My husband’s protégée boasted that she could “defuse a bomb by instinct, with her eyes closed.” Her instincts were wrong. She triggered the bomb’s secondary detonation sequence. I had to intervene, using the highly dangerous liquid nitrogen cryogenic suspension method to save the entire building. Eva was removed from active duty and suspended pending investigation. My husband, Marcus, tried to defend her, but I stopped him. “If you speak up for her now, you won’t just fail to save her; you’ll be suspended right along with her.” Unable to handle the pressure, Eva staged an “accident” and blew herself up. In her suicide note, she accused Marcus of choosing to save his own skin when she needed him most. Marcus said nothing. He just kept that letter, treasured, in his study. Years later, he was a nationally renowned bomb disposal expert. During a terrorist attack, I was strapped with a time bomb. He arrived on the scene to defuse it, but instead, he replicated his protégée’s fatal mistake right in front of me. He watched the countdown timer and smiled faintly. “See? She was just nervous that day. If I had just encouraged her back then, she would be a hero now.” The bomb detonated. I was obliterated. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in that moment, just as he was about to defend his protégée. He didn’t know that inside that building was the core server holding the nation’s most sensitive intelligence. 1 The instant I realized I had been reborn, I turned on my heel. Instead of rushing to the scene, I went straight back to my dorm and switched off my encrypted communicator. In my past life, after Eva’s screw-up, she had spammed me with frantic messages, begging me to save her. I had just come off a special operation—seventy-two hours without sleep—and had to go clean up her mess. I risked my life, enduring the searing cold of liquid nitrogen, just to save that core server. It was only because of my success that the military brass didn’t court-martial Eva, merely suspending her for investigation. If she had just kept her head down, she could have been reinstated. But she was fragile. A few snide remarks from colleagues were all it took. She staged an accident and killed herself. And in the end, my husband, in his twisted attempt to vindicate her, got me blown to pieces. I pulled the covers over my head and slept until morning. The next day, I switched my communicator back on. The screen exploded with hundreds of missed calls and blood-red emergency alerts. I took my time washing up, changing into my uniform, and made my way to the site at a leisurely pace. Outside the police cordon, the air was thick with a tension so heavy it felt like it could liquefy. Desperation was etched on every face. Eva was on the ground, hair disheveled, shaking uncontrollably. The colleagues surrounding her looked like they wanted to tear her apart. “It’s all your fault, Eva! You and your stupid ‘instinctive defusal’!” “Now look what you’ve done! The secondary detonation is active! We’re all going to die!” “Just wait! General Harding will have us all court-martialed for this!” Eva’s eyes darted wildly through the crowd. When she saw me, a flicker of hope ignited, as if she were grasping at a lifeline. But it was instantly replaced by a deep, seething resentment. She pointed a trembling finger straight at me and shrieked with all her might, “It was her! It was Sienna! I called her all night! She could have saved us! She deliberately turned off her communicator! She wants us all to die!” In an instant, every gaze in the crowd turned on me, a thousand sharp knives. Seizing the moment, Eva stumbled to her feet and shoved her communicator in my face. The screen was a damning list of missed calls. Her eyes were bloodshot, her voice a raw, broken cry. “Sienna! You know what’s in that building better than anyone! This is a matter of national security! How could you go dark at a time like this? What were you thinking?” The crowd fell silent, waiting for my explanation. I looked at her disgusting, contorted face, and the hatred of a past life surged through me. Then, I raised my hand. CRACK! The sharp, clean sound of my palm connecting with her cheek echoed in the tense silence. Eva stared at me, stunned, her hand flying to her stinging face. I shook out my tingling hand, my voice like ice. “Are you insane?” 2 I held up the mission dispatch tablet, turning the screen for everyone to see. The duty roster and signatures were clear as day. “Last night’s primary operator was you, Eva. I, Sienna, was on mandatory leave after a seventy-two-hour special operation. My name is not on this roster.” The moment the words left my mouth, the dam of pent-up fury broke. “She’s right! Sienna just got back from Operation Red Scorpion yesterday! She disarmed three linked IEDs! She could barely stand when she got back!” “Exactly! Eva, you always use Captain Thorne as a shield to get out of the dangerous missions and push them onto Sienna! Now you’ve caused a catastrophe and you want to drag her down with you?” “You screw up and immediately look for someone to blame? You’re just as vile as ever!” The accusations rained down on Eva like stones. The color drained from her face, leaving it a ghostly white. She crumpled to the ground, her eyes vacant. Just then, a military SUV screeched to a halt. General Harding and my husband, Marcus Thorne, stormed out, their faces thunderous. I looked at Marcus. We had once been the golden couple of the service, a perfect match in everyone’s eyes. But now, his gaze swept right past me, not even pausing for a second, as he rushed to Eva’s side. He took off his own jacket and wrapped it carefully around her, pulling her into a protective embrace. “Eva, don’t be afraid. I’m here.” His voice held a tenderness I had never heard before. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” In that moment, my heart turned to ice. In my past life, he had shielded her just like this, telling me, “Sienna, Eva was just nervous. She has a real gift. You should encourage her more.” Now, in front of everyone, he was putting his favoritism on full display. The contempt and anger in the eyes of our colleagues deepened. General Harding’s gaze cut between Marcus and me like a knife before he barked my name, ordering me into the command vehicle. The second the door closed, the general’s rock-solid composure shattered. For the first time, I saw panic in the veteran commander’s eyes. “Sienna, I don’t give a damn about regulations!” he roared, slamming his fist on the tactical map, making the equipment hum. “You have to save that server! If we lose it, every single one of us in this department, starting with me, is facing a firing squad!” I met his bloodshot eyes, my voice calm. “General, I can try.” My quiet words silenced the vehicle. “But I have a condition.” I pulled a document from my pocket and handed it to him. It was the approval form for “Practical Application of Eva’s Special Talents,” personally signed by Marcus, overriding all objections. The words “special talents” were a bitter irony now. “He approved the risk,” I said. “I’m not cleaning up this mess alone. I want him to pay the price for this so-called ‘innovation.’” General Harding’s eyes narrowed. He snatched the document from my hand. After reading it, he slammed it back down on the table with a deafening bang. “That bastard!” he bellowed, his voice nearly ripping the roof off. “Don’t you worry! That expert consultant position he applied for? It’s denied! As of today, all his promotion channels are frozen!” A cold, sharp smile touched my lips. I picked up a pen and signed my name on the military order, accepting full responsibility and waiving all support. Marcus, your fast track to the top? In this life, I’m tearing it down with my own two hands. 3 I suited up and raced into the building. No blueprints, no mission plan. But I had the memories of my past life. I bypassed the faulty wiring Eva had set, ignored the flashing red lights of the deadly traps she’d activated, and went straight for the core server. The liquid nitrogen hissed, white fog filling the room. The piercing alarm cut out. The secondary detonation sequence was successfully frozen. I pulled off my helmet, my vision blurred by a mix of cold sweat and vapor. I sagged against the wall, completely spent, on the verge of collapse. When I walked out of the building, I was met with a chorus of relieved cheers. My colleagues rushed forward, supporting me, their words a jumble of gratitude and fear. “Sienna, you’re a god!” “I knew it! If anyone could fix this, it was you!” Invitations for a celebratory dinner started pouring in. I declined them all. I just wanted to go home. The moment I pulled my car door open, a sharp pain shot through the back of my neck. A large hand clamped over my mouth, dragging me backward. My struggles were useless. I was hauled into a dark, dusty utility closet. BANG. The door was locked. I was tied to a cold metal chair, unable to move. An old, flickering lightbulb hung from the ceiling. In the shifting light, a familiar silhouette emerged. Marcus. My husband.

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After my parents died, our family went bankrupt, leaving my sister and me with over a million in debt. To pay it back, she became a haunted house tester, and I took jobs playing corpses on film sets. For five grueling years, we worked without a single day of rest, but the debt lingered. As the year drew to a close, with the final thirteen thousand looming over us, I gritted my teeth and signed up for a clinical drug trial. When it was over, I clutched the thirteen thousand in cash and raced to find my sister, my heart soaring. But I walked in to the sound of her on the phone. “Mom, Dad, Jay is doing great. You guys have fun abroad.” “He’s not a big spender anymore. The punishment can probably end next year.” My parents weren’t dead. Our family wasn’t bankrupt. The five years of hardship, of grinding poverty and relentless toil, were all just a punishment because they thought I liked to spend money. The smile froze on my face. My stomach churned violently, and a mouthful of blood spilled from my lips. … “You need to be sure about this. Once you sign the contract, we’re not responsible for whatever happens.” That’s what the staffer at the pharmaceutical company had told me during the trial. He’d stressed it over and over: the contract was legally binding. I drank the medicine and they observed me for five hours. If there were no immediate problems, I couldn’t hold them liable, even if I dropped dead later. Back then, my mind was filled with one single thought: giving my sister and myself a decent holiday, free from worry. So I signed without a second thought. But now… Staring at the cash in my hand, the irony was a physical blow. I raised a hand and wiped the blood from my mouth with my sleeve. I pushed open the door and walked in. My sister, Sophia, hung up the phone in a hurry. When she turned and saw the stain on my shirt, her face changed. “What is that?” Her expression tightened as she rushed to my side, her hands gripping my shoulders, searching for an injury. I brushed her hands away, my voice unnaturally calm. “It’s prop blood from the set.” “Oh, thank God. I thought you were hurt.” She let out a breath of relief. Then her eyes fell on the money in my hand, and her gaze sharpened. “Where did this come from?” “Jay, you didn’t… steal it, did you?” My heart sank. In that moment, I felt like I didn’t know her at all. Steal it. Is that really what she thought of me? I clenched my fists, and it was a long moment before I could speak. “It was a bonus from the director. For the holidays.” She frowned, still skeptical. “A cash bonus? Just like that?” “Look, do you want it or not?” I shot her an irritated glance. “You said we only had thirteen thousand left on the debt, right? This covers it.” “If you don’t want it, I can always give it back.” She was quiet for a moment before finally taking the money from my hand. “I’ll pay off the last of it tomorrow.” Changing the subject, she said, “What do you want for dinner tonight? I’ll cook.” I looked around our tiny apartment. A thirty-square-meter shoebox, you could see it all in one glance. A single wardrobe, a bed, a tiny bathroom. We didn’t have a kitchen; cooking meant chopping vegetables on the coffee table. We used a fifty-dollar electric skillet we’d bought five years ago. The cord had burned out twice, both times patched up by Sophia with black electrical tape. A question suddenly surfaced. “Sis, aren’t you tired?” She turned back with a smile. “Not at all. My job’s pretty easy, really. All I do is lie down.” “I’m more worried about you. You must be exhausted after all these years.” What I really wanted to ask was, Aren’t you tired of pretending? With billions in the bank, you could be living a life of unimaginable luxury. But you choose to live like this, in this hovel, just to punish me. Aren’t you tired of the lie? But she didn’t understand. So I decided to be more direct. I looked her straight in the eye. “Sophia, do you really think I’m a spendthrift?” I still couldn’t wrap my head around it. Where had they gotten that idea? Yes, our family was wealthy, but I never cared for luxury brands. I never owned anything that cost more than a few thousand dollars. In the rich-kid scene of West Harbor, I was practically a freak. Sophia’s face stiffened. “Why are you asking that? You’re much better now.” “What do you mean, ‘now’? What about before?” I pressed her. Her brow furrowed. “When Mom and Dad were still around, you really didn’t know the value of money.” “They were self-made, Jay. They started as farmers. They, and I, always had to think before we spent anything.” “But for your birthday, you’d pester them for gifts that cost thousands. Don’t you think that was a problem?” My temper flared, and I took a step forward. “Our family is worth billions! I couldn’t even buy a phone for a little over a thousand dollars?” “What’s the point of making all that money then?” Her face hardened. “Listen to yourself. It’s just a phone. Any phone would have worked.” “You were just vain, always trying to keep up with those other trust-fund kids. That’s why you always wanted this and that.” “You’ve had nothing for the past five years, and you’ve gotten by just fine, haven’t you?” I stared at her in disbelief, the blood roaring in my ears. Just fine? Is that how she saw my life for the past five years? Every day, I played a dead body. I’d beg the director for more screen time, just to earn an extra two hundred dollars. Sometimes I’d be lying in mud, other times in a stinking gutter. Motionless for more than ten hours at a time. My old rival, Rick, saw my downfall as his personal entertainment. He was always there, finding new ways to humiliate me, and I was too powerless to fight back. And just to give my sister one good holiday, I sold my body to a drug trial, and I still have no idea what it did to me. Was that life really “just fine”? A sharp pain twisted in my gut. I suddenly remembered Rick’s words, spat at me on set one day. “You idiot. You brought all this on yourself.” “I’m going to follow you everywhere. Whatever set you’re on, I’ll be there. My family has money. We can just invest a little, and boom, I’m in.” “For the next five years, you’re going to suffer under my thumb!” A violent shiver ran down my spine, the hairs on my arms standing on end. Five years. Why that exact number? Could it be that Rick knew something too? My intuition screamed that there was more to this story, more they were hiding from me. I clenched my fists, forcing down the urge to scream at her. “Okay,” I said, my voice tight. “I’ll change.” Sophia put down the vegetables she was holding and reached out to pat my head, a look of satisfaction on her face. “That’s my brother. I have to go to work now, so you’ll have to eat dinner by yourself.” I nodded. After a quick meal, Sophia left for “work.” I threw on a mask and a hat and quietly followed her. Once she was out of our rundown neighborhood, she stood by the side of the road and made a call. Less than five minutes later, a black Maybach pulled up in front of her. I watched her get in. I quickly hailed a taxi. “Follow that car.” Half an hour later, the Maybach stopped in front of a high-end steakhouse. She went inside. I waited five minutes before following, taking a table just behind hers. My nerves were shot. I kept my head down, too afraid to see who she was meeting. But then I heard his voice, and my entire body went rigid. “Sophia, I’ve been giving Jay a really hard time, just like you asked. Been doing a great job, if I do say so myself!” It was Rick. “Good,” Sophia’s voice was cool, detached, as if she were discussing the weather. “He needs to suffer a little. It’s the only way Jay will learn that money doesn’t grow on trees.” “As a reward, I’ll make sure to steer some business your family’s way.” “Jay can’t find out about this yet. But after the New Year, when my parents are back, I’ll tell them what a help you’ve been.” The air was punched from my lungs. My heart hammered against my ribs, threatening to stop altogether. A waiter came to my table, asking for my order. I couldn’t speak. My hand trembling, I just pointed at a random item on the menu, then waved him away, terrified he would draw Sophia’s attention. Rick’s voice was slick with false concern. “Sophia, you tell Jay you’re a haunted house tester, but you’re really going back to your own place every night. All that sneaking around, aren’t you exhausted?” “Why didn’t you just go abroad with your parents in the first place?” Another wave of shock crashed over me. So the haunted house story was a lie, too. All this time, while I was rotting in that tiny apartment, she was going home. So for the last five years, was I the only one who had truly been suffering? Sophia sighed. “Jay is my brother. I couldn’t leave him here all by himself.” “Besides, even though the company moved its main operations abroad, we’ll be moving back eventually.” Her tone became wistful. “The five-year punishment we set… it’s passed in the blink of an eye. Time flies, doesn’t it?” Flies? A bitter laugh formed in my throat. For me, every single day of these five years has been torture. Playing a corpse isn’t as easy as it sounds. On Rick’s orders, I was always assigned to the most grueling, filthiest scenes. I had to lie perfectly still, no matter if it was pouring rain or blistering hot. After a while, the constant exposure to the cold left me with a permanent chill in my bones. My back and legs ache constantly. And to them, all of that was just a ‘punishment.’ What a joke. “Rick, you’ve worked hard these past five years, too. This is a little something for you.” The conversation continued. Sophia slid an elegant gift box across the table to Rick. He opened it, and his gasp was audible. “Whoa, this watch is sick!” My heart didn’t just sink. It plunged into an abyss. It was the watch. The one I’d asked my parents for, five years ago.

