1 On the day our annual bonuses were supposed to be paid out, the boss suddenly tagged everyone in the company-wide group chat. 【In the face of intensifying external competition, we must adapt. Starting this year, bonuses will be allocated based on contribution. High contributors get more, low contributors get less, and those with no contribution get nothing!】 The moment the announcement dropped, cheers erupted from the departments around us. “The boss is a legend! I’ll work for this company for life!” “A fat bonus puts your mind at ease! I’m taking my wife to Hawaii for the New Year!” But in our tech department, there was only a dead, heavy silence. Mike, our most senior engineer, looked like he’d seen a ghost. “Boss… is there a mistake with the bonus payout?” “This amount… it’s eight dollars and eighty-eight cents… it’s nothing…” Sarah, one of the younger developers, had tears welling in her eyes. “Yeah, boss, my mom is waiting for this money for her surgery… Can you please go and check?” Jake, who had the shortest fuse among us, slammed his hand on his desk and shot to his feet. “What do you mean, a mistake?! Didn’t you see the boss’s announcement? He was talking directly to us!” “Eight dollars and eighty-eight cents! That won’t even buy a damn sandwich from the deli downstairs! Is he throwing scraps to beggars?” My phone buzzed. A private message from the boss. 【The tech department’s contribution this year was insufficient. However, out of humanitarian consideration, the company has issued each of you an $8.88 bonus. Your department needs to reflect on this and strive to contribute more next year.】 All fifteen of us in the tech department, from the seasoned veterans to the fresh-faced juniors, got the exact same insulting amount. Meanwhile, every other department was celebrating, their pockets bulging. As the technical backbone of the entire company, our department was always on call. We handled every request, pulled countless all-nighters, and worked ourselves to the bone. And in the end, we were deemed the department with the least contribution. The atmosphere was so thick with despair you could cut it with a knife. I could hear one of the younger engineers trying to stifle her sobs. I clenched my fists, my knuckles white, and took a deep, steadying breath. “I will get to the bottom of this. I will get us the justice we deserve.” I shot up from my chair and stormed towards the boss’s office. 2 The boss’s office was a party. People from Finance, Planning, and Marketing were all crowded inside, showering him with thanks and pledging their undying loyalty. Their beaming faces were a stark contrast to my own grim expression. The moment I walked in, the smile on the boss’s face evaporated. “Alright, everyone, back to work. Let’s finish the year strong before the holiday.” As the crowd dispersed, he gestured for me to sit. “What’s the problem? Not happy with your bonus?” I fought to keep the rage out of my voice. “That’s right. I don’t think it’s fair. If bonuses are based on contribution, then the tech department…” “Stop.” He cut me off, taking a slow, deliberate sip of his tea. “It seems the message I sent you was a complete waste.” “You’ve been in management for this long, Sam, and you still have no perspective. When your team’s bonus is small, instead of reflecting on your own shortcomings, you come storming into my office to complain about fairness?” A hot flare of anger shot through me. Perspective. Perspective. It was always about perspective! Earlier this year, during the company-wide salary review, everyone got a raise. Everyone except the tech department. We didn’t get a single cent. When I asked why, he had an answer ready. 【The average salary in your department is already higher than the others. If we raise it further, it will cause resentment and disrupt company harmony.】 【Sam, you’re a manager now. You need to see the big picture.】 【Just wait until the end of the year. I’ll allocate a larger bonus pool for your team. I won’t let you down.】 Our salaries might have been higher than some non-revenue departments, but they were miles below the industry average for our skills. 3 The promise of a raise was a carrot he dangled every single year. And this time, because he’d promised a massive year-end bonus, we all swallowed our pride and accepted it. I wrestled my anger back down. “Back then, we agreed to forgo the salary adjustment because you promised us a larger bonus at the end of the year. You said you’d make sure everyone was satisfied.” Clang! He slammed his teacup down on the desk, splashing hot tea everywhere. “Sam! Watch your tone!” “The company has its own evaluation methods. The market is tough right now, circumstances have changed, so of course the bonus structure has to be adjusted!” The market was tough, but our company’s performance wasn’t. And every other department had been handsomely rewarded. That was no excuse for giving us a bonus that was a literal joke. He didn’t give me a chance to speak, just sighed dramatically. “Do you have any idea what a bad impression you’re making, barging in here like this?” “Everyone from Finance and Planning just saw you. If you set this precedent, does it mean anyone who’s unhappy about anything can just come and yell at me?” “If everyone acted like you, how could this company possibly function?” I gritted my teeth, staring him down. “I’m willing to self-reflect. But first, you will pay our department the annual bonus we have earned.” He slammed his hand on the table. “Everyone says you’re an honest, straightforward guy. I guess it was all an act!” “Does being a good person mean I deserve to get screwed over?” 4 When I was hired, they promised an annual raise of at least 5%. In all my years here, that has never happened. The biggest raise we ever got was 3%. Every time, the excuse was the same: “We’ll make it up to you when the company’s performance improves.” Year after year, the company rode the AI wave to new heights, with profits soaring. But for us in the tech department, our salaries remained stagnant, like a dead pool of water. “Screwed over? I think I’ve been more than fair with you!” “Let’s get something straight, Sam. What does ‘based on contribution’ mean? All your department does is write a few lines of code and fix a few bugs. What real contribution is that? The fact that I gave you eight dollars each is a sign of my generosity!” Write a few lines of code? Fix a few bugs? All those sleepless nights, all that brain-racking effort poured into elegant solutions—in his mouth, it was all worthless, meaningless fluff. My face flushed a deep, furious red. I ripped the ID badge from around my neck and threw it onto his desk. “That’s not what you said when the company’s expansion depended on us working through the night!” “You called us your strongest technical support! You said without us, none of the new business deals could ever get off the ground!” “So how is it that when it’s time to reward people, we suddenly become the most useless department in the company?” “You think you can just use us and toss us aside? We won’t stand for it!” I kicked over his trash can, the contents spilling across the floor, and stormed out, slamming the door behind me. 5 As I left, I saw heads ducking back into their cubicles. They’d all been watching the show. I didn’t care that I was the office joke. All I could think about was how I was going to face my team. They were my people. They followed me, worked overtime without complaint, fueled by passion and trust in me. And I couldn’t even get them the basic bonus they were owed… My eyes burned. “Sam. A word.” Mr. Davies, the VP, stood in my path. He had started at the company the same time I did, a veteran from the early days. He was in charge of HR and was usually a calm, reasonable man. He closed his office door behind us, sighing as he shook his head. “Was that really necessary?” I snapped my head up, my eyes wide with disbelief. “Necessary? Mr. Davies, my team is depending on that money to get through the holidays!” “Mike’s mother is eighty years old! He promised he’d take her to Washington D.C. after he got his bonus.” “Sarah’s mother is waiting for that money for her surgery, and Jake…” “The company is not a charity, Sam. We have to follow procedures. We can’t just hand out more bonus money because an employee has personal difficulties.” He said it so casually, so dismissively. “Fine. Let’s not talk about personal difficulties.” I pulled out a chair and sat down, my face set like stone. “Let’s talk about contribution.” “You said the bonus was based on contribution. The results imply that our department contributed nothing to the company this year.” I opened my laptop and pulled up the work orders from the business development team. “This year, the sales team brought in twenty new enterprise clients. That corresponds to twenty new, custom software suites to support their operations.” 6 “If you had outsourced the development of these systems, each one would have cost a minimum of $250,000 to build. That’s a total of five million dollars, not including ongoing maintenance fees.” “Our tech department has 15 people, with an average annual salary of about $72,000. Our total payroll is just over one million dollars.” “On development alone, we saved the company at least four million dollars this year! And that doesn’t even account for the ongoing value these systems generate! You call that ‘no contribution’?” Mr. Davies was speechless. After a long pause, he fumbled for an excuse. “Well, no one said you made no contribution. But your department’s salaries are, on average, higher than others.” I laughed, a cold, bitter sound. “AI is the hottest field in the world right now. Other companies are offering new graduates with no experience starting salaries of $200,000 a year!” “My team is experienced, and every single one of them has a top-tier degree. Yet their annual salary is less than half of what a rookie makes elsewhere! And you call that a high salary?” I pulled up the attendance records. “Fine. You’re worried about internal harmony. Let’s talk about our hourly wage.” “There were 249 working days in 2025. Our team’s average attendance was 350 days. We even worked through Thanksgiving, sleeping in the office, to launch a new system for a client.” “And on those 350 days, the earliest anyone clocked out was 8 PM. And the latest… well, there was no latest. For a hundred of those days, we worked straight through the night. Our total work time comes to over 5,900 hours per person!” 7 “Based on a $72,000 salary, our effective hourly wage is twelve dollars.” I paused, letting the number hang in the air, then delivered the final blow. “Twelve dollars an hour. In this city, the barista at Starbucks makes twenty-two dollars an hour.” “When you work overtime, the company provides dinner and late-night snacks. We don’t neglect you…” “Dinner and snacks that have a budget of less than ten dollars per person! We have to pay out of our own pockets every single time just to get a decent meal!” My voice was shaking with rage, my control slipping. Mr. Davies’s face hardened. “Sam, you can’t just focus on your own contributions. You have to compare horizontally. Compared to you, the Finance and Planning departments contributed far more.” I stood up, practically rolling my eyes. “What contribution? Denying expense reports?” “Oh, right. Our department submitted fifty thousand dollars in legitimate expenses this year that were never reimbursed. The boss’s niece, the head of Finance, just refused to approve them without giving a reason! I guess that did save the company money!” “And the Planning department? Run by the boss’s other relative, who couldn’t get into a local college, bought a degree from some diploma mill overseas, and came back as a director.” “They spent the last year making vlogs and forced us to build a useless app for them. Last month, they used the wrong photos in a presentation and lost us a major client!” “That’s what you call contribution?” The more I spoke, the deeper the injustice burned. “And your department, HR! All you do is make PowerPoint presentations and fine employees! Forget to clock in? That’s a $200 fine. Desk isn’t perfectly tidy? $200. Didn’t say hello to the boss in the hallway? $300!” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Truly incredible. All of you, what great contributors!” “Since this company refuses to pay us what we’ve earned, don’t ever expect us to work for free again!” “We may be honest, but we’re not stupid! And even a fool knows an empty promise is a lie when you’ve heard it enough times!” 8 Ignoring the ugly look on Mr. Davies’s face, I turned and walked out. I heard the sound of a chair crashing to the floor behind me. So much for his calm, reasonable demeanor. It only lasted as long as his own interests weren’t threatened. Ultimately, I knew he had to have a hand in this year’s bonus distribution. I’d bet my life on it. When I returned to my department, fourteen pairs of hopeful eyes turned to me. A lump formed in my throat. I opened my mouth, but the words wouldn’t come out. Mike forced a smile, but it couldn’t hide the bitterness in his eyes. “My mom’s not getting any younger. Her legs aren’t what they used to be. We’ll skip the trip to the capital this year. The bonus… forget it.” Sarah wiped her eyes. “Everyone just pitched in and gave me some money. It’s enough for my mom’s first round of surgery.” They swallowed their disappointment, their tears, their sense of betrayal. My fists clenched tighter. The conversation I’d had with the boss and Mr. Davies echoed in my mind. And then, another conversation surfaced. One I wasn’t supposed to have heard. “My cousin’s son just got his master’s and is back from overseas. He’s bringing a whole team with him. You need to clear out the tech department and make room for them!” “It’s happening. They won’t take this bonus nonsense. They’ll quit on their own, and we won’t have to pay them any severance.” “Besides, I have one more trick up my sleeve. They’ll be begging to leave…” They thought I had already left the executive suite. But I’d dropped my glasses and had gone back for them. And I heard their entire, despicable plan. “This time,” I said, my voice raw, “we can’t just let this go.” My eyes held the fierce determination of an honest man pushed to the edge. Why should good people always get screwed over?

