While video chatting with my boyfriend, his roommates started teasing him, clamoring to see me. I was smiling demurely when suddenly the phone was snatched away. A magnetic voice laced with laughter rang out: “Don’t be stingy, let the bros see what our sister-in-law looks like.” The next second, I was face to face with my ex-boyfriend, with whom I had an extremely messy breakup. The smile on his face gradually disappeared. After a long while, the corner of his mouth twitched: “Fuck.” 1 The moment that person bent down, the silver chain with a star pendant hanging from his collarbone brushed past the camera. And my breath stopped the second I clearly saw his brows and eyes. Sweat rolled down Caleb Vance’s sharp jawline into the open collar of his jersey. He stared at the screen, stunned for two seconds, pupils dilating violently! “…Fuck.” The next second, the phone was thrown somewhere unknown. The screen went black for a moment before being hurriedly picked up. Ethan Wells held the phone, dissatisfied: “What’s wrong with you all of a sudden?!” Caleb paused for a moment, then scoffed: “You have terrible taste.” Ethan, usually so gentle, rarely lost his temper, but now he said coldly: “My girlfriend is wonderful, don’t talk nonsense.” “Yeah, sister-in-law is so pretty. I think she’s even prettier than the beauty queen of the foreign language department. Caleb, what’s wrong with your eyes?” “If I could date someone like this, I’d be willing to eat instant noodles for three years!” “Get lost, I’d be willing to eat them for ten years—” His roommates started making noise, and Caleb didn’t speak again. Ethan picked up the phone: “Sorry Stella, he might have lost a basketball game today and is in a bad mood.” A gritted-teeth voice came from over there: “I won, won by 20 points!” Ethan didn’t change his expression: “Then he’s just brain-dead. Stella, I’ll pick you up for dinner tonight.” … After hanging up the video call, I lay back quietly on the bed. The midsummer sunlight was a bit dazzling, so I covered my eyes with my arm. It seems like I haven’t seen Caleb for three years. I didn’t expect him to still be wearing the star necklace I gave him. Such a cheap thing. I still remember the price tag was only $19.99, and the couple’s set was 50% off, so it was only ten bucks. Mine was thrown away somewhere by me long ago. He didn’t seem to have changed much, yet seemed to have changed a lot. Clearly still that face, but after maturing, his edge seemed sharper. Like a gem cut with angles, the unruly nature between his brows couldn’t be suppressed. I suddenly remembered three years ago, before we took the college entrance exam (SATs). Caleb was also wearing a jersey like this, standing downstairs at my place, begging me with red eyes. “From now on, I’ll listen to whatever you say. If you don’t like me contacting her, I’ll never interact with her again. “We agreed to go to the same university—” His voice became hoarse, a glint flashing in his eyes in the night: “As long as we don’t break up, I’ll agree to anything you say, okay?” He looked so pitiful, almost about to kneel and beg me. But I just looked at him expressionlessly for a while and whispered: “Caleb Vance, I changed my college application. “I’m not going to Tech U anymore.” 2 My romance with Caleb began with childhood sweethearts losing to a destined encounter, and ended with the destined encounter losing to childhood sweethearts. In my sophomore year of high school, I transferred and immediately became first in the grade. At that time, teachers liked to seat a good student with a poor student to help them improve, so I was arranged to sit next to Caleb. But Caleb had absolutely no interest in studying; instead, he was very interested in me. Either pulling my hair or taking my pen and holding it high, then looking down with a wicked smile. “Stella Cheng, you’re so short.” He passed me notes in class. I opened one to see a stick figure of me. Just as I wanted to scold him for being bored, the teacher saw the note, displayed it publicly, and then made us both stand outside as punishment. I was a standard good student back then and had never suffered such grievance. I pushed Caleb with red eyes. “Caleb Vance, are you sick!” He knew he was in the wrong and didn’t speak. After a while, he folded that note with the stick figure into a star and quietly stuffed it into my hand. I looked at that star and couldn’t help but smile through my tears. My relationship with Caleb gradually improved. I would force him to listen to my explanations until he understood, check his homework, and forbid him from copying answers. He would also wait downstairs every day to go to school and back home with me, and we would browse the accessory shop at the gate together. Ghost led me to buy two star chains and give him one. … Caleb was a popular figure in school—handsome, rich family, good at basketball. Who knows how many girls liked him. One of them blocked me and asked if I liked Caleb. Teenage pride and inexplicable annoyance made me subconsciously speak: “I won’t like someone whose grades are worse than mine.” The girl looked behind me. I turned around abruptly, only to find Caleb behind me. I don’t know how long he had been listening. He walked past me expressionlessly. After that, Caleb never actively sought me out again. He no longer talked to me in class, nor asked me to go to school together. We sat at the same desk, not saying an extra word every day. I wanted to explain to him, but he never gave me a chance. Until a year later, Caleb tied with me for first place with astonishing progress. That night he stopped me and said seriously: “Stella Cheng, my grades are no worse than yours now. Can you like me now?” To this day, the memories of that time are very blurry. I only remember the jacaranda flowers blooming like a sea in the school that day. When the petals were blown up by the wind, the boy’s eyes were brighter than a star explosion. The light crossed the vast universe of light years and fell straight into my heart. In that moment, I heard my own voice. “Okay.” We got together just like that. Young love was uncontrollable like a prairie fire. We stuck together every day. Caleb introduced me to all his brothers and even tattooed my name on his body. I said I wanted to test into Tech U, and he said he wanted to go to the same university as me. His mom was overjoyed at his sudden motivation. Fortunately, my grades didn’t drop either, so parents and teachers simply turned a blind eye. We became the only openly dating couple in the school. At that time, I really thought we would go on forever. Until I discovered there was always a girl more important than me in his heart. 3 Caleb had a childhood friend who grew up with him, named Gigi. Gigi’s father was a driver for Caleb’s father in the early years. In a car accident where the car fell into the sea, he risked his death to save Caleb’s dad but didn’t have the strength to get ashore himself and passed away just like that. Caleb’s dad was a very kind person. He immediately waved his hand and took in Gigi and her mother, saying he would treat Gigi as his own daughter and support them for life. Gigi and Caleb were inseparable since childhood. Even when we were dating, she didn’t restrain herself and followed us to and from school. Caleb and I fought a lot over this. Finally, Gigi stopped following us, but within two days, she suddenly appeared in front of me again, leaning on Caleb. “Sorry Stella, I know you don’t want to walk with me, but I sprained my ankle, and Caleb insisted on walking me home.” Caleb’s eyes were all on her, frowning and scolding her: “You didn’t tell me your foot was hurt. If I didn’t come to find you, did you plan to hop home on one foot?! Get on!” I still remember that day, Caleb carried Gigi on his back walking in front of me the whole time. Gigi lay on his back talking about funny things from their childhood, and I couldn’t interject a word. She acted coquettishly: “Caleb, my foot hurts so much!” I had never heard Caleb’s voice so gentle: “Foot hurts so much, what should we do?” “I want to eat the cake from the shop on the corner, the most expensive kind!” “Okay, I’ll take you home first and then go buy it for you.” “Caleb, can I walk with you in the future? When I walk alone, hooligans outside the school always stare at me, I’m so scared.” Caleb frowned: “Why didn’t you say so earlier? “I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning. In the future, if I’m not with you, you’re not allowed to walk alone.” Gigi laughed and looked back at me. “Okay.” … The setting sun stretched their shadows so long, inseparable. I fell further and further behind alone, but Caleb never looked back at me once. It wasn’t until he dropped Gigi home that he turned to me and said: “I have to go buy cake for Gigi, so I won’t walk you home today. “Stella, go home by yourself.” I looked at him for a long time, turned around, and left. 4 After that time, Caleb and I were in a cold war for a whole week. Caleb didn’t think he was wrong at first: “I always treat Gigi as a sister. How could I pretend not to see when her foot was injured?” I was expressionless: “Her foot was injured, she could call her mom to pick her up, she could call your family’s driver to pick her up. Why did she have to wait for you there?! “You treat her as a sister, does she treat you as a brother?! Dare you say you don’t know she likes you?!” Caleb’s eyes dodged, finally sighed and hugged me. “Stella, I really only like you. In the future, I will make it clear to her and keep a distance from her, okay?” I closed my eyes: “Okay.” After that, Caleb really went to find Gigi. Don’t know what he said to her, I only know Gigi cried out of the classroom and never looked for Caleb again. I thought this matter was resolved. Unexpectedly, one day Caleb suddenly frowned and found me, hesitatingly said: “Gigi said a guy from another school keeps pestering her. She rejected him several times but he still pesters her. Today he found a few of Gigi’s friends to hang out. She asked me to pretend to be her boyfriend to persuade that guy to back off.” Looking at my expression, he added: “Just one night, just let that guy retreat knowing the difficulty.” “Didn’t we agree before? Today sprained ankle needs you to carry home, tomorrow pestered needs you to pretend to be boyfriend, what about the day after tomorrow?!” Caleb’s temper wasn’t good, but when with me he always patiently coaxed me: “If it weren’t for saving my dad back then, Gigi’s dad wouldn’t have died, and she would have a father to protect her now. I really can’t ignore her. Just this once, if you’re worried, come with me, okay?” Words came to this, I knew arguing with Caleb further wouldn’t have any result, could only agree. “Only one day, I’ll go with you guys.” Caleb smiled, cupped my face and kissed me. “Wifey is really so understanding, love you the most!” 5 That night was my first time going to a bar. Sure enough, a very strong and tall boy was surrounding Gigi. Not ugly, just looked slippery, constantly trying to put his arm on her. Caleb stepped forward, pushed him away, pulled Gigi into his arms, and looked at the boy with pressed brows. “Keep your hands to yourself, she’s my girlfriend.” Caleb learned kickboxing since elementary school. When he had a cold face, his aura directly suppressed the boy into silence. Others quickly smoothed things over: “Want to play Truth or Dare? Zach is treating tonight, everyone order drinks, don’t be polite!” Zach was the boy pestering Gigi. Heard his family was involved in gangs, stores on this street had to pay protection money to his dad. He was a classmate of Gigi’s friend’s boyfriend, from a vocational high school. Started chasing Gigi after meeting her at a dinner with friends. Gigi rejected him many times but he didn’t give up. This gathering of a circle of friends for dinner was also to confirm if Gigi really had a boyfriend as she said. Caleb scoffed lightly, threw a Centurion Black Card on the table. “No need, I’ll pay for all expenses tonight.” Everyone’s eyes were attracted by that black card. A girl’s eyes lit up: “Is this the legendary black card? Gigi, you’re really not authentic, having such a handsome and rich boyfriend and not telling us!” Gigi smiled and leaned on Caleb. My fingers clenched slightly. Caleb looked at me subconsciously. I turned my head away not to meet his eyes. Zach’s face turned dark. His bro’s girlfriend might be afraid he and Caleb would fight, so she raised a wine bottle: “Let’s play Truth or Dare, whoever the bottle points to is it!” After a few rounds, everyone chose Truth, and no one asked any very outrageous questions. Just as I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking tonight would pass like this, the bottle suddenly stopped in front of Gigi. She smiled and tucked her bangs behind her ear: “I choose Dare.” My heart sank fiercely, a bad premonition floated up. Sure enough, the next second the girl beside her excitedly said: “Then choose a boy present to kiss, a French kiss!” Gigi blushed, gaze falling on Caleb. Caleb’s expression stiffened slightly, subconsciously frowning. “Then I choose—” Amidst Zach’s increasingly ugly face, Gigi pointed at Caleb without hesitation. Caleb kept a straight face. “Change the dare.” The girl raised an eyebrow: “Aren’t you boyfriend and girlfriend? What’s there to be embarrassed about? Kiss, kiss!” Everyone started chanting. Zach’s eyes became suspicious: “Are you really Gigi’s boyfriend?” Gigi raised a smile: “Of course.” Her beautiful eyes carried a trace of pleading, climbing onto Caleb’s forearm, red lips slightly parted: “Caleb…” My heart slowly turned cold. Caleb stiffly let Gigi approach him. Just a second before their lips touched, I stood up abruptly! His face turned slightly sideways, and Gigi’s kiss landed on the corner of his mouth. He reached out in panic to pull me, but was violently thrown off by me! Ignoring the surprised expressions of everyone present, I walked out the door quickly.