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On the seventh New Year’s Eve of our marriage, just as I was about to serve the celebratory dinner, my son tugged my husband out the door. “Come on, Dad, hurry up! Sophie is getting impatient, and you know she hates to wait.” I froze, thinking it was a joke. I forced a smile and asked, “Which Sophie…?” My husband, James, admitted his affair with a chilling indifference. “Honestly, celebrating the New Year with you every year has gotten pretty boring. It’s just what you think it is—the seven-year itch. As for us, if we can make it work, fine. If not, let’s just get a divorce.” The sudden news left my mind a complete blank. I instinctively looked at our son, Daniel. He didn’t run to me for comfort like he usually did. He just hid behind his father, mumbling under his breath. “I want to be with Dad and Sophie.” That night, they welcomed the New Year with laughter amidst the fireworks, while I sat alone, staring at a full table of cold food. Their words echoed in my ears, tormenting me through a sleepless night. They didn’t come home until noon the next day, their farewells clearly reluctant. “Have you thought about it?” James asked. “If you want to stay, don’t ask questions. Don’t cause a scene. In the future, I’ll introduce you two…” I had finally made my choice. “Let’s get a divorce.” … James seemed surprised by my reaction. He took a moment before speaking. “We don’t have to get a divorce. I only told you because I don’t want you interfering in our business later on. Making a scene would just embarrass the girl.” He had thought of everything to protect her, without a single thought for the damage he was inflicting on me. Last night, I had sat curled in a corner, consumed by guilt, trying to figure out where I’d gone wrong. We’d dated for five years and been married for seven. I truly believed we were past the infamous seven-year itch. But we couldn’t escape it. In that moment, I replayed the entire twelve years of our life together. I had transformed from a bright-eyed young woman into a wife and a mother. Ever since we got married, my entire world had revolved around my husband and my son. I learned different cuisines, constantly creating new, nutritious meals to keep them healthy. My online shopping history was almost exclusively things for them. The most expensive item I’d ever bought for myself was a face cream I had coveted for months but never felt I could justify buying. I thought and I thought. I didn’t know what I had done wrong. For the first time, I felt utterly lost, a bone-deep chill seeping into me as I watched the fireworks outside. Then I stumbled upon a post on social media. It had to be her, Sophie. She’d posted a series of photos. A man’s watch and a boy’s jacket, left in the corner of the shot, gave them away. The caption read: A new year, a new beginning. I stared at their New Year’s Eve dinner: three burnt steaks. And in that instant, I understood everything. I hadn’t done anything wrong. They were simply tired of me. Just like that. Still, tears welled in my eyes. Even the son I had carried for ten months and brought into this world had turned against me. I truly was a failure. James saw the look on my face and softened his tone. “We can keep things as they are. Just as long as you promise not to cause trouble for her.” I bit the inside of my lip so hard I tasted blood, fighting to keep the tears from falling. “Let’s get a divorce.” James studied me for a few moments, then turned away with a single, dismissive phrase. “Suit yourself.” A sharp pain lanced through my chest. My hand trembled as I reached for the pen. I grew up in a single-parent home; would my son be okay? But he recoiled from me as if I were his enemy, terrified I might fight for custody. “Dad, can we go see Sophie now?” I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself, but the scar from my C-section began to ache with a phantom pain. Finally, stroke by stroke, I signed my name. I was setting them free. And maybe myself, too. Because of all this, we didn’t visit my mother the day after New Year’s. She called to ask why. When she heard I was getting a divorce, she exploded. “Have you lost your mind? Getting divorced at your age? You think you’re still young and pretty? Who’s going to want you now? Whatever you did wrong, you better go and apologize for it.” My voice choked with tears. “James is having an affair. With a younger woman.” My mother was silent for a second, but then her voice came back, just as sharp. “Then that’s your failure. You couldn’t even keep your own husband from cheating.” I hung up, the endless stream of insults and blame ringing in my ears. She was always like this. She, who had divorced my father for the very same reason, couldn’t find an ounce of sympathy for me. I knew why. She favored her son, and her son-in-law had a powerful job, one that could give her precious boy a good position. All my life, I had tried to make everyone happy. But this time… I’m sorry, Mom. This time, I have to disappoint you. My mother called James next. I don’t know what they said, but when he called me back, his voice was laced with disgust. “You better get your mother under control. If she comes to my office and makes a scene, don’t blame me for what happens.” Then, just before he hung up, I heard him mutter, so quietly I almost missed it. “I hate dealing with nepotism.” The blood ran cold in my veins. I had tried so hard to distance myself from my family, to avoid being a financial drain on him, to prevent him from looking down on me. But back then, James would cup my face in his hands and reassure me. “If it makes you happy, let them leech off us a little. I’m happy to do it for you.” So, even when I did everything I could to refuse my family’s demands, even when I was ready to cut ties completely, he went behind my back and gave my brother a job at his company anyway. I was furious. He just winked playfully. “It’s a small price to pay for your peace of mind. It’s worth it. Don’t be angry.” “No girl really wants to be estranged from her family. I don’t want you to have regrets later.” So he tolerated my brother’s many mistakes, all to secure my “status” within my family. In those moments, I felt the warmth of a conditional, “fake” motherly love. It made me happy, even if it came with strings attached. But now, I was just another case of nepotism. He wasn’t wrong. Except it was never what I wanted. His affection hadn’t changed; it had just been redirected. I learned from my mother that he had given Sophie’s entire family jobs at the company. Even her father, who had no real skills, was given a management position. Their combined salaries were double what my brother made. My chest ached with a pulsing pain. A bitter smile touched my lips. The problem wasn’t nepotism. The problem was me. I felt all the strength drain from my body, and I collapsed onto the floor in a helpless heap. How could someone I loved so much change so completely? After I had cried myself out, I dusted off my old resume and started applying for jobs, even entry-level positions. Sweet words are only effective when they’re being spoken. When James and Daniel came home, he saw my resume on the table and looked surprised. “No one is forcing you to go out and work.” My son, ever his father’s mouthpiece, added with a sneer, “Yeah, what can you even do besides stay at home? Just listen to Dad.” No one remembered that he was the one who had convinced me to become a stay-at-home mom. No one saw the years of my devotion and sacrifice. I stared at them, and something inside me snapped. “Enough! You don’t need to worry about what I can or can’t do.” That night, James came to me, seeking to “talk.” “Why did you have to lose your temper like that? You scared Daniel.” His warm back pressed against mine, his hands starting to wander. For a fleeting moment, I let myself lean into the familiar scent, the familiar comfort. But reality came crashing down. The thought that these same hands had recently touched someone else filled me with a wave of revulsion. I pulled away sharply, my voice cold. “You’re drunk. And we’re divorced.” James looked at me with amusement. “Still throwing a tantrum? I told you, I never wanted a divorce. I just said that to make you understand your place.” I thought about that, my face a blank mask. What was my place? A wife in name only? A disposable housekeeper? I gathered my things and went to sleep in the guest room. The next day, right after a job interview, I got a call from Daniel’s teacher, asking me to come for a parent-teacher meeting. I didn’t want to go, but I couldn’t get ahold of James. I remembered how I was always the one who dealt with the teachers, and how sensitive Daniel was about being left out. My heart softened, and I went. When I arrived, I saw that someone was already sitting in my place. It was my first time meeting her, Sophie. For a moment, I just stared. She looked like a younger version of me. I had assumed the attraction was based on a similar family background, but I never imagined she would resemble me physically, too. Daniel was beaming, his eyes shining with pride. He had taken all the classroom points I had helped him earn by tutoring him for hours and gifted them all to Sophie. I remembered a time when the whole class was cashing in their points, and the teacher suggested he get something for me. He had mumbled, “But I want to save up for a really big prize.” I had felt a pang of envy then, but I just smiled at the teacher. “It’s okay. As long as he’s happy.” A crushing sense of failure washed over me, and I turned to flee. But as I reached the hallway, I heard a commotion behind me. Daniel was fighting with another child. I stopped in my tracks, held by some invisible thread. Maybe it was a mother’s instinct, maybe something else. I don’t know. But I walked back, and I could finally hear what they were shouting about. The other little boy was explaining to the teacher. “That’s not his real mom! You can’t have two moms! My mommy says that’s wrong!” Daniel shot back, his voice full of righteous anger. “A stepmom is still a mom! I like my stepmom! It’s none of your business!” And then they started fighting. It was the first time Daniel had ever hit anyone. Every word was a razor-sharp blade, slicing me open. His loyalty to her ran that deep. And here I was, worried about him feeling left out. Just then, another child shouted. “Someone’s here!” Everyone turned to look at me. Even Daniel looked uncomfortable. “Mom… I didn’t…” Sophie stepped in front of him protectively, about to offer an explanation. I ignored her. I saw the other child’s parents hurrying over, and I bowed deeply to them. “I am so sorry that my personal situation has caused your child to get hurt. I will cover all medical expenses and offer full compensation.” They took pity on me and refused. One of them just patted my shoulder. “You’ve got this.” I forced a smile, apologized again, and left. I could feel their eyes on my back, but I didn’t turn around. That evening, James came home in a fury. He dragged Daniel with him, whose eyes were red and puffy from crying. “Aren’t you going to explain yourself?” he demanded. I paused in my packing. I couldn’t think of anything to explain. He grabbed my arm and pulled me into his study. “Daniel was crying at school today because of you. Even Sophie is upset. I knew you were faking it. Pretending to be all mature about the divorce, but then you go and pull a stunt like this, showing up at the school just to make a scene.” Listening to his baseless accusations, all I felt was a profound, chilling cold. After all our years together, this was the impression he had of me. Not that he cared. So why should I bother explaining? “Think whatever you want. It’s not like you care about your affair being made public anyway.” James was livid. The next day, my brother was fired. He disposed of my family as easily as flicking away an ant. My mother was incensed. I had just landed a new job, and for the first time in a long while, life felt a little sweet. Then she stormed into my new office without warning. “You tell me what’s going on! Your brother was just fired!” The mask of the caring mother was gone. She grabbed me, dragging me by the arm, demanding an explanation. The curious, judgmental stares of my new colleagues felt like stones being thrown at me. The job I had just secured was gone. “Ms. Zhang, I’m sorry, but perhaps we can reschedule for another time.” I choked back my humiliation, apologized profusely, and let my mother drag me out of the building. She was oblivious to my pain, still chattering on and on, her mind completely consumed by her son’s problems. A total, suffocating despair enveloped me. My ears were ringing, and my chest felt tight, like it was about to collapse. And then, to make it all worse, I saw him. James. Dressed in a sharp suit, standing not far away, holding Sophie’s hand. They were watching me, enjoying the spectacle. It was as if he were silently telling me, This is what you get for not behaving. I was a clown, abandoned by the world, an island of misery. Despair, loneliness… For a fleeting second, I wanted to die. But my mother’s grip yanked me back to reality. She wasn’t afraid of me dying. She was afraid I’d find some happiness without her and my brother. I was too tired to fight anymore. I went limp, letting her fists rain down on me, just like when I was a child. I looked at James and began to laugh, a wild, unhinged sound. This is what love comes to in the end.

