The day before my brother—my adopted brother, that is—took his own life, he drove his car straight into my oldest sister’s legs, shattering one of them. Then, he climbed thirty stories and jumped. As he lay in the blood-soaked pavement, he smiled up at me, a sickeningly bright expression on his face. “Cody,” he whispered, his voice a ragged gasp. “I’ll save you a spot.” I knew what Damian was doing. He was opting out of the world, choosing oblivion over existence. That night, I bought a small birthday cake and posted the news of my own impending departure in the family group chat. Claire, my doctor sister, the one who always kept a sterile distance, replied with a single, cold emoji. Scarlett, the international music icon, sent a venomous voice note. “If you’re going to kill yourself, just do it already! All you ever do is envy Brooks. If you drop dead today, I’ll live-stream myself shaving my head and singing karaoke to my own greatest hits—badly!” Mom and Dad—Dana and Victor Harrington—were silent. Instead, they flooded the chat with dozens of pictures of Brooks at a world-class Formula One exhibition, celebrating his lavish eighteenth birthday. Only Charlotte, the one who’d just had her leg mangled, the CEO of the family’s conglomerate, sent a cascade of choked-up messages. “Cody, you know where Damian went, don’t you?” “I’m begging you. Tell me…” I didn’t reply to any of them. I simply ate the cake, alone, in the quiet of my room. Because soon, I would be reunited with my real parents and my real sister. 1 After finishing the slice of cake I’d cut, I opened the system interface and selected my method of suicide. [Host, are you absolutely sure you want to select this method?] [Death via this route will be extremely painful. I suggest you reconsider.] The system’s mechanical voice prompted me, a sterile warning against the agonizing reality. I ignored it, clicking ‘Confirm.’ With the deed done, I finally checked my phone. The family chat was still scrolling. Brooks’s eighteenth birthday was a grand event—a coming-of-age celebration worthy of the Harrington name. Claire, the ER surgeon, had rescheduled multiple surgeries to dedicate an entire day to him. Scarlett, the A-list celebrity, had canceled a national stadium tour just to serenade him with a personal birthday song. And Charlotte? The eldest, the one lying in a hospital bed with a shattered leg, was still posting tearful voice notes. “Cody, please, just tell me where Damian went, okay?” “I’m pleading with you…” I listened to a few, then shut the phone off. I tossed the remaining cake into the bin and, following the system’s coordinates, headed to the designated location. Seattle General Hospital. As I walked toward the entrance, my phone abruptly rang. “Cody Harrington, what did you say to Brooks?!” “Why did he just attempt suicide with an overdose of sleeping pills!” Scarlett’s furious scream pierced my ear. I held the phone, my face blank, trying to recall—how many times had this been? How many times had I been slandered, framed, or made the scapegoat? I couldn’t remember. The number was too high to count. “Did he die?” I asked plainly, hanging up before the expected torrent of curses could begin. Walking into the hospital, I found a quiet spot to wait for the system’s suicide timer to tick down. I had barely settled when a sharp sting flared on my cheek. Slap. “Cody Harrington, you are beyond defiant!” Claire, rigid in her pristine white coat, glared at me, rage blazing in her eyes. “I thought you were merely a spoiled delinquent, but I see now you harbor genuine malice! You’re the son of a trafficker and a rapist, aren’t you? The trash genes always surface!” “Eighteen years in the Harrington home, and you’re still nothing but a piece of low-born garbage!” “Get on your knees and wait right outside the emergency room until Brooks is safely awake!” Claire grabbed my arm and tried to haul me up. I struggled, and my head slammed hard against the wall. A wave of darkness washed over my vision. I felt a warm liquid trickle down my forehead. Claire, seeing the blood, flinched back, her anger momentarily replaced by a flicker of shock and panic. “Claire Harrington, I have never hurt Brooks,” I stated, my voice steady. “I won’t bear a crime that isn’t mine.” Wiping the fresh blood from my brow, I met her gaze calmly. A look of deep disappointment crossed Claire’s face, followed by a low sneer. “You haven’t hurt Brooks? Then why are you slinking around the hospital at midnight, you coward? Don’t tell me you’re here for a scenic stroll?” “I came here to die,” I said, quietly pursing my lips. 2 The method of suicide I had selected in the system was to stop a mass casualty event—a hospital shooting. Tonight, a man with a knife was scheduled to go on a rampage here, stabbing seven doctors before jumping to his own death. Among his victims was Dr. Aris Thorne, a specialist in women’s cancers and the brilliant mind behind the Women’s Health Equity Act—a major push for medical-grade hygiene products that dramatically lowered infection rates. In my real world, my mother was dying of uterine cancer. That was why the System had found me. My mission was complete. I had achieved the transfer of the necessary medical knowledge. In my final moments, I only wanted to help the women here, in this world. I just hadn’t realized this was Claire’s hospital. “Suicide? Cody Harrington, are you really trying to change tactics and garner sympathy through death?” “Who taught you this trick? Your buddy who threw himself off a building?” “I’ll tell you this: Damian was a psycho, and you’re the same pathetic low-life!” Scarlett marched over, holding her phone aloft to display a breaking news headline. “‘Suicide of Construction Worker Shames Heiress Wife: Was He Eclipsed by Her Golden Boy’s Glory?’” She barked out the words. “Cody, look at this. Every word is true. You and Damian are cut from the same cloth—low-born trash. You were swapped at birth, we raised you for eighteen years, and you still can’t measure up to a single strand of Brooks’s hair!” Scarlett slammed her phone down and grabbed a handful of my hair, yanking my head back. “Cody Harrington, you are coming with me right now. You will apologize to Brooks. If you do, I’ll consider forgiving you. Otherwise…” “I will expose your true parentage to the entire country. No university will ever touch you.” “Fine.” Scarlett froze, her grip loosening unconsciously. “What did you say?” “I said you’ll never get into a decent college. Do you even understand what that means?” What did it mean? I understood better than anyone. My mother, Elena, had been diagnosed with aggressive cancer three months before my finals. My father and sister had lied, saying she was on an extended vacation to keep the news from me. But I knew. My mother was the heart of our home, the anchor that held us all together. Her favorite saying was, “Without me, this family will fall apart!” I would always smile and agree. “Then you must live to be a hundred, Mom, or we’ll be completely ruined.” I remember the day I secretly followed my father and sister to the hospital. I saw my mother, frail and skeletal from the chemo. Her face was gray, but she held my dad’s hand, asking over and over. “Cody hasn’t found out, right?” “Is Cody doing well at school? I can’t let this derail his college plans. My Cody is going to be a physicist!” I ran from the hospital and cried by the river for three hours. Then I made my decision: I would quit school and spend every last moment with my mother. I didn’t want to miss a second. So, having no college was something I deeply understood. “Cody, are you insane?!” Claire burst out, aghast. “Don’t you dream of the MIT Physics Program?” I shook my head, about to speak, when a nurse suddenly came running, frantic. “Dr. Harrington, it’s an emergency!” “Your brother woke up, had a depressive episode, and is threatening to jump!” 3 Brooks Harrington’s depressive episodes were perfectly timed. I scored first place in the statewide practice exams? He’d have an episode. I called home with a 104-degree fever? He’d have an episode. This time, I was not surprised. In the hospital room, he was perched on the window ledge, a fruit knife clutched in his hand. “Mom, Dad, Claire, Scarlett, I’m so scared. I dreamed they beat me again.” “They forced me to eat dog food, and they tortured me every day…” “Why didn’t you find me sooner!” Tears streamed down his face. Brooks’s tragic, broken sobs moved everyone in the room. My father, Victor, the seasoned businessman, had eyes red-rimmed with tears. “Brooks, put down the knife. Come to Daddy.” “You’re home now. You can have anything you want!” My mother, Dana, the picture of a distraught society matriarch, was weeping hysterically. “Brooks, you’re my baby!” “Please, honey, come down!” Brooks mumbled to himself, the knife hovering over his wrist. “But my brother doesn’t like me. He said I don’t deserve to be your son, I don’t belong in the Harrington family…” “I might as well just die!” He wailed, fixing a look of wounded injustice directly on me. “Cody Harrington, did you really say that to him?!” “Who gave you the right, you little snake?!” Scarlett’s palm cracked against my cheek. She grabbed my hair and dragged me over to Brooks. “Brooks, don’t listen to a word he says! You are the true Harrington heir!” “Yes! Cody is not our son. Brooks, you are!” Dana rushed to confirm, her voice thick with sobs. Brooks’s tears finally stopped. He slowly lowered the knife and climbed down from the window. “Good boy, Brooks. Give the knife to Claire. Don’t hurt yourself.” Claire spoke gently, reaching out to take the blade. Suddenly, Brooks let out a piercing shriek. The knife lashed out, aimed at me. Slash! The razor-sharp blade sliced diagonally from my forehead to the corner of my mouth. The burning, searing pain instantly brought me back to my sophomore year. I’d scraped my face after falling off a basketball court. Mom—Elena—had rushed to the school, her eyes filled with distress, whispering over and over: “My sweet boy, don’t cry. It won’t hurt, my sweet boy…” Her gentle voice still echoed in my ears. I stumbled backward, clutching my face, and collapsed onto the floor. “Ah! I didn’t mean to!” “I’m sorry, Cody, I can’t control myself…” Brooks cried pathetically, then dramatically slumped into a faint. Panic erupted. Everyone rushed to Brooks, carrying him out of the room. I lay there on the icy floor, my wound throbbing. “Mom…” I called out for Elena involuntarily. Tears fell, tracing a salty path across the fresh cut, multiplying the pain. I couldn’t stop them. When I first arrived in this world, I was just a placeholder. I was careful and meticulous, focused only on completing my mission to save Elena. But then, the Harringtons began to treat me well. I slowly let down my guard, foolishly believing I had gained two families, two sources of love. Lying there, the stark truth hit me: family love, too, came in different grades. After a few minutes, I fought down the sorrow, covered my wound, and sat up. The system’s alert flashed in my sight. [Medical Event T-Minus 30 Minutes!] [Host, proceed to the designated location and complete the transfer!] 4 The red letters screamed in my vision. I found a nurse to quickly apply a bandage to the deep gash on my face, and then I headed for the exit. As I walked out of the treatment room, Claire, her face shadowed with fury, strode up to me. She grabbed my arm in a vise-like grip. “Cody Harrington, did you leak the information online?!” she ground out, her teeth clenched. “How could you be so utterly malicious! You had someone expose Brooks’s past, and you deliberately fabricated rumors that he was assaulted by multiple men?!” “Cody, when did you become this monster?” Her eyes were filled with disgust. Claire forcefully yanked me in the opposite direction. “You’re coming with me to kneel and apologize to Brooks! I won’t shield you this time!” My wrist screamed in protest. I struggled desperately, but Scarlett rushed over and grabbed a handful of my hair. “Still trying to squirm out of it?!” she shrieked. “We indulged you too much!” They dragged me forward. A low moan escaped my lips. “Sister…” The two women paused momentarily, but immediately recovered. “Don’t try to appeal to me, Cody!” “Calling me ‘sister’ won’t work!” I kept calling out. Sister. But I wasn’t calling them. I was calling Rose—my real sister—the one in the other world. The one who, when I was mocked as a mute because I spoke slowly, had fought the bullies, returning with a bloody face but a look of heroic pride, promising me that anyone who dared to mess with me again would be beaten until they ate dirt. Thinking of my family waiting for me in the other world, I gritted my teeth. I slammed my head back against the wall. Again and again. Blood erupted. “Cody, are you insane!” “What are you doing?!” “Stop it right now!” Claire and Scarlett’s screams filled my ears, which had already begun to ring. “Let go of me!” “Let me leave!” I cried out weakly. Brooks, Dana, and Victor emerged from the room. They froze, staring at my blood-soaked face. “Cody…” “What is this?” Before they could say more, Brooks suddenly burst into tears. “Cody looks so scary…” “Cody, why are you cyberbullying me online?” As Brooks wept, the shock and pity in their eyes vanished, replaced by a profound disappointment and condemnation. “Cody Harrington, what has happened to you?” “You’ve disappointed us beyond measure!” They shouted their accusations. I stood up, blood streaming down my face, and heard the system’s sharp, final warning. [Host! You must proceed to the designated location immediately!] [Failure to do so will prevent World Transfer!] Panic surged. I pushed past them, running toward the stairwell. Behind me, I heard Claire and Scarlett’s angry, synchronized ultimatum. “Cody Harrington, if you take one more step, we will disown you!” “Good.” “What did you say?” “I said I’m giving you back your life!” I turned, offered a quick, sad smile, and didn’t stop. On the ground floor, a middle-aged man with a twisted expression pulled a knife from his bag. He screamed maniacally, “Where are the doctors!” “Where is the staff in this damned hospital!” Bystanders shrieked and scrambled backward. I ran against the fleeing crowd, pulling out my own concealed folding knife. Shick! The man’s brutal knife pierced my heart, then plunged into me repeatedly—seven times. I drove my small knife with the last of my strength into his temple. His eyes widened in shock, and he fell backward. I laughed, blood bubbling from my mouth, and crumpled onto the floor. “Elena, I’m home…” “Cody is coming home…” “Help! Someone call a doctor!” Bystanders screamed. The man was finally restrained by a group of staff and security. Minutes later, the hospital loudspeaker blared. “Emergency! Emergency! Code Black: Active Threat on the ground floor. Multiple casualties!” Up on the third floor, the Harringtons froze. Claire, the doctor, reacted first. “A shooting! Someone needs help!” She looked frantic, ready to rush down to the ER. A nurse burst onto the floor, shouting. “Dr. Harrington! It’s your brother!” “It was Mr. Harrington! He stopped the attack.” “But… he was D.O.A. We couldn’t save him.”

