brother for money anymore, right? I mean, what if Conrad found out? He might get the wrong idea and think there’s something going on between you two.” My words land like a punch to the gut. Alistair’s expression darkens even further. He coldly plucks his credit card from Penelope’s hand. “I’m sorry, Penelope. If you’re in trouble, you should ask Conrad. I’m afraid I can’t help you.” Penelope bites her lip. She’s always maintained an image of a pure, independent woman in front of Conrad, turning down his lavish gifts only because she had my brother as a personal, bottomless ATM. Now that I’ve shattered that illusion, how can she keep up her “I’m-above-money” act? She opens her mouth, ready to try again. I immediately link my arm with Alistair’s. “Brother, let’s go. You two were just wrapped around each other. What if someone starts a rumor that you’re the other man?” The phrase “the other man” stabs Alistair right where it hurts. He nods, his voice weary. “Penelope, we should probably see less of each other from now on. To avoid any… misunderstandings.” Without another glance at her, he pulls me into his car. But I know this is just the beginning. A main character like her has the tenacious life force of a cockroach. Sure enough, late that night, the phone in the Sterling family mansion rings. 2 Alistair picks up the phone. It’s Penelope, her voice a small, whimpering plea for help from the other end. She claims she’s being harassed by thugs at a bar, trapped and unable to leave. She begs him to come and save her. The moment he hears her crying, Alistair’s reason goes offline. He hangs up and rushes for the door. “Vivi, Penelope’s in trouble! I have to go check on her. Lock the doors and stay safe!” Of course, I don’t resort to crying or faking a sprained ankle to stop him. For a top-tier manipulator like me, such tactics are amateur hour. I launch myself at my brother, clinging to him like a koala. “I’m going too! I have to help Penelope!” The moment we enter the club, I spot her. Penelope, looking fragile and helpless in a corner booth, her hand being forcefully held by a devilishly handsome man. Before I can even assess the situation, my brainless brother charges forward and shoves the man. “Let her go!” The man explodes in anger, jabbing a finger in Alistair’s face. “Who the hell are you?” Alistair, his sense of justice at an all-time high, puffs out his chest. “I’m Penelope’s friend! You’re harassing a woman in public! You want me to call the cops on you?” “Harassing?” The man scoffs, a humorless laugh escaping his lips. “Me, harassing her?” Penelope flinches, her teary eyes meeting Alistair’s. “Alistair, I want to go. I want to go home.” Alistair puts a protective arm around her, glaring at the other man. “Don’t be afraid, Penelope. Let’s go!” The man, now furious, blocks their path. “Penelope, did I say you could leave?” Alistair’s temper flares, and he looks ready to throw a punch. “You scum! And you say you’re not harassing her!” Seriously, bro? You think you’re Bruce Lee? Why are you always ready to fight? I throw myself onto Alistair’s arm, internally screaming. Alistair Sterling! You traded ten lifetimes of common sense for one lifetime of god-tier looks! Is that it? Were you reborn as a beautiful, brainless Ragdoll cat? I quickly bat my eyelashes, turning an innocent gaze on the man. “Excuse me, sir. You know Penelope, right?” The enraged man is momentarily thrown off by my question. “Of course I know her! She’s the one who asked me to meet her here tonight. Now she wants to leave after less than half an hour?” Penelope’s sobs stop abruptly. She looks at me with pure terror in her eyes. Alistair is also frozen. “Penelope, you know him?” She starts to panic, trying to explain. “Alistair, it’s… I…” I don’t give her the chance. I keep pressing. “Sir, I just figured since you knew her name, you must be friends. See how worried my brother is? He thought you were some kind of creep!” Now it’s my brother and the other man’s turn to be stunned. The man’s eyes narrow as he seems to finally understand. He glares at Penelope. “Penelope, so you’ve been telling people I’m harassing you? That I’m a creep?” My brother, completely lost, mutters to himself, “So… you weren’t being harassed? You know him?” Penelope is cornered. Facing two men she can no longer fool, she starts spouting nonsense. “No! Marco, listen to me!” “Alistair, you’ve