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Five years I’d been with Alistair Finch, and I finally mentioned marriage. He was propped against the headboard, smoking a post-coital cigarette. Hearing my words, a careless smile played on his lips. “Nora, that’s what I like about you. You’re so sensible.” “I’ve told you before. You want to leave, you can walk away anytime. I won’t stop you.” With that, he stubbed out his cigarette, even thoughtfully pulling the collar of my pajamas closed and wiping a tear from the corner of my eye. He knew with perfect clarity that the moment he deployed his ultimate weapon—those four words, “walk away anytime”—I would, like every time before, back down, surrender, and never mention it again. But he didn’t know that this time, things had changed. I’d made a bet with someone. The wager was whether Alistair Finch would be willing to marry me. If I lost, I would disappear for good. 1 On the third night of my business trip to London, my mother called, ignoring the time difference completely. I didn’t bother mentioning how expensive international roaming was; I just listened to her ramble. After a long, winding preamble, she finally got to the point. “It’s not that I’m trying to pressure you, dear, but you always praise that boyfriend of yours to the high heavens. You’re pushing thirty now. If he really cared about you, how come there’s not even a whisper of marriage?” I’d always thought London was a perfect city for romance, its rainy days made for kissing under the covers. But it was a terrible place for a breakup. Too cold, too lonely. Alistair pushed open the bathroom door, his hair still damp, the belt of his robe tied loosely. A few red marks, souvenirs from our earlier passion, were still visible on his chest. He sat down beside me, the sofa cushion sinking under his weight. Seeing me staring blankly at my phone, he reached out and brushed a finger against my cheek. “The future mother-in-law checking in? Trouble?” I turned to look at him. Alistair Finch was, objectively, a stunning man. His mother was a famous socialite from the Hong Kong scene, of mixed heritage, and he had perfectly inherited that touch of the exotic. High brow bones, deep-set eyes, but with the soft, refined features of the East. The clash was deadly. I caught his hand and held it, pretending to be casual. “My mom is on my case about blind dates, says there’s a guy back home with great prospects.” “She doesn’t even believe I have a boyfriend, thinks I’m making it all up. I told her I was just too busy with work to take you home for the official inspection.” I tried to give him an out, pausing before I continued. “Once this busy spell is over, maybe you could come back with me for the New Year, and we could…” “Nora.” Alistair cut me off with a smile. His handsome eyes curved, but they held no warmth. “Don’t test me. You know that doesn’t work on me.” He crossed his legs, looking at me in the dim glow of the floor lamp, his voice light and airy. “I’ve said it before. If you want to end this relationship, you can, at any time.” I stared at him for a long moment, a strange calm settling over me. The first time he’d said that, I had been devastated. I’d dared to throw a fit, to fight with him. I wouldn’t let him off so easily. “What do you mean, ‘this relationship’?” I’d yelled. “Alistair, have you lost your memory? I’m your girlfriend! The one you actually pursued and who said yes!” “Don’t talk to me like you’re shooing away a beggar!” Back then, he was quick to apologize, showering me with sweet words. I had a temper then, but I ended up crying and begging him never to say such hurtful things again. But hearing those words now, I felt no pain. No anger. Alistair leaned in, his touch gentle as he brushed my cheek. “See? You can’t bear to leave, yet you insist on making trouble. Crying like this… it breaks my heart to see it.” I touched my face and realized tears were streaming down without me even noticing. So this is all that’s left. Just sorrow. “But you made promises before,” I whispered. “You said we would get married.” The tears flowed along the lines of his palm. He sighed, as if dealing with a petulant child. His words were blunt, stabbing into me like knives. “Isn’t what we have now good enough? We don’t have to compromise over petty domestic things. Haven’t you been happy these past few years?” “And if you’ve been happy, why do you need a piece of paper? This spot next to me… I haven’t let anyone else have it.” He’d said all that needed to be said. The meaning was crystal clear. In his mind, I had no reason to complain anymore. Seeing that I had fallen silent, he slipped back into his lazy, lord-of-the-manor persona. “Hungry? You’ve been picking at Western food like it’s medicine. There’s a decent Chinese place in Chinatown. Hot pot, Szechuan… what are you craving?” “Not hungry? Then I’ll make you a bowl of noodles. You just rest.” He stood up, a cigarette dangling from his lips, and ruffled my hair. I don’t know when it started, but Alistair had perfected a killer move against me. It was exactly this: to brush past the issue as if it were nothing, ignoring all my pain and struggle. Because he was certain that as soon as he uttered the words “end this relationship,” I would panic, I would be terrified, and in the end, I would have no choice but to swallow all my grievances. This wasn’t the first time I had tested Alistair. But it was the last. And the result was the same. The wind outside was turning damp. It was going to rain again in London tonight. The space between Alistair and me was just like this wretched weather—damp, cold, and hidden from the light. When we first got together, I’d even considered sacrificing my career for a proper title. I was naive enough to think he kept our relationship secret to avoid office gossip, since he was the big boss and I was a junior employee. I was so head-over-heels back then. “I can resign,” I’d declared. “I’ll leave Apex Group. Once we’re not boss and subordinate, we can be open about it, right?” I was truly crazy then, willing to throw everything away just for the right to stand by his side. I had studied for over twenty years, fighting tooth and nail to land a job at Apex Group. My resume was impeccable, my skills top-notch. With time, I knew I could make a name for myself. Any sane person would never dream of leaving Apex. So when I said it, even Alistair, who had seen it all, was taken aback for a second. He quickly composed himself and started to reason with me. “Nora, your work is important. Don’t be impulsive.” I was younger then, and my feelings for him were tangled with a humble insecurity. His words were enough to extinguish my fire. “You’re right. I wasn’t thinking clearly. Your career is more important than mine.” Alistair was the heir to the Finch fortune; his time at Apex was just for show, a bit of training. Hearing me, he first looked surprised, then shook his head with a smile. “Not my career. Yours.” He began to lecture me, trying to save a young woman lost in the throes of a consuming love. “It’s not easy for a woman to make it in the corporate world. Never, ever joke about your future, not even for a boyfriend.” “I hope that one day, when you make it big at Apex, it will be because of your talent, not because you’re the boss’s rumored girlfriend.” I rarely stopped to wonder how much of what he said that day was genuine. But later, in the dead of many nights, after I’d landed one major project after another, my bonuses piling up, I was always grateful that Alistair had stopped my younger, crazier self. After that, my tests became more subtle. Like inventing a few non-existent “suitors.” I wanted to see a flicker of jealousy on Alistair’s face. But his wealth and talent were the source of his arrogance. No matter how outstanding my supposed suitors were, he dismissed them all as “idiots.” He wouldn’t stoop to competing with idiots, and he didn’t believe I would be foolish enough to trade a diamond for a pebble. From beginning to end, he stood on high ground, utterly secure in his position. I stood on the balcony, watching the housekeeper lock up and leave. Truthfully, setting aside our emotional mess, Alistair was generous, whether as a boyfriend or a patron. I had once casually complained that staying in hotels was inconvenient, and he immediately bought me this apartment near Hyde Park, a place to stay during business trips. Of course, I could continue to play dumb, to cling to the small comforts he provided. I could let logic slowly devour my emotions, staying with him, never asking about the future. But I knew better than anyone that it was a dead end. My phone screen lit up and went dark, then lit up again. On the third buzz, I answered. After a moment of silence, my best friend Jenna’s voice came through. “I told you, a guy like that would never marry you.” “Sometimes you have to hit the same wall a few times before you finally see sense.” She was still talking, but I didn’t say anything. I turned and looked inside through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Alistair was standing at the dining table, watching me. He had just hung up a call. Seeing me look at him, he tapped the table, signaling for me to come back and eat my noodles. I stared at him for a long, long time, until my eyes began to ache. Then I spoke softly into the phone. “A bet’s a bet. I don’t go back on my word. As soon as the paperwork is done, I’ll come find you.” Was the bet that valuable? Was it absolutely necessary to follow through? Not really. It was just that it was time for the show to end. Alistair stood inside, never stepping through the door. He just watched her silhouette, knowing he didn’t need to go out and coax her. She would come back on her own. A moment ago, his mother had called from Zurich. After some small talk, she’d asked about me. “So, are you two planning a wedding? When are you going to bring her home for me to see? You can’t just keep stringing her along.” He had laughed carelessly. “What wedding? When did I ever say I was getting married?” His beautiful mother sounded a little indignant on my behalf. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, darling. Playing with a young woman’s heart comes with consequences.” “That’s what my last competitor said right before he lost to me.” Alistair sprinkled chopped scallions over the noodles, his patience endless. “And what happened? My business just got bigger and bigger.” “That’s different. I always tell your father, your life has been too easy. You found a girl who adores you completely. You deserve to suffer a little.” Alistair raised an eyebrow, not taking her seriously at all. “Who’s going to make me suffer? Her? She wouldn’t have the heart.” He offered a few more platitudes and hung up, his eyes lifting to the balcony. He met my gaze as I turned to look at him, even through the dark night. He could imagine the devotion in my eyes. How could she possibly have the heart to leave him? In the following days, neither of us mentioned what happened that night. A working girl has no time for heartbreak. I had to reply to client emails while tears streamed down my face. The business trip ended, and I rushed back to the office. I walked through the halls, delegating tasks as I went. “Chris, can you check Mr. Davies’s schedule for me? If possible, book a meeting for three tomorrow afternoon. I need to sync up with him on the European progress.” “And have Alex come to my office in ten minutes.” Deciding to leave was one thing, but I liked clean breaks. Apex was the first stop in my career. The longer I stayed, the harder it would be to disentangle myself. A few days later, news broke about a new smart factory project, with the lead position still undecided. While the rumors were flying, Mr. Davies called me into a meeting room. Besides me, there was one other person in the room. I gave her a nod. Sabrina was proud and had never liked me. She didn’t even bother to lift her eyes, launching straight into her attack. “Whether it’s the technical proposal or past experience, my team is the best fit. I’ve been following this from the start. Why is some outsider suddenly sticking their nose in?” Mr. Davies looked at me. “Nora, what are your thoughts?” In the past, I would have fought her for it, tooth and nail. But this time, I didn’t rush to speak. After a moment, I stood up. Sabrina slammed her file on the table, her tone mocking. “You really have to compete with me for everything, don’t you? We’ve done extensive preliminary research on this project. You can’t win this one.” I looked at her, and for a second, my mind drifted. When we were new hires, we weren’t always at each other’s throats. We had joined in the same recruitment batch, comrades in arms. There was a time when we even shared a sense of mutual respect. But then I started landing major deals one after another, my promotions coming so fast it was like I was on a rocket ship, leaving her far behind. The way she looked at me changed. It became wary and competitive. She had to best me in everything. Just as I was about to speak, someone pushed the door open. Sabrina’s eyes lit up. She pushed her proposal in front of the newcomer. “Mr. Finch, for this upgrade project, our team has prepared detailed calculations. I’m confident we can secure this contract.” I had used work as an excuse to avoid Alistair for days. He scanned the room with a professional air, then picked up Sabrina’s proposal. After flipping through a few pages, he made his decision. “Send it to my office.” “Thank you, Mr. Finch!” Alistair didn’t spare me a single glance. Not that it would have mattered if he had. Who would ever guess that the aloof Mr. Finch from the boardroom would be tumbling into bed with a regular employee like me at night? Sabrina shot me a triumphant look and followed Alistair out the door. Mr. Davies patted my shoulder. I gave him an “OK” sign. Alistair was always like this at work—completely impartial. He would never pull strings for me just because of our secret relationship. He only cared about the company’s bottom line. If my work was subpar, he would tear into me just as mercilessly as anyone else. At first, it hurt. But later I understood: he looked down on everyone equally. Back then, if he berated me during the day, I wouldn’t dare talk back. But at night, unable to stand my sullen face, he would patiently walk me through my mistakes, teaching me how to solve the problem. Even if I couldn’t see a shred of affection in his eyes now, I had to admit that the Alistair of the past had been a generous teacher. In these past few years, I had been broken down and rebuilt in his hands, growing at an astonishing rate. Before leaving work, I sat in my office for a long time, until almost all the lights on the floor had gone out. Only then did I click “submit” on the company’s internal portal. Seeing “Resignation Application Submitted” on the screen, I closed my laptop. Just then, my phone buzzed. A message from Alistair. “There’s a party tomorrow night. I had a gown sent over.” “I thought you’d refuse, like you always do. The dress suits you.” Alistair leaned over to buckle my seatbelt, a hint of surprise in his voice. In the past, to avoid suspicion, I would have turned down any invitation like this. We had to be careful not only of our colleagues, but also of the paparazzi outside. They had been tailing Alistair for a solid year, trying to dig up some dirt. But the photos they got were always of him working late, or at the racetrack, on the ski slopes, or on his yacht. Once or twice, they caught a shot of my back. But before the tabloids could even run the story, Alistair’s PR team had quashed it. When he wanted to keep a secret, no one could uncover it. I watched the city lights streak past the window. He was holding my hand. I shifted my fingers but didn’t pull away. The gown and his suit were a perfect match. This would probably be the last time we looked like a couple. When we arrived, I realized it was a wedding reception. The top-floor ballroom had floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the entire Victoria Harbour. The host had to be one of Alistair’s closest friends to get him to show up. A few people came over to chat. Their eyes lit up when they saw me. “Well now, what a beautiful young lady. Puts the pageant winners to shame. Mr. Finch’s girlfriend?” Before Alistair could speak, I stepped in, my tone detached. “You’ve misunderstood, sir. I’m an employee at Apex. Mr. Finch’s secretary had a prior engagement, so I’m just filling in.” Alistair didn’t say anything. He just turned and gave me a long, deep look, his expression unreadable. For the rest of the evening, no one dared to gossip about us. When it was time for the bride to toss the bouquet, I was pushed into the crowd by a few playful guests. As the bouquet sailed directly towards me, I instinctively sidestepped. The person next to me snatched it out of the air. After I regained my footing, I looked down at the tables. The faint smile that had been playing on Alistair’s lips slowly vanished the moment he saw me dodge the flowers. “Why didn’t you catch it?” On the way back, Alistair suddenly broke the silence. It took me a second to realize he was talking about the bouquet. “The one who catches the bouquet is supposed to get married next.” I turned to him, my voice even. “If I’d caught it, what would you have done when I started pressuring you to marry me? Weren’t you afraid?” Alistair probably hadn’t expected me to be so direct. His face was a shifting canvas of light and shadow from the passing streetlights. Over the low hum of the engine, he deftly deflected. “The newlyweds were lucky tonight. It’s always good to catch a bit of good fortune. It’ll bring you luck.” I turned back to the window, my nails digging into my palms until it hurt. I almost wanted to laugh at myself. Even now, at this final stage, I couldn’t resist testing him one last time. The result was the same. No surprises.