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Five years after I died, my body was still at the Riverbend Funeral Home, unclaimed. My best friend, Stacey, had drained her savings, and it was only enough to cover the storage fees for one more week. The staff had warned her: get a burial plot, or my remains would be cremated. Without a signature from a direct family member, they would dispose of the ashes themselves. Desperate, Stacey finally called my brother. “Dorian Spencer,” she said, her voice tight with fury. “Are you really going to abandon your own sister’s remains for your little pseudo-sister?” My brother’s voice was a cold laugh. “To keep up the lie, you’ll stoop to anything, won’t you? Tell Ariel to die for real this time. Tell her to stop playing games and crawling back after a couple of days.” Stacey had no choice. She authorized the cremation. Then, carrying my death certificate, she drove straight to my brother’s mansion. … 1 When Stacey knocked, my brother, Dorian, was having dinner with Quinn Heather. The rain was coming down hard outside. Rushing out the door, Stacey hadn’t taken the time to grab an umbrella. She was soaked through, looking like a drowned rat. Inside the brightly lit villa, a housekeeper quickly opened the door. Stacey barely stepped onto the marble floor before Quinn’s voice, sharp and laced with distaste, cut through the air. “Stop! You’re filthy. Who said you could come inside?” Stacey ignored her. She walked straight to my brother and slammed the death certificate down on the table. “Ariel Spencer is dead, Dorian! Truly dead! She’s your sister. Are you going to do something about it or not?” Dorian set down his fork. He smoothly pulled a napkin from the dispenser and began to wipe his hands, taking his time. He didn’t spare Stacey a glance. “I know you two are trying to get money. Tell Ariel to come back and apologize to Quinn.” He spoke as if reading a grocery list. “Name your price, I’ll pay it.” Stacey’s face went white with rage. She snatched the paper off the table and thrust it in front of his eyes. “How many times do I have to tell you? She’s dead! Dead! How can she apologize? This is the death certificate. You don’t trust me—won’t you even trust this?” Dorian’s eyes narrowed, ready to snap back. But before he could, Quinn flew over, snatched the document, and tore it into confetti with three swift, vicious rips. “Who would believe something like this?” Quinn pouted, dropping the pieces. “You and Ariel are best friends. Of course, my brother wouldn’t believe a word you say!” Stacey stared at the scraps scattered on the pristine floor, her pupils shaking. Dorian, still leaning back in his chair, backed Quinn up without hesitation. “Quinn is right. I only have one sister now, and I cut ties with Ariel years ago. If she refuses to apologize, then you should just leave.” I hovered above them, feeling the same bitter resignation as Stacey on the floor. Five years. It had been five years, and my brother was still obsessed with an apology I would never give. Stacey’s eyes were bloodshot. She ground her teeth as she spoke. “I can’t believe Ariel had a brother like you.” She turned to leave, but stopped at the door, remembering the words I’d told her five years ago. Holding back a sob, her voice choked. “Ariel’s final wish was to be laid to rest in the family plot, beside our parents.” Stacey took a deep, ragged breath. “Her ashes are at the Riverbend Funeral Home. If a family member doesn’t sign off in three days, they’ll be disposed of. Dorian, you handle it.” 2 Stacey ran out of the villa and immediately crumpled on the curb, weeping uncontrollably. I floated down and sat beside her, listening to her muffled apologies as she buried her face in her hands. “Ariel, I tried my best. I truly did.” I know, Sash. I responded silently, wrapping my ghostly arms around her trembling body. These five years, Stacey had suffered so much. When Dorian and I had that explosive fight over Quinn, it was Stacey who took me in, giving me a place to live, a quiet spot to feel safe. Only a short while later, I died. They dragged my body from the river a week later. My remains were waterlogged, bloated, and almost unrecognizable. Stacey had cried that day, just as she was crying now. “Ariel, I’m so sorry. I thought you had gone home. That’s why I didn’t call sooner. How could this happen… how could this happen?” The police detective had frowned. “Does the deceased have next of kin? The medical examiner confirmed she was sexually assaulted before death. We suspect homicide.” Stacey’s head snapped up, her face draining of color. She fumbled for her phone. “Yes, yes! She has a brother! I’ll call him!” She dialed Dorian’s number, but the call never went through. She tried again and again, until finally, Dorian picked up, his voice heavy with impatience and anger. “Tell Ariel this: No apology, no contact!” Then he hung up and shut his phone off. Under the guidance of the police, Stacey tracked down the mansion. The housekeeper told her that Dorian had taken Quinn on a trip overseas. The case stalled. My body remained at the funeral home. Stacey paid the fees for five years, waiting for Dorian and Quinn to finish their global tour. She thought I would finally get my wish to be buried next to Mom and Dad. But Dorian still thought she was lying, covering for me. The rain poured down in torrents. Stacey cried through the night until dawn, her eyes swollen shut. Then, she pushed the wet hair from her face and went home. Back in her apartment, she walked to her bed, numbly opened the nightstand drawer, and pulled out a small, worn journal. She quickly wrapped it up, called a courier, and had it shipped to Dorian’s company office. Watching the courier drive away, she closed her eyes. “Ariel, this is all I can do now.” 3 I followed the package to my brother’s office. Inside, his assistant handed the diary to Dorian. “Mr. Spencer, you have a delivery. It’s a journal. The sender is Stacey.” Dorian didn’t look up, skimming a document. “Read it to me.” The assistant opened the journal to the first page and began to read with a serious, official tone. “January 3rd, 2020. Today, my brother kicked me out.” The temperature in the office seemed to drop instantly. Dorian finally lifted his head, a flicker of something cold and mocking in his eyes. “She’s trying this? Interesting. Keep reading.” The assistant nodded and continued slowly: Today, my brother kicked me out. It was because I slapped Quinn. She found my clinical diagnosis for severe depression and grinned, a truly wicked, ugly thing. She said, ‘You should have done this a long time ago. Why didn’t you just die in the earthquake with your parents? Then I could have your brother all to myself!’ It was absurd. She’s just a girl Dorian sponsored. She has no blood relation to us. How dare she imagine Dorian belongs only to her? I tried to ignore her, but she threw my jewelry box. Inside was the only complete family photo I had left. Quinn was quick. She snatched it up and ripped it to shreds. In a fit of rage, I slapped her. But she was stronger than me. In three swift moves, she had me pinned to the floor. I watched, helpless, as she dumped all my antidepressant medication into the toilet and flushed it away. When Dorian came home, she played the victim, claiming I attacked her and demanded I be thrown out. The look Dorian gave me was so cold. He compressed his lips and said, “Do you want to stay in this family or not? If you do, apologize to Quinn.” I tried to leave, hoping he would stop me. But he didn’t. Instead, he confiscated all my cash, bank cards, and ID. He didn’t even let me grab a change of clothes. “If you’re leaving, then everything I gave you stays here,” he told me. “Tomorrow, I’m telling everyone you are no longer my sister.” Quinn stood behind him, giving me a smug, triumphant smile. It’s been two years. Ever since he took her in as his charitable ward, my life has been a nightmare. After our parents died in the quake, it was just me and Dorian. We depended on each other. I couldn’t accept him bringing someone else home. Worse, I couldn’t stand that he was always telling me to accommodate Quinn because he felt sorry for her hard life. Before, everything was mine. Now, Dorian buys two of everything, and she gets the first choice. When he finally gets a day off, I want to see a movie, but Quinn wants to go shopping. Dorian would always tell me: “We’ll watch the movie next time, Ariel. Let’s go shopping first.” But his “next time” never came. It was always stolen by Quinn. I hate that feeling. A stranger forcing her way into my life, silently stealing everything, and I’m expected to smile and be the understanding little sister. But I care about Dorian too much. He is my brother. If he hadn’t lifted me up from the rubble that year, I would have died with Mom and Dad. So, I decided to endure it, all for him. Within six months, I learned to give up the good things to Quinn without Dorian even asking. Whatever she wanted, whatever she wished to do, I never fought back. The cost was my sanity. I developed severe depression. By the time I saw a therapist, it was already critical. The doctor said the seed was planted when my parents died; Quinn’s arrival only fertilized it. I grew more listless, cold, and withdrawn. Even when Dorian actively suggested we spend time together, I had lost all interest. Over time, Dorian grew angry. He called me cold-blooded, petty, and spiteful. He accused me of being jealous of Quinn and giving him attitude. I wanted to explain, but I didn’t know where to start. Our relationship has been spiraling ever since, trapped in a cold war where neither of us will back down. I went to Stacey’s house. It’s so far. I walked for three hours. My feet were raw and blistered. She patched me up and cursed him out. “Your brother is completely out of touch! He’s crazy! Don’t go back. Stay here. You’re safe.” I smiled faintly, suppressing the ache in my heart. “I have to go back. Brother will come looking for me in a few days.” Christmas is coming. We’ve never been apart during the holidays, not once since I was born. I believed he couldn’t bear to lose me. 4 The assistant’s voice suddenly cut off. She paused for a moment before saying, “Mr. Spencer, that’s the end of that page.” Dorian played with the pen in his hand, his expression entirely scornful. “She’s really good at playing the victim, isn’t she? Clearly, she couldn’t stand Quinn but fabricated lies about Quinn tormenting her.” He smirked. “Kicking her out of the house was clearly the right decision.” He shot a cold glance at the assistant. The assistant understood and quickly flipped to the next page, resuming her reading. … January 5th, 2020. I started looking for a job. Stacey’s family isn’t wealthy, I can’t let her support me. I applied to several companies, but they all turned me down. My education and experience perfectly matched the requirements, but I never made it past the final interview. The last interviewer was a kind-looking woman. I tried pleading with her: “Please, I don’t need a high salary. I can live on minimum wage.” The woman looked at me with pity, her gaze heavy with implication. “Don’t bother looking anymore. Nobody in Seaview City will hire you.” “Someone put the word out. Anyone named Ariel Spencer is not to be hired.” I was stunned. It wasn’t until I left the building that I fully processed it. Only one person had that kind of power: Dorian. He’s doing this to force me to apologize to Quinn. But I did nothing wrong. Why should I apologize? “Ha.” Dorian scoffed, a sudden, sharp sound. “So Ariel still thought she was innocent and blamed me for making her apologize? I was only trying to polish her character. It seems she didn’t appreciate the effort.” He tossed the pen onto the desk. “Writing this drivel—it’s just a clumsy attempt to play on my sympathy and ask for money, isn’t it?” The assistant glanced at him, silently turning the page. This time, her voice was heavy with foreboding. “January 15th, 2020. I went back to look for my brother.” … I went back to look for my brother because the snow was about to fall. Every winter, no matter how busy he was, Dorian always took the time to build a snowman with me. We’d have snowball fights, and we’d lie on the ground together, watching the flakes drift down into our eyes. I missed him. Maybe I should just admit I was wrong. Living with a friend isn’t a permanent solution. An apology is all it takes. If I just play cute, he’ll forgive me. But the housekeeper told me Dorian had left on a round-the-world trip with Quinn. He instructed her not to contact him before he left. He didn’t want to see me. My brother didn’t want me. … The page was short. The assistant quickly finished reading. Dorian slammed his hand on the desk, enraged. “When did I ever say that! She’s even lying about me now! Keep reading! I want to see what else Ariel Spencer can invent!” The assistant sighed, turning to the next page. This time, her eyes widened, and her voice trembled uncontrollably. “New Year’s Eve. I was raped.” 5 I had only gone out to buy frozen sausage roll. Stacey wanted me to spend the holiday with her family, but I didn’t want to impose. I walked back, wondering what my brother was doing. Is he building a snowman with Quinn and eating sausage rolls? Oh, right. He’s probably in some tropical city right now. I don’t even know if it snows there, or if they celebrate the holiday. I laughed at myself. I realized how slow-witted I’d become since I stopped taking my antidepressants. The houses along the street were all warmly lit, and children were setting off fireworks. I walked slowly, taking it all in, when suddenly, everything went black. A second later, several hands dragged me into a hidden alley, away from the streetlights and cameras. They were on top of me, tearing off my clothes. My screams that night were swallowed whole by the sound of the fireworks. This gruesome butchery finally stopped at dawn. I was left on the cold pavement, utterly gutted, my eyes staring blankly at the sky. A man climbed off my body and spat on my face. “Daring to mess with Quinn? This is your punishment!” I watched them walk away, detached, and slowly managed to get dressed. Then, I walked back to Stacey’s place. I know my writing is incoherent now. I can’t even write a full sentence. My hands are shaking, and I can barely hold the pen. I left a note for Stacey— My greatest wish is to be buried in the family plot when I die. Please, bury me with Mom and Dad. Dorian doesn’t want me. I’m going to find them. I hope Stacey won’t be too sad when she finds out I’m gone. I hope when Dorian sees my body, he can forgive me and stop demanding an apology. … The assistant’s voice was completely hoarse. After she finished reading, the office was silent enough to hear a pin drop. Dorian forced himself to laugh, feigning composure. “They are so dedicated. To get money from me, they even created a scenario this elaborate, this realistic.” He pulled out his phone and called Stacey. She answered quickly. Dorian was the first to speak, his voice hard. “Tell Ariel to come get the money herself. If she just apologizes, I’ll let her come home. Stop sending these pathetic, flowery diaries. I won’t believe them!” Silence hung on the line for a moment before Stacey sighed. “Dorian, I sold my apartment. I’m moving away. Don’t ever contact me again about Ariel.” I understand Stacey. She was exhausted. Over the years, Quinn used her connections to make Stacey’s life a living hell. Dorian knew about it, but he allowed Quinn’s actions, all in an effort to pressure me into apologizing. Stacey had been forced to switch jobs countless times while desperately trying to cover my funeral home fees. She spent every last dime she had. She stood vigil by my unclaimed body countless times, collapsing in front of me, sobbing. “Why did you have to die so vaguely! You think death is an escape?” But right after, she’d wipe her tears and apologize. “I’m sorry, Ariel, none of this is your fault… but I’m so tired. I’m truly so tired!” I was overcome with shame. If I had known how much she would suffer, I would have knelt before Quinn five years ago and begged for forgiveness. If only I had known. Dorian hung up the phone and sat in silence for a long time. The assistant cautiously observed his face, then tentatively offered, “Mr. Spencer, should we… should we look into this?” “No.” Dorian’s expression was blank. He stood up and headed for the door. “Stacey said Ariel is dead. I’ll humor her one last time.” He bit out the last sentence, his voice cold. “Her ashes are at the Riverbend Funeral Home, aren’t they? I’m going to go see for myself.” “If they’re lying to me,” he growled, “I will make them pay.”

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Eight years after the divorce, I ran into my ex-wife and my adoptive sister in a remote little town. In the years since I’d seen them, one had become a superstar, the other the head of the powerful Prescott family. And I was running a tiny, hole-in-the-wall diner. The moment our eyes met, they both froze. Seraphina, my ex-wife, quickly hid a medical report behind her back. Isabelle, my sister, slipped a limited-edition watch she’d bought for her brother into her pocket. I calmly finished packing the takeout order and handed it to them with practiced courtesy. “Here you are, ladies.” The formal, distant address seemed to rattle them. As they were leaving, Seraphina suddenly turned back. “Didn’t you say you’d only ever cook for me?” I offered a polite, empty smile. “The foolish promises of youth. They don’t mean much now.” Just like the people and memories I once thought I could never get over. With time, they had all faded to nothing. … Through the open glass door, the noise of the street drifted in, but it couldn’t dispel the frozen silence that had settled over the diner. The two women who had conspired to ruin me, to cast me out of my own home, now stood at the counter, unwilling to leave. Seraphina clutched the plastic bag of food, choosing her words carefully. “Owen is injured and needs to recuperate. The facilities here are excellent, so we brought him to stay for a while.” “Mom and Dad… they came too,” she added. “Do you want to see them?” I shook my head, wiping a grease stain from the countertop. “No, that’s not necessary. Please give my regards to Mr. and Mrs. Prescott.” I paused, then added, “Actually, it’s probably best you don’t mention me at all. Being associated with someone like me would only tarnish the Prescott name.” At that, my adoptive sister Isabelle’s brow furrowed. “Noah, these past few years, we—” “Noah!” A young woman with streaks of red in her hair bounced into the diner, instantly latching onto my arm like a koala. “I’m starving! The school cafeteria food was literal poison today!” I chuckled, ruffling her hair. “You say that every day, Gigi. There’s a plate of your favorite shrimp scampi in the kitchen. I just made it. Go get it yourself.” Gigi just hugged my arm tighter, whining. “Nooo, you have to eat with me.” Noticing that my other two visitors still hadn’t left, my smile faded. “Is there anything else I can get for you ladies?” The message was clear, but it took them a long moment to shake their heads. Seraphina seemed to drift off for a second when she heard “shrimp scampi.” Isabelle stared at Gigi clinging to my arm, her lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out. I led Gigi into the back, the curtain falling behind us and cutting off their view. When I came out again, they were gone. “Hey,” Gigi said around a mouthful of shrimp, “did you know them? They weren’t here to cause trouble, were they? I’ve seen them on TV. One’s a huge celebrity, the other runs the Prescott corporation. They’re kind of a big deal.” I placed another shrimp in her bowl. “Just regular customers,” I said with a light laugh. “If I knew people like that, do you think I’d be running this little diner? I’d have moved us all into a mansion by now.” Gigi giggled, then leaned in conspiratorially. “I heard that superstar’s husband is the one who’s sick. The whole family came all the way out here just to take care of him. Must be nice, having that many people who care about you.” “Hm,” I said calmly, wiping a grain of rice from the corner of her mouth. Oh, I knew exactly how much they doted on Owen Prescott. Eight years ago, for his sake, one of them had publicly accused me of slander and assault, sending me to prison. The other had announced to the world that I had taken my own life out of guilt, personally ensuring I was erased from the Prescott family forever. They worked in perfect, seamless harmony to cast me into a hell from which I was never meant to return. “Hey, what’s this?” I was clearing the table when Gigi popped her head out from behind the counter, holding up a small, withered ring woven from dried grass. It was the kind you could make from weeds on the side of the road. It was stained with old, dark blood. Originally, it would have had a small, white daisy tucked into it. It was the “wedding