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Ten years into my marriage, I had grown accustomed to solitude. Going to the clinic alone, catching a movie or dinner by myself, and even handling the rear-end accident that afternoon—all solo missions. Staring at the birthday cake on the table, I dialed her number, only to be sent straight to voicemail. Aurora—Rory—Knight sent a curt text: “Working.” I lit the single candle, then blew it out, a hollow ritual just for me. My phone screen flared with a trending post: The Dedicated Co-Pilot: Guessing if it’s a honeymoon phase or a married couple? The top comment read: Definitely new love. If it were a husband, he’d be sighing and scrolling through his phone by now. The accompanying photo showed Rory in the driver’s seat, her profile curved into a soft smile. Beside her, a young guy in the passenger seat was taking a mirror selfie. The Saint Christopher’s medal I’d bought for her last year, the one hanging from the rearview mirror, swayed gently in the window. I stared at that familiar, smiling curve of her face for a long time, unmoving. She finally pushed the front door open at two in the morning, placing a sleek watch box on the coffee table. “Happy birthday. Limited edition, I had to pull some strings.” I looked at her, not reaching for the box. “How old is he?” My phone screen was still illuminated with the post. Rory glanced at it, a faint crease forming between her brows. “Zane Abbott is a new project assistant at the firm, very talented. I just happened to be giving him a ride back to his campus. Don’t overthink this.” I stood up, my voice deliberately flat. “How old is he, Rory?” She hesitated. “Twenty-two. He’s in grad school.” I closed my eyes. A dull ache spread through my chest. Ten years. I was thirty-five, and her world now included someone who was barely legal when we got married. “Quite young,” I said, the calmness of my voice foreign even to me. She walked over, pulling me into a hug, a trace of amusement in her tone. “Oh, Wes. Are you actually jealous? He’s just a kid.” A strange, sharp scent—cedar and a hint of citrus—a men’s cologne that was definitely not hers, stung my nostrils. My stomach clenched. I pushed her away. Rory frowned, a flash of impatience in her eyes. “I’ve explained it. Believe me or don’t. I’m exhausted. I’m going to shower.” She was exactly as she always was: no patience left to stay a moment longer or offer a few extra words of reassurance. The bedroom door clicked shut quietly—she couldn’t even summon the energy to slam it anymore. The watch box on the coffee table gleamed with cold light. On impulse, I opened my phone and found Zane’s social media account. His latest post, half an hour ago, was a car-mirror selfie captioned: Thanks, Rory, for the ride home! He was prominently wearing a brand-new mechanical watch. The dial sparkled under the filter. It was identical to the one in the box beside me. She hadn’t even bothered to buy two different watches for her separate lives. That night, I scrolled through every one of Zane’s posts. I also followed a subtle tag to Rory’s burner account, the one I thought she’d abandoned years ago. October 8th: Zane posted a photo of a pair of coveted sneakers, crying emojis attached. Rory’s small account commented: Consider it done. Bringing them by tomorrow. November 3rd: Zane shared a ski resort brochure. Rory commented: Tickets and chalet booked for Chamonix. Taking you over the holidays. December 24th: Zane complained about a tough thesis deadline. Rory replied: Don’t stress. Come over this weekend, I’ll help you structure it. … There was too much. I couldn’t scroll to the bottom. All those nights I thought she was too busy working, too overwhelmed to come home; all her so-called “client dinners” and “emergency meetings;” all the times I ate a cold dinner alone, eventually dumping the untouched portions—they had been filled by another destination, another person who received her softest voice and boundless patience. I used to believe that all marriages settled into this kind of quiet, flat terrain: love morphing into familial comfort, passion receding, leaving only habit and responsibility. We had survived the broke years, living in that cramped studio apartment, sharing a single cup of instant ramen. She’d promised me that once we were rich, she’d give me the best life. Now she was rich. And she was giving the best of her time, her energy, and her resources to someone else. The sky outside began to lighten. Sunlight sliced through the blinds, falling across my body, offering no warmth. Rory emerged from the bedroom, dressed in a sharp power suit, her makeup flawless. Seeing me still on the sofa, clutching my phone, she sighed, her tone weary and faintly accusatory: “You didn’t sleep? Wes, what is it that you want? Do you have to be this suspicious? Maybe… I should just call him over and let him explain everything to your face.” I stood up, my legs stiff. “No need.” Her phone chimed immediately. Seeing the caller ID, “Zaney,” she turned instantly, walking towards the balcony. Her voice, when she answered, was gentle in a way I hadn’t heard in years: “What’s wrong, sweetie?… Take a breath. Just tell me. Your advisor rejected the proposal? It’s fine. The core idea is strong, I’ll look over it tonight, we’ll nail it.” “Mmm, I know that coffee shop. I’ll swing by and grab you a tiramisu latte.” “Good. Now, be a good student, and I’ll see you tonight.” She hung up and turned back to me, her expression instantly resuming its practiced, careful neutrality. “I’ll try to be home early tonight. We’ll go out. Where do you want me to make reservations?” The silence in the room was absolute. Our marriage had become like a stagnant pond. You could throw a boulder into it, and it wouldn’t create a single ripple. Before we married, her contact for me was “My Wes,” pinned to the top, starred as a favorite. Three years in, she claimed she needed to unpin it so she wouldn’t miss client messages. Five years in, my contact reverted to my full name: “Wesley Miller.” She could offer patient solace and hands-on help for Zane’s minor academic setback, yet she wouldn’t spare ten minutes to hear about my day. The luxury car dealership called to say my car was fixed. I walked into the bathroom and looked at my reflection: dark circles, stubble, a tired, ravaged expression. I was thirty-five, my physique hadn’t gone soft, but the light in my eyes had long since dimmed. This marriage felt like a shrinking cage, slowly suffocating me. At the dealership, while signing paperwork, I overheard two young sales associates chatting. “That deal yesterday was smooth. Ms. Knight bought two new models, said one was for her, the other was a gift.” “For who? That’s a huge purchase.” “Some handsome young guy, Zane Abbott? A social media influencer, too. Ms. Knight was smiling the whole time. He even teased her about wanting matching cars in different colors, and she agreed instantly.” My signing hand paused briefly, then completed my signature. Back on the road, familiar city streets flew past. The bitterness in my heart spread, quiet and invasive, making even my breath catch with dull pain. Rory and I met at fifteen in the foster care system and married at twenty-five. We went from being two penniless orphans to owning a home, a car, and a respectable career in this city. She had become sharp, brilliant, and magnetic. I, however, seemed to have stayed put, tending to our home, playing the “man behind the curtain.” I used to take pride in that, seeing it as a different kind of love. Now I understood. The person who stays put is always the one left behind. I pulled over by a quiet neighborhood park and sat on a bench. In the distance, a young couple was flying a kite, the girl’s laughter bright and clear. Youth was a precious thing. Their love could be declared without caution, without calculation, without suspicion. My phone rang. It was Rory. “The insurance company contacted me about the renewal. They happened to mention you had an accident yesterday?” Her voice held a note of tight suspicion. “Yeah, a rear-end. It wasn’t serious.” I watched the couple, my voice even. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Her tone held a flicker of actual concern, perhaps mixed with irritation at being kept out of the loop. “I handled it myself,” I said. The line was silent for a few seconds, then the dial tone hummed. There was a time when she was my entire sense of security. Whatever problem I had, she was the first person I thought of. Once, during a hurricane, the windows leaked and the power went out. I called her, terrified. She was on a business trip. “Wes, you’re a grown man. Can’t you handle a minor emergency?” Her voice, strained through the static of the storm, was laced with exhaustion and impatience. “I’m swamped with clients and paperwork. Can you stop bothering me with these trivial things?” After that, I never asked her for help again. When I had acute appendicitis, I signed myself in for surgery. When my father died of a heart attack, I managed the funeral alone. Even the surgery at the beginning of the year… I didn’t tell her about that, either. Dusk was falling. I got home, ordered takeout, and collapsed on the sofa. My body was heavy with fatigue, but my mind was wide awake. A key turned in the lock just after eight. Rory was home early. In the last two years, she rarely walked through the door before nine. Once, we went three months under the same roof without exchanging a single word. She walked towards me and took my hand. Her palm was warm, but the contact made me profoundly uncomfortable. “Wes,” she looked at me, her eyes filled with a complicated mix of guilt and an attempt to control the narrative. “We’re married. Any issues, we need to talk through them, face them together. When you bottle things up like this, it makes my life difficult.” I withdrew my hand. When was the last time we touched like this? I couldn’t remember. Kissing felt like a memory from a past life. We had been sleeping in separate rooms for two years. We were not a couple; we were highly familiar roommates. “Rory, I truly can handle things myself,” my voice remained perfectly calm. She suddenly flared up. “Then what do you want from me? You take on everything yourself! Do you even need me as a wife anymore?” I clenched my fist, fighting to maintain my composure. “Isn’t that what you told me?” “You said it yourself: don’t bother you with things I can manage alone.” “You said that though we are married, we are first and foremost independent individuals who shouldn’t be overly reliant on each other.” Rory looked choked. After a long pause, she rasped, “Because of things I said years ago? You’ve been keeping score this whole time? Wes, when did you get so petty?” It wasn’t that I was keeping score. It was that every time I tried to communicate, she was absent or dismissive. It was that the desire to share had died a slow, painful death through endless silence and deflection. It was that she often ignored my calls, and was always “busy” when I needed her the most. Truly, I had become used to being alone. “Rory,” I looked into her eyes. “Zane needs you more, doesn’t he? He’s young, vibrant, full of potential. He gives you that fresh feeling, that sense of accomplishment. A single call from him, and you drop everything.” Zane’s presence was so complete that, earlier this year, when I was lying alone on the operating table, I had to sign the “Family Member” consent line myself. The anesthesiologist had confirmed right before lifting the needle: “Mr. Miller, is your family member not here…?” “She’s very busy,” I’d said. My words hit her like a physical blow. Her voice immediately rose. “Must you be so cynical? Wes, you were never like this!” “Zane is a valued junior colleague. What’s wrong with me mentoring him, taking care of him as his boss? Must you always assume the worst?” I laughed, a quiet, humorless sound. “Mentoring him by buying him a luxury car? Mentoring him by taking him skiing in Chamonix? Mentoring him while I was unreachable the week my father died because you were taking him to see a musical in London?” “Rory, what’s the point of this self-deception?” Her face flushed crimson, but before she could retort, the doorbell rang. A bright, youthful voice called from the hall: “Delivery! Takeout is here!” I opened the door. It was Zane Abbott. Twenty-two, tall, wearing the season’s trendiest hoodie and ripped jeans. His hair was perfectly styled, his face brimming with youthful energy and collagen. He held my takeout bag, his smile wide and clear—and in his eyes, a flicker of transparent contempt and provocation aimed directly at me. “Mr. Miller? Hi, I’m Zane Abbott, Rory’s assistant.” He extended his hand in a casual gesture. My gaze dropped to his wrist. He was wearing a watch, the dial catching the hall light with a hard, cold sheen. It was my wedding watch. It had mysteriously disappeared six months ago. I’d looked everywhere. Rory had vaguely suggested it might have been accidentally swept into the garbage and promised to buy me a new one. Now, it was on his wrist. Zane followed my gaze, his smile deepening. He shook his wrist slightly. “Nice, right? Rory gave it to me. Said it was a reward for my great performance during the internship.” He handed over the bag. “Your BBQ. Though, honestly…” He scanned me up and down, a show of “concern” masking his malice. “Mr. Miller, at your age, eating heavy, fatty, salty food this late is really bad for your heart and liver. You should really think about healthy eating.” I took the bag. Then, directly in front of him, I walked to the trash can and dropped it. It landed with a dull thud. Zane’s smile froze. Then his eyes welled up, and he turned to Rory, a sudden wave of wounded vulnerability washing over him. “Rory… I was just trying to be helpful… Does Mr. Miller hate me?” Rory instantly stepped forward, shielding him with her body. She glared at me, her eyes blazing. “Wes! What is the meaning of that? Zane was kind enough to bring this up for you, and you just waste it and throw a fit?!” Zane clutched her sleeve, whispering, “Rory, please don’t fight with Mr. Miller. It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have said anything…” “He’s young, he speaks without thinking, he meant no harm! Why are you punishing him?” Rory looked at me, her face full of blame and disgust. “Wasting food, treating someone who did you a favor like garbage. Wes, when did you become so cruel?” Cruel. A word heavier and sharper than petty. I looked at her, defending Zane, and felt a chilling desire to laugh. I was twenty-two once, too. Full of fire, pinning all my future and dreams on her. I endured the cold, damp studio apartment, sharing instant ramen. When she came home drunk from client dinners, I stayed up all night, making sure she was safe, brewing hangover tea, massaging her temples. When the pressure of her start-up became too much, I held her and told her, “It’s okay. I’m right here.” I swallowed all my exhaustion, insecurity, and hurt, determined to be her unshakable foundation. Now I was thirty-five. My hairline was receding, I had fine lines around my eyes, and my body was starting to give way from lack of movement and long hours. I had become the hazy backdrop of her success story, the “idle husband at home.” Because I threw away a clearly insulting bag of takeout, she called me “cruel.” “Rory,” my voice was terrifyingly soft. “My wedding watch, the one that was ‘lost’ six months ago. Does it look good on him?” Her eyes flickered violently, avoiding mine. Her throat worked. “That… he found it. I was just about to tell him to give it back.” “Is that so?” I nodded. “What a coincidence. To find it in the bottom of my velvet-lined jewelry box, wrapped in flannel cloth, and to know the combination to wear it.” Zane’s face paled. He instinctively tried to tuck the watch under his sleeve. Rory, embarrassed and furious, snapped. “Enough! It’s just a watch, why are you being so relentless? Zane, take it off and give it to him!” Zane bit his lip, feigning immense hurt, and slowly began to unclip the band. The clasp seemed difficult to open, and he “accidentally” fumbled— Clatter. The watch dropped onto the tile floor, face down. I didn’t move to pick it up. Rory saw my indifference, took a sharp breath, and bent down herself. She picked it up and held it out to me, her voice trembling with suppressed rage. “Wes, here is your watch! Stop picking fights and making a scene, can you please?” I looked at the watch that once symbolized our lifelong vow. The heart I once had—the one that beat so fiercely and brightly for her—sank, sinking into a cold, black abyss where I could no longer feel any pain. Favoritism needs no reason. The scales of her heart had tipped completely. So whatever I did was wrong; whatever Zane did was understandable, regrettable, and forgivable. I was suddenly, profoundly exhausted. Too tired to say another word. “Keep it,” I said. “Or give it to someone who deserves it more.” I paused, and then I spoke clearly, decisively: “Meet me at the County Clerk’s office tomorrow at 2 PM.” “We’re getting a divorce.”

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I lost the drinking game at the alumni reunion. It was one of those stupid, performative dares: “Pretend to be a couple. Date for seven days.” It happened to be exactly one year to the day since we broke up. Cassandra Miller—Cass, as everyone called her—was afraid I’d cling, afraid I’d see it as a second chance. She looked bored, her voice a low, tired murmur as she laid down the ground rules. “It’s just a game, Teddy. Don’t ruin it by being serious.” I nodded in agreement. Under the rules of the challenge, we were forced to act like a real couple—holding hands, sitting close. On the sixth night, Cass got drunk. She buried her head in the hollow of my neck, her perfume flooding my senses. “I agree to get back together,” she slurred. “Isn’t that what you always wanted?” She seemed to have forgotten. That desperate version of me—the one who begged—had died ten months ago. The last time I’d pleaded for us to reconcile was ten months back. That day, she’d finally agreed to meet, but only to defend her mentee. Her impatience was a sharp, undisguised edge. “Stop asking about him plagiarizing your work, Teddy,” she’d said. “I promise I won’t break up with you. Satisfied?” 1 The one who proposed the “Seven-Day Couple Challenge” was Cass’s best friend, Blake Harrington—a certified trust fund baby. After Cass and I both tacitly agreed, Blake immediately changed her mind. “Wait, a week is too short,” she announced, swirling the liquor in her glass. “No one can develop feelings in a week. How about two weeks? I’ll double the prize money to forty thousand.” The prize had just doubled. I was sitting in the corner of the booth, my hands resting on my knees, curling slightly into fists. I looked up and nodded quickly. “I can do that.” Blake grinned. “Perfect. So, then—” “Why are you so exhausting, Blake?” Cass cut her off. Her beautiful eyes were downcast, looking at no one. “A week, or nothing.” She tapped her glass lightly on the coffee table and stood up. “Either one week, or the whole thing is off.” Blake rolled her eyes, muttering about Cass’s perpetually foul mood. I felt a small, familiar pang of disappointment, but I compromised immediately. “A week is fine.” Cass didn’t slow down. She pulled open the VIP room door and walked straight out. The guy next to me nudged my elbow. “Cass just left, dude. Aren’t you going after her?” That was the moment I realized the challenge had officially begun. I immediately chased after Cass. One of Cass’s designer watches probably cost more than the prize money. No one knew why she’d agreed to the challenge at all. 2 On the walk back to the dorms, Cass spoke the first sentence of the day to me. “Teddy.” I was walking beside her and looked up. Cass’s eyes were focused on the path ahead, distant and uninterested. “It’s just a game with a one-week deadline. Being serious will just make it miserable.” I was still calculating the prize money in my head, so I gave a vague nod. “I won’t be serious.” Cass finally tilted her head and looked at me. “Promise you won’t stalk me again?” I froze. All the humiliating, messy memories flooded back. I couldn’t help but offer a wry, defeated smile. I looked her in the eye, my promise genuine. “I promise.” “In a week, we go back to being strangers. I absolutely will not bother you.” The slight tension in Cass’s shoulders seemed to release. We had reached the entrance of her sorority house. Cass stopped. The cold, superior look in her eyes softened slightly. “Then come add me back on the app, boyfriend.” She turned to leave. “I have something to do. Go back to your room. I’ll text you later.” I had no objection. One of the rules of the challenge was that the couple had to cultivate the relationship both online and offline. After the challenge, we were required to share our chat logs as proof that we hadn’t just faked it. After all, forty thousand dollars wasn’t easy money. 3 I added Cass back on my phone after ten months. The memory of her deleting me the first time was still vivid. It was the seventh day after Cass’s abrupt, devastating breakup. The message thread was nearly covered in the green of my frantic messages, and she finally responded with a single text. I could feel her sheer impatience radiating through the screen. “Are you done yet?” She was so utterly calm; it made me feel like a complete lunatic. The Calculus professor was yelling excitedly into his microphone, but I couldn’t hear a word. I typed quickly. “I just want to know why you broke up with me. Is that so hard?” Cass: “I just didn’t want to date anymore.” Heartbroken, I still refused to give up. “Are you still mad because I got upset last time?” “I won’t ever do that again, okay?” “Cass, I’m sorry. Please don’t break up with me.” “I really love you.” I never got to send that last message. Cass’s patience had run out, and she blocked me immediately. I stared blankly at the red exclamation mark. My chest tightened, my heart painfully constricted, making it hard to breathe. As soon as the class bell rang, I grabbed my books and bolted out of the lecture hall, racing to Cass’s building. She walked out of the classroom with a guy, their backs to me. His name was Ronan, a mentee in my department. “Cass,” Ronan said, his voice bright. “I saw you blocked Teddy just now. Why’d you do that, Cass?” “He’s exhausting,” Cass replied, her voice as detached and minimal as always. Ronan was younger, with a sunny, golden-retriever vibe. “So if I just followed you to class without permission, would I exhaust you, too?” Cass asked languidly, “What do you think?” “I think since I’m so adorable, well-behaved, and kind, you wouldn’t have the heart to actually hate me!” Cass scoffed. “You’re worse than he is.” She probably didn’t even notice that her tone lacked the utter contempt she’d used when she spoke of me moments before. 4 After getting Cass back from blocking, I didn’t return to the dorm immediately. I went to the struggling local animal rescue, the one that was nearly closing its doors. The director and two volunteers looked as worried and stressed as ever. I excitedly told them I’d be getting five thousand dollars in a week. The director hugged me, sobbing. “Teddy, you’re a godsend! You’re our hero!” I was being choked, but I laughed, pulling back. “Alright, alright. Stop worrying about the costs. Get the dogs who need it into the clinic—surgery, IV fluids, whatever it takes!” The director’s tears instantly dried up, and she shot to her feet. “I saw a Golden Retriever limping in the next neighborhood, and I didn’t even dare bring him back! Oh God, I have to go find him right now!” She and the volunteers rushed out. Walking back to campus, I was overjoyed thinking about the more-than-enough prize money. Then I passed the athletic field and saw them. Ronan was crouched next to Cass, his voice low and muffled. “Why are you with him again?” “You said he was annoying, that he made you sick, and that you regretted dating him.” “Cass, do you even know I like you…?” Cass leaned against the wall, her hands hanging loosely at her sides, her beautiful face utterly devoid of emotion. She said nothing. The very first rule of the challenge was that we were not allowed to tell any third party that we were pretending. I wrinkled my nose awkwardly at the word “annoying.” I was somewhat surprised. I had taken a ten-month leave of absence, and they still hadn’t started dating. Ronan didn’t get a response. He stood up and stared into her eyes. “Tell me right now that you don’t like me at all, and I’ll never show up again.” A faint layer of irritation crossed Cass’s face. But as Ronan turned to leave, she reached out and grabbed his wrist. “Don’t go.” Cass’s voice was low, sounding slightly down, yet still effortlessly graceful. “I don’t… want you to leave.” Ronan finally cracked a small, hesitant smile. He turned back, leaned down, and kissed Cass lightly on the lips. “You like me a little, too.” “Cass.” “I’ll wait for you. Until the day you’re ready to be with me.” Cass raised a hand, gently pinching his ear, and said nothing. I pulled my scarf tighter around my neck and quietly walked away. They’d finally talked it out. Ronan probably wouldn’t have to wait long—they’d likely be together within a week. But that had nothing to do with me. I just hoped Cass wouldn’t get too emotionally distracted and terminate the challenge early. Not long after I returned to my room, I received a message from Cass. “Asleep?” I didn’t want to chat, so I lied dismissively. “Just about to.” Cass: “Just got back from returning a book at the Science library.” I yawned, not bothering to call her out. “Cool.” A few minutes later. Cass: “Good night, then?” Saying good morning and good night to each other was a mandatory requirement for cultivating the online relationship—a specific challenge rule. I quickly replied with a good night of my own, eager to end the excruciating conversation. 5 It might have been the first time seeing Cass in ten months. That night, I dreamed of the day I decided to finally let her go. The emotional backlash was lethal. I forced myself to stay rational, to avoid doing anything she disliked. I cautiously tried to please Cass. She wasn’t as resistant as she had been initially. She didn’t even chase me away when I brought my food tray to sit opposite her. I thought the progress bar of my efforts was inching forward. Even slowly was fine. Our mutual friends knew about Cass and me. That’s why, when I was stranded up on the hiking trail and called a friend for help, he pushed the task onto Cass, thinking he was playing matchmaker. “Teddy, I told Cass to go get you.” My foot was injured, I didn’t know the direction, and my phone battery was critically low. All I could do was sit on a rock and wait for Cass. When the battery was almost dead, I called her. I wanted to ask when she would arrive. No answer. The battery drained too fast. I wanted to save the last bit of power to call a friend or 911, but it shut down unexpectedly. I had no choice but to grab a branch, use it as a makeshift crutch, and limp down the hill. I fell a few more times on the way. My ankle swelled even more. But I had to grit my teeth and keep going. I ran into Cass right outside the campus gate, being intimate with Ronan. My clothes were torn by branches. I was covered in dirt, limping and bruised—a complete contrast to the clean-cut Ronan. I was too exhausted from the long walk. My voice came out as a barely audible whisper. “You know, if you couldn’t come, you could have just told me earlier.” Cass’s painted lips curved in a cold question. “So you had to wait for me?” I tugged at my dry lips. She was right, of course. Her eyes scanned me from head to toe before she looked away, her voice as icy as ever. “Stop degrading yourself like this, Teddy.” “It’s embarrassing.” My friend returned from elsewhere and happened upon the scene. He rushed forward, furious, demanding an explanation from Cass: “Didn’t you promise to go pick up Teddy? Did I not tell you his phone was dying?? Do you know how dangerous it is for him to be up on that mountain alone?” Cass was unperturbed, her tone slow and even. “Ronan was hurt, too.” “I can only take care of one of you, understood?” With that, she took Ronan’s arm and walked toward the student health clinic. My friend was livid and tried to argue with her, but I stopped him. At that moment, I suddenly felt that none of it was worth it. I couldn’t blame anyone. I could only blame myself for my own persistent foolishness, for seeking out my own misery. I looked at my friend, sighing. “Forget it.” 6 After that day, I never sought Cass out again. Even if I saw her and Ronan on the street, I would calmly avert my gaze and walk straight past them. Sometimes, thinking of Cass still hurt, a stifling pain in my chest. The withdrawal was unbearable, but I was truly done trying to win her back. Until Ronan plagiarized my thesis proposal and most of my presentation slides, and then won the regional competition with it. I went straight to his faculty advisor and accused Ronan of plagiarism. “This was my final project.” The professor closed the office door and looked at me, exasperated. “Look, I can compensate you, alright? It’s just a school assignment. It’s not like he stole your prize. There’s no need to escalate this and get the award revoked, is there?” His tone shifted to a clear threat by the end. The implication was that if I dared to report Ronan, I could forget about ever receiving a scholarship for the rest of my college career. “Young man, I’ll give you three days to think about it. No rush.” I walked out of the academic building, feeling defeated and lost. Cass was waiting for me below. She took my laptop bag without asking and silently took my hand. “Where are we going?” I asked. Cass didn’t answer. She led me to the artificial lake where we used to take evening walks. It was the most secluded spot, nearly deserted. Cass looked down at me and said softly: “Come here.” “Hug me for a minute.” I didn’t move, staring at her with a blank expression. Cass gave a faint, cynical smile, her eyes subtly lifting. My nerves tightened; I wanted to walk away. But Cass stepped directly into my space and wrapped her arms around me. She gently rubbed my back, just as she used to. “It’s okay.” It had been so long since I’d heard Cass’s voice this gentle. I was so pathetic. The moment she showed the slightest initiative, my heart betrayed me again. “Why is it so hard to fight for what’s mine…” Cass didn’t say much, but she held me tighter. My turbulent emotions slowly began to stabilize. She suddenly tilted her head and lightly kissed my earlobe. “Teddy.” “I won’t break up with you.” My eyes widened. I looked up at her, utterly bewildered. Cass’s expression was so calm, as if she were discussing a trivial matter. “You love me.” “I can agree to get back together.” “There’s just one condition: stop pursuing the issue of Ronan’s plagiarism.” My throat was constricted, choked with an invisible cotton ball, making it impossible to speak. In the silence, I could barely hear the faint music drifting from the campus radio in the distance. [She’s not worth your tears anymore.] [She doesn’t understand your heart, pretends to be calm…] Cass’s voice was utterly cold. “It’s a fair trade.” A trade. She was treating our reconciliation as a transaction, a way to ensure Ronan could keep his award. I think I cried and yelled at Cass for a long time that day. I don’t remember clearly, because I ran a high fever for several days and became seriously ill. My roommate and friends all tried to reason with me: “Why are you being so difficult? Ronan’s advisor has serious connections. What good will come of fighting them?” “Seriously, suck it up once rather than never getting a scholarship again.” While I was recovering, the scholarship results were posted. My name wasn’t on the list. Worse, I was diagnosed with clinical depression. It was severe enough that I needed medication and therapy. I had to take a year off school to recover and get my head straight. As I dragged my suitcase out of the campus gate, I thought: I need to go out there and discover things more beautiful than love.