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I’ve had a total of three boyfriends. Every single one of them dropped dead right after eating my mom’s homemade lasagna. The situation was so bizarre that a special task force was formed just to investigate their deaths. They spent six months on it, tearing our house apart, and still found nothing. The whole ordeal scared me so much that I didn’t dare date anyone for two years. In the third year, I finally started to move on from the shadow of the past and fell in love again. But with three dead boyfriends behind me, I was terrified. I refused to bring my new boyfriend, Mark, home to meet my mom. He, however, was eager to talk marriage and persistently begged me to take him home. This time, my mom, following our family tradition, made her special lasagna. Not long after we finished dinner, I went to the bathroom. A moment later, I heard my mother scream. “Oh God! Not again! He’s dead!” I ran out, and the blood drained from my face. Mark, who had been perfectly fine just minutes before, was slumped on the couch, his body stiff and cold. He looked like he’d been dead for a while. 1 I was frozen solid, staring at Mark’s lifeless body on the sofa. My face was ashen, my eyes burning with tears. “H-how did this happen?” “Mark, wake up! Don’t do this to me!” My hand trembled as I reached out to check for his breath, but my mother grabbed my arm, pulling me back. “Lucy, what are we going to do? Your boyfriend… he’s dead too!” “We have to call the police! We have to call them now!” My mom is the most timid, law-abiding person I know. Her first instinct is always to call the authorities. Her face pale, she fumbled with her phone to dial 911. “They said they’re on their way!” “Lucy, honey, don’t look.” I collapsed onto the couch, my entire world spiraling into darkness. “How could he be dead too?” “Mom, this is the fourth one…” My mom looked at me with pity, sighing heavily. She seemed to have aged a decade in a single night. Before long, the task force, along with a team of medical examiners, had swarmed our house. Detective Reed, the lead investigator, saw us and couldn’t help but sigh. “How is it that it’s your house again?” “What happened this time?” My mom shook her head like a rattle. “We don’t know, Detective. We just don’t know.” They immediately secured the scene and began a full autopsy on-site. My mom and I sat by the door, waiting in silence. This was the fourth time. Even the detectives and coroners felt like old acquaintances. During a break, one of the junior medical examiners leaned in and whispered to us. “Mrs. Mills, no offense, but have you ever thought maybe this house has bad luck?” “Every time your daughter brings a boyfriend home, something terrible happens. It’s like a curse. It’s just… morbid.” “Maybe you should think about selling the place, moving somewhere else.” My mother’s lips tightened, her face white as she shook her head. “It’s just the two of us. Lucy’s father died a long time ago. This house is all we have, our roots are here. Where else would we go?” As she spoke, tears began to fall. “I just feel so terrible for my Lucy. She was finally in a stable, happy relationship, and now this… God!” With a boyfriend dead in our home, my mother and I were the primary suspects. The neighbors peeked through their blinds, their faces a mixture of fear and judgment. “Another one? There’s something wrong with that family. It’s just not natural.” “I bet the two of them are behind it.” “Don’t say that. The best detectives in the city are on this. If it were them, they would’ve been arrested after the first one!” “There has to be something else going on!” Hearing their whispers, the vile accusations being thrown at us, my mom grew frantic. “We will cooperate fully, Detective! My daughter, Lucy, she wants a government job someday. You have to clear our names, please don’t let an innocent person be framed for this!” Detective Reed tried to console her. “Mrs. Mills, don’t you worry. We will do everything in our power to solve this case.” “If we can confirm you had nothing to do with it, you and your daughter will be cleared.” But we waited until our stomachs were growling, and still, they found nothing. Not a single clue. Even the most experienced medical examiners were shaking their heads in frustration. “This is unbelievable. We can’t determine the cause of death.” “It’s the same as the other three bodies. Appears to be a sudden cardiac arrest, but with no underlying cause.” The city’s top forensic team was called in, but even they couldn’t crack the puzzle. Once again, I had a boyfriend die in my home. My mother and I clung to each other, pale and trembling. Tears streamed down her face as her composure finally shattered. She let out a desperate, wailing cry. “Oh, God, what have we done to deserve this?” “Is my daughter cursed?” “Why does every man she loves end up dead in our house?” Soon, a detective from the task force approached me, his eyes studying me intently. “You’re Lucy Mills? The deceased, Mark, died in a manner identical to the previous three victims. I need you to think very carefully. Did they have anything in common?” I fought back my grief and thought hard. “Well, the most obvious thing is…” “They were all my boyfriends. Other than that, they didn’t know each other, so I don’t think…” I shook my head, but then something clicked. A sudden, chilling realization. “Wait! I remember now!” “They all ate my mom’s homemade lasagna!” 2 The moment the words left my mouth, every detective in the room turned to stare at me. “Lasagna?” Just like the first three times, their investigation circled back to my mom’s cooking. But every single time, they came up empty. The lasagna never provided any clues. “They die after eating lasagna? Are you suggesting someone poisoned it?” a detective asked, his eyes cold as he sized up my mother and me. “Never! I would never!” my mom cried out. “Besides, we’re not stupid! If we were going to murder someone, why would we do it with food I made myself, in our own home? Do we look like we have a death wish?” “And for God’s sake, he was my daughter’s boyfriend! He could have been my son-in-law one day! What possible motive could we have?” Detective Reed calmly cut my mother off. “Were there any leftovers from dinner tonight?” “Yes!” my mom said quickly. “I made way too much sauce, so I made a whole other tray and put it in the freezer.” “And with everything that happened so suddenly, the leftovers from dinner are still on the counter. We didn’t have a chance to clean up.” So, they immediately collected everything. The leftover lasagna, the frozen tray, and even the raw ingredients. From the flour used for the fresh pasta to the meat and spices in my mom’s sauce. Everything was tested. “Well? Anything?” Reed asked the forensics tech. The tech shook his head. “No toxins, no poisons, nothing. It’s just a normal pan of lasagna.” A younger, intense-looking detective named Nathan suddenly looked up at me, his gaze sharp. “Lucy, you might as well tell us the truth.” “Why is your mother so insistent on making lasagna for them?” I’d always wondered that myself. I pulled my mom over to explain. She slapped her thigh in frustration, her face a mask of sorrow. “Detectives, you don’t understand. It’s a tradition in our family.” “Especially when a daughter brings a boy home for the first time. The mother is supposed to make her special family-recipe meal.” “And besides, with the holidays coming up, everyone is making big, hearty meals.” “We’ve been doing this for generations. How could it be that only… only my daughter’s boyfriends are the ones who have something happen to them? It’s a damn tragedy.” But Nathan didn’t let up, his eyes still fixed on me. “Maybe there’s a more sophisticated poisoning method we’re not seeing.” My face went pale. I opened my mouth to defend myself, but before I could speak, Detective Reed stepped in. “Nathan, the chances of that are practically zero.” “You heard the M.E. The victim shows no signs of poisoning. That’s not what killed him.” The task force looked defeated. “So we can rule it out. It has nothing to do with your mother’s lasagna.” I couldn’t help but mutter under my breath. “Besides, I ate it too, didn’t I?” My mom makes lasagna all the time, and before all this happened, it was my favorite food. This time, I had been so worried about Mark that I barely had an appetite and only ate a few bites. But my mom had two huge helpings. If there was poison in the lasagna, how were we still standing here? With every theory hitting a dead end, the task force moved on to another possibility. A crime of passion. Someone who was obsessed with me. Detective Reed turned to me. “Lucy, think hard. Is there anyone like that?” “Someone who pursued you, couldn’t have you, and is now taking out his anger on your boyfriends from the shadows? It’s a possibility.” I wracked my brain, and then my eyes shot up. “Actually… there might be someone.” 3 As all eyes in the room turned to me, I had no choice but to tell them everything. “There was a guy I met through work, Trevor. He pursued me for a while, but he was a heavy smoker and just… not my type, so I turned him down.” “After that, he threatened me a few times, both directly and indirectly.” “He said that when he wants a woman, he gets her, no matter the cost.” “I told him I had a boyfriend, and he just smirked and said we wouldn’t last long.” The more I said, the more the goosebumps crawled up my arms. I was on the verge of tears, looking pleadingly at Detective Reed. “Detective, do you think it could be him?” “But how would he know every time I got a new boyfriend? And how could he kill them so flawlessly, without a trace?” Detective Reed looked thoughtful. “We can’t be sure he’s the killer, but he’s certainly a person of interest.” “To test this theory, we’ll need to investigate further.” The task force proposed a plan: Nathan would pose as my new boyfriend and come to my house for dinner. “Me?” “Him?” Nathan and I spoke at the same time. Seeing the utter reluctance on his handsome face, I frowned. “Can’t you pick someone else?” Detective Reed just smiled. “He’s the only one in the unit who is close to your age. It’s more believable this way.” Fine. So, Nathan, as instructed, came over to my house, pretending to be my boyfriend. We replicated the entire scenario from when Mark came over. My mom wiped her tears and forced a smile, chopping vegetables and preparing the lasagna just as she had before. While we waited for it to bake, I poured a glass of juice from the fridge and handed it to Nathan. “This is my favorite. You should try it.” Nathan shot me an annoyed look. I rolled my eyes, slammed the glass down on the table, and muttered, “Drink it or don’t. I don’t care.” For some reason, this guy acted like he had a personal vendetta against me, glaring at me every chance he got. I couldn’t figure it out. Finally, I asked him. “Nathan, what is your problem with me?” He just snorted and turned away, his gaze falling on a childhood photo of me on the wall. “Looks like you were trouble even back then.” That was it. I shot to my feet, my eyes welling up. “Nathan, what is that supposed to mean?” “Why are you so prejudiced against me? Deep down, you think I’m the one who killed them, don’t you?” Tears streamed down my face, hot and unstoppable. Nathan froze, suddenly looking flustered. He quickly handed me a tissue. “Hey, don’t cry.” His voice was awkward. “I didn’t mean it like that. Don’t overthink it.” But this time, I wouldn’t back down. “Then what did you mean?” “You’ve been on this case since the beginning, and every time you see me, you look like you want to punch a wall.” “This time, it was my boyfriend, Mark, who died.” “He’s gone, and I’m the one who’s heartbroken, but you’re still blaming me.” Nathan was silent for a long time, just looking at me. Finally, he sighed. “I just think you’re… a bit of a black widow.” “And it’s a damn shame about those lives.” “But no matter how much effort it takes, we are going to get to the bottom of this.” A small laugh escaped my lips, and then Nathan smiled too. He picked up the glass of juice and took a few sips. After that, the hostility in his eyes seemed to fade a little. We followed the plan, ate the lasagna, and waited nervously for the killer to make a move. But the meal ended. And Nathan was perfectly fine. “I’m not dead?” The task force had already tested this batch of lasagna, so there were no surprises there. But from start to finish, nothing unusual happened. Everyone was more confused than ever. “Could we be looking at this all wrong?” “Maybe it’s not the lasagna at all. Maybe the problem is somewhere else!” Only I had a different idea. “What if the killer knew? What if he knew Nathan was just pretending to be my boyfriend?” Just then, Detective Reed’s phone rang. It was the task force headquarters. They had just received an anonymous letter. “Detective, we think it’s from the killer!” “He’s hiding in the shadows, watching us run in circles. He’s taunting us!” 4 Detective Reed’s expression darkened as he snatched the letter. He only needed one glance. His face turned grim. Curious, I leaned over to look. There were only a few words written in stark, bold letters: “The fifth life is mine.” The atmosphere in the room turned to ice. A collective gasp went through the task force. “This is insane!” “It’s a direct challenge!” “I don’t believe it! We have the whole place locked down. How is he going to take a fifth life right under our noses?” Detective Reed remained calm, raising a hand to silence the chatter. He handed the letter to a forensics officer. “Check this for prints.” But the results came back quickly. “No prints, Detective.” “The killer has counter-surveillance skills. He likely wore gloves. Didn’t leave a single mark.” At that exact moment, as everyone was scrambling for a lead, one of the female officers in the room looked around and cried out. “Where’s Nathan?!” My heart leaped into my throat. I looked around wildly. “He was just here a second ago.” A terrible realization dawned on Detective Reed’s face. “Now!” he yelled. “Find Nathan!”

