My mother is a spiritual healer who preaches “Absolute Positivity.” She says, “Keep smiling, and the world will love you back.” When I was sad, she made me practice smiling in the mirror. When I was scared, she made me shout positive affirmations. I lived like a puppet wearing a smiling mask. Later, I was bullied at school. They dragged me into the boys’ bathroom, forced me to drink urine, stripped me naked, and filmed it. Covered in filth, I went home to ask my mother for help. She smiled and handed me her new book, 100 Ways to Reconcile with the World. “You need to embrace them. Use love and sunshine to influence them.” “Remember, never bring negative energy home.” The next day, I stood on the school roof, facing everyone below. I flashed the most standard smile I had practiced, then jumped. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day before the bullying incident. A cold voice exploded in my mind: [Negative energy accumulation complete. Darkening System activated. Rebooting life…] 1 After the mechanical voice vanished, my mother Linda’s voice sounded in my ear. “Ava, good morning. Be grateful for a new day.” She held a glass of celery juice, wearing her signature smile. I glanced at the clock on the wall. 6:00 AM sharp. Yesterday—or rather, this day in my past life—I stayed in bed for five extra minutes because of period cramps. As a result, she made me copy “I love this vibrant world” a hundred times. I sat up in bed. My stomach still ached faintly—a phantom pain from my shattered internal organs in my past life. I didn’t speak. Linda frowned slightly. “Ava, your energy field is very low.” She handed the celery juice to me. “Drink it. Purify your magnetic field.” The juice smelled raw and fishy. I didn’t take it. “Mom, my stomach hurts.” I said words I didn’t dare say in my past life. Linda’s smile froze for a second. “Pain is an illusion. It’s because your heart isn’t pure enough, attracting negative energy.” She almost shoved the glass into my mouth. “Say ‘I love you’ to this water three times, then drink it. The pain will disappear.” I looked at her eternally smiling face. Ridiculous. In my past life, I believed her nonsense. When I was being bullied, I chanted “I love you” in my heart. The result? Louder ridicule and harder slaps. The mechanical voice in my head rang again: [Detected mental oppression. Resentment Points +10.] [Current Darkening Progress: 1%.] [Please continue accumulating to unlock the ‘Eye for an Eye’ Starter Pack.] So that’s how it works. I took the celery juice. Linda nodded in satisfaction. “That’s right. Learn to submit to the universe’s arrangement.” I loosened my grip. Smash! The glass shattered on the floor. Linda screamed. “Ava! What are you doing?!” Her perfect mask finally cracked. “Slipped.” “Maybe the universe didn’t want me to drink it.” Linda took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She was regulating her breathing, trying to suppress her anger. In her view, anger was a sign of a lower organism. She was a high-level spiritual mentor; she couldn’t break character. Half a minute later, she opened her eyes and put the smile back on. “It’s okay. This is the universe testing my patience.” “Go put on the Smile Corrector.” “You can eat when your smile satisfies me.” The Smile Corrector. It was a pink plastic mouthpiece used to forcibly widen the corners of the mouth. Wearing it kept the mouth open constantly; you couldn’t even swallow saliva. In my past life, I spent countless nights wearing it. The corners of my mouth were worn raw, scabbed over, and worn raw again. I watched her take the torture device from the drawer. “Mom, I don’t want to wear it.” “It’s not up to you.” Linda walked over and pinched my chin hard. “Ava, I’m doing this for your own good.” “That gloomy face of yours brings bad luck to anyone who sees it.” “Only a smile can change destiny.” She forced the corrector into my mouth. The plastic stretched my lips, stinging my gums. I was forced into a comical yet hideous grin. Linda clapped her hands in satisfaction. “Look, how beautiful.” “Keep this state and go to school.” “Let everyone feel your positive energy.” The voice in my head kept pinging: [Suffered physical torture. Resentment Points +20.] [Suffered personal insult. Resentment Points +30.] [Current Darkening Progress: 5%.] I grabbed my bag and walked out. Linda shouted from behind, “Remember to be grateful for everyone you meet!” Grateful my ass. Since you want me to smile. I’ll smile for you. Until the moment I can’t smile anymore. That will be when you cry. I put on a mask to cover the bizarre Smile Corrector. But I knew something more disgusting was waiting for me. Just as I entered the classroom, a half-dead cockroach flicked onto my shirt, its antennae still twitching. Laughter erupted in the classroom. “Yo, our Smiling Angel is here?” It was Caleb. The class bully, and one of the culprits who drove me to death. In my past life, he put the cockroach down my shirt. I was terrified, and he filmed it, laughing. I cried and called my mom. Mom said: “Flies don’t bite seamless eggs. You need to reflect on why they only bully you.” “Is it because you’re usually too gloomy and don’t fit in?” So I endured it. I smiled at Caleb and said it was okay, only to receive worse treatment. This time, I reached out and pinched the cockroach. In front of Caleb, I crushed it. Yellow-white fluid stained my fingertips. I pulled down my mask, leaned in close to Caleb, and flashed the bizarre grin fixed by the corrector, drool dripping down. Caleb’s face turned green instantly. He covered his mouth and retched. “Ava, you f*cking…” [Counterattack successful. Mentally polluted the bully. Resentment Points +30.] [Darkening Progress: 12%.] After school. Caleb and his gang blocked me at the bathroom entrance. This was the main event of my past life, and the beginning of my nightmare. “Ava, you’re acting tough today, huh?” Caleb held a box cutter, the blade pushed out, glinting coldly. “Dare to disgust me? Believe it or not, I’ll cut that rotten mouth of yours open.” The students beside him jeered. “Strip her clothes, let’s see how she pretends to be a saint then.” “Heard her mom is a charlatan? Then she must be good in bed too.” They shoved me, dragging me into the boys’ bathroom. I didn’t resist. Because the system prompted: [Major Trauma Node detected.] [Host will obtain key item: “Social Death Recording”.] I let them drag me in obediently. Caleb kicked my knee. Thud. I knelt on the floor, knee piercing with pain. But the corrector was still in my mouth. I was still smiling. Caleb peed into the urinal, then grabbed my hair and pressed my face into it. “Didn’t your mom tell you to be grateful? Come on, be grateful for this smell!” The stench of urine rushed into my nose. But I didn’t beg for mercy; I just counted silently in my heart. One. Two. Three. Every impact was accumulating power for my counterattack. They stripped off my jacket, tore my shirt, and started filming. “Look at this bitch, still smiling! Born to be a whore.” “Hey, Ava, tell the camera: ‘I’m enjoying it.’” Caleb held the phone, the lens almost touching my face. I looked up. My face was a mix of urine, dust, and blood. The corrector still propped my mouth open. I looked at the lens. “Caleb, I’m going to make you famous.” Caleb froze, then slapped me hard across the face. “Still talking back!” The slap knocked the corrector flying. The corner of my mouth tore. Blood gushed out, dripping down my chin onto my clothes. Finally. I wasn’t smiling anymore. [Resentment Points accumulation complete. Darkening System Phase 1 complete.] [Item obtained: Panoramic Invisible Camera. Automatically recorded the entire process, cloud backup, indestructible.] [Skill obtained: Pain Transfer. Every bit of pain you suffer will be returned hundredfold to the perpetrator.] Tired of beating me, they threw my bag into the urinal and left. “Bring five thousand dollars tomorrow, or this video goes online.” Caleb dropped these words before leaving. I climbed up from the floor, my whole body in pain. But I felt an unprecedented pleasure in my heart. I picked up the corrector from the floor, wiped the blood off, and put it in my pocket. This was important evidence. I looked at my disheveled self in the mirror and twitched my mouth. This time, it was a genuine smile. Showtime. 2 When I got home, I was filthy, missing two buttons on my shirt, exposed skin covered in bruises. Linda was livestreaming in the living room, her new book 100 Ways to Reconcile with the World displayed in front of her. “Family, as long as our hearts turn to the sun, the shadows will be behind us.” Comments scrolled fast. [Teacher Linda speaks so well!] [Listening to Teacher Linda cured my depression.] I slammed the door. The loud bang interrupted her rhythm. Linda frowned, then quickly adjusted her expression, saying to the camera: “Sorry family, my daughter is back.” “She might have encountered some setbacks. This is actually a great teaching case.” “Let’s see how to use love to dissolve negative emotions.” She walked towards me, aiming the camera at my wretched face. “Ava, did you have friction with classmates again?” “You always forget what I told you: love and tolerance.” “You look really low-frequency right now.” I looked at the camera. Vicious comments started appearing: [This is Teacher Linda’s daughter? Her eyes are scary, not sunny at all.] [Feel sorry for Teacher Linda having such a troublesome daughter.] I sneered. “Mom, I was beaten.” “They dragged me into the boys’ bathroom, forced me to eat sh*t, and took nude photos.” The livestream exploded. [WTF? Real or fake?] [School bullying?] Linda’s face changed. Not out of heartache for me, but fear that I would ruin her persona as the Happiness Mentor. She quickly covered the phone’s microphone and whispered: “Shut up! Tens of thousands are watching, don’t splash your dirty water on me!” Then she let go, showing a helpless, bitter smile to the camera. “Everyone, don’t misunderstand. This child is writing a novel lately and got too into character.” “Ava, go shower quickly, wash away this negative energy.” She reached out to push me into my room. “I’m not lying. Look at my injuries.” I rolled up my sleeve, revealing the purple bruises on my arm. Linda yanked my sleeve down to cover them. “Enough! It must be the darkness in your heart that attracted these demons.” “Quantum mechanics tells us everything has attraction. If your heart was full of love, how would violence find you?” This is my biological mother. She packaged victim-blaming as quantum mechanics. I looked at her, tears swirling in my eyes. Not from sadness. From rage. “So, if I get raped, it’s my fault?” “If I get beaten to death, I deserve it?” Slap! Linda moved the phone away and slapped me hard, right on the torn corner of my mouth. Drilling pain. “Don’t say such unlucky things! Go back to your room and repent in front of the mirror!” “Come out only when you’ve adjusted your mindset!” She shoved me into the room. Then she turned back to the camera, eyes teary. “Family, being a mother is really hard.” “But I won’t give up on her. I will use my love to slowly influence her.” “Please pray for my daughter, that she exorcises the demons in her heart soon.” The chat was full of [Go Teacher Linda], [Teacher Linda is so great]. Gifts flooded the screen—rockets, yachts. Money earned with my blood and tears. Linda took the opportunity to hold up her new book. “If your children are also in a rebellious phase, you must buy this book. It contains my original Smile Therapy.” “Just $19.99 to buy back family harmony.” At this moment, the system voice sounded. [Suffered betrayal by loved one. Resentment Points +50.] [Suffered public humiliation. Resentment Points +50.] [Darkening Progress: 50%.] [Warning: Resentment Points overflowing. Suggested to release immediately.] Release? No. Not enough yet. Tomorrow is Linda’s new book launch. There will be many reporters, influencers, and her fanatical followers. She wants to package me as the “problem teen saved by mother’s love.” That will be the peak of her career. And also her funeral. “System.” I chanted in my heart. “I want the most exciting, explosive, blood-pumping revenge version.” [Received. Generating the ‘Destruction Edition’ for you.] Outside, Linda ended the stream. She hummed a song, in a good mood. Probably because gift income hit a new high today. She knocked on my door. “Ava, there are many VIPs tomorrow. Don’t embarrass me.” “If you perform well tomorrow, I’ll buy you that phone you wanted.” A slap and a sweet date. Animal tamer tactics. I flashed a sweet smile at the door. “Understood, Mom.” “Tomorrow, I will definitely perform well.” “I will definitely make you… famous across the internet.” The next day, the house was decorated like a funeral hall. White lilies everywhere, white gauze curtains. Linda said this was the pure color of higher dimensions. I just found it ominous. Early in the morning, Linda rushed into my room with a concealer palette. “Get up and get ready.” She roughly applied concealer on my face, covering the bruises. Then blush and lipstick. Trying to disguise me as a healthy, happy girl. “Remember, on stage later, say you were ignorant before.” “Say my love influenced you.” “Say my book saved your soul.” “As long as you do this, I won’t pursue your nonsense yesterday.” I responded obediently. “Okay, Mom.” 10:00 AM. The living room was packed. Reporters with long lenses, fans holding light signs, and several influencers livestreaming. Linda wore a white gown, standing in the center of the stage. “Welcome everyone to my new book launch.” “Today, I want to share a miracle.” “My daughter, Ava, used to be a child full of negative energy, rebellious, and prone to self-harm.” The audience gasped. Linda wiped the corner of her eye, though there were no tears. “As a mother, my heart ached.” “But I didn’t give up. I used my mindfulness therapy to accompany and guide her day after day.” “Finally, a miracle happened!” “She changed. She became sunny, confident, and full of love.” Thunderous applause. “Teacher Linda is amazing!” “A mother’s love knows no bounds!” Linda smiled and extended her hand towards the stairs. “Now, please welcome my daughter, Ava.” Spotlights hit the stairs. Holding 100 Ways to Reconcile with the World, I slowly walked down. My face wore Linda’s favorite, standard smile. Linda walked over and took my hand. “Ava, my daughter, tell everyone, how did you walk out of the darkness?” She handed me the microphone, eyes full of expectation and warning. I took the mic and took a deep breath. “Hello everyone, I’m Ava.” “My mom is right. The old me was indeed full of negative energy.” “I was bullied by classmates and dared not resist.” “I was misunderstood by teachers and dared not explain.” “I even thought about dying.” The audience was quiet. Linda’s smile brightened; she was waiting for the “but.” This time, I turned and looked at her. “But, my mom taught me one thing.” “She said negative emotions are trash to be thrown away.” “She said pain is an illusion to be ignored.” “She said as long as you smile, the world will get better.” Linda nodded frequently, pride overflowing from her eyes. In my past life, I cooperated obediently. This time, I decided to raise the stakes. “So.” I suddenly raised my volume. “Yesterday, when I was pressed to the floor of the boys’ bathroom by five people and forced to eat sh*t.” “I smiled.” Everyone in the hall looked shocked. Linda’s smile froze. “Ava! What nonsense are you talking about!” She tried to grab my mic. I dodged and continued: “When they stripped me naked and filmed a video, I smiled too.” “Because my mom said to be grateful for every tribulation.” Reporters below started snapping photos frantically. Fans looked at each other, bewildered. Linda panicked completely. “Cut the mic! Cut it quickly!” 3 Linda roared at the backstage crew. A piercing screech of feedback came from the speakers, and the microphone went dead. Linda rushed over, grabbing my arm tightly. “Ava, what do you think you’re doing?! Do you want to ruin me?!” She growled in a low voice. Ignoring her, I raised my hand and wiped the concealer off my face forcefully. Revealing the shocking bruises underneath. The swollen cheek, the split corner of my mouth, and the distinct finger marks. Gasps erupted from the audience. “Oh my god! Those are injuries!” “She was really beaten!” “Didn’t Teacher Linda say her daughter was doing well?” Linda was in complete disarray. She tried to block me with her body. “Th… this is makeup! Special effects makeup!” “She’s joking! This child is rebellious and likes pranks!” I took out my phone. With the system’s help, it connected to the large screen behind the stage. “Does everyone want to see a miracle? See how a saint maintains absolute positivity in pain.” Just as Linda backed away in horror, I pressed play on the big screen. It wasn’t a heartwarming home video, but the dark footage from the bathroom. “Smile! Why aren’t you smiling?” “Didn’t your mom tell you to be grateful?” Caleb’s vicious voice broadcast through the top-tier sound system to every corner of the room. On screen, I was kneeling on the floor, covered in filth. With that pink Smile Corrector stuffed in my mouth, being humiliated without dignity. “Strip her!” The scene changed to my naked upper body. The system automatically enabled privacy protection, blurring sensitive areas with high-grade mosaic. In contrast, my smile forced by the corrector was particularly clear. “Caleb, I love you.” In the video, I mechanically recited the slogan taught by Linda. At this moment, everyone in the hall was stunned. Those fans holding “Love and Peace” signs were shaking. Linda stood still, frozen. Her face was ashen, lips trembling, unable to make a sound. The video continued. It cut to last night. Linda’s exquisite face appeared on screen. “Ava! Don’t splash your dirty water on me!” “It must be the darkness in your heart that attracted these demons!” Those were her words after muting the livestream microphone. But the system’s invisible camera recorded it all. Including that resounding slap. The video ended. The screen went black. The hall was silent as a grave. Only Linda’s heavy breathing could be heard. I walked up to her and gently placed the bloodstained Smile Corrector in her hand. “Mom, do you like this gift?” Linda looked at the thing in her hand, trembling, then at me. Her eyes finally showed fear. True fear. The mechanical voice in my head exploded: [Antagonist’s mental defense successfully destroyed.] [Resentment Points exceeded limit!] [Darkening System Advanced: Nemesis Mode activated.] [Current Mission: Make everyone pay the price.] I flashed a brilliant smile at Linda. “Mom, why aren’t you smiling?” “Smile.” “The world is watching you.” “Ah—!” Linda finally reacted, letting out a piercing scream. She threw the Smile Corrector away violently. “It’s not true! This is all fake!” “It’s AI generated! She framed me!” Linda lunged at the reporters, trying to snatch their cameras. “Stop filming! Stop filming!” “Security! Throw them out!” But no one listened to her. Flashes went off like crazy, freezing her hideous, wretched appearance in time. The fans who once worshipped her as a god now looked at her with utter disgust. “Liar! So you’re this kind of person!” “You didn’t even care when your own daughter was bullied, calling it karma?” “Refund! Give me my book money back!” Someone threw the book 100 Ways to Reconcile with the World onto the stage. Smack. The book hit Linda’s face, the sharp corner cutting her forehead. Blood flowed down. But this was just the beginning. More and more books and water bottles flew towards the stage. “Get out of the healing circle!” “Scum mother!” The scene was completely out of control. Linda huddled in the center of the stage, holding her head, her expensive white gown now filthy. She was still stubborn: “You are all controlled by negative energy!” “You are creating bad karma!” I stood aside, watching coldly. System notification: [Antagonist’s social status collapsed. Satisfaction Points +100.] [Detected massive crowd anger, converting to Host Energy.] [Unlocked new item: Truth Megaphone. Forces target to speak their true inner thoughts for 10 minutes.] At this moment, the police arrived. Someone had called the police, reporting a riot and suspected child abuse. The leading officer saw the frozen image on the big screen, his face grim. “Who is Linda?” Linda rushed over. “Officer! Save me! These people are crazy!” “I’m the victim! My daughter conspired with outsiders to frame me!” The officer pushed her away coldly. “Ms. Linda, we received reports that you are suspected of abusing a minor and covering up school violence.” “Also, regarding the content in that video, we need your cooperation in the investigation.” Linda froze. “I didn’t! I’m an education expert! I’m a spiritual mentor! I did it for her own good!” The officer didn’t listen to her nonsense. “Save it for the station.” As Linda was taken away, she kept looking back to glare at me. “Ava! You ungrateful wolf!” “I gave birth to you and raised you, and this is how you repay me?” “Just you wait! When I come back, I’ll send you to a mental hospital!” I stood on the high platform, looking down at her. “System, use Truth Megaphone immediately. Target: Linda.” As soon as I chanted in my mind, an invisible wave spread out. Linda was still cursing, but suddenly, her expression went blank for a second. Then, her mouth opened uncontrollably. Her voice, amplified invisibly, spread throughout the venue. “Damn money-losing goods! I should have strangled you at birth!” “I gave birth to you to build my persona and make money. Who knew you were so useless!” “As long as I can sell books and make money, so what if you get raped?” “My reputation is worth ten thousand times more than your rotten life!” The venue fell silent again. Even the police stopped, looking back at her in disbelief. Linda covered her mouth in horror. She didn’t want to say these things. She wanted to say “Mom loves you,” “Mom is innocent.” But her mouth wouldn’t obey. The darkest, most vicious thoughts hidden in her heart poured out. “You stupid fans deserve to be scammed by me!” “What positive energy? It’s all bullshit! A bunch of losers with unhappy lives deserve to pay me!” “Hahahaha! A bunch of leeks…” Linda wept in despair, but her mouth kept spewing insults. In this moment, her saintly mask shattered into powder. The fans went berserk. If not for the police blocking them, Linda might have been beaten to death on the spot. I watched coldly as she was stuffed into the police car. Is this the end? No. Linda is just the beginning. There’s Caleb. And others at school. Are you ready? It’s your turn.