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On the sixth anniversary of our marriage, the junior colleague who had been secretly in love with my husband for eight years knelt before me. She told me that the world we were living in was nothing more than a novel. And that she and my husband were the destined main characters. Because of my interference, she claimed, the plot had gone off course, and our world was on the verge of collapse. Only by setting things right—by them holding a wedding—could everything be restored. I asked my husband, Paul, if he actually believed such a ridiculous story. His brow furrowed instantly, and his voice was raw. “This is just to fix the plot, Cici. Why are you making a scene?” I nodded, turned around, and handed him a divorce agreement. Attached was a corporate resolution to remove him from his position. 1 Our sixth wedding anniversary also happened to be my birthday. That evening, as I was in the kitchen preparing a celebratory dinner for Paul and me, I heard the front door open. “Paul, you’re home! Go wash your hands—” The rest of the words caught in my throat. Because Paul was standing there, hand in hand with Sophia, the junior colleague who had been obsessed with him for eight years, their fingers intertwined. The intimacy of the gesture stole my breath. The welcoming smile I hadn’t had time to retract froze on my face, making me look utterly foolish. “What… what is the meaning of this?” Paul looked down, about to speak, when Sophia suddenly dropped to her knees in front of me. “Cici, please, let me explain.” She held out a small, leather-bound book, her voice choked with emotion. “The truth is, our world isn’t real. We’re living inside a novel.” “And in this novel, Paul and I are the main characters. We’re the ones who are meant to be together.” “I never wanted to destroy your relationship, but the plot has deviated so much. If we don’t correct it, the world will collapse…” A wave of absurdity washed over me. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “What did you say? A novel?” I took the book from her and began to flip through it. To my shock, the story inside was a perfect reflection of the three of us. Even the most private, secret moments between Paul and me were documented in meticulous detail. The only difference was the ending. In the novel, Paul and Sophia lived happily ever after, while I remained unmarried for the rest of my life. On the very last page, a single paragraph was written in stark, bold letters. [WARNING: If the plot has been derailed, Paul must hold a wedding for Sophia and embark on a honeymoon with her, as a real married couple would.] [Failure to do so will result in the collapse of this world, and all will be annihilated.] I snapped the book shut, my fingers trembling uncontrollably. Paul looked at me, the love and deep affection that once filled his eyes now replaced by an endless, chilling indifference. His tone was cold enough to freeze water. “Cici, you have to accept reality.” “I have to marry Sophia. You and I… we were the mistake.” A fire ignited in my chest, scorching my insides until I could barely breathe. “Don’t tell me you actually believe this garbage.” I couldn’t stop myself from screaming. “Paul, have you lost your goddamn mind?” “Then you tell me!” he roared back, his voice suddenly sharp. “How else could every single private detail of our lives be written in here so perfectly?” I froze, unable to find a single word in my defense. Seeing my silence, Paul scoffed. He helped Sophia to her feet and wrapped a protective arm around her. “Whether you can accept it or not, this is the truth.” “Sophia is my fated wife.” He started to lead her toward the door. The simple action was like a tiny, sharp needle, plunging directly into my heart. “Paul!” I lurched forward, my voice a raw cry. “If you walk out that door with her today, I will divorce you!” He turned back, his gaze dark and heavy as he stared at me. Then, he spat out two words, cold and final. “You’re being completely irrational.” And with that, he left with Sophia, never once looking back. 2 I didn’t snap out of my daze until the smell of burning food drifted from the kitchen. A light rain had begun to fall outside. I walked to the window and looked down, just in time to see Paul carefully shielding Sophia from the rain as he helped her into his car. He treated her as if she were the most precious, fragile thing in the world. The sight made me dizzy. It seemed like only yesterday that he spoke of her with nothing but contempt. Sophia had been Paul’s protégé at the firm. She had chased him for eight long years. Even back in college, she was bold, declaring her love for him in any setting, regardless of who was around. She would wait for him outside his dorm every morning with breakfast. He never took it, but she was always there, a persistent annoyance he couldn’t shake. When he played basketball, her cheers were louder than mine, completely ignoring the stares of everyone around us. People used to mock her for throwing herself at him only to be rejected. She would just laugh it off, her voice ringing with conviction. “I love him. There’s nothing shameful about that.” Her brazen attitude completely disregarded my existence as his actual girlfriend. Back then, Paul would wrap his arm around my waist and sneer at her, “You have no shame.” That was the first time I ever saw Sophia cry. Her eyes were red, but she forced a defiant smile as tears streamed down her face. The wind tousled her hair, giving her a look of broken beauty. I remember Paul’s fingers tightening on my waist. At the time, I just thought he felt a flicker of guilt for making a young woman cry. But looking back now, perhaps that was the moment his heart began to soften for her, a seed of pity and affection taking root. I clutched my chest, a sharp pain radiating from its very core. I couldn’t understand how, in just a few short months, they could have become so close. Could it really be true? Could this world really be just a novel? My gaze fell upon the book, still lying discarded on the floor. I picked it up and started from the beginning, searching for clues. The early parts of the story were indeed a perfect match to our shared history. But it was the chapter detailing the shift in their relationship that made my blood run cold. According to the book, on Sophia’s 23rd birthday, she sent Paul a message. She asked him to meet her at a hotel, her words brutally direct, a plea dripping with desperate hope. [This is the fifth year I’ve been in love with you. I just want one dream to come true. Please, I’m begging you.] Two hours later, Paul replied with a single word: [Okay.] My entire body began to shake. I remembered that day all too well. It was the day I was rear-ended in a car accident. The day I had a miscarriage and was rushed to the hospital. I had called Paul over and over, but my calls went unanswered. He showed up later, his eyes red with feigned remorse, explaining that he would spend the rest of his life making it up to me, healing the damage done to my body. I never imagined the reason he didn’t answer my calls was because he was keeping an appointment with her. And his promises to be “better” weren’t born of love; they were a hollow penance for his guilt. By the time I reached the end of the book, I was sobbing, tears blurring the words on the page. The immense grief was like a thousand arrows piercing my heart. I don’t know how long I cried before I finally fell into a restless, exhausted sleep. 3 When I was woken by noises the next morning, the rain had long since stopped. Sunlight streamed through the window, bathing the world in a bright, clear light, free of shadows. For a fleeting moment, I almost believed that everything that had happened yesterday was just a terrible nightmare. But the sound of conversation from the other room shattered that illusion. I got out of bed and opened my door to see Sophia helping Paul pack a suitcase. When she saw me, she bit her lip, a picture of shy embarrassment, but her eyes couldn’t hide a flicker of triumph. “Oh, Cici. I’m so sorry, did we wake you?” “Paul is taking me on a destination wedding and honeymoon, so I came over to help him pack.” I stared at the suit she was holding—a suit I had personally chosen for him—and found myself speechless. Suddenly, Sophia’s eyes welled with tears. “Cici, did I upset you?” “I’m so sorry. What can I do to make you forgive me?” With that, she made a show of starting to kneel again. Instantly, Paul strode over, pulled her up, and wrapped her in his arms, pointing an accusing finger at me. “What the hell are you doing, Cici? Why are you bullying her like this?” “We are doing this to fix the plot, to stop the world from collapsing! What right do you have to make her kneel and apologize?!” “We haven’t done anything wrong!” His voice grew louder, each word a hammer blow to my heart. I stared at him, a heavy stone lodged in my chest, making it impossible to breathe. My eyes were sore and swollen, but it felt as though I had no tears left to cry. “Paul, from the moment I walked out here, I haven’t said a single word.” My voice was a raw, hoarse whisper, but I held my head high, refusing to let him see how broken I was. “Why are you screaming at me?” “Do you… feel even a shred of guilt towards me? Your wife?” He was silent for a long moment, but there was no pity in his eyes, only a cold, detached calm. “Cici, that title—wife—was something you stole in the first place.” “If anyone should feel ashamed, it’s you. You took the role that was always meant for Sophia.” A laugh, empty and broken, escaped my lips. I felt all my strength drain away, and I collapsed onto the sofa. I watched, numb, as they finished packing and left. A short while later, my phone buzzed. I picked it up and saw a notification from my bank. A charge from a high-end wedding planning agency. The amount was over a million dollars. My breath hitched. The dam of anger and grief finally broke, flooding me with a white-hot rage. I couldn’t take it anymore. I drove straight to the agency. I burst through the door just as Paul was about to sign the contract. I snatched the pen from his hand, my voice shaking with fury. “Paul, are you insane? This is our marital property!” “How can you spend this much money on a wedding for her?!” Before the staff could intervene, Paul shoved me aside. He was so strong that a sharp pain shot through my shoulder. I staggered back, nearly falling to the floor. “You’re just a housewife, Cici,” he sneered. “I earn all the money in this family. You have no right to tell me how to spend it!” His words were like daggers. My world seemed to stop. I couldn’t hear anything but the roaring in my ears, as a suffocating darkness enveloped me. The company, Langford Enterprises, was the legacy my father had left me. The year I graduated from college, my father passed away from a long illness, leaving me his entire business empire. During those dark days, I barely slept. It was only with the help of my father’s old friends on the board and the constant support of Paul that I managed to keep Langford Enterprises from crumbling. In our second year of marriage, I became pregnant. Paul convinced me to step back and focus on our family, to hand the reins of the company over to him. I never, ever imagined this was what he truly thought of me. Seeing me speechless, Paul let out a cold laugh. He ripped the pen from my hand and signed the contract with a flourish. Then, he took Sophia’s hand and walked straight past me, out the door, without a single backward glance. For the next month, Paul never contacted me. Then, on the last day, a package arrived. I opened it. It was filled with photographs. Wedding photos, travel photos, selfies. They all had one thing in common: the only two people in them were Paul and Sophia. And in every single one, their happiness was radiant, practically leaping off the page.

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1 Before my grandfather, a titan of industry, passed away, he left behind a strange inheritance: a marriage pact for my sister and me. Now, a veritable army of eighty-eight men, each claiming to be the heir to a fortune, was camped on our doorstep, all eager to fulfill the contract. As the disfavored daughter of the house, my stepmother insisted I choose first. I stood there, overwhelmed and lost, when a line of text suddenly shimmered into existence before my eyes: [Mommy! I’m your baby from the future! Daddy is the one in the wheelchair over in the corner!] [Daddy is the city’s shadow prince, he’s just pretending to be crippled to avoid assassination!] [That guy in the Armani suit your stepsister is eyeing? He’s actually a gambling kingpin who owes billions. Whoever marries him is doomed!] My head snapped up, just in time to see my stepsister, Amber, smugly linking her arm with “Mr. Armani.” With a show of false sympathy, she pushed the man in the wheelchair toward me. “Aurora, dear,” she cooed, her voice dripping with fake pity. “You’re always so slow. This one seems more your speed. A perfect match, really. I won’t even fight you for him.” Watching Amber eagerly sign her marriage contract, a slow smile touched my lips. I turned to my stepmother. “Fine,” I said, my voice steady. “I’ll listen to my sister. I’ll marry the cripple.” … I signed my name on the marriage certificate with a flourish and capped the pen. My stepmother, Brenda, dabbed at the corner of her eye with a handkerchief in a pathetic display of emotion. “Oh, Aurora, don’t think I’m being cruel. The Vance family may be a shadow of its former self, but at least this Maximilian Vance is a man,” she sniffled. “You’ll have a roof over your head, which is better than being a spinster leeching off us. This is all for your own good.” For my good? More like for her precious daughter Amber’s good, kicking me out so Amber could have the entire family fortune to herself. I glanced down at Maximilian, who sat silently in his wheelchair. He wore a simple gray shirt, a thin blanket draped over his knees. His eyes were vacant, a pair of hollowed-out abysses, utterly unmoved by the circus of humiliation swirling around him. Amber sauntered over, clinging to her fiancé, Kevin. “Don’t be too sad, sister.” “Even if your new husband is paralyzed and… you know… useless in bed, he’s not bad to look at. You can keep him at home like a pretty statue. It’ll be nice for you.” She fanned her face with her hand, showing off the massive diamond on her finger. The stone caught the light, fracturing it into a thousand tiny rainbows. “Ugh, what’s that smell in here? It smells so… cheap. Darling,” she whined to Kevin, “it’s your fault for buying me such a massive ring. It must be ten carats! My hand is getting sore just from wearing it.” Kevin puffed out his chest. “Anything for my Amber. Ten carats is nothing. I’d pluck the stars from the sky for you.” He shot a disdainful look in my direction. “Not like some people, who won’t even get a ring from a soda can.” Amber giggled, her eyes sweeping over Maximilian’s empty hands. I was about to fire back when a bold, pink line of text scrolled across my vision: [Mommy! Don’t listen to that arrogant loser! That diamond is just lead glass, a $9.99 special from some knock-off website!] [And to impress that awful auntie, he just secretly used her credit card to put a deposit on the hotel. He’s trying to figure out how to pay it off in installments right now!] I bit back a laugh. Glass. I stared at the so-called “pigeon’s egg” on her finger. “You know, Amber, that’s a very… unique ring. The cut looks a little like… the bottom of a Coke bottle?” Amber’s face froze, then contorted with rage. “What would a pathetic little charity case like you know about anything, Aurora! This is a South African pink diamond!” she shrieked. “You’re just jealous that I’m marrying into real wealth while you’re stuck with a dead-beat cripple!” A flicker of panic crossed Kevin’s eyes. He quickly wrapped an arm around Amber. “Honey, don’t stoop to her level. It’s beneath you. Come on, I’ll take you to that three-star Michelin restaurant you love.” Watching them scurry away, my smile widened. Oh, Amber. I hope you’ve practiced your crying face. You’re going to need it. A hoarse voice broke through my thoughts. “Had enough of a show?” Maximilian had lifted his head. His eyes, no longer vacant, were sharp with scrutiny and scorn. “Regretting it? It’s not too late to tear up the contract.” I walked behind him and took hold of the wheelchair’s handles. “It’s signed and done. I don’t do take-backs, Maximilian. Let’s go. Home.” “Home?” He let out a short, bitter laugh, then fell silent. But then, the humiliation continued. The front door of the mansion had a high threshold, and Maximilian’s wheelchair got stuck. The house staff huddled in the corners, their whispers and stifled giggles like the hissing of snakes. “Look at the cripple. Can’t even get over a doorway. She’s going to be changing his diapers for the rest of her life. How pathetic.” “Well, every pot has its lid. She’s an unwanted reject, he’s a useless cripple. A perfect match.” Maximilian’s hands clenched the armrests, the veins on their backs standing out like ropes of steel, his knuckles turning a bloodless white. His back was ramrod straight, a pillar of pride in a sea of indignity. I took a deep breath, about to lift the chair, when Brenda’s shrill voice cut through the air. “Oh, dear! Still stuck? Aurora, it’s not that I don’t want to help, but bringing such… bad luck through the main entrance will ruin the house’s Feng Shui.” She pointed to a small service door off to the side. “You two can go through there.” “And since the guest rooms on the second floor are being renovated, you can stay in the storage shed out back tonight. It’s small, but it’s quiet.” The storage shed? Not even the lowest-ranking servants stayed