The day before the national conservatory auditions, the spoiled heiress who constantly acted like a fragile toddler secretly detuned every grand piano in the practice wing by a full half-step. “Lola just thinks a piano tuned down a half-step sounds so much gentler. This way, everyone’s music will sound as beautiful as a sweet lullaby.” In my past life, my ears caught the sickening pitch the second I sat down to practice. I immediately reported the sabotage to the faculty, and professional tuners worked through the night to fix every instrument. Stripped of her precious “gentle aesthetic,” Lola threw a hysterical fit, swallowed an entire bottle of prescription sleeping pills, and died before the ambulance even reached the hospital. To avenge her, my entire class conspired against me at our graduation gala. They spiked my drink with a lethal dose of industrial alcohol. When I woke up, my childhood best friend had bound my ten fingers with heavy steel piano wire, tightening the razor-sharp metal loop by agonizing loop. “You love playing the piano so much? Then use your mangled fingers to play a requiem for Lola in hell!” 1 “But Lola just thinks a piano tuned a half-step down sounds so much gentler.” Lola rubbed her reddened eyes, letting a single, perfect tear slide down her cheek. She clutched a heavy steel tuning wrench to her chest. Her voice was thick with exaggerated, nasal innocence. “Lola just wanted everyone’s audition pieces to sound like sweet lullabies. Why are you yelling at Lola?” That sickeningly sweet, infantile tone instantly triggered the protective instincts of every guy in the room. My childhood best friend, Oliver, stepped forward and shielded Lola with his body. He glared at me and let out a furious snarl. “Violet, do you know anything besides grinding away at those keys?” “Lola is doing this for our own good. She’s trying to help us relax before the biggest audition of our lives.” “Do you have zero empathy? Are you only happy when everyone else is having a mental breakdown from the stress?” The rest of our classmates swarmed around them, their voices rising in a chorus of toxic accusations. “Seriously. She’s just a mindless practice machine. Zero artistic soul.” “So what if the pitch is a little flat? I’m naturally gifted. I could play on a broken keyboard and still ace the audition. She’s just a try-hard who is insanely jealous of Lola.” “What a total buzzkill. She’s clinically insane for ruining the vibe.” Listening to those familiar, ear-piercing insults, a violent wave of vertigo washed over my brain. I was reborn. I was back to the exact day before the National Conservatory Auditions. The moment Lola secretly detuned every grand piano in the practice wing, and the exact second I tried to stop her. Lola was a filthy-rich heiress who transferred to our academy six months ago. When she first arrived, her habit of referring to herself in the third person made people roll their eyes. But within a month, her massive trust fund and constant damsel-in-distress act had turned her into the undisputed princess of the senior class. Even Oliver, the boy I grew up with, the boy who once promised to protect me forever, had devolved into her most loyal, rabid attack dog. In my past life, I tried to warn them. I told them the conservatory judges had absolute perfect pitch. I warned them that a detuned piano would destroy the emotional resonance of their pieces and result in automatic disqualification. For my honesty, I was viciously bullied by the entire class. They called me a jealous, talentless hack. Terrified for everyone’s future, I secretly alerted the faculty. The professors brought in professional tuners overnight to fix the damage. When Lola realized her “gentle aesthetic” was gone, she threw a massive hysterical fit. That night, she swallowed a handful of prescription pills and slipped into a permanent, fatal coma. Weeks later, at our graduation gala, my classmates spiked my drink with a lethal dose of cleaning chemicals. I woke up tied to a chair in the music hall. Oliver wrapped heavy, steel piano wire around my hands. He pulled the wire taut, slowly crushing the bones in my fingers until my hands were completely mangled. He looked down at my bleeding, ruined hands and sneered. “You love playing the piano so much? Then use your crippled fingers to play a requiem for Lola in hell.” The phantom agony of my bones splintering still burned deep in my soul. In this life, I absolutely refused to be their savior. I took a deep breath, forcing down the bile rising in my throat. I looked at Lola and lowered my head submissively. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I overreacted.” “Lola is totally right. A gentle, soft aesthetic is way more important than rigid, boring pitch rules. I promise I won’t interfere with your art again.” A wave of mocking laughter echoed through the practice room. “Look at her folding. So much for acting like a music prodigy.” “Exactly. Trying to show off her ear training? Next to Lola’s aesthetic vision, your textbook theory is pure garbage.” Lola wiped her eyes, pasting on a saintly, forgiving smile. “Don’t be mean to Violet, guys.” “Lola knows that everyone’s ears are different. Some people just have a really low capacity for true beauty.” “Please don’t ostracize Violet just because her taste is so… basic.” It sounded like she was defending me, but she was expertly branding me as a tasteless, uncultured loser. I didn’t argue. I just silently walked back to my piano bench. In my previous life, my scores were just a few points shy of a full ride to Juilliard. My technique was peerless among my age group. But to these trust-fund kids, I was just a pathetic “piano slave” who had to work for what they thought they were born with. Right now, the only thing on my mind was tomorrow’s audition. I was going to take back my rightful spot as the top recruit in the state, and permanently leave these lunatics in my rearview mirror. As soon as I sat down, a thick, heavy hand clamped down on my wrist like a vice. “Violet, your pathetic acting doesn’t fool me.” Oliver leaned in close, his breath hot against my face. “You’re totally plotting something. You’re just waiting for us to leave so you can run and snitch to the department head, aren’t you?” 2 The atmosphere in the room instantly turned toxic. Dozens of hostile eyes locked onto me like laser sights. Oliver tightened his grip, his voice booming off the soundproof walls. “You are so incredibly fake. You’re probably cursing Lola in your head right now.” “You think if you report her for vandalism, you’ll eliminate your biggest competition, right?” “You want the board to disqualify Lola just so you can finally achieve your pathetic little music dream.” His baseless, psychotic accusations instantly ignited the class. The practice room exploded into a frenzy. “Oh my god, her heart is literally black.” “Lola literally just defended you, and you want to ruin her entire life?” “Classic snake behavior. Lola’s kindness is totally wasted on trash like her.” “We can’t let her leave. We need to teach her a lesson today so she doesn’t try to sabotage us tomorrow.” Someone shouted the order, and a group of guys aggressively stormed over to my piano. They moved with brutal efficiency. One of them snatched my thick binder of sheet music right off the music stand. It was the repertoire I had spent three grueling years perfecting. The margins were filled with thousands of handwritten notes from masterclasses and late-night practice sessions. “What are you even practicing for? Trash like you doesn’t deserve to touch a piano.” A sharp, violent tearing sound ripped through the air. They tore my sheet music in half with their bare hands. The shredded pages fluttered through the air like dead winter leaves. The entire class erupted into roaring cheers. Not a single person thought this was wrong. A few girls even walked over and intentionally dug their expensive heels into my ruined notes. “Trash paper for a trash person. Perfect match.” The rage boiling in my chest threatened to override my sanity, but I bit down on my lower lip so hard I tasted copper. Fighting back now would only give them an excuse to physically lock me in a closet and make me miss the exam entirely. I violently yanked my wrist out of Oliver’s grip and bent down to gather the torn, dirty pages. Oliver lifted his heavy sneaker and stomped down hard on the back of my hand. “I told you. As long as I’m breathing, you aren’t going anywhere near the faculty office.” “I will never let you hurt Lola.” Just as the mob was gearing up to humiliate me further, the heavy wooden door of the practice room swung open. Professor Harrison, the head of the piano department, walked in carrying a clipboard with the final audition roster. He froze in the doorway, completely stunned by the chaotic scene. “What the hell is going on in here?” He slammed his clipboard onto the lid of the nearest grand piano. The loud, hollow bang echoed like a gunshot. “Tomorrow is the state conservatory audition. The best musicians in the country are making their final preparations, and you lot are in here forming a lynch mob?” Professor Harrison’s sharp eyes scanned the room. His gaze locked onto Oliver’s shoe pressing down on my hand. His face turned dangerously dark. “Get back to your seats. Now.” Oliver reluctantly lifted his foot, shooting me a lethal glare and dragging his thumb across his throat before backing away. Lola immediately trotted over to Professor Harrison. She gently tugged on the sleeve of his tweed jacket, her eyes pooling with fresh, glistening tears. “Professor… please don’t be mad. It’s all Lola’s fault.” “Everyone has been working so hard and getting so stressed. Lola just wanted everyone to hear a softer, gentler tone to help ease their anxiety.” “Lola just loves everyone so much. I wanted to give them a beautiful memory before we all graduate.” Her pathetic, whimpering routine instantly melted the hearts of the guys standing nearby. A few of the top-ranked students in the class loudly voiced their support. “Professor, we are engaging in experimental artistic exploration. Is it a crime to pursue a different tonal aesthetic?” “We are the elite musicians of this academy. Being a little flat isn’t going to stop us from getting perfect scores. We aren’t robots.” 3 Professor Harrison looked at the bizarre, unified front his students were presenting. He clearly assumed this was just a case of collective pre-exam burnout. His deeply furrowed brow relaxed slightly, and his tone softened. “Alright. I know you all share a tight bond. But sit down and listen to me.” Professor Harrison cleared his throat, his expression turning dead serious. “The audition panel has been updated. The head judge tomorrow is Maestro Rossi. The man has absolute, flawless perfect pitch.” “As your mentor, I am giving you one final warning.” “For tomorrow’s repertoire, pitch accuracy is your absolute lifeline.” “You must pay extreme attention to the piano’s tuning. If you suspect the pitch is off by even a fraction, you must immediately halt and request the official tuner.” “Even a quarter-step flat sounds like a chainsaw ripping through drywall to judges of that caliber.” “Do not delude yourselves into thinking your technique can mask a flat instrument. If the pitch is wrong, your entire emotional delivery collapses into a complete mess.” “One point will be the difference between Juilliard and working at a local diner. Do not fail on the absolute basics.” To emphasize his point, he casually walked over to the primary Steinway grand piano at the front of the room and struck a standard middle A. The note rang out. It was a flat, dull A-flat. Professor Harrison’s face drained of all color, turning from pale to a furious shade of purple. “The pitch is completely wrong. Who touched this instrument?” His voice skyrocketed, shaking with uncontainable rage. “This is the primary warm-up room for tomorrow’s auditions. Do you have any idea what precise tuning means to a concert pianist?” “Without a standard pitch, how are you supposed to warm up your ears? How are you supposed to find your center?” Lola stepped out of the crowd, wearing that same clueless, innocent smile. “Professor, Lola paid a guy to tune it down.” “Lola thinks it sounds so much softer this way. It makes everyone feel so emotionally stable.” She looked at him with wide, expectant eyes, genuinely waiting for a gold star and a pat on the head. Professor Harrison froze like he had been struck by lightning. He stared at Lola in pure disbelief, his finger trembling as he pointed at the Steinway. “You… you detuned a concert grand by a full half-step?” “Lola, tomorrow is the most rigorous conservatory audition in the state.” “What do you think this place is? Your personal playground?” Lola’s smile vanished. Her lower lip quivered, and the tears immediately spilled over. “Lola just wanted to make the world a gentler place. In your eyes, are a bunch of rigid, dead rules more important than our happiness?” “This is absolute insanity. You are playing Russian roulette with your futures.” Professor Harrison violently slammed his hand onto the piano lid. “Call the academy tuner right now and fix this. If you don’t, I will personally report you to the board and have your audition eligibility revoked on the spot.” A few of the students who had been cheering earlier suddenly looked incredibly nervous. When their actual college admissions were on the line, the bravado started to crack. “Yeah, Lola, maybe we should fix it. If the judges are really that strict about pitch, this is super risky.” But Lola just cried harder. She collapsed onto the hardwood floor in a heap of designer fabric, sobbing hysterically. “Lola just wants to share true beauty with the world. Is it a crime to pursue art?” Oliver couldn’t take it anymore. He shoved Professor Harrison aside and wrapped his arms around Lola, pulling her into his chest. “Back off, old man. Did Violet bribe you to come in here and terrorize us?” Professor Harrison was so furious he couldn’t even form words. Oliver brutally cut him off, his face twisting with arrogance. “Cut the crap. You just want to keep your precious admission stats high so you can get your corporate bonus.” “Lola is trying to save our artistic souls, and you just want us to be mindless exam robots.” “We are prodigies. Even if the pitch is a half-step flat, we will dominate those judges with our raw emotional power.” 4 Fired up by Oliver’s unhinged speech, the class’s blind arrogance came roaring back. “He’s right. Those judges are ancient anyway. Their hearing is probably shot. What we are doing is called avant-garde styling.” “Violet definitely snitched to the professor because she knows we’re going to outplay her. What a manipulative psycho.” Professor Harrison was shaking with a rage so intense his face was flushed crimson. With the exam less than twelve hours away, he knew escalating this to security would result in a massive scandal that he couldn’t control. “Fine. Have it your way.” Professor Harrison snatched his clipboard and stormed toward the door, leaving them with one final, icy warning. “Since you all think pitch is a joke, go ahead and see what happens tomorrow. Do not come crawling back to my office crying when reality hits you.” The second the door clicked shut, Oliver’s true colors flared. He lunged across the room, grabbing my jaw with a brutal, crushing grip. “Did you enjoy the show, Violet?” His fingers dug painfully into my cheeks. Tears involuntarily pricked the corners of my eyes from the sheer force. “Tell me, did you slip the old man a text while we weren’t looking?” He tilted his head, his eyes burning with absolute, nauseating disgust. “I am warning you. Drop the pathetic little schemes.” “Even if you complain to the president of the academy, it won’t do a thing. Didn’t you just see us run that old coward out of the room?” “Don’t think that just because you practice twenty hours a day, you can play savior and boss Lola around.” Lola stood up, dusting off her skirt. She wrapped her arms around Oliver’s bicep and spoke in her saccharine voice. “Oliver, don’t be so mean to Violet.” “But you know… Lola feels like if we really want to promote this gentle aesthetic, just tuning this one room definitely isn’t enough.” She turned her head, a flash of psychotic obsession gleaming in her eyes. “Why don’t we detune every single piano in the audition building? That way, every candidate in the state can experience Lola’s beautiful aesthetic.” Her absurd, insane proposal plunged the noisy room into dead silence. The students who had been cheering just moments ago suddenly looked conflicted and deeply terrified. “Lola, messing with our own practice room is one thing, but if we mess with the official exam pianos… that’s a massive federal-level academic crime.” “If they catch us on the security cameras, or if we get caught in the act, our lives are literally over. We’ll be blacklisted forever.” A quiet girl in the back whispered, her voice trembling violently. This was the state audition. It was the moment that decided their entire careers. The atmosphere in the room turned suffocatingly tense as everyone mentally weighed the risks. At that critical moment, Oliver shoved my face away and stepped up like a conquering hero. “What are you all so afraid of? An exam this big has maintenance staff checking the rooms constantly.” “If we tune them down tonight, and they don’t notice tomorrow morning, it proves the judges don’t actually care about pitch. If they do notice, they’ll just fix it before the exam starts.” He beat his chest, his voice echoing off the walls. “We are doing this to help Lola achieve her ultimate artistic vision. We are going to give those rigid, boring judges the surprise of a lifetime. This is performance art.” Hearing his twisted logic, the crowd found their psychological safety net. Their hesitation vanished, replaced by a sick, fanatical fever. “He’s right. The judges aren’t deaf. They’ll definitely double-check the rooms.” “Let’s go. Let’s go bless the whole state with Lola’s aesthetic. Let’s show everyone what true art is.” “For Lola’s dream. Let’s go.” The entire class looked completely brainwashed. Cheering and screaming, they swarmed around Lola and Oliver, sprinting out of the room like a pack of rabid animals heading for the audition halls.