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Three months into our relationship, Rick took me to meet his friends. A few of them scanned me from head to toe with predatory grins. The only other woman there, sitting in the center of the group, offered her critique. “Damn, Rick. This one’s got a better body than any of the others.” “Yeah, but the makeup on her face is so thick you could use it for shoe insoles.” Rick tossed his jacket at her. “Knock it off. Stop talking crap. Stella’s a good girl, a virgin. Don’t you go corrupting her.” “Rick’s living the dream, man. Only the best, only the fresh, am I right? Hahaha.” The woman, Jenna, let out a dramatic sigh. “Wow, so protective. I’m starting to feel a little threatened!” Rick just laughed and turned to me. “Don’t mind her. Jenna’s just blunt, but she’s got a heart of gold. She’s the glue that holds our whole crew together.” In the dim light of the bar’s private lounge, I smiled innocently, my eyes shimmering with an excitement they couldn’t see. A “pick-me” girl who thrives on being the only woman in a pack of guys? Let’s see how long they keep worshipping her when a walking, talking ATM machine shows up. … The guys kept teasing Rick, and I just stood there, wearing a perfectly calibrated smile. Jenna tossed the jacket back at him. “You wore the wrong coat last night, and you’re giving it back to me without even washing it?” One of the guys, always eager to stir the pot, chimed in. “Rick, looks like you’ve found yourself a princess. If you ask me, a man needs a woman who knows her place.” “She should be washing your clothes by hand, cooking fresh meals every night, and maybe even buying her man a little gift every month. Gotta test them out for a few years before you even think about marrying them!” Jenna nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly! And back when I was helping you survive in that basement apartment, you used to mix up our laundry all the time. Now that you’ve got a girlfriend, you better keep your distance!” A flush crept up Rick’s neck. He laughed it off. “Don’t talk nonsense.” Another guy, Kyle, leaned close to Jenna’s ear. “The new girl seems pretty clueless. You think she even gets what we’re talking about?” They were close, but they weren’t whispering. The whole group chuckled. Rick finally remembered me, the forgotten accessory, and pulled me toward the center of the sofa. “Everyone, this is my girlfriend, Stella. And none of you are allowed to mess with her.” The second I sat down, someone shoved a drink into my hand. “Welcome, Stella. To hang with us, you gotta be able to drink. No backing out.” Rick took the glass from me. “Stella’s allergic to alcohol. I’ll drink for her.” Jenna’s face instantly hardened. “Rick,” she said, her voice cold, “we’ve been friends for years. You haven’t forgotten the rules, have you?” “Who was it that promised any girl he got serious with would have to be able to drink?” “Are you really going to throw away our friendship for her?” Rick swallowed the liquor in his mouth and tried to placate her. “I chased Stella for six months. We’re finally together, and we’re going to get married. Don’t cause trouble.” A chorus of whoops and hollers filled the room. “So that’s why you’ve been MIA! Rick’s actually serious this time!” “Oh, so it’s not a girlfriend, it’s a wife!” “Damn, man, I thought Jenna was a catch, but you outdid yourself. Found a real beauty!” Jenna’s hand paused, her wine glass halfway to her lips. She playfully punched the guy who said it. “I don’t need to plaster my face with makeup like some other girls,” she muttered, but the look she shot me was pure venom. Rick was starting to get annoyed. He whispered to me, “Stella, you want to go see a movie instead?” I feigned surprise. “Why? We just got here.” My voice was soft, but loud enough for everyone to hear. Kyle clicked his tongue. “Trying to run away already? You used to do whatever Jenna said. What happened…” “That’s enough.” Rick’s face was grim, cutting him off. The mood soured instantly, and for a moment, only the bar’s music filled the silence. The friends exchanged uneasy glances, their eyes eventually settling on Jenna, waiting for her next move. She poured two more drinks, one for herself, one for Rick. “Rick, since you’re ignoring the rules, I’ve got nothing more to say. Drink this with me, and we’ll go our separate ways.” Rick clearly hadn’t expected that. He hesitated, then turned to me. “Stella, maybe just have one? If you really feel sick, I’ll take you to the hospital.” I gave him a wounded smile. “It’s fine, Rick. It’s a nice gesture from your friends.” The foul stench of the cheap liquor made me want to gag. Rick looked conflicted but didn’t stop me. Jenna downed her glass in one go. “Come on, sweetheart. If you don’t drink it, Rick might just have to break up with you.” “Right, Rick?” He avoided my eyes. I held the glass for a moment, then set it back down on the table. A triumphant smirk spread across Jenna’s face. Before she could speak, I said softly, “I really don’t want to drink. But I’ll accept a punishment. Truth or dare, anything.” Finn, the group’s self-appointed hype man, scoffed. “We play that stuff between us, but you’re an outsider. You think you can just join in?” “How about this? You don’t want to drink, you pay. Five hundred bucks a glass. How about that?” Jenna gave him an approving smile, clearly backing the idea. The others stirred, eager to watch me squirm. Under their collective gaze, I slowly nodded. “Okay. I’ll Venmo you.” Seeing I was serious, Finn hesitantly pulled out his phone and opened the app. A second later, a loud cha-ching notification echoed from his phone. “Venmo payment received: fifty thousand dollars.” Finn froze, staring at his screen as if it were an alien artifact. “That should cover about a hundred glasses, right? I can send the next round’s payment now if you want.” I picked up my phone, my own bank balance flashing for a split second, a number with too many digits to count. Finn’s eyes were practically bulging out of his head. He rushed to stop me, his voice suddenly syrupy sweet. “No, no, that’s plenty! I didn’t realize you were… I was just kidding, Miss! Please, don’t be mad.” The rest of the group dropped their act. They scrambled, clawing at Finn’s phone. “You think you can handle a hundred drinks with her? Share the wealth!” “I’ll drink with her! Don’t be greedy!” “We’re Rick’s friends too! That money belongs to all of us!” Rick pulled me into his arms. “Hey, be careful! You bump into my wife, and you’ll have my billionaire father-in-law to answer to!” “It’s just fifty grand. You guys are pathetic.” The friends who were fighting over the phone froze, their eyes meeting mid-air. Fifty grand, which Rick now dismissed as pocket change. And that last part… “billionaire father-in-law.” It hit them like a lightning bolt. They weren’t just hanging out with a rich girl; they had struck gold. The richest family in the city was the Sterling family. Which meant I must be… “Stella, my name is Finn. You can just call me Finn.” “I’m Mike…” They all started introducing themselves, the earlier arrogance completely gone. Even Kyle, Jenna’s loyal lapdog, looked tempted until she shot him a death glare. “Stella, if you’re going to act like this, you can just get out. We don’t…” “Alright, Jenna, that’s enough. Stella just got here, why are you targeting her?” “Yeah, nobody said paying wasn’t an option. If you don’t like it, you can pay too.” Jenna was cut off by a chorus of dissent. Her face went pale, then red, and she stomped her foot in frustration. “Don’t be mad,” Rick said, patting her head. “We came out to have fun. You’re making a scene.” “Even you think I’m making a scene?!” Jenna’s eyes suddenly filled with tears. She started downing glass after glass of wine. Before Rick could intervene, I took the bottle from her. “Jenna, we’re both women. I’ve heard drinking too much can cause birth defects. Even if you’re not thinking about yourself, you should think about your future husband.” Jenna’s hand, which had been reaching for the bottle, froze and retreated. “But you did have a drink for me earlier,” I added sweetly. “I’ll pay the five hundred for that.” Jenna’s first instinct was that I was humiliating her. Before she could snap back, Kyle jumped in. “Stella, you can just send it to me. I’ll hold it for Jenna.” I nodded. “Of course.” Another fifty-thousand-dollar notification sound, and the room erupted. I spoke calmly over the noise. “And please, give the rest of that money to Jenna. She should use it to get a full medical check-up at the hospital.” Kyle, blinded by the money, had completely forgotten his allegiance to Jenna. He sidled up to me, his voice dripping with sycophancy. “Stella, what can I get you to drink? I’ll go buy it!” “Get lost!” Rick shoved him away. “Back off.” The party was a success for everyone except Jenna. Before we left, I put a hundred grand on a tab at the bar, telling them to use my card whenever they came to hang out. After the party, Finn added me to their group chat. I knew they had accepted me. But as I looked at the group chat’s name—Jenna’s Wolf Pack—I knew it would take something much stronger to break them apart for good. Later that night, Rick saw I was still on my phone and grumbled. “Stella, is your family really that strict? We can’t… until we’re married?” The last few words were muffled as he buried his face in the pillows. I looked down, my expression pained. “I’m sorry, Rick. I know it’s hard for you…” Seeing my guilt, Rick softened. “Didn’t you say you wanted a new car a few days ago? I’ll have the dealership deliver it to your door tomorrow.” Rick’s jaw dropped, his lips trembling with excitement. “Are you serious?” I nodded. “Of course. When have I ever lied to you?” He gave me an ecstatic kiss and pulled me into his arms. As his breathing evened out into sleep, I slipped out of his grasp. In the bathroom, I scrubbed one side of my face until it was raw and red. Staring at my trembling right arm, covered in a network of old scars, my nose stung and tears began to fall. Soon. It’s almost time. I will make these monsters pay for what they did. I unlocked my phone and sent a friend request to Jenna. She accepted instantly. Her first message came through: Rick sent you to apologize to me? I smiled and sent the message I had prepared. As expected, I was immediately deleted and blocked. I looked at the chat log with satisfaction. People like Jenna were so predictable. The next day, when Rick pulled up in a brand-new sports car, his friends went wild. Basking in their admiration, he announced, “It’s a gift from Stella. Haven’t even had a chance to really open it up yet!” Jenna, ignored again, snapped, “You all promised you’d go shopping with me today. Are we still going or not?” They all muttered agreements, but their eyes were glued to the car. Seeing their envy, I made a suggestion. “If you guys like it so much, we could take it to a racetrack.” Finn was the first to agree. “Hell yeah! I’ve never driven a car like this!” But someone else hesitated. “What if we crash? That would cost a fortune to repair.” I smiled. “Then we’ll just rent out the entire track.”

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The moment my five-year-old son called another man “Dad,” my hand gave a violent jerk. I was arranging a bouquet—a gesture I now realize was pathetic—and an expensive bottle of $300 single-malt Scotch slipped from the counter, hitting the floor with a deafening crash. I barely registered the shattering glass, but Victoria’s assistant, Kian, saw it. He clapped a hand over his mouth, his eyes red and brimming, and bolted from the room. That night, my wife Victoria—Tori—demanded a divorce. When I saw the text message at three in the morning, I thought it was a nightmare. But the next morning, she was there. She rubbed the dark circles under her eyes and slid the divorce papers across the granite countertop. “Kian says you deliberately tried to humiliate him,” she said, her voice heavy with fatigue and drama. “If I hadn’t stopped him, he would have hurt himself last night. He’s young, Damon. He’s sensitive. He hates people suggesting he only got the promotion by seduction.” She pressed her palms flat against the papers, urging me to look at them. “I have to be officially single to calm him down. As soon as he forgives you, I’ll file the papers to withdraw the application.” Sammy, our son, stood beside her, his small arms crossed. “Bad Dad, you made Dad Kian cry! Mommy should punish you!” In the past, I would have erupted—accused her of infidelity, raged at Sammy for siding with the man destroying our family. But this time, I didn’t shed a tear. The hand holding my coffee was rock steady. I nodded calmly. “Fine.” I took a long, steadying sip. “This marks our seventh wedding anniversary, Tori. And, yes, our seventh divorce.” She looked relieved. “It’s the last time, Damon. Once he’s over this, I promise we’ll go back to normal.” I laughed. A hollow sound that surprised even me. I signed the papers on the spot and submitted the final application. She didn’t know it, but this time, the separation wasn’t part of her script. This time, I was playing for keeps. 1 When Tori finally called, seeking reconciliation, her voice was laced with a palpable, almost theatrical exhaustion. “Kian says he’s ready to forgive you now. You can come home.” The only response she got was the gurgling sound of running water. I raised an eyebrow and flicked on the speakerphone. A woman’s low, muffled groan filled the silent office. “Who is this? Where is my husband?” Tori’s languid tone snapped, hardening instantly, followed by a faint, tight-jawed intake of breath. The woman wrapped in my shirt laughed softly, tucked a stray piece of hair behind my ear, and casually pressed the End Call button before slipping out the door. Half an hour later, the front door rattled on its hinges as it was kicked open. Tori burst in, her expression frantic, and rushed to grab my hand, turning me around to inspect me. Finding me physically unharmed, she let out a shaky sigh and pulled me into a tight embrace. “God, Damon, I missed you.” Her eyes were red-rimmed, and she nuzzled her chin into my shoulder. “You’re punishing me, aren’t you? I’m so sorry, I won’t do it again. Don’t use random women to get back at me.” She tightened her grip. “You know I love you, baby. Even if the split was just a formality, I still get jealous.” Missed me? She’d spent the last month tagging Kian in photos as they chased whales in New Zealand and the Northern Lights in Norway. Her social media had been a relentless feed of smug happiness. Hearing her earnest, heartfelt monologue now, I gave a quiet scoff. “It wasn’t a formality.” The smile froze on her face. I looked at her, deriving a strange, twisted pleasure from her confusion. “We’re officially divorced, Tori. I don’t need to provoke you.” She offered two quick, dry laughs, her expression instantly regaining its studied composure. “Still jealous, hubby? Don’t be mad. He’s just a colleague. It’s not like I did anything to hurt you.” She tried a new tack. “How about this? To make up for filing the divorce, let me propose to you again. We’re a couple, we fight, we make up. Please, just forgive me one more time.” She reached into her expensive designer bag and pulled out a small, plush box. “It’s a Cartier pendant. I picked it up on my last trip just for you.” My gaze dropped from the pendant to her right ring finger. There was a faint, pale indentation there—the mark of a ring worn constantly for a long time. When we got married, she’d insisted corporate women couldn’t wear wedding rings. The existence of this new, expensive pendant, coupled with the glaring tan line, said everything about where her commitment truly lay. Just then, Sammy ran in and hugged my legs. He opened his palm to reveal a small, beautifully crafted butterfly lapel pin. “Don’t be mad, Daddy. The little butterfly is saying sorry.” I took the pin and attached it to my jacket lapel. The cold rejection I’d been ready to deliver instantly died on my tongue—I couldn’t truly rage at my own child. BOOM! A series of fireworks exploded overhead. Tori grabbed my hand and pulled me out the door. Nine hundred ninety-nine drones were slowly forming a massive heart over the street. As they paused above our house, the formation shifted into letters: [DAMON SHAW, HAPPY 10TH ANNIVERSARY.] Sammy looked up at me, his eyes full of earnest expectation. Tori smiled, radiating the same sweet, eager glow she’d had a decade ago when she’d surrounded my car with a thousand flickering candles to declare her love. It was cheesy, but undeniable. Passersby stopped and applauded. “How romantic! What a great wife!” “Kiss her! Kiss her!” I looked into Tori’s eyes, saying nothing. She bit her lower lip, slowly rising on her tiptoes, trying to close the small distance between us. That was when a car came screeching to a halt, its headlights blinding me, followed by Kian’s high-pitched, wounded cry. 2 Kian stumbled out of the car in thick-soled leather shoes, his eyes swimming with tears. “We just finished our wedding shoot, and you’re already trying to cheat on me? Victoria Bellwether! You said I was the only man you’d ever love! You lied! I’m going to kill myself!” He made a dash for a street-side oak, but Tori intercepted him. “Victoria, if you’re going to betray me, just let me die!” he sobbed dramatically. Sammy rushed over to wipe Kian’s tears with a small, comforting hand. His voice was soft. “Dad Kian, don’t cry. Mommy and I only love you.” Instantly, the judgmental whispers of the crowd—who had just been cheering us—sharpened and turned on me. “Wait, so he’s the side piece?” “Must be. The kid is already this old. How does he have the nerve to prey on a married woman?” I opened my mouth to explain, but Tori cut me off with a cold stare. “Go, Damon. I can’t let Kian suffer for this.” Sammy ran back to me and ripped the butterfly pin from my jacket, tearing a small piece of the fabric. He also snatched the pendant box from my hand. “Did you really think this was for you? This is a gift Mommy and I got for Dad Kian.” In just one month, my son had replaced me. Tori gave me a cool, almost amused smile and took Kian’s hand. “I always felt I owed you something, Kian. Perhaps it was this Cartier.” Sammy carefully clipped the butterfly pin onto Kian’s lapel. “Dad Kian loves butterflies. I bought it special for him.” As the scene played out, one of the onlookers’ live-streams went viral. The tag #HusbandGoals rocketed to the top of the trending list. [That guy has a wife and kid who adore him! He’s the real winner!] [OMG, is that the Star of Polaris diamond on that ring? It’s a custom design, took three years to cut, easily seven figures!] Basking in the onlookers’ adoration, Kian shot me a look of pure contempt before clinging tightly to Tori. She wrapped one arm around his shoulder and used the other to guide Sammy away. I didn’t panic or lash out this time. I simply took out my phone, screen-grabbed all of Kian’s public posts—the pictures with Tori—and then blocked and deleted them both from my contacts. The whole pathetic drama of the side-piece rising to the top? I was officially done watching. 