there. My gaze turned to ice. “Is this family really so poor it can’t spare a single decent room?” Brenda’s mask of civility finally shattered. She planted her hands on her hips, her voice a raw screech. “If you don’t like it, you can take your cripple and sleep on the street! We’ve fed you for years, not so you could bring home a useless freeloader! Be grateful you have a roof over your head at all!” Suddenly, Maximilian’s hand shot out and clamped around my wrist. His skin was ice-cold. He said only one word. “Go.” I looked at him, and in the depths of his eyes, I saw a storm of fury being ruthlessly suppressed. Fine. If you want to endure this, I’ll endure it with you. For now. But this isn’t over. I’ll get every bit of this back, with interest. I pushed Maximilian around to the back of the house, wrestling the heavy chair into the musty, damp storage shed. The room contained nothing but a rickety wooden cot and piles of junk. After clearing the cot, I turned to Maximilian. He had kept his head down, his silence a heavy, oppressive shroud. “Does your leg hurt?” I asked suddenly. His head snapped up, his eyes sharp as daggers. “Don’t pretend to care. You only married me for whatever ‘inheritance’ you thought was left. Let me tell you, the Vance fortune was picked clean long ago. I don’t have a single penny to my name.” I ignored his tirade and knelt before him, my hands reaching for the hem of his pants. His reaction was violent. He jerked back so hard the wheelchair nearly tipped over. I steadied the chair, placing a firm hand on his knee. “Don’t move. I’m your wife now. Is a little touch really so scandalous?” He froze, all the fight draining out of him. I lifted the blanket and rolled up his pant leg. His leg was pale, almost translucent, the muscle showing slight atrophy. A deep, ugly bruise bloomed across his knee. [Mommy! His leg is killing him! It’s an old injury, and the cold air today made it flare up! Press the pressure point just below his knee, on the outside of his shin! It’ll help with the pain!] Following the instructions, I found the spot on his calf. The muscle beneath my fingers was knotted and tight. He let out a muffled groan, a sheen of cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. “Just breathe,” I said softly, my voice a stark contrast to the firm pressure of my thumbs as I worked the knot. “It might hurt a little at first, but it will feel better.” He grit his teeth, the look in his eyes shifting from hostile suspicion to startled curiosity. After ten minutes, the tight lines around his mouth relaxed, and a bit of color returned to his face. “How did you know to do that?” His voice was still rough, but the icy edge had thawed. “You pick things up. I used to do this for the director at the orphanage all the time.” I stood, patting the dust from my hands, and looked down at him. “Maximilian, since we’re married, let’s be straight with each other.” “I’m not after your money, because I know you don’t have any. But I’m not afraid of a little hardship. As long as I’m around, you won’t starve.” He stared up at me, a complex light swirling in his dark eyes. From the main house, we heard the sound of something crashing, followed by Amber’s breathless moans and Kevin’s slick, coaxing voice. “Babe, this is a multi-million dollar deal. All you have to do is sign as a guarantor, and half of this family’s company shares will be ours.” “But… it’s so much money. Shouldn’t I talk to Mom first?” “Talk to her? What does that old hag know about investing? Besides, this is an inside tip. Don’t you trust me?” “Of course I trust you… Okay, I’ll sign. Just don’t be mad at me…” Listening to the sounds from next door, a cold smirk played on my lips. A guarantor agreement? More like signing her own death warrant. I turned back to find Maximilian watching me, a thoughtful expression on his face. “What? You jealous?” I stepped closer, leaning down and planting my hands on the wheelchair’s armrests, trapping him in my shadow. “Jealous? Of what? That she’s shacking up with a con artist, or that she’s about to be saddled with a nine-figure debt?” I lowered my voice, bringing my lips close to his ear. “Don’t you worry, Maximilian. You may be broke and crippled, but I’ll take care of you.” “You just be a good boy for me, and I’ll make sure you have everything you need.” His pupils dilated, and the tips of his ears turned a faint pink. He turned his head away, breaking the proximity. “You talk a big game,” he scoffed, but there was no bite in it. 2 The next morning, in the grand dining room. The table was laden with a lavish breakfast spread: crystal shrimp dumplings, bird’s nest porridge, French toast. Amber, draped in a silk robe, sat at the head of the table, slathering caviar on her toast. “Oh, look who’s finally awake.” “Sleep well, sister? Kevin and I were… busy… all night. I hope the rats in the shed didn’t chew through your husband’s wheels.” Kevin was on his phone, speaking loudly. “Yes, we have to land that project! Money is no object… What? Mr. Harrison wants to see me? Tell him to get in line. I’m having breakfast with my fiancée.” Hanging up, he looked triumphantly at Brenda. “Don’t you worry, Mom. I’ve already spoken to a few major shareholders. As soon as Amber’s guarantee is processed, we can acquire that downtown property. Our assets will triple, at least!” Brenda’s eyes gleamed with greed as she piled food onto Kevin’s plate. “Oh, my wonderful son-in-law! I knew Amber had a good eye for talent. Unlike some people, who just bring home useless burdens.” Her face soured as she pointed to a corner of the room. “We left you two some breakfast over there.” I pushed Maximilian over, and when I saw what was on the plates, a hot rage surged through me. In a stainless-steel dog bowl sat a moldy bread roll and a bowl of leftover fish soup from the night before. “What is the meaning of this?” I asked, my voice tight with fury. “The meaning? This family doesn’t support freeloaders. That cripple can’t work, so what’s wrong with eating leftovers? The fish soup is good for his bones. Maybe if he drinks enough, he’ll be able to stand up and beg on the street one day.” Amber shrieked with laughter. “Mom, you’re so right! His legs need all the help they can get. Otherwise, he won’t even be able to crawl fast enough to get any handouts.” Snap. Maximilian broke his chopsticks in two. His head was bowed, but a murderous aura radiated from him. He gripped the thin blanket on his lap, his knuckles white. A jolt of alarm went through me. I placed my hand over his. His skin was burning hot, his palm slick with cold sweat. “Don’t,” I whispered. “They’re not worth it.” [LMAO! That competitor he’s trying to crush is actually one of Daddy’s subsidiary companies! That poser couldn’t even get past the front gate…] I suppressed a smirk and patted Maximilian’s hand reassuringly before picking up the dog bowl and dumping its contents into the trash can. Brenda leaped to her feet, screeching. “Aurora! What are you doing! You wasteful brat! If you don’t want to eat, then get out!” I calmly wiped my hands with a napkin. “You’re right, I don’t want to eat it. Food that’s not even fit for a pig… you should save it for yourselves. I think Kevin, in particular, could use it to nourish his brain.” My eyes drifted to Kevin’s neck. “That’s a very unique chain, Kevin. Is your neck turning green? I didn’t know gold tarnished these days.” His face paled, and he instinctively covered his neck, his eyes darting away. “What… what do you know! This is artisanal gold! It’s supposed to look like that!” Amber shot him a suspicious glance but was quickly placated. She glared at me. “Aurora, stop trying to stir up trouble!” Kevin quickly changed the subject. “Hey, Mom, to celebrate our big project, how about I treat everyone to a day at my private equestrian club? It’s members-only, very exclusive.” Amber lit up, and Brenda beamed. “Wonderful! My son-in-law is so thoughtful. Aurora, you can come too. You can carry our bags.” I was about to refuse, but then I remembered the pop-up’s intel, and besides, Maximilian could use some fresh air. “Alright. Let’s go see this ‘private club.’” When we arrived, the so-called “private club” was just a public riding stable. A bored employee mechanically checked our tickets. But when his eyes fell on Maximilian, his expression shifted to a strange mix of shock and reverence. The manager started to step forward, but Maximilian shot him a single, glacial look. The manager froze, then bowed his head respectfully and retreated. Amber, now changed into a stunning red riding habit, pointed to a magnificent chestnut stallion. “Care for a race, sister? Loser has to kneel and polish the winner’s boots.” “I don’t know how to ride,” I said flatly. “Tch. I knew it. Useless.” She rolled her eyes. “Well, you just stand there and watch me look fabulous, then.” A stablehand brought over a fiery red mare. The horse was agitated, pawing at the ground and tossing its head. Kevin puffed out his chest. “Amber, my love, this is ‘Wildfire,’ the most valuable horse here. Only for VIP guests. I had them reserve her specially for you.” Amber’s eyes sparkled as she eagerly started to mount the horse. [HIGH ALERT!!! Mommy, stay away from that red horse! It’s a wild mare that hasn’t been properly broken in!…] My blood ran cold. That horse was meant for me. Watching Amber excitedly swing herself into the saddle, a chilling calm settled over me. I took a step forward, feigning admiration. “Wow, she’s beautiful, Amber. You’re such a skilled rider, I’m sure you’ll handle her perfectly. And that red coat matches your outfit so well. You’ll look like a movie star out there.” Amber’s ego swelled. “Obviously! Just watch me, Aurora. And try not to drool.” She brought her riding crop down hard on the mare’s flank. With a piercing whinny, the red horse bolted. 3 The mare hadn’t gone far before she went berserk. She reared up, screaming, then began bucking and spinning wildly, trying to throw the rider from her back. “AHH! Help me! Kevin, help!” Amber’s face was a mask of terror as she clung desperately to the reins. Brenda collapsed on the ground, wailing. “Amber! Somebody save her! What’s wrong with that stupid horse!” Kevin was pale and sweating, but he didn’t dare go near the frantic animal. “If that horse breaks a leg, do you know how much that would cost…” He yelled toward Amber, “I told you to hold on tight! It’s not my fault you’re a terrible rider! Now we’re going to have to pay her medical bills, too.” Amber looked at him in disbelief. “Kevin! Are you serious? I could be dying, and you’re worried about the horse?” The mare gave one last violent buck, launching Amber through the air. She landed with a wet thud in a muddy ditch beside the track. A moment of silence, then Amber’s agonized sobs filled the air. “My face! My back! It hurts so much!” Stablehands rushed over and pulled the mud-caked figure from the ditch. Brenda scrambled to her side, then rounded on Kevin. “What did you do! You said this was the gentlest horse!” Amber’s expensive riding habit was ruined, her face was smeared with mud, and one of her false eyelashes was dangling precariously. She was a pathetic sight. I walked over, my face a mask of concern. “Oh my goodness, Amber, are you okay? You were riding so fast, I thought you were performing a stunt. How did you fall off? I guess the horse wasn’t as impressed with you as you thought.” Amber shoved Brenda away and pointed a trembling, muddy finger at me. “You! It was you! You and your bad luck cursed me! You’re the one who goaded me into riding her!” SMACK! Brenda lunged at me, her hand connecting with my cheek. The sting was sharp and immediate. “You venomous little bitch! How could you be so cruel!” she shrieked. “Just because you can’t ride, you wanted to hurt my Amber! I’ll kill you!” She raised her hand to strike again, but Maximilian’s wheelchair shot forward. He grabbed Brenda’s wrist, his grip like a vice. Brenda howled in pain. “Let go of me! How dare you touch me, you worthless cripple?” Maximilian’s eyes were dark and menacing, a chilling coldness radiating from him. He uttered a single word, his voice low and guttural. “Scum.” Terrified, Brenda stumbled backward. Kevin rushed over. “Hey, who do you think you are? A cripple trying to play hero? You want me to dismantle that little chair of yours?” Maximilian simply turned his head and looked at Kevin. The sheer force of that gaze pinned Kevin in place, silencing him completely. “Fine… fine! Just you wait!” Brenda seethed. “Aurora, you think you’ve grown up, do you? The money for your dead mother’s medical treatments—it’s cut off. As of today, you won’t see another cent! And don’t you dare set foot in the old family home ever again!” The mention of my mother and our old home was a knife to the heart. Brenda helped a whimpering Amber to her feet. “We’re leaving! Let them rot here!” They left in a storm of curses. I touched my swollen cheek and looked at Maximilian. “Thanks,” I said quietly. “Don’t get any ideas,” he said, his voice cold as stone. “She was just being loud.” But I saw his hand, still clenched into a fist. “Aurora,” he said suddenly. “If you don’t have money for your… for the treatments, I…” [Don’t worry, Mommy! It’s a good thing she cut you off! Grandpa saw this coming! The real inheritance is hidden in the attic of the old house, inside a hollow beam!] My heart hammered against my ribs. Grandpa had left me a way out. “Maximilian.” I took a deep breath and grabbed the handles of his wheelchair. “We’re going home. Back to that storage shed.” “What are you going to do?” “I’m going to take back what’s mine. And while I’m at it, I’m going to prepare a little gift for them.” Brenda was true to her word. All my funds were frozen. Under the cover of darkness, I slipped into our old family home. In the attic, tucked inside a hollowed-out crossbeam, I found a rosewood box. Inside was my grandfather’s true will, a collection of priceless antique paintings, and a black Centurion card from a Swiss bank. I took them without a word to anyone, hiding them away and biding my time. Three days later, to celebrate Amber’s “recovery” and to generate buzz for Kevin’s project, Brenda hosted a charity gala. She sent me a gold-leafed invitation. Scrawled in red ink were the words: [Ms. Aurora Sterling is invited to attend with her handicapped dependant. Formal attire required.] In the musty shed, Maximilian stared at the invitation, his eyes dark as ink. He pulled a black card from his wallet and handed it to me. “There’s not much on this, but it’s enough to buy a dress.” I looked at the card—it was heavy, matte black, clearly exclusive. “No need. I have something to wear.” I retrieved a vintage silk gown my grandmother had left me. It was a family heirloom with exquisite hand-stitched embroidery, its timeless elegance far surpassing any designer label. Maximilian sighed, but didn’t press. That evening, the grand ballroom of the Shangri-La was glittering with the city’s elite. Amber, her bruises concealed under a thick layer of foundation, floated through the crowd in a rented couture gown. Kevin had his arm around her, bragging to a cluster of guests. “Of course, I was surprised myself when the Shadow Prince of New York agreed to come. Show some respect when he arrives.” When I appeared at the entrance, pushing Maximilian, who wore a faded but clean suit, the entire room seemed to fall silent. I, in my simple white gown, and he, in his wheelchair, were a stark contrast to the opulence around us. “Well, well, what do we have here? I thought the help used the service entrance,” Amber sneered, gliding over with a glass of red wine. “Aurora, Mom told you to wear formal attire. Aren’t you afraid of bringing bad luck by wearing a dead woman’s old clothes?” Snickers rippled through the nearby guests. “Is that the eldest Sterling daughter? How pathetic.” “The Vance family is bankrupt. The two of them are a perfect pair of clowns.” Kevin and his cronies swaggered over. “Well, if it isn’t the great Maximilian Vance. Long time no see.” One of his friends laughed. “Hey, Kev, let’s get him to do a wheelie for us. We’ll buy him a drink if he does.” “Great idea! Do a wheelie!” Maximilian’s back remained rigid, his face a mask of indifference, but his knuckles were white. I stepped in front of him. “Get out of the way. You’re blocking the path.” “Ooh, feisty!” Amber feigned a stumble, and the entire glass of red wine sloshed down the front of my white gown, staining the delicate embroidered orchids a deep, ugly crimson. “Oops, clumsy me,” she chirped. “But that old thing was probably filthy anyway. Think of it as a free cleaning.” Kevin grabbed my shoulder, his fingers digging in. “Who do you think you’re glaring at? Do you have any idea how much this carpet costs? Get on your knees and clean it up. Then beg Amber for forgiveness. Otherwise, you’re not leaving this ballroom tonight!” “Get on your knees!” the crowd chanted, sensing blood in the water. My vision flooded with frantic, red text: [INCOMING! DADDY’S SPECIAL OPS TEAM WILL BE HERE IN T-MINUS 3 SECONDS! THE LOAN SHARKS ARE HERE TOO, THEY BLENDED IN WITH THE CATERING STAFF!] BOOM! The ballroom doors burst open with explosive force. Two lines of men in black suits and sunglasses stormed in, forming a clear path through the stunned crowd. Amber squealed with excitement. “The Prince is here! Everyone, welcome him!” Kevin pasted on a sycophantic grin and rushed forward, hand outstretched. “Welcome, an absolute honor to have you…” The man leading the charge shoved him aside without a second glance, sending him stumbling. He marched directly to where Maximilian and I stood. Then, he and every single man in black bowed a perfect ninety degrees. Their voices thundered in unison, shaking the crystal chandeliers. “Sir! Ma’am! We apologize for our tardiness. Please, issue our punishment!”