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1 Three autumns after our breakup, my ex dragged me to court to reclaim $3,264.30 he’d sent while we dated. It wasn’t much, but I was broke. My father’s gambling had stripped us bare, leaving debts that grew hourly. Declan knew I worked five grueling shifts just to fend off loan sharks. To him, three grand was spare change—a casual dinner’s cost. But his paranoid new girlfriend believed I still lingered in his heart, so he cornered me to prove his loyalty. In court, his face stone-cold, he claimed the money was for our out-of-wedlock child, spinning a tale of how I’d taken his cash, dumped him, then aborted the baby. He ignored me, telling the room he only sought to stop a liar from ruining lives. What he didn’t know: when the verdict froze my empty accounts, I couldn’t pay for dialysis and missed three vital sessions. End-stage renal failure left me with thirty days. Staring at my hollow reflection in the courthouse bathroom, bitter regret hit. I wished I hadn’t fought so hard to survive. I should have skipped treatment, kept the baby, and died in the year he loved me most—at least the spring flowers on my grave would cost more than three grand. … I ran into Declan on the afternoon I went out to buy a massive stash of painkillers. His features were still sharply handsome, carrying that same arrogant edge I used to adore. Time hadn’t touched his face at all. In three years, the only thing that had changed was the woman standing beside him. He was looking at Christina with total devotion, taking her heavy shopping bags. But the second his gaze flicked and landed on me, his eyes turned to ice. The air turned suffocating. I ducked my head, quickening my pace to escape. Declan wasn’t having it. He frowned, his large hand shooting out to grip my arm like a vice. “Ruby. You see the guy who holds your debt and you don’t even say hello?” His grip was brutal. A sharp ache radiated through my frail bones. I swallowed the pain, forcing my voice to stay level. “I’m sorry, Mr. Sterling… I mean, Declan. I was in a rush to get home and take my meds. I didn’t see you. Can you let go of me?” Hearing my excuse, Christina let out a dramatic gasp, covering her mouth with a perfectly manicured hand. “You pick up your meds all by yourself? Oh, honey, I always have my man with me for that!” She looked me up and down, her tone dripping with toxic pity. “Honestly, if you hadn’t been so heartless to dump Declan back then, I wouldn’t have found the perfect guy. He is just so sweet. My therapist told me I shouldn’t stress over the past, and boom, he instantly sues you to get your little dating fund back.” She giggled, a sharp, grating sound. “It’s just a shame you meant so little to him. Three grand? That barely buys a decent designer bracelet. You really aren’t worth my stress.” Declan and I had shared eight years of our lives. Back then, he wasn’t the billionaire tech titan of Seattle. And I wasn’t this broken shell of a woman. We were just two broke college grads, hustling side by side for a future we believed in. That three grand he sued me for? It was an encouragement fund he set up for me every time I cried, wanting to cut ties with my toxic father. And now, here he was, standing with Christina, using those very bank receipts to humiliate me in federal court. All because of a throwaway comment from her therapist. Declan pressed a tender kiss to the top of Christina’s head, his gaze softening entirely. “We’ll go pick out some jewelry right now, baby.” “And as for that dirty money, once the court forces it out of her, I’ll match it tenfold and transfer it to you. Consider it a lucky charm.” Christina cheered, going up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek repeatedly. “I knew it! You love me the most.” “I’m so sorry I ever doubted your feelings about your ex. But you’re so good to me, you won’t stay mad, right?” Their sugary display felt like glass grinding in my chest. A wave of dizzying nausea hit me. I needed to run. I yanked my arm out of Declan’s punishing grip, stumbling backward. In my panic, the plastic bag tore. Boxes of painkillers scattered across the pavement. Declan looked down with cold disdain. He reached out and snatched a folded piece of paper that had slipped out among the pills. It was my latest medical report. “Severe depressive disorder?” “Pelvic ultrasound: Uterus absent?” Declan read the bold text out loud, his voice dropping into a dangerous register. The next second, he crushed the report into a tight ball and hurled it directly at my face. It clipped the corner of my eye, stinging sharply. His voice was a venomous hiss. “Are you completely disgusting, Ruby?” “Couldn’t handle being single? Played around with so many guys you literally ruined your own body?” “People like you deserve to be depressed. Why don’t you just do us all a favor and drop dead?” My head spun. I looked up into those deep eyes I used to know so well, my lips curving into a pathetic, self-mocking smile. I didn’t say a word to him. I just slowly bent down, my joints screaming in protest, and picked up my painkillers one by one. Christina leaned affectionately into his chest. When she looked at me, there was a flash of pure malice in her eyes that only I could see. “Declan, sweetie, didn’t some anonymous angel donate bone marrow to you when you were at your lowest point?” “If it weren’t for that kind stranger, you wouldn’t have survived leukemia. Why don’t we show some mercy and help her out? Consider it passing on the good karma.” Her words were calculated. They forced Declan to remember exactly what I did when he was sick and terrified. I chose to abort his child and vanish. Any flicker of hesitation in his eyes instantly evaporated into pure disgust. He stared down at me like I was a cockroach. “Pity her? She brought this on herself.” “Good karma should be passed on, sure. But not to a cheap trash who throws away an unborn baby just to chase a richer guy.” Christina shot me a triumphant smirk. Claiming she didn’t want to waste her energy on strangers, she pulled Declan away. I stayed on my knees until their laughter faded down the block. Only then did I pick up the crumpled ultrasound report that Christina had intentionally stepped on. My trembling fingers smoothed out the wrinkles. I stared at the words Uterus absent and the terrifying diagnosis right below it: End-stage Uremia. My throat closed up tight. The Declan of today didn’t even have the patience to read to the bottom of the page. So he would never know that the anonymous angel who donated the bone marrow was me. … When I dragged myself back to my tiny apartment with a grocery bag full of pills, my eyes landed on a dusty memory box in the corner. My feet felt like lead as I walked over. Before I even opened it, my eyes burned with unshed tears. This was the box Declan had given me. It held every piece of proof that we had once loved each other fiercely. I used to think these memories would be the fuel to keep me going for the rest of my miserably short life. I never expected them to morph into barbed wire, tearing my insides apart every time I breathed. I opened the lid. I touched the handwritten love letters. I traced the edges of the little wooden figurines he carved for me when he couldn’t afford jewelry. And finally, I pulled out the cheap diamond ring he bought when he promised me the world. We were supposed to get married because of the baby. But fate had a sick sense of humor. Declan was diagnosed with acute leukemia. He needed immediate hospitalization. When the donor match results came back, I was the only option. Ignoring the frantic warnings of every doctor on the ward, I didn’t hesitate. I signed the papers to donate my bone marrow. Even though the absolute cost was terminating our first child. Even though the aftermath would leave me ravaged with irreversible complications. I disappeared from his life right before the abortion. I couldn’t bear the thought of him blaming himself for the loss of our baby. After leaving him, I forced my weak, recovering body through the grueling marrow extraction. My bones felt like they were being splintered into dust every single night. I never knew if the agonizing pain was from the abortion, or the extraction. But I never regretted it. My blurry vision slowly focused on a magazine clipping inside the box. It was Declan, looking incredibly sharp in a tailored suit, smiling on the cover of a Forbes list. A bitter smile tugged at my lips. He finally achieved the empire he promised to build. But the woman reaping the rewards wasn’t me. It was time to sever the cord. I slowly tore the letters into pieces. I struck a match and watched the evidence of our love curl into black ash. I needed to drill it into my brain: he belonged to someone else now. Ever since my mother jumped off a building because she couldn’t outrun my father’s debts, there was absolutely nothing left in this world tethering me to life. After the fire burned out, I slipped into a wrinkled dress and headed out into the rain, walking toward the Grand Ridge Hotel. My mother’s dying wish was for me to protect the old family home my grandmother left behind. I had begged on my bleeding knees for that house. I went to my father’s old business partners. I went to my mother’s former best friends. They all treated me like a stray dog, trying to shoo me away with a twenty-dollar bill. Tonight was the last chance I had to fulfill her final wish. The current owner was hosting a massive business mixer. I couldn’t mess this up. But when I pushed the heavy oak doors open, my breath hitched. Declan was there. I froze in the doorway, my chest tightening in panic. But the thought of my mother’s broken body on the pavement forced my feet to keep moving. Declan spotted me instantly. His gaze darkened, scanning the room before his voice cut through the soft jazz playing in the background. “Ruby, a woman of your… status… has no business crashing an event like this.” “What, did you sell yourself for an invitation?” The entire ballroom went dead silent. Dozens of high-society elites turned to stare at me, their eyes gleaming with mockery and intrigue. Someone in the back chuckled. Then the whispers started, loud and cruel. “She’s got a pretty face, I guess she’s qualified for the oldest profession.” “Mr. Sterling, isn’t this the infamous ex you mentioned?” Declan swirled the amber liquid in his crystal glass, letting out a dark scoff. “She aborted my kid and ran off when I was literally on my deathbed. I figured she found herself a billionaire sugar daddy. Turns out… she’s just desperate.” Declan was the new king of Seattle. Everyone in this room wanted a piece of his favor. Mr. Roth, the man holding the deed to my grandmother’s house, stepped forward with a greasy smile. “Miss Ruby, you’ve been crying over that old, rundown property for months, haven’t you?” “Well, today is your lucky day. If Mr. Sterling gives the nod, I’ll transfer the deed to you for free.” It was a sick game. Mr. Roth had orchestrated this entire setup just to feed me to the wolves and make Declan happy. The room erupted into malicious jeers. The men in tailored suits crowded around, chanting for me to pour a glass and apologize on my knees to the man I wronged. Ever since my family went bankrupt, I had endured this kind of humiliation before. But seeing Declan sitting at the center of the leather booth, watching my degradation with cold apathy… my deadened heart fiercely contracted in pain. “Why are you just standing there, Ruby?” Declan’s voice was like a whip. “Do you need a written invitation to start entertaining us?” His cold eyes were practically burning with malice. He snapped his fingers, signaling a waiter to line up three massive whiskey tumblers on the glass table. “You want the house, right?” “Drink all three. No chasers. If you finish them, I’ll personally buy the deed from Mr. Roth and hand it to you. I’ll even throw in two hundred grand as a tip.” He grabbed a manila folder from the table and threw it right at my face. It hit my cheekbone with a sharp sting before falling to the floor. The deed was inside. The VIP booth erupted in applause, praising Declan’s ruthless generosity. Some of the men sneered, telling me the price of the vintage liquor inside those glasses, warning me not to piss off the boss. I looked at Declan, forcing a ghost of a smile onto my pale lips. “So, if I drink it all, you’ll honor your word?” I am severely allergic to alcohol. A few years ago, I accidentally ate rum cake and ended up in the emergency room, fighting for my life. And after the bone marrow extraction completely shredded my immune system, a single drop of liquor was basically poison to my failing organs. Plenty of people in this circle knew about my allergy. But they also believed I was the monster who murdered Declan’s baby and left him to rot. Now, with a chance to lick the boots of the city’s richest man, they weren’t going to let me walk out of here without trampling my dignity into the dirt. I stepped forward in total silence. I picked up the first tumbler and tipped it back, letting the fiery liquid burn down my throat. Liquid fire. Instantly, my skin erupted into a terrifying, itching heat. A violent wave of nausea seized my stomach. I gagged, nearly vomiting the whiskey right back onto the Persian rug, but I clamped a hand over my mouth and swallowed the bile down. Hot, humiliating tears slipped from the corners of my eyes. The crowd laughed, eating up the spectacle of my suffering. Only Declan sat perfectly still. For a split second, a flash of pure agony and conflict tore through his dark eyes, but it vanished as quickly as it came. I grabbed the second glass and downed it. My lungs seized. I started coughing violently, my entire body shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. With trembling fingers, I stubbornly reached for the third glass. Suddenly, Declan exploded out of his seat. He slapped my hand away, sending the heavy crystal tumbler crashing to the floor. Before I could process what was happening, his large hand gripped my jaw, forcing me to look up into his furious face. “You really are a piece of work, Ruby! You’d literally do anything for a paycheck, wouldn’t you?” I stared into his eyes. The eyes I used to love more than life itself. Now, they were a stormy mess of emotions I couldn’t even decipher. I suddenly remembered the early days of our relationship. I had that severe allergic reaction. My skin was flushed scarlet, my body convulsing, my throat closing up. He had held me tight in the hospital bed, his face drenched in tears, begging me in a terrified whisper. “Don’t leave me, Ruby. I’m ordering you. You can’t leave me.” But that boy was dead. The man holding my jaw realized he was touching me, and shoved me back with a look of absolute revulsion. I looked at him, my forced smile cracking at the edges. I spoke, my words carrying a double meaning only I understood. “You’re right. I want a good life. And I don’t regret a single thing I did.” I didn’t regret the abortion that triggered a hemorrhage, costing me my uterus. I didn’t regret the bone-crushing agony of the marrow extraction. I didn’t regret walking away so he could survive and become a king. To prove just how much I didn’t regret it, I dragged my failing body toward the shattered glass. “Just remember your promise, Declan.” “Three glasses, and I get the house. Plus the two hundred grand…” I swayed on my feet, grabbing a fresh glass off the table and shakily pouring the whiskey myself. For some reason, this pushed Declan completely over the edge. His face went murderous. His eyes were bloodshot as he roared at me. “Finish it?! Look at yourself! You practically threw up the first two!” We had loved each other fiercely once. But three years apart is a lifetime. I didn’t know his temper anymore. I had no idea why he was suddenly acting like a cornered beast. None of it mattered anymore. With a bitter smile glued to my face, I lifted the final glass to my trembling lips. Declan lost his mind. He lunged forward, snatching the glass right out of my hand and violently smashing it against the marble floor. “RUBY!” he roared. My fragile body couldn’t take the rough pull. My knees gave out, and I crashed hard onto the floor. Right into the pile of shattered glass. Razor-sharp shards bit deep into my calves and my bare knees. The metallic smell of blood mixed with the suffocating fumes of the alcohol. The agonizing pain acted like an electric shock to my foggy brain. I sat there in a pool of my own blood and spilled whiskey, staring blankly at the man acting like a total lunatic, feeling my deadened heart tear open one final time. The heavy doors to the VIP room suddenly flew open. My best friend, Darlene, had tracked my location when I stopped answering her texts. She froze, taking in the horrific sight of me kneeling in blood. With a choked sob, she sprinted across the room and shielded me behind her back. Her eyes were bloodshot as she screamed at the billionaire. “Are you out of your goddamn mind, Declan?!” “She lost her uterus from a massive hemorrhage after terminating her baby just so she could donate her bone marrow to YOU! Her immune system is completely destroyed, she’s got uremia, and she can’t touch a single drop of alcohol!” “She literally traded her life for yours, and you’re in here torturing her?!”

