“The son you kept secret for two decades is here, Dad. And he’s asking for the house.” I stood by the hospital bed, looking down at my father. He was skeletal, barely a shadow of the man he’d been. His eyes darted away from mine. His lips moved, dry and slow. “Dee, he’s your brother…” My brother? I had spent eight years of my life waiting on him. Eight years of bedpans and feeding tubes, eight years of quitting my job, foregoing marriage, sacrificing my entire life. Eight years. And he had kept a whole son secret for twenty years, a child whose existence he’d never even hinted at. Now, that “brother” was here. Here to divide the legacy. 1. When the man first stood in the doorway of the hospital room, I honestly thought he was lost. “Excuse me, is Arthur Stone staying here?” I paused. “Who are you looking for?” “Arthur Stone,” he repeated. “I’m his son.” My mind went blank. I hadn’t processed the words. “I’m sorry, what did you just say?” “Arthur Stone’s son, Ronan Mills.” He spoke with an unnerving casualness. “I’m here to see my dad.” Arthur Stone was my father’s name. I, Delilah Stone, was Arthur Stone’s only child. “You have the wrong room,” I said, flatly. He smiled, a practiced, easy smile, and pulled out his phone. He scrolled to a photo. It was my father. Younger, maybe forty, standing next to a small boy, seven or eight years old. My father’s hand rested heavily on the boy’s shoulder. Beneath the photo was a handwritten inscription: “Ronan’s 8th Birthday. Dad loves you always.” My hands started to shake, gripping the doorframe. “Who in God’s name are you?” He tucked the phone away and looked up, meeting my eyes. “Dee, I’m Ronan Mills. My mother is Lydia Shaw. Dad and my mom were together about twenty years ago.” Dee. He called me Dee. I leaned against the frame, feeling the world tilt on its axis. “That’s impossible,” I whispered. “My father would never—” “That’s enough, Delilah.” My father’s voice, raspy and weak, came from the bed. “Let him in, Dee.” I spun around. My father sat up against the pillows, his face utterly devoid of surprise. Not an ounce of shock. He knew. He had been expecting this visit. “Dad…” “Let him in,” he repeated, his voice firm despite the weakness. “I have something to tell both of you.” That afternoon, I learned the secret he’d hidden for twenty years. The year I turned ten, my father had an affair. The woman, Lydia Shaw, was a colleague. They were together for three years. They had a son. Ronan Mills. “I didn’t know how to tell you.” My father stared out the window, avoiding my gaze. “It happened too long ago.” Too long ago? I was thirty-two years old. This secret had been locked away for twenty years. Did Mom know? “Your mother knew,” my father said, as if reading my mind. “I cut off contact with the woman eventually. Your mother forgave me.” Forgave him. A thick knot of something—rage, grief, nausea—coiled in my chest, making it impossible to breathe. “And him?” I pointed to Ronan, who was standing quietly by the wall. “You cut off contact, but he’s still here. How?” “I cut off the mother,” my father said. “But he’s my blood. I couldn’t abandon him.” Couldn’t abandon him. “You’ve been supporting him this whole time?” My father remained silent. Ronan answered for him, smoothly. “Dad always wired money to my mother for support. He also paid for my college tuition.” Every month. Support checks. Tuition fees. A memory surfaced, sharp as glass. My senior year of high school, I wanted to take a two-week summer intensive English course. It cost two thousand dollars. My father said it was too expensive, that it was unnecessary. I worked three consecutive summer jobs just to save enough for a modest college exchange program. And all the while, he was funding another woman’s life. Paying another child’s tuition. “How much?” I asked, my voice barely a thread. “Excuse me?” Ronan asked. “How much did you send them every month?” My father wouldn’t look at me. Ronan said, “Eight hundred dollars.” Eight hundred dollars a month. For twenty years. I did the math quickly. One hundred and ninety-two thousand dollars. Plus four years of college tuition, easily another sixty thousand. A quarter of a million dollars, minimum. My two-thousand-dollar summer course had been “too expensive.” His $250,000 secret family fund had been necessary. “Dad.” My voice was dry and shaky. “Why couldn’t you have told me any of this over the years?” “Told you what?” My father finally looked at me, a flicker of impatience in his eyes. “What good would it have done? So you could hate me?” So I could hate him. I clenched my fists until my nails dug into my palms. “I don’t hate you,” I said. “I just want to know what I meant to you.” My father didn’t answer. Ronan stepped in, his tone mild and conciliatory. “Dee, let the past stay in the past. Dad isn’t well right now. We shouldn’t stress him out.” His voice was calm, concerned, even affectionate. As if he were the true, devoted child of the house. As if I were the interloper, the source of the drama. “Why are you here, Ronan?” I asked him. “To see Dad,” he said. “And to finally meet my sister.” “And what else?” He hesitated, just a breath. “Dad wants to settle his legacy.” The legacy. He was here to claim his share. 2. My father’s illness had been diagnosed four years ago. Stage IV lung cancer. The doctors gave him a year at most. I quit my job in marketing and became his full-time caretaker. One year turned into two, two into three, and now we were in the fourth year. He’d had six hospital stays, three major surgeries, and over a dozen grueling rounds of chemo. Every single time, I was the one who was there. Making appointments, standing in lines, paying the bills, fetching medications, bathing him, wiping him down, emptying the bedpan. Three a.m., he’d cry out in pain, and I’d crawl out of bed to give him a massage. Six a.m., he wanted his oatmeal, and I had to be up by five to cook it. Four years. One thousand four hundred and sixty days. I haven’t had one full night of uninterrupted sleep. My mother, Victoria, was frail and elderly herself; she could offer little help. Relatives made symbolic visits, bringing fruit and murmuring, “You’re doing great work, Dee,” before disappearing completely. I carried the entire weight of it alone. I was thirty-two. The age when my peers were getting married, I had no partner. The age when I should have been building my career, I had no income. The age when I should have been living my life, I was eating stale crackers in hospital hallways. I’m not saying I didn’t resent it. But he was my father. I thought I was his only child. I thought he would remember everything I did. Now I knew the person he remembered was someone else entirely. A son he’d hidden for twenty years. “Dad.” I sat by the bed that evening. “Who has been taking care of you for the last four years?” He kept his eyes closed, silent. “It was me,” I answered myself. “It was me who quit my job. It was me who cleaned up your mess. It was me who held your hand through surgery, who stayed awake night after endless night.” “I know that,” he mumbled. “And him?” I gestured toward the door where Ronan was staying with my mother. “Where was he for the last four years?” My father opened his eyes and looked at me. “He didn’t know I was sick.” “You didn’t tell him?” “No.” “Why not?” “He’s young. He has his career to focus on,” my father explained. “I didn’t want to disrupt his life.” Didn’t want to disrupt his life. And me? I was also young. I also had a career. What did you say to me when I hesitated about quitting my job? You said: “You’re my daughter, Delilah. It’s expected that you take care of me.” Expected. “And me?” I demanded. “Did you ever think about disrupting my life?” He didn’t answer. “I’m thirty-two,” I continued. “My friends are all married. Some have kids in kindergarten. What do I have? No partner, no savings, no career. For four years, I have had nothing.” “You’ll have it,” my father said. “When I’m gone, you’ll be free.” When he was gone. I would be free. A hollow laugh escaped me. “Dad, do you even hear yourself?” Silence. “You say when you’re gone, I’ll be free,” I said, standing up. “So what was all this for? What does my sacrifice of the last four years amount to in your eyes?” “I remember it,” my father insisted. “You remember me, or you remember him?” He looked at me. His eyes held something that wasn’t guilt. It was impatience. “Delilah, can we please stop with the drama?” Stop with the drama. I had provided four years of selfless care without a single word of complaint. He had hidden a secret son for twenty years, and my asking about it was “drama.” “Fine.” I took a deep, shuddering breath. “No more drama. Just tell me why Ronan Mills is here.” “He came to see me.” “He came for your legacy,” I countered. “Didn’t he?” My father didn’t speak. “Didn’t he?” “…He is my son,” my father finally stated. “If I want to leave my assets to him, what is the problem?” His assets. Left to his son. What is the problem? I stood there, feeling utterly, mortally cold. “Dad, what about me?” “You are my daughter,” my father said. “Daughters eventually marry out. They become part of another family.” 3. That evening, I returned to the house to find Ronan standing in the living room. He was examining the space, looking at the sofa, the TV, the family photos on the wall. “Dee.” He turned, giving me that same placid smile. “This house is pretty big.” It was 2,000 square feet. It was my father’s only property. He had bought it for 400,000 years ago. Now, in this Brookline neighborhood, it was easily worth 1.2 million. “What are you looking at?” I asked. “Nothing, just checking it out.” His tone was light. “This was Dad’s house, right?” “Yes.” “Whose name is on the deed?” I paused, taken aback by the bluntness. “My father’s name is on the deed.” “Good,” he nodded. “That’s good to know.” Good to know? What did he mean? “Look, Dee, I’ll be direct with you.” Ronan sat down on the sofa and crossed one leg over the other. “Dad’s intention is for the house to come to me when he passes.” I felt a sharp, internal stab. “What did you say?” “He said he’s giving the house to me,” he repeated. “Plus all of his savings and investments. He mentioned it was around $4.5 million, all told.” $4.5 million. Plus the $1.2 million house. $5.7 million. My father’s entire life’s worth. All of it to Ronan. “Are you joking with me?” I demanded. “No.” Ronan took a folded paper from his pocket. “This is Dad’s will. It’s been notarized by his lawyer. You can read it.” I took the paper. The Will. It was written clearly: “I, Arthur Stone, hereby voluntarily bequeath my entire estate, including one property, all bank savings and investments, to my son, Ronan Mills.” My son, Ronan Mills. Not my daughter, Delilah Stone. I flipped the document over and saw my father’s signature, and the thick, red ink of his thumbprint. The date was three months ago. Three months ago, I was at the hospital, holding the basin while he threw up from chemo. He was letting me care for him while secretly signing away everything he owned to his illegitimate son. “Dee, don’t get upset,” Ronan said, watching me. “Dad said you worked hard these past few years. He left you a little something—$50,000. It’s his way of saying thank you.”