3 Camilla’s video call came through immediately. “Damon, I’ve finalized everything at the company. I’m on my way back. Want me to grab takeout?” I seriously considered it. “No, Cami. I don’t really have an appetite.” Her expression instantly tensed. “What’s wrong? Did that person call you again this afternoon? She… she didn’t hurt you, did she?” She turned her head, feigning casualness, but her tightly pressed lips gave away her concern. I smiled and shook my head. “What are you thinking? It’s just the heat. And look, forget that number. It was just a spam call.” When Cami arrived home, she found the living room empty and rushed toward the bedroom. Seeing me packing a suitcase, she let out a sigh of relief. “I thought we weren’t flying out until next month. Why the early packing?” I gave her a quick hug, returning to my task. “I moved the flight up three days. We’ll leave early and take a proper vacation before we start setting up.” I had hesitated over the ticket purchase for weeks, but the final decision to leave this country had taken only a second. There was nothing left to hold me here. Except… The next morning, I rushed to the bid conference. The small, remote island up for auction was rumored to hold the only lead I’d found regarding my parents’ disappearance years ago during their round-the-world trip. I hadn’t even reached my seat when a leather loafer hooked my ankle, sending me sprawling. Kian sneered down at me. “Seriously, Damon? Just because your son calls me Dad now doesn’t mean you have to bow down to me.” He made a disgusted noise. “You’re so much older. I’m worried it’ll shorten my life.” He stayed put, however, letting his friends pull me up. “Such a performance artist. If I were a woman, I might actually feel sorry for you. Too bad, Tori is deeply devoted and only has eyes for me.” I slapped away the hand holding my arm. “Must be great being a home-wrecker, huh? Is that why you’re grinning so wide?” Kian’s smile vanished. “You’re all talk, Damon. Let’s see if you’re still smiling in an hour.” I thought he meant Tori, and I didn’t care—why worry about a woman who had betrayed me? But when the bidding for the island began, one of Tori’s top executives walked onto the stage and began presenting my meticulously prepared tender. My proposal had been stolen. I looked at Tori, who sat across the room, unable to believe what I was seeing. She quickly turned her head away. I’d spent a month of sleepless nights on that proposal, all to secure the use of this tiny island and search for clues about my parents. I hadn’t thought she was capable of doing this to me, even for Kian. Kian tilted his head, pointing at the projection screen. “Nice presentation, Damon? Just so you know, this island is mine. I’m claiming it.” To find the truth, I had to swallow my pride and call my assistant. “Add ten points to the budget. I don’t care what it takes; secure this island.” Tori started to stand up, opening her mouth as if to explain, but Kian tugged her arm. “Tori, you promised to give me this island. You can’t let Damon use your money to steal it!” A bitter laugh escaped me. We’d built her company from the ground up together, but in their eyes, I was just a leech living off her success. I was about to tell Tori I’d fight her to the end when she suddenly stopped Kian. “An empty island? Why bother? I have a much better gift for you, Kian.” 4 After my employees presented the new, dramatically inflated bid, the auctioneers and the board members all nodded in approval. Seeing his hopes dashed, Kian stormed out of the conference room. Tori gave me a quick, uncertain glance and followed him out. I frowned slightly, wondering what petty, desperate stunt they would pull next. To maliciously increase the bid and secure the island, I had just sold off all my remaining personal stocks. Just before the auction adjourned, Kian returned, draped over Tori’s arm, flashing me a smirk that promised disaster. As I made my way out, people were pointing at me, whispering fragments of cruel gossip that quickly killed my brief moment of satisfaction. Just as I reached the main exit, a furious man stepped into my path. “You’re the one, aren’t you? The one who keeps sending my wife those disgusting torso pictures?” Before I could react, he slammed his fist into my face, knocking me to the ground. “Couldn’t get laid for one day, could you? Sending videos in that ridiculous uniform, wearing a collar, calling her ‘Wifey’?” A crowd quickly gathered, including several of my professional partners. “Wait, he sent one to me, too. I didn’t realize Mr. Shaw had so much going on under that suit. And all those props… he’s quite the player.” “Well, how else do you think he managed to hook Tori? That must have been how he got ahead back then, too. Can’t blame her. What woman would put up with him?” I was stunned by the impact of the punch, but my heart plummeted when I saw the explicit video flashing on his phone. The man in the video, with the collared, submissive clothes, was unmistakably me. I tried to explain, but someone from the crowd hurled a cup of coffee. The hot, dark liquid showered down, soaking my shirt. Then, the final clip played, and my voice—vulnerable, breathless—echoed through the hallway. A thick silence fell over the crowd. Every single pair of eyes settled on my coffee-stained face. 5 The man’s wife rushed forward to pull him away, but he bellowed, “Everyone, look! This is the real Damon Shaw!” At that moment, the giant advertising screen on the high-rise building across the street flashed to life, broadcasting the video on a loop, accompanied by blaring sound. Traffic stopped. Pedestrians paused, staring and shouting with revulsion. “Disgusting! Filth! No shame!” “No, that’s not true. I didn’t send that to anyone.” The footage was from early in my relationship with Tori. She’d claimed she loved that specific dynamic, that she wanted to keep it as “private evidence of our love.” Now, it was a spear aimed directly at my throat. “So, what do you think? Isn’t this a much better surprise?” Kian pouted, clutching Tori’s waist. “Ugh, Tori, you’ve scared me. I’m a sensitive, innocent guy. I’ve never seen anything so… vile.” He couldn’t hold back a triumphant smile, then looked at me, a challenge in his eyes. “Why aren’t you laughing, Big Brother? Isn’t it funny?” Tori curled her lip. “Of course, it’s funny. Anything that makes Kian happy is hilarious. Guards! Make him laugh.” My eyes were burning, but I held her gaze. “Victoria, do you think this is funny? I was blind to ever fall for you.” Despite my detachment, the coldness was absolute. She kicked the back of my knee. As I buckled, her bodyguards rushed in and pinned me down, raining down a flurry of blows. “Still defiant?” She leaned in close. “Do as I say, Damon. You know our history. Just make Kian happy, and I can forgive everything.” My expression was stone-cold. I forced a laugh that was closer to a snarl. “You two acting like jackals? Yeah, that makes me want to puke-laugh.” As the video continued to loop, the crowd swelled. Someone threw a piece of food. Then came eggs, bread, and then a heavy coffee mug that struck my forehead, opening a gash. “Doing perverted stuff and acting innocent! I’ve never seen a man who loves being a dog so much!” “He’s still playing the victim? Pathetic. He’s probably been passed around. No wonder his wife wanted a younger man.” A flicker of doubt crossed Tori’s eyes, but my defiant look hardened her resolve. “I told you, if you just apologize, the video disappears instantly.” “My heart is clean. I don’t care what people think. Let me go, or I call the police.” My words caused a hush to fall over the crowd. Public opinion was beginning to turn. “He’s right. Tori cheated first, and now she’s publicly humiliating him. That’s low.” “Private intimacy between a couple is normal. Why is she weaponizing it?” My expression didn’t change, but Tori suddenly looked uneasy. She realized I had reached a point of total detachment. She started to reach out to me, but a new hand clamped onto her wrist, yanking it away. A woman knelt quickly, throwing her arms around me. “Don’t be afraid, Damon. I’m here.”

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I’d just tossed my half-finished iced coffee cup into a trash can on the way home from school when a translucent wall of text exploded in the air right in front of me. [What’s up with this shot? Why are they sticking to this random background extra?] [OMG! Isn’t this the opening of Chapter One from the original novel! That exact trash can!] [Wait, did that background girl just look twice at the bin? Was that in the script?] I froze, the strap of my heavy backpack clenched in my hand. What… was that? The words hung in the air, like closed captions or a video stream overlay, but clearer, with a distinct, glowing edge. [Look, ladies! The iced coffee cup in her hand! It’s the first food Landon picks up in the book!] [Background Sis, don’t throw it out! Twenty feet ahead, turn right into the alley—there’s a kid there who’s about to pass out from hunger!] [That’s Landon Pierce! The real heir! His stepmom dumped him there seven years ago!] My heart slammed against my ribs. I whirled around. The street was empty. The after-school rush had dissipated, and there was no one speaking to me. A hallucination? 01 But the words kept scrolling: [Waaaah, Landon, my baby! Mom loves you! Please, Background Sis, go check on him!] [According to the original plot, he gets low blood sugar tonight, ends up in the hospital, where Sylvie finds him and tricks him into signing away his inheritance.] [Is the background actress ad-libbing? But her expression is so real…] I wasn’t an actress. My name is Ainsley Rowe, a totally average seventeen-year-old junior at Crestview High. Mid-range grades, totally forgettable looks. The kind of person you’d never spot in a crowd. But those comments… they were talking about me. On pure, dizzying impulse, I retrieved the coffee cup from the trash. It wasn’t dirty. I also dug out the second lunch container my mom had insisted I take from my backpack and walked toward the direction the text indicated. My heart was beating so fast it felt like it would shatter my ribs. Foundry Lane was worse than I imagined. Peeled paint, puddles of foul water everywhere. The late autumn wind cut through the narrow gap between the buildings, chilling me to the bone. In the deepest corner of the alley, a boy was crouched by a dumpster, reaching for a discarded bottle. He was wearing a faded, gray hoodie, the hood pulled low. I could only see a pale jawline and cracked lips. His fingers were long and slender, chapped red from the cold, yet there was a strange, almost… expensive quality to them. “Um…” He spun around. His hood slipped, and I saw his eyes. They were like two pools of stagnant water, black and utterly devoid of light. The pop-up text went wild: [Aaaah! It’s Landon! Screenshot this! What is she waiting for?] [My heart breaks seeing how he looks at people… Thrown out for seven years, he trusts no one.] [Background Sis, say something! Just say you accidentally bought an extra coffee!] I swallowed hard, holding out the items. “I… I grabbed the wrong size on my latte, too much caffeine for me. And my mom packed me a second lunch container by mistake. Would you mind helping me out? Otherwise, I’ll get an earful at home for wasting food.” I stammered through the ridiculous lie. He stared at me, then at the Tupperware, his Adam’s apple bobbing. [He’s struggling! He knows accepting charity is humiliating, but he’s starving!] [He’s been hungry for two days; only found half a stale baguette yesterday.] [Quick, tell him you’re from Crestview! Increase the credibility score!] “I’m a junior at Crestview High,” I said, pointing to my school hoodie. “I live right up the street in the Willow Creek apartments. I’m not a bad person.” His eyelashes trembled. “…Thank you,” he whispered, barely a sound. When he took the container, his fingertips brushed mine. They were ice cold, like marble. He squatted back against the wall, opened the container, and ate slowly. He chewed every bite for a long time, as if his stomach had forgotten how to function. The pop-ups began to flood the screen: [First meal achievement unlocked! Bless you, Background Sis!] [Who is this actress? She’s doing a great job; that tentative kindness is so real.] [This wasn’t in the original book! Is this an adaptation?] [Who cares! As long as Landon gets fed!] My throat tightened with emotion. When he finished, I asked softly, “Um… Could I look for you again tomorrow? My mom genuinely over-packs every day. I really need help eating it all.” He looked up, a faint ripple disturbing the dead water in his eyes. After a long pause, he nodded. “Okay.” 02 I didn’t sleep well that night. The pop-up text flickered in my mind: [Checked it out! The Background Sis actress is Ainsley Rowe, a newbie, doesn’t even have an Instagram.] [The key thing is she changed the plot! Landon was supposed to pass out tonight!] [If she keeps bringing him food, will Sylvie never find him?] [But Sylvie is already looking for him. Her P.I. will find Foundry Lane by next week at the latest.] [I’m dying here! Can someone send a reminder to her?] Wait. I sat bolt upright in bed. The pop-ups can see me? They think I’m in a ‘show’? Which meant… I, and Landon, were living inside a script, and they were the audience? The realization was terrifying, making my hands and feet go cold. But the next second, I saw a new comment: [I wish the Background Sis could see the pop-ups. Tell her to move Landon out of the alley NOW!] I took a deep breath, whispering toward the empty air: “I… I can see them.” The pop-ups froze for three seconds. Then, they erupted: [???????] [Did I just hear a voice-over???] [No… she sounded like she was talking to us???] [The Fourth Wall is shattered!!!] I gathered my courage. “You mentioned someone named Sylvie. When will she find this place?” The text scrolled at warp speed: [HOLY CRAP! It’s interactive!!!] [What is this tech? VR captioning???] [Next week! Wednesday at the latest! Sylvie’s private investigator is already in the West End!] [Landon is staying in that abandoned electrical shed deep inside Foundry Lane!] [Background Sis, save him! His stepmom set him up! His mother left him a 30% stake in the company!] The information overload was dizzying. But the core mission was clear: Save Landon. The next day, I brought a double lunch, plus a duffel bag of my cousin’s old clothes. When I found Landon, he was meticulously organizing salvaged cardboard, his movements painfully efficient. “Landon.” He turned. Seeing the bag in my hand, he paused. “My mom went through my cousin’s closet. He outgrew all this. If you don’t mind…” “I don’t mind.” He took the bag, his voice still faint. “Thank you.” We sat together on a cracked concrete pipe, eating. He seemed slightly better today; his hands weren’t shaking as badly. “How old are you?” I asked. “Seventeen.” “Not in school?” “…I was, dropped out in eighth grade.” He picked at his food. “The shelter only provides housing until you’re fifteen.” A pop-up drifted by: [He says it lightly, but he was actually kicked out because he aged out and had nowhere to go.] [He hitchhiked back, thinking his dad would look for him, but saw Sylvie and her lover celebrating at the Pierce mansion.] [He stood across the street all night, then just walked away.] A heavy ache settled in my chest. “If… if you could go back to school, would you?” His utensil stopped halfway to his mouth. After a long pause, he said quietly, “Yes.” “I dream about it.” 03 I started bringing him food every day, telling my mom I was helping a “financially struggling classmate.” She would beam at me and praise my thoughtfulness. She gave me my younger brother’s hand-me-downs and even increased my allowance. I tried to slip him some cash occasionally. He refused. I countered, “It’s a loan. You can pay me back later.” He accepted everything, but insisted on keeping a ledger. The words in the small, scavenged notebook were surprisingly neat, unlike what a street kid would write: Nov 7. Lunch (Ainsley) Nov 8. Winter jacket (Ainsley) Nov 9. 11th Grade Physics textbook (Ainsley) I told him not to bother, but he shook his head. “I have to pay it back.” The pop-ups provided a daily intelligence briefing: [Sylvie’s lover is Trenton Hall, now the Pierce Corp. VP. They plan to marry as soon as Landon turns eighteen.] [Old Man Edward Pierce is sick. The will isn’t finalized. Sylvie is rushing to find Landon to force a signature.] [The PI has his picture, but hasn’t confirmed his identity yet.] On Wednesday afternoon, I skipped study hall to bring him a scarf—a thick, dark gray one I’d bought with my saved allowance. As I reached the alley entrance, I saw two men in dark suits questioning the owner of the corner store. “…Seventeen or eighteen, kinda lean, pale. Might be scavenging in this area.” My heart seized. I ducked behind a utility pole. Pop-up alarm: [It’s Trenton Hall’s people! They’ve found the neighborhood!] [In the original plot, the store owner is the one who gives them directions!] [Background Sis, grab Landon and run!] I raced into the alley. Landon was reading the physics textbook, the setting sun catching his eyelashes. He looked peaceful, like a painting. “Landon! Pack up. We need to leave now!” He looked up, confused. “Someone is looking for you. They don’t look like good people.” Sweat pricked my skin. “Maybe… debt collectors?” It was a clumsy lie, but he bought it. After seven years on the streets, he was familiar with malice. “Okay.” He closed the book, retrieved his ledger from under a stack of cardboard. “I know a bridge abutment not far from here.” “Wait.” I grabbed his sleeve. “You can’t keep hiding.” I looked him in the eye. “Give me a week. I’ll figure out a place for you to stay, and… get you back into school.” His pupils dilated slightly. “Why?” His voice was hoarse. “Why are you doing so much for me?” The pop-ups rolled: [Tell him you can’t stand it!] [Say you want to save him!] [The real reason is we gave her the spoilers…] But I couldn’t say that. “Because…” I heard my own voice tremble. “Because you deserve to be treated well.” His eyelashes looked damp. “…Okay.” 04 That night, I did something incredibly daring. Following the clues from the pop-ups, I found the number for Harrison Reid, the former legal counsel for Pierce Corp. He was a long-time associate of Landon’s deceased mother, Helena Pierce, and had always suspected foul play in her “accident.” I used a payphone outside a convenience store. “Mr. Reid, I’m Ainsley Rowe. I think… I know where Landon Pierce is.” Silence on the other end. “Do you know the consequences of making a false claim?” “He has a red mole behind his left ear, and a burn scar on the web of his right hand. He got it when he knocked over the candles on his seventh birthday.” I rushed the words out. “He’s using the name Landon now, and he’s staying in the West End, but he has to move tonight. Sylvie’s people are closing in. If they find him first, he’ll be forced to sign a property waiver, and then he’ll ‘accidentally’ die.” A longer silence. “What do you want?” Harrison Reid’s voice was low and guarded. “First, guarantee his safety. Second, get him into school. Third… don’t bring him back to the Pierce mansion yet. Not until he’s capable of protecting himself.” “You’re just a student.” “Which is why Sylvie won’t suspect me.” I said. “Mr. Reid, if you want to honor the memory of Ms. Helena Pierce, you need to trust me.” I hung up, my legs shaking too much to stand. The pop-ups erupted in cheers: [Background Sis is a certified badass! She went straight to the key NPC!] [Harrison only found Landon after three years in the original book, and by then it was too late!] [This pushed the plot forward by at least six months!] But I knew the trouble had just begun.