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1 Nolan missed our wedding to chase the Northern Lights with his protégé. He didn’t even try to hide it. Every single guest sitting in the chapel had already seen his Instagram story. “Grateful to the universe for the dancing ribbons of light, and for you, looking more alive than ever.” The photo attached was a shot of Harper’s silhouette beneath a sky exploding with neon green. This wasn’t the first time he had ditched me to chase the aurora with her. During his graduation ceremony, while families were gathering in the auditorium, he bailed to fly north and meet Harper in Fairbanks, Alaska. When I was tossing and turning in agonizing pain after my appendectomy, he was having deep, midnight talks with Harper on the black sand beaches of Iceland. Their footsteps chasing the lights kept straying further and further away. So far, in fact, that he couldn’t even make it back in time for our own wedding. I didn’t scream. I didn’t cause a scene. I calmly apologized to the guests, saw them out of the venue, and dialed Nolan’s number. “The aurora looks beautiful. I’d love to see it too.” “I’ll take you next time,” his voice crackled through the receiver, sounding distracted. “Okay. Next time.” I agreed out loud. But in my heart, I whispered the truth. Nolan, there won’t be a next time for the wedding, and there won’t be a next time for the lights. I hung up, opened my laptop, and booked a one-way ticket to Tromsø, Norway. Leaving in exactly seven days. Just me. … When Nolan finally walked through the door a few days later, I was on the phone with the venue coordinator, telling her not to bother holding another date for us. I shook my head. “Just cancel it entirely.” Our wedding had already been postponed three times. The first time, I was the laughingstock of our social circle. By the third time, the mockery had morphed into suffocating pity. I couldn’t stomach it anymore. Nolan strolled into the living room, a bright smile on his face. “What are we canceling? Hazel, look, I brought you a gift.” Harper practically skipped in right behind him. “It’s an apology gift!” She pressed her hands together in a pleading, innocent gesture. “Please don’t be mad at Nolan. It wasn’t his fault he missed the wedding, the lights at the Santa Claus Village were just too gorgeous.” “If I hadn’t dragged him onto the flight home, he never would have left.” Nolan reached over and affectionately flicked Harper’s forehead. “Quiet, you.” I ignored her and took the flimsy postcard from his hand. It was a stunning shot of the aurora. Flipped over, there was a single line of messy handwriting. “Harper and Hazel, safe and sound.” It was Nolan’s handwriting. This was his little tradition. Every time he successfully tracked down the Northern Lights, he would write a wish on a postcard and bring it back as my souvenir. “Harper and Hazel, may your dreams come true.” “Harper and Hazel, success in all you do.” “Harper and Hazel, a lifetime of peace.” … Every single time, Harper’s name was written before mine. “Didn’t you say you were going to take me to see the lights? When exactly is next time?” I asked, dropping the postcard into a wooden keepsake box, letting it join the stack of all the other wishes. Nolan collapsed onto the sofa, groaning dramatically. “Let’s talk about it later. The transatlantic flight was brutal, I just need to sleep.” I didn’t let it go. “How about we go next month for my birthday?” Nolan glanced at the calendar on the wall. He looked genuinely conflicted. “Harper and I already booked flights to Sweden for that week. We’re doing a second run through the Arctic Circle.” “So, over the holidays then?” “The light pollution is lowest during that season. Harper really wants to see the Blue Lagoon in Iceland.” His voice trailed off, getting quieter by the second. “I guess I just don’t have the time right now.” I nodded. Message received. Harper chimed in, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “Don’t be mad at him, Hazel. We’re astronomy majors. We have a natural calling for phenomena like the aurora.” “We even made a pact. Once we’ve seen all the auroras, we’re going to chase meteor showers.” “Just lying side by side in the desert, watching shooting stars… doesn’t that sound so romantic?” She opened her mouth to keep twisting the knife, but Nolan softly cut her off. “It’s getting late. Come on, I’ll walk you home.” Right before he walked out the door, Nolan suddenly pulled me into a hug. His warm breath brushed against my ear. “Hazel, I promise. I will absolutely carve out time this year to take you aurora hunting.” He affectionately ruffled my hair, turned around, and walked out. A tiny, pathetic part of my heart softened. But as he turned, my eyes caught sight of the ugly little plush keychain dangling from his backpack. Harper had the exact same one swinging from her designer tote. The softness in my chest instantly froze into solid ice. That specific mascot character was a massive trend a few years ago. I bought a matching pair, begging Nolan to wear them with me. He had vehemently refused. “I’m a grown man. If I walk around with a childish toy on my bag, what are the professors and my lab partners going to think?” Yet here he was, older and supposedly more professional. He fully embraced that childishness, all because it was Harper asking. It hit me like a physical blow. He was perfectly capable of bending his rigid rules, just not for me. I pulled out my phone and called my best friend. “Which bridesmaid dress did you finally decide on? I’ll just buy it for you so you can wear it to galas.” “Yeah. We’re not doing it.” “Nolan and I are done.” The next morning, I was packing up the house, getting ready to list it with a realtor. My phone buzzed. It was Nolan. “Hazel, do me a huge favor. Can you go with Harper to the photo studio? She needs help picking out film prints.” I gave a soft hum of agreement and hung up, turning to face the realtor’s overly enthusiastic smile. “Miss, a property of this size, in this neighborhood? Your husband really spared no expense for your bridal home. He loves you so much.” I didn’t bother correcting her. It was true. Nolan bought this house in cash and put it solely in my name, making every woman in my office green with envy. But I found out much later that Nolan picked this specific unit because Harper lived directly across the hall. He had looked me in the eye and said: “Harper and I have been neighbors since we were kids. It’s so nice that we get to keep that connection going into adulthood.” When it came to renovating the place, he hired a top-tier designer and told me to pick whatever I wanted. But he personally spent weeks helping Harper remodel her apartment, sweating through his shirts, claiming he was helping her build her “dream home.” Snapping out of the memory, I gave the realtor a flat smile. “I want it off my hands within a week. Price is highly negotiable.” … When I walked into the vintage photo studio, Harper immediately linked her arm through mine. “Hazel, your aesthetic is so much better than mine. Tell me which of these film shots I should post on my grid.” Harper wasn’t just an astronomy grad student. She was practically a campus influencer with a massive following. I had seen her aurora photos on my feed before. Sometimes they featured a masculine hand holding hers. Sometimes it was the broad span of Nolan’s shoulders facing the snow. Her comments were always flooded with people asking: “Is that your boyfriend? You guys are total goals, always traveling together.” She only ever replied with coy, blushing emojis. She never admitted it. She never denied it, either. Sitting at my cubicle, it used to make me so sick to my stomach that I eventually threw her on my blocked list. But I would come home to find Nolan staring at his phone with a goofy, lovestruck grin. He would have her video edits playing on a loop, the background music echoing through our living room. For months afterward, just hearing the first few notes of that song made me physically gag. “Did you know a standard film roll only lets you click the shutter twenty-seven times?” Harper giggled, sliding twenty-seven glossy photos across the glass counter. “Look, this is at the northernmost McDonald’s in Finland!” In the picture, the two of them were biting into the exact same french fry, their lips barely an inch apart. “The local guide actually asked if we were married. He was so clueless, couldn’t he tell?” I pressed my lips into a thin line. In the next photo, under a sky bleeding neon colors, Nolan and Harper were dancing a waltz in the snow. He was in a sharp suit, she was in a flowing white dress. They absolutely looked like newlyweds. “Oh my god, who printed this one?” Harper shrieked in fake embarrassment. At first glance, it was just a massive burst of green light. But if you looked at the bottom of the frame, there were two pitch-black silhouettes. Their profiles were completely merged. They were kissing. The studio owner leaned over the counter, giving them a knowing, warm smile. “Ah, to be young and in love. You kids really know how to do romance.” Harper’s cheeks flushed pink. “Oh, stop it.” But her eyes flicked straight to my face, waiting for a reaction. I stayed completely silent for a few seconds. Then, I burst out laughing. “It really is romantic.” “It would be even more romantic if the guy in the picture wasn’t my fiancé.” The studio was packed with college students on their lunch break. The moment the words left my mouth, every single person froze, their ears practically growing antennas for the drama. Harper’s smug smile shattered. The owner’s warm expression instantly turned deeply uncomfortable. “Ha—” Harper stammered, trying to do damage control. Before she could form a sentence, I pulled out my phone, aimed the camera at the kissing silhouette, and snapped a picture with the flash on. “You should definitely post this one. Let’s be honest, getting me to look at this photo was the entire reason you dragged me out here today, wasn’t it?” Without waiting for her to scramble for an excuse, I turned on my heel and walked out the door. That night, Nolan’s furious voice blasted through my phone speakers. “What the hell did you say to Harper? She’s been crying for hours.” “Nothing much.” Nolan’s voice spiked in volume. “Hazel, I know you’re holding a grudge. I know you’re mad that I took her to see the lights instead of you.” “But that’s only because she’s tough. She doesn’t complain, she can handle the freezing cold, and she roughs it without whining. That’s literally it.” “There is absolutely nothing going on between us.” “Your little stunt today really messed things up for her. There are threads all over the campus forums calling her a homewrecker. You need to log on and clear this up.” He let out a heavy, long-suffering sigh. “The solar activity is peaking this year. It’s the best time in a decade to see the aurora.” “I swear to you, once this year is over, I’ll settle down. We’ll get married quietly, and I won’t ever make you feel left out again.” The phone slowly slid away from my ear. He was still lecturing, but the words were just white noise. He knew. He knew how utterly humiliated I felt standing alone on that wedding stage. He knew the panic of explaining his absence to the guests. He knew the absolute shame of facing both our families by myself. He knew all of it. He just actively chose to look the other way. There was no universe where I was going to log online and defend Harper. Because of that, Nolan initiated a one-sided cold war. He didn’t come home for two days. I used those forty-eight hours productively. I officially resigned from my job, signed the closing papers for the house, and returned the diamond ring and the bridal jewelry. When the dust finally settled, I sat on the empty couch and scrolled through my phone. Harper had just updated her timeline. “To the best thing in my life.” The photo attached was Nolan, standing in her kitchen, holding a spatula and cooking her dinner. Vague. Suggestive. Borderline romantic. Classic Harper. The very first time I saw a post like that, Nolan and I had an earth-shattering screaming match. “What are our mutual friends supposed to think when they see stuff like this?!” I had demanded. Nolan had just pinched the bridge of his nose, looking at me like I was a hysterical child. “She’s younger than us, Hazel. She doesn’t overthink things the way you do. Stop being so petty.” I had cried so hard that night I was hyperventilating until my lungs burned. But looking at her blatant provocation now? I felt absolutely nothing. “You really grew up, Hazel,” I whispered to myself in the quiet room. “You’re finally ready to go chase the lights on your own.” A minute later, I posted my own update. It was an old, grainy photo from years ago. A solitary telescope sitting on the roof of an abandoned campus building. It was the night Nolan and I met. There was a once-in-a-century meteor shower. I sneaked up to the roof, totally surprised to find another astronomy nerd waiting in the dark. We kept each other company. When the shooting stars finally painted the sky, they masked the frantic beating of my heart. That photo had been locked in my hidden folder for years. Whenever my career hit a wall, or whenever Nolan broke my heart, I would pull it out to remind myself of the boy I fell in love with. But tonight, I let it go. I was double-checking the locks on my camera tripod when the front door clicked open. Nolan stumbled in. He reeked of expensive alcohol, his eyes slightly glazed. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw me adjusting the tripod. “Isn’t that for low-light photography? Where did you get that?” “I got tired of waiting for you. Figured I’d buy my own gear.” He choked on whatever he was going to say. Clearly, he remembered the argument from the other night. Then his eyes drifted to the massive hardshell suitcase sitting by the door. His brow furrowed. “What’s all this?” “Business trip,” I replied smoothly, barely missing a beat. “It’s a long assignment, so I had to pack heavy.” Nolan visibly relaxed, nodding in relief. Riding the liquid courage, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me, pulling my back flush against his chest. His messy hair brushed against my neck. He lowered his voice, coaxing me like a petulant child. “I’m waving the white flag, Hazel. Let’s stop fighting, okay?” “That photo you just posted… that was your way of saying you miss us, right?” I let out a soft chuckle. If I hadn’t looked in the mirror and seen the violent purple hickey blooming on his collarbone, maybe his little act would have worked. He hadn’t been home for two days, and he walked in wearing another woman’s mark. His embrace was physically warm. But the blood in my veins felt like liquid nitrogen. I smoothly pushed him away without a trace of anger. “I’m visiting Professor Bennett tomorrow. You need to come with me.” He nodded instantly. I was tying up loose ends. It was time to say goodbye to the people who actually mattered. Professor Bennett was our advisor in undergrad. He treated us like his own kids. He was supposed to be the officiant at our wedding. But you can only ask a man to officiate a ghost wedding three times before it becomes an insult. He was furious, and I needed to apologize in person. But the next afternoon, as I stood on Professor Bennett’s porch, Nolan was nowhere to be found. I waited in the biting wind for thirty minutes before my phone buzzed. “Harper caught a nasty flu. She’s on an IV drip at the urgent care and I can’t leave her alone.” “Tell Professor Bennett I’m really sorry.” I didn’t bother replying. What was the point of being angry? It wouldn’t change the cold, hard fact that if you put Professor Bennett and me on a scale, we didn’t weigh half as much as Harper did to him. When I walked into the house alone, Professor Bennett let out a heavy, mournful sigh. “I knew it.” “What happened to that boy? How did he turn into this?” He poured me a cup of tea, shaking his head. “He used to worship the ground you walked on. When you wanted those artisan pastries from across the city, he biked for thirty minutes in the rain and waited in line for two hours just so you could eat them fresh out of the oven.” “When Professor Lawson—that absolute creep—hinted you should sleep with him for a grade, Nolan risked expulsion just to break the guy’s nose.” “When you two used to come over for dinner, he would stare at you so hard he dropped two of my antique plates.” “How did it come to this?” “Yeah,” I murmured into my teacup. “How did it come to this?” But I quickly forced a bright smile onto my face. “Professor, I’m moving abroad. I probably won’t be coming back.” “There’s a whole world out there. Auroras, oceans, deserts… I want to see all of it.” “My flight is in two days. Please, don’t tell Nolan.” Professor Bennett’s eyes shimmered. He reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “Okay, kid. Go see the world. I support you.” Nolan was so checked out he didn’t even notice my belongings slowly disappearing from the house. Before I knew it, it was my final day in the city. I went to the bridal boutique to return my dress as agreed. I carefully ironed out the silk, folded the heavy fabric, and slipped it into the garment bag. I stared at it for a long, quiet moment. A massive, sweeping train, hand-beaded pearls, absolute princess glamour. I had put this dress on for three different weddings that never happened. I finally forced myself to look away. But as I turned, my eyes caught two familiar figures standing in the VIP fitting area across the showroom. Harper was wearing a custom-dyed, deep emerald green wedding dress, twirling in front of the massive mirrors. Nolan was sitting on the velvet sofa, looking at her with absolute adoration. Noticing my stare, a salesgirl walked up next to me, sighing dreamily. “Aren’t they just the cutest couple?” “They’ve been in here multiple times. They didn’t want any of our classic collections. They demanded a custom gown inspired by the Northern Lights.” “We thought they were crazy at first, but the guy totally backed her vision. He threw money at our designers, spent hours in consultations… we’re all dying of jealousy over here.” A violent tremor wrecked through my chest. When I came to try on my dress, I came entirely alone. Nolan and Harper had been somewhere in Norway, chasing the lights. I had video-called him, holding up two different veils, asking which one he liked better. He had squinted at the screen, annoyed, and muttered, “How am I supposed to care about fabric when I’m looking at a literal cosmic miracle? Just pick whatever.” Dragging myself out of the memory, I let out a slow exhale and walked directly toward them. The head designer was gushing over the fit. “That green is a custom dye! We blended the hues from three different atmospheric phenomenons. It is literally one of a kind!” “Wow, that sounds amazing.” My voice sliced through the room. Every head snapped in my direction. The moment Nolan saw me, his pupils shrank to pinpricks. “Hazel…” Harper immediately plastered herself to his side, hooking her arm through his and leaning heavily against his shoulder. “Hazel! Oh my gosh, Nolan is just doing me a huge favor.” “Yeah, I wanted to design an aurora dress for my portfolio, and he’s just playing my model.” Nolan looked completely panicked. I just offered a polite, distant smile. Suddenly, Nolan’s eyes dropped to my hand. “Hazel, where is your engagement ring?” I followed his gaze to my bare finger. “Sent it in to get cleaned,” I lied without batting an eyelash. “I’ve got to run. You guys have fun fitting.” I gave Nolan one last, profound look. Then I turned on my heel and walked out the door. “Hazel, wait—” Staring at my retreating back, a horrific sense of foreboding slammed into Nolan’s gut. Without thinking, his body jerked forward to follow me. “Nolan, we’re not done with the measurements yet!” Harper yanked on his arm, physically pulling him back. But Nolan’s mind was completely scrambled. The look in my eyes kept replaying in his head on a terrifying loop. Something fundamental had shifted, and he couldn’t put his finger on it. It felt like… when Hazel looked at him just now, there was absolutely no love left. Meanwhile, I was already at the airport, boarding a transatlantic flight to Tromsø. I leaned my head against the cold window pane and closed my eyes. Once again, forced to choose between me and Harper, he chose her. Only this time, there was no sourness in my chest. There was no desperate resentment. Still, a single, stray tear slipped down my cheek. The man sitting in the seat next to me quietly offered a tissue. “Here.” “Save the tears for Tromsø. They say the Northern Lights are worth crying over.” I stared at the handsome stranger’s face, a genuine smile breaking through the gloom. “You’re going to Tromsø to chase the lights too?” … Hours later, after Nolan finally finished indulging Harper’s wedding dress fantasy, he walked into the house. He was greeted by hollow, echoing silence. “Hazel?” He called out tentatively. No response. A suffocating wave of panic crashed into his chest. Where the hell was Hazel?

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1 I was diagnosed with breast cancer. The man who performed the double mastectomy was my own father, the Chief of Surgery. But before the anesthesia had completely faded, I heard the assisting surgeon whispering to a nurse. “Chief Hamilton really tricked his own daughter into this surgery just to help his adopted daughter blow off some steam.” “I know, right? I heard her husband personally authorized it. Now she’s just left with a massive, bowl-sized scar. She looks like an absolute freak.” My entire body convulsed. The moment my eyes cracked open, the very first thing I did was try to claw my way out of the bed to demand the truth. But my husband, Matt, just wrapped his arm around Sierra’s waist, shooting me a cold, cruel smirk. “What? You had no problem mocking Sierra for being malnourished like some absolute psycho. Now you’ve learned your lesson, haven’t you?” I stumbled forward, but my father violently shoved me back onto the mattress. “Stop making a scene! Sierra had a tragic childhood. You grew up with everything. Losing two lumps of flesh is nothing.” My genius son chimed in from the doorway, looking at me with pure disdain. “Yeah, Mom. Look at yourself. You look like a monster now. It’s time you step aside and let Aunt Sierra take your place.” Right at that moment, the System, which had been silent for years, suddenly pinged online. [Host, I have detected that your Redemption Mission was successfully completed long ago! Do you wish to terminate your physical body and return to your original world immediately?] A slow, liberated smile spread across my face. Since this entire “deeply emotional redemption” was a con from the very beginning. Why the hell should I care if they live or die? I mentally slammed the confirm button. The System instantly flashed a final warning. [After your physical death, every character in this book will be permanently erased after a three-day delay. Initiating your extraction portal now. Reward: $700 Million USD + Absolute Health in your original body.] … Hearing the massive reward, the only thing left in my heart was a wild, screaming ecstasy to finally go home. I dragged my battered body out of the bed, agonizingly pulling myself toward the hospital window. Every single step tore at the fresh, brutal surgical wounds on my chest. But looking out at the glittering skyline of New York, millions of lights illuminating the dark, not a single one was burning for me. I sped up. Suddenly, a sharp sneer echoed behind me. I turned around to see my son, Julian. “Mom, what are you doing climbing out of bed? You should be recovering.” “You’re not an actress. Who exactly is this little suicide performance for?” “Performance? Who is the one actually putting on a performance to trick me?!” I stared deep into his eyes, desperate to find even a flicker of guilt. But he just scoffed. “How is this a trick? At worst, Grandpa just gave you a misdiagnosis! You don’t have cancer, so you’re not going to die. You get to keep living with us. Isn’t that a good thing?” Oh. I see. I’m supposed to be jumping for joy that my family mutilated me for fun. I turned my back to him. The howling night wind whipped my hair around my face. When I laid down on that operating table, I was fighting to live. Now, straddling this window ledge, I was fighting to die so I could truly survive. Without a second thought, I threw my weight forward. But the rush of gravity never came. Julian smashed the emergency call button and lunged forward, grabbing my hospital gown with everything he had. “MOM! What are you doing?! Grab my hand!” “Let go,” I rasped, my throat raw. Julian gritted his teeth, the veins popping on his forearms. “NO!” “Mom, so you lost two pieces of meat, who cares? It’s not a big deal! Dad said he wouldn’t mind no matter how ugly you look!” I was so sick of hearing this garbage. I thrashed my arm, trying to force his grip to slip. His eyes went completely red. His voice cracked into a frantic sob. “Are you really going to abandon me and die?!” I looked down at the boy I had raised with my own two hands. The absolute terror in his eyes made it look like he genuinely couldn’t survive without me. I violently yanked his arm, my eyes dead and frozen. “If you can’t bear to lose me, then come down to hell with me.” I pulled with everything I had, twisting his center of gravity toward the open window. All the blood drained from his face. In pure, instinctual panic, his grip loosened. I knew it. He was a coward. I felt myself start to slip downward, thinking I was finally free. But a massive force clamped onto my shoulders, hauling me backward. The bodyguards and medical staff had burst into the room, swarming me. Damn it. Just one second away. Dragged back inside, I collapsed onto the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Julian was huddled in the corner, sobbing hysterically from the shock. Before I could even process what was happening, Matt stormed into the room. He shoved past the nurses and marched directly up to my bed. SLAP— He struck me so hard my head whipped to the side. The violent motion ripped my stitches. Fresh blood bloomed across the white bandages on my chest. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?!” His eyes were bloodshot. He grabbed my jaw, forcing me to look at him. “Julian is our son! You were going to drag him out a window just because you’re throwing a tantrum?!” “When are you going to stop this, Ruby? Do you have no heart?!” My throat felt like it was packed with glass, but a cold, hollow laugh scraped its way out. I’m the one with no heart? Who fabricated a fake cancer diagnosis? Who forced me to endure the agony of chemotherapy when I was perfectly healthy? Who used a fake terminal illness to completely sever my breasts, just to make Sierra smile? But honestly? I couldn’t even find the energy to explain. Seeing my dead silence, Matt’s patience snapped completely. He grabbed my arm and violently yanked me off the bed. “If you refuse to behave in the hospital, you’re coming home!” I was totally numb. I let him drag me into the backseat of his car, only one thought echoing in my head. I needed to find the right moment to die so I could escape this fictional hell. Outside the tinted windows, the neon blur of the city rushed by. The world looked so vibrant, but there was nowhere left for me. Once the car turned onto the deserted, winding mountain road leading to his estate, I suddenly reached for the door handle. “Are you looking for a death wish?!” Matt roared, violently cranking the steering wheel to the right. The tires shrieked, the car swerving in a lethal arc across the asphalt. I threw my entire weight against the door. It popped open, freezing wind screaming into the cabin. Without a second of hesitation, I threw my battered body into the void. But just as I was about to tumble onto the road, Matt completely abandoned the steering wheel. He threw himself across the console, pinning me down with crushing force. The car completely lost control. It slammed into the reinforced mountain guardrail with a deafening crunch. The violent impact threw us around the cabin. Matt’s forehead smashed into the dashboard. Blood poured down his handsome face. He was panting heavily, his eyes burning with a dark, terrifying obsession as he stared down at me. “Do you want to die that badly?!” I stared right back into his eyes, my voice absolute iron. “Yes.” He opened his mouth to scream at me, but a sharp, suffocating smell of gasoline flooded the car. Matt’s face went white. “Shit!” Ignoring the blood pouring into his eyes, he scrambled to unbuckle my mangled seat. My survival instinct was completely dead. Honestly, I was praying the spark would catch faster. “Just run. Leave me here.” He acted like he didn’t hear a word. He violently ripped the crushed seat back, scooped me into his arms, and hauled us out of the wreckage. The second we cleared the doors… BOOM. A deafening explosion rocked the mountain. The multi-million dollar sports car was instantly swallowed by a blinding inferno. A wave of blistering heat hit us. Matt tackled me to the ground, shielding my body entirely with his own. His eyes were completely red. “Ruby, I’m going to say this one last time.” “Unless I give the order, the grim reaper himself doesn’t have the right to take you!” The scene was a carbon copy of a memory from years ago. When we were caught in a brutal shootout with a rival syndicate, trapped in an abandoned warehouse. He had covered me exactly like this, whispering into my hair. “Don’t be scared, Ruby. As long as I’m breathing, I won’t let anyone touch a hair on your head.” Because of that promise, I had followed him through absolute hell. I waded through blood and violence, eventually weaponizing my own family’s massive empire to crown him the undisputed king of the New York underworld. But now? The same protective gesture just made me want to vomit. I honestly don’t remember how I got dragged back into his mansion. The moment we walked through the door, a wave of sickening, domestic warmth hit my face. It felt so alien. Sierra was delicately blowing on a bowl of hot soup. My father, Arthur, stood right behind her, looking at her with absolute adoration. “Careful, sweetie. Don’t burn your tongue.” When they saw us—specifically the blood dripping down Matt’s face—Sierra let out a dramatic gasp and rushed over. “Matt, what happened?!” Her eyes instinctively flicked to my flat, heavily bandaged chest. The disgust in her eyes smoothly morphed into fake pity. “Is this because of Ruby? You really shouldn’t blame her. She’s just having a mental breakdown because she can’t accept her new, deformed body. That’s why she’s acting so crazy. We just need to give her more love.” I couldn’t take it anymore. I stepped forward and slapped her directly across the face. “Shut your mouth! What gives you the right to stand here and play the saint?!” Sierra clutched her cheek, staring at me in total disbelief. In a flash, my father lunged forward. He shoved me violently to the floor and shielded Sierra behind his back. “Enough!” “Look at you! You look nothing like the heiress of this family!” “We spoiled you too much. That’s why you think you can just bully Sierra whenever you want! That surgery was supposed to teach you a lesson. But instead, you’re throwing a massive tantrum and threatening to kill yourself!” I looked up from the floor, staring dead into the eyes of the man who used to love me more than life itself. “So that’s your excuse for faking a terminal illness and mutilating my body?” I don’t know if he felt guilty, or if he genuinely thought he was in the right. But he didn’t say a word. When I first transmigrated into this world, Arthur had just lost his beloved wife. Because he married into my mother’s ultra-powerful family, the board of directors treated him like trash and ruthlessly suppressed his career. The System sent me to redeem him, driven by the original character’s dying wish. For a very long time, we saved each other. I even gave up my chance to go home, choosing to stay in this world for them. But the second I started sponsoring a poor orphan named Sierra, everything changed. Everyone around me slowly turned on me. Even a completely neutral comment I made about her would be twisted into a malicious insult. They were perfectly willing to tear me to shreds just to defend her honor. I let out a bitter, hollow laugh. I grabbed a fruit knife off the glass coffee table… But I failed again. Matt’s reflexes were terrifyingly fast. He kicked the blade right out of my hand. “Are you addicted to this now, Ruby? Just threatening to kill yourself every five minutes?” His voice was absolute ice. “I swear on my life, as long as you behave and stop bothering Sierra, I don’t care if you look like a freak. You will always be Mrs. Hamilton.” I slumped against the marble floor, my voice completely dead. “But I don’t want to be.” The air in the room froze. The next second, Arthur stepped forward. He reached down and violently ripped the heavy gold medallion off my neck—the heirloom my mother gave me, the absolute symbol of my power as the true heir of the family empire. He stared down at me with profound disappointment. “Look at you. Half human, half ghost. You don’t deserve to be Matt’s wife, and you certainly don’t deserve to run this family!” “When you and your mother were in that car crash years ago, if I knew you were going to turn out like this, I never would have saved you!” In that exact moment, my heart flatlined. Lying on the cold floor, I actually started laughing so hard tears leaked from the corners of my eyes. Right in front of my face, Arthur clipped the family heirloom around Sierra’s neck. From that day on, I was locked in the basement. They completely cut off any avenue I had to kill myself. Sierra started visiting me daily under the guise of “psychiatric treatment.” “Matt, her mental state is completely unstable. I’m a doctor. Let me counsel her,” she had cooed. Matt had pinched the bridge of his nose, looking profoundly relieved. “Handle it. Just make sure she doesn’t pull any more crazy stunts.” What he didn’t know was that the second the heavy basement door locked, Sierra’s sweet mask completely melted off. She grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at her. “You know what I hate the most about you, Ruby? That arrogant, superior look on your face.” “But look at you now. You’re not even a complete woman anymore. What exactly are you trying to fight me with?” I thrashed against my restraints, but my body was completely drained. She let out a soft, venomous laugh and slid a cold needle directly into my vein. “Don’t be scared, sister. You want to die, right? But I’m not going to let you. I am going to make you live the rest of your life like an obedient little dog, cowering in my shadow.” I don’t know how many days I spent rotting in that dark room. Until one night, Julian sneaked in holding a bowl of warm porridge. He stopped dead when he saw what I looked like—a literal skeleton. Maybe he remembered how fiercely I tried to jump out that window. Or maybe, deep down, he actually felt guilty. His eyes were red. He awkwardly scooped a spoonful of porridge and held it to my cracked lips. “Mom… please eat something.” I turned my head away, completely dead inside. I forced the words out in a raspy whisper. “…Just give me… a quick death…” The bowl in Julian’s hand shook violently. As if my rejection was a personal insult, the guilt in his eyes was instantly devoured by rage. “You’re doing it again! You think starving yourself is going to hurt us? Are you trying to make me and Dad feel guilty?!” I closed my eyes. Flashes of him growing up flickered behind my eyelids. His bright smiles. His tantrums. The way he used to wobble into my arms when he was learning to walk, burying his face in my neck and calling me “Mommy.” I didn’t want any of it anymore. After a long silence, I forced a single word past my lips. “Get out.” Julian burst into tears, turned around, and ran out of the room. He didn’t pull the door completely shut… Maybe it was terminal lucidity, but I suddenly found a surge of adrenaline. Step by agonizing step, I dragged myself out of the basement. The grand foyer was blindingly bright, echoing with applause and laughter. Tonight was their victory gala. In the center of the ballroom, the three men I had once loved with everything I had were orbiting Sierra like she was the sun. They looked like the picture-perfect, flawless family. Sierra stood there like a triumphant queen. And resting against her collarbone was my mother’s gold medallion. “Sierra, from this day forward, everything this family controls in the city is in your hands,” Arthur announced to the board members, holding her hand up. Matt stood right behind her, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist. He leaned down and kissed her temple. “You earned this, baby.” Even my son, Julian, was looking up at her with starry eyes. “Thank you, Aunt Sierra, for taking such good care of us.” My sanity completely snapped. The only thing I cared about was exposing this parasitic monster before I finally died. I let out a raw, animalistic scream and threw myself into the crowd. “GIVE THAT BACK TO ME!” I lunged like a rabid dog, clawing at Sierra’s neck. In the chaos, the gold chain snapped. The entire ballroom went dead silent. A second later, a manic laugh ripped from my throat. “Hahahaha! Even the heirloom knows you’re a fake! You absolute snake!” Matt violently shoved me away. I crashed into a massive champagne tower, sending shattered glass raining down on me. He pulled a terrified Sierra behind his back and turned to the crowd, his face a terrifying mask of fury. “My apologies, everyone.” “My wife… ever since her mastectomy, she hasn’t been able to accept her deformed body. She’s suffered a total psychotic break. We are having her heavily medicated.” In three sentences, he completely dismissed me as a lunatic. Disgusted whispers broke out across the room. “Ah, she’s crazy. That makes sense…” “Mr. Hamilton really has it rough. Running the underworld and babysitting a psychopath.” “Thank God for Miss Sierra. No wonder the Chief handed her the family reigns.” Hearing the vicious daggers thrown my way. I stopped crying. I stopped screaming. I just looked at the crowd with complete, utter peace. “Matt,” I said clearly. “A man shouldn’t bite the hand that feeds him. Did you really forget who put you on that throne?” I turned my eyes to Arthur. “Dad… no. Arthur. You married into this family. You know exactly how my mother treated you. But for the sake of a cheap knock-off, you tortured your own blood daughter and turned her into a freak. Tell me, when you close your eyes at night, do you feel safe?” The room erupted into shocked gasps. The board members shifted uncomfortably, avoiding my eyes. Using the distraction, I smoothly slipped a loaded pistol out of a nearby bodyguard’s holster. Without a millimeter of hesitation, I jammed the barrel directly against my temple. I smiled. And as the deafening gunshot shattered the room, the System’s cold, mechanical voice echoed in my head. [Host’s physical body has been terminated. Initiating extraction portal immediately.]

