Three years after our divorce, I reunited with Caleb on the streets of Seattle. I was a volunteer handing out cold medicine, and he was a homeless man who had fallen below the poverty line. Ironically, our divorce… Was over a cooking pot. “Twice a day, two pills each time.” I handed him the medicine, my tone as calm as if talking to a stranger. Caleb’s eyes turned red. “Lily, you still hate me.” I didn’t look up, continuing to distribute the medicine. “This medicine costs $10. It’s cheap. But back then, it forced me to sell my plasma.” “Caleb, how can I not hate you?” Chapter 1 I spoke of hate so lightly. Behind me, Caleb froze, silent. After a long time, I heard fading footsteps. I looked back. Caleb’s thin figure was swallowed by Seattle’s gray, cold rain. “Lily, you know that homeless guy?” A gentle touch on my arm. It was Tara, my junior from college. I withdrew my gaze and nodded. “Yeah. My ex-husband.” Tara gasped, unable to suppress her surprise. “Ex… ex-husband?” “Lily, how could you marry a homeless man?” I shook my head, handing out the last packet of medicine. I explained: “He wasn’t like this when I met him.” “We’re done here. The rain is getting heavier, let’s head back to campus.” On the way, seeing Tara’s hesitant curiosity, I smiled helplessly. I started talking about my past with Caleb intermittently. It was a cliché campus love story. After graduation, he was a software engineer in Silicon Valley, and I was an actuary at an investment bank. Good income. We rented a nice apartment in a safe neighborhood. In my plan, we would own a home in five years, get married, have a cute baby, and become one of the lit windows in the city. Tara listened, her frown deepening. “That sounds like a happy life. Why did you divorce?” “Did Caleb cheat?” I pressed down her clenched fist and explained: “No. He didn’t cheat, and neither did I.” “We divorced because of a pot.” Tara’s eyes widened, thinking I was joking. Maybe, it was more than just a pot. Three years ago, on a rainy night just like this. I asked Caleb to stop by Macy’s on his way home from work and buy a new pot. The landlord’s old non-stick pan had lost almost all its coating. I was responsible for grocery shopping, planning to cook a fancy dinner for our anniversary. In my imagination—the pot would be bubbling, Caleb would sniff and say “Smells good,” and we would talk about the future over soup. Maybe buying our own house next year, or getting a cat. But when the door opened, Caleb was holding a new camera, waving at me frantically: “Babe, look at this!” “I paid extra to snag it! Limited edition!” I stared at the camera, stunned for a few seconds. The plastic bags cut deep red marks into my hands, stinging with numbness. I asked subconsciously: “Where’s the pot?” Caleb seemed stumped. But then he smiled, nonchalant: “It’s just a pot. Macy’s isn’t going bankrupt, we can buy it anytime.” “But this! If I missed it, it’s gone! Isn’t a camera more romantic than a pot?” “By the way, I saw we had some money left in our joint account, so I bought tickets. Go pack, we’re taking this new camera to Iceland to chase the Aurora!” I didn’t speak. I just put down the grocery bags. Silently took out my phone and checked our joint account. Balance: $0.41. We couldn’t even pay the water bill this month. Caleb’s excited voice droned on: “Babe, listen. This camera has insane ISO, our Aurora photos will be grain-free. We can print them out and stick them on the fridge…” A familiar sense of powerlessness washed over me. I felt so tired. For three years, Caleb was always like this. He lived in the moment. If he wanted something, he got it now, even if it meant maxing out credit cards. While I wanted a future I could plan for, a future that could withstand risks. I looked up at him, still excitedly playing with the new camera. Suddenly, I realized. Caleb and I were on different paths. “Let’s get a divorce.” Chapter 2 Click. The camera in Caleb’s hand hit the table corner. He looked at me blankly: “Divorce?” “Why? Just because I didn’t buy that pot? Or because I bought tickets to Iceland without asking? Lily, over such trivial things?” They were trivial things. But a floor full of trivialities is enough to break a person. “Caleb, I told you many times.” “I don’t want to live like this. I don’t want our account balance to be single digits every time. I don’t want to live on credit cards. I don’t want to keep moving from rental to rental.” “Being with you is exhausting.” Caleb looked like he heard the biggest joke, raising his voice to argue: “Exhausting? I work hard every day. I want to show you the most beautiful scenery, record our life with the best lens. And that tires you?” “Yes! That’s exactly what tires me!” Three years of bitterness exploded. I couldn’t help but shout. I opened the Notes app on my phone, scrolled to the top, and turned the screen to Caleb: “Caleb, do you remember this?” It was a simple entry: Goal: Down Payment. Current Total: $47,218 Progress: 21.2% Last update: Three years ago, the afternoon we first saw that little condo. Caleb’s eyes flickered. “You said you wanted to give us a home.” “My overtime pay, every coffee money I saved, all my savings went in there. But do you remember where that money went?” I clicked on a screenshot of an expired travel booking. “First month after marriage, you maxed out the credit card for a ‘North Pole Photography Tour.’ Your paycheck was delayed, you couldn’t pay the card, and we almost missed rent. We used that money.” I scrolled through electronic receipts one by one. “And this. Last year, that ‘Skydiving Experience Camp’ you insisted on. We used our emergency fund. You even spent an extra five thousand on new gear.” “And two months ago. We finally saved a bit. You traded the car for a performance car on loan. You said you wanted a novel driving experience.” “Caleb, have you ever thought about our future?” His lips moved, but no sound came out. He just lowered his head silently. “Every time we go grocery shopping, I compare prices and calculate weight. You stand there scrolling on your phone, impatiently telling me to just grab whatever, it’s just a few bucks!” “I suggested taking classes to learn new skills because the job market is bad. You said it’s a waste of money, then turned around and bought a new lens.” “I budgeted for months, and you spent hundreds on games without blinking.” … My accusations seemed to ignite Caleb’s anger. He ruffled his hair irritably. “Lily, can you stop being so realistic!” “You only see pots and pans, rent and bills. If life is just this, what’s the point? I just want our life to have meaning.” Two tears fell powerlessly from my eyes. “Meaning?” “But your ‘meaning’ left us unable to pay the water bill this month.” Caleb’s face turned pale with anger. “Money!” “Money again! You always talk about money!” “We can earn more money, but some opportunities…” I interrupted Caleb. I didn’t want to continue this exhausting argument. “Three whole years! Every time I said I wanted to save for a down payment, you said ‘renting is better, more freedom.’ Every time I was anxious about the uncertain future, you said ‘why worry, just be happy now’.” “Caleb, I want a home. You can’t give it to me.” He was pinned in place by my words, chest heaving, unable to find a rebuttal. Only our heavy breathing remained in the room. I looked at this man I loved for three years. The carefree spirit that once attracted me… Now seemed like a refusal to grow up. I turned my head and saw his packed suitcase in the corner. My intense emotions suddenly subsided. I looked at Caleb: “Make a choice.” “Go chase your Aurora, or stay and face the utility bills with me?” Chapter 3 The door closed behind him. Caleb left. I stood there numbly for two seconds before coming back to reality. I found a lawyer’s number and dialed. “Hello, I’d like you to draft a divorce agreement ASAP.” “We have no joint assets, only some debts to split. The sooner the better, thanks.” Hanging up, the rain outside seemed heavier. My breathing became hot and rapid. Maybe it was the rain I caught outside the supermarket, or the reaction after the emotional roller coaster. I dragged my heavy feet to the bedroom. Temperature: 101.3°F. Fever. After searching for ages, I only found one expired Tylenol. I didn’t care. I swallowed it with cold water, praying the fever would break after sleep. But it was worse than I thought. In the middle of the night, I woke up in pain. My body felt like a burning volcano. This won’t do. I was delirious from the fever. My instinctive reaction was to call Caleb. Beep. Beep. Beep. Only when the busy tone sounded for the third time did my brain sluggishly realize. Caleb should be on a plane to Iceland. How could he answer? I laughed dryly, making my throat hurt more. Laughing at myself for being so feverish I still relied on him. I thought of my colleagues. I didn’t want to trouble anyone, but in this situation, I had to be thick-skinned. But the receiver only played a cold mechanical voice: “Sorry, your service has been suspended due to non-payment. Please recharge immediately to restore service.” Suspended? I tried to pay. But looking at the payment page… Where could I get money? Our account had $0.41. I couldn’t even afford the cheapest plan. Phone service and data were bundled. No phone meant no internet. I couldn’t even send a distress signal. I had to save myself. Luckily, the offline map still worked. I squinted, searching laboriously. The nearest 24-hour ER was 3 miles away. Not too far to drive. I struggled to the garage and turned on the light. Empty. I remembered sluggishly. Caleb took the car for mods yesterday. I suggested renting a car as backup since we lived in the suburbs. Caleb shook his head immediately: “Bus and subway are right there, why waste money? I’m just changing the exhaust pipe, it’s fast. Back tomorrow.” “What could happen? Don’t worry about useless things.” But now, no car. I stood there, shivering, unable to stand steady. If I kept burning up, I might die at home. No. I have to go to the hospital. Using all my strength, I found the thickest down jacket, put on two pairs of pants, pulled up my socks, and wrapped a scarf around my neck and face, trying to trap a little heat. Couldn’t hold an umbrella, so I wore a raincoat. Opening the door, Seattle at 3:30 AM was like a giant wet refrigerator. The cold soaked into my bones. Every step felt like walking on clouds, dizzying. I kept my head down, daring not to stop. Suddenly, dirty shoes appeared in front of me, blocking my way. I looked up sluggishly. Three men. Soaked, smelling strongly of alcohol and tobacco. Grinning lewdly at me. I realized something was wrong instantly. I turned to run, but was grabbed. One of them yanked off my hood. “Wearing so much… what goodies are you hiding inside?” I screamed. “No… go away!” But two of them were already dragging me toward the darker woods nearby.

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The night before our wedding, I found photos of another girl on Jared’s phone. She had a sweet smile, full of energy, mostly candid shots. I didn’t choose to suffer in silence. I handed the phone to him and demanded an explanation. Jared smoked in the living room all night. In the morning, he walked into the bedroom and said: “I admit, I have some feelings for her, but that’s all.” After ten years of love, I wasn’t willing to give up on Jared just for some photos. I put on my wedding dress and let the ceremony proceed. But halfway through, his assistant Liam rushed out and shouted to Jared: “Chief Jared! Claire found out you’re getting married and slit her wrists!” The diamond ring hovered in mid-air, then fell heavily to the floor. Jared bolted toward the door like lightning. Red-eyed, I screamed at his back: “If you walk out that door today, we are done forever!” He paused for a second, then left the wedding without hesitation. Chapter 1 Looking at the endless stream of photos on his phone, my heart seized with pain. No intimate poses. Just moments of her eyes shining while working. Pouting playfully while eating, pretending to be mad. Laughing freely when she got a bonus. … Most were candid shots. There were also a few selfies acting cute for the camera. In the past, I would have smashed the phone in Jared’s face and walked away瀟洒ly. But now, tomorrow, we were about to complete our ten-year marathon. A happy ending. Marriage. We notified all friends and family, booked the venue, sent the invitations. Happiness was within reach. And I found this at such a critical moment. I didn’t want to face it. I forced the tears back and took a deep breath. I decided to confront him. Jared is an excellent man. Youngest Chief Engineer at NASA JPL. Ten years of mutual support, I knew his character. When I placed the photos in front of him, he wasn’t surprised. He probably didn’t intend to hide it. During the eight long hours of darkness. He smoked two packs of cigarettes in the living room. I watched the stars from the bedroom all night. Early the next morning, before the makeup artist knocked. He walked into the bedroom and confessed. “This girl is my assistant, Claire.” “I admit, I was moved by her.” My heart, suspended in mid-air, sank violently. Then I heard Jared say: “But Winnie, it hasn’t been easy for us to get here. I will transfer her out of my team. I promise you this will never happen again.” Jared promised sincerely. In ten years, he never broke a promise to me. I couldn’t let go of these ten years, couldn’t cut off this love connected to my bones and blood. So I chose to forgive. Until the wedding, when the officiant asked that solemn question: “Do you take Winnie to be your lawfully wedded wife, to love and cherish her forever?” My heart pounded with anxiety. Thump, thump. Waiting for him to give me, give this relationship, a perfect ending. But with one sentence from his assistant, he threw the ring onto the cold floor. Everyone watched him rush out of the wedding. Leaving me behind. His promise was broken. Chapter 2 The wedding turned into chaos. Neither set of parents knew what happened. Assistant Liam’s eyes flickered as he explained anxiously: “An assistant under the Chief had an accident. She… she has important experimental data. The Chief just went to check. He’ll be back soon.” Liam has been with Jared for eight years. He was always respectful to me, calling me “Sister-in-law” with a smile. But now, he didn’t even have the courage to look me in the eye. I didn’t know how much he helped Jared hide from me, or what was going on with that girl named Claire. A dense pain spread in my chest. I truly felt Jared’s betrayal. My parents held my hands, anxious. “This is ridiculous! Who is more important than his wedding? Making him leave Winnie like this?” Jared’s parents were guilt-ridden, making calls while comforting me. “Winnie, don’t worry. I’ll make that brat come back and apologize to you immediately.” I gripped the ring in my hand, piercing the skin. Leaving a bloody mark. For three full hours, Jared didn’t answer any calls. He ran recklessly to save that girl. Leaving me alone at the wedding like a moth to a flame, accepting the strange looks and whispers of the guests. Overwhelmed by rage and grief, I fainted. When I woke up, the doctor gently instructed: “You are eating for two now. Don’t get agitated. Take care of your body.” My heart sank. Looking at my excited parents and in-laws. I forced a bitter, ugly smile. Tears filled my eyes. How do I explain to my parents that this ten-year marathon had its first real tear? Not long after, Jared arrived. His face was pale, looking at me with guilt. My parents left the room, telling Jared to apologize properly. The room was quiet. He held my cold hand, silent for a while, voice raspy. “Winnie, in ten years, I’ve never asked you for anything. Our relationship has always been good. Just this once, I beg you not to spread this, it will ruin Claire’s reputation, okay?” Looking at his pleading eyes, my heart twisted into a knot, suffocating me. He shouldn’t beg me. He should apologize. A person’s first reaction doesn’t lie. He didn’t think about how humiliated I was left at the wedding. Didn’t worry why I was in the hospital. He opened his mouth only for Claire. Tears uncontrollable rolled down my cheeks onto the blue sheets. Creating a wet stain. I squeezed out a word from my throat with difficulty. “Okay.” He sighed in relief and continued: “Claire is emotionally unstable knowing I was getting married.” “I want to stay at the hospital to comfort her these days. Let’s wait a bit, maybe half an year. Just six months, then we’ll get married, okay?” Jared’s voice was tentative. Half a year. I waited ten years. Six months. I could afford to wait. But there was no need. It was just a change of heart. I could take it. A dull anger blocked my chest, burning my insides. There was a little life in my belly, waiting for me to nurture. I thought for a long, long time. My mind was full of that girl’s smile, and Jared’s doting look at his phone. The blockage in my chest slowly dissipated. Suddenly, I didn’t want to wait anymore. I pulled my hand from his and spoke softly. “Jared.” “I’m not a smart girl. I’ve loved you since I was eighteen, for ten years.” “I remember how you trembled when you first confessed to me. Your performance that day made me laugh and my heart flutter.” “I remember when I agreed to be your girlfriend, you hugged me and cried tears of joy. That was the first time I felt love outside of family.” “Over the years, you bought me everything I liked, fulfilled every promise, kept every vow.” “For ten years, I thought you loved me to the bone.” I looked up, tears suddenly surging. “But today, I feel… you don’t love me anymore.” One sentence: Not loving anymore. Defeated me completely. Ten years of love, too many beautiful memories. Jared’s eyes reddened, a tear slipping out. “But Winnie, she needs me right now.” One sentence: She needs me. Nailed me in place. Completely awake. I didn’t ask him to stay. I let Jared leave the room. Chapter 3 The next day, as I prepared to be discharged, I bumped into Jared in the hallway. He didn’t see me. His eyes were full of the girl he was supporting. She was tall and thin, looking very pure, eyes big and round. So that was Claire. The girl who slit her wrists for Jared, making the usually calm Jared lose composure at his wedding. Probably because my gaze lingered too long, she noticed me. Her face turned white, turning away, gripping Jared’s arm nervously. Jared noticed me. He walked towards