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My girlfriend, Penelope, has no idea that while she’s been busy flirting with her ‘best friend,’ Felix, I’ve systematically dated every single other woman in her inner circle. Tonight, Felix is drunk, draped across Penny’s lap, and grinning as he jokes with me. “Jaxson, you two have been together long enough. It’s time for someone else to have a turn. Why don’t you just sell her to me cheap?” Penny frowned, calling him an idiot, but the hand looped around his waist only tightened. I smiled, intending to ignore the jab, but a neon overlay of text—the damned subtitle track—suddenly appeared across my vision. [The side character is so annoying. He should know better than to hold onto the three heroines. Just move the plot along so we can get to the why-choose romance!] [He’s just a plot device. The heroines are only interested in him to make the main male lead jealous. Once the main male lead is pissed enough to leave the country, they’ll discover this side character is cheating on all of them, and they’ll send him off to a cartel’s black site to appease the main male lead!] [Serves him right! All three heroines were supposed to be the main male lead’s official pairings, but this interloper, this conqueror, stole them.] [If he knew the main male lead was a reborn character back for revenge, and that the heroines are going to be the ones to send him to the cartel… he’d be crying now!] The captions flashed, sending a spike of dread straight through me. I turned to Penny’s best friend, Felix, and gave him a clear-eyed look. “Sure,” I agreed, my voice even. “Name your price.” 1 Felix Shaw froze, sitting ramrod straight on Penelope Albright’s thighs. He’d only meant to rile me up, as usual, never expecting me to genuinely agree. Penny’s head snapped toward me. Her two best friends, Tori Blake and Kendall “Kenzie” Ashford, looked over with matching expressions of shock. Tori, seated next to me, let out a low, suggestive laugh, her hand sneaking under the table to hook a finger around mine. Kenzie, sitting opposite, was even bolder, casually sliding her foot up my ankle in a silent, calculated invitation. She looked at me with an intensity that felt less like desire and more like a tactical assessment. It was easy to see why Penny loved this silent dance of innuendo with Felix right in front of me. The secret thrill of it was addictive. While Penny was still lost in her ambiguous power play with Felix, I had been silently, strategically carrying on secret affairs with her two friends for months. Any other night, I would be discreetly selecting my lucky lady for the evening. But now, all I could see was the image of myself tied up and facing a battery-powered prod in some jungle black-site. I shivered, shaking Tori’s hand off mine, and giving Kenzie’s leg a clear, dismissive shove with my foot. I glanced up. The caption overlay was pure chaos. “Does the side character have a screw loose? Is he seriously trying to sell his girlfriend secondhand?” “He agreed so fast! So all that simping he did for Penelope was just an act?” “Maybe he’s been planning to dump her and jump straight to the other two all along. He’s a cheating scumbag!” My System, the guide for this hell-mission, was also screeching in my head. “Bro, are you losing it?” “We were so close to completing the Penelope mission! You can’t pull this now! I need that bonus payout, even if you don’t!” I checked the affection scores. Penelope’s score plummeted from 92 to 60. Tori’s and Kenzie’s scores, however, had surged: Tori was now at 93, and Kenzie was at 89. Penelope shot to her feet, her face a storm cloud, nearly sending Felix tumbling to the floor. She glared at me, her voice tight with fury. “What is that supposed to mean? ‘Name your price’?” “Jaxson, what do you take me for? Are you really that desperate for money?” “I am your girlfriend, not a piece of property you can trade or sell!” She demanded an answer, conveniently forgetting that it was her own hand that had been caressing Felix’s waist moments earlier. I crossed my arms and leaned back into the sofa cushions. “Oh, you remember you’re my girlfriend now?” I countered lightly. “You were so deep in that flirt-fest, I thought you two were about to kiss. I figured you’d be happy for me to help you switch boyfriends.” 2 Felix scrambled to his feet to play the mediator. “Jaxson, I was just kidding around with Penny,” he said, all faux sincerity. “You know I’m loose with the ladies; I didn’t mean anything by it. Don’t take it seriously.” He poured himself a generous drink and raised the glass with an air of magnanimity. “Here, I’ll take three shots. My apology.” “You’re the bigger man, right? Forgive me?” I looked him dead in the eye. “But I wasn’t joking.” “If you like my girlfriend so much, make an offer. What do you think she’s worth? I’m serious about selling her.” If I weren’t publicly restricted to just Penelope as my official girlfriend, I’d have packed all three of them up and given them to him for free. Penelope’s face cycled from scarlet to ashen. My words had clearly wounded her pride. The comment erupted with insults. [I see it now. This scumbag wants to ditch his current partner AND extort money from the main male lead! He’s so materialistic!] [What is the main male lead waiting for? Agree! Take the socialite and make this dirtbag regret everything!] Felix watched me, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. He must have been trying to reconcile my current actions with whatever past life memory he was operating on. He was apologizing, but he hadn’t touched the shot glass. I stayed silent, my attention on Tori and Kenzie. The captions were right. As soon as I started putting Felix on the spot, the warmth in their expressions vanished. Their scores hadn’t dropped, but their demeanor had gone instantly cold. Kenzie gave me a chilling warning: “Jaxson, you need to know when to quit.” Tori frowned. “Felix was just making a harmless joke. Don’t be such a sore loser.” Penelope, meanwhile, rushed to shield Felix. “Felix, you don’t have to apologize to him!” She turned, looking down her nose at me, then addressed Felix again. “Since he wants to sell me, agree to it. Whatever the price, I’ll pay it.” Felix’s lips twitched with suppressed delight, but he forced himself to look conflicted. “Fine, Jaxson. This is your call.” “Since you don’t appreciate her, I’ll consider it rescuing a sister. I’m not stealing your girlfriend.” “However, since you’re the one offering Penny to me, you set the price.” He looked resolute. “No matter how high you go, I’ll pay it.” I nodded slowly, scanning Penelope from head to toe, and raised a single index finger to Felix. “One dollar.” 3 “…You said what?” Penelope stared at me, looking utterly bewildered, as if her ears were malfunctioning. Felix’s eyes widened in shock. “Jaxson… are you serious?” “Completely serious,” I repeated, my tone even. “One dollar. Penelope is yours.” Penny’s face was dark with fury. She pulled out her phone, transferred a hundred thousand dollars to me, and bit out a promise. “Jaxson, you initiated this breakup. I hope you don’t regret this later.” I instantly accepted the transfer, and her affection score dropped another significant chunk. Penelope was my first target. Three years ago, needing to hit my mission quota, I took on three notoriously difficult targets at once. When I first met Penelope, her family’s rival had kidnapped her, setting her up to be framed. I risked my life to rescue her, then spent three months playing the perfect, groveling nice guy. I finally passed her loyalty test. She formally introduced me as her boyfriend to her inner circle. That’s when I met my other two targets, Tori and Kenzie, and their perpetually adored male bestie, Felix. I quickly realized all three targets were in the same circle. What could I do? The other two would just have to be my secret side pieces. But soon, Penelope’s score began fluctuating wildly. At first, I worried I wasn’t dedicated enough, splitting my energy among three women. I doubled down on my nice-guy act. Then, I overheard Felix advising her. “Pen, don’t take this the wrong way, but that Jaxson guy is clearly a gold-digging dirtbag chasing your family’s money.” “He probably even orchestrated that whole kidnapping, just so he could be the hero and worm his way into the Albright fortune. You need to watch out for him.” Penelope frowned, arguing, “Don’t be ridiculous, he’s not like that.” She defended me, but her score immediately dropped by 20 points. That’s when I realized who the real problem was: Felix. 4 After Penelope and Felix stormed out, the comment was in full celebration. [Congrats to the main male lead for securing Heroine #1!] [That’s my boy! He snagged the elite socialite that easily! Getting the other two should be a breeze now!] [Don’t celebrate too soon. Tori is an A-list actress, and Kenzie’s family runs a powerful syndicate. They won’t be easy. Plus, they’re still obsessed with that scumbag.] [Who cares? Their true love is the main male lead. The side character is just a temporary physical need. They’ll come back to the main male lead eventually.] With Penelope gone, Tori and Kenzie turned their full attention to me. Kenzie’s voice was icy. “Felix has a difficult personality. Don’t hold it against him.” It was a veiled threat: Don’t you dare cause him trouble. Kenzie was the syndicate heiress. Of the three, she was the one I feared the most. There were only two outcomes for anyone who crossed her: a tidy death or a very messy one. I knew from the start she was only interested in my body and my looks. She thought she was the one playing the cruel, dominant partner in our forced affair. She had no idea everything was a meticulously planned seduction on my part. This classic, terrifying Queenpin, who practically wrote her own laws, followed the traditional route of an abusive power dynamic. If Felix ever cried to her, I was made to grovel all night, whether it was my fault or not. If anything was wrong with Felix, I was immediately dragged in for blood work or checking my donor eligibility. In her presence, I played the role of the obedient, well-behaved pet, compliant in everything, never resisting. But as long as Penelope was the official girlfriend, Kenzie’s affection score hovered, never climbing very high. The System, however, now chimed that Kenzie’s score had jumped 20 points. She must have noticed her cold tone. Her voice softened slightly. “I know you felt disrespected by the situation. Be a good boy, and I’ll make it up to you later.” Tori’s gaze darted suspiciously between us. Before they could say another word, I quickly stood up from the sofa, made a hasty excuse, and fled the party. When Penelope was the official girlfriend, Tori and Kenzie maintained the necessary secrecy about our relationships. Now that the shield was gone, what would happen if those two started comparing notes? For the sake of my life, I needed to kick these two poison targets out of my system immediately. 5 A few days later, Penelope publicly announced her engagement to Felix, buying three full days of headlines to celebrate the news. The System hadn’t stopped buzzing in my head for days. “Do you realize how low Penelope’s score fell? Do you want your bonus or not?!” I checked my phone. All three women had texted me. Penelope sent an electronic wedding invitation, reminding me that I was the one who would regret this. Tori sent a link to her live reality show, promising a surprise for me during the broadcast. Kenzie scheduled a meeting for that evening, ready to deliver on her “compensation.” The System sighed in relief. “Well, at least we still have two targets. Tori and Kenzie’s scores are high. If you just handle this right…” Before it could finish, I opened Kenzie’s chat and fired off a single text: “We’re done.” I immediately scrolled to the delete option, blocked her, and wiped her number. I was about to copy-paste the message to Tori when the System screamed again. “Do not delete! Host, you cannot delete!” “You spent three years on this! Early mornings and late nights, just to cultivate these three women! Now you only have one left, and her score is about to max out. You can’t give up now!” My finger hovered. Tori’s score wasn’t something I had achieved through simple nice-guy tactics. To be honest, walking away felt painful. She was the most difficult one to crack. But my top priority now was to make all their scores hit 0, cut all ties, apply for mission failure before they sent me to the black site, and restart with new targets. The call chime jolted me out of my thoughts. When Tori’s video call popped up, I fumbled. My thumb hit the Delete Contact button. Oh, well. That’s it. I immediately searched for Tori’s reality show. 6 The show was in the middle of a game segment where the losing contestant had to call the first person on their contact list. On the live feed, Tori looked down at her phone, her expression clearly disturbed. She forced a laugh for the camera, attempting to explain. “It hung up automatically… maybe he’s busy.” A young artist next to her, utterly lacking in self-preservation, leaned over and pointed, his tone innocently sincere. “But wait, Tori. The message you sent has a red exclamation mark next to it. It looks like he blocked you.” The entire set fell silent. Tori quickly flipped her phone over. Before the screen went dark, the blazing red exclamation mark and her pet name for me—My Baby—flashed across the camera. The live stream immediately cut out. The director stiffly announced a technical error and suspended the recording. Within minutes, the terms “Tori Blake Blocked,” “Tori’s Civilian Boyfriend,” and “The Red Exclamation Mark” were trending. “Tori is definitely dating! Her pet name for him was ‘Baby’! I have the screenshot!” “I heard a rumor she’d been dating him for a long time and was planning to announce it tonight. To get blocked on live TV? That is epic drama.” Then came the bigger bombshell. Someone recognized me. “Wait a minute, that avatar looks familiar… didn’t Tori call out some gold-digging ex of one of her friends recently? It was the same avatar, I think?” “The scumbag who got cyberbullied? No way! Tori hated that guy!” “Holy sh*t, seriously? I have a feeling there’s a massive scandal coming.” The trending topics were yanked down after just ten minutes. Refreshing the page showed a blank void. Only one person had the power and money to pull that off so fast. Kenzie. An unknown number called. “I’ll be there in ten minutes. I need an explanation.” Kenzie hung up, her voice cold. The phone immediately rang again, two numbers simultaneously competing for my attention: Tori and Penelope. Penelope’s affection score spiked to 99, then dove to a negative number, eventually becoming too unstable to report. The System alarm was blaring at maximum volume. Ten minutes later, the doorbell rang. I stood in front of the lock-screen monitor and saw three women standing outside my door.