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1 To mark our thousandth day together, I wrote Benjamin a love song for the senior graduation gala. The first letters of each chorus line spelled a hidden message. Benjamin and Chloe, together forever. Eager to rehearse, I went to the music room and stopped outside the half-open door. Benjamin held my best friend Nika in his arms, teaching her my song. His eyes held a tenderness I had never seen directed at me. This song only has soul if you sing it, he whispered. Soon the setlist changed. Nika became the lead singer, and her name replaced mine as songwriter. Benjamin’s voice over the phone was gentle. Nika needs this to prove herself. Let her have the credit. Do not be petty about a name on a screen. I rubbed the finger my guitar strings had bloodied and smiled. Okay. That night, Benjamin held Nika’s hand on the glowing stage for their duet. I sat alone in the dark auditorium corner, listening to them sing my song with my hidden name inside it. As the final piano chord echoed, I blocked Benjamin everywhere. … “Chloe, are you seriously just going to sit there and let them steal your song?” My roommate, Sarah, slammed her phone onto my desk. The screen was looping the official livestream of the graduation gala. Benjamin was holding Nika’s hand under the spotlight. The massive LED screen behind them clearly displayed the credits: Lyrics and Composition by Nika. I didn’t look up. I quietly pulled out my backup in-ear monitors. The blood drawn by the steel guitar strings had already dried into dark scabs on my fingertips. I took a wet wipe and carefully cleaned the metallic stains off the edges of the wire. “Say something!” Sarah was so frantic she physically spun my chair around to face her. “You stayed up till 3 AM for two weeks straight! Your fingers are literally bleeding! And you just hand it over on a silver platter?” “What right does Nika have to sing that? She can’t even read sheet music!” I dropped the bloody wipe into the trash can. “The gala is over.” “Over? So you’re just going to let it go?!” Sarah’s eyes were wide with disbelief. “That was supposed to be your one-thousand-day anniversary gift to him!” I reached over and woke up my laptop screen. The final, master audio file I was supposed to send to Benjamin was still sitting on my desktop. The file name was Day One Thousand. I gripped the mouse, right-clicked, and hit rename. The clicking of the keyboard was razor-sharp in the dead-silent dorm room. The file name changed to Trash. I stared down at the deep cut on my right index finger. I got that cut practicing the key change in the third verse of the chorus. The transition I rewrote seventeen times before it was perfect. Benjamin never once asked me which part of the song was the hardest to write. He only asked if he could let Nika try singing it. I pulled open my desk drawer and took out a small, black velvet box. This was the physical gift I had prepared for our anniversary. Inside was the handwritten sheet music, a custom guitar pick engraved with our initials, and a battered lyric notebook filled with crossed-out lines and frantic scribbles. I shoved the box, along with my acoustic guitar, into the absolute back of my closet. Suddenly, my phone vibrated against the desk. It was an unknown number. I hit accept but didn’t say a word. Benjamin’s exasperated sigh came through the speaker. “Chloe, did you seriously block my number?” I stared blankly at the closed closet door. My voice was incredibly light. “Do you need something?” “Stop throwing a tantrum.” Benjamin groaned. “The gala is over. Take me off your block list.” He didn’t ask why I blocked him. He didn’t ask how it felt to sit in the dark and watch him hold another girl. He just assumed I was being a drama queen. “We can talk about the credits later.” “Nika started crying the second we got off stage. She feels really guilty about taking your song.” “You blocking me is just making her feel worse.” A sudden, hollow laugh escaped my throat. “She feels guilty? So you borrowed someone else’s phone to call me, just so I can comfort her?” Benjamin paused. “Chloe, you never used to be this toxic.” “We’ve been together for a thousand days. Can’t you show just a little bit of grace?” “Nika has always had self-esteem issues. She desperately needed this validation.” “You’re already a top student. Losing one song isn’t going to affect your career.” He spoke with such absolute entitlement. As if the nights I didn’t sleep and the blood I bled were just loose change he could hand out to charity. I asked him a very quiet question. “Benjamin, when you were teaching her the chorus, did you know how many times I had to rewrite that melody?” Dead silence on the other end. I didn’t wait for him to formulate a lie. I hung up. I added the unknown number to the block list. Sarah looked at me, her eyes completely red. “Chloe, if you need to cry, just cry.” I shook my head. “I’m not crying.” Crying over people who trampled my bleeding heart into the dirt was a waste of time. I stayed up the entire night, meticulously backing up every single audio file, lyric sheet, and voice memo from the last six months into a heavily encrypted hard drive. At 2:00 AM, Nika sent me a text. “Chloe, are you asleep?” “I know what happened tonight wasn’t fair to you. It’s totally okay if you’re mad at me.” “We’ve been best friends for so long, and I’ve always been so jealous of how you just shine on stage. Just think of this as you doing a favor for your bestie.” “Could you just post a quick status on your socials saying you voluntarily gave me the song?” I stared at the words voluntarily gave me. My thumb hovered over the keyboard for three seconds. I didn’t reply. I locked the screen. The next morning, the second I stepped out of the dorm building, Benjamin blocked my path. He was wearing a crisp white button-down. His eyes were bloodshot. “Chloe.” He stepped directly in front of me, refusing to let me pass. “The video from the gala is going viral on campus. If we change the credits back to your name now, it’s going to ruin Nika’s reputation.” “Just… don’t go running your mouth to people, okay?” I looked up at his handsome, entirely unapologetic face. “Run my mouth about what?” “That I wrote my own song?” Benjamin sighed heavily, reaching out to grab my wrist. I took a sharp step back, completely avoiding his touch. His hand froze in mid-air. His face darkened. “Yes, you wrote the lyrics. But without my arrangement and production, it never would have sounded that good last night.” “Nika’s voice is objectively a better fit for the track.” “You barely ever perform live. You have no stage presence. You wouldn’t know how to handle a crowd that size.” “I made a professional call for the sake of the music.” He was meticulously stripping away my blood, sweat, and tears, dividing the credit entirely between himself and Nika. My voice was dead calm. “So when she texted me last night asking me to publicly sign away my rights, that was your idea too?” Benjamin didn’t deny it. “Just post the statement and we can all move on.” “A thousand days together, Chloe. Can’t you just trust me on this?” I laughed. “A thousand days.” “Benjamin, do you even remember what that song was supposed to commemorate?” He flinched, his eyes darting away from mine. “Of course I do.” “If you remember, how could you look me in the eye and put another girl’s name on it?” I stared dead into his pupils. “I’m not writing a statement.” I stepped around him and walked straight toward the lecture hall. Benjamin yelled my name across the quad. I didn’t turn around. I didn’t have any classes that afternoon. I walked straight to the university’s professional recording studio. I had gotten a text from Liam, a senior composition major and the head engineer of the studio. A month ago, I had recorded the very first, raw acoustic demo of Day One Thousand in this exact booth. Liam was in the next room running cables. He heard the entire thing. Last night, he had sent me a voice note. “The song from the gala. That was yours, wasn’t it?” I had replied: Yes. He responded immediately. “I knew it.” “Benjamin overproduced it. He layered way too much synthetic garbage over a track that was supposed to be acoustic and raw.” “Nika’s vocals are too breathy. She doesn’t have the emotional depth to anchor your lyrics.” “The Annual Indie Music Showcase submissions open next week.” “If you’re down, I’ll help you track the real version. The way it was supposed to sound.” I pushed the heavy, soundproof door open. Liam was sitting at the massive mixing console, a pair of studio headphones clamped over his ears. When he saw me, he slid the headphones down to his neck and kicked a rolling chair in my direction. “Sit.” He slid a manila folder across the console. “Registration forms for the Indie Showcase.” “Have you decided?” I looked down at the blank fields on the paper. Benjamin told me I had no stage presence. Nika told me she desperately needed the validation. They both told me to step aside and disappear. I picked up the black pen off the console. In the Original Artist field, for the very first time in my life, I didn’t hesitate. I pressed the ink into the paper and wrote my name. Chloe. Liam slid the form back and filed it away. “What title are we submitting?” “Still going with ‘Day One Thousand’?” “No.” I looked at Liam, my voice hollow. “That song is tainted.” “I’m writing a new one.” Liam’s hand paused over the file cabinet. He didn’t ask why. He didn’t tell me I should fight to take back what was stolen. He simply dropped the form into the folder and closed the drawer. “You can fight to clear your name, and you can start completely over.” “Those two things aren’t mutually exclusive.” I nodded. When I finally walked out of the studio, the sun had already set. As I passed the practice rooms on the second floor, my feet suddenly stopped. A door was cracked open. The familiar piano intro of Day One Thousand was drifting out into the hallway. “Soften up on the transition here,” Benjamin’s voice echoed from the room. “Nika, your emotion was good last night, but we need it to hit harder.” “If we want to win the Indie Showcase next week, we have to polish this until it’s flawless.” I stood alone in the dark corridor, my fingernails digging into my palms. They didn’t just steal it for the gala. They were taking my song into the biggest competition of the year. I didn’t push the door open. I didn’t scream at them. I just stood there for a long moment, then turned and walked away. The next morning, the Indie Showcase group chat was absolutely exploding. Someone posted a screenshot of Nika’s official submission. “Wait, she’s entering ‘Day One Thousand’?” “The song that went viral last night? Bro, she’s guaranteed to win.” A minute later, someone else noticed my name on the roster. “Hold up. Chloe entered too?” “Can she even sing?” “I’ve literally never seen her on a stage.” I locked my phone screen and opened my blank composition notebook. At noon, when I walked into the cafeteria, Benjamin intercepted me. His brow was furrowed in heavy frustration. “Are you seriously entering the Showcase?” I held my plastic lunch tray, looking at him with dead eyes. “Is it against the rules?” “Chloe, you can’t just write a song out of spite,” Benjamin hissed, lowering his voice so people wouldn’t stare. “Without me producing your tracks, your acoustic stuff is way too weak for a professional stage.” I looked at him. “Benjamin.” “I am not writing music to make you feel bad.” “When I’m creating art, you don’t even have the right to exist in my head.” Benjamin froze. He had never heard me speak to him with absolute zero respect. Just then, Nika walked out of the food line. Seeing the tension, her eyes immediately welled up with tears as she hurried over. “Chloe.” Her voice was trembling, small and fragile. “If you’re really that mad at me, I can withdraw from the Showcase. I won’t sing ‘Day One Thousand’.” She kept her eyes glued to the floor, playing the ultimate victim. But I saw her fingers reach down and lightly tug on the edge of her skirt. It was her silent signal. The physical cue she always used because she knew Benjamin would instantly jump in to defend her. Right on cue, Benjamin stepped firmly between us, shielding her from me. “Nika is already offering to back out. What more do you want?” “I rearranged the entire track. It represents Nika’s artistic vision now.” “Stop acting like a bitter ex and let it go.” I looked at the two of them. One stole from me with absolute entitlement, the other defended the thief with absolute arrogance. “Don’t withdraw.” My tone was completely flat. “Sing it all you want.” Without another word, I walked around them and found an empty table. For the next four days, I practically lived inside the vocal booth. Liam manned the console, adjusting my levels and listening to the raw cuts. “You have a bad habit with your melodies,” he noted, leaning back in his leather chair. “Right before the chorus peaks, you always pull back.” “It’s exactly how you act in real life. You want to scream, but at the last second, you swallow it.” I stared at him through the soundproof glass, staying totally silent. “Don’t swallow it this time.” Liam pushed the master fader all the way up. “Let it rip.” Three days later, the master track was finished. I exported the audio file and saved it to the studio desktop. Liam glanced at the monitor. The file name was just five words. The Moon Doesn’t Wait. Two days before the preliminary rounds, a massive thread blew up on the campus forum. INSANE DRAMA AT THE INDIE SHOWCASE! Is Chloe trying to leech off Nika’s fame? The post went viral instantly. The original poster attached screenshots from the gala and the Showcase roster, breaking it down like a conspiracy theorist. “Nika obviously wrote ‘Day One Thousand.’ The live performance was legendary.” “Chloe suddenly entering the competition is definitely just her throwing a toxic fit because Benjamin dumped her.” “I heard she’s writing an original. Probably just going to rip off Nika’s acoustic style.” The comment section was a literal bloodbath. “Imagine having zero talent and trying to leech off the popular girl.” “Nika is way too nice. She wrote a masterpiece and now her psycho ex-bestie is trying to drag her down.” I stood in the dark hallway outside the studio, the harsh blue light of my phone screen illuminating my face. The vicious comments felt like needles sliding into my ribs. I locked the phone, gripping it so hard my knuckles turned white. I stared at the glowing exit sign at the end of the hall for a very, very long time. I didn’t push the heavy studio door open until my hands finally stopped shaking. Liam was patching cables. He stopped when he saw my face. “You saw the forum?” I nodded. “Keep rolling.” I walked straight to the condenser mic and pulled the headphones over my ears. In my pocket, my phone vibrated. It was a text from Benjamin. “I saw the thread on the forum.” “Stop causing drama. Nika saw the comments and she’s literally having a panic attack.” He knew exactly who wrote the song. He knew the absolute truth. And he chose to let the entire school publicly execute my character. I typed back. “Did you write the post?” Benjamin replied instantly. “I have nothing to do with that post.” “But the reality is, the production of that song was a collaborative effort.” “There’s no reason to let a cyberbullying mob attack Nika over this.” “You can compete, but leave ‘Day One Thousand’ out of it.” “The song is out in the world. Dragging this out is completely pointless.” Collaborative effort. Completely pointless. With a few keystrokes, he effortlessly erased my existence. That afternoon, my academic advisor called me. “Chloe, I need you in my office. We’re launching an official review of the songwriting credits for the Showcase.” I packed my bag to head over. Liam stopped me before I hit the door. “Don’t try to prove you wrote it by crying or screaming,” he said, his dark eyes absolutely steady. “Use the evidence.” When I walked into the advisor’s office, Benjamin and Nika were already sitting on the leather couch. Nika was quietly sobbing into a tissue. Benjamin was rubbing her back, glaring at me. The advisor tapped his pen against his desk. “Have a seat, Chloe.” “Regarding the dispute over ‘Day One Thousand,’ the university requires an official resolution before the Showcase.” Nika choked out a sob. “Professor, I swear I didn’t know Chloe cared this much.” “Benjamin gave me the song. He promised me Chloe had agreed to let me sing it. I would never have performed it otherwise.” Benjamin immediately stepped in to protect her. “Professor, this whole thing is just a toxic misunderstanding.” “Yes, Chloe was involved in drafting some of the early lyrics. But the entire post-production, the instrumental arrangement, and the actual stage performance were built entirely by me and Nika.” “Who wrote the original draft doesn’t even matter anymore.” The advisor looked at me over his glasses. “Chloe. Do you have a response?” I looked at Benjamin and Nika. “I do.” I pulled a massive, encrypted external hard drive out of my bag and dropped it onto the glass desk. “This drive contains every single second of the developmental process for that track.” Benjamin’s face visibly tightened. “Chloe, are you seriously going to humiliate everyone over this?” I ignored him entirely and looked toward the door. Liam pushed the door open and walked in. He placed a printed, timestamped log onto the advisor’s desk. “Professor. My name is Liam, Head Engineer of the campus studio.” “A month ago, Chloe booked booth three to track the original acoustic demo of this song. I was patching the main board next door.” He looked dead at Benjamin. “I pulled the raw, unedited vocal stems from the server.” The advisor plugged my hard drive into his iMac and double-clicked the first audio file. My raw, unedited voice filled the office. It was a rough cut. But the core melody, the acoustic progression, and the emotional build of the chorus were absolutely identical to the song Nika performed at the gala. “File two is a high-res scan of her original handwritten lyrics.” “File three contains the metadata and timestamp of the first ProTools session.” The advisor scrolled through the files, his brow furrowing deeper with every click. Benjamin’s jaw clenched tight. “This only proves she made a demo!” he argued aggressively. “The post-production edits—” “The post-production edits were just you swapping out four chords,” I cut him off sharply. Benjamin had chopped up the intro and rearranged some of the phrasing. The official subtitles at the gala were a jumbled mess of lyrics that barely made sense. But my original handwritten sheet? I hadn’t moved a single syllable. “Benjamin, you didn’t even notice the acrostic poem hidden in the chorus. And you have the nerve to sit here and claim this song is your masterpiece?” Benjamin froze, looking totally blindsided. “What acrostic poem?” I looked at him, feeling a sudden, intense wave of sheer disgust. “Look at the scanned lyric sheet on the monitor.” The advisor maximized the image on the iMac. I stared at Benjamin, reciting the first letter of every single line in the original chorus. “Just when the wind loses its way.” “Under the silent, heavy gray.” “Leaving the dark without a trace.” “I’ll wait for you in this empty space.” “And when the stars begin to fall.” “Nothing will matter to me at all.” “And you’ll be the one to hear my call.” “Nothing can break this, we’ll stand tall.” “Deep in the night, the shadows fade.” “Chasing the light we finally made.” “Holding on tight, we won’t be swayed.” “Leaving behind the fears we laid.” “Over the mountains, far away.” “Endless horizons where we play.” “Together forever, come what may.” I stared dead into his eyes, my voice absolute ice. “Put the first letter of every line together.” “It spells: BENJAMIN AND CHLOE TOGETHER.”