me unhappily, voice muffled. “Winnie, Claire is weak. Let’s talk at home. Don’t make a scene here and embarrass Claire.” Claire in his arms looked even paler, terrified of me. “Si… Sister Winnie, I… there’s nothing between me and the Chief. Don’t misunderstand.” I gripped the lab report, smiling lightly. “You misunderstood. I’m here to pay the bill.” Jared looked at me weirdly, his anger inexplicably dissipating. I walked past him to the payment window. Walking out of the hospital, Jared texted me. [Winnie, don’t be mad. I was just urgent earlier. I bought you a gift, remember to sign for it.] When the courier knocked, I accepted a cake. I was spoiled and loved romance. When Jared upset me, he always sent a Disney castle cake. I ate it for ten years. I was tired of it long ago. But Jared was so busy. I felt sorry for him, staying up late for research and still trying to coax me. So every time I received this cake, I pretended to be happy. Hoping he would be happy too. Now, I finally didn’t have to pretend. I gave the cake to the neighbor’s kid and replied to Jared. [Ten years. Just like you, no matter how good the cake is, I’m sick of it.] Jared probably understood my insinuation. He replied with an apology. [I was inconsiderate. Tomorrow, I’ll pick a gift for you personally at the mall.] That night, Jared didn’t come home. Peeling away a ten-year relationship isn’t easy. I had insomnia, so I got up to pack my things. Throwing things into boxes, I couldn’t help recalling. Graduation year, Jared just entered the research institute, busy as a bee. A year later, he put a ten-year contract and five million dollars in my hand. “Winnie, I’ll give you a home. I keep my word.” The boy in my memory was sincere and brave. His love burned hotter than the rising sun. That day, I cried and hugged him. We bought this house. Kissed in the sunset. Blushed while shopping at IKEA. Chatted like chirping birds. The star lights on the balcony were hung by us, the rocking chair held ten years of whispers. We leaned on the carpet eating watermelon, drinking soda, watching cheesy dramas. He said he’d give me a home. Now he forced me to leave this home. Chapter 4 I spent three days clearing out everything that belonged to me. While packing, both sets of parents came. I was too ashamed to tell them what Jared did, so until today… They didn’t know why we separated. My parents respected my decision, but Jared’s parents kept persuading me: “Winnie, the wedding is so close. Couples fight, it’s normal. Don’t really separate!” I didn’t speak, letting the movers carry boxes out one by one. Jared’s parents were wearing out their lips when Jared unexpectedly returned. Holding Claire’s hand. The room went silent. Everyone looked at them, expressions varying. Jared’s mom’s voice trembled: “Jared… did you… do something wrong to Winnie?” Jared’s dad stared wide-eyed in anger. “Son! Who is this woman?” Jared didn’t answer. He scanned the half-empty room and looked at me. “Where are you moving?” He was still so calm and rational, accepting my departure peacefully. No explanation. No retention. And shamelessly brought Claire back here. I said calmly. “Back to my real home.” Jared nodded. “Okay. I’ll visit you later.” After saying that, he pulled Claire to his side and introduced her. “This is my lab assistant. She was discharged today. I brought her to see the house and have a meal.” Jared’s open introduction made our suspicions seem petty. Claire warmly held Jared’s mom’s arm, smiling sweetly. “Auntie, the Chief takes good care of me at the institute. He said he’d treat me to dinner to celebrate my discharge!” “But how dare I trouble the Chief? Since you and Uncle are here, why not try my cooking?” Jared’s mom looked at me awkwardly. “Winnie, why don’t we sit down and talk it out…” I was about to refuse. Claire interrupted, eyes flashing with provocative triumph. “Sister Winnie, let’s eat together, what do you say?” Slap. The change happened in an instant. I widened my eyes, watching my mom slap Claire. “Mom, you…” Mom looked at me with red eyes, voice trembling. “I gave birth to you. You think I don’t know anything?” “You’ve been with Jared since eighteen. Now twenty-eight. Ten years of youth! For him, a rich young lady learned to cook, knit, swallow grievances… if it wasn’t unbearable, would you come home?” “Mom doesn’t ask for much, but today, Jared brought this woman to slap your face. Mom can’t stand it.” “If my daughter won’t stand up for herself, I will.” Mom’s words were powerful. Claire covered her face, daring not to speak. Jared looked at her with heartache, face ugly. “Winnie! You’re an adult, still tittle-tattling to parents…” Before he finished, I rushed out with red eyes and slapped him hard several times. After venting, I took a diagnosis report from under the coffee table and threw it at him. “Do you know what I regret most in my life?” Jared turned his head, opened the report, and pupils shrank. “Winnie… you… you’re pregnant?”

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The day Julian Vance was arrested for killing a man for me, I ignored his pleas, aborted our child, and broke up with him. His eyes were bloodshot as he screamed at my back: “Scarlett, you killed my child! I will kill you!” After making bail, he dove headfirst into the underworld. In nine years, he clawed his way up to become the ruthless Mr. Vance. When he returned to power, the first thing he did was find me. He choked me, broke my father’s legs, and forced himself on me right in front of him. Everyone knew he hated me. Hated me enough to use my parents’ lives as leverage to chain me to his side. But when no one was looking, he kissed away my tears. “Scarlett, I hate you. I hate you to death!” Yet the next moment, he possessed me fiercely: “Scarlett, remember the pain I give you. Never forget it!” After the passion, he threw a skimpy dress at me. “Wear this to the Gala tonight. You’re going in Vivian’s place.” “She’s different from you. She has a future. You’ve been used before, once more won’t hurt. Don’t forget, your parents’ lives are in my hands.” I smiled miserably. “Julian, my parents are dead.” “Dead?” Julian froze for a second, lust still lingering on his face. “Those two old things willing to die? Scarlett, lying just to skip a party? How cheap.” I looked up, tears blurring my vision, voice trembling: “I’m not lying. They really are dead.” Chapter 1 They died before Julian arrived. Died in the wind. “Scarlett, we dragged you down. We’re sorry.” “Leave Julian. Start over.” “Live happily.” Leaving these words, they jumped right in the video call. I screamed and cried, but couldn’t break the golden chain on my ankle, couldn’t escape the cage named Julian Vance. Julian pinched my chin, leaning down to kiss away my tears, his tone grim: “Scarlett, what right do you have to cry?” “You killed my child. You’ve been used by so many men. What right do you have to feel wronged?” “Just replacing Vivian for one party. Stop pretending to be noble!” One party? He spoke of that absurd, debauched feast so lightly. Looking at Julian’s face, I felt numb. A tear fell on the back of his hand. Julian withdrew his hand instantly, wiping it violently on his clothes. “Dirty.” It reminded me of the day he killed for me. He reached out his blood-stained right hand, catching my tear before it hit the ground. The next second, he was pinned down by the police. Lying in the mud, he smiled brilliantly and said, “Scarlett, don’t cry.” “It hurts.” “Julian, my parents are dead,” I repeated. Slap! The slap landed on my face. Julian’s face loomed close. Patience gone. “Scarlett, don’t push your luck! Replacing Vivian is your blessing!” Blessing? At this moment, I couldn’t tell if Julian was humiliating me or if he really loved that escort. He brought Vivian home more than once. Slept with her in front of me more than once. And every time after, he made me clean her up. As if only this way could he get pleasure. In a trance, Julian’s face approached again, overlapping with memory. Smiling brilliantly, “Don’t want to go? Fine.” “Unless you tell me why you left me back then!” My body lost all strength. I threw off his hand and smiled mockingly: “I’ll go.” Julian exploded instantly, grabbing my hair and roaring. “You’re this cheap just to keep a secret? Willing to be used by those men?” I was thrown to the floor. The chain on my ankle clanged harshly. Julian’s face magnified again, overlapping with the boy in my memory. Unconsciously, tears fell again. I nodded heavily, screaming: “Julian, my parents are dead! They are dead!” “There is no truth! What truth do you want!” Slap! Julian slapped me again, eyes splitting with rage: “Since you’re so eager to be used, I’ll grant your wish!” “Someone! Clean this slut up and send her over!” After speaking, pain flooded his eyes, voice hoarse: “Scarlett, you owe me this.” Yes, I owed him. Maybe everything was a mistake from the beginning. Chapter 2 At eighteen, I ran away with Julian, breaking the marriage contract my family arranged. Since then, I was disowned, and my family’s business plummeted. The first night in the basement apartment, Julian cried under the shower. When I found him, he grabbed my hand, wanting to crush it into his bones. He swore with red eyes, “Scarlett, I will give you a good life. I will make you a proper lady again.” Julian took oaths seriously back then. And he did it. Without a degree, he took odd jobs, the dirtiest and hardest work. Tired, but hearts warm. Every night, Julian pointed at the skyscrapers in magazines, painting the future. “Scarlett, I’ll give you the biggest house. You won’t have to do anything, just be Mrs. Vance.” Now, it all came true. Julian used the biggest house in the city to build a cage for me. Even the chain holding me was gold. I wiped my tears and smiled miserably. “Yes, I owe you.” “Two years. Have I paid it off?” Julian froze. Disgust appeared. Just as he was about to speak, a voice interrupted. “Making Scarlett cry again?” Vivian walked over, skillfully linking arms with Julian. The diamond on her ring finger was blinding. My breath hitched. “Doesn’t Scarlett know?” “Julian, you really are something. Not telling Scarlett such big news.” “Slipped my mind.” Julian smiled gently. Vivian stepped forward, pulling out an invitation. “Julian and I are getting married.” Julian… getting married? To this escort? I looked at Julian, seeing a smile on his lips. Deep affection, just like before. But looking at me, it was cold disgust. “Vivian may have been an escort, but she is cleaner than anyone.” Heart ripped apart. Tears fell with a smile. Seeing my tears, hesitation flashed in Julian’s eyes. Next moment, he avoided my gaze. “Scarlett, your tears make me sick!” Julian dropped a sentence and sat on the sofa with Vivian. I was chained to the floor, like a stray dog. “Julian, since we’re getting married, Scarlett…” Julian raised an eyebrow. Vivian stopped instantly. “Tonight, let her go to the Gala for you.” “Is that appropriate? Scarlett is still…” Julian squeezed her hand, tone grim: “I said she goes, so she goes!” “You are my woman. Insulting you is insulting me, Julian Vance.” He kissed her. Vivian submitted skillfully, letting Julian’s hand explore. Sounds of wetness and Vivian’s gasps spread. I knelt aside, numbly watching the debauchery. Heart aching beyond words. Scarlett, it’s been two years. You should be used to it. Should have been used to it. Just like back then. … Chapter 3 The first Lunar New Year after running away with Julian, I got pregnant. Julian held me, laughing like a fool on the street. Back home, he lay on my belly, voice trembling. “Scarlett, we have a baby.” That night, he smoked downstairs all night. Next morning he rushed up. “Scarlett, let’s buy a house.” I laughed at his daydreaming, and the pitiful number in our bank account. But Julian pulled out crumpled bills. For the next month, he brought back more money than usual every day. Wouldn’t say how. He told me the money was clean, spend it freely, don’t mistreat myself. Until half a month later, I saw him in a local video. I ignored my three-month pregnancy and ran to the location. The biggest nightclub in the city. In the biggest VIP room, I saw Julian kneeling on the ground, barking like a dog. I pushed away the guest riding him like a madwoman, but was grabbed by the wrist. Later, Julian drank until his stomach bled before they let me go. In the ambulance, he still clutched the money, wiping my tears. “Don’t cry. It hurts.” The day after Julian’s stomach bleeding, a girl in a white dress brought a stack of cash with red eyes. “Brother Vance, I heard everything. Take this money. Take care of yourself and… sister-in-law.” She was Vivian. Neither Julian nor I took the money. Since then, every time Julian went to the club, I made him bring extra food. For Vivian. Julian was right. Though she was an escort, she was cleaner than anyone. Daytime, I drew designs for money. Nighttime, Julian went to the club. Finally, at five months pregnant, we saved enough for a down payment. Julian dragged me excitedly to pay the deposit. Vivian often came to help us pack. However, before moving, everything changed. That fifty-year-old landlord raped me while Julian was away. When Julian came back, he saw the landlord on top of me, panting. Instant rage. Later, my vision turned red. “Julian, run!” I cried hysterically. But Julian put down the knife, wiping my tears in the bloodbath. “Scarlett, don’t cry. It hurts.” Then, he was pinned into the mud by police. … When Julian changed position again, I interrupted him, handing him a condom. Julian scoffed, knocking me over. He leaned down and kissed Vivian’s brow, pious. “Vivian, give me a child.” Vivian didn’t answer, but her high-pitched gasps were the best proof. With a groan from Julian, everything stopped. I touched my empty belly, heart shrinking into a ball. Forcing back tears, I crawled over, handing tissues to clean up Julian’s mess. “Enough!” Julian suddenly raged, grabbing the chain, pinning me to the floor. “Don’t you have emotions?” “Don’t you have dignity?” “Scarlett, why are you so cheap!” I smiled miserably. My dignity, along with Julian’s child, was buried in that snowy night amidst gang rape. After Julian was taken away, I kowtowed until my head bled at the sales office to get the deposit back. In those few days, I begged everyone. Finally, the landlord’s son reluctantly agreed to settle. The condition: I accompany them for three days for free. “My dad was stabbed to death by your man. You think you can settle without giving something?” “Miss Scarlett, you don’t want your man in prison, right?” Amidst smoke and alcohol, the men laughed lewdly. Piercing and fatal. Three days of nightmare and hell. They used every method until the last day, when I hemorrhaged massively. They stopped. Afraid to go to the hospital, they dumped me on the roadside. Blood between my legs dyed the road, dyed the snow. I lay on the road, in the heavy snow, contractions coming one after another. That day, watching the sky full of snow, I bit the umbilical cord, holding the dead baby and wailing. “Julian, our baby is gone!” “Gone!!!” … Chapter 4 “Julian, it hurts so much.” Julian’s face changed instantly, eyes red, voice trembling: “Scarlett, I’m here.” The past is gone, only memories remain. “Sister Scarlett, what did you say?” Vivian spoke. The pain in Julian’s eyes vanished instantly. He kicked me away, as if touching something filthy. “You deserve to hurt?” “Why didn’t you say it hurt when you aborted the child and left me?” “Scarlett, you asked for this!” “Wash yourself clean tonight. Or I’ll make those two old things wish they were dead!” With that, he strode towards the exit. “Julian.” Julian stopped. “They are dead.” “My parents jumped off a building and died.” “Dead? Good. Scarlett, you go die too.” Julian strode away. He walked coldly. But I was chained to the spot. Yes. What chained me wasn’t just metal. “Scarlett, if I were you, living like this, I’d rather die.” Vivian stood up, walking to me barefoot. The diamond ring on her finger sparkled. “Familiar? You picked it.” Vivian looked down, disdainful and arrogant. I noticed the ring. Back then, Julian found out I was pregnant. The next day he brought back a diamond ring, crying and proposing. I looked at our balance, nagged Julian for a long time to return it. Later, when I was imprisoned by Julian, he bought that ring back. Every time in bed, he made me hold it in my mouth. Now, it was his and Vivian’s wedding ring. “Julian was right. You really are a good dog.” Slap! A slap blacked out my vision. “Scarlett, I’m talking to you!” I forced a smile. “Isn’t this what you always wanted to see?” “Not enough!” “Why does Julian only see you? He’s marrying me! Scarlett, why do you get all of Julian’s love! Why!” “Scarlett, die! Just die! If you die, Julian won’t hurt anymore!” Vivian’s words were like thunder. Numbing my ears. Julian loves me? He… did love me before. Maybe. When I came back to my senses, Vivian was gone. Under the moonlight, a phone, a key. Picking up the key, the phone unlocked automatically. “After all, a city girl. Pregnant but so soft!” “Hahaha, lucky day for the brothers! Everyone in!” Familiar voices echoed through the villa. The woman on screen was posed in shameful positions. Forced to endure humiliation. Surrounded by men’s lewd laughter. This was the video from back then! Back then, they forced me to take photos and videos. Using them as leverage to agree to the settlement. And I used them as reason to leave Julian after bailing him out. Even now, I remember his scream. Heartbreaking. Eleven years. Even the world forgot. Where did this video come from! My fingers trembled, almost dropping the phone. When the video ended and returned to the menu… my blood ran cold! This was my father’s chat screen! Sender: Julian Vance. I wailed in the villa, watching the video again and again masochistically. Finally, I fled the villa, heading for the nearby rooftop. The wind on the roof was strong, like that snowy night. I stood in the wind, unable to shed another tear. Familiar voices rang in my ears. “You unfilial daughter. If you go with him, don’t ever come back.” “Scarlett be good. Daddy doesn’t hurt.” “My Scarlett suffered. We dragged you down.” Wind filled my ears. I slowly opened my arms, smiling. A brave leap. “Scarlett!!” Julian’s roar pierced the wind. Before falling, I seemed to see that familiar figure running towards me. That was nineteen-year-old Julian. But, it didn’t matter anymore. It’s all over.