misunderstood! Actually…” Just then, a commotion erupts at the edge of the crowd. “What’s all this noise?” “Nobody move! Police!” A group of uniformed officers storms in, quickly taking control of the scene. I hide behind Alistair, a barely perceptible smile playing on my lips. Sorry, everyone. I wasn’t just standing around. I took the liberty of making a quick call. The reason? A report of a public disturbance involving illegal activities and women being forced to drink with clients at a certain club. With my future-vision, I had to get my brother and the Sterling family out of this mess. After all, if my brother made an enemy of a mob boss’s son this early in the game, the Sterling family would be in danger. And my Porsche, my Hermès bags, my gold chains and fancy watches, would all be in danger. 3 The police took all of us down to the station for questioning. The officer in charge of my statement slams his hand on the table. “Who called this in? Who reported a public disturbance and illegal activities?” I raise my hand timidly, my voice barely a whisper. “Officer, it was me.” The cop gives me a skeptical look, his brow furrowed. “Do you have any idea what the penalty is for filing a false report, young lady? This looks like a simple lover’s quarrel.” I blink, my face a perfect mask of innocence and fear. “No, officer, it’s not! I heard Penelope on the phone with my brother… she said they wouldn’t let her leave unless she drank with them…” I lower my head, twisting my fingers together as fat tears begin to fall. “I was so scared. I was scared for Penelope. And I was even more scared for my brother.” The officer’s expression softens slightly. “Alright, alright. Even though it was a misunderstanding, you’ve given us a reason to keep a closer eye on this place.” He then turns to lecture Penelope, telling her to sort out her romantic entanglements and not cause public disturbances by two-timing men. His words make Penelope’s face flush with a mixture of shame and anger. In the end, it’s Conrad who comes to pick her up. I don’t know what lies Penelope sobbed to him, but after he helps her into his car, he pulls up right in front of us. He rolls down the window, his gaze cold and menacing as it lands on me. “Vivienne Sterling, is it?” he says, his voice dripping with venom. “I’ll remember what happened tonight.” With that, his Maybach roars away. Alistair just stands there, watching them go, looking completely lost. I internally flip him the bird. So this is the novel’s famous tyrant CEO? The one who’s supposed to be so intimidating? He’s nothing compared to my brother. I turn and tug fearfully on Alistair’s sleeve. “Brother… should I not have called the police?” That snaps him out of it. He reaches out and ruffles my hair fondly. “It’s okay, Vivi. None of this is your fault.” He sighs, pulling me into a hug. “It’s for the best. Now I see things more clearly. Penelope… she has someone else to protect her now.” I thought the drama was over for the night. But at three in the morning, Penelope posts to her private Instagram story, visible only to Alistair. A photo of her wrist, with beads of blood welling up. The caption is pure melodrama: [This world is so cold. Only pain makes me feel alive. If no one cares about me, maybe I should just disappear.] Los Angeles at 4:30 AM might not have seen it, but my dear brother certainly did. Once again, he starts pacing anxiously in the living room in the middle of the night. I hear him and quickly emerge from my bedroom. “Brother,” I call out softly. “Are you worried about Penelope?” While he’s still processing, I rush over and wrap my arms around his waist. “I was so scared today, brother,” I whisper, my voice thick with fake tears. “Conrad’s eyes were so fierce. Does he think I was bullying Penelope?” “Brother, did I cause trouble for our family?” “But I was just so scared something would happen to you. You’re the only family I have left.” “Mom and Dad are gone. If something happens to you too, how am I supposed to go on…?” The more I “cry,” the more genuine my sadness becomes. The loneliness from my past life bubbles to the surface. I thought I had just found a golden ticket, a meal plan for life. But after these past few days, I’ve realized how gentle, handsome, and kind he truly is. He shouldn’t be a mere sacrifice for the main characters’ grand love story. Why should he have to be a supporting character in someone else’s life? Alistair feels the small, trembling body in his arms. After a long moment, he gently hugs me back. “Vivi was so scared today,” he murmurs, his voice filled with self-reproach. “I promise you,” he says, his tone firm. “Brother will never, ever let an outsider scare my Vivi again.” 