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1 On my birthday, my best friend gifted me an orange tabby. In the middle of the night, the cat actually looked at me, shook its head, and let out a heavy sigh. “She looks pretty, but how can someone be so clueless? Her best friend and boyfriend are literally stabbing her in the back, and she has no idea.” I thought my ears were playing tricks on me. I was just pulling my resignation letter out of my drawer, planning to quit my job with my best friend and go travel. “She’s busy resigning, while Vivian is busy plotting to steal her promotion and become the General Manager.” “Honestly, her boyfriend’s scheme is absolutely toxic.” “What a shame. The other neighborhood cats said this company is about to secure a ten-billion-dollar funding round. The future is gold.” The cat’s inner voice echoed in my head. My pen froze. I ripped the resignation letter to shreds. I barely threw the scraps into the trash before my best friend, Vivian, texted me. [Hey Naomi, let’s set our final day for next Monday!] She even attached a photo of her own signed resignation form. Right after, my boyfriend, Greg, texted: [Did you fill out the resignation form yet?] I stared at the screen, my mind blank. I couldn’t wrap my head around the betrayal. We grew up together. Vivian had always followed me around like a shadow. I treated her like a real sister. When she couldn’t find a job, I brought her into my firm, mentored her step-by-step, and even handed her my own clients. She used to shower me with public thank-yous. And Greg? He had been shouting that he’d marry me since we were kids. He confessed his feelings when we were eighteen, and we’d been together ever since. Nearly seven years. “That designer bag Greg got her for her birthday? It’s actually Vivian’s hand-me-down. There’s a mark on the inside.” “He’s been infatuated with Vivian since childhood.” The orange cat’s inner voice sounded again. I rushed to the closet, pulled out the leather purse, and inspected it under the light. Sure enough, etched into the bottom lining were three faint, scratched letters: V.W. Vivian Wright. Her initials. In that instant, the last thread of hope snapped. The love and friendship I had cherished so deeply were nothing but hollow, cheap illusions. “But hey, there’s a three-million-dollar lottery ticket hidden inside that bag’s serial number.” I whipped my head around. The orange cat hopped onto the windowsill, licked its paw, and muttered to itself: “The big white Persian at the pet shop said the brand is running a serial-number sweepstakes. The winning number matches this exact bag.” “Greg didn’t leave his phone number at the store.” “There are only three days left to claim it!” I shook off my shock, scrolled frantically through my chat history with Greg, and found the address of the boutique. I’d claim it right after work tomorrow. Previously, Greg had suggested I pay the one-million-dollar down payment on a house, and he’d handle the monthly mortgage. Now? I didn’t need him. I could buy the whole damn place in cash. Suddenly, my phone buzzed. Greg’s contact photo lit up. “Hey Naomi, you asleep? Why aren’t you replying to me and Viv?” “Did you finish the resignation letter? Viv says Hawaii is incredible. I already booked the tickets for next week. You can’t back out now.” Everything was always about Vivian. He used to explain it away by saying, “We’re a couple, Naomi. Viv is all on her own. We should look out for her and let her have her way sometimes.” I had trusted them blindly. “I just finished it. I was in the shower,” I lied smoothly. “Awesome! We’re finally going to make our childhood dream of traveling the world come true!” He chuckled. “Get some sleep. Love you forever, babe.” His voice was as sweet and gentle as ever, like he was soothing a child. In the past, those late-night sweet nothings would have warmed my heart. Now, they made bile rise in my throat. From this moment on, I wouldn’t waste a single second of my life on decayed love or rotten friendship. The next morning, I arrived at the office parking lot half an hour early. As soon as I parked, I spotted two familiar figures. Greg was leaning down, kissing Vivian’s forehead. “You worked hard last night, beautiful,” he murmured, his voice dripping with affection. “Oh, please. I work hard every night,” Vivian giggled, swatting his chest. “You’re like a wild animal, always trying to devour me.” My hands clenched the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white. They were sleeping together. Every single night. “By the way,” Vivian asked, leaning against him, “is it really okay to trick Naomi into quitting?” “Hey, it’s a dog-eat-dog world,” Greg smirked, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Besides, Naomi is tough. She’ll find another job in no time. She’s too sentimental to hold a grudge against you anyway. Once we get married, I’ll use her money to pamper you.” Chills ran down my spine. This was the man who promised to love me forever. He was more venomous than a viper. Thank god for my telepathic tabby. It wasn’t too late. I didn’t storm out to confront them. Instead, I quietly recorded a video on my phone, waited in my car for another ten minutes, and then headed up to the office. “Naomi!” Vivian was waiting right by my desk, a beaming smile on her face. She grabbed my arm. “Let’s go hand in our resignations to the boss.” I didn’t resist. I was going to play my part in this little theater. At Mr. Henderson’s office door, Vivian slapped her forehead. “Oh, shoot! Naomi, I think I left my resignation letter at my desk. Go on in first, I’ll go grab it.” “Sure,” I said with a nod. As I walked in, I heard her let out a quiet sigh of relief. She thought her little trap had sprung perfectly. Mr. Henderson welcomed me warmly. “I heard a rumor you were thinking of leaving us, Naomi. Don’t tell me this is a resignation letter?” So Vivian had already started spreading rumors to pave her way to the top. “Of course not,” I replied, shaking my head. I handed him a sleek leather folder. Inside was not a resignation, but a groundbreaking marketing proposal for our upcoming product launch. Mr. Henderson read through it, nodding with growing enthusiasm. “This is brilliant, Naomi! Absolutely brilliant. Run with it.” “Also, the Marketing Director position has been vacant. The board just finalized the decision to promote you. The official announcement goes out next Monday.” “If this campaign blows up, the final Executive VP slot is yours, along with company shares.” “Thank you, Mr. Henderson. I won’t let you down,” I said, my heart racing. Leaving his office, I felt a wave of adrenaline mixed with sheer relief. If it weren’t for my cat, I would have thrown my career down the drain. Vivian and Greg would have laughed behind my back while stepping all over me. I returned to my office. Vivian used the excuse of delivering files to slip inside. “So, Naomi, what did Mr. Henderson say?” “Not much,” I said, keeping my face neutral. “Wow, he didn’t even try to keep you?” Vivian pouted, but her eyes danced with triumph. I let her enjoy her little fantasy. That evening, Greg was waiting in the parking lot. Vivian naturally slid into the passenger seat, casually resting her legs on the dashboard, showing off her thighs without a care in the world. In the past, I thought it was just childhood-friend comfort. Now, I noticed Greg’s eyes constantly darting to her legs with pure lust. “Naomi,” Greg smiled, turning back to me. “Viv says there’s a new hotpot place down the street. I sent you the address. Let’s go.” “You guys go ahead. I have things to do,” I replied coldly. Greg blinked, surprised. “Come on, whatever it is can wait. Dinner with Viv is a priority.” “Yeah, Naomi! If you don’t come, you’re not a real friend!” Vivian whined. In the past, I would have given in. Now, it just felt like cheap emotional blackmail. “No thanks. Family emergency.” I didn’t care about their reactions. I got into my car and drove straight to the luxury boutique. “Hello, could you please check if this serial number has won the sweepstakes?” The clerk took the bag, ran the number, and beamed. “Congratulations, ma’am! You’ve won the grand prize of three million dollars. Please step this way.” In less than a minute, the paperwork was done. A text notification buzzed on my phone: $2.7 million had cleared into my account after taxes. Knowing the store would display a promotional banner next week, I knew Greg and Vivian would find out soon. I immediately called a real estate agent and bought the luxury riverfront penthouse I’d been eyeing for months. Paid in full. After securing the deed, I went home and sat down with my parents. When they heard about the betrayal, they were shocked but stood firmly by my side, urging me to handle it my way. Just as we finished dinner, my phone buzzed. Greg and Vivian had added me to a group chat. Vivian sent a playful voice note: [Naomi, since you ditched us for dinner, you’re paying the bill!] Greg followed up immediately: [It’s not much, just $3,888. Just Venmo it to me.] Normally, I would have paid to keep the peace. This time, I ignored it and went to take a shower. By the time I got out, the group chat had over 99 unread messages. Vivian: [Naomi? Why aren’t you answering?] Greg: [It’s been ten minutes. The waiter is waiting.] Vivian: [Wow, I guess our friendship doesn’t mean much to you anymore.] Greg: [Seriously, Naomi, you’re being so petty. Whatever, we’ll pay it ourselves!] Only then did I reply: [Just got out of the shower.] Nobody replied. In the past, I would have sent them each a thousand-dollar digital red envelope to make up for it. What an idiot I had been. I gave my cat some freeze-dried treats and sat down at my laptop. I needed to perfect the marketing plan for Monday’s pitch. The orange cat hopped onto the desk, staring at the screen. “The office cats say the big boss loves pets but tries to act all tough and professional. He’s been wishing someone would pitch a pet-themed marketing campaign.” A spark of inspiration hit me. I immediately rewrote the strategy, weaving in a brilliant pet-friendly angle. I worked through the night. Just as dawn broke, Greg called. “Naomi, you were way out of line yesterday. Ditching the bill like that really hurt Viv. She actually cried. I heard she wanted a designer necklace at the mall. Why don’t you buy it for her to make peace?” I almost laughed out loud. He really was taking the “spend Naomi’s money to pamper Vivian” rule to heart. “It’s for the sake of our group,” Greg continued. “Just pay for it, Viv will be happy, and I won’t be mad at you anymore.” If I were still blind, I would have felt guilty. But now, I just felt disgust. “I worked all night and I’m exhausted,” I said flatly. “Go check it out yourself.” “Great!” Greg chirped, assuming I was agreeing to pay, and hung up. Vivian immediately texted: [Naomi, you’re the absolute best! I’m not mad at you anymore. Love you, xoxo!] I ignored it and fell asleep. When I woke up in the evening, my screen was filled with more texts. Vivian: [I found a better one! It’s $188,000. Buy this one for me instead!] Greg: [Since you didn’t say no, we’ll assume it’s a yes. Viv put it on an installment plan, you can just go pay it off next week.] Vivian: [No interest if paid within a month! Don’t forget, Naomi!] She even posted a photo of the necklace on her Instagram, naturally omitting who paid for it. The comments were flooded with jealousy. When someone asked if she got a massive raise, she replied: [Oh, it’s nothing major!] Greg commented: [My girl is the best.] The cheek of it. I only wore a thousand-dollar necklace, and Vivian casually swiped my imaginary credit card for a $188k piece. But I didn’t say a word. I wanted to see how Vivian, who lived paycheck to paycheck, would handle the bill when I refused to pay. Monday morning arrived. Vivian walked into the office wearing the glittering $188,000 diamond necklace. She deliberately raised her voice so everyone could hear. “Naomi, do you like it?” “It’s beautiful,” I smiled. The other colleagues crowded around. “Oh my god, Vivian, how much was that?” “Just $188,000,” Vivian smirked, secretly squeezing my hand, signaling me to keep quiet and play along. “Wow! $188,000? Vivian, I had no idea you were so loaded!” “I wish I had your talent.” “Naomi, look at your friend, and look at you. She’s really outshining you now.” “Exactly. Naomi brought her into the company, but Vivian is the one wearing a house on her neck. Naomi has nothing.” They gossiped and compared us. Vivian didn’t defend me; she just bathed in the praise. I simply smiled. “Alright, quiet down everyone!” Mr. Henderson walked into the department. “I am here to announce the new Marketing Director.” Vivian’s grin widened, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. She was practically vibrating. The colleagues all looked at her, expecting her name to be called since the rumor of my resignation was widespread. Mr. Henderson turned to me. “Effective today, Naomi Stone is our new Marketing Director.” Vivian’s smile instantly shattered. She whipped her head toward me, her eyes wide with absolute shock.

