I was in the delivery room, in labor, when my husband called. “Isla,” he said, his voice calm and matter-of-fact. “I’m cheating on you.” “Let’s get a divorce now, before the baby is born.” “Ruby is young. She can’t handle the scandal and the gossip.” “I have to make it official with her.” “And don’t even think about using the baby to trap me.” “You of all people should know how painful it is for a child to be born unwanted.” I looked at the photo he sent me and nodded, my heart strangely quiet. I didn’t scream or have a hysterical breakdown like I had before. And I didn’t tell him that the precious, innocent girl he was so desperate to protect… Was a party girl with AIDS. And that after all his… indulgence, he probably wouldn’t even live to see the divorce finalized. 1 When Declan Lancaster came to the hospital with the divorce papers, I had just given birth. It was a difficult delivery. I was barely hanging on. He looked at my pale, drawn face and frowned, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. There was no concern, no tenderness. Only irritation that I had gone against his wishes. “I told you not to have this baby.” “Ruby doesn’t like the idea of a child competing for my attention.” I looked down at the sleeping infant in my arms and managed a weak, tired smile. “Couldn’t be helped. You called a little too late.” “By the time you were proposing to your Ruby, I was already on the operating table.” The baby wasn’t due yet. But a package from Ruby containing a dead rat had sent me into premature labor. While I was at the hospital, waiting, I called Declan countless times. He never picked up. As I was being wheeled into the operating room, the sky outside exploded in a shower of fireworks. I looked closer. It was Declan, trying to make his little mistress happy. A multi-million dollar proposal. A path of roses, a sky full of light. And there, spelled out in the darkness by a fleet of drones, were the words: “I love you, Ruby.” I gave birth to our child amidst the crackle of his celebration. The doctors issued multiple critical condition notices. My phone calls went unanswered. In the end, I had to grit my teeth and sign the surgical consent form myself. And what a coincidence. He showed up right after the baby was born. Not out of concern for me or his child. He was here to rush me into signing the papers. To tell me to take the baby and get lost, to make way for his new love. I sighed a silent, weary sigh. But I forced a smile and took the divorce agreement from his hand. As I shifted to sit up, the movement tore at the stitches on my stomach. Bright red blood instantly soaked through the gauze. Declan’s frown only deepened. “Don’t bother playing the victim with me, Isla.” “I’m not a heartless man. I’ll be generous with the money.” “Just sign the papers, and I’ll pay the child support in one lump sum. You’ll be comfortable.” My hand, holding the pen, paused. I looked at his cold, handsome face and felt… nothing. Not even a pang of sadness. I suppose I had already cried all my tears. I remember when I first found out he was cheating. I had cried, screamed, even threatened to kill myself. I had one foot out the window, and he just stood there, his expression bored. “Stop crying, Isla. I lost feelings for you a long time ago.” “Your tears used to break my heart.” “But now… they just make me sick.” That night, he left without a backward glance, rushing off to Ruby’s side. He left me to cry myself unconscious. I cried for a long, long time. And I finally understood just how cruel a man can be when his heart has moved on. Fueled by a bitter desire for revenge, I started digging into Ruby’s background. I was going to burn his world to the ground. I wanted everyone to see the ugly truth behind his perfect facade. But the moment I saw her picture, everything changed. All the hatred, all the resentment, it all just… evaporated. Because I recognized her immediately. The pure, innocent angel in Declan’s eyes was a former patient of mine, one I had treated for AIDS. Declan has a congenital heart condition. An infection like that could kill him. In that instant, I felt a sense of release. Fate has a way of making the unfaithful pay. All I had to do was wait for the right moment to give it a little push. So, I stopped fighting. I stopped making scenes. I focused on my pregnancy, playing the part of the polite and dignified Mrs. Lancaster. And I waited, quietly, for the day Declan would die. 2 My hesitation was clearly starting to annoy him. He tapped his fingers impatiently on the table. “What are you stalling for now, Isla?” “Did you think having the baby would make me see you differently?” “Let me be clear. I don’t love you. And I could never love a child you gave birth to.” “If you refuse to sign, I’ll file for divorce myself, and I’ll make sure your child grows up with the same miserable life you had!” It’s always the ones who know you best who can hurt you the most. When I was eighteen, my parents divorced. My father forced my mother out with nothing and publicly disowned me. He forbade me from using his name, inheriting his wealth, or having any connection to him whatsoever. I became the laughingstock of our social circle. An outcast, ridiculed and alone. Back then, Declan was the only one by my side. He walked me to and from school every day. He stood in front of me when others tried to bully me. He held me when I was heartbroken and told me, “You’re the best, Isla.” “Even if the whole world abandons you, I will always be here.” “I love you. And I will give you the happy, complete family you deserve.” Because of that promise, I gave up my dreams of literature to study medicine, all to cure him. I stood by him through a brutal and dangerous battle for his inheritance. I sacrificed my career and my ambitions to become a stay-at-home wife, trying to start a family. I thought we had finally made it through the worst of it. But then, while I was pregnant, he got lonely. He cheated on me with Ruby. When I found out, there was no guilt in his eyes. No shame for his betrayal. He just looked at me calmly and said, “I can’t help it, Isla. I didn’t want this to happen.” “But the other day, when I saw the stretch marks on your stomach, I suddenly felt… disgusted.” “I can’t feel any desire for you. But I’m a man. I have needs.” “And Ruby… she gives me a thrill, a feeling I’ve never had before.” “So, she deserves a title. She deserves respect.” The Lancaster family was old-money, with strict rules. Declan had always prided himself on his clean image. He looked down on men who kept mistresses and had messy affairs. So, he simply asked for a divorce. At the time, I was only a few weeks pregnant. To get what I wanted, to see him pay for what he had done, I swallowed every last bit of my pride. Even when he started taking Ruby to public events. Even when he told the press I was a desperate, clingy shrew. I endured it all. For this moment. I picked up the pen and signed my name on the divorce agreement with a firm, steady hand. Just then, his phone rang. It was Ruby, her voice a sweet, cloying pout. “Declan, are you done yet?” “I’m all dressed up and waiting for you.” “You’re not getting soft just because she had the baby, are you? You’re not backing out of the divorce?” “If you are, I’m never speaking to you again!” He glanced at the risqué photo she sent. His breath hitched, and his voice dropped to a low murmur. He soothed her with the same soft, careful words he used to use on me. Then he snatched the signed papers from the table and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The sharp edge of the paper sliced a thin, red line across my palm. The loud bang of the door startled the baby, who immediately began to wail. A doctor rushed in to see what was wrong. Declan never once looked back. I sighed and was about to comfort the baby when the doctor grabbed my hand. “What happened to your hand? Did he do that?” “Come with me, we need to run some tests. Don’t you know he has…” He couldn’t bring himself to say the word. But I looked up, a genuine smile spreading across my face. “I’ve been managing Declan’s health for years. Of course, I know.” I had received his test results yesterday. They were exactly what I expected. HIV-positive. The virus had already begun to attack his cardiovascular system. A simple cold, a sneeze, a moment of exertion… Any of it could be enough to kill him. So, for the next month, the closer he got to Ruby, the closer he got to his own grave. 3 While I was recovering in the hospital, Declan and Ruby were celebrating. He bought her a mansion and a diamond ring, announcing to the world that she was the true Mrs. Lancaster. It was like he was a teenager again, caught in a whirlwind romance. They partied in exclusive clubs and made promises of forever under the Eiffel Tower, as if I had never existed. I ignored their antics and focused on my next steps. Once I was strong enough, I took the baby to the Lancaster estate. To secure my inheritance, to gain a foothold in the family company, I needed to win over the patriarch, Old Man Lancaster. As I entered the house, I was met with the sound of a furious argument. Mr. Lancaster threw a teacup at Declan, his voice a roar. “You disgraceful fool!” “You raised hell to be with that woman in the first place, and now, after all this time, you want a divorce?” “You’ve shamed the Lancaster name for generations to come!” Declan’s lips were a thin, tight line. He stood silently, protectively shielding Ruby behind him. The stubborn set of his jaw gave me a flash of déjà vu. Years ago, he had knelt before his grandfather just like this, begging for permission to marry me. As the sole heir, a more suitable match had already been arranged for him. But Declan refused. He was determined to be with me. He had knelt there, just as defiantly as he was standing now, until the entire family relented. He hadn’t changed at all. The only difference was the woman standing beside him, the woman he loved. It wasn’t me anymore. I hesitated, unsure if I should interrupt. Just then, the baby in my arms began to cry. Declan turned at the sound, but he made no move to help. He just glared at me, annoyed that I was disturbing him as I fumbled to soothe the baby. Finally, the housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, took pity on me and took the baby from my arms. The sight of his great-grandson did nothing to soften Mr. Lancaster’s expression. He tossed a photo onto the table in front of me. “I don’t care about your petty squabbles.” “But you will not damage this family’s reputation or the company’s stock price.” “Explain this!” It was a screenshot from one of Ruby’s live streams. As a former influencer, she never missed an opportunity to flaunt her wealth and new relationship. During a broadcast the day before, a viewer had spotted a box of HIV medication on her vanity. It was a small detail, but it had caused a stir online. The Lancaster PR team had managed to suppress it, but not before it reached the old man. I looked at Declan’s pale, strained face and stepped forward. “It was a misunderstanding,” I said calmly. “It’s a new drug my research team is developing.” “I will issue a statement to the media and clear this up. The Lancaster name will not be tarnished.” My composed, responsible response seemed to satisfy him. He nodded, then gave Declan a long, meaningful look. He took out a small golden locket and placed it around the baby’s neck. “Don’t you worry, Isla.” “You have given this family its heir. We will not let you be mistreated.” “If Declan here causes any more trouble, you come to me. I’ll teach this arrogant boy a lesson he won’t forget.” I no longer needed anyone to fight my battles. When my marriage first fell apart, everyone—the Lancasters, my friends—they all took his side. They criticized my flaws, accused me of not being understanding enough. Declan himself had said to me, his voice full of contempt, “You’re just the girl your family threw away. Who are you to challenge me? I can make or break you with a single word.” That’s when I understood. Love, affection… it’s all fleeting. The only things that are real are power and money. After finally calming Mr. Lancaster down, I was ready to leave. I hadn’t even reached the end of the driveway when Declan’s hand swung out and connected with my face.