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The cold medicine Kellan gave me was burning a hole in my gut. Victoria, the eldest, a Chief of Surgery known as “The Top Scalpel of Manhattan,” declared I needed an immediate stomach pump. Aaliyah, my childhood sweetheart and fiancée, was screaming, her voice raw. “I just want my husband back!” My three sisters’ eyes were raw with unshed tears. “It’s okay, Dev. Sleep it off. We have the best doctors and the best meds right here.” In that moment of searing, agonizing pain, I was overwhelmingly grateful that the people who loved me were all around me. Then, as I waited for the anesthesia to kick in, I heard their voices just outside the door. Victoria’s tone carried a chilling, almost excited edge. “Devon is perfectly healthy, and his blood type and age are an exact match. This is a rare opportunity. We’ll just perform the heart transplant for Kellan while we’re at it.” Sasha, the CEO, agreed immediately. “I’ll make sure all the evidence is destroyed. Devon won’t ever know.” Elise, the pharmaceutical professor, chimed in, her voice clinical. “I’ll go back to the lab and formulate a highly potent suppressant. It will ensure Devon doesn’t suffer when we replace the faulty heart.” A long moment of silence passed before Aaliyah’s voice, thick with relief, cut through the quiet. “Kellan genuinely needs a strong heart to achieve his music dreams, and as for Devon… we can just shower him with compensation later… I’ll sign the surgical consent form now.” I felt as if my entire body had been plunged into an icy bath. My chest constricted, a phantom pain that felt as if someone had already gutted me and brutally ripped the organ out. At that moment, a familiar yet strangely detached electronic voice cut in: [ALERT! Monitoring a threat to the Host’s life force!] [Final confirmation: Are you truly willing to forfeit all rewards and remain in this world?] I laughed, a silent, internal sob. This time, their counterfeit love couldn’t hold me here anymore. … I tried to thrash and roll off the bed, but the nurse expertly shoved the intubation tube down my throat and nose as a massive dose of anesthetic flooded my system. Before my consciousness completely fractured into darkness, I saw him being wheeled in: Kellan, the cherished adopted younger brother who had poisoned me—my heart failure was meant to be his salvation. Victoria, scalpel in hand, gave the nurses a chilling instruction. “Forget about Devon for now. Prep his heart for Kellan’s transplant.” I felt the knife’s edge bite through layers of tissue, and in my last fragment of wakefulness, I heard Tori’s murmur. “Just hold on, Kellan. When you wake up, you’ll finally be able to shine on stage.” When I regained lucidity, my first thought was to confirm with the System. [If my physical body dies, I return to my original world, my heart condition cured, and I get a hundred million dollars, right?] [Confirmed.] The bitter irony of it was hilarious. I had agreed to cross over and “save” these four women fifteen years ago because I couldn’t afford to treat my own congenital heart disease. And now, the four women I spent fifteen years saving were trading my heart out for a sick one. I didn’t hesitate. I ripped the oxygen tube from my face. Breathing instantly became a desperate, agonizing struggle. My throat tightened as if it were being choked, and no amount of air would reach my lungs. My face went purple; I was seconds from suffocation. Yet, a faint, peaceful smile touched my lips. Death was a blessing. I wouldn’t have to live another day facing their exquisite lie of love. The heart monitor screamed a frantic, piercing alarm. My three sisters and Aaliyah burst through the door with a team of nurses. “Devon!” they screamed. Tori immediately performed CPR, saving my life. Once the oxygen mask was back in place, her eyes were bloodshot as she roared. “Are you insane? Why would you pull out your oxygen tube?” Aaliyah knelt by the bed, tears streaming down her face as she slapped herself repeatedly. “Blame me, Devon. It was my fault. I asked Kellan to bring you the medicine that day.” “I thought it was just for your cold. I didn’t realize you were severely allergic and that the toxins attacked your heart directly.” “But don’t worry, darling. Tori is the best doctor in the country. She’ll fix you.” She crawled toward me on her knees, desperately gripping my hand. “I’ve already had the consulting doctor punished—she’s been blacklisted from the industry. Don’t blame Kellan, and don’t do this to yourself. You have so many people who love you!” Seeing my silence, Sasha spoke, her voice strained. “She’s right, Dev. I’ve already contacted every hospital overseas. We’ll find a suitable donor heart for you, fast.” Elise gently patted my arm. “I’m heading back to the lab now. I’ll develop a customized treatment plan that will have you breathing easy and back to normal soon.” I felt a profound, chilling cold. How utterly pathetic. They thought a few flimsy lies would erase the fact that Kellan poisoned me, that they planned to steal my heart, and that they had already begun the surgical process. A mocking smile stretched across my lips as I looked at the four women surrounding my bed. “Where is Kellan? I want to ask him myself.” Tori’s brows furrowed. “You’re still going to blame Kellan? He had a massive heart episode from the guilt, and we barely saved him by rushing to find an emergency donor.” Elise, who had doted on me the most since I was a child, rushed to intervene. “Sweetheart, stop this now. Focus on getting well. Tori saved Kellan; she’ll fix you too.” I let out a soft, dry laugh. “How convenient. Surgery at the same time, my heart fails, and Kellan just happened to find a donor?” The room fell into a heavy, dead silence. “Devon…” Tori began, her face unreadable. I was too exhausted for their lies. I forced another small smile. “Just kidding. Go check on Kellan. I’m happy he’s better, too.” My sisters froze, wanting to argue, but I simply pulled the blanket over my head. When I uncovered my face, the sisters were gone, but Aaliyah remained, her eyes filled with guilt. I smiled blandly. “Go check on him for me, please. Tell me how my little brother is doing when you get back.” She finally turned and left, her steps quick and decisive. Finally alone, I slowly exhaled. My hand trembled as I unlocked my phone. Before the surgery, I had used the single wish the System owed me to retrieve two video clips. I watched the clips, my gaze fixed on the screen, compulsively replaying the moment they conspired to replace my heart. I watched Tori’s cold, professional removal of my heart and its careful placement into Kellan. The blood in my veins ran ice cold. I felt a sudden, fierce gratitude that I hadn’t died just yet. Because leaving them this easily would be too kind. During my hospitalization, they ensured one of them was with me every day, but they’d always rush off. I assumed they were truly busy. One day, needing the restroom, I found myself unattended. I unhooked my IV stand and slowly shuffled toward the bathroom. Passing a room, I glanced through the window and saw Aaliyah, who had rushed off to a crucial board meeting, carefully feeding a gourmet potsticker to Kellan. My three “swamped” sisters were also there, watching him with indulgent smiles. Tori’s voice, though firm, was loving. “Kellan, you can’t pig out just because you’re recovering. Those potstickers are too rich.” Kellan playfully tugged on her pristine lab coat and whined sweetly. “I can’t help it! Sasha’s cooking is the best.” He then complained. “It’s annoying having all of you hovering around me every day. I can’t even sneak any extra treats.” I dug my nails into my palm, forcing a self-deprecating smile. I had been eating bland, takeout congee for days. Kellan was getting gourmet meals, personally cooked by Sasha, surrounded by all of them. I turned stiffly to return to my room, only to overhear a hushed conversation between two nurses outside the station. “I heard the Maxwells’ actual son is the one I’m taking care of. Doctor Maxwell is ruthless—she specifically told me to keep him on a strict regimen of nutrient injections. She’s keeping him healthy to use as a walking blood bank, in case Master Kellan has a severe rejection reaction and needs a full-body blood exchange.” I froze mid-step. The incisions on my chest and abdomen felt like they were tearing open again. The pain was paralyzing. How did it come to this? I remember a time when a simple scrape would send Tori into a panic. She had gone to medical school specifically to ensure she could take better care of me. Sasha and Elise were no different. When I first arrived, my health was frail, and I was constantly sick. When I was near death once, they had walked up the steps of the city’s grandest cathedral on their knees, praying for my health and offering massive charitable donations for good karma. After I recovered, Sasha, who had been an aimless socialite, plunged into the business world, desperately building a fortune to pay for my treatments. Elise abandoned her art studies and switched to pharmacology, aiming to formulate a better, less bitter medication for me. To accrue more good fortune, they even rescued Aaliyah Stone, a brilliant but penniless orphan caught in a blizzard, and brought her into our lives. The entire city knew that Devon Maxwell was born under a lucky star, having three sisters who worshipped the ground he walked on and Aaliyah, the tech prodigy, who was his devoted fiancée. As an orphan, I had desperately clung to this overwhelming, intoxicating affection. After completing the System’s mission to “save” them, I refused the reward, choosing to stay with my sisters and Aaliyah. But then Kellan arrived. The day they brought him home, my three sisters hugged me and swore. “Devon, he just looks so much like Dad, and he has the same heart defect. We can’t just ignore him.” “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’re adopting him to bring you good karma. You’re still our one and only center of the universe.” I believed them. I genuinely wanted to embrace him. To show my goodwill, I gave him my room. I always reminded the sisters to bring him a gift when they traveled. Feeling bad that his heart condition kept him from doing much, I even brought him along on most of Aaliyah’s and my dates. Gradually, Kellan cemented his place in the family. He’d proactively charm the sisters for favors and gifts. He’d playfully bicker with Aaliyah. But slowly, subtly, their attitude toward me began to shift. If Kellan stumbled near me, Tori would immediately snap, “Did you hurt Kellan?” Sasha, on the rare occasion she cooked, made only Kellan’s favorite spicy Sichuan dishes. Elise’s research priority shifted to creating a miracle cure for Kellan’s heart. Even Aaliyah, during an argument, snapped. “Why can’t you be more like your brother and just ask me for what you want?” And finally… they conspired to steal my heart for him. The emotional swell of pain returned, and it felt like my heart was being scooped out all over again. I wanted to escape the house of horrors, but moving too fast, I slipped. The surgical wounds on my chest and stomach tore open. In the blinding agony, I curled into a ball. My mind fractured, and I let out a desperate, instinctive whimper. “Sister…” Just before I blacked out, I saw my sisters and Aaliyah rushing toward me. Tori reached me first, hoisting me up, her voice sharp with anger. “Devon Maxwell! Did you see us with Kellan and decide to hurt yourself again just to get attention?!” I was discharged and placed under strict watch by a home nurse, forbidden from leaving or doing anything to harm myself. I was confined to a wheelchair, too weak to move, and dependent on help even for the bathroom. Meanwhile, Kellan was running and jumping with abandon. Aaliyah held her phone, taking a video of him. My sisters watched him, their faces glowing with proud, affectionate smiles. Bored and heavy-hearted, I tried to wheel myself away. “Ouch!” Thump. Kellan fell. “Kellan!” The four women rushed to him, helping him up immediately. He pointed a finger at a small metal lock that had fallen from my wheelchair onto the floor, his voice thick with tears. “Brother, I know you blame me for the medicine, and I know you’re jealous that my heart is fixed while yours is still failing, but…” He burst into sobs. “But I’m finally able to move around! How could you throw something down to trip me on purpose?” Tori quickly examined Kellan’s leg, gently rubbing his slightly scraped skin. Sasha’s face turned an ugly shade of gray, a vein throbbing in her forehead. “Devon Maxwell! What have we taught you? How could you become so malicious?” The others glared at me, their faces a mix of confusion and pure rage. My fractured heart felt like it had been stabbed twice more. I whispered. “I… I didn’t! That piece fell off the wheel yesterday…” “Don’t you dare try to lie your way out of this! We’ve indulged you too much!” Sasha’s fury was overwhelming. She raised her hand to strike me. Just as her hand flew toward my face, Aaliyah stepped in to block it. “Sasha, Devon has been through so much trauma lately. We need to give him time.” Elise pulled Sasha back gently. “Let it go. Kellan, didn’t you want to try that new French bistro? Let’s take you out to celebrate your recovery.” Her eyes turned cold as she looked at me. “As for you, go reflect on your behavior!” Aaliyah tried to stay, but Kellan rushed up and grabbed her hand right in front of me, shaking it pleadingly. “Aaliyah, please come with me! You promised to take me out to dinner if I was brave enough for the surgery!” Aaliyah’s face tightened. “I need to stay with your brother… he…” I stared at their hands, subtly intertwined, and spoke, my voice hoarse. “Since your brother wants you to go, then go.” Aaliyah patted my head gently. “I’ll be back soon, darling. Be good at home. I’ll bring you your favorite lobster bisque.” But I woke up at 3 AM. The side of the bed was empty. Aaliyah had not returned all night. The mansion was dark, except for the dim light spilling from Kellan’s room. His door was slightly ajar. As I wheeled closer, I heard a man’s and a woman’s voice. Aaliyah’s voice was low and breathless. “Easy, baby. Not so fast. You’re still recovering…” Kellan’s voice, thick with emotion, cut in. “My heart is fixed now. When are you finally going to divorce him? I met you first! You were always mine!” Aaliyah’s soft, velvety murmur followed. “You’re my true love, baby. But… Devon saved my life. I can’t abandon him, and besides, Tori needs his blood in case you have a rejection reaction.” I felt a bucket of ice water poured over my head, the chill sinking to my bones. My hand shook as I clutched my phone, leaning my head back against the cold wall, my eyes closed. The entire night, I listened to them—the laughter, the breathless entanglement, the declarations of twisted love. The next morning, my three sisters were about to leave for work and saw me leaning against Kellan’s door. “Devon, why are you out here?” I beckoned them closer, then burst into Kellan’s room. As the three sisters gasped in astonishment, I tore the duvet from the bed and took several rapid-fire photos of the two people naked and entangled beneath it. Aaliyah screamed, scrambling to cover Kellan, her face a mask of terror. “Devon Maxwell! What in God’s name are you doing!” I clutched my chest, gasping for air, and hissed. “What am I doing? What do you call lying naked in bed with my brother, my wife?” Aaliyah’s face changed. “Last night… there was a storm. Kellan was scared and asked me to stay.” Kellan’s face was deathly white. He wrapped the duvet around himself and knelt on the floor, grabbing my sleeve. “Brother, I’m so sorry. I was just… too terrified last night, so I reached out to Aaliyah.” Tori immediately pulled him up. “Aaliyah must have been drinking last night and walked into the wrong room by mistake.” Sasha instantly backed her up. “It’s normal. When Kellan was little and afraid, I used to sleep in his room, too.” I slowly turned to Elise. She laughed nervously. “They’re right, Dev. Kellan would never do this.” Why were they so blindly biased toward Kellan? I was shaking with helpless rage. I raised my phone. “I have the audio of your glorious night right here. Shall I play it for my sisters?” Kellan stared at the phone in horror, then suddenly turned pale, gasping for breath. “Sister… I can’t breathe.” “You are not going to fake it!” SMACK! Tori’s palm connected hard with my face, sending me sprawling to the floor. I covered my stinging cheek, looking up at Tori in disbelief. “Why are you looking at me like that? If you hadn’t agitated him, Kellan wouldn’t have collapsed!” She rushed Kellan to the family emergency room. “Hurry! Bring Devon in, too! We need his blood to save Kellan now!” Sasha and Elise dragged me into the sterile room. Panic washed over me. I thrashed and shivered uncontrollably, kicking my legs and trying to crawl backward. “Please, no… don’t…” Aaliyah held the large-gauge syringe, her expression unsettled. “Kellan is like this because you provoked him. Isn’t it the least you can do to give him some blood?” Sasha and Elise held me down tightly. Looking into their resolute, cold eyes, I realized the struggle was pointless. I closed my eyes in resignation and slowly extended my arm. My voice was quiet. “Take it. Draw every last drop from my body. Save your precious Kellan.” Elise quickly averted her gaze, covering my eyes. Her voice was weak. “Be a good boy, Devon. Just a little blood. It won’t hurt.” An hour later, Tori stabilized Kellan. The four women sighed in collective relief. Tori removed her mask, her voice cutting and cold. “Alright, Devon Maxwell. Now we can properly address the matter of you intentionally causing Kellan to collapse.” She turned to face me—and all four of them stopped dead. I was curled up on the adjacent gurney, unmoving. A surgical scalpel was plunged deep into my chest. The gushing blood had soaked the sheets and stained the clean tile floor crimson.