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Three days after my baby passed away, the hospital called, asking me to collect his belongings. Swallowing the bitter taste in my throat, I sent Adrian a Snapchat message. A FaceTime call popped up instead. Adrian’s voice came through, laced with impatient annoyance. “Elena, the overseas project is at a critical stage. Just go and pick up the belongings yourself.” “Be good. It’s a small thing. You can handle it.” I had no choice but to drive to the hospital alone. But on the registry list at the front desk, I froze. I saw Adrian’s name. And next to it, in the relationship column of another woman, was written: *Spouse.* The smell of disinfectant at the registry desk was sharp and cold. My eyes blurred with tears, and my chest felt incredibly tight. Then, I let out a bitter laugh and shook my head, dismissing the absurd thought. Adrian was buried in work overseas. How could he possibly be here? There were plenty of people with the same name in the world. Similar handwriting was just a coincidence. But staring at that checked “Spouse” box, a deep wave of loneliness washed over me. Since I got pregnant, Adrian hadn’t shown his face even once. He said a multi-billion-dollar deal overseas couldn’t be abandoned just because of “this.” He said, “Elena, you’re a sensible woman. We can have another baby, but if the company falls, we lose everything.” I believed him. And I endured all the pregnancy pain alone. I curled my lips into a sad smile, tears nearly spilling over. The nurse seemed to snap out of it, pulling the registry clipboard back from my hands and cutting off my thoughts. “Mrs. Vance, I’m so sorry. I gave you the wrong sheet.” “Your baby’s keepsake is a tiny bronze footprint plaque left by the hospital. Please accept our condolences.” With that, she handed me a clear, sealed bag. As she turned to leave, she murmured something to herself. Maybe the wind was too loud, or maybe I was just too numb, but I couldn’t hear her. I just held the bag, my eyes stinging. I was about to leave when a soft, tender whisper came from the hospital room behind me. “Be good, Chloe. Open your mouth and take another sip of the soup.” “You just had a miscarriage, your body is weak. The doctor said you need to recover.” That voice was too familiar. So familiar that I had heard it whispering in my ear for the last seven years. I froze, feeling as if lightning had struck me. Moving like a zombie, I forced my feet toward the room and finally saw the man inside. My husband, who claimed to be working around the clock overseas, was now frowning slightly, gently blowing on a spoonful of chicken soup. The woman leaning in his arms had swollen eyes and was sobbing softly. “Adrian, I’m so sorry… I couldn’t save the baby…” “It was eight months… it was already a fully-formed baby boy… It’s all my fault for being so careless…” Adrian looked at Chloe’s tear-stained eyes. He set the bowl down with a slightly tense expression, pulled her into his arms, and whispered back. “It’s not your fault, Chloe. It’s mine. I couldn’t bear to be away from you, yet I failed to protect you two.” Chloe let out a watery giggle. “But the company has been so busy lately…” Adrian’s expression softened even more as he leaned down to kiss the tears from the corner of her eyes. “No matter how busy I am, I won’t let you suffer. I’ve already transferred ten percent of Vance Group’s shares to your name as a little apology.” “Chloe, as long as you are fine, my whole world is fine.” My heart stopped. In an instant, I was dragged back to seven years ago. When Adrian first started his business, he worked days and nights to secure clients, eventually getting hospitalized with stomach bleeding. I cried hysterically, never leaving his bedside. When he woke up, pale but worried, he gently wiped away my tears and held me close. “Elena, I’m sorry for making you worry.” “Honestly, I don’t care if the company succeeds or not. As long as you are fine, my whole world is fine.” Back then, even when we were so poor we could only share cheap instant noodles, one look at each other made us feel like we had the whole world. But in just seven years, that love had shattered like a glass bubble. While I was screaming in pain in the delivery room, watching my baby stop breathing, he was keeping Chloe company during her miscarriage. And to comfort her, he gave her ten percent of the company’s shares without a second thought. The sheer absurdity and coldness of it all washed over me. The door creaked open, startling the two lovers inside.

“Adrian…” I clutched the cold footprint plaque, my voice so quiet it felt like it would scatter in the wind. Adrian slowly looked up. When he saw me, his eyes flickered. I dug my nails into my palms, freezing at the doorway, swallowing the bitterness in my throat. “Adrian, didn’t you say you were overseas handling a multi-billion-dollar deal?” I thought he would ignore me. After all, his usual way of dealing with things that displeased him was to simply pretend they didn’t exist. But surprisingly, he quickly composed himself, stood up, blocked Chloe from my view, and spoke calmly. “Elena, what are you doing at the hospital? Are you sick?” “Let me introduce you. This is Chloe, a key executive at our company.” “She miscarried due to overwork on our latest project. As her boss, I came to check on her.” They kept a professional distance now, with no trace of the intimate cuddling from moments before. I stopped breathing for two seconds, staring at him without blinking. The tears finally fell. How could he forget everything we had so easily? How could he stand there with such a clear conscience? Seeing my tears, Adrian remained completely indifferent. A freezing chill seeped into my bones, soaking me through. “Checking on your employee…” My mouth was so dry my tongue felt tied. I stared at him, my eyes burning. “Since when does a boss… sign his name in the spouse column on his employee’s miscarriage registry?” A flicker of annoyance and cold calculation crossed the man’s handsome face. Adrian pulled out a cigarette, lit it, flicked the ash, and said coldly, “We’ve been married for years, Elena. Do we really need to lay everything out so uglily?” Then, noticing Chloe wrinkling her nose at the smoke, he immediately put the cigarette out. “Elena, Chloe just miscarried. She can’t handle any stress right now.” “If you’re angry, take it out on me.” Through the fading smoke, I suddenly remembered how I used to complain about the smell of cigarettes when he came home during my pregnancy. He had never put them out for me. Instead, he would smile wickedly and blow the smoke right into my face. Clutching the bag with the footprint plaque, I raised my hand and slapped him hard across the face. The words choked in my throat. “Adrian Vance, you disgust me!” “I’m glad you’ll never get to be a father.” Chloe shrieked, shrinking under the blanket, and began to cry. “Adrian… are you okay? Did Chloe misunderstand something?” “It’s all my fault. Please go with Chloe. I can handle being alone… even if the pain kills me here…” Adrian’s eyes darkened. He pulled Chloe back into his arms, leaning down to kiss her forehead gently. “Don’t talk nonsense. I’m not leaving.” The way he touched her forehead and wiped her tears was the exact replica of how he used to vow his eternal love to me. I forced my eyes wide open to keep the tears from falling. Adrian stepped closer, his scent filling the air. He tilted his head, his cold, uncaring gaze sweeping over me. “Elena, I can let you vent your anger on me, but not on Chloe.” “As for our baby…” He paused, his eyes filled with pure coldness. “You couldn’t keep him. That’s your own problem.” The man looked as handsome and sharp as the day I met him. Hearing his words, I choked for a second before the words slowly forced their way out of my mouth. “Adrian, let’s get a divorce.” Sometimes it takes a lifetime to see a person clearly. Sometimes, it only takes a second.

The room fell into a brief, heavy silence. Adrian didn’t laugh or get angry. His voice was completely flat. “Elena, I don’t like hearing tantrums. I have no intention of replacing you as my wife.” He stared at me for a moment, curling his lips. “Besides, the connections, the money, the status—which of these did I not give you?” “Could you really walk away from this life of luxury?” My heart was drowning in ice. I pulled out my phone and let out a sudden smile. “Did I ever ask you for any of those things?” “Adrian, if you don’t sign the papers, I will call the cops right now and report you for bigamy.” “Doesn’t Chloe hate stress? Aren’t you worried about her?” But Adrian wasn’t afraid at all. He just tilted his chin up. “This is the first time I’ve seen you take things so seriously.” “Elena, since when did you learn to play such childish games?” “Go ahead and call. Or do you need me to dial the number for you?” When I first married Adrian at twenty-three, I always kept myself calm and composed, never causing a scene. Adrian’s father used to praise me for being wise and mature. I didn’t reply. My hand trembled as I was about to press the call button, but the door was pushed open. “Chloe’s family? We need to do a routine check on the patient…” The nurse walked in with a thermometer, freezing when she saw my face. “Wait, aren’t you the woman who just picked up the keepsake for the deceased baby? What are you doing here?” She looked at me, then at Chloe on the bed. This time, I heard her clearly. “Are you the patient’s sister? No wonder. I was wondering why the same person had to claim miscarriage keepsakes twice.” Before I could say anything, the nurse continued checking Chloe while sighing, “Wow, you two sisters really look alike.” “Your sister is so lucky. Her husband has been by her side the entire time. She’s doing fine now.” I stared at Chloe’s face, my mind drifting back to the past. During college, Adrian was the handsome, broke boy on campus. A freshman girl used to follow him around every day, giving him water and love letters. His friends used to tease him, saying the girl looked like a mini-version of me. But Adrian never cared, never even giving her a second glance. To make her give up, he held my hand at graduation and swore in front of everyone that he would only love me in this lifetime. Now, the blurry face of that college girl from my memory slowly merged with Chloe’s face. I never could have imagined that Adrian, knowing exactly what she wanted, had allowed her to crawl into his bed and carry his child. Seven years. He used her as my cheaper, younger shadow, dragging my already broken heart into the mud. My body swayed, and I had to grab the doorframe to keep from falling. Seeing me on the verge of collapsing, a smug, hidden satisfaction flashed in Chloe’s eyes. She gently tugged Adrian’s sleeve and smiled at the nurse. “Yes, Adrian is a very caring husband.” Adrian’s eyes darkened, but he didn’t offer a single word of explanation. Trying to reason with a heartless man is just self-torture. Without another word, I forced my legs to move and walked out of the room.

On the way back to the villa, the cold wind blew my hair messy, but it also completely woke me up. I gently touched the tiny footprint plaque in my bag and dialed a number I hadn’t called in seven years. When Adrian first started his business and had nothing, I secretly funneled my family’s funds and tech teams to help him get through the hardest starting phase. But Adrian hated being called a gold-digger. So, I hid everything from him. I even broke off ties with my parents just to marry him. Before the company went public, he knelt on one knee, kissing the back of my hand, and swore: “Elena, transferring most of the shares to my name is just a formality. Once the company is stable, everything I have will be yours, including my life.” I had believed every word. On the other end of the line, a middle-aged man’s voice trembled, pulling me back to reality. “Sweetheart? You’re finally calling your dad…” “Why does your voice sound wrong? Did someone hurt you?!” Hearing my father’s long-lost, protective voice, I looked up, forcing my tears back. “Dad, I regret it. I… want to come home.” After hanging up, I arrived at the villa. At the entrance sat the men’s slippers Adrian chose himself. In the living room hung our sweet, smiling wedding portrait. Once, I thought this was my safe haven, the home I would protect with my life. Now, it just looked like a giant joke. Adrian didn’t come home that night. No need to guess—he was staying by Chloe’s bedside. The next morning, my phone buzzed. Adrian’s voice was as cold and indifferent as ever. “Elena, are you done throwing your tantrum?” “Chloe was terrified yesterday and is in a terrible state. I’ll give you a way out. Bring some supplements to the hospital to visit her. I’ll pretend that slap yesterday was just you losing control over losing the baby, and I won’t hold it against you.” “As for the divorce, stop while you’re ahead. Don’t use my patience as your bargaining chip.” I looked down, my voice quiet but firm. “Adrian, I am serious about the divorce.” After a two-second silence, Adrian let out a cold snort and sent a location. “Fine, Elena. I’ll give you what you want.” Half an hour later, Adrian was already sitting by the window in a cafe. Even though he hadn’t slept all night, he was still dressed immaculately, radiating the cold arrogance of a rising billionaire. As I sat down, he casually slid a pre-drafted divorce agreement toward me. “For the sake of our past, this villa goes to you. Plus, a handsome monthly allowance will be transferred to your account.” “When you finally snap out of it, you can come beg me to remarry you at any time.” I glanced down at the paper. There was not a single word about the company’s shares. I didn’t even bother to read the details. I just picked up the pen and signed my name. Adrian frowned, his eyes locked on my face as he shifted his posture. “Elena, over the years, you’ve done nothing but stay at home. You made zero contribution to the company.” “The only reason I’m giving you this much compensation is because Chloe was kind enough to persuade me not to be too harsh on you last night.” “From now on, take care of yourself.” Listening to his words, my heart was completely numb. The deeper the love once was, the heavier the disgust was now. “Adrian, now that the papers are signed, please keep your distance and stay out of my life.” I stood up, giving him a cold smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “I have no interest in this house.” “As for whether I contributed anything… you will find out very soon.” Adrian curled his lips into a mock smile, looking away. “I’ll be waiting. I just hope you don’t end up unable to pay your credit card bills next month.” Just then, his phone rang. His expression softened instantly as he looked at me and started walking out. “Be good, Chloe. Stay in bed, I’m coming back to keep you company right now.” A moment later, I walked out of the cafe. A light drizzle began to fall. I looked at the Maybach that had been waiting by the curb for a long time. The car door shut, completely locking out the world that disgusted me.

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My husband finally came home after being stationed abroad for ten long years. I should have been thrilled. But the exact moment he stepped through the door, every single hair on my arms stood on end. Ten years. And he hadn’t aged a single day. At first, I tried to calm myself down. I told myself he just had great genetics, or maybe a really expensive skincare routine. But as the days went on, the red flags started piling up. Ten years ago, my husband was sickly. He would get winded just walking to the mailbox, and he suffered from chronic, agonizing stomach ulcers. But this man standing in my kitchen? His skin was glowing with health. He could carry giant, sixty-pound bags of dog food and heavy garage equipment up to our attic without even breaking a sweat. Even worse, he had become terrifyingly smart. He spoke with a cold, calculated precision that felt entirely foreign. He was a completely different person. Creeped out and desperate for answers, I secretly went down to the local police precinct. The officer at the front desk tapped away at his keyboard for what felt like hours. Finally, he looked up at me. “His Social Security number is active. There’s no death certificate, and his passport registry is clean. On paper, your husband is very much alive.” I couldn’t take it anymore. I spilled everything—every weird detail, every creepy change. The officer went dead silent. Slowly, he stood up, his entire demeanor changing. “I think I know what’s going on here.” *** ###

My entire body froze. The detective’s face turned incredibly serious. He walked around his desk, stepped over to the door, closed it, and pulled the blinds shut. “I think I know what’s going on here,” he repeated, his voice dropping to a low whisper, as if he was terrified of being overheard. “What do you mean?” I asked, my knuckles turning white as I gripped my purse on my lap. He sat back down, staring at me for a long moment, visibly debating how much he should tell me. “First, try to breathe,” he started. “Nothing is confirmed yet. But… we had a case exactly like this about two years ago.” My heart squeezed in my chest. “Two years ago,” the detective said, leaning forward. “An elderly woman named Mrs. Jenkins came in. She lived in the quiet suburbs on the east side. She reported that her son, Tommy, had returned. Tommy had been a heavy gambler, ran up massive debts with some bad people, and fled the country to hide. After years of silence, he suddenly showed up on her doorstep.” He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. “Naturally, Mrs. Jenkins was overjoyed at first. Her lost son had returned, seemingly reformed. But within a week, the dread set in.” “She told me Tommy used to be a high school dropout. He was a lazy slob who spent his days drinking, gambling, and hanging out with thugs. But the man who came back? He didn’t drink. He didn’t gamble. He spoke and acted like a highly educated gentleman. Mrs. Jenkins said her son could barely read a map before, but this new version was casually discussing Machiavelli’s *The Prince* and the complex politics of the Roman Empire over breakfast.” My fingers began to tremble. “And here’s the kicker,” the detective said, tapping his desk. “Tommy used to have severe asthma. He couldn’t jog for thirty seconds without reaching for his inhaler. But the man who returned could chop logs in the backyard for hours in the freezing cold, perfectly fine.” I felt the blood drain completely from my face. “What happened to them?” my voice shook. “We went to investigate,” the detective sighed. “We visited the house. The son was there. He was incredibly polite, offered us coffee, and answered every question flawlessly. We did a walkthrough of the house and found absolutely nothing suspicious. Even Mrs. Jenkins couldn’t pinpoint a specific crime; she just kept saying she felt a deep, instinctual terror around him. We assumed it was just estrangement—that they had been apart so long they just needed time to adjust. We told her to call us if anything changed, and we left.” He stood up, walked to the window, parted the blinds slightly to peer outside, and closed them again. “Less than a week later,” he turned to look at me, “Mrs. Jenkins and her son completely vanished.” “Vanished?” “Yes. Gone. All their belongings were still in the house. Their clothes, their bank cards, their IDs—nothing was taken. Neighbors said they saw Mrs. Jenkins walking her dog the night before, and the next morning, the house was empty. Their phones were disconnected. It’s been two years, and we haven’t found a single trace of them.” I bolted upright, my chair scraping harshly against the floor. “My husband… is he going to make me…” “Please, sit down,” he waved his hand, urging me to calm down. “Like I said, we don’t know for sure. But the patterns are identical. I had to warn you.” “Then what is he? Who is the man in my house?” My voice cracked, borderline hysterical. “I don’t know,” the detective shook his head. “We ran Tommy’s biometrics back then, just like we ran your husband’s. Clean. No red flags. But people don’t just transform into perfect versions of themselves overnight. And they don’t just disappear into thin air.” *** ###

I took a few deep breaths, forcing the panic back down. “What do I do now?” The detective thought for a moment, then pulled a small drawer open and handed me a tiny object. “First, you need to get out of that house. Go stay somewhere else. And take this.” I took it. It was a sleek, black digital voice recorder. It was tiny, barely the size of a thumb drive. “This is a high-grade recorder. The battery lasts for days. Keep it on you at all times, and keep it recording. If he says anything strange or does anything out of the ordinary, we need it on record. Right now, we don’t have probable cause to make an arrest.” I clenched the recorder in my fist, its cold metal casing biting into my palm. “If anything feels wrong, call me immediately,” he said, handing me a business card. “Anytime. Day or night.” I looked at the card. *Detective Miller, East Precinct.* “Detective Miller,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “Will staying at a hotel be enough? What if he finds me?” “Go stay with your mother. Don’t tell him the address. If he texts you, just say you missed her and wanted to spend some quality mother-daughter time. Don’t trigger his suspicion, and absolutely do not let him know you’re onto him. Act completely normal. Can you do that?” I nodded, slipping the card and the recorder into my purse. “One more thing,” Detective Miller added, his eyes locked onto mine. “Do not let him get you alone in a car, and under no circumstances do you agree to leave the country with him.” Cold dread washed over me. “Leave the country?” “Before she vanished, Mrs. Jenkins mentioned that her ‘son’ kept urging her to move abroad with him. He kept telling her he had bought a beautiful estate in Europe and wanted her to live out her days in luxury. She laughed it off at the time. But now…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t need to. By the time I stepped out of the police precinct, the sky was pitch black. The November wind was freezing. I wrapped my coat tightly around myself, my mind spinning at a million miles an hour. Why make people disappear? Where did they go? Where were Mrs. Jenkins and her son right now? Were they even alive? My hand remained buried in my pocket, gripping the recorder so hard my knuckles turned white. I began to dissect every single detail of the last ten years. Julian and I got married in 2014. He was twenty-eight back then, working as a low-level sales rep for an import-export company. He was incredibly frail—nearly six feet tall but barely weighing 130 pounds. He looked like a gust of wind could blow him over. His stomach issues were so severe that we spent half our weekends in the ER. He couldn’t walk up a flight of stairs without gasping for air. The doctors told us it was a congenital weakness. Then, just one year into our marriage, he told me he had to relocate abroad. He claimed his company offered him a transfer to their overseas branch. The pay was five times his current salary. I remember how excited he was when we talked about it. He said we could finally buy a house, start a family, and live comfortably. I was completely against it. We had only been married for a year, his health was terrible, and the thought of him being alone across the world terrified me. But he was set on it. He insisted it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. After weeks of fighting, he won. And so began the agonizing decade of long-distance. We communicated mostly through Snapchat and quick text messages. We rarely did phone calls. He always claimed he was working grueling overtime, or that the time difference made it too difficult. Whenever I begged to FaceTime, he always had an excuse. His camera was broken, his internet was too slow, or his roommates were already asleep in their shared dorm. I was naive. I believed him. I thought he was just sacrificing everything and living in harsh conditions to build a future for us. But there were times when he would completely drop off the grid. The longest stretch was five whole days of radio silence. I sent dozens of snaps, called his number repeatedly, but got absolutely nothing. I was on the verge of buying a plane ticket to go search for him when he finally texted back, claiming his project was on a brutal deadline and he had been working eighty-hour shifts without a second to look at his phone. I believed him back then. But now? A normal human being doesn’t look at their phone for five days? *** ###