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My boyfriend was just publicly dragged on Twitter by an A-list actress. Attached to the scathing thread was a video—him wrapping an arm around my waist as we entered a hotel, and then emerging in the early hours of the morning. The rising star, Jade, publicly announced their breakup: [Caspian, I never thought you were this kind of person.] The evidence was irrefutable. The trending topics exploded instantly. “HOLY SHIT, Jade is a queen!” “Wait, when were those two even dating?” “Kinda a shame, their looks together were amazing…” “Is no one curious who the girl in the video is?” I put my phone down, the sheer, crushing absurdity of it all making my head spin. Caspian and I had been childhood sweethearts. Eight years. And now, Jade was his official girlfriend? What did that make me? 1 It took less than half a day after Jade’s post—the one outing Caspian as a cheat—for my personal details to be fully exposed. Paparazzi swarmed the entrance to my office. My phone was drowning in an endless tide of harassing texts. The lies and vitriol wove themselves into a dense, suffocating net, threatening to pull me under. I hid in the company restroom, calling Caspian countless times. He didn’t answer. In desperation, I tried to clarify the situation online. “Are you seriously implying our Jade is the side chick? Are you okay?” “Only a mistress would have the audacity to jump out and try to clean up her mess. Shameless.” As a private citizen, my own Twitter account had zero influence. The few comments I did receive were all condemning me for playing the victim. The wave of abuse grew hotter, faster. In a single afternoon, I had become the public’s punching bag—the home-wrecking ex. I took a deep breath, intending to text HR to ask for time off, but a notification from them beat me to it: “Selena, your personal affairs are causing serious disruption to the company. Please take a temporary leave of absence. Handle your private matters, and then you can return to work.” Temporary leave, she said. After years in the corporate world, I knew exactly what HR meant. It wasn’t a vacation. My phone suddenly buzzed. [Don’t do anything. I’m sending someone to pick you up.] It was Caspian. My mind involuntarily replayed every tender detail of his and Jade’s courtship in her post—the small, sweet moments of their newfound love. My heart felt pierced, a dull, aching throb. I stared at the text for a few seconds, but decided to follow his instructions anyway. At the very least, I needed to see him face-to-face and demand an explanation. Under the cover of several of his security team, I slipped into Caspian’s tinted van. He wasn’t inside. His manager, a severe woman named Regina, gave me a cold, clinical look. “You’ll stay at the hotel we’ve arranged for a few days. Wait for word from Caspian.” I didn’t speak, instead watching the passing scenery blur outside the window, my fingers unconsciously tracing the surface of the wristwatch on my left wrist. “Caspian has the matching one to that watch,” Regina suddenly said. “You two have been together for nearly eight years, right?” Her tone was flat. “Every Valentine’s Day, he orders a custom-made pair of matching watches from overseas. He was always very devoted to you.” I froze, feeling distant and hazy. Caspian and I wore the watches for a reason. When we were children, Caspian and I were the least-wanted kids in the neighborhood. His mother had left his father and him for another man. His dad was a heavy drinker who often beat him; once, Caspian ended up in the emergency room. As for me, I had no parents and was raised by my aging, often confused Nana. Every time someone pointed a finger at me and screamed, “The crazy woman’s granddaughter is crazy, too!” Caspian would step up, swinging his fists and hitting them hard. Driven by a desperate need to escape our lives, we were the two best students in the whole area. One day, I was sick with a fever. Nana was boiling me a pot of rice porridge, but she forgot to turn off the gas, and the kitchen caught fire. Luckily, Caspian had come over to study. He found it in time, calmly called for help, and put the fire out. But both of our wrists were badly burned. When we first started dating, Caspian and I were struggling. We were dirt-poor. Yet, for our very first Valentine’s Day, he saved up money from odd jobs for months to buy that first pair of watches. That night, he leaned into my ear, his breath hot and tender on my neck. “Selena,” he whispered. “I promise I’m going to give you a good life.” Later, he was discovered by a scout, and his first role made him an overnight sensation. He did give me a good life. Every Valentine’s Day after that, he gifted me a new pair of matching watches. But this year, there was no watch. In fact, he hadn’t spent Valentine’s Day with me at all. I had cooked a huge meal at home and waited for him all night. Where was he? In Jade’s post, the script had wrapped on Valentine’s Day, and everyone was celebrating with drinks. The two of them had secretly slipped away, strolling through the streets and visiting an amusement park, just like a normal couple. As the Ferris wheel reached its peak, Caspian, still masked, had tentatively kissed her. She removed both their masks and kissed him back, smiling. 2 I stayed in the hotel for two days. I forced myself not to check Twitter, and I didn’t contact anyone. On the third day, Caspian finally appeared. I had a fever and was weakly holding onto the doorframe as I reached for water. I looked up and met Caspian’s deep, dark eyes. He looked thinner, which only made his already sharp features look harder, more angular. Dressed in black, he stood there, an icy, detached presence. I leaned against the doorframe, suddenly drained. It occurred to me that today was our eight-year anniversary. Last year, for our seventh anniversary, Caspian’s show was on hiatus, and we had planned a trip to a quiet coastal town. But at the airport, we were ambushed by the paparazzi. The person who inadvertently rescued us was a random female celebrity, also passing through. “Why is she at the same airport as Caspian?” “Didn’t she publicly declare her crush on him last month? Are they really together?” The reporters swarmed, pushing me out of the inner circle and surrounding her and Caspian. Flashbulbs went off everywhere. The actress, who was clearly savvy about PR, saw the situation and her face immediately flushed. “We’re just celebrating the end of filming together, that’s all!” she gushed. Seeing that Caspian didn’t stop her, she leaned slightly into his chest, feigning embarrassment. Caspian looked down at her, a gentle smile on his lips, his eyes soft enough to melt. The airport erupted in noise and shouts. But then, he turned his head and looked my way, his eyes filled with a flash of quick apology. That night, the top news items were all about Caspian and that actress. And me? I wanted to post my nine vacation photos on social media, but I didn’t even dare tag the location, terrified that someone would dig up my account later and cause him trouble. That evening, Caspian held me tightly, his chin resting on the crown of my head, his voice firm and earnest. “Just wait a little longer, Selena. Next anniversary, I’ll tell everyone you’re my girlfriend.” 3 My thoughts returned to the present. I was about to speak, but Regina suddenly emerged from behind Caspian and patted me down thoroughly, only leaving once she was satisfied I wasn’t carrying anything. “Were you afraid I brought a recording device?” I asked. Caspian, however, acted as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He smiled. “Selena, I missed you.” I felt a sudden, confusing mix of the urge to laugh and utter bewilderment. After last year’s anniversary, our time together had become increasingly rare. He was busy filming and doing promotional tours. I had to keep telling myself to be understanding. One day, I was curled up on the couch and couldn’t help but post a frustrated thought on my private feed, saying I wished someone was there. The next morning, I opened my eyes and there he was. He’d seen my post and flown in overnight from the set. Opening the door to him, I was ecstatic, kissing him almost frantically. He just laughed, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. “I missed you too. Every part of you.” By the end, I was gasping, gripping his arm like a fish desperate for water. Because he had an early call time, Caspian was gone before dawn the next day. I stood in the empty apartment, forlornly watching his retreating back from the window, and realized he’d left his suitcase. I opened it. It was completely filled with all my favorite snacks. At the very bottom of the snacks was a signed photo of a stage actor I loved. I’d heard a rumor from a fan account on Twitter that Caspian had turned down several appearances and spent three months secretly studying method acting. It was for me. Even later, when the rumors of him and Jade were rampant, I chose to believe him. I genuinely didn’t know how Caspian and I had reached this point. “The post, Jade… aren’t you going to explain yourself?” “Explain what?” “All those news articles said you fell for each other on set. I never doubted you; you called it PR spin, and I trusted you. But now?” “If you fell for Jade, you should have just told me. We would have broken up. Why did you lie to me?” “Did cheating on me with another woman feel exciting? Did it make you feel powerful?” “Why did you put me through this?” Caspian looked at me, silent. “Do you have any idea what the last few days have been like? Do you know what people are saying about me online?” My throat was dry and tight. I almost couldn’t bring myself to speak the next words. “Caspian, some of those so-called ‘leaks’—the things that paint me as the obsessed ex—you were behind them, weren’t you?” Caspian’s face darkened, but his voice remained calm. “Selena, it’s not what you think.” I looked at him, temporarily lost for a response. The Caspian who would fight anyone for saying one harsh word to me was now watching from the sidelines as I faced a torrent of public abuse, perhaps even fueling it. After all, throwing me under the bus gave his team the necessary time for crisis management. Looking at the man in front of me, I suddenly felt bone-weary. I didn’t want to fight anymore. “Caspian, let’s break up.” “I won’t agree.” He gripped my hand tightly and tried to touch my face, but I coldly pulled away. “My feelings for Jade…” He paused, as if searching for the right excuse, and irritably lit a cigarette. It took him a long moment to answer. “After the fire when we were kids, I’ve always been afraid of fire. On set, there was a major explosion scene, and I couldn’t get into character. She kept encouraging me.” “The roles she and I played in that drama had a deep emotional connection. I’ve never gotten so lost in a role before.” “I just… couldn’t snap out of it.” He suddenly stubbed out the cigarette, his expression growing more irritated and gloomy. Watching him, I laughed—a short, bitter sound. “So you’re saying you were just momentarily confused, and you never actually felt anything for her?” Caspian fell silent. I stared at him. “Did you sleep with her?” Caspian’s face paled slightly. “I waited for you all night on Valentine’s Day. You wouldn’t answer my calls. You were with her, weren’t you?” He looked at me wordlessly, his lips moving, but no sound emerged. A sudden tickle in my throat made me cover my mouth and cough violently. A cool hand reached out and felt my forehead. “You have a fever.” Caspian’s brow furrowed. He grabbed his phone. “I’ll call someone to bring medicine.” Seeing the faint look of concern on his face made my stomach churn. I turned away and dry-heaved. “Stop pretending. It’s disgusting.” A fleeting shadow crossed his eyes. He watched me for a few seconds, then suddenly wrapped an arm around my waist and guided me to the sofa. When I tried to struggle, his fingers moved from my waist to my back, pressing a spot that forced me to slump against his chest. “Selena,” his voice dropped from above me, a low, hoarse sound tangled with an inexplicable coldness. “You said no matter what happened, you’d never leave me.” Seeing that he was about to kiss me, I fought with all my might. “If you have any respect for me left, let go.” Caspian’s body went rigid for a moment, and then he finally released me. “I’m sorry.” The air grew quiet. I looked at him. “I will break up with you peacefully, and I won’t use any information you gave me to fuel the online frenzy. But first, you have to tell the truth, clarify all the facts, and clear my name.” After a moment of silence, Caspian’s throat bobbed. “I can’t do that.” “Selena, I’ve already made a statement. The public won’t care about this for long. If you just compromise one more time, and wait for this whole thing to blow over—” “Compromise one more time?” I interrupted him. “What exactly does that mean?” A sudden, terrifying clarity washed over me. My hands trembling, I pulled up Twitter—the app I had been avoiding for days. The top trending topic was Caspian’s public statement. [I apologize for consuming public resources, so I want to start by apologizing to everyone. Selena and I were indeed a couple, but due to certain issues, we had to separate. Later, while filming, Jade and I began a relationship. It was only when I saw Selena again that I understood why she had broken up with me. She suffers from a hereditary mental illness. She came to find me that night because she was experiencing an episode, mistakenly believing we were still together. The darkness that night led to a visual misunderstanding. I deeply regret not telling Jade about this beforehand, and I apologize to her. Selena, upon regaining clarity, is also very apologetic and will be releasing her own statement to clarify the matter.] I stared blankly at the screen. “So, you came here today—” “To ask me to tell the world I’m mentally ill? To say that I, your crazy ex-girlfriend, was harassing you?” 4 Caspian’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Selena, Regina will give you the statement draft shortly. Memorize it. She’ll film a video of you.” “Once this is over, we can go back to how things were—” Slap. The sound was sharp and sickeningly loud. I put every ounce of my desperation into it, snapping Caspian’s head to the side. The overhead light caught the blood welling up from a thin scratch my nail had left on his cheek. The air went silent for several seconds. Caspian lowered his head, then calmly gripped my hand, a chilling tenderness leaking into his eyes. “Does your hand hurt?” I didn’t pull away. I just looked up and asked quietly, “Do you know what day it is?” Caspian paused, slightly stunned. “Last year, on our seventh anniversary, you promised me that on the next anniversary, you would tell everyone I was your girlfriend.” I smiled faintly. “Today is our eighth anniversary. And you’re asking me to tell the world I’m mentally ill.” Caspian’s face went chalk-white. A year. Not a long time, but not short, either. The eight years of love Caspian and I built, piece by painful piece, were destroyed in a single year—and left utterly unrecognizable. He knew. He knew how terrified I was of being labeled mentally ill because of my grandmother’s condition. He knew. Looking at this man, I felt a dizzying sense of alienation. “Caspian, you are so arrogant. You relied on our eight years, you relied on the fact that I loved you so much, assuming I would forgive your betrayal, sacrifice my dignity, admit to being a lunatic for you, and still want to be with you after all of this.” “But why should I?” “I loved the you who protected me from bullies. The you who would fly to me with surprises, no matter how busy filming was. The you whose eyes and heart were only for me.” I looked at him calmly, every word precise and deliberate. “I do not love this man—this bottomless, sickening stranger you’ve become.” Caspian’s grip tightened, dark emotion swirling in his eyes. Slowly, deliberately, I pulled my hand from his grasp. “Not only will I refuse to record any video, but I will find a journalist and tell them the truth.” “I advise you to think carefully,” Regina’s voice cut in from behind me. Regina met my eyes and raised the phone in her hand. The screen was shattered—it was my phone. “My apologies. We needed to ensure your cooperation, so I took some measures. Of course, we’ll replace it, but naturally, there won’t be any messy text messages on the new one.” Regina pulled a new phone from her purse and placed it in my hand. “If you want to expose him, all you can prove is that you didn’t break up last year.” She smiled. “While you’ve been at the hotel for the past two days, we’ve cleared out your apartment. All the evidence of your relationship is gone. That includes all the gifts he’s given you this year, and all your travel receipts from visiting him on set since January.” I looked at Caspian, disbelief washing over me. His face paled, and he shifted uncomfortably, avoiding my gaze. After a long silence, I spoke slowly. “I have backups.” Regina’s expression shifted. “Eight years. I have backups of all our chat histories, our travel receipts. They are not on this phone, of course.” I stared coldly at Caspian. “My demand is unchanged. You post the full truth on Twitter and publicly apologize to me. That way, we can maintain the last shred of dignity between us.” Caspian suddenly laughed, a flicker of sarcasm in his eyes. “Backups?” I took in his expression, a painful, indescribable mix of sorrow and asphyxiation bubbling up in my chest. I grabbed my bag and turned to leave, pausing at the door. “I’m giving you two days to consider.” 5 Leaving the hotel, I clutched my burning forehead and hailed a taxi to the hospital. Lying in the bed, receiving an IV drip, I opened Twitter. I scrolled through the comments under Caspian’s “clarification” post. The first was from Jade: “Seriously?” Caspian replied: “Yes.” The second: “I apologize for speaking harshly before. The fact that you’re still this kind to a mentally ill ex means you’re definitely not a cheat.” The third: “Good thing you broke up. That mental illness is scary.” The fourth: “When is that Selena going to post her clarification?” Caspian replied: “Soon.” I closed my eyes, dropping the phone. The truth was, I didn’t have any backups of the chat histories or travel receipts. For eight years, I had trusted him implicitly, loved him completely. I didn’t dare save full-face photos of him in my phone, and I rarely posted on my feed, limiting myself to maybe a distant back shot or his hand reaching out. I didn’t even tag locations when we traveled. How could I have backups? The irony was that I had collected the chat history from the past year. I treasured those few messages like sacred relics. I hadn’t been oblivious to Caspian’s growing coldness and distraction over the last year, but I kept telling myself he was just too busy. On Valentine’s Day, I had created a private Twitter account, a place where I copied and saved our scarce chat logs and his voice messages. I would pull it up and look at it every time I missed him late at night. It was set to ‘only me’ viewing. Now, by a twist of fate, it had become my weapon. I spent two days alone in the hospital, getting my IV drip. Caspian’s Twitter was silent, and he hadn’t contacted me. In the next bed, an elderly woman was feeding her sick granddaughter. I watched them blankly, a sharp pang hitting me—I missed Nana. After completing the discharge procedure, I called a major fan account I’d connected with while pretending to be a fan visiting Caspian on set. I got the contact information for a well-known journalist, and then hailed a car to the care facility. Three years ago, Nana had a sudden heart attack at home. I was at work, and Caspian, who had just finished filming, rushed her to the hospital. The doctor said Nana was too old and prone to anxiety and delusions; she needed round-the-clock care and shouldn’t stay at home. I was sobbing, my legs too weak to stand. Caspian held my waist steady, gently wiping my tears. “I promise I’ll find the best care facility for Nana.” The Caspian of the past was truly wonderful to Nana and me. I wanted to see her before the inevitable, final break with him. I walked the familiar path to Nana’s room. The caregiver looked up, surprised. “Your boyfriend picked Nana up this morning. Weren’t you taking her to get family photos done?” Bzzzz. My head went numb, an icy chill shooting from my feet to the crown of my head. I turned sharply and bolted from the facility, dialing Caspian’s number with trembling hands as I ran. The call connected quickly. “Where are you?” “Where did you take Nana?” “She’s disoriented, she doesn’t recognize anyone! Caspian, what are you trying to do?” The background noise was loud, muffled flashes of camera lights faintly audible. “I’m at the press conference.” Caspian’s low voice sounded in my ear, as if from a great distance. I felt momentarily dazed. “What press conference?” “I know you don’t have a backup.” A sigh came over the phone. “Selena, you loved me too much. How could you have backups?” A wave of bitterness surged in my chest. I spat out the words through clenched teeth. “So what? What do you want to do to Nana?” “I won’t hurt her.” Caspian’s voice was low, trembling. “Selena, I have no other choice. Since you won’t come forward, I can only have Nana clarify for you.” “I taught Nana a few lines. She’s going to say them in front of the cameras. Her memory is excellent—she’s remembered them all.” Tears streamed down my face. I gritted my teeth. “Caspian, don’t make me hate you.” There was a moment of silence. “Selena, I will protect Nana. Don’t worry.” … By the time I rushed to the hotel, the press conference had been going on for a while. Without a pass, I was stuck outside. On the large screen, the media had packed the room, setting up equipment and adjusting lenses, frantically snapping pictures of Jade and Caspian. I was surprised Jade was even there. I overheard staff talking nearby. Caspian had three goals for this conference: First, to have the “mentally ill” ex-girlfriend make a clarifying statement. Second, to officially announce his relationship with Jade. Third, to announce that he and Jade would co-star in a new romantic comedy. In a daze, I saw a pale, confused face, lined with deep wrinkles, appear on the big screen. “Selena’s condition has worsened, and she regrettably can’t be here. This is Selena’s grandmother.” Caspian held Nana’s hand and brought the microphone to her lips. Nana looked at Caspian helplessly, her eyes clouded. It took her a long moment to speak, her voice trembling. “Selena… is… is sick. Can’t come. She… she and Caspian broke… broke up last year.” After choking out the few sentences, Nana immediately shrank back behind Caspian, as if the microphone were a monstrous threat. “She definitely looks unstable. That Selena must be…” “It’s a pity, a whole family of mental cases.” Hearing the reporters’ whispers, my nails dug into my palms. I wanted to rush in immediately. “Selena?” A low voice sounded near my ear. I turned my head and stared blankly at the well-dressed man in the light gray shirt. “I’m Dominic, the journalist you contacted earlier.” “I can get you inside.” I wiped away my tears with the back of my hand and nodded silently. The moment I entered the room, I froze. Caspian and Jade were kissing. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath. The venue was silent, broken only by the continuous flashing of the cameras. In my sight, Jade’s eyes were lightly closed, her hand slowly moving to wrap around his waist. Caspian seemed to smile, cupping the back of her head, deepening the kiss. A sudden shriek broke the deathly silence. “You can’t kiss her!” I followed the sound, my breath catching in my throat. Nana stood in the corner, her hunched body now rigidly straight, her eyes bloodshot, looking as distraught as a child. “Selena is your girlfriend! You never broke up!” The room burst into chaos. Nana tried to stop them, but rushing forward, she tripped over a chair leg and fell hard to the floor. The sudden turn of events plunged the scene into an absolute frenzy. Someone called the police, someone called an ambulance, and the cameras kept flashing relentlessly. “Nana…” I rushed onto the ambulance. Staring at the unconscious Nana, my head felt like it had been hit with a hammer. All the blood in my body seemed to have turned to ice.