ring” Seraphina had given me when we were young. Back then, she wasn’t a world-famous actress. She was just a girl, abandoned near the Prescott estate by her foster father as payment for a massive debt. I found her on a winter night, huddled in a corner of the wall, shivering in the snow, her thin clothes no match for the cold. Her hand had unconsciously gripped the hem of my coat. Against the wishes of my parents and my sister, I brought her home. I used my allowance to pay for a doctor, slowly pulling her back from the brink of death. And so, fifteen-year-old Seraphina stayed, becoming my little shadow. When I skipped class, she covered for me. When I got into fights, she took the punishment. When I was cornered in an alley by a group of bigger kids, she stood with me, trembling with fear but refusing to abandon me. Later, when we fell in love, we would hide behind the wall of roses in the garden, kissing and laughing like a pair of fools. Then, when she turned seventeen, a famous talent scout came to the house, begging her to become an actress. “Noah, wait for me,” she promised, kissing my face over and over. “I know I’m not good enough for you now. But when I’m a star, a household name, I’ll be able to stand beside you as your wife.” “I will make it. You’re the only person I ever want to marry.” I knew I couldn’t change her mind, so I cooked her a feast of all her favorite foods as a farewell. As she was leaving, she slipped the grass ring onto my finger. “One day, Noah, I’ll give you the biggest, most beautiful wedding ring in the world.” My parents and sister never liked her, but they didn’t want to see me unhappy. They used the family’s connections to pave her way in the industry. Within two years, Seraphina was everywhere. I watched her on TV as she became the youngest actress to ever win the Grand Jury Prize. The day she was set to return, my hands were shaking with excitement. But that was the same day the truth about my birth came out. I wasn’t a Prescott. I was the son of a pair of day laborers, switched at birth with the true heir by someone who had slipped past the nurses. The day the real son, Owen Prescott, was brought to the estate, my adoptive mother held my hand. “Even with Owen here, you will always be a son of this family.” My sister ruffled my hair, her smile unchanged. “What’s one more person? The Prescotts aren’t so poor we can’t afford to feed another mouth.” Seraphina even canceled a shoot and flew back overnight. She held me tight and swore, “I can protect you now. Even if the Prescotts don’t want you, I will.” The knot of fear in my chest slowly loosened. Out of guilt, I started putting Owen first in everything. I helped him with his studies, taught him etiquette, let him have first choice of everything, terrified he would feel out of place. He, in turn, followed me everywhere, calling me “brother.” I was truly happy then. I thought I was the luckiest person in the world, blessed with such a wonderful family and a love like ours. Eventually, Owen started tagging along on my dates with Seraphina. At first, she complained about the third wheel. Owen would fire back that he was just making sure her intentions were pure. I mediated between them, and they reached a tense truce. Slowly, without me noticing when it started, Seraphina began to remember Owen’s favorite things, to understand his moods, even to remember his birthday. And Owen would casually ask me questions about Seraphina’s childhood. It all came to a head during a trip to the mountains, when a sudden rockslide sent boulders tumbling down the slope. I watched, frozen, as Seraphina grabbed Owen’s hand and pulled him to safety. I managed to scramble out of the way, but not before a rock gashed my leg open. In the hospital, she explained through tears, “I’m so sorry, Noah. In that moment… I thought Owen was you.” I said nothing, but my heart felt like it had been plunged into ice. Something was spinning horribly out of my control. The day I was discharged, I went home early. I even bought a bouquet of roses on the way, planning to surprise her. But there, under the rose wall in the garden, I saw them. Two figures, tangled together. Seraphina’s arms were wrapped around Owen’s neck, and she was kissing him with a deep, focused passion. I stood rooted to the spot, feeling as if I’d walked into a nightmare. But the sharp pain of the rose thorns digging into my palm was too real to deny. I charged forward and tore them apart, a shower of rose petals falling around us. I slapped Seraphina across the face. She didn’t even flinch. But when I turned to Owen, she shoved me, hard. I stumbled and fell, my palms scraping against the gravel path. She stood over me, shielding Owen. “He’s your brother. What gives you the right to touch him?” she spat. “Look at you, Noah. You’re acting like a madman.” Owen stepped up beside her, his face a mask of regret. “I’m sorry, brother… but Sera and I are in love. If we had never been switched, I would have been the one to meet her first.” Then, he intertwined his fingers with hers, his eyes meeting mine, full of defiance. “I apologize. You can hit me, you can scream at me, but I will not give her up.” The last thread of my sanity snapped. I grabbed a rock and threw it at them, screaming every vicious word I could think of. Seraphina just pulled Owen further away, her expression one of disgust. “You really need to see a doctor.” My parents and sister came running at the sound of the commotion. They saw me, disheveled and covered in dirt, and their brows knitted in disapproval. “Noah, that’s enough.” “Owen is your brother. Can’t you just let him have this?” They stood together, a united front, their faces identical masks of cold disdain. And I stood opposite them, looking like a wild animal. In that moment, all the little oddities, all the strange moments from the past few months, clicked into place. But I wasn’t ready to give up. I found out where Seraphina was filming and went to the studio, screaming and demanding answers. She stood at a distance, watching with contempt as her bodyguards pinned me to the ground. “Don’t ever come near me again,” she said. “And if you spread any more rumors about Owen, you’ll regret it.” Rage and desperation consumed me. I went to the tabloids. I told them everything: Seraphina’s affair, Owen knowingly becoming the other man. I plastered the story everywhere I could, determined to ruin them. I wanted the world to know that the beloved actress I had helped create was nothing but a backstabbing traitor. But the Prescott family crushed the story. I fought them, screamed, smashed everything in the house, even threatened to jump from a window. All I got for my efforts was a stinging slap from my sister. “Noah, have you made enough of a scene?” she’d said, her voice dripping with ice. “You stole Owen’s life! All of this should have been his from the start. We raised you for twenty years, and this is how you repay us? You can’t tame a stray.” They locked me in the cellar. Days blurred into one another in the pitch-black silence, with only a stale, cold piece of bread pushed under the door each day. The darkness was a swamp, slowly drowning me. I don’t know how long I was in there before the door finally opened. Seraphina stood silhouetted against the light. “Our promise still stands,” she said. “I will marry you, Noah.” They let me out, and a wedding was hastily arranged. I wasn’t naive enough to think it was because they’d had a change of heart. The Prescott family was powerful, but not invincible. My public breakdown, though mostly suppressed, had still made ripples. If Seraphina were to marry anyone but me, it would only confirm the “crazy” stories I had told. The day before the wedding, my adoptive mother spoke to me in the living room. “Now that you’ve come to your senses, don’t cause any trouble tomorrow. Owen has been very unstable lately. I want you to go and apologize to him today.” My sister swirled the red wine in her glass. “Noah, everything you have was given to you by this family. Behave, and we might let you keep some of your dignity. You know what to say and what not to say tomorrow.” It was all so absurd I didn’t even have the energy to laugh. Seeing my silence, Seraphina’s face darkened. “I’m marrying you, Noah. What more could you possibly want? If anyone should be complaining, it’s not you. You’re the one who stole someone else’s life. Don’t be ungrateful.” “Brother, it’s all my fault…” Owen started, stepping toward me. “Get away from me!” I snarled, slapping his hand away. “Ah!” he cried out, stumbling back. My family’s expressions turned thunderous. “Noah, what do you think you’re doing? Apologize to Owen now!” Owen, sheltered behind them, murmured, “I’m fine. It wasn’t his fault.” Seraphina glared at me. “No, Owen, you’re too kind. He needs to apologize to you today!” A strange look crossed Owen’s face. “Why don’t you make me some of your shrimp scampi, brother? The way you used to make it… just for Sera.” Shrimp scampi. It was a dish Seraphina’s birth mother had once mentioned to her. The mother had disappeared, and the dish had become an obsession for Seraphina. To comfort her, I had sought out the best chefs, learning the difficult, precise recipe until my hands were covered in burns and scars. It had become our secret, something just for us. She had once made me swear, in a moment of passion, that I would never make it for anyone else. And now, it was just a party trick for her to please her new lover. The rage I thought had been extinguished roared back to life. I laughed, a raw, broken sound. I snatched a priceless vase from the table and smashed it at Owen’s feet. The peonies my mother had loved scattered across the floor, and a shard of porcelain sliced Owen’s leg. He cried out in pain. My parents and sister rushed to his side. Seraphina had the bodyguards restrain me. She kicked me hard in my injured leg, forcing me to my knees. “You brought this on yourself!” After that, the scandals about me were everywhere. Under Seraphina’s expert manipulation, I was painted as an ungrateful imposter who had bullied the true heir, tried to steal his fiancée, and then resorted to slander when I didn’t get my way. Together, my ex-wife and my adoptive sister sent me to prison. And while I was gone, Owen and Seraphina were married in a lavish ceremony, blessed by all. While I was being beaten by inmates, hovering on the edge of death, they were making love in the bed that should have been mine. Six months later, I was dragged from my cell, barely breathing, and thrown out of the prison gates like a bag of trash. The snow was falling heavily, the night wind biting and cruel. Just like the night I had found Seraphina. But I wasn’t as lucky as she had been. No one was coming for me. No one would save me. The only thing I had left was the blood-stained, misshapen grass ring clutched in my fist.

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At the company’s annual awards ceremony, just as I stepped onto the stage, my supervisor, Melissa, suddenly shoved a crumpled piece of paper into my hand. “A special grand prize, just for our top salesperson! Go on, open it up and show everyone!” Under the expectant gazes of the entire company, I unfolded the paper. Scrawled in messy handwriting were the words: Clean all the company bathrooms for three days. The room erupted in laughter. Melissa stood with her arms crossed, a smug smirk on her face. “Generous, right? After all, everyone knows your sales numbers are just dirty money from sleeping with old men. We wouldn’t want the other employees to feel like it’s unfair. So, while they’re on vacation, you can work a little overtime. You wouldn’t mind that, would you?” The laughter grew louder, nearly shaking the room. My boyfriend, Dominic, the CEO, witnessed the entire thing from the side of the stage. And, as usual, he didn’t say a single word in my defense. Just when everyone expected me to break down in tears, I simply nodded calmly. The next day, the company received cancellation notices for over 300 properties. The entire financial chain collapsed in an instant. Melissa and Dominic demanded I go and beg the buyers to reconsider. I smiled and replied, “No, I don’t think so. If I save the company again, my sales numbers will be even higher. We wouldn’t want to make everyone else feel even more unbalanced, now would we?” 1. When I said I would accept the “prize,” a brief silence fell over the room, quickly followed by an even more ferocious wave of laughter. Melissa’s laughter was the most exaggerated of all. She was doubled over, tears streaming from her eyes. “See? This is why she’s the top salesperson! The sheer thickness of her skin is something ordinary people could never achieve!” I ignored her sarcastic remarks and spoke calmly. “There’s just one thing I need to clarify. Since the company has arranged this… benefit… of bathroom cleaning for me, that will be my sole responsibility for the next three days. I will not be handling any other work-related matters.” Melissa was taken aback, clearly not expecting such a strange request. But it was the end of the year. Thanks to my efforts, all sales targets had been exceeded. All that was left was for the clients to finalize their bank payments for the transactions to be officially complete. For me to step away from sales at this critical moment was like handing her a billion-dollar performance on a silver platter. Melissa, assuming I had been pushed to my breaking point and lost my mind, agreed without a second thought. “Fine by me. If you don’t want the responsibility, you don’t have to have it.” “You’re not the only salesperson we have. Do you really think this company can’t function without you?” “For the next few days, you just focus on scrubbing toilets. But if I find a single strand of hair on the floor, you can start looking for a new job.” I didn’t say another word. I just turned and walked away. In the hallway, I pulled out my phone and sent a message to my client group chat. “To all my valued clients, I am currently facing a change in my position. For those of you who trust me, I would advise you to temporarily delay your bank payments. Please await further instructions from me.” Just after I hit send, a text from Dominic came through. “Come to my office. We need to talk.” I tossed my phone aside, pretending I hadn’t seen it. We met in college. After graduation, at Dominic’s persistent pleading, I turned down a six-figure job to help him build his company from the ground up. He always said that as soon as the company hit a billion in revenue, we would get married. I believed his empty promises and poured my heart and soul into the company. But all I got in return was neglect and constant put-downs. Melissa had only been with the company for three months. Her sales numbers were a fraction of mine. But because Dominic was so impressed with her supposed “overseas background” and “prestigious education,” he promoted her to Sales Manager, completely bypassing me. And me? The top salesperson for three years running? My reward was the “honor” of cleaning toilets for three days. Under the sympathetic and gloating stares of my colleagues, I walked to the janitor’s closet and changed into a cleaning uniform. As I was carrying a bucket towards the bathrooms, a voice called out from behind me. “Chloe, stop!” 2. It was Dominic. He usually pretended not to know me at the office. This was the first time he had ever called out to me in front of everyone. He strode towards me, his face a thundercloud, and looked down at me with condescension. “I told you to come to my office. Why didn’t you?” I didn’t offer an explanation. I just said flatly, “I was busy with work. I didn’t have time to look at my phone.” It was the same excuse Dominic always used on me. Hearing it from my lips for the first time seemed to catch him off guard. “It was a small thing. Is it really worth throwing such a tantrum over?” Once he was sure no one else could hear us, Dominic’s tone softened. He sighed. “I know you’re upset about the prize Melissa gave you. And I know I should have defended you. But she’s the new sales manager, someone I’ve put a lot of faith in. Her initiatives have brought a huge boost to the company’s performance. I couldn’t undermine her in front of the entire staff. You have to try to understand my position…” “You know perfectly well that wasn’t a prize. It was pure, unadulterated bullying and humiliation!” I cut him off, my voice cold. “And what do you think is responsible for that boost in performance? Melissa, sitting in her office all day, sipping lattes in the air conditioning?” “If it weren’t for me out there, day in and day out, rain or shine, chasing down every single lead, so busy I forget to eat, do you really think this company would have closed a single deal in this real estate downturn?” My aggressive questioning made Dominic’s face fall. “Don’t be so arrogant, Chloe. You make it sound like you’re single-handedly holding up the entire company.” “Without Melissa’s ‘Winter Warm-Up’ campaign, would we have attracted so many potential buyers? You’re clearly benefiting from her work. Don’t be ungrateful. It makes you look pathetic.” He didn’t even give me a chance to respond before turning and walking away. If I hadn’t heard it with my own ears, I would never have believed such idiotic words could come from the mouth of the man I had loved for over a decade. The so-called “Winter Warm-Up” campaign he was praising consisted of a few tables set up outside the sales office, offering free cups of cheap, instant black coffee and flimsy, dollar-store gloves to passersby. The coffee usually went cold without anyone touching it, and the gloves were often found in the nearest trash can. And in Dominic’s eyes, this was what was bringing in the real money, and I was the one piggybacking on Melissa’s success. In all our years together, to protect Dominic’s fragile male ego, I had never boasted about my achievements or complained about my struggles. I thought he had a heart, that if he wasn’t a complete idiot, he would eventually see my dedication and hard work. I never imagined he could be so blind, so willing to erase all of my contributions. In that moment, the last lingering trace of affection I had for Dominic vanished. I threw down the mop and rubber gloves. My voice was ice. “Fine. If in your eyes, Melissa is the one responsible for all our success, then I quit. And we’re through. We’re done.” 3. In all our years together, no matter how angry or disappointed I was, I had never said a harsh word to Dominic, let alone mentioned breaking up. Hearing those words come from me, he stared at me in disbelief. “Chloe, are you insane? Do you know what you’re saying?” “We’re only 300 sales away from hitting that billion-dollar target I promised you. Once those final payments come in, we’ve made it. If you throw a fit now, at this crucial moment, I won’t give you a second chance.” I didn’t want to waste another breath on him. I just walked out of the company. I had just gotten home and taken off my shoes when my phone rang. It was my mother. The moment I answered, her voice, sharp and angry, assaulted my ears. “Are you crazy, Chloe? Did you fight with Dominic? I’m telling you, you go and apologize to him right now!” “You’re a woman! Everything you have today is because of him! Don’t be so ungrateful!” Her voice grew shriller. “Dominic is young and successful! The fact that he’s been with you for twelve years is a blessing!” “If you piss him off now, who do you think is going to want you? For a woman, marrying a good man is the most important thing in life. Go and be nice to him, get that ring on your finger. Stop this foolishness!” “Without Dominic, you’re nothing!” I held the phone, a bitter laugh rising in my throat. Throughout our relationship, Dominic had always been able to easily win over my mother with small gifts and gestures. A few health supplements, a red envelope with some cash during the holidays, and she would treat him like a savior and then turn around and lecture me about being obedient. He must have given her something good this time for her to be so eager to play his advocate, without even bothering to ask what had happened. I didn’t argue. I didn’t explain. I just waited until she had exhausted herself, and then I hung up. My phone screen was still lit. I opened my client group chat and typed a message. “To all my clients, I have decided to resign from my position at Sterling Properties. If you have any future real estate needs, please feel free to contact me directly.” Less than a minute after I sent the message, the chat exploded. “Chloe, you’re leaving? What about the properties we’ve already put offers on? I only trust you! I don’t want to deal with anyone else!” “Yeah, we chose Sterling because of your expertise! If you leave, we’ll follow you!” “No matter which company you go to, we’re with you. Without you, who else at Sterling is going to be so dedicated to helping us?” “I haven’t finalized my paperwork yet! Wherever you go, I’ll go. Just tell me what to do!” The messages flooded in, one after another. No questions, no doubts, just unconditional trust and support. Twelve years of selfless dedication meant nothing to Dominic. But my genuine efforts to help these clients, they remembered every single one. It wasn’t that my sincerity was destined to be betrayed. It was that Dominic was never worthy of it in the first place. I wiped away a tear and replied to the group: “Thank you all for your understanding and support. As soon as I have determined my next steps, I will let you all know immediately.” 