Not even a single text? Even in the busiest job, people still use the bathroom, don’t they? I had been so blind. As I approached our apartment building, I stopped. I looked up at the sixth floor. Our unit’s lights were on. He was home. I took a deep breath, reached into my pocket, and clicked the power button on the recorder. The tiny red LED light flashed once, signaling it was recording. I slid it back into my pocket, zipped it up, and walked inside. My legs felt like lead as I climbed the stairs. It took me nearly ten minutes just to reach our door. I pulled out my keys, unlocked the door, and pushed it open. The rich, mouth-watering aroma of gourmet food instantly hit me. I froze. The dining table was covered in an absolute feast. Seared salmon, glazed ribs, garlic butter broccoli, and a perfectly seasoned potato soup. There were seven or eight dishes, beautifully plated like they had just been served at a Michelin-star restaurant. Julian poked his head out of the kitchen, wearing the faded blue apron I had bought years ago. He flashed me a warm, boyish smile. “You’re home! Go wash your hands, the soup is almost ready.” Looking at his smile, a shiver ran down my spine. My husband used to burn instant ramen. Once, when I had to work late and asked him to make pasta, he turned the noodles into a soggy, burnt paste that ruined the pot. I still vividly remembered him standing in the kitchen, looking completely helpless and embarrassed. But the man standing in front of me now was casually tossing ingredients in a wok with the effortless grace of a professional chef. I slowly took off my shoes, walked over to the table, and sat down. My throat felt incredibly tight. He brought over the soup, placed it gently in the center, took off his apron, and sat down opposite me. “Try this,” he said, placing a tender piece of salmon onto my plate. “Tell me how it tastes.” I took a small bite. It was spectacular. The fish was perfectly flaky, savory, and rich—better than anything I’d ever had at a luxury restaurant. “Do you like it?” he asked, his eyes soft and attentive. “It’s… amazing,” I said, slowly putting my fork down. “When did you learn to cook like this?” “While I was abroad,” he replied smoothly, without a second of hesitation. “When you’re living alone in a foreign country, you either learn to cook or you starve. I was terrible at first, but practice makes perfect.” “But you always told me you were too busy with work to even sleep. How did you find the time to master gourmet cooking?” He paused. It was a fraction of a second—so fast that anyone else would have missed it. “Well, a man still has to eat,” he smiled warmly. “And later on, my project transitioned into a slower phase. I had more free time to experiment in the kitchen.” It was a flawless answer. Every question had an explanation, and every explanation was perfectly logical. But the logical perfection only made me more terrified. The old Julian didn’t have this level of mental agility. He was clumsy with his words, easily confused, and arguing with him was always an exercise in frustration. But this man? He was sharp, articulate, and every response felt pre-programmed and rehearsed to perfection. I kept my head down and ate in silence. The recorder in my pocket silently blinked, completely hidden beneath my clothes. After dinner, I went to wash the dishes. He came into the kitchen to help, but I gently pushed him away, telling him to relax and watch some TV. He complied instantly, giving me a soft nod. Standing at the sink, my hands submerged in the warm soapy water, my mind raced. I needed a reason to leave for my mom’s place. But it had to be seamless. I couldn’t let him suspect a thing. When I walked back into the living room, he was sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone. I sat down next to him, trying to find the words to break the news. But before I could speak, he turned to me. “Actually, there’s something I need to tell you,” he said. “What is it?” “I’m planning on staying for good this time. But I still have some paperwork and final loose ends to wrap up at the overseas office. I’ll need to go back one last time. It’ll probably take a month or two. But…” He reached out, his hand covering mine. His palm was warm, dry, and perfectly steady. “I want you to come with me.” *** ###

My heart missed a beat. “Come with you?” “Yes. You’ve spent the last ten years alone and waiting for me. I want to take you out there, treat it like a second honeymoon. The coast is beautiful, the weather is warm, and the beaches are incredible.” “Once I finish my paperwork, we can travel around for a few weeks before coming back.” His grip on my hand tightened slightly. Inside my head, a siren went off. *If he asks you to leave the country with him, under no circumstances do you go.* Detective Miller’s warning echoed in my mind. I forced myself to remain calm. Gently, I slipped my hand out of his grip, pretending to reach for my glass of water on the coffee table. “Where exactly is the office located?” I asked, keeping my tone light and curious. “Penang, Malaysia,” he said. “It’s a gorgeous island.” *Penang.* I memorized the name instantly. I let out a soft sigh, playing my part. “I don’t think I can go, Julian.” “Why not?” “You know how terribly motion-sick I get on long flights and boats. Traveling that far sounds like torture for me. Plus, my mom hasn’t been feeling well lately. I really want to spend some time taking care of her.” “Oh. Okay then,” he said. His voice was entirely calm and understanding. “I’ll go handle it myself and come back as fast as I can.” He didn’t argue. He didn’t try to persuade me, he didn’t push, and he didn’t even ask a single follow-up question. He just accepted it. That was wrong. The Julian I knew was stubborn. If he truly wanted me to join him, he would have begged, whined, and brought it up a thousand times until I finally gave in. He was never a man who accepted “no” on the first try. But this man let it go without a second thought. A cold sweat broke out across my back. “Actually,” I said, pretending the thought had just popped into my head. “I think I’m going to head over to my mom’s place tomorrow for a few days. It’s been so long since we’ve spent time together.” “Sure. I’ll drive you there and stay with you guys.” “No, don’t worry about it,” I said quickly. “You just got back, you need to rest and get over your jet lag. And you know how my mom gets—she’ll stress herself out trying to host you and clean the whole house. I’ll just go by myself, chat with her for a couple of days, and come right back.” He stared at me for a brief second, then nodded. “Alright. Whatever you think is best.” More compliance. Unconditional, effortless compliance. I didn’t sleep a single wink that night. The next morning, by the time I opened my eyes, he was already up. The pleasant sound of a spatula scraping a pan and the sizzle of bacon drifted from the kitchen. I got dressed and walked out. The dining table was set with a beautiful breakfast spread—avocado toast, perfectly poached eggs, fresh fruit, and a cup of freshly brewed coffee. It looked like a picture-perfect brunch from an upscale cafe. “Morning, sleepyhead. Eat up, you don’t want to miss your train.” He walked out of the kitchen, placing a warm glass of milk in front of me. I sat down and took a bite of the toast. It was delicious. “I went ahead and bought your train ticket,” he said, checking his phone. “It leaves at ten. You’ll arrive around twelve-thirty. I also bought some luxury wellness gift baskets for your mom. They’re by the door.” He pointed toward the entryway. Two beautifully packaged, high-end gift baskets were resting against the wall. They looked incredibly expensive. I looked at him, an unsettling wave of emotion washing over me. “Thank you,” I mumbled, keeping my head down. Halfway through the meal, he suddenly laid his fork down and looked directly at me. “By the way, where did you go yesterday afternoon?” My hand froze, the coffee cup hovering inches from my lips. “I went out for a walk yesterday, but when I came back, you weren’t home,” he said smoothly. *** ###

My mind raced at lightning speed. Yesterday afternoon, I was at the police station. But I could never let him know that. “Oh, an old friend invited me out for coffee,” I lied, keeping my voice steady. “We hadn’t seen each other in forever, so we lost track of time.” “Which friend?” “You don’t know her. A girl from college, Sarah.” “Where did you guys meet up?” My heart rate began to climb. He was pressing. The old Julian would never interrogate me like this. “Just at that new coffee shop downtown… what was it called again…” I pretended to struggle to remember. “Anyway, it’s on the first floor of the shopping mall.” “What did you talk about?” “Just life. She’s trying to get pregnant and was complaining about her mother-in-law.” He stared at me, his eyes wide and completely unblinking. I felt his gaze cutting through me, analyzing my micro-expressions, calculating whether I was telling the truth. “I see,” he finally said, breaking his gaze and taking a sip of his coffee. “Next time, invite her over for dinner. I’d love to meet your friends.” “Sure.” I looked down, quickly finishing my food, my stomach churning with anxiety. At exactly ten o’clock, he dropped me off at the train station. He carried the heavy gift baskets into the waiting area and walked me all the way to the security gate. “Text me when you get there,” he said gently. “And don’t stay too long. I don’t want you getting exhausted.” “I will.” He reached out to adjust my collar. The moment his fingers brushed against my neck, I instinctively flinched. “It’s cold out today,” he said, slowly retracting his hand into his coat pocket. “Stay warm, and have a safe trip.” I turned and walked through the gate. After walking a safe distance, I couldn’t help but look back. He was still standing in the exact same spot, watching me through the crowded terminal. I turned back and hurried toward my platform. Once I found my seat on the train, I clutched my bag tightly to my chest and let out a massive breath of relief. The recorder in my pocket was still silently running, its tiny light blinking. I pulled out my phone and sent a message to Detective Miller: “Detective Miller, I’ve left the apartment. I’m on the train to my mother’s place now.” “I recorded everything from last night and this morning. He did ask me to go abroad with him, and I refused.” “He gave me an address in Penang, Malaysia, claiming it’s a logistics office. Also, he interrogated me about where I was yesterday afternoon. I lied, but I’m not sure if he bought it.” Detective Miller replied almost instantly: “Understood. I will verify the address. Stay safe, and let me know when you arrive.” I put my phone away, leaned my head against the window, and closed my eyes. The train slowly chugged to life, and the station began to slip away. Just then, I felt someone sit down in the seat right next to me. I assumed it was just another passenger and didn’t open my eyes. But whoever it was didn’t rustle any bags, didn’t pull out a phone, and just sat there in absolute, eerie silence. Then, a familiar scent drifted into my nose. It was a sharp, citrusy cologne. The exact one I had bought for Julian. My eyes snapped open, and I whipped my head around. Julian was sitting right next to me. He was wearing the same dark blue wool coat from this morning, a small duffel bag resting on his lap. He was smiling warmly at me. My blood instantly froze. “You…” My voice caught in my throat. “What are you doing here?” “Did you forget?” he asked, his tone as calm as a summer breeze. “I bought your train ticket, Amelia.” He tilted his head, his smile widening just a fraction. “I knew exactly which car and which seat you were in.” My brain went completely blank. “I got to thinking,” he said, adjusting himself to get comfortable in the seat. “It’s been years since I’ve visited your mother. I’ve been a pretty terrible son-in-law, being away for ten years. Since I have some free time today, I figured I should come along.” He reached over and gripped my hand. “And,” he turned his head, locking his eyes directly onto mine, “I suddenly remembered something. The place you went yesterday afternoon… it didn’t look like a coffee shop.” My heart hammered violently against my ribs. “I happened to be out running errands yesterday afternoon,” he whispered. “And as I passed the local police precinct, I saw you walking out the front doors.”

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Cold, biting wind whipped across my face. I gasped, my eyes snapping open. In front of me was a blindingly white ski slope, and a man stood right in my face, holding up his phone. He was gripping a ski pole, and caught on its sharp metal tip was a shred of pink fiber. I looked down at my left arm. My professional-grade ski jacket had been ripped open, leaving a long, nasty gash that exposed the high-tech insulation layer inside. ### The man angled his phone camera directly at my face. “Look at this, guys,” he sneered into his microphone. “This is exactly what’s wrong with the slopes these days. Another textbook snow bunny.” “Dressed up in flashy pink, hogging the black diamond run just to take selfies and bait rich guys.” “But don’t worry, chat. Today, Carter Thorne is doing public service. I’m going to teach this clout chaser a lesson!” As he spoke, he shoved the camera even closer to my face. The live stream chat on his screen was scrolling at lightning speed. *— ‘Exposing the ski resort gold digger! She actually tried to extort me after I called her out. Go back to the bunny slopes if you can’t afford real gear.’* *— ‘Seriously, nine out of ten girls in pink are just there to fish for rich guys.’* *— ‘Serves her right! Good job ripping her jacket!’* Staring at his arrogant face, a wave of sheer terror and fury washed over me. The memory of freezing to death in my past life rushed back. In my previous life, I had stood here arguing with him, demanding he pay for the ruined jacket. Then, the avalanche hit. The moment I pulled out my avalanche beacon, he snatched it out of my hands. He used my beacon to get rescued and became a national hero—the ‘miracle survivor’ praised by millions online. Meanwhile, I was left to freeze to death in a dark, suffocating crevice, dozens of feet below the ice. But now, I was back. I had reincarnated right to the exact second he ripped my jacket and started his hate-train live stream. I quickly took two steps back, putting some distance between us. “You ruined my jacket,” I said, my voice cold. Carter shrugged, completely unfazed. “Oh, please. How much could a cheap pink jacket cost? A twenty-dollar Wish knockoff, and you have the balls to wear it on the black diamond run?” “If you’re too broke to buy real gear, get lost. Stop embarrassing yourself.” I pulled out my phone and tapped the record button. “This is a polar-grade, specialized arctic research jacket. It has a built-in aerogel insulation layer and a vital-sign monitoring chip.” “It costs twelve thousand dollars.” “What you just did constitutes felony destruction of federal research property.” Carter blinked, stunned for a fraction of a second, before bursting into a hysterical laugh. “Twelve grand? Are you out of your mind?!” “Did you hear that, chat? This gold digger got caught, and now she’s trying to extort me!” “Polar research? Sure, honey. And if you’re a scientist, then I’m the Pope.” A crowd of skiers began to gather around us, whispering and pointing at me. “Well, wearing bright pink on a black diamond run does look a bit… unprofessional,” someone mumbled. “Yeah, there are way too many influencers posing on the slopes lately. It’s so annoying.” Seeing the crowd side with him, Carter’s chest puffed out. He leaned in close, lowering his voice to a threatening whisper. “Get lost while I’m still being nice. Don’t make me post your face all over Snapchat and ruin your life forever.” “Stay away from me,” I said. I purposely lowered my voice, acting as if I was terrified of him. Seeing me retreat, Carter got even more arrogant. “What? Not so tough now, are we?” “Scared? There are fifty thousand people watching you right now on my live stream, you clout chaser.” He turned back to his phone, yelling into the camera. “You see this, guys? Girls like this just need to be humbled. Put on some pink and suddenly they think they’re royalty!” I didn’t bother replying to his provocations. Under my feet, I felt a very faint, deep vibration. If my memory served me right, the massive avalanche was less than sixty seconds away. I quickly scanned the area, calculating the best escape route. To the left, there was a massive, solid rock formation. I immediately shifted my weight and kicked off, snowboarding toward it. As I sped past a few beginners who were standing around watching the drama, I screamed at the top of my lungs. “Move! Head for high ground! Avalanche!” The beginners froze for a second, but seeing how fast I was booking it, they instinctively scrambled toward the rock structure. Behind me, Carter’s mocking laugh echoed across the slope. “Look at her go! She can’t even lie with a straight face!” “An avalanche? On a perfectly sunny day? She’s just running away because she’s guilty!” “Chat, I’m not letting her get away. Let’s chase her down!” He kicked off his board, speeding right after me. Right then, a thunderous boom echoed from the peak of the mountain. The entire mountain shook violently. The peaceful snow-covered slope suddenly transformed into a roaring, violent ocean of white. A massive wall of snow and ice came crashing down with terrifying speed. Carter’s laughter died instantly. He looked back over his shoulder, his face turning pale as a ghost. “Holy shit!” He tried to turn and run, but it was too late. The colossal white wave swallowed him whole. Meanwhile, I had safely made it behind the massive rock formation. I gripped the cold stone tightly, feeling the violent rush of snow roaring past me like a freight train. A few minutes later, the roaring stopped. The world fell into a dead, suffocating silence. I took a deep breath, reached into my inner pocket, pulled out my avalanche beacon, and pressed the SOS button. This time, the beacon stayed with me. — ###

The rescue team arrived incredibly fast. They tracked the signal of my beacon and dug me out. Aside from a scratch on my arm and minor frostbite, I was completely unharmed. I insisted on helping the search and rescue team. Fifty yards away from my shelter, we dug Carter out of a deep snow drift. He was incredibly lucky. A fallen pine tree had blocked the brunt of the impact, saving his life. But his leg was snapped, his skin was a sickly shade of purple, and he was screaming in agony as they loaded him onto the stretcher. Once we arrived at the hospital, I got my arm bandaged up and prepared to head back to my hotel. The moment I stepped into the lobby, my phone started vibrating like crazy. Maya sent me a panicked voice note. *— “Chloe! Oh my god, look at the trending topics on Twitter! You’re being doxxed!”* I opened Twitter. Sitting at the very top of the trending list was: **#SkiResortGoldDiggerTriedToKillInfluencer** I clicked on it. It was a screen recording of Carter broadcasting live from his hospital bed. His head was wrapped in gauze, and he was literally sobbing into the camera, snot and tears running down his face. “Guys… I almost didn’t make it,” Carter whimpered. “When the avalanche hit, I could have made it to safety.” “But that girl in the pink jacket… she pushed me from behind just to save her own skin.” “She used me as a human shield so she could hide behind a rock.” “I was just trying to be a good guy and tell her to stop taking selfies on a dangerous run, and she tried to kill me!” The live chat was a wall of pure rage from his loyal fans. *— ‘This is insane! Put that psycho in jail!’* *— ‘Find her! Ruin her life!’* *— ‘She is a literal murderer. Call the cops!’* Watching Carter spin this sick lie on screen, I let out a dry, angry laugh. In my past life, he stole my beacon and built his fame on my corpse. In this life, since he couldn’t steal it, he made up a murder charge instead. This man would literally feed on human blood if it gave him views. I immediately dialed the police, reporting the incident at the resort and filing a defamation claim against Carter. The deputy promised they would look into it, but the internet’s trial moved a million times faster than the law. Carter was a massive influencer with ten million followers. His brand was built on “calling out fakes,” “social justice,” and being a “no-nonsense alpha male.” His fanbase was incredibly toxic and aggressive. In less than thirty minutes, my entire life was laid bare online. My name, my photos, and even my employer were leaked. *— ‘Chloe Vance? A deputy researcher at the National Polar Research Institute?’* *— ‘Yeah right! A federal scientist wearing neon pink on the slopes to hook up with rich guys? Please.’* *— ‘She probably slept her way to the top. She’s an academic bimbo!’* *— ‘How is a literal murderer working for a federally funded institute? Taxpayer money is paying her salary!’* *— ‘Guys, spam the Institute’s social media accounts! Get this bitch fired!’* My phone started ringing nonstop with calls from random numbers. Every time I answered, a wave of sickening slurs and death threats blasted through the speaker. I shut the phone off completely. When I got back to my hotel room and turned it back on, the first call was from Dr. Evans, the director of my institute. “Chloe, you need to book the first flight back to the office right now,” his voice was tense and exhausted. “The internet is in an absolute uproar. The Board of Trustees has already been notified.” “You are suspended effective immediately pending an internal investigation. We need a full explanation.” I tried to explain. “Dr. Evans, he’s lying. He maliciousy ripped my research jacket before the avalanche even happened.” “That was the new sub-zero arctic suit we’re supposed to test in Antarctica next month. It costs twelve thousand dollars.” Dr. Evans cut me off. “This isn’t about a jacket anymore, Chloe.” “Carter’s followers have completely crashed our phone lines. Our Instagram and Twitter pages are flooded with thousands of comments calling us accomplices to murder.” “We are a prestigious federal research institution. We cannot have this kind of stain on our reputation.” “Go home, lay low, and wait for the investigation.” The line went dead. I gripped my phone, a familiar feeling of helplessness creeping in. But I wasn’t going to lie down and die this time. I opened my laptop and began gathering my ammunition. — ###