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The New Year’s Eve Dinner That Exposed My Husband’s Double Life It was my second year running my upscale private catering service, Crescent Catering, when a wealthy client dropped a massive retainer for a New Year’s Eve dinner. I walked her through all the standard package menus, but she kept shaking her head. Then, her eyes landed on the list of humble, comfort dishes I’d planned for my own family. “The cream of mushroom soup has to have truffle added. Then, when you drizzle white vinegar on it, it must turn that black-purple color my husband loves.” I was stunned. I couldn’t believe anyone else in the world shared such a niche, peculiar culinary fetish—the exact one my husband, Silas Montgomery, insisted on. I asked her if she had any dietary restrictions. She blushed, fumbled for her phone, and handed it directly to me. “My husband oversees everything I eat now that I’m pregnant. You’ll have to ask him.” The next second, a familiar male voice came through the receiver: “My wife doesn’t eat green onions or ginger. Not a single piece.” 1 My hand froze mid-air, suddenly rigid. The voice was unmistakably Silas’s. My professional training forced me to maintain a facade of calm, but my voice still trembled uncontrollably. “Sir… could I just confirm your name for the order?” The man on the other end didn’t seem to hear me. He just repeatedly emphasized: “All ingredients must be flown in from the source to ensure absolute freshness. It’s imperative that my wife is satisfied.” The line went dead, snapped off with ruthless efficiency. Chelsea Wells pulled the phone back, staring at me with a smirk. The smugness in her voice was undisguised. “That’s him. He’s like that. Hardly spares a single word for other women, but he dotes on me and the baby in my belly.” “His name is Silas! Silas Montgomery!” She bit down hard on the syllables of his name. Each one felt like a needle, plunging into my eardrum. My hand, clutching the menu, shook violently. The tip of my pen scraped a messy, inky streak across the paper. I couldn’t write another word. Noticing my obvious distress, Chelsea’s lips curved into a knowing smile. She calmly folded her arms, studying me with the pity of a victor looking down on the vanquished. “Poor thing, the woman he has at home. Seven or eight years of marriage, and she couldn’t hatch an egg. Now she’s just fit to be swept out, left to serve food to other people.” I closed my eyes. The dam of all those old, suppressed wounds instantly broke. Twenty-five years ago, my father found a half-dead, starving boy—Silas—on the street, gave him a hot meal, and gave him a home. Later, we fell in love and got married. We started a modest food truck in the Culinary District, and our food was the hottest thing on the street until a jealous rival smashed up our pop-up and kidnapped me. By the time Silas scraped together the ransom and arrived, I was barely alive. I survived, but the doctors said my uterus was severely damaged; it would be nearly impossible to conceive. As I lay in the hospital, my life hanging in the balance and the bills piling up, Silas worked three jobs to pay off the debt. He constantly found ways to cheer me up. He swore he’d wait for me to recover, that we would have a beautiful life together, and that having children didn’t matter. I believed him. I stood by him as we went from having nothing to building his empire. But he broke his promise. Two years ago, I would have slapped Chelsea, torn apart her veneer of fake concern and bravado. But now, I was the sole proprietor of Crescent Catering. This business was the one thing I’d fought to keep, and I couldn’t let personal vendettas destroy it. “Ms. Wells, please be assured. Our food quality and chef expertise are beyond reproach.” Chelsea smiled, a meaningful, ambiguous twist of her lips. “It better be. Oh, and my husband is extremely protective of me and the baby. When you come to make the New Year’s Eve dinner, you should probably bring a few cooks who are currently pregnant or have recently had a baby. We don’t want any bad juju.” “Otherwise, if he gets angry, your little catering brand might not make it.” That comment was a bullseye on my deepest pain point. Staring at her thinly veiled provocation, I suddenly understood: this wasn’t an order for a New Year’s Eve dinner. It was a calculated ambush—a Roman feast designed to humiliate me. I met her eyes and spoke with deliberate authority: “All of our employees are medically cleared before deployment. If you still have these concerns, I suggest you find another caterer.” The moment I turned and walked out, I heard a mocking snicker behind me. I leaned against the cold wall of the elevator lobby, taking a long time to steady myself before dialing Silas’s number with a trembling hand. He answered instantly, his voice its usual gentle tone. “Babe, what is it?” I felt a sudden sense of disorientation. I spoke tentatively. “I just took an order. The client’s taste is… remarkably similar to yours.” He paused for half a second, then gave a light chuckle. “Just a coincidence. Oh, listen, about my partner’s orphaned child? I’m close to finalizing the adoption. That kid will finally be ours.” Before the words were out, the elevator door dinged and slowly opened. Silas stood in the doorway, impeccably dressed in a suit. But the normally cool and composed CEO, Silas Montgomery, was looking at me now with pure, unfiltered panic. 2 He recovered quickly, though. He smiled and ran a hand through my hair. “You promised me you’d rest at home. What are you doing here?” He turned to his assistant, Matt, who was standing behind him. “I’ll go check on my partner’s widow alone. You take my wife home, Matt.” I didn’t move. I reached out and took Silas’s arm. “The ‘partner’s widow’ you’re visiting is Chelsea Wells, isn’t she?” His body stiffened instantly. His arm tensed underneath my grip, and he wouldn’t meet my gaze. Just then, his phone rang. Silas visibly relaxed, pulled his arm away without a trace of hesitation, and quickly walked off to answer it, flashing Matt a look that clearly meant: Get her out of here. As the elevator doors closed, Chelsea’s sickeningly sweet voice wafted into my ears. “Honey, why are you still not here? I’m going to be late for my prenatal appointment!” Downstairs, Matt politely held the car door open. “Ma’am, it’s almost time for your medication. We need to get you back.” Medication. Always the medication. Ever since the damage to my uterus, taking medicine had become the dominant feature of my life. Taking it to have a child. Taking it so he wouldn’t worry. Seven years. One medicine bottle after another. Yet, my body grew weaker. I used to never get motion sickness, but now, even riding in a car was an ordeal. But I never got pregnant. And Silas allowed another woman to carry his child. I swallowed the rising nausea and said coolly, “Take me to the hospital.” In the OB-GYN’s office, I managed to find the medical report Silas had deliberately hidden. It stated, clearly: [Secondary Infertility (Permanent)] The word Permanent shattered my last sliver of hope. For years, he had held this report, forcing me to drink useless concoctions while whispering reassurances: “We’ll get pregnant eventually.” I used to foolishly comfort myself, thinking he just wanted our child so badly, that he didn’t want to disappoint me. Now I knew. This was a calculated, carefully orchestrated deception from the start, only meant to stabilize me—his ‘useless’ wife. I handed the doctor all the prescriptions I had taken over the years, asking her to run a thorough analysis. As I turned to leave the examination room, I saw Silas and Chelsea at the end of the hallway. A group of nurses enthusiastically crowded Chelsea. “Mrs. Montgomery, your husband is so devoted! He’s at every prenatal appointment.” Chelsea leaned into Silas, stroking her belly shyly. “He is. He can’t wait for the baby to be just like him.” Silas looked down at her, and the raw tenderness in his eyes was something I had never received in seven years of marriage. There was no orphaned child. All he ever wanted was a woman who could give him a baby—a child that was entirely his. When we had nothing, he called me his world. But once he made his fortune, his world no longer had room for a barren wife. As I brushed past him, Silas’s gaze remained fixed on Chelsea’s stomach. He didn’t spare me a glance. I didn’t cry. I didn’t question him. I just drove home in silence. But the moment I sat down, a message popped up from Chelsea: [You’ve seen it with your own eyes. Be smart. Get out now!] Attached was a DNA test result. The father was, indisputably, Silas Montgomery. Despite my foreknowledge, something in my heart was still savagely pierced. I couldn’t hold back the tears anymore; they streamed down my face. I don’t know how much time passed before Silas called. “Babe, I’m coming home soon. Did you take your medicine?” I raised my hand and slammed the bowl of herbal medicine the housekeeper had brought me to the floor. “Silas Montgomery, are you still going to act? I went to the hospital!” The door burst open. Silas rushed in. He grabbed my hand and anxiously examined it. “Are you hurt?” I violently shook him off and gave a cold laugh. “I heard everything Chelsea told the nurses.” He immediately dropped to his knees in front of me, uncaring that shards of porcelain might stab him. He pleaded: “June, let me explain. She is just an incubator—a tool. My wife will only ever be you! Once the baby is born, I’ll announce that you are the mother. Don’t cause trouble, okay?” “Just… for the next few months, don’t show your face in public. At least pretend you’re resting and carrying the child so everyone believes the baby is yours. Can you do that for me?” I scoffed internally. I didn’t know whether to be touched by his meticulous planning or disgusted by his selfish infidelity. Crescent Catering was finally gaining traction, and the business was fully expanding. It was peak season, and he wanted me to abandon it all for his illegitimate child. I looked at him, my heart tearing in two. “So, you want me to hide, pretend to be happily pregnant, and then watch while another woman’s child is given my name?” “Silas, have you forgotten? The Crescent Room is my family’s legacy. Crescent Catering is the dream I fought tooth and nail for. And you want me to give all that up for your bastard?” He fell silent, letting out only a heavy sigh. He had promised, years ago, that he would help me revive the family legacy and make me the happiest woman alive. But in seven years, he hadn’t just forgotten his vows; he had become the man who would destroy me. Our eyes met for a long, heavy moment. Then, I spoke, deliberately and clearly. “Silas Montgomery, we are getting a divorce.” 3 Silas immediately let go of my hand and tugged at his tie, his eyes clouding with irritation and impatience. “June Caldwell, I just wanted a child. Is that really grounds for divorce? I remember the kindness when you took me in, but your emotions can’t handle this level of irrationality!” I grabbed the nearest throw pillow and hurled it at him. “Kindness? Silas, you repaid my ‘kindness’ with seven years of lies, another woman’s child, and a deliberate attempt to ruin the business I poured my heart into? Your gratitude is a burden I can no longer bear!” The irritation vanished from his face. He took a step toward me, trying to touch me, but I swiftly dodged him. His shoulders slumped slightly, and his tone softened inch by inch. “June, I messed up. I shouldn’t have lied to you. I shouldn’t have put you through this.” “Tomorrow, I’ll go with you to the cemetery. We’ll talk it out in front of your parents. After this, I’ll agree to anything but the divorce. Just don’t do this, please?” Listening to his belated plea, my heart felt like it was being ground repeatedly by a dull knife. Seven years of deep affection, only to end up here. I didn’t answer right away. After a torturous internal debate, I slowly nodded. At the same time, a sudden, cold dread washed over me. Chelsea wouldn’t back down easily. I quietly opened my work chat and sent a message: All field service personnel must log work in real-time and save all evidence for every job. The next day was New Year’s Eve. As the car sped toward the cemetery, Silas’s phone blew up. “Honey, where are you? My stomach hurts so bad!” Without a moment’s thought, Silas swerved the car. He didn’t even realize I was still in the passenger seat until he blew through a red light. “Babe, something’s happened with Chelsea. I have to rush over to check on the baby. I’ll have Matt drive you to the cemetery.” “No need.” I calmly pushed the door open and stepped out. “The baby is more important.” He gave me a look of gratitude. The car screeched away before I could even find my balance. I watched the taillights disappear quickly, my heart feeling like a hollowed-out shell. He once told me that no matter what happened, he would always protect me first. Turns out, those promises had long since expired. I stood in the cold wind for a moment, letting the reality sink in, before calling a ride-share service straight to Westwood Memorial Park. As I got out of the car, Matt rushed up, breathless. “Ma’am, please don’t be angry. Mr. Montgomery truly has no feelings for Chelsea. She’s just a ‘good luck charm’ woman he paid a psychic to find—a total utility player.” “He cares about you most. He specifically sent me here to accompany you.” I didn’t want to engage. His sincerity or utilization didn’t matter. Infidelity is infidelity; labeling it ‘sacred’ doesn’t change anything. Scanning my surroundings, I noticed a few suspicious figures lurking in the nearby woods, furtively watching us. A sense of foreboding rose in my chest. I quickly pushed Matt away. “Go! Separate! You call the police!” I turned and ran into a nearby corner store to hide, dialing Silas’s number with a trembling hand. “Corner store by the South Gate of the cemetery. Silas, hurry! I need help!” The man’s voice on the receiver was full of intense annoyance. “June Caldwell, will you stop being so dramatic? We just agreed last night! Have you forgotten already? What did you put in Chelsea’s New Year’s Eve dinner? Her stomach’s been cramping since the first bite! I have to rush her to the hospital. You need to dial back the jealousy!” When I was kidnapped years ago, he searched for me like a madman, crying, “I can’t live without you. I’ll never let anything happen to you again.” Now, a simple complaint of a stomachache from another woman was enough for him to immediately label me a spiteful perpetrator. The call was disconnected. Just then, a flurry of messages popped up in my work group chat, each one more desperate than the last: [Mr. Montgomery filed a complaint against Crescent Catering, and the Market Regulatory Bureau is coming to shut down the shop!] [Ms. Caldwell, all the pre-booked jobs are canceled. They’re demanding huge compensation. We can’t afford the breach-of-contract penalties!] I was about to reply when everything went black. A thick canvas bag was thrown over my head, and my phone was knocked from my grasp. A foot slammed into my spine. I hit the floor, and someone instantly pinned my hands and feet. “Alright, boys! Let’s get this done and ruin her completely. Let’s see if Mr. Montgomery still wants her after this.” “Don’t forget to take plenty of photos. Let everyone see her shame.” My clothes were ripped. Evil, lecherous laughter echoed around me. I struggled, I screamed, but all my resistance was futile. 4 Just then, the corner store door was banged open. A team of police officers rushed in. The assailants’ laughter died immediately. The bag was ripped off my head. Matt dropped to his knees in front of me, tears streaming down his face. “Ma’am, I’m so sorry! I should have been faster!” I looked at him and shook my head. What was his fault? He got the police here in time, and he protected me when it mattered most. The one at fault was the man who vowed to protect me for life, yet, in my moment of greatest danger, only had eyes for someone else. I struggled to stand, taking the jacket Matt handed me and tightly wrapping it around myself. [You ruined Chelsea’s New Year’s Eve dinner. I’m taking her home for a quick meal. I’ll be back soon. Don’t be mad.] Every word in Silas’s message felt like a thorn, piercing my heart. At the same time, Chelsea posted to social media. The photo showed her and Silas cheek-to-cheek, in the dining room of our marital home. She was sitting in my chair. But I had no time to grieve. My work chat was already ablaze. [Mr. Montgomery is doing the ‘righteous’ thing and throwing his own wife under the bus! The whole internet is trashing us, saying pregnant women should avoid Crescent Catering. They even dug up the fact that Ms. Caldwell can’t have kids and are spreading rumors that all our staff have health issues!] [All the jobs are canceled. We can’t afford the penalties. Is our catering business really over?] Two years of blood, sweat, and tears vanished in a single instant. The Crescent Catering business, the revival of my family’s legacy—the thing I nearly died protecting—was so easily ruined by Silas and Chelsea. I clenched my fists, letting my nails dig into my palms. I felt clearer than ever. Since he delivered such an unforgettable humiliation, I would give Silas and Chelsea a New Year’s gift they would never forget. I opened the work chat and sent out a notification for an emergency New Year’s Eve work session. The anxiety in the group instantly dissipated. My team rushed to reply, guaranteeing their presence. At that moment, Silas was likely sitting with Chelsea, having their New Year’s Eve dinner in the warmth of my home. Both their phones went off simultaneously: [The entire staff of Crescent Catering will publicly apologize to Mr. Montgomery and Ms. Wells for sixteen consecutive days, starting New Year’s Eve and ending on the 15th day of the New Year.] They opened the apology video. Silas’s face drained of color after the very first sentence.