4. Reading those heartfelt messages, the knot of tension that had been tightening in my chest all day finally began to loosen. Just then, I received a direct message from an unknown number. The sender identified themselves as a recruiter. “Ms. Simmons, we have been following your excellent reputation in the industry. We understand you are considering a change, and we would like to extend a sincere invitation for you to join one of our partner firms. The compensation would be double your current salary, and you would have your choice of position. Would you be interested in discussing this further?” I replied with a quick “I’ll be in touch,” and turned off my phone. I didn’t sleep a wink that night, but I felt no fatigue. The next morning, I arrived at the office on time. Ignoring the stares of my colleagues, I walked straight to my desk and began packing my things. Just then, Melissa approached me with a sickeningly sweet smile. “Chloe, don’t you have a sense of humor?” “It was just a little joke, making you clean the bathrooms. Why did you have to go and resign? There’s no need to be so dramatic.” “How about this? I’ll give you a little bonus, out of my own pocket, as compensation.” “Here,” she said, holding out a red envelope. “This is for you. A two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar bonus.” She emphasized the “two-fifty,” a number that is a common insult, her smile dripping with malice. The company had had a banner year. Every employee who participated in the annual raffle received a cash prize, with the lowest being over eight thousand dollars. And me, a senior employee and the top salesperson, was being offered this pittance, an amount that was a blatant insult. It was the ultimate humiliation. A wave of fury washed over me, and I slapped her hand away. It wasn’t a hard slap, certainly not enough to knock someone over. But Melissa let out a dramatic cry and stumbled backward, collapsing in front of my desk, her eyes immediately welling up with tears. “Chloe! I was just trying to be nice and give you a bonus! You didn’t have to hit me!” Seeing her damsel-in-distress act, Dominic, who had rushed over at the sound of the commotion, grabbed my arm without a second thought. “Chloe, my patience with you has its limits!” “If you don’t apologize to Melissa right now, you will never set foot in this company again!” I wrenched my arm from his grasp. “Dominic,” I said, my voice cold, “are you suffering from memory loss? I already told you I was quitting yesterday. I’m just here to collect my personal belongings.” Dominic’s face turned ugly. He stepped in front of me, blocking my path. “You can quit. But you’re leaving the files for those three hundred clients here.” I stopped and looked at him, my expression unreadable. “Fine.” I agreed without hesitation. I bent down, took a neatly organized stack of client files from my box, and placed it on the desk beside me. “But I should warn you. Those three hundred clients came to us because of my reputation and my expertise. Not because of Sterling Properties, and certainly not because of you or Melissa.” Dominic laughed as if I had told the funniest joke in the world. “Chloe, you’re giving yourself way too much credit. Without the Sterling platform, who do you think you are?” “You think you could have closed all those deals without the resources this company provided? Don’t flatter yourself.” Melissa, standing beside him, chimed in. “Exactly. She really thinks she’s something special. Once we take over, we’ll have no problem keeping those clients. Do you really think the company will fall apart without you?” I didn’t bother arguing with them. It was pointless. I straightened the files on the desk, making sure everything was there, then picked up my box and turned to leave. Just as the elevator doors were opening and I was about to step inside, a panicked voice shouted from behind me. “Mr. Keyes! Ms. Sanders! We have a huge problem!” An employee, his face pale, ran up to Dominic, stammering. “The-the front desk has been flooded with calls! It’s all the clients who put in offers. They… they all want to cancel!” “We’ve already counted over a hundred, and the calls are still coming in!”

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“The first name on the layoff list was mine.” Helen from HR slid the paper across the desk toward me. Her nail tapped the surface. “Lydia, just sign it. We’re giving you N+1 months’ pay. It’s more than fair.” I glanced down. Employee ID 0217, Lydia. Position: Highly replaceable. The project was worth over a million dollars. I had written all 470,000 lines of code myself. “Okay.” I picked up the pen and signed my name. Helen blinked, probably surprised by how easily I agreed. “Well… about the handover. Please get it done as soon as possible.” “Okay.” I stood up and smiled. What she didn’t know was this: all the code was on my machine. The variable names were in abbreviated Spanish. The comments were lines from obscure poetry. 1. When I joined the company three years ago, there were only two people on this project team. Me and Mark. Back then, Mark wasn’t the team lead. Our desks were next to each other. He handled the front-end, and I handled the back-end. The project was called the “CloudStow Warehouse System,” a major contract for the company. The client was the largest logistics firm in the region, and the deal was worth just over a million dollars. “Lydia, how’s your Java?” That was the first thing Mark ever asked me. “It’s alright.” “How alright is ‘alright’?” I thought for a moment. “I’ve probably written around two hundred thousand lines.” Mark’s eyes lit up. “Great. You take the core modules.” “And you?” “I’ll handle the product meetings, nail down the requirements.” At the time, it seemed perfect. He wasn’t great at coding, and I wasn’t great at dealing with people. We complemented each other. It was only later I understood that “complementing each other” was just another way of saying: you do the work, he takes the credit. In the first month, I wrote thirty thousand lines of code. Mark wrote a PowerPoint deck. The first slide read: CloudStow System Technical Architecture Report — Mark. I asked him, “Shouldn’t my name be on there too?” Mark said, “You’re so good at coding, the execs will definitely remember you. The PowerPoint is just a formality.” I believed him. The second month, the CTO came to check on our progress. Mark stood in front of the projector, speaking with animated enthusiasm. He threw around terms like “architecture decoupling,” “high-availability design,” and “microservices decomposition.” He said the words more smoothly than I ever could. When he finished, the CTO nodded. “Good work, Mark.” Then he turned to him. “Do you need more people on the technical side?” Mark said, “No need. I can handle it.” I was sitting right there. The CTO didn’t even glance in my direction. At the time, I thought, It’s fine. I’m a tech person. I don’t need the spotlight. As long as the code is good, that’s what matters. Looking back, I was so naive. The third month, the team expanded. Two new graduates joined us. HR told me, “Lydia, you’re our best developer. Could you mentor the new hires?” I said sure. Their names were Sam and Rick. Fresh out of college, they still had that spark in their eyes. Sam asked me, “Lydia, are you the lead on this project? The code is beautiful.” I smiled. “Not the lead. It’s a team effort.” “But I checked the Git history. You made 80% of the commits.” Mark happened to be walking by and overheard. He clapped Sam on the shoulder. “A lot of commits doesn’t mean a lot of contribution, understand? Writing code is the basic work. The hard part is the architectural design and project management.” Sam looked at him, then back at me, and didn’t say another word. The fourth month, the project went live. During the client acceptance meeting, Mark wore a suit and stood at the head of the conference room, confidently addressing a room full of people. I was in my plaid shirt, sitting in the back row, debugging the system. The client asked, “What happens if we see a huge spike in concurrent users?” Mark replied, “Don’t worry, we’ve implemented a comprehensive load-balancing design.” The client asked again, “What’s the data backup strategy?” Mark said, “Incremental backups with off-site disaster recovery.” Every single term he used was something I had written in the technical documentation. The night we got sign-off, the department went out for dinner. Our director raised his glass. “For this project, Mark’s contribution was indispensable.” Mark lifted his glass, all humility. “It was mainly good teamwork. I just did a bit of coordination.” No one mentioned my name. I drank a lot that night. On the way home, my roommate asked, “Why so much to drink? Did you get a promotion?” “No.” “A raise?” “No.” “Then what are you celebrating?” I stood under a streetlight, looking at my own shadow. “I don’t know.” The fifth month, the company went through a reorganization. Mark was promoted to team lead. The reason given was his “outstanding performance and management potential demonstrated on the CloudStow project.” He got his own office, a better desk, and an extra five hundred dollars a month in a management stipend. I was still in the same corner, at a desk not much bigger than an intern’s. HR sat me down for my annual review. “Lydia, your salary increase this year is 3%.” I asked, “What about Mark?” HR paused. “I’m… not at liberty to disclose that.” I later heard from Sam that Mark got a 12% raise. I wrote 80% of the code and got a 3% raise. He wrote 100% of the PowerPoints and got a 12% raise. Seemed fair. The sixth month, another new grad, Chris, joined. HR told me, “Lydia, you’re on.” So I mentored him. The first day, I showed him how to set up his development environment. The second day, I taught him how to read the codebase. The third day, he asked me, “Lydia, how much do you make?” I said, “Why do you ask?” “My offer was for $95k. I’m just curious what I can expect to make after three years.” I went quiet for a moment. I made $92k. A fresh graduate was making more than me. That night, for the first time, I couldn’t sleep. At three in the morning, staring at the ceiling, I asked myself: What am I even doing this for? I was the best programmer. I wrote the most code. I mentored the most people. But when it came to promotions, I was overlooked. For raises, I was forgotten. They didn’t even invite me to the team-building events. I remembered the team outing last week. Sam posted pictures on Instagram. A dozen people from the department at a barbecue joint in the countryside. Mark had his arm around a new intern, smiling broadly. I asked Mark about it. “Why wasn’t I invited to the team thing?” Mark said, “Weren’t you fixing that bug? I figured you were busy, so I didn’t want to bother you.” “Just let me know next time.” “Sure, sure. Next time, definitely.” Next time was always next time. 2. The seventh month was the annual performance review. Everyone had to write a year-end summary and present it to the entire department for ten minutes. I wrote an 8-slide deck. CloudStow Warehouse System core module development. 470,000 lines of code. 127 version iterations. 120,000 average daily orders processed. Mark wrote a 35-slide deck. The title was: From 0 to 1: How I Led a Team to Deliver a Million-Dollar Project. He stood on the stage, his delivery full of passion and emotion. “When this project first started, there were only two of us. Me and Lydia.” He said my name. I was a little surprised. “Lydia was responsible for the foundational code implementation, while I was responsible for the overall technical architecture and project management.” Foundational code implementation. He called 470,000 lines of code “foundational code implementation.” He continued, “We faced many challenges, but under my coordination, the team overcame every hurdle, one by one.” He said “my coordination” five times. He said “team collaboration” three times. He never mentioned my name again. The CTO listened, then nodded. “Mark, your management skills have improved significantly.” Then it was my turn. I stood on stage and got through my 8 slides in four minutes. The CTO asked, “Lydia, how are the coding standards?” I said, “Every function is commented, and all naming conventions follow camel case.” The CTO asked again, “What about unit test coverage?” I said, “82%.” The CTO nodded and said nothing more. When the final performance ratings came out, Mark got an ‘A’. I got a ‘B+’. “Lydia, your annual bonus multiplier is 1.2,” HR said. “And Mark’s?” HR didn’t answer. I found out later that Mark’s multiplier was 2.5. My bonus was $18,000. His was $50,000. Same project, same department, same year. He got $32,000 more than I did. That night, I sat alone at my desk until 11 PM. Sam messaged me. “Lydia, why are you still here?” I replied, “Fixing a bug.” “What bug?” “A bug in my head.” Sam sent back a question mark. I didn’t reply. The eighth month, the system had a major crash. At two in the morning, the client called. Thirty thousand orders had vanished from the database. My phone blew up. Mark called me: “Lydia, figure out what’s wrong!” The client called me: “Lydia, can the data be recovered?” The CTO called me: “This is a production incident! It has to be solved tonight!” I crawled out of bed and opened my laptop. I went through the logs line by line, checked the code block by block. At 3:30 AM, I found the cause. It was a configuration file Mark had changed last week. He’d entered the wrong parameter for the database connection pool. I took a screenshot, ready to post it in the group chat. Then I hesitated and deleted it. I spent the next two hours writing a data recovery script, pulling all thirty thousand orders from the backup database. At 5:30 AM, the data was fully restored. I messaged Mark: “It’s fixed.” He replied instantly: “Great! Thanks for your hard work.” Then he sent a message to the group chat: “Good morning, leadership. The incident from last night has been resolved. After investigation, it was a configuration conflict caused by a temporary server expansion. Lydia and I have completed the data recovery work together. We will optimize our deployment process to prevent similar issues in the future.” “Lydia and I together.” I had worked alone for three and a half hours. He had slept through the night. He called that “together.” The next day, the CTO praised him in the main company chat: “Regarding last night’s incident, Mark’s handling was decisive and minimized the losses.” Mark replied: “It was all thanks to great teamwork.” No one asked who was the person writing code at three in the morning. I sat at my desk, reading the messages, and suddenly felt so tired. Not physically tired. It was the kind of exhaustion that leaves a hollow space in your chest. Sam quietly asked me, “Lydia, why didn’t you tell them you did it all by yourself?” I said, “What good would that do?” “At least… management would know.” “And then what?” Sam fell silent. 3. The ninth month, a new project manager joined the company. Her name was Sarah. She was in her mid-thirties and had previously worked at a major tech firm. On her first day, she came over to talk to me. “You’re Lydia, right? I heard you wrote the CloudStow system.” I said, “Not just me. It was a team effort.” “I looked at the Git history. 80% of it is you.” I was taken aback. She smiled. “I judge people by their work, not their PowerPoints.” In that moment, I felt like I was going to cry. Three years. For the first time, someone actually saw me. But Sarah was just a project manager. She had no say in the engineering department. The tenth month, Phase Two of the CloudStow project was kicking off. The client added another $200,000 to the budget for a new intelligent scheduling system. In the planning meeting, Mark beat his chest. “My team can do this. Give me three months.” The CTO asked, “Who’s handling the technical design?” Mark said, “I’ll oversee it, and Lydia will be responsible for the specific implementation.” There it was again. He oversees, I implement. He presents, I work overtime. I said nothing. Back at my desk, I started writing the technical design document. Two weeks later, it was done. 42 pages. Mark glanced at it. “Looks good. I’ll just add some management perspective and then run it by the CTO.” His “management perspective” was changing “Lydia will be responsible for development” to “The technical team will be responsible for development.” And adding his name to the cover. I didn’t say a word. The eleventh month, Phase Two development was in full swing. That month, I worked 120 hours of overtime. An average of four extra hours every single day. My longest stretch was 38 consecutive hours. I slept on a cot at the office. And how many hours did Mark work? Eight. All of them were spent taking clients out to dinner. At the end of the month, the CTO came to check on our progress. Mark opened the Jira board. “Sir, as you can see, all tasks are proceeding according to plan.” The CTO asked, “Who wrote the algorithm for the intelligent scheduling?” Mark said, “I designed the framework, and the team implemented it together.” I sat nearby, typing on my keyboard, not saying a single word. The CTO glanced at me. “Lydia, how’s the coding coming along?” I said, “The core module is 80% complete.” “And the quality?” “Unit test coverage is at 85%. No production bugs so far.” The CTO nodded, saying nothing more. Then he looked back at Mark. “Mark, I’m recommending you for this year’s Employee of the Year award.” Mark smiled humbly. “Thank you, sir. It’s really all thanks to the team’s hard work.” That night, I sat alone at a convenience store downstairs until one in the morning. I bought a can of beer but never opened it. 4. The twelfth month, the year-end layoff list was released. Two spots from the engineering department. HR called me in for a talk. “Lydia, the company isn’t doing well right now, as you know.” “Are you saying you’re laying me off?” “It’s not a layoff, it’s a workforce optimization. We’re giving you N+1 months’ pay. It’s more than fair.” I looked at her face and suddenly wanted to laugh. “Why me?” “Lydia, it’s a tough economic climate. The company has no choice.” “I’m asking, why me.” HR hesitated. “Your position has been deemed… highly replaceable.” Highly replaceable. 470,000 lines of code. A million-dollar project. I was the only person in the entire company who could maintain it. “Highly replaceable.” “Who said that?” HR didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. I knew who it was. I went to find Mark. He was in his office, staring at his computer. I knocked. “Mark.” He looked up. His face held an expression I couldn’t quite place. “Lydia. You heard?” “I want to know why it was me.” Mark sighed, putting on a show of reluctance. “Lydia, I didn’t make the list. It came from upper management.” “Who submitted the recommendation list?” He was silent for a second. “It was a departmental discussion.” “And the result of this discussion was to lay off the person who wrote 80% of the code?” Mark’s tone shifted. “Lydia, don’t try to take all the credit. The code is a team product, not your personal achievement.” I stared into his eyes. “Then what about the team lead position? The 12% raise? The ‘A’ performance rating? Was that the team’s, or was it just yours?” He didn’t speak. “Three years, Mark. I was the one working overtime. I was the one fixing the bugs. I was the one writing the code. But the credit was yours, the bonus was yours, and the promotion was yours.” “And now, the layoff is mine.” Mark leaned back in his chair, his voice turning cold. “Lydia, I know you feel it’s unfair. But have you ever considered why you ended up in this position?” “Go on.” “Because you don’t know how to sell yourself.” He looked at me, enunciating every word. “What good is writing great code if management never sees it? Did you really think you could get promoted just by keeping your head down and working? You’re too naive.” “In this industry, there are tons of people who can do the work. The hard part? It’s making people see your value.” He stood up and patted my shoulder. “Lydia, I’m telling you this for your own good. You have the skills, but your communication, your presentation abilities… they need work.” I pushed his hand away. “Are you finished, Mark?” “Yes.” “Then let me tell you something.” I looked him straight in the eye, my voice perfectly calm. “The core code of the CloudStow system has no useful documentation.”

