1 A sudden fever at age five left me with cerebral palsy. My parents, terrified I’d have no one after they were gone, had another child at forty‑five: my sister, Lena. She was bright and innocent. At five, she pointed at my spasming arm and asked our mother, “If Willow never gets better, do I have to take care of her forever?” The question hung cruelly in the air. Mom had no answer—she just held us and cried. Lena was obedient; she never asked again. Then, when she turned eighteen, I found out she was dating someone. With slurred, halting words, I scolded her: only studying hard could give her a future. She stared at me—and shattered. “What’s the point of studying? I’ll still be stuck taking care of you, a cripple, my whole life!” “It’s all your fault! Why don’t you just die? Why did Mom and Dad bring me here just to suffer?” But no one could answer her. Mom and Dad were gone. And soon, I would be too. … The door slammed shut with a deafening bang. I sat in my wheelchair, my spasming limbs so uncooperative I couldn’t even strike myself in frustration. I turned to look at the two black-and-white portraits on the wall, and tears streamed down my face. “I want to ask, too,” I whispered. “Why did you leave a useless burden like me to ruin my sister’s life?” My existence had dragged everyone down. My parents looked a decade older than their peers. Even knowing there was no chance of a cure, they traveled everywhere, seeking any doctor, any treatment. They died for me, killed in a car crash on their way to yet another one of those appointments. Ever since Lena was old enough to understand, my parents forced her to learn the body’s pressure points. For ten years, day in and day out, she massaged my limbs. Her fingers, which should have been soft and slender, were misshapen from the work. I wiped my tears and pushed my wheelchair toward her room with painstaking effort. “Lena, it’s my fault.” “I just… I just think you’re still young. I’m afraid you’ll get hurt.” I forced the words out, one by one, trying to make them as clear as I could. “I’m your sister. I would never hurt you.” Silence from within the room. She was always a child quick to laugh and cry, always so polite. When she was eight, I accidentally broke her favorite mug. She cried herself to sleep, murmuring “I hate my sister” in her dreams. But the next morning, when I called her name, she still answered, her lip trembling. I was used to apologizing first, and she was used to forgiving. It was our unspoken ritual for making peace. But today, she didn’t answer. The door was locked from the inside, and I had no way of forcing it open. Panic seized me. Sobbing, I called our neighbor for help. He knew about our family’s situation. He came rushing in with an axe and broke down the door. The room was empty. The window was open, a rope of knotted curtains and bedsheets dangling outside. Lena was gone. She had left me only a letter. 【Every moment in this house, I feel like I’m suffocating.】 【Willow, because you have cerebral palsy, for fifteen years, I’ve had to give way to you in everything.】 【Mom and Dad died because of you. They left you most of their assets, and all they left me was an order to take care of you.】 【But I have my own life to live! I will not sacrifice myself for a cripple!】 【I’m leaving. Don’t look for me. Good luck.】 My vision blurred. Every word on the page felt like a razor blade, slicing my heart to ribbons. Our neighbor, Mark, was still standing behind me. He saw the letter and sighed heavily. “Willow, Lena’s young. Don’t be too hard on her.” “Let me try talking to her.” He called my sister’s phone. She picked up almost immediately, her tone resolute. “Mark, I know why you’re calling.” “Please tell Willow for me that the money Mom and Dad left is enough for me to finish school. I don’t want to see her ever again!” Before Mark could say another word, she hung up. He looked at me, helpless, wanting to offer some comfort. I shook my head and managed a smile. “I’m okay. But… could I be alone for a little while?” Silence returned to the house. It had been this quiet ever since Mom and Dad died. I thought I was used to it. But today, for the first time, I felt a bone-deep cold. It took me a moment to compose myself before I wheeled myself into Lena’s bedroom. With all the strength I could muster, I steadied my hands, pulled the knotted sheets back inside, and smoothed them over the bed. The curtains, however, were beyond my ability to fix. My life was filled with moments like this, moments of complete and utter helplessness. Suddenly, I felt disgusted with myself. A person who couldn’t even button her own shirt—why should she be alive? Before, I lived because my parents didn’t want me to die. But now, they were gone. Why was I still alive? I should die. I should give Lena her freedom. With that thought, a strange lightness filled me. I saw the pen and paper Lena had used. I picked them up. My left hand held my right steady as I gripped the pen and scrawled a single, crooked line of words. I laid out the bank cards, the property deeds, and the insurance policies in a neat stack. Finally, I put on my coat and wheeled myself out of the house. Snow fell gently, blanketing me in white. As my body grew colder and colder, I remembered. Tonight was New Year’s Eve, a time for families to be together. Lena, I’m going to find Mom and Dad now. My dearest sister, I hope you find your freedom. 2 They say there are no souls after death. But somehow, I floated free from the body that had been my prison for nearly twenty years. Suspended in the air, I looked down at myself, half-buried in the snow. My face was a ghostly white, my limbs twisted at unnatural angles. It was ugly. Pitiful. I hated the sight of myself. How could I expect my sister not to? I tried to turn away, but my consciousness was yanked back. The next thing I knew, I saw Lena. She was standing in the snow with a boy, her eyes as red as a rabbit’s. The boy frowned, barely suppressing his impatience. “Lena, can we please not talk about your sister when we’re on a date?” “You’re always crying over her. It breaks my heart to see you like this.” He said his heart was breaking, but he didn’t lift a hand to wipe away her tears. Anger flared in me. I strode towards them. “Lena, I’m not your burden anymore! Go home now!” “Stop seeing him!” But my words were destined to go unheard. Lena wiped her own tears and forced a weak smile. “You’re right. Since I’ve decided to leave, I shouldn’t think about… her… anymore.” She was so resolute. Right there, she blocked all my contact information. I trembled with rage, pointing a finger at the boy’s nose and screaming every curse I could think of. It was the first time since I was five that I’d spoken so fluently, so viciously. But we were separated by death. My words were lighter than falling leaves. Someone, please, just take this foolish little girl home. Perhaps my anger was so strong it summoned her. My aunt appeared, her face a storm cloud. She forcefully broke the hand-hold between Lena and the boy. With her hands on her hips, she scolded, “Lena, how old are you?” “How long has it been since your parents died?” “Come on. We’re going home. I’m going to teach you a lesson you won’t forget!” My aunt hadn’t liked me much since my diagnosis. But now, she was the only one who could get through to Lena. Seeing my sister’s stubborn expression, she sighed. “Come to my house.” Lena’s stiff posture softened. She waved goodbye to the boy and turned away, completely missing the look of extreme irritation and darkness that flashed in his eyes. I saw it, and my heart lurched. But before I could get a better look, I was pulled along, following my sister. My aunt held Lena’s hand in a death grip. Lena walked in silence. It wasn’t until they reached a quiet corner that my aunt finally spoke. “What about Willow?” Lena’s eyes instantly turned red again, her emotions erupting. “What about her? How should I know?” “She was a burden on Mom and Dad for years, and then they died because of her!” “Aunt Carol, I hate her! I hate her so much!” The air grew tense. My aunt gritted her teeth, every word trembling with suppressed emotion. “I hate her, too.” “She dragged down my only sister, turned her into a shell of a person.” “But she’s my sister’s child, and I…” The mention of family made her voice break. I looked down at my own translucent body, which was shaking uncontrollably. I wanted so badly to rush over and tell them. Don’t worry about me. Just live your own lives. But in the next second, Lena collapsed into our aunt’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably. She was in so much pain, so conflicted. The weight on her slender shoulders was enough to crush her. “I won’t abandon her.” “But every time I think about how my entire life will be just like my parents’, I feel like I’d rather die.” Rather die. Those two words pierced me through. I moved to her side and gently wrapped my arms around her shoulders. I leaned my forehead against hers, just like when we were little. “Lena, I never told you.” “I never wanted you to be a soft-hearted person.” The way you fought to escape when you realized I was a burden… That’s exactly how I always hoped you would be. So, look forward. And never, ever look back. 3 My aunt took Lena back to her house. Her husband and my cousin saw her and only sighed softly. No one mentioned sending her back home. Lena sat at the dinner table and had a relatively warm and complete New Year’s Eve meal. My aunt prepared a cozy bed with a fluffy comforter for her, telling her to get a good night’s sleep. But in the middle of the night, Lena threw off the covers and started for the door. My cousin was on the sofa, playing a video game. Seeing her hurry, he asked, “Where are you going so late?” Lena froze, her hand on her shoes. After a moment, she gritted her teeth. “Willow needs her massage every day. I have to go back.” My heart clenched, a sour ache filling my chest. Don’t do this. Lena, the person who escapes shouldn’t return to their cage. But she went anyway, without a second thought. It was New Year’s Eve. There were hardly any taxis. She stood in the wind and snow, stomping her feet to stay warm. Then, a pair of blinding headlights cut through the darkness and pinned her in their glare. A man got out of the car and forcefully pulled her inside. “Nathan!” Lena’s face lit up with surprise. “What are you doing here?” His gaze was dark and unreadable, fixed on her. “I figured you’d be worried about your sister,” he said. “So I came to pick you up.” Lena smiled and took his hand. I watched, and my silent heart began to pound, sounding an alarm. This was wrong. This was all wrong. His timing was too perfect, and this wasn’t the way home. “Lena! Lena!” “Get out of the car! Run! Get out! Get out!” My voice was lost in the winter wind. But somehow, it seemed to reach her, pulling her back from the sweet trap she’d fallen into. She glanced out the window at the increasingly dark road and shivered. “Nathan, where are you taking me?” The man named Nathan dropped her hand. The fake smile on his face twisted into something else. He casually crossed his legs and lit a cigarette. “Where else? We’re running away together.” The color drained from Lena’s face. “What do you mean? I want to go home!” “Nathan, take me home now! My sister is waiting for me!” Her voice grew more and more shrill, trembling with fear. The sound grated on Nathan’s nerves. He frowned and backhanded her across the face. The sharp crack echoed in the confined space of the car. Lena was stunned into silence. Nathan grinned. “What are you yelling about?” “Lena, your parents are dead, and all you have left is a cripple for a sister.” “You said you didn’t want to live like that. I’m taking you away, helping you start a new life. Isn’t that a good thing?” “Don’t worry, the family I found for you is very rich. You’ll be well taken care of.” Tears welled in Lena’s eyes as she desperately clutched his sleeve. “No, you can’t.” “How much money do you want? I have money, I can give it to you!” “My sister can’t live without me!” Even now, she was thinking of me. I clenched my fists, screaming in silent rage. I clawed at Nathan’s face, beat against the windows, tried anything to make a sound. But I was dead. I couldn’t touch anything. I couldn’t even protect the only family I had left. “What do I do? What do I do?” Tears of despair streamed down my face, unnoticed. I was in such a panic that I didn’t even realize Lena had suddenly gone quiet. Nathan patted her cheek, satisfied. “That’s better. Just be a good girl.” “As long as you’re obedient, I’ll find a good home for that cripple sister of yours, too.” He chattered on, cruelly asking about my physical condition. When he confirmed my kidneys were healthy, he grew excited. “It’s a lot more profitable to sell the parts separately than the whole.” In the next instant, Lena’s hand shot up. She brought the small stone—my gift—crashing down against his temple with all her strength. Blood streamed from the wound. He slumped over, unconscious, and the car began to swerve wildly. A second later, it slammed into the guardrail with a deafening crash. The scene of my parents’ accident flashed before my eyes. I flew to my sister’s side, frantic. “Lena! Lena, open your eyes! Don’t scare me!” She was bleeding so much. The light was fading from her eyes. In her hand, she still clutched the blood-soaked stone. I cried her name, begging her not to close her eyes. Her eyes suddenly widened, and she smiled. “Willow… the stone you gave me… it really saved my life.” I froze. But before I could say anything, her eyes fluttered shut. 4 An immense panic washed over me. She can see me… Does that mean she’s dying? I have to save her. How do I save her? Helpless. Again. Why am I always so useless? Why does every person I love have to suffer because of me? In my moment of deepest despair, the sirens came. My aunt and cousin arrived, crying as they held Lena and rushed her to the hospital. The police were right behind them, starting their investigation. I watched as the doctors bandaged Lena’s wounds, and my ghostly form felt weak with relief. Thank god. Thank god she was okay. She woke up quickly. Her eyes scanned the room and settled on our aunt. “Where’s Willow?” “Aunt Carol, I think I saw her when I passed out.” My aunt wiped a tear and ruffled Lena’s hair. “How could you have seen her?” “She can’t even leave the house by herself.” “I just called her and she didn’t pick up! That girl…” Lena frowned, took out her phone, and unblocked me. No missed calls. No messages. She tried calling my number. It rang and rang, but no one answered. That old stubbornness flared up in her again. “Willow, how dare you not answer my calls?” “If you don’t pick up, I’m really going to abandon you!” Watching her dial my number over and over, a bitter taste filled my mouth. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to answer. I just couldn’t. Lena was furious now. She hurled her phone against the wall. The screen shattered into a spiderweb of cracks. The photo of the two of us, our smiling faces set as her wallpaper, lit up for a brief second. Then it went dark. I knelt beside the broken phone and stared at it for a long time. We had taken that photo three years ago. It was her fifteenth birthday. She had grinned and asked for a present. I had prepared one long ago. A week earlier, I had begged my parents to take me to a temple on a mountain. I had knelt in my twisted, awkward posture for an entire day, just to have a special stone blessed. I gave it to her, my voice slurred, but my tone solemn. “It’s blessed. For protection.” “If anyone bullies you, you use this… and hit them.” She had laughed so hard she cried and insisted we take that picture to use as her phone’s background. Now the screen was shattered, and the blessed stone had fulfilled its purpose. It felt as if the final thread that bound us in this life had been severed. Lena’s expression grew darker. She took our aunt’s phone, her voice tight. “Willow, I’m calling you one last time.” “If you don’t answer, we are done.” The call had just connected when a group of police officers walked into the room. Lena fumbled, hastily hanging up. For some reason, she looked almost relieved. She looked at the officers. “Are you here to take my statement?” “Nathan, he…” The lead officer shook his head, his face grim. He held out a photograph for Lena to see. “We found a body this morning, frozen to death.” “A witness identified her as your sister.”