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The apocalypse had dawned, and I was the team’s sole lucky charm. As long as I stood there in my pretty dress, no infected creature dared approach within ten miles. Tyler and the others treated me like fragile porcelain, terrified I might stumble or bruise myself. That was until they rescued Commander Valerie Stone, a woman brimming with fierce conviction. From the moment she arrived, she couldn’t stomach the sight of me eating the best canned food and sleeping on the softest bed. Her mouth was full of talk about “equality for all” and “no freeloaders.” When a zombie horde swept in, everyone was busy building defenses. I was sipping my caramel latte, trying to calm my nerves. Valerie stormed over, slapped the cup from my hand, and, grabbing my hair, shoved me towards the advancing tide. “Everyone else is fighting tooth and nail, why do you get special treatment? If you’re an ability user, then get to the front lines and kill!” I stumbled into the muddy water, tears streaming down my face. “Please, I’m scared of getting hurt, and my ability… it doesn’t work that way.” She kicked me out of the safety zone. “Excuses! You’re just a cowardly, spoiled brat, a useless burden!” Before I could react, a hard combat boot slammed into my lower back, sending me sprawling. … “Ah!” I landed in a puddle of mud just outside the fortress perimeter. My lace dress was soaked through, my knees scraping against sharp stones. I cradled the half empty caramel latte still in my hand, but then a heavy military boot came down. Smash! The cup shattered, splashing latte all over my face. “Drinking? You’re a joke!” Valerie Stone, clad in a combat vest, grabbed my hair, forcing my head back. “See that? That’s reality! Not your childish games!” My gaze was wrenched towards the undulating mass of infected, less than five hundred yards from our defensive line. Tyler had told me I was a fragment of divine grace, humanity’s last pure spot, and my ability was the Sanctuary. As long as I stayed happy and undefiled, I could project a field of absolute safety. But now I was covered in mud, my dress shredded. The infected, sensing the shift, turned their hollow, grey eyes towards me in unison. “Hnnnngh—” A chorus of guttural growls filled the air. I started trembling uncontrollably. “Please, I can’t… my ability isn’t for combat.” “Tyler? Don’t you dare try to use the Captain’s name against me!” Valerie yanked me to my feet and shoved me again, towards the horde. “Still lying? What do you mean ‘can’t get dirty’? You’re just pampered and terrified! Today, I’m going to make you see some blood! Go! Kill one of them for me!” I stumbled through the barbed wire gate, my foot slipped, and I fell, landing less than fifty yards from the nearest infected. It was a business-suited zombie, missing half its head, tilting to the side, making a rattling sound in its throat. It shuffled towards me, step by agonizing step. I squeezed my eyes shut, wrapping my arms around my head. One second, two seconds… The pain I anticipated never came. Instead, an eerie silence settled around me. I tentatively opened my eyes. The suited infected had stopped ten yards away, rigid, paralyzed with fear. Even though my dress was dirty, the lingering essence of my Sanctuary still held them back. They dared not touch me. “Ha! Hahahaha! Did everyone see that? These infected are nothing but idiots!” Valerie strode over, grabbed the back of my collar, and dragged me back. “I knew you were faking it! These zombies are pathetically weak, and you were scared senseless?” I struggled, my fingernails digging into the mud. “No! It’s because I’m here! That’s why they didn’t move! Let me go, I need to wash and change, or the aura will vanish!” “Wash?” Valerie abruptly released me, sending me sprawling onto the base’s concrete plaza. Survivors gathered, bowls in hand. With Tyler around, no one had dared speak, but now, the suppressed jealousy surged forth. “Listen, everyone!” Valerie stood on a stone, pointing at my mud streaked form. “This is your so called ‘lucky charm’! I just threw her at the infected, and they completely ignored her! It proves that the zombies out there aren’t so terrifying! We’ve all been deceived by her!” “She’s been exploiting your fear, spinning lies to get fed and housed! This kind of parasite deserves to be exterminated by all!” Whispers erupted from the crowd. “She’s right, I saw it too. The infected really didn’t move.” “Could we have really been fooled all this time? There’s no such thing as an aura?” “Damn it, last time I almost got my leg bitten off trying to find her a bottle of shampoo!” “No…” I shook my head, trying to explain, but my throat was too dry to make a sound. “Still making excuses?” Valerie sneered, drawing a combat knife as she advanced. “Since you’re so fond of looking pretty, so obsessed with cleanliness, then I’ll help you cure that nasty habit!” “What are you doing…” I shrank back, but Valerie snatched at the hem of my dress. Rip! The lace skirt was sliced open by Valerie’s knife. “No! Tyler gave me this!” I shrieked, lunging to grab it back. This wasn’t just a dress; it was the conduit for my ability, my sole source of security. Smack! Valerie backhanded me across the face, making my ears ring. “Tyler, Tyler! Are you utterly helpless without a man to cling to?” Valerie looked at me with disgust. “This is the apocalypse! Only warriors survive! Not women like you!” Her hand moved swiftly, rip, rip, rip, and in a few swift slashes, the once full and elegant dress was reduced to a pile of shredded fabric. The cold wind bit into my skin; I was left in nothing but a thin camisole. The shame was a sharper sting than the cold. Catcalls and crude laughter erupted, men’s gazes raking over my exposed skin. “What are you looking at!” Valerie snapped, glaring back at them, then kicked a dark, lumpy object towards me. It was a set of oil-stained, blood-splattered camouflage fatigues. A patch of rotting flesh clung to the collar, reeking of decay. “Put it on,” she commanded. “It belonged to Old Man Beckett, who died yesterday.” I stared at the clothes, my stomach clenching. I had an inherent fastidiousness, a core component of my power. Donning those clothes, tainted with death, would irrevocably corrupt the Sanctuary. “I won’t wear it… please, find me something clean…” I begged, tears streaming down my face. “Clean? Where do you think you are?” Valerie grabbed me, roughly forcing the filthy clothes over my head. “You’re asking for trouble, aren’t you? If you don’t want to wear them, then you can just go naked!” Her rough fingers dug into my skin, leaving raw red marks as the death tainted uniform was brutally forced onto me. In that instant, I distinctly felt the power within me extinguish, and the world grew cold and bleak. Boom— The sky turned an ominous, bruised red. The warning lights on the perimeter fence buzzed faintly. I glanced in that direction, my heart seizing. It was the warning of an ability collapse; the horde was about to retaliate. “Do you hear that?” I grabbed at Valerie’s combat trousers. “Something’s wrong out there! Get everyone to the bunkers!” Valerie merely kicked me aside, glanced at the sky, and snorted. “Don’t spread your fear mongering. That’s just thunder! What, are you scared of a storm now?” She turned to the crowd. “See that? This is your so called ‘lucky charm’!” “The slightest disturbance, and she’s pissing herself in terror! From today on, you’re Survivor 9527! Since you eat our rations, you’ll do our work!” Valerie pointed towards the medical tent. “That’s the quarantine zone. Hundreds of bloodied uniforms from the front lines are piled in there. You’ll wash them. No food until you’re done!” A cheer erupted from the crowd, but only Old Man Silas, his apron stained with grease, pushed his way forward. “Commander Stone, you mustn’t…” Old Man Silas fell to his knees, kowtowing. “The girl’s skin is too delicate. Those clothes in quarantine are crawling with pathogens! One scratch, and she could turn! If you need help, I’ll go wash them!” Valerie walked up to Old Man Silas, looking down at him. “Old fool, who asked you to speak?” “Since you’re so keen on playing the good samaritan, so concerned for her…” Crack! Valerie raised her foot and stomped, directly crushing Old Man Silas’s shin bone. “Ah—!” Old Man Silas screamed, clutching his leg, rolling on the ground as cold sweat drenched his clothes. “Old Man Silas!” I rushed forward to help him, but Valerie seized my hair, pulling me up. “That’s the consequence of defying me. Does anyone else want to plead for her?” The entire plaza fell silent. No one dared move. Valerie leaned close to my face, whispering, “See? You caused this. You caused him to break his leg. This is the original sin of the weak.” It was psychological warfare. “I hate you…” I bit out, glaring at her. “You’ll regret this… you’ll pay for it!” Smack! Another slap, making my ears ring even louder. “Get him out of here,” Valerie ordered, pointing at the groaning Old Man Silas. “This base doesn’t shelter freeloaders.” “No!” I clung to Old Man Silas, desperate. “He’s our cook! He can still make meals! You can’t do this!” “Cook? Anyone with hands can cook!” Valerie waved her hand, and two burly men, their faces expressionless, hoisted Old Man Silas and dragged him towards the main gate. “My girl… survive… you must survive…” Old Man Silas looked back at me, tears streaming down his face. In that moment, a vital thread inside me snapped. I felt no pain, no fear. Only a cold, searing hatred spread through my body. If they didn’t need a Sanctuary, then let this entire goddamn world descend into hell. One kilometer outside the base, a colossal, black scaled monstrosity burst from the earth. It sniffed the air, detecting the fading sacred aura, and a raw, hateful stench of blood filled the air. The quarantine zone’s washroom reeked of disinfectant and blood. In the tin basin before me, dozens of bloodied clothes soaked. The water had turned blackish red, greasy scum floating on its surface. My hands were numb, high concentration disinfectant combined with zombie pathogens had left them covered in red rashes and blisters. But I scrubbed mechanically, my mind replaying only Old Man Silas’s desperate gaze before he was dragged out of the base. “9527! Hurry up!” The guard at the door hammered on the metal door with his rifle butt. This same guard had once brought me wildflowers, but now, his eyes held only disgust. Valerie had told everyone that if I didn’t finish washing the clothes, everyone’s dinner would be halved. She knew how to exploit human nature, turning me into the common enemy. “Just two more…” I mumbled, lowering my head to continue scrubbing, when suddenly the ground violently shook. The box of washing powder on the shelf toppled and shattered. “An earthquake?” The guard looked out, puzzled. Boom— Another deafening roar, and I could hear the walls cracking. Immediately, the piercing wail of a Level One Combat Alert ripped through the air. I stumbled, fell, and landed back in the filthy water. I knew it had come. The Zombie King, suppressed by the Sanctuary for three long years. I pushed myself up against the wall, reaching the window. Through the grimy glass, I saw a massive breach in the base’s perimeter wall. Tens of thousands of infected were clambering over the corpses of their own, pouring through the gap. At the very forefront was a three meter tall Brute. With every strike, it took a life. Screams, gunfire, and desperate cries exploded into chaos. The very people who had mocked me moments ago were now scrambling in terror. “Help! The infected are inside!” “How can this be? How did they get so strong, so fast? We can’t hold them! Run!” I couldn’t help but laugh at the scene, tears streaming down my face. This was what they wanted. Bang! The washroom door was kicked open. Valerie burst in, her left arm bleeding, her eyes wild. She lunged at me, grabbing my throat and lifting me off my feet. “You did this, didn’t you?!” “You led them here! How could the infected suddenly become so strong? You must have tampered with something!” Choking, my face turning crimson, my legs flailing, I managed to gasp out, “I… told you… I was… a good omen…” “To hell with your good omens!” Valerie threw me to the ground and dragged me towards the exit. “Since you brought them here, you’ll be responsible for leading them away!” “What are you doing?!” I desperately clawed at the ground, my fingernails tearing. “What am I doing?” Valerie looked back, a twisted smile on her face. “I’m going to hang you on the flagpole. The infected love eating flesh, don’t they? If they’re busy devouring you, we’ll have time to retreat! This is the most valuable thing you’ll ever do – a sacrifice for the collective!”