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On the day I was declared recovered from postpartum depression, Nathaniel, who was driving, suddenly spoke. “The truth is, I have another family.” The words hit me without warning, leaving my mind buzzing, a dull throb behind my eyes. He kept his gaze fixed on the road, then sighed, “These past few years, with your postpartum depression flaring up, your constant talk of ending it all… I’ve been living a hellish existence too. Now that you’re recovered, it’s only right that I spend some time making it up to my real wife and children.” It took a long moment for me to force a trembling sound from my throat. “Then… then what are my child and I? Fakes?” He didn’t deny it immediately. After a long pause, he said with a chilling certainty, “Think what you will. You wouldn’t leave, not with the child, would you?” My body went completely cold. The facade of my recovery shattered, exposing the raw wound beneath. … The suffocating dread, an old, unwelcome friend, washed over me. I clutched my throat, gasping for air that wouldn’t come. Nathaniel, with practiced ease, handed me water and patted my back, yet his words remained cruelly sharp. “The day you gave birth, Scarlett called, saying she wasn’t feeling well. Ha, turns out she just tricked me into being her plaything. To be precise, we were merely legal bedfellows.” I swallowed the water with difficulty, a fierce nausea churning in my stomach. I remembered that day, the day I gave birth. I was rushed into the operating room, but Nathaniel never arrived. The doctors made over a dozen calls, unable to locate him. In the sterile, empty corridor, only my desperate cries echoed. From that day on, I dreaded being alone. The sound of my child crying would send me spiraling. The doctor called it severe postpartum depression. Nathaniel suddenly pulled the car over, grabbed two tissues, and dabbed at my tears. “So…” I choked back a sob. “You already had a wife. Why did you have a child with me?” His hand froze, then he forced a thin smile. “I made it very clear. Marrying her was just for some ridiculous promise. But Audrey, you’re the one I love. And I gave you the child you wanted. Isn’t that enough?” He gazed at me with intense seriousness, as if expecting my affirmative answer, expecting me to readily accept his scraps of affection. But the faith I had clung to so desperately crumbled into dust in that instant. Just moments ago, I’d recited memorized answers to all the psychiatrist’s questions. I’d fought to suppress the countless impulses to end my own life. And finally, I’d received the coveted diagnosis of recovery from depression. I thought today would be our fresh start… Tears streamed down my face. “Nathaniel, you’re utterly rotten.” Nathaniel stared at me, then a sudden laugh escaped him. “Rotten, maybe. But I was there for you through the hardest years. At least in your and our child’s eyes, I was a good husband and father.” Only then did I realize how foolish and naive I had been. Seeing my silence, he patted my head with a sense of satisfaction and continued driving, until his phone abruptly rang. “Honey, I miss you. I forgot to tell you this morning, the pipes at home…” The woman, as if it were the most natural thing, called him ‘honey,’ rambling on about their shared household trivialities. Nathaniel listened indulgently, responding in kind. Finally, he looked at me with a soft smile. “Scarlett needs me. I have to go there right away. We’re not far from home. You can head back on your own.” I was dropped off, effectively kicked out of the car. A ten-minute walk had never felt so impossibly long. Back home, I retrieved the sleeping pills I’d tossed into the trash and swallowed every single one. My stomach clenched in violent spasms, and fragments of old memories flashed through my mind. I remembered right after giving birth, curled up alone in the bathroom, letting my baby cry heartbrokenly outside the door. Nathaniel had stood between me and my blade countless times, always stroking my hair gently, saying, “I’m here. It’s okay…” He’d carefully managed my volatile emotions while also taking on the task of soothing our child. Just as he said, he was a good “husband,” a good father. Perhaps it was because those memories were too painfully beautiful that I chose slow-acting sleeping pills, opting for a slower departure. The next morning, a clatter from downstairs jolted me awake. As I descended the stairs, a woman, barely clothed, suddenly stood before me. Scarlett met my gaze, a flicker of surprise in her eyes, then she pursed her lips apologetically. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I just came in to look for some contraception. Nathaniel’s waiting for me in the car…” Then she spread her hands, a hint of challenge in her posture. “But I couldn’t find any. Don’t you two usually… use them?” It seemed she knew. Ever since I gave birth, Nathaniel hadn’t touched me. He’d claimed he wasn’t interested, that he was too busy with work, even that it was to help stabilize my condition. I looked at my own swollen, changed body in the mirror, then at Scarlett’s graceful figure. I understood the real reason now. Nathaniel walked in, saw us facing off, and quickly moved to cover the fierce marks on Scarlett’s body. “Aud—” He instinctively looked at me, then quickly changed his tone. “Scarlett, I told you to go to the convenience store. Why are you… undressed?” The woman seized the opportunity to nestle into his arms, pouting playfully, “Didn’t you say you couldn’t wait? And this place is closer!” Nathaniel stroked her hair, his voice just as soft and coaxing as it used to be with me. It was all too familiar, so sickeningly familiar that I wanted to vomit. In an instant, the suppressed fury burned through my reason. I shoved both of them. “Get out! At least this is still my home!” Scarlett stumbled from my push, her face full of disbelief as she looked at me. “Audrey!” Nathaniel’s eyes blazed crimson with anger. He pulled Scarlett behind him. “She was just here to pick something up. Don’t scare her!” The reflection in his eyes showed me as a raging, unreasonable lunatic. A torrent of emotions overwhelmed me, and I suddenly coughed up a mouthful of blood. Nathaniel’s breath hitched as he stared at the dark red blood on the floor. “What… what’s wrong? Audrey, wasn’t your illness gone?” I stood frozen, utterly bewildered. The medication in my system must be starting to take effect. I opened my mouth to tell him the truth, but Scarlett let out a small cry, drawing his attention. “Honey, I think I twisted my ankle. It hurts so much…” Nathaniel’s brow furrowed with concern. When he looked back at me, his eyes were tinged with disgust. After he carried Scarlett away, the tears I’d held back streamed down my face. I had practiced suppressing my emotions countless times, but I couldn’t hold them in any longer. Like a madwoman, I smashed the house to pieces, then frantically cleaned up the wreckage, preserving the last shred of my dignity. I had just wiped the blood from the floor when the call came—a critical condition notification for my mother. When I stumbled into the hospital, my mother lay frail and fading on the bed. Through the thick oxygen mask, her brow was furrowed, a hint of anger in her expression. “Nathaniel told me. You, why would you try to break up someone else’s family…” In that instant, my world spun on its axis. I remembered how my mother had happily given me away to Nathaniel, placing all her hopes on us. Learning that Nathaniel had another family must have pained her a hundred, a thousand times more than it pained me. I sobbed, trembling. “Mom, please let me explain, I…” Before I could finish, my mother turned her head away, unwilling to look at me, tears soaking her pillow. Watching the doctors rush her into surgery, I drifted in a daze, somehow finding my way to Scarlett’s house. Pushing open the door, I walked into the liveliest family gathering I had ever witnessed. Ignoring everyone’s stares, my eyes red, I demanded, “Nathaniel, did you tell my mother about our fake marriage?” In that moment, I desperately wished he would deny it, say it was all a misunderstanding! Instead, Nathaniel met my gaze openly, his eyes holding a strange, self-righteous glint. “That’s right. I thought you could get along with Scarlett peacefully, but you’ve gone too far. This is just a punishment.” With those words, the last sliver of hope in my heart shattered. I let out a bitter laugh. So my mother’s life was worth less than Scarlett’s twisted ankle! I was about to explode, but Nathaniel’s eyes gave me a warning, and then I noticed—at the family gathering, besides Mr. and Mrs. Albright, there were two elderly people Nathaniel had told me were long dead. “Didn’t you say… you had no parents?” Seeing Nathaniel’s hesitant, unspoken expression, I understood everything. In their harmonious family, I was merely the woman hidden in the shadows. I wasn’t even worthy of meeting his parents. Scarlett was hosting the four elderly guests, playing the perfect homemaker. Their unfamiliar gazes fell upon me; they clearly had no idea who I was. In the awkward silence, Scarlett quickly rushed over to smooth things over. “Audrey, dear, is the baby crying for his daddy again? Why don’t you wait here for a bit? We’ll be done soon.” At her words, everyone gasped. “A child? So you’re the mistress who tricked our Nathaniel?” “This is our family gathering today! You won’t cause a scene here! Get out!” “What disgrace! How can a woman be so shameless?” I listened numbly, Nathaniel not uttering a single word in my defense. Instead, he gritted his teeth, issuing an unyielding command: “Audrey, go home now.”

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An hour before our flight, my fiancé, Mason, abruptly abandoned me. He chose instead to take his childhood sweetheart, Seraphina, to celebrate Valentine’s Day. They strolled hand-in-hand, taking countless photos. The omnipresent commentary, a constant stream of scrolling text only I could see, offered its usual reassurances: [This man’s love is just awkward and proud, darling. If you just cling to him, you’ll see his heart is always only for you.] [Ten years you’ve been together, does this one time really matter? He’s just a child, waiting for you to coax him.] [He’s just putting on a show for the supporting character; he’s thinking of you every single second.] I was utterly sick of hearing those words. I didn’t cry, didn’t make a scene, and unlike usual, I didn’t frantically chase after him. Instead, I quietly slipped off my engagement ring and accepted my company’s assignment, resolutely embarking on a ten-year journey abroad. 1 The airport entrance was bitterly cold. I stood in the biting wind for nearly two hours, but Mason’s car never appeared. He had told me he’d finish work early today, meet me, and we’d fly to London together. On Valentine’s night, my favorite singer was holding a concert there. Going to a beloved concert with the person I loved most had always been my dream. I’d begged Mason for years, and finally, last month, he agreed. I was so thrilled I couldn’t sleep for nights, spending a month planning every detail of the trip. But now, my overflowing joy was slowly turning into anxiety. He hadn’t arrived yet; could something have happened on the road? I immediately called him to check. Usually, I wouldn’t call him lightly, to avoid disturbing his work. Thankfully, he answered quickly. “Mason, where are you? Is there traffic?” A calm, distant male voice responded after two seconds of silence: “I’m in the departure lounge. Boarding in five minutes.” My mind went blank for a moment. I instinctively apologized, “I’m so sorry, I must have misread the time! I’ll be right there!” He said flatly, “You didn’t misread it. I changed the time.” I was momentarily stunned. The next second, I heard him say, “Seraphina said she didn’t want to spend Valentine’s Day alone, so I’m taking her to the concert. It’s not safe for you to travel alone, so don’t go. Just stay home.” I was instantly speechless, feeling as if an invisible hand had gripped my throat, making it impossible to breathe. “It’s Seraphina again. That New Year’s Eve, you also said she didn’t want to be alone and left me home to be with her. Have you forgotten, I’m your fiancée?” A sigh came from his end. “Yes, you’re my fiancée. You already have me, but Seraphina has nothing. At least on Valentine’s Day, I can’t let her be lonely.” I sniffled, but my nose was still burning and stinging. I sneezed three times in quick succession. “Mason, I’m cold.” My expectations and pride were slowly shattering in his silence, yet I wouldn’t give up. “If you don’t come out, I won’t go back. I’ll wait for you.” I quickly hung up, turned off my phone, and hunched my shoulders, waiting quietly in the cold wind. This was my infallible trick. In the past, the moment Mason heard me sneeze, he would drop everything and rush to me, personally taking me to the clinic for a check-up, only relaxing once he was sure it was nothing serious. If I refused to take my medicine, he’d become agitated, coaxing me in every possible way until I swallowed it. Even when we were in different places, he’d insist I keep video calls open, even when sleeping, saying he wanted to see me every second, or he wouldn’t be at ease. Even if the whole world called me a desperate doormat, I stubbornly believed – he was simply bad at expressing love, not that he didn’t love me. Now, I clenched my fists, nervously watching the exit, thinking I’d see him any second. But ten minutes later, I saw his assistant rushing towards me. “Ms. Willow, Mr. Caldwell has already boarded. He asked me to take you home.” The cold wind whistled, messing up my carefully styled bangs. The airport’s large window reflected my disheveled, tear-streaked face. My vision blurred for a moment, then cleared, and I saw those familiar scrolling messages. [Don’t be sad, sweetie, Mason is just a stubborn, soft-hearted tsundere! Don’t overthink it, hurry and chase him, don’t let them have a moment alone!] [Scorpio men are just like that, honestly, he’s secretly hoping you’ll chase him! Every time you show up, he’ll be grinning to himself!] [Seraphina is just a flavor enhancer for your relationship, she means nothing! Be a good girl, rush and chase him!] My eyelids drooped. For the first time, I asked them, “Why am I always the one getting hurt? Why am I always the one apologizing, always the one chasing him?” My tears were hot and salty, streaming down my face. The messages grew sparser, uniformly urging me to understand Mason. I looked at my lonely shadow on the ground and let out a self-mocking laugh. “Maybe he does love me, but I’m tired of digging for it.” With that, I dialed my boss. “Boss, I’ve changed my mind. I’m willing to accept the assignment. Ten years abroad.” 2 I ran my fingers over the wave-patterned ring on my ring finger. Mason had designed it himself; mine was waves, his was a little fish. Back then, I pestered him for ages, asking why he designed it that way. He was a man of few words, yet he spoke of his design inspiration like a lover’s confession. “A fish can’t leave water, just like you and me.” At that time, I truly believed I was the most loved woman in his heart. Later, Seraphina returned. She jokingly said she liked Mason’s ring, asked for it, and never gave it back. As a result, the media mistakenly thought Mason and I had already broken up; why else would I take off my engagement ring? I mentioned it to Mason, asking him to get the ring back. He told me not to always fuss over such trivial things. But when the rings first came out, he couldn’t wait to wear his in front of the media 24/7. The scrolling messages urged me to ask him again, and I reassured myself that perhaps he was too busy with work and simply forgot about the ring. All I needed to do was bring it up one more time. But now, I was suddenly exhausted. Thinking of this, I took off the ring and resolutely left the house. While waiting at the airport, a chat history popped up from a five-person group chat on my phone. It was Mason’s friends. Years ago, in my pursuit of Mason, I used a little trick to buy one of his friend’s accounts and lurked in this group, silently reading their conversations. Because Mason and that friend had fallen out, they hadn’t been in touch for years, so my secret was never revealed. Even now, no one knew I was in the group. They posted a few photos of me going through security at the airport, tagging Mason. [Mr. Caldwell, your little wife is chasing you a thousand miles again. Be mentally prepared!] [I said Willow wouldn’t last a day before chasing him. See? It’s only been an hour, and she’s already tailing him like a puppy.] [Willow doesn’t compare to Seraphina in family background or looks. I really don’t know what kind of magic she used to capture our Mason’s heart.] It wasn’t until I landed that I saw Mason’s recent reply. [Can’t shake her off. Just have to make do.] I let out a bitter laugh. I really wanted to reply: Congratulations, you’ve successfully shaken me off. 3 At the airport exit, I saw Mason’s assistant waving at me. “Ms. Willow, Mr. Caldwell asked me to take you to a hotel. He said not to wander off, just wait for him there.” The scrolling messages erupted. [See? See? Mason truly loves you! Even when he’s with the supporting character, his heart is still here! Sweetie, don’t be difficult anymore.] [His comment in the group is just a typical straight man’s flaw, don’t mind it.] Last Valentine’s Day, the messages had reassured me the same way. Back then, I wanted to see snow in Reykjavík. Mason frowned and refused, saying he hated snow. But before, when I said I wanted to see snow, he would immediately book flights and hotels, ready to take me anytime. I comforted myself, thinking perhaps he really did dislike the cold. So, I meticulously planned a warm vacation to Maui, only to see him suddenly grab his luggage and head out. He told me, very indifferently, “Seraphina is alone in Reykjavík. I’m worried.” At the time, I was almost in tears. I chased after him, feeling wronged, clutching his arm like a protective, yet harmless, puppy, determined not to let him have any time alone with Seraphina. Because they had been childhood sweethearts. Everyone said that if Seraphina hadn’t rejected him, it would never have been my turn. I felt threatened, sinking into endless insecurity. Just as I was about to give up, guided by the messages, I discovered an album Mason had hidden. That album contained photos of us from when we first met to when we fell in love, and a secret I had never known. During the time my parents passed away, it was Mason who had secretly paid off their debts. To avoid burdening me, he had even deliberately had others tell me my parents had cleared the debts themselves. This album chronicled his subtle yet profound affection for me, proving that this love wasn’t just something I had shamelessly chased. Therefore, I stubbornly followed him to Reykjavík, desperately guarding our love. Looking back now, I belatedly understood. The man who used to slow his steps to accommodate me had, at some point, gradually forgotten me. The two of them, Mason and Seraphina, in tacit understanding, ignored me, chatting and laughing with each other, leading many passersby to mistake me for the other woman. Mason never spoke up to clarify, and even when I deliberately took his hand to assert my claim, he shook it off. My leg was stuck in the snow, unable to move, and I was terrified. But after hearing my cry, he only glanced back before carrying the complaining Seraphina, who claimed her leg hurt, back to the hotel. If someone hadn’t passed by and rescued me, I probably would have frozen to death that night. Afterward, I cried, asking him if he truly cared about me. He stood with his back to me, not holding my hand, not turning around. Even his hair seemed to exude indifference. “Only a lovesick fool like you would ask such a childish question.” That night, I should have given up entirely. But the messages repeatedly told me that Mason was testing my love for him, holding back his affection because he feared I would leave. Unwilling to lose him, I chose to believe the messages. But what was the result? He still chose to send me alone to a hotel, to wait obediently for him to come home, rather than be with me, choosing Seraphina instead. Thinking of this, I couldn’t help but smile bitterly, my eyes regaining their resolute determination. I gently pushed away the assistant’s hand. “No need. The company has arranged accommodation for me.” Coincidentally, the place I was going to spend ten years was London. The assistant frowned, trying to persuade me. “Ms. Willow, why are you doing this? We all know you can’t leave Mr. Caldwell, and we know you’ll eventually go to coax him. He’s offering you an olive branch now, so just take it. Being so stubborn, you might genuinely lose him.” I smiled faintly. “I don’t want him anymore. How can I lose what I don’t want?” In the assistant’s astonished gaze, I resolutely turned and walked away. Five minutes later, Mason called. How rare. He actually called me first. After Seraphina came back, he had never initiated a call to me. I felt annoyed and cut him off without answering. He called again. The ringing sounded restless and anxious. I simply turned off my phone. Unexpectedly, a few minutes later, several cars abruptly forced my taxi to a stop. The driver, scared by the scene, refused to take me further, kicked me out, and sped off. The assistant opened a car door, his tone firm. “Ms. Willow, please don’t make things difficult for us.” I sneered, “Mason is worried I’ll disrupt his date, isn’t he? Tell him his worry is unnecessary; I won’t bother him again.” The assistant replied, “We don’t know what Mr. Caldwell is thinking, but he wants you to wait for him at the hotel, so we absolutely cannot let you go anywhere else.” With that, two men got out, making to force me into the car. Just then, a sharp horn blared closer. A sleek, lustrous black Bentley forced the men back and stopped in front of me. The car door opened, and a tall, distinguished figure stepped out, holding the door for me. Sebastian still had that refined, gentlemanly air he’d always possessed, like a warm ray of light that illuminated everything around him with a gentle smile. He looked at me, extending a hand. “Coming to London and not telling me? You’re being a stranger.” I didn’t have time to think too much. I immediately took the escape he offered, slipped into his car, and left those men behind.