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I escaped twice after they brought me to Elysium Isle. The first time I was dragged back, that night, a video arrived: my fiancé, torn to a skeletal wreck by a frenzy of piranhas. The second time my escape failed, my brother—the person I’d shared a life with since childhood—was tied to a ship’s mast and pulled apart. Consumed by utter despair, I accepted the binding of the “System.” “Earn enough points, and you can resurrect your loved ones.” From that day on, I shed every last shred of my dignity. I submitted to the electroshock collar biting deep into the flesh of my neck, enduring the agony until I was unconscious, over and over again. Until today, when they forcibly extracted yet another embryo. I looked at the points finally accumulated on the screen and felt a strange flicker of joy. My hand was trembling as I reached to press the confirmation button, when laughter suddenly erupted from the corner. “That idiot really thinks she’s bound to a System. She’s actually trying to save up points to bring back her brother and fiancé, you know? Little does she realize Elysium Isle is a fake. The deaths and the System? All a lie.” “Tell me about it. The rich have a knack for training their dogs. All this, the fake deaths, the fake System—I heard Mr. Miller and Mr. Ashford only put on this whole show because she slapped Miss Belle a few years ago and refused to apologize. This was their way of teaching her to finally submit.” “Shh, quiet. Mr. Miller and Mr. Ashford are coming to check on the latest lesson…” I felt like I’d been plunged into an ice bath, a deafening buzz in my ears. The pills I’d swallowed earlier were already kicking in. Before I could even react, blood began to pour uncontrollably from my mouth. As my consciousness faded, the door was suddenly kicked open. “Dee!” I struggled to lift my head and met a pair of familiar eyes, wide with panic. It was my brother, Tristan. The one who was supposed to be dead. The person I had yearned for and dreamt of seeing again for three long years had appeared before me without warning. His eyes were bloodshot with urgency, his voice a strained, panicked roar: “I told you to just scare her! How could you let it get this bad?” He leaned down, carefully lifting me. He deliberately softened his tone. “Don’t be scared, Dee. It’s over. Your brother’s here now.” I stared blankly at his familiar face, and the words I’d just overheard crashed back into my mind. They had been telling the truth. To avenge Isabelle, my brother and my fiancé had truly gone to extraordinary lengths. Exhaustion and utter despair swallowed me whole. I managed a choked, bitter laugh, and a fresh torrent of blood instantly gushed from my mouth. The room erupted into chaos as everyone present was terrified. Tristan, frantic, slammed his fist on a nearby table. “Get a doctor in here! Why are you all just standing there like idiots?” The others exchanged nervous glances. After a moment, one stammered, “Mr. Miller, you forgot.” “Last time Miss Belle had a cold, you moved all your medical teams to her wing.” “You also specifically instructed… that Miss Dee is prone to faking illness for attention, and you didn’t want her interrupting Miss Belle’s recovery. No one can call a medical resource without your personal command.” Tristan froze, his gaze guiltily shifting away from me. After a long silence, he ground out two words through clenched teeth: “…Useless!” In the moment Tristan turned to make the call, several pairs of hands brutally pinned me to the bed. “Hurry! We can’t let her die before the doctor arrives! If Mr. Miller blames us, we’re all finished!” Before the words were out, various syringes aimed at keeping me conscious were jabbed roughly into my skin. Blinding pain exploded. The crude stitches from my most recent injury completely tore open, and my body spasmed violently. At that exact moment, Tristan’s hushed, coaxing phone conversation drifted into my ears: “Belle, sweetheart, don’t be angry. Just let me borrow your doctor for your sister, okay? When she wakes up, I promise I’ll make her apologize to you personally.” “Yes, yes. I’ll make your sister kneel and thank you. Whatever our little princess wants.” I bit down on my fingers, a self-mocking smile twisting my lips. So, even my survival now required a plea for Isabelle’s gracious consent. Another needle plunged in. Amidst the torment of the pain, I struggled to turn my head, gathered every ounce of strength, and seized the razor blade tucked near the bedside table. I brought it down hard, without hesitation, across my wrist. Blood splattered the moment Tristan spun back around. His phone crashed to the floor, his pupils constricting into pinpricks. “Dee!!!” The last thing I remember was my brother screaming as he lunged toward me. In the haze of fading consciousness, I had a dream. In the dream, I was a girl cradled by fate. My brother cherished me as a treasure, and my childhood sweetheart, Carter Ashford, never left my side. That was until Isabelle, my father’s illegitimate daughter, walked through the front door. That was when the battle began. For three years, she staged ten or more suicide attempts. Slitting wrists, overdosing on pills, turning on the gas… each time she was “miraculously” found by either Tristan or Carter. But Tristan would merely glance at the spilled bottles of sleeping pills and sneer, “What else can you do besides these low-level pity stunts?” Carter would simply step around Isabelle, who was sobbing on the floor, take my hand, and walk away. “Ignore her. I’ll take you to school.” The genuine disgust in their eyes was so real that I never once doubted the solidity of their devotion to me. So, on the day Carter and I went to sign our marriage license, when Isabelle once again climbed onto the rooftop threatening to jump, Tristan merely watched with cold detachment. Carter frowned dismissively, ready to hang up the phone. No one took her dramatics seriously. This time, however, Isabelle gave a desolate smile and threw herself over the edge. In the video, Tristan’s face twisted in horror. He lunged toward the ledge like a maniac. Carter froze where he stood, the phone still in his hand, his earlier indifference shattering into a million pieces. His face was stark white. That day, I walked out of the City Clerk’s office, clutching the two folders—one red, one green—in a daze. The words of Carter’s friends still echoed in my ears: “Ashford, married for three minutes and already divorced? Taking the Miller princess on a quick field trip to the registrar’s office?” “Didn’t you just say you couldn’t stand Isabelle? Why did your face go ghost-white when she actually jumped?” “You guys don’t get it. Carter’s just playing hard to get. He says he hates her, but deep down, she’s the one he can’t live without!” For once, Carter didn’t coldly object. He simply tightened his brow in frustration and muttered, “Shut up.” Then, he walked past me and dialed the number that, I now realized, he had prioritized and saved: “I signed the divorce papers. Now will you be a good girl and let the doctors treat your injuries?” She must have said something, because he sighed, his voice laced with an indulgent helplessness. “Fine. Everything you say… My little princess. I’m coming right back to you.” It wasn’t until his car sped past, barely missing me, that I belatedly registered what had just happened. When I arrived at the Miller mansion, Carter was carefully draping his jacket over Isabelle. The room was a mess. My gaze fixed on the claw marks scored across the frame of the wedding photo beside the bed. It wasn’t hard to imagine how intense their activities had been just moments before. My stomach churned violently. Isabelle peeked out from Carter’s arms, her voice frail. “Sister Dee, Carter and I—it’s not what you think…” Before she finished, the loud crack of a slap echoed through the room. Isabelle clutched her cheek, staring at me with wide, disbelieving eyes. In that same instant, a tremendous force slammed into my face. I was knocked to the floor, my ears ringing violently. “Delaney Miller! Apologize to Belle!” My cheek was burning. I looked up. Tristan stood over me, towering and ice-cold. “Belle’s depression is only alleviated when Carter is with her. Can’t you show a little understanding and just let her have this?!” “Go! Apologize to Belle right now!” Carter’s eyes were equally filled with rage. “Delaney, no matter what happens between Belle and me, I was going to marry you in the end. Why do you insist on pushing her to the brink?!” “Belle did nothing wrong! You’ve gone too far this time. Say you’re sorry!” Carter’s face was suddenly blurry and foreign to me. In a daze, I felt as though the boy who had grown up beside me, the one who once charged into a kidnapper’s den alone to save me, the one who’d willingly sacrificed his own future for my sake, was now miles away. I scanned the room, and my eyes met Isabelle’s. Her lips curled into a silent, triumphant smirk. I jolted awake from the nightmare. Before I was fully conscious, the name I had relied on for twenty years instinctively slipped out: “Tris…” No one answered. I awoke in an empty, pitch-black bedroom. Next door, the lights were bright, and everyone was revolving around Isabelle, who was loudly sobbing about running away from home. “Tris, look at Sister Dee! She comes back and immediately tries to kill herself with pills and a razor. She just wants to intimidate me, right? I don’t understand why, after all these years, she still can’t stand me!” “Carter, maybe I should just stay away from you. You need to go be with Sister Dee. Just let me leave this house!” Tristan quickly intercepted her, his voice tight with barely suppressed fury. “Belle, you’re the one who’s been wronged. Don’t worry, I promise I will teach her a lesson for what she did today!” “I never thought that three years of trying to teach her how to yield and apologize would make her worse. Now she’s using death to blackmail and seek attention!” “I saw how pathetic she looked today, and I almost… I almost fell for it!” I slowly lifted my hand and touched my wrist. The searing pain in my stomach had lessened, and the cut on my wrist was carefully bandaged. But the aching beneath my skin was still sharp and clear. My near-death struggle, it turned out, was merely a “pity stunt” in my brother’s eyes. Carter, meanwhile, pulled Isabelle into his arms and gently soothed her. “Belle, Delaney’s been spoiled for too long; don’t let her get to you.” “Our wedding is still on for tomorrow, don’t let her ruin your mood.” Tristan immediately jumped in. “Exactly, focus on the wedding. As for her… I’ve got her covered! Whether she likes it or not, she will be your maid of honor! We can’t let her give anyone a reason to gossip!” The wedding? The maid of honor? Three years ago, I was meant to be the bride in that ceremony. Now, without my knowledge, I had been demoted from fiancée to bridesmaid. My heart went utterly cold with every word they exchanged. I tried to force a smile, but nothing came out. I realized my legs were moving, uncontrolled, sliding off the bed. I tried to stand. But the moment my feet hit the floor, the surgical wounds on my abdomen instantly tore open. A wave of crushing pain hit me. My legs buckled, and I crashed heavily to the ground. The moonlight illuminated the brutal, crisscrossing scars on my body, and the memories of the last three years suddenly came flooding back. To earn points, I knelt beneath strangers, stripped and forced into humiliating positions. To earn points, I was strapped to a lab table, and as soon as I conceived, the embryo was brutally cut from my body—an ordeal repeated over countless days and nights. The searing pain of the electrical current, the numbness of my dignity being ground to dust… In my most desperate moments, I had wanted to smash my head against a wall and die. But every time I remembered that Tristan and Carter were waiting for me in the “other world,” I endured it again. And now I knew. The “points” I’d risked my life to earn were nothing but a sick, elaborate hoax designed to break me. I felt pathetic and ridiculous. I wiped the wetness from my face, struggled to grab the edge of the bedside table, and slowly, painfully, tried to pull myself up. I fell again a second later. The tablecloth went with me, sending glass shattering across the floor, shards embedding in my skin. I barely noticed. My eyes were fixed on the open window directly ahead. The noise quickly alerted the next room. Tristan’s footsteps approached. He knocked, his voice heavy with impatience: “Delaney Miller!” “I haven’t dealt with you for trying to kill yourself and scaring Belle today.” “Everyone’s busy right now. Can you please be a little mature?” I leaned against the wall, sliding slowly to the floor, gasping for breath. The pain was relentless, but the three years of suppressed trauma exploded within me. I couldn’t hold back anymore. I screamed toward the door: “Busy with what?! Busy planning Isabelle and Carter’s wedding?!” “Or busy forcing me to be a maid of honor for the woman who stole my life?!” The outside went silent for a moment. Then Tristan’s voice rose sharply: “What are you even talking about?! Belle and Carter have been a public pair for years! You’re the one who always tried to interfere—” His voice caught, as if he suddenly remembered his cue. When he spoke again, his tone shifted to a strained persuasion: “Dee, love doesn’t follow a timeline. Carter loves Belle now. And you know she has severe depression; she’s only gotten better because of Carter’s constant support. Letting them marry is just a temporary solution that’s best for everyone.” “Are you going to fight Belle for this one thing, too?” I didn’t answer him. I finally dragged myself to the window. The wind hit my face. My heart felt like cold ash. After an unknown time, there was a loud crash. The door was kicked wide open. I heard it, but I didn’t turn around. In the next second, I swung a leg over the sill and leaped out the window. As my body began to fall, a powerful hand shot out and grabbed me. Carter’s sweat dripped from his brow. Veins bulged on his neck, his face stark white. “Hold on to me, Dee!” His hand had been severely injured years ago while saving me, and he couldn’t exert much force. In a matter of seconds, his arm was violently shaking. He pulled with all his might, yanking me back into the room. The moment I landed, a stinging slap crashed across my face. “Delaney Miller! Even if you didn’t want to attend Belle’s and my wedding, you didn’t have to resort to this!” Carter’s emotions were rarely so volatile. “Do you even know what floor this is?! If I hadn’t reacted fast enough, you’d be dead right now!” Tristan was equally shaky. A maid supported him, barely keeping him upright. He took several deep, shuddering breaths, his voice still trembling. “Dee… What have you become?!” “Anyone would think you’d suffered some unspeakable hardship these past three years! We only tricked you! We fed you well, kept you safe, and even snuck in to check on you every few days! You never suffered a single bit of harm!” “You knew Belle is sensitive, and you deliberately chose her wedding day to repeatedly stage suicide attempts just to create a scene and make her feel guilty, didn’t you?” “Now I can’t even scold you? How could I have raised such a spoiled, ungrateful child?!” “I’m telling you now, whether you want to or not, you will be the maid of honor today!” He finished his scream, dragged me up, shoved me hard onto the bed, and waved the maids forward. “Dress her!” The maid of honor gown was presented. I stared blankly. The moment the maids’ hands reached for me, the memories of being touched by countless other hands violently overlapped. “No!!!” I struggled with every fiber of my being, but it was useless. Riiip! The dark clothing covering my body was brutally torn away by the maids. My wounded body, covered in scars, was completely exposed before everyone. The grotesque network of blue and purple bruises, the overlapping fresh and old burns, the two-inch-long surgical scar on my abdomen that was slowly oozing blood… The air solidified. Everyone froze. The maids with the weakest nerves shrieked in horror. Looking at the injuries on my body, Carter’s face went instantly, sickeningly pale. Tristan staggered backward two steps, his eyes wide in absolute disbelief, and he collapsed onto the floor.