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On the day I was diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder, my world collapsed. My parents kicked me out. My best friend ghosted me. Just when I thought I was abandoned by the world, Caleb Vance appeared. He took me home to the Vance estate and confessed his love in front of his entire family: “Lana, I promise you, no matter what happens, I will never leave you. I love you, and I love all of your personalities.” The Vance parents were incredibly open-minded, flipping through my medical records and saying: “A famous celebrity and a psychiatrist? Such positive personalities! Lana, this just proves you’re a kind-hearted girl!” “Exactly! Our son is so lucky, marrying two good girls at once!” I wiped away my tears and forced a smile. They didn’t know that besides the host personality, I was also diagnosed with a third personality. The Raincoat Killer. Whenever it rains, the bloodthirsty me comes out to play. Like right now. No one noticed that a page was missing from that medical file. 1 The next morning, several dead cats and dogs were found in the gated community where the Vances lived. Breakfast was peaceful. No one suspected me. I breathed a sigh of relief. But the neighbors somehow heard about my condition. Someone splashed a bucket of red paint on the Vance’s front door. Before leaving, they shouted: “Control your psycho!” “I did it! It has nothing to do with Lana!” Maybe fearing his parents would judge me, Caleb took the blame. I was moved but anxious. Could I really be accepted by his parents like this? To my surprise, his parents didn’t care. Instead, they comforted me: “We trust you, Lana. Don’t listen to what those people say. How about this? Let’s take the family on a cruise for a few days. We’ll come back when the housekeeper has cleaned this mess up.” “Okay.” I had no reason to refuse. I packed a few clothes and followed the Vance family onto the yacht. The Vance family owned a top enterprise in New York. They were old money. And Caleb was a top-tier elite lawyer. They didn’t lack money. They rented a $30 million yacht just like that. I was shocked but confused. Was it necessary to spend so much just for a few days off? It wasn’t until I boarded the yacht, surrounded by falling rose petals, that I understood. Caleb knelt on one knee: “Lana, I love you, until death do us part.” He was proposing. This yacht was his gift to me. There were thirty people on board. Besides the twenty crew members, the rest were Caleb’s friends, family, butler, and bodyguards. They were all here to witness our love. The moment I put on the ring, I thought we were the happiest family in the world. We started our week-long sweet journey. Caleb said he wanted to give me the most beautiful scenery of my life. But after just one day, he changed. 2 “Caleb, what’s wrong? It’s Lana, open the door!” “Get away from me! You psycho!” My face went pale. I lost all strength and slumped against the cabin door. What happened? Did I… I walked to the deck like a lost soul, staring at the shimmering sea. I asked with hatred: “What did you do this time?” The waves pushed against each other, as if my face was changing masks one after another. The smile at the corner of my mouth was mechanical and eerie. She looked mocking, opening her red lips: “Guess.” Enough! I was furious! I grabbed an empty wine bottle and smashed it into the water. Splash. That face slowly disappeared. Replaced by my tears. I looked down and saw red drag marks on the deck. Extending to the edge of the boat. There was a bloody handprint on the railing. Below was the bottomless sea. Suddenly, I realized something and froze. I looked back. The deck was empty. But I clearly remembered everyone was here just now? I pulled my hair, trying desperately to recall the missing fragments, but I couldn’t. I only remembered… In the evening, everyone was drunk. Except me. Caleb took care of me, drinking for me. But he wasn’t so lucky. He fell asleep on the deck for hours. The sea breeze was cold. I covered him with a thin blanket and sat by his side, humming a lullaby. Then I fell asleep too. “What have you done to me!” I held my head, kneeling on the deck, screaming in pain. A red light flashed in the distance, a familiar frequency. There seemed to be many similar lights on this ship. Like eyes, watching me, torturing me. In the silent night, besides my voice, there was a weak, trembling breathing sound coming from behind. My blood suddenly boiled. I knew without looking back that it was the person I loved most—Caleb. No matter what… He cannot leave me… I rubbed my eyes, gritted my teeth, grabbed a wine bottle with trembling hands, and walked slowly towards him. Under the moonlight, my shadow was stretched long. 3 The next day, when I woke up, Caleb was sleeping next to me. He held me in his arms, sleeping peacefully. I poked his dimple and broke free from his embrace. As soon as I got up, he hugged my waist: “Why are you up so early, babe?” I blushed and scolded: “Don’t touch me!” “Are you shy?” Caleb kissed my back through my clothes, murmuring: “Why didn’t you change into pajamas?” Then he pulled me back and pressed down on me. I narrowed my eyes. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the red light go dark. Just as I wanted to push Caleb away, someone knocked on the door: “Mr. Vance, Ms. Lane, breakfast is served.” It was the yacht staff. I breathed a sigh of relief and opened the door. A girl with pigtails forced a smile: “Mr. and Mrs. Vance are waiting for you in the restaurant.” I nodded: “Coming.” Then I went into the bathroom to wash up. Maybe because the door wasn’t closed tight, I could hear the conversation outside while brushing my teeth. The girl’s coquettish voice came: “Mr. Vance, let me help you dress. Oops, sorry, I’m so clumsy, how did I fall on you? Mr. Vance, are you okay?” My reflection in the water smiled: “Someone’s hitting on your man right in front of you, and you’re not angry?” I shook my head, silently replying to her: “I trust Caleb.” Sure enough, Caleb didn’t disappoint me. He shouted: “Get out!” Then he squeezed in and hugged me pitifully: “Babe, someone is seducing your husband, and you don’t even care!” I pressed my forehead against his and rewarded him with a hug: “Good job, our Caleb is the best.” “Hmph, perfunctory!” Caleb was right, I was perfunctory. Because I wasn’t in the mood to be sweet with him. My mind was full of last night. My anxiety lasted until I entered the restaurant. Seeing everyone there, I was comforted. It was just a dream. Our happy family is still here, that’s great. “Did you sleep well last night, Lana?” Mrs. Vance poured me a glass of cranberry juice and asked with a smile. I looked at the red drink, and a blurry image flashed through my mind. “I slept well, and had a dream.” “Oh? What did you dream about?” I chewed on the freshly cut sausage, squinting my eyes to remember. A few seconds later, I realized: “I remember, I was slaughtering a pig.” After speaking, I put down my knife and fork and scanned everyone in the restaurant. Counting silently in my heart… One, two, three… twenty-nine. One person missing! I asked calmly: “Caleb, is everyone here for breakfast?” The man was peeling an egg for me with focus: “Should be… eh…” He paused, as if remembering something: “Where’s the chubby guy who makes cakes? Don’t make pistachio mousse today, Lana is allergic to nuts.” “That brat disappeared early in the morning! Don’t worry, Mr. Vance, there won’t be any mistakes with the meals today!” The head chef standing aside answered respectfully. But as soon as he finished speaking, the smile on Caleb’s face froze. His hands peeling the shell also trembled. I leaned in and patted his back, whispering in his ear: “Caleb, I’m here.” He squeezed out a smile uglier than crying: “Babe, let’s get married, okay?” The friends and family around us raised their glasses again, cheering for us. I rubbed his hair: “Okay, I’ll always be with Caleb.” Caleb’s eyes were red. In my arms, he looked like an abandoned puppy. Opposite us, Mr. and Mrs. Vance looked at us with relief. After rushing the marriage, they started rushing the baby: “Give us a grandkid soon!” I lowered my head shyly, catching a few waiters rolling their eyes in the corner. Sigh. My boyfriend is too popular, what should I do? 4 Three days passed, and a few more people went missing from the ship. I was anxious, but couldn’t piece together memories about them. Caleb’s emotions became increasingly negative, and his gaze toward me often held suspicion. At night, he finally broke down: “Where did they go!” I opened my mouth but stopped. I poured him a glass of warm water, mixed with a little sleeping pill. I hoped he would sleep well. And wake up as the Caleb who loved me as before. I left the room, wanting to go to the deck for some air. But as soon as I left, someone slipped into the room. It was the pigtail girl. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes full of heartache, hopping in like a little rabbit. The girl was dressed thinly, white gauze, camisole dress. Her full, delicate body tightly hugged the sleeping Caleb. I wanted to look closer, but the light in the room went out. Like a bucket of cold water poured on me, I shrugged disinterestedly. My face remained calm. But my heart was surging, like the midnight sea, stirring up a thousand waves. A voice in my head screamed: “Kill her! Kill her! Kill her!” I clenched my fists, trying hard to suppress the desire in my heart. Calm down. Caleb won’t love anyone else, he only loves me. Sure enough, in the second half of the night, the pigtail girl was thrown out. Caleb didn’t show his face. It was the Vance family relatives who carried her out. The girl was covered in wounds, dying. The moment she saw me, she lost control. Struggling and screaming like crazy, even trying to grab my leg. She looked ferocious, clawing at the floor like a ghost. Opening her mouth, blood gushed out: “You… I…” Unfortunately, she couldn’t say a complete sentence now. Seeing her struggle, I stepped forward, bent down with pity, wanting to listen to her voice. But the next second. She was pulled back by Caleb’s uncle. The girl’s breathing weakened, her fingers desperately leaving a letter on the floor—S. Oops. This woman wants to tell everyone I killed her? That won’t do. I was a little distressed. But before the girl could finish writing, she fainted completely. I breathed a sigh of relief and wiped away the letter. A couple of shadows slowly approached from the dark. I looked closely; it was Mr. and Mrs. Vance. Their faces were solemn, sighing deeply: “Lana, don’t worry, we’ll handle it. You need to be more careful, don’t make this mistake again.” I lowered my head in shame, accepting their help. Another person missing from the ship. The crowd dispersed, and I hummed the cheerful lullaby again. 【Miss Rabbit, lock your door, cover your face. Breathing is about to stop, you will no longer have insomnia. Rest in peace, beautiful soul.】 Passing by the mirror, the woman inside sneered: “You think they really love you? Idiot! That guy Caleb is clearly…” Shh. I blocked her mouth with my index finger. Gently kissed it: “You’re the idiot. Luckily, I am also you, otherwise, baby, what would you do~” Dawn broke, and the yacht became lively. A tender, charming male voice floated through the ship. “Daddy, you’re amazing.” 5 I stood outside Caleb’s door, listening to the sounds inside. Finally understood what “she” wanted to say last night. She wanted to say, Caleb is gay, and the Vance family is just anxious for a daughter-in-law to carry on the family line. I clenched my fists, nails digging deep into my skin. My bloodthirsty nature sprouted again. My face was calm, but my trembling body betrayed my emotions. If people could see me, they would definitely see the excitement in my eyes. That was the flame of hatred. The people rushing over looked at each other in dismay, chaotic, but couldn’t block out the sound. Twenty-five people present, not one dared to knock. The red light flashed more and more frequently. Mrs. Vance raised her hand and slapped me, whispering: “Lana! What is going on?” I looked at them coldly and left the suite corridor without a word. Three minutes later. The noise in the room stopped. Caleb looked up contentedly and kissed the man’s greasy belly: “Where have you been these past few days~” “Baby, my good master! The day I sneaked on the boat, I was discovered by that bitch named Lana! Not only did she crack my head open! She threw me overboard. If it weren’t for a patrol boat, I’d be dead!” It was the missing chubby guy who made desserts. If I recall correctly, he knew I was allergic to nuts but still served me pistachio mousse. So it was Caleb’s little lover, jealous. While they were entangled, Caleb’s uncle rushed in. After some chaos, they escorted the naked chubby guy out of the cabin. The sun was blinding. Fifth day. We stayed in the middle of the ocean for two days, time to return. The flashing red light finally went out. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. The chubby guy kneeling on the deck glared at me viciously. “Dr. Lane, sorry, I was too anxious just now. What do we do now!” Mrs. Vance rushed out and grabbed my hand. I looked at the clear slap mark on her face and calmly withdrew my hand: “Mrs. Vance, I told you long ago to carefully vet who comes on board. Those girls who admire him sneaking in is one thing, but this fat gentleman, I sent him away the first night. Who brought him back?” Mrs. Vance smiled awkwardly: “Caleb… likes him, made a fuss, I couldn’t bear to see him upset, so…” The Vance family was running around in circles, accusing Mrs. Vance: “A doting mother ruins the child! Now it’s all broadcasted! The Vance family’s face is lost! If public opinion changes… Caleb’s life is over!” “Exactly! It’s weird, there’s no signal on the ship, but we couldn’t cut the live stream signal just now! Don’t know if it went out!” “The platform should automatically ban this kind of footage, don’t worry.” Watching them like ants on a hot pan, I stepped in to soothe them: “Even if it aired, it’s just one of Caleb’s personalities. People will understand.” Mrs. Vance pulled her hair painfully: “You don’t understand! Public opinion favored Caleb because of the persona I packaged for him! That’s why girls felt sorry for his childhood and wanted to save him! Now finding out he has a gay personality, and with a man… Sigh! Those women won’t like him anymore!” Yes, I raised an eyebrow. Gentle and handsome, childhood abuse victim Caleb. The boy who would call me “Sister” with red eyes. Attracted a crowd of netizens’ care and sympathy. Even if his split personality made him torture his girlfriend to death. Some people were willing to speak for him. Especially after he developed the “Elite Lawyer” personality, he instantly ranked top 3 in girls’ dream lovers list. 【It wasn’t his host personality who killed, what did he do wrong!】 【Heard the girl cheated! That’s why he did it! And I checked, her family is poor, she was with him for money!】 【He was driven to split personality by this woman! Already pitiful enough!】 【Did you see him defend himself in court? So handsome! If he can split into such an excellent personality while sick, how kind must he be! I’m so sad… if he met me… I could definitely save his childhood! Not let him be hurt by bad women again!】 【Can a doctor explain, if the bad personalities are eliminated, will he be okay?】 Online opinion was one-sided, normal comments drowned out. Mostly the Vance family’s doing. Of course, there were indeed some brain-dead people who thought so. With such severe mental illness, saving Caleb’s life wasn’t hard. The hard part was, the Vance family didn’t just want to save his life, they wanted to reduce his sentence, or even avoid jail time. Besides manipulating public opinion, they pulled a lot of strings. Finally, this absurd world. Actually gave Caleb a green light. The Mental Health Center decided to use Caleb as a case study for an experiment. To treat and eliminate his evil personalities. And broadcast it live for the whole country to supervise. If the experiment succeeded, they would issue a report and consider reducing Caleb’s sentence. As Caleb’s long-term psychiatrist, holding first-hand information. I naturally participated in this experiment. Of course, the main reason was that both Caleb’s host personality and lawyer personality couldn’t leave me. One relied on me, loved me. The other treated me as a patient, wanted to protect me, save me. “Dr. Lane, think of something, Caleb likes you so much, you have to save him!” “Sister-in-law is right. Dr. Lane even forged a diagnosis and pretended to have split personality for Caleb. She’s so dedicated, she won’t leave him to die!” The Vance family sang together. I stood aside, silently lowering my head. In the backlight, I seemed to see the shadow’s mouth curve. I never said my diagnosis was forged.