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My childhood friend, Hank, was home for the holidays, and I overheard his mother trying to set me up on a date. He asked, “Are you that bored?” His mother seemed surprised. “Why are you getting angry?” Everyone knew he was brilliant, a graduate from a top-tier university, while I had only attended an average one – a world of difference. He had no romantic interest in me. But no one knew this was the third year since our unspoken, complicated relationship had ended. Back then, he had simply leaned against the bathroom door and said, “It’s probably better to end things early. It was quite dull.” 1 “Who’s angry?” Hank’s expression was cool and indifferent. “Don’t bother. She won’t agree.” His mother asked, “You’re so sure?” Hank didn’t reply. He took his mother’s phone, scrolled through a few photos of potential suitors, and offered a lazy smile. His mother knew his arrogant demeanor well. Hank was a golden boy, effortlessly excelling in academics and blessed with striking looks. He was always the center of attention. “They can’t compare to you,” his mother conceded, “but what if Willow likes one of them?” “You can try.” His tone was detached, as if it had nothing to do with him. Yet, he paused, halting his movement towards the door. Ten minutes later, I sent my reply. [No need, thank you, Auntie.] He barely glanced at it, a silent “I told you so” expression on his face. He turned and walked out, dismissing the matter from his mind. So, he didn’t notice the second text message that immediately followed. [Auntie, I’m getting engaged next week.] 2 The summer I loved Hank most was the darkest time of my life. On the eve of winter break in my sophomore year of university, there was a high school reunion. I was packing my suitcase, trying to resist checking if Hank had replied to my message. He hadn’t. Instead, he had added someone else to our group chat. [What’s going on?] [Who’s this?] Friends in the chat started teasing. Hank wrote: [My girlfriend.] The word “girlfriend” exploded in my mind. I knew Hank wasn’t short of admirers, but he had always seemed so indifferent. So indifferent that I clung to a foolish hope. I clicked on his girlfriend’s profile picture. She was beautiful. I sat in my dorm room, applying a full face of makeup, then removing it, finding myself looking terrible no matter what. When I arrived at the reunion, the room was buzzing with lively conversation. Seeing me appear, the laughter abruptly stopped. Hank happened to be standing up, making space for his girlfriend. He leaned halfway towards me, his eyebrow slightly raised. “Willow, what kind of awful makeup is that?” It was a perfectly normal, joking tone for a friend, exactly the same as always. It was me who was different. My insecurity overflowed, leaving me flustered. Everyone chuckled. I instinctively laughed along, trying to hide my embarrassment. “What’s so funny?” Hank’s girlfriend pulled me out of the private room and led me to the restroom. She helped me remove my patchy foundation, asking as she did, “Hank is too mean. I’ll give him a talking-to for you later.” Her hands smelled sweet, her skin delicate. She was so gentle that even I couldn’t help but like her. How much more would he like her? That night, I trailed behind the crowd, watching Hank take her hand. They looked perfect together. In the latter half of the party, someone suggested drinking. Hank declined. His girlfriend got into the driver’s seat of his luxury car. I turned to follow the crowd, but Hank grabbed me and pulled me into the back seat. “Don’t pick up bad habits,” he said, his eyes smiling. “If your mother found out, she’d kill me.” “That’s right,” his girlfriend added, “We’ll drop you off at university.” Halfway there, his girlfriend decided she wanted crawfish and asked me, “Want to come eat with us?” Hank looked at me, one hand on the steering wheel, and I understood his expression: Don’t be a third wheel. “You two go ahead,” I said. Hank still dropped me off at university first. Before I got out, I heard his girlfriend quietly ask him, “Am I still coming to your apartment tonight?” The ink-black London night, a cold wind sweeping in, carried that soft but clear question right to my ears. His car sped away. I stood there, remembering high school evenings when Hank would stop his bicycle outside my house, waiting for me. At the time, I thought, If someday he drives a car, how would I feel sitting inside it with him? Now I knew. 3 I heard Hank broke up with his girlfriend after only two weeks. My contact with him had ended long ago. I was busy with exams, lab work, writing papers—busy trying to shed that dark, unremarkable version of myself. It wasn’t until a few years later, before my senior finished university, that she dragged me to a bar. “Do you know that super handsome guy at the next table?” “I heard he’s a tech mogul, his starting salary went straight to six figures.” The speaker gestured a number, and everyone gasped in amazement. I looked at the next table. Hank sat amidst a crowd of handsome men and beautiful women. “I’m going to get his number,” a girl said, standing up and heading excitedly towards their table. She returned ten minutes later. “You didn’t get it, did you?” “That hotshot is notoriously hard to pin down, even at his university.” I got up and went to the restroom. As I came out after washing my hands, I ran into Hank, who was waiting by the door, cutting me off. He wore a black turtleneck, his figure tall and broad. His fair neck looked clean and alluring. He held my coat draped over his arm. He asked, “Did I offend you somehow?” “No.” “Then why did you block me?” His dark eyes stared straight into mine, easily making me feel irritated. “Give me back my coat.” He turned sideways. “No.” The alley outside the bar was filled with the biting cold of falling snow. He asked me again, “Is the guy sitting next to you your boyfriend? Did you learn from him, coming to a bar so late at night?” Seeing my silence, he snorted. “No offense. Just warning you to be careful who you choose. He doesn’t look like a good guy.” My steady gaze met his face. I suddenly understood that some things couldn’t be cured by quitting. They could only be appeased by obtaining them. “Are you angry?” My tone was calm. He chuckled. “Why would I be angry—” “Hank, are you coming home with me?” He froze, as if he didn’t understand the meaning of the words. “If not, then someone else will.” I turned to leave, but he gripped my wrist. On that first snowy night of November, our secret, unspoken relationship began. Honestly, I just wanted to know. What did that arrogant face look like when it was lost in passion? So this was the expression. Even in bed, he was still playing it cool, teasing me. Maliciously, he asked, “Would anyone else do?” No. I looked away, trying desperately not to cry. Month after month, we grew more addicted than the other. I felt I was beyond saving. At one point, I even thought he might genuinely like me. So when he held the hairdryer, his large hand running through my hair, and asked, “Do you like me?” I couldn’t help but say, “Let’s end this kind of relationship—” and then, truly be together. But before I could finish, he let go. The hum of the hairdryer stopped, and the bathroom grew silent, save for the sound of running water. He stared at me for a long time. Leaning against the bathroom door, he gave a faint smile. “It’s probably better to end things early. It was quite dull. Our kind of relationship, you know, it doesn’t even qualify as a breakup.” My soaking wet hair stuck to my back. One moment cold, the next hot. That was the moment I truly wanted to retreat. All these years, I had been so ordinary by his side. But I didn’t want to shortchange this ordinary self of mine anymore. [Auntie, I’m getting engaged next week.] Hank, who hadn’t seen this message, was at his childhood friend’s christening celebration. He knew I would be there today too. We hadn’t seen each other in three years. He casually glanced at my name tag, pulled out a chair, and sat down. Someone at the table mentioned, “Arthur Stone is getting engaged, did you hear?” “No way! He’s always been single, to the point the media questioned his sexuality. How did he find someone so fast?” “Met her through a setup.” Hank’s eyebrow twitched at the word. He was somewhat allergic to it today. Someone asked, “What kind of fiancée is she?” “A bit like Willow.” Hank’s gaze shifted from the door to the person who spoke. “So he likes that type,” the person joked, then asked Hank, “Why didn’t you ever think of introducing Willow to him?” Hank maintained his detached expression. But a cold draft from the half-open window ruffled the hair on his forehead, making his eyes seem a little darker. “I did introduce them,” Hank said. “She wasn’t interested.” Arthur Stone was known for his fierce, untamed nature, always hungry for more. He was a completely different type from Hank. “I was kind enough to have someone drive her home in her first year of university, to create an opportunity for them.” Hank’s voice was very soft as he spoke. “She even complained to me that Arthur was too aggressive.” Just then, Hank’s childhood friend, Patrick, walked over. He was one of the few who knew about Hank and my past relationship. He looked at Hank with interest and asked, “Do you know what ‘blind spot’ means?” Hank looked confused. Patrick didn’t explain further, but narrowed his eyes and smiled, telling the gossiping group at the table, “They say they met through a setup, but Arthur had a crush on her for many years. Too bad the girl was completely devoted to someone else. He finally got his chance.” Everyone was surprised. “No way, he’s got such great qualities, and he’s still poaching someone else’s girl.” “Whose girl is he poaching?” Patrick didn’t answer, just clapped Hank on the shoulder. “Did Arthur invite you to his engagement?” “No.” “That’s odd, you two are so close.” Patrick’s smile grew deeper as he asked Hank, “Want to see a photo of his fiancée?” With that, he pulled out his phone and shoved it in front of Hank. Hank leaned down to look, but someone nearby exclaimed, “Willow, you’re here!” His gaze instantly shifted to me at the entrance. I walked in, wearing a cream-colored knit dress. Patrick meaningfully put away his phone and said to Hank, “She looks good, doesn’t she? Never realized Willow had such a great figure back in university.” Hank’s calm gaze fixed on me, then he looked away. He knew. The first time we shared that snowy night, I wore a similar dress. I wore styles I liked for a long time. I was constant in everything. But he didn’t know that people and clothes were different. Once I hit a brick wall, I would turn back from my misguided path. I pulled out a chair and sat down. A long-lost scent drew near. Hank didn’t speak to me, didn’t even touch me. He was well-liked. People came to toast him, round after round. “When are you two getting married?” A drunken classmate clapped Hank on the shoulder, pointing at him and me. “What nonsense are you talking about?” He was pulled away by others. “Oh, right, it’s Willow.” “I thought she was Hank’s girlfriend.” “You two are dressed in black and white; I thought it was your wedding.” Hank chuckled at the remark, deflecting it, a charming glint in his eye. He raised his glass and drank the toast. This was the first time he had smiled tonight. 4 The banquet ended. Patrick, who hadn’t drunk, offered to drive me home. I opened the back car door, only to see Hank sitting there. When Hank was drunk, he didn’t like to talk; he just liked to stare at people with those dark, cold eyes. “He’s completely out of it. We’re taking him back together. You don’t mind, do you, Willow?” I got into the car and sat down. Hank’s hand remained suspended in the middle, maintaining a distinct separation. It was a long drive back to the city center. I leaned my head against the car window and closed my eyes, trying to sleep. The car would occasionally jolt, causing my head to bump slightly, but I didn’t care. The car window reflected Hank’s face. He stared at the noticeable distance between us, lost in thought. When we arrived at my place, Hank offered to see me upstairs. “No need.” He ignored me, his voice cold. “If anything happened to you, we’d all be responsible.” In the elevator, he leaned against the wall, alcohol-flushed, loosening his tie. “My mother’s setup was quite good. Why didn’t you go for it?” He tilted his chin slightly, looking down, his gaze probing. “Not impressed?” “Then what kind do you like?” He was deliberately provoking me again. “Like me?” I met his gaze in the elevator’s reflection. “Not anymore.” “Then the opposite of me, like Arthur Stone?” My gaze froze. He said, “Too late. He’s getting engaged.” Hank seemed intrigued, asking casually, “Willow, since you’re going on setups anyway, how about we give it a try?” With that, he leaned down, looking into my eyes. “You haven’t been waiting for me to say that, have you?” “No.” I looked up at him earnestly. “The day we ended things, I made it very clear: I wouldn’t like you anymore.” “Really?” He slipped one hand into his pocket, a lazy smile on his face. “Good. Don’t just marry someone to forget me.” Hank’s attitude was indifferent, explicitly a scoundrel but fond of saying pretty words. His tone was remarkably sincere: “More than anyone, I hope you find someone you love and marry them. I’ll definitely wish you well.”