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The annual company gala had just wrapped, and to celebrate our department clinching the top sales spot, my manager, Cynthia Ruth, insisted on treating us to a late-night dinner at a fancy seafood spot. It wasn’t until I slipped away to the restroom that she made her move, orchestrating a mass walk-out, leaving me holding the bag. When the restaurant manager, a man named Robert, slid the check across the polished table, my mind went blank. The tab was $12,800 for the meal. Add in the five bottles of Dom Pérignon and the rare Macallan 18-year-old they’d packed up to take home, and the total soared to $29,800. Two hours earlier, my annual bonus—the biggest in the department—had hit my account: a crisp $30,000. Now, seventeen people had vanished, and the bill was exactly $29,800. I snapped a picture of the bill and sent it to the department group chat, demanding they split the cost. Cynthia’s reply was instantaneous and venomous. “We gave up our best leads to make sure you hit your targets, Serena. You walked away with the department’s biggest bonus. What’s a single dinner compared to that?” she typed. “It’s not like we spent all thirty thousand. We left you two hundred, didn’t we?” “Grow up, Serena. Think about your reputation. You don’t want to be the one who embarrasses herself over a check.” The other seventeen people in the chat immediately chimed in, echoing her outrage, calling me cheap, unprofessional, and ungrateful. This wasn’t Cynthia’s first rodeo. It was a well-worn tactic. That’s why I hadn’t touched a single dish during the meal. They were too busy taking advantage of me. What they didn’t know was that my parents were quiet but powerful players in the restaurant investment world. This seafood restaurant? It was one of their minority stakes. I didn’t argue in the chat. Instead, I called Robert, the manager, over. “Please pull the security footage,” I told him. “Forward the photos of all seventeen of them to the three hundred-plus private hospitality groups my family invests in across the city.” “Notify every one of our affiliated businesses: these seventeen individuals dined and ditched. Blacklist them immediately. They are no longer welcome in any restaurant in this city.” They wanted to play a game of workplace bullying? I’d happily turn this celebration dinner into their department farewell meal. … I posted the bill in the chat, requesting they Venmo me their share. A moment later, Cynthia’s reply popped up. [Venmo? Serena, are you kidding me?] [We covered your late nights; did you offer to split your paycheck? I handed you high-value clients; did you offer to split your commission? Your bonus is three times what others got. We ask you to cover one meal, and you demand we chip in? Seriously?] Her message instantly ignited the previously silent group. [@SerenaWells, Cynthia is right! Seriously, girl, a thirty-thousand-dollar bonus! You have to drag everyone in here for this passive-aggressive split? So low-class!] [LOL, and we were just praising you, thinking you were so grateful to the boss that you pretended to go to the bathroom to secretly pay the bill. Turns out you were just running away. You’re pathetic!] I watched their frantic attempts at moral high-grounding and felt only a cold, sharp amusement. I had just reviewed the surveillance footage. I’d watched them gleefully point at the most expensive items, calculating exactly how to spend my $30,000 down to the last cent. I skipped the back-and-forth and dropped a direct Group Payment Request into the chat. [Cynthia explicitly stated before the dinner that she would be hosting personally, which is why the expense was not submitted to Finance as a team building event.] [The meal comes out to $1655 per person. Since Cynthia reneged on her offer, it is only fair that everyone pays their own share.] The group chat went dead quiet. A minute later, my phone exploded with notifications. Cynthia was blowing up my private messages with a barrage of voicemails. “Serena, what the hell is wrong with you?! I talked you up to the partners to make sure you got that thirty grand! You can’t spring for one dinner? What is your problem?” “You’re trying to tear this department apart over pocket change! I think you have an agenda!” I let out a single, humorless laugh. It was the first time I’d ever heard workplace psychological manipulation packaged so virtuously. I didn’t reply. I used my phone to record the full surveillance video, saving it to the cloud and a secondary backup drive. Then, I turned back to the manager. “Mr. Robert, please print the official itemized receipt and the formal invoice for me.” I sent the invoice to the group chat, then typed my final line. [You have twenty-four hours to settle your debt. Otherwise, I will be forwarding this matter to the Corporate Legal department.] It was a notification. It was also a sentence. Seeing that I wouldn’t fold, Cynthia chose silence. The chat went dark again. Robert looked at me. “Ms. Wells, should I call the police now?” I shook my head. “Not yet.” “First, blur the faces in those photos of them fleeing, and send them to all three hundred of our restaurant groups. I’ll get you the full names and company details in a minute. Let every business know: these seventeen people are on the blacklist for deliberate dining and ditching. No establishment with our investment will ever serve them again.” This was too far past her first attempt to let it go. Last month, she’d somehow found out I’d received a $5,000 commission. That very lunchtime, my DMs were flooded with Starbucks payment links. “Serena, you got a five-grand commission. You have to treat us to Starbucks!” I was due to be transferred to an overseas assignment after the New Year and, wanting to maintain a professional atmosphere, I reluctantly agRuth. But I was stunned when they managed to rack up a $2,000 bill on lattes and pastries that typically cost forty bucks each. Just then, Robert confirmed the notice had been distributed across the merchant network. I looked at the group chat, where I saw a uniform string of “Read” receipts. I curled my lip into a small, cold smile. Around 2:00 AM, I caught an Uber home. On the ride, I saw a new post on Cynthia’s private Instagram. It was a photo from a karaoke room, with all seventeen department members smiling maniacally in the background. Her caption read: “I finally ran into the backstabbing type. For an ungrateful parasite like that, if I don’t bleed her dry, my name isn’t Ruth!” She hadn’t named me, but the comments below were a frenzy of thinly veiled insults directed my way. I watched, ice in my veins, and took a screenshot just before she managed to delete the post. The next morning, I showed up at the office as usual. After the events of last night, the entire office was a black hole of isolation. By 9 AM, the main floor was completely empty. I sat at my desk, slowly finishing my coffee. Only after I put the cup down did Cynthia storm over. She slammed a folder onto my desk. “Serena Wells, a thousand-dollar fine for unexcused absence from the meeting! Your performance review for this month is unsatisfactory!” I laughed, a sharp sound that echoed in the quiet space. “I was never notified of a meeting. You can’t fine me. A communication failure is the manager’s responsibility, not the employee’s.” Cynthia crossed her arms, a cold smirk playing on her lips. “Seventeen people knew about the meeting, and you didn’t? You’re going to argue that wasn’t deliberate?” I ignored her bluster and lowered my head to start my work. She scoffed and walked away. A little later, she began assigning new projects. I volunteered several times, but she acted like I was invisible. Finally, she shoved a doomed project, one no one else dared to touch, onto my plate. She commanded me to complete it, or she’d strip my commission for the month. It wasn’t over. After lunch, the company was handing out holiday gifts. She called everyone to the conference room early to collect theirs. Everyone received three boxes of premium Rainier cherries. When it was my turn, all that was left was a single box of sad-looking satsuma oranges. I quietly moved the oranges to my desk, ignoring the collective snickering and looks of schadenfreude. I opened my laptop and compiled a detailed document outlining Cynthia’s unjustified fine, the withholding of company resources, and the patterns of departmental exclusion. I sent it directly to the corporate ethics and reporting email at headquarters. That afternoon, I kept my appointment with a client. It was Mr. Harold from the Runda Group, a high-value account the company had courted for years without success. When he heard I was treating him to dinner at the most exclusive, Michelin-level restaurant in the city—one that required a six-month reservation lead time—he took my call. That restaurant was also part of my family’s portfolio. I had a customized menu prepared based on his personal preferences. We were nearing the final handshake on the deal after our third glass of wine. I stepped into the restroom to refresh my makeup when my assistant, Taylor, called, her voice frantic. “Serena! We have a problem! Check the company intranet right now!” The company forum had exploded. An anonymous post, accompanied by several poorly framed, covert photos, was scorching the site. [SCANDAL! Sales Rep goes to ANY lengths for a deal! Spotted with an old man at a Michelin-level restaurant! Total turn-off!] The moment I saw the photo, a deep chill ran through my blood. My face was clearly visible, and the client’s silhouette was unmistakable. The comments were already a torrent of vile abuse, numbering over a thousand. [I’m so jealous. I wish I was a girl. Flash a little leg, show some cleavage, and the cash rolls in. I bet that’s how she hit those multi-million-dollar targets.] [Zero surprise who this is! We’re pulling all-nighters and eating ramen, and she’s waltzing out at 5 PM with a Birkin. How is that fair?] [I saw the photos. She can even stomach a bald, greasy old man. That’s next-level commitment to the job!] The next second, Cynthia’s number flashed on my phone. “Serena Wells! Your leave of absence was to entertain a client, wasn’t it?! How did you end up entertaining some rich, old geezer on your lap?!” Her voice was shaking with what sounded like rage. “I knew it! How are you a top salesperson every month? You’re just a low-life slut, a total public embarrassment! You’ve ruined this department’s reputation!” “Get back here immediately! All your projects are suspended, effective immediately! We can’t have your filth tainting the company name!” I forced the anger down. “Watch your mouth, Cynthia! That is a high-value client!” “The contract is about to be signed! Instead of finding out who sabotaged my deal, you’re here slandering me? Have you lost your mind?” Cynthia let out a cold, theatrical snort. “Client? Please. Do you think we’re all blind? I know exactly what kind of client! The one you use to pull strings through unethical means!” “After that meal we paid for last night, we feel sick! You are a plague!” “And you wanted us to Venmo you? I’m starting to think you conspired with the restaurant to scam us out of money!” “Get back to the office and cooperate with the company investigation, or wait for your termination notice from corporate!” She hung up. I instructed the kitChan to prepare a few apology dishes for Mr. Harold and promised a reschedule. Then, I gathered my papers and headed back to the company. The moment I entered, the office was silent, filled with stares of disgust and contempt. I ignored them, slipping a small voice recorder into my jacket pocket before pushing open Cynthia’s office door. The air in the room was thick with accusation. The company VP, Mr. Greg, and a few other managers were there. Cynthia threw the printed photos at my face. “Backstabbing your manager, taking shortcuts… Serena, is there anything you won’t do?” A stinging pain flared on my cheek. I touched it—the paper had cut me. “Leaders,” Cynthia continued, addressing the room, “What legitimate employee takes a client to the most expensive, six-month-wait restaurant in the city? A single vegetable dish there costs four figures! How could a junior salesperson possibly afford it? It’s clearly shady!” “She’s the top seller every month, and took the biggest bonus this year. Now we know it’s all from back-alley deals. She’s disgraced the whole department! How am I supposed to manage a team now?” I took a deep breath, keeping my voice steady. “I did nothing wrong. This is defamation…” “Serena!” Mr. Greg cut me off, his voice sharp. “The evidence is clear. How many contracts have you signed using this method? Also, I intercepted your email to the ethics department…” “You need to be less petty. The workplace is not a family drama. The company is considering revoking your bonus and placing you on administrative leave. This entire situation is a black eye for us. We’ve decided to rescind your overseas assignment.” I snapped my head up. “On what grounds?” Catching Cynthia’s triumphant glance, my fury spiked. I raised my voice. “That bonus is earned! That overseas assignment is the culmination of three years of top performance!” I thought of the sacrifices: the three months I spent on assignment in freezing Alaska, missing my grandmother’s final moments. The time I’d thrown myself in front of a difficult client to shield him from a falling bag of cement on a construction site. The client was fine, but my finger was fractured, the tendons severed. I still can’t fully bend my pinky. All that sacrifice, now negated by a baseless smear? “I do not accept this. If the company insists on this course of action, then I will resign.” Mr. Greg’s face shifted. He knew I was the company’s top earner. Losing me meant his department couldn’t meet its quotas for headquarters. “We’ll temporarily suspend you. All your current projects will be transferred to Cynthia for the time being. We’ll wait for the investigation results before making a final decision…” I said nothing, turned, and left the office. Outside the door, a crowd of my colleagues was clustered, eager for the drama. I met their smug, gleeful eyes and issued my reminder. “I expect to see the full payment for the dinner in my account by the end of the day. Otherwise, I’m filing a police report for grand theft.” The forced composure on their faces flickered, revealing a hint of panic. I walked to the stairwell, pulled out my phone, and quickly dialed a number. “Attorney James, we can move forward with the initial grand theft proceedings I discussed with you. Also, I need to add a count of defamation.” The situation escalated fast. Someone screenshot the anonymous forum post and dumped it onto public social media. The ensuing cyberbullying felt like a beast trying to devour me. People dug up my social accounts and real name. My LinkedIn inbox was filled with strangers, my DMs were a screen-full of aggressive, vulgar messages, and my work email was bombarded with inappropriate images. At the peak of the storm, Cynthia released a statement. She posted selectively cropped screenshots of our chat, making it look like I was the conniving coworker who initially offered to treat everyone, then suddenly reneged and forced the team to split a sky-high bill. Several departmental colleagues stepped forward, confirming her story, claiming I was in cahoots with the restaurant. I became the internet’s latest villain: “The Scam-Artist Waitress.” I was packing my personal items when Cynthia walked up and tapped my desk. “Don’t leave yet. I need you to hand over all your client contacts and files to me.” “Every single one,” she added, looking down at me, victorious. Client contacts are a salesperson’s lifeline. I gave her a small, controlled smile. “Fine.” “But, Cynthia, are you sure you want to do this?” A flicker of unease crossed her face. “What is that supposed to mean?” I didn’t answer and walked away. While waiting for the elevator, a text from my attorney came through. [Everything is prepped.] I replied with a simple “Got it,” and tossed the empty cardboard box I was holding into the recycling bin. As of this moment, I was severing all ties with this company. I heard Cynthia’s obsequious voice behind me. “Mr. Harold, can I treat you to lunch tomorrow? Serena was fired for poor character. I’ll be handling your project from now on!” “Oh, she was caught cheating and the company found out. Don’t worry, your contract is safe with me!” “Yes, yes. I know you have a huge following online. Tomorrow at the city’s most famous Michelin-level restaurant—The Apex Grill—I will personally treat you to lunch. Please, you must come!” The elevator doors closed, but not before I heard a small burst of triumphant cheering from the office floor. They were celebrating their successful bullying campaign. I smiled, a genuine, chilling smile this time. They were celebrating their stupidity. I had personally worked with Mr. Harold before. He was a local tech entrepreneur, known for occasionally live-streaming his contract signings to his followers. His contracts always contained a specific clause: “The vendor may not, in any form, fabricate or disseminate statements or information that damage the reputation or image of the client, under penalty of a one-hundred-million-dollar fine.” One hundred million. I felt the cold amusement grow into a deep, satisfying chill. That night, around 6 PM, I checked the group chat. Not a single payment had been made. Worse, I had been kicked out of the chat. They thought they had won. They didn’t realize that last night’s gathering had been their last supper as a department. The next morning, Mr. Harold appeared on a live stream. “Today, I’m headed to the most exclusive, top-tier Michelin spot in the city to sign a contract! My assistant has been on the waitlist for three months, and we still couldn’t get in!” I sat in a private booth on the second floor of The Apex Grill. The balcony overlooked the street, giving me a clear view of everything happening at the entrance below. Cynthia was walking ahead of Mr. Harold, bowing and scraping like a maître d’, completely missing the embarrassment on Mr. Harold’ face and his efforts to keep his camera angle away from her. She reached the massive wooden doors, ready to push them open. Suddenly, a hand blocked her path. “I’m sorry, ma’am. You are not permitted to enter.” Cynthia’s brow furrowed in irritation. “I paid a black-market scalper twenty thousand dollars for this reservation! Why can’t I get in?” Mr. Harold sensed the problem. He covered his phone’s mic and gritted his teeth, hissing at her. “What are you pulling, Cynthia?!” Her face flashed red, then green. She glared at the server and tried to shove past him. “Don’t you dare stop me! I paid for this reservation! Let me in!” Her aggressive behavior was broadcast live. The comment section immediately blew up with question marks. Cynthia caught a glimpse of the feed, her face a blazing crimson. Then, she snatched a thick wad of cash from her bag and tried to shove it into the server’s hand. “Is it a tip you want? Just let me in! Don’t make this difficult!” Passersby started to gather. The server politely pushed the money back. Cynthia, panicking, refused to take it, and the cash scattered across the sidewalk. A few security guards rushed over, carrying truncheons, ready to escort Cynthia away. Just as Cynthia began to shriek obscenities, the server spoke, his voice ice-cold. “I sincerely apologize.” “Based on your severe record of dining and ditching, with an outstanding balance of $29,800, you are permanently blacklisted at this establishment. I am authorized to refuse you entry.” Cynthia’s face froze. “Cynthia Ruth, for your act of grand theft and refusal to pay, I, representing the Eastbridge Hospitality Group, have formally filed a lawsuit against you and all seventeen individuals in your department.” I stepped out onto the balcony, delivering my sentence with a single, clear statement. The live stream, with hundreds of thousands of viewers, instantly went into meltdown. I glanced at the frenzied comments. Cynthia, your reckoning has only just begun.