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My wife, Adora Caldwell, was sick again and terrified of calling in. She was shivering on the bed, truly frightened. I wanted to call her office myself to clear her absence, but she pleaded with me, her hand clamped tight around my arm. She just needed me to comfort her, to promise I wouldn’t go near her work. But I went anyway. For her. The receptionist’s eyes widened in confusion as I spoke. “You have to be joking, sir,” she said. “The person you’re asking about is our CEO.” “And our CEO, Ms. Caldwell, comes in and leaves with her husband every day.” “Her husband doesn’t… look like you.” In the next second, the glass elevator doors parted, and my wife—who should have been confined to a sickbed—stepped out, leaning into the arm of Trenton ‘Trent’ Abbott, her college sweetheart. Our eyes met, and the polished smile on her face froze. I looked at the designer clothes, the gold shimmering on her wrists, and the diamond earrings that must have cost more than my annual salary. I laughed until tears streamed down my face. “Those earrings alone are more than I earn in a year,” I choked out. “And you spent seven years pretending to be a $50,000-a-year junior accountant.” “You told me your startup failed and you were drowning in debt. I sold the only house my parents ever left me to cover your ‘debts.’ I sold code all day and drove for a delivery app all night. I pushed myself so hard I had a bleeding ulcer and still couldn’t afford to take a day off!” “Tell me, Adora. Why did you play me for a fool?” Adora stammered, unable to speak. Trent laughed, patting my shoulder like I was a kid who’d lost a playground fight. “Don’t blame her, man. The night she married you, she swore to me that everything she had—her body, her assets—was still mine.” “So don’t reach for things that don’t belong to you.” Seven years of marriage. I thought we were building a life of quiet solidarity. Instead, I’d been nothing more than a temporary stand-in in someone else’s play. But I was Mark Harrington, her legal husband. Could they really take everything and leave me with nothing but a memory of betrayal? 1 “Shut up, Trent! This is between us! Adora, tell me yourself. Is this true?” I cut off Trent’s smug monologue, my eyes burning. Adora sighed, a sound of weary patience. “Mark, listen to me. I just didn’t want you to become a freeloader, losing your ambition because you knew I was successful. And I didn’t want to hurt your pride. Besides, didn’t you promise you would always take care of me?” “Stop gaslighting me! Seven years! Adora, we’ve been married for seven years! Isn’t that enough time to know who I am? If I was the type to live off my wife’s money, would I have sold the only asset I had—the house my parents left me—to fund your ‘failed’ business?!” My voice cracked. “Or did you think I was stupid enough to be lied to forever?” She released Trent’s hand and reached for mine. “No, Mark. It’s not like that.” I pulled back a step, my footing unsteady on the polished marble floor. My discount store sneakers were worn to the sole, but I hadn’t brought myself to replace them yet. My gaze settled on Trent. He wore Italian leather shoes, a perfectly tailored coat, and a Rolex Submariner flashed on his wrist. Adora had once joked, “When I make it big, I’ll buy you a Rolex so you can flex on Instagram, too.” She bought one, all right. Just not for me. Swallowing the bitter taste, I asked her. “Not what? And what about him?” She glanced at Trent. “Trent is just a partner.” Trent’s mouth immediately dropped. “Rory!” Adora squeezed his hand, a silent signal, before turning back to me. “He was my first love, yes, but you knew that when we got married. I never hid my past from you.” “Now, he’s just a business partner. He’s looking to invest in the company.” I ground my teeth. “Then what did he mean by what he just said?!” Adora shot Trent a cautious look, then offered a flimsy explanation. “Oh, Trent loves to joke around. He was just messing with you…” Trent cut her off before she could finish. “I wasn’t joking. Isn’t that what you told me on a video call the night after your wedding? You said it while Mark was sleeping right beside you…” “Trent!” Adora snapped. He pursed his lips and didn’t say another word. But my heart had already hit rock bottom. It was all true. Adora wouldn’t meet my eyes. Her tone, laced with guilt, shifted into impatience. “Don’t listen to his nonsense, Mark. None of it is true. Just go home, I have a client meeting soon. I’ll explain everything tonight.” I took a deep, shuddering breath. “You don’t have to explain.” “Adora, let’s get divorced.” “We’re done. Eight words. I’ll take a million dollars for every year we wasted. That’s a fair buyout for our marriage, isn’t it? It leaves you free to be with him.” 2 “Mark, calm down. Let’s go home and talk this through.” I cut her off. “You mean that seventy-five-square-foot walk-up with the peeling paint? That home?” I couldn’t stop the laugh that felt like a sob. Her face flushed. Employees arriving for work were starting to slow down and watch. She grabbed my arm. “Don’t make a scene here, Mark. It’s unprofessional.” “Let go.” I gritted out. She held fast. “What is this? You’re just mad that I didn’t buy you a bigger car? You want to live off my success? Do you have to act like a victim in public?” “I let you sleep with me for seven years! I didn’t charge you a dime! You should be grateful!” “I’m telling you now, the more you act like this, the less money you’ll ever see from me!” I stared at her in disbelief, utterly shocked that these words were coming from the woman I’d shared a bed with for nearly a decade. I didn’t know her. Maybe I never had. Trent watched us wrestle, then sneered. “Come on, Rory, this is embarrassing. We’re going to be late.” “Didn’t you promise to get me that new watch before the client meeting?” Adora agreed instantly. “Yes, Trent, absolutely. And I’ll trade in your car for the new model, too. We need to project the right image for these meetings.” Trent shot me a triumphant look. “Hear that? Rory’s money is my money. Eight million for a divorce? Keep dreaming.” “But, hey, you looked after Rory for me all these years. That counts for something. If you call me ‘bro’ right now, I’ll talk to her about getting you a new pair of shoes to replace those discount store sneakers.” The words hit me harder than a slap. I thought of the endless budgeting, the five-year-old coat I refused to replace, the video game skins I couldn’t justify buying, the shame of being called a poor loser while driving delivery late at night for a few dollars an hour. Humiliation washed over me. As Trent leaned closer, his face twisted in a smug, mocking expression, I used every ounce of strength I had left and punched him square across his privileged jaw. Trent stumbled back a few steps. Time seemed to stop. After a few seconds, he registered the pain, his face contorting in pure rage. “You piece of trash! You pathetic cuckold! Rory! He hit me!” Adora’s reaction was immediate. She threw herself in front of Trent, cradling his face in her hands. “Mark, are you insane?!” She then grabbed her heavy designer bag and swung it at me, the metal hardware catching me on the cheek. I didn’t have time to dodge. My face stung, a fiery, blinding pain. Gritting my teeth, I yelled at Adora: “Don’t push me to hit you!” She screamed back: “Push you? Try it! If you had any balls at all, you wouldn’t have to threaten me!” “You’re the one with no ambition! Seven years and you’re still just a code monkey! If you were successful, would you have to drive delivery after work for seven years?!” “You’re a failure! Take your frustration out on the right person: yourself! You have no one to blame but the loser you are!” “I’ve been so embarrassed to even mention your name to people!” Blood was seeping from the scratch on my face, warm and sticky, but quickly turning cold. I felt frozen. I thought of the long nights coding, the toxic boss who dumped all the impossible work on me, the constant overtime—all because he knew I was desperate to pay off my ‘debts’ and couldn’t risk quitting. I never told Adora any of this, fearing she would worry. Now, that same raw pain had become the knife she was plunging into my back. I looked at them, my voice a cold rasp. “Adora, as of today, we are even.” She paused. “What?” “You think eight million is too much? Fine. The money you owe me, the blood you just drew—I will get it all back, dollar by dollar, in a court of law.” That includes our joint assets, the company she started with my money, all the profits, the house, the cars, and the watches she bought Trent. Everything. I would have my half. Trent snapped his head up. “Dream on!” I didn’t answer. I simply turned and walked toward the exit. Every step sent a sharp throbbing pain through my cheek. Every step was marked by blood. But my back was straight. A man can be knocked down, but he can’t be broken. As for whether I was dreaming, I didn’t need to answer him. My lawyer would. 3 It was dark when I left the lawyer’s office. I walked home, my face throbbing, and opened the door to see an open suitcase in the middle of the living room. Adora was packing a dress. Trent was sitting on the sofa. “You’re back?” Adora looked up, her tone as calm as if nothing had happened. “Good. I need to talk to you.” “Trent’s health isn’t good, and that punch you threw earlier caused his heart condition to flare up.” “The doctor said he needs constant care. I’m going to stay with him for a few days.” I picked up a foil packet of condoms lying on the corner of the suitcase. “Is this also a prescription from his doctor? Did ‘Dr. Feelgood’ write this?” She snatched the box from my hand with an irritable jerk. “It must have been caught in the folds of the dress. I didn’t even notice. You’re so paranoid.” “I know you’re upset, and I’m letting it go. Trent needs me right now. I’ll explain when I get back.” Need. When she needed me, I was always there. When I needed her, she was with him. Was that fair? No. But marriage was never about fairness; it was about willingness. I had been willing for seven years. Now my heart was dead, and my willingness had run out. “Fine,” I said, and walked into the bedroom. I opened the closet and started pulling out her things. My hand froze when it touched a photograph. It was our wedding picture. She was radiant, and my eyes were full of light. “Mark, what are you doing?” She followed me in, her voice finally tinged with panic. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?” I didn’t turn around, tossing the framed photo into the trash bin. “I’m helping you pack. Saves you a trip.” “I told you, it’s only for a few days—” “Then don’t ever come back. Take your things, and the man who needs you, and get out.” Adora retrieved the picture from the bin, gently placing it back on the dresser. “Stop being dramatic. I’ll be back the second he’s recovered.” Trent appeared in the doorway. Adora barely glanced at him, saying with practiced ease, “It’s fine. I’ll have the accountant wire you ten million tomorrow.” Before her phone screen went dark, my eye caught the heading of a document on it. Trent’s tenth ‘business proposal.’ Ten million dollars. How many late-night delivery runs, how many lines of code would that take me? I might die of exhaustion before I earned that much. I thought of the news reports of programmers who suffered fatal stress at 32. If I hadn’t discovered this betrayal, if I had continued to work myself sick to pay her ‘debts,’ that might have been my ending. Trent, hearing the reply, looked at me, a sly smile on his face. “What are you peering at my proposal for, Mark? Thinking of starting your own company?” He’d caught the look in my eyes. Adora spared me a dismissive glance. “Don’t be silly. He’s not cut out for this. He can barely tell a bull market from a bear market. He’d probably buy the dip right after the crash. He’ll be an employee his whole life.” I cut her off with cold finality. “Are you finished?” She froze. I pointed to the door. “Then get out. Get out of my apartment!” “Mark, this is our—” “No. It’s mine. I pay the rent, the utilities, I bought the furniture. What exactly have you contributed besides living here for seven years?” She opened her mouth, but the words didn’t come out. Because it was the truth. For seven years, I not only wired her a monthly allowance for her ‘debts,’ but I covered every single household expense. I scrimped to buy her expensive bags and makeup, terrified her friends would look down on her. The reality? She was rich. Filthy rich. She was playing me for a fool while lavishly funding another man—and claiming they were just ‘friends.’ Adora’s voice dropped to a cold threat. “Fine, I’m going. But don’t you dare regret this!” “Go!” The door slammed shut, and the room was abruptly silent. Too quiet. I could hear the refrigerator humming, and the frantic drumming of my own heart. I sank slowly to the floor, tears falling onto the wood—one drop, then two. A man in his thirties, weeping like a lost child. After an eternity, my phone vibrated. I picked it up. A photo from an unknown number. On a luxurious hotel bed, Adora’s sleeping face was nestled against Trent’s chest. A line of text followed: “Thanks for making this possible.” I stared at the image for a long, long time. Then I typed my reply: “Thank you, too. You just helped me take out the trash.” Sent. My private investigator had told me Adora was meticulous; he had never been able to get proof of physical infidelity. Now I had it. 4 The next day, I stood outside the Human Resources glass doors, staring at the ridiculous document in my hand. Embezzlement? $3.2 million? Absurd. I was a Senior Backend Engineer. The largest expenditure I’d ever approved was a team equipment upgrade. How could I possibly move $3.2 million? I addressed the HR director coldly: “I need to see the system logs and the full audit report.” The director adjusted his glasses, a hint of pity in his eyes. “The company has been acquired, Mr. Harrington. You’ll have to ask the new owner.” “And who is the new owner?!” “A Mr. Abbott.” … I flung open the door to the CEO’s office. Sure enough, Trent was sitting behind the desk. Beside him, Adora was reviewing documents, head down. “Well, well. Look who it is. Our star engineer.” Trent’s smile was sickeningly bright. “Mr. Harrington… or should I say, former Mr. Harrington?” Blood surged to my head. But I forced myself to stand still and breathe deeply. “Adora, the audit report is forged. Procurement requires three levels of approval. I only have recommendation rights, not final sign-off. The system logs will prove it.” Adora finally looked up. “The system logs were compromised by a hacker, Mark. The records are gone. Funny thing, the only records lost were the ones connected to those specific purchases.” The coincidence made me laugh without humor. “I built this company’s security architecture. I wrote the firewall rules. You’re telling me it was compromised just like that?” Trent leaned back in the CEO chair, grinning. “That’s why we suspect you, Mark. Insider jobs are the easiest, aren’t they? Changing a few log files, fabricating a few records—a piece of cake for a big-shot engineer like you, right?” I clenched my fists. “You illegally tampered with the database!” Trent stood up. “Evidence speaks, Mark. Right now, every log points to you. You’re looking at a massive civil suit for damages, and maybe even jail time.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Unless… you want to get on your knees and beg me? Maybe then I’d ask Rory to take it easy on you.” My stomach churned with pure disgust. “Adora, do you have nothing to say?!” She looked at me, her voice chillingly devoid of emotion. “You had sticky fingers, Mark. This is actually a chance for us to help you.” I roared in fury. “Help me?! Haven’t you played me for a fool for seven years? Now you’re using this low-life trick to destroy me completely? You hate me that much? You won’t be satisfied until you’ve ruined my life?” Her face paled. Trent lunged, grabbing my arm. “Who the hell do you think you’re yelling at?!” “Let go! This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To see me beg? To watch me crawl over and kiss your shoes like a dog? I’m telling you, you’ll never see that day!” I spun toward Adora. “I won’t pay a dollar. I won’t accept a single charge. If you’ve got the guts, call the police! We’ll settle this in court!” Adora’s lips trembled. She opened her mouth, but Trent cut her off. “Rory, why don’t you step out for a coffee and cool down?” She hesitated for a moment, then turned and left. The instant the door closed, the mask dropped from Trent’s face. “Mark, let’s be honest. You’re not just upset about the money, are you? You’re pissed that Rory chose me. You’re pissed you won’t get a huge divorce payout. You’re pissed about the photo.” My body went rigid. “Ah, I hit a nerve.” “The photo was nice, wasn’t it? Rory’s skin is so soft, so smooth… like silk…” The blood roared in my ears. “What do you want?” My voice was a choked sound. “I want you to know you lost, Mark. You lost everything. Rory’s body is mine, her heart is mine, and now everything she owns is mine. Including this company. Including every dollar she’ll ever earn.” “And you? You’re just the garbage we’re cleaning out.” I threw a punch. It grazed his cheek. Trent touched his face, a flicker of pure malice in his eyes, but he quickly smiled again. “Angry? Mark, I’ll give you one last chance. Walk away with nothing, disappear forever, and I’ll drop the charges. I’ll let you live.” “Three point two million dollars, Mark. How many delivery runs is that going to take?” In that moment, the last shred of my sanity snapped. Just as I lunged, tackling Trent to the floor and raising my fist, the door opened. Adora stood in the doorway. Trent wiped the corner of his mouth—where there was no blood—and cried out, “Rory! He attacked me again! I was only trying to reason with him, and he just went crazy!” I tried to explain. “I didn’t—” “Enough!” Adora cut me off. She spoke a few swift words into her comms device. Two security guards appeared and instantly grabbed my arms. One of them delivered a sharp kick to the back of my knee, forcing me down to the floor. My face was pressed hard against the carpet. Then, I heard Adora’s cold, cruel voice. “Trent, whatever he did to you, you return in kind.” Trent came closer, and then his leather shoe stomped down on my face. He ground the sole against my cheek, then delivered a sharp, vicious kick straight to my nose. My nose burned, and blood immediately gushed out. I stopped feeling the pain. All I felt was a crushing, pathetic sense of irony. Seven years of pouring my heart and soul into this marriage, and this was my reward. Adora’s voice was icy. “Mark, you just can’t learn your lesson. I’m calling the police right now. Let’s see how tough you are when you’re facing a grand larceny charge.” The words were barely out of her mouth when her phone rang. She answered it, confused. As she listened, her expression grew tighter, harder. When she hung up, she stared at me in disbelief. “You… you actually filed for divorce…?”