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The moment my fiancée, Isabella, returned from Vegas with her assistant, she announced a 30% raise for the entire tech department—the one I managed. My team went wild. The office was buzzing. “Bella must’ve hit a massive jackpot in Vegas! Why else would she suddenly approve a department-wide raise like this?” “Every other department is green with envy.” “Let them be. Our chief is her fiancé, after all. Of course, she’s going to look after us first!” “Hey, chief,” one of my guys asked, leaning over my desk, “how much did she actually win?” I just frowned. Something felt off. Just then, Isabella swept into our department, her assistant trailing behind her, a thick stack of documents in his arms. She tossed them onto my desk with an air of casual authority. “These need signing by your department. You’re the manager, Gordon. Lead by example.” I flipped open the top document. My eyes widened. Personal Loan Agreement? 1 What the hell was this? Were we supposed to take out loans just to get paid? My confusion was mirrored on the faces of my entire team. “Personal Loan Agreements? What’s going on?” one of them blurted out. “We take out loans from a bank, and the company uses that money to pay our salaries?” “This has to be a mistake, right?” “Loan-to-work? I’ve been in this industry for a decade and never heard of anything so insane!” “So the 30% raise was just a lie to get us to take on debt for the company? Do they think we’re idiots?” As the murmurs of discontent grew into a wave of outrage, Isabella shot a look at her assistant, Vincent. He slapped a hand on the table, his face a mask of stern disapproval. “Everybody, quiet down. Don’t run your mouths off about things you don’t understand. You’ll damage the company’s reputation.” He pasted on a slick, reassuring smile. “This is a special perk for the tech department. Other teams would kill for this opportunity.” One of my senior engineers snorted. “A perk? First I’ve ever heard of debt being a benefit.” Vincent ignored him, his voice dripping with false sincerity. “While the loans are in your names, you won’t be responsible for repayment. The company will handle everything.” He spread his hands wide. “Stratton Industries is expanding rapidly, and our capital is tied up in new ventures. We’re just facing a temporary cash-flow issue.” “Rest assured,” he continued, his eyes sweeping over the skeptical faces, “as soon as you sign, the company guarantees to pay off the bank loans within a year, max. After that, your salaries will see another boost. Stratton is doing this because you’re a vital department, and also because your manager, Gordon, is Ms. Stratton’s fiancé. You’re getting special treatment. An opportunity like this doesn’t just fall into anyone’s lap.” His words were smooth, but it was just empty promises wrapped in corporate jargon. The team wasn’t buying it; their expressions were still a mixture of anger and disbelief. Vincent turned his phony smile on me. “Gordon, you’re a reasonable man. They might not understand the company’s vision, but surely you do. Bella is working herself to the bone for this company’s future. If her own tech department can’t handle a small request like this, how can she lead us forward? Come on, be a leader. Sign the papers.” Sign it? I’d sooner break my own damn leg. I didn’t have to guess who cooked up this ridiculous, insulting scheme. It had Vincent’s fingerprints all over it. Ever since he’d joined as Isabella’s assistant, she’d become completely dependent on his advice, taking him to every important meeting. Whispers had already started, people wondering if he was the real fiancé, if I was just the guy she was stringing along. We’d fought about him, about his influence, more times than I could count. Each argument ended in a bitter stalemate, chipping away at whatever was left between us. Our love, our partnership… it had been worn thin by these constant battles. I took a deep breath, ignoring Vincent completely, and looked directly at Isabella. “Making employees sign loan agreements is unheard of,” I said, my voice low and steady. “This will crush morale. It’s poison for the company culture. Whoever suggested this does not have your best interests at heart.” As I said it, I shot a cold glare at Vincent. The smile on his face tightened, and a flicker of malice flashed in his eyes. Isabella’s expression hardened. “Gordon, enough with the drama,” she snapped, her patience gone. “Just sign the damn papers. I have other things to do.” It was like she hadn’t heard a word I said. Vincent, now looking smug, leaned in with a hint of a sneer. “Don’t hesitate, Gordon. I have to escort Bella to a banquet tonight. We don’t have all day.” My team looked crushed, their anger turning to a quiet desperation. They all looked at me. I’d built this department from the ground up, hired every single person in the room. They trusted me. I was their anchor. I looked back at Isabella, and all I felt was a profound sense of disappointment. This wasn’t the woman I’d fallen in love with, the partner I’d planned a future with. In just one year, she’d become a stranger. And in her eyes, I was no longer a partner, but just another disposable piece on her chessboard. A deep weariness washed over me. For years, I had poured my heart and soul into helping her build Stratton Industries, asking for nothing but her trust in return. Now I saw it all for what it was: a one-sided fantasy. I let the loan agreement slip from my fingers and onto the desk. “Anyone who signs this,” I said, my voice clear and final, “is a fool.” 2 Isabella’s face flushed with fury. She clearly hadn’t expected me to defy her so publicly. “Gordon,” she seethed, her eyes blazing, “say that again. I dare you.” I met her gaze without flinching. “I will not sign this loan agreement. Period.” My declaration was like a signal. The rest of the tech team erupted. “He’s right! They’re playing us for fools!” “All that hype about a 30% raise… what a joke. We got excited for nothing.” “The chief’s right! Whoever signs this is an idiot.” “We’re tech guys. We might not be the smoothest talkers, but we’re not stupid.” “The company will pay it back? Yeah, right. Even a five-year-old wouldn’t fall for that lie.” “They want to sell us down the river and expect us to thank them for it? This is disgusting.” The room was filled with the righteous anger of my team. Vincent, trying to reassert control, puffed out his chest. “What’s all this noise? I told you, it’s a company perk! Don’t be so ungrateful!” he yelled over the din. “Let me make this clear: anyone who doesn’t sign today can clear out their desk tomorrow. You think this company can’t function without you? You’re all spoiled. Don’t forget who signs your paychecks. This company is named Stratton, and it belongs to her.” He shot me a pointed, triumphant look. The jab was meant for me. Isabella glared at me, her face a thundercloud. “Gordon, my office. Now.” Without waiting for a reply, she spun on her heel and stormed off. I followed her into her office. The moment I was inside, she slammed the door shut, the sound echoing the violence of her anger. “Are you out of your mind, Gordon?” she screamed, whirling on me. “I asked your department to sign a simple loan agreement, and you undermined me in front of everyone! Do you even see me as your fiancée anymore? Do you have any idea how bad you just made me look?” I sighed, the fight draining out of me. “This was Vincent’s idea, wasn’t it?” I asked quietly. “Have you thought about what happens when word of this gets out? What people will think of Stratton Industries? That guy…” “Vincent is looking out for me! For the company!” she cut me off, her voice shrill. “Our cash flow is tight. It’s just a one-year loan, I’m not asking them to sell their souls! Once our capital frees up, I’ll compensate them handsomely…” I held up a hand to stop her. “The company is short on cash?” My brows knitted together. “How is that possible? We just had two major project payments come in last month. The company has been profitable every single quarter. There’s no reason for us to be in a financial crunch.” A flicker of panic crossed Isabella’s face. She avoided my eyes, her answer vague and evasive. A cold dread began to creep up my spine. “Isabella,” I said, my voice dropping, “how much did you lose in Vegas?” If I hadn’t figured it out by now, I really would be an idiot. My question seemed to push her over the edge from defensive to furious. “How much I lost is none of your business!” she shot back. “Even when we’re married, you don’t get to control my private life. Stratton Industries is my family’s company. If I want to run it into the ground, that’s my decision, and it has nothing to do with you!” I let out another heavy sigh. “How much could you even get from the team’s loans? It wouldn’t be nearly enough to solve a serious cash-flow problem,” I reasoned, trying one last time. “If things are really that bad, we can use the money from our savings account to tide the company over.” When we first got together, we’d opened a joint account. It was for our future—our wedding, our first home, our kids. Over the years, I’d deposited most of my salary, bonuses, and dividends into it. My contributions alone totaled over a million dollars. It should have been more than enough to cover a temporary shortfall. But as I said it, Isabella went silent, a guilty expression washing over her face. I stared at her in disbelief. “Don’t tell me,” I whispered, the words catching in my throat. “You didn’t… you didn’t touch that account, did you? You blew through that, too?” She had always called that account our safety net, our last resort. If the company ever failed, that money was supposed to be the foundation we would rebuild our lives on. And now, she had torched it. Faced with my shocked expression, her guilt morphed back into anger. “My luck was just bad, okay!” she yelled. “Once the company is stable, I swear I’ll win it all back! Stop fixating on this. The priority right now is to keep the company afloat.” She took a breath, her eyes regaining a manic intensity. “Vincent and I have already worked it out. If we get your entire tech team to sign the loan agreements, we can leverage them with a private finance company. We’ll get way more than we would from a bank. It will solve everything!” I almost laughed. It was such a brazenly monstrous plan. She and Vincent weren’t just asking for a loan. They were leading my entire team to the slaughterhouse. 3 I don’t know what kind of poison Vincent had been feeding Isabella, but she was completely under his spell. She hadn’t just gambled away company funds; she’d drained our shared future, and now she was coming for the livelihoods of my entire team. Had she given any thought to the consequences? She had become utterly unreasonable. I stopped trying to reason with her. It was pointless. “No matter what you say, I won’t sign that contract,” I stated flatly. “And the people in my department aren’t stupid. They won’t let you sell them off like cattle.” “If the company needs money, there are other ways. We can apply for a corporate loan. We can ask our business partners for a short-term bridge loan…” “No!” she snapped, her eyes wide with panic. “No one outside this company can know we’re in trouble. I would be humiliated.” Her gaze hardened into an ultimatum. “Gordon, I’m saying this for the last time. You will lead your team in signing those agreements, or else…” Before she could finish her threat, a commotion erupted from outside the office—angry shouts mixed with Vincent’s pained, pathetic yelps. Isabella’s face went pale. She wrenched the door open. In the main office area, Vincent was on the floor, being swarmed by the tech team. They were kicking and hitting him, even the normally mild-mannered women on my team landing a few furious kicks. It was a testament to just how much he was hated. “Stop it!” Isabella shrieked, rushing forward to shield him with her own body. She glared at the team, a lioness protecting her cub. “How dare you! Assaulting someone in my company!” The team fell back, breathing heavily. Before they could explain, Vincent, clutching his side, put on a masterful show of victimhood. “Bella, they’re insane!” he whimpered. “I was just trying to reason with them, to get them to think about the company, and they attacked me! I’m your assistant! By attacking me, they’re attacking you!” He pointed a shaking finger at the team. “They’re arrogant. In their eyes, Gordon is their only boss. You mean nothing to them compared to him.” Hearing Vincent’s twisted version of events, the team’s anger flared again, and a few of them looked ready to lunge at him once more. I knew my people. They wouldn’t have laid a hand on him without extreme provocation. He must have said something truly vile. But Isabella, blinded by her trust in him, didn’t give them a chance to speak. “This is my company, not Gordon’s!” she yelled, her voice cracking with rage. “You dare attack my assistant? Is this a rebellion? You think because you have a few technical skills you can disrespect everyone? Fine! Half of your salaries this month are gone! And you can forget about your quarterly and annual bonuses! That’s your punishment. Anyone who doesn’t like it can quit right now. I’ll approve your resignation on the spot!” My team’s faces were flushed with indignation. They were professionals, here to do a job, not indentured servants. Isabella was acting like a feudal lord punishing her serfs. Did she really think they couldn’t find work elsewhere? Before anyone could respond, she turned her fury back on me. “And you,” she spat, her voice dripping with contempt, “if you don’t sign that contract, you can get the hell out too!” I looked at her, the last embers of our shared history dying in that moment. “Fine,” I said calmly. “I’m gone.” 4 The news that Stratton Industries had fired its entire tech department sent shockwaves through the company and even made a few ripples online. Internet forums were buzzing with confusion. “What’s Stratton doing? Firing their whole tech team right before the holidays? That’s corporate suicide.” “Gordon wasn’t just their Head of Tech, he was Isabella Stratton’s fiancé! Now she’s kicked him out too? What happened?” “I heard she publicly tore into him and called off the wedding.” “But they seemed so solid. Stratton Industries wouldn’t be where it is today without him. How did it all fall apart so fast?” As speculation mounted, a flood of negative stories suddenly appeared online. They were hit pieces, filled with slander and fabricated rumors designed to ruin the reputations of everyone on my former team. The articles about me were particularly vicious, quickly pushed to the top of trending topics. My team and I ignored the noise. The moment word got out that Isabella and I were done, my phone started ringing off the hook. Headhunters from major corporations were calling, and several prominent business leaders reached out directly with offers. Now, we were all gathered in a high-end restaurant, dining with one of those leaders. Mr. Wallace was a man of action. He was so impressed with our team that he’d set up an entirely new subsidiary just to partner with us. Everyone on my team got their salary doubled, with bonuses and benefits that blew Stratton Industries out of the water. I raised my glass to him. “Mr. Wallace, I don’t know how to thank you for this opportunity. We won’t let you down.” Wallace waved a dismissive hand. “This is a partnership, Gordon, mutually beneficial. No need for thanks. I’ve had my eye on you for a while. If it weren’t for your engagement to Isabella Stratton, I would have poached you years ago.” He chuckled. “Frankly, I have no idea what got into her, firing a team like yours right before year-end. The next time I see her, I ought to thank her. If she hadn’t made such a colossal blunder, I never would have gotten the chance to work with you.” I didn’t want to talk about Isabella, but Wallace suddenly leaned forward, his expression turning serious. “Gordon, after you left, she did something incredibly foolish. I don’t think Stratton Industries is going to last much longer.” “What did she do?” I asked, curious despite myself. With a mysterious smile, Wallace took out his phone and sent me a video.