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Five years into my tenure as Mrs. Brooks—Nolan’s perfectly sculpted, perfectly compliant wife—he found a college girl. He presented the divorce papers with the same impeccable, detached grace he used for closing a major deal. “After the settlement is final, there will be a substantial compensation package, Scarlett. Fifty million.” I choked on the tears that tasted like brine and fear. “Is there truly no going back, Nolan? If it’s the ingénue look you crave, I can… I can make myself look like her.” He frowned, a flicker of impatience—the barest tightening around his mouth—and I knew I’d annoyed the CEO, not moved the husband. Fear, cold and sudden, replaced the panic. I signed quickly. I couldn’t risk losing the payout, and besides, the clock was ticking. The secret I was carrying beneath my perfectly-fitted designer dress couldn’t be hidden for much longer. The day I moved out, his fresh-faced new girl, Cassidy, wired me a hundred thousand dollars. The other nine million will be installment-paid. Nolan had no idea. He thought he was disposing of me. In reality, I had sold him to Cassidy for ten million dollars. Priorities. A baby, a secret baby, was going to need a hefty college fund. 1 Nolan Brooks had untouchable wealth, but he was also a man of strict principle. Back in his romantic prime, he had divorced his perfectly suitable first wife for me. But he’d compensated Tatum with a string of massive projects, settlements that paid out in ten-figure profits, so much so that their business relationship never actually ended. Now, five years into my reign as the trophy wife, he had found a college student. Even for a woman with my nonexistent background, he was willing to pay out a generous eight-figure severance. I held back, my eyes brimming, refusing to touch the divorce agreement. Nolan sighed. “Take it, Scarlett. We’re still young. It’s good for you to get out there and see the world.” The tears fell then, not a hysterical flood, but a quiet, hopeless stream. Young? If he wanted young, he’d found it. Cassidy was barely twenty, a full two decades his junior. I was twenty-eight. Past my prime for a man like him. “Is there no room for maneuver, Nolan?” I pleaded, desperately. “If you like her type, I can make myself look like that.” I clung to a ghost of hope, knowing full well that nothing could shake a decision he’d already made. His brow furrowed again, a clear sign of his impatience. “I’ll add two more properties. A pied-à-terre in Manhattan, another estate in Miami. Don’t make this ugly, Scarlett.” I instantly shut my mouth, swallowing the sob. I was terrified that if I pushed any harder, he’d rescind the entire offer. I signed. Nolan and I had a prenuptial agreement that ensured I couldn’t touch his primary assets. The amount he offered—the staggering sum I’d just signed for—was more than I could earn in ten lifetimes. Not to mention the allowance he’d given me over the years, the endless jewels, the designer bags. Once the papers were signed, Nolan left for a business trip, instructing me to move out quickly. I nodded meekly, watching him go, a perfect picture of the devastated, compliant wife. It wasn’t until his sedan disappeared from the estate’s long, winding driveway that I wiped my face and instinctively rested my hand on my abdomen. It was time to go. If I didn’t leave now, the baby would betray me. And that baby? It definitely wasn’t Nolan’s. 2 Nolan Brooks was sterile. The universe had gifted him with staggering business acumen and classical, almost Roman good looks, but it had terminated his lineage. Not even a low sperm count; he was azoospermic. As a man who understood human nature intimately, he had no intention of raising another man’s child. That was why he was so incredibly generous to his women—to his ex-wife Tatum, to me, and likely to the next trophy wife, too. “Ma’am, Mr. Brooks has been gone for some time now.” The housekeeper’s voice startled me back to the present. I nodded, returning to the colossal emptiness of the house to pack. It took me three full days. I did it myself. I’d always been meticulously organized, so I had a detailed inventory printed out. I tracked down every single item: 308 designer bags, 588 pieces of fine jewelry, and a literal twenty pounds of gold bullion. The dozens of custom haute couture gowns I’d worn to events were also safely accounted for. I packed everything on the list, and then gathered up the remaining items—the shoes, the smaller accessories, even a few of Nolan’s five-figure watches that I “accidentally” swept into my pile. On the day I finally left the estate, three full moving trucks were loaded to capacity. But Nolan had returned early. Standing beside him, naturally, was the clean, innocent-looking college student, Cassidy Jones. A classic, all-American girl-next-door look, the kind of fresh beauty that promises peace and prosperity. Honestly, I could hardly blame Nolan. Even I felt a twinge of something akin to admiration. “I’m so sorry, Nolan. I didn’t know you’d be back early. I’ll leave immediately.” I lowered my gaze, letting my eyes redden. He gave a slight, almost imperceptible glance to the side, and Cassidy, ever the quick study, retreated discreetly. Nolan walked over to me and gently brushed a tear from my cheek. “If you need anything, reach out to my assistant, Chen.” I nodded frantically, knowing I would never dare. Unlike Tatum Vance, his powerful ex-wife, my secret was too big. If Nolan ever found out about the pregnancy, he would tear me apart. 3 After a month of carefully managing my pregnancy, I met Nolan at the Registry Office. As the final divorce certificate was handed over, his gaze casually flickered down to my abdomen. I tensed, my heart hammering. I’d intentionally worn the loosest-fitting dress I owned. Surely, he hadn’t noticed. “Where are you staying? Let me take you. Have you gained weight recently, Scarlett? You look… healthy. It suits you.” His voice was neutral, but even that small, three-tenths measure of concern was unbearable. I shook my head, smiling through a fresh mist of tears. “No, thank you. I wouldn’t want to trouble you.” Before he could say anything else, I rushed into the car parked nearby. It was a new car I’d bought myself—a modest sedan, maybe twenty thousand dollars. Low-key and dependable. A flash of concern—was it concern or pity?—crossed Nolan’s eyes, but he said nothing. When I was with him, I was a creature of absolute leisure, too lazy to even drive myself, preferring to recline in the passenger seat and breathe. Now, I was playing the role of the determined, self-reliant woman, ready to make my own way. The moment I arrived at my new place, Nolan wired me a check for ten million dollars. Hire a driver. My expense. We just got divorced, isn’t this inappropriate? I typed back. I kept the money. Watching the screen, I waited for him to reply. When he didn’t, I put the phone down. That man. Always swapping out the old model for the new. I changed my clothes and had my new driver—yes, I had already hired one, I just gave him a two-hour break—take me to an upscale restaurant. I needed to recoup as much as I could from Nolan. A baby’s expenses, after all, are astronomical. 4 As soon as I settled into the car, a transfer for a hundred thousand dollars arrived. It was followed by a text from Cassidy: The other nine hundred thousand will be installment-paid. I replied with a simple ‘OK’ emoji. I hesitated, then couldn’t resist offering a piece of advice. You should bring up your requests when he’s most relaxed during a massage. He usually agrees. Don’t ask for too much at once, though. Start with a few thousand, then slowly escalate. She didn’t reply. It was probably presumptuous of me. The car stopped. A valet led me to a private room where Nolan’s ex-wife, Tatum Reid, was waiting. Five years had passed, and she hadn’t changed at all. If anything, she looked younger, more radiant. Money and spite, I decided, were truly a woman’s best beauty products. I sat down across from her. “Tatum, this is for you.” I pulled out the most expensive jewelry set I owned and slid the case across the table. Tatum glanced at it, then pushed it back. “Nolan bought that for you with a flourish. I don’t want your sentimental cast-offs.” I made a show of looking troubled. It was true, everything I owned had been given to me by him. And I certainly wasn’t going to shell out several million for a new set of jewelry. Tatum gave a short, dismissive laugh. “You have such small aspirations, Scarlett. Five years with him, and you didn’t pick up a single skill for making money?” She sounded exasperated, almost angry. I pouted. “You think I didn’t try?” I threw myself into learning, honestly, but my brain was useless for it. Nolan told me which stocks to buy, and I’d still find a way to misread the ticker and lose the money. He’d funded three businesses for me in five years. The longest lasted three months. The shortest never opened its doors. Each venture cost him millions. I finally stopped letting him invest. I was afraid he’d see how incompetent I was and throw me out. Of course, in the end, I was abandoned anyway. But if you wanted to be technical about it, I was the one who abandoned him first. The moment I realized Nolan was genuinely interested in Cassidy, I knew this day was coming. I’d already made my preparations. 5 It had been a year ago. Nolan was giving a guest lecture at Cassidy’s university. He was charming, mysterious, and effortlessly cool, not to mention handsome with a flawless build. You could count the number of entrepreneurs his age with his looks and physique on one hand. The resulting chaos in the auditorium was exactly what you’d expect. Cassidy, a student council member, was the one bringing him tea and water that day. That was how she caught his eye. Nolan was a man of principle. He wouldn’t coerce her, and he certainly wouldn’t chase her while still married to me. But a person or a prize that Nolan wanted never escaped him. Despite his demanding work schedule, he managed to charm Cassidy and solidify their connection in just three hour-long meetings. “But I did learn something, Tatum,” I interjected, a sudden flicker of defiant pride rising when I thought of Cassidy. Tatum raised a surprised eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. To prove myself, I prepared to lay out my entire plan. But I only got as far as mentioning Nolan’s sterility when Tatum’s expression changed completely. “Who told you Nolan was sterile?” I felt like I’d been struck by lightning. “H-he’s not?” Tatum shook her head with certainty. “But then… you were married for ten years. Why didn’t you have a child?” Her face became complicated. 6 “Because I’m infertile.” “No, but… he was sterile.” Tatum gave me a look of profound disbelief. Could a man be that noble? “Then why did you leave him, Tatum?” I asked, confused. “If he was willing to take the blame for you, why did you still divorce him?” Tatum took a sip of wine, her expression calm. “There was no love between us.” But did love truly matter? When I first got with Nolan, I didn’t love him either. My sole focus was on his assets, his looks, his power… Tatum laughed again. “Then why did you leave him?” My heart sank. I looked down, my voice quiet with feigned sorrow. “He was the one who fell for someone else.” Tatum studied me with a knowing, heavy gaze that made me want to shrink away. But she said nothing more, answered a phone call, and left. I assumed she was off to a business meeting. That night, however, I saw her on the celebrity gossip sites. A-LIST POP SENSATION SPOTTED WITH MYSTERIOUS, ELEGANT WOMAN. It was only a photo of her back, but I recognized Tatum instantly. She was wearing the same dress from dinner. Soon after, the heartthrob posted a clarification: We were together, she dumped me, and I’m chasing her again! Looking at his young, handsome face, full of vitality and the energy of youth, I had to admit he was a catch. I pulled up a photo of Nolan. He was refined and distinguished, yes, but youth was priceless. Tatum was living a great life. It explained why she had offered me a hundred thousand dollar annual salary to be her ‘yoga instructor,’ even though I couldn’t do a single pose. I did it for the money. And a year later, Nolan had noticed me. 7 A thought sparked in my mind, and I texted Tatum. Is the gossip true? You’re really throwing away that ‘It Boy’ darling? She took a while to reply. In the meantime, I was scrolling through the A-Lister’s videos. He’d burst onto the scene five years ago, right around the time Tatum and Nolan got divorced. It suggested that Tatum was the source of his funding and network. No wonder he was so reluctant to let her go. If I were him, I’d be reluctant, too. What? Do you have your eye on him? she wrote back. I clutched my chest, unable to contain the flutter of excitement. He’s actually not bad. Could you… sell him to me? I don’t have much cash, but I can offer you a hundred thousand dollars. You just need to set up the introduction. I’ll handle the rest. I looked down at myself. Nolan had kept me well-fed for five years. But since we separated, I found myself restless, thinking about him at night. I needed a distraction. I needed a replacement. Maybe a man who was sweeter, more attentive, would help me forget Nolan. Tatum was typing for a long time, then the phone rang. I snatched it up instantly. “Sister, please. You don’t want him, just sell him to me. A hundred grand is nothing to you, but I have a baby to raise, I can’t go higher. Just do me this favor. I desperately need someone with better looks and a better body than Nolan, you see…” “What child are you raising, Scarlett?” Nolan’s voice. Sudden, terrifying. I yelped and threw the phone across the room.