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Caspian Thorne and I were the most notorious antagonists in our rarefied social circle. He’d indulge in the city’s high-end escorts, and I’d use his social media credentials to post pleas for a sugar mama. I’d frequent the best male strip clubs, and he’d forge a stack of fake HIV reports for me, distributing them across every exclusive gentleman’s club in town. Later, when his favorite new girl, Hailey, had the audacity to confront me, I slapped her so hard she saw stars. To retaliate, he strapped me to a post on a private speedway, allowing his little darling to drive a car straight at me at full speed. But at the last second, he lunged, a desperate, broken man, shielding me with his own body. His ribs cracked, blood filling his mouth, yet he managed a faint, despairing smile. “Don’t cry, Mrs. Thorne.” “The kid is pregnant and high-strung; I had to give her a dramatic way to vent, didn’t I?” “I’m fine. Don’t look so devastated. When I get out of here, I’ll take her on a trip. What designer bag do you want? I’ll bring you back two.” I shook my head, tears streaming. He didn’t know. I wasn’t crying for him. I was three months pregnant, too. And just now, as I was paralyzed on the ground, terrified by his little darling’s attack, I felt the life inside me spill out, turning to a pool of hot, wretched blood. 1 The tears wouldn’t stop. Caspian looked at me with open disgust. “Mrs. Thorne, I know you’re concerned, but crying like that? You look truly hideous.” He lifted his gaze to the young woman just getting out of the car. His eyes were sickeningly soft. “Try to learn from her, Mrs. Thorne. She’s always elegant, always composed. Unlike you, who just looks…cheap.” I followed his gaze. Hailey, barely twenty, was indeed graceful and composed. She’d maintained a haughty, unbothered posture, even when I was hitting her. Three days ago, I was at the hospital visiting my mother, Helen. I ran right into Caspian and his new conquest. She was nothing but a cheap, gold-digging girl, yet she clung to his arm and looked me up and down with utter contempt. “Well, look who it is. Don’t you ever go home, old lady?” “Were you happy with those HIV reports I sent out last week?” “It was my idea, actually. It’s hilarious—I just mentioned it in passing, and Caspian actually went and printed them out and spread the gossip everywhere for you!” “I hear it trended on social media. Rich Wife with AIDS! So scandalous!” “How will you ever show your face in public again, Auntie?” It was a naked provocation. Caspian just watched her, a doting, indulgent look on his face, allowing her to humiliate me without consequence. When I instinctively glanced his way, he gently pinched her chin, his expression full of sickening affection. “Naughty girl. My wife is a terror; aren’t you afraid she’ll throw a fit and hit you?” Hailey gave a smug, triumphant smile. “She wouldn’t dare. Not with you here, darling. Who would protect her?” Caspian had certainly kept her sheltered. Ignorant, reckless, and utterly naive. So, I didn’t disappoint them. Right in front of Caspian, I grabbed a handful of her hair and violently slapped her across the face several times. Over her sharp screams, I smiled with a terrifying calm. “Didn’t your sugar daddy ever tell you that I bite?” “To provoke me like that and expect to walk away untouched? Are you stupid, or do you think I am?” “Get out of my sight before I lose it. I’m warning you: if I see you again, I’ll beat you senseless.” The girl had guts. Even as I pinned her head down, forcing her to her knees, she refused to break. She only protected her stomach and glared up at Caspian when I raised my foot to kick her. “Caspian! Your rabid dog is attacking me! Aren’t you going to control her?” The next second, my wrist was seized. The man who used to fret over a minor scrape on my skin now coldly, expressionlessly, snapped my wrist bone. Caspian’s smile was still gentle, but his eyes were pure ice. “Hailey’s mouth is just so much fun, like she’s laced with poison.” “Mrs. Thorne, I need you to show some restraint. Take your anger out on me. If she gets hurt, I’ll be truly upset.” He didn’t spare a thought for my broken hand. But when she whimpered in pain, he instantly swept her up and rushed her toward the Emergency Room. Watching his frantic back retreat, I still couldn’t understand. The man who was once willing to die for me could change so completely, so easily. I managed a bitter, twisted smile, pulling the sonogram from my purse and tearing it to shreds. It had been a surprise for him. Now, it wasn’t necessary. That evening, I returned to the villa with the prepared divorce papers. But the moment I walked in, his security detail pinned me to the ground. 2 Caspian looked down at me, his eyes full of that weary condescension. “The little one is pregnant and quite difficult to handle. I had to find a way to let her get her aggression out.” “You’ll just have to deal with it, Mrs. Thorne.” Before I could even speak, someone covered my mouth and tied me up. As I was dragged to the racetrack, I felt a chilling sense of despair. For a moment, I actually hoped to just die. It would be better than this endless cycle of pain, where the wounds were torn open again and again. But when Hailey slammed the gas and the car screamed toward me, Caspian’s expression finally shifted. He dove at me, just like he did when he was eighteen, shielding me completely. Even though Hailey, white as a sheet, managed to slam the brakes, the impact still sent Caspian flying, coughing up blood. I sank to the ground, tears falling in uncontrolled, desperate torrents. He sighed, wiping the moisture from my cheek with his thumb. But the words he spoke were like shards of glass. Hailey rushed over, striking a tearful, dramatic blow to his injured chest. “Caspian, what was that? Are you so attached to this old woman?” “What is so special about her that you’d risk your life? Tell me! Are you still in love with her? If you are, I’ll just leave!” Caspian winced in pain but clung to her. He turned his chilling gaze on me, giving the slightest, imperceptible sneer. “Oh, my little princess, I wasn’t trying to save her. I was worried about you.” “You know Mrs. Thorne is a venomous dog. If you’d hit her and she went crazy and sued you, how miserable would that be for you?” “There, now. Think of it as killing a chicken to scare the monkey. If she ever touches you again, we’ll just stop all of Helen’s medical treatments, okay?” They flirted, they made amends, completely oblivious to my humiliation. He hadn’t saved me out of love; he’d saved me to prevent his mistress from getting into legal trouble. Even my mother’s life was merely a bargaining chip he used to placate his lover. My wrist throbbed, and a searing pain pulsed in my abdomen. But none of it could compare to the desolate wasteland in my heart. Blood was now staining the ground between my legs, but I hardly noticed. I struggled to stand and threw the prepared divorce papers with all my strength, hitting Caspian in the face. I stared at him, my eyes blazing with contempt. “Since you’re so devoted, Mr. Thorne, why don’t you sign those papers and make an honest woman out of her?” Caspian didn’t even look. He tore them to shreds and threw the pieces back at me. “Stop this childish game, Mrs. Thorne.” “You know we can’t get divorced. It’s not about me not wanting to. It’s about you—you and your comatose mother can’t survive without my money.” My breath hitched. I froze. This wasn’t the first time this had happened. Everyone said Mrs. Thorne was madly in love with Mr. Thorne. She was willing to endure his abuses, to fight him viciously, but she’d never leave. They laughed at me—the scorned wife, the eternal doormat. But no one knew that when Caspian and I first got together, he was the one who adored me unconditionally. I was eighteen. My deadbeat father, a gambling addict, went on a drunken rampage. He slashed my mother’s head with a knife, then turned the blade on me. Caspian burst in, threw himself over me, and took eight full stab wounds meant for me. When the police arrived, his back was a bloody, mangled mess. Yet, with blood smeared across his face, he smiled at me, a soft, loving smile. “Tessa, don’t cry. It doesn’t hurt.” “You’re safe. I swear, as long as I’m alive, no one will ever hurt you again.” My mother became a vegetable. To give her the best care, he worked himself into a monster—Mr. Thorne. Later, just as he promised, no one dared touch Mrs. Thorne. But he changed. He became reckless and cruel, pushing me into the abyss again and again. 3 Hailey shoved me aside with a challenging smirk, helping Caspian walk toward the exit. As they passed, Caspian smiled carelessly. “Mrs. Thorne, my patience has its limits.” “Even if you don’t care about yourself, think about your mother. Without me, she will die.” “I know you feel wronged, but if you want your mother to live, you need to accept your life. Next time you bring up divorce, you better think it through. Don’t cry when I actually sign it.” I knew he was right. I should keep enduring, so my mother could get the best treatment, at least to keep her breathing. But why? Why should I allow myself to be trapped in this rotting life? I lifted my eyes, meeting his with stubborn defiance, and spoke with resolute clarity. “Caspian. I am not playing games.” “I said, I want a divorce.” He still didn’t know. Three days ago, my old mentor, Noah, called. He told me about a new drug developed overseas. It had a high chance of curing my mother, though it hadn’t hit the market yet. If I was willing, he could get me into the trial. I agreed immediately. After hanging up, I rushed to the hospital to give my mother the good news, but I collapsed on the way. When I woke up, the doctor told me I was three months pregnant. That thin sonogram report weighed a thousand pounds. The little life in my womb was trying to keep me tethered to him. I had seriously considered telling Caspian, just to give my youth an answer, a clean break. But now, I didn’t need to. The baby was gone. There was no reason left to stay. Caspian’s eyes were filled with nothing but irritation. I was once his only weakness. Now, I was a thorn in his side. He started to laugh, but the amusement never reached his eyes. I ignored him, turning to Hailey with a cynical tone. “Well, what a shame. It looks like your Caspian has no intention of making you an honest woman.” “As long as I am Mrs. Thorne, you and the illegitimate spawn in your belly will never amount to anything.” The girl didn’t disappoint. The tears started immediately. Caspian gently stroked her head. “My princess, stop crying. My heart is breaking.” “I’ll sign the papers. I’ll sign them right now, okay?” I looked down, my smile bitter. The very thing I had begged him for, the girl could get with two tears. The signed divorce papers hit my face. Caspian’s smile was cold. “Tessa. I’ll be waiting for the day you regret this and come crawling back to me.” I watched their retreating backs, laughing through my tears. I would never regret it. I would never beg him again. Soon, I would take my mother and leave. For the rest of our lives, we would never have to meet again. The speedway was far from the city. I couldn’t get a cab, so I started walking. Each step was a torment, but my resolve was absolute. When I reached the hospital, my entire lower body was soaked in blood. The baby was gone. As the anesthesia took effect, I didn’t feel the expected grief; only a profound sense of relief. After the procedure, I rushed to my mother’s room. But the moment I opened the door, a sudden, ice-cold horror engulfed me. The two entangled figures I saw, naked in my mother’s hospital bed, tore away the last shreds of my dignity. 4 I screamed, charging forward like a lunatic to pull them apart. My reason shattered. I raised my hand and slapped Caspian with all my remaining strength. “Caspian! How dare you do this in front of my mother!” He licked the blood from his swollen lip and sneered. “Tessa Thorne, by what right do you question me?” “Don’t forget, you’re not Mrs. Thorne anymore. At best, you’re a worn-out toy I tossed aside.” I knew he was retaliating. My whole body was shaking. I roared in uncontrollable rage. “You are a disgusting, pathetic bastard, Caspian!” “Get out, both of you. Get your dog and your mistress and get out of my sight!” Hailey hid behind him, smiling at me, a triumphant, challenging glint in her eyes. “Why so angry, old lady? We were just trying to help your half-dead mother.” “Maybe a little excitement will wake her up!” My vision went red. I raised my hand to hit her, but she caught my hair and violently smashed my head into the doorframe. Blood streamed down my forehead, but I barely felt it, grappling with her, fighting dirty and without restraint. The next second, a piercing scream erupted beside me. I spun around and saw my mother, her eyes wide with fear and heartbreak. She was tottering on her feet behind me, clutching a blood-stained scalpel. Hailey fell to the ground, clutching her stomach. My mother’s fingers were trembling with terror, yet when she saw me, she managed a faint, reassuring smile. “Don’t be afraid, my little girl. Mommy will protect you.” Tears streamed down my face. I wanted to hold her, but a powerful force slammed into me. I watched helplessly as Caspian kicked my mother to the ground. He grabbed her neck, his eyes filled with absolute malice. “Who in the hell gave you the right to touch Hailey?” “If anything happens to her, I swear, I’ll make both of you pay for it!” He threw my blood-soaked mother onto the floor like a rag doll. Then he picked up Hailey and rushed out, never looking back. The surgery light stayed on all night. He knelt outside the door the whole time. When they confirmed the baby was gone, he looked at me with pure hatred. He grabbed my collar and dragged me to the foot of a remote mountain. He pointed to the temple at the summit, a cruel smile on his face. “Your mother killed my child. You will atone for her sin.” “Crawl up. One prayer for every step you take. Pray for my child.” His eyes were savage. I knew this was not a game; he was truly enraged. I didn’t argue. I bit back the pain and knelt down. One step, one bow. By the time I reached the summit, my knees were raw flesh and blood, and my forehead was lacerated. Every inch of my body screamed with agony; my consciousness began to fade. Caspian had me locked in the chapel. I was pinned to the floor. He leaned down, his face utterly devoid of emotion, and handed me a tablet. On the screen, my mother was curled up, shaking uncontrollably in her hospital bed. The next instant, the door was kicked open. A group of disheveled, menacing figures—junkies and unhoused men—poured in. They swarmed her, tearing off her gown. Her broken, desperate screams tore through me, making my entire body tremble with sharp, excruciating pain. I cried hysterically, slamming my head against the floor, begging Caspian. “Please! I beg you, let my mother go!” “Caspian, if you need revenge, take it on me! I’ll give you my life. Just let her go!” A flicker of hesitation crossed Caspian’s eyes when he saw my utter despair. But he didn’t relent. He just pulled me close. His chilling voice whispered in my ear. “Tessa, your mother made a mistake, and she must be punished.” “Don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to her. As soon as Hailey feels better, I’ll bring you both home. No more fighting, alright?” I grabbed his shirt, the tears turning into a desperate, wretched cry. “Caspian, I won’t fight anymore! Never again! Please, let my mother go!” He gently pried my fingers off his shirt and affectionately stroked my face. “That’s a good girl, Tessa. Just stay here and reflect for a while. When Hailey calms down, I’ll come back for you.” He didn’t look at me again. He turned and walked out of the chapel. The door slammed shut, plunging the room into darkness. I scrambled to the tablet, my trembling hands clutching it. The men finished, zipping up their trousers, their faces sickly satisfied, and then they left the room. My mother lay there, covered in blood and filth, like a dying fish. After a long time, the door to the room opened again. Hailey walked in, leaning on someone for support. She stood over my mother with a victorious expression, then brutally slapped her twice. “Filthy old thing. Just as pathetic as your daughter!” “How was that? Was it fun? All those men after being asleep for so long? You must be thrilled.” She grabbed my mother’s hair, forcing her to look into the camera. “Your daughter is watching this whole depraved show.” “You’ve been asleep for so long, you probably don’t know how miserable your daughter is. A discarded wife who stayed with him, without a shred of dignity, just for you.” “Caspian said that as long as you’re alive, Tessa will never leave him. No matter how much he humiliates her, she’ll just endure it.” “If you don’t die, she’ll only suffer more. If you really love her, then you should just die!” My mother raised her head, her eyes vacant, and smiled. “Fine. I’ll die. Just let my daughter go.” I clutched the tablet, shaking with hopeless despair. “No! Mom, please, don’t!” She couldn’t hear my cries. With desperate resolve, she crawled to the window, pushed it open, and threw herself out. From eighteen stories up, she would be completely shattered. My chest felt like it was being pierced by a thousand arrows. The pain was beyond imagining. I struggled to my feet, throwing myself at the bolted door of the chapel. Again and again, I slammed into it. My shoulder felt like it was breaking, and blood poured from my forehead. I didn’t care. My mother was gone. The light in my world had been extinguished… Caspian tended to Hailey all night. He finally left her room at dawn, his face exhausted, and motioned to his assistant. “Mrs. Thorne is afraid of the dark. An entire night locked up should have taught her a lesson.” “Bring her home. And her mother, too. Tell Tessa I’ll be back to see her in a couple of days.” He looked up, smiling, only to see his assistant fall to his knees, his face ashen. “Mr. Thorne, Mrs. Thorne’s mother… she jumped out the window and died yesterday.” “The people at the temple said that last night, Mrs. Thorne violently broke the door down and then, in front of everyone, jumped off the cliff.”