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1 My daughter was a jinx. Her first word was “Die.” No one thought much of it, but the next day her grandfather was hit by a truck and killed. When she started preschool, her second sentence was, “The snow by the door is red.” My mother-in-law went downstairs and was struck by a falling flowerpot—her head split open, blood pooling on the ground and staining the snow crimson. Grief-stricken, my husband wanted to get rid of her. Then she said, “Daddy, watch out for the car.” Terrified, he barely left the house. But he slipped on a toy car, fell, and suffered a cerebral hemorrhage—he died instantly. I begged her to stop cursing us. She looked cold and guiltless. “Mommy,” she said flatly, “stay away from the fire.” On New Year’s Eve, I climbed to the roof. I didn’t want to burn—I chose my own end. As I jumped, fireworks exploded below, engulfing me in sparks. I died instantly, amid screams. My daughter watched blankly from the roof. Even in death, I couldn’t understand why she cursed us all. Then I woke up—back to the day she first learned to speak. This time, I’d finally know what her cursed words really meant. … My eyes fluttered open to see my one-year-old daughter pointing a chubby finger at my father-in-law, her baby voice clear and chilling. “Die.” At first, no one reacted. Her grandfather was still tickling her chin playfully. “What’s my little Nora saying, huh? Say ‘Grandpa,’ and Grandpa will give you a big surprise!” But Nora’s little face was a cold mask. She repeated the word. “Die.” A wave of fear and anger washed over me. I clamped my hand over her mouth. “Don’t you ever say that word! How could you wish for Grandpa to die?” Nora struggled against my hand, her face turning red as she began to wail. My father-in-law rushed to intervene. “She’s just learning to talk, Anna! Why are you getting so worked up?” I bit my lip, my body trembling uncontrollably. “Dad, she’s cursing you!” He stared at me for a moment, then burst out laughing. “What are you talking about? She’s a baby. She doesn’t even know what ‘die’ means.” I didn’t know how to explain it. All I could do was plead with him to be careful when he went out. “Especially watch out for traffic,” I begged. He agreed, but I could tell he wasn’t taking me seriously. I told my husband, Mark, the same thing. He just laughed and said I was overreacting. He looked at Nora with adoration. “She’s my lucky star, Anna, not some jinx.” Then his expression softened with concern. “Are you sure you’re not suffering from postpartum anxiety? Maybe you should take a break. Let my parents watch Nora for a while.” A jolt of panic shot through me. I shook my head violently. No. What if she cursed someone else when I wasn’t looking? But a small, hopeful part of me wondered if maybe, just maybe, everything before had been a string of horrible coincidences. I kept my father-in-law at home for the next few days. I even gathered up all the toy cars and locked them away, terrified of a repeat of what happened to Mark. After a few days of being cooped up, my father-in-law couldn’t stand it anymore. “I’m just going down to the community garden for some fresh air. Don’t fuss over me!” I pleaded with him again and again not to go anywhere near the road. But the accident happened anyway. 2 He missed a step on the way down the stairs. He tumbled, rolling all the way to the bottom, and his head landed squarely on a nail sticking out of a floorboard. He died instantly. When the paramedics arrived, they just told us to call the funeral home. My mother-in-law knelt beside him, her cries echoing in the stairwell. “How could you leave me so soon? What am I going to do without you?” But her kind, gentle husband would never answer her again. Mark rushed home from work, his eyes immediately turning red. But he held himself together, calmly calling relatives to make arrangements for the funeral. I held Nora in my arms, guilt and self-loathing threatening to drown me. But my daughter just looked on with wide, innocent eyes, as if nothing had happened. I gently turned her face towards mine. “Nora, tell Mommy. Why did you say that word? Please?” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Why did you have to curse Grandpa?” She couldn’t answer. The pressure of my fingers on her cheeks made her uncomfortable, and she burst into tears. Hearing her cries, Mark hurried over and took her from me. He frowned, his eyes filled with reproach. “It was an accident, Anna. It has nothing to do with Nora!” My own tears started to fall. I wished more than anything that he was right. But my father-in-law was dead. That was real. From that day on, I stopped speaking to Nora. I forbade anyone else from speaking to her, too. Mark thought I was losing my mind. My mother-in-law would hold Nora close and scold me. “Anna, your father-in-law’s death was a tragic accident. You can’t blame a child for it.” Nora would just play with her rattle, offering me a sweet, innocent smile. And every time she did, a chill would run down my spine. I didn’t know how to stop her curse, so I just tried to warn my family, over and over again. Years passed in uneasy peace. I had almost managed to forget about the curse. Until one day, Nora was watching TV and spoke her second sentence. “The snow by the door is red.” My heart hammered against my ribs. I bolted downstairs and swept the front entrance clean of every last flake of snow. There, I thought, panting. Let’s see the curse come true now. Then my phone rang. It was Mark, his voice choked with sobs. “Anna! Get to the entrance of the complex, quick! It’s Mom… something’s happened to Mom!” My hands trembling, I locked Nora inside the apartment. When I sprinted to the entrance, I found my mother-in-law lying on the ground, covered in blood. A bag of salt she’d bought had burst open, the white crystals scattered around her, glittering in the sun like freshly fallen snow… Nora’s curse had come true again. She had been killed by a car that ran a red light. I couldn’t even hear the driver’s apologies over the roaring in my ears. I couldn’t let her do this anymore. I clutched the object in my pocket and turned back towards home. 3 Nora was sitting like a little wooden doll, staring at the TV. When I called her name, she turned her head with a stiff, robotic motion. “Grandma is dead,” I said, my voice shaking. “Don’t you have anything to say?” She just shook her head. No tears, no emotion. My heart turned to ice. My mother-in-law had raised her, loved her, and now that she was dead, this child felt nothing. I grabbed her by the shoulders, my anger boiling over. “What do you want from us? Did our family wrong you in a past life?” I screamed. “Why do you have to curse your own family?” Her lower lip trembled, and she started to wail. “Mommy, you’re hurting me!” I froze and let go. In that moment, she seemed human again. For a second, I had truly believed she was a demon sent to destroy us. “Nora,” I pleaded, my voice soft now. “Promise me you’ll never, ever curse our family again. Please?” But her eyes drifted past me, towards the door. Mark had just returned from the funeral home, his face pale and drawn. Nora spoke again. “Daddy, you need to watch out for the car, too.” For a second, I was stunned. Then, pure rage consumed me. I slapped her across the face. “Why are you doing this? Do you want to kill your father and me?” She had never been hit before. She clutched her cheek and howled. Mark was horrified. He scooped her into his arms and roared at me. “Anna, can’t you just give it a rest? She’s a child! What could she possibly do? If you had been a little more considerate of Mom, she wouldn’t have had to go out for groceries in a snowstorm in the first place!” His words were a punch to the gut. “Fine,” I choked out. “If you don’t believe me, then don’t.” Mark grabbed a few things and headed out to his car, intending to go buy a burial plot. The moment he walked out to the parking garage, I was filled with regret. His parents were gone. I couldn’t lose him, too. He must have still been angry, because he didn’t answer my calls. I must have called him thirty times before he finally picked up. His voice was a terrified gasp. “Anna, you were right! Nora… she’s a jinx! My brakes failed! Help me!” By the time I got to him and rushed him to the hospital, the doctors told me they had to amputate his legs to save his life. I agreed without a second’s hesitation. As long as he was alive, that was all that mattered. But when Nora saw her father lying in the hospital bed, her face was still a blank slate. Her indifference was so complete that even Mark’s heart grew cold. I seethed with resentment. This child was selfish, only ever crying for herself. I secretly took her to a child psychologist. The doctor said there was nothing wrong with her, and just advised us to limit our interactions with her. If even a doctor couldn’t find what was wrong, my mind turned to more esoteric solutions. But every mystic or spiritualist I took her to see turned pale at the sight of her and said they couldn’t help. After long and agonizing deliberation, I decided to put the substance into my daughter’s cup of water. That night, Nora’s agonizing screams echoed from her room. 4 I listened from the room next door, tears of anguish streaming down my face. But I knew I had to do it. Otherwise, the next person to die would be me. The next morning, I opened her door. The walls were covered in scratches. She was huddled in a corner like a feral animal, clawing at her own throat, her eyes bloodshot and filled with a burning hatred for me. I wept as I held her. “Forgive me, Nora. Mommy didn’t want to do this.” After I gave her the concoction, my daughter became a mute. Our happy family was shattered. But it was better than the alternative, where everyone ended up dead. I threw myself into my work, trying my best to take care of my broken family. But ever since Mark became disabled, his personality had twisted into something bitter and cruel. I’d come home from a long day at work to his sullen face. If my cooking wasn’t to his liking, he’d throw his chopsticks across the table. One night, he looked at me and said, “Anna, let’s get a divorce.” I was stunned. I frantically asked what I had done wrong. He pointed a shaking finger from me to Nora. “If it weren’t for you two, my parents would still be alive, and I wouldn’t be a useless cripple!” I was consumed with guilt. I begged him not to leave us. I pulled Nora over, trying to make her apologize with me. But she ripped her hand from mine and ran back to her room. I clung to him, sobbing. “You’re all I have left. Please, don’t leave us.” Mark was silent for a long time. Then he wrapped his arms around me, his voice a low, pained growl. “Why? What did we ever do to deserve her?” I didn’t know why Nora would curse us. What had we done wrong? Nora treated us like her mortal enemies. But I had forgotten one crucial thing. She couldn’t speak, but she could still write. While cleaning her room one day, I found her diary. On one of the pages, she had written: ‘Mommy, Daddy, stay away from the fire. Be careful not to get burned to death!’