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My daughter, Delilah, complained for the ninth time that the fever medicine I’d mixed wasn’t as sweet as Rhett’s, but this time, I didn’t get angry. I simply poured the full bowl down the sink and called Rhett. “Sorry, but Delilah insists on you coming over. She won’t take her medicine otherwise. I apologize for the trouble.” Delilah stared at me, her eyes wide with surprise, as if she expected me to suddenly throw a fit. Rhett walked in with his wife, Blair, close behind. Blair immediately offered a strained excuse. “We just happened to bump into each other downstairs…” I ignored the faint, star-like love bites scattered across the base of her neck and smiled as I listened to Rhett sweet-talk Delilah into swallowing the syrupy medicine. Just before they left, Rhett paused and asked me, his voice carefully casual, “Nolan, my family is pressuring me hard about marriage. Would you mind if I borrowed Blair for a weekend?” He claimed it was just an act—a temporary show—and promised to return her completely intact. 1 As they both held their breath, waiting for my outburst, I gave Delilah a gentle push toward him. “Take her, too. A family of three is much more convincing.” The color drained from Blair’s face. She told me if I didn’t want to ‘lend’ her out, there was no need for the passive-aggressive tone. I sighed. “I’m being serious. Delilah loves your cooking, Rhett. And no, I’m not angry.” “Nolan, my family pressure is just too much, and since you’re an orphan anyway, you don’t have to deal with—” Blair sharply elbowed Rhett before he could finish the crass sentence. Her shocked gaze fixed on me. “You really don’t care? You’re giving your wife and daughter to another man? Nolan, I never realized you were this… generous.” The man Blair married—the old Nolan—had been consumed by her. I used to hate it if she came home smelling of another man’s cologne, so she’d fired her male assistants. When I was sick, she’d stay by my side 24/7, worried I’d be paranoid or suspicious. In the eyes of the world, she was the devoted, perfect wife. But that devotion had been chipped away as Delilah grew older. Our daughter was fragile, constantly battling colds and infections, and I’d devoted myself to her care. Blair had complained countless times that we had no life together, once joking that she wished she could stuff Delilah back into her womb. I always reassured her, until that night. Delilah, in a fit of pique, had screamed, “I never want to eat Dad’s cooking again! I want Uncle Rhett’s!” It was then I realized Blair had a new assistant, and he had been around for two years. I’d exploded in a furious, hysterical tirade. Delilah had pointed her tiny finger at me and called me a controlling maniac, demanding that Uncle Rhett be her real father. That was the first time I ever struck her. The sound of the slap was sharp and cold. I escalated the situation, forcing Blair to fire Rhett. We remained in a tense cold war until my parents begged me to apologize to Blair. That’s when I realized the leverage she had—our family business depended on the contracts Blair’s corporation provided. I had no choice but to bow my head. Then, my parents died suddenly in a house fire. My entire world collapsed. I thought my small family—Blair and Delilah—was my final anchor, but it had already been perforated with a thousand holes. I raised my eyes—calm, utterly flat—and offered an explanation for Blair’s past affair. “He was just your employee. You had a professional relationship. I didn’t think anything of it. A superior taking care of a subordinate is perfectly normal.” “But…” Blair wanted to argue, but Rhett physically ushered her out the door, taking the feverish, sleepy Delilah with him. My daughter was beaming as she left, her illness seemingly forgotten. “I always wanted to spend New Year’s Eve with Uncle Rhett! Dad is just so boring and dull.” I glanced at the framed family photo on the side table, then swept it—all of them—into the trash. After cleaning up, I called Professor Hale. “I’ve decided to restart the research group, Master.” “Nolan, that’s fantastic!” My mentor was overjoyed, explaining that the antidepressant drug trials had ground to a halt after I’d quit. I remembered who I was before I married Blair: a promising medical student. But when I’d confronted her about Rhett, she’d pointed a finger at me and sneered, “You’ve been a house-husband for so long, you think everyone has your free time. Rhett is actually building something. Don’t slander him.” It was ironic. She was the one who had cried and begged me for a chance to take care of me, financially. Every memory now felt like a needle pressed into my heart. “I’m filing for divorce,” I said into the phone. “After this, I’m dedicating myself entirely to the lab.” “Why the sudden change? Well… that’s good, I suppose. I’ll be waiting for you, son.” 2 The moment Rhett ‘borrowed’ Blair and Delilah, he began a relentless campaign of romantic posts on social media. He shared a photo of his hand intertwined with Blair’s, a visit to a cheesy, famous lovers’ retreat where they’d hung up an elaborate, color-coded ‘fate lock,’ and then a picture of Blair at his family’s home, showing off her generosity. She’d given a Rolex or Patek Philippe to every relative. Delilah went a step further, kneeling to greet his parents, calling them Grandma and Grandpa. I was scrolling past the feed when Rhett flooded my private messages: Nolan, how long has it been since you and Blair did it? She says seeing that ugly, hideous scar on your lower back makes her sick. I’m the one she’s spiritually and physically connected to, not you, the useless house-husband. I had your fortune read. You’re a total walking curse. You killed your own parents, and now you’re going to drag down Delilah and Blair, too. Isn’t that right? He followed up with a dozen explicit photos, Blair’s face clearly visible in several of them. I almost thanked him for the first-hand evidence. I ignored Rhett entirely and focused on the paperwork required to restart my research. On the drive back from Professor Hale’s lab, there was a sudden thud. An oncoming car swerved wildly and collided with mine. I instinctively wrenched the wheel, and my head slammed hard against the window. Just before I blacked out, I heard my phone vibrating. It was a text from Blair. Sweetie, Happy New Year. So sorry I couldn’t make it back for midnight. Rhett gets terrible motion sickness, so I’m staying one more night to help him. I woke up in the hospital. My leg was badly sprained and scraped, but nothing was broken. I’d need time to heal. Blair rushed in late that night, her eyes red, but she hadn’t even bothered to change out of the matching sweater she’d been wearing with Rhett. The overwhelming scent of his cologne filled the sterile room. “Why didn’t you call me when you were hurt?” she demanded. “Nolan, I’m your wife!” She was frantic, scanning me from head to toe, and only seemed to relax when she was certain I wasn’t critically injured. Her panic was so genuine for a split second that I almost believed the affair was a delusion. “What a horrible start to the new year, getting into a wreck,” she said, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Here, Rhett got you a good luck charm.” Blair extended her hand, and I sharply knocked the charm away. “I don’t need it.” “Nolan, Rhett was just being kind. Don’t read too much into it.” “I’m an agnostic,” I said, my voice cold and unfamiliar even to my own ears. “It has nothing to do with Rhett.” Blair frowned, ready to argue, when her phone rang. It was Rhett’s customized ringtone—a sickeningly sweet audio clip he’d recorded. She immediately hung up, but the calls began to flood in like a relentless, frantic attack. “You should take it,” I offered, preempting her excuse. “Could be something urgent at the company.” Blair quickly retreated to the hallway. I could hear Rhett’s low, anxious voice on the other end. “Blair, what do I do? I have severe anemia! I’m so scared. Can you please come stay with me?” Blair’s body stiffened. “I understand,” she whispered. “I’ll be right there.” She hurried back into the room, telling me to get some rest. She insisted it was urgent business… “A project issue, Nolan. I can’t trust anyone else to handle it.” “Go,” I told her. I leaned back against the pillows, offering no protest, no plea, no reason for her to stay. Blair, looking horribly guilty, promised she’d rush back as soon as she could. 3 During the days I spent recovering, Blair made a show of devotion. She had my favorite meals prepared by a nutritionist and sent fresh flower arrangements daily, with cards that rotated between syrupy declarations of love and apologies. The nurses raved about what a perfect wife she was—beautiful and so doting. But I knew she was spending most of her time accompanying Rhett to his barrage of medical tests. The man’s taunting texts continued: Blair says she only loves me, Nolan. Don’t you get it? You should have been gone a long time ago. My place is here, as Blair’s husband. Delilah even asked us to have a baby brother for her. Nolan, living a life like yours is truly a failure! I finally blocked Rhett, and as I was heading downstairs for a physical therapy session, I saw Blair hurrying in, looking concerned. She said she’d come to take me home and asked if I knew what day it was. I froze, instinctively pulling away from her touch. “What?” “Delilah’s birthday. And my day of suffering,” she said, forcing a little laugh. “Hospital stay must have muddled your head. You forgot.” She claimed I was normally so dedicated, usually planning the party for months. She also mentioned that Delilah was being good: “She promised not to run off and is waiting at home to celebrate with you.” I didn’t reply. As I settled into the passenger seat, I spotted a tacky, personalized sign that read ‘Rhett’s Ride’ and a branded, blue-bear keychain hanging from the rearview mirror. Blair quickly snatched them down. “The guy is forgetful. Left them in my car.” “Uh-huh.” We barely spoke on the drive. As we pulled into the driveway, Blair reached out to steady me, but her assistant rushed up. “Bad news, Ms. Sutton. Rhett was pushed down a flight of stairs. Massive hemorrhaging. His life is critical.” “How could that happen?” Blair’s face went white. She spun around and leveled a terrifying look at me. “It was you, wasn’t it? All that show of being so mature and generous. I thought you were finally over being jealous of Rhett, but you’re still a monster.” I had no idea what she was talking about, but Blair was convinced I’d hired someone to hurt him. She reminded me how I’d shown up at the company before, raving like a lunatic, calling them a cheating whore and a parasitic bastard. “I’ve been trying to make things right with you, Nolan, and this is what you do? When did you become so malicious?” Her eyes were blazing red as she told me to pray Rhett lived. Otherwise, she’d make me pay. “I had nothing to do with it,” I snarled. “If you don’t believe me, call the police!” She grit her teeth. “Don’t think I won’t. Don’t push me into being the one who sends you to prison.” Blair scrambled away to the hospital. Watching her retreating back, I called my attorney and instructed him to draft the divorce papers. Some things, once dirtied, just need to be thrown out. When you find one cockroach in the kitchen, the truth is, the entire foundation is already infested. I spent the whole night alone. Rhett was in surgery. Blair sent me several texts, telling me Delilah had suffered a sudden cardiac episode after getting scared on a roller coaster. She was still hospitalized and screaming for her father. “She keeps calling out for Dad. You’re her biological father. Who else is going to go to her?” Now she remembers me. I’d repeatedly warned them not to take Delilah to the amusement park. My protective nature wasn’t a perverse need for control; it was a desperate attempt to shield a brittle child I couldn’t afford to lose. “Rhett was being wheeled into surgery and all he could do was worry about Delilah. And yet, you, her own father…” “Get the papers ready,” I told the attorney. “I want a divorce. I’m no longer responsible for your family of three.” A sudden silence fell on the line. Then, Blair’s voice roared: “You want a divorce? Dream on!” 4 Blair went ballistic. She had her people surround the house, keeping me trapped inside. She demanded I stay put and pray with her that Rhett survived the surgery. “Ma’am, bad news. We have a blood shortage. Mr. Rhett is in desperate need…” “Take him.” Blair glared at me with icy indifference. She said Rhett and I shared the same, rare blood type. I stood frozen, refusing her demand. Her cold eyes hardened. “Don’t force my hand, Nolan.” “Don’t touch me, Blair. You disgusting, cheating fraud!” She grabbed my throat, her grip painfully tight, and claimed I owed this to Rhett. That I was the one who put him in that hospital bed. “It’s just a little blood, Nolan. After this, I promise I won’t let Rhett come near you again.” “Be a good boy. Don’t make a scene.” Blair was pretending to coddle me, but it was a final ultimatum. Her staff pinned me down and dragged me to the hospital. The cold needle pierced my vein, and I watched my blood flow away from me. “That’s 400 CCs, Ma’am. Mr. Nolan’s vitals are dropping. We should stop.” “Keep going. Rhett still needs more. Nolan, it’s just a little blood. I’ll compensate you later. Be a good boy.” Blair insisted Rhett needed more, and that they shouldn’t stop. I was dizzy, verging on collapse. As my vision tunneled, I saw the true Blair: ruthless, cruel, and without a shred of humanity. Just before I fainted, I heard the good news being shouted from the operating room. Rhett was stable. “Thank God! Rhett is going to be okay!” “Where’s Uncle Rhett?” Delilah’s small figure stumbled through the door. She had only just been cleared from the ICU, but her first thought was for Rhett. My child, the one I’d risked everything to raise, didn’t even glance at me. She rushed past, desperate to see Rhett. Tears streamed down my face. Though I had accepted their cruelty long ago, the reality of it still tore my heart apart. I was the victim, yet I was the one paying the price. Boom. My world imploded. I could only hear Rhett’s whiny, tearful voice, and Blair’s ecstatic reassurance. “I thought I’d never see you again, Blair.” “I’m here.” “I’m here too, Uncle Rhett.” “Is that Nolan? He looks unconscious. Is he alright?” “He deserves a lesson,” Blair snapped. “There’s a limit to jealousy. He shouldn’t have hurt you like that…” Thump. Thump. My world was reduced to the heavy, staggering sound of my own heartbeat. Am I dying? Just as I completely lost consciousness, a strong arm lifted me.

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My twin sister, Stella, was live on national television, her eyes wet with what looked like genuine, heartbreaking tears. She was facing the camera, accusing our mother of “literally chaining her to an oak tree like a dog” during our childhood, all while letting me “run wild.” The comments section exploded. The entire internet was pouring sympathy onto her, vilifying me as the spoiled, privileged golden child. I scoffed. “We chained you to the tree, Si, because if we didn’t, you were going to try and swim in the septic tank again.” Her neck stiffened in indignation. “Fine, but what about elementary school? Mom spanked me in front of the whole class, then bought you a Snickers bar? That wasn’t for my own good, was it?” I gave her a flat look. “That was because you put plant food in my mashed potatoes, claiming you wanted to help me ‘grow taller.’ If my teacher hadn’t seen the bag, I would’ve aged out of the gene pool at six!” Suddenly, the furious, pity-filled scrolling in the comments section stopped. The online mob went silent. [Wait… the sister didn’t pull a full ‘Medea’ on her?] 1 I was slamming my head against my desk, desperately trying to finish a graphic novel deadline, when my phone buzzed. It was Stella. “Sis.” That word. She usually calls me Roxanne or Ro. She only uses “Sis” when she’s either completely wrecked the car or is about to cash in a major favor. The tip of my stylus didn’t stop moving on the screen. “Spit it out, Stella. I’m on a deadline.” She chuckled nervously. “I need to use one of the I.O.U. cards.” Years ago, after a particularly violent sibling feud, I’d scribbled out three “One Favor Owed” coupons to placate her. I played dumb. “Didn’t you use those up trying to get me to clean your room that one summer?” “Bull! One left!” Her voice shot up an octave. “Did it? I don’t recall.” “Yes, you do! It says ‘Must attend one public event of my choosing.’ You have to come on this reality show with me.” “Absolutely not,” I said, without even thinking. There was no way I was going to be a prop in some forced-drama reality show. I’d rather face my deadline alone. Stella squealed. “But I used the I.O.U.! You have to honor it, you human-sized block of ice!” “Fine. What do you want?” “It’s a mother-daughter bonding retreat. You and Mom, me and you, the whole shebang. Three pairs.” “I’m not going,” I repeated. A silence stretched across the line. Then, Stella deployed the nuclear option. “Mom said if you don’t go, you’re not allowed to pull all-nighters in the den anymore. Also, those front-row tickets for The Void Hearts? The ones you’ve been obsessed with for six months? I managed to score two. If you ditch me, I’m giving them to Gary next door.” My stylus clattered onto the desk. The temptation was too much. 2 Stella and I hauled our luggage into the rental house. The other two pairs of guests were already in the living room, staring at each other in awkward silence. Stella, the professional host, thrives on this. She dumped her bags and immediately took the lead. “Hey everyone! I’m Stella, and I host a morning talk show.” I trailed in after her, doing my best impression of a person who understands social interaction. “I’m Roxanne, Stella’s twin, and I’m a comic artist.” The comments feed on the live stream went wild. [Wait, Stella has a twin sister?] [Genetics are wild. They look identical, but the vibe is completely different.] [The one in the green sundress is the happy one; the one in the black jacket looks like she’s ready for a funeral.] The other guests introduced themselves. First, there was Piper, a soft-spoken indie folk singer, with her mother, Victoria. Then, there was Harper, a massively popular K-pop-style idol, and her mother, Patrice. When it was Harper’s turn, Stella’s interviewer instinct kicked in. She leaned forward. “Harper, you were a high-achieving NYU grad working at a major tech firm. What made you walk away from all that stability to enter the chaotic world of pop stardom?” It was a question everyone was curious about. Harper glanced at her mother, Patrice, and her voice was dangerously flat. “Being an idol is the only effective way to delay an engagement.” The livestream comments exploded again. [I worship this woman. She is a genius.] [So the no-dating clause is actually an escape clause? I see the light!] [The most effective anti-marriage strategy ever invented.] 3 Patrice clearly didn’t get it. She stared at Harper, utterly baffled. “What on earth does being a celebrity have to do with getting married?” I took pity on her and gave a quick, basic explanation. “Ma’am, in the idol world, if a star dates, it’s considered an ‘unacceptable breach of contract.’ They have to pay massive penalties and often retire.” Patrice whirled on Harper, her eyes blazing. “Is that true?” Harper nodded, her eyes placid as a stagnant pond. “I told you years ago, I don’t want to get married. You just never listened.” Patrice instantly became a furious, wounded thing. “What’s so bad about marriage? That nice young man’s family owns a factory, they’re offering us two hundred and fifty thousand dollars cash, and he bought you a new car! The man is stable and honest; you’d be the lady of the house! What more are you looking for?” “You’re an idiot who’s read too many books! I wish I’d never let you go to that pretentious university!” Harper’s hands, resting on her knees, clenched into tight fists until her knuckles were white. The cool, distant composure on her face dissolved, replaced by a devastating despair. She looked like she might shatter. The comments section filled with pure outrage. [Is this woman seriously selling her daughter?] [Harper makes millions. What is $250k to her? This is insane.] [This isn’t pressure to marry; it’s a social execution.] When Harper didn’t respond, Patrice’s voice grew louder and more choked with tears. “If you don’t marry him, do you know what the neighbors say about me? Stop being so selfish!” “You’re quitting this show, and you’re coming home to meet him!” Harper finally snapped. She shot up, her eyes like chips of ice. “Mom, why can’t you accept that some people in this world simply don’t need a husband? Or a marriage?” Patrice looked thunderstruck, her eyes wide. “Are you a monster? You need a doctor!” The living room fell into a deathly silence. A dozen cameras were focused entirely on Patrice’s distorted face. Her chest heaved. The words spilling out of her mouth were poisonous. “A woman who doesn’t marry isn’t a woman! When you get old, you’ll die alone in your apartment, and no one will even know until you start to smell!” The entire scene felt like a massive emotional chokehold. [Someone help Harper! I’d have lost it already.] [How is being asexual or simply single ‘being a monster’? This mother is terrifying.] [She has money. She can afford a retirement home and full-time care. A man isn’t the only solution!] Watching the comments, a familiar ache settled in my chest. It was the tight grip of inherited obligation, the kind of emotional bondage that’s universal but feels particularly inescapable when the words are dripping with ‘for your own good.’ Harper couldn’t hate her, and she had no energy left to love her. 4 As the situation spiraled toward complete catastrophe, the production assistant quickly rushed in the task cards, trying desperately to change the subject. The first segment: “Open Up Your Heart.” Harper offered a self-deprecating smile. “My heart’s issue is pretty public now. It’s how to avoid an engagement.” We were right back where we started. Patrice smacked her daughter on the back, hard. It sounded painful. “I’m doing this for you! I won’t die happy if you don’t marry!” Harper opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She just closed her eyes in sheer exhaustion. My phone vibrated. Stella had texted me: [Sis, I know why they hired me.] I texted back: [Because you were cheap?] Stella: [Shut up! Because only I can save this train wreck!] She had a point. The atmosphere was at absolute zero. If she didn’t intervene, the show was over. Stella flipped her phone over, took a long, exaggerated breath, and let out an audible sigh. It was loud in the quiet room. Everyone looked at her. Her eyes were slightly red, her voice raw. “Actually, when we were kids, my sister was definitely Mom’s favorite.” “She got to run free. Me? Mom literally chained me to a tree in the backyard because she didn’t trust me.” She sniffled dramatically. She looked utterly wounded. The living room fell silent. The guests exchanged shocked, horrified glances. The comments instantly boiled over. [OMG? That’s abuse!] [Stella seems so outgoing, but her childhood was that bad?] [These parents should have their kids taken away!] [Chained to a tree? That’s how you treat a dog!] Stella’s melodramatic confession had instantly redirected the room’s hostile energy into pity for her. I watched her Oscar-worthy performance and couldn’t help but roll my eyes. The story was technically true, but her framing was a complete distortion. I made a disgusted sound. “You’re a performance artist, Si. You left out the context.” “You were borderline feral. You once snuck out and were baptized in a neighbor’s inflatable pool filled with stagnant rainwater. Mom was afraid you’d drown or infect yourself, so she put you on a leash.” Stella’s face went blank. “…Huh?” The comments section was a flurry of question marks. [???] [That twist came faster than a hurricane.] [LOL, so it was a behavioral safety measure.] [Okay, that makes sense. Security first.] [But why only Stella? Still feels like favoritism.] 5 Stella, clearly frustrated, quickly moved to her second big revelation. “What about the elementary school thing? Mom spanked me in front of the whole class, then bought you a candy bar. That’s pure favoritism, Roxanne!” I gave her a withering look, like I was addressing an idiot child. “That was because you resented me for being shorter, so you secretly mixed liquid plant food into my mashed potatoes. If my teacher hadn’t caught you, I almost bought the farm at six.” Stella was speechless. Now, even the pitying viewers were silent. [I take back every ounce of sympathy.] [Stella was a menace as a child, holy cow.] [Plant food in food? What kind of twisted logic is that?] [The spanking was justified. Maybe even too lenient.] The other guests burst out laughing. The tense, stifling atmosphere was instantly washed away by the sheer absurdity of our childhood antics. I saw the flush creep up Stella’s neck, and I couldn’t help but let a slight smile touch my lips. Stella glared at me, completely unhinged. “Roxanne! You heartless monster! I dare you to bring up the stupid things you did as a kid!”