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1 The system told me I’d won Victor Vaughn. The conquest was complete. After, I confessed everything. I also told him that if he ever fell in love with someone else, I would die. But in the fifth year of our marriage, he brought home a bright, bubbly college girl. He let her destroy my mother’s last keepsake, leak my private photos online, and kill my kitten. Afterward, all he said, with a shrug, was, “Ava’s pregnant now. You’re my wife, shouldn’t you be a little more accommodating?” He leaned in, his voice a low sneer. “You’ve held me hostage with your life for five years. This is what you deserve.” But as I lay dying, I heard the system furiously detaching itself from my body. “That damn sterile bastard. The bitch isn’t even pregnant! Host, you’re the one carrying his twins, thanks to me!” “Bye, Host! I’m jumping into his body now. It’s his turn to win you over.” “And you get to decide the punishment for his failure!” I rested a hand on my stomach and let out a cold, hollow laugh. “Fine. If he fails, let that bastard’s spawn die.” … The moment the system left, I felt a flicker of life returning to my veins. Across the room, Victor’s brow furrowed. He strode over and gripped my wrist, his fingers like steel bands. “Isabella, what did you just do to me?” And then, I heard the system’s voice, now echoing inside Victor’s head. [Hello, new Host. The target’s current Affection Level for you is 1. If you fail to raise it to 100 within one month, you will lose your own flesh and blood.] Victor froze, his eyes widening for a fraction of a second. Then, understanding dawned, and his eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. “Isabella. Are you really pulling this kind of black magic again just to win me back?” He leaned closer, his dark eyes glittering with menace. “I believe I made it clear how important the child in Ava’s womb is to the entire Vaughn family.” “Don’t you dare harm it. Don’t even speak an ill word against it!” “I’m ordering you to undo this curse right now. If you don’t, you’d better watch your back. Your grandfather is in a Vaughn-owned hospital, remember?” His words were a blade to my heart. I ripped my arm from his grasp. Always this. He knew my grandfather was the only family I had left in this world. He knew what he meant to me. So every time Ava hurt me, Victor would have the hospital staff inject my grandfather with a drug that wrecked his kidney function, leaving him in agony all night as the toxins built up in his body. The agony my grandfather was suffering now… It was because, ten years ago, he’d saved a dying Victor Vaughn by giving him one of his own kidneys. Victor, how could you? For a woman who came from nowhere, you’ve abandoned the last shred of your humanity. A wave of pure disgust washed over me. I opened my mouth to speak. But the system’s cold, mechanical voice cut through the air. [Target’s Affection Level has decreased. Double punishment will now be administered to the unfaithful and the interloper.] The words had barely faded when both Victor and Ava turned deathly pale and crumpled to the floor. I watched them, my face a mask of indifference. I stood up, reaching for my phone to arrange a transfer for my grandfather. But the moment I was on my feet, my own body betrayed me, and I collapsed. As darkness consumed me, I heard the system’s frantic voice. “Ahhh! Host, I forgot to tell you not to move until you’re fully recovered!” “Great, now I have to call 911 for you!” 2 When I woke up, I was in a hospital room, sharing it with Ava. Across the room, a doctor was speaking earnestly to Victor. “Mr. Vaughn, Ms. Winslow’s constitution has always been delicate. Now that she’s carrying twins, she absolutely cannot be agitated.” “Heirs have always been scarce in the Vaughn family. You must ensure she doesn’t experience any more emotional distress.” Victor stared in disbelief, snatching the medical report from the doctor’s hand. “What nonsense are you talking about? Ava is the one who’s pregnant.” The doctor handed him two separate reports. “Mr. Vaughn, you know our hospital’s diagnostics are state-of-the-art. Errors are virtually impossible.” “According to these results, Ms. Ava is not pregnant. Ms. Winslow, however, is carrying twins.” The doctor continued, his voice low. “Sir, the Vaughn family line has been thin for generations. For you, it was almost a certainty you’d have no heirs at all.” “To have twins now… it’s a miracle. Ms. Winslow is the savior of the Vaughn legacy. You must cherish her…” Victor wasn’t listening. He stormed over to my bed, his face a thundercloud. “I told you, if you just behaved, the title of Mrs. Vaughn would always be yours.” “Ava is the one who is pregnant. Why are you using these cheap tricks to deceive everyone? What more could you possibly want?!” Before I could answer, the family matriarch, his grandmother, swept into the room with a large entourage. Her face was flush with excitement as she looked at Victor. “I heard we’re finally having twins in the family! Where is Isabella? Let me see the blessed child.” Just then, the system issued a new task inside Victor’s head. [Task: Inform the Vaughn matriarch of the good news that Isabella is pregnant with twins.] As all eyes turned to Victor, he reluctantly pulled out my pregnancy report. But as he handed it to his grandmother, an idea seemed to strike him. He pretended to stumble, smudging the name on the report before leading everyone to Ava’s bed. “Grandmother, you must have misheard. Isabella isn’t pregnant.” “The hero who is blessing our family with twins… is Ava.” Seeing Victor defy the task, the system’s punishment kicked in again. But perhaps because he’d experienced it once before, his tolerance seemed to have increased. He paled and leaned against the wall for support, his gaze fixed on Ava, who was also sweating and writhing in pain. His jaw tightened. In a swift, brutal motion, he turned and ripped the IV needle from my arm, the one feeding me prenatal nutrients, and plunged it into Ava’s. “Why should you get to enjoy this, Isabella? Ava is the one who needs it most right now.” The needle tore away a piece of my skin, a raw, bloody wound. My body, already teetering on the edge of collapse, felt a new wave of weakness. I clutched my bleeding hand, pointing a trembling finger at Victor and the woman in the other bed. I spoke to the system, my voice a venomous whisper. “This hurts so much. System, light them up. Fry them until they’re screaming!” The next second, the world went black as I fainted once more. 3 I woke up in a damp, musty cellar. Roaches and other filth crawled over my skin. Ava was there, surrounded by her people, casually stroking her slightly rounded belly. She smiled when she saw my eyes open. “Well, look who’s awake, sister?” “Was it fun, controlling Victor and me with your little magic show?” “That little helper of yours is gone now. Let’s see who’s going to save you!” With a flick of her wrist, she ordered her men to hold me down. One of them produced a small, sharp knife and began to carve into my skin. One cut after another, each deeper than the last. Warm blood welled up, followed by a searing, bone-deep pain that consumed me. As I struggled against their grip, I saw with horror that the blood-sucking insects in the cellar were swarming towards my open wounds, feasting on me. I tried to brush them away, a cold terror gripping me, but Ava grabbed a handful of my hair, yanking my head back. She forced me to meet her cold, cruel gaze. “I don’t know how you found out my pregnancy was a fake, and I don’t care what you did to bribe the Vaughn family doctor to back up your lie,” she hissed. “All I know is that making Victor believe I’m pregnant is my golden ticket into the Vaughn dynasty, a family desperate for an heir.” “And I will personally eliminate anyone who stands in my way. That includes you.” I watched her, this woman who had shed her mask of innocent charm, now raising the knife to strike a final blow. A part of me found it laughable. She was still so stupid. When she destroyed my mother’s keepsake, she left her fingerprints all over it. When she leaked my private photos, she used her own burner account. When she killed my cat, she forgot to delete the security footage. And now, imprisoning me? She was using the very servants who were most loyal to me. I held her gaze, my expression unwavering, until I saw a flicker of fear in her eyes. Panic flashed across her face, but she blustered, raising her voice. “What are you looking at? Do you believe I won’t just kill you right—” My calm voice cut her off. “Maria. Anna. Restrain her.” The two women, who had been hiding in the crowd, sprang into action, seizing the triumphant Ava and pinning her down. The tables had turned in an instant. But just as I picked up the knife, a playful smile on my lips, and turned towards Ava… The cellar door burst open. It was Victor. “Isabella, what do you think you’re doing to Ava?!” The sound of his voice seemed to give Ava a sudden burst of strength. She broke free from Maria and Anna’s grasp and, like a madwoman, began hammering her own fists into her stomach. By the time Victor and his men rushed in, they saw me, bloodied and disheveled, and Ava, clutching her belly and screaming. His face contorted with rage. He rushed to Ava, pulling her into a protective embrace, then ordered his men to lock me in an iron cage. “No one lets her out without my permission!” His fury didn’t bother me. But tomorrow was my grandfather’s birthday banquet. Knowing his health was failing, he had invited his most powerful and influential friends, nobles and titans of industry, all to support me, to ensure I wouldn’t be bullied by the Vaughns after he was gone. I couldn’t betray his kindness. I couldn’t be trapped here. My face was cold as I delivered my threat. “Victor, you will attend my grandfather’s birthday banquet with me tomorrow.” “If you don’t, I’ll have the system electrocute the child in Ava’s womb right now.” As if on cue, the system’s voice echoed in his mind. [Task: Agree to accompany the target to her grandfather’s birthday banquet.] [Refusal will result in immediate double punishment.] 4 Victor agreed to my demand. But as a final act of humiliation, he had Ava attend in a magnificent gown, while I was dressed in plain clothes, trailing behind them like a servant. He used my grandfather’s health as leverage, forcing me to kneel and put on Ava’s shoes, to serve her at the table, to swallow my pride and eat the scraps she spit onto her plate. I sat beside my grandfather, watching his face grow dark as stone, listening to the whispered gossip of the powerful guests around us. I could feel their pitying, mocking stares. It felt like they were peeling away the layers of dignity my grandfather had spent a lifetime building for me. I heard the system warn Victor in his mind. [Target’s Affection Level has dropped into the negatives! Host must immediately appease the target!] But Victor ignored it. Instead, he shot a subtle glance at a mystic seated near him. The mystic made a small, almost imperceptible gesture with his hand. And just like that, the system went silent, as if it had been completely blocked. A satisfied smirk touched Victor’s lips. He stood up, his arm wrapped around Ava, drawing the attention of the entire room. “Since you are all here, I have some wonderful news to share.” “The Vaughn family has long been criticized for its scarcity of heirs. For my generation, doctors had all but given up hope.” “But Ava’s arrival has changed everything.” Ignoring my grandfather’s darkening expression, Victor gazed lovingly at Ava. “I am thrilled to announce that my dear Ava is blessing our family with twins!” “The Vaughn family has decided that once the children are born, Ava will become the true Mrs. Vaughn. As for Isabella, she will receive a generous settlement and be returned to the Winslow family.” The room erupted. Congratulations for Victor mingled with scornful murmurs about my family, creating a chaotic din. And in the middle of it all, Ava raised her glass to my grandfather. Her voice was sweet, her smile demure, but her eyes were sharp with provocation. “Grandfather, I’m sure you’ll be happy to bless Victor and me, won’t you?” Her words silenced the room. All eyes turned to my grandfather, seated at the head of the table. He didn’t answer her. He just looked at me, his gaze a complex storm of heartbreak, regret, and rising fury. Then, before anyone could react, he raised his hand and struck Ava across the face with a resounding crack. The moment his hand fell, a torrent of blood erupted from his mouth, and he collapsed in his chair. As the room descended into panic and staff scrambled to call for medics, Ava let out a piercing shriek of her own. She clutched her stomach and fell to the floor. When we reached the hospital, Victor barked orders at the doctors. “Save Ava first! Let the old man die for all I care, but nothing can happen to the children in her womb!” “Where is Dr. Peterson? Why isn’t he here yet!” The doctor attending to Ava was a stranger. But I recognized her. She was the one who had conspired with Ava to fake the pregnancy. She looked panicked, her voice urgent. “The patient is hemorrhaging! We’re out of her blood type in the bank! Is anyone here Type A?” Victor’s head snapped towards me. He grabbed my arm, his grip like a vise. “She’s Type A. Take her blood. Take as much as you need!” Just then, the system, which had been silent for so long, suddenly reappeared in my mind. [Host, that mystic Victor brought was something else. He actually managed to expel me from his body.] [But don’t worry, I’ve reset your mission log. You won’t face the death penalty for your previous failed tasks.] I didn’t respond. Instead, I asked a single question. “How is my grandfather?” [Just a spike in blood pressure from the anger. Don’t worry, I took the liberty of using some of Victor’s remaining life force to stabilize him.] Oblivious, Victor was already pushing me towards the operating room. “Isabella, you have to save Ava and my children. This is a once-in-a-century miracle for the Vaughn family!” “If anything happens to my children, I’ll make the entire Winslow family pay!” I ignored his threats. My voice was calm as I spoke to the system in my head. “Will terminating Victor’s bastards in my womb cause any physical harm to me?” [No.] With that confirmation, I arched an eyebrow and turned to the frantic Victor. “You can have my blood. But you and the entire Vaughn family are going to regret this.” He stared at me, then let out a sharp, derisive laugh, as if I’d told the world’s funniest joke. “Isabella, has loving me finally driven you insane?” “Honestly, if it wasn’t for your family’s connections back then, I never would have been with you in the first place.” He leaned close to my ear, his expression turning venomous. “And now? I wouldn’t care if you dropped dead right in front of me, let alone giving some blood.” His words meant nothing to me anymore. I shoved him away with disgust and walked into the operating room.

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The week before Christmas, I flew home early to surprise my boyfriend. I was planning to propose, so I stopped by the flower shop near his office to pick out the perfect roses. While I was choosing, the woman next to me was on the phone, gushing to her friend about her boyfriend’s prowess. “You just can’t beat a younger guy’s stamina. He insisted on getting it on right there in the weight room at the gym. We went eight rounds last night.” She giggled. “He’s even bought us a house at the Oakhaven Estates, says he wants to give me and the baby a proper home. He’s meeting my parents right after work today.” Her friend on the line must have been skeptical. “A guy that perfect? Pictures or it didn’t happen.” The woman laughed and unlocked her phone. I couldn’t help but glance over. The man in the photo had a stunning side profile. But… wasn’t that my boyfriend? 1. Thorns of Blood “Honey, what’s taking you so long? My legs are killing me from standing around,” the woman cooed into her phone, her voice sickly sweet as she tucked a stray hair behind her ear. I froze, my hand clenched around the bouquet of red roses I hadn’t even paid for yet. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. My mind was a complete blank. With trembling fingers, I sent a message to Grant, clinging to one last, desperate thread of hope. [Hey, Grant. It’s the night before Christmas Eve. Are you still stuck working late?] The woman beside me was still whining into her phone. “Don’t rush me, I can see your car. I’m coming out now.” Grant’s reply was instant. [In a critical meeting. It’s a total lockdown, they’re about to collect our phones. Be good, baby. Get yourself something nice for dinner.] We’d been together for over twenty years, high school sweethearts. When he was struggling to launch his startup, I borrowed money from my father to help him through the roughest patch. Once the company was stable, he gave me his debit card, the PIN set to my birthday. “Scarlett,” he’d said, “everything I have is yours.” Just last week, during a video call, he was holding the blueprints for the home we’d designed together, dreaming about our future. “Once we’re married, I’ll take care of you for the rest of our lives.” I tried to soothe myself. Maybe I was just seeing things. Grant was still at work. A similar profile didn’t mean it was him. The woman hung up, grabbed a large bag of imported cherries she’d just bought, and clicked her way out of the shop on high heels. I couldn’t let it go. I followed her out of the flower shop, hiding in a shadowy corner. A black Audi A6 was parked by the curb. Grant had bought the exact same model when he was starting out, a way to project success. I’d maxed out three of my credit cards for him. I remember that day, he’d spun me around in the dealership, dizzy with excitement, and sworn, “The passenger seat is reserved for my wife, for life.” Now, as the car window rolled down, I saw that a pink lumbar pillow was nestled cozily in that very seat. And then I saw the face, a profile etched into my soul. Grant. The face I had loved for my entire life. An invisible hand squeezed my heart, and I couldn’t breathe. On our video calls, his brow was always furrowed with exhaustion. He’d complain about work, about needing rest. But now, his face was lit with a smile, his eyes soft and tender. “Daddy!” A small, innocent voice shattered the last of my sanity. A little boy, maybe three or four years old, with a chubby, adorable face, darted out from behind the woman and ran straight for Grant. Grant opened the door, got out, and swept the child up into the air. “Hey there, champ! Did you miss me?” “Yes!” the boy giggled, wrapping his arms around Grant’s neck. I stared, my blood running cold. “Scarlett, childbirth is too painful. I could never bear to see you suffer,” he’d told me once. To prove his devotion, he’d even gotten a vasectomy right in front of me. This picture-perfect family scene was a knife in my eye, and tears welled up, blurring my vision. The woman walked over and linked her arm through Grant’s, chiding him gently. “It’s freezing out here. Don’t hold him up so high, you’ll give him a chill.” Grant immediately lowered the boy, taking the woman’s bare hands in his and blowing on them to warm them up. “You’re right, my bad. Let’s get in the car.” She stood on her toes to straighten the scarf around his neck, which had been ruffled by the wind. It was the scarf I had spent half a month knitting for him last winter, stitch by painstaking stitch. The three of them, a happy little family. They got into the car with a seamless, practiced grace. And there I stood, under a streetlamp in the falling snow, a ridiculous, pathetic clown. The thorns of the roses in my hand had long since pierced my palm. Crimson drops of blood fell from my fingertips, staining the white snow. My hand shaking, I dialed Grant’s number. “We’re sorry, the number you have dialed is currently busy…” 2. Betrayal on Video The car’s red taillights disappeared at the end of the street. My phone buzzed again. A new message from Grant: [Just got out of the meeting. I’m exhausted, still have to type up the minutes. Go to sleep, baby, don’t wait up for me. Love you.] The man who once told me, “I will never lie to you,” was now spinning falsehoods without a flicker of hesitation. After all these years, I had never truly known him at all. When I first moved abroad, I would buy the cheapest, most inconvenient flights just to come home and see him. I once sat upright for over twenty hours, my back aching so badly I could barely stand. When I arrived at his apartment building, I called and asked if he could come down and help me with my luggage. “I just got off work myself,” he’d said. “I’m dead tired. Just carry it up yourself. Think of it as a workout.” Back then, my heart ached for him, for how hard he was working. I actually hauled two massive suitcases up six flights of stairs by myself. Now, I see he can be thoughtful. I just wasn’t the one who deserved it. A bitter smile twisted my