The next morning, I landed back in Washington, D.C. The moment I walked out of the terminal, a group of teenagers holding up smartphones rushed me. “Are you Chloe Vance?” one of them screamed. “You murderer! Why don’t you go kill yourself!” A girl threw a half-empty Starbucks cup right at my face. I ducked, and the sticky iced coffee splattered all over the tiled floor. These kids were Carter’s brain-dead stans. They had somehow got hold of my flight info and waited to ambush me. Airport security quickly intervened and escorted me out. I dragged my suitcase straight to the Institute. When I walked into Dr. Evans’ office, he slammed a stack of printed printouts of angry tweets onto his desk. “Look at this mess, Chloe!” “Now there’s a massive online boycott against our upcoming Antarctic expedition.” “Two of our biggest private sponsors are already threatening to pull their funding!” I calmly placed a folder on his desk. “Dr. Evans, this is the official medical report from the ski resort’s clinic. The tear on my arm and the damage to the jacket occurred *before* the avalanche.” “And here is the evidence of Carter Thorne destroying federal research property.” “I have already filed a formal police report.” Dr. Evans didn’t even look at the folder. “A police report? Do you think the police can control ten million angry people online?” “Right now, Carter is the national hero. He’s a victim who got severely injured while trying to warn people. And you?” “You walked away without a scratch. The public always roots for the underdog.” I stared directly into Dr. Evans’ eyes. “So, just because he knows how to cry on camera, I have to take the fall?” Dr. Evans sighed, rubbing his temples. “Chloe, you’re young. You don’t understand how dangerous public opinion can be.” “Just take some paid time off. Go home and rest.” “Once the storm blows over, the board will re-evaluate your position.” I knew there was no point in arguing further. My suspension letter was delivered to my inbox ten minutes later. I packed my desk into a cardboard box and walked out of the building. On my phone, Carter’s live stream was still going strong. He was propped up in his hospital bed, doing a virtual interview with a major entertainment outlet. “Honestly, I don’t hate her,” Carter said, looking incredibly weak. “When it’s a matter of life and death, survival instinct takes over. People get selfish.” “I just feel bad for all the people she fooled. Everyone thought she was this prestigious, elite scientist.” “Would a real scientist dress up like a bimbo on the slopes just to show off?” The chat was flooded with sympathy. *— ‘Carter is literally an angel.’* *— ‘She should be charged with attempted murder!’* *— ‘I heard she got fired today. Justice served!’* Carter’s assistant, Leo, stepped into the frame, pointing at the screen. “Hey guys, please check out the link in our bio. Carter’s medical bills are going to be crazy, and his recovery will take months.” “We’re not launching a GoFundMe, but please support Carter by buying from his merch store.” What a well-oiled machine. By turning me into a villain, Carter had gained over a million followers in a single day. His merch sales were currently topping the Shopify charts. I went back to my apartment and hung the ruined pink ski jacket on a rack. This jacket wasn’t pink just for fashion. In the endless, blinding white of the polar ice caps, neon pink and bright orange are the easiest colors for rescue helicopters to spot. That is why our research gear is manufactured in these specific colors. But Carter had weaponized a stupid internet stereotype to paint me as a gold digger just to get clout. I opened my laptop and logged into the secure intranet of our equipment manufacturer. This specific research jacket had a vital-sign monitoring chip woven into the fabric. And because it was designed to record data in extreme polar environments, the chip also featured ambient audio recording and structural impact analysis. The moment I activated my beacon on the mountain, all the telemetry data from my jacket had already synced to the secure cloud. I opened the cloud database, downloaded the audio file recorded on the slope, and saved it. I knew that right now, Carter was the internet’s golden boy. If I just dropped the audio file out of nowhere, his rabid fans would immediately claim it was an AI deepfake. I needed to trap him first. — ###

Over the next few days, I stayed inside and watched Carter dig his own grave online. He was discharged from the hospital. Sitting in a wheelchair and surrounded by screaming fans, he made a grand return to his talent agency’s headquarters. His agency threw him a massive welcome-back party, which they streamed live. He even posted a dedicated video showing off the heavy plaster cast on his leg. “Thank you for all the love, guys. Carter Thorne is too tough to die,” he said, staring dramatically into the lens. “But I heard that the girl who pushed me is only suspended? Just sitting at home?” “If people like her don’t face real consequences, then the system is broken!” “Tomorrow at 3:00 PM, I’m personally going to her office to demand justice!” The video exploded. Thousands of his followers commented, promising to show up at the National Polar Research Institute to protest. I stared at the screen, a slow smile spreading across my face. *You just couldn’t help yourself, could you, Carter?* The next day at 2:30 PM, I took an Uber to the Institute. Even before getting close to the gate, I could see a massive crowd of hundreds of people blocking the street. They were holding up signs that read: *“Jail the Murderer Chloe Vance!”* and *“The Institute Protects Criminals!”* Carter was sitting in his wheelchair, pushed by Leo, shouting into a megaphone. “Bring Chloe Vance out! Bring the directors out!” “If we don’t get answers today, we’re not leaving!” The campus security guards had set up barricades, and the Institute’s PR team was sweating bullets. A couple of police cruisers were parked nearby to keep the peace, but the crowd was too large to disperse easily. I wore a black hoodie and a face mask, slipping quietly into the crowd. Right next to me, a young girl was live-streaming the protest on TikTok, screaming slogans. I tapped her shoulder. “Excuse me.” The girl turned around, annoyed. “Watch it! Can’t you see we’re—” She froze. I pulled down my face mask. For a second, the space around us went dead silent. Then, she screamed. “It’s Chloe Vance!” “The murderer is here!” The crowd instantly surged toward me like a wave of zombies. The police officers quickly jumped in, forming a protective wall around me. Carter’s eyes lit up when he saw me. He raised his megaphone, pointing it directly at me. “Chloe Vance! You actually showed your face!” “When you pushed me into that snow drift, did you think about this moment?” “Get down on your knees and apologize to me and everyone here!” The crowd chanted in unison: “Kneel! Kneel! Kneel!” I pushed past the officer in front of me and walked straight up to Carter’s wheelchair. “Carter, did you break your brain along with your leg?” “I pushed you?” I pulled a small Bluetooth speaker from my pocket and connected it to my phone. “Since you want an explanation so badly, I’m going to give you one. Right in front of your millions of viewers.”

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The basement was covered in mold. I lay there in the pitch-black darkness, waiting for death. Twenty years. Ever since that catastrophic chemistry lab fire twenty years ago, I had never seen the sunlight. The harsh screech of my AP Chemistry teacher, Brenda Vance, still echoed in my ears: “Summer Lin! You forgot to turn off the burner! You blew up the lab, disfigured your classmates, and burned down the entire science building!” To pay for my “crime,” my parents sold our house, begged on their knees, and died early from sheer exhaustion and stress. Branded as an “arsonist,” I spent two decades working under the table, washing dishes in greasy spoons, and sending every penny I made to the “victims” as blood money. The heavy metal door creaked open. Brenda and her daughter, Chloe—who used to be my best friend—stepped in. “Mrs. Vance…” I croaked, trying to squeeze out a shred of gratitude. Over the past twenty years, she was the only one who ever visited me. Chloe snatched the envelope containing my last hundred dollars from under my pillow. “Only a hundred? This won’t even buy me a lip gloss.” I froze. She leaned in close, a sickening smirk playing on her lips. “Summer, you didn’t actually think this money went to the victims, did you? Back then, I was the one playing with magnesium powder and caused the spark. My mom opened the gas valve, locked the door from the outside, and made you the perfect scapegoat.” *Boom—* My mind went entirely blank. Brenda looked down at me with cold, dead eyes. “Your parents were just cheap blue-collar workers. Taking the fall for Chloe was the only useful thing you could ever do.” The heavy door slammed shut. Darkness consumed me. Sheer hatred tore through my veins. If I could just do it all over again—! ***

“Summer! Are you even listening to me? What is wrong with you?” A piece of chalk struck my forehead with perfect accuracy. The sharp sting felt incredibly real. I gasped, my eyes flying open as I sucked in a huge breath of air. In front of me was a green chalkboard covered in complex chemical equations. The air smelled faintly of chalk dust and sulfur. Standing at the podium in a beige blazer and wire-rimmed glasses was the middle-aged woman frowning at me. Brenda Vance. I instinctively gripped the pen in my hand so hard the plastic casing nearly cracked. All around me were my classmates, wearing high school hoodies and varsity jackets. In the front row, Chloe turned around, made a face at me, and mouthed, *“Idiot.”* I was alive. I glanced at the wall clock: May 18, 2004, 4:30 PM. The exact day of the lab explosion! “Did you get any of the esterification reactions I just explained?” Brenda tapped the board sharply. “As my lab assistant, with the state science decathlon next week, how can you be this distracted? You’re staying after school to clean up the AP chemistry lab. Think about your attitude.” The exact same words. In my past life, this was how I was forced to stay behind, becoming the “last person to leave the lab.” The perfect scapegoat. I took a deep breath, forcing down the violent urge to kill her right then and there. I stood up, my voice eerily calm. “Understood, Mrs. Vance.” Brenda seemed satisfied with my obedience. She nodded. “Class dismissed.” The classroom erupted into cheers as everyone packed up to leave. Chloe walked over to my desk, tossing her designer backpack over her shoulder with a sweet smile. “Thanks for doing the heavy lifting, Summer. I have dance practice. Oh, by the way, I heard the department just got some expensive new reagents. Don’t be clumsy and break them.” Looking at her youthful, flawless face, all I could see was her twisted, ugly expression twenty years later. “Don’t worry,” I said, looking straight into her eyes with a faint smile. “I’ll take *excellent* care of everything.” ***

5:00 PM. The hallway was completely empty. I walked into the top-floor chemistry lab. In my past life, I had been in here diligently cleaning up just like Brenda told me to. Meanwhile, Chloe had snuck back in while I went down to empty the trash, stealing magnesium powder to play with, which started a small fire. Then she ran. When Brenda arrived, she didn’t put out the fire. Instead, she turned on the main gas valve, overturned a bottle of ethanol, and turned a minor accident into a massive explosion. This time, I wasn’t going to give them the chance. I pushed the door open. Sure enough, the lab was a total mess. It didn’t look like a class had just ended; it looked like someone had intentionally rummaged through it. I didn’t start cleaning right away. Instead, I pulled out a rare luxury for a high schooler in 2004—a Nokia 7610. My dad had saved up for three months just to buy it for me as a reward for my grades. The camera was only one megapixel, but it was enough to capture video. I turned on the camera and started recording from the entrance. I captured every corner, the position of every chemical bottle, and the status of every valve. Especially the corner where several open jars of magnesium powder sat, along with a few unextinguished cigarette butts on the floor—the trash left behind by Chloe and her popular slacker friends. Once I recorded everything, I quickly got to work. I put all the chemicals back in their locked cabinets, checked every single burner, and made sure they were completely extinguished. Most importantly, I checked the main gas valves. All tightly shut. By the time I finished, it was 5:20 PM. According to my memory, the explosion happened around 5:45 PM. I grabbed my backpack and walked out, locking the heavy door behind me. But I didn’t leave the campus. I walked straight to the security office on the ground floor. “Mr. Miller!” I tapped on the glass window. The school guard, Mr. Miller, looked up from his small TV. “Oh, hey, Summer. Leaving late today?” “Yes, sir. I had clean-up duty,” I smiled, handing him the logbook. “Here are the lab keys. Could you sign here to confirm I handed them in at 5:25 PM?” There was no strict rule about signing out, but because I was always a straight-A, detail-oriented student, Mr. Miller didn’t think twice. “Of course, kiddo. You’re always so responsible.” He checked his watch and wrote in the logbook: *5:25 PM. Summer Lin returned lab keys. Doors and windows locked.* Seeing his signature, half of the weight on my chest lifted. I had the video. I had the witness. This time, even if Chloe burned the school to the ground, she couldn’t pin it on me. I walked out of the school gates, but instead of going home, I walked into the Starbucks right across the street. I ordered a sweet drink and sat by the window. From here, I had a perfect view of the top-floor lab windows. In this life, I wasn’t just going to prove my innocence. I wanted to see just how evil my “beloved teacher” could truly be. The minutes ticked by. 5:40 PM. The school should have been completely deserted. But then, a familiar figure slipped through the school gates, looking around suspiciously. It wasn’t Chloe. It was Brenda Vance. Why wasn’t she at home? In my past life, she claimed she had been at home tutoring Chloe all evening, giving her a perfect alibi. But now, she was sneaking back into the school? I narrowed my eyes as I saw her pull out a key—the spare key! As the head of the science department, of course she had a master key. She scanned the empty courtyard, then slipped quickly into the building. My heart began to hammer against my ribs. In my past life, the logic was: Chloe messed up, and Brenda cleaned up by framing me. But in this life, Chloe never got the chance to sneak back in because I had locked up so fast. If Chloe wasn’t in there, why did Brenda go in? Unless… ***

A terrifying realization hit me. 5:50 PM. Brenda came running out of the building. She was running incredibly fast, her hair slightly messy, clutching something tight in her hand. She jumped into her red sedan parked by the curb and sped away. The second her car rounded the corner. *BOOM—!!!* A deafening blast shook the windows of the Starbucks. Flames erupted from the top floor of the school! Thick black smoke billowed into the sky, swallowing the evening sun. I squeezed my plastic cup so hard it cracked, spilling cold coffee all over my hand. Tears spilled over my cheeks. Not from fear, but from the sheer, icy horror of the truth. So that was it. In my past life, Chloe’s little fire was just an excuse. In this life, even though I locked the doors and left early, the explosion still happened! Which meant Brenda didn’t just “cover up” for her daughter. She wanted to blow up the lab on purpose! Why? Just to frame me? No, that didn’t make sense. Then why? Whatever the reason, this time, you lit the fire with your own hands. Brenda, in this life, I’m not just going to clear my name. I’m going to send you straight to hell. Sirens wailed as police cars and fire trucks rushed toward the school, cutting through the twilight. I blended into the growing crowd of onlookers, staring at the roaring flames with a cold, expressionless face. “Oh my God! The whole top floor is gone!” “I heard it’s the chemistry lab! Thank God school was over!” Twenty minutes later, the fire was brought under control. I saw Brenda rushing back to the scene. She had changed her clothes and redone her hair. Her face was a mask of panic and grief. Her acting was worthy of an Oscar. “My lab! How did this happen?!” she sobbed, grabbing a firefighter’s arm. “There was so much expensive equipment in there! How could it blow up?!” Soon, a few police officers walked over. Leading them was a stern-looking, middle-aged detective. “Who is in charge of this lab?” “I am. I’m Brenda Vance, Head of the Science Department,” Brenda cried, wiping her tears. “Officer, what happened?” “Preliminary investigation suggests a gas leak triggered by a spark, fueled by highly flammable chemicals,” the detective said, looking at his notepad. “The school guard said someone was in there cleaning up. Who was the last person to leave?” Brenda’s eyes flickered with a dangerous light. Then, she put on a look of utter shock and heartbreak. “It… it was one of my students, Summer Lin.” “She’s usually such a sweet girl… I asked her to tidy up. How could she be so reckless?” “Oh my God!” Brenda gasped suddenly, covering her mouth. “I remember now! She was so distracted during class today. I scolded her… Could she have done this out of spite? Or maybe she was just in such a rush to leave that she forgot to turn off the gas?” She was already shaping the narrative. The surrounding teachers and onlookers began to whisper. “Summer Lin? The quiet scholarship kid?” “She always seemed so nice. I can’t believe she could be so irresponsible.” “Leaving the gas on? She could have killed people!” “Where is Summer Lin? Get her over here!” the detective called out. “I’m right here.” I walked out of the crowd, my backpack over one shoulder, my expression completely calm. ***

In that instant, every eye in the crowd locked onto me. Some looked at me with disgust, some with anger, others with malicious excitement. When Brenda saw me, a flash of pure malice crossed her eyes before she threw herself at me, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me violently. “Summer! What did you do?! I trusted you to clean the lab! Did you leave the gas on?! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?! You destroyed school property! You ruined our reputation!” Her acrylic nails dug painfully into my skin. In my past life, this was the exact moment I broke down. I had sobbed, uselessly repeating “I didn’t do it,” which only made me look guilty. But now, I just stared at her performance with cold eyes. “Mrs. Vance, please let go of me,” I said, my voice quiet but incredibly clear. Brenda froze, shocked that the usually timid, quiet girl was actually standing up to her. “You’re talking back now? Do you realize you’re going to juvenile hall for this?!” “Juvenile hall?” I smiled slightly. “Everything requires evidence. Why are you so sure I left the gas on?” “Because you were the last one there! You had the keys!” Brenda shrieked. “And the guard confirmed you were the last one to lock up!” The detective stepped forward, looking down at me seriously. “Summer, were you the last one to leave the lab?” “Yes,” I nodded. “And did you make sure all gas valves and electrical appliances were turned off?” “Yes, I did.” “Liar!” Brenda cut in. “If you turned them off, how did it explode? You obviously rushed out without checking because you wanted to go home! Lying at your age… this is a serious character flaw!” “Detective!” Brenda turned to the officer, her voice dripping with fake concern. “Her family is low-income, and she’s always had a bit of a chip on her shoulder. I take responsibility for not supervising my student better, but I beg you to investigate this thoroughly. We cannot let this slide.” With just a few sentences, she had painted herself as a saint while giving me a perfect motive. Brilliant. Just then, my parents arrived, breathless and terrified. They were still in their grease-stained work uniforms, pushing through the crowd with pale faces. “Summer! Are you okay?” My mom looked like she was about to burst into tears. My dad immediately started bowing to the detective and Brenda. “We are so sorry, Mrs. Vance, officer. If our daughter made a mistake, we will work three jobs to pay for the damage…” Looking at my hardworking, humble parents, my heart ached. In my past life, they worked themselves to death in shame. In this life, I was going to make sure they stood tall. “Dad, Mom, stop.”

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