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I was having Christmas Eve dinner with my parents when my wife’s assistant, Brendan Cole, suddenly called and unleashed a torrent of abuse. “Arthur Reid, have you been washing your brain along with the laundry all day? I warned you repeatedly, Ms. Clarke is working overtime on a project this holiday, and no one is to disturb her! You act like you don’t understand basic English, sending your parents to cause trouble, almost ruining months of company effort! Can you bear the consequences of that?” “If you can’t control those two senile old fools, I don’t mind giving them a proper lesson myself!” Completely bewildered, I looked at my parents sitting across from me. “Brendan, aren’t you mistaken? My parents are clearly…” Brendan scoffed. From the other end of the line, I suddenly heard familiar cries and pleas. “Stop, what right do you have to hit us? We were just worried about Sophia working over Christmas, trying to bring her some homemade pot pies…” I snapped back to reality, gritting my teeth as I roared. “Brendan, are you insane? They’re Sophia Clarke’s parents!” Brendan let out a mocking laugh. “Still won’t admit your mistake? Pulling the ‘respected elder’ card won’t work on me! Get them! Beat the old fools senseless! I want to see how tough their mouths really are!” … The horrific screams from the phone line turned my mind to ice. “You’re mad, you’ve completely lost it! I’m warning you, tell Sophia immediately to get them to a hospital! Otherwise, you’re finished!” Sophia had worked overtime every Christmas for the past three years. My in-laws must have wanted to surprise her, traveling all the way from their hometown. While I was a little surprised, there was no mistaking their voices. This bastard Brendan dared to abuse his power, acting like a complete tyrant! Sophia would never let him get away with this! Yet, in response to my warning, Brendan’s laughter grew louder, laced with heavy derision. “You’re a useless kept man, lying around at home, and you’re threatening me now? Do you really think just because you got lucky and married Ms. Clarke, your whole family can get away with bullying everyone?” “Without Ms. Clarke, you’re nothing!” As he spoke, another scream echoed from the other end. Brendan cackled, “I’ve got your old man under my boot right now! Come on, let me see how you plan to kill me!” My temper flared. “You’ve gone too far!” I knew Brendan always looked down on me. Constantly hinting that I was a freeloader. But Sophia always advised me not to stoop to the level of a young hothead like Brendan. “If others knew that besides our office tower, your family owns three other buildings collecting rent, people would get jealous! Don’t flash your wealth. Society is so volatile these days; I don’t want you to be targeted or get into any danger.” I wondered if Sophia would regret it when she learned Brendan had mistaken her parents for mine, subjecting them to such unrestrained brutality and humiliation. For the sake of my in-laws’ safety, I forced myself to calm down, squeezing out a reply through clenched teeth. “Brendan, I advise you not to make things worse! Tell Sophia about this immediately, there’s still a chance to salvage the situation…” Brendan, however, sighed. “What a spineless wretch. I was waiting for you to come kill me, but you’ve chickened out? After all that talk, you still have to use Ms. Clarke to pressure me?” “You want me to let your parents go? Simple. Kneel all night outside the corporate tower, admit your mistake, and confess you’re a useless kept man!” Amidst a burst of laughter from the other side, the call disconnected. My heart pounded with anxiety. I immediately stood up from the table, mumbled an excuse to my aging parents, and rushed to my car, speeding towards the office. Along the way, I floored the accelerator. First, I called the police, then tried Sophia’s number again and again. After more than a dozen calls, she finally picked up. “Arthur, what is it? I’m really busy here.” I rarely lost my temper with her. “What’s so busy about a lousy company? Don’t you know, your parents are being beaten half to death by Brendan!” Sophia’s own temper flared. “Arthur, what do you mean? Is it just because I didn’t come back to spend the holidays with you? Why are you being so sarcastic? Are all your promises to support my work just lies?” “And what did Brendan ever do to you? You can’t just slander him like this because you’re jealous of his success, can you?” I was almost laughing from pure exasperation. What was there to be jealous of Brendan for? “No, do you think I’m joking? Go check right now what Brendan has done! Those are your parents, don’t you care if they live or die? What’s wrong with them wanting to bring you a warm pot pie because they felt you were working too hard on Christmas? How dare Brendan—” Before I could finish, Sophia cut me off impatiently. “Enough! I’m really busy right now, I don’t have time for your made-up stories! If you really can’t stand Brendan, I’ll fire him once this project is done, alright? Are you satisfied now?” The dial tone that followed left me utterly numb. I called back, but she had blocked my number. Arriving at the corporate tower, I immediately spotted the scattered, trampled pot pies on the ground. And the horrifying bloodstains! My heart clenched. “Mom, Dad… where are you?!” I slammed the car door shut and rushed inside, only to be surrounded by several security guards. “What do you want? Stop! No unauthorized personnel allowed!” I scanned them; they looked unfamiliar. “I’m your Ms. Clarke’s husband, Arthur Reid!” However, as soon as I spoke, the guards’ eyes lit up. “So this is the guy Mr. Cole told us to teach a lesson? What a pathetic loser, trying to steal Mr. Cole’s woman!” Before I could react, the lead guard slammed a baton squarely on my head. My vision went black, and I tumbled to the ground. “What are you… what are you doing? Stop it! Have you gone mad, hitting me too?” But they showed no mercy. They rushed forward, kicking and punching me. “Heh, you deserve it, you shameless piece of trash! Why don’t you take a good look at yourself? Do you really think you’re worthy of Ms. Clarke? And you have the audacity to pester her, claiming to be her husband?” “Mr. Cole and Ms. Clarke are the real couple! They’re having Christmas Eve dinner upstairs with his parents and relatives right now, and your deadbeat parents came to cause trouble. How unlucky!” My heart lurched. My eyes widened in disbelief. “What nonsense are you talking about? Stop it, stop it… I’m warning you, I’ve already called the police, they’ll be here any minute!” Just then, a siren wailed in the distance. The guards’ movements paused briefly. But then, Brendan’s voice echoed. “Damn it, the bastard really called the police? What are you all standing around for? Drag him inside and clean up the mess on the floor!” I struggled desperately but couldn’t break free. They forcibly gagged me and dragged me like a dead dog into the security room. Powerless, I heard the police car pull up outside the corporate tower. The officers conducted their routine inquiry. But Brendan smoothly gave them an excuse. The police, still uneasy, contacted Sophia. Over the phone, Sophia chuckled softly. “My apologies, I’ll apologize on Brendan’s behalf! He was just playing a prank! He was upset that I had to work over Christmas, so he deliberately tried to mess with me. I deeply regret his waste of police resources!” “My parents? That scoundrel, how dare he curse my parents? Don’t worry, they’re safe back home…” My heart sank into the deepest abyss. In desperation, I fumbled for my phone in my pocket, trying to smash the security room window to create a commotion. The security guard holding me down glared, his eyes menacing. “What are you doing? Trying to get yourself killed?” He slammed his baton on my head. The pain made me writhe on the floor. The hand gripping my phone was exposed. Another guard, his face grim, stomped on my hand. Crunch! I convulsed in pain, unable to tell if it was my fingers snapping or the phone screen shattering. Bang! Suddenly, the security room door was violently thrown open. A final flicker of hope ignited in my chest, and I quickly looked up. But I only saw Brendan’s sneering face. “You damn dog, haven’t you caused Ms. Clarke enough trouble already? I was only planning to give you a small lesson. But it seems you still haven’t realized your mistake!” “Or do you think I’m all talk?” With that, he snapped his fingers. Two elderly figures, tightly bound, covered in blood, their bodies limp like rag dolls, were roughly thrown to the ground. Seeing those two familiar forms, my mind reeled, and I trembled uncontrollably. The moment the guards released me, I lunged forward like a madman. “Mom, Dad, are you alright? Don’t scare me like this, wake up!” “Brendan, you monster! Get them to a hospital, now!” Brendan roared with laughter, seemingly enjoying my pathetic state. “I really thought you didn’t care if these old fools lived or died! So where did you get the nerve not to just kneel and beg for mercy, but to actually call the police and go against me?” I was beyond arguing with him. As I tried to shake my father-in-law’s shoulder, he remained unresponsive. Blood steadily gushed from his mouth and nose. My mother-in-law was no better, her face a bloody mess, gasping for every breath. I suddenly looked up, staring fiercely at Brendan. I wanted to demand, Why? Whether these were Sophia’s parents or my own, how could he be so cruel to two innocent elderly people? But I didn’t dare provoke his brutality further. Gritting my teeth, I bowed my head and pleaded. “Their lives are on the line, they really can’t hold on! You don’t want to be a murderer, do you?” “Brendan, you just want me to kneel and admit I’m a useless kept man, right? I’ll kneel, alright?” Brendan raised an eyebrow, scoffing. “Oh, finally giving up the tough act? You wouldn’t admit your mistake earlier, you wouldn’t admit it later. Now that you’re at your wits’ end, you suddenly ‘realize’ your mistake? You haven’t realized your mistake, you’re just scared!” I was desperate. “What do you want, then? What will it take for you to let them go?” Brendan snapped his fingers again. The guards behind him rushed forward, pinning me down. Thud! My knees slammed hard against the ground. Brendan lightly patted my face, full of humiliation. “If you truly understand your mistake, you’d know what I want. Show me sufficient sincerity!”

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“Alice, for the team-building event, please transfer the money. It’s $386 per person.” Charlotte slammed her payment QR code onto my desk, tapping her nails impatiently. This was the 23rd time I’d received that QR code in my two years and three months at the company. I had never attended. “Alright,” I said, scanning the code, entering $386, and hitting send. She pocketed her phone, walking away without a backward glance. Laughter erupted behind her. Ben from the next team leaned over to ask her, “Charlotte, that sushi place last night was fantastic, wasn’t it? The salmon sashimi was incredibly rich.” “Right? We should go again.” I stared at the transaction record: $8,878. Two years and three months, $8,878. I turned off my phone and returned to refining my proposal. 1 “Alice, is the proposal ready?” Mr. Davies’ voice drifted from his office doorway. “It’s ready, Mr. Davies.” I emailed the file to him, then printed a copy and brought it over. He flipped through a couple of pages, nodding. “Good, we’ll present it to the client this afternoon.” I turned to leave, hearing him call out to Charlotte. “Charlotte, you’ll join me for the presentation this afternoon.” “Of course, Mr. Davies.” My steps faltered, but I didn’t turn back. I’d spent three days writing that proposal, pulling two all-nighters. Charlotte hadn’t touched a single word. Yet, she was the one presenting it. It wasn’t the first time. Back at my desk, Sarah was touching up her lipstick. Seeing me, she pursed her lips. “Oh, Alice, Charlotte said she optimized your proposal for you.” “Oh.” “Honestly, you’re too kind. Letting Charlotte touch up your own work, it’s a bit much, isn’t it?” I said nothing, opening the document to check the revision history. Last modification: Alice, yesterday 11:47 PM. Where was this “optimization”? I closed the document and continued working. At four that afternoon, Charlotte emerged from the conference room, a smile on her face. “Mr. Davies said the client was very pleased,” she said as she passed my desk, her voice just loud enough to be heard. “The project bonus should be substantial this time.” Ben crowded closer. “Amazing, Charlotte!” “Oh, it was mostly because the proposal was so well-written,” she replied, glancing at me. I couldn’t decipher the look in her eyes. Or rather, I pretended not to. At closing time, I received a group message. “Celebration tonight, same place, 7 PM.” It was from Charlotte. I glanced at the group name: “Operations Team Socials.” There were seventeen people in the group, and I was one of them. Over a dozen replies had already come in: “Okay,” “See you there,” “Got it.” I didn’t respond. Because I knew, though the message was sent to the group, it wasn’t really meant for me. Sure enough, at half past seven, Charlotte sent me a payment QR code. “Alice, for tonight’s dinner, it’s $412 per person.” I stared at the number, $412. A celebration dinner. Celebrating a proposal I had written. I opened the transfer page, entered $412. My finger hovered over “Send” for three seconds. Then I pressed it. 2 The next morning, I opened my computer. A new email lay in my inbox. Sender: Ms. Jenkins, HR. Subject: Q3 Project Bonus Disbursement. I clicked it open and scrolled down. “Operations Department Q3 Key Project – [Brand Name] Promotion Proposal, Bonus $15,000, Recipient: Charlotte Hayes.” I stared at that line of text for a long time. $15,000. My proposal, my sleepless nights, my lost hair. $15,000, and not a cent for me. “Alice, what are you staring at?” Sarah’s voice came from beside me. I closed my inbox. “Nothing.” “Oh, right. Charlotte said to put together next month’s schedule for her; she needs it this afternoon.” “Okay.” I opened Excel and started creating the spreadsheet. Halfway through, I heard Charlotte’s voice. “Mr. Davies, I received the bonus, thank you!” “You’re welcome. The proposal was indeed excellent this time.” “It’s mainly because of good teamwork; everyone contributed.” My fingers paused. Everyone contributed. I looked up, meeting Charlotte’s gaze. She smiled at me, a gentle, polite smile. “Alice, is the schedule ready?” “Almost.” “Hurry up, don’t hold things up.” She left. I continued working on the spreadsheet. During lunch, Lily, the new intern, sat across from me. “Alice, can I ask you something?” “Hm?” “Well, yesterday I heard Charlotte say that the [Brand Name] proposal was hers, but I remember…” She paused, lowering her voice. “I remember I printed the first draft of that proposal for you, and it had your name on it.” My hand, holding my fork, stopped. “You must have misread it.” “But…” “Lily,” I interrupted her, “in the workplace, ask less, say less, and mind your own business less.” She froze, her mouth opening, then closing. She said no more. I continued eating. My hand holding the fork trembled slightly. At five that afternoon, Charlotte sent another message in the group chat. “Friday department social: Escape Room + Hot Pot. Reply with ‘1’ to sign up.” The messages quickly piled up. “1” “1” “1” Over a dozen “1”s, but none from me. I didn’t reply. Because I knew, even if I did, no one would acknowledge it. I had tried it once, two years ago. I replied with “1” in the group, then waited at the office until seven that Friday. No one called me. I messaged Sarah, “What time are we leaving?” She replied, “Oh? Are you coming? I thought you weren’t. We’re already there.” Since then, I never replied with “1” again. But the money, they always collected. That Friday afternoon, Charlotte sent the payment QR code right on time. “Team-building fee, $298 per person.” I stared at the number, suddenly feeling utterly exhausted. Not physically, but a weariness that seeped into my very bones. Two years. I had been in this department for two years. I had written over thirty proposals, and not a single one bore my name. I had attended zero team-building events, but paid for twenty-three. I was like a ghost, only remembered when money was needed. “Alice, have you transferred it?” Charlotte’s voice came from nearby. I looked up at her. “Charlotte, can I ask you a question?” “What?” “Why am I never invited to these team-building events?” She paused, then chuckled. “You are invited, I post in the group, don’t I?” “But no one ever tells me the specific time or location.” “Well, why don’t you ask?” Her tone took on a hint of impatience. “Everyone’s busy, who has time to notify each person individually? Besides, you usually don’t talk much to anyone, so we just assumed you didn’t want to come.” “But the money…” “It’s splitting the bill, it’s normal. If you don’t come, that’s your choice. But everyone pays their share, we can’t expect others to pay more just because you don’t show up, can we?” She sounded perfectly righteous. I opened my mouth, unsure how to refute her. Her logic seemed wrong, yet somehow also perfectly sound. “Alright, hurry up and transfer it, I still need to book the private room.” She urged me. I lowered my head, scanned the code, entered $298, and hit send. “Transfer Successful.” I stared at those two words, and then I laughed. Laughed at myself. 3 Monday morning, I arrived half an hour earlier than usual. The office was empty. I opened my computer and logged into the company intranet. I was going to do something. Something I should have done two years ago. I opened the project management system and clicked into the [Brand Name] Promotion Proposal document. All revision histories, exported. Then the six proposals from the first half of the year, all exported. Then the twelve proposals from last year, all exported. Every document, every revision, who made it, what was changed, when it was changed—all clear as day. I saved them to a USB drive. Then I opened my phone and pulled up all my transaction records from the past two years. $8,878 + $298 = $9,176. I took screenshots and saved them to the USB drive. Finally, I opened my messaging app, found the “Operations Team Socials” group. This group was created two years and three months ago, the month I joined. I clicked on the member list, counting them one by one. Seventeen people. Then I clicked into the chat history, searching for the phrase “team-building.” One hundred and forty-seven messages. I scrolled through them one by one. Beneath every team-building announcement, there were dozens of replies. None were mine. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to reply; it was that every time I did, no one acknowledged me. Over time, I simply stopped replying. I screenshotted these chat records too, saving them to the USB drive. Done with all this, I leaned back in my chair and took a deep breath. Two years. I had spent two years weaving a cocoon around myself. I thought if I just endured, it would pass. I thought if I spoke less, I wouldn’t offend anyone. I thought if I just did my job well, I would be seen. I was wrong. The workplace wasn’t an exam where you got points for correct answers. The workplace was a jungle. If you didn’t bite, people would bite you. “Alice? What are you doing here so early?” Sarah’s voice came from the doorway. I closed my laptop screen, turned, and smiled at her. “Couldn’t sleep, so I came in early.” “Oh.” She gave me a suspicious glance, saying nothing more. At nine, Charlotte arrived, right on time. As she passed my desk, she casually said, “Alice, the team-building event last Friday was a lot of fun. Too bad you missed it.” “Really? I’ll definitely go next time.” She paused, probably surprised by my answer. Usually, I was silent. “Alright then, remember to come next time.” She smiled and walked to her desk. I watched her back, a faint smile playing on my lips. Next time? There wouldn’t be a next time. 4 Wednesday afternoon, a notice was posted in the company-wide chat. “Notice regarding Employee Satisfaction Survey and Work Feedback Collection. This Friday, at 3 PM, the Human Resources Department will conduct a session in the third-floor conference room…” I scrolled down and saw a line of text. “For any work-related issues or suggestions, written materials can be submitted to the HR office in advance.” I stared at that line for a long time. “Alice, what are you spacing out about?” Lily walked over with her water bottle, curiously peeking at my screen. “Nothing.” I closed the page. “Oh, by the way, Alice,” she lowered her voice. “About that proposal… are you really not going to say anything?” I looked at her young face, suddenly remembering myself two years ago. Fresh out of university, full of vigor, believing that effort would always be rewarded. “Lily, you know,” I said softly, “some things, saying them doesn’t always help.” “Why?” “Because even if you say them, no one believes you.” She fell silent. “But… that’s not fair.” “Where is anything fair in the workplace?” I smiled. “You’re new. You’ll get used to it.” She lowered her head, saying nothing more. I patted her shoulder and continued working. At five-thirty, I left work right on time. As I reached the elevator, I heard someone call my name from behind. “Alice, wait up.” It was Mr. Davies. I stopped, turned. “Mr. Davies, can I help you?” He hurried over, lowering his voice. “We have a client visit tomorrow afternoon. Could you organize the [Brand Name] proposal again? I need to present it to them.” “Of course.” “Oh, right,” he paused, “that proposal… it was really well done.” My heart stirred. I looked up at him. His expression was a little complex, as if he wanted to say something but held back. “Thank you, Mr. Davies.” “Hm, you should head home early.” He turned and left. I stood there, watching his retreating back, and a thought suddenly occurred to me. He knew. He knew who wrote that proposal. But he didn’t say anything. Why? I didn’t know. But it didn’t matter. What mattered was that I knew. 5 Thursday evening, I was at home organizing the files on my USB drive. Project document revision histories, transaction screenshots, group chat records—all printed out and bound into a booklet. Eighty-seven pages in total. This was my “accomplishment” of the past two years. And my humiliation. I looked at the stack of papers, suddenly remembering something. Last year, at the department’s annual party, during the raffle, I won an air fryer. Charlotte smiled and said, “Oh, Alice, you’re so lucky! My air fryer just broke. Do you even need one?” I said I did. She said, “Well, you can take it for now, but if you don’t need it later, give it to me, okay?” The next day, that air fryer appeared in her kitchen. She posted a picture on her social media: “First meal in my new air fryer, fried chicken wings!” I liked the post. And the mid-autumn festival the year before last, the company gave out gift boxes of mooncakes. Charlotte said, “Alice, can you eat all of these by yourself? How about you give me two boxes?” I gave them to her. And last winter, the company issued down jackets. Charlotte said, “Alice, that size is too big for you, but it’s perfect for me. Should we swap?” I swapped. That “too big” down jacket fit me perfectly. That “perfect” down jacket, she wore all winter. What was I thinking back then? I thought: Never mind, it’s just minor stuff. Why bother squabbling with colleagues over these things? I thought: She’s a senior employee, I’m new, I should be accommodating. I thought: As long as I’m agreeable, they’ll like me. But what was the result? The more agreeable I was, the more they took advantage. The more I tolerated, the more they treated me like a pushover. I stared at the stack of documents, my eyes stinging. Not from hurt. From hate. Hate for myself. My phone rang. It was my mother. “Honey, are you coming home for Christmas?” “Yes, Mom.” “How many days can you stay this year?” I paused. “Mom, I might be staying a bit longer this year.” “What’s wrong?” “Nothing, just… feeling homesick.” I hung up the phone and shoved the stack of documents into my backpack. Tomorrow, Friday. Employee satisfaction survey day. And my judgment day. 6 At 2:50 PM on Friday, I walked into the third-floor conference room with my backpack. Ms. Jenkins, HR, was already there, looking a little surprised to see me. “Alice? You’re early?” “Hello, Ms. Jenkins. I have something I’d like to give you in advance.” I pulled the stack of documents from my backpack and placed them before her. “What is this?” “You’ll see.” She opened the first page, intrigued. It was a project ownership summary. On the left was the project name, in the middle the actual writer, on the right the credited person. Thirty projects, thirty names. The “actual writer” column was entirely “Alice.” The “credited person” column was entirely “Charlotte.” Ms. Jenkins’ expression changed. She continued to flip pages. The second section contained screenshots of the project management system’s revision history, clear as day, in black and white. Every document’s creator was “Alice,” every revision log showed “Alice” pulling all-nighters. Charlotte’s name only appeared in the final submission records. “This…” Ms. Jenkins looked up. “Is this real?” “System records can’t be faked.” She continued to flip. The third section was transaction records. Twenty-three transfers, totaling $9,176. Each entry was marked with a date and amount, accompanied by corresponding team-building group chat records. “And what’s this?” “The bill-splitting for department team-building events,” I said. “Two years and three months, twenty-three team-building events. I was never once notified, but I paid every single time.” Ms. Jenkins’ brow furrowed even deeper. “They… didn’t invite you?” “No. They posted announcements in the group, but never told me the specific time or location. And when I asked, no one replied.” “Then the money…” “They collected it anyway.” I smiled. “Charlotte said that splitting the bill means everyone contributes. If I don’t come, that’s my business; they can’t expect others to pay more.” Ms. Jenkins fell silent. After a moment, she asked, “How do you want to handle this?” “I want justice,” I said, looking into her eyes. “My contributions should be returned to me; my money should be refunded; and an apology should be given.” “What if they deny it?” “The evidence is all here,” I said, pointing to the stack of documents. “Whether they admit it or not doesn’t matter.” The door opened, and people started to trickle in. I saw Charlotte at the front, still smiling. Seeing me, she paused. “Alice? Why are you here so early too?” “Employee satisfaction survey, I’m an employee too.” “Oh,” she smiled. “I thought you didn’t participate in these kinds of activities.” “I didn’t used to,” I smiled back, “today’s an exception.” She seemed to sense something, her expression momentarily faltering. But it quickly recovered. “Alright then, let’s do this together.” She sat down beside me. Ms. Jenkins cleared her throat. “Alright, everyone’s here, let’s begin.” “Excuse me, could you wait a moment?” I raised my hand. “What is it?” “I have something I’d like to say in front of everyone.” The room fell silent. Charlotte turned to look at me, a flicker of wariness in her eyes. “What’s wrong?” I stood up, picked up the stack of documents, and walked to the projector. “It’s like this,” I said, turning on the projector, “I’d like to show everyone something.”