lips. I stood in the biting wind for a long time, until my legs were numb with cold. I hailed a cab and checked into the nearest hotel. The room was warm, but a deep, chilling cold radiated from my very bones. I grabbed my phone and created a new, anonymous social media account. Using the tidbits of information I’d overheard in the flower shop, I started searching. For two hours, I scoured local accounts. Finally, a profile named “Lynn’s Happy Days” caught my eye. Her banner photo was the back of a man cooking in a kitchen. The broad shoulders, the narrow waist, the brand of loungewear, even the tiny, inconspicuous mole on the back of his neck… it was identical to Grant. I clicked on her feed and my fingers began to scroll mechanically. The past year was a dense tapestry of their cozy family life. May 20th: [Hubby took us to Disneyland! The baby got scared by the fireworks for the first time, and my husband was so patient, calming him down the whole time.] That day, I had ordered his favorite mechanical keyboard and had it shipped to him as a surprise. I waited up until midnight, but he never replied. The next day, he said: “We had a project launch yesterday. Pulled an all-nighter. My phone died.” Turns out, he was pulling an all-nighter watching fireworks at Disneyland. August 15th: [Spent the weekend car shopping with my husband. He said all that matters is that the baby and I are comfortable. The passenger seat is my throne. <3.jpg] That day, I had video-called him, and it was noisy in the background. He said he was entertaining a client. I thought I heard a woman’s laugh and asked about it. He exploded. “I’m out here killing myself to build a future for us, and you have the nerve to doubt me?” November 11th: [Hubby’s back from his business trip! He brought me a full set of La Mer. Mwah, love you!] Around that time, he’d told me cash flow was tight and asked to borrow fifty thousand dollars. He said it was an emergency, to make payroll for his employees. As I transferred the money, I was so worried about him that I sent an extra ten thousand for his living expenses. And then there was today… My stomach churned violently. With a shaking hand, I sent her a private message. [Is Grant your husband? Are you aware he has a fiancée?] Her reply was instant. A six-second video. I tapped play. The room was instantly filled with the sounds of heavy, ragged breathing and the violent rocking of a bed frame, all under dim, moody lighting. The camera shook, and for a fleeting moment, I saw Grant’s bare torso. His back was covered in angry, red scratches, and sweat trickled down the tense lines of his muscles. The video cut off. My hands and feet turned to ice. In all the years we’d been together, Grant had always insisted on waiting until marriage to be intimate. I had been so moved by his principles, thinking he was a modern-day saint, a once-in-a-lifetime man. Now, watching the rapacious stranger in that video, I felt like I didn’t know him at all. Another message arrived. A photo. In it, Grant was asleep in the woman’s arms, his brow smooth, sleeping as peacefully as a baby. My stomach seized. I scrambled to the bathroom, barefoot, and collapsed in front of the toilet, dry-heaving until my throat was raw. 3. The Severing in the ER The relentless barrage of emotional trauma was too much for my body. Before I could even pull myself up from the bathroom floor, a searing pain ripped through my abdomen. I curled up on the cold tiles, a cold sweat instantly soaking through my clothes. It was an old problem. Acute gastroenteritis. I remember it happening once in college, in the middle of the night. Grant had sprinted two miles in his slippers to a 24-hour pharmacy, then climbed the wall of the women’s dorm to bring me the medicine. He stood outside in the freezing wind all night, texting me every hour to ask if I was feeling any better. Now, the pain was just a bitter mockery of his betrayal. Summoning my last ounce of strength, I managed to get a cab to the nearest hospital, City General. The emergency room was a cacophony of noise and chaos, but I felt completely alone, adrift on a desolate island. A doctor pressed on my stomach, his brow furrowed. “This looks serious,” he said. “It could be a precursor to a ruptured appendix. We need to operate immediately. Is your family here?” My family… On the verge of blacking out, I instinctively dialed the number that was etched into my very being. It rang. And rang. Just as I thought it would go to voicemail, he picked up. “Hello?” In the background, I could hear a child’s piercing cries and a woman’s soft, soothing voice. “Grant…” I whispered, my voice hoarse and weak. “I’m back in the country. I’m at City General, in the ER. The doctor says I need surgery…” His voice on the other end was frantic. “You’re back? Why didn’t you tell me? I’m out of town on a business trip right now, I can’t possibly make it back.” Lies. More lies. “Out of town.” I closed my eyes, a tear escaping and tracing a cold path into my hair. “Out of town? Where?” “I’m… I’m in the next city over. Look, I can’t talk right now, there’s an emergency with the project here.” Just then, the woman’s anxious voice cut through from his end. “Grant! Hurry up, the baby has a fever! We need to go, get the car started!” The voice was crystal clear, a slap across my face. It sounded like he covered the receiver. “I know, stop shouting!” Then, back to me. “Scarlett, I really can’t get away, it’s urgent. Just hire a nurse, or call your parents. I have to go.” The line went dead. I clutched the phone, listening to the monotonous dial tone as my tears finally broke free. When I was five, I fell off a swing and gashed my knee. Grant carried me on his back for two miles to the clinic, crying the whole way. “Don’t be scared, Scarlett,” he’d sobbed. “I’ll protect you for the rest of our lives.” That promise had been my anchor through countless lonely nights in a foreign country. Now, it was nothing but a cruel joke. The doctor returned with the consent forms. “Miss, were you able to reach your family? If not, you can sign yourself, but there are risks with this surgery…” I wiped the tears from my face and took the pen. My hand was shaking so badly I could barely hold it, but I scrawled my name in the signature box. “I’ll sign.” As they wheeled me into the operating room, I hit send on one last message. [Grant, we’re over.]

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1 I invited the underprivileged scholarship student I was sponsoring to our home for the holidays. The moment my husband saw her, his face went pale. He had heard her thoughts: “If I fail to conquer you, the system will erase me.” To save the girl’s life, my husband actually started to play along. He transferred my company shares to her. He signed over my favorite oceanfront villa to her. He even planned to throw her a wedding of the century… on our anniversary. When I asked him why, my eyes red with tears, he just looked at me with a face full of guilt. “Honey, she’s just a poor kid being controlled by a system. We have to be patient with her.” “Besides, money is just an object. What matters is that she’s alive.” I nodded slowly and spoke to my own system. “Did you hear that, System?” “He said money is just an object. So I suppose it won’t be a problem if I revoke the billionaire’s blessing I bestowed upon him, right?” … The system’s cold, mechanical voice echoed in my mind: [Host, once the revocation process begins, it is irreversible. Grant will lose all of his fortune and revert to the penniless nobody he once was.] [Do you wish to proceed?] I looked at Grant, who was gazing so tenderly at the girl, Renee. The last shred of hesitation in my heart vanished. “Yes. Begin.” [Executing revocation protocol… Progress: 1%. Estimated time to completion: 7 days.] Grant didn’t notice a thing. He was too busy carefully presenting a haute couture wedding gown, worth millions, to Renee. When he and I got married, we were so broke we couldn’t even afford a proper wedding. Grant promised me that for our tenth anniversary, he would give me the grandest ceremony imaginable. This gown was the one I had custom-ordered from a Parisian master for that very wedding, just seven days from now. And now, he was about to put it on Renee. “Honey, don’t look at Renee like that,” Grant said, his brow furrowed in my direction. “She’s just a kid, controlled by that damned system. Her life is on the line. We have the means to help her, so why shouldn’t we?” “It’s just a dress. You have a closet full of clothes; you don’t need this one.” Renee huddled in the corner of the sofa, wrapped in a silk pajama set I had bought just last week. She timidly raised her head, her eyes brimming with tears. “Grant… Is Isabelle angry with me?” “If she doesn’t want me to, I won’t wear it… even though the system says if I don’t wear the ‘Gown of True Love’ tonight, it will deduct ten years from my life…” She clutched her chest as she spoke, her face turning deathly pale as if in agony. Grant’s expression changed instantly. He dropped the gown and rushed to her side, pulling her into his arms. “Renee! Don’t be afraid, I’m here!” He whipped his head around to glare at me, his voice thick with blame. “Isabelle! Will you be happy only when you’ve pushed her to her death?” “It’s just a piece of clothing! This is a matter of life and death. Is your vanity really that important?” I sat on the sofa, watching the scene unfold, and found it utterly ridiculous. As a system user myself, I knew perfectly well that Grant wasn’t hearing her “thoughts.” This was just a poorly-acted drama Renee had concocted, a story of being “forced by a system to conquer the male lead.” And he fell for it. Not only did he fall for it, but he now saw himself as her savior. He believed that by fulfilling Renee’s every wish, he could rescue this poor, innocent girl from the clutches of an evil system. What a noble hero. Except he was playing the hero with my money. “Grant, that’s my wedding gown. The size won’t fit her.” He paused, then waved his hand impatiently. “So get it altered. Renee’s so slim, just take in the waist a little.” “Besides,” he added, “you bought this gown with my money. I have the right to decide what happens to it.” I laughed, a humorless sound. “Your money?” Years ago, Grant was a broke kid who couldn’t even afford his next meal. It was I who traveled to this world with my system, who, in order to save him, bound all of my own fortune to him. It was I who stood by him as he built his empire from nothing, sleeping in basements and living on instant noodles, step by step, until he became the richest man in the world. And now, he was calling it his money. “Fine. If you feel so strongly about saving Renee, then give it to her.” Grant breathed a sigh of relief, a look of gratitude in his eyes. “That’s my girl. Isabelle, I knew you were the kindest, most understanding woman in the world.” “Once Renee completes her mission and is free from the system, all of this will be yours again.” In his arms, Renee shot me a triumphant smirk. I glanced at the system in my mind. The revocation process was at 5%. I hope you’re still feeling this generous in a week, Grant. 2 The next morning, I got a call from the office. Grant was calling an emergency board meeting. By the time I arrived, the conference room was already full. Grant was seated at the head of the table, with Renee sitting right beside him. When he saw me enter, he gestured to a chair further down. “Have a seat.” I raised an eyebrow. That was the VP’s seat. As co-CEO, my place had always been next to him. Now, that place belonged to Renee. “I’ve called you all here today to announce something important,” Grant said, his voice leaving no room for argument as he scanned the room. “I have decided to transfer 5% of the company shares currently under Isabelle’s name to Ms. Renee, free of charge.” The room erupted. The board members exchanged bewildered glances, whispering amongst themselves. “Five percent? That’s hundreds of millions!” “Who is this girl? On what grounds?” I sat in my chair, spinning a pen in my fingers, saying nothing. Right on cue, Renee stood up and bowed to the room, her voice trembling. “I’m sorry, everyone. I… I don’t want this either…” “But… but if I don’t accept these shares, the system will register it as a mission failure, and it will punish me…” As she spoke, a violent tremor ran through her body, and she collapsed weakly into Grant’s arms. Grant was beside himself with worry. He patted her back while roaring at the board members. “All of you, shut up! What’s more important, money or a person’s life?” “Renee is doing this to survive! Are all of you so obsessed with money you can’t see that?” His outburst stunned them into silence. One of them looked to me. “Ms. Winslow, this…” Grant’s gaze fell on me too, his eyes demanding my compliance. “Isabelle, say something.” “You know what Renee is going through. Think of these shares as a charitable donation.” “The company is ours anyway. What does it matter who holds the shares? When Renee completes her mission, she’ll give them back.” I looked at him. This was the same man who, in the early days of our startup, would scour the entire city just to save a few dollars on materials. Now, for the sake of a clumsy lie, he was about to throw away hundreds of millions without a second thought. I smiled and tossed my pen onto the table. “Mr. Vaughn is right.” “Since this is a life-or-death matter, we shouldn’t delay.” “But why stop at shares? If this is a conquest mission, the system must value sincerity above all else.” Grant’s eyes lit up. “Isabelle, what do you suggest?” I spoke slowly, deliberately. “Why not remove me as well? Make Ms. Renee the co-CEO. Surely the system would see that as a huge leap in her progress. She might even clear the mission instantly.” The room fell deathly silent. The smile on Grant’s face froze. “Isabelle, don’t be sarcastic. The shares are an emergency measure. The CEO position is not negotiable.” “Since you agree, just sign the papers.” The document slid across the table to me. I picked up the pen and, without a moment’s hesitation, signed my name. [Revocation Progress: 15%.] The system’s voice echoed in my mind. [Host has proactively severed financial ties with the target. Revocation speed has increased.] Grant watched me sign, a wave of relief washing over him. “That’s the way. Isabelle, they’re just material possessions. No need to get so attached.” “When Renee is better, I’ll take you on a trip abroad.” Renee clutched the contract, her voice dripping with false gratitude. “Thank you, Isabelle… you’re so kind. I’ll be sure to repay you one day.” Repay me? I looked at the greed shining in her eyes. You won’t have to wait. Very soon, you’re going to find out just how hot that “gift” is to hold. 3 When I got home, I found my belongings packed in boxes in the living room. Several maids were busy moving furniture out of the master bedroom. Grant stood on the landing, directing the operation. “Get rid of that mattress, Renee doesn’t like it. Replace it with something softer.” “Change the curtains, too. Renee likes pink.” He saw me and waved me over. “Isabelle, you’re just in time.” “The feng shui master said the energy in the master bedroom is the most nurturing in the house.” “Renee’s been getting weaker these past few days. She needs to move in there to recuperate.” “To protect her, I’ll be staying in there with her for the time being.” I looked at the boxes piled haphazardly on the floor. My books, my clothes, our wedding photo. The glass on the frame was cracked, a jagged line running right between our smiling faces. “So where do I sleep?” I asked. Grant pointed to the ground floor. “The room next to the maid’s quarters is empty, isn’t it? Just clean it up a bit.” “It’s only temporary. As soon as Renee is better, you can move back.” That room had been intended for storage. It got no sunlight and was filled with junk. Now, for the sake of an outsider, Grant was telling me, the lady of the house, to move into the storeroom. Renee came running down the stairs, wearing my slippers. “Grant, is Isabelle upset?” “Maybe I should take the other room… although the system said if I don’t sleep in the master bedroom tonight, it will paralyze my legs…” She bit her lip, tears appearing on command. Grant immediately rushed to her side, his voice full of concern. “Don’t be ridiculous! As long as I’m here, no one is going to paralyze you.” He turned to me, his tone severe. “Isabelle, can you please be more considerate? Do you want to see Renee become a cripple?” “It’s just for a few nights! Why are you being so petty?” “We have such a good life now, we should be grateful for our blessings. Isn’t it good to do some charity work and build up some good karma?” Blessings? I almost laughed out loud. There were no blessings. There was only me, giving my life force to you. I looked at Grant’s self-righteous face, and the last flicker of emotion in my heart died. “Fine.” I nodded. “If she’s that fragile, let her have the room.” “But remember this, Grant.” “Some positions, once you give them up, you can never get them back.” He frowned, sensing a hidden meaning in my words, but his attention was quickly diverted by Renee’s whining. “Grant, I want a big jacuzzi tub in the bedroom, the kind with massage jets…” “Done! We’ll buy it all!” I dragged my boxes into the dark, damp storeroom. I closed the door, shutting out the sounds of their laughter. [Revocation Progress: 40%.] [Grant’s fortune is rapidly depleting. Host, starting tonight, his sleep quality will plummet, and he will be plagued by nightmares.] I made my bed on the hard floorboards and lay down. “Good.” “Let him have some nightmares. He needs to get used to his new life.” In the middle of the night, I was woken by a bloodcurdling scream from upstairs. I ignored it, rolled over, and went back to sleep. 4 The next few days were chaos. One minute, Renee was claiming the system was going to drain her blood; the next, it was going to make her go blind. Each time, her “symptoms” could only be alleviated by a sacrifice from me. Transferring my oceanfront villa to her name. Giving her all my jewelry to wear as a protective ward. Grant agreed to every demand. Until our tenth wedding anniversary. The day Grant had promised to throw Renee her “wedding of the century.” To build up the hype, he booked the most luxurious hotel in the city and even chartered a private jet to fly in fresh flowers. The guest list was a who’s who of the city’s elite. He even invited dozens of media outlets to livestream the event. In the dressing room, Renee sat before the mirror, wearing my altered wedding gown. She admired her reflection, her eyes gleaming with greed and triumph. “See, Isabelle? Grant is so good to me.” “He said he’d be willing to lose everything just to save me.” “Don’t you think he’s fallen in love with me?” I leaned against the wall, checking the time on my phone. Thirty minutes until the revocation was complete. “Maybe,” I said flatly. “After all, he was willing to lose his mind for you.” Her face fell. She was about to snap back when Grant walked in, dressed in a dashing white suit, looking radiant. He paused when he saw me, his eyes darting away for a second before he squared his shoulders with renewed self-importance. “Isabelle, when the ceremony starts, I want you to go up on stage as the… the witness, and say a few words.” He wanted me to officiate my own husband’s wedding to his mistress? “No.” Grant’s face darkened. “Isabelle! The entire media is out there. Don’t you dare embarrass me!” “If Renee fails this mission, the system will erase her! Just do it to save a life, can’t you?” “After today, I’ll throw you an even bigger wedding, how about that?” Renee walked over and clung to his arm, her voice a pathetic whimper. “Grant, does Isabelle hate me? If she’s not willing, then I might as well just die…” “The system said if I don’t receive her blessing, I’ll start bleeding from all seven orifices and die a horrible death…” That did it. Grant panicked. He grabbed my wrist, his grip shockingly strong. “Isabelle! Do you have any humanity? Are you going to force her to die?” “I am ordering you to get on that stage! And you will smile while you bless us!” “If you don’t, you can get out of my house and out of my company!” A sharp pain shot up my arm. I looked at the contorted, monstrous face of the man before me. Ten years of love, ten years of sacrifice, all turned to ash in this single moment. [Revocation Progress: 99%.] The countdown in my mind ticked into its final minute. Suddenly, I stopped struggling. I looked at him and smiled, the brightest smile I had given in days. “Alright.” “If you want my blessing so badly, then you shall have it.” I yanked my hand free and smoothed out my clothes. “Let’s go. It’s time.” Grant was taken aback, clearly not expecting me to agree so easily. He probably thought I was scared. He gave a cold snort and, taking Renee’s arm, walked out. The grand hall was a breathtaking spectacle of lights and flowers. Grant led Renee down the aisle to the sound of applause and envious murmurs. I stood in the wings, watching.