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I had failed the mission, spectacularly. So, I went rogue. I threw the rulebook out the window. I imprisoned him. I took him. And then, I staged a glorious, definitive, dramatic death. I barely had a moment to catch my breath in the afterlife when the System shrieked in my mind. [Male Lead has hit critical corruption level! Urgent need for a second intervention!] The next second, I was back. I walked through the fog of disorientation, and then it happened: a gleaming, blood-slick blade pressed flat against the skin of my neck. The man’s voice was a ghost in my ear. “Another fool who thinks she can try.” “That face—you think you can wear it?” My mind went blank. 01 I was mid-bite of a chip when the System’s scream broke through the quiet of my new life. [Host, there’s been an… issue with your mission.] [The Male Lead has hit critical corruption level. The world is collapsing. We need you to go back for a secondary fix.] I had no idea what it meant. Critical corruption? In my memory, Caspian Bellwether was an emotional glacier—stoic, untouchable, the kind of man who floated above the base desires of the mortal world. He was a god carved from marble. How could someone like him corrupt? The world could burn, and he would still be standing, perfectly still, perfectly unperturbed. But before I could dwell on the absurdity, my vision swam, and I was abruptly shunted back into the alternate reality. Specifically, I was back at the secluded estate where I had once kept Caspian prisoner. I caught sight of the pomegranate tree I’d impulsively planted years ago. A sudden, jarring thought hit me: That tree was half-dead when I left. When did it get so tall? The System answered the unspoken question instantly. [Host, the timeline in this world moves differently than yours.] [Seven years have passed since you left.] Seven years. Caspian couldn’t possibly still be here, could he? I stumbled forward in a daze. In that instant, my right foot hadn’t even landed when a chilling sensation grazed my neck. A strand of my hair—snipped clean—drifted down before my eyes. A cold steel blade was pressed tight against my throat. And worst of all, warm blood from the sword’s edge was sliding down my skin. I froze, terrified. My fingers trembled. I couldn’t remember how to breathe. The spectral voice drifted from behind me. “Another fool who thinks she can try.” “That face—you think you can wear it?” I turned slowly. Caspian’s devastatingly handsome, ice-cold face was inches from mine. His eyes were bloodshot, feral, the eyes of a creature driven mad. My words came out in broken fragments. “Caspian, it’s m—” The razor-sharp blade suddenly pulled away from my neck. I was about to take a step forward, but my gaze snagged on a figure just beyond him, sprawled motionless in a pool of blood. The woman’s eyes were wide and vacant. She was a disturbing replica of me—strikingly, horribly similar. My knees gave out. I collapsed onto the ground. What had happened to him? How could Caspian have become this monster? Caspian seemed to be in total shock. Naked bewilderment washed over his perfect features. His eyes flickered with a desperate, frantic uncertainty. Suddenly, the sword clattered to the floor. He stepped forward, instinctively blocking my view of the body. I gasped, finally letting out the breath I’d been holding. “Damn you, Caspian Bellwether! You actually tried to murder me!” He didn’t register my fury. He simply stared, blood-veins webbing his eyes, his brow furrowed in a tight, frightening knot. I struggled to stand, wanting desperately to flee, but he grabbed my wrist, yanking me into his embrace. His eyes were fixed on me, the way a predator watches its prey. His grip was too tight, making me wince. “Aubrey.” I paused. After a long silence, I heard the thick, ragged sound of his voice. “Is it really you?” “Please, don’t lie to me again.” Again? 02 Caspian should despise me. Logically, he wouldn’t feel a flicker of emotion even if I were to die right in front of him. Yet, I looked down at my ankle. The heavy shackle around my leg was padded on the inside, as if he were worried it might bruise me. That was utterly unlike the Caspian I knew. He should hate me. Seven years ago, I was bound to the System and sent here. The promise was ten million dollars if I successfully completed the “capture the male lead” mission. For five years, I failed. No matter what I tried, the mission progress bar didn’t budge. Caspian remained an unscalable peak, emotionally sterile. His gaze never lingered on me. Eventually, I simply broke. I drugged him. I kept him captive. Day after day, I forced intimacy on him. But even with skin-to-skin contact, he never offered me a single, genuine glance. The contempt that radiated from him was a sharpened blade, cutting through my last shred of pride. Heartbroken, I decided to abandon the mission. On the last day, I leaned down to kiss him as I had countless times before. He kept his eyes closed, unmoving. The kiss deepened, a desperate, silent farewell. Then, I unlocked the restraint. “Caspian, you’re free.” His eyes opened, a flash of suspicious confusion in their depths. “What game are you playing now?” I managed a faint, bittersweet smile. “No games. I just finally saw the light.” The sheer irritation in his eyes wounded me instantly. I had forced him, yes, but after a year of being together—intimate and constant—even a stray dog would have developed some attachment. But not him. I gave a bitter twist of my mouth. I watched him push open the door and walk out without a single pause. He didn’t look back. As the System signaled my imminent departure, I lit the match. Everything after the blaze was a blank slate. But now… I tugged the shackle on my ankle, the metal links clanging dully. I fell into a confused contemplation. Had my year of obsession finally, irrevocably, broken the unbreakable man? 03 The door creaked open. Caspian walked in, carrying a covered tray. He was still lean and classically handsome, but the years had etched a harder, more dangerous charm into his features. His body was long, a sharp silhouette of broad shoulders and a narrow waist. Paired with that stoic, impossibly perfect face, he could make any magazine cover model look like a rookie. He took a bowl of hot soup from the tray. The steam rose gently. He scooped a spoonful, blew on it, and lifted it to my lips. “Eat up, Aubrey. I wouldn’t want you to run out of steam later.” My fists clenched, then slowly relaxed. I was, currently, in his cage. I had to yield. His demeanor was unnervingly gentle, as if we truly were a devoted couple of many years—if I could only ignore the crushing weight of the metal on my ankle. The meal was heavy with unspoken tension. I sighed, setting the bowl down. “Caspian, is this what you want? To repay the humiliation I inflicted, piece by piece?” He said nothing, only smiled—a deep, slow, and utterly chilling smile. I shuddered. Was he going to…? The thought was terrifying. Suddenly, I watched him lean forward slowly. His beautiful face was inches from mine. A shallow, yet utterly evil curve lifted the corner of his mouth. He raised his hands and cupped my head. His lips, hot and damp, crashed onto mine. It wasn’t a tentative exploration. It was a torrential, overwhelming flood of taking, of demanding penetration. He drowned me in it, sweeping me away until I was desperate for air. Finally, he pulled back. I gasped, frantically dragging oxygen into my lungs. His eyes were bloodshot again. He roughly shoved me back onto the bed. “If I didn’t believe you were her, I’d already have gutted you.” His voice was cold, sharp, like ice water. I finally broke free of my stupor and struggled, screaming. “Caspian, how can you do this to me?” Tears streamed down my face. I stared at him, my eyes red and furious. He let out a short, dismissive laugh. “Why wouldn’t I?” His long, cool fingers traced my eyebrows and the curve of my cheek. His intent was clear. “Didn’t you do this to me that year?” “You set the rules, Aubrey. Why do you suddenly object to playing by them?” 04 Caspian kept me pinned and broken all night. After that, he spent every night in my room. He held me tight again that night. The candlelight flickered around us. I traced the perfect contours of his face with my eyes, trying to solve the puzzle of his constant frown. Had Caspian actually fallen for me? “No…” A soft whisper escaped his lips. “What is it?” I leaned in. My gaze instantly collided with his cold, clear eyes. He was suddenly wide awake. Our breath mingled, close enough for a kiss. I awkwardly pulled back. He didn’t speak, just stared at me, unblinking. It was so intense I felt the hairs on my arms prickle. I shivered, about to make a lame joke, but his next words silenced me completely. Caspian’s fingertips lightly stroked my cheek. His eyes held volumes of mockery and chilling indifference. “Of all the pretenders, you are the closest replica.” “And you get to stay.”

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My sister told my stalker I was into BDSM and captive love scenarios. So he locked me in the moldy basement of his rental unit. I slept in a dog cage, allowed a sip of water and a few bites of stale bread only at his discretion. By the time I escaped, I’d missed my college exams and the starvation had given me stomach cancer. My sister, Phoebe, looped her arm through my honors student boyfriend’s, Cameron, and winked at me, a playful, cruel gesture. “Did you enjoy the thrill, big sister? That sweet, sweet taste of being a captive little wife?” “You submissive types love that, don’t you? Not like Cameron and me, we have to stick to the power-couple path.” In the end, she tipped off the psycho to my hiding spot. I was drained of blood and transformed into a horrifyingly exquisite doll. When I opened my eyes again, I was back—the day my sister stole my boyfriend. I looked at the perfectly charming, sun-kissed young man who was my stalker. A slow smile curled on my lips. “Tell me, Silas. Are you willing to be my good dog?” … 1 He was visibly blindsided by the question. The ever-present, easy smile that was his camouflage flickered, replaced by a momentary panic and deep confusion. But I wasn’t looking at the panic. I was looking past it. In the frantic swirl of his gaze, I caught a flash of something that shouldn’t have been there: a flicker of raw, pathological excitement. A sickness. I watched the slight bob of his throat beneath his pristine white collar, the light of madness reflecting in his dark eyes. It was the same light that had guided my nightmares for so long. In my past life, it had taken only a single malicious lie from my sister to unleash him. He had taken me—the girl who was kindly tutoring him—and locked me in that dank basement, choking me, abusing me with a systematic cruelty I still couldn’t process. To keep me awake, to satisfy his twisted obsession, he would force me to calculate the answer to a math problem every three seconds. In that dark, airless memory, I learned that seven was the maximum number of ribs you could have broken by a shovel and still be conscious, and that exposing exactly six to eight teeth made for the most socially acceptable smile. All thanks to my dear, sweet sister. Now, reborn, I finally understood the rules of the game. Against a psychopath like Silas Thorne, you had to be the bigger monster. When I saw the excitement in his eyes threaten to break free, I knew it was time to pull back the leash. I shrugged, hoisting my book bag nonchalantly. “Just kidding. Forget I said anything.” I started to walk toward the library entrance, but he moved with terrifying speed. His hand shot out and clamped around my wrist, pulling me back. When I turned, the fleeting panic was gone. In its place was a singular, ink-black focus. His eyes were locked on mine. The next second, he met my gaze, then quickly unclasped the belt he wore, wrapping the leather tightly around his own throat. As the shadow of a smile touched my lips, he sank to his knees. Like a child eager for praise, he whispered a single, charged word: “Mistress.” Just as I reached out to ruffle his perfectly styled hair, a familiar voice—the last one I wanted to hear—rang out behind me. “Kendall… what… what are you doing?!” It was Cameron, my boyfriend of three years. He was staring, his eyes wide with disbelief, holding my sister’s hand and juggling a ridiculous, artisanal green smoothie he’d deliberately driven across town to buy for her. 2 Cameron instinctively looked down at the man kneeling at my feet. His face registered an entirely new level of shock, a type of panic I’d never seen from the controlled, academic golden boy. Before he could demand an explanation, Phoebe gasped in mock horror. “Oh! Sister? I never knew…” “You’ve been playing so dirty behind Cameron’s back?” Then, pretending to recover, she smoothed things over for me, turning to Cameron with fake concern. “No… wait.” “Cameron, we must be misunderstanding Kendall.” “She must have some kind of profound stress. Maybe she’s just dealing with the pressure of the Presidential Scholarship by…” “By letting off a little steam like this?” Looking at the thinly veiled, triumphant mockery in her eyes, I felt my heart begin to incinerate. I remembered the past, when she’d handed Silas the carving knife and asked me, a cruel smirk on her face, “What now, little wife? Ready to be stuffed and mounted?” The suppressed rage made my body tremble, but I locked it down. I placed my hand on Silas’s head, stroking his hair gently. “Don’t listen to them, good dog.” “What I feel for you is far more than ‘letting off steam.’” Silas froze. He glanced at me, then wasted no time in establishing his claim. Ignoring the crowds of students around us, he pulled me into his arms and kissed me. Hard. For a moment, a metallic, coppery taste filled my mouth as he devoured every gasp of air I had left. When he finally pulled back, he looked straight at Cameron, a satisfied, predatory expression on his face. “What’s wrong, Mistress?” “Someone’s staring at me like they want to murder me.” “Surely my Mistress won’t abandon me for him?” Seeing the raw, incandescent fury in Cameron’s expression, I smiled and replied, “Of course not.” This blatant, public provocation shattered Cameron’s usual polished composure. He threw his head back and yelled at me, shame and anger overwhelming him. “Kendall! You know this is a critical tutoring period for Phoebe!” “Did you seriously bring this… this trash here just to humiliate us?” “Do you think this is funny?!” Cameron’s outburst caused Phoebe to frown at me in disappointment. “Sister, I know you’re upset that Cameron is focusing on my applications.” “But you shouldn’t use your relationships to act out! What makes you any different from those trashy, shameless sluts?” Cameron immediately cut off her ‘well-meaning’ monologue, glaring at me. “Enough.” “Some people are only fit to live in the gutter. We don’t need to be dragged down by a tramp like her.” Then, he took Phoebe’s hand and stormed away. But just before they turned the corner, I caught the shadow of a triumphant smirk on Phoebe’s face. She looked like she knew exactly what my future held. Too bad. In this life, I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. 3 That same day. In the study lounge booth right next to the one where Cameron was helping Phoebe with her prep, Silas and I kissed with a blistering heat. The gasps and soft sounds of our activity were so loud they practically drilled into Cameron’s booth. The sound of his rage climaxed when he smashed his expensive fountain pen on the table. Just as things were about to spiral out of control, I bit Silas’s lip. He winced, his brow furrowed, and he looked at me with displeasure. “What is it, Mistress?” “Are you still worried about the brother next door?” “Or did the sound of his tantrum disrupt your pleasure?” He smoothed out his expression, showing two tiny, almost boyish canines, and I was momentarily stunned. Because of the trauma of my past life, I had never really looked at Silas. I had never noticed how truly beautiful his features were. His long, slightly curled lashes softened the pathological edge in his eyes. He looked like a finely carved sculpture. Compared to Cameron’s clean-cut, predictable handsomeness, Silas was a revelation. But I snapped out of the trance quickly. I knew exactly what kind of terrifying creature lurked beneath that perfect exterior. When I didn’t answer, his strong, articulate hand slammed me back against the wall. The muted thump made the study table in the next booth vibrate. Just then, Cameron’s patience finally ran out. He threw his textbook down and angrily hammered on the dividing wooden wall. Silas, however, met Cameron’s rage with an infuriating calmness. “Do you need something, Mr. Honor Student?” he asked, a flirtatious lightness in his voice. “Perhaps you need my Mistress to enlighten you on a difficult question?” He stepped slightly aside, making a mocking ‘after you’ gesture. That playful smirk succeeded in humiliating Cameron. “This is a study lounge!” Cameron hissed, his teeth clenched in fury. “It’s not a place for you two to hook up!” He slammed the door and stormed back into his booth with Phoebe. The next second, I heard heavy breathing and soft, breathy sounds of “no” and “don’t” coming from the other side of the wall. I gathered my things and started to stand up. That’s when a solid, powerful hand clamped around my throat. The suffocating pressure instantly intensified. Silas’s calm mask dissolved, replaced by the stark, terrifying madness I remembered so well. “Mistress,” he whispered, his eyes blazing with a deranged intensity. “You can’t just tease someone and then walk away. Even if I am your dog, a mad dog will bite.” Staring into his almost pathologically focused eyes, I felt no fear. I just asked him, flatly, “Did that feel good?” Silas blinked, clearly taken aback. I pressed on, my voice steady and normal. “The taste of defying your Mistress.” “Did it feel good, Silas?” That single question successfully introduced a tremor of panic into his gaze. As my calm, assessing look held him, he slowly released his grip. Then, he knelt down, cupping my feet in his large hands. After a long silence, his eyes, suddenly vulnerable and flickering, lifted to mine. “Mistress.” “I’m the best boy. Please don’t abandon me.” I finally allowed a genuine, though cold, smile to surface. I gently ruffled his soft, messy hair. I replied softly, “Good dog. I won’t abandon you.” “Ever.” A brilliant, utterly sincere smile bloomed on Silas’s face. Just as we started to leave, Cameron and Phoebe, looking disheveled, emerged from their booth. Meeting my cold gaze, Cameron gave a short, cruel laugh, revealing a hickey on his neck. A flushed Phoebe rolled her eyes at me. She leaned into Cameron, complaining coquettishly about how forceful he’d been. “Now my legs feel like jelly.” She gave me a smug, sidelong look, then wrapped her arms around Cameron’s neck as he lifted her up to carry her. “You’re the expert here, sister,” she taunted. “You guys made the entire table wobble, yet you look completely fine.” Then, she focused her intent on Silas. “I really envy you, Silas.” “To get someone already well-trained right from the start.” “Not like Cameron and me. We have to take things slowly, even with the most basic positions.” I was physically sickened. Then, she paused, tapping her chin with a faux-innocent look. “Oh, right.” “Cameron just promised to give me your early acceptance scholarship slot.” “You’re not mad, are you, sister? After all, a flirtatious little wife like you will just end up focused on domesticity anyway.” “Not like Cameron and me. We have to stick to the hard path of the power couple.” Phoebe’s silvery laughter faded as the memory of my past life flooded back: I had given up my hard-won competition scholarship spot for Cameron when he’d begged me. He had then turned around and passed it to Phoebe as a grand gesture, and the two of them became the celebrated golden couple heading off to the Ivy League, while I was left for dead. Reborn, there was no way I would let Cameron steal what was mine. I’d just left the principal’s office. Moments later, the pair of them blocked the doorway of my classroom, staring at me with disbelief. “Kendall!” Cameron sputtered. “You have gone too far!” 4 Seeing that I had made absolutely no effort to hide the fact that I had reclaimed my scholarship, Cameron was shaking with anger. “You know Phoebe’s grades aren’t guaranteed for an Ivy League spot! Why would you deliberately hog her scholarship?” “What is your problem?!” He actually made me laugh. Taking back what was mine was, in his mind, “hogging.” I suppressed the nausea he caused me and shrugged indifferently at the pair of them. “I simply retrieved what belongs to me.” “Is there an issue with that?” I then smiled, meeting Cameron’s enraged eyes. “You’ve been trying so hard to tutor Phoebe. Isn’t that because you want her to prove herself with her own hard work and talent?” “A shortcut like this doesn’t suit her ‘Girlboss’ image. Why, I thought I was doing you a favor by helping her earn it the hard way. Why are you upset?” I turned to leave, but as I passed him, Cameron grabbed my wrist with a crushing grip. The commotion drew the attention of other students, but he intentionally raised his voice to embarrass me. “Kendall!” “You—” Even with an audience, I didn’t mince words. “That’s right. I did it on purpose. What are you going to do about it?” My dismissive attitude immediately sent Phoebe into a fit of tears. Red-eyed, she pouted at Cameron. “Cameron, it’s fine.” “If my sister is so determined to ruin things for us, I’ll let it go. I won’t let you beg her for my sake.” The display instantly earned her the sympathy of the surrounding male students. “Kendall, that’s going too far!” “So you’re smart—who cares? What kind of future will a little wife like you have, even at an Ivy?” “Unlike Phoebe, who’s on the fast track to being a powerful woman! How dare you hold onto that spot?” “You don’t deserve it!” Encouraged by the crowd, Cameron glared at me, his voice rough with resentment. “You want to make a scene? Fine!” “Today, I’m going to let everyone see what kind of person you really are!” He stormed toward the rushing principal, full of self-righteous fury. In front of all the students, he declared, “I want to file a formal complaint!” “Kendall has engaged in immoral conduct! She was hooking up with another student in the study lounge!” Phoebe followed him, her chin held high as she launched into her own self-serving ‘Girlboss’ manifesto. The principal, however, interrupted them with a scowl. “What are you two doing?! Do you realize the trouble you’re in?” “The school is considering canceling your exams and moving to expel you both!” Cameron and Phoebe froze, horrified. “What?! How is that possible?!” Before they could fully process the shock, the class chat group exploded with activity. Reading the stream of messages, Cameron’s face turned chalk-white. He looked at me and screamed, utterly undone: “Kendall!” “What the hell have you done?!” Seeing the grainy video of him and Phoebe in the study lounge circulating wildly, I merely shrugged and smiled. “Nothing much.” “Just doing my part to ensure our student body has a quiet, dignified environment for their studies.” The loud, unmistakable sounds of their heavy breathing echoing from the phones of students in the hallway caused Phoebe to completely lose it. She dropped to the ground, screaming hysterically. “It wasn’t me!” “That person wasn’t me!” She grabbed one student’s phone and smashed it, trembling. “Don’t look!” “None of you are allowed to look!” Despite their frantic denials, the principal dragged them both off to his office. I thought the two of them would face a social media firestorm. But I underestimated the power of the Cameron family’s money. Within half an hour of their parents arriving, all traces of the video had been purged from the school networks and the internet. Even their impending expulsion was quickly rescinded. That night, on the walk home, Cameron confronted me, a clear threat in his voice. “Kendall!” “Don’t think this is over. You dared to bring shame to Phoebe? You should expect to pay a very heavy price.” Phoebe looked at me with pure malice. “Sister, you disappoint me. People with character flaws like yours belong in the lowest pit of hell.” Meeting Phoebe’s wicked glare, I knew it was time to give them a preview of hell. After they left, I finally made the call. The next morning, Silas, who was waiting to pick me up, was holding a beautifully wrapped gift box. Inside was the brooch he had recently given me. The moment he dropped the box in shock, the meticulously prepared “gift” I had nestled within the red raffia ribbon rolled out.

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