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My mother showed up at my doorstep, her face etched with worry, telling me my uncle had fallen and needed thirty thousand for surgery. I hurried her to the ATM, my mind racing with a hundred thoughts. But when we stood before the machine, I froze, utterly dumbfounded. “Insufficient Funds,” the screen blinked back mockingly. This card belonged to Lillian Vance. We’d agreed when we married that it would be our joint savings, a “deposit only” account. Every payday, without fail, I’d deposit eighty thousand into it. This had been going on for five full years. Thirty thousand? We should have had millions. More than enough. Yet, there it was: a pathetic 1.03 dollars. I dialed Lillian’s number a dozen times, but she didn’t answer. Eventually, her phone went straight to voicemail. I had no choice but to call a friend and borrow the money. An hour later, she finally sent a message. “Dean, I was with Brandon Miller looking at houses. It was so loud, I couldn’t hear my phone.” “What’s up?” 1 I swallowed hard, forcing down the surge of anger. I quickly concocted an excuse, then asked her where they were looking. She replied with ‘Riverside Manor.’ It was an upscale community, with prices upwards of thirty thousand per square foot. We’d looked at it last year when it first opened. I’d even considered buying a unit, but she’d dismissed the idea outright. I didn’t press further, just hung up. Lillian finally returned home at seven that evening. A faint scent of men’s cologne drifted from her, the familiar woody notes of the fragrance her childhood friend, Brandon Miller, always wore. Our one-year-old son, Arthur, sat in his highchair, babbling and playing with a spoon. I spooned some steamed egg into his mouth, then looked up at my wife, who was shedding her coat. “How was the house hunting with Brandon today?” I asked, my voice flat. Her movements faltered for a fraction of a second. Then, her usual gentle smile appeared. “It was alright. Brandon thought the layout at Riverside Manor was good, the view was nice, and the price was fair.” “You didn’t say that when we looked at it,” I murmured, stirring the soup in my bowl. “You said it was too out of the way, that the amenities weren’t developed yet, and it wasn’t worth the price.” “Oh, well, that was then, this is now,” she replied smoothly. “It’s developed so much since. I hear the subway will be ready next year.” She sat down, picked up a piece of greens with her chopsticks, and deftly changed the subject. “By the way, what was so urgent this afternoon? I couldn’t quite catch it on the phone.” “Nothing. Just a small matter with my mother. It’s been sorted.” She simply said, “Oh,” and didn’t probe further. Arthur patted the table with his little hand, wanting water. Lillian got up to fetch his cup, cooing softly to him. I watched her retreating back. Her long hair was loosely pinned up, and the creamy white loungewear made her silhouette look gentle and soft. Three years of dating, five years of marriage. Eight years. I thought I knew this woman who slept beside me every night. Until this afternoon, when the glaring balance on the ATM screen slapped me hard across the face. “Oh, right,” I said, putting down my chopsticks, as if it were an afterthought. “I’m thinking of replacing the old car. I saw the new BMW model, about thirty thousand. What do you think?” Lillian’s hand, which was giving Arthur water, paused. She turned, a slight frown creasing her brow. “Why the sudden urge to change cars? The one we have is only eight years old, isn’t it?” “It’s a bit old, and the space is too small. We can’t fit everything when we go camping with Arthur.” “But thirty thousand is too expensive…” She put down the water cup and sat back in her chair. “Won’t it put too much pressure on the family if you buy a new car?” “Our monthly living expenses are already quite high.” “A car is a depreciating asset. It loses value the moment it leaves the lot.” “Besides, your current car is well-maintained. It’s perfectly fine for a few more years. There’s no need to buy a new one just for appearances…” She listed off her points, one by one, with clear logic and apparent sincerity. She sounded like a frugal wife, always thinking of her family’s best interests. In the past few years, I’d heard these words countless times, feeling satisfied, even guilty, about her practicality and devotion to our home. Now, hearing them felt like a thousand tiny needles, pricking my heart. I stayed silent, offering no rebuttal, just focused on eating my rice. After I finished the dishes, Arthur was already drowsy, rubbing his eyes in Lillian’s arms. “I’ll take him to bath and bed.” She picked up Arthur and headed towards the bathroom. On the coffee table, her phone screen was still lit. I walked over, picked it up, and quickly opened the banking app, loading the transaction history. Densely packed, full of transfers. 2 The recipient’s name was partially obscured, but the last few digits of the account number were clearly visible, and they were all the same. The transfer frequency was astonishingly high – several transactions every month. The amounts varied, some were three to five thousand, others tens of thousands. The largest single transfer? A staggering fifty thousand. It had happened today. I held my breath, scrolling back to the earliest record. March 15th this year: a transfer of five thousand. Brandon Miller’s social media post about returning to the country, with a picture at the airport, was dated March 14th. Deep into the night, I lay awake, unable to sleep. Beside me, Lillian’s breathing was steady; she was fast asleep. I watched her quietly, feeling a chilling unfamiliarity emanate from her face. Five years ago, on a night much like this, we had just gotten our marriage license. She had brought up the idea of our savings with a serious tone. “Dean, we need to plan for our future.” “We’ll want to have children eventually, and our parents will get older.” “This money will be deposit-only, our safety net and security.” I was deeply moved then, believing I had found a virtuous wife. For the next five years, every payday, the first thing I did was transfer eighty thousand into that account, leaving myself only the bare minimum for living expenses. To save money, I quit smoking after ten years, declined all social gatherings that cost money, and wore my clothes and shoes until they were worn out, unwilling to replace them. Whenever colleagues upgraded their cars or watches, I’d just smile. In my heart, I pictured the steadily growing number on that card and felt it was all worth it. It was my investment in the future, my commitment to our family. But I never imagined it would end like this. Five years, sixty months, four hundred eighty thousand. Reduced to 1.03 dollars. Suddenly, many small details from these years flashed through my mind. Lillian always strongly supported my frugality. When I wanted to take her out for a nice meal, she’d say cooking at home was healthier. When I wanted to buy her a down jacket, she’d call it a waste. I used to think she was sensible and good at managing money. Now I understood. It was merely a way to make me more willing to keep funneling money into that card. And what about her? Her skincare products were always high-end brands. Her clothes, though seemingly simple, were made of expensive fabrics and tailored impeccably. I used to assume it was occasional support from her family, or her own salary. Now, I suspected my four hundred eighty thousand had largely subsidized her refined lifestyle. The most laughable part was that I had even felt guilty about it. Believing she hadn’t lived a very luxurious life with me, that I had somehow wronged her. I walked out to the balcony, leaned against the railing, and lit a cigarette. My first cigarette in five years. The next day was Saturday. When Lillian woke up, I had already made breakfast. “Why are you up so early today?” She seemed surprised, rubbing her eyes. “Couldn’t sleep.” I placed the fried egg and milk on the table. “Arthur’s still asleep. Let him rest a bit longer.” She sat down, took a bite of toast, and, as usual, scrolled through the news on her phone. Her demeanor was natural, betraying nothing. I watched her quietly, then spoke. “Did Brandon manage to scrape together enough money for the house?” “Why the sudden question?” She smiled, put down her phone, and took a sip of milk as if nothing was amiss. “Just curious. Riverside Manor isn’t cheap, and he just returned to the country this year. Where would he get that much money?” “His family supported him, and he also has some savings of his own.” Her answer was quick, clearly a prepared response. “Is that so?” I lowered my head, cutting my fried egg. “I heard the down payment for the smallest unit there is over a million. Can his family really afford that kind of support?” Lillian was silent for a few seconds. “Brandon studied abroad. With his capabilities, buying a house shouldn’t be a problem.” “You eat first. I’ll go check if Arthur’s awake.” I watched her somewhat guilty back, my heart sinking little by little. I picked up my phone and sent a message to a friend: “Are you there? I need a favor.” Five days later was my father-in-law’s birthday, and the Vance family courtyard was packed with cars. Carrying my modest gifts of tea and health supplements, I felt somewhat out of place amidst the bustling crowd. Every member of the Vance family looked at me with a subtle, yet unmistakable, hint of disdain. I was from a rural background, got into university, and stayed in the city for work. Through sheer hard work, I’d climbed the ranks to project manager at my current company. But in this family, they only saw my origins. When I first married Lillian, the Vance family had fiercely opposed it. Her mother, Mrs. Vance, had called me a country bumpkin, unworthy of her daughter. Mr. Vance, though silent, had been equally cold in his demeanor. In the end, it was Lillian’s persistence, coupled with my genuinely good income, that finally swayed them to reluctantly agree. Five years later, the situation hadn’t improved. 3 From the kitchen, Mrs. Vance’s voice drifted out. “Lillian, when is Brandon arriving? I specifically called and told him he absolutely had to come today.” “Don’t worry, Mom, he said he’d be here,” Lillian replied. I walked out to the courtyard and lit a cigarette. The pack I’d bought yesterday was already half empty. “Brother-in-law, why are you out here alone?” Lillian’s younger brother, Scott, walked over, his tone light and somewhat flippant. I told him I needed some fresh air. He chuckled, patting my shoulder. “Brother-in-law, don’t take it to heart. Our family is just like this. Honestly, I think you’ve done really well.” His words sounded like comfort, but the perfunctory look in his eyes was unmistakable. By half past eleven, all the guests had arrived. Two large round tables were set in the living room, with Mr. Vance seated at the head. I was placed at the secondary table, alongside a few distant relatives of the Vance family. Just as we were about to begin the meal, the sound of a car engine echoed from outside the gate. Everyone looked up. A brand-new black Mercedes pulled into the driveway. Brandon Miller emerged from the driver’s seat, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, carrying several exquisite gift boxes. Mrs. Vance’s eyes lit up. She immediately rushed to greet him. “Brandon, darling, you’re here! Come in, come in!” Lillian also stood up, an unconscious smile playing on her lips. I saw it clearly: a sparkle in her eyes. Brandon greeted everyone politely, distributing numerous gifts: fine wine for Mr. Vance, an imported silk scarf for Mrs. Vance, and the latest model phone for Scott. Even for my son, Arthur, he had prepared an expensive Lego set. “Brandon, you’re too kind!” Everyone laughed, thrilled as they accepted their gifts. In stark contrast, my tea and health supplements, placed in a corner, looked pathetically meager. Brandon was seated at the main table, right next to Mr. Vance. From my seat at the secondary table, a few chairs away, I watched them converse and laugh. Lillian sat diagonally opposite Brandon. Their eyes would occasionally meet, then quickly dart away. Just like every other gathering in the past, maintaining a perfectly appropriate distance. That’s why I’d been kept in the dark until today. The meal began. Dishes were served one after another, and the tables grew lively. I ate quietly, listening to their chatter. “Brandon, nice car. New buy?” Lillian’s cousin suddenly asked. Brandon smiled modestly. “Just picked it up. Only fifty thousand, not really a great car.” “Fifty thousand isn’t great?” Mrs. Vance’s voice rose a few pitches. “Someone’s thirteen-thousand-dollar old car has been driven for eight or nine years, hasn’t it?” “And still no money to replace it, sigh.” The table fell silent for a moment. Mr. Vance cleared his throat. “Eat, everyone, eat.” But Mrs. Vance clearly wasn’t done. “I always say, a man needs to be capable.” “Look at Brandon. He’s only been back in the country for a short while, and he’s already bought a car and looked at houses.” “But some people, well, they just have no ambition.” “Probably destined to stay the same forever.” Lillian tried to intervene softly. “Mom, please stop.” “Am I wrong?” Mrs. Vance glanced at me. “I never approved of him from the start. A country boy, how high could his ambitions be? If you hadn’t been so stubborn about marrying him, I never would have agreed!” Brandon tried to smooth things over with a laugh. “Auntie, actually, Dean works very hard.” “What good is hard work?” Mrs. Vance shook her head. “Look at the gifts he brought. So cheap.” Other relatives at the table chimed in, their eyes full of scorn. I said nothing, continuing to eat. Brandon, perhaps buoyed by the flattery, continued discussing his house purchase. “Auntie, I’ve actually already paid the deposit for Riverside Manor. The down payment was transferred yesterday. Now I’m just waiting to sign the contract.” Someone asked about the down payment. “One hundred eighty thousand,” Brandon replied proudly. “My family helped with some, and I saved up a bit myself.” Mrs. Vance’s eyes gleamed again. “See? Now that’s what I call successful!” “Unlike some people, living in a run-down place, driving a cheap car, and still thinking they’re pretty good.” She glared at me. “If I had known this, I never would have let Lillian marry you.” “A bumpkin is a bumpkin. You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear!” Everyone looked at me. Lillian’s face was pale. She said in a low voice, “Mom, enough.” 4 Mr. Vance also spoke, his voice firm. “Alright, it’s my birthday today. Let’s keep the peace.” I put down my chopsticks. Wiped my mouth, and stood up. Mrs. Vance sneered. “What, can’t take a little criticism?” “Are you angry?” I looked at her, then at Lillian. She avoided my gaze, fiddling with her napkin. Brandon stood up. “Dean, Auntie is just outspoken. Don’t take it to heart.” “I’m not taking it to heart.” I looked at my father-in-law. “Dad, happy birthday.” Mr. Vance nodded, his expression complex. I took a deep breath, my voice not loud, but clear enough for everyone to hear: “Also, I’d like to take this opportunity today to announce something.” “I’ve decided. I’m divorcing Lillian Vance.” My words stunned everyone. After the initial shock, Lillian jumped to her feet. “Dean, what kind of nonsense are you talking?” “I’m not talking nonsense.” I looked at her calmly. “I’m genuinely divorcing you.” “A reason? Just because my mother said a few things to you?” she demanded. “A reason?” I took an envelope from my jacket’s inner pocket, pulled out a stack of printed papers, and tossed them onto the lazy Susan. “First, you answer me. For the past five years, the eighty thousand dollars I religiously deposited into that ‘couple’s reserve fund’ card every month, totaling four hundred eighty thousand dollars, where has it gone?” The papers slowly rotated with the lazy Susan, laying themselves bare before the Vance family. A dense list of transfer records: dates, amounts, and the last few digits of the recipient’s account number. Lillian froze, staring at the stack of papers, her lips pressed into a thin line. The Vance family was utterly silent, exchanging uneasy glances. “You don’t want to say? Then I will.” I glanced at Brandon, who was equally stiff, then pulled out my phone, displaying the investigation results my friend had sent me. “Starting this March, in less than eight months…” “Funds transferred from this card to account ending in 8347, registered to Brandon Miller.” “A total of forty-seven transactions, amounting to four hundred sixty-eight thousand seven hundred thirty dollars.” “March twentieth: five thousand dollars, for Mr. Miller’s new wardrobe after returning to the country.” “May seventh: twelve thousand dollars, for Mr. Miller’s annual membership fee at a high-end club.” “From July to now, two fixed transfers totaling thirty thousand dollars each month, all used to repay a car loan.” “Oh, right. That’s the new Mercedes parked outside.” “Last Friday: a fifty-thousand-dollar transfer to the specified account of the Riverside Manor developer, with the memo ‘deposit’.” “And these here,” I tapped the screen, “correspond to consumption records at several high-end hotels in the city.” “Do I need to state the hotel names and your check-in times?” With each transaction I revealed, Lillian’s face drained of more color. Brandon, meanwhile, tried to avoid everyone’s gaze, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. The Vance family’s expressions shifted from shock and confusion to disbelief and shame. Mrs. Vance opened her mouth, seemingly wanting to interrupt me, but no sound came out. “Oh, and one more thing,” I said, putting away my phone and looking at Lillian. “This new jacket you’re wearing, bought last month, twenty-eight hundred dollars.” “That limited edition skincare set on your vanity, twelve hundred dollars.” “All paid for with the secondary card from that account. I’ve checked the transaction history.” Lillian’s body trembled slightly. She finally spoke, her voice dry. “You hired someone to investigate me?” “If I hadn’t investigated, how would I have known that the savings I painstakingly built over five years had long become capital for someone else to squander, conveniently funding my wife’s refined lifestyle and…” I paused, my gaze sweeping over Brandon, “her affair.” “Enough!” Lillian shrieked, cutting me off, her chest heaving, her face a mix of red and white. “Dean, aren’t you saying all this just to get a divorce?” “Fine, I agree! Let’s get divorced!” “We’ll split the assets evenly, but Arthur’s custody must go to me!” I, who had always been so compliant, laughed. “Split evenly? Don’t dream about it.” “My demand is that you leave with nothing.” “And that four hundred eighty thousand dollars, you must return every penny.” “You’re the one dreaming!” Scott finally couldn’t hold back. He slammed his hand on the table, pointing at my nose and cursing, “Dean! Who do you think you are? What makes you think my sister should leave with nothing?” “Even if she cheated, that money is still marital property!” I pulled out the last paper from the envelope and gently placed it on the table. It was the conclusion page of a paternity test report. I spoke each word clearly, my voice cold. “Because of this.” “Not only did Lillian Vance have an affair during our marriage, she also had a child with someone else.” “Arthur’s biological father is not me!”