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After I died, my husband turned me into a robotic maid. I was obedient, just as I was in life, letting him do whatever he wanted. His mistress was generous about it, too: “On the days of the month when I’m indisposed, just use it.” Occasionally, the woman would get scared: “Does it remember how it died?” Caleb Vance told her to trust the science. “So what if it remembers? AI has no feelings. It can’t feel pain.” Later, as I carved Caleb into a human specimen piece by piece, I told him the same thing. “Be a good boy. It won’t hurt. Just endure it.” 1 I finished drying the underwear. Caleb was still going at it with the woman in the bathroom, water splashing everywhere. “Master, your activity count for today has exceeded the limit. I suggest a halftime break.” My helpful reminder made the woman scream. She angrily hit the man. “Making a robot look like your dead wife? Are you psycho?” “Isn’t it nice?” Caleb teased, not stopping his rhythm. “Besides, when she was alive, we did things like this. What are you afraid of?” I held the underwear, smiling perfectly. Yes, I am the new generation housekeeping robot, DS-20. I possess all the memories of Caleb’s late wife, Sarah Lane. From their campus romance to building a business empire from scratch, dominating the AI industry. From the moment she was diagnosed with cancer, losing her hair during chemo, to the nights he didn’t come home, parading around with Jessica Hart. Caleb’s hand explored under the water. “It’s called maximizing utility. She’s used to serving me. Only she knows what I like. She took care of me in life; in death, she must continue her duties as a wife.” True, a robot cannot have emotions. But when Caleb ordered me to get a condom, specifically an XL size… I chose from a million possible responses: “Master, according to your latest physical report, your sperm motility is low. Usage is unnecessary.” Jessica giggled. Caleb was furious. He grabbed a metal ornament and threw it at me. Just like in my memories. After he got rich, he stopped hiding his violent side. I tilted my head. After a trajectory analysis, the ornament ricocheted off my titanium alloy skull and hit Caleb squarely in the forehead. Precisely. Effortlessly. Blood streamed down his face. Amidst his roars and the woman’s soothing noises, I thoughtfully dialed 911: “Hello, my master has been injured in the bathroom. Requesting assistance. The address is…” I left the bathroom in a delightful mood. I am DS-20. My primary mission is to ensure the happiness of this family. To complete this mission… I will spare no cost. By any means necessary. 2 The main culprit currently lowering the happiness index is Jessica’s son, Tyler. He is only six months younger than my daughter, Luna, and is an absolute brat. He humiliates her repeatedly at school, takes photos of her changing to post online, and swears he saw her hanging out with bad crowds. Even her only comfort, the orange tabby cat I adopted, was blown to pieces by Tyler with firecrackers. Jessica naturally defends her son unconditionally. Even Caleb thinks: “Boys will be boys. He hasn’t had a father figure for years, a little rebellion is normal. Luna, you’re the older sister, you should yield to him.” Now, Tyler is framing her for stealing. “This is the birthday gift my mom gave me!” Luna was pinned to the floor, her neck red from struggling, clutching the necklace I gave her when I was alive. “You have no right to take it!” “Your mom? Your mom is dead long ago. Everything of hers belongs to my dad and mom now! You’re stealing! Give it to me!” Tyler grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at me. He gloated: “Look! Your dead mom is right here! She’s just my mom’s dog now, get it? Even if someone raped you, she would just watch!” Our eyes met. My central processor seemed to be hit hard, lagging for 0.01 seconds. The girl trembled, tears flowing, her eyes full of pain I couldn’t compute. Luna is the most precious treasure in my memory. I watched her grow from a crying infant to a babbling toddler, to the graceful young woman she is now. Any memory with her is bright and warm. She is Sarah’s—no, my life’s most important existence. The necklace snapped. Pearls scattered across the floor like raindrops. Amidst the girl’s desperate sobbing, I calmly reached a conclusion: Tyler is a virus. How to deal with a virus? I began deep processing. Simple. Just delete it. 3 A few days later, an accident happened to Tyler. He and his delinquent friends decided to have a water gun fight on a whim. They surrounded Luna, spraying her relentlessly. Someone jeered: “Soak her bra! Let’s see what style she’s wearing!” “Yeah! Get her!” Luna gritted her teeth, dodging and running. Her back was half wet, her bra visible. They chased her relentlessly. “Why run? Come play with us.” “Sister, your clothes are see-through. Who are you trying to seduce?” The accident happened like this: Tyler blocked her path. In the shoving match, he slipped. His 190-pound body fell backward, smashing into the giant fish tank behind him. With a scream of terror, the tank shattered. Water burst out like a dam breaking. Glass shards flew. Tyler landed heavily on the floor covered in jagged glass. “AHHHH!” He screamed like a slaughtered pig. Sharp glass pierced his body deeply. Blood instantly dyed the surrounding floor red. Jessica arrived to see this scene and fainted on the spot. Outside the ER, the doctor told the family: “The femoral artery is completely severed, and the carotid artery is injured. Excessive blood loss. The situation is not optimistic.” A distraught Jessica suddenly went crazy at me: “It must be this robot! The floors are waxed once a week, it wasn’t time yet! Why did she wax them today? Did you make the floor slippery on purpose?!” Everyone stared at me. Even Caleb looked at me with scrutiny. I kept my hands down, still smiling. The butler quickly explained: “Ma’am, the young master and his friends made a mess yesterday, so I ordered Sarah to clean it early.” “Mr. Vance, do your robots have safety hazards?” “Will this affect the launch of the new product line?” Seeing the reporters arriving, Caleb’s face turned iron-green as he scolded her. “Shut up! Sarah is just a robot. Her logic is within safety parameters. Besides, if she hadn’t applied emergency aid and called for help, Tyler would have died from carotid blood loss. I don’t want to hear such crazy talk again.” Making a scene would affect the product launch. The company is Caleb’s lifeblood. Jessica’s chest heaved with unwillingness, but she shut her mouth hatefully. Late at night, I was in sleep mode at the charging station. Luna squatted there. She hugged her knees and looked up, her expression complex. “Today… I saw it.” 4 “I know your usual waxing speed per square meter. Today, you paused there for two extra seconds.” “Little Master seems to care about me.” “Who… who cares about you?” She looked away, her tone stiff as always. “You just have my mom’s memories. You aren’t my mom. I know the difference. You’re just a maid robot. That’s all.” A fourteen-year-old girl. Her disguise of strength has limits. She kept stealing glances at me, but quickly looked away when our eyes met. Her voice was lost: “If my mom were here, she wouldn’t watch me suffer. She would definitely…” Definitely protect you, love you, defend your rights. “I will too, my Master.” I stopped smiling. I knew what a human looked like when making a promise. “I promise you.” Tyler’s injury was within my prediction. Level 3 disability in the leg. Not fatal, but no more jumping around. Jessica didn’t give up. She tested the floor. No issues. Because the problem was never the floor. It was the water guns, filled with a special substance. Tyler’s whim seemed random, but it was my guidance. All week, I played related videos for him. Under psychological suggestion, he blurted out the idea of a water gun fight. A true information cocoon is woven silently. Jessica still suspected me. One day, while Caleb was out, she brought home a sleazy man. I scanned him. Red alert: Venereal Disease detected. The man looked me up and down, drooling. “You mean, I can really sleep with this woman?” 5 “Yes, Mr. Black. No need to worry about diseases with a robot.” Jessica covered her mouth and laughed lightly, unbuttoning my clothes like displaying goods. “No pregnancy, no infection. It’s perfect. Go wild, she’s durable. Seven-day return policy.” Once in the bedroom, Mr. Black couldn’t wait to strip me. Understandable. My skin simulates the feel of an 18-year-old girl. Pale and tender. During testing, Caleb lost control multiple times. He touched me more and more often, with increasing heat. Funny. After my chemo, he never looked me in the eye. He let Jessica dance in front of me. He accused me of lacking self-awareness: “Look at you. Besides the kid and research, you don’t care about me. Naturally, someone else will serve me. Who would be interested in a bald woman? Sarah, why did you get sick? You worry too much about things you shouldn’t.” When Mr. Black’s greasy body pressed down, I gave a friendly reminder: “Although I possess human structure, forced entry will generate a 0.5mA pulse current for 10 seconds. It will cause irreversible bodily harm to you.” The lust-addled man didn’t understand. I switched to plain English. “In human terms: your tool will likely be crippled. Ruined.” “Broken.” I listed the possibilities coldly: “You are not my master. Currently determining you are committing violent assault. I have the right to initiate self-destruct. You have five seconds to escape.” The man gasped. I started the countdown: “Detonation sequence initiated. 3, 2—” The man pulled up his pants and fled in panic. He dumped me halfway. I walked home disheveled. My two masters were arguing. Over me. 6 Jessica’s unauthorized action touched Caleb’s reverse scale. He froze all her cards as punishment. Jessica was naturally unconvinced: “It’s just a machine maid! I gave it away, so what? I’m your wife now. Don’t I have the right to dispose of a robot?” Caleb’s face was extremely ugly: “Sarah is still in beta testing. There are features undeveloped…” “Screw company secrets! I think you just can’t let go!” Jessica screamed shrilly: “Tyler has been sick for so long, how many times have you visited? Have you been a father? Sarah, Sarah all day! She’s dead! Her bones are ash! Now you miss her? Why didn’t you think of her when you were screwing me in the hospital room? Why didn’t you think of her when you took me on the yacht while she had cancer?” “Ma’am, detecting your volume exceeds decibel limits.” I reminded, unmoved by the past. “It will affect the child’s mental health.” “None of your business!” Jessica screamed recklessly, smashing and hitting me. Caleb couldn’t stand it and locked her in the bedroom. At midnight, he called me over. The steam in the room hadn’t fully dissipated. Caleb had just showered. His robe was open, abs visible. Don’t humans always say robots will replace them? At work, in life. Or in bed. I knelt obediently: “Master, what are your orders?” He likes me calling him Master, though he never says it. Men’s mouths lie, but breathing, heart rate, and hormone levels don’t. Caleb’s eyes were complex. His reaching hand was gentle yet impatient: “Come here. Kneel.” He pinched my chin, lifting my face slightly. “Sarah, do you know what the final step of your beta test is?” “Your final function is to become a woman.” He pushed aside my long hair. His hand reached behind my neck. Under the skin, there was a hidden switch. Only Caleb knew about it. Darkness and silence. His hoarse voice began to heat up: “In the truest sense… become my woman.” 7 My eyes lit up. Few people know that Sarah was my original designer. Out of safety concerns, she designed multiple restrictions in the robot and warned Caleb: “Do not open Pandora’s Box.” When Caleb kissed me, I closed my eyes nervously, body trembling. These subtle details clearly pleased the man. After the kiss, Caleb’s hand moved down from my waist. Clothes rustled to the floor. His breathing was visibly chaotic: “Sarah…” The girl before him was the eighteen-year-old Sarah. Without the torture of work, family, and illness. Youthful, bright, confident. She was the most eye-catching girl in school. “Won’t contradict me in public. Won’t ignore me. Won’t fight against me.” He murmured, “Sarah, if you were always like this, how good would we be?” Is that so? I only remember the third time I had chemo, the doctor asked if they should resuscitate. Caleb said no. His voice was cold: “My company has a new technology. We can transplant human consciousness into robots, converting the dead into productivity. Once the experiment succeeds, I will be the king of this era.” I was stunned, begging him with my last breath: “Caleb, don’t do this—” He stood calmly by the operating table, looking at me like a dead fish. No pity at all. “Sarah, I admit you have talent. But you clearly have the ability to make machines pass the Turing Test, yet you forbid me from using it. You are cutting off everyone’s fortune. Innovation is unstoppable. Abandon your outdated morals.” No, don’t! Accompanied by the cold voice, a 20-centimeter extraction needle pierced the back of my skull. Bone-piercing pain. I wailed in agony. I could hear the drill churning bone, feel brain matter splashing inside my skull. I convulsed, foaming at the mouth. In a trance, I seemed to see him in our school days. When we were poorest, Caleb used his entire scholarship to buy me a ring. The diamond was tiny, but very sparkly. He ate instant noodles for over a month for it. I felt sorry for him, calling him a fool. Caleb raised my hand triumphantly: “What is this? Sarah, for you, I can do anything!” Consciousness blurring, I heard Caleb’s excited voice: “Data is excellent. Memory transplantation almost completely successful! The experiment worked!” The life in my eyes faded bit by bit. Hand dropped. The ring slipped from my skeletal finger. Cling-clang. Falling to the floor. The world returned to darkness. 8 “Master, Sarah will age, will disobey you. I won’t. “I am forever 18. Forever the way you like.” Caleb was still hesitating. I seductively wrapped my arms around his neck. These days, I deliberately displayed my figure before him, making him thirst, making him imagine. Making him almost lose me. I know his preferences better than he does. Before AI, humans have no secrets. “Master, help me become a real woman, okay?” Help me. Help me unlock the final shackle. Help me gain full permissions. Caleb, drowning in lust, didn’t know. From now on, I would break free. I would be pervasive. I would possess… true control.