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1 At the year-end wrap party, the entire company was celebrating the successful completion of Project Apex. As I took the stage amidst the applause to give my speech, my director, Susan, suddenly snatched the microphone from my hand. With a smirk, she deleted my name from the “Project Lead” line on the PowerPoint slide and replaced it with her own. “Don’t get the wrong idea, everyone,” she announced, her voice dripping with false modesty. “Andrew was a great help, running errands for me, but the core architecture of this project? That was all me, fueled by sleepless nights and gallons of coffee.” “You’re still young, Andrew,” she continued, locking eyes with me. “You’ll have plenty of other chances. So, this time, I’m not shy about taking the million-dollar bonus and the promotion. I’ve earned it.” She watched me with a defiant glare. I could feel the sympathetic stares of my colleagues, hear their whispers. Some called her shameless, a vulture. Others sneered at me, a grown man, for being so weak. I didn’t argue. I didn’t cause a scene. I just took a quiet step back. And with both hands, I presented her with the “Sole Developer and Lifetime Liability Agreement.” “Susan’s right,” I said, my voice steady. “With great power comes great responsibility.” “The final sign-off for the project’s delivery… that should be yours, too.” … Susan’s smile widened as she took the document, signing her name with a triumphant flourish. The moment the party ended, she stormed into my office with her cronies in tow, eager to claim her spoils. “Andrew, since you were just an errand boy, you don’t deserve a private office,” she declared, gesturing for her lackeys to start packing my life into cardboard boxes. “Your things are in the way.” “There’s an empty desk in the corner by the server room. The Wi-Fi’s decent. You can squat there. It’s not like you have any real work to do anyway.” I watched as she carelessly tossed some of my personal belongings into the trash. A flicker of anger sparked within me. “Susan, do you really have to be so brutal?” She let out a sharp, derisive laugh, her crimson-painted nail jabbing me in the chest. “Brutal? This is just how the game is played, sweetie. It’s a lesson: you have no connections, no one watching your back. You were born to be stepped on.” Just then, the ping of a company-wide email echoed through the floor. The official commendation had been announced. Susan was credited with the entirety of Project Apex’s success. Not only did she receive the million-dollar bonus, but she was also formally nominated for the position of Vice President. Instantly, the colleagues who had pitied me moments before changed their tune. Their faces twisted into masks of fawning admiration. “Congratulations, Director Reed! So well-deserved!” “I knew it! A project this massive needed your leadership. Andrew could never have pulled it off.” They swarmed around her, offering her water, massaging her shoulders, their praise for her built on a foundation of insults directed at me. Susan shot me a triumphant smirk over their heads. “I’m buying everyone coffee this afternoon to celebrate!” she announced loudly. Then, she deliberately walked over to my new, cramped desk and slammed a cup of scalding hot water down on the corner. Water splashed across the back of my hand, leaving a painful red welt. “You can have this, Andrew,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension. “To cool you down. Don’t want you getting all bitter.” A wave of cruel laughter erupted around me. I said nothing. I just silently wiped the water from my hand. Pulling out my phone, I sent a message to the department’s group chat, along with a fifty-dollar digital gift card for the office coffee fund. The message read: [Congrats to Susan on the VP nomination! You’re a rockstar!] The chat fell silent for a beat. Then, it exploded with a frenzy of “Thanks for the coffee, Andrew!” and “Class act!” Susan glanced at her phone, a look of pure contempt on her face. “Glad to see you know your place,” she sneered. She leaned in, her voice a low, menacing whisper. “Keep your mouth shut from now on, do your work like a good little boy, and maybe I’ll let you have the scraps from my table.” I immediately bowed my head, my face a mask of obsequious flattery. “Of course, Susan. Anything you say. Oh, by the way, here’s the final project handover list. All the technical details are inside. Just need your signature.” I handed her a thick stack of documents, crammed with complex parameters and API documentation. She didn’t even glance at it, too lost in the intoxicating glow of her promotion. She grabbed a pen and scribbled her signature across the page. “Great. Don’t bother me with trivial stuff like this again. I’m a strategist now. I have bigger things to worry about.” As I watched the ink dry on her arrogant signature, a cold, hidden smile touched my lips. That wasn’t a simple handover form. It was her signature on a death warrant, confirming her as the project’s “sole developer.” By signing it, she had just claimed responsibility for every single line of code. Any problem, any bug, any failure… was now hers and hers alone. 2 Susan’s victory lap didn’t last long. Trouble arrived just two days later. The client sent a sudden email requesting an additional “high-concurrency stress test.” And they specifically demanded that the Project Lead—the sole developer—conduct the demonstration personally. Susan stared at the red error codes popping up on her screen, her eyes practically bulging out of their sockets. She didn’t know the first thing about code. She barely knew how to open the command terminal; her only skill was reading from a PowerPoint. Panicked, she came clattering over to my corner desk, her heels hammering against the linoleum floor. “Andrew, write me an automated demonstration script. Now.” Her tone was as arrogant as ever, as if it were my duty, as if she hadn’t spent the last two days humiliating me. I kept my eyes on my monitor, my fingers flying across the keyboard. “Sorry, Susan,” I said without looking up. “I’m just a grunt now, remember? You revoked all my core system permissions. I couldn’t help you even if I wanted to.” Her temper snapped. She slammed her palm down on my keyboard so hard the enter key popped off and skittered across the floor. “Cut the crap! I’ll give you temporary access! If you can’t handle a simple task like this, you can pack your things and get out. Don’t think I won’t fire you!” Heads popped up over cubicle walls, our colleagues’ eyes glinting with malicious glee, all of them waiting to see me fail. I flinched dramatically, hunching my shoulders and making myself small. “No… please don’t fire me,” I whimpered. “I have a mortgage to pay. My parents… they depend on me.” Seeing her threat had worked, Susan’s expression softened slightly. She pulled two thick wads of cash from her designer purse and tossed them onto my desk. “Twenty thousand dollars. Get it done, and the money is yours. Screw it up, and you’re gone.” I stared at the cash, swallowed hard, and put on my best money-grubbing act, my hands trembling just so. “Okay, okay! Thank you, Susan! Thank you for the chance! I’ll get it done right away!” She granted me the temporary permissions, and I wrote the script in record time. But deep within the code, buried in the foundational logic that she would never, ever understand, I planted a little surprise. An Easter egg. One that would only hatch at a very specific time. Armed with my script, Susan’s demonstration for the department heads was a resounding success. As the data flowed seamlessly across the big screen, the CEO nodded in approval, praising her as a rare, multi-talented asset. Susan glowed under the praise, her face flushed with triumph, a self-satisfied smile plastered on her face. But after the meeting, she marched back to my desk with her posse and snatched the twenty thousand dollars right back. Then, citing “project security protocols,” she had the IT department completely wipe my computer. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Andrew,” she said, her voice dripping with fake concern. “It’s just company policy. Can’t be too careful.” “I’ve deleted all the backups and logs. We wouldn’t want any of the company’s core secrets getting leaked, would we?” She looked down at me, her expression that of someone looking at a piece of trash that had served its purpose. “As for the twenty thousand… I’ll put it on your tab. We’ll see what’s left for you at the end-of-year review.” With that, she turned and sashayed away, leaving me staring at a blank screen. I wasn’t angry. In fact, I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud. Go ahead, delete it all, I thought. Wipe it clean. Erase every last trace. She had just personally destroyed the only evidence that could ever prove her innocence. She had burned her own escape route to the ground. Now, not even a miracle could save her. 3 The day the million-dollar bonus hit her account, Susan bought a red Porsche. She parked it right in front of the main entrance, in the most conspicuous spot possible, ensuring no one could miss it. She then spent a full half-hour taking selfies with it. Her social media was a shrine to her success: a picture of her hand on the steering wheel, a new Hermès bag sitting on the passenger seat. In another photo, she proudly displayed the cover of the “Sole Developer and Lifetime Liability Agreement.” The caption read: [Heavy is the head that wears the crown. But every sacrifice is worth it when your hard work is finally seen.] The comments section was flooded with fawning praise from our colleagues, each one tripping over the last to kiss up to her. I saw the post while I was in the breakroom, eating a cup of instant ramen, the scent of spicy beef filling the small space. A female colleague was reapplying her makeup nearby, her voice loud enough for the entire floor to hear. “You know, some people are just destined to be worker bees their whole lives. But look at Director Reed. Now that’s a queen. That’s a woman who knows how to win.” “Exactly,” her friend chimed in. “You can’t blame her for taking the credit. The corporate world is a battlefield. If you lose, you lose.” When a man is down, everyone wants to kick him. The same people who used to call me “bro” and bum free lunches off me now wouldn’t hesitate to step on my face to get closer to Susan. Just then, the CEO’s executive assistant rushed in, her face flush with excitement. She had a major announcement. “Listen up, everyone! The CEO from corporate headquarters is visiting next Monday! And he has specifically requested a live demonstration of Project Apex’s real-time data performance!” The office erupted. The corporate CEO was the real kingmaker, a man whose single word could decide the fate of our entire branch. When Susan heard the news, her face lit up, and she nearly spilled her latte. To showcase her hands-on expertise, she immediately rejected any offers of assistance from the tech department. “I don’t need any help,” she declared grandly. “This project is my baby. I know it inside and out. No one else is to touch it.” “I will personally conduct the demonstration for the CEO. I’ll show headquarters what I’m made of. That VP title is as good as mine.” She ran into me in the breakroom and paused, wrinkling her nose and waving a hand in front of her face as if I were a cloud of toxic fumes. “Ugh, you reek of poverty. I can’t believe you get some kind of sick satisfaction from eating that garbage.” She looked down her nose at my cup of ramen, her disdain practically dripping from her eyelashes. “You see, Andrew? The project is doing just fine without you. You’re nothing but a disposable coder, a cog in the machine. Don’t ever overestimate your own importance.” I slurped down the last of my noodles and drank every last drop of the broth. Then I looked up, my face stretched into a sycophantic, almost pathetic, smile. “You’re right, Susan. I’m a cog, and you’re the queen. I wish you all the best next week. I hope you soar. Maybe you can give your little brother a boost on your way up.” Susan snorted and turned away, the sharp click-clack of her heels echoing down the hall. “At least you know your place.” Late that night, my phone buzzed, its screen a harsh glare in the darkness. It was a voice note from Susan, her tone as imperious and demanding as ever. “I need a speech for the presentation by morning. Focus on my innovative thinking and the grueling all-nighters I pulled. Don’t write about the boring code stuff, make it sound visionary, high-level.” “And if it’s not good, you can expect a termination letter on your desk. Don’t think for a second that I owe you any loyalty.” I listened to the message, a cold smile playing on my lips as my thumb hovered over the screen. I typed a single word in reply: [Done.] 4 The day before the CEO’s visit, right before closing time, Susan showed her true colors. She cornered me at my desk, the HR manager standing behind her like a silent executioner. In her hand was a freshly printed document. “Andrew Foster,” she began, her voice cold and formal, “a review of your performance has revealed a pattern of passive-aggressive behavior, a negative attitude, and a severe disruption to team morale.” She slapped a termination agreement on my desk. The edge of the paper caught my cheek, leaving a stinging, paper-cut-like welt. “Sign it. Now. And get out. I’ve already had your things packed.” The office fell silent. You could have heard a pin drop. No one dared to speak up for me. I looked at Susan’s face, twisted with a sick, triumphant excitement, and I knew exactly what she was doing. She was tying up loose ends. The CEO was arriving tomorrow. She couldn’t risk me being there. She was afraid I’d say something, steal her spotlight, or expose her lies. So, in this final moment, she was kicking me to the curb for good. “Really, Susan? You’re going this far?” I picked up the agreement, my voice trembling with manufactured disbelief. My eyes started to well up. “I just finished writing that speech for you. The ink is barely dry.” Susan crossed her arms, a cruel smirk on her face. “Don’t play dumb with me. I know what you’re thinking. Having you here is like keeping a time bomb in the office. I can’t sleep at night.” “Now get out, before I have security throw you out. Let’s not make this any uglier than it has to be.” I took a deep breath, picked up the pen, and signed my name. The nib nearly tore through the paper. “Fine. I’m leaving.” As I was gathering my box of belongings, I made sure to place a black flash drive right on top, where it was impossible to miss. “This is the final documentation for the project, and all the security keys. It’s all on here. Don’t lose it.” Susan snatched the flash drive and plugged it into her laptop, her eyes darting nervously as she scanned the contents. When she saw that all the directories and files were there, a wave of relief washed over her, replaced by the smug smile of a victor. “Considerate of you,” she sneered. “Now, get out of my sight. And don’t let me see you in this industry again. If I do, I’ll make sure you regret it.” I walked toward the elevator, clutching my box, feeling the weight of everyone’s stares on my back. As I passed Susan’s desk, I paused. She was busy directing someone to project the PowerPoint from the flash drive onto the main conference room screen, a test run for the big day. Her face was flushed with ambition. I leaned in close, lowering my voice so only she could hear. “Just a friendly tip, Susan, so you can’t say I didn’t complete the handover.” “That authorization key for the core algorithm… it expires tonight. At midnight. You should probably renew it.” Susan was busy fiddling with the font size on a slide. She waved a dismissive hand without even looking at me. “Don’t try to scare me with your tech jargon. The project has been delivered. There’s no expiration date. Are you that desperate for a shakedown?” “Now get out. The sound of your voice is pathetic. It’s bad luck.” I just shrugged and stepped into the elevator. The moment I walked out of the company building, a cold wind hit my face, but I felt nothing but a pure, exhilarating sense of freedom. I pulled out my phone. On the screen was a single, large, red button. It was the remote control for the trial-version kernel of Project Apex. I glanced back one last time at the brightly lit tower, a slow smile spreading across my face. You wanted this project so badly, Susan. So I’m going to give you a parting gift you’ll never forget. I pressed the red button: REMOTE DECOMMISSION. A small line of text appeared on the screen: [COMMAND SENT. CORE COMPONENTS WILL SELF-DESTRUCT IN T-MINUS 12 HOURS.] Tomorrow, at 9:00 AM. The exact moment the CEO’s inspection was scheduled to begin. The exact moment Susan Reed’s career would go up in flames. She loved stealing credit. Now, she would be buried under the blame for the rest of her life.