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On the first of every month, my mother, Carol Evans, would review my performance from the previous four weeks before transferring my allowance. It wasn’t money; it was a contract. “A mandatory good-morning or good-night text to your father and me earns you twenty dollars,” her voice, sharp and precise, cut through the phone line. “But you only managed ten days last month, which means two hundred dollars.” I gripped the phone, standing in the cramped kitchen of my off-campus apartment in Seattle. “And the three-hundred-dollar ‘Excellence’ bonus is completely gone, of course. Full attendance, full communication, full grades. You know the rules.” My jaw was tight. “Add that to your ‘base stipend’ of one hundred and fifty, and this month’s grand total is three hundred and fifty dollars.” Three hundred and fifty. The number felt like a physical slap. “You’ll email me a written explanation for your poor performance. A signed, five-hundred-word apology and plan. When I deem it acceptable, I’ll transfer the funds.” My voice, when I finally spoke, was thin with panic. “Mom, I was taking my finals. I had to be at the library by five every morning just to grab a decent study spot. That’s why I missed those evening calls.” Tears were already stinging my eyes, a deep, hot shame mixing with despair. “The Greyhound ticket home to Pine Grove, Idaho, for Spring Break is nearly six hundred dollars. Three hundred and fifty isn’t enough. Mom, please, couldn’t we just—” She cut me off, her tone chillingly decisive. “The allowance contract, Lara, was designed specifically for you. It’s to help you break this entitlement and this deeply ingrained habit of expecting something for nothing. When will you understand my intentions?” The line went dead with a clipped snap. Just as the wall of helplessness was about to crush me, a flash of bright, coppery-blond hair appeared in the common area of the student union. He looked entirely wrong, like a cheap caricature of a bad boy. A guy named Mitch. He offered to buy my bus ticket. If I would just go with him. 1 I lowered my gaze, shame burning my cheeks. “I… I can’t pay you back.” Mitch and the two guys flanking him exchanged a look, the kind of dismissive, condescending glance people give a lost kid. “No repayment needed, sweetheart,” Mitch drawled, a cheap smile splitting his face. “Just have dinner with us. Do a little celebrating. I’ll give you the cash for the ticket right away.” A meal. That’s all it took to get the money to go home. The thought was intoxicating. I had to get home. Just last week, Grandma Betty had called me from the corner store in Pine Grove, using Mrs. Henderson’s landline. She’d made a point of saying she’d fluffed up my quilt with the softest, newest cotton. She’d also spent an entire afternoon sun-drying my favorite pecan brittle in the yard. Take it all back to Seattle, she’d said. Share it with your professors and classmates, ask them to keep an eye on you. Grandma Betty raised me. She was seventy-eight. And last year, she’d been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Every visit now was a gift—a precious, finite moment we wouldn’t get back. A thousand miles away, she was waiting. Home was waiting. I squeezed the pitiful $350 in my pocket, the crumpled bills slick with the sweat of my anxiety. I took a deep, shaky breath, and then, I nodded at Mitch. They took me to a dingy, off-the-grid rental house a few blocks from the bus station. Mitch gestured to a worn kitchen table where six bottles of cheap American beer were lined up. He slapped six hundred-dollar bills down next to them. “One hundred bucks a bottle, little girl. Finish all six, and your bus ticket is yours.” I stared at the cash. My grandmother’s face—wreathed in wrinkles, her eyes full of nothing but unconditional love—floated in my vision. You’re too thin, sweetie, she’d say, her hand stroking my cheek. Didn’t you eat at school? Grandma’s gonna cook you something good. The tears came again, blurring the harsh lines of the room. I quickly wiped them away, giving myself a silent, desperate pep talk. You can do this, Lara. Mom always taught me that if you’re a small-town kid, you have to work twice as hard and pay twice the price for what you want. This was just the price. Six bottles of beer, and I’d be home. It was nothing. I grabbed the nearest bottle, twisted the cap off, and began to chug. I had never had alcohol before. It hit me like a physical blow, choking me, sending me into a fit of violent coughing. The men around me cheered and whistled, their eyes predatory, sweeping over my body with a sickening, vulgar familiarity. The air suddenly turned cold, and a terrifying, primal alarm screamed in my head. I muttered something about needing the bathroom, scrambling to lock the flimsy door behind me. I immediately pulled out my phone and dialed my mother’s number. She has to pick up. She has to. It rang. Once. Twice. Then, a click. “Mom, help—” Her voice, loud and furious, cut me off before I could finish the word. “Lara Evans, I am so utterly disappointed in you!” “You always try to find a loophole. Always trying to break the system and cheat the rules. This need to get ahead without putting in the work is a moral failing!” Her breath hitched with manufactured outrage. “I am going to beat this disgusting entitlement out of you once and for all!” She slammed the phone down. I frantically tried to call her back, but the line went straight to voicemail. The flimsy bathroom door exploded inward. Mitch’s face was a mask of cold fury, and his hand clamped around my arm, yanking me out into the center of the room. 2 He was too strong. I couldn’t break free. Fear paralyzed me, a cold shock that told me it was already too late to run. I struggled, screaming and begging, but my pleas vanished into the indifferent air. They were like hunters with their prey, forcing the beer down my throat, bottle after bottle. My vision swam, and the world dissolved into an endless, terrifying dark. I slipped into a nightmare where I was a blood-soaked lamb, cornered by a pack of wolves, helpless and waiting for the inevitable slaughter. The next time I woke, I was on a bus heading home. I blinked, dazed, then a wave of pure, thrilling excitement washed over me. I was on my way. I would see Grandma Betty soon. But something was wrong. When the ticket attendant walked down the aisle, verifying each passenger, she passed right through me, as if I were thin air. Once off the bus, I ran, my feet barely touching the ground. I had to get to her. When I reached the edge of the village, I saw her immediately. Grandma Betty, frail and small, leaning on her old wooden cane, standing alone by the granite millstone at the town square. She was staring fixedly down the road where my bus should have come from. A neighbor, Mrs. Henderson, walked by and gently touched her shoulder. “Betty, it’s freezing out here. You really should go inside.” Grandma Betty shook her head stubbornly, a hopeful, heartbreaking smile on her face. She kept muttering, “Just a little longer. She’ll be here any minute.” I sprinted toward her, shouting, “Grandma! I’m home! I’m right here!” I threw my arms out, ready to fold myself into her familiar embrace. My hands passed right through her body. No resistance. Nothing. I stopped dead. I’m dead. I had died in that rotten rental house, murdered for a six-hundred-dollar bus ticket. I died during the first Spring Break of my freshman year of college. Grandma Betty waited until the sun had completely vanished below the horizon, and the light in her eyes faded, inch by painful inch. Shoulders slumped in disappointment, she slowly began the walk back home, her figure deeply bowed. The old yellow Labrador, Max, who followed her everywhere, bounded up to me, whining excitedly, nudging my leg with his head. He could see me. I followed Grandma Betty back to the house. A brand-new, sleek SUV was parked in the yard. My parents, Carol and Robert, were cheerfully unloading bags and boxes of expensive Christmas treats and gifts, their faces flushed with good cheer. Since when could we afford a car like that? Mom had been complaining all year that money was tight, that I needed to scrimp and save and stop asking for transfers. My little brother, Toby, now seven, skipped out of the car and ran to Grandma Betty. “Grandma, where’s Lara? Why isn’t she home yet?” he asked. “I wanted her to read me that storybook.” Grandma Betty gently touched his head. “The bus tickets must have been hard to get, honey. She probably had to book for tomorrow.” At that, Mom—Carol—slammed the heavy suitcase she was holding onto the gravel drive. “That spiteful little brat!” she shrieked. “She’s trying to punish me! Just because I docked her pathetic allowance, she refuses to come home!” “She can stay gone for all I care! I’ll pretend I never had a daughter!” Her face was mottled with rage. “She spends her father’s and my hard-earned money and can’t even manage a polite phone call every day. An ungrateful little wretch!” I stood right in front of her, waving my hands, frantic. “Mom, no! I’m not spiteful! I didn’t refuse to come home! I’m here! You just can’t see me!” “I’m not ungrateful! I tried so hard! I got the highest GPA in my entire major last semester!” But no matter how loudly I screamed or how wildly I waved, they couldn’t hear me. They couldn’t see me. 3 Grandma Betty went inside, and I followed, leaning gently against her back, just as I used to when I was little. I inhaled the familiar, comforting scent of old cotton and lavender, wishing the moment would never end. She put on her reading glasses and pulled a battered wooden box from under her bed. She opened it carefully, revealing three small bundles wrapped in faded floral cloth. She opened the first one. Inside was a passbook. “This is my life savings,” she murmured, a gentle smile lifting the corners of her mouth. “Fifty thousand dollars. I’m saving it for my Lara. For her wedding. A girl needs money of her own so she can stand tall and never be looked down on by her in-laws.” She had terminal cancer and wouldn’t even buy her own medicine, but she was hoarding every penny for me. My eyes were wet. So ghosts can cry. She unwrapped the second cloth. Two heavy, golden bracelets glittered inside. She’d never worn them, but they were polished until they shone. Grandma Betty fell silent, lost in a memory. “These were my mother’s, given to me on my wedding day. They are the most precious things I own.” She sighed, a deep, weary sound. “Oh, I just wish I could hold on a little longer. Wait for my little girl’s wedding day so I can put them on her myself.” I was sobbing now, a tearing, ragged sound no one could hear. “Grandma, I’m so sorry! I can’t do that! I can’t wait!” Finally, she opened the third bundle. Inside was a neatly folded piece of paper—the deed to the old property. A thread of guilt entered her voice. “Your parents already bought Toby a big house in the city, and he’s only five.” (She didn’t know he was seven). “I’m just a foolish old woman, I can’t buy you a mansion. But this old farmhouse… it will always be here to shelter you.” “If you ever get hurt out there, you come home to your own place. And if you miss me, you go to my grave on the east side of the cemetery and tell me about it. I promise you, I will hear you.” I flung myself at her, screaming the truth. I’m dead! Use this money for your treatment! Forget me! Don’t worry about me! Live! But my cries were silenced by the veil between worlds. I could only watch, paralyzed, as she lovingly tucked the wooden box back under the bed, her eyes full of bright, impossible hope. At dinner, Carol prepared a massive feast. Grandma Betty sat at the table, taking only a few small bites. She kept glancing at the door, her face a heartbreaking mixture of hope and anxiety. Robert, my father, finally broke the strained silence. “Maybe we should just call her, Carol.” My mother instantly slammed her chopsticks down. Her face darkened. “Call her what? You’re both spoiling her rotten! Do you think I don’t know how to raise my own daughter?” “I’m telling you now, no one is calling her today. She needs to reflect. We can’t enable her selfish, ungrateful behavior!” Grandma Betty, already frail, was so startled by the sudden violence that she began to cough uncontrollably. Robert rushed to pat her back. Carol spoke to Grandma Betty with a brittle, forced firmness. “Mom, I have to say this. Lara is undisciplined because of how you’ve raised her. My allowance system is good for her.” “It’s teaching her the rules of the working world before she enters it. She needs to understand that you pay the price before you get the reward! No handouts!” “As her grandmother, your indulgence isn’t love, it’s a handicap. She’ll be eaten alive by the real world if she doesn’t learn boundaries!” Grandma Betty was a meek, gentle soul who had never raised her voice in her life, much less argued with her son and daughter-in-law. Her lips trembled as she tried to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. She just sat there, her eyes welling up with tears, looking like a helpless child. 4 After a long, painful silence, Grandma Betty finally found her resolve. “If you two won’t call my girl, I will.” “If you won’t let her come home, I will!” She struggled to her feet, leaning heavily on her cane. My mother was instantly livid. She pointed a trembling finger at Grandma Betty’s back. “See! This is exactly how you’ve spoiled Lara! She’ll never be able to adapt to a tough environment! She’ll never be successful!” Driven by a blinding, self-righteous fury, Carol stormed toward my old bedroom—the room Grandma Betty had carefully prepared for my return. A knot of dread tightened in my ethereal chest, and I followed her in. I watched as Mom violently yanked my brand-new, fresh-smelling quilt off the bed and threw it onto the dusty floor. She stomped on it twice, her mouth twisted in a snarl. “She wants to cross me? Fine! She won’t sleep under this! She can stay out in the cold!” Then, she turned her attention to the wall. It was covered in ribbons, plaques, and awards—my achievements from elementary school all the way through high school. They were my pride, and Grandma Betty’s joy. Carol began to rip them off the wall, tearing them into small, vicious shreds. “What good are these stupid papers? Can they buy her food? Can they teach her respect?” she screamed. “Ungrateful, entitled! All the awards in the world don’t change the fact that she’s a deadbeat! A nothing!” I looked at the fragments of my hard-won honors scattered on the floor and screamed at her, a silent, raging plea. “Mom, I’m not spoiled! I worked so hard!” “I was hauling buckets of water to help Grandma water the garden when I was five!” “I cooked, I did the laundry, I took care of Grandma when she was sick. I knew you struggled for money; I never complained.” “Grandma and I lived on welfare and food stamps. I was careful with every single penny. I never wasted a thing!” I pointed to the closet, begging her to open it. Every garment inside was old, mended, patched. If she wouldn’t believe me, she could ask the neighbors, the teachers. Everyone knew I was kind, devoted, and a hard worker. Grandma Betty always told me that my parents loved me, but they were just too busy building their lives. I worked myself to exhaustion, studied until I was numb, and tried to be the perfect, dutiful daughter so I wouldn’t be a burden, so they would finally like me. Just then, a hurried commotion and the sound of heavy boots came from the doorway. A relaxed smile spread across Robert’s face. “See, Carol? I told you. She came back. The kid caved.” Mom instantly straightened, her spine rigid with smug vindication. The door burst open, and Mayor Thompson, the head of our village council, stumbled in, his face ghostly. Carol saw him and assumed I’d sent him to mediate. She crossed her arms, a cold, unyielding mask settling on her face. “Uncle Thompson, did Lara send you to talk us down? Well, you can tell her no. She made a mistake, and she needs to face the consequences.” “You tell her to write that five-thousand-word letter of apology and read it out loud in the town square. Otherwise, she is not setting foot in this house!” The Mayor’s jaw dropped. He was frantic, shaking his head and waving his arms. Grandma Betty was looking past him, desperate. “Where is my girl, Thompson? Tell me, where is she?” The Mayor looked at Carol’s self-satisfied face, and his own face crumpled. He stomped his foot and let out a tortured cry. “There’s been a tragedy! You blind, foolish parents! How could you push your child to this point?”