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In my last life, the Hamiltons came to the orphanage to choose an adopted daughter. I saw a girl caked in filth and grime and, feeling sorry for her, gave her my only buttery biscuit. She devoured it like a starved animal, smearing crumbs and grease all over her face. The Hamiltons, a couple obsessed with cleanliness, wrinkled their noses in disgust and chose me instead, the clean one. Years later, when the true heiress was discovered, it was her. She tearfully accused me of intentionally setting her up to steal her place. “But we were all just victims of circumstance,” she’d sobbed to our parents, “I don’t blame you.” “Wanting a better life isn’t a crime…” Her words were gasoline on a fire. My adoptive father, Mr. Hamilton, immediately cut off my supply of targeted cancer medication, leaving me to die in agony. Now, I’ve been reborn, right back in that orphanage. This time, I ate the biscuit myself. Let the true heiress starve. Let the Hamiltons think I’m disgusting. 1. The rich, warm scent of a buttery, golden-brown biscuit drifted into my nostrils, the heat of it turning my palms red. The clamor of the yard snapped me back to reality. The headmistress’s shrill voice echoed across the courtyard. “Line up, all of you! Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton will be here any minute. If any of you dare to embarrass me, you can forget about dinner!” Sarah’s eyes were glued to the biscuit in my hand, a raw, naked greed hidden behind her timid facade. She whispered, her voice frail, “Annie… I’m so hungry…” Hungry? Good. This time, I’ll let you have your hunger. And I’ll have my freedom. I didn’t hand her the biscuit like I did before. Instead, I looked right at her, opened my mouth, and took a huge, savage bite. The flaky layers shattered, sending a shower of crumbs down my front. I chewed with exaggerated gusto, my cheeks puffed out, deliberately letting a mix of saliva and food dribble from the corner of my mouth. Then, I raised a dusty hand, smeared the mess across my lips, and wiped my greasy fingers all over the front of my relatively clean tunic. Sarah was stunned. She had probably never seen me act so crudely. Just then, a black luxury sedan, a vehicle utterly out of place in this decade of decay, rolled through the orphanage gates. 2. The car door opened and the Hamiltons stepped out. Mrs. Hamilton wore a custom-tailored cashmere coat, a string of pearls at her neck glowing with a soft luster in the pale sun. Mr. Hamilton was in an impeccably tailored suit, his brow furrowed as if the very air here offended him. The headmistress scurried over, her face a mask of forced smiles. “Mr. Hamilton, Mrs. Hamilton, the children are all ready for you.” I stood in the front row. A position impossible to miss. Mrs. Hamilton’s gaze swept over the line of children and landed squarely on me first. There I was, mouth still full of biscuit, the other half clutched in my left hand. My right hand, in full view of everyone, was shoved deep inside my shoe, scratching my toes with wild abandon. I closed my eyes and let out a grotesque sigh of satisfaction, then brought my fingers to my nose and took a long, deep sniff. 3. Mrs. Hamilton’s elegant smile froze on her face, then melted into a look of undisguised revulsion. She took a step back, pressing a perfumed handkerchief to her nose and mouth, her brow tightly knitted. “Headmistress,” Mr. Hamilton’s voice was as cold and hard as steel, “is this what you call ‘well-behaved’?” The headmistress turned pale with fright. She rushed at me, trying to snatch the biscuit from my hand, hissing under her breath, “What are you doing? Have you lost your mind?” I dodged her with a goofy grin and shoved the rest of the biscuit into my mouth. I gagged and choked, my eyes rolling back in my head as I forced it down my throat with a coarse, gulping sound, like a feral dog protecting its scraps. “Is there… something wrong with this child’s head?” Mrs. Hamilton turned away, disgusted, her eyes falling on Sarah, who was standing next to me. Sarah, deprived of the biscuit, was pale with hunger, her small frame swaying slightly. She was naturally a pretty child, and next to my deliberate filth, she looked exceptionally clean and fragile, like a small white flower struggling to survive in the mud. “That child,” Mrs. Hamilton pointed at Sarah. “She looks so sweet.” Sarah immediately straightened her back. Though she was trembling from hunger, she managed to produce a shy, polite smile. “Hello, sir. Hello, ma’am.” “What a well-mannered little girl.” A wave of maternal affection washed over Mrs. Hamilton. She walked over and knelt, ignoring the worn patches on Sarah’s clothes, and gently took her hand. “Would you like to come home with us?” A brilliant light of pure joy erupted in Sarah’s eyes. She nodded her head vigorously. 4. And just like that, it was settled. While the Hamiltons handled the paperwork, Sarah was taken away to be changed into a new set of clothes. Before she left, she made a point to walk over to me. The courtyard was empty now, except for the two of us. She was wearing a brand-new pink dress and clutching an expensive porcelain doll. The timid, fearful girl was gone. She looked at me, my face still smeared with grease as I picked my teeth, and a malicious smirk twisted her lips. She didn’t make a sound, but her lips formed the word perfectly: “Idiot.” Then she turned, climbed into the luxury car like a proud princess, and left this place of poverty without a backward glance. The car’s exhaust coughed a cloud of fumes in my face. I watched it disappear down the road before slowly pulling a crumpled tissue from my pocket. Methodically, I wiped away the grease and drool. Idiot? I let out a low chuckle. The Hamiltons were rich, true, but their home was a gilded cage, a nest of vipers that devoured souls. Mr. Hamilton had countless illegitimate children, and Mrs. Hamilton was a neurotic control freak. In my last life, Sarah, despite her lavish lifestyle, was treated as nothing more than a pawn for a strategic marriage and an emotional punching bag. She eventually became so twisted that she embezzled a fortune and fled the country. All that good fortune? You can have it. I turned and walked toward the woods behind the orphanage. The other children, seeing that I had fumbled my chance to be adopted by a wealthy family, were already mocking me. “That idiot only knows how to eat!” “Serves her right. She’ll be stuck here forever.” Their taunts buzzed around me like flies, but I paid them no mind. My destination was the woods. 5. An eccentric old man lived back there, whom everyone just called Old Man Blackwood. He was notoriously grumpy, his clothes were always covered in patches, and he spent his days clearing land to grow carrots. The headmistress considered him a nuisance, but he paid a hefty sum for “room and board” each month, so she left him alone. No one knew that this seemingly destitute old farmer was actually the recently retired head of a top-tier financial empire, the patriarch of the Blackwood family. He was here to rest and, more importantly, to find an heir. An heir who wasn’t greedy, who had a resilient spirit, and who wasn’t afraid of hard work. When I reached his plot of land, Old Man Blackwood was struggling to hoist a bag of fertilizer, his back bent like a bow. Without a word, I walked up and took the bag from him. It was heavy. Incredibly heavy. The fifty-pound weight pressed down on my skinny shoulders, my bones groaning in protest. But I didn’t make a sound. I gritted my teeth, walked steadily to the edge of the tilled earth, and gently set it down. Old Man Blackwood straightened up, his cloudy eyes fixed on me. “Girl, why aren’t you out there kissing up to the rich folks? You come here to do manual labor instead?” I dusted off my hands, picked up a nearby hoe, and began to turn the soil with practiced ease. “I don’t like those people,” I said without looking up, my voice flat. “There’s something shifty in their eyes.” Old Man Blackwood stared for a moment, then burst into a booming laugh, so loud it shook the leaves on the trees. “Well said! ‘Shifty in their eyes,’ indeed!” 6. In the days that followed, I became the orphanage outcast. While the other kids played, I helped Old Man Blackwood till his fields. While they fought over scraps of candy, I helped him patch his leaky roof. While they called me an idiot, I sat on the edge of the field, listening to him explain cryptic business principles that were far beyond my years. Three months later. A sleek black sedan pulled up to the orphanage gates. The headmistress nearly fainted, thinking it was a government audit. But instead, several men in dark suits stepped out of the car. They approached the old man who was busy pulling carrots from the ground and bowed respectfully. “Sir, it’s time to go home.” Old Man Blackwood wiped the dirt from his hands and pointed at me. “Get the paperwork done. She’s coming with me.” The headmistress’s jaw nearly hit the floor. Before we got in the car, he asked me, “Girl, coming with me might be even harder than farming. Are you scared?” I looked him straight in the eye, my gaze clear. “As long as I don’t have to suck up to anyone, I’m not scared of anything.” He patted my head, a look of satisfaction on his face. From that day on, the dirty, foolish girl from the orphanage vanished. In her place was Iris Blackwood, the meticulously groomed heir to the Blackwood fortune. 7. Years later. St. Augustine’s Preparatory Academy, the first day of school. This was an institution accessible only to the children of the absolute elite. I was admitted as a full scholarship student, a bona fide prodigy. In the eyes of the trust-fund kids who arrived in sports cars dripping with designer labels, I was a complete anomaly. Dressed in a simple white t-shirt, jeans, and carrying a canvas tote bag, I sat quietly in a corner of the classroom, reading an introduction to microeconomics. “Hey, did you hear? There’s a charity case in our class. Got in by being a total bookworm.” “For real? Do people still wear clothes that cost like, twenty bucks?” “Ugh, the smell of poverty. Stay away from her.” The whispers buzzed around me. Suddenly, a commotion erupted at the classroom door. “It’s Sarah! Sarah Hamilton!” “Wow, is that dress couture?” I looked up. Sarah walked in, surrounded by a gaggle of fawning girls. Her makeup was flawless, her every gesture exuded an air of superiority as she basked in their adoration. Her eyes swept carelessly across the room, finally landing on me in the corner. For a split second, her pupils contracted violently. She recognized me. My skin was clearer now, my demeanor calm and composed, but the basic structure of my face was still there, a shadow of the girl from the orphanage. Her first reaction was shock, quickly replaced by a flicker of contempt and malice in her eyes. She probably still saw me as the pathetic idiot who’d made a spectacle of herself for a single biscuit. Even if I’d managed to test into this school, in her mind, I was nothing but a bottom-feeder who could never truly climb out of the gutter. 8. During the break, the class group chat exploded. My phone buzzed incessantly. I opened it to see a message from an anonymous account: [BIG GOSSIP! That scholarship prodigy, Iris Blackwood, is actually trash from an orphanage!] The message was followed by a series of photos. They were blurry, but the background was unmistakably the dilapidated orphanage. The girl in the pictures, covered in dirt and working in the fields, was me. [She was so disgusting and filthy back then that even the rich couple who came to adopt refused to take her. She ended up having to beg for food by working for some crazy old man in the woods.] [How did someone like that get into our school? It’s sickening.] [I heard she might have contagious diseases. Everyone be careful.] The atmosphere in the classroom shifted. The previous indifference sharpened into open disgust and ostracism. The students around me physically dragged their desks away from mine as if I were carrying the plague. “Oh my god, so she was an unwanted reject.” “No wonder her clothes are so cheap. She grew up begging.” “Gross. I think I smelled something weird when I walked past her.” Sarah sat in the center of the room, elegantly sipping a latte. She watched me being isolated, the same triumphant smile from years ago playing on her lips. She stood up, pretending to be surprised by the messages on her phone, and then said in a loud, sympathetic voice, “Oh, everyone, you shouldn’t say that about Iris. I mean… yes, my parents did pass on her because of her… hygiene issues back then, but she got in here on her own merit. As long as she showers regularly, I’m sure… it’ll be fine?” Her words, feigning a defense, were the final nail in the coffin, confirming every rumor. The class erupted in laughter. “Sarah, you’re just too kind!” “Does gutter trash like that even deserve to be in the same room as us?” The vicious comments washed over me in a tide. I sat in the eye of the storm and calmly closed my book. Looking at Sarah’s sanctimonious face, I felt no anger, no need to defend myself. I just found it amusing. Sarah, after all these years, have your methods really not improved at all? 9. In the following days, the rumors didn’t die down, and Sarah didn’t let up. In fact, she escalated things. To solidify her persona as the “Hamilton Heiress” among the socialite circles, she announced she would be hosting a lavish 18th birthday gala at the city’s top five-star hotel, inviting the entire school. She made a special trip to my desk, tossing a gold-embossed invitation onto it. Her eyes glinted with a calculating light. “Iris, I know you come from nothing, but we are classmates. You should come and see how the other half lives. It might be your only chance before you end up washing dishes in a back kitchen for the rest of your life.” I picked up the invitation, running my thumb over its sharp edge, and offered a faint smile. “Of course.” If you’re going to stick your neck out like that, it would be rude of me not to chop it off. It’s what Mr. Blackwood would have wanted. 10. On the night of the party, Sarah was a vision in a priceless couture gown. Around her neck was the “Azure Star,” a blue diamond necklace rumored to be a limited edition, one of only three in the world. She moved through the crowd like a proud peacock. I, in a simple black cocktail dress, kept to a quiet corner. Just as the party reached its zenith and the lights dimmed for the cake-cutting ceremony, a shrill scream pierced the air. “My necklace! My Azure Star is gone!” Sarah clutched at her bare neck, her face a mask of panic. The room fell silent. All eyes were on her. Her own eyes, welling with tears, darted through the crowd before locking onto me. She pointed a trembling finger. “It was you! You were the only one who came near me! Iris, I know you’re jealous of me, and I know you need money, but how could you steal something?” A wave of murmurs rippled through the guests. Their gazes turned on me, filled with contempt. “What do you expect from an orphan? No breeding.” “They never should have let someone like her in.” Facing a sea of accusing faces, I felt no panic. I calmly set down my glass of juice and walked forward, meeting their stares head-on. “You say I stole it,” my voice was cool and clear, not loud, but carrying enough to be heard by everyone nearby. “Where’s your proof?” “I went to the powder room to touch up my makeup, and you were the only one who followed me in!” Sarah insisted, tears streaming down her face on command. “That was a birthday gift from my father! Please, just give it back. I won’t call the police, I promise, just give it back.” A masterful performance, playing the victim. Mrs. Hamilton stormed over, her finger jabbing at my face. “Check her bag! Search her! A gutter rat is always a gutter rat! You can’t teach them not to steal!” 11. A few security guards started to close in. I let out a cold laugh and simply upended my small clutch purse. Its contents clattered onto a nearby table. A phone, a lipstick, a pack of tissues. Nothing more. Then, I smoothly slipped off my blazer, shook it out for all to see, and gestured to my form-fitting dress, which clearly couldn’t conceal a pebble, let alone a necklace. “See anything?” I stared directly at Sarah, my gaze sharp. “It’s not on me.” Sarah’s face paled for a fraction of a second, but she quickly recovered. “You must have hidden it somewhere or passed it off to someone!” “Really?” I took a step closer, a mocking smile playing on my lips. “You know, Sarah, a thief is usually nervous. They tend to subconsciously hide their loot in the place they feel is safest. A place like… the hidden inner pocket of your clutch, perhaps?” Sarah instinctively clutched her purse tighter. “What are you talking about!”