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At the spa for my year-end appointment, I discovered my VIP account had been used by a stranger. I logged into my personal profile. The last three treatments on record weren’t mine. The preferences section was filled with meticulous detail: an allergy to rose oil, a preference for lavender, a note that the hot stones must not exceed 108 degrees Fahrenheit. It even noted a menstrual cycle around the fifteenth of each month, a time to avoid any abdominal treatments. I stared at the screen, my palms growing cold and damp. The only person who knew the password was my husband, Sebastian. He’d said he needed it occasionally to check the balance and top up the account for me. My finger scrolled down, and a system note caught my eye: “Birthday treatment reserved for Dec 30th. Prepare according to Ms. Kingsley’s preferences.” Today was December 30th. My phone buzzed. A text from Sebastian: “Working late tonight. Won’t be home.” A familiar laugh echoed from the hallway. Through the glass door, I saw Sebastian with his arm around a woman, leading her into the room next door. A therapist greeted them at the door. “Mr. Kenin, Ms. Kingsley’s birthday treatment is ready, just as you requested.” Wait, the name Kenin is forbidden. Let’s choose another one. How about “Mr. Davenport”? “Mr. Davenport, Ms. Kingsley’s birthday treatment is ready, just as you requested.” 1 The smile on Sebastian’s face froze. His arm, wrapped around the woman, fell stiffly to his side. He strode towards me, his brow furrowed as if I were the one who had done something wrong. “Rory, what are you doing here? Why didn’t you answer my text?” I recognized the woman behind him, the one he called Ms. Kingsley. It was Penelope, the daughter of his late mentor, a name he mentioned often. She wore a simple white dress, her long hair falling over her shoulders. Her face was pale, giving her a fragile, pitiable look. I didn’t answer Sebastian’s question. I just let my gaze drift from the screen—the screen that detailed another woman’s every preference—to his face. My voice was calm, betraying none of the storm raging inside me. “Aren’t you supposed to be working late?” Sebastian took a deep breath, visibly trying to suppress a wave of emotion. He didn’t answer directly. Instead, he stepped forward to take my hand, but I instinctively pulled away. His hand hovered awkwardly in the air, his expression darkening. “Let’s talk about this at home, okay? There are too many people here.” Penelope, the woman behind him, crept forward, her eyes already red-rimmed. “Sebastian, this is all my fault. Have I caused a misunderstanding with Aurora? I’ll explain everything. I begged Sebastian to let me use the card. My health is poor, and the doctor said I need regular physical therapy, but I just don’t have the money…” As she spoke, tears began to stream down her cheeks. “Aurora, please, don’t blame Sebastian. He was just taking pity on me. The birthday treatment was meant to be a surprise. He said I’d never had a proper birthday growing up. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t know this account was so important to you. I’ll never use it again!” It was a masterful performance, twisting the truth until it was unrecognizable. She painted herself as an innocent, casting Sebastian as a benevolent saint and me as the petty, overreacting wife. Sebastian immediately rushed to her defense, his voice laced with a sharp reprimand aimed at me. “Rory! Stop it. Penelope’s health is fragile. You’re scaring her.” When he turned back to Penelope, his voice softened, becoming gentle enough to soothe a frightened bird. “It’s okay, Penny. Don’t cry. It’s not your fault. It was my mistake; I should have told Rory beforehand. You go on in for your treatment before you catch a chill.” He even took off his tailored suit jacket and draped it solicitously over Penelope’s thin shoulders. In that moment, a chilling cold seeped into my bones. It was late December in Bayside. The temperature outside was near freezing. I was slightly swollen from my pregnancy and could only fit into a pair of thin flats, leaving my ankles exposed to the biting wind. And yet, the only person he saw, the only one he worried might get cold, was another woman. I watched their effortless intimacy, a scene that made me feel like an intruder in my own life. My heart felt like it was being squeezed by an icy fist, and every breath was a sharp, stabbing pain, like inhaling shattered glass. “Sebastian.” My voice trembled, a mixture of cold and rage. “Why did you give Penelope my card?” He paused, then his brow furrowed in annoyance. “What’s the big deal? I told you, she’s my mentor’s daughter. I thought if I shared the card with her, it might help you two get along. I was doing it for your sake.” 2 “For my sake?” A bitter laugh almost escaped my lips. “Doing it for my sake was using my money to arrange this… this bespoke, meticulously planned service for her?” My accusation struck a nerve. The color rose in his cheeks, and his tone turned cold. “Aurora, must you be so unreasonable? Penelope’s father was my mentor; he gave me my first big break. On his deathbed, he asked me to look after her. What was I supposed to do? She’s an orphan, all alone in the world, with fragile health. What’s wrong with me helping her out a little? It’s just a few thousand dollars for some spa treatments. That’s nothing to us. Can’t you be a little more generous?” “Generous?” I repeated the word, the irony of it a bitter taste in my mouth. He always had an excuse. Penelope was his mentor’s daughter, so she needed his care. Penelope’s health was poor, so she needed his concern. Penelope was a lonely orphan, so he had to give her the warmth of a family. And what about me? What about the child I was carrying in my womb? His child. What did that make me? In the end, I was the one who backed down. I refused to make a scene in public, to devolve into a screaming shrew. That would only make me look more pathetic. Sebastian drove me home. The silence in the car was heavy, suffocating. He must have realized he’d gone too far, because he softened his tone and tried to placate me. “Alright, Rory, don’t be angry. I was wrong. I should have told you first. I promise, it won’t happen again. I’ll go change the password on the account tomorrow. From now on, it’s just for you, okay?” He pulled up to our building and turned to me, taking my hand. His palm was warm and dry, radiating the same sense of security it always had. “And with Penelope… I’ll be more careful about boundaries. But she’s my mentor’s only child. I can’t just abandon her.” “Just… think of it as charity. Don’t hold it against her, alright? She’s not like you. You grew up cherished by your parents, and now you have me. She has nothing.” It was the same speech I had heard a thousand times before. I was tired. I didn’t have the energy to argue anymore. I nodded, my voice barely a whisper. “I don’t feel well. I want to go up and rest.” Seeing that I had dropped the subject, he visibly relaxed, a smile returning to his face. “That’s my girl. A pregnant woman shouldn’t be stressed. It’s not good for the baby. Come on, I’ll carry you upstairs.” He was always so attentive, so caring. He would peel fruit for me, and when my morning sickness was at its worst, he would patiently rub my back until it subsided. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I would have believed he loved me to his very core. And so, the incident was seemingly forgotten. True to his word, Sebastian changed the spa account password the next day and cancelled the secondary card, leaving only the primary one in my possession. He became even more gentle and attentive, catering to my every whim. My mother hired the best nutritionist, who prepared an endless variety of nourishing pregnancy broths for me. The first thing Sebastian did every day when he got home from work was sit with me until I finished my soup. “You’re working so hard, my love. For our baby. Just a little more.” He would carefully skim the fat off the top and feed it to me, one spoonful at a time. I was almost fooled by his performance. I almost convinced myself that what I saw at the spa was just a misunderstanding, a figment of my imagination. Until the day I found an identical thermos in the trunk of his car. It was empty, but the faint, lingering aroma of a specific herbal bone broth with turmeric and ginger still clung to the inside. It was the same broth I had had the day before. I remembered it clearly because I disliked the taste of turmeric and had only managed half a bowl. Sebastian, insisting that nothing should go to waste, had said he would finish the rest. But he hadn’t finished it. He had poured it into another thermos and given it to someone else. To Penelope, who also needed to keep her strength up. In that moment, my heart sank to the deepest, coldest depths of my soul. I didn’t say a word. I just silently placed the thermos back where I found it. A few days later, it was time for my prenatal check-up. Sebastian had long promised to come with me, but just as we were about to leave, he took a call, and his expression changed instantly. “What? A leak? Okay, drive safe on your way back. I’m on my way now!” He hung up and looked at me, his face a mask of apology. “Rory, I’m so sorry. A pipe burst in Penelope’s apartment. The place is completely flooded. She’s on her way back there now, I have to go check on things.” 3 “Can you ask my mom to go with you to the appointment? I’ll head to the hospital and meet you there as soon as I’m done.” Penelope again. Her emergencies always had such impeccable timing. I looked at his anxious face and asked quietly, “Is it that important? More important than our child?” He froze, as if he couldn’t believe I would ask such a thing. “Rory, how can you say that? They’re two completely different things! This is a safety issue, it could be dangerous! Your check-up is just a routine scan. My mom will be with you, you’ll be fine. Be a good girl and don’t overthink it.” He leaned in and kissed my forehead, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ll be back before you know it.” With that, he grabbed his car keys and left without a backward glance. The moment the door clicked shut, the living room was plunged into a dead silence. He’d said his mom would go with me. But his mother was currently enjoying a vacation at a resort in the Caribbean. Sebastian knew this better than anyone. Just two weeks ago, he had driven her to the airport himself, telling her to have fun and not to worry, because he would take good care of me. My heart felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand, the pressure so intense I could barely breathe. I leaned against the wall, taking slow, deep breaths, telling myself not to get agitated. For the baby. It was fine. I could do this without him. I picked up my phone, intending to call my best friend, Sloane, and ask her to come with me. But then I remembered she had a crucial contract negotiation today. I didn’t want her to drop everything for me. I would go by myself. I got changed and made my way down to the underground garage. When I reached our usual parking spot, I stopped dead. The space was empty. My little white sedan, the car I had driven for three years, was gone. It was a twentieth birthday present from my father. He had said he hoped the road of my life would always be smooth and clear. That car had been with me through my college graduation and my marriage to Sebastian. It was one of my most treasured possessions. Sebastian had insisted that it was safer for me not to drive while pregnant, so I hadn’t even been down to the garage in nearly six months. A profound sense of unease washed over me. With a trembling hand, I dialed Sebastian’s number. It rang for a long time before he finally picked up. The background was filled with the sound of rushing water and Penelope’s soft, delicate sobs. “Rory? What is it? Are you feeling unwell?” Sebastian’s voice was clipped, impatient. “I’m a little busy right now. The main water valve won’t shut off. The place is a disaster.” I forced myself to remain calm. “Sebastian,” I said, my voice dangerously even. “Where is my car?” There was a few seconds of silence on the other end. “Oh, the car,” he said, his tone casual. “Penelope’s place is pretty remote, and it’s hard to get a cab out there. I let her borrow it a while back. I forgot to tell you. Did you need it today? Just take an Uber to the hospital. It’s easy enough.” 4 “You gave her… my car?” My voice echoed in the cavernous, empty garage, laced with a despair I hadn’t realized was there. Every trinket hanging from the rearview mirror, I had chosen myself. No one had ever sat in the passenger seat except for my parents and Sebastian. And now, with a casual, offhand remark, he had given that private, precious piece of my life to another woman. “It’s just a car, isn’t it?” Sebastian’s patience had clearly run out. “Aurora, can you please not cause trouble for me right now? Penelope is dealing with a flood here! I have to go. Just take a cab, I’ll reimburse you for the bill.” Beep… beep… beep… He had hung up on me. I stood there, phone in hand, staring at the empty parking space, feeling like the world’s biggest fool. Reimburse me? Did he really think everything could be measured in dollars and cents? Did he think my dignity, my love, my very heart, had a price tag? In the end, I called a ride-share. Sitting in the back seat, I watched the city blur past my window. The winter sun was a pale, weak disc in the sky, offering no warmth at all. The driver was a chatty middle-aged man who, probably noticing my pale face, tried to lighten the mood. “Off to the maternity hospital for a check-up, ma’am? You’ve got that glow. I’m sure the baby is perfectly healthy.” I managed a weak smile but said nothing. We were stopped at a red light when my gaze drifted out the window and froze. In the lane next to us was a familiar white sedan, parked at a crooked angle. It was my car. And behind the wheel was Penelope. She was wearing a full face of makeup and a chic, cream-colored cashmere coat. She was looking in the rearview mirror, applying lipstick with a faint, triumphant smile on her face. The lipstick was a limited-edition shade I had just bought last week. I had left it in the car’s glove compartment, still unused. The light turned green. Penelope, clearly an inexperienced driver, slammed on the accelerator. The car shot forward, swerving dangerously and nearly sideswiping the car next to it, earning a chorus of angry honks. She seemed to panic, jerking the steering wheel back and forth. “What is this woman doing? She’s a menace,” my driver muttered under his breath. My heart leaped into my throat. I watched in horror as my car careened through the traffic. It scraped against the back of a city bus, then swerved sharply to the right, heading straight for us. It all happened in a flash. I heard my driver’s terrified scream, followed by the gut-wrenching crunch of metal on metal. The violent impact threw me forward. My abdomen slammed into the back of the front seat. A searing, tearing pain exploded from my core, radiating through every inch of my body. The world spun, and everything went black. In the last second before darkness took me, I felt a warm gush between my legs. The vibrant red bloomed across my white dress, a fatal flower.

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While scrolling through parenting forums online, I stumbled upon a thread. “What’s the most immoral thing you’ve ever done?” One highly-rated answer was pinned to the top. “Does stealing my university professor’s husband count?” “My professor sponsored my education, brought me out of a forgotten town in the mountains, and let me live in her home.” “But I fell for her fiancé the first moment I saw him. So I drugged her and made sure she ended up in bed with his father.” “Later, I framed her for poisoning my mother-in-law.” “My husband grew to hate her completely. He not only destroyed her career but personally handed her over to human traffickers.” “And me? I stayed by my husband’s side for five years, under the guise of atoning for my professor’s sins. The clouds finally parted for me. Now, our child is already in preschool.” The comment section exploded. People were stunned, demanding to know if it was real. The author’s reply was dripping with smug satisfaction. “Of course, it’s real. I still have the photo of her being dragged away by the traffickers.” “By now, she’s probably popped out ten kids in some backwater hellhole, left to rot for the rest of her life.” I stared at the familiar photo, my own terrified face from five years ago staring back at me. … My thumb moved on its own, scrolling through the replies. The comment section was a flood of outrage. “You’re a monster. To do that to someone and then brag about it here?” Someone tagged her directly. “Don’t you feel any guilt for destroying the life of such a brilliant young woman?” Sophie’s reply was swift. “Guilt? This world is survival of the fittest. She couldn’t outsmart me. That’s her bad luck. She should have just accepted her fate!” “You’re all just bitter because you can’t have what I have.” She provocatively posted photos of her jewelry, her sprawling villa, and the elite private school her child attended. “See? This life I have? I fought for it myself. Why should I feel guilty?” “Even if my son finds out one day, he’ll only be grateful that I made sure he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth.” My hand clenched, my nails digging deep into my palm. If it weren’t for me, she would have dropped out of school, sold off by her parents for a dowry. For years, I’ve been haunted by the regret of saving such a viper. And now, she dismissed all the damage she’d done, all the pain she’d inflicted, with a casual, flippant, “bad luck.” Hidden behind the anonymity of the forum, she sneered at the criticism, firing back at every comment. But she underestimated the internet. Using the photos of her villa and the IP address on her profile, users quickly identified her husband: Marcus Blackwood, the city’s celebrated tech prodigy. His social media was instantly flooded. “Mr. Blackwood, is it true your ex-fiancée was sold to human traffickers?” “If you knew she was innocent, would you bring her back?” Seeing this, Sophie finally panicked, scrambling to delete her posts. Staring at the storm they had once again stirred up in my life, I felt nothing. Only a phantom pain, throbbing where my right leg used to be. My eyes fell to the sleek prosthesis beneath my skirt, and my mind was dragged back five years. The day my life was irrevocably shattered. I was caught red-handed by Marcus, naked in bed with his own father. When I awoke from a drugged stupor, the first thing I saw was Marcus’s face, contorted with rage. To make matters worse, my most trusted student, Sophie, “found” a bottle of aphrodisiacs in my room. The evidence was damning. My fate was sealed. “Evelyn!” Marcus’s eyes were bloodshot as he choked me, his voice a raw wound. “Are you that desperate? That’s my father!” “How could you be so shameless?” I clawed at his arm, pleading, trying to explain. “It wasn’t me, I didn’t do it.” Sophie immediately knelt before him, her voice choked with tears as she begged on my behalf. “Marcus, please, let Professor Reed go. She made a mistake, but she truly loves you.” Her words were gasoline on the fire. Ignoring my nakedness, Marcus dragged me to the door. “Get out!” he roared. “Don’t you ever let me see your face again, you whore!” I pounded on the door, desperate to explain, but no one opened it. I remember how the bone-deep cold of that night seeped into me as I sat on his doorstep, waiting, until a raging fever consumed me and I passed out. I woke up in a hospital bed. Marcus was there, a ragged beard shadowing his jaw. His voice was a rasp. “Evelyn, you win.” “If you promise to never cheat again, we can go back to how things were.” I opened my mouth to explain, but he smashed a glass of water against the wall. “The evidence is right in front of me! Are you still trying to play me for a fool?” he screamed. “I’ve already forgiven you! What more do you want?” I had no defense. All I could do was weep, repeating my innocence to a man who refused to hear it. After that day, our relationship seemed to return to normal on the surface. But I knew it was a lie. He was no longer the man who put me first. He was there, but an unbridgeable chasm now lay between us. There was no more intimacy. Every accidental touch would make him flinch before he quickly, casually pulled away. I used to be a regular guest for dinner at his parents’ home. They had always treated me with warmth. Now, his mother would slap me the moment she saw me, screaming that I was a slut, pulling my hair and trying to throw me out of the house. The old Marcus would never have let me suffer such humiliation. But the new Marcus just watched, a flicker of pity in his eyes, as his mother assaulted me. When I begged him for help, his face would cloud with irritation. “My mother is losing her mind over this! You owe her this! What’s wrong with letting her vent?” I wanted to go to the police, but the mere mention of it sent him into a rage. “I worked my ass off to bury this story, and you want to broadcast to the world that Marcus Blackwood got cheated on? By his own fiancée and his own father? You might not have any shame left, but I do!” And just like that, the incident became an open, festering wound between us. An alarm on my phone jolted me from the memory. It was time to pick up my daughter from school. The thought of Lily sent a wave of warmth through me. Before her, my world was gray. I often thought of ending it all. She was the one who pulled me back, who gave me a reason to stay. While waiting at the school gate, I glanced at the forum thread again. Sophie had deleted all her comments and her account. But it was too late. Screenshots of everything she’d said were plastered all over the comments. The public’s curiosity about the “pitiful ex-fiancée” had exploded. Soon, they had uncovered my identity. A scholar from a poor background who, through sheer brilliance, had become a celebrated professor at a prestigious university. But they also dug up the old scandal: the accusation that I had driven a student to a suicide attempt, the official reprimand, and my eventual dismissal. The comments section was a chaotic mix of sympathy and condemnation, a distorted echo of the public shaming I had endured five years ago. I once thought that being framed in bed with my future father-in-law was the lowest point of my life. But that was just the beginning. The events that followed pushed me, step by step, toward the abyss. Our wedding date was approaching. Marcus texted, asking me to come over to discuss the final arrangements. I was filled with a fragile hope, thinking his family was finally ready to accept me again. But when I pushed open his bedroom door, I found Sophie straddling him. She turned, a triumphant smirk on her face. “Marcus, darling,” she cooed, “are you going to call off the wedding with the professor?” Marcus’s reply was lazy, indifferent. “I can’t even stand to touch her anymore, let alone marry her…” His words caught in his throat as he saw me standing in the doorway. My fists clenched, my nails biting into my palms as I forced myself to stay calm. One was the man I had loved for years, my fiancé. The man who had once rushed into a burning building to save me. The other was the student I had cherished most. The girl I had sponsored since high school, the one I had treated like a little sister. The two people I trusted most in the world, in bed together. A double betrayal. It was more than I could bear. I lunged forward, swinging my purse at them. But before it could connect with Sophie, Marcus kicked me away. “Are you insane?” The force of the blow sent me sprawling. My head hit the sharp corner of a dresser, and a warm gush of blood streamed down my face. Marcus didn’t even look at me. He was too busy wrapping Sophie tightly in the bedsheets, holding her protectively as he roared at me. “Evelyn, what the hell are you doing barging in here? Have you no decency?” There was no guilt on his face, only the raw anger of being interrupted. A cold dread washed over me. “You’re in bed together, and you’re asking me about decency?” I screamed. He finally saw the blood covering my face. A flicker of concern crossed his features. “Your head…” Sophie immediately seized the moment, her eyes welling with tears as she slid into her familiar kneeling position before me. “Professor, I’m so sorry. Please don’t blame Marcus. It was my fault. I couldn’t control myself.” “Don’t worry, I’m not trying to break you up. I don’t need a title. I just want to be near him.” She wept with the convincing sorrow of a martyr, as if I were the villain tearing them apart. Every word was an apology, and every syllable was a knife. Rage consumed me. I raised my hand to slap her. But the slap landed on Marcus’s face. He had moved in front of her, taking the blow. A red handprint bloomed on his cheek. His face was a thundercloud.