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Three years ago, a major medical malpractice incident cost me my license. My reputation was in ruins. I was forced to scrape by, working in a shabby little clinic. Through it all, my husband, Arthur, stood by me. He sold off family assets to hire a top-tier lawyer who, citing insufficient evidence, managed to keep me out of prison. He was my only light in the darkness. Until the day I found the hidden folder on his old laptop. And discovered the truth about that surgery. The video clearly showed him, identified as the patient’s family, sneaking into the prep room before the operation and swapping a critical drug. The so-called top-tier lawyer? She was just an old university mentee of his. The files showed her coaching him on how to forge evidence and manipulate the media, all to paint me as a reckless butcher who played with human lives. And the one thing he always said to me, over and over? “Without me, Nina, no one in this world would ever want you.” I shut the laptop and looked in the mirror. All I saw was a pair of scarred hands that trembled at the mere thought of holding a scalpel, and a gaunt, haunted reflection, the product of years of deep depression. It finally hit me. These three miserable years of my life… they were all his doing. 1 I sat on the cold floor of the study, my entire body shaking. The laptop screen was still glowing, the video having played to its end. The final frame was of Arthur, wearing medical gloves, carefully switching one vial for another. The date, the time, the surgery number. It all matched. That was the day my world had collapsed. It wasn’t an accident. It was a meticulously planned murder. The murder of my career. The murder of my life. There was more in the folder. Screenshots of emails, chat logs. A digital trail of conversations between Arthur and his “top-tier lawyer” mentee, Stella. 【Don’t worry, Arthur. I’ll handle the media narrative. I’ll make sure she never practices again.】 【And after this is done, your new firm…】 【Of course. Any clients you send my way will be top priority. And as for Dr. Reed… she’ll be more dependent on you than ever.】 【Good. That’s for the best.】 The cold, calculated words on the screen made it hard to breathe. I used the desk to pull myself to my feet and stared at my reflection. My face was ashen, with dark, bruised circles under my eyes from years of insomnia. My hands, the hands that had once held a scalpel with unshakable confidence, were now a roadmap of self-inflicted scars. It was pathetic; I could barely hold a glass of water without spilling it. At 4 a.m., I packed a suitcase and hid it in the back of the closet. He came in at seven, right on schedule, holding a glass of milk. “You’re awake?” His voice was as gentle as ever as he sat on the edge of the bed. “It’s your day off. You should sleep in.” I opened my eyes and looked at him. I had looked at this face for seven years, once believing it to be the most dependable in the world. Now, it was the face of a terrifying stranger. “What’s wrong? You look pale.” He reached out to touch my forehead, and I flinched away. His hand froze in mid-air, his eyes narrowing slightly. “It’s nothing,” I said, looking down, trying to keep my voice steady. “Just a bad dream.” “About the surgery again?” He sighed and handed me the milk. “Here, drink this. It’ll calm you down. I added a little honey, just how you like it.” I stared at the milky white liquid. I’d never questioned it before. He told me it was a supplement to help me relax, and I drank it obediently every day, spending the rest of my hours in a hazy, forgetful fog. Now I knew what it really was. Sedatives. A steady, low dose, administered over years. I took the glass, placed it on the nightstand, and asked casually, “Are you going out today?” “Yeah, a last-minute meeting at the office. I might be back late.” He leaned down. “You just rest here at home. Don’t let your mind wander, okay?” “Okay,” I whispered. He pressed a kiss to my forehead. A touch that had once brought me comfort now made my skin crawl. The moment the front door clicked shut, I ran to the bathroom and poured the milk down the toilet. Back in the bedroom, I opened my phone and found the main number for Arthur’s company. “Good morning, Apex Medical Solutions. How may I help you?” “Hi, I’d just like to confirm if President Arthur Vance has a last-minute meeting scheduled for this morning?” “One moment, please.” I heard the clatter of a keyboard. “No… I’m not seeing any meetings on his schedule for today. May I ask who’s calling?” “Never mind. Thank you.” I hung up. I knew that if he wasn’t at the office, there was only one other place he would be. Stella’s law firm. I saw Arthur’s car parked in a temporary spot on the side of the building. Two minutes later, Stella emerged from the revolving doors. She walked quickly to the car, pulled open the passenger door, and slipped inside. I watched them kiss. It was natural. Practiced. I stood silently in the shadows, feeling no anger, no tears. Just a numb shock and a sharp, twisting pain in my chest, as if someone had reached in and squeezed my heart. 2 After about ten minutes, they finally broke apart. Before Stella got out, Arthur grabbed her hand and said something. I was too far away to hear, but I saw her bright, confident smile and the firm nod she gave him. She didn’t go back into the building right away, instead standing on the curb, looking down at her phone. I walked over and stopped in front of her. She looked up, and the smile on her face froze. “Dr… Dr. Reed?” She quickly composed herself, her expression shifting to a professional, plastic smile. “What are you doing here? Were you looking for me?” I looked at her—the woman who had destroyed my life. Young, beautiful, radiating success. “Just passing by,” I heard myself say, my voice terrifyingly calm. “I saw a familiar car and thought I’d take a look.” Her eyes darted away for a second, but she quickly recovered, a playful smirk forming on her lips as she looked me up and down. “So, Dr. Reed,” she said, crossing her arms, her voice light and airy, “I guess you know.” She let out a short, sharp laugh and took a step closer. “It’s a relief, honestly. Holding it in was killing me.” She savored the moment, watching my face for a reaction. “These past three years, watching you cling to Arthur like a pathetic lost puppy… I almost felt sorry for you.” She paused deliberately. “Did you know? The night of your ‘incident,’ he was with me. In my bed. Taking your tearful phone calls while I was lying next to him.” My nails dug into my palms. The pain was sharp, but it kept me grounded, kept me lucid. “And that ‘calming’ milk you drink every day? The formula was my suggestion,” she continued, her voice dripping with venom. “We couldn’t make the dose too high, of course. That would be suspicious. It’s the classic slow burn, isn’t it? Watching you turn into a walking ghost… I have to say, the results were excellent.” “He only keeps you around out of pity, you know. He’s terrified you’ll kill yourself if you leave, and that would ruin his precious reputation as the devoted, long-suffering husband.” Every word was a poisoned dagger, aimed with precision at my already shattered heart. Strangely, the searing pain I expected never came. There was only a cold, spreading numbness. I even managed a slight smile. “Are you done?” Stella clearly hadn’t anticipated this reaction. She blinked, then her expression hardened, as if I had personally insulted her. “Of course not!” she snapped. “Nina, let me be clear. Arthur is sick of you! He told me himself that the sight of your pathetic, half-dead face makes him lose his appetite!” The sharp crack of my hand against her cheek echoed in the quiet street. Stella’s head snapped to the side, her face a mask of pure shock. A bright red handprint quickly began to bloom on her skin. “You… you hit me?!” she shrieked in disbelief. “Nina, you psycho, do you have any idea who I am?!” I flexed my tingling right hand and stared at her, my face a blank mask. “Is there a problem? A bitch like you deserves to be hit.” She was trembling with rage. “Fine! Just fine! Nina, you just wait. I’m calling the police. I’ll make you…” “Do whatever you want,” I cut her off. Then I turned and walked away without looking back. I went to the little clinic and quit the job I’d held for three years. Stepping outside, the sunlight felt surprisingly good. I took out my phone and deleted the photo of Arthur and me on the beach that I used as my wallpaper. Then I opened my contacts and blocked his number, Stella’s number, everyone connected to them. It was clean, decisive. Not a moment of hesitation. I knew that from the moment the truth was revealed, some things could never be salvaged. And now, it was my turn.

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In the aviation world, everyone knew Mrs. Lancaster played her part to perfection. When gossip about my husband’s first-class flings spread through the industry, I was the one to clear the air. When a mistress made a scene in the VIP lounge demanding recognition, I was the one to smooth things over with a quiet settlement. Everyone said I loved Arthur Lancaster without reservation, without a single boundary. He believed it too. Which is why his hunts at thirty thousand feet became more and more reckless. Until she appeared. This time was different. Arthur put aside his usual games. He treated her like she was precious, one of a kind. The girl was frail, prone to dizzy spells and nausea, so he asked me to look after her. Staring at the red flag on her health screening—”HIV Antibody Preliminary Test: POSITIVE”—I gently deleted the record. From then on, I not only gave up my slots on the most coveted international routes but also encouraged Arthur to spend more time with her, to show her the world. “That’s my girl,” he praised me. “I knew you’d understand.” I accepted his praise with a smile. And watched as they fell deeper into their nightly embraces, and deeper into the abyss I had prepared for them. 1 After dealing with his thirteenth mistress, I leaned against the doorframe of his office. Arthur Lancaster was lounging in his plush leather executive chair, idly spinning a sleek fountain pen between his fingers. His eyes danced with amusement as they settled on me. “Seraphina, so cooperative,” he mused. “You’re playing the part better than ever.” I turned away, pulling a small bottle of hand sanitizer from my purse and meticulously cleansing the hand he had just touched. “Am I?” My voice was flat. “It’s not as if you’re going to stop.” He chuckled, tossing the pen onto the vast mahogany desk. “You should have realized that long ago.” He stood, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. “For families like ours, marriage eventually becomes a partnership of separate lives. It’s best you’ve come to terms with it. Saves us both the embarrassment.” I watched in silence as he fastened the Vacheron Constantin watch to his wrist. Five years of marriage hadn’t dulled his sharp good looks. He still carried the undeniable swagger of the crown prince of aviation, an allure in his eyes that made young flight attendants flock to him like moths to a flame. “Not coming home tonight?” I asked. “Nope.” He picked up his suit jacket, the one I’d given him for his birthday last year. “Why? Got something planned?” I shook my head. “Just asking.” He shrugged, but paused at the door. “Oh, right. There’s an industry summit next Friday. I need you there with me. Make sure you look good. The press has been hounding me lately.” “Alright.” The door clicked shut. I stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows for a long moment, waiting until his black Maybach pulled away from the Lancaster Aviation tower, disappearing into the river of evening traffic. Then I picked up my phone and dialed a number. “He’s gone,” I said. “You can come in now.” Five minutes later, three figures in full hazmat suits entered the office. They moved with quiet efficiency, collecting stray coffee cups and papers, wiping down every surface with medical-grade disinfectant. They stripped the covers from the sofa, sealing them in biohazard bags. The woman in charge nodded at me. “Mrs. Lancaster, we’re finished. Viral inactivation is at 99.99%.” “Thank you,” I said. “Be meticulous with anything he touched. I want it all completely sanitized.” “Understood.” I stepped out of the office, closing the door behind me. The hallway lights gleamed on the cream marble floors. On the wall hung our wedding portrait. I was in a custom couture gown, my smile poised and gracious. Arthur’s arm was wrapped around my waist, his eyes brimming with what looked like adoration. Back then, we were the golden couple of the aviation world. Now, this building was a gallery of his conquests, haunted by the lingering traces of different perfumes, lipstick stains… and viruses. It was his lovers who had cost me my career. An “accident” during a flight, orchestrated by one of them, had left me with permanent spinal damage. I could never fly again. I gave the portrait one last, placid look, then turned and walked away. Back at our penthouse, a cake box sat on the dining table. I opened it, placed a single candle in the center, and lit the wick. The small flame flickered, casting dancing shadows across my face. Arthur only remembered his date tonight, a romantic rendezvous with his new flame to watch the city lights. He had, as usual, forgotten that today was our fifth wedding anniversary. And my birthday. I stared at the tiny fire for a long time before blowing it out. The truth was, I had been ready to file for divorce. The lawyers were on standby, the papers drawn up. But now, I’d had a change of heart. I wanted his billion-dollar aviation empire. I wanted the entire Lancaster dynasty. And I wanted him dead. 2 For five straight days, Arthur didn’t come home. But his new plaything, Faye, seemed to believe she’d been granted a special privilege: tormenting me with texts, right on schedule. [Mrs. Lancaster, he says I know how to please him so much better than you do~] [Mrs. Lancaster, he says he’s sick of uptight socialites like you!] [He’s not coming home again tonight. Must be lonely in that big empty apartment, huh?] I didn’t reply to a single one. I just took my medication on schedule, went to my appointments at the private clinic for a full battery of tests, and had my assistant file away the results. On the evening of the sixth day, Arthur called. I was in a VIP room at the clinic, having just had the eighth vial of blood drawn. His voice on the other end was low, laced with the lazy satisfaction of a man fresh from bed. “Seraphina, there’s an interview with Aviation Weekly tomorrow. I need you to come to the office and clear something up about Faye.” I paused for a beat. “Clear what up?” “Just say she’s my cousin. New to the company, needs a little guidance, so she’s training with me,” Arthur said. “You know how it is. She’s young, can’t handle the gossip.” I glanced down at the purple-blue pinprick on the back of my hand. “Fine,” I said. He audibly relaxed. “You’re the best,” he said, his tone softening. “Should I come home tonight? It’s been a while. I miss you, babe.” “I haven’t been feeling well the last couple of days,” I cut in. “I had some tests done. The doctor said I need to rest.” The line went quiet for a second. “Oh. Alright then.” He sounded disappointed, but his usual careless tone quickly returned. “Get some sleep.” After hanging up, I stared at the dark screen of my phone, a cold smile touching my lips. He probably thought I was saving myself for him. The fool had no idea I just found him utterly filthy. The next day’s interview was held at the Lancaster Aviation headquarters. The press turned out in droves, a sea of cameras and microphones aimed at the industry’s model couple. I was on Arthur’s arm, impeccably dressed in a Dior suit, my smile warm and gracious. When a reporter asked about the rumored affair, Arthur shot me a nervous glance. I took the microphone from him. “It’s all a misunderstanding,” I said, my voice smooth as silk. “Miss Faye is my husband’s cousin. She’s new to the company and requires some training, so she’s staying with us for the time being. I hope we can all give the young woman some space and avoid any undue speculation.” Another reporter pushed, “Mrs. Lancaster, does it really not bother you at all?” I turned to Arthur, my eyes filled with a look of pure trust and devotion. “Of course not. I trust my husband completely.” I felt his grip tighten on my arm. But halfway through the interview, his phone buzzed. Arthur glanced at the screen, and the color drained from his face. He shot to his feet without even a look in my direction. “My apologies, a sudden emergency,” he announced to the room before turning and striding away. I was left sitting alone, the microphone still in my hand. A murmur went through the crowd of reporters. Someone shouted, “Mr. Lancaster, is it about Miss Faye? We heard she wasn’t feeling well!” His pace faltered for a fraction of a second. Then he was gone, leaving me alone in the spotlight to clean up his mess and finish playing my part in our charade of a happy marriage. After the press had cleared out, my assistant approached me cautiously. “Ma’am, are you alright?” I stood and smoothed down my skirt. “I’m perfectly fine.” And I was. Because I knew he had just pushed me one step closer to the finish line. He didn’t come home that night. He only sent a single text: [She has a fever. I’m at the hospital. Go to sleep.] I typed back a single word: [Okay.] Then, after a moment’s thought, I sent another. [My mother isn’t well. I’m flying back to New York tomorrow. I’ll probably be there for a month.] [Do you want me to come with you?] he replied. [No, you’re busy. I can handle it.] [Okay.] After sending the message, I let out a slow breath and set my phone aside, turning my attention back to the latest report from my private physician. The words on the page were clear and precise: Virus has passed the window period. Subject is now highly contagious. Carrier is exhibiting initial symptoms. 