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1 The day the new intern started, a cascade of comments began to scroll across my vision. “She’s here, she’s here! The female lead has arrived!” “Get ready, the male lead is about to fall hopelessly in love with her. As for that CEO rival, she’ll get insanely jealous and start tormenting the heroine.” “And in the end, the male lead will step in, crush the rival’s company for the sake of his true love, and leave her bankrupt!” “He and the heroine are true soulmates. That rival is just pure evil!” I watched the words shimmer in the air, a frown creasing my brow. The evil rival they were talking about… was me. And the male lead? My boyfriend, Vincent. According to the comments, the moment Sophie walked through our doors, Vincent was a goner. He, the Vice President of the company, would start orbiting her like a moon, neglecting his duties and ultimately losing us a major client. I would reprimand them both, and in retaliation for that minor offense, Vincent would orchestrate my downfall. He would cook up fraudulent contracts, trick me into signing them, and systematically sabotage my business deals, drowning me in lawsuits from angry clients. All the while, he and Sophie would be secretly diverting shipments and profits, getting rich while my company bled out. I stared at the ghostly text, my mind reeling in disbelief. Vincent and I had been together since college. He’d pursued me relentlessly. I’d finally said yes after graduation, and we’d been inseparable ever since. Everyone at the company called us the golden couple. I had truly believed he would love me forever. But the relentless stream of comments chipped away at my certainty. Just as I was about to assign Sophie to a simple front-desk position, Vincent suddenly announced he needed a new personal assistant. He wanted Sophie for the job. I looked at him, genuinely shocked. I’d offered to hire an assistant for him months ago, and he’d insisted he didn’t need one. Now, for this girl, he was changing his tune. “Haha, the male lead recognizes her! She was his childhood neighbor!” “The rival was just a stand-in for the female lead all along!” “Now that the real heroine is back, the stand-in can just go die!” “Exactly! He and Sophie are meant to be. The other one was just a placeholder!” A bitter sting pricked my eyes as I read the words. A stand-in. All this time, I was just a substitute for Sophie. Looking at her now, I could see it—a faint, uncanny resemblance in the set of her eyes, the shape of her brow. In that moment, I believed every word the comments told me. “Vincent,” I said, my voice carefully neutral, “Sophie has no experience. Let me find you a professional assistant, someone properly trained.” He just shook his head. “Katherine, I think Sophie will be perfect. Besides, it would take you time to recruit someone new. It’s better if she just starts with me now.” He was so… eager. The comments exploded. One side jeered at me, the “evil rival,” for trying to break up the main couple on their first day. The other side swooned over Vincent’s devotion, how he’d defy me just to keep Sophie by his side. “LOL, the rival has no idea. Tomorrow, the heroine is going to ‘accidentally’ mix up some files and leak a huge company secret!” “And then she’ll be on the hook for a massive compensation payment!” I read the spoilers and let out a quiet sigh. If Vincent wanted to be with Sophie so badly, who was I to stand in his way? 2 Back in my office, I instructed my assistant to compile a list of all the projects currently under Vincent’s purview. My company was still in a critical growth phase. We couldn’t afford a single misstep, a single loss. The stakes were too high for me to let my personal life sink the ship. As I gave my instructions, the comments continued to flicker in my mind’s eye. They revealed Sophie’s next move: she was going to intentionally misquote the price on a major bid proposal. If that document went out, we’d be locked into a contract that would lose us a fortune. The comments made it clear this wasn’t an accident. It was a calculated move to put herself in a vulnerable position so Vincent could swoop in and play the hero. Rage, cold and sharp, pierced through me. Sophie didn’t just want my boyfriend; she wanted to destroy everything I had built. I immediately sent my assistant to the client’s office. She waited until after Sophie had dropped off the proposal, then, using my authority, she retrieved it and swapped it with the correct version. When she placed the sabotaged document on my desk, I saw the proof with my own eyes. The price was disastrously wrong. Winning the bid at that number would have been catastrophic. But breaking the contract after winning would have cost even more in penalties. The comments had been right about everything. Just then, a new batch of text erupted. “OMG, the hero and heroine are kissing!” “They are SO sweet together!” I shot up from my chair and strode toward Vincent’s office. Peeking through the blinds on his glass wall, I saw them. Vincent and Sophie, locked in a passionate embrace, kissing deeply. The comments went into a frenzy. “AHHHH! They’ve finally recognized each other as soulmates!” “I love them so much! They’re adorable!” “Someone get them to a chapel, STAT! They need to get married right now!” “That rival is such a villain. The male lead obviously doesn’t love her, but she just won’t let him go!” Their words made my stomach turn, but I also noticed something crucial. They were a Greek chorus, commentating only on the actions of their “hero” and “heroine.” They had no idea what I was doing. They hadn’t seen me switch the proposal. Their world revolved entirely around Vincent and Sophie. A slow, cold smile spread across my face. I turned away from the window and walked back to my office. I called my assistant back in. From now on, Vincent was to be assigned only our most trivial, unimportant accounts. I also handed her a stack of files. “Take these to him.” A few minutes later, she returned, closing the door softly behind her. “Ma’am,” she whispered, her expression hesitant. “You’ll never guess what I just saw.” “What did you see?” I asked, feigning curiosity. “Mr. Cole… he and Sophie were sitting very, very close. It looked… intimate.” She looked nervous, knowing how devoted I had been to Vincent. She’d never have dared say such a thing before, but her loyalty was to me. I offered her a calm smile. “Whatever is happening between Vincent and Sophie has nothing to do with me.” 3 My assistant looked confused but knew better than to ask more questions. I simply told her that, moving forward, certain company matters were no longer to be shared with the Vice President. She seemed to understand, gave a sharp nod, and left. With that, I went back to work, keeping one eye on my business and the other on the stream of comments. They continued to spill secrets. They told me how Sophie was now whispering in Vincent’s ear, feeding him ideas, convincing him to help her plot against me. Her goal, from the very beginning, was to take me down. My company was thriving, a ripe fruit ready for the picking. If they could bankrupt me, they could seize it all. The most crushing blow was that Vincent had agreed. I stared at the words, a wave of profound disappointment washing over me. I had thought that after all our years together, he would never actively seek to harm me. But the moment Sophie appeared, all his supposed love for me had vanished. All that was left now was the cold burn of betrayal. The comments helpfully informed me that in a few days, Vincent would bring me a contract to sign. A contract that, once signed, would instantly bankrupt my company. Now that I knew, there was no way I would let that happen. And Vincent, in his love-struck haze, had no idea that I had already spent the last several days quietly sidelining him. Ever since Sophie’s arrival, he had been so consumed with her that he hadn’t even noticed his access being revoked, his authority systematically stripped away and rerouted back to me. He was too busy playing the lovestruck hero to pay attention to his actual job. Just as predicted, Vincent showed up at my office. He held out a file. “Katherine, I landed a huge deal. Once we complete this contract, the company will make a fortune. You should sign it now.” I looked at him, and then at the comments flashing before my eyes. “Here it is! The male lead is making his move! The rival has no idea that the second she signs this, the company will belong to him!” “Soon he’ll have all her money and her company, and he and the heroine can live happily ever after!” “Hurry up and advance the plot! I want to see the romance!” I smiled sweetly. “Vincent, just leave it here. I’ll take a look at it tonight.” His face tightened. “Katherine, I worked really hard to get this,” he pressed. “I know things have been tough for the company lately, and I had to pull a lot of strings to make this happen. Just sign it.” “I will, Vincent, don’t worry,” I said, my smile never wavering. “As long as the contract is legitimate, I’ll sign it. But I don’t have time to review it right this second. Just leave it with me.” His expression soured. He clearly hadn’t expected me to ask to read it first. A flicker of anger sparked in his eyes.

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I’m Charlotte Monroe’s secretary—uptight, rigid, and by the book. For three years, I’ve never made a single mistake. Until I ran into her at a bar. I was drunk. I stormed over and spent the entire night treating her like a dog I was training. Terrified of getting fired, I lied the next day and claimed she’d met my twin brother. Charlotte stared at me, a thoughtful glint in her eye. After a long moment, she spoke. “I’ll raise your salary by five thousand a month. Give me your brother’s contact information.” 1 Last night’s high was directly proportional to this morning’s low. Right now, Charlotte was sitting in her office. Her sensual lips were stained with a trace of blood, and a distinct scratch marked the pale skin of her neck—all souvenirs from my handiwork last night. Guiltily, I averted my gaze, convinced I’d misheard her. “I’m sorry, Ms. Monroe, what did you just say?” I asked instinctively. My lapse in attention earned me a displeased frown. But she repeated herself. “Give me your brother’s contact information.” “May I ask what this is regarding?” “A personal matter.” After a long pause, I finally managed, “I’m sorry, Ms. Monroe, I don’t think I can help you. The truth is… my brother and I aren’t very close.” Charlotte raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. I pressed on, my voice stiff. “You see, after our parents divorced, my brother and I were separated. We haven’t been in contact for a long time.” “A long time, you say? Then how did he know to call me his little dog, Charlotte?” She let out a cold laugh. “Your ‘brother’ was quite rude to me yesterday. We’ve never met. The only way he could have known who I was is if you’d mentioned me to him.” The hairs on my neck stood up. How could I have forgotten that detail? Last night was… a bit of a blur. I saw Charlotte, drunk off my mind, and marched over and slapped her across the face. “Insolent mutt! Why do you not kneel before your king?” She was completely stunned. The rest is hazy. The next thing I clearly remember, I’d stripped her down to her blouse, used her jacket and silk scarf to tie her hands behind her back, and was making her kneel while addressing me as “Your Majesty.” The memory alone made my brain short-circuit. I cleared my throat. “We have had… some minimal contact. We exchanged a few jokes. I never thought he’d take them seriously…” “My brother is just impulsive and reckless. If he offended you in any way, please don’t take it to heart.” “I’ve already taken it to heart,” she said, her expression unreadable. “I won’t make things difficult for you. Find an opportunity to ask him. I have a feeling he’ll be more than happy to add me as a friend.” With that, she waved a dismissive hand. “You may go.” It wasn’t until I was outside her office that the rigid posture I’d been holding finally collapsed. 2 I was known for being the quintessential stuffy male secretary. Meticulous. Never smiling. For three years, I’d been a model of perfect, error-free diligence. But being a secretary was never my endgame. It was a stepping stone, a way to earn a recommendation from Charlotte herself. Last week, I learned the company was launching a new subsidiary. They needed a manager. As the head of the project, Charlotte had the final say on who to recommend. I’d submitted my application a few days ago, and the decision was still pending. When I got back to my desk, a few colleagues swarmed me. “Simon, has the transfer list been finalized?” “Not yet.” “It has to be you, right? Ms. Monroe trusts you so much. I can’t imagine it being anyone else.” “I agree. After the boss, you’re the busiest person in this entire company. You haven’t had a proper weekend in three years, have you?” I just smiled and shook my head. “It’s not a sure thing. The boss has her own plans.” But despite my words, a spark of hope flickered within me. The next day, Charlotte called me into her office. “Submit the recommendation for the new general manager to the board for approval and announcement.” I looked at the name on the file. Felix Vance. He’d started at the company at the same time as me. I was assigned to the executive office, while he’d remained in the sales department. I stood frozen, clutching the file. Charlotte gave me a curious look. “Is there something else?” “May I ask why I wasn’t chosen?” She seemed surprised by my directness. “There’s no reason. You’re not the right fit.” I pressed on. “In what way am I not the right fit?” A flicker of annoyance crossed her face. “The new company needs someone who understands sales, someone bold and innovative. You’re conservative, detail-oriented. You’re fine for administrative work, but you’re not suited for market development.” “But I…” “That’s enough. The matter is closed. My decision is final. Your job is to execute it.” Her face hardened, and she looked down at her documents, dismissing me. The conversation was over. Charlotte was a notoriously picky person with a thousand unspoken rules. She liked her water at exactly 113 degrees Fahrenheit, her coffee black, her jackets exclusively black. Even her laptop had to be positioned at a precise angle. For three years, I had carefully observed her every habit, terrified of breaking one of her rules. And all it had earned me was being called “too focused on details.” My heart went cold. Taking a deep breath, I decided to speak again. “Ms. Monroe, there’s one more thing to report.” “Speak.” “You asked me to speak with my brother. I’ve asked for his opinion.” Her expression softened slightly, and she looked up at me again. “What did he say?” “He said yes.” The corners of Charlotte’s mouth tilted upward. “Good. Send him my contact.” Then she reconsidered. “Actually, no. Send me his. I’ll add him myself.” 3 After the official announcement, I spent the afternoon fielding sympathetic comments from my colleagues. “Ms. Monroe must not want to let you go. You’re her right-hand man, after all.” “It’s a competency trap. She probably knows she’ll never find another secretary who suits her so well.” “Besides, for the new company, I bet Ms. Monroe wanted a woman in that role. It’s tough for guys in the corporate world.” I feigned indifference, saying it didn’t really matter to me. In reality, I was grinding my back teeth to dust. Damn you, Charlotte. This time, I’m going to make you wear out your kneecaps. Before leaving work, I created a new account. For the profile picture, I used a photo from my college days. Black motorcycle jacket, hair dyed silver-grey—a world away from the man in the gold-rimmed glasses with meticulously combed hair I was today. After making sure there were no other issues, I sent the contact card to Charlotte. A friend request came through almost immediately. I accepted. My first message: [Heard you were looking for me?] She replied instantly. [I was. Don’t you think you should take responsibility for assaulting someone? My knees still hurt.] [That must be because your kneeling posture was incorrect.] [You’re right. It’s all my fault.] Before I could reply, another message came through. I opened it. It was a photo. A selfie of a woman kneeling behind an office desk. Her face wasn’t visible, but the tailored business suit was unmistakably hers. [Is Your Majesty’s anger appeased now?] Hiss— She was really committing to this, wasn’t she? I sucked in a sharp breath, instinctively turning my phone away as if it were burning hot. But a strange, secret thrill coursed through me. I glanced toward Charlotte’s office. The door was shut tight, offering no clue as to what she was doing inside. I tapped my phone and changed her contact name to [Charlotte the Dog]. As I was packing up, a colleague came over. “Simon, we have a department dinner tonight. Who are you riding with?” I blinked, having completely forgotten about the year-end team dinner. It was at a bar. I had developed a recent and severe allergy to bars. “I have to work late,” I said immediately. “I won’t be able to make it.” As expected, a look of pity crossed her face. “The boss’s work pace is terrifying. You’re the only one in the whole company who can keep up.” I managed a weak smile and didn’t reply. I waited until the entire department had left before finally letting out a sigh of relief. My arms were still sore from all the slapping last night. I was looking forward to going home early and catching up on sleep. Just as I was shutting down my computer, I heard footsteps behind me. “You didn’t go to the dinner?” Even though the promotion issue had left a bitter taste in my mouth, I forced myself to sound cheerful. “No, I still have some work to finish up.” “Are you done now?” Unsure of her intentions, I played it safe. “Almost.” “I’ll wait for you. We can go together.” I froze. “Go? Go where?” “To the team dinner.” I was stunned. “You’re going too?” Charlotte raised an eyebrow. “Is there a rule against it?” I plastered on my professional smile. “Of course not.” The car ride was silent. Charlotte sat beside me, one leg crossed elegantly over the other. My mind drifted to the photo she’d sent me, of her half-kneeling on her chair. I couldn’t resist sneaking a glance at her. She caught me. “Something on your mind?” “There seems to be a… a tear in your collar. Do you need a bandage?” I blurted out, pointing randomly at the area just above her collarbone. Instant regret. That was exactly where I’d bitten her. Her brow furrowed. She opened her phone, using the front-facing camera to inspect her neck. Her voice turned frosty. “No.” I didn’t dare say another word. But a second later, my phone began to vibrate violently. Charlotte the Dog: [You bit my neck.] Charlotte the Dog: [And your brother saw it. How am I supposed to explain this?] I glanced at my screen, terrified Charlotte would see. I didn’t dare reply. Charlotte tapped her fingers on her knee. Then started typing again. Charlotte the Dog: [Hello? Why aren’t you answering me?] Charlotte the Dog: [I’m not blaming you, you know~] Charlotte the Dog: [Have you found another dog behind my back?] Her typing speed was insane. I hadn’t even had time to switch my phone to silent. In the quiet car, my phone was practically doing a breakdance. Charlotte shot me an irritated look. “Is your phone always that loud?” she drawled sarcastically. “Who could possibly have so much to say?” I quickly enabled Do Not Disturb mode and forced a laugh. “Sorry about that. My dog must have stepped on the keyboard.” 