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1 After taking prenatal meds from my adoptive sister, searing pain ripped through my abdomen. My eldest brother, a top surgeon, called for an emergency C-section. My husband Leo, my childhood sweetheart, roared, “Save her! I only want my wife!” My three brothers’ eyes were bloodshot. “Quiet, darling, sleep it off. We have the best doctors.” In agony, I was grateful they were all there. But waiting for anesthesia, I overheard them outside. My eldest brother sounded excited. “Willow’s healthy, perfect match. Transplant her heart to Luna.” My second brother, a CEO, agreed. “I’ll destroy evidence. Willow won’t know.” My third brother, a pharmacology professor, added, “I’ll make a drug so even a damaged heart won’t hurt Willow.” After a pause, my husband’s relieved voice came through. “Luna needs a good heart for dancing. We’ll compensate Willow later. I’ll sign the form now.” I felt like I’d fallen into an ice cellar. My heart ached as if carved out. Then a strange voice spoke: [Alert! Host life in danger!] [Final confirmation: Give up all rewards and stay?] I laughed and cried. Their fake love couldn’t hold me anymore. … I struggled to turn over and get out of the hospital bed, but the nurse immediately shoved tubes down my throat and into my nostrils, injecting a large amount of anesthetic into my body. Before consciousness plunged into darkness. I saw Luna, their cherished adoptive sister, Luna Miller, the one who had poisoned me and killed my baby, being wheeled in. My eldest brother, holding a scalpel, coldly instructed the nurse. “Don’t worry about the dead fetus in Willow’s womb for now. Take out her heart for Luna’s transplant surgery.” I felt the blade slice through my chest, layer by layer. Just before I completely lost consciousness. My eldest brother’s murmur reached my ears. “Just hold on, Luna. After you wake up, you can shine on stage without restraint.” Upon regaining consciousness, my first priority was to confirm with the system: [As long as my body dies, I can return to my original world, my heart disease will be cured, and I’ll have 100 million in prize money, right?] [Yes.] How ironic. Initially, I agreed to transmigrate here to save four male protagonists because I couldn’t afford treatment for my heart condition. In the end, these four men, whom I spent fifteen years saving, were the ones who gave me back a compromised heart. Without hesitation, I ripped out the oxygen tube. Breathing became incredibly difficult, my throat tightening as if I was being strangled. Oxygen refused to enter my lungs. My face turned bluish-purple, on the verge of suffocating to death. But a faint smile played on my lips. Death was good. No longer would I have to face their deceitful love. The cardiac monitor blared red, emitting a sharp, piercing beep. My three brothers and Leo, along with a team of nurses, burst in. They roared, “Willow!!” My eldest brother performed CPR and brought me back, then re-inserted the oxygen tube, his eyes bloodshot as he yelled: “Are you insane! Why would you pull out the oxygen tube! It’s just losing a child, you can can’t give up on life!” I clutched my agonizing heart, my voice hoarse. “I just lost a child?” Liam, my eldest brother, knelt down, remorsefully slapping himself. “Willow, blame me. I was the one who asked Luna to give you the medicine that day.” “I thought it would help with the pregnancy, but I didn’t realize you were severely allergic to the medicine, which harmed the baby… and the toxins directly damaged your heart.” “But don’t worry, Liam is the best cardiothoracic surgeon in the country. He will definitely cure you, and we’ll have other children.” His eyes were red. He shuffled on his knees towards me, tightly gripping my hand. “I’ve already punished the doctor who prescribed the medicine; she’s been blacklisted from the industry. Don’t blame Luna, and don’t blame yourself. You have so many people who love you!” Seeing my continued silence, Julian, my second brother, spoke hoarsely. “That’s right, Willow. I’ve already contacted all the hospitals abroad. We’ll find a matching heart for you as soon as possible.” Adrian, my third brother, gently patted me. “Adrian will go back and custom-make special medicine for you, ensuring you can breathe smoothly and skip around like a normal person.” I felt cold all over. How ironic. With just a few words, they intended to gloss over Luna Miller poisoning me, causing the death of my baby, and stealing my heart. A mocking smile played on my lips as I looked at the four men surrounding my hospital bed. “Where’s Luna? I want to ask her directly.” Liam frowned. “You’re still blaming Luna? She was so consumed by guilt that she had a heart attack herself. Thankfully, they found a donor in time to save her life.” Adrian, who had always been the kindest to me, quickly added: “Quietly, darling, don’t cause trouble. Focus on recovering. Liam could save Luna, and he’ll definitely cure you too.” I scoffed. “Is that so? Simultaneous surgeries, my heart fails, and Luna conveniently finds a donor?” The entire hospital room suddenly fell into a deathly silence. “Willow…” Liam began, then hesitated. I was so tired, I didn’t want to hear their nonsense. I forced a smile. “Just kidding. You should go check on Luna. I’m happy she’s recovering.” My brothers froze, wanting to say something, but I simply pulled the blanket over my head. When I pulled back the blanket, my brothers were gone, but Leo was still there. His eyes were filled with guilt. A smile remained on my face. “Could you go check on her for me? Come back and tell me how my sister is doing.” He left without further hesitation. Finally alone, I slowly exhaled, my trembling hand reaching for my phone. The system had promised that if I helped it achieve its KPI, it would grant me one wish. Before entering the operating room, I used that wish to obtain two video clips. I stared intensely at the videos. Obsessively replaying how they conspired to replace my heart. Watching Liam’s resolute movements as he excised my heart, then painstakingly transplanted it into Luna Miller. My entire body’s blood ran cold. Suddenly, I was glad I hadn’t died just now. Because leaving so easily would be too lenient on them… 2 During my hospitalization, they assigned one person each day to accompany me, only to rush off shortly after. I thought they were genuinely busy. Until one time, needing to use the restroom, I found no one around. I grabbed my IV drip and slowly made my way to the bathroom. Passing a hospital room, I saw Leo, who had supposedly rushed off to a meeting, feeding a shrimp dumpling to Luna through the window. My three perpetually busy brothers were also in the room, watching her with doting smiles. Liam’s voice was filled with a helpless affection. “Luna, you can’t just gorge yourself now that you’re recovering. Shrimp dumplings are still too greasy.” Luna swayed his white coat, her voice sweet and coquettish. “But Liam, the shrimp dumplings Julian made are just too delicious!” She then complained. “It’s so annoying, all of you constantly hovering around me. I can’t even sneak a bite of anything.” I tightly pinched my fingers, a self-deprecating smile on my face. During my hospital stay, all I’d eaten were plain congee I ordered from takeout. Luna, it seemed, had them by her side every day, along with meals personally prepared by Julian. Turning stiffly to go back, I then overheard nurses whispering outside the staff room door. “I heard the one I’m taking care of is the biological one. Dr. Liam is so cruel. He specifically told me to give her a few shots of nutrient fluid, preparing to fatten her up as a blood bank. If Miss Luna has a severe rejection reaction, they’ll use her for a full blood transfusion.” My entire body froze in place. The incisions on my chest and abdomen felt like they were tearing open, a pain so intense it left me numb. Why had it come to this? Once, if I merely bumped myself, Liam would fuss and fret for ages. He had even studied medicine specifically to better care for me. Julian and Adrian were no less devoted. When I first arrived in this world, my constitution was weak, and I was constantly battling illnesses. Another time, when a critical condition notice was issued. They had knelt, kowtowing every step of the way, to a thousand-layered Buddhist temple, praying for a peace charm for me. After I recovered, Julian and Adrian, who had been aimless and unmotivated, suddenly turned their lives around. Julian worked tirelessly to build a business and earn money so I could afford medical treatment. Adrian chose pharmacology for his major, determined to create sweet-tasting medicine for me. To accumulate good karma for me, they even rescued an orphan, Leo, who had collapsed in the heavy snow. The entire city of North Point knew that Miss Willow Rhodes was blessed with good fortune, having three brothers who adored her beyond measure. And she had even found an equally devoted tech mogul, Leo, as her childhood sweetheart. As an orphan, I deeply craved this favoritism. After completing the mission, I even refused the rewards, wanting only to stay here with my brothers and Leo. But then Luna Miller appeared. The day they brought her home, my three brothers swore to me as they hugged me. “Willow, she looks so much like our mother, and she has a heart condition just like her. We can’t just ignore her.” “Don’t worry, we’re adopting her to accumulate good karma for you. You’re still our only precious darling.” I believed them and genuinely wanted to embrace her. To show my goodwill, I gave her my room. Every time my brothers returned from a business trip, I’d remind them to bring a gift for Luna too. Feeling sorry that her heart condition prevented her from going to many places, I always brought her along on my dates with Leo. Gradually, Luna became integrated into the family. She would proactively flirt with my brothers for gifts. She would playfully bicker with Leo. But at some point, their attitude towards me subtly shifted. When Luna tripped in front of me, Liam immediately questioned me: “Did you bully Luna?” Julian, on the rare occasion he cooked, only made Hunan dishes, Luna’s favorite. Adrian’s research goal became – to develop a special medication for Luna’s heart condition. Even Leo, during an argument, would blurt out. “Can’t you be more like your sister, and flirt with me more often!” And… they could even conspire to steal my heart for Luna. My emotions surged again. I felt as if my heart had been literally torn out a second time. I wanted to leave this painful place quickly, but in my haste, I slipped and fell. The wounds on my chest and abdomen tore open, and in excruciating pain, I curled up in a ball. My consciousness scattered from the agony, and I instinctively murmured. “Brothers…” Just before I passed out, I saw my brothers and Leo rushing towards me. Liam ran the fastest. He immediately picked me up, sternly reprimanding me. “Willow Rhodes! Just because you saw us all with Luna, you resort to self-harm again to seek attention?!” 3 After being discharged, I was placed under strict surveillance by a caregiver, forbidden from harming myself again. Due to my physical weakness, I could only sit in a wheelchair, and even needed help to use the restroom. Meanwhile, Luna was already freely running and jumping. She danced gracefully in the garden, clad in a pink tulle ballet costume. Leo filmed her on his phone, and my brothers watched her intently, doting smiles on their faces. Feeling utterly devoid of interest, I tried to push my wheelchair away. “Ouch!” With a thud, Luna fell. “Luna!!” The men rushed forward in a panic to help her up. Turning around, I saw Luna pointing at a loose buckle from my wheelchair on the ground, her voice choked with tears. “Sister, I know you blame me for giving you the wrong medicine, which caused you to lose the baby, and that you’re jealous my heart condition is cured while you’re left with heart problems, but…” She suddenly burst into loud sobs, choking out. “But now I can finally dance freely. How could you intentionally throw something to make me fall…” Liam quickly examined Luna’s leg, gently rubbing her reddened calf. Julian’s face was ashen, a vein throbbing in his forehead. “Willow Rhodes! How did we teach you before? How could you become so malicious!” The other three also glared at me with incomprehension and anger. My broken heart felt as if it had been stabbed twice more. I said hoarsely. “I… I didn’t! This part fell off yesterday…” “Still making excuses! We’ve really spoiled you rotten!” Julian was so angry that a vein throbbed in his temple. He raised his hand, poised to strike me. Just as it was about to land on my face, Leo blocked it. “Julian, Willow has just been through too much. We need to give her more time.” Adrian also intervened, “Never mind. Didn’t Luna want to try that new private kitchen? Let’s take her out to celebrate her recovery.” He turned to me, his eyes chilling. “As for you, go home and reflect properly!” Leo wanted to stay with me, but Luna rushed forward, grabbing his hand in front of me and shaking it. “Leo, you come with me too! Didn’t you say you’d treat me to dinner if I behaved well during the surgery?” Leo’s face stiffened. “I should stay home with your sister… she…” I stared intently at their unconsciously intertwined hands, my voice hoarse. “Since Luna wants you to go, then go.” Leo touched my head. “Good wife, then you wait for me patiently at home. I’ll bring you your favorite seafood congee when I get back.” But I slept until 3 AM, and the bed beside me was still empty. Leo hadn’t returned all night. The entire villa was dark, save for the light in Luna’s room. The door wasn’t fully closed. As I approached, I heard the sweet, tearful sobs of a woman. Leo’s voice was low and hoarse. “Quietly, darling, no more. You’ve just…” Luna’s voice was tearful. “Now that my heart is cured, when are you going to divorce her! I knew you before she did! You were always mine!” Leo’s voice was low and gentle. “Sweetheart, you are my true love, but… Willow saved my life. I can’t abandon her. And Liam said if you have a rejection reaction, we’ll still need her blood to save you.” “Leo…” It felt as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over me from head to toe, a bone-chilling cold. My hands trembling, I clutched my phone, leaned against the wall, and closed my eyes. All night, I listened to their intertwined whispers, their playful banter, and their declarations of love. The next morning. My three brothers, on their way to work, saw me leaning against Luna’s bedroom door. “Willow, why are you here?” I waved at them, then suddenly rushed into Luna’s room. Amidst my three brothers’ astonished expressions, I threw back the covers, and with my phone, snapped pictures of the two naked, embracing figures.