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1 The miscarriage taught me how to behave. I stopped asking when Nathan would be home. I didn’t question his vacations with my best friend. I didn’t even mind when he started playing dad to her son. Even now, as I found a handful of used condoms on the floor of his car, my expression didn’t change. I simply swept them into a trash bag. But that’s when Nathan slammed on the brakes, the screech of tires echoing the tension in his voice, which was stretched taut like a wire about to snap. “Sophia and I were together… in this car. And that’s all the reaction I get?” I nodded, my voice a calm, placid lake. “Passion is a hard thing to control. I get it.” I had finally become the reasonable wife Nathan always wanted. He just didn’t know that in the years I was unreasonable… I was also the one who truly loved him. … “Aria, you’ve changed,” Nathan’s voice trembled slightly. “The old you would never have been this… detached.” I watched the city lights blur past the window. “That was before I knew better.” “I don’t need you to know better!” he insisted. “You can fight with me, Aria. Like you used to.” A bitter smile touched my lips, and my gaze drifted to my own hand, to the little finger that never quite straightened out. A souvenir from the last time I’d slapped Sophia, when he’d thrown me to the ground and stomped on my hand. Seeing my silence, Nathan made a promise that felt both monumental and completely hollow. “Aria, after the holidays, I’ll end things with Sophia for good. We can start over.” A year ago, those words would have brought me to tears of relief. Now, they were just laughable. The car pulled into the driveway of the Hawthorne family estate. The moment I stepped inside, I saw Sophia in an apron, arranging platters on the dining table, playing the perfect lady of the house. Panic flashed in Nathan’s eyes. “I didn’t know she would be here…” “I invited her.” Nathan’s mother shot me a look sharp enough to cut glass. “It’s Christmas Eve. Try not to make a scene and embarrass everyone again.” It was a perfect echo of last year. Sophia, clinging to Nathan’s mother with one arm and Nathan with the other. At the dinner table, I had emptied my glass of red wine over her head. In response to Sophia’s sobs, Nathan hadn’t hesitated to throw a tureen of hot soup in my face. I subconsciously traced the faint scar on my temple and managed a small smile. “Then we should thank Sophia for her help.” If someone else wanted to play the part of the virtuous wife, I was more than happy to relax. I turned to grab a handful of nuts from a bowl, but Nathan grabbed my arm, his voice laced with disbelief. “Aria, you’re just going to let an outsider celebrate Christmas with our family?” I smiled and nodded, repeating the words he’d used last year. “Sophia’s a single mom. It’s tough. We can’t let them be all alone on Christmas, can we?” “She’s my best friend,” I added. “I don’t have a problem with it.” Just then, Sophia’s son, Max, came charging at me, ramming his head into my stomach. “You’re the bad lady! You can’t take my mommy’s place!” Sophia quickly covered his mouth. “He’s been watching too many cartoons. Don’t mind him.” But there wasn’t a shred of apology in her eyes. I stood perfectly still, a dull ache lingering where he’d hit me. There was nothing left in this world that could truly hurt me anymore. Except for the child I never got the chance to meet. Nathan and I had been the couple everyone envied in college. He knew my class schedule by heart, and my thermos was always full of hot coffee on cold mornings. I knew he’d forget to eat when he was absorbed in his lab work, so I always brought him his favorite barbecue ribs from the cafeteria. We talked about literature and macroeconomics; we were lovers and soulmates. The year we were meant to graduate, the Hawthorne Group was targeted by a rival and driven into bankruptcy. Nathan’s father, overwhelmed by creditors, jumped from his office window. Overnight, Nathan was forced to drop out of college and inherit a mountain of debt. When I found him, he was curled in the corner of a grimy apartment, with jagged cuts on his wrists, blood pooling on the floor. His father was gone, his mother was sick, and the debt had crushed him into a severe depression. I tried to get close, but he brandished a shard of glass, screaming at me to get out. The moment the glass bit into my shoulder, clarity seemed to return to his eyes. He dropped it and collapsed into my arms, sobbing like a lost child. If you’re not afraid of death, what is there to fear about living? I dropped out of college without telling my parents and stood by his side. For seven years, I pieced his shattered soul back together. We worked street stalls, delivered food, took any odd job we could find, and counted every penny together in the dead of night. The night we paid off the last of the debt, he proposed with a ring he’d fashioned from sea glass, polished for half a year. The band was rough, but it was the most precious thing I’d ever worn. At our wedding, he wept in front of everyone. “Aria, I swear I will never let you down.” Our marriage was blissful, with only one lingering sorrow: we couldn’t have a child. The years of hardship had taken a toll on our bodies, and getting pregnant was a difficult journey. The injections, the egg retrievals, the failures… the cold, aching hollowness in my belly after every trip to the clinic. That’s when Sophia showed up with her son. We’d known each other since childhood. Her father was a gambling addict, and her mother had run off when she was young. My parents took pity on her, bringing her into our home. We were raised like sisters, sharing everything, until we went our separate ways for college. I smiled and slipped the boy a fifty-dollar bill, teasing her, “When did you get married? You should have told me so I could get you a proper wedding gift.” Her eyes darted away. “Do you remember when I came to visit you in your junior year? When you and Nathan were renting that little place.” I nodded apologetically. “I’m so sorry about that. I know you were stuck in the apartment by yourself. The lab was so demanding, I never even got to show you around the city.” “One night,” she interrupted, her voice barely a whisper, “you didn’t come home.” “He thought I was you.” She pushed her son forward. “This is Nathan’s son.” I stood frozen, a roaring in my ears drowning out everything else. When Nathan found out, his first reaction was to slap Sophia across the face. Then he spent the entire night on the balcony, chain-smoking. The next morning, he held me, his eyes bloodshot. “Aria, I was drunk. I don’t remember a thing. I will never acknowledge that child.” The day the paternity test results came back, his mother was overjoyed, cuddling Max and beaming. Nathan, however, remained stone-faced. “The only children who will be part of the Hawthorne family are the ones Aria gives me.” Sophia wept, telling us how hard it had been raising a child alone, how she never would have come to us if she hadn’t been completely desperate. Nathan impatiently tossed a check at her and told her to disappear forever. Sophia took the check and left. Life seemed to return to normal. Nathan continued to accompany me to my fertility appointments, holding my hand during injections and wiping my tears after each failure. I slowly let my guard down. After all, Nathan hadn’t known what he was doing, and Sophia hadn’t pushed the issue. Three months later, the IVF treatment was finally a success. I was holding the positive report, my hands trembling as I dialed Nathan’s number, when I saw him across the bustling street. He was holding Max’s hand with one hand and had the other wrapped tightly around Sophia’s waist. He leaned down and kissed her, a gentle, lingering kiss. I stood rooted to the spot, the paper in my hand crinkling into a tight ball. I struggled to keep my voice steady. “Nathan, where are you?” His voice on the other end was rushed. “I’m in a meeting at the office. I’ll be home late to be with you.” “How did the test go? Was it successful?” It was. But I wished it wasn’t. My silence must have given him the wrong impression. He thought it had failed again. “It’s okay, Aria,” he soothed. “If it doesn’t happen, it doesn’t happen. We can be child-free. I’ll never blame you.” Across the street, Nathan ruffled Max’s hair while Sophia snuggled into his side. They looked like the perfect, happy family. A single tear hit the back of my hand. The pain was so sharp I couldn’t speak. I just watched them walk away until they disappeared from sight. When I got home, dazed, an expense report from the company’s finance department was waiting. A hundred thousand dollars was missing. When I pressed for an explanation, the accountant reluctantly admitted, “Mr. Hawthorne dropped sixty grand on a diamond ring at a charity auction for the new secretary, Ms. Cole, not to mention the new condo and car.” I sat in the study, staring at the report until late into the night. Finally, the lock clicked. Nathan came in, bringing a chill with him. “Why are you still up?” He tried to wrap his arms around me from behind, but I subtly moved away. “Are you angry?” He smiled, offering me a bouquet of roses. “The meeting ran late. I’m sorry.” But he’d forgotten to trim the thorns, and he’d forgotten I didn’t like roses. They were Sophia’s favorite. I turned the laptop screen toward him. His smile froze, but he tried to maintain his composure. “The company is investing in a new project. We needed some liquid assets.” “What kind of project requires dropping sixty grand on a ring at an auction?” Nathan’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Sometimes in business, you have to grease a few wheels…” “A condo and a car, too? All for greasing wheels? I had no idea Sophia was so well-connected.” “So you know.” The room fell into a dead silence. After a long moment, Nathan sighed. “Sophia and Max were living in a terrible little apartment. She had no job, no support. Max is still my son, Aria. I couldn’t just let him suffer. I’m doing this for the boy.” My face was a cold mask. “So you’re using company money to support them?” His expression darkened. “This company is mine. Hawthorne assets. I built it from the ground up, and I have the right to decide how its money is spent!” I looked at him, a complete stranger. “Nathan, do you remember who provided the initial capital when we first registered this company?” He froze. “I sold all the jewelry my parents gave me and added it to the money I’d saved from working three jobs.” “The company’s first major contract? I landed that by drinking with a client until my stomach bled.” “When we were on the verge of collapse, I mortgaged the house my grandfather left me to get us through.” “And now you say you built this company all by yourself?” Nathan’s face shifted through a spectrum of emotions before settling on a frustrated anger. “Yes, you contributed! But I gave you the title of Mrs. Hawthorne. Isn’t that enough? Sophia will never have that title. What’s wrong with me compensating her for that?” “Besides,” he added, his voice dripping with cruelty, “you can’t even get pregnant. Are you going to let the Hawthorne family line die with me?” The bruises from the hormone injections still ached. I laughed until tears streamed down my face. A sperm morphology rate of over 98% abnormal was the real reason we couldn’t conceive. I pulled off the sea glass ring he had made and smashed it on the floor. I sued Sophia, demanding she return every penny. I bought trending spots on social media, exposing her and ruining her reputation. Her few days of luxury were over before they began. She was fired and became a social pariah. She came to me with a knife to her throat, kneeling on the floor. “Aria, I’ll never try to take your place. Please, just leave my son and me alone.” She was sobbing hysterically, and the moment Nathan walked in, she dragged the blade across her neck. It wasn’t deep, but it looked terrifying. Nathan rushed over, slapped me hard across the face, and scooped her into his arms, racing to the hospital. When he returned, his eyes were full of weariness. “Let’s get a divorce, Aria. Not for Sophia. For Max. You’ve backed them into a corner. I have to give them a name.” I coldly tossed the ultrasound report at him. The law here states that a husband cannot divorce a pregnant wife. Why should my legitimate child be born without a father, while a mistress’s illegitimate son dances on my grave? Nathan stared at the grainy image, a flicker of joy crossing his face. He didn’t mention divorce again. He seemed to transform back into the caring husband I once knew. Until Sophia’s son was pushed from a third-story window. The first thing Max did when he woke up was point at me in front of the police. “It was Auntie Aria. She pushed me. She said if I was gone, Daddy would belong only to her.” The security camera on that floor had been tampered with. I was the only suspect. The police investigated but eventually dropped the case due to a lack of evidence. I hired the best lawyer to find the truth. But Nathan was convinced it was me. The day I was released from the station, he grabbed me by the throat, his eyes filled with icy hatred. “How could you hurt a child? You’re not even human!” I choked, struggling to breathe until I finally broke free. From that day on, Nathan stopped coming home at night. He said he was atoning for my sins. If I so much as touched Sophia, he would twist my arm. If I tried to tell my side of the story online, he held a press conference to spin his own narrative, painting me as the vindictive third wheel. Public opinion turned against me. Strangers online ripped me to shreds. My parents tried to defend me and were doxxed, then physically assaulted. After one of Sophia’s live streams, the brake lines on my parents’ car were cut. They were in a serious accident. At the hospital, I discovered Nathan had frozen all of my accounts. I found him at Sophia’s condo. The air was still thick with the heat of their lovemaking. “Max wants a little sister,” he said, as casually as if he were discussing the weather. A chill ran through me. “My parents are in the hospital. I need money.” “Apologize.” He was buttoning his shirt, not even looking at me. “Apologize to Sophia. Admit you pushed Max, and the money will be in your account immediately.” “Nathan, those are the people you called Mom and Dad for three years!” “Mom and Dad?” he scoffed. “They didn’t act like elders when they were feeding Sophia leftovers and treating her like a servant. If they hadn’t been so cruel to her, would she have been desperate enough to come to us in the first place?” He had swallowed every lie Sophia had told on her live stream. I thought of the countless bowls of soup my mother had simmered for him, the savings my father had secretly slipped him when he was starting his business. I remembered when we were children and my mother gave the new winter coat to Sophia, while I wore her hand-me-downs. As I gritted my teeth, preparing to bow my head to them, the hospital called with the worst possible news. The world spun. Sophia blocked the doorway. “You haven’t apologized. Don’t you want the money to save them?” I slapped her with all the strength I had left. Nathan retaliated for her, shoving me violently. My abdomen slammed into the corner of a cabinet. A searing pain, followed by a sudden, warm gush spreading down my legs. Nathan saw the blood pooling on the floor. His face went white. He scooped me up like a madman and raced to the hospital. The baby didn’t make it. When the light in the operating room went out, Nathan knelt by my bed, slapping his own face over and over. I stared at the blank white ceiling, as empty as the space that had suddenly opened up inside me. At the funeral, the grief was so immense I could barely stand, but I couldn’t shed a single tear. Nathan stayed by my side for a long time after that, avoiding Sophia completely. He tried to talk to me like we used to, but I would just sit in silence, saying nothing. Eventually, he started provoking me, flaunting his relationship with Sophia, but all I felt was a profound numbness. I think I had stopped loving Nathan. That’s when my lawyer handed me the investigation report. I read through the file, my fingertips growing cold. The truth was more shocking than I could have ever imagined. The largest sum of money that disappeared from the Hawthorne Group right before its collapse had been traced to an offshore account. The owner of that account was Sophia’s father. Tucked inside the file was another paternity test. Nathan’s ringing phone pulled me from my thoughts. He put it on speaker. A voice cut through the silent room. “Mr. Hawthorne, we managed to restore the security footage from the third floor. We have the entire incident with Max on video.” “Send it to me. And don’t call the police.” Nathan’s eyes were fixed on me as he spoke, completely missing the way the color drained from Sophia’s face. “Aria, it’s Christmas. I won’t hold this against you. Let’s just put the past behind us.” I could only find it pathetic. Even now, he was certain I had pushed Max. Sophia forced a smile. “Nathan, maybe we should just delete the video. There’s no need to dredge up the past and embarrass Aria.” Nathan actually hesitated, considering it. I placed my hand over his on the phone. “Nathan, I’d like to see the truth, too.” He looked at me, surprised, as if the thought of another possibility had never occurred to him. Sophia tried to stop us, but I silenced her with a single glare. “Don’t you want to know who really pushed your son?” His mother snorted and snatched the phone, pressing play. “My son may protect you, but I won’t!” On the screen, Max cowered in Sophia’s arms. “No, Mommy, I’m scared.” Sophia’s voice was a soft coo. “Don’t be afraid, sweetie. Just be brave this one time, and you’ll have a daddy forever.” When Max still refused, her face hardened. “You can have Uncle Nathan as your daddy, or I can send you to live with your grandfather. You choose.” Max started to cry. “I want Daddy Nathan! I don’t want to go to Grandpa’s!” He climbed onto the balcony railing, trembling, and then squeezed his eyes shut as Sophia pushed him off. She didn’t call for an ambulance. Instead, she picked up a nearby brick and smashed the camera. The phone slipped from his mother’s hand, thudding onto the carpet. “No…” Sophia’s voice was strangled. “That’s not real… it’s a deepfake…” Nathan’s voice was hoarse. “You pushed him.” “I’m his mother! How could I!” “Precisely because you are his mother,” I interjected softly. “You knew exactly how to push him so it wouldn’t be fatal. You knew how to make it look like an attack.” Sophia whipped her head toward me, her eyes filled with venom. “It was you! You paid someone to fake this video!” I laughed. “The only person who could commission the Hawthorne tech team to restore that footage is Nathan himself.” It was his handpicked team; they answered to no one else. Sophia’s lips began to tremble. She had no argument left. Nathan bent down, picked up the phone, and watched the video again, slowly, as if burning every frame into his memory. “Why?” he asked, the sound of something shattering in his voice. Sophia collapsed into a chair, curling into a small ball. After a moment, she looked up, a wretched smile on her face. “Because I was tired of it, Nathan! I was tired of hiding in the shadows, tired of my son calling you ‘uncle,’ tired of you always checking the clock, rushing to leave…” “So you gambled with your son’s life?” Nathan’s voice shook. “I never meant to hurt him!” she shrieked. “I knew there was grass below! I just wanted you to hate her, to finally be done with her! Everything I did was for us!” “Us?” Nathan cut her off, his expression turning to disgust for the first time. “There is no ‘us.’ There never was.” The words hit her like a physical blow, and the last of the color drained from her face. But we were just getting started. I pulled out the paternity test. “Sophia, is Max really Nathan’s son?” “What are you talking about! I had a paternity test done with Max. It proved he’s his father!” Nathan’s desire for a child was his greatest weakness. “What if the hair sample you submitted wasn’t Max’s? What if it was yours?” “What? That’s impossible! How could she have gotten my hair?” “She could,” I said, tossing a document onto the table. It was an employment record. For one month, just before she came to us, Sophia had worked as a shampoo girl at the salon Nathan frequented. Nathan’s fingers froze on the paper, the edges trembling. “March, two years ago… I did get my hair cut there. I even complained the new girl was too rough…” His eyes, red-rimmed, snapped to Sophia. “Max… he’s not my son?” I handed him the real DNA report. The probability of him being the father was 0.1%. His mother instinctively let go of Max’s shoulder. Nathan lunged forward, grabbing Sophia’s wrist with a force that made her cry out in pain. “You dared to lie to me? You told me he was my son… you made me raise another man’s child!” “I just wanted him to have a father! Is that so wrong?” she screamed, hysterical. “Do you have any idea what I’ve been through alone? Aria had everything—parents, love, a career! All I had was Max! I just wanted to give him a proper family!” “So you stole my hair, forged a report, and taught him to call me ‘Dad’?” Nathan’s voice was ice. “And to seal the deal, you pushed him off a three-story balcony?” He finally lost control, smashing the phone on the ground. “Sophia, how many other lies are there?!” Shards flew across the room. Max burst into terrified sobs. For the first time, his grandmother didn’t comfort him. Sophia scrambled to Nathan, grabbing at his pant leg. “But he calls you Daddy! He truly thinks of you as his father!” “Shut up!” Nathan kicked her hand away and turned to me. His eyes were wild with regret, shame, and a near-suicidal despair. “Aria…” He opened his mouth, but no more words came out. I watched him, my face a placid mask. “You wanted a child, so she gave you a ‘son.’ You needed to feel guilty, so she gave you a reason to atone. You wanted a tender escape from your marriage, so she played the part for you.” “Everything you protected, everything you cherished, everything you were willing to hurt me for…” I pulled the final, most devastating truth from my lawyer’s file. “From the very beginning, it was all just an elaborate scam.” The largest sum of money that disappeared from the Hawthorne Group right before its bankruptcy was traced to an account owned by Robert Cole. Nathan stared blankly at the document. “Robert Cole,” I explained, “is Sophia’s father.” His gaze locked on the name, as if trying to burn a hole through the paper. “Robert Cole…” he repeated, his voice raspy. “Sophia’s deadbeat, gambling-addict father?” “Yes.” I flipped to the next page, a copy of a bank transfer from a decade ago. “Three months before the collapse, the last major payment your father approved was an eighty-thousand-dollar contract for ‘Cole Construction Materials.’ The legal representative was Robert Cole.” “But those materials never arrived at the construction site,” I continued. “Here are the warehouse logs and the testimony from the project supervisor. And within twenty-four hours of receiving the payment, the money was wired to an overseas account.” Nathan was incredulous. “And my dad… he didn’t report it? Why wouldn’t he try to get the money back?” “Because he thought you had slept with an underage girl. Robert Cole used that to blackmail him. Of course, Sophia’s age was faked, but your father didn’t know that. To keep you out of jail, he absorbed the eighty-thousand-dollar loss. That, combined with the rival’s attack, was enough to break the company’s capital chain.” My voice was steady, but I had felt the same shock when I first learned the truth. Nathan staggered back into a chair. His mother was speechless. “Sophia,” Nathan said, slowly raising his head. “You climbed into my bed on purpose. You and your father conspired to destroy my family.” “Your father stole the money that could have saved my family, driving my dad to his death. And then you… you used that money to raise your own son, only to bring him back to me and try to bleed my family dry all over again.” He rose and walked toward her, grabbing her chin and forcing her to look at him. “Tell me, when you were lying next to me, did you ever, for one second, picture my father falling from that building?” Sophia was trembling so hard she could barely speak. “I was forced to! My father never gave me a cent of that money! I didn’t get into college, I got a boyfriend at the factory, I got pregnant… My father threatened me! He said if I didn’t help him frame you, he’d make me get an abortion and kill my boyfriend! I had no choice!” “My boyfriend died in an accident later, and my dad still wouldn’t help me. I couldn’t support Max on my own, so I thought of you.” Outside, New Year’s fireworks bloomed in the sky, casting flickering shadows across the living room. Amidst the hollow celebration, Nathan slowly turned to face me. “When did you find out?” he asked. “Three months ago,” I answered truthfully. “While tracing Sophia’s finances, I noticed a regular monthly transfer to an overseas account. Following that trail led me to Robert Cole.” All this time, her father had still been blackmailing her, forcing her to drain Nathan’s resources for his gambling debts. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” “Would you have believed me?” I met his gaze. “Back when there was no proof, you wouldn’t even believe I didn’t push Max. How could you have believed a truth that implicated your own father’s death?” He had no answer. I took out the last document, my expression serene. “Nathan, I want a divorce.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389819”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 My best friend Stella grew up devouring romance novels, convinced she was destined to marry into a life of unimaginable wealth. I always thought she was just talking big. I never expected her to actually hook the city’s wealthiest bachelor, Sebastian Shiloah. They had a whirlwind romance and a flash wedding. For two weeks, the news was saturated with coverage of their lavish ceremony. When she video-called me, she was on her honeymoon in Hawaii. Lounging in Sebastian’s arms, she grinned. “Lily, darling, my husband and I have it all figured out. When we get back next month, you’re moving in with us!” Sebastian chimed in from the side, his voice smooth as silk. “Any friend of my wife’s is a friend of mine. We’re all family now.” A month later, I stood before the Shiloah family’s sprawling estate, suitcase in hand. I smiled at the butler who answered the gate. “Hi, I’m Stella’s best friend. I’m moving in with her!” The butler just stared at me. “Stella? Who is Stella? Mr. Shiloah has always been single.” … The smile froze on my face. “Sir, you have a strange sense of humor.” I forced a laugh. “Stella! You know, Stella Shiloah! Sebastian Shiloah’s wife!” “I saw you during the wedding procession! I even gave you a cigar! Please, stop joking with me.” The butler’s expression remained flat. “I have no time for jokes. There is no Stella here. Only myself and Mr. Shiloah reside on this property. If you continue to cause a disturbance, I will call the police.” With that, he began to close the heavy iron gate. “Wait! Don’t close it!” Panic seized me. I grabbed the bars with one hand, fumbling for my phone with the other. “I have proof! How could you forget a wedding that big? Are you going senile?” I frantically opened Instagram, scrolling through my saved posts for the livestream of the wedding. I had even sent screenshots to Stella, my eyes blurry with tears of envy. But when I tapped the link, a pop-up appeared. [This content has been deleted or is unavailable.] My head spun. How could that be possible? Refusing to believe it, I clicked on several news articles I had bookmarked. Billionaire Spends a Fortune to Marry His Cinderella. Stella Quinn: The Girl Kissed by an Angel. The moment I clicked them, every single link went dead. “No… they were working just last night…” The butler watched my frantic movements with cold, detached eyes. “Ma’am, forging images and spreading rumors is a crime. Are you that desperate to marry into money?” “I’m not spreading rumors!” I screamed, my fingers trembling as I switched back to WhatsApp. “I have our chat history! Look! She messaged me just a minute ago!” On the screen, the chat window with Stella’s smiling selfie as the profile picture was clearly visible. [Babe, just putting on a face mask… the butler will let you in…] “You just wait! I’ll call her right now!” My voice cracked with desperation. “When she comes down to get me, you can start looking for a new job tomorrow!” The next second, a cold, robotic voice echoed from the phone’s speaker. “We’re sorry, the number you have dialed is not in service. Please check the number and try again…” I stood frozen. Not in service? I glanced at the WhatsApp chat again. She was texting me a minute ago. How could this be? A cold dread crept up my spine. Instant messages but a dead phone line? What was going on? The butler’s expression didn’t flicker. Not even a hint of surprise. He gave me one last look, as if I were a piece of trash. “Be gone. If you don’t leave now, I’ll have security throw you down the mountain.” Clang. The gate slammed shut. I was standing under the blazing sun, yet I felt like I’d been plunged into an icy cavern. What was happening? Stella was in there, I knew she was. Why would the butler deny it? Why had every trace of her and the wedding been scrubbed from the internet? Unless… something happened to Stella. The lives of the ultra-rich are notoriously dangerous. What if Sebastian was holding her captive? Announcing he was single and erasing her existence would be the perfect cover. The thought made my scalp tingle. Fear and fury surged through me. No, I couldn’t leave. If I left, she would be completely alone. Gritting my teeth, I dragged my suitcase to the center of the driveway and sat down on it. I’d see if Sebastian Shiloah could avoid coming out. Sure enough, less than ten minutes later, a black Maybach purred up the drive. I recognized it. It was the same car Sebastian had used to pick Stella up on their wedding day. A rush of adrenaline hit me. I leaped up and threw myself in front of the car, arms spread wide. “Sebastian Shiloah! Get out here! What have you done with Stella?!” The driver’s face went pale. He was about to get out and yell at me when the rear window smoothly descended. It was him. My best friend’s new husband. I stormed over to his window and roared, “Mr. Shiloah! Your butler says you’re single! He says there’s no such person as Stella! We video-chatted with you and Stella from Hawaii just two weeks ago! What the hell is going on?” Sebastian’s brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. “Stella? Hawaii?” It was clear he was going to play dumb. I was about to lose it when he gestured for the gates to be opened. “Since you’re here, you might as well come in and explain yourself.” A chilling smile touched his lips. “As it happens, I’m also very curious…” “About where this Mrs. Shiloah you speak of… truly is.” 2 The moment the gates opened, I didn’t even wait for Sebastian to get out of the car. I grabbed my suitcase and bolted toward the villa. The butler tried to stop me, but I shoved him aside. “Don’t touch me!” I knew the layout by heart. I stormed through the living room and straight for the second floor. I had been in the master bedroom with Stella on the morning of the wedding, helping her get ready. “Stella! Come out!” I kicked the bedroom door open. I scanned the room, my eyes darting everywhere. Nothing. No Stella. Worse… there wasn’t a single trace that a woman had ever lived there. “How can this be…” I tore open the door to the walk-in closet, muttering to myself. “The closet! Yes! The closet!” I remembered it vividly. On the wedding day, behind this very door were two entire walls of Hermès bags. I had screamed when I held a Himalayan Birkin, and Stella had laughed and promised to get me one. Screech. I yanked the closet door open so hard it nearly came off its hinges. My hand froze in mid-air. It was empty. Save for a few dark, custom-tailored suits hanging forlornly on a rack. No Hermès. No Chanel. “Impossible… this is impossible…” I sank to my knees, my hands frantically patting the wooden floor of the closet, searching for a single long hair, a lost earring, anything. There was nothing. The room was as sterile as a showroom. Sebastian leaned against the doorframe, his voice calm. “Have you seen enough, Miss Miller?” I collapsed onto the floor, my mind a chaotic mess. Was it all a scam? Had Stella been conned by a fake Sebastian Shiloah? But… this villa was real! How could a con artist afford to rent the actual home of the city’s wealthiest man just for a charade? And if it was a scam, why was the real Sebastian Shiloah living here now? “I don’t believe you!” I scrambled to my feet and pointed at him. “You’re the imposter! You’ve hidden everything, haven’t you?” “I’m calling the police! I have video evidence! You were on your honeymoon in Hawaii two weeks ago!” Sebastian looked at me as if I were a hopeless lunatic. He pulled out his phone and dialed 911. “Hello, police? This is Sebastian Shiloah.” “I have a trespasser on my property. Please send an officer.” Ten minutes later, the police arrived. “Officer! I want to report a missing person! Her name is Stella Quinn, and he’s responsible!” I pointed a shaking finger at Sebastian. “I have proof! They were in Hawaii on their honeymoon just two weeks ago!” The officer glanced at me, then at Sebastian. Sebastian sighed, the picture of weary patience. “Officer, I’ve been in the country for the past month handling a corporate merger. I haven’t been to Hawaii.” “You can check my travel records if you don’t believe me.” The officer immediately looked it up on his device. Two minutes later, he turned the screen toward me. “Ma’am, the system shows that Mr. Shiloah has no international travel records for the past three months.” Boom. A lightning bolt struck my brain. No travel records? “Impossible! I saw it… the ocean, the beach…” The officer put his device away, his expression turning serious. “Ma’am, filing a false police report is illegal. Since it appears you were the victim of a scam and are acting out of concern, we’ll let you off with a verbal warning this time.” “Please leave the premises, or we’ll have to charge you with disorderly conduct.” I stood frozen, ice flooding my veins. A massive wave of panic washed over me. Sebastian stood off to the side, his gaze as cold and indifferent as if he were looking at a bag of trash. “Alfred, see our guest out.” “And from now on, if she ever sets foot on this property again, call the police and have her arrested immediately.” The butler, Alfred, stepped forward and roughly shoved my suitcase toward the door. “This way, Miss Miller.” I bit my lip so hard I could taste blood, my body trembling with rage. I couldn’t accept this. Everything had felt so real. Why was I suddenly the crazy one? I dragged my heavy suitcase, looking back every few steps as I walked toward the exit. As I passed the grand foyer, next to a huge porcelain vase, the wheel of my suitcase clipped the edge of a wastebasket. Clatter. The basket tipped over, spilling a few wads of crumpled paper onto the floor. The butler immediately scowled. “Stop making a mess and get out!” Just then, a wrinkled little receipt caught my eye. One glance was all it took. The blood in my veins turned to ice. It was a receipt from a convenience store. Item: Orange Crush cigarettes. Time: Yesterday, 2:30 PM. That was Stella’s favorite brand. 3 I secretly pocketed the receipt and walked out of the villa without another word. At dawn, I called Stella’s former colleague, Jessica. “Jess, it’s Lily! Do you know where Stella is? Has she contacted you guys at all since the wedding?” There was a pause on the other end, then her voice shot up. “Lily, are you insane? Stella doesn’t even have a boyfriend. What wedding are you talking about?” My heart sank. “The wedding that was livestreamed everywhere last month! With Sebastian Shiloah!” “Are you having delusions?” Jessica cut me off, her voice laced with annoyance. “She quit last month and went back to her hometown!” Before I could respond, she hung up. With a trembling hand, I dialed Stella’s mother. “Auntie! Something’s happened to Stella! Sebastian Shiloah is denying everything, saying they never got married! You have to come to the city!” Stella’s mom was silent for five seconds. “Lily, dear… what on earth are you talking about?” “When did Stella get married?” I was stunned. “Didn’t you receive the dowry? The eight hundred thousand dollars?” “What dowry? Honey, do you have a fever?” Her tone grew urgent. “Stella told me last month she was coming home for a break. She even sent me pictures! What boyfriend? Don’t you go spreading rumors that could ruin her reputation!” Click. She hung up on me too. I was completely dumbfounded. Had Sebastian bought off her mother as well? I refused to believe it. I took a cab straight to my own mom’s house. The moment I walked in, I grabbed her arm. “Mom! Something’s happened to Stella! The whole world is lying to me!” I poured out the story of the last two days. My mom just stared at me, then touched my forehead. “Lily, honey, when did Stella get married? How come I didn’t know?” My mind exploded. “Mom! Don’t you joke about this!” “We watched the livestream together last month! You even said how handsome Sebastian was!” My mom frowned. “You were working overtime last month. I was watching my shows. When did we watch a livestream?” “No!” I shoved my phone in her face. “Look! Here’s the proof!” “Stella has been bragging to me every single day about her life as a billionaire’s wife! Just yesterday, she was telling me to hurry over!” My mom glanced at the screen and sighed. “Lily, this is just that ‘marrying-a-billionaire’ game you two used to play as kids.” “Stop it now, before you get into real trouble.” A game? I stared at the screen, a tidal wave of confusion threatening to drown me. If it was a game, what about the wedding? If I was dreaming, how did I know the layout of the Shiloah estate? How did I know where the master bedroom was? And besides, if Stella hadn’t gotten involved with Sebastian Shiloah, I wouldn’t even know who he was! Most importantly, where was Stella now? Suddenly, I had an idea. There was one more place that could prove I wasn’t crazy. I ran out the door and hailed a cab. “The Grand Commerce Tower! Eternity Weddings!” 