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I time-traveled three years into the past with my new husband. Back then, my boyfriend was his best friend. He looked at me, his expression cold as stone. “Break up with him. I won’t be the other man.” I just laughed, a little recklessly. “You’re being optimistic. The other man? Please, you wouldn’t even make the top five.” 1. It happened without any warning. I time-traveled with my new husband, Alexander. The timing, however, couldn’t have been worse. We landed at the exact moment my then-boyfriend was introducing me to his circle of friends. The second the door to the private booth swung open, my boyfriend, Noah, had his arm draped over my shoulder, and my new husband, Alexander, was sitting on the sofa, his eyes cold as ice, staring at us. “…” One look was all it took. I knew, with absolute certainty, that he had traveled back with me. After all, the Alexander of the past would never have looked at me like that. His default setting was a cool, detached arrogance. An arrogance so profound he could ignore everything and everyone around him, including me, his best friend’s girlfriend at the time. If it weren’t for his ironclad friendship with Noah, he wouldn’t have even shown up to this gathering. But this new situation was… complicated. On the surface, I was Noah’s girlfriend. In reality, I was Alexander’s wife from three years in the future. What was I supposed to do? Before I could come up with a plan, the booth erupted in cheers and jeers. Someone excitedly clapped Noah on the shoulder. “You sly dog, you finally brought her out!” “No wonder you kept her hidden away! Your girlfriend is gorgeous.” “Nope, you’re buying drinks tonight! From now on, you’re always buying. A single guy like me can’t stand seeing you two so disgustingly happy.” Noah just grinned, taking all the teasing in stride. The hand on my shoulder tightened in a comforting squeeze. “Don’t mind them, they’re just idiots. Come on, I want you to meet my best friend—” My feet felt like they were encased in lead. I was dragged in front of Alexander. Noah’s face was beaming. “Alex, I told you about her. This is my girlfriend, Stella.” I was so mortified I couldn’t even look at Alexander. I just stared at the floor and mumbled, extending a hand. “Hi.” For a long, agonizing moment, there was nothing. Then, his hand finally closed around mine. It was a light squeeze. It was over in a second, but the pressure of it, the weight of it, felt immense. Noah settled me onto the sofa right next to Alexander, leaning in to whisper, “You sit here. I’ve gotta go say hi to the others. Don’t worry, if you need anything, just ask Alex. He’ll take care of you for me.” With a final, “Thanks, man,” thrown over his shoulder, Noah was gone. Suddenly, the long sofa felt very empty, occupied by just the two of us. The air turned frigid. I tried to give myself a mental pep talk. There’s no need to be scared. He probably doesn’t know I traveled back too. Just act normal, go with the flow. Right now, I’m Noah’s girlfriend. My marriage to Alexander is three years away. There’s no reason to… “That silk tie you used to blindfold me last night,” Alexander’s low voice cut through my thoughts. “Where did you put it? I couldn’t find it this morning.” I froze, then answered on instinct. “On the sofa, I think.” A low, humorless chuckle escaped him. “Got it.” “…” It dawned on me, a second too late, that I had just been played. 2. The situation just got infinitely more complicated. Now that we both knew we’d been in bed together just last night, how was I supposed to keep pretending to be Noah’s loving girlfriend? Alexander’s suggestion was simple: “Break up with him.” I protested in a whisper, “We’re in the honeymoon phase! He’d never accept me breaking up with him out of the blue!” If I remembered correctly, this party was about six months into my relationship with Noah. His birthday had been just a few weeks ago. That day, he’d held me close and whispered, “Babe, will you come meet my friends? Everyone knows I have a girlfriend, but no one knows who she is, not even my best friend. I want to show you off. Will you do that for me?” I’d been charmed, and I’d finally agreed. “You’ll have to break up with him eventually anyway,” Alexander stated flatly. He was right. My relationship with Noah did end in a breakup. But does a bad ending mean you can’t enjoy the journey? I shook my head. “Not yet.” “Then what about me?” he asked. Honestly, I hadn’t thought that far ahead. If Alexander and I were a deeply in love, inseparable newlywed couple, then dropping Noah for him would be the obvious choice. The problem was, we weren’t. Ours was a marriage of convenience. Each of us got something out of it. Surely, I wasn’t responsible for him now, three years in the past, when we had no official relationship, right? A cold smirk touched Alexander’s lips. “Stella. You’re really something else.” “Wait, wait!” I instinctively grabbed his arm, my voice pleading. “Just give me some time to think.” The me of three years ago owed Alexander nothing. But what if we traveled back to the future? If we could jump back in time without warning, we could just as easily jump forward… and I’d have to face my brand-new husband, Alexander. I’d be toast. I thought for a long moment, then made my decision. “I will break up with him. But you have to give me some time.” Alexander just scoffed. Just then, the man of the hour, Noah, returned. He didn’t squeeze in between us. Instead, he leaned over me, his arm resting on my shoulder, to talk to Alexander. The posture, however, pulled me even closer to him. And Noah couldn’t keep still, occasionally winking at me, his face lit up with a ridiculously happy smile. Alexander’s gaze flickered over to us several times. Clearly annoyed, he finally stood up, his voice clipped. “Let’s switch seats.” So we rearranged ourselves. Now Alexander was in the middle. Noah didn’t seem to mind, immediately launching into some juicy gossip he’d just heard about a rival family. I was bored out of my mind, so I started peeling the lychees from the fruit platter. One after another. The flesh was plump and sweet, and I couldn’t stop. Suddenly, I felt a light touch on the skin of my outer thigh. My dress was on the shorter side. The cool touch of his fingertips sent a slow, tingling sensation all the way to my heart. I looked up and met Alexander’s gaze. While Noah was taking a sip of his drink, Alexander mouthed silently, Eating so many? Forgotten who was crying with a stomach ache last time? I froze. I finished peeling the one in my hand but didn’t dare eat it. Noah, who had appeared out of nowhere, leaned in and bit the lychee right from my fingertips, then plopped down beside me. “Anything my girl peels is sweeter!” he mumbled, his mouth full. The air solidified. For some reason, I didn’t dare look at Alexander. …Why did this feel like I was cheating on two people at once? This whole situation was a nightmare. I wracked my brain, desperate for a way out. Before I could think of anything, Alexander spoke first, his voice dangerously cold. “Who’s your girl?” 3. Noah froze, a dumbfounded look on his face. He swallowed the lychee whole and opened his mouth as if to explain, but nothing came out. I quickly jumped in to do damage control. “Me! I’m his girl, he was talking about me!” Both Alexander and Noah looked at me. Alexander’s gaze, in particular, was so glacial it could have skinned me alive. I clenched my fists, meeting his stare head-on. “Is there a problem?” Noah chuckled. “No problem at all, babe.” He even had the mind to explain to me, “Alex is a bit old-fashioned. He probably thinks it’s inappropriate for me to call you that before we’re married. He doesn’t mean anything by it.” Then, he shot a teasing look at Alexander. “Alright, man, calm down. Since when are you the relationship police?” Alexander’s expression darkened even further. Fearing he was about to say something truly catastrophic, I shot to my feet. “Something just came up. I think I have to go.” Noah grabbed my hand. “What is it?” I tried to recall what my life was like three years ago and blurted out the first excuse I could think of. “My professor said there’s a problem with my thesis!” “I’ll take you,” Noah said, standing up immediately. Panic seized me. “Oh, you don’t have to do that.” “Silly,” Noah pinched my cheek affectionately. “Your laptop is still at my apartment. Of course I have to.” Now I was the one who was truly dumbfounded. I had absolutely no memory of today’s events from three years ago, let alone my laptop being at his place. I had no choice but to play along. “Haha, look at me, my brain is total mush, hahaha…” “You goofball.” Noah said his goodbyes, paid the bill, and led me by the hand to the parking garage. My phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number. It was short and to the point: 【?】 A wave of guilt washed over me. It was obviously from Alexander. As I was trying to figure out how to respond, Noah handed me a bottle of water he’d just opened. “You okay? Are you tired?” Physically, I wasn’t. Mentally, I was exhausted. Just thinking about the last hour gave me a headache. I forced a smile. “I’m fine.” “Well, I guess we’ll have to postpone you meeting my parents then,” Noah said with a smile. “They’ve been asking to meet you for a while. I’ve already put them off a few times.” I looked at Noah’s profile and was suddenly reminded of the real reason we broke up. That meeting with his parents had been the catalyst. His parents were perfectly nice. There was no awkwardness or intentional grilling at the dinner table. But they had told Noah he needed to spend a few years abroad after graduation—partly for a master’s degree, partly to help expand his family’s company into the European market. They wanted me to go with him. They offered to pay for my tuition, my living expenses, everything. The only condition was that I had to go with Noah. Even back then, I suspected Noah had made some kind of deal with them. He had probably told them he didn’t want to go abroad because of me, and this was their compromise: he could take his girlfriend with him. But I didn’t want to go. Especially not as someone’s accessory. I had just received an offer from a top firm in the country. My career was about to take off, my future looked bright, and I wasn’t about to throw it all away. So I refused. And that’s when the cracks in our relationship started to show. We never fought. Noah wasn’t the type to argue with me. He just begged, pleaded, hoped I would change my mind for him, for our relationship. When he finally realized I wouldn’t budge, he relented, claiming a long-distance relationship would be fine, that he’d fly back to see me all the time. But by then, the magic was gone. After some rational thought, I realized I probably didn’t love him as much as I thought I did. I broke up with him before he left the country. Noah’s finger suddenly poked my cheek. “What are you thinking about? I called your name and you didn’t even hear me.” I snapped out of it and said the first thing that came to mind. “I was thinking about meeting your parents.” A look of pure joy exploded in his eyes. “Really? Babe, you really want to meet them? Oh my god, this is the best news!” He pulled me into a fierce hug, stroking my hair. “You’re the best, you know that?” No, I’m really not, I thought. I was about to push him away when someone knocked sharply on the car window. Alexander’s handsome, elegant face appeared outside. He smiled, a perfect picture of politeness. “Sorry to interrupt. Mind if I catch a ride?” “…” 4. Alexander claimed he’d left something at Noah’s apartment, so he needed to come with us. Noah, completely unsuspecting, immediately let him in. In the car, the two of them chatted away amicably. Meanwhile, my phone was blowing up with a constant stream of messages from Alexander. 【So you’re hugging now?】 【If I hadn’t shown up, what else were you planning on doing?】 【Did I interrupt something?】 【Stella, this is cheating!】 【How could you cheat on me right in front of my face?】 【ANSWER ME!】 A new message arrived every few minutes, like a scheduled attack. I ignored them. The tense silence on my end continued all the way to Noah’s apartment. My laptop was, indeed, there. It was only then that I remembered: my computer had been acting up, and I was going to take it to a repair shop, but Noah had insisted he could fix it himself. Alexander, however, had clearly jumped to a different conclusion. He was now staring at his phone, typing another snide message: 【How sweet!】 I couldn’t take it anymore and typed back: 【:)】 Alexander went silent. Once I had my laptop, there was no reason to stay. Besides, I couldn’t handle another minute of this chaos. I stood up to say goodbye. Noah immediately said, “I’ll drive you back to campus.” “I can take her,” Alexander interjected. “I’m heading to my place on the West Side, it’s on the way.” I was so annoyed with Alexander at this point that I snapped, “You hitched a ride here. How are you going to drive me anywhere?” Alexander smiled. “My driver has been following us the whole time.” “…” Noah seemed to have absolute trust in Alexander because he didn’t object at all. Only as he was seeing us out the door did he seem to remember something. “Hey, you said you left something here. What was it?” Alexander casually picked up a crystal figurine from the entryway table. “You said you were going to give this to me, remember? I came to pick it up.” It wasn’t until I was in Alexander’s car that my frayed nerves finally started to settle. But his behavior had been so outrageous that I couldn’t help but scold him. “Could you not exercise a little self-control? What if he finds out?” “Finds out what? That you’re my wife?” Alexander scoffed. “I’ve only ever heard of the other man having to sneak around. This is the first time I’ve heard of the actual husband having to hide in the shadows.” “But this is three years in the past!” I couldn’t help but repeat myself. “Right now, in this relationship, you’re the other man.” “Then break up with him,” Alexander said coolly. “I won’t be the other man.” “It’s not about what you want,” I muttered under my breath. “I want to travel back to the future. I want to be the only one who traveled back. Do you think what I want matters?” Alexander shot me a sideways glance. I shut up. We lapsed into silence. I tried to pinpoint what triggered the time travel. It had been completely random. I was at the supermarket when I unexpectedly ran into Noah, who had just returned from abroad. It was an awkward reunion. I managed a weak, “What a coincidence.” He stared intently at me. “You married Alexander?” It wasn’t a secret, so I nodded. His face instantly darkened. He grabbed my wrist and started pulling me toward the exit. “Do you have any idea what kind of person Alexander is? How could you marry him? You don’t know him at all! He’s not the polite, gentle person you think he is. He’s—” I struggled, focusing all my energy on freeing my arm. I didn’t register what he was saying, nor did I notice that the scene around us had changed. It was no longer a crowded supermarket but the empty hallway of a lounge. Noah wasn’t angry anymore. He was smiling and coaxing me. “Babe, you’re about to meet my friends. Are you nervous? Don’t worry, they’re all great guys, especially Alex. He’s always looked out for me. You’ll love him.” I stared at my surroundings in disbelief, completely forgetting to pull my hand away. It wasn’t until the door to the booth swung open, and the cold, distant Alexander came into view, that it hit me. I had time-traveled. “Do you have a way to get us back?” “Can you please keep your distance from Noah?” Our voices overlapped. I replayed what Alexander had just said in my head and felt a wave of despair. Seriously? At a time like this, my supposed teammate was still obsessed with that? I said, exasperated, “If we don’t get back soon, I swear I will cheat on you for real!”