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I was living inside one of those old-school, overly dramatic YA novels. I ran a little shop called The Sparkle Box. Today, the ‘heroine’ and the ‘mean girl’ visited my store. They both zeroed in on the exact same crystal barrette. A stream of text—my private “Commentary comments”—popped up in front of me. [The two sisters are fundamentally the same.] [God, I hate this heroine. She wants it so badly but plays the untouchable Golden Girl.] [Seriously, this tired catfight trope? Don’t they have other boys? Don’t they have other barrettes?] Of course, we had others. I reached beneath the counter and hauled up a massive cardboard box. “Let me grab you both a fresh one,” I said, pulling out a handful of the sparkly clips. “And I’ll even throw in a quick braiding service, on the house, sweethearts.” 1 As I was ringing up a sale, a mother and daughter started arguing right in front of my counter. The mother was furious about the hair accessories. “You need to focus on your studies! What’s the point of obsessing over this useless garbage every day? Can’t you be more like your sister and give me some peace?” The mom—Mrs. Davies, I think—picked out a few notebooks and school supplies to purchase, ordering the girl to put the rest back. “I am absolutely not buying you any of that. You spend all your time at school not studying. Are you just trying to flirt with boys and get yourself into trouble?” The words were unnecessarily cruel. My shop is right next to Westwood High, and several students were milling about, glancing at the girl, whispering. The mom just dumped the girl and the school supplies and stormed out. I sighed. I scooped up the barrettes she’d been forced to put down and pulled the girl back to the small entryway behind the counter. “These are on me, but you can’t tell anyone, okay?” The Commentary comments flashed again. [Don’t help her, she’s the villainess.] [Why is she already so obsessed with ‘serving the look’? Her mom’s right, she should be focused on school.] [If she had focused on school, would she have failed out of college and stolen her sister’s boyfriend?] 2 I’d known for a while that the world I inhabited was just a tired old YA novel, and I was just a tiny NPC who ran a trinket shop. Thankfully, online shopping hadn’t quite taken over yet, so business was decent. The students from Westwood High came here for cute notebooks to copy song lyrics and sparkly hair clips to dot their heads with. But they were still asking their parents for money, so fights like the one I just witnessed weren’t uncommon. I shouldn’t have gotten involved, but I saw the girl bite the inside of her hand, trying desperately to hold back her tears, bracing herself against the humiliation. That lost, flinching pain was something I’d felt in my own teenage years. I hadn’t realized who she was until the Commentary comments named her: Juniper Davies—the resident mean girl, the villainess of the novel. The one who skips class to do her makeup, constantly envies her “perfect” older sister, Phoebe, eventually falls for Phoebe’s crush, and ultimately tries to sabotage her, leading to her own ruin. The comments was quick to mock my kindness. [The shop owner is just setting herself up for bad karma.] [It’s not kindness, she’s just trying to buy loyalty so she’ll bring more customers.] I was about as innocent as they come. I tried to press the clips into Juniper’s hand and move on, but she stepped back and bowed, her voice thick with unshed tears. “I will pay you back.” As she straightened up, her knit cap slipped, revealing a choppy, uneven patch of hair at the back of her head. 3 It was only then that I realized Juniper’s hair hadn’t been cut at a salon. Her mother, in a cruel punishment for vanity and to make a few quick bucks, had dragged her to a makeshift street vendor who bought hair, and let them hack it off with rusty shears, not caring that the girl would be ridiculed at school. The hair clips and scrunchies weren’t for fashion; they were to hide the mess, to avoid the strange looks and whispered comments. Now, exposed, her face burned crimson. She snatched her cap, clamped it back on, and looked ready to flee. I gently stopped her. I put on my brightest, cheeriest smile. “I forgot to mention, buying barrettes here comes with a complimentary styling session.” I pulled out my salon scissors and a comb. “Let me just even up the ends for you, sweetie? A clean edge makes braiding much easier.” But first, a proper wash. I led her back to the sink, adjusted the water temperature, and washed the loose strands off her neck. She was rigid with awkwardness, her hands clutching the seams of her uniform pants, yet she couldn’t stop looking at the conditioner and hair oil I was using. “My mom never lets me use stuff like this. Once I secretly used her face wash, and she said I should be studying, not thinking about showing off…” All she’d wanted was to calm down her teenage acne and tie her ponytail tight enough that it didn’t pull on her scalp. “Am I wrong to want to be pretty, Sis?” I expected the comments to erupt in a flurry of moral judgment. Instead, it was eerily silent, the only sound the running water in the sink. I gently wiped the water splashing near her eye. “It’s completely normal to want to look pretty.” You shouldn’t feel guilty, and you definitely shouldn’t be punished for it. You just need a little patience and guidance, a chance to define beauty for yourself, on your own terms. That’s how you avoid going from one extreme to the other. [It’s totally normal for girls to care about their looks. Guide her, don’t chop her hair off, that’s so abusive.] [But she still ends up trying to steal her sister’s boyfriend. That can’t be excused.] Just as I finished styling Juniper’s hair, the book’s heroine, her older sister Phoebe Davies, walked in. “I’m so sorry for the trouble, and thank you for looking after Junie.” Phoebe was polite and well-mannered, pulling neatly folded bills from her textbook to pay for her sister. Juniper, who had finally calmed down, suddenly shoved her sister away, her eyes blazing with hatred. “Don’t you dare pretend to be nice!” 4 The comments exploded instantly. [See? She’s a spoiled brat.] [The mean girl is irredeemable. If I were her mother, I’d like the sister more, too.] For the next few days, I didn’t see Juniper. She seemed to be deliberately avoiding me. She’d sneak in when I was busy or in the back, drop some money on the counter, and vanish. It added up to nearly twenty dollars, her promise to repay me for the barrettes, saved up little by little from her lunch money. Finally, I pretended to be dozing at the counter and waited for her. “Why are you dodging me?” “I’m not.” She instinctively denied it, then looked at me, hesitating. When she saw only genuine confusion in my eyes, she asked her own question, perplexed. “You don’t hate me? Everyone who meets Phoebe first always ends up hating me.” In her mind, her sister was quiet, beautiful, and brilliant. Everyone loved Phoebe and disliked her, finding her too aggressive, moody, and unreasonable. She knew her mother cut her hair to sell for cash so Phoebe could have tutoring. That’s why she’d been so furious and upset when Phoebe offered to pay. “She’s always like that. She says she doesn’t want anything, but everyone rushes to give her whatever she wants. I want things, and I get accused of wanting too much.” But I could see the truth: she didn’t hate her sister. Whenever she picked out a hair clip or a pretty notebook, she’d buy two. Phoebe would quietly wait outside after her night classes, playing with a small hourglass on my display shelf until Juniper was done, then they’d walk home together. When I asked if she wanted the hourglass—I’d give it to her—Phoebe just smiled and shook her head. Juniper, behind Phoebe, rolled her eyes and mouthed a silent message to me: “See? Told you. Don’t-Want-Sis.” That was her nickname for Phoebe. Unlike Juniper’s openness, Phoebe always kept a polite distance from me, even after many visits. If Juniper wasn’t around, Phoebe rarely spoke to me. Until that night, when Phoebe rushed into the shop, tears streaming, asking if I’d seen her sister. “She had a fight with Mom and ran out. She hasn’t come back.” 5 The fight started because Juniper had bought a lacy, fancy bra and hung it on the balcony to dry. Mrs. Davies found it and instantly assumed her husband was cheating and had brought some “wild woman” to the house, causing a massive, public row that the whole neighborhood heard. When she realized it was Juniper’s, she slapped her. Then, grabbing the bra in one hand and her daughter’s hair in the other, she dragged her from door to door, announcing: “Look at this daughter of mine! She’s so young and already buying things like this to lure men!” [That bra is truly questionable, though. What kind of high schooler buys that? It doesn’t look decent.] [Judging someone by their clothes is cheap.] [Is she dating someone? Also, the size looks way too big for her.] It was past nine, and the school was locked. Phoebe had called all of Juniper’s friends; no one had seen her. She hadn’t come to my shop. Where would she go? Then I heard the shouting from the alleyway down the street. “You crazy little brat, who takes back merchandise that’s been bought?” A girl was shoved out of a rolled-up metal door, landing hard in a puddle of dirty water. “You lied to me!” The girl scrambled up, her voice cracking. “It’s not even wearable! You cheated me!” In the dim light, I recognized the choppy haircut—it was Juniper. After the fight, she’d realized the bra wasn’t what she needed, so she’d tracked down the vendor to demand a refund. He refused, even leering at her. “What do you mean, not wearable? Put it on. I’ll tell you what I think.” I sprinted over and pulled Juniper behind me, blocking the vendor’s sightline. “Preying on a little girl like this? You should be ashamed!” It was too late to deal with the vendor, so I focused on getting Juniper home. She was clutching my hand, tears pouring out. “Sis, I don’t have any money left to buy a new one…” 6 It had only been thirty dollars, but she’d saved it by skipping three weeks of breakfast. “Tell you what, I’ll stock some affordable options next week. You can come pick one out, okay? And just like before, you can owe me and pay me back whenever.” My heart broke. On my next trip to the city, I picked up a few styles of plain cotton training bras in various sizes. I only intended them for girls like Juniper whose parents neglected this part of her development. My shop wasn’t a lingerie store, and I wasn’t making any real profit. But then, that weekend, a group of girls, their faces flushed with embarrassment, showed up. I realized just how many girls didn’t have a single proper bra. Some were wearing ill-fitting hand-me-downs that gaped open. Some were wearing ones that were too small and had been mocked by boys during gym class. Others were wearing cheap underwire bras, and the wire had poked through the fabric, leaving their ribs raw and red—they thought it was normal. The internet wasn’t widespread then. They didn’t know how to pick a size or material, how to wear one correctly. They were too embarrassed to go to a proper store and too shy to even discuss it with each other. That’s why Juniper had made a mistake. I handed a soft, cotton bra to Phoebe. She instinctively started to refuse. “It’s from Junie. She already paid for it.” That thirty dollars had been for Phoebe all along. Phoebe was developing quickly but was still wearing a child’s undershirt with no support. During track and field, boys would sometimes deliberately crouch low to look at her. “What good is it if she just holds her chest all the time!” Juniper had fretted, desperate to buy her sister a bra, making me promise not to tell Phoebe. The comments, watching this exchange, was silent for a long time before someone typed: [Well, the sisters don’t have any reason to fight yet. The guy hasn’t shown up.] [Just wait for the guy to show up and mess everything up.]

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