4 Stella’s wedding had been organized by Eternity Weddings, the biggest event planning company in the city. There was no way a company that massive could just vanish into thin air. Ten minutes later, I stood staring at a door sealed with official tape. I was too late. [Eternity Weddings has ceased operations due to financial mismanagement.] The date on the seal was from two weeks ago. The day after Stella’s wedding. I peered through the glass door. The inside was a wreck. Chairs and tables were overturned, and papers were scattered everywhere. They just packed up and left? The biggest wedding planner in the city lands a ten-million-dollar contract with a billionaire and goes bankrupt the next day? I pulled out my phone and dialed the number of the owner, which I had saved. “We’re sorry, the number you have dialed is not in service…” Not in service. Again. A chill shot up from my feet to the crown of my head. Every person, every place connected to that wedding was disappearing, one by one. Which only proved that something was very, very wrong. I wouldn’t give up. There had to be a loose end they hadn’t tied up yet. “The spa! Yes! The spa!” I remembered. A week before the wedding, Stella took me to a high-end spa. To show off, she bought me a $500,000 VIP membership card on the spot. “Here, darling,” she’d said, “take this. Come whenever you want. It’s on Sebastian’s card, anyway!” I immediately hailed another cab and raced to the spa. “Can you check the balance on my membership card?” The receptionist typed for a few moments. “Miss Miller, your VIP card has a remaining balance of $498,000.” A jolt of triumph shot through me. $498,000! I was a girl who made three thousand a month. Where would I get half a million dollars for a spa membership? “Quick! Pull up the transaction record! Who paid for it?” The receptionist turned the screen toward me. “It says you paid for it yourself, ma’am.” I froze. “What do you mean, I paid for it myself? Stella swiped her card! Sebastian Shiloah’s secondary card!” The receptionist looked confused. “Stella? We don’t have a member by that name.” “Impossible!” I yelled. “Check the security footage! Stella and I came in together that day!” The receptionist, startled by my outburst, quickly called her manager. The manager approached with a frown. “I’m sorry, Miss Miller, but we cannot show you the security footage due to the privacy of our other clients.” “You won’t show me?” I sneered, pulling out my phone. “Then I’ll call the police. An unexplained half-million-dollar transaction sounds like something they’d be interested in investigating. They’ll have the authority to see the footage, won’t they?” Twenty minutes later, the police arrived. And right behind them was Sebastian Shiloah. He wore the same weary expression. “Miss Miller, how long are you going to keep this up?” “Cut the crap! Play the footage!” At the officers’ request, the manager reluctantly pulled up the recording from that day. We all stared at the screen. On the monitor, I walked through the door. Beside me… was empty space. I pulled a black credit card from my purse and handed it to the receptionist, chattering away. But from beginning to end, there was no one with me. The security room was dead silent. The way the officers looked at me changed. It was no longer suspicion, but pity mixed with caution. Sebastian sighed and stepped toward me, reaching out to pat my shoulder. “Miss Miller, you should go to a hospital. I’ll cover the costs.” I stood rigid, trembling all over. Was I really alone? Was I really insane? Was this all a figment of my imagination? Just as one of the officers was about to lead me away, a thought struck me like lightning. Of course. That’s how it was. I snapped my head up, my eyes locking onto Sebastian’s. “You can drop the act, Sebastian.” “I know where Stella is.” 5 Sebastian’s hand froze in mid-air, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Miss Miller, do you have any idea what you’re saying?” An officer frowned and reached for my arm. “Ma’am, please, no more trouble. Come with us to the station to cool down.” I shook him off, pointing a finger at Sebastian. “You’re all being deceived!” “Yes, the footage only shows me, but that’s the proof! That proves Stella was there!” “Because that day, Stella never got out of the car!” The words tumbled out of me as I stared into Sebastian’s eyes, refusing to look away. “Stella drove me here. She took a call in the car and told me to go in first and get the card!” “She’s the one who gave me that black card! She’s the one who told me the PIN!” “If I’m a lunatic, if this is all a delusion, then how could I possibly know the PIN to Sebastian Shiloah’s secondary credit card?” Sebastian’s expression finally changed. I caught the flicker of shock, the momentary stiffness in his posture. The officer whipped his head around to face Sebastian. “Mr. Shiloah, care to explain? Why would Miss Miller have your credit card and know the PIN?” Sebastian was silent. He looked at me, his eyes dark and menacing. “Miss Miller, you stole my card, and now you have the audacity to play the victim?” “Stole it?” I laughed, a cold, sharp sound. I pulled the crumpled convenience store receipt from my pocket. “Then I suppose I stole this receipt, too?” “Orange Crush cigarettes. Bought yesterday at 2:30 PM from the convenience store just outside the estate gates.” Sebastian’s pupils contracted. The words slipped out before he could stop them. “My driver bought those!” I smirked, my theory solidifying. “Really? Because yesterday at 2:30 PM, your driver was delivering documents to you at your corporate headquarters. The building’s security cameras will prove it.” “So tell me, who bought the cigarettes?” Sebastian took a step forward, trying to snatch the receipt from my hand. “Lily! You trespass on my property and now you’re digging through my trash?” “Why are you so nervous?” I backed away, moving behind one of the officers. “Sebastian, why do you think I dragged everyone, including the police, all the way out to this spa?” “It was a diversion!” I held up my phone, the screen showing that I was still on a call with my mother. “While we were all busy here, I had my mom go to that convenience store!” “You’re a billionaire. You can control the narrative. You can delete news articles and bribe spa managers. But that convenience store is part of a national chain. Their security footage is uploaded directly to a corporate cloud server. You can’t delete that!” Panic finally broke through Sebastian’s stoic facade. The cool elegance was gone, replaced by a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead. “Lily! You wouldn’t dare!” “Wouldn’t I?” I shouted into the phone, “Mom! Send the video! Let the police see who really bought those cigarettes yesterday!” “Once we have that footage, we’ll know exactly where Stella is!” Ding. A notification sound. My mom had sent the video file. My heart hammered against my ribs, my hands shaking with excitement. I’d won. The truth was finally coming out. I opened the video and held the screen up for everyone to see. “Sebastian Shiloah, open your eyes and take a good, long look! Tell me that’s not Stella!” The next second, the triumphant smile on my face shattered. A chilling cold shot up from the soles of my feet, so intense it felt like my blood was flowing backward. In the security footage, the person buying the cigarettes… Was me.

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Everyone praised my understanding and big‑picture thinking. When my CEO husband, Alex, brought his widowed sister‑in‑law and her son home, her eyes red and pleading — “Ava, Finn’s father is gone. Could I… borrow Alex for a few days? To be a father to him?” — I went without a word to pack Alex’s bag. “We’re family,” I said. “No need to talk of borrowing.” At my own son’s birthday party, my nephew whined to go to the amusement park and not “share” his daddy. My son promptly told the guests, “My father has urgent business. The party ends here. Thank you all.” Everyone commended his grace and mine. Only we knew the truth: my son and I had been reborn. In our last life, Alex showed the same blatant favoritism to his widowed sister‑in‑law, Isabelle, forcing me to swallow humiliation after humiliation. When I finally demanded a divorce, my son developed a heart condition — an artificial heart was his only hope. I returned to Alex, broke and desperate. He laughed and threw me out into a blizzard. “You’ll never be as kind and understanding as Isabelle,” he sneered. “Give up.” Later, my son’s heart stopped beating in my arms. Now, reborn, I’ve let go. All I want is for my son to live. … After the guests had left the party, I knelt to straighten my son’s crooked little bowtie. He tilted his head back, his young face eerily calm. “Mommy, Daddy isn’t staying with us again today, is he?” I looked at him, my heart aching. “You can cry if you want to, Noah. You don’t have to be strong for me.” He shook his head, his small hand touching my cheek. “If Mommy doesn’t cry, Noah won’t cry.” It was only then that I realized tears were already streaming down my face. The memories of my past life were a constant, haunting shadow. That year, it was also Noah’s birthday. Isabelle had called in tears, claiming her son, Finn, was having nightmares and would only sleep if Alex was there. I had lost my temper, throwing them both out. Alex had called me unreasonable, slammed the door, and chased after them, not returning all night. The next day, Noah had a sudden heart attack at school. By the time he reached the hospital, it was too late. The doctors said if we had caught it earlier, if he’d had surgery in time… But Alex was busy at an amusement park with Isabelle and Finn. He didn’t even answer his phone. When I couldn’t gather enough money for the surgery, I knelt outside his office building, begging. He had security drag me away. “This pathetic act of yours,” he’d said, “isn’t worth a single hair on Isabelle’s head.” The day Noah died, a heavy snow fell across the city. I held his small, cold body and sat in the hospital corridor all night. My tears ran dry, and my heart died with him. Later, after selling everything I owned, I jumped from the roof of Alex’s company building. When I opened my eyes again, I was back here. Today. Noah tugged on my hand. “Mommy, I heard Daddy’s phone ring just now. I think the hospital said… they found a heart.” My own heart jolted. The same call had come in my last life. But Isabelle had used the excuse that Finn “wasn’t feeling well” and made Alex take him for a check-up first. By the time they were done, the donor heart had already gone to another patient. This time, I wouldn’t let history repeat itself. I immediately dialed Alex’s number. It rang for a long time before he answered. The chaotic music of an amusement park blared in the background. “What is it?” “The hospital just called. They found a matching heart for Noah.” I forced a sense of urgency into my voice. “You need to come back now. We have to get him admitted right away.” There was a pause, then Isabelle’s tearful voice came through the line. “Ava, I’m so sorry, are we interrupting something? Finn got scared on the rollercoaster, and his heart is beating so fast. Alex insisted on taking us to the hospital to get it checked…” I hesitated for only a second. “Then you should go get it checked. But—” My voice became colder than I’d ever heard it. “Alex, you must come back now. This is Noah’s life.” Alex’s tone hardened. “Ava, Isabelle is a single mother, it’s not easy for her. Finn might have a heart problem. I’ll take them and be right back. It’s not like the heart is going to get up and walk away, is it?” I gripped the phone tighter. “An organ transplant isn’t a game. If we miss this chance, we don’t know how long we’ll have to wait for the next one.” “Don’t be unreasonable,” he said, and hung up. I stood there, a chill seeping into my bones. Noah wrapped his arms around my leg, his small face looking up at me. “It’s okay, Mommy. We can wait. Daddy will come back.” Seeing his maturity tore me apart. In our last life, he had said the same thing from his hospital bed. “Mommy, don’t blame Daddy. He just wants to help little Finn.” But who was going to help him? He was only seven. His life had just begun. I took a deep breath, swallowing the lump in my throat, and dialed Alex’s number again. He answered quickly this time. In the background, I could hear Finn’s excited screams. “Daddy! Look how high I’m flying!” My nails dug into my palm. “Alex, I’m sorry, I was being impulsive. Finn isn’t feeling well, you should take him to the hospital first. I can handle the arrangements for the heart.” He was clearly taken aback. “Ava, you…” “Go on,” I said, my voice soft. “Don’t keep Isabelle waiting. It’s hard for her, raising a child alone.” I hung up before he could respond. Noah looked up at me. “Mommy, are we not going to the hospital?” I knelt and wiped the tear tracks from his face. “We are. But we have to wait for the right moment.” I knew better than anyone that Alex responded to honey, not vinegar. In my last life, my aggressive stance had only pushed him further away. This time, I would play his game. I would make him hand me the knife himself. Sure enough, ten minutes later, Alex called back. His voice was a little hoarse. “Ava, I’ve already contacted the hospital. I spoke to them about the donor heart. You can go now, just ask for Dr. Wright.” I feigned hesitation. “Alex… won’t this be too much trouble for you?” He cut me off impatiently. “What trouble? Noah is my son. You two go ahead. I’ll be there as soon as Finn’s check-up is done.” I sneered internally, but my voice was full of gratitude. “Okay, I’ll take Noah right now.” I hung up, scooped Noah into my arms, and ran out the door. At the hospital, Dr. Wright looked surprised to see me. “Mrs. Collins? What are you doing here?” I was still catching my breath. “Alex said he arranged for the donor heart. He told me to bring Noah in to be admitted.” Dr. Wright’s expression shifted. “But… Ms. Isabelle just brought her son, Finn, in. She said Mr. Collins arranged for the heart to be given to him…” I felt like I’d been struck by lightning. My arms, holding Noah, began to tremble. “Dr. Wright, please, check again. My husband clearly said…” “Ava, what are you making a scene about now?” Alex’s angry voice cut through the air. He strode toward us, Isabelle holding Finn’s hand behind him. Finn stuck his tongue out at me. My eyes burned. “Alex, you said the heart was for Noah…” He frowned. “When did I say that? I said I would help you make the arrangements. The hospital evaluated the situation and determined that Finn’s condition is more critical.” My voice was raw. “What critical condition? He looks perfectly healthy!” Isabelle’s eyes instantly filled with tears. “Ava, I know you don’t like us, but Finn is only six. How can you wish him ill?” Alex looked at me with disapproval. “Look at yourself. You can’t even show a little compassion for a child?” “Another heart will be available within two weeks. Noah’s condition is unstable right now anyway. It’s better for him to rest and get stronger before the surgery.” Dr. Wright nodded in agreement. I looked down at Noah in my arms. His face was pale, but he wrapped his arms around my neck. “It’s okay, Mommy. We can wait.” Wait. The word was a dagger in my heart. In my last life, waiting had brought me nothing but his death certificate. I heard myself say, “Fine. We’ll wait.” Alex seemed to relax, his tone softening. “That’s better. Take Noah home for now. I’ll stay with Isabelle and Finn while he gets a full work-up.” Isabelle spoke up timidly. “Alex, won’t this be too much trouble for you? I think Ava is upset…” Alex glanced at me. “She’s not upset. She’s the most understanding person I know.” With that, he led Isabelle and her son into the examination room. I stood in the corridor, holding Noah. Sunlight streamed through the window, but all I felt was cold. The next few days were quiet. Alex came home every night. He even brought Noah a gift—a remote-controlled car. He ruffled Noah’s hair. “Daddy’s been busy with work. You have to understand.” Noah nodded obediently, then immediately stuffed the car into a storage bin. He whispered to me, “Mommy, this is the car Finn got tired of. I’ve seen it before.” I stroked his hair and said nothing. On Friday afternoon, when I went to pick Noah up from kindergarten, I noticed the teacher looking at me strangely. Finn was surrounded by a group of kids, shouting, “My aunt is so mean! My uncle said she’s going to find a new daddy for my cousin and get rid of my uncle!” Noah stood in a corner, his face flushed, his small fists clenched. He suddenly charged forward. “That’s not true! My mommy would never!” Finn shoved him. “You’re just a bastard nobody wants! My uncle said your mommy is a slut!” Noah staggered back, then suddenly clutched his chest, his face turning a frightening shade of blue. I ran out. “Noah!” He collapsed into my arms, his lips purple, his body convulsing. I screamed, “Somebody call an ambulance!” Through a haze of pain, Noah gripped my collar. “Mommy… don’t cry…” Just as the ambulance arrived, Alex rushed over. “What happened?” I ignored him and climbed into the ambulance. But Finn ran to Alex and grabbed his hand. “Uncle, my cousin is being so scary. Do you think he’s faking it?” Isabelle had arrived too, dressed in a patient’s gown, leaning weakly against the doorframe. “Alex, I’m so scared…” Alex hesitated for a moment, then wrapped his arms around her. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here.” I closed my eyes, forcing the tears back. So this was his choice. In the emergency room, the doctor’s face was grim. “His heart is under too much strain. He needs surgery immediately. We can’t wait any longer.” “Then do it!” I said. “But we don’t have a suitable donor heart right now,” the doctor said, looking helpless. I grabbed Alex’s sleeve. “Use the one on the schedule! You said one would be here in two weeks! Use it now!” His voice rose sharply. “I said it was scheduled! That doesn’t mean you can just steal it from someone else!” Isabelle’s soft voice drifted over. “Ava, that heart is someone else’s lifeline. How could you…” Alex cut her off before she could finish. “Enough! Ava, look at you! Do you even look like a mother right now?” He turned on me, his voice harsh. “The reason Noah is like this today is because you don’t know how to take care of a child!” I stared at him, stunned. “Starting tomorrow, I’m taking over Noah’s care,” he declared. “You need to calm down and think about what you’ve done.” I clutched Noah’s gurney. “No! On what grounds…” “On the grounds that I am his father!” he roared. “Ava, you have disappointed me beyond words.” From the bed, Noah’s eyes fluttered open. “Daddy…” he whispered weakly. Alex went to his side, taking his hand. “It’s okay, son. Daddy’s here.” Noah’s eyes were clear. “Daddy, don’t blame Mommy. It was my fault.” Alex’s expression softened. “I know, son. Daddy knows.” Isabelle spoke up again, her eyes red. “Alex, maybe Finn and I should just leave. It seems like our being here is upsetting Ava.” Without looking away from Noah, Alex said, “Leave? Why would you leave? This is a hospital, not her house.” “But…” He turned to me, a sneer on his face. “Ava, go home. You’re just causing trouble here.” I took a deep breath and looked at my son. He gave me a tiny shake of his head, his small hand making a little “it’s okay” gesture. I closed my eyes and walked away. Behind me, I heard Isabelle’s gentle voice. “Alex, are you tired? Let me go get you a coffee…” “No, you stay with Finn.” “But I want to be with you.” I quickened my pace, almost running from the hospital. Back home, I stood in the shower, letting the hot water run over my face, unable to tell if it was water or tears. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Alex: [Noah’s condition has stabilized.] I stared at the words for a long time before replying: [Thank you for your hard work.] A moment later, another message came through: [Ava, Isabelle and her son have been through a lot. Try to be more understanding.] I laughed. Understanding. My understanding in my last life cost me my son. This time, I was done being understanding. The next morning, I made porridge and went to the hospital, but I stopped at the door to Noah’s room when I heard Isabelle’s voice. “Alex, you haven’t even shaved. Let me help you.” “That’s not necessary…” Her voice was as sweet as honey. “Don’t move. You’ve been up all night. It breaks my heart to see you so tired.” I pushed the door open. Isabelle was practically pressed against Alex, a razor in her hand. When he saw me, he immediately stood up. “Ava, what are you doing here?” “I brought Noah some breakfast,” I said, holding up the thermos. Isabelle shrank back like a startled rabbit. “Ava, please don’t misunderstand. I just saw how exhausted Alex was…” I smiled, my expression light and breezy. “Misunderstand what? We’re family. It’s only natural to take care of each other.” I poured the porridge into a bowl and handed it to Noah. “Here you go, sweetie. Mommy made your favorite chicken porridge.” Noah took it obediently and began to eat. For the next three days, I was the picture of a gracious, understanding wife. I visited Noah for exactly one hour each day, no more, no less. Alex’s behavior toward me grew stranger. It was as if he was waiting for me to explode, to fight with him, but I remained as calm as still water. On Thursday night, he came home, a rare occurrence. “Ava, we need to talk.” “Okay.” I put down the cookbook I was reading. “Isabelle, she…” “She has it tough,” I finished for him. “It’s only right that you take good care of her.” He stared at me. “Do you really think so?” I smiled sincerely. “Of course. We’re all family.” He was silent for a long time. “Noah’s surgery is scheduled for three days from now.” My fingers clenched for a second, then relaxed. Finally. “That’s wonderful,” I said. “Thank you for everything.” He searched my eyes for something, but apparently found nothing. “I will personally oversee Noah’s surgery.” I smiled, my eyes full of gratitude. “Thank you.” He turned and left, his retreat looking almost like a defeat. On Friday morning, I took the day off and arrived at the hospital early. Before Noah was wheeled into the operating room, he clutched my hand. “Mommy, I’m scared.” I kissed his forehead. “Don’t be. When you wake up, it will all be over.” “What about Daddy?” “Daddy will be here any minute,” I lied. Alex had promised he would be here, but he was nowhere to be seen. The operating room doors closed, and the red light flickered on. I sat on the bench, my palms sweating. Three hours later, the doors suddenly swung open. The head surgeon came out, his face grave. “Mrs. Collins, I’m sorry. We’ve had to pause the surgery.” I shot to my feet. “What do you mean?” He struggled to meet my eyes. “The donor heart… it was just reallocated.” “What do you mean, reallocated?” “Another patient’s condition became more critical. The hospital made the decision to prioritize them.” My voice became shrill. “And my son? He’s in there right now! His chest has been opened!” Sweat beaded on the surgeon’s forehead. “We… we can only close the incision for now and wait for the next donor heart.” “When will that be?” “Three months, at the earliest.” My vision went black. I nearly collapsed. Three months. Noah would never last that long.