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The day I turned twelve, my father brought a woman home. That was the first time I met Julia. She was immaculately kept, clinging to my father’s side like a delicate vine. The girl standing next to her, my age, peeked at me shyly. She called me “sister.” 01 I just stared, saying nothing. The silence in the room grew heavy, suffocating. That’s when Julia’s face lit up with a practiced, dazzling smile. “You must be Sophie! You’re every bit as charming as Richard described.” Just like that, the tension evaporated. My father shot her a grateful look. Two weeks after the anniversary of my mother’s death, Julia, all of thirty-two years old, moved into our house with her twelve-year-old daughter, Rosie. I was terrified. “Dad,” I asked him, my voice small, “will you still love me?” He smiled, a sad sort of smile. “Of course, sweetheart.” “Will you forget Mom?” I pressed, my heart hammering against my ribs. He was quiet for a long time before letting out a heavy sigh. “How could I ever forget her? But Sophie, I truly care for Julia. Can you try to understand that, for me?” “And Rosie… just think of her as another plate at the dinner table. I promise you, Sophie. No one will ever be more important to me than you are.” I didn’t answer. I just squeezed his hand, clinging to the promise in his words. But a year after they married, things began to change. He started treating Rosie like his own. He’d take her shopping for new clothes, new shoes, and never missed a birthday surprise. He’d tell anyone who would listen that he’d been blessed with another wonderful daughter. Eventually, his “sincere affection” was returned in kind. The day Rosie finally called him “Dad,” he was so overjoyed he ate a second helping of dinner. Afterward, he looked at me, his eyes full of encouragement, of expectation. I avoided his gaze, just as I avoided the chopsticks Julia offered me. “Thank you, Julia,” I said politely, “but I prefer to eat with a fork.” Her smile faltered for a fraction of a second. She recovered quickly, forcing a laugh, and used her chopsticks to place a shrimp on my rice. I took the communal serving fork and scraped the shrimp off my plate, along with every grain of rice it had touched, and dumped it on the side. Julia looked at my father, her eyes welling up with hurt. He slammed his chopsticks on the table, his face turning cold. “Sophie, where are your manners? Is this how you were raised? An adult offers you something, you accept it!” The meal ended in a storm of angry silence. Later, he told me he hadn’t meant to yell at me at the table, but he blamed me for embarrassing Julia. “Julia is good to you, isn’t she? Rosie calls me Dad, but you still call her Julia. Have you ever thought about how that makes her feel?” “No, I haven’t,” I said, my voice flat. “All I know is that I can accept you remarrying, but I can’t accept calling someone else Mom.” “And another thing,” I added, my voice trembling slightly. “Like my mother, I’m allergic to shrimp.” He froze. He didn’t say another word. “She didn’t know,” he mumbled, before turning and walking away, looking utterly defeated. 02 My father always hoped I would one day truly accept Julia as my stepmother, but I kept her at a cool, polite distance. Our patchwork family stumbled along for three years. And then came the seventh anniversary of my mother’s death. Before he remarried, my father and I would spend the entire day at the cemetery together. But things were different now. The first year, under Julia’s “understanding” gaze, he came with me. The second year, Julia had a scheduling conflict and asked him to attend Rosie’s parent-teacher conference in her place. He agonized over it for days but ultimately came with me to the cemetery. But after burning a few sticks of incense, he rushed off. “I just can’t miss it for Rosie, honey. I’ve been thinking about it, and it wouldn’t be right.” I was fourteen, standing in the biting wind, watching his back as he walked away. My eyes burned with tears. Will there even be a next year? I had wondered. Now, I had my answer. He didn’t show up. I waited from sunrise to sunset. Finally, as the last light faded, I spoke to the photograph on the headstone. “Mom,” I said, my voice eerily calm, “from now on, it’ll just be me visiting you. Is that okay?” Her picture smiled back at me, unchanging. I sighed and started the long walk home. A week later, at breakfast, Julia glanced at the calendar on her phone. “Time flies!” she sighed wistfully. “It feels like our wedding was just yesterday, but it’s already been almost three years.” At her words, the perfectly round egg in my father’s hand slipped from his grasp and splattered on the floor. He looked at me, his mouth opening as if to say something, but he was cut off. “Dad, Mom, what’s for breakfast?” Rosie had woken up. Her arrival shattered the strange tension in the living room. Julia playfully chided my father. “Look at this little sleepyhead daughter of yours, just getting up now.” My father, as always, made an excuse for her. “It’s winter break. If she wants to sleep in, let her sleep in!” The scene was so warm, so domestic. It made me feel like a ghost in my own home. “Dad,” I said, my voice cutting through their laughter, “next year, on Mom’s anniversary, you don’t have to come with me.” The cheerful chatter stopped dead. Every eye in the room turned to me. My father’s face was an unreadable mask. I gave them a polite nod. “I’m going to the library.” Then I tightened the straps of my backpack, walked past them, and closed the front door behind me. 03 When I got home from the library that evening, my father and Julia were huddled around the computer with Rosie, their faces glowing with excitement. “Dad,” Rosie was saying, “if we buy this house, can you and Mom have the south-facing master bedroom, and I can have the room next to yours?” “Of course, sweetie!” Just then, he looked up and saw me standing in the doorway. The relaxed joy vanished from his face, replaced by a flicker of discomfort. “Sophie, you’re back?” Julia was just as enthusiastic. “Your father and I were just talking about how to assign the rooms in the new house! Do you want to take a look with us?” But her warmth only fanned the flames of a cold anger inside me. “Is there any point? It sounds like you’ve already decided everything.” Her words must have hit a nerve, because my father’s face flushed with anger. “Who taught you to speak to your elders like that?” My father rarely got angry. But in recent years, every time he did, it was because I had “hurt” Julia’s feelings. I didn’t even look at him. I just turned and walked to my room. As the door closed, I could faintly hear Julia’s placating voice. “Richard, don’t be angry with her, she’s just a kid. We just need to be patient with her.” “Yeah, Dad,” Rosie piped in. “Just be patient with Sophie.” “You’re so understanding, Rosie.” I shut my door, blocking out their voices. I slid down the back of it, my body feeling heavy and weak. The anger had drained out of me, leaving behind a vast, hollow emptiness. Am I really not as good as Rosie? The thought flickered in my mind for a second before I crushed it. I looked at the box under my desk, overflowing with honor certificates and awards, and a sense of calm slowly returned. Who says I’m not as good as her? I’m smarter than her. I achieve more than her. The teachers like me better. So let Dad like her. I don’t care. I pushed myself up and opened a textbook. Mid-terms were just around the corner. You don’t have time for self-pity, Sophie. 04 The hard work paid off. The day the mid-term results were posted, the school put up a new honor roll in the main hall. My name was at the very top of the list. First in the entire grade. Rosie, who used to hover around the top hundred, was nowhere to be found. When I got home, Julia was jabbing a finger into Rosie’s forehead, her perfectly manicured hand a weapon. “Are you an idiot? You spend all day dressing up, trying to look pretty for who? Why can’t you put that energy into your schoolwork?!” “Sophie is only a few months older than you! How can she be first in the grade, and you can’t even make the list? If you do this badly again, your father will stop loving you and only love her!” My father wasn’t home. There was no one to intervene. When she saw me, a flicker of embarrassment crossed Julia’s face. “Oh, Sophie, you’re back.” I nodded and greeted her, then walked past the unfolding drama and into my room. As the door clicked shut, I saw Rosie, head bowed, quietly promising her mother she would do better next time. May arrived, and with it, the second round of exams. Unfortunately for Rosie, she didn’t manage to claw her way back up the rankings. In fact, she dropped even further. The night after the parent-teacher conference, Julia nearly beat Rosie senseless. I could hear her screaming through the walls. “I told you to break up with that boy and focus on your studies, didn’t I? You’re too young to be sneaking around with boys!” My father came home from work to find the chaos and threw himself between them, taking a blow from a broom handle that was meant for Rosie. “She didn’t mean to fail, did she?” he pleaded with Julia. “If you hurt her, you’ll be the one who regrets it later.” Then he shot Rosie a look. “Apologize to your mother. Now.” Rosie just stood there, defiant and silent. That’s when my father turned his fury on me. I was sitting at the dining table, trying to stay out of it. “Your sister is getting beaten, and you just sit there? Won’t you even try to stop them?” “What do you want me to do?” I shot back, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Jump in front of her and take a hit for you? Would that make you happy?” He was speechless. After that night, Julia started monitoring Rosie’s every move. Rosie had no choice but to temporarily shift her focus back to her studies. But after months of slacking, catching up was nearly impossible. When the final high school entrance exam results came out, I was the top scorer in the district. She didn’t even meet the minimum score for a regular public high school. When I came home after submitting my school choices, I found Rosie sobbing her heart out. It seemed the reality of her failure had finally hit her. Her tears brought my father and Julia rushing to her side, cooing and comforting her. I slung my backpack over my shoulder, walked past the three of them huddled together like a real family, and headed to the library, just like any other day. Good grades come from hard work. And good grades pave the way for a good future. I just never imagined that the path I was so carefully paving for myself would be so violently destroyed. 05 On July 2nd, I got a text from my father asking me to bring a file to his office. He said it was urgent. I didn’t want to go, but Julia and Rosie weren’t home. What if it really was an emergency? I grabbed the file and left. Fifteen minutes later, I regretted it. Who could have imagined that a teenage girl, on a deserted stretch of road, could be silenced by a hand clamped over her mouth and dragged up a wooded hill? The last thing I saw before I blacked out was a tattoo on the man’s arm. Two letters: Z&Z. … When I woke up, the pages of the file I’d been carrying were scattered beneath me, stained with a crimson that burned my eyes. After he was done, the man left. I just lay there, staring up at the canopy of leaves, my body a constellation of pain. It felt like an eternity before I could force myself to move, to pull my torn clothes back on and start the long, agonizing walk home. Only one thought echoed in my mind: I have to wash this filth off me. I was grateful for the approaching darkness. The evening shadows would hide my shredded dress, my tear-streaked face. The house was still empty when I got back. I locked myself in the bathroom. As I stripped off my clothes, I saw my body in the mirror. It was covered in bruises and angry red marks. His vile words from before I passed out flooded my mind: “Wearing a skirt on a road like this… you were just asking for it, weren’t you?” “Slut.” I grabbed a washcloth and started scrubbing my skin, harder and harder, faster and faster. My skin turned raw, then started to bleed in tiny pinpricks under the surface. But I couldn’t get clean. Staring at my reflection, at the broken girl covered in wounds, I finally crumpled to the floor and sobbed. But crying wasn’t enough. The memory of his hands on me, exploring, violating, sent a wave of nausea through me. I lunged for the toilet and retched, my body heaving with violent, dry sobs until my throat was raw. Exhausted, I collapsed onto the cold tiles, gasping for air. A long time passed. Finally, I summoned the courage to call my father. I needed an anchor, something to hold on to. Even just a single word of comfort. But… “Dad, I—” “Where the hell have you been?” he cut me off, his voice sharp with anger. “We’re all celebrating Julia’s 35th birthday tonight! Why aren’t you at the hotel yet?” My mind went blank. The world dissolved into a dull, humming static. “—I’m giving you thirty minutes. Take a cab, whatever. Get yourself to the Grand Oak Hotel. Now.” The last thing I heard before the line went dead was Julia’s softer voice in the background, “Richard, don’t be so hard on the kid…” He hung up. I tried calling back. No answer. Outside, the cicadas buzzed, a relentless, deafening chorus. It was the peak of summer, but I had never felt so cold.