4 I knew it. That main character plot armor was a relentless beast. I don’t know what new manipulative trick Penelope pulled, but in the following weeks, her relationship with the tyrant CEO, Conrad, progressed at lightning speed. Their public displays of affection became headline news. And my brother? My big, beautiful Ragdoll cat was, of course, utterly heartbroken. But Penelope, the master manipulator, wasn’t done. While busy making headlines with her new beau, she would send late-night texts to my brother. [If only he understood me the way you do. But there are no ‘if onlys’ in love.] [Maybe when I’ve finally lost all hope, I’ll realize how precious the one who was always by my side truly is.] And so, my kind, foolish brother, despite having cold water thrown in his face time and time again, still held onto a sliver of hope for her. Meanwhile, Conrad continued to target our family. Fueled by Penelope’s constant lies and crocodile tears, he was convinced that my brother was relentlessly stalking his girlfriend, and that I, the bratty little sister, was intentionally slandering the love of his life. To get revenge for Penelope, the unhinged CEO used his influence to freeze the Sterling Group’s liquid assets. He even sent a message to Alistair: the funds would only be released when Penelope was happy. After two days with no response, Conrad had the audacity to show up at our house, Penelope in tow. He sat on our sofa, looking down his nose at my brother. After a long silence, he sneered. “Alistair Sterling, you need to know your place. Do you really think you’re worthy of Penelope?” “And as for your sister…” He tapped a lazy rhythm on the armrest. “So young, yet so vicious. Spreading malicious rumors and ruining Penelope’s reputation.” “Now, have your sister get on her knees and kowtow to Penelope a hundred times. Do that, and the thirty million will be in your account immediately.” Veins bulged on Alistair’s forehead. He shot to his feet, roaring, “Conrad! Don’t you dare go too far! This is business! Come after me! Why are you dragging my sister into this?” Penelope gently tugged on Conrad’s arm, her eyes full of pity as she looked at Alistair. “Alistair, don’t blame him. Vivienne was out of line this time.” “As long as Vivi admits she called the police on purpose to hurt me that night at the club, Conrad will stop making things difficult for the Sterling family. After all,” she added, her voice dripping with false concern, “hundreds of Sterling employees are waiting for their paychecks. We can’t let them all starve just to save one person’s pride, can we?” I stood on the stairs, watching my brother’s trembling back, and thought to myself: Brother, sometimes you have to break to rebuild. You need to take this bitter medicine today. I descended the stairs, one step at a time, and walked directly to Penelope. A flash of triumph crossed her face. She straightened her back, waiting for me to kneel. I let out a soft laugh, my eyes suddenly sharp and cold. “Apologize?” “The Sterlings do not bend the knee!” Before anyone could react, I snatched a fruit knife from the coffee table. With a swift, unhesitating motion, I plunged it into my own chest. Blood sprayed instantly, splattering across Penelope’s face and dress. She screamed, collapsing into Conrad’s arms. As I fell into a pool of my own “blood,” I looked at Alistair’s face, twisted in horror. I gasped for air, my voice weak. “An apology is impossible, Conrad. So take my life instead. You can have it in exchange for the money…” “After all, Penelope’s dress is dirty now. Only my blood… is enough to pay for it.” Alistair lost his mind. He shoved the still-screaming Penelope aside and scrambled to my side, pressing his hands desperately against my wound. “Vivi! Vivi, don’t you scare me! Somebody call an ambulance! Call an ambulance, now!” The last thing I saw before I closed my eyes was the faint smile on my own lips. Silly brother. The blood packet I rigged looks pretty realistic, right? The show is just getting started.

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