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It was time to pay for health insurance again. My mother called me. “Your father and I aren’t planning to pay this year. We’re both healthy, no need to waste money.” She said this every year, and every year I would volunteer to pay for them. This year, however, I didn’t want to. “If you don’t want to pay, then don’t. Just don’t regret it later.” Mom was silent for a few seconds, then hung up without a word. I knew she was angry, but I felt nothing. It wasn’t that I couldn’t spare the eight hundred dollars. It was that I was fed up with her cruel stupidity. 1 Not long after I hung up, my mother called again. “You don’t need to pay for us either. We don’t need it, and we certainly won’t thank you.” I chuckled humorlessly. “Of course. It’s not like I have money to burn.” Why bother doing something so thankless? Mom said nothing, her breathing growing ragged. I knew she was angry, but I had no desire to appease her. “If there’s nothing else, I’m hanging up. I’m at work.” “What if you secretly pay for us anyway?” she suddenly blurted out. “After all, you always used to, and you’ve always prided yourself on being a dutiful daughter.” Her sarcastic tone made a sudden irritation flare within me. “What exactly do you want?” “Swear on the baby in your belly. Otherwise, you’ll claim we’re taking advantage of you again.” My hand, holding the phone, unconsciously tightened, almost crushing the device. My husband, Michael, and I got married last year. We’d been trying for a baby for over a year, with two pregnancies. The first ended in miscarriage at two months. The second was now, barely three months along, and showing signs of threatened miscarriage again. She wasn’t asking me to swear; she was cursing my child. This was my own mother, Eleanor Stone. Ever since I was a child, if I ever displeased her in the slightest, she would brutally strike at my weakest points. The more I suffered, the happier she seemed. I clenched my fist, wanting to say, How about I swear on my mother instead? A living adult surely carries more weight than a tiny embryo. But I opened my mouth again and again, yet couldn’t bring myself to utter such vicious words. “What, you don’t dare?” she sneered. “Oh, come on, you’re usually so brave, ignoring us all year.” She knew I couldn’t be that cruel, so she doubled down on her provocation. “You’re on the verge of your second miscarriage and still arguing with me. Can’t you see? Even heaven is on my side.” I trembled with anger, tears welling in my eyes. I hated my tearful outbursts! Not wanting my distress to affect the baby in my belly, I hung up the phone and blocked her number. That evening, my mother posted on social media. “Getting old is truly useless. Can’t even pay for insurance on my phone. My only daughter is married now, busy taking care of her own little family, no time for me at all. What’s the point of living like this? God, please take me away quickly, don’t let me burden my child anymore!” A long message, seemingly self-reproachful, but actually a thinly veiled accusation. Uncle George was the first to comment, asking Mom what was wrong and if she needed help. Aunt Carol quickly followed, urging Mom not to think about doing anything drastic, offering to come stay with her immediately. Tomorrow was Grandma’s birthday. All the children and grandchildren would be there to celebrate. Mom had posted this simply to brand me “unfilial,” then rally everyone to condemn me and force me to submit. Michael looked at me worriedly. “Maybe you shouldn’t go tomorrow. You’re not feeling well right now, and it’s perfectly understandable if you don’t.” I shook my head. I had to go. I couldn’t let her ruin my reputation. I would reveal the truth in front of everyone, letting them know what she did a year ago. As I expected, the next day, upon entering Grandma’s house, I saw Mom leaning on Aunt Carol’s shoulder, wiping away tears. Uncle George looked at me with disapproval. “Bethany, I’m not usually one to lecture, but your mother raised you with such hardship. How can you treat her like this, not even paying for her health insurance!” Aunt Martha chimed in. “For years, my husband and I have had our health insurance paid by your cousin Thomas without even asking. It’s only eight hundred dollars, Beth. A few fewer meals out and you’d have it.” Aunt Carol spoke earnestly. “Your mother said you used to pay for her and your father’s insurance, but this year you suddenly refused. Did your in-laws instigate this? Bethany, don’t mind me for speaking plainly, but you can’t forget your own family for your new one. When things get tough, it’s your own family that will support you.” 2 Seeing everyone in the room speaking up for her, Mom cried even louder. “Ever since she got married last year, she’s changed completely. She doesn’t come home anymore, doesn’t care for her parents. I don’t know what we did wrong to make her hate us so much!” She accused, tears streaming, her swollen eyes making it seem as though she was genuinely suffering immense grievance. I looked at her coldly. “Did I distance myself from you because of my marriage? Last year, I transferred eight hundred dollars to you for health insurance. Did you pay it? What did you do with that money?” Ever since graduating from college and starting work, my paychecks had gone directly to my mother. Last year, when I got married, I wanted my card back. She threw a fit. “Don’t get too love-struck! You’ve only been married three months and you’re already giving your paychecks to his family!” I knew she was unwilling, but I needed money to live my life. Besides, I hadn’t taken a single penny of my sixty-thousand-dollar wedding funds; I’d given it all to her. To appease her, I pulled out my phone to pay for her and Dad’s health insurance. I wanted her to know that taking back my paycheck didn’t mean I wouldn’t care for them anymore. But she shot me a sideways glance. “Don’t bother. Just transfer the money to me, and I’ll take care of it myself.” I couldn’t argue with her, so I did as she asked. Who knew she hadn’t paid the health insurance at all? Instead, she’d put the eight hundred dollars in a gift envelope and ‘adopted’ a goddaughter. “What’s wrong with me adopting a goddaughter? I told you to buy your marital home near our house so it’d be convenient to look after your father and me, but you didn’t listen. Melanie moved in across the street and has often looked after and helped us. She’s much better than you!” Mom jutted out her chin, looking perfectly righteous. I suppressed the turmoil in my heart. “Don’t tell me you don’t know that Melanie bullied me for three years in middle school!” She led the charge to ostracize me, tore up my textbooks, burned my hair with a lighter, publicly pulled up my skirt, and spread vile rumors about me behind my back… For three whole years, she clung to me like a demon. Every single one of her cruel acts still tormented me, even now. Because of her, I didn’t get into a good high school. I even fell into depression, unable to pull myself out, and almost did something terrible. And my own mother had adopted that demon as her goddaughter. Mom scoffed. “Bullying this, bullying that. Was it really that serious? Kids playing together always have squabbles.” “Besides, didn’t she apologize to you later? Why are you still holding a grudge? You’re so petty.” All these years, she hadn’t changed one bit. Just like when I cried and begged her to go to school and stand up for me, she had instead asked: Why do they only bully you, and not others? Aunt Carol also shrugged it off. “Kids fighting is normal. It all happened so long ago, just let it go. You need to be more magnanimous.” Aunt Martha added, “Yes, to give your mother the silent treatment for a whole year over such a small thing, you really hold a grudge.” No one sympathized with me. They only defended Mom, accusing me of overreacting. Seeing this, Mom pressed her advantage. “You don’t even think, why I adopted Melanie as a goddaughter? Isn’t it because you’re unreliable, disappointing and hurting me again and again!” She pointed at her own chest as she spoke. I gave a bitter laugh. “What did I do that made you feel I was unreliable? Was it not buying a house near your home, as you wished? Or taking back my own paycheck from you?” 3 In our small town, a fifteen-minute drive would get you anywhere. All she needed to do was call, and no matter how busy or late it was, I would rush over. My paychecks, though I’d taken them back, I’d left her the sixty-thousand-dollar wedding funds. Was that still not enough? No! Not for her. She knew very well the harm Melanie had inflicted on me. She deliberately adopted her as a goddaughter, just to anger me, to punish my disobedience. “Mom, your need for control is too strong, you want too much. I truly can’t satisfy you.” I am a living, breathing person with my own thoughts, not a puppet on strings. My cousins exchanged glances. “Your paychecks were with your parents before you got married?” “Are you kidding? Of course I keep my own paycheck.” “Do you have to give wedding funds to your parents? I’m not married, I don’t know.” “Wedding funds are seed money for the new family. Parents usually don’t take them.” “So, Bethany’s actually pretty filial, then. Why is Aunt Eleanor still unhappy?” “Who knows? Anyway, I think she’s much more dutiful than I am.” They chatted excitedly in low voices. Uncle George shot them a stern look, and immediately no one dared to speak. Mom stared at me for a few seconds, then suddenly stood up and, with a thud, knelt before me. “Bethany, Mom was wrong! Mom willingly gave birth to you and raised you. I shouldn’t ask for anything in return. Just forgive Mom this once! If not, your father and I will go home and take pills to end our lives, guaranteeing we won’t burden you again!” She desperately clutched my sleeve, swearing, refusing to let go no matter how I struggled. “If you don’t forgive Mom today, Mom won’t get up!” The younger relatives stared wide-eyed in astonishment. They never would have dreamed that my mother would do such a thing. “This is awful!” Aunt Carol quickly walked over to help her up, her face filled with sympathy. “Bethany, it’s your Grandma’s birthday today. So many people are here. Must you deliberately humiliate your mother in public?” Uncle George also rose abruptly, his eyes like daggers. “I’m so disappointed in you, Bethany. There are no bad parents in this world. Don’t you fear shortening your life by forcing your mother to kneel before you?” “Apologize to your mother! Then dutifully pay for her health insurance, or don’t blame Aunt Carol and me for not being polite!” I shifted my gaze to Mom. She was wiping away tears, her head bowed, but the secretly upturned corners of her mouth were harder to suppress than a loaded gun. “What are you waiting for? Go quickly!” Aunt Carol grabbed my arm, yanking me forcefully towards Mom. I shook her off. A feeling of helplessness swept over me. I fought back tears, just barely. “The only mistake I made was coming here today!” After quickly saying goodbye to Grandma in the bedroom, I left without looking back. I had lost, utterly defeated. Mom’s knees were the most formidable weapon in the world, and I was defenseless against them. How could I have forgotten? After twenty years of being mother and daughter, I was always the one crushed. To tame me, she would stop at nothing. How could I ever be her match? Back home, Michael comforted me for a long time, but couldn’t help but voice his worry. “Are you really determined not to pay for your parents’ health insurance? I don’t mean anything by it, but they’re almost sixty. If they suddenly get a tricky illness, I’m afraid you’ll still end up picking up the pieces.” “No, I won’t!” I declared decisively. They were both more focused on their health than anyone, and they had money. Besides my wedding funds, their old family home also received thirty thousand in compensation. Adding that to their existing savings, they had at least fifty thousand in their accounts—enough to cover their medical expenses. Seeing my resolute stance, Michael didn’t bring up the subject again. However, fate seemed to be deliberately working against me. Not long after, my mother actually fell ill. Acute viral pneumonia, triggered by the flu. Her condition was very serious.

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1 When my parents pressed us about starting a family, I’d shoulder all the blame, never once revealing her decision to remain child-free. Stumbling upon her kissing her childhood friend goodbye as I took out the trash, I’d pretend not to see a thing, turning back upstairs without a word. Finding her childhood friend’s underwear beneath the pillow, I’d simply wash it, dry it, and fold it neatly. My friends called me a glutton for punishment, a willing cuckold. Even her closest friends whispered that my love for her was incurable, a hopeless devotion. Another evening, returning home to the chaotic scene in our master bedroom, I’d considerately close the door for her. Then I’d put on my headphones and start dinner. As I turned, she was suddenly there, standing in the doorway, her stunning face clouded with an unfamiliar storm. “Alan,” she’d snap, her voice cutting through the quiet hum of the kitchen, “Where’s your pride, Alan? The man you used to be?” I feigned deafness, turning back to the sizzling pan. But a bitter pang twisted in my gut. Pride? I was simply trying to avoid repeating the tragedy of my last life. The last dish, one of Isabelle’s favorites, was just placed on the table when Brendan, her childhood friend, fastened the final button on his shirt, admiring himself in the hall mirror. He turned, a smirk playing on his lips, a mixture of smug satisfaction and overt challenge in his eyes. “Alan,” he drawled, a glint in his eye, “I really like that jacket. Why don’t you just give it to me?” My gaze instinctively flickered to Isabelle, seated at the table. She’d been glowering for the past half-hour. She was the one who’d proposed this ‘open arrangement’ a year ago, yet here she was, the picture of discontent. Sure enough, the moment I agreed to hand over the jacket she’d once given me to Brendan, her expression darkened further, a storm gathering on her brow. With a sudden, violent kick, she sent the table leg flying, sending soup splattering across the pristine floor. “Get out!” she spat, her voice laced with venom. Brendan’s smirk faltered, his face shifting almost imperceptibly as he shrugged off the jacket. Brushing past me as I bent to mop the mess, he whispered a low, mocking taunt. “Alan, what kind of man lets himself be treated like this? You’re no better than a doormat. I truly don’t know why Isabelle ever married a pathetic worm like you!” In my past life, that very question had haunted me. Isabelle, the heiress to the powerful Montgomery family, had been pampered and adored from birth, accustomed to wielding immense influence. In stark contrast, my own family, the Harrisons, was of modest means, a quiet household with no grand lineage. Until my dying breath in that previous existence, I’d tormented myself with the same agonizing questions: Did Isabelle truly love me? Why did she marry me? If she did, then why… why had she treated me with such cruelty? Having faced a brutal death once, I no longer wrestled with those thoughts. I simply didn’t care anymore. She could do whatever she pleased, as long as it meant avoiding the tragedy of my past. The moment Brendan stepped out the door, Isabelle swept her arm across the dining table, sending all the meticulously prepared dishes crashing to the floor. A soup bowl shattered at my feet, the scalding liquid splashing onto my calf. A searing pain shot through me, spreading from my skin to somewhere deep within my chest, forcing a sharp gasp from my lips. Yet, even then, no anger flared within me. I simply limped over to grab the broom, beginning to sweep up the shards and spilled food. Behind me, Isabelle’s voice ripped through the silence. “Alan,” she shrieked, “Look at yourself! Do you even see how pathetic you are right now? What happened to your pride? I know I’ve wronged you, but you don’t have to deliberately sicken me like this!” I paused, then slowly turned, my gaze utterly vacant, a void where emotion once resided. “Isn’t this precisely what you wanted?” I asked, my voice flat. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she took a ragged breath. “Alan, you’re truly something else!” she spat, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “Fine, then! If you’re so brave, just hide away like a coward forever!” With that, she snatched her jacket and stormed out, the front door slamming shut with a deafening bang that echoed through the empty house. My first instinct was to follow her. But then I stopped myself. There was no point. Every time we argued, Isabelle would seek solace in Brendan. In my past life, I’d witnessed her countless times, her head buried in Brendan’s embrace. It had left me red-eyed, hysterical, lashing out in a desperate rage, only to be met with a searing slap across my face, delivered with all her strength. “Brendan and I grew up together, Alan. You have no right to lay a hand on him!” I sank to my knees, beginning to pick up the scattered glass shards. My phone rang, a furious roar erupting the moment I answered. “Alan, when in God’s name are you going to divorce Isabelle? Brendan just publicly announced their relationship on social media, for crying out loud!” I tapped open the social media app. The very first post was a jarring image of intertwined hands. On the woman’s ring finger, a wedding band glittered, catching the light and piercing my eyes like tiny daggers. I stared at it for two silent seconds, then closed the photo, returning to my mindless task of cleaning. Divorce? Impossible. Unless Isabelle initiated it herself, I would never divorce her. In my past life, I’d already endured the bitter aftermath of our divorce, and I wouldn’t go through it again. 2 Isabelle didn’t return that night, and I slept surprisingly well. I rose promptly, prepared a comforting broth, and headed to the hospital to visit Mother. At the hospital, Mother set her soup bowl down, her gaze drifting towards the door for the third time. “Alan, dear,” she began, “Have you spoken to Isabelle about having children yet? It’s not that I’m nagging, but Isabelle will be thirty soon. The older she gets, the more difficult it will be to conceive…” I was peeling an apple. At her words, the knife slipped, nicking my finger. A droplet of blood welled up, the sharp sting bringing me back to reality, yet I replied, my voice perfectly steady, without a trace of a blush. “Mother, I’m not in a hurry.” “Is it you who’s not in a hurry, Alan, or is it Isabelle who doesn’t want children?” A mother knows her son best. Mother began to cough, agitated, and the entire hospital bed rattled violently beneath her. “Alan, tell me the truth!” she gasped, her voice strained. “Are those pictures online real? What exactly is happening between you and Isabelle?” I frantically pressed the emergency call button, gently rubbing her back to help her breathe. Just before she lost consciousness, Mother clutched my arm, her voice a desperate, rasping whisper. “Alan, if our family line ends with you, how will I ever face your father in the afterlife?” The doctors arrived promptly. After a quick examination, they assured me it was merely a brief fainting spell brought on by extreme emotional distress. The doctor patted my shoulder. “Your mother’s condition is improving daily. Don’t worry.” I forced a brittle smile, but the moment I reached an secluded corridor, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I slammed my fist into the wall, a torrent of long-held tears finally breaking free, falling so heavily they felt as though they could melt the very ground beneath me. Mother’s convulsions on the bed had mirrored, with terrifying accuracy, the scene of her passing in my previous life. In that past existence, after I’d discovered Isabelle’s undeniable intimacy with Brendan, I had insisted on a divorce. Under Isabelle’s relentless pressure, I was forced to leave with nothing but the clothes on my back. For Mother’s sake, I had hidden the truth from her. I took on eight part-time jobs, grueling shifts every day, just to scrape together enough for her medical bills. When hunger gnawed at me, I’d eat stale bread soaked in water. When thirst became unbearable, I’d drink tap water from public restrooms. In a mere month, I’d lost twenty pounds, my body a shadow of its former self. Several times, dizzy from low blood sugar, I’d almost caused a traffic accident while on a delivery. Just when I’d finally saved a million dollars, Mother suffered a sudden heart attack and was rushed into the emergency room. It turned out that Mother, not having seen Isabelle in quite some time, had called to check on her. But it was Brendan who answered the phone. He didn’t just reveal the truth about our divorce; he also sent Mother photos of me, looking utterly subservient, working multiple humble jobs to pay her medical bills. And worse, undeniable proof of his affair with Isabelle. Watching the monitor replay Mother spitting blood and convulsing on the spot, a pain sharper than any knife twisted in my gut. Though the doctors managed to snatch Mother from the jaws of death, they delivered another crushing blow. I needed to gather another one and a half million dollars for her surgery within three days. Otherwise, Mother’s fate would be unthinkable. I called every friend, former boss, and distant relative I knew, pleading for help. Some stammered, making excuses. “I’m sorry, Alan,” one friend said hesitantly, “Isabelle made it clear that anyone who helps you will be going against the entire Montgomery family.” Others simply cursed me out on the spot. “No money, and even if I did, I wouldn’t lend it to you! Don’t you dare call me again! If you drag me into your mess, I’ll never forgive you!” On the third day, utterly desperate, I swallowed my pride and went to Isabelle. The defiant air I’d carried the day of our divorce was long gone, replaced by knees that buckled and a voice that was nothing more than a hoarse, desperate plea. Isabelle looked down at me, a flicker of cold satisfaction in her eyes. “I can save your mother, Alan, but on one condition.” “Marry me again.” My heart, already a barren wasteland, agreed to her terms in that instant. Isabelle immediately mobilized the nation’s top medical team, crafting a meticulous treatment plan for Mother. She even flew in the world’s most renowned specialist to perform Mother’s surgery. Just as I dared to believe everything was finally in place, that Mother would at last live a long and healthy life… On the day of the surgery, the specialist vanished without a trace. Mother lay anesthetized on the operating table, her life hanging by a fragile thread. I dialed Isabelle’s number ninety-nine times, each call going unanswered. On the hundredth try, she finally picked up. I crumpled to the floor, sobbing so hard I felt like I would vomit. “Isabelle, where have you taken the doctor? My mother is dying, she won’t survive without this surgery! Please, Isabelle, she’ll die! I beg you, save her! She’s the only family I have left!” After a long, agonizing silence, Brendan’s voice drifted through the phone. “Isabelle, who are you talking to?” My heart plummeted to the depths of despair. All my desperate pleas, reduced to a cruel joke. Isabelle hung up immediately. Just then, the hospital finally managed to secure a surgeon from another facility, rushing them in to take over. Tragically, it was a step too late. In her final moments, Mother clutched my hand tightly, spitting blood, her body wracked with violent tremors. “Alan… don’t cry… Mother will always watch over you from heaven… My Alan… you must… find happiness…” Clutching Mother’s urn, I wandered through the biting winter streets like a ghost, aimless and hollow. As I rode a taxi towards the cemetery, my phone buzzed with a trending news alert. #Brendan’s Car Accident: Isabelle Sheds Tears of Concern# The string of words pierced my vision like sharp needles. I clicked the link, my gaze locking onto the image of the specialist, the very same specialist, bandaging Brendan’s arm. My hands trembled so violently I almost dropped the urn cradled in my arms. A mere scrape on Brendan’s arm! And for that, Isabelle had whisked away the expert, personally sealing Mother’s fate! Standing in the bitter snow, I threw my head back and let out a guttural laugh, tears streaming down my pale, frozen face. Given a second chance, I wouldn’t dare to gamble anymore. I couldn’t. In this life, all I wanted was for Mother to be safe and well. Everything else was irrelevant. I slowly pushed myself up, wiping the lingering tears from my eyes. Returning to the hospital room, Mother was awake. I gripped her hand tightly, my face a mask of calm. “Mother,” I said, my voice steady, “it truly is my decision not to have children. It has nothing to do with Isabelle. Those online photos are baseless rumors, Mother. Please don’t believe them. Isabelle and I… we’re perfectly fine.” After soothing Mother’s worries, I arrived home around eight that evening. Isabelle, uncharacteristically, was home before me. She reeked of alcohol, sprawled on the sofa, muttering incoherently to herself. Out of habit, I went into the kitchen to prepare her a hangover remedy. As I cooled the soup to feed her, she suddenly cupped my face in her hands. Her blurry, drunken state brought back a painful memory from my past life: the time she’d whispered Brendan’s name while in my arms. I, who never suffered from insomnia, spent that night wide awake, finally driven to check her phone for the very first time. The intimate photos and messages I found felt like countless sharp knives tearing at my heart, leaving it raw and bleeding. “Alan…” The unexpected use of my name startled me. The next moment, she had me pinned against the sofa. Her drunken eyes gleamed with an unnerving intensity, as if they could pierce through every thought in my mind. “Alan.” She spoke again, her voice laced with a subtle, almost imperceptible tremor of hurt. “Do you… do you still love me, Alan? I don’t know… I feel like you don’t care about me as much as you used to…” Before I could formulate an answer, Isabelle burrowed her face against my ear, her voice a mere whisper, yet strangely resolute. “No, you can’t not love me, Alan. You just care too much, that’s why you’ve become like this.” My mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, a bitter, chaotic swirl. Only one truth remained starkly clear. The Alan who had loved Isabelle was long dead. 3 The next morning, Isabelle seemed to have completely forgotten her drunken words. She retreated to the attic and stayed there for a long time. I had just set breakfast on the table when she stormed down the stairs, her movements frantic. The moment she opened her mouth, her voice was ablaze with fury. “Alan, where are my father’s paintings?!” I paused, feigning ignorance. “What paintings?” I asked, though I knew exactly what she meant. At my reply, her face, contorted with rage, practically lunged at me. “The art, Alan! The collection your father left in the attic! Who else but you would touch that garbage?” Those last two words, ‘that garbage,’ struck my already fractured heart with crushing force. A flicker of bitter irony crossed my gaze. To her, those invaluable pieces of art were indeed just garbage. But in Brendan’s eyes, that ‘garbage’ was a golden ticket, enough to launch his career and make a name for himself in the art world. In my previous life, barely had Mother been laid to rest when Brendan used my father’s collection to host his own exhibition. His reputation soared, and he was hailed as a genius art master overnight. I recognized those very artworks in a livestream, pieces that had comforted me day and night, urging me to carry on. Fueled by a raw, searing fury, I hailed a taxi to the exhibition, causing an absolute scene. When reporters asked Isabelle if the artworks were indeed Brendan’s creations, she nodded without a moment’s hesitation. “I watched Brendan create them with my own eyes,” she’d declared. “As for my ex-husband…” She glanced at me, a fleeting moment of hesitation in her gaze. But then it hardened, becoming utterly merciless. “He’s merely bitter after our divorce, seeking malicious revenge and trying to destroy my closest friend.” Overnight, I became a trending topic, vilified across every platform. Every day, strangers would throw foul liquids, symbols of bad luck and disgrace, at the door of my rental apartment. Some even sought out my parents’ graves, desecrating their tombstones with kicks, curses, and spit. In that abyss of despair, I lost all will to live. I swallowed an entire bottle of sleeping pills. But Isabelle had me rushed to the hospital, where they brought me back from the brink. She sat there, her eyes red-rimmed, clutching my hand in a death grip. “Alan, let’s stop fighting. Never again.” I nodded weakly. But the moment she left the hospital to buy my favorite peach pastries, I climbed to the rooftop and leapt. I landed squarely in front of her. This time, I vowed not only to protect Mother but also to safeguard my father’s precious legacy. I spoke, my face utterly devoid of emotion. “Those paintings? I already threw them out.” Isabelle’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Are you insane?! Who told you to throw them away? Go get them back, right now! Brendan needs them urgently!” But no matter how frantic she became, I simply maintained an expression that conveyed utter helplessness, as if they were gone forever. Watching her storm out, I let out a long, slow breath. The heavy stone that had been weighing on my heart finally crashed to the ground. As usual, I prepared dinner and headed to the hospital to visit Mother. On my way, a livestream with over a hundred million views blared onto my phone screen, instantly grabbing my attention. #Brendan: The Calligraphy Prodigy# The headline struck me like a physical blow, leaving me gasping. With trembling fingers, I tapped into the livestream. Seeing my father’s precious artworks hanging prominently in the exhibition hall, bearing Brendan’s name, was like plummeting into a frozen abyss. I was instantly transported back to that long, snowy night in my previous life when Mother had died. I frantically dialed Isabelle’s number, while simultaneously rushing to the hospital, a growing dread clawing at my throat. Pushing open the door, I saw Mother peacefully knitting a tiny hat on her hospital bed—a hat for a child that would never exist. Seeing my breathless, panicked face, Mother’s expression subtly shifted. “What’s wrong, Alan? Has something happened?” I forced down the rising tide of fear and unease within me, managing only a grimace that was meant to be a smile, and shook my head. I took Mother’s phone and quickly blocked and uninstalled every app or channel that could possibly expose her to my father’s stolen art. Only then did I feel a sliver of relief, pushing Mother’s wheelchair out for a gentle stroll in the hospital garden. Midway through our stroll, I received a phone call. When I returned, Mother was gone. At that exact moment, a nurse’s frantic shriek echoed through the hospital lobby. “Doctor! Help! A patient has collapsed, spitting blood!” I pushed through the throng of people, and the identical, horrifying scene from my past life slammed into my vision. Mother lay on the floor, her limbs convulsing, blood flecking her lips. And above her, blaring from a large screen in the lobby, was Brendan’s live exhibition broadcast. “Mother—” Outside the operating room, I knelt on the cold floor, my bloodied hands clasped together in desperate prayer, begging for her life to be spared. After what felt like an eternity, the doctor emerged, shaking his head slowly. “I’m so sorry, but… there was nothing more we could do.” The world spun around me, then dissolved into darkness. I collapsed to the floor, my face ashen and lifeless. As I walked out of the hospital gates, clutching Mother’s urn, Brendan’s exhibition was reaching its triumphant conclusion. Isabelle stood beside him, a picture of perfect harmony, a match made in hell, perhaps. I felt no hatred, no anger. Only the crushing numbness of a heart utterly deadened by grief. It seemed even with a second chance, I was powerless to protect the ones I held most dear. Now, I had nothing left to lose. Isabelle, goodbye. No, not just goodbye. Never again. Mother’s dying wish for me to find happiness echoed relentlessly in my ears. I lowered my head and drafted a timed message, a divorce notification set to send automatically. “Congratulations, Isabelle. You’re finally free of me, forever.” Then, with nothing but a small suitcase, I walked out into the encroaching night, vanishing without a trace.