3 The next morning, I left the penthouse. As the car pulled out of the garage, I caught a glimpse of the building in the rearview mirror. It had been my home for five years. The sky was a hazy blue-gray, the morning fog not yet burned away by the sun. The terrace was filled with white jasmine. He had hired a designer from France to create it for me years ago, all because I’d once casually mentioned I liked the fragrance. The crown prince of aviation had built the most lavish private garden in the city for me. Business journals had written about it for months. We were the golden couple. I remembered laughing, telling him, “This is so extravagant. People will say you’re completely under my spell.” He had kissed me then. “I want the entire world to know that my wife, Seraphina Lancaster, deserves the very best of everything.” The very best of everything. I tore my eyes away from the mirror and settled back into the soft leather seat, closing my eyes. Now, a revolving door of women came and went from that home, and I was the only one who still paid the gardeners to tend to the flowers. Our home had long since become his playground. I didn’t fly to New York. I was driven to Seabrook Sanctuary, a private wellness retreat on the Connecticut coast. My doctor was waiting. “Mrs. Lancaster, all your tests came back negative,” he said, flipping through my file. “But to be absolutely safe, I recommend a one-month period of isolated observation.” “I understand,” I nodded. “As for Mr. Lancaster…” he hesitated. “Continue to monitor him,” I finished for him. “Notify me immediately of any developments.” I settled into the most secluded villa at the sanctuary. My days fell into a quiet, peaceful routine: check-ups, medication, reading industry reports, and long walks along the shore. I was patient. I was waiting for a countdown to end. On the seventh night, Arthur called. It was the first time he had contacted me since I’d left. The background was loud, like he was at a club. “Where are you?” he asked, his tone impatient. “New York,” I lied. “Why haven’t you been answering my texts?” he demanded. “I’m not feeling great. Probably just exhausted from work. When are you coming back?” “I’m not sure,” I said softly. “My mother’s condition is unstable.” He was clearly annoyed but managed to keep his temper in check. “Fine. Just take care of yourself.” Right before he hung up, he added, “Oh, by the way, Faye’s out of the hospital. She has nowhere to go, so I let her move into the penthouse. She’s staying in your bedroom. Don’t read too much into it when you get back.” I hummed in agreement. Of course I wouldn’t read too much into it. It was, after all, the tomb I had chosen for them.

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The moment the zombie apocalypse hit, my husband turned our basement into a doomsday bunker. But my best friend died getting me inside, and my husband was killed on a supply run. Before dying, he yelled through the steel door, warning: “Don’t come out! It’s crawling with zombies! Stay inside and live a good life with the baby!” I stayed in that dark basement for three months. When supplies ran out, I tried to escape—throwing myself against the heavy iron door. What greeted me wasn’t zombies, but sunlight. No apocalypse. Standing there were my husband—alive—kissing my best friend in a wedding gown. And me, in a hazmat suit, holding a wrench, looking like something from the depths. It was all a lie—a twisted plan to trap me while he ran off with her. Just as I prepared to fight back, I heard a tiny voice in my head—from my own womb: [Mom, I’m from the future. The zombies are real. The outbreak is in one week!] … “Zombies?” When I spat the word out, Marcus looked at me as if I’d just told the funniest joke in the world. “Only an idiot like you would fall for that,” he sneered. “It was just some bullshit I made up to lock you in the basement.” “Honestly, I was hoping you’d starve to death down there, you and the baby. One neat package, no mess for us to clean up. I have to admit, you’re tougher than I thought, crawling out of there with that parasite in you.” My mind went completely blank. “How can it be fake? I saw a zombie bite Veronica’s neck with my own eyes. There was so much blood…” I looked at Veronica’s neck. The skin was smooth and flawless. There was no gruesome wound, only a fresh, red hickey. I was utterly lost. “Hahahaha!” Veronica couldn’t hold it in any longer, doubling over with laughter. “Aurora, pregnancy really has made you stupid. You can’t even tell the difference between a zombie costume and a packet of fake blood?” She swiped through her phone’s photo gallery, showing me the screen. On it was a picture of a hyper-realistic zombie suit. Marcus wrapped his arm around Veronica’s waist. “Vivi and I have been together for a long time. You were in the way, so we came up with this little plan to get rid of you. Get it now?” It was all an act. A meticulously staged play to make me believe the world had ended. For three agonizing months, every single day had been a torment of guilt, blaming myself for their deaths. Now, thinking back, I felt like the biggest fool on earth. “Marcus, this is false imprisonment! I can sue you!” “Sue me?” Marcus pointed smugly to a small memorial niche in the corner of the room. Inside, there was a black-and-white photo of me. “You’ve been missing for three months. Everyone thinks you’re dead. We even held a funeral for you.” “Legally, you don’t exist anymore. You don’t even have the standing to sue.” Veronica sidled up to me, her voice a menacing whisper. “Your sprawling downtown apartment, the dozens of luxury cars in the garage, the company you worked so hard to build… it’s all in our names now.” “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll walk away and disappear. Don’t make a scene. If you cause any more trouble, we’ll just call the cops and tell them you’ve had a psychotic break. We’ll have you committed, and you’ll never see the sun again.” Marcus let out a fake sigh, his voice dripping with false sincerity. “Aurora, you can’t blame us. You can only blame yourself for being so gullible. Who actually believes in a zombie apocalypse?” “But, for old times’ sake, I can be generous. You can have the basement.” My hand tightened around the wrench. A single thought consumed me: to smash it into their two hideous faces, to drag them down with me. But just then, a soft, tiny voice echoed in my mind again. [A fully-equipped, zombie-proof doomsday bunker, free of charge? This is a jackpot! Mommy, take the deal!] The sudden voice startled me, but I realized it was coming from the baby in my belly. “You’re… my child?” [Yes! I traveled back from the future! The zombies are real! We need to hurry and stock up on supplies. There’s no more time to waste!] But I had just learned the apocalypse was a lie. How could I believe it again so easily? The voice grew urgent. [If you don’t believe me, Mommy, go to a lottery vendor right now!] After a moment of hesitation, I walked to the convenience store at the entrance of our gated community. Following the numbers whispered in my mind, I bought a ticket. At 7 PM, the winning numbers were announced. They matched my ticket. Perfectly. The jackpot: one hundred million dollars. [Now do you believe me, Mommy? I really am from the future, and the zombies are really coming!] [There are six days and twenty-three hours until the apocalypse begins. We need to use this money and start hoarding! I want to eat ham in the future, not zombie jerky!] In that moment, all doubt vanished. I believed every word from my unborn child. And I began to look forward to that day. Marcus, I hope you don’t regret today’s decision when you find out the zombies are real. The irony was that Marcus, in his effort to make his lie believable, had spared no expense on the basement. The concrete walls were reinforced with steel I-beams. The entrance was a custom-made blast door with three deadbolts and a fingerprint scanner. It had a state-of-the-art air filtration system, a groundwater collection system, and a backup generator. The prison he had so carefully designed for me had just become my five-star shelter for the real end of the world. Seven days. It wasn’t much time, but it was enough. With the winning lottery ticket in hand, my first thought was to get my parents. In an apocalypse, blood is the only thing you can trust. But when I used my key to open their front door, I froze. The entryway was cluttered with shoes I didn’t recognize. The family portrait on the living room wall was gone, replaced by a wedding photo of Marcus’s parents. If my key hadn’t worked, I would have thought I was at the wrong house. My in-laws shot up from the couch, grabbing a broom and swinging it at me. “You curse! Weren’t you already dead? What are you doing back here?!” I dodged the blow, my voice ice-cold. “Where are my parents?” “You have the nerve to ask?” my father-in-law spat. “You worried them sick! They’re locked up in a psychiatric hospital!” My mother-in-law shrieked, “If I had a disgraceful daughter like you, I’d go crazy too!” CRACK. Perhaps it was years of pent-up rage finally exploding, but I slapped her across the face. Without another glance at them, I spun around and sprinted out the door, heading for the hospital. The moment my parents saw me, they froze, their faces a mask of disbelief. “Aurora… is it really you? You’re alive?” A lump formed in my throat, a thousand words stuck in my chest. As we sat down, I finally learned what had happened over the past three months. Marcus had told everyone I’d run off with another man, even claiming the baby wasn’t his. Then, he’d somehow obtained a death certificate for me, legally seizing all my assets before marrying Veronica. The double blow of grief and betrayal had broken my parents’ health. And Marcus, seeing his chance, had forged medical documents and had them committed. I told them everything: the elaborate lie, Marcus and Veronica’s betrayal, and the coming apocalypse. As I finished, my heart was in my throat. After all, I’d already been imprisoned for three months because I believed in this very story. To my surprise, my dad shot to his feet, his eyes resolute. “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go buy supplies!” Seeing my stunned expression, my mom smiled. “Sweetheart, you’re our only daughter. Who else would we believe? And if the apocalypse doesn’t happen, we’ll just sell the supplies at a discount!” The baby’s voice piped up in my head. [Grandpa and Grandma are the best! Let’s go, Mommy, we only have six days and twenty hours left!] There was no time to lose. I took my parents straight to the city’s largest warehouse supermarket. Drawing on his experience running a factory, my dad ordered tons of rice, flour, oil, and frozen meat under the guise of a corporate purchase. Worried about spoilage, I bought mountains of instant noodles, self-heating meals, and compressed biscuits. Mom gathered vitamins, first-aid supplies, toiletries, and even quietly added several boxes of baby formula and diapers to our cart. The next day, Dad brought in a construction crew and secretly dug an escape tunnel from the other side of the basement out to the woods behind the property. The entrance to the bunker wasn’t far from Marcus’s villa. Veronica and Marcus stood on their porch, watching truck after truck of supplies being unloaded, their faces etched with mockery. “Aurora, are you really making that dump your home? Planning to hide in there with those two old geezers for the rest of your life?” Marcus’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “I think she’s really lost it. We made up some stupid story about the end of the world, and she’s gone so deep into character she thinks she’s the star of a prepper novel.” Veronica was shaking with laughter. “It’ll be hilarious when she’s squatting in the dark, eating expired ramen after blowing through her parents’ retirement savings, while we’re upstairs eating tomahawk steaks.” I stared coldly at the two clowns. Five days. In five days, the luxury cars, designer brands, and social status they cherished would be nothing but scrap metal. And the magnificent villa they were so proud of would become the coffin they had chosen for themselves. Ignoring them, I helped my parents move the last of the supplies into the bunker. The space was vast, more than enough for the three of us. I thought we had prepared for everything, but my baby’s voice, sharp with urgency, spoke again. [Mommy, the day the zombies appear, there will be a massive rainstorm! The bunker is low-lying! Buy sump pumps, now, or we’ll all drown!] A jolt of fear went through me. I quickly checked the weather forecast. Sure enough, a severe storm warning was predicted for five days from now. I immediately ordered four industrial-grade, high-power sump pumps. Dad also had his crew dig a concealed drainage channel around the entrance overnight. The construction noise woke Veronica. She stood on her balcony, filming us with her phone. A sense of dread washed over me. Sure enough, half an hour later, I came across a livestream. In it, Veronica was pointing her camera at our bunker entrance, her voice dripping with scorn. “Hey everyone, check this out! My best friend had a little breakdown and now she thinks the zombies are coming. She’s not just hoarding supplies, she’s digging trenches! It’s so ridiculous.” The stream’s viewership skyrocketed. The comments flew by. [Someone’s read too many apocalypse novels. Does she think this is fiction?] [If my neighbor hoards grain, I hoard guns. My neighbor is my granary. If zombies do show up, the streamer can just go raid them.] Reading the comments, my palms grew sweaty. My parents’ faces were grim. “Just having supplies isn’t enough,” my dad said. “When the world ends, there’s no law and order. A stash like this is just a death warrant.” But all we could find were knives and axes, useless in a real apocalypse. As we sat there, worried, the baby spoke again. [Mommy, go find Uncle Nash! His family has the ‘big toys’!] Nash? My sharp-tongued high school classmate who’d gone abroad to work in private security and international trade? [Yep! Contact him now, Mommy! Before it’s too late!] I sent him a text. [Nash, can you get your hands on anything for self-defense? The world is ending.] He replied instantly. [Lost a game of truth or dare? Or did you get hacked? The end of the world? You might as well tell me the aliens have landed and they need gift cards.] My heart sank. But then my phone buzzed again. [Why’d you go quiet? Are you actually in trouble?] [Send me your address. Now.]