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I was with my best friend at a hotel to bust her boyfriend for cheating. We threw back the covers. And I found myself staring into Nate’s face. His first instinct was to pull the sheet over the woman beside him, hiding her from view. Only then did his eyes lift to meet ours, a single, venomous sentence spat from his lips. “Get the hell out if you don’t want to die.” My best friend, Zoe, froze in terror, yanking at my arm, trying to pull me out of the room. But my body was rigid, my feet rooted to the floor. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him. Because I am Nate’s actual girlfriend. 01 “Hold on.” Nate’s voice stopped us cold. He languidly lit a cigarette, a slow plume of smoke curling from his lips as his gaze settled on me. “If any videos from tonight leak, I don’t care who posts them. I’m holding you responsible.” “Echo,” he said, my name rolling off his tongue with a certain post-sex laziness, “did you hear me? Don’t pull any of your little stunts. It’s annoying.” The moment his words landed, a low laugh escaped my lips. It sounded harsh and brittle in the quiet hotel room. Zoe, hiding behind me, was frantically tugging at my shirt, her face beaded with sweat. I knew what she was thinking. She wanted me to just leave, to deal with this later. After all, Nate’s family was powerful, and he had a violent temper. When he lost it, he didn’t care if you were a man or a woman. And seeing how fiercely he was protecting the woman in the bed, Zoe was terrified I’d pick a fight and get hurt. But I wasn’t leaving. I hadn’t done anything wrong. I was the one who had been wronged. There was no reason for me to back down, and I wouldn’t. “Nate, your nerve is actually kind of impressive. I’m a little confused here,” I said, pushing Zoe’s hand away and stepping forward. A sarcastic smile twisted my lips. “Remind me, who’s the one cheating right now? You, or me?” Who was the one caught in bed in a hotel? It wasn’t me, standing here fully dressed. It was Nate, naked under the sheets, smoking a post-coital cigarette. “What’s with the act?” What’s with the anger? Why are you the one threatening me when you’re the one who did something wrong? My hands clenched into fists, my voice trembling so hard I could barely form the words. I was screaming at myself internally not to show weakness, not to let him win. But when I looked down and saw the protective way he shielded the woman beside him, a sharp pain lanced through my chest. A bitter, mocking smile stretched my lips. My hands were shaking. “I’m your goddamn girlfriend!” I finally screamed, my eyes burning. “You won’t let me see her? Fine, that just makes me want to see her more! If she has the guts to pull this kind of shit, she should have the guts to show her face!” The words were barely out of my mouth before I lunged toward the bed, a crazed desperation fueling me. I had to see her. I had to know who it was that I had lost to. My movement was so sudden it caught Nate by surprise. But he recovered in a split second, his expression turning to ice. He grabbed the back of my collar and yanked me backward. As I stumbled, losing my balance, he lifted his foot and kicked me, hard, right in the stomach. The force of the blow sent me flying, and I landed heavily on the floor. A searing pain shot up my spine, and a piercing scream was torn from my throat. “Nate,” I gasped, my vision blurred with tears of pain. My voice shook, but I forced myself to look at him, to say the words one more time. “I am your girlfriend.” “So?” Impatient boredom was already creeping across his face. He frowned, looking down at me from his throne on the bed. “Echo,” he asked, “is cheating illegal?” 02 “What… what did you say?” My mind went blank. I couldn’t think, couldn’t process anything. I stared at Nate’s handsome mouth and managed a smile that was more hideous than a sob. “Nate, what did you just say? What do you mean?” How could any decent, moral person ask a question like that? But Nate wasn’t looking at me. He was leaning over, murmuring to the woman hidden under the sheets, asking if she was okay. Only after she nodded and whispered a soft “I’m fine” did he relax. Only then did he deign to look at me again. The moment our eyes met, I saw the cold indifference in his, and all the strength drained out of my body. I had known Nate for five years, been with him for three. I knew him too well. I knew him so well that in that single glance, I understood with chilling certainty: he didn’t love me anymore. When he looked at me, there was no trace of the laughter that used to dance in his eyes. There was only a thick, heavy layer of disgust, as if the very sight of me made him want to vomit. The realization was a punch to the gut. I struggled to my feet. I already knew the answer, but a desperate sliver of hope made me ask anyway, my voice trembling. “Nate, are you breaking up with me?” “Do you really like this… this homewrecker that much?” I couldn’t stop myself. My voice rose as I pointed at the lump on the bed, my eyes red with unshed tears. The next thing I knew, the half-smoked cigarette was flying through the air, straight at me. “Shut up!” he roared. “Echo, this is your last warning. This is between you and me. You leave her out of it.” Nate’s eyes were cold steel. “She’s not like you. If I hear one more disgusting word come out of your mouth, I promise you, next time I won’t just be telling you to shut up. You know I always keep my word.” I just stood there, stunned, and didn’t even think to dodge. The lit end of the cigarette hit me right below the eye. For a split second, a searing pain blossomed, leaving an angry red mark. Hot ash flew into my eye, and the world exploded in agony. In an instant, my right eye was flooded with red. I vaguely reached up and my fingers came away wet and warm. Blood and tears streamed down my face. Staring at the blood on my fingertips, a loud ringing filled my ears, blocking out all other sound. I could see Zoe running toward me, her face a mask of panic. I could see the revulsion on Nate’s face. His expression was dark, his mouth moving, spitting more venom at me. But I couldn’t hear a thing. It wasn’t until Zoe grabbed my hand that the buzzing started to fade, and the sounds of the world rushed back in. And I heard the end of Nate’s tirade, spat out with pure contempt. “What law did I fucking break by cheating?” he sneered, his eyes cold. “Who are you to play judge and jury? Forget girlfriend, even if you were my wife, so what if I cheated? You’re so worked up, you want me to call the cops on myself?” My body went rigid. I stared at him, at this man I had been with for over three years. And for the first time, I realized that after three years of sharing a bed, I had never really known him at all. A long moment passed. Then, a strange, airy laugh escaped my lips. “Okay,” I said softly. “I get it.” “You’re right, Nate. Cheating isn’t illegal.” I looked him straight in the eye. “So we’re breaking up.” Nate flinched. 03 He seemed genuinely surprised, frowning as he stared at me for a long moment. He probably hadn’t expected me to be so decisive. After a beat, he lit another cigarette. “Fine,” he said with cold indifference. “Whatever you want.” “Now get out.” As Zoe and I were leaving, he called out to us one last time. “Remember to delete the video. I don’t want to see it anywhere.” “Okay,” I said. Maybe my agreement was too quick, too casual. Nate’s hand paused on its way to his lips. He looked puzzled, but he didn’t ask any questions. I walked out of the room and, out of habit, gently pulled the door shut behind me. The moment the lock clicked, I let go of Zoe’s hand, which I had been gripping like a lifeline. The tears I had been holding back finally broke free, streaming down my face. I had to bite down on my lip, hard, to stifle the sobs that were clawing their way up my throat. Don’t cry, I told myself. He’s just a cheating piece of trash. It’s over. What is there to cry about? A scumbag like him isn’t worth my tears. But no matter how hard I tried to swallow them, the tears just kept coming. The pain and humiliation churned inside me, each wave sharper than the last, until I was so weak I could barely stand. We had been together for three years. Three whole years. I could have gotten attached to a dog in that amount of time, let alone a living, breathing person. He was the one who used to kiss and hug me every day. The one who would drop everything to travel the world with me. The one who, if I casually mentioned I missed him, would be on the first flight the next morning just to see me. I had imagined so many futures for us. Maybe we would get married. Maybe we would drift apart and break up peacefully. But I never, ever imagined it would end like this. In a sordid hotel room, with him cheating, spitting threats at me to protect his mistress. What a fucking joke. My past three years felt like a joke. I sank to the floor in the hotel stairwell, hugging my knees, and asked Zoe through ragged sobs, “Does every relationship end in this same stupid way?” Zoe dabbed at my tears with a tissue and sighed. She was about to say something when she suddenly froze. “Stop crying,” she whispered urgently. “I’ve got an opportunity for you to let off some steam. Wipe your tears and get up. Now!” Still dazed, I let Zoe pull me to my feet. Before I could even register what was happening, her eyes were blazing. She dragged me toward a couple who had just walked out of the hotel lobby. It was only when we were right in front of them that I realized the man was Zoe’s boyfriend. I saw the panic flash across his face a split second before Zoe’s studded handbag crashed into it. “You piece of shit!” Zoe screamed, her eyes red with fury. “You cheat on me? You find another woman?” She grabbed the other woman’s hair and swung her bag again. When her boyfriend tried to make a run for it, Zoe grabbed him by the neck and threw him to the ground. Then, she unleashed a flurry of kicks, her high heels stomping on his face, his groin, anywhere she could reach. Finally, her rage spent, Zoe spat on the pathetic man crumpled on the pavement. “You men are all the same!” she yelled. “Garbage! All of you!” Then she grabbed my hand, and we ran. We ran so fast the wind dried the tears on my face. We didn’t stop until we were several blocks away, gasping for breath. We looked at each other, and then, we both burst out laughing. “Feel any better?” Zoe asked, catching her breath. “A little,” I panted back, a real smile finally reaching my eyes. “My heart doesn’t hurt as much. It’s mostly my eye. The burn is really starting to sting.” I probably needed to go to the hospital. “Good,” Zoe said, her expression complicated. She hailed a cab and helped me in. “Let it hurt. And remember that pain. It’s what Nate gave you. Don’t you dare be weak and go back to him.” I lowered my gaze to the faint traces of blood on my fingertips and gave a weak smile. “I won’t.” I was done with Nate. For good. I wasn’t that pathetic. I wasn’t going to offer myself up to him just to get hurt again.

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I was married to my nemesis—a power couple in name only. We kept separate lives, a perfect, icy truce. While she made a spectacle of chasing a younger guy, I drowned my sorrow over the woman who was my one perfect memory, my guiding star. But her boy toy, Brody Wells, didn’t believe our marriage was a formality. He didn’t trust that his queen was truly his. To test the waters—and perhaps my resolve—he’d sneak into our marital penthouse in the dead of night. He once torched the million-dollar, custom-made wedding gown I’d commissioned in Italy, the one I had intended for Nora. Another time, he’d feign drunkenness and deliberately lose the wedding band my wife never took off. And every few days, he’d post veiled threats on social media, trying to challenge my status as the legitimate husband. My wife, Sloan, would call, her voice laced with weary annoyance. “The kid is jealous, I…” I’d cut her off impatiently. “Replace the ring. Fix the damage. Just don’t bother me.” I genuinely thought we’d keep this arrangement forever: mutually undisturbed, existing in parallel hells. Until Brody, emboldened by Sloan’s blind protection, went too far. He used Sloan’s name to steal the specialist appointment I had practically crawled on my knees to secure for Nora. My Nora died because of that delay. It was then I understood. Sloan Harrington and I could never be well again. For the rest of this life, we were each other’s consequence, two people destined to destroy one another. 1 I watched as Nora Clarke’s body was moved into the cremation chamber, reduced to a handful of ash. I held her urn, my arms shaking, and buried her myself. Staring at the beautiful, radiant smile etched onto her headstone, the suffocating grief I’d been holding back surged forward, a tidal wave threatening to drown me whole. I knelt at her grave, tearless, my face a terrifying mask of ice. I reached out, my fingers trembling as I traced the outline of her photograph, sitting there from dawn until the sky was pitch-black. “Nora, I have to go now. Someone has to pay for this. Don’t rush to cross over. Wait for me. I’ll exact my revenge, and then I’ll come find you.” Reluctantly, I walked away from the cemetery gates. I had a debt to collect for her, no matter the cost, even if it meant sacrificing my own life. The accumulated grief in my chest curdled, transforming into towering, consuming rage. Nora shouldn’t have died. I had secured Dr. Vaughn’s coveted treatment slot—the slot I’d practically mortgaged my soul for—only for Sloan to use my wife’s authority to hand it to her beloved Brody Wells for a common cold. By the time I realized the theft, Dr. Vaughn, infuriated by the scheduling error, had already flown overseas. I could only watch, helpless, as Nora took her last breath in my arms. Slamming the gas pedal to the floor, I drove like a fugitive, the speedometer needle touching the absolute maximum. I randomly called Sloan’s number. She picked up instantly. “Carl Owen. Are you finally calling to surrender? If you kneel and beg me, I might—might—forgive you for your decades of neglect, and perhaps even graciously save that little tramp of yours.” Sloan’s mocking voice echoed from the receiver, followed by a chorus of laughter from the people around her. “The great Owen is finally cracking? Honestly, Cal, you need to be the bigger man. Apologize. When you get here, we’ll all bear witness!” “Owen, remember to bring a case of the good stuff. We need to see your sincerity, don’t we?” “And he definitely has to buy Brody a gift, or Nora the short-lived ghost can forget about getting any help from our dear Sloan.” My rationality, already frayed, was incinerated completely the moment I heard them use Nora’s name like that. “Fine. Give me the address,” I said, my voice dry and gravelly. I hung up the second I got the location. The roar of the engine mixed with the frantic thump-thump of my heart as the tires screamed on the pavement. I slammed the brakes at the entrance of the exclusive private club, snatched a steel baton from a security booth, and stormed towards the private dining suite. I kicked the door open, meeting Sloan’s bored, casual gaze. “Well, Mr. Owen. Where is Brody’s gift?” The sycophantic girl who had just called Nora a “short-lived ghost” stepped closer, a smirk plastered on her face. I raised the baton and brought it down hard across her head. A fountain of hot, visceral crimson instantly erupted. “Carl Owen, you’re insane!” 2 She screamed. Before anyone could process what was happening, I had snatched Brody Wells, who stood apart, grinning smugly at my arrival. I swung the baton again, bringing it down with crushing force onto his shoulder. He let out a shriek of raw agony, and that finally jolted Sloan back to reality. She shoved me away and quickly shielded Brody behind her. “Carl Owen! Are you losing it? You’re acting like a rabid dog, tearing apart the furniture!” She glared at me, her brow furrowed with pure disgust. I walked toward her, one slow step at a time. The baton in my hand was gripped so tightly my knuckles were white. “Yes, Sloan. I lost it. The moment you took Nora’s last chance at life and gave it to this animal, I lost everything.” Hearing Nora’s name, Sloan let out a soft, contemptuous laugh. “Still obsessed with that little tramp? Did she call you to complain? She really is a useless thing who can only rely on a man…” I cut her off with a sharp, stinging slap across her face. “You don’t have the right to speak her name, you criminal!” My slap ignited a rage in Sloan that matched my own. She stood up, poking my chest with a manicured finger, her voice a low, venomous growl. “A slut is a slut! Why can’t I mention her? Don’t forget, you are still my husband, Carl Harrington!” Her eyes were filled with hatred. She grabbed a nearby steak knife and pressed the point lightly against my cheek. “Come on, dear husband. Apologize to my Brody-bear.” “Maybe if my mood improves, I’ll even let that tramp live a few more days.” With the knife pressed against me, I was unable to fight. She forced me to crouch down like a dog in front of Brody. I curled my lip into a smile. “Fine. If you can save Nora, I’ll kowtow to him. I’ll grovel.” Sloan’s face instantly chilled, only to snap back into a sneer a second later. “Perfect. I’d like to see just how low you’ll sink for that slut!” The instant she removed the knife, I lunged like a starved wolf, pulling Brody to the floor, sinking my teeth into his neck artery—I wanted to rip him apart! Sloan screamed for her security guards to drag me off. My head hit the floor, but I felt no pain. Only sheer, savage release. I let out a rattling laugh, cold eyes fixed on Brody as he wailed in terror, blood soaking his shirt. Sloan walked over, had a guard yank me up by the collar, and looked me dead in the eye, her expression vile. “You ungrateful, lowlife piece of trash! Since you won’t do it the easy way, you can strip naked, kneel on the floor, and beg Brody for forgiveness!” “Otherwise…” I wiped the blood from my lips and met her gaze fearlessly. “Otherwise what?”