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News spread through the city’s elite: Darius Lorre, the arrogant heir of the Lorre family, had been in a terrible car crash. Blinded and paralyzed, doctors said he’d never walk or have children again. The news reached the Beaumont estate. My older sister, Sylvie, a famous celebrity, broke down in tears and knelt before me, begging me to take her place in the arranged marriage. I curled my lip and coldly kicked her hand away. “When the Lorres were a top dynasty, they specifically asked for a Beaumont heiress. To lift you up, they erased me from the family register, labeled me illegitimate, and made you the only Miss Beaumont.” My voice was low and threatening. “Now that Darius is blind and crippled, you suddenly remember me? Dream on!” Before I finished, Gareth Maxwell kicked the unlocked door open. He swept Sylvie up and glared at me with pure disgust. “Seraphina, don’t be ungrateful. This engagement was always meant for you. This is just fixing things!” He threw a prenup at me. “Tomorrow, Sylvie and I get our marriage license. As for the Lorres, you’re marrying him!” I froze, my chest tightening as if filled with a vinegar-soaked sponge, a hollow ache spreading inside. … “The Lorres want a Beaumont heiress,” I countered, my voice tight. “I’m merely an ‘illegitimate daughter’ whose name isn’t even on the family register. If I marry him, that’s commercial fraud!” Just then, my parents, Richard and Eleanor Beaumont, stormed in, their faces grim. They tossed a brand new household register and a share transfer deed onto the coffee table. “Starting tomorrow, your identity as the Beaumont heiress will be publicly restored. Sylvie is a public figure; she cannot endure a lifetime of loneliness, let alone the torment of that madman Darius,” Eleanor stated, her voice flat. “You will marry him, settle in as Mrs. Lorre. This is for the good of the family.” Looking at my utterly biased family of three, a laugh bubbled up, quickly turning to tears. My heart, once a fragile thing, solidified into a block of ice. “Fine. I’ll marry him. I hope you don’t regret this to your dying day.” My concession instantly eased the tension in the room. My father, Richard, grinned, praising my maturity. My mother, Eleanor, exhaled in relief, commending my sensibility. Gareth, ecstatic, lifted Sylvie into his arms and spun her around twice, relief washing over him. “Oh, Sylvie, this is wonderful! You won’t have to be ruined by that blind man! We’ll make our announcement tomorrow!” Sylvie, sniffling in his embrace, forced a watery smile, as if she’d narrowly escaped disaster. I watched them, my gaze cold, then spoke, enunciating each word. “But I have a condition.” Their smiles stiffened, and all four faces immediately clouded over. They demanded to know what it was. My voice was as calm as if I were negotiating a business deal. “There can only be one Beaumont heiress. I want Sylvie to publicly acknowledge she’s adopted, and return all the status and shares that rightfully belong to me.” Eleanor’s composure snapped. “Seraphina Beaumont, don’t be so excessive! Sylvie’s status is impeccable; she won’t interfere with you. Must you ruin her?” I looked at the woman who had given birth to me, my chest aching as if stabbed by a thousand needles. “I am your biological daughter! From childhood, why did you lavish so much affection on an adopted child, even helping her steal everything that was mine?” Her face hardened, her voice brittle. “If Sylvie’s biological mother hadn’t taken a blade for me, I would be dead! I owe it to her to treat Sylvie well!” Right. Six months ago, after Sylvie’s birth mother—who had been our housekeeper—passed away, my mother had become inexplicably obsessed with Sylvie, doting on her to an absurd degree. When the news of the Lorre engagement first broke, Sylvie expressed interest, and my mother immediately pressured my father to alter my family registration, effectively exiling me to the countryside. When I returned to confront her, she had me locked in the basement for three days without food, claiming I “lacked propriety.” Shaking myself back to the present, I took a deep breath, suppressing the burning in my eyes. “So, for the sake of gratitude, you’ll disregard your own daughter’s well-being? Even push her into the jaws of hell?” A thought struck me. “Do you have some leverage she holds over you?” Eleanor’s eyes darted away, refusing to address the question. Gareth, his face cold, interjected, “Sylvie is simply naive and timid, not like your scheming, calculating self. Aunt Eleanor, being kind-hearted, naturally favors the more vulnerable one.” Richard lit a cigarette, sighing. “It’s come to this. For the sake of the Group’s interests, we can only let you marry Darius. I’m sorry, Seraphina. Don’t hate me.” My father had once loved me, but he was a man easily swayed by my mother and ultimately, a self-serving individual. Faced with Eleanor’s insistent whispers and the Group’s bottom line, my sacrifice was insignificant. Sylvie dabbed at her eyes again, her voice feigning fragility. “Sister, just agree. No matter what, it’s still the Lorre family. Even a fallen giant holds more sway than an ordinary man. No one would dare bully you.” “No one would bully me?” I scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping. “Who in this city doesn’t know that Darius is now volatile and unpredictable? Not only is he blind, his mind is twisted. Do you not know what happened to his previous fiancées?” My voice dropped, chillingly precise. “The Lorre family is currently embroiled in severe infighting, and Darius is losing his grip on power. Once he’s completely sidelined, his enemies will tear him apart! You claim you’re sending me to live a life of luxury, but in reality, you’re sending me to my death!” My family exchanged wary glances, momentarily speechless. I smirked, pressing my advantage. “My reclaiming the heiress status is also for the Beaumonts’ benefit. What if the Lorre family discovers you tried to fob them off with an illegitimate child? If they retaliate, will the Beaumont Group’s stock still hold its value?” I watched Richard’s hand tremble at the mention of the stock price. “So, I want you to issue a public statement, clarifying to the entire network that I, Seraphina Beaumont, am the only true Beaumont heiress.” He nodded frantically. “Yes, yes, we’ll do as you say. I’ll have the statement released first thing tomorrow morning.” The other three wanted to object but, cowed by the Lorre family’s formidable reputation, dared not utter a sound. I offered a small, predatory smile. “Fine. The moment that announcement is public, I’ll pack myself up and send myself straight to the Lorre estate.” 2 The next day, the public clarification regarding the true and false Beaumont heiress dominated the trending topics. The entire network was buzzing, siding with me. It turned out the “illegitimate daughter” who had been universally reviled was the true heiress, while Sylvie, who had meticulously crafted her image as a socialite, was merely adopted, and was now returning my status to escape the arranged marriage. Sylvie had planned to announce her engagement to Gareth and get married today, but the public backlash was so severe she didn’t dare leave her room. She spent the entire day locked away, smashing things, refusing to eat or drink. My parents brought her countless limited-edition designer bags, but nothing could soothe her. Gareth, seething with rage, burst into my room. He grabbed my throat, his eyes blazing crimson. “Sylvie is overwhelmed by the public backlash, on the verge of a breakdown! Is this what you wanted to see?” Suffocating, I clawed at his arm, forcing out a few strained words. “You… choke me… to death… and Sylvie… will still have to marry… that blind man…” He recoiled violently, as if I were something vile and contaminated. I clutched my throat, coughing uncontrollably, greedily gasping for air. When my breath finally steadied, I looked up, my gaze glacial. “Was anything in that statement untrue? The public’s eyes are keen, Gareth. They’re simply speaking the truth.” Gareth was left speechless, his jaw clenched, then pleaded through gritted teeth, “Can’t you release a statement? Just say you concealed your identity for personal growth, that it had nothing to do with Sylvie?” “Dream on!” I retorted, my voice sharp and uncompromising. “If Sylvie does something foolish, I swear I’ll never forgive you!” I scoffed disdainfully. “I don’t know whether she’ll die or not. But I do know this: if I die, the Lorre wedding procession will be pulling up to my funeral parlor tomorrow.” “You!” Gareth’s forehead pulsed with visible veins, his fists clenching until his knuckles cracked. Yet, he didn’t dare lay another hand on me. “Fine, Seraphina Beaumont, you’ve got guts! I’ll just wait to see you marry that lunatic, wait until you’re thrown out on the streets to die!” Watching him slam the door behind him, my heart felt like it was being sawed through with a dull blade. The boy who had once sworn he would marry no one but me had, at some point, lost his sight and blackened his heart. He even wished for my death with such venom. A single tear splattered onto the back of my hand, scalding hot. I wiped it away, the last fragile thread of affection in my heart snapping cleanly. That night, my mother, Eleanor, suddenly burst into my room, wielding a golf club. She ordered two bodyguards to pin me to the floor, leaving me utterly helpless. I struggled fiercely, screaming, “Mother, what are you doing?! I’m marrying into the Lorre family tomorrow! I’m Darius Lorre’s fiancée! How dare you lay a hand on me?!” She ignored me completely. Turning, she handed the golf club to Sylvie, whose eyes were swollen like peaches. Eleanor’s voice was sickeningly sweet. “Sylvie, darling, go ahead. Hit her as many times as you like, anywhere you want! Mother needs to help you get this anger out!” A flash of malicious glee flickered in Sylvie’s eyes. She seized the club and brought it down with brutal force across my back. “Ah—” I screamed in agony, gritting my teeth as I warned, “Darius may be blind, but he’s not dead yet! Do you really want to die, touching his fiancée?!” Sylvie, as if possessed, continued to strike my back, blow after blow. Her strength wasn’t immense, but her aim was viciously precise, repeatedly targeting the same spot. The searing pain made my vision swim, and cold sweat instantly drenched my clothes. My mother stood by, watching with chilling indifference, even adding fuel to the fire: “You haven’t married him yet! As long as you’re in this house, I have every right to discipline you!” With my mother’s backing, Sylvie grew even more brazen: “Mother’s right! You made me a laughingstock online. If I don’t get my revenge, how am I supposed to sleep tonight?! Anyway, there’s still a whole night. As long as I don’t hit your face, what can that blind man see if you just put on some thick powder?” Just as I felt myself slipping into unconsciousness from the pain, my father, Richard, suddenly ran in, panting. “Stop! Don’t hit her! The Lorre family just called; the wedding ceremony has been moved up to first thing tomorrow morning!”

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1 When Julian found me, I was picking out a burial plot for my deceased husband, Ashton. The one I truly liked was too expensive, but the cheaper options felt like I’d be shortchanging him. Lost in thought, Julian asked if I would remarry him. The refusal died on my lips, turning into a cautious whisper: “If we remarry, will the allowance still be half a million a month?” Julian looked at me, surprised. After all, the old me used to scorn money. He nodded, a perplexing pang of tenderness in his eyes: “Yes, as long as you’re a faithful and obedient wife.” I agreed without hesitation and began to learn how to be a good wife. I stopped checking up on him, stopped demanding he remember anniversaries, and stopped asking him to keep his distance from his female friends. But then he screamed, “I just want you to listen to me, not to stop loving me!” … Julian found me while I was selecting a burial plot for my late husband, Ashton. I still wore a camellia, a symbol of mourning, in my hair. The thought of him spending all his savings to cure my illness, and then sacrificing his life to save me in the earthquake, brought tears to my eyes. We should have been on our honeymoon… Just as I succumbed to grief, Julian sat across from me. He critically scrutinized my outfit. Once adorned in designer wear, I now wore a faded hoodie with a stretched collar and worn-out jeans. I was a far cry from my former opulent self. He frowned. “You look like a ghost after leaving me.” It took me a moment to recognize him. My ex-husband, divorced for five years. Seeing my silence, Julian assumed I was overcome with joy. He said indifferently: “If you just admit your mistake, I’ll remarry you. How about it?” I was about to refuse, but then I remembered the burial plot I’d just seen – a seven-figure price tag. I could deliver takeout my entire life and still not afford it. With that thought, I cautiously asked him, “If we remarry, will the allowance still be half a million a month?” Julian gazed at me in silence, his eyes holding a tenderness I didn’t quite understand. He said, “As long as you’re well-behaved, I’ll give you a million. But if you act up and get suspicious like before, I’ll…” Before he could finish, I quickly raised my hand and promised, “I understand, I’ll be good.” Julian seemed surprised. He asked, “Are you sure you’ve thought it through? You used to… you weren’t so agreeable before.” I smiled wryly. “Mr. Caldwell, you said it yourself. That was before.” Before, I was cherished by him, the envy of everyone in New York, Mrs. Caldwell, the most acclaimed genius designer. Whether relying on him or on myself, I could live very well. But now, my reputation was ruined, and his childhood friend had issued a “blacklist” against me, making it impossible to find a decent job in New York. Had I not met Ashton, I would probably be a forgotten mess at the bottom of a cliff. Where was my former dignity? Julian’s expression shifted slightly. He frowned and asked, “What did you call me? Mr. Caldwell?” Looking at me, seemingly compliant but always distant, Julian felt like his heart was soaking in water. Wet, heavy… Afraid of angering him, afraid of losing the million, I quickly explained, “Did you forget? You were the one who told me not to call you ‘husband.’” Julian’s face instantly paled. He remembered, remembered our secret marriage. I worked as the chief designer at his company. Publicly, everyone thought I was just an employee he highly valued. And to keep up appearances, he never let me call him “husband.” So, all along, I had called him “Mr. Caldwell.” Julian looked annoyed. He rubbed his temples and said, “Back then, you were at the company, and we needed to be discreet. Now, we don’t.” A myriad of aches pulsed in my heart. Yes, there was no need now. My proud career had been utterly destroyed by him. I no longer had to pretend to be his employee. Julian couldn’t stand my silence. He got up and said irritably, “Come home with me.” I obediently rose and followed him into his Cadillac Escalade. As soon as I stepped inside, I froze. The interior was pink, and there were selfies of Julian and Audrey plastered everywhere. Audrey was his childhood friend, and the catalyst for our divorce back then. Julian saw me staring at the photos in a daze and quickly explained, a hint of panic in his voice, “Audrey recently got hurt, and my mom insisted she stay at my place so I could drive her to and from work.” “You know how innocent and whimsical she is, she likes these childish things, so…” Before he could finish, I interrupted him with a smile, “They’re actually quite cute.” Julian looked at my calm, unruffled face and asked, “You don’t mind?” I shook my head, smiling. “What’s there to mind? You two are childhood friends, practically siblings.” “If anything were going to happen between you, it would have happened ages ago. I wouldn’t even be in the picture, would I?” 2 I thought Julian would be pleased by my words, but his face darkened a shade. I didn’t understand why he was angry. These were the very words he used to say to me when I was jealous. Sadly, back then, I never believed in pure male-female friendships, so even when he said that, I still demanded he keep his distance from Audrey. He outwardly agreed but secretly continued to be inseparable from Audrey, until I caught them at a party. I went mad, hitting and yelling at him, only to suffer terribly myself. Had he forgotten all that? But I had no time for him. I lowered my head and played with my phone, calculating when I could save enough money to buy the burial plot. Julian felt a strange absurdity. He hadn’t expected that in just five years, I would so calmly accept his relationship with Audrey. But… it shouldn’t be like this. Shouldn’t I be reprimanding him for crossing the line? Gazing at my serene profile, Julian reassured himself, “It must be because she doesn’t want to leave me again, so she doesn’t dare to get angry.” At this point, I remembered Ashton’s photos were still in the apartment, so I suggested Julian take me there first. Julian flatly refused, his face full of disdain: “Do you think our villa has room for your junk?” “Just call the landlord, have him terminate the lease, and clear out your things.” I opened my mouth, intending to say it wasn’t a rented apartment, but then I thought better of it and simply nodded. That twenty-square-meter apartment was Ashton’s legacy to me. No need for others to know. The rest of the drive was silent. Half an hour later, I stood before what used to be our marital home. In the yard, the sycamore tree I had planted with my own hands, after five years of wind and rain, looked even more vibrant. I was a little surprised because I remembered Julian saying he would uproot it when I left. It was unexpected that after five years, the tree was still thriving. Julian came to my side, explaining self-consciously, “I consulted a feng shui master who said this sycamore tree brings me luck, so I didn’t dig it up.” I nodded, finding it a bit strange why he felt the need to explain. I wasn’t so conceited as to think he kept the tree because he still had feelings for me. I was still waiting, even now, for him to tell me the real reason for our remarriage. Soon, I would know the reason – it turned out he wanted to remarry, still for his little childhood friend. The front door opened from the inside, and I saw Audrey, pale-faced, being supported by a maid. She smiled and asked, “Julian, you’re back?” I already knew she was living here from the drive over, so I naturally nodded at Audrey. “Ms. Rosenstock, long time no see.” Audrey seemed surprised by my composure. She wore her usual fake smile and said affectionately, “Sister-in-law, long time no see.” “I told Julian my birthday wish was for him to get back with you, and I can’t believe he actually brought you back.” “It seems Julian is still my Santa Claus, granting all my wishes.” If it were the past, hearing those words would have deeply hurt me. My return, it seemed, was due to another woman’s birthday wish. But now, far from being upset, I said with genuine gratitude, “Thank you, Ms. Rosenstock. Mr. Caldwell mentioned you were injured? Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you.” This time, Audrey completely lost her composure, staring at me in shock, forgetting to respond. Julian also looked at me, stunned, trying to detect any pretense in my eyes, but found only sincerity. That strange feeling in his heart grew stronger. He quickly explained, “Audrey’s just joking with you. You’re my wife, and my decision to remarry you was naturally well-considered.” I smiled and flattered him, “You’re the CEO of Caldwell Group. Any decision you make is naturally well-thought-out.” “Ms. Rosenstock’s words are just a suggestion. I understand, I completely understand.” Even after I said that, Julian still wasn’t satisfied. He scowled at me, his eyes holding an intensity I couldn’t decipher. I gazed back at him, bewildered. He finally crumbled under my clear gaze, turning away and walking into the living room in a huff. I followed closely, but Audrey stopped me at the door. Audrey whispered in my ear, “Five years apart, your manipulative tactics have certainly improved.” “Too bad, in the face of absolute favoritism, your feigned indifference is useless.” “To be frank, Julian brought you back because I can’t have children. He wants you to have a child for me, so I can smoothly marry into the Caldwell family.” My heart jolted. Have a child? I unconsciously touched my lower abdomen. There, once, was a child too, but sadly, his father had personally caused his demise. 3 I still vividly remember the look of disgust in Julian’s eyes back then. He said, “A malicious woman like you doesn’t deserve to bear my child.” Now, five years later, he wanted me to have his child. But I couldn’t have children anymore. If Julian found out, would he kick me out? And that burial plot… With that thought, I secretly resolved that Julian must never know this. Just then, Audrey suddenly shrieked and recoiled, her eyes red as she asked, “Sister-in-law, if you don’t like me, you can just say so… why did you step on my foot?” Beside her, the maid also indignantly accused me, “Madam, Ms. Rosenstock already has a foot injury. With that step, she’ll probably be in pain for a while again.” “You really are…” Facing these two drama queens, I raised an eyebrow in mild surprise, then immediately apologized, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” I was long accustomed to Audrey’s two-faced antics. In the past, I’d often complained to Julian about her being a scheming woman. Unfortunately, Julian never believed me, saying I was mad with jealousy and maliciously misinterpreting an innocent young girl. Even though this “young girl” was a month older than me. So, I didn’t plan to explain to Julian but immediately offered a frank apology. Not far away, Julian’s face darkened. Seeing him look over, I assumed he would scold me as he used to, and volunteered, “I know it wasn’t intentional, but I did hurt Ms. Rosenstock.” “I accept the punishment. I’ll go to the attic now.” With that, I headed towards the attic. The attic housed a solitary room, a confinement space Julian had specially prepared for me. Every time I “hurt” Audrey or defied him, he would make me go in there to reflect. For twenty-four hours, no food or water. Initially, I resisted and struggled, but eventually, after losing my child in there, I developed claustrophobia. From then on, I would only cry uncontrollably and beg for mercy. Fortunately, I was no longer afraid of the dark. During that earthquake, I was trapped in the small world Ashton had created for me, pitch black and bloodied. Yet, from his rapidly fading life, I felt the most passionate love. He led me out of that last psychological shadow. It’s just that, this time, the price was too high. Unconsciously, my eyes reddened. When Julian grabbed my wrist, he saw this very scene – my head bowed submissively, no resentment in my eyes, only a trace of hurt. Like a fawn abandoned in the wilderness by its mother. Julian’s heart ached. The surge of nameless anger that had just flared up was instantly extinguished. He asked helplessly, “When did I say I was sending you to the confinement room?” I asked, flattered, “Oh? I really don’t have to go?” My reaction instantly stung Julian’s eyes. He even felt some regret for how he had treated me in the past. He awkwardly explained, “I confined you back then because you were too disobedient, you made a mistake and were stubborn, so I wanted to teach you a lesson.” “Now, you didn’t do it on purpose, and your apology was sincere, so you don’t need to be punished.” He said, looking at Audrey who stood not far away, and smiled gently, “Besides, Audrey is so kind, how could she let you be punished for such a small thing?” Audrey’s facade almost crumbled. She looked at me with a hint of unfamiliarity. A stiff smile played on her lips, and she nodded, “Yes, sister-in-law, you make me seem overbearing.” I shook my head, quickly explaining, “I didn’t mean that, I just got used to it…” Audrey immediately said, feigning hurt, “I knew it, sister-in-law is still blaming me. It was my thoughtlessness back then, my lack of boundaries, that caused a rift between you two.” “Sister-in-law, I’m sorry, I formally apologize to you.” Julian looked at me suspiciously. I knew he was doubting me, thinking I was up to my old tricks again. I had just avoided punishment, and I certainly didn’t want Audrey to manipulate me back into trouble. I said with genuine sincerity, “How could I? I stopped caring about all that a long time ago.” “Oh, right, don’t you like my steamed sea bass?” “I’ll go to the market right now, buy one, and make it for you.” “Once you’ve had my fish, you can’t bring up old grievances, okay?” My words stopped Audrey’s act. She looked at me awkwardly as I rushed out the door. Before she could even speak, she saw Julian walk past her, straight out the door, chasing after me.

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