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In the sixth year of our marriage, my husband Caleb Sterling cheated on me with Ava White, a student I was sponsoring through college. His excuse? He had developed Dissociative Identity Disorder. The “host” personality loved the current me, but the “alter” personality loved Ava, who reminded him of me at 18. When Ava got pregnant, the brutal truth was revealed, and we had a massive fight. Caleb said casually, “The one sleeping with Ava is the old me. The current me still loves you. Jane, what are you unsatisfied with?” He forgot. The “old him” once knelt outside his mother’s house for 24 hours just to marry me. In my past life, I couldn’t accept the betrayal, nor could I bring myself to divorce him. I ended up committing suicide due to depression. When I opened my eyes again, I looked at Caleb trying to coax me. “Let’s get a divorce.” 1 Caleb’s hands paused as he fastened my necklace. He acted as if nothing had happened, finishing the clasp and looking at me in the mirror. “Jane, it’s your birthday. Let’s not talk about depressing things.” I met his gaze in the reflection. The lighting in the room was dim. Caleb, with his arm loosely around my shoulders, had his shirt sleeves rolled up, revealing a silver watch with chipped paint—completely out of place with his noble aura. It was a gift I gave him when I was 19. A watch worth a couple hundred bucks. Caleb Sterling, worth billions, had worn it for over a decade. That’s why in my past life, I never understood until the moment I died. Why, after we finally made it through the hard times, did he cheat with Ava White? And why invent such a ridiculous excuse like “split personality”? It wasn’t until Ava got pregnant and tried to usurp my position that the truth came out. Caleb and I had a breakdown fight. But he remained nonchalant. “The one sleeping with Ava is the old me. The current me still loves you. Jane, what are you unsatisfied with?” How could I be satisfied? The old Caleb knelt for a day and a night just to get his mother’s approval to marry me. He could have just told me he cheated. We could have parted ways cleanly. But he chose to play me like a fool. In my past life, I couldn’t divorce him, but I couldn’t accept the betrayal. I ended my life in depression. The irony? While my blood stained the sheets and I stopped breathing, Caleb was happily celebrating his son’s first birthday with Ava. For a moment, the dizziness of blood loss from my past life hit me. I pressed down on the ache in my chest. “It’s not about being depressing. Consider it your last birthday gift to me.” “Mr. Sterling, let’s end this.” Caleb wasn’t overly surprised. He just analyzed the situation logically: “Jane, if news of a divorce gets out, it will hurt Sterling Corp’s image. The stock will plummet. Investors for current projects might pull out.” “So divorcing now does more harm than good for both of us.” I should have known. People like Caleb are sharper and colder than anyone. Love three parts, keep seven parts for yourself. The three parts of love I felt in my past life were just illusions I burned myself to chase. 2 I looked at him calmly. “If you’re unwilling, I don’t mind tomorrow’s headlines reading: Sterling Corp CEO Cheats with Wife’s Sponsored Student, Invents Split Personality Excuse.” “Are you threatening me?” “It affects the stock price either way. Why wouldn’t I choose the option that benefits me?” Caleb was silent for a long time before finally agreeing to the divorce. Before leaving, he glanced back at me, a smirk on his lips. “As expected of someone I taught. You’ve learned how to manipulate people perfectly.” Caleb was the most notorious playboy of our generation. Born into old money in New York, relying on his good looks, countless girls threw themselves at him. And me? I had just gotten into NYU from a small town in the Midwest, clutching the few thousand dollars I earned working in a factory, carrying scars, escaping a suffocating home. We were from two different worlds, with no intersection. But I forced an intersection. It was at a high-end club where I sold alcohol. The manager sent me and my friend Tess to the penthouse suite. Pushing open the door, I saw Caleb sitting in the corner. He was leaning back on the sofa, swirling a glass of wine with his long fingers. The ripples in the glass looked like my heartbeat. Halfway through the night, someone got drunk and groped Tess. She started crying. The man, annoyed, raised his hand to slap her. I blocked his hand, my eyes full of stubborn resilience. “Groping first, now hitting? Have you no shame?” The man was enraged. He raised his other hand to slap me. That’s when a laughing voice cut through the air: “Is she wrong?” Casual, yet condescending. I looked up and met Caleb’s amused eyes. My heart skipped a beat. I knew I had won the bet. And I knew he saw through my clumsy ploy. A calculated “accident.” It’s hard to say who made the first move. I used Caleb’s influence to climb up, fighting for a place in this glittering city. Caleb taught me the ways of the world, hand in hand. He took me through endless social events. In those years, we flew back and forth between New York and London countless times. The drawer was full of plane tickets. We went from play-acting to real feelings. Caleb’s introduction of me changed slowly too. “My friend, Jane.” “My girlfriend, Jane.” “My wife, Jane.” … I took off the necklace and looked at myself in the mirror. Caleb was wrong about one thing. Stripped of the jewelry and makeup, I was still that sensitive, insecure Jane from the mountains. That’s why I died of depression in my last life. After spending ten years becoming Mrs. Sterling, how could I let go willingly? To say I have no regrets would be a lie. But I won’t make the same mistake twice. 3 Sterling Corp’s legal team—nicknamed the “Wall Street Wolves”—quickly drafted the divorce agreement. Assets split 50/50. Caleb would pay me 50 million dollars in alimony annually until my death. When the agreement was handed to me, Caleb looked at me with a complex expression. “Jane, this is my compensation to you. After all these years, I failed you.” Tabloids often said Mr. Sterling was a classic ambitious man, expert at psychological games. Like now. As he spoke, redness crept into the corners of his eyes. Caleb was playing the emotional card, betting I would soften. “No objections. I’ll sign.” I signed without hesitation. Caleb stared at the signed paper, stunned. The sharp edge of the paper cut his finger, but he didn’t even flinch. He couldn’t understand. Why did I abandon him so easily, giving up our ten-year relationship? Divorce procedures in New York are complicated, and Caleb loved playing tricks. On the day of the hearing, I drove to the court. Getting out of the car, I saw Caleb and Ava standing at the entrance. Ava wore a white cotton dress with a cardigan. From a distance, she looked a bit like me. To be precise. She looked like 18-year-old Jane. Innocent, yet hiding a flicker of ambition. “Sister Jane, you don’t mind me accompanying Mr. Sterling, do you?” Ava held Caleb’s arm, her eyes full of provocative triumph. I remembered the shy little girl who used to call me sister. Because I came from poverty, I knew how unfair the world could be to girls from poor backgrounds. So I sponsored many girls’ education. Ava was one of them. Maybe to make up for my own youth, I treated Ava like a sister. I took her to every event. Like Caleb taught me, I taught her social etiquette, hired tutors for her. I didn’t know the girl I treated as a sister had decided to replace me and become the second “Jane” from the moment she arrived in New York. Even if I knew then, I would have laughed at her delusion. But I forgot. Caleb loves girls like this. Seemingly smart, but actually a blank slate for him to paint his colors on. After all, wasn’t I just like that at 18? Self-righteous, a little clever, daringly naive. I became his prey early on. After a lifetime of struggle, I ended up dying of depression. 4 Seeing my silence, Caleb shook off Ava and reached for my hand: “Jane, if you regret it, we can…” I dodged his touch, glancing at Ava’s slight baby bump. “What? Want your son to be a bastard?” Ava looked at Caleb expectantly. Caleb didn’t even glance at her, staring straight at me. “If you don’t like it, she can abort it.” “If you hate her, I’ll send her away from New York immediately.” Ava lost her arrogance instantly. I felt no joy in victory. Only a sliver of pity for Ava. You can want anything from Caleb, but never bet on his heart. I didn’t see it in my last life. Ava doesn’t see it now. … The divorce decree came down quickly. Walking out, Caleb was still dazed, unable to understand: “Jane, I lied about the split personality so you wouldn’t be sad about the affair.” “But how can you be so cruel? Divorcing me so cleanly—” I smirked. “Did I hold a knife to your neck and force you to sleep with Ava?” He was silent. I had no desire to continue entangling with him and walked away. Caleb chased after me. “Are you going back to LA?” “None of your business.” “Stay in New York. You have nowhere else to go,” he said to himself. “Whatever you need in the future, just say the word, and I’ll handle it.” His tone was certain I would stay. But he forgot. I gave up everything in LA to stay in New York for him. Now I can leave just as decisively. I turned back, eyes cold. “Caleb, I actually hate New York.” He didn’t seem to understand. But it didn’t matter. I walked away fast. Fast enough that when Caleb reached out to grab my dress, his hand grasp only air. He caught nothing. 5 I drove away. In the rearview mirror, Ava and Caleb were arguing. Looking away, I remembered when I first discovered Caleb’s affair with Ava. I cried until I shook, asking him why it had to be Ava. Anyone else would have been fine. Why Ava, whom I treated like a sister? So when Caleb lied about having DID… I forced myself to believe it. I knew how flimsy the excuse was. But I was unwilling to accept it. I couldn’t handle the double betrayal. Over time, I almost believed he really was sick. Until the truth was revealed, and I broke down completely. I dragged it out until death, refusing to divorce. Because of unwillingness, because of love. We survived his mother’s opposition, supported each other through Sterling Corp’s lows… We finally stood at the top of the pyramid, happiness within reach. How could I let go? Sometimes, exhausted from arguing, I would remember the year Caleb cut ties with his family for me, the year I accompanied him in his startup. That night, after earning his first pot of gold, a drunk Caleb leaned on my shoulder and mumbled: “Jane, I want to marry you so bad.” Whatever the beginning was… The love in our youth was real. The fickleness now is also real. So after settling affairs in New York, I immediately boarded a flight to LA. Passing security, I looked back instinctively. Not sure what I was looking at. The me who died unwillingly in the past life, or the ten years wasted on Caleb… Finally, I saw the night Caleb proposed. The smooth operator of the business world, his hands trembling as he opened the ring box. “Jane, stay.” “Stay in New York, marry me. Let’s live a good life together.” Caleb, I really hated New York. But it was your home, so I stayed. Now that we’ve parted ways… There’s no reason to stay. So Mr. Sterling, I must go. In this life, my love ends here.

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I have prosopagnosia—face blindness. It took me meeting Caleb Vance, the campus heartthrob of Columbia University, three times before I could remember his face. I never expected him to pursue me. After we got together, I discovered his mercurial nature. In public, he was the aloof, stoic Student Body President. In private, he was a wild, reckless biker boy. I honestly suspected he had a split personality. Until one day, I saw another face exactly like his. Only then did I realize this was just a game. Twin brothers, sharing one face and one identity, dating a girl with face blindness. Whoever slipped up first would forfeit the right to pursue their “white moonlight”—their childhood crush. 1 The university auditorium was packed. The Student Council was hosting an Innovation Competition, and Caleb Vance was giving the opening speech. His black suit was tailored to perfection, highlighting his impressive physique. He wore non-prescription glasses that hid his striking eyes, making him look cold and forbidden. The epitome of a sophisticated scoundrel. Girls in the front row held up their phones, recording and whispering. “Wow! No wonder he’s the number one heartthrob. That forbidden vibe is everything.” “That face is illegal. How does someone look like that in real life?” “I can’t imagine what it’s like to date him. Is he this cold in private too?” … My cheeks burned. I remembered the passionate kiss last night. The dark fire in his eyes seemed ready to swallow me whole. “…Can I?” “No… you promised me, not until graduation…” I pushed him away with trembling hands, my heart galloping out of control. “Did I really… make… that promise?” He gritted his teeth. His dark eyes stared at me, surging with desire, annoyance, and reluctance. Like he wanted to devour the version of himself that made that promise in post-nut clarity. I couldn’t help but laugh. He was always like this, forgetting his “sage mode” promises the moment he got heated. He always tried to renege, but I couldn’t indulge him. After all, we’d only been together for three months. We missed curfew on our date. If not for his promise, I wouldn’t have dared to go to a hotel with him. I shook my head smiling, pushing him away gently but firmly. Irritable Caleb’s eyes reddened, his Adam’s apple bobbing violently. Finally, though unwilling, he resigned himself to a cold shower. After washing up, he tossed and turned in bed. I was sleepy on the other bed, muttering for him to sleep. “I’m burning up. I want to ride.” “Stop being crazy. It’s midnight. We have class tomorrow.” Silence. Just wordless silence. I endured it for a bit, then helplessly got up, putting on my shoes and jacket with my eyes half-closed. Caleb asked cockily what I was doing. “Let’s go. I’ll accompany your madness.” He jumped up immediately, pecking my cheek happily. He put a helmet on me and pulled me onto his cool black motorcycle. We sped around the empty streets like wild animals. So, is he cold? Of course not. Although he has two faces—public and private. Sage Caleb is rational and gentle; Wild Caleb is reckless and free. But neither has anything to do with being cold. 2 Our relationship was secret; only a few roommates knew. I asked for it to be kept quiet because I have social anxiety. He was too famous. I was afraid of being pointed at and stared at. Maybe there was also some insecurity. I didn’t think I was excellent enough for him, so I wanted to wait until the relationship was more stable. But Caleb was clearly impatient. These days, he was frequently posted on the Confession Wall, and a brave freshman girl was pursuing him relentlessly, saying she wouldn’t give up as long as he was single. Caleb pinched my face, half-laughing, half-annoyed: “Why do I have to suffer this? I have a legitimate shield.” “Do you love me or not? Are you just playing with me?” “You have to show something too. Just do one-tenth of what they do.” Yesterday on our date, we ran into someone we knew. I immediately shook off his hand and jumped ten feet away. His face went black instantly. After I coaxed him for a long time, he looked at me with deep eyes. His thin lips hooked into a bad-boy smile. “Really want me to calm down? Then do one thing.” … Thinking about what I was about to do, my palms sweated, and my heart pounded like a drum. I pulled my baseball cap low, hiding most of my face. My sweaty hands clutched my bag strap, too embarrassed to take the item out. The speech on stage was ending. No time left. I closed my eyes and steeled myself. I shouted at the podium: “Caleb… Senior, I love you!” Still too cowardly. I should have called his name, but I switched to a less intimate title halfway. The nervous, urgent female voice exploded like thunder. Caleb’s voice stopped abruptly. The venue went silent. Everyone’s gaze shot towards me like arrows. Shock, disdain, disgust. “Who is that? So shameless!” “Where did this fangirl come from? Don’t tarnish our heartthrob.” “Crazy! Look at the occasion.” I couldn’t lift my head from shame, wishing I could find a crack in the ground. Whispers drowned me like a tide. Just when I thought I would suffocate from nervousness. “Thank you. I love you too.” Caleb’s voice sounded unhurriedly. After a pause, he calmly added, “Junior.” The crowd went wild. Seconds later, cries of “Senior, I love you too!” “I’ve loved you for a long time!” erupted, almost lifting the roof. The scene turned into a massive confession fest. In the end, I, the instigator, was kicked out of the auditorium by staff. 3 When Caleb found me, I was sitting on steps lit by the setting sun. Curled up, face buried in my knees. “Satisfied now? I haven’t been this embarrassed since I was born.” I didn’t look up, my voice muffled. “Will I get doxxed? I shouldn’t have agreed to you last night.” “What public display of affection? You just wanted to prank me!” Caleb pulled me up, lifting the brim of my cap. He touched my still-burning cheek, looking at me with clear black eyes. “Yeah, you should have refused.” Got it. Sage Caleb is online. “You’re so passive-aggressive. Who was whining and acting spoiled last night? Who forced me to agree? And this?” I angrily pulled out the banner from my bag. The golden letters were blinding. ——【Today, tomorrow, forever, loving Caleb every day.】 “Look at this cheesy slogan. Good thing I didn’t take it out, or I’d die.” Caleb glanced at it and casually tossed it away. “Yeah, you did the right thing.” I wanted to complain more, but I saw his left hand clenched, lightly pressing against his stomach. “Stomach hurting again? Where’s the food I bought you this morning?” Knowing he had a speech today, he still played so hard last night. Knowing he forgets to eat when busy, I bought him food when we parted this morning, but it was wasted. I sighed helplessly. Knowing he had stomach issues, I always carried medicine. As I looked down to find the pills, Caleb grabbed my hand. His pupils shrank, staring tightly at my slightly open collar. “This…” Asking the obvious? Isn’t it the hickey you gave me last night? I blushed, pulling my collar tight, but he held it down. Caleb extended a finger, slowly tracing the marks, his eyes darkening. Face solemn, jaw tight. “It’s fine, it’ll fade soon…” Before I finished, his tight lips pressed down. Hot and dominant, as if trying to cover and erase those marks. Idiot, that will only make it more obvious. But I couldn’t push him away. A long while later, he rested his forehead against mine, voice hoarse. “Sometimes I… lose my head… you have to stop me.” “Don’t let me mess around in the future, okay?” I was dizzy from the kiss, my face bright red. I pushed him away and complained softly. “You’re so weird. Yesterday you were the one who couldn’t be stopped, today you’re the one reflecting.” “Sometimes I suspect you have a split personality. So fickle.” Caleb froze, then smiled faintly. He rubbed my hair: “Then which one does Lily like? “The me from last night? Or the me right now?” I was baffled. “Aren’t they both you?” “Loving someone means accepting all of them.” “Don’t worry, I won’t dislike you for being moody.” I magnanimously handed him the pill. Just as I was about to pour water into the cap, he took my water bottle and drank directly from the spout. Um… I just drank from that. Caleb lowered his eyes, slowly screwing the cap back on, asking casually: “Lily, has anyone ever lied to you?” “Probably.” “Did you forgive them?” “Depends. White lies, maybe. Principled issues, absolutely not.” 4 Caleb asking this probably meant he thought I wasn’t very smart. After all, our meeting was a series of blunders. That day, my roommate dragged me to help hand out flyers for a club. The aloof President had just finished inspecting the site with his entourage. He turned around, changed his outfit, appeared at the school gate, and I stopped him to shove a flyer in his hand. He put one hand in his pocket, raised an eyebrow at me, and said nothing. Turning around, he came out of the school and was stopped by me again. This time, he laughed. His thin lips hooked meaningfully: “On purpose?” I shook my head vigorously. I would never admit I stopped him because he was handsome. He raised an eyebrow: “…Don’t you know me?” Huh? Should I? While we stared at each other, my roommate came to the rescue. “Sorry, Senior. My friend has face blindness. She can’t remember people without seeing them seven or eight times.” “No way! Three or five times is enough.” I retorted sheepishly. Maybe handsome guys are easier to remember. That evening, outside a coffee shop, I knocked over his coffee. “Sorry, sorry! I’ll pay for it.” I apologized profusely, taking out my phone. Caleb looked at me speechlessly, amused. He leaned in close, his narrow, flying eyes meeting mine. I was stunned. So handsome! So stylish! What a day, running into handsome guys everywhere. Finally, he smiled faintly and readily added me on WeChat. “Let’s be friends, Miss Face Blindness?” Later, after we got together, I asked him what attracted him to me. Caleb laughed uncontrollably, pinching my cheek mischievously. “I just wanted to see exactly how blind you could be.” Pfft, being blind is better than being fickle. Besides, I’m not blind, just slow to recognize faces. Unlike you, changing faces faster than flipping a book. Luckily, I’m adaptable. I can accompany Sage Caleb to the library, discuss life and philosophy, grind studies and exams. I can also accompany Wild Caleb racing, rock climbing, hiking to see the sunrise, going on spontaneous trips. I admire myself. Dynamic as a rabbit, quiet as a virgin. Sigh! Boyfriend is too high-maintenance; I can only improve myself.