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My mother-in-law walked into my house with the pregnant mistress and the ultrasound report, demanding I leave with nothing. My husband stood beside her and let her. I didn’t cry or scream. I just smiled. Right there, in front of all of them, I made a call. Thirty minutes later, a young man who looked startlingly like my father-in-law appeared at the door. I linked my arm through my mother-in-law’s, my voice sweet. “Mom, look. A new heir and a new grandson for the family. Double the good news. Try to be gracious.” 01 The atmosphere in the living room was toxic. Cecilia Wells, my mother-in-law, occupied the main sofa, her posture rigid, radiating the imperiousness of a minor royal. Every expertly preserved line on her face was etched with contempt and impatience for me. The ultrasound report lay like a dropped gauntlet on the polished coffee table between us. “Caroline,” her voice was low, yet sharp enough to cut glass. “Take a look at that.” “Three years, and your womb is stagnant. The Wells family is not going to let our name end because you’re incapable. Don’t be so pathetic as to cling to what isn’t yours.” Next to her sat a younger girl, Summer Rose. I knew her name. I’d seen her picture, tucked away in an encrypted photo album on my husband Harriet Wells’s phone, labeled “My Little Miracle.” Now, Summer was stroking her slightly rounded stomach, her face a mask of fragile vulnerability. Her eyes, however, were anything but fragile, darting hooks at Harriet, who was planted miserably next to me. Harriet, my husband. He looked like a child caught stealing, his gaze glued to the tips of his expensive leather shoes. He couldn’t look at his mother, and he certainly couldn’t look at me. He just mumbled a few words, the sound barely audible. “Caro, let’s… let’s be adults about this. Let’s not make this messy.” Let’s not make this messy. The last flicker of warmth I held for him died a swift, cold death. Had he forgotten everything I’d done for this family, for his career, over the past three years? I poured my family’s social and financial capital into his professional ladder, propelling him from a mid-level manager to a senior director at Wells Industries. I set aside my artistic life—my painting—to become the perfect corporate wife, learning to host dinners and manage the facade of domestic bliss. I endured Cecilia’s constant, stinging criticisms for the sake of his ridiculous “face.” And now, he wanted to dismiss me with a flimsy, “Let’s be adults.” I didn’t feel pain, just a profound, chilling numbness. I looked at them: the smug, demanding matriarch; the spineless, self-serving husband; the mistress, radiating a premature sense of victory. They formed a tableau so ridiculous, so deeply insulting, that I suddenly started to laugh. It wasn’t a sob or a bitter snort—it was a deep, honest amusement at the sheer, tragic absurdity of the scene. My quiet laughter cut through the tension in the room. Cecilia’s lips pressed into a thin, furious line, as if I were a piece of garbage she’d just spotted on her Italian marble floor. “What’s so funny? Have you lost your mind?” Harriet finally lifted his head, a flicker of panic in his eyes. “Caro, stop this—” I ignored them both. I reached into my handbag, pulled out my phone, and slowly unlocked the screen. My movements were deliberate, unhurried, as if I were simply checking the time. All eyes in the room were fixed on my hand. I found the number, one I’d saved months ago but never dialed. I hit the call button. It was answered immediately. I brought the phone to my ear, my voice softer than a whisper. “Hello.” “You can come up now.” I hung up and placed the phone back on the coffee table. My composure only fueled Cecilia’s rage. She assumed I was calling my parents to beg for support. She let out a cold, venomous laugh. “Go ahead, Caroline! Call your father, call the Governor! It won’t make a difference! The Wells legacy won’t be extinguished by a barren woman! You. Will. Go.” I didn’t dignify that with a response. I picked up the lukewarm tea in front of me and took a delicate sip. I was waiting. Waiting for the meticulously crafted surprise I’d prepared for the entire Wells family. The silence that followed was heavy and suffocating. Harriet was fidgeting, repeatedly trying to speak only to be silenced by his mother’s glare. Even Summer’s fragile facade was beginning to crack, replaced by a nervous impatience. And then, after about half an hour, the doorbell chimed. Ding-dong. The sudden sound shattered the silence. Every nerve in the room went taut. A triumphant smirk spread across Cecilia’s face. She believed it was my family and was already preparing her humiliating speech. She gestured sharply to the housekeeper to open the door. Harriet jumped up, wringing his hands, bracing himself for the anticipated confrontation. The door opened. Standing in the entryway was a teenager. He looked around seventeen, dressed in a simple white tee and jeans, his frame lean, his eyes possessing a cool, almost haughty detachment. But it was the face. The face was, without a doubt, a near-perfect seven-tenths match for the photograph of Theodore Wells, my father-in-law, that hung in his study. Especially the eyes: narrow, sharp, and possessing an innate look of appraisal. The living room fell utterly silent. Cecilia’s triumphant smirk froze on her face, contorted into a grotesque expression of shock, as if she’d been hit by a sandbag. Harriet was agape, his mouth hanging open like a fish, pointing from the boy to me, unable to form a coherent sentence. I, however, remained serene. I rose gracefully and walked to Cecilia’s side, linking my arm with hers in a move that was sickeningly affectionate. Her arm was stiff as concrete. I could feel her entire body trembling. I leaned close to her ear and, in a voice that sounded almost cloyingly sweet, delivered the line I’d practiced in my head countless times. “Mom, look at us. Double the good news today.” I straightened up, my smile reaching the boy at the door, then sweeping over to my ashen-faced husband. “Harry’s getting a baby, and the Wells family is welcoming a new grandson. Isn’t that double the good news?” Finally, my gaze settled back on Cecilia. I lowered my voice to a dangerous, private whisper. “As the family’s matriarch, you’ll have to be… gracious.” “You need to set an example for the children.” 02 The moment the words left my mouth, Cecilia shrieked like a scalded cat. “You’re insane! You’re lying!” She shoved me away with a force that made me stagger. She pointed a violently shaking finger at the boy by the door. “Who is this gutter trash?! Caroline, you’ve finally lost it! What kind of sick, low-life stunt are you pulling to avoid a divorce!” The boy, Jesse Cole, hadn’t spoken a word. He merely regarded the hysterical woman with a cold, even stare, as if watching a meaningless theatrical performance. He reached into his jeans pocket and slowly pulled out a photograph. The photo was yellowed and curled at the edges, obviously cherished. It showed a young, vibrant Theodore Wells holding a bundled baby, standing next to a smiling, quiet woman. The baby’s features were strikingly similar to Jesse’s now. The photo was a bucket of ice water dumped directly onto Cecilia’s fire. Her shriek died in her throat. She stared at the photo, her lips trembling, utterly speechless. Harriet finally recovered from his shock. But his first instinct wasn’t to question the man who raised him. It was to turn the full force of his terror onto me. He lunged toward me, his eyes bloodshot, his face contorted with fury. “Caroline! Are you out of your mind?! You hired an actor to pull this pathetic soap opera? For God’s sake, what is your limit?!” His rage was the frightened bluster of a man who knew he was losing control. He wasn’t stupid; he was simply terrified. Terrified that this sudden “little brother” would cut into his inheritance. I gave him a bored, flat look. “Whether he’s an actor or not, Harry, can be solved with a simple DNA test. Just call your father back.” My eyes narrowed, carrying an all-knowing contempt. “Why so agitated? Are you afraid of another claimant to the estate, or are you afraid of your mother’s blood pressure?” The question was a direct hit to his jugular. Harriet’s face went instantly pale. All the accusations clogged in his throat. He looked like a dog whose leash had been snapped, retreating a couple of steps in utter defeat. Summer, in the corner, was clearly terrified by the sharp, unexpected turn of events. She’d come expecting to be the star, the triumphant victor. Instead, she found herself neck-deep in a messy, high-stakes power struggle far beyond her understanding. She instinctively shrank behind Harriet, seeking protection, only to realize the man himself was rapidly drowning. Her face showed a genuine panic and perhaps, a flicker of regret. After her brief moment of stunned silence, Cecilia completely broke. She began throwing things. The crystal bowl on the coffee table, the antique vase on the credenza—anything she could grab was hurled to the floor. The sounds of shattering glass and porcelain were punctuated by her frenzied screaming. She called me a poisonous snake, a murderer trying to destroy her family. She screamed that Jesse was bastard trash, a demon sent to ruin them. The only person she dared not curse was the man in the photograph, her husband, Theodore Wells. I leaned back into the sofa, pouring myself a glass of water, watching the theatrical destruction unfold with detached calm. Seeing Cecilia’s face swell with apoplectic rage, I offered a “kind” reminder. “Mom, be careful not to—oh, wait.” I paused and gestured toward the whimpering Summer in the corner. “It’s her whose blood pressure you should worry about, right?” That sentence was like oil on a raging fire. Cecilia lost all control, lunging at me, only to be caught and held fast by Harriet. “Mom! Calm down! Mom!” Harriet was a mess, trying to restrain his collapsing mother while simultaneously glancing at me, hoping I would “be the bigger person.” I simply shot him an icy glare, and he froze, unable to move a muscle closer. The living room was a disaster. Screaming, crying, cursing—an absurd opera of domestic chaos. Jesse and I were the only still points in the storm. He stood like a statue of judgment, his mere presence a searing indictment of this hypocritical household. I took out my phone and, with a subtle click, snapped a photo of the wreckage. The picture captured my hysterical mother-in-law, my cowardly husband, and the terrified mistress, all against a backdrop of shattered glass. How fitting, I thought, the words a low murmur to myself. A perfect photo of a gilded cage falling apart. 03 Theodore Wells returned to find the domestic drama in its intermission. Cecilia, exhausted from screaming, was slumped on the sofa, the housekeeper gently rubbing her back. Harriet was awkwardly sweeping up shards of glass, looking lost. Summer remained a frightened ghost in the farthest corner. Jesse and I stood apart, a unified front against the mess. Theo Wells entered the room, trailing a cool, palpable aura of authority. He was in his mid-fifties but meticulously preserved, his power suit and air of command making him seem younger and more intimidating. His gaze swept the room, finally locking onto Jesse’s face—a younger version of his own. His eyes narrowed, a mixture of shock and fury, as if he’d been struck where he was most vulnerable. Cecilia saw her savior and lurched off the sofa, a sinking ship finding a port. She rushed to him. “Theo! Thank God you’re home! Look what she’s done!” She pointed at me, her voice cracking with accusation. “She’s trying to destroy our family! She found some bastard and claims he’s your son! She’s trying to kill me!” Theo ignored her wailing. His eyes, cold and lethal, drilled into me. “Caroline. Who gave you the right?” His voice was deep, each word forced out, loaded with immense pressure. He didn’t spare a glance for Jesse, treating the boy as if he were thin air. He issued an immediate command, speaking to me as if I were a subordinate who had overstepped. “Take this boy, whatever he is, and get out of my house. Now.” This was Theo Wells: the benevolent dictator, the ruthless puppet master, the one who would sacrifice anything—anyone—to preserve his name and his image. I didn’t move. Facing his crushing authority, I didn’t even blink. I slowly reached into my Hermès bag and pulled out another document—a manila envelope, the seal intact. I pushed it onto the coffee table toward him. The gesture was elegant, yet infused with an undeniable force. “Don’t rush to judgment, Dad.” My voice, light as a feather, somehow carried to every corner of the room. “I was worried you wouldn’t believe me, so I took the liberty of getting a DNA test done myself. Preemptively.” Boom. The revelation sent a fresh jolt of electricity through the room. The crack in Theo’s facade widened. He stared at the envelope, his expression a mask of disbelief. He hadn’t accounted for my meticulous preparation. I reached out and delicately broke the seal, sliding the sheets of paper out and laying them flat. The top line, bold and centered, screamed the conclusion. “Based on the DNA analysis, the results support Theodore Wells as the biological father of Jesse Cole.” The line beneath was the final nail: “Probability of Paternity is greater than 99.99%.” That single line of text was a brutal slap across Theo’s self-righteous face, and across Cecilia’s tear-streaked one. The silence was absolute. The only sound was Theo’s ragged breathing. His face cycled from steely blue to ash-white. His carefully cultivated control had just crumbled. It took him a long moment to find his voice. It was dry, like sandpaper. He glared at me, his look promising murder. “What in God’s name do you want?” I smiled. Facing his killer gaze, my expression was serene. “Nothing much, Dad.” I echoed his earlier tone, slow and deliberate. “I’m just taking a page from your wife’s book.” “Just trying to be… gracious.” 04 The scent of emotional gunpowder hung heavy in the air. Theo Wells, the seasoned operator, regained control after his initial shock. He waved a hand, dismissing his wife and son. “You two go upstairs. I need to speak to Caroline alone.” Cecilia started to protest, but one freezing look from Theo silenced her. She pulled a confused Harriet upstairs. Summer, relieved to escape the line of fire, vanished first. The housekeeper swiftly followed, closing the door behind her. The expansive living room was left to me, Theo, and the silently watchful Jesse. Theo took a deep, steadying breath, trying to reclaim his air of command. He pulled a checkbook and a Montblanc pen from his inner blazer pocket, his movements practiced and smooth. The pen scratched across the paper. He wrote a number, then slid the check across the table to me. “Five million.” His voice regained its high-and-mighty tone of condescension. “You, and this… young man, will take this money and disappear from my life forever. What happened today never happened.” I looked at the check—Five Million Dollars—written in his arrogant, sprawling hand. The arrogance of capital. I chuckled, then picked up the check between two fingers and gently pushed it back. “Dad, do I look like I need a settlement?” Theo’s face darkened. “Then what is it you want?” I bypassed the question, choosing a different angle. “Do you remember, Dad? This house, the one we’re sitting in now—in Point Vista? When we got married, you put the title in my name to show my parents your ‘sincerity.’” I watched his face change again and added cheerfully, “So, technically, you and the rest of the family are currently residing in my house.” Theo’s complexion became utterly ashen. The shift from overconfidence to strangled realization was complete. For the first time, he saw me—the wife he’d dismissed as a quiet artist and a passive trophy. I decided to apply the pressure.

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