4 I was already annoyed. Arriving at the bar and seeing Felix there only made it worse. I stopped in my tracks, a familiar bitterness rising in my chest. Charlotte never attended department dinners. Could it be that she came specifically because she knew Felix would be here? I had cultivated a persona of a cool, professional, and frankly, boring secretary. After a brief greeting, I found a quiet corner and settled in. Everyone was used to my personality, so no one paid me much mind. Felix, however, lit up the moment he saw Charlotte, immediately drawing her into the center of the group. “Ms. Monroe, I hope you don’t mind me crashing your department’s party,” he said with a charming smile. Charlotte barely glanced at him. “Whether I mind or not, you’re already here.” Her bluntness left Felix speechless. Charlotte was known for her sharp tongue, a lesson he was clearly learning for the first time. He recovered quickly. “Ms. Monroe, let me raise a glass to you. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to prove myself at the new company.” Charlotte’s eyes flickered toward me for a split second. She cleared her throat. “No need to thank me. It was a choice of the lesser of two evils. There just wasn’t anyone else suitable.” Felix froze again. I had been secretly enjoying his discomfort, but then I realized something. Wasn’t she insulting me too with that comment? I frowned and pulled out my phone. Switching to my alternate account, I tapped on [Charlotte the Dog]. [Slap yourself. Right now.] Beside me, Charlotte’s phone screen lit up. I could see her expression turn strange as she typed back a question mark. [Why?] Me: [Do I need a reason to give a command?] Me: [What, is such a small task too much for you?] Charlotte bit her lip. [It’s the company dinner. All my subordinates are here.] [Be a good girl. I’ll let you do whatever you want tonight, okay?] Me: [Not okay.] Me: [I can find someone else tonight.] The next second, I watched as Charlotte raised her hand and slapped herself across the face. The private room fell into an eerie silence for a few seconds. Felix was the first to react. “Ms. Monroe?” “A mosquito,” she said flatly. A mosquito. In a bar. In the middle of winter. Right. Felix seemed to buy it. After the slap, she looked down and sent me a message. Charlotte the Dog: [I just hit myself.] Me: [Oh.] Charlotte the Dog: [Are you satisfied?] I played dumb. [I wasn’t there. How would I know if you actually did it?] Charlotte the Dog: [Is that an invitation?] Charlotte the Dog: [My left cheek is still untouched. Want to try it out tonight?] Me: ? Help. This woman was certifiably insane. When the party broke up, the red mark on Charlotte’s face still hadn’t faded. As expected of the CEO. She didn’t even hold back on herself.

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An accident. A fire that devoured half my face. After that, every mirror, every polished surface, anything that could cast a reflection, vanished from my home. But I was lucky. I had a husband who loved me deeply. My scars didn’t matter to him. His name is Richard, one of the top plastic surgeons in his field. Just recently, curled up on the sofa, I secretly scrolled through his phone and found a post he’d made on a forum. It read: Hypothetically, if your wife were disfigured in a fire, and reconstructive surgery was not only extremely expensive but also had no guarantee of restoring her original looks, would it be better to keep trying to fix her, or just find a new, “factory-original” beauty? My blood ran cold when I saw a high-voted reply: Dude, “’til death do us part” has an escape clause for “inconvenience”? Here’s an idea: why don’t you find another woman and pay to have her face sculpted into your wife’s old one? The most unbelievable part… my husband had liked that comment. 1. A wave of dizziness washed over me. I gently shut off the screen and placed the phone back on the couch cushion. I didn’t know if his “like” was a fleeting thought or a genuine desire. Ever since the accident, he’d been the one to change my bandages every morning, his touch as delicate as if he were handling spun glass. He cooked nutritious meals perfectly tailored to my palate. He would often hold my hand and whisper, “Don’t be afraid, honey. I promise I’ll design the perfect surgical plan to make you look just like you did before.” Was all of that a lie? Was he really preparing to abandon me? Just then, Richard emerged from the bedroom, a wide grin on his face. He wrapped me in an excited hug. “I’m taking you for a full check-up tomorrow. We’re finally ready to begin your surgeries.” My face remained a calm mask. Just a little while ago, I thought, you were online debating whether to replace me with a new model. What changed your mind? I heard myself say, my voice flat, “Surgery is expensive. And there’s no guarantee it will work. Are you absolutely sure you want to go through with this?” My defeatist tone instantly set him on edge. “Sarah, what is it now?” he snapped, his joy curdling into frustration. “Don’t you trust me? I’m one of the best surgeons out there. I told you, I will make you look like yourself again.” He softened slightly. “And don’t you worry about the money. If we have to, we’ll sell our home and buy something smaller. We’ll manage.” A cold question slipped from my lips. “Wouldn’t a new woman be easier?” Richard froze. Then, his fingers clamped around my wrist, his eyes burning with an almost manic intensity. “No,” he hissed. “It has to be you. I don’t want anyone else.” I wanted to scream, Then why did you make that post? Why did you like that comment? But the words died in my throat. I held them back. The next day, I was at the hospital for my check-up. While waiting, I overheard Richard on the phone, his voice sharp with anger as he argued with a woman. “Why aren’t you coming for the procedure? Do you have any idea what the waitlist is like for someone with your case? It’s over a year!” “I’ve designed the entire plan. If you back out now, I’m out hundreds of thousands. You think I won’t sue you?” The woman on the other end started crying, promising she would be there tomorrow afternoon. Richard’s tone immediately shifted, becoming sickeningly sweet and concerned. “Hey, I was just trying to scare you. I’d never really sue you,” he cooed. “I couldn’t adore you more!” Those few sentences paralyzed me where I stood. I waited until he hung up before slowly stepping out of the examination room. I tried to act as if I’d heard nothing. He just wrapped an arm around my waist, kissed my forehead, and smiled. “How did the check-up go?” He took the report from my hands. A wave of self-loathing washed over me. I’m already this hideous, I thought. How long are you going to keep pretending you still love me? 2 Richard glanced at the report, his smile returning. “I’ll get everything arranged as soon as possible. We should be able to do the first surgery within two weeks.” I just mumbled in agreement and went home, my mind a storm of confusion. That night, I tossed and turned, sleep eluding me. I couldn’t understand it. He already had someone else, so why was he still so insistent on fixing my face? Was it to appease his conscience before finding an excuse to divorce me? After all, no matter how skilled a surgeon he was, he could never truly erase the scars, never completely bring back the old me. Maybe I should just make it easier for him. Maybe I should be the one to ask for a divorce. I wouldn’t make a scene. I refused to be a burden to anyone. … The next afternoon, while Richard was at work, a morbid curiosity pulled me to his hospital. And there I saw her. A young woman, laughing and chatting with my husband, her arm linked through his. I froze. Her silhouette was so familiar, like a memory I couldn’t quite place. I knew I’d seen her somewhere before. She was bold, standing on her toes to press a quick kiss to his lips before he led her inside the hospital. I started to follow, needing to see her face, to know who she was. But a hand gripped my arm, stopping me. I spun around. It was my mother. I stared, dumbfounded. “Mom? What are you doing here?” Her face was etched with anxiety as she pulled me away. “Honey, let’s go home. This isn’t what you think it is.” In that instant, the dam of my composure broke. I felt the sting of a profound betrayal. It all clicked into place. My husband, Richard, had another woman. And my own mother knew about it. “Mom… you knew all along, didn’t you?” She nodded grimly, practically dragging me to her car and driving me back to my parents’ house. My father was there, pacing the living room, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He saw me and immediately guided me to the sofa. “Your mother called me,” he said, avoiding my eyes. “She saw you following Richard and told me to come home, to talk some sense into you.” I sat there, numb. My gaze drifted and caught my reflection in a darkened window pane. The sight of my bandaged face, half-hidden in shadow, was too much. A sob tore from my throat, and I broke down completely. I wept, pointing an accusing finger at my father. “I’m ugly now, so he doesn’t love me anymore! And you both knew he was cheating! You didn’t tell me because you think I’m worthless now, don’t you? That if I got divorced, I’d just be another problem for you to deal with!” The pieces were falling into a horrifying picture. My parents didn’t want me to get a divorce. A disfigured woman like me wouldn’t have an easy time finding someone else. “You were just going to tell me that it’s normal for men to play around on the side, weren’t you?” I choked out between sobs. My mother waved her hands frantically. “No, honey, don’t think like that. A divorce right now wouldn’t do you any good.” “You know Richard is a plastic surgeon. You need him right now. Just wait until after the surgery is done. If you still want to leave him then, we won’t stand in your way. It’s not too late.” My father exhaled a long plume of smoke, his brow furrowed. “Your mother’s right, sweetheart. We weren’t trying to hide it from you. We were just thinking about what’s best for you, practically speaking. Once your face is restored, you can kick him to the curb. We’ll support you.” The fire of my anger began to flicker and die down. But… a new, chilling thought crept in. Would Richard really fix my face? Suddenly, I wasn’t so sure. 3 I vividly remembered the forum post. He’d implied that fixing his disfigured wife was too expensive and uncertain. That it might be better to find a new woman and turn her into a copy of me. My head spun. I remembered the phone call I’d overheard outside the exam room. Richard and that woman… they were talking about surgery. In that moment, my parents’ pragmatic advice faded into meaningless noise. … When I returned home, I sat on the sofa in the dark, a lonely statue, unable to sleep. Richard came home after midnight. Seeing me awake, he hung his coat by the door and walked over, reaching out to wrap his arms around my waist. “Why are you still up? Is something on your mind?” I pushed his hands away. The raw emotion I’d been suppressing finally erupted. “How can you even think of touching me when I look like this?” Richard stared at me, his eyes searching mine, trying to read the sudden shift. “Don’t be like this,” he said gently. “I told you, I’m going to make you look just like you did before.” He thought this was just another breakdown, a symptom of my trauma. I pressed on, my voice shaking with rage. “Stop lying. Aren’t you tired of it?” He let out a nervous chuckle and took a step back, his gaze darting away. “I’m not lying to you.” “I know your mood has been… difficult. But I promise, I will perform the surgery this month. I’ll make you beautiful again.” His words were like gasoline on a fire. “You’re still lying! How long are you going to keep this up?” My voice rose to a near-scream. “Why don’t you just find some pretty girl and turn her into a replacement for me? Make her look like I used to!” Richard fell silent. He just stared at me, his face unreadable. To me, his silence was a confession. I became relentless. “What, nothing to say? Isn’t that what you’ve wanted to do all along?” He turned, snatched his coat from the hook, and threw the words over his shoulder as he slammed the door behind him. “You’re insane.” But I couldn’t let it go. It was eating me alive. The next morning, I was waiting outside the hospital. And I saw her. 4 There she was, clinging to my husband’s arm, their intimacy a blade twisting in my gut. I snapped. Like a charging bull, I rushed forward and shoved her. She stumbled and fell to the ground with a sharp cry of pain. Richard spun around, his hand raised to strike, but when he saw it was me, he froze, his arm suspended in mid-air. The woman rubbed her hip, glaring up at me. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she shrieked. “Why did you push me?” But I wasn’t listening. I was staring at her face, and a hysterical laugh escaped my lips. She looked at me like I was a lunatic. “Are you crazy?” she muttered. I was laughing because she looked so much like me. Almost identical, in fact. She looked like me at twenty, when I was a freshman in college. Back when I first met Richard. He had been so in love with me then, a wild, passionate kind of love. He brought me roses every day, wrote me poetry, and lived on instant noodles just to save enough money to buy me the designer bag I wanted. He learned to cook just for me, mastering all my favorite dishes. Whatever I wanted, he found a way to get it. All my friends were green with envy. And now, looking at this young woman’s perfect face, a face so much like my own from all those years ago, a single, devastating thought took shape in my mind: Richard doesn’t love me. He loves the me I was at twenty. Tears streamed down my face, mingling with my manic laughter. I pointed a trembling finger at her. “Richard, is this your plan?” I cried out, my voice cracking. “Are you turning her into my replacement? Trying to relive the past?” “Hahaha! She’s nothing but a substitute!” I laughed and I cried, a spectacle of madness for the growing crowd of onlookers. They started whispering, assuming I was unhinged. The young woman’s face flushed with fury. She scrambled to her feet and, in a fit of rage, ripped the bandages from my face. “What are you talking about, you psycho? I’ve never had surgery in my life! This face is all-natural!” she screamed. “I’m just here for some body contouring, a little lipo, a minor touch-up!” She didn’t finish her sentence. The moment my bandages came off, the moment she saw what was underneath, she froze. Then, her expression twisted into one of pure venom. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You look like that,” she sneered, “and you have the nerve to say I want to look like you?” “The fire didn’t just ruin your face, it fried your brain.” At her words, I clapped my hands over my ruined cheeks, my world spiraling into darkness. 5 The crowd gasped. I could feel their eyes on me, hear their whispers. Vile, pitying words that felt like physical blows, making my head spin. “God, her face is hideous. The accident must have warped her mind, too.” “Yeah, look at her. She’s just jealous of the other girl’s beauty.” “I can’t believe a handsome, talented man like Dr. Richard is with a woman like that. What a waste.” … Buried under the weight of their judgment, I covered my face and ran. Ever since the accident, no one but Richard had seen what lay beneath the bandages. I felt like a ghost, a hollowed-out shell. I ran until my lungs burned and my legs gave out. I don’t know where I was. My vision blurred, and the world tilted sideways as I collapsed into unconsciousness. When I woke up, I was restrained, strapped to a hospital bed. An oxygen mask covered my mouth, and my body felt heavy, completely drained of strength. Standing over me was Richard. He was in his white coat, a syringe in his hand. He looked down at me, his expression cold and emotionless. “You’re awake.” I tried to move, but he swiftly injected the contents of the syringe into my IV line. The room began to spin. The last dregs of my strength vanished. “Ri…chard…” I managed to whisper, but my voice failed me. I had no idea what he was doing. But I knew one thing. He had just given me a powerful sedative. He was controlling me. Why? Why was he doing this to me? A terrifying sense of dread washed over me. I remembered a novel I’d read once, one I’d found in Richard’s backpack back in college. It was about a man obsessively in love with his wife’s youthful beauty. When she grew old, he found a young woman who was her spitting image. He then decided he had to eliminate his aging wife, believing the young look-alike was the true vessel for his idealized love. Oh, God. Was that story playing out in my own life? … Suddenly, the door to my room creaked open. The young woman walked in. She draped herself over Richard, melting into his arms, and then turned to look at me with a smirk. “Richard, I had no idea your wife really did look like me when she was young,” she purred. “But she’s ugly now. Of course you don’t like her anymore.” She snuggled closer to him. “And you know, her parents don’t seem to like her much either. They said they want to make me their goddaughter.” She tilted her head. “Do you think I should say yes?”