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1 My dad suddenly wanted to go on a trip to Blackwood National Forest. He also bought me a life insurance policy. The payout amount was terrifyingly high. He said I was the backbone of the family and deserved to be prioritized. He even made a point of telling my brother to take extra good care of me that day. I was overwhelmed. I didn’t just scout the route and plan the trip in advance; I secretly bought massive policies for him and the rest of the family, too. One accident, a ten-million-dollar payout. After all, this was my second time around. I already knew what it was like to go hiking with them. I knew exactly how horribly I would die. … “See, honey? Who’s Dad’s favorite?!” “The whole family got insurance, but yours has the biggest payout by far.” The moment the insurance agent left, my dad started trying to take credit. After all, everyone else’s premium was a few hundred dollars. Mine was ten thousand. Getting him to part with ten grand was like pulling teeth. I kept my head down, scrolling through my phone without a word. “What, you’re not happy?” “Come on, have a beer with your old man. Let’s talk.” He patted my head, grabbing a couple of beers and a bowl of peanuts, waving me over. Whenever I was troubled, he’d always been a good listener. This would be our last heart-to-heart. “Dad, I don’t want to go hiking,” I said, looking him straight in the eye. “I want to go to the coast.” “We’re surrounded by mountains here. There’s no need to travel so far just to hike somewhere else.” “I’d rather see the ocean.” “Wouldn’t wading in the water and collecting seashells be more relaxing than climbing a mountain?” My dad’s hand paused, the beer glass halfway to his lips. He glanced at me, then looked down and took a long drink. “What’s there to see at the ocean? A rogue wave could sweep you away and no one would ever find you.” “But the mountains… it’s a contained space. No matter what happens, they’ll always find you.” Find my body, you mean? A cold laugh echoed in my mind. In my last life, not only did they fail to find me, they complained that I was useless even in death. “That’s final,” my dad said, his guilt giving way to irritation. He stood and walked out of the room. My heart plunged into an icy abyss, all warmth extinguished. His plan was just as ruthless as before. My brother, Kyle, looked at me, exasperated. “Sis, you really don’t appreciate anything, do you?” “Dad spent ten thousand dollars on you, and you can’t even say thank you? Now you want to go to the beach?” “Do you have any idea how much that would cost? You should be grateful we’re going hiking at all.” I laughed, a tremor running through my entire body. “You’re right. Dad is the best. I should be on my knees, thanking my lucky stars for all of you.” Kyle was speechless, just staring at me. My mom came out and slapped me hard on the back. “What’s that supposed to mean, you ungrateful brat? Everyone knows your father loves you the most.” “Just because you didn’t get your way, you’re going to throw a tantrum?” “Have you ever seen him spend money on anyone the way he does on you? That was ten thousand dollars!” Yes. Ten thousand dollars. Ten thousand dollars would be a nice contribution to my brother’s wedding fund, but it was a drop in the bucket for a house and a car. So, they decided to make a bigger bet. They were leveraging ten thousand dollars at a thousand-to-one return, and my life was the price. With the payout, they’d have a house, a car, a daughter-in-law, even enough for retirement. What a profitable business. The happiness of an entire family, all for the low cost of one daughter. He really was so good to me. I stood up, brushing off non-existent dust, and walked toward the door. “Where are you going?” my mom yelled after me. “What? Can’t handle a little criticism?” “I’m going to buy Dad some BBQ ribs.” “Can’t let that ten thousand go to waste.” I didn’t look back. “That’s more like it! And get me some beef brisket, and a couple pounds of chili dogs for my son.” “That’s his favorite!” I agreed to it all. After all, this would be the last time they’d ever eat anything I bought for them. Consider it my final offering to the dead. 2 I ducked into an alley and pulled out my phone, opening the hidden camera app. The moment I was out the door, my dad had come right back in. “She didn’t suspect anything, did she?” my brother asked nervously. “I’m scared she’ll hit me.” My dad’s face darkened. “You’re pathetic.” My mom scurried to the door, peered out both ways, and shut it tight. “She’s gone, right?” “My heart is pounding.” My dad sat back down, unconcerned. “Long gone. You’re as useless as your son.” “She’s an adopted girl. She costs more than anyone else in this family. She should be grateful.” “If she weren’t so stubborn, this wouldn’t be necessary. She wouldn’t sleep with our boy, and she wouldn’t agree to marry that old creep Thompson. If we could have gotten the money from that, would I have to go to all this trouble?” He punctuated his rant with a kick to my brother’s shin. “You coward. Can’t even get a girl into bed.” My brother clutched his leg, whining. “Her pants were too tight, I couldn’t get them off.” “And she’s strong! She hits hard.” My mom pulled Kyle into her arms, glaring at my dad. “Why are you kicking my son? Go kick that ungrateful wolf.” “After all these years we’ve raised her! She won’t marry our son, fine. But she won’t even let us use her to get some money for him! It’s infuriating!” “I say we should have just tied her up and let him have his way. Once she had the baby, what could she do?” Kyle trembled in my mother’s embrace. “Mom, I’m scared of her! I don’t want to do it!” My mom soothed him while her voice turned venomous. “Just thinking about her makes me furious. Last time she kicked my son in the family jewels, almost made him a eunuch.” “Just wait until we get into those mountains. I’ll show her.” She turned back to Kyle. “Don’t worry, sweetie. After we get the insurance money, Mom will find you a beautiful influencer to marry.” My dad shot them a look, but a smirk played on his lips. The three of them began to dream aloud about the wonderful life they’d have once they were rich. I shut off my phone, my face a blank mask. That evening, I returned with all their favorite foods. My dad smiled, his eyes gleaming with the satisfaction of a hunter who has tamed his prey. As he ate, he started his usual brainwashing. “Your mother and I have worked hard our whole lives to put you through college. You may only be a gym teacher, but at least it’s a stable state job. Your brother isn’t very bright. Your mother and I will have to rely on you in the future.” I ate my rice in silence. My dad’s eyes shifted. “Still mad about what happened?” He stood up, went to the kitchen, and came back with a meat cleaver. He held it out to me. “Here, honey. Take it.” “Your brother lost his mind and did something unforgivable. It’s my fault. Today, if it’ll make you feel better, you can cut him. Hell, you can chop him to pieces for all I care!” My mom froze, trying to grab the knife, but my dad shoved her aside. “It’s because of you, you useless shrew, that he turned out to be such a coward!” “That’s his sister! How could he do something so despicable?!” “Go on, honey. Whatever you do, I’ll support you.” I took the knife and looked at him, staring him straight in the eyes. “Really? You’ll support me, no matter what I do?” His gaze flickered for a moment, then he gritted his teeth. “That’s right. Your old man’s word is his bond!” I held the knife and turned to my brother. I stared at him until his legs started to shake and a dark patch spread across the front of his pants. The smell of urine filled the air as he collapsed to the floor, trembling. “Don’t… don’t kill me…” I suddenly felt bored. I tossed the cleaver onto the floor near his feet. He shrieked and passed out. I looked back at my dad. I saw a flash of murderous intent in his eyes before it was replaced by his usual harmless, folksy expression. “Dad, I forgive him.” “And I’ll go with you to Blackwood National Forest.” 3 We had just reached the foothills of Blackwood when, without warning, a light rain began to fall. The mountains in the distance were shrouded in a thick mist, like a veil separating them from the outside world, instilling a sense of dread for the unknown within. It was exactly like my past life. Last time, my dad led us into the protected nature reserve through a remote, unofficial entrance. He insisted on camping, on taking me and my brother deep into the forest to “explore.” He said that if we were going to make the trip, we had to make it worth the ticket price. I was afraid of bugs, and even more terrified of the leeches that would latch onto my legs and drink my blood, dozens of them, like tiny vampires. But I was afraid my family would be in danger, so I forced myself to follow. I never imagined that they were the real danger. This time, I would seize the initiative. As soon as we reached a flat clearing for our camp, I spoke up. “Dad, I saw online that there are some ancient ruins over to the right. Let’s go check them out.” My dad glanced to the left, a conflicted look on his face. “Come on, let’s go! Mom can stay here and rest. Maybe we can hunt a rabbit for dinner.” “It’s not worth the bus fare if we don’t have some fun.” With that, I grabbed my backpack and started walking to the right. After a moment of silence, my dad gave in. “Alright. Your mom will rest here. Your brother and I will go exploring with you.” “Slow down, be careful not to slip.” He quickly caught up and walked ahead of me, while my brother followed about three paces behind. They had me boxed in. “Dad, the path is slippery. Be careful,” I said calmly. “Mmm.” We walked for about an hour, deep into the forest. Though it was midday, the canopy was so thick that it felt like dusk. As my dad scouted the path ahead, I slowed my pace until I was walking alongside my brother. Kyle practically jumped out of his skin when I got close. I reached out and steadied him, reminding him to watch his step, then started making casual conversation. “So, Kyle, have Mom and Dad set you up on any dates lately?” His voice trembled. “They tried. I didn’t want to go.” “Sis, I won’t go in your room again. I’m scared of you.” He looked terrified, his hands protectively covering his crotch. I gently moved his hands away, telling him with a kind expression that I had already forgiven him, and that I hoped he’d get married soon. “When you have kids, I’ll be an aunt. I’ll have to give my nephew a big gift.” “Really?” The mention of money made Kyle’s eyes light up, but his face fell just as quickly. He said the family didn’t have any money, and no girl would want him. “They say I’m stupid and poor. They’d rather sleep with a log.” I stifled a laugh and continued to soothe him. When the time was right, I told him the real reason his dad had brought him here. “I saw that Dad bought himself a ten-million-dollar insurance policy. He said you’ll get the money when he dies.” “You could marry five wives with that, let alone one!” Kyle’s face lit up with joy, then confusion. “Dad didn’t tell me that. He said you were the one who—” He clamped his hand over his mouth. “Dad told me not to tell you. It’s a secret.” “He said that if I died, you’d all get the payout, right?” I asked casually. Kyle’s jaw dropped. “Sis, how did you know?” “How do you think?” I rolled my eyes. “Dad told me, of course. He also told me not to tell you.” Kyle’s face flushed with anger. “He always thinks I’m stupid! He never tells me anything! All he ever does is hit me and kick me.” Seeing his resentment, I patted his shoulder. “Hey, Dad’s going through a lot. He has a terminal illness, you know. He just doesn’t want to worry us.” Kyle’s eyes turned red. “Dad… Dad’s dying—” His emotions were at their peak. It was time for the final push. “Dad said that if he can’t bring himself to do it, he hopes you’ll give him a little push.” “Kyle, you’re the only man in the family now. You’re the one who has to be strong.” “Don’t let him down this time.” I looked at him with an expression full of hope. Kyle’s spirits lifted. He raised his hand as if taking an oath. “Don’t worry, sis. I’ll complete the mission Dad gave me!” “This time, I’ll show him— I’m not a coward!”

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