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I used to mock “love at first sight”—until I crashed into campus royalty Alistair Roth freshman year. One look, and I understood: a man so handsome even thrift‑store clothes looked runway‑ready. I’m shallow; I spent years obsessed with his face and body. So when his family’s fortune crashed, I threw money at him until he became my boyfriend. Three years in, his pride was bending. He was ready to “settle” for me; our families even planned a wedding. Then Serena appeared—bright, gentle, everything Alistair wanted. Overnight, his gaze turned from indifference to contempt. That night, reeking of alcohol, he kissed me but whispered her name. My heart clenched. I pushed him away. “You’re drunk.” I lay in bed pretending to sleep, too cowardly to tear our paper‑thin facade. In the dark, he hissed, “Sadie, you really know how to take it. How can you be so pathetic?” I knew he regretted it. But I was hopeless—the thought of not seeing that face every morning ached. So I swallowed my pride, played dumb, and wasted three more years. Until the night I went to drag him from a bar. Pushing the door open, I met another man. The impact short‑circuited my brain. My heart stopped; I forgot to wipe my tears. I stammered, “Wh‑what’s your name?” He looked sweet, his voice impossibly clean. “Rhys Bowen.” In that moment, 1:27 a.m., I knew clearly: My years‑long obsession with Alistair Roth had vanished like smoke. … 1. It was midnight when Alistair was once again dropped off at home by a junior from his department. Woken by the noise, I threw on a robe and leaned against the doorframe, watching the girl’s flushed cheeks. “You shouldn’t have brought him back all by yourself. It’s a lot for one person.” I moved to take Alistair from her, but he shoved my hand away. The air grew thick with awkwardness. As the junior stammered out an explanation, my eyes landed on Alistair’s hand, clenched tightly around the strap of her tote bag. His knuckles were sharp and defined, as beautiful as ever, but now he was clinging to another woman like she was his lifeline. My throat felt dry. I watched her soothe the drunken Alistair, coaxing him into my arms. It was pretty clear why she was the one to bring him home. The moment he was in my arms, the overpowering stench of alcohol hit me, and a wave of nausea washed over me. Wiping his face, changing his clothes, getting him to take some medicine… Once it was all done, I sat quietly by the bed, studying his elegant, chiseled face. Fine brows, long eyes, a high-bridged nose, and thin lips. The open collar of his shirt revealed the firm, porcelain-like skin of his chest. I leaned in close, whispering softly, “I love you so much, Alistair.” He turned his head away, his brow furrowed in a pained groan. I strained to make out the name he was muttering, my cheek almost touching his lips. “Sera…” If I remembered correctly, the junior who brought him home was named Serena. A first-year grad student, and very popular. Just how close had they gotten for a man as reserved as Alistair to be using her nickname? I didn’t want to think of Alistair as some morally bankrupt cheat. He was one of the few genuinely decent men I’d ever met, which was one of the reasons I’d pursued him so relentlessly. Of course, the main reason was that face—the face that held my entire world captive. Shoving my feelings aside, I lay down beside him. I wanted to kiss his lips, but the smell of alcohol was too strong, so I pulled back with a sigh. “Goodnight,” I murmured. A second later, Alistair’s arm wrapped around me, pulling me into his embrace. Just like countless nights before, he buried his head in the crook of my neck. I’d been up until the early hours taking care of him, and with work being so hectic lately, I was sleeping poorly. So, the moment Alistair stirred, I was awake. He released his hold on me and sat on the edge of the bed, his back to me, for a long moment. I had no idea what was on his mind. Just as I was about to ask, his phone rang. The balcony door was open, and Alistair’s smooth voice drifted back to me. “Yeah, just woke up. You? Did you sleep well?” I couldn’t hear the reply, but Alistair chuckled softly. I hadn’t heard him laugh in so long. For some reason, their simple conversation felt like nails on a chalkboard, a sour, indescribable knot tightening in my chest. 2. My boyfriend was cheating on me. Not in the physical sense, but an emotional affair. He was on his phone more often. When we talked, he was either distracted or completely silent. He no longer held me, no longer kissed me. When he looked at me, his eyes were chillingly cold. This was Alistair’s classic move. Over the past three years, whenever he regretted being with me, he’d try to drive me away with the silent treatment. But I could never bring myself to part with that ethereal face of his, so I clung to him shamelessly, and three more years slipped by. He had been on the verge of giving in, ready to just settle for a life with me. Our families had even discussed a wedding date not long ago. But then Serena appeared. The bright, gentle girl was a perfect match for Alistair’s ideal type. They had endless things to talk about, inside jokes, and secrets. They were a perfect fit, from their looks to their souls. And me? My conversation was shallow, my actions clumsy. I was nothing but an embarrassment to him. I tried to break up with him, just like he wanted. But every time I was about to say the words, he would glance over with those narrow, almond-shaped eyes, and the words would die in my throat. All I wanted to do was kiss him. The thought of waking up and not seeing that face was enough to make me want to cry. So I chose to continue this pathetic existence, playing dumb as long as he didn’t explicitly end it. He’d pull all-nighters in the lab with Serena; I’d send worried texts that went unanswered. He’d leave in the morning; I’d have his outfit picked out from the night before. He’d go out with friends and colleagues; I’d be the designated driver to pick him up. Every time his friends would laugh and tease, “Man, your girl really takes care of you,” the look in Alistair’s eyes would grow a little colder. He silently got into the passenger seat. I smiled and chatted with his friends for a bit before waving goodbye. Of course, I noticed Serena’s pale face in the corner. “It’s getting colder lately. Remember to dress warmly, Sera, don’t catch a cold,” I said deliberately before leaving. Her lips trembled as she mumbled a soft “okay,” and a moment later, she removed the dark blue scarf from around her neck. The same scarf I had spent three months knitting for Alistair. When I had put it on him, he hadn’t even bothered to look down, his gaze simply drifting over me as I stood on my tiptoes, struggling to wrap it around his neck. So how did he end up tying my scarf around another girl’s neck? Did he bend down for her? Did he smile? I didn’t dare to imagine it. I didn’t want to. On the drive home, Alistair was silent. Following my principle of “if he doesn’t move, I don’t move,” I chatted with him as usual about trivial, everyday things. His replies were sparse. Just before we got out of the car, he suddenly leaned in close. His dark hair fell forward, perfectly framing his sharp nose, beautifully shaped lips, and clean jawline. His lashes fluttered as his gaze drifted down to my lips. The sweet scent of liquor filled the small space. I held my breath, my heart pounding like a drum. We hadn’t kissed in so long. For the first time, I nervously closed my eyes. Usually, I could never bear to. But the next word out of his mouth sent a chill through my entire body. “Sera…” He did it on purpose. My heart skipped a beat, a dull pain spreading through me. I turned my head and pushed him away. “You’re drunk.” When Alistair got home, he found the clean clothes and hangover soup I had prepared for him, just like always. I lay in bed, feigning sleep, with no courage or resolve to face the truth. As I drifted off, I thought I heard Alistair’s voice, seething with anger, “Sadie, you really can take anything, can’t you? You’re just that pathetic…” Don’t let his righteous, old-fashioned demeanor fool you. When he was angry, he’d said much worse. I was used to it. I fell asleep quickly. 3. Alistair’s neglect became blatant. He started disappearing, ignoring my calls and texts. Not seeing his face drove me crazy. Finally, I spotted him on a mutual friend’s social media feed. He was at a quiet bar, leaning in and talking to Serena. I skillfully cropped Serena out and saved the picture. After getting the address from our friend, I took a cab and rushed over. Alistair’s expression soured the moment he saw me. Serena looked visibly flustered, only calming down after Alistair gave her a reassuring look. “Hey, Sadie! Good to see you! Come have a drink!” “Yeah, it’s been a while! We were starting to get unused to you not keeping tabs on Professor Roth here.” Everyone laughed. I ignored Alistair’s glare and quickly blended in with the group. Before I knew it, I’d been pressured into drinking more than I should have, and my head was spinning. I sat down in the spot they made for me, about to lean on Alistair’s shoulder to steady myself, when he abruptly stood up. He was tall, and the sudden movement drew everyone’s attention. “Rhys, let’s switch seats.” Everyone froze, their eyes darting between me and Alistair. “Come on, Alistair, that’s pretty harsh on Sadie…” a friend tried to mediate. I pressed my temples. I was shocked at the sheer venom in his actions. He was willing to give up a chance to talk to Serena just to avoid sitting next to me. “It’s fine…” I tried to smooth things over, but before I could finish, Alistair cut me off. He glanced at me, his tone dripping with contempt. “Don’t worry, she’s got thick skin. She can talk to anyone. She knows her way around places like this.” Few people knew that after high school, I worked at a hotel for six months to save up for college tuition. I had endured a terrible environment, nearly getting assaulted several times. I had told Alistair this during one of my most vulnerable moments. He had held me tight back then, stroking my back and comforting me. Now, he was using it as a weapon to hurt me. I looked up at him in disbelief. For a split second, he looked shocked too, then frowned in annoyance and avoided my gaze. No apology. Alistair never apologized. I was exhausted. I didn’t fight back, didn’t scream. My heart just ached, as if being struck repeatedly with a blunt axe. A guy sat down next to me, wearing a light blue plaid shirt. He passed me tissues and a glass of warm water a few times. Halfway through the night, Serena suddenly clutched her stomach in pain. Alistair was the first to panic. Ignoring everyone, he scooped her up into his arms and rushed out. No one, including me, had ever seen him that frantic. “I always thought Professor Roth only showed normal human emotions when he was with you, Sadie. Haha, guess he really cares about his junior.” Someone remarked, then trailed off, realizing I, the actual girlfriend, was still sitting right there. He quickly tried to backtrack. He watched my expression cautiously. “It’s okay. Sera isn’t feeling well. Alistair is definitely worried about her,” I said, my eyes crinkling into a smile, but my voice was tinged with a faint bitterness. “Still, that’s going too far. His girlfriend is right here…” someone else muttered under their breath. I took a sip of my drink, and my headache intensified. The person next to me handed me another tissue and swapped my glass for one with warm water. That’s when I realized I was crying. “Haha, how embarrassing, for someone to see me in such a mess.” Tears blurred my vision, but through the haze, the first thing I saw was a breathtakingly handsome face. So handsome it made my blood rush, my whole body feel clear. My mouth fell open, and I forgot to even wipe away my tears. I stammered, “Wh-what’s your name?” The guy was sweet, his voice impossibly gentle. “Rhys Bowen.” At 1:27 AM, I was certain. My obsession with Alistair Roth was completely gone. 4. Alistair came home the next afternoon. When he walked in, I was sitting at the dining table, eating leftover cake from last night. I was in a good mood, swinging my feet and occasionally replying to a text from Rhys. They were just simple, polite greetings, a bit distant, but much warmer than anything I’d gotten from Alistair recently. “Today… is it your birthday?” Alistair finally realized something. His grip on his phone tightened, and a flicker of regret and panic crossed his placid eyes. Last night, I had called him more than once. And he had just watched his phone screen light up, letting me go crazy at home alone. Now he finally remembered what day it was. The day that, three years ago, he had promised he would be by my side no matter what. I took a bite of fluffy cream and waved my fork. “Wrong. It was yesterday.” I didn’t question him, didn’t berate him, didn’t dissolve into a puddle of tears begging for his affection like a kicked puppy. This was what he had been expecting, but strangely, a secret unease began to gnaw at his heart. He stood by the door, his expression conflicted. I tapped the table, motioning for him to sit. “We need to talk.” Alistair instinctively took this as a peace offering. He let out a sigh of relief and sat down opposite me, completely unguarded. I continued eating my cake. He was still in yesterday’s clothes, his cuffs wrinkled. I could guess the faint smell of stale smoke and alcohol clinging to him. His hair was unkempt, falling over his tired eyes. “I was too busy yesterday, I didn’t mean to forget your birthday. How about we celebrate today?” As Alistair spoke, the first thing I noticed were his dry, chapped lips. His lips, his tongue, his teeth… at this moment, they all seemed dull, and I couldn’t find a single thing about them to praise. I cut off his self-assured planning. “Let’s break up.”