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I was stressed about my AI hackathon entry. My husband Toby, usually just beside me, set down his book, removed his gold-rimmed glasses, and took my laptop—something he’d never shown interest in before. He rolled up his sleeves, and in the glow of the screen, his fingers flew across the keyboard. In under a minute, he solved a problem that had stumped me for a month. “Did you learn that recently?” I asked, my heart swelling, thinking he’d done it for me. He only smiled. A man focused on his work is irresistible. I snapped a photo of his handsome profile and posted it online. My usually quiet account blew up overnight. Comments flooded in: “It’s 2026 and I’m seeing those hands code again! The ultimate intellectual crush!” “‘Learned that recently?’ LOL, OP, you really don’t know your husband, do you?” “MY SHIP IS BACK FROM THE DEAD! I watched Isabelle teach Toby to code a hundred times. They were perfect.” “Wait… is OP Toby’s wife? My Toby-and-Isabelle ship is officially ancient history…” 1 The comments kept pouring in. “Props to you, though. Back in the day, Toby stayed up for nights on end optimizing the parameters for Isabelle’s AI competition. He collapsed in the lab from exhaustion right after it was over. That kind of devotion still hits hard!” “You think that’s something? What about the fact that after Isabelle left, Toby never touched a competitive AI project again? Is that not the ultimate tragic romance?” … Everyone was lamenting their unfinished love story. Over three thousand comments, all piecing together an Toby I had never known. This wasn’t the calm, dependable man I had fallen in love with, the man so steady that I was the one who had to propose marriage. This was a raw, impulsive young man who, when rumors spread that he was backing out of Isabelle’s project, ran through a torrential downpour to her apartment just to explain. The night before Isabelle left the country was Christmas Eve. That same day, Toby officially quit the AI lab, vowing never to work on core algorithms again. He locked himself in a server room all night and emerged with a hauntingly beautiful piece of AI-generated music—a melody whose title was a coded way of saying “I love you.” She was his muse, his inspiration. I scrolled through their entire story, comment by comment. The bright white screen stung my eyes until they started to water. The melody Toby had just generated for me… it was the same one. Was it because Christmas was approaching? Was he thinking of her again? “Hey, don’t cry over a bit of code.” Toby chuckled, his thumb, slightly calloused, brushing away a tear from the corner of my eye. I flinched away from his touch, forcing a weak smile. I tried to keep my voice even. “Have you competed in AI events before? You have a really deep understanding of these models.” “The lead algorithm engineer on my team is out sick. Honey, could you step in and help me out?” Everyone has a past. But his kindness to me over the years was real. More importantly, I had just found out I was pregnant. The family of three we had always dreamed of was finally within reach. If he agreed to help me, it would prove he had moved on. And if he had, I could pretend I never saw any of this. But Toby just froze. A long moment passed before he finally said, “I’ve never competed officially.” His words made my desperate hope feel pathetic. Official records of him and Isabelle winning AI competitions together were still online. Toby was the most meticulous, careful person I knew. And yet, he was telling me a lie so clumsy, so easily disproven. I lowered my gaze, my voice barely a whisper. “Really?” “Then what are all these comments about?” 2 With the last shred of denial torn away, I lost control, screaming at him, demanding to know why. Toby was silent for a long time. “There’s no why,” he said finally, his voice flat. “I was in love with her. I still think about her sometimes. It’s that simple.” He watched my frantic outburst with a calm detachment. “Olivia, we’re married now. You don’t need to obsess over my past.” The irony was suffocating. “What if she came back now?” I challenged him. “What if she asked you to join her new AI lab? Would you go?” He didn’t answer. He just reached for me, trying to pull me into an embrace. I slapped his hand away, my eyes locked on his, demanding an answer. Toby sighed. “Alright, stop overthinking this. Go to bed.” His composure made me feel like an irrational, shrewish wife. Tears welled in my eyes, but I wouldn’t let them fall. I pushed again, my voice trembling. “Would you go, or not?” The comment section had mentioned that Isabelle had just returned to the country to start her own AI lab and was looking for a head of algorithms. Her fans were ecstatic, convinced this was the epic reunion they’d been waiting for, completely disregarding me, his legal wife. Toby’s lips pressed into a thin line. After a long silence, he said, “No, I wouldn’t go. Happy now?” Before the words had even fully settled in the air, his phone rang. The caller ID displayed a single, glaring name: Isabelle. Without a second thought, Toby grabbed his phone and started to walk away. I lunged forward, my fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. A tear finally escaped, hitting the cloth and spreading into a small, dark stain. “Answer it here!” We stood locked in a standoff. The ringing weakened, and perhaps fearing he would miss the call, Toby actually answered it right in front of me. His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “Isabelle.” Just one word, spoken with a depth of feeling that twisted my insides. A soft, gentle voice replied from the other end. “It’s me.” I felt Toby’s entire body go rigid. He was so stunned he forgot to pull his shirt from my grasp. Isabelle’s voice carried a hint of melancholy. “I’m so sorry to bother you this late. But… I didn’t know who else to call. The head of algorithms at my lab is causing a scene. He’s refusing to even show up for the final presentation, let alone come back to the States with me. But the project launch date here is fixed, and we can’t postpone it.” “I know this is a huge ask,” she continued, her voice soft and pleading, “but could you… could you come and save me? Just this once? Please, my algorithm genius.” 3 “But what about your international AI competition finals?” The question flew out of Toby’s mouth before he could stop it. Both Isabelle and I were stunned into silence. I never knew he could be so impulsive, especially when it came to her. My voice rose, sharp with disbelief. “You’re going to fly overseas to help her compete? Toby, tomorrow is Christmas Eve! Both our families are coming over for dinner!” I was going to announce my pregnancy then. For years, both our parents had been dropping hints. My mother-in-law would always sigh wistfully whenever she talked about her friends becoming grandparents. And Toby… Toby had always wanted a child. During our most intimate moments, he would whisper against my ear, his voice thick with tenderness, “Let’s have a baby, one just as sweet as you. What do you say?” On the phone, Isabelle’s voice suddenly cracked. “Toby… is that your… friend?” I cut in before he could answer. “We’re married.” There was a choked sound from the other end. Toby shot me a furious look, but still tried to reason with me. “It’s just technical support, Olivia.” Yes, just technical support. Then why was it “I’ve never competed” when I asked, but the moment she called, he was ready to drop everything and fly across the world for her? The silence crackled with tension. Isabelle was the first to speak. “You know what? Never mind.” “Wait,” Toby said hurriedly. He covered the receiver with his hand, pried my fingers from his shirt, and hissed, his voice dangerously low, “Can you please stop making a scene?” “She’s a girl, alone in a foreign country. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get to this point? What’s wrong with me helping her out as a friend?” I opened my mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. But it’s been hard for me to get here, too… This year was supposed to be my best chance at a promotion to team lead. But my performance had been unstable since I got pregnant. Our partners were worried about project delays and were even considering moving me off the core team. My friend had to fight to get me a spot in the post-holiday open-day presentation, but the algorithm engineer on my team said my code gave him anxiety and flat-out refused to partner with me. I’m not a genius. I’m the kind of person who has to code until my wrists ache just to keep up. Now, because of this pregnancy, I might lose everything I’ve worked for. But even so, I had never once regretted carrying his child. There was so much I wanted to say, so much pain I wanted to voice, but the moment I opened my mouth, the tears started to fall. Toby was already packing a bag, moving with a frantic urgency. He saw me crying and paused. I thought he would come hold me, like he always did. Or at the very least, offer a word of comfort. But all he said was a detached, “Drink some hot water when you’re done crying. I’m leaving.” My nails dug into my palms. My voice came out as a ragged whisper. “Are you really going? And you won’t regret this?” Toby stared at me for a long, hard moment, then lowered his eyes. “Get some sleep.” The front door clicked shut, leaving me alone in the vast, silent house. My hand rested gently on my stomach. I cried for a long, long time. Then, I picked up my phone and dialed a number. “Hello, I’d like to inquire about a painless abortion.”