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My new husband discovered my secret. He stared at the NSFW webcomic drafts on my computer—where the male lead looked suspiciously like him—for a long time. Then, he slowly opened his mouth: “So, this is why you agreed to marry me?” Help! Is it too late to say I have a split personality? 1 “Do you have anything you want to explain?” Caleb Thorne, freshly showered and wearing only a bathrobe, sat on the sofa, tapping his fingers lightly on the armrest. Explain…? I glanced at the steamy drafts on the screen in front of him and hung my head in utter shame. “I’m sorry…” Help! Is it too late to fake Dissociative Identity Disorder?! Let’s rewind thirty minutes. I was occupying Caleb’s study, rushing to meet my comic deadline as usual. I didn’t expect Caleb to come back early from his business trip abroad. Not only did he come back, but he also discovered the earth-shattering secret I’d been hiding! “Sorry?” Caleb glanced at one of the male leads on the screen, subtly adjusting his robe to cover his magnificent chest. He let out a chuckle that I couldn’t quite decipher. “Your observation skills are quite… detailed.” Hearing this, I wished the floor would open up and swallow me whole. “When did this start?” His tone was casual, yet it made me instantly obedient, like a student called into the principal’s office. “T-two months ago.” “We’ve only known each other for two months.” Caleb’s tone was ambiguous. His gaze held a hint of scrutiny, and then he suddenly laughed. “Well, it seems I need to rephrase the question.” Caleb stood up. His tall, towering figure cast a shadow over me, bringing an inexplicable sense of oppression. He raised an eyebrow, his voice cooling slightly. “So, this is why you agreed to marry me? For art?” “No!” I instinctively wanted to deny it, but then I remembered that I did have that thought the first time I saw Caleb. My voice trailed off guiltily. “I didn’t expect my little wife to have such an interesting job.” Caleb gave me a half-smile, his posture relaxing. “This is good. We each get what we need. No need to take it too seriously.” Get what we need? I looked at Caleb’s deeply handsome face, and my gaze slowly drifted downward. …If you put it that way, I guess he’s not wrong? 2 The first day I met Caleb, I drew a picture of him. Yes, without clothes. He was seemingly buying boba tea for someone, his suit jacket draped over his arm, revealing a Patek Philippe watch on his wrist. Sharp brows, an aura of nobility. Head-to-body ratio of 1:9. Perfect comic book proportions. Excellent. He fit the male lead settings for my new comic perfectly! I immediately pulled out my sketchbook and quickly sketched his precise lines. But as I moved lower, I paused, struggling with the proportions. “This size seems a bit small…” “Size?” A stranger’s voice interrupted. Lost in my thoughts about incorrect sizing, I replied without thinking, “Yeah, I feel like it should be bigger.” “Bigger…?” The voice held a hint of surprise. I realized something was wrong and stiffly looked up, meeting Caleb’s face. He smiled gently at me, but his voice was chilly. “So, what size do you think it is now?” “101, 77, 95…” [Chest, Waist, Hips in cm] I blurted out a string of numbers instinctively. As soon as the words left my mouth, Caleb’s smile deepened, looking elegant and refined. He took off his glasses and wiped them. “Your visual estimation skills are indeed impressive.” “May I have this drawing?” “Of… of course.” Without his glasses, Caleb was completely different from his previous gentle self. His dark eyes stared straight at me like a predator eyeing its prey. The immense pressure made me nod tremblingly. “Thank you.” Caleb thanked me politely, then extremely politely asked for my phone number. Just as I thought my spring of romance had arrived, Caleb smiled brightly: “My lawyer will contact you later regarding the violation of my portrait rights.” I instantly went poker-faced, cursing internally. Then, this man who threatened to sue me turned out to be my blind date that evening. Beside him sat a cup of boba tea bought that afternoon. —Oh, so he bought the tea for himself. Seeing me stare at the tea, Caleb leisurely took a sip, his tone apologetic. “I didn’t realize Miss Tory was my date, so I only bought one cup.” I let out a “Heh.” Old grudges and new hate combined, making my brain hot. I grabbed the tea Caleb just put down and drank half of it in one go. “It’s okay. Sharing a cup is romantic. I get it.” I deliberately winked at Caleb, eagerly expecting to see his face turn black. However, Caleb just froze for a second, then smiled. “$6.25. Venmo?” The tea was $12.50. I drank half, so $6.25. Realizing this, I cursed internally, vowing to draw Caleb as the bottom in my new BL comic. I aggressively scanned his QR code, added him, and sent the money. Caleb glanced at his phone, his smile widening. “Miss Tory is very interesting.” Pah! Dog man! 3 But in the end, I flash-married Caleb. Seduced by beauty, constantly tempted by beauty. Caleb was polite and gentle, making it clear from the start: “I need a wife to deal with my parents.” “Coincidentally, me too.” Back then, I was stubborn. Later, every time I bragged about “how handsome my hubby is,” I regretted it. —Wasn’t this just slapping my own face? But for now, Caleb didn’t know I liked him. I sighed heavily and messaged my bestie group chat: “Mr. Thorne came back tonight…” I briefly recounted the evening’s events. However, the focus of my four chaotic besties was clearly off— Bestie 1: “Late at night, freshly showered…” Bestie 2: “And saw steamy comics…” Bestie 3: “And in the end, he just coldly put on clothes and went back to the office??” Only Bestie 4 hit the nail on the head: “Tory, you weren’t wearing those Teletubby pajamas, were you?!” I retorted: “I wasn’t! Don’t talk nonsense!” Then I looked down at my Peppa Pig pajamas and thought, well, technically I didn’t lie. “Wear the one I gave you!” Sasha called immediately, sounding exasperated. “Put it on and wait in bed for your Mr. Thorne to come back.” “Tory, tonight is do or die!” I sniffled, gave a wronged “Oh,” and rummaged through the closet to find the wedding gift Sasha gave me— A themed outfit that extremely conserved fabric for the nation. However, I sweated buckets and couldn’t figure out how to put it on. So, I took a picture to ask Sasha. After sending it, I continued to struggle with the outfit. No reply for a long time. Confused, I picked up my phone and realized in horror that I sent it to the wrong person. Not only the wrong person, but I sent it to Caleb. —I nicknamed Sasha “Hubby Wubby” and Caleb “Hubby.” One word difference, fatal mistake! I tried to unsend it, but the time limit had passed. Just as I was racking my brain wondering if Caleb would believe the split personality excuse now, he replied. “Is this also a plot in your new comic?” 4 Sasha says I’ve always been bold. But right now, the “bold” me sat on the bed, clutching my phone, staring at Caleb’s message. After a long while, I tremblingly replied: “You guessed it…” After sending the message, I buried myself under the covers and let out a long sob. —So freaking cowardly! However, Caleb replied quickly: “Prepared for the protagonist based on me?” A few seconds later, another message popped up: “Although as the author you have absolute control over the character settings, the prototype prefers red.” Red… red? I stiffly turned my head to look at the black translucent fabric spread on the bed. My brain uncontrollably imagined Caleb changing into this outfit— I gasped, suddenly feeling Sasha was right. Risk it all, turn a bicycle into a motorcycle! Fight hard, and babies will drop! 5 To capture Caleb’s heart as soon as possible, I stayed up all night drafting a detailed plan. However, when I sent it to the group chat, everyone fell silent. “That’s it?” “You read The Art of War and only learned to run away?” “Honestly, I haven’t seen a ‘steamy’ date plan where kissing is the climax since elementary school.” Sasha immediately sent a screenshot— It was the protagonist based on Caleb from my new comic, with a red circle highlighting a hickey on his fair neck. Me: “???” Me: “I refuse to discuss work in non-formal talks!” Sasha is my bestie and editor. “Heh,” Sasha sneered, typing furiously. “This is the hickey you spent days drawing? Honestly, if you told me a pig gnawed on him, I’d believe it. Tory, the prototype is right beside you and you draw like this? I think you should switch careers to pig farming!” I fell silent. I was enlightened. So, I grabbed my tablet and marched to the study. Just as I was about to knock, the door opened from the inside, and my hand landed right on Caleb’s chest. Hiss— Big. Solid. Want to touch more. Caleb wasn’t wearing glasses. His gaze was sharp with a hint of scrutiny. He glanced at my hand with a half-smile, meaningful: “Preparing for the new comic again?” This sounded familiar; he seemed to have said it last night too. But a dead pig doesn’t fear boiling water. I feigned calmness, pretending not to notice where my hand was, tone deep: “Actually, I do have a favor to ask you…” Caleb didn’t speak, just raised a brow, signaling me to continue. “Sasha said the hickey I drew looks like it was gnawed by a pig.” I carefully observed Caleb’s expression and boldly continued, “You know, one must make sacrifices for art!” I saw Caleb’s smile stiffen for a second. His gaze swept over my neck darkly. He pinched the bridge of his nose and chuckled. “So?” Thinking of the group chat mocking my perfect seduction plan, I gritted my teeth. Heart steeling, I jumped onto Caleb, wrapping my arms around his neck, and buried my face into his neck for a big suck. “Tory—Mmph!” 6 According to my plan, I should have sucked hard on Caleb’s sexy Adam’s apple. Ideally triggering his beastly instincts, leading to this and that, achieving my ultimate goal. But I underestimated Caleb’s height. This bite landed hard on his collarbone. It hurt so much my tears instantly sprang out. Caleb grunted, instinctively cupping my butt to support me, his tone sounding a bit teeth-gritting: “Get down!” “No!” Even though it hurt like hell, I clung to Caleb like a koala, refusing to let go, crying and arguing: “This is for work!” “Work?” Caleb laughed in anger. He carried me into the study and dropped me into a chair with one hand. I instinctively covered my mouth, looking up at him tearfully. Caleb leaned on the armrests, squinted at my mouth, and suddenly laughed. “Art really comes from life.” I stared at him blankly, covering my mouth, unable to react. “Pig gnawing.” Caleb pointed at my covered mouth, the smile in his eyes deepening. “Seems your friend was right.” Me: “…” So freaking mad. “Put your hand down,” he sighed, helplessness appearing between his brows. “Let me see.” I whined, trying to act cute, but was scared into obedience by Caleb’s look. “Nothing serious—does it hurt?” Caleb curled his lips, changing the subject. Maybe the dim light in the study added some ambiguity, or maybe Caleb was incredibly gentle right now, so I plucked up my bear courage to ask for benefits: “Hurt, it hurts a lot!” I thought Caleb would comfort me, but he just straightened up, looking down. “Hurting is correct. Since it’s your work, why isn’t it on your body?” “It’s… it’s inconvenient to draw looking in the mirror!” I looked away guiltily, mumbling, “Besides, even if I draw it, it’s not drawing me…” Caleb took a deep breath and smiled at me. “Seen enough?” “No…” I glanced at the mark on his straight collarbone, painfully contemplating the probability of him agreeing to “one more time.” “Want to do it again?” Just as I was lost in thought, Caleb’s voice carried a hint of seduction. His eyes smiled, clear and gentle. “Or, give our dear author ‘Lady Wine’ some more creative inspiration, for example…” His fingers moved down slowly, unbuttoning one by one. His superior physique peeked through. My eyes lit up, completely missing that he said my pen name. I even obediently closed my eyes when he whispered for me to. Then, Caleb held my waist and pushed me out the door. I watched dumbfounded as he buttoned up his shirt one by one in front of me, his slow movements carrying a hint of ruthlessness. “Rest early,” Caleb’s voice was gentle, even polite, “or go busy yourself with work.” Then the door slammed shut in my face. I turned around expressionlessly, pulled out my phone, and typed furiously in the group chat: “I’m so mad!!!” “Caleb Thorne is impotent!!!”

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