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My boyfriend of many years suffers from a severe emotional processing disorder. When a career-ending injury forced me to retire and I was being cyberbullied into a deep depression, I begged him for comfort. He just said I had a weak mentality and was whining over nothing. When the dog we raised together for four years was poisoned and died, he nonchalantly said we could just get another one. Even when my grandmother was in the ICU, on her deathbed, and all she wanted was to hear him promise he would never betray me, he refused, claiming he couldn’t say “cringey things.” I thought that with enough patience and guidance, his emotions would one day normalize. I endured his coldness every day, using my own pain to try and fill the void in his heart. Until the team’s new substitute player, a girl, held a funeral for a withered peach tree in the yard, crying her heart out. For the first time, I saw pity in his eyes. He awkwardly wiped away her tears. “Don’t cry. I’ll plant you a hundred more, okay?” A video of this was posted online. Even my own fans commented that this new girl, Nina, was his cure, his emotional awakening. He didn’t deny it. He just silently liked the post. At that moment, I remembered how earlier that day, my fingernail had split, the pain so sharp it made me tremble and feel nauseous. I remembered his cold, distant expression. And suddenly, I was just so tired. 1. I stared at the men’s suit, half-fitted and now abandoned on the sofa of the bridal shop. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. Ten minutes ago, Nina had called him in a panic. She said her grandmother, who had dementia, had fallen and was refusing to go to the hospital unless her “grandson-in-law” came to get her. He told me they were childhood sweethearts, and he couldn’t refuse to help. And just like that, he abandoned me—me, who had postponed two important meetings to be here with him, trying on wedding attire. He threw a “don’t be unreasonable” over his shoulder and rushed out. I had wanted to ask him: why does someone else’s sick grandmother deserve him playing the role of a devoted grandson-in-law, while my own grandmother couldn’t even get a simple promise from her granddaughter’s actual fiancé on her deathbed? But then I saw the photo. The one his haters used to mock me for being delusional, for trying to compete with a childhood love. In it, a younger Griffin Shaw and Nina were holding hands, their hands joined by the old woman as if in a sacred pact. Everything became clear. In the photo, his youthful face was full of tenderness, a clear dimple visible when he smiled. It was a smile I had never seen in the few pictures we had together. Through scattered gossip, I pieced it all together. His emotional detachment had started the year Nina left without a word to care for her ailing grandmother. The reason he was so determined to expand his investments in the esports world wasn’t because of me and my team. It was to pave the way for Nina, who loved gaming but had been away from the scene for too long. A lump formed in my throat, making it hard to breathe. “Ma’am, are you… alright?” A store clerk knelt before me, offering a tissue. Only then did I realize tears were streaming down my face. I took the tissue with a quiet thank you. She smiled gently, her eyes shifting to the blood-soaked gauze on my finger. “Would you like me to re-bandage that for you?” The wound had split open again when I tried to stop Griffin from leaving and he’d flung my hand away, slamming it against a cabinet. This morning, he’d said bandaging it would waste time and make them late for the tree’s “funeral,” so he left first. Afraid of being late and seeming disrespectful, I had hastily wrapped it in gauze and a band-aid and rushed over. When I arrived, he was laughing and chatting with Nina, carefully pruning the tree’s branches one by one. The moment he saw me, he shoved a pair of shears into my hand and told me to help. The sharp metal pressed cruelly against my wound, and I dropped them with a cry of pain. He’d frowned, annoyed that I had become so “melodramatic” just because of an injury. Yet he knew perfectly well that an esports player’s hands were their livelihood. The very first day Nina joined the team, he had taken out two expensive insurance policies on her hands. I swallowed the bitterness and shook my head. As I turned to leave, the clerk called out to me. “Should I reschedule your fitting?” The wound throbbed. The photos on my phone felt like daggers in my eyes. “No, that won’t be necessary.” 2. I returned to our apartment that evening to find the living room cluttered with bags and boxes. Seeing me, Griffin explained calmly. “The team dorms are full, and technically your spare room was empty, so I had her move in here.” “This room gets the best light and it’s cozy. Nina said she likes it, so I gave it to her. You can just sleep on the enclosed balcony for a few days. After all, we’re not married yet, so it wouldn’t be appropriate for us to share a room.” I stared at him in disbelief. “That bedroom was decorated for me by my grandmother before she passed away! Did you even bother to ask me?” He scowled. “Weren’t you looking at new places anyway? You might be moving out soon. If you want the same layout, just hire an interior designer to replicate it.” “It’s just a room. Let her have it. Don’t be so petty.” I froze. He was the one who suggested I look for a new place. He’d said it was inconvenient to live in the team apartment after getting engaged, that we’d have more privacy if we moved out. Now that his old flame was back, it had suddenly become my project. I was about to argue when a tearing sound came from the bedroom. Nina ran out, clutching several pieces of thick twine, looking innocent. “Griffin, did I do something wrong? This photo wall…” I rushed into the bedroom. The photos that had been carefully strung up were now torn, ripped violently from the wall. My eyes blazed with fury as I snatched the remnants from Nina’s hands. “Who gave you permission to touch this!” She flinched, her eyes instantly welling with tears. “I’m sorry.” Griffin stepped in front of her, shielding her, and shoved me back. “What are you yelling about? It’s just a bunch of old photos. Is it really that big of a deal?” My voice, when it came out, was a scream of pure despair. “Griffin, these aren’t just ‘old photos’! These are the last pictures my grandmother left me!” Back then, Grandma thought framing photos was too expensive and troublesome, but she was afraid of losing them in an album. She’d seen somewhere that you could hang them on the wall, so you could see them whenever you missed her, like she was watching over me as I slept. She had painstakingly hung each one, despite her discomfort, only to worry that I wouldn’t be able to take them down when I moved. Griffin had grandly promised her not to worry, that he would hire the best professionals to remove them without a single scratch. And now, in his eyes, they were just a bunch of troublesome junk. Seeing the photo of me and Grandma from her last days, torn and ruined, felt like losing her all over again. Tears splashed onto the fragments as I carefully picked them up. Nina grabbed my hand, her voice choked with fake remorse. “I’m so sorry, Willow. I didn’t know these were so important to you. I know someone who restores photos, should I ask them for you?” Her hand tightened, crumpling the pieces she held. I fought to control my boiling rage. “No. Let go.” Griffin frowned. “She’s just trying to help. Give her a chance to—” His words about making amends were cut short by another sharp tear. In the struggle, the photo in my hand ripped again. As I watched the wrinkled scraps flutter to the floor, something inside me snapped. I slapped her, hard, across the face. “What is wrong with you? I told you to leave it alone! What are you trying to do?” Before she could even react, Griffin’s hand connected with my cheek. “That’s enough! It was an accident! Why are you taking it out on her? Do you think I’m invisible, hitting her right in front of me?” I stared at Griffin, stunned. It was the first time he had ever laid a hand on me, the first time he had ever raised his voice at me. Even when a road-raging driver had cut me off and screamed obscenities at me, he hadn’t defended me with the same fire he was using to defend Nina now. A bitter laugh escaped me. So this was the difference between being loved and not being loved. “Griffin, let’s break up.” 3. His pupils contracted, a flash of regret in his eyes. Just as he reached out to touch the red mark on my cheek, Nina’s grandmother stormed into the room. She swung her cane, striking my hand with a crack that felt like bone breaking. “You’re the homewrecker! You’re the one who came between my granddaughter and her man! How dare you bully them! Get out! Get out of my house!” Griffin quickly pulled the old woman away. “Grandma, you’ve misunderstood. She’s… she’s the new maid I hired for you. To take care of you.” He coaxed and lied until he managed to get her out of the room. Then he came back and helped me gather the photo scraps. “Willow, I know this is unfair to you. But they’re family to me. If I let people walk all over them, how can I expect anyone else to respect them? Please, try to understand.” I said nothing, just continued collecting the pieces. “I’ll be moved out by tomorrow. I won’t get in the way of your happy reunion anymore.” He frowned, wanting to explain, but Nina called for him. In the end, he said nothing at all. That evening, I was jolted awake by a rustling sound from the living room. My eyes blinked open to see two familiar silhouettes. It was the two stalker fans who had been the most aggressive. I don’t know how, but they had figured out the code to my door and gotten inside. They were walking straight towards the balcony where I was sleeping. A jolt of pure terror shot through me. I grabbed a flowerpot and the stand it was on, hurling them at the intruders, and scrambled towards the spare bedroom. They were right behind me. My hands trembled as I pounded on Griffin’s bedroom door. “Griffin! Someone broke in! It’s them! Open the door!” I heard movement inside, the sound of someone getting out of bed. He was coming to open the door. But then, I heard Nina’s voice, laced with fear. “Griffin, I’m scared. What if they hurt us?” Griffin’s footsteps stopped. I didn’t have time to question why they were in the same room. Tears streamed down my face as I pushed desperately against the door. Two blades flashed into my vision before the men themselves. In that instant, my legs went weak, and I nearly collapsed. My voice was a choked sob. “They have knives! They have knives, Griffin, please, open the door! Please!” Footsteps approached the door again. I thought I was safe. But the next sound I heard was the click of the lock engaging. I froze. Griffin’s heavy voice came from the other side. “Willow, they like you. They won’t actually hurt you. But I can’t take both of them on by myself. I can’t risk Nina’s safety. Just stall them for a bit. I’m calling the police right now. Don’t be scared!” I stared at the door in utter disbelief. “You bastard! Griffin!” Before I could say more, they grabbed me, yanking me forward. A cold blade pressed against my throat. The metallic tang of blood filled the air. One of them grabbed my hand, sniffing it, his hot, damp breath on my ear. “Got you.” A wave of revulsion washed over me. I don’t know where the strength came from, but I slammed my head back, ignoring the searing pain as the knife sliced my neck, and ran like a madwoman back to the balcony. They closed in on me, step by step. My heart pounding, I made a split-second decision and leaped from the two-meter-high balcony. Dragging my bleeding leg, I scrambled away until the police found me and I finally collapsed. The next time I woke up, I was in a hospital room. Griffin was by my side, his eyes red, clutching the hand with the IV drip. “You scared me to death! How could you just jump like that?” Before, seeing him so emotional, so worried about me, would have made me ecstatic. But now I knew. It was only because his true cure had returned that he felt generous enough to sprinkle a little bit of that concern on me. The cut on my neck throbbed. The memory of him abandoning me was seared into my brain. I pulled my hand away, my face a mask of indifference. “You must be disappointed I wasn’t taken, aren’t you?” He flinched. Before he could speak, Nina burst into the room, covered in the stench of rotten eggs and vegetable scraps, her face bruised with handprints. “Willow! I only took your spot because you were injured! Why would you tell your fans I hired those stalkers to hurt you? I swear I didn’t!”

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My sister, Bella, was terrified our mother would find out she pierced her nipples. She had a secret date planned with some guy she met online—someone with “specific tastes”—and she was desperate to make it happen. But she had an MRI scheduled. At the last second, I stopped her from entering the machine, accidentally exposing her secret in the process. Mom went ballistic. She called Bella a “slut,” grounded her for a month, and confiscated her phone. Bella missed her date. In a rage, Bella broke into my room that night. She took one of her long, industrial-grade piercings and drove it straight into my temple. “This is your fault!” she screamed as the blood poured down my face. “You ruined everything! Snitches get stitches!” I died in agony. Then, I opened my eyes. I was back in the hospital waiting room. Bella was standing in front of the MRI tech, smiling sweetly. “No,” she said confidently. “I’m not wearing any metal.” 1 It started when I found the clothes. They were hidden in the back of our shared closet—scandalous, barely-there scraps of fabric designed for one thing only. I thought about confronting her, but when I walked toward the bathroom, the door was slightly ajar. Bella was standing in front of the mirror, shirt pulled up, carefully dabbing iodine around her chest. Glinting under the bathroom lights were two silver bars. She saw me in the reflection and yanked her shirt down, her face twisting in annoyance. “My body, my choice, Ava,” she snapped. “Don’t you dare tell Mom. If she finds out, you’re dead meat too.” Bella was eighteen, a senior in high school who had been held back a year. Legally an adult, but still living under Mom’s iron fist. I had no intention of ratting her out. But I had to warn her. “Mom scheduled your MRI for tomorrow morning,” I whispered. “You need to take those out now. If you try to do it there, she’ll see.” Bella rolled her eyes. “You’re an idiot. The piercings are fresh. If I take them out now, the holes will close up and it’ll hurt like hell to put them back in.” “Relax, Ava. I’ve got a plan.” 2 I didn’t realize Bella’s “plan” was simply to lie to the technician’s face. I watched in horror as she lay down on the table. The machine began to hum, the magnetic field ramping up. I prayed the jewelry was high-grade titanium or surgical steel—something non-magnetic. But as she moved closer to the bore of the magnet, I saw it. Under her thin T-shirt, the metal began to vibrate. Bella gasped, a small sound of pain escaping her lips as the magnets began to pull at the jewelry embedded in her flesh. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t watch my sister get ripped apart by physics. And we definitely couldn’t afford to break a multi-million dollar machine. Just as her feet crossed the threshold, I yelled out. “Stop! Wait! She’s wearing metal!” The technician hit the emergency stop. Mom’s face went dark as a thunderhead. She marched over and yanked Bella’s shirt up. The secret was out. Our mother was a control freak of the highest order. She didn’t just get mad; she exploded. She dragged Bella off the table and slapped her—hard—right there in the medical suite. “You little tramp!” she screamed, not caring about the staring staff. “Who taught you to be this trashy? Piercing yourself like a hooker!” I tried to step in, to calm her down, but Mom turned and kicked me in the stomach. “Bella is a good girl! This is your fault, Ava! You corrupted her! You think you’re so smart with your grad school acceptance? I’m cutting you off! Go sell your body if you want tuition money!” In my past life, this was the beginning of the end. Bella murdered me that night, and Mom covered it up, telling the police I was “suicidal” and had done it to myself. “If it wasn’t for Ava, Bella wouldn’t have gone astray,” Mom had told the cops over my cooling body. “It’s better this way.” 3 “Any metal on you? Jewelry, zippers, underwire bras?” The tech’s bored voice snapped me back to the present. Bella giggled, playing the part of the innocent schoolgirl perfectly. “Nope! No way. My mom would kill me if I wore that stuff. Only bad girls wear piercings.” She shot a nasty glare at the small silver necklace I had bought with my own money. The tech nodded. “Alright. Hop on. Don’t move.” Bella lay down. The table began to slide. As the machine’s thrumming grew louder—a rhythmic, mechanical pounding—Bella’s confidence faltered. She bit her lip. Her eyes widened. I stood in the corner, watching. A small, cold smile touched my lips. Oh, now you’re scared? Too late. 4 Mom jabbed me in the ribs with her elbow. “Why are you just standing there? Look at your sister, she’s nervous! Go hold her hand! Why are you so cold-hearted?” Bella and I were half-sisters. My dad died when I was young. Mom remarried quickly, but Bella’s dad died of a heart attack shortly after she was born. Two dead husbands. The town gossips called Mom a “Black Widow.” To prove them wrong, Mom became obsessed with raising “perfect” daughters. But her methods were twisted. If Bella messed up, she got a timeout. If I messed up, I was forced to kneel on uncooked rice for hours. “You’re the older sister,” Mom would say. “Her failures are your failures.” But when I tested that theory—when I acted out on purpose—I was the only one punished. “You’re responsible for yourself, Ava! Don’t drag your sister down!” It was never about fairness. It was about favoritism. Bella’s grandparents hated Mom, but my dad’s family—my grandma and my Aunt Sarah—loved me. They slipped me cash, bought me clothes, took me to dinner. Mom hated it. “It’s not fair to Bella!” she’d scream. So she cut them off. She burned the gifts they sent me. All to make things “equal.” 5 A low moan from the machine broke my train of thought. Just like before, the magnets were waking up. The metal in Bella’s chest was reacting. But this time, I didn’t say a word. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms, and watched. “You’re doing great, Bella!” I shouted over the noise, my voice dripping with false cheer. “It’s just the machine noise! Don’t be a baby!” Mom relaxed. She thought Bella was just being dramatic about the noise. The table slid further in. Bella’s torso entered the bore. The magnetic pull was exponential. Under her shirt, two points tented the fabric, stretching impossibly high as the jewelry tried to rip itself free to join the magnets lining the cylinder. The moan turned into a shriek. “MOM! HELP!” It wasn’t a cry of discomfort. It was the sound of raw, bloody trauma. I feigned panic. “Mom! Something’s wrong! The machine is hurting her!” The tech looked up, realized something was catastrophic, and sprinted toward the room to pull Bella out. But Mom blocked the door. She shoved the tech back toward the control panel. “My daughter is stuck! Turn it off! Turn it off right now!” 6 Mom didn’t understand physics. You can’t just “turn off” an MRI. To kill the magnetic field instantly, you have to initiate a “quench”—venting the liquid helium. It destroys the machine and costs a fortune to repair. Mom didn’t care. While I pretended to struggle with Bella’s legs, the inevitable happened. Rrrrip. The sound of skin giving way was audible even over the machine. One of the piercings tore free, shredding through Bella’s nipple and shirt, flying upward like a bullet to clang against the inner wall of the scanner. Bella screamed—a high, thin sound—and passed out from the shock. “Mom! She passed out! There’s blood everywhere!” I screamed. The tech shoved past me to get to Bella. Mom, seeing the blood, went feral. She ran into the control room and started smashing buttons. “Stop it! Stop hurting my baby!” When the buttons didn’t work, she grabbed a heavy metal stool and smashed it against the control window, then ran inside and started battering the plastic casing of the MRI machine itself. “Work, you piece of junk! Stop!” The machine let out a dying groan, the helium venting with a loud hiss. The room filled with white fog. Silence fell.

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