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I rushed home at 3 a.m. As soon as the shower’s warm water hit my skin, I froze. My husband, Cole, is a military instructor—built like a tank. He constantly complains the water is “scalding” if it goes above 110°. No matter how many times I remind him, he never turns the knob back to my temperature after his shower. So how, after a week on a business trip, did he suddenly learn to do that? I wrapped myself in a towel and walked out. My tone was flat. “What’s this? Finally remembering to take care of your wife?” He stiffened, then forced a playful salute. “Ma’am, yes, ma’am. I’ll make sure it’s always set for you from now on.” I didn’t push it. I walked back into the bathroom. As the steam faded, I saw it clearly: the shower door held the ghostly outline of two overlapping sets of handprints. And caught in the drain—a single strand of long, dark, silky hair. They really weren’t even trying to hide. Swallowing a wave of sickness, I took a picture and sent it to my cousin, a cadet at the academy. [Straight black hair. Around 5’1″.] [Find her. $5,000 in it for you.] She replied right away. [Consider it done, Ev. I’ll turn that homewrecker into cold, hard cash.] … What kind of woman takes a shower in a married man’s home when they’re alone together? The answer was sickeningly obvious. Even more damning were those overlapping handprints. I could practically picture the position they were in. For five years, Cole had been the perfect husband. He came from a long line of military men, was strong, kind, and unfailingly devoted to me. I never, ever imagined we would end up here. My phone buzzed. I glanced down. It was a photo from my cousin, Jenna. Cole was surrounded by a group of students. Kneeling in front of him was a young woman. Short, long-haired, with a baby face and huge, round eyes. Even in the grainy photo, her youth was radiant. She was looking up at Cole, her head tilted, her expression pure adoration. I took a deep breath, but the air felt like ice, stabbing at my lungs. Jenna’s texts kept coming. [She’s in the senior class your husband is training this year. Fourth-year surgical student from the medical department. Her name is Zoe Nash.] [Looks so innocent, but she’s pure poison.] I transferred the money to her without a word. [Don’t do anything. I’ll handle this myself.] By the time Cole woke up, I had smoothed the expression on my face into a neutral mask. He saw the dark circles under my eyes and his face filled with concern. “Didn’t you sleep well?” I wanted to scream her name. Instead, I just forced a small smile. “Jet lag’s a killer.” Cole gently pushed me back onto the bed and kissed my forehead. “I shouldn’t have worn you out last night. Get some more sleep. I’ll call you when breakfast is ready.” Still the perfect husband. It wasn’t until we were at the breakfast table that his rushed movements caught my attention. “I thought you had the day off,” I asked. “The medical department has a training exercise. I have to be there to supervise.” He wolfed down his breakfast and stood to leave. “Did you forget what day it is?” I asked softly. He froze, glanced at the calendar on the wall, and his face fell. “Oh, God. I forgot. Honey, I’m so sorry. I promised I’d go with you to the cemetery.” “But this exercise was scheduled months ago…” A cold, bitter laugh rose in my throat, but I swallowed it. “You go. I think I’d like to have some time alone with my dad today anyway.” Cole rushed off to the academy. After a quick visit to my father’s grave, I drove over, arriving just as the medical department’s first-aid drill was starting on the training field. Cole blew his whistle. “Alright, everyone, pair up! Time to practice your life-saving techniques.” The students quickly partnered off, leaving one girl standing alone in the center. A chorus of teasing shouts erupted. “Hey Instructor, who’s gonna give Zoe CPR?” “Who do you think? The instructor would lose his mind if anyone else touched her!” Amid the laughter, Zoe made a face at her classmates. “You guys have such dirty minds! I have nothing to hide! Rescue breathing is a purely professional procedure!” Cole cleared his throat. “Alright, that’s enough! This is just a demonstration. Settle down!” He then beckoned for Zoe to lie down in front of him. And without a moment’s hesitation, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. A chill shot through my entire body. My gaze was locked on him, a laser of ice. He rose, completely unfazed, and placed his interlocked hands on her chest. “After rescue breaths, you begin compressions in a steady rhythm…” Someone in the crowd laughed loudly. “Zoe, I thought you said CPR was purely professional! Why are you blushing?” Lying on the ground, Zoe shot back, “You’d be blushing too if Instructor Anderson was touching you! Bet you’re just jealous!” The crowd roared with laughter. Cole didn’t deny it. Instead, a fond, indulgent smile spread across his face. My fingers, gripping the steering wheel, began to tremble uncontrollably. I waited until dinner time to find Zoe. She was in the campus dining hall, laughing and joking with her roommates. “The instructor asked you to dinner and you said no? Who are you trying to fool, Zoe?” “You don’t get it! She’s playing hard to get!” Zoe coughed, a little too loudly. “That’s not it at all! I barely know the instructor, so stop spreading rumors!” A humorless smile touched my lips. Barely know him? Barely know him enough to end up in my shower, in my bed? If they knew each other any better, would they invite me to watch? I bypassed the lines and sat down directly across from them. My clothes, my makeup, my entire demeanor—Zoe knew in an instant I wasn’t a student. A flicker of panic crossed her eyes before she plastered on a smile. “Hi, can I help you? The cafeteria isn’t that crowded, you don’t have to share a table.” I ignored her act. “Zoe, you’re aware that Cole Anderson is my husband, right?” Cole is thirty. At that age, a man is usually married unless he’s got a major illness or isn’t interested in women. Not to mention, our wedding portrait hangs right above our bed. I wasn’t buying the innocent little girl routine. Her roommates fell silent. Zoe, however, maintained her wide-eyed look of confusion. “Oh! So I should call you Mrs. Anderson? Is something wrong?” When I didn’t answer, her eyes widened in mock realization. “Oh, you must have seen the CPR drill! Mrs. Anderson, you might not understand, but it was a completely professional training exercise.” Her words dripped with condescension. Did she think I was some uneducated housewife with nothing better to do? I let out a soft laugh. “You’re in the clinical program? You should have taken Advanced Surgical Principles by your fourth year. Flip to the cardiovascular section. You’ll see my name on the list of chief editors.” I leaned forward slightly. “I’m Dr. Evelyn Reed, Associate Chief of Cardiac Surgery at the military hospital. I look forward to seeing you during your internship.” The color drained from Zoe’s face. My eyes fell to her wrist, to the jade bangle that shimmered there. “That’s a nice bracelet,” I said, my voice flat. “But it’s a family heirloom. It belonged to my father. I’d like it back now.” Zoe’s head snapped up, her expression one of utter disbelief. Her lips trembled as a deep blush spread across her cheeks. In the end, I got it back. The heirloom I thought I had lost forever. My father passed away four years ago after a long illness. Just before he died, he pressed the jade bangle into my hand. “Evelyn,” he’d whispered, “this has been in our family for generations. Cole loves you enough. I’m giving it to you to pass down. Now I can rest in peace…” Cole’s eyes had been red with tears that day, as he swore he would take care of me forever. But I’d lost the bangle a year later. The guilt had consumed me. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. Cole had comforted me, promising to buy me all the jewelry in the world. I never imagined that he had already been with Zoe back then. That she had admired my bracelet, and he had simply taken it and given it to her. I had just gotten home and was downloading the dashcam footage when Cole stormed up to the car, his face a mask of fury. “You went to the academy today?” he snarled. “Evelyn, why couldn’t you talk to me? Why did you have to humiliate Zoe in front of everyone? Are you even acting like a normal adult?” I didn’t back down. I looked him straight in the eye. “Oh? And is Zoe not an adult? I thought she was a senior. She just looks so much younger. I didn’t realize you were into that. Must be a thrill, playing with someone who looks like a teenager but is technically legal…” Cole’s eyes narrowed. His hand shot out and he slapped me, hard, across the face, cutting off my words. My head snapped to the side, and the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. “Evelyn!” he cried out, his voice suddenly full of anguish, as if he were the one who had been struck. He looked at his hand in horror. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… but you shouldn’t say things like that to a student!” I laughed. Without a word, I slapped him back, the sound echoing in the quiet driveway. “Cole,” I said, my voice ice. “She is your student. Not mine. To me, she’s the other woman who destroyed my marriage and the thief who stole my father’s dying gift. Am I wrong?” His face contorted with rage, his eyes blazing. “I’ll say it again. Zoe is not the other woman! Evelyn, where is your trust in me? Why have you become so vile?” I was about to tell him to get out when our front door opened. Zoe peeked her head out, her expression playful. “Instructor, please don’t fight with Mrs. Anderson because of me. I came to apologize.” She walked towards us and bowed deeply to me. “It was raining hard a while back, and I came to the instructor’s house to change. I saw the bracelet and didn’t think it was valuable, so I just took it. It was my fault, not his. He didn’t give it to me. I’m so sorry.” Cole’s expression softened instantly. He reached out and stroked her hair. “It’s not your fault, Zoe. I should have been clearer.” Watching them, a wave of nausea washed over me. Taking something without asking is stealing. And who was Cole to forgive her on my behalf? He shoved me aside and spoke gently to Zoe. “This is my family business. You’ve already apologized. Don’t get involved. I’ll take you home.” I watched his car speed away, my entire body shaking with rage. Just then, my phone buzzed with a text from Jenna. [Ev, did you confront Zoe yesterday?] [The entire campus forum is tearing you apart!] She sent two screenshots. The moment I saw them, my blood ran cold. [GOSSIP ALERT: ASSOCIATE CHIEF OF CARDIAC SURGERY AT MILITARY HOSPITAL, DR. REED, ABUSES POWER TO PUBLICLY HUMILIATE INNOCENT FEMALE STUDENT!] [Heard she’s notorious for tormenting interns. To all the underclassmen starting rotations soon: good luck!] [Old hag is probably just jealous the girl is young and pretty. Can’t keep her own man, so she takes it out on a student?] The posts were vicious and inflammatory, painting me as a bitter, menopausal monster. Jenna called immediately. “Ev! Did you see? That little witch Zoe has to be behind this!” “I know,” I said, my voice unnervingly calm. “Jenna, do me a favor. Trace the IP addresses of the posters. And dig up everything you can find on Zoe Nash. Everything.” A social media war? Please. I was running circles around people online when Zoe was still in elementary school. As expected, Zoe was assigned to my service for her internship. Professionally, I treat all students equally. During an emergency surgery that I was leading, I arranged for the interns to observe, as was standard procedure. I assigned Zoe as my scrub tech. “Why me?” she muttered under her breath, her tone resentful. “Dr. Reed, isn’t this a conflict of interest?” I glanced at her over my surgical mask. “If you earned your scholarships based on merit, then prove it in a real-world scenario.” The surgery reached a critical stage. I called for a 2.5-millimeter balloon catheter. In her haste, Zoe handed me a 3-millimeter one. A potentially fatal mistake. “Wrong! Vasopressors, now! Move!” I snapped, immediately directing the team to correct the error. After the surgery, we stepped out of the OR. Zoe followed me, her face pale. I turned to face her, my voice low and deliberate. “In cardiac surgery, you are holding a person’s life in your hands. The smallest mistake can have catastrophic consequences. The carelessness and incompetence you demonstrated today could have killed someone.” Zoe swayed on her feet, tears welling in her eyes. “Evelyn! Do you have to be like this?” Cole’s furious voice echoed from the end of the hall. He strode towards us and placed himself protectively in front of Zoe. “She’s a student! It’s normal to be nervous and make a mistake the first time! Everyone goes through this!” he roared. “Did you have to use such harsh words to crush her confidence? Are you teaching her, or are you using this as an excuse to attack her?” I looked at the man who was once my partner, my equal. Now, he was twisting the truth, challenging my professional integrity, all for another woman. My heart plunged into an icy abyss, completely numb. “Instructor Anderson,” I said, my tone formal and cold. “There is no room for error in cardiac surgery. As her supervising physician, it is my duty to point out her fatal mistakes.” “Duty? I think you’re mixing your personal and professional lives!” Cole’s anger escalated. He grabbed Zoe’s wrist. “Zoe, let’s go! We don’t have to take this from her!” He stormed off, dragging the tearful Zoe with him. The other interns now looked at me with a mixture of fear and disapproval. Just then, my phone rang. I put it on speaker. Jenna’s voice came through, loud and clear. “Ev, I’ve locked down the IP addresses of the people who slandered you. The original posts all came from Zoe’s dorm room!” “I’ve already posted the proof online. It’s going viral. I also sent a copy to the academy’s disciplinary board and the medical school’s anonymous tip line.” “Thanks,” I said, and hung up. The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. The interns who had been looking at me with suspicion were now staring at their phones in shock. A commotion erupted outside. A group of students burst in, led by the same girl who had been teasing Zoe and Cole on the field—Zoe’s best friend. She shoved her phone in my face, the camera recording. “Dr. Reed! What is the meaning of this?” she shrieked. “Even if Zoe made a mistake, did you have to be so cruel? Did you have to try and ruin her life? And you reported the instructor, too!” “Just because you and Instructor Anderson are having problems, you can’t stand someone else quietly loving and supporting him? You’re just jealous!” After her impassioned speech, the other interns chimed in. “Apologize! How dare you call a college student a homewrecker with no proof!” “Yeah, get Zoe in here! There are hundreds of thousands of people watching this live stream! They’re all waiting for a public confrontation!” I smiled. “You want to find Zoe? Fine. I know where she is.”

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1 After twenty years of being childfree by choice, my husband, Marcus, suddenly wanted to adopt. The moment the paperwork was signed, he turned to me with a casual air. “Oh, I forgot to mention. Kevin is actually my biological son.” “A little something from a few years back,” he said, shrugging. “His mother died. I had to bring him home.” The air hitched in my lungs. “Then what were the last twenty years… What was our agreement for?” “Consider it a blessing?” Marcus slid a pen toward me, his voice devoid of emotion. “You got to play around for two decades, and now you get a devoted son without the pain of childbirth.” “Most women would kill for this.” My hand, clutching the strap of my purse, trembled. Inside that purse was a medical report. The one confirming Marcus’s sterility. I was still reeling from his words when the boy, who looked to be in middle school, bowed his head respectfully and called out to me. “Mom.” His voice was clear, laced with a deliberate attempt to please. Marcus smiled, ruffling the boy’s hair before his gaze fell back on me. “What’s done is done, Autumn. You can’t honestly expect me to abandon my own flesh and blood, can you?” Seeing the blood drain from my face, Marcus softened his tone, trying to coax me. “I only found out last month when I was here for a charity event. I wasn’t trying to deceive you.” My throat was so dry I could barely speak. It took all my effort to force out a single question. “Are you so sure he’s yours?” Marcus let out a soft, confident laugh. “She was a sweet girl from the countryside. Incredibly pure. I was her first.” He leaned in, his voice a low whisper. “There’s no way he could be anyone else’s.” His words struck me like a bolt of lightning. My fingers flew to Kevin’s file, tracing the information until they landed, hard, on his date of birth. I stared at Marcus, my voice shaking with dawning horror. “This was… This was when my grandmother died? When you went back to my hometown with me for the funeral?” Marcus nodded, not a flicker of guilt on his face. “You wouldn’t even let me touch you back then,” he stated flatly. “And I’ve never been one to deny myself.” The last thread of my composure snapped. I snatched the stack of adoption papers and hurled them at his face. “Marcus!” The papers scattered like fallen leaves, but Kevin suddenly lunged in front of his father. The bulk of the files missed Marcus, but the sharp edge of a page sliced a bright red line across Kevin’s cheek. The warmth vanished from Marcus’s face, replaced by a mask of ice. He pulled Kevin behind him, his eyes filled with a disgust I had never seen before. “You women who’ve never had children,” he spat, “you have no maternal instinct at all.” He turned, pulling Kevin with him toward the door. “You’d better think long and hard about this.” His voice, cold and laced with threat, drifted back to me. “Don’t make this difficult for me, Autumn. Or our twenty years of marriage will have to end right here.” He paused at the door as if remembering something. “Oh, and your mother’s medical bills,” he added, the words a final, devastating blow. “Those will end right here, too.” 2 A violent tremor wracked my body. The wind whipping around the entrance of the adoption agency felt like it was seeping into my bones, chilling me from the inside out. My mind, against my will, drifted back to when I first met Marcus. He had been so good to me. So good that he’d thrown himself in front of me when a group of thugs had me cornered in an alley, even though he didn’t have a penny to his name. I found out later he’d worked three jobs to pay them off, working until he collapsed in his tiny apartment from a bleeding ulcer. But when I asked him about it, he just said, “It had nothing to do with you.” “I needed to save up anyway.” Slowly, I learned that Marcus was an orphan. So every school holiday, I