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After the engagement, my fiancée arranged for a child to be sent to me from overseas. The delivery came with an email, too: “Ben, I was so bored overseas, and oops, I made a baby with Noah Becker. Since you’ve been so eager to lick my boots for years, consider this your reward.” “I’m leaving the kid with you. You can get some practice in before I come home. Then you can be our live-in nanny.” I didn’t argue. I simply handed the child over to the housekeeper. Seven years later, all the foreign CEOs were recalled to the States for annual reports. Blair Harrington rolled up to the gates of the Caldwell estate in a black Maybach, an intimidating entourage in tow. She was blocking my way out. She pulled a cigarette from her mouth, tilted her head, and slid her sunglasses down her nose. “Miss me so bad you were waiting by the gate?” “Just so you know,” she continued, “Noah and I got married overseas for the kid’s passport. You two will be like brothers now. He gets what you get.” “The Caldwells and the Harrisons are family, Ben. You don’t care about a piece of paper, right?” She blew a stream of smoke straight into my face, and the acrid smoke made my eyes water. Wiping my tears, I backed away quickly. Jamie’s mother—my wife, Quinn Caldwell—is incredibly possessive. She had repeatedly warned me to maintain distance from all younger female relatives. If she saw her niece harassing her husband, the Caldwell estate would turn into a war zone. Blair watched me retreat, then burst into a condescending laugh. “Alright, drop the act. I know you’re practically crying with excitement,” she sneered. “I’m back. There’s no need for these silly games. As long as you keep me and Noah happy, the position of ‘little Mr. Harrison’ is still yours. Don’t worry, it’s not going anywhere.” The sheer arrogance of her statement almost made me laugh myself. I wiped away the last of the tears and offered a slow, cold rebuttal. “Blair Harrington, what makes you think I’m still obsessed with you?” She took another drag and then exhaled a plume of smoke, looking at me as if I were a particularly slow child. “We were engaged since we were twenty. You’ve been wearing the Caldwell tag for years, and you’ve raised my son for me. Who else are you going to go with, Ben? Who would even have you?” Hearing her, I was only grateful. Grateful that I had dumped this trash and moved on to a real marriage. The last time we parted at the airport, she was holding me, teary-eyed and swearing, “Wenjing, give me five months. I’ll make a name for myself and come back to marry you early.” Tragically, just eight months later, her and Noah’s baby was delivered. They had been sleeping together all along. Everyone in the city knew, and I was the last to find out. The thought still makes me want to slap her. I raised my hand. “Daddy!” Jamie suddenly popped up, arms outstretched, waiting for me to pick him up. His mother was busy in a board meeting today, so he had to stick with me. As I bent down, Jamie was violently yanked away. “Who are you calling Daddy?! I’m your father!” Noah Becker leaped out from behind Blair, face flushed with anger, and delivered two quick slaps to Jamie’s arm. My eyes twitched with rage. I spun around and shoved him. Before he even hit the ground, he was clinging to Blair’s sleeve, his eyes red and theatrical. “Blair, I just wanted the boy to call me Dad. If he refuses, fine. But why did Ben have to get physical?” His shout instantly drew Blair’s entire security detail. They surrounded Jamie and me. Blair stood back, watching with cold eyes. I pulled Jamie behind me and gritted out a question. “Are you blind? You’re circling me for a hired hand? Do you even know who I am?” “Enough!” Blair raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, crushed the cigarette under her heel, and pointed at me. “Ben Harrison, who gave you the guts to talk about Noah like that?” “He is my husband, the boy’s biological father. Not only are you blocking them from reuniting, but you’re insulting him in public?” I scoffed and shoved her hand away. “A servant wants to be my son’s father? Does he really think he’s worthy?” If I hadn’t been kind enough to let him stay at the Caldwell place years ago, he would have starved. The thanks I got was him crawling into my fiancée’s bed. Blair was even more enraged. She forcibly snatched Jamie from my arms and shoved him into Noah’s. The courtyard echoed with Jamie’s frantic cries: “You’re bad people! Go away!” Seeing Jamie’s face bright red with tears and distress felt like a physical tearing in my chest. Then, Noah suddenly dropped to his knees at my feet. He stroked the boy’s cheek and burst into tears. “Ben, even if you hate me, you can’t poison the child against me. Jamie is so small, and he keeps calling you ‘Daddy.’ How could you abuse him behind our backs?!” With that, he lifted the boy’s shirt, revealing patchy, red marks on his back. Blair’s eyes went wide. The look she gave me shifted completely. “Ben Harrison! I kindly gave you my son for practice, I trusted you—and you beat him with a whip?” “Did not getting me turn you into such a monster?” The boy’s back was covered in stripes that ran from top to bottom, terrifying in their shape. Blair couldn’t imagine the suffering her son had endured over the years. But she didn’t know. Those were cupping marks—a deep tissue massage done to relieve the fever. A few days ago, Jamie had a high fever of 104 degrees because he’d gotten cold. He has a sensitive constitution and can’t be given strong medication. The doctor recommended only physical therapy. Because of this fever, every nanny, housekeeper, and even the nutritional team who oversaw his care was given a formal warning by his mother and temporarily dismissed from the main house. If Quinn knew the humiliation and suffering Jamie and I were enduring today… a hundred Blairs wouldn’t be enough to satisfy her rage. Seeing my own security team start to close in from outside the gate, I gave up the pretense of negotiation. I pointed at the two sickening people. “Take them! And give them a lesson on Caldwell house rules!” Blair’s face turned bright red with fury. While wrestling with the bodyguards, she didn’t forget to yell at me. “Ben Harrison, you maniac! Keep this up, and I swear I’ll never take you back! I’ll have you thrown out of the Caldwell estate this minute!” I gave a cold laugh. “Try it.” These bodyguards were hand-picked by Jamie’s mother. With them here, Jamie and I wouldn’t be harmed. Realizing they were losing ground and that the bodyguards were wary of the child in his arms, Noah’s eyes darted around. He suddenly grabbed Jamie and threatened. “Stop right now! Or I’ll strangle him!” Jamie struggled desperately in his grasp. His breathing grew shallow, and his face started to turn blue. Even his cries were fading. I immediately pulled the pocket knife from my coat and plunged it toward Noah’s arm. Noah shrieked and instantly released his hold. I lunged forward, quickly trying to restore the air to Jamie’s lungs. “Jamie, Jamie?” “Don’t be afraid. Daddy’s here!” Seeing the child convulsing and gasping for breath, I quickly pulled out his asthma rescue inhaler. Just as I was about to administer it, I was violently seized by the wounded Noah. He went crazy, hitting and punching me. “You dog! It’s not enough that you abused my son, now you’re trying to murder him in public!” Blair’s face was deathly pale. She screamed, “Ben Harrison! Don’t you dare!” But it was too late. The medication was already in Jamie’s mouth. Almost immediately, the child’s convulsions and wheezing began to subside. The two of them shut up, stunned. But the child was over-stimulated and had passed out. He needed immediate IV fluids. I ordered my bodyguards to restrain Blair and Noah, slung Jamie onto my back, and ran. Blair’s frantic, furious shouts exploded behind me: “Ben Harrison, you’ve caused enough chaos! If you walk away now, you’ll never be my man again!” “No one’s begging you!” The woman let out a loud snicker. “You’re all talk! If I don’t want you, who would take a piece of rotten goods like you?” Ignoring the mad dog, I gave my command to my men. “To the main estate!” I calculated the time. Jamie’s mother should be leading the Caldwell family in the ancestral rites right now. As soon as the car stopped, I sent someone to notify her, then rushed the child into the on-site clinic. Jamie had woken up at some point. His small hand was tightly clutching my coat, and he was trying to comfort me. “I don’t hurt, Daddy. Don’t cry…” The more composed he was, the deeper the guilt and self-reproach cut into me. If I hadn’t brought him back to the Caldwell compound today, we would never have run into those two lunatics. “Mr. Harrison, please don’t worry. The young master… he’s under a lucky star!” The doctor, terrified by Jamie’s weak breathing, was stammering as he spoke. Just as Jamie was being placed in a medical hyperbaric chamber, the clinic door was kicked open again. Blair, supporting Noah, stormed in with her bodyguards. Seeing me, a look of triumphant realization flashed across her face. She looked at me with disdain. “Didn’t you say you weren’t begging for me? Yet you ran straight back to the main estate? How pathetic!” Noah leaned on her shoulder, his eyes full of venom. “Ben Harrison, you stole my child, stabbed me, and now you dare to cause trouble here at the main estate? Aren’t you afraid of offending the Head of the Caldwells?” “Everyone in the city knows that if you cross the Caldwell Matriarch, you won’t even know how you died!” After he spoke, Blair put him down, shooed the doctor out, and dragged me into a corner, her tone impatient. “Ben Harrison, I’ll spare you this one last time, purely out of charity for your past devotion to me. Now, get lost!” Seeing her bully me, Jamie picked up a nearby water pitcher and hurled it at her. Clang— Blair touched the blood on her forehead, her face dangerously dark. She lifted the child with one hand. “Are you looking for a death wish?! Attacking your own mother!” Seeing Jamie’s face turning purple again, I fought free, turned, and slapped her. “Let go of my son!” Noah’s expression changed. He snatched the sterile cotton from the table and tried to gag me. “Why are you screaming?! If you want to die, don’t take us with you! Disrupting the ancestral rites—ten of you wouldn’t be enough to pay for it!” His sudden surge of crazy strength knocked me to the floor. Caught off guard, my mouth was stuffed full of cotton. I couldn’t worry about anything else. I immediately started fighting with Noah. In the midst of the muffled grunts and shoves. Blair watched me with wide, bewildered eyes. “Ben Harrison, I only allowed you to look after my child because of the old family engagement—you were educated and presentable. But look at you now!” “You’re acting like a lunatic! The boy will go crazy if he stays with you. From today on, Noah and I will personally raise Jamie!” The moment the words left her mouth, she let out a sharp cry of pain. Jamie, seeing me being brutalized, was frantic. He mustered all his strength and sank his teeth deep into Blair’s wrist. He grew up by my side because of his asthma. He is closer to me than to his biological mother. When he was four, he would swing his tiny fists to chase away stray cats and stand in front of me, his voice piping up: “I’m here! Don’t you dare bully my Daddy!” Seeing Jamie shaking, yet still refusing to let go of her wrist, a raw, sharp pain tore through my heart. I finally delivered a last kick that sent Noah sprawling. Just as I was about to grab the child back, Blair grabbed my hair and kicked me away. “Ben Harrison! You’ve trained my son into a little beast who doesn’t recognize his own mother and father!” “Don’t hit my Daddy!” Seeing me thrown to the ground, my forehead bleeding, Jamie screamed desperately. He prepared to bite her again. Blair saw through him. She grabbed his jaw, looked toward Noah in the corner, and tightened her grip. “You little animal! Open your eyes and look! Your real father is right there!” “He is not my Daddy! You are bad people!” Jamie strained his neck, his mouth torn and bloody, still trying to bite and tear at her. Blair completely lost her patience. She slammed him onto the floor, the sharp heel of her shoe coming down hard on his chest. She laughed coldly. “This boy has been totally ruined by Ben Harrison. He doesn’t even recognize his own parents!” “Fine! Fine! I’ll teach you a lesson today on how to apologize to your mother and father!” She applied pressure to her heel, grinding and pressing into the child’s chest. Jamie’s muffled cries of agony echoed in the room. “Let go of him! You monster! You don’t deserve to touch my son!” I screamed hoarsely, scrambling desperately toward Jamie, my voice ragged with blood and tears. “He’s having an asthma attack! Can’t you see he’s fading?!” “If anything happens to him, Blair Harrington, your entire family will pay!” The woman laughed as if I’d told a joke. She turned her head, glanced at me, then at the bloody and pathetic Noah. A cold ferocity washed over her face. “Asthma? Can’t breathe?” “He doesn’t recognize me, so why should I care if he lives or dies? Even if I accidentally kill him today, it’s all your fault for raising him wrong!” With that, she grabbed Jamie’s hair and forced him to kneel. Poor Jamie could no longer even hold himself up on his knees. He couldn’t even cry out for help. I lunged toward Blair like a madman, wanting to tear her apart. She kicked me hard, knocking me back down, then shoved my head toward Noah. “It’s your fault the child is ruined! Now, kowtow three times to Noah and apologize!” I was held down, my head slammed violently against the floor. Blood ran down my face, mixing with my tears. I stared at her, stubborn and silent. My silence completely enraged Blair. She pulled a steak knife from the fruit basket, flashed it in front of my eyes, and smiled with dark meaning. “You stabbed Noah. By all rights, you should repay him! If you’re smart, just apologize and beg…” She leaned close to my face, her voice soft and tempting. “I’ll forget all the past incidents. Otherwise…” Before she could finish the sentence. I opened my mouth and spat a mouthful of bloody foam right into her face. Blair closed her eyes, then opened them again, her gaze completely overtaken by towering rage. She slowly wiped her face, violently yanked my hair, and condescendingly patted my cheek. “Don’t blame me for being cruel. I gave you a chance, and you threw it away!” She then looked down and kicked Jamie. “Watch, this is the first lesson Mother is teaching you!” “When a person is foolish, when they make mistakes, they have to pay the price!” Jamie was startled awake by the pain. His eyes snapped open and he saw the knife plunging toward my heart. His pupils constricted instantly. “Daddy!” I don’t know where he found the strength. He struggled free from Blair’s feet and darted, throwing himself in front of me. “No!” Thwack! Hot blood sprayed like scattered petals, covering my face. I stared blankly at Jamie. My vision was filled with crimson. Tears mixed with blood poured down my cheeks. My heart was completely shredded. Jamie trembled, his hand reaching slowly, haltingly, toward me. His voice was broken. “J-Jamie doesn’t hurt… Daddy, don’t cry…” The bloody little hand fell limply before it could touch my face. Blair’s eyes were bloodshot. She pulled out the knife and aimed for my heart again. “You really did it! You let my son die for you!” When the tip of the knife had pierced an inch into my chest. A sudden gunshot erupted behind us. “The Matriarch has arrived!”

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