made up excuses to bring him home with me. I’ll never forget the day my grandmother slipped him some cash for his books; he was a tall, strapping man of six-foot-two, but his eyes welled up with tears. He once mentioned offhand that he’d never had real, homemade meatloaf. My mother spent the entire afternoon mincing meat by hand, presenting him with a massive, steaming loaf just for him. I don’t remember how many plates he had that night. I only remember that he ate so much he landed himself in the hospital. Then, in my junior year of college, my father died unexpectedly. The pillar of our family was gone. My mother’s medical bills and my own tuition suddenly became an impossible mountain to climb. It was Marcus who dropped out of school without a second thought. He worked day and night, grinding away at any job he could find to support me and my mother. “Don’t be afraid,” he promised me. “I’m your family now.” I truly believed our love could withstand anything. So when the doctor gave us the results of his fertility test, I didn’t hesitate for a second. I hid the report. I took all the pressure, all the questions from our families, and told everyone that I was the one who didn’t want children. We were childfree for twenty years. I thought it was just another beautiful chapter in our love story. But now, reality had just delivered a brutal, stinging slap to my face. “Ma’am? Are you alright?” A staff member from the agency was calling out to me, her voice gentle. I raised a hand to my face and was shocked to find it slick with tears. The sweeter the past, the sharper the pain of the present. My phone buzzed. It was my mom. “Autumn? Where are you? I thought you were just popping out to buy a few things for the new boy?” In the background, I could hear Marcus’s voice, smooth and reassuring, making excuses for me. “Mom, she’s just being a little overeager. It’s her first time being a mother, you know. She sees something, she wants to buy it for Kevin.” My blood ran cold. Marcus… he had taken that boy to my mother’s hospital room. The phone was passed over, and Marcus’s voice filled my ear. “You should get back here. We’re all waiting for you, the whole family.” I grit my teeth so hard my jaw ached. Grabbing my purse, I bolted from the agency, flagged down the first cab I saw, and raced to the hospital. As I arrived, I saw Marcus and Kevin coming out of the main entrance. Marcus headed toward a nearby convenience store, leaving Kevin to wait by a corner, where he pulled out his phone. I was about to confront them when I heard Kevin’s voice, dripping with a venom that was completely absent from the polite boy I’d met an hour ago. “Just some stupid old hag and her sick old bag of a mother,” he sneered into the phone. “I wonder how much money they’re gonna drain from my dad.” “If that old witch doesn’t play nice, I’ll find a way to finish off the old lady myself.” A roar filled my ears as all the blood rushed to my head. I stormed forward and, with all the strength I could muster, slapped him hard across the face. “Say that again!” Kevin clutched his cheek, his eyes burning with pure hatred. Before he could speak, a powerful kick slammed into my lower back. I was thrown forward, crashing hard against the brick wall of the building. The impact jarred every organ in my body. Marcus was back. “Autumn, I’ve spoiled you rotten, and you’ve forgotten your place!” he roared, his face contorted with rage. “If you don’t want this life, then fine! I’ll grant your wish!” 3 The next day, the hospital’s billing department called. “Ms. Autumn? Your mother’s account is overdue. If the balance isn’t settled, we’ll have to discontinue her medication.” I couldn’t bring myself to tell my mom that Marcus had cut off her lifeline. But when I went to pay with my own card, the machine read: INSUFFICIENT FUNDS. I tried another. And another. Every single one of my cards had been frozen. It was then I remembered. The company we had built together after our marriage… Marcus was the sole legal owner. He’d always said he wanted to protect me, to keep me from the stress of business dinners and let me be a carefree homemaker. I once thought that was love. Now I understood. It was just a gilded cage he had been building for me all along. With no other options, I began selling the things Marcus had given me over the years. Anniversaries, birthdays, even the day we first met—for twenty years, he had never forgotten a single occasion. Jewelry, designer bags… each item had once been a testament to our love. Now, they were just proof of how masterfully he had deceived me. My mother saw how haggard I was becoming and assumed we were just fighting. “Autumn, dear, all couples argue,” she said, her voice soft. “I know Marcus. That boy has eyes only for you. Just try to be a little more patient with him.” I looked down, hiding the tears that threatened to spill. Patient? How do you find patience for betrayal? Just then, the door to her room swung open. Marcus walked in, carrying a fruit basket. He moved with a familiar ease, peeling an apple for my mom as if nothing had happened. “Mom, Autumn is just being a bit stubborn,” he said, his tone gentle. “I’m here to take her home.” He even pulled Kevin forward, presenting him to my mother on her bed. “Mom, once you’re feeling a bit stronger, we’ll take Kevin back to the old town to visit Grandma’s grave.” My mother smiled, her face filled with relief. “Stop being silly, Autumn,” she urged. “Go home with Marcus.” Under her hopeful gaze, I reached out and let Marcus take my hand. His palm was warm, but it felt like being coiled by a venomous snake. The moment we were out of the hospital room, he flung my hand away. “Autumn, for your mother’s sake, I won’t divorce you,” he said, his voice cold. “But you will listen to me. And you will treat Kevin as if he were your own son.” I looked up at him. “Marcus, it’s not like I can’t have children of my own.” A strange, chilling smile spread across his lips. “You can’t.” My entire body went rigid. He looked at me, his expression calm, almost placid. “Last month, when you had your appendix out… I had the doctor tie your tubes while you were under.” “You will never have a child of your own.” I was plunged into an icy abyss, every limb frozen in shock. Marcus stepped closer and, just as he had a thousand times before, gently stroked my hair. “Autumn, I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” he murmured. “But I couldn’t risk it.” “This is the only way I could be sure you would love Kevin with your whole heart.” I broke. Pointing a trembling finger at the boy who was engrossed in his phone down the hall, I choked out, “For him?” Marcus nodded. “I have to take responsibility for my actions. That girl… I took advantage of her all those years ago.” I couldn’t breathe. It felt as if an invisible hand was squeezing my heart, crushing it. But Marcus simply pulled me into his arms. “Autumn, I really do love you,” he whispered. “That’s why I didn’t want to lie to you about this.” “Can’t we just go back to how things were? Can’t we just be happy?” In that embrace I had once cherished more than anything, I felt, for the very first time, the suffocating grip of true despair. Marcus continued to whisper in my ear. “There’s a new experimental drug from Europe. It’s very effective for your mother’s condition, but it’s incredibly expensive.” “Be a good girl, and I’ll find a way to get it for her. Okay?” I don’t know if it was exhaustion or pain, but in the end, I gave a weak, defeated nod.

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After eight years in France, I returned with three PhDs and was invited onto a popular reality TV job-seeking show. Sitting in the audience, a female boss examined my resume, then smiled confidently. “I also studied in France,” she announced. “What a coincidence. Shall I test you?” Without waiting for a reply, she switched to fluent French and asked a brief question. Her words left me speechless. In the silence, whispers spread through the audience. The woman, introduced as Victoria, laughed first. She turned to the camera with a theatrical sigh. “It seems some overseas students aren’t quite what they claim to be. But it’s understandable—buying a foreign degree is trendy these days. There’s a world of difference between that and a true top student like me, who studied under the great Professor Olivier.” The host joined in, mocking, “Ms. Scott, you didn’t even understand? We may have to question your credentials.” Amid the laughter, I stared at the smug boss, completely baffled. It wasn’t that I didn’t understand. Her French was a grammatical disaster. And the professor she’d just named? He was my mentor, who supervised my research for eight years. I’d never once heard him mention a student named Victoria. 1 The host’s face was a mask of undisguised glee as he waited for me to crumble. I couldn’t let this farce continue, and I certainly wasn’t going to let my eight years of hard work be questioned by someone who could barely string together a coherent sentence in French. Taking a calming breath, I ignored the host’s predatory grin and addressed Victoria directly, speaking in the flawless, standard French I had used for nearly a decade. “My apologies, but I’m afraid I didn’t understand your question.” “However, if you wish to discuss my professional background, I am a graduate of the Sorbonne University in Paris. My academic history, research focus, and publications are detailed in my resume. I welcome any specific questions you may have regarding them.” I thought that would, at the very least, steer the conversation back to the actual purpose of the show: finding a job. Instead, the moment the words left my mouth, Victoria let out a short, sharp laugh. “Ms. Scott, forgive my bluntness, but your French has a very… heavy accent. If you try to communicate like that in Paris, I’m afraid you’ll be a laughingstock.” “Furthermore,” she continued, warming to her theme, “your sentence structure and word choice are completely stilted. Honestly, there were parts of that I couldn’t even decipher.” Standing on that stage, I almost laughed out of sheer disbelief. A heavy accent? Stilted? In my eight years in France, from my bachelor’s to my doctorates, not a single person had ever commented on my accent. French had become a second native tongue to me. And even if my French were the most awkward, textbook-recited version imaginable, it was still leagues better than the word salad she had just produced. I opened my mouth to retort, but the host eagerly cut me off, casting a look of pity in my direction. “Alright, alright, let’s put the language debate aside for now.” “Ms. Scott, let’s talk about your field of study, shall we? As a media professional myself, I’m practically a colleague. I’m especially curious about how one earns a PhD in Film Directing.” I frowned, confused. My resume was crystal clear, my objective stated in black and white: “Venture Capital and Strategic Analysis.” Film directing was completely irrelevant. Was the host illiterate, or was this a deliberate trap? Though the question was a bizarre pivot, I nodded politely, intending to briefly explain that the directing degree was a personal passion project. The moment I nodded, however, the host pounced like a shark that smells blood. “Excellent! Since you’re such an expert in directing, why don’t you tell us about a cinematic masterpiece!” He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. “For example, tell us about Jean-Luc Godard’s classic, The 400 Blows.” I froze again, this time genuinely stunned. Had French film history been rewritten in the short time I’d been away? The sheer absurdity of the moment temporarily eclipsed my anger. After a moment’s hesitation, I decided to answer honestly. “I’m not familiar with a version of The 400 Blows directed by Godard. I have, however, seen his film Breathless, which I could discuss…” My words were cut off by the host’s exaggerated gasp. He stared at me, his eyes wide with theatrical shock. “You have a PhD in directing, and you haven’t seen it? How is that possible?” He turned to the audience, spreading his hands in a gesture of profound disappointment. “Ladies and gentlemen, I hate to be the one to call someone out on this stage, but Ms. Scott’s performance forces me to question just how much of her expertise is real!” “In fact,” he declared, his voice rising, “I’m beginning to question the authenticity of her degrees altogether!” Before I could defend myself, he signaled excitedly to a stagehand, who brought out the certified copies of my diplomas I had submitted. He passed them down to Victoria. “Victoria, you’re our resident authority on French education. Please, take a look at these and tell us what you make of Ms. Scott’s so-called doctorates!” Victoria accepted the documents, making a show of scrutinizing them for a long moment. A look of dawning comprehension spread across her face. “I don’t believe these can be considered graduation certificates,” she announced gravely. “The French higher education system is complex, you see. There are many short-term training courses. In my professional opinion, out of all these documents, perhaps only this one, the International Economics and Trade certificate, could be considered a real degree.” “The others,” she finished with a dismissive wave, “look more like certificates of completion from some vocational training program.” I couldn’t believe my ears. My official doctoral diplomas from the Sorbonne, one of the most prestigious universities in the world, were being dismissed as worthless pieces of paper from a trade school? The host fanned the flames, asking loudly and deliberately, “So, Victoria, in your view, what would Ms. Scott’s education be equivalent to here in our country? A bachelor’s degree, perhaps?” Victoria chuckled, the sound dripping with contempt. “A bachelor’s? Oh, no. I doubt it would even qualify as a proper community college degree. At best… a technical school certificate.” She fixed her gaze on me. “Ms. Scott, I have to ask, why would you bring these here to try and deceive us? You’re lucky I was here today. If none of the other bosses understood French education, you might have actually gotten away with it.” Her pronouncement sent a ripple of outrage through the other bosses on the panel. I could no longer contain my anger. “Victoria, you have absolutely no evidence to make such a malicious and defamatory claim about my education!” I shot back, my voice shaking with fury. “If you stand by that statement, I have no problem contacting my supervisor, Professor Olivier, and the administration at the Sorbonne right now. We can call them, live on camera, and verify my credentials!” At my forceful response, a flicker of unease crossed Victoria’s face. But the host saw it as a new opening. “Ms. Scott,” he said, his voice laced with condemnation, “you may not have learned much in the way of skills, but you certainly picked up the foreign habit of arguing senselessly. If you think Europe is so wonderful, why didn’t you stay there and get a high-paying job? Why come running back home to appear on our show?” His words struck me like a physical blow. He was trying to brand me as unpatriotic. If that label stuck, my job prospects wouldn’t just be damaged; my entire future in this country could be jeopardized. I forced myself to remain calm, meeting his malicious gaze head-on. “Where is that accusation coming from? I have never believed that things are better abroad. On the contrary, I chose to return precisely because I saw the incredible growth and energy here, a vitality that far surpasses what I saw in France.” “I believe my skills and knowledge can be of far greater value in my own country. That is how I choose to serve it.” I tried to keep my tone professional, but the host’s sneer was undisguised. “Is that so? Then why is it that throughout this entire conversation, I’ve felt a distinct chill coming from you?” He adopted a pained expression. “I rarely say things like, ‘I think our country is…’ It’s our home. Does it need such a formal, emphasized title? Your deliberate phrasing makes me question where your true loyalties lie.” A wave of helplessness washed over me. I gave up trying to follow his twisted logic and went straight for the flaw in his argument. “I’m not sure I follow. In a formal setting, isn’t using the country’s official name a sign of respect? It’s a common courtesy, just as I use formal titles when addressing you.” “Do you really refer to it as ‘my motherland’ in every single conversation? By your logic, is everyone who uses polite and formal language unpatriotic?” The host’s face tightened. He was clearly unprepared for me to turn his own absurd reasoning against him. He was momentarily speechless. After an awkward silence, he simply bulldozed past the point, shifting his attack to my attitude. “Ms. Scott, that tone you just used—there’s that chill again.” “From the moment you stepped onto this stage, you’ve approached every question with a kind of hostility. This is a job interview, not a debate competition!” I stared at him, incredulous. He was completely rewriting reality. From the very beginning, he and Victoria had been the ones setting traps, hurling insults, and dripping with aggression. “I honestly don’t know how to respond to that,” I said, my voice strained. “Perhaps you could enlighten me. Since I’ve been on this stage, how many of the questions you and Victoria have asked have had anything to do with my qualifications for a job?” “Aren’t you the ones who have been constantly interrupting me, questioning me, and trying to slander my name?” Seeing me challenge the show’s integrity, a flash of fury crossed the host’s eyes. He would not be questioned by a mere applicant. He suddenly raised his voice, drowning me out. “Alright! Ms. Scott, we have given you more than enough time! Your personal feelings are not the focus of this program! We have many other talented candidates waiting!” He turned to the panel. “And now, I ask our esteemed bosses to make their final choice for this… unprofessional overseas graduate!” Almost before he finished speaking, the lights on the bosses’ panels went out. One by one, with brutal, decisive clicks. The host turned back to me, a triumphant smirk plastered on his face. “What a shame, Ms. Scott. It seems no one is willing to make you an offer. Please exit the stage.” I left the studio in a daze, wondering if I had been insane to ever trust such a sham of a program. Fortunately, my actual qualifications and expertise spoke for themselves. I was soon hired by a top-tier international trade firm that dealt primarily with French markets. Within weeks, I had secured several major contracts, proving my worth with tangible results. The unpleasant memory of the show began to fade. Just as I thought the whole affair was behind me, a friendly colleague approached me, her face etched with concern. “Sophie,” she said, her voice full of sympathy. “You need to go online. Right now. I think… I think you’ve gone viral.”

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