After a car accident, my memory reset to when I was eighteen. When I woke up in the hospital, the first thing I saw was my fiancé, Julian, making out passionately with my sister, Chloe. Finding it hilarious, I snapped a picture and sent it to the family group chat. When Chloe saw it, she screamed at me to delete it. I just laughed, heartless and carefree. “Why hide it, Sis? Brother-in-law is hot. You two should go public!” Julian froze, staring at me like I was a ghost. “What did you call me?” “Brother-in-law? I’m your fiancé, you idiot.” 1 I was woken up by the sound of aggressive kissing. Annoyed by the noise, I cracked my eyes open, only to see my sister straddling a man in the chair next to my hospital bed. They were going at it hard, completely ignoring my presence, making wet, ambiguous noises that made my skin crawl. I was instantly wide awake. Damn, I thought. My innocent, goody-two-shoes sister Chloe has a wild side. I squinted at the guy. Not bad. She eats well. I grabbed my phone and started snapping photos, thinking I’d send them to her later as blackmail material. Flash. Crap. I forgot to turn off the flash. The sudden burst of light terrified them. They scrambled apart, looking at me like deer in headlights. Chloe recovered first, shrieking, “Sarah! Are you crazy? Who are you trying to scare?” … Julian frowned, pushed Chloe aside, straightened his rumpled shirt, and marched over to me. “Since you’re awake, let’s go home.” He reached out to grab my hand. I didn’t know why, but the moment he got close, my chest tightened. It was a visceral reaction. I dodged his touch instinctively. I was still trying to figure out who this guy was when the door burst open. It was my mother. She rushed to the bedside, sobbing. “Oh my god, Sarah! How does a perfectly safe car just crash? Thank god Julian got you here in time. If anything happened to you, I wouldn’t survive it.” The lust in Julian’s eyes had vanished, replaced by the mask of a perfect gentleman. “It was the least I could do, Mrs. Hayes.” Mom nodded approvingly. Seeing me just sitting there, she shot me a look. Be polite, it said. I got the message. I hopped off the bed, gave Julian a theatrical, ninety-degree bow, and shouted, “Thank you, Brother-in-law, for saving my life! I will honor you like my own brother from now on!” Julian’s face went pitch black. A cold draft hit me, and I shivered, scrambling back under the covers. “Brother-in-law isn’t mad at a sick girl, right?” I giggled. “I’m fragile right now.” Julian looked paralyzed. “What did you call me?” Every time I said “Brother-in-law,” his expression darkened another shade. Mom panicked and covered my mouth. “Stop it! What are you saying?” Chloe, who had been standing silently in the corner, suddenly looked terrified. “Sarah, stop talking! Julian is going to get angry. Did you forget what happened the last time you made him mad?” I didn’t understand. Why would he get mad? Why couldn’t I make him mad? And what were the consequences? They were all acting so weird. Julian finally spoke, his voice ice-cold. “What game are you playing now? I’m not in the mood for your drama.” Mom looked at him with pure fear. “Julian, please don’t be mad at Sarah. She’s just… having a moment. You know how she gets. Just humor her, and she’ll come home.” I was completely lost. Under Mom’s pleading, Julian softened. “Fine. I was wrong earlier. Come on, babe. Let’s go home.” He reached out to brush a stray hair from my forehead. Mom looked relieved. But behind him, Chloe’s eyes were filled with venom. Meeting her gaze snapped me back to reality. I leaned back to avoid his hand, lost my balance, and instinctively kicked out to stop myself from hitting the headboard. My foot connected solidly with Julian’s chest. He stumbled back, his lower back hitting the sharp corner of the bedside table. He doubled over in pain. Chloe rushed to him, practically weeping. “Sarah! What is wrong with you?!” Mom ignored him and checked me. “Baby, are you okay? Did you hurt your foot?” Chloe snapped, “Mom! Look at her, she’s fine! She’s faking it!” Julian had lost all patience. “Sarah, you clearly haven’t learned your lesson. If I ever visit you again, I’m a dog!” 2 I had never been yelled at like that in my life. I wasn’t about to take that disrespect. I jumped off the bed and delivered a perfect Taekwondo axe kick to the air in front of him. Black belt, baby. “Who asked you to come? Aren’t you my sister’s boyfriend? What, you trying to have your cake and eat it too?” Mom turned pale. She frantically dialed Dad. “Honey, get here now. Our daughter is broken.” Dad rushed in with a team of doctors. They poked and prodded me for an hour. The diagnosis: Retrograde Amnesia. My memory was stuck at eighteen. When my parents heard this, they actually laughed. “What are the odds she never gets her memory back?” they asked the doctor eagerly. The doctor paused. Usually, families ask about recovery chances. My parents were asking about permanent loss. “About twenty percent. There’s a small blood clot. Once it dissolves, she should remember.” My parents deflated instantly. Julian scoffed. “Amnesia? That’s a new low, even for you. Don’t think this act is going to make me like you again.” The image of him sucking face with my sister flashed in my mind. I shuddered. “Relax, Brother-in-law. I have zero interest in taken men.” Julian gritted his teeth. “Brother-in-law? I. Am. Your. Fiancé.” Mom jumped in, soothing his ego with practiced humility. It was obvious she was terrified of him dumping me. Dad joined in the scolding. “Sarah, stop it. Your sister has a boyfriend, everyone knows that. You’re ruining her reputation.” I snapped. “Mom, Dad, I’m telling the truth! I literally took a picture of them!” My parents looked confused. Chloe lunged for my phone. “Sarah! Haven’t you done enough? Are you trying to make Julian hate you even more?” I sidestepped, and she face-planted onto the bed. She didn’t give up, tackling me. In the struggle, my fingers swiped frantically across the screen. Ding. Ding. Ding. Phones chimed simultaneously in the pockets of Mom, Dad, Chloe, and Julian. Everyone checked their screens. Their brows furrowed in unison. Dad grabbed Chloe and slapped her across the face. “You animal! He is your sister’s fiancé! How could you?” Oops. In the struggle, I had accidentally sent the photo to the “Hayes Family & Friends” group chat. 3 The group chat exploded. Everyone was online, eating popcorn and watching the show. [Cousin Jen]: Wow, Chloe. Didn’t know you were that wild. [Aunt Lisa]: Wait, isn’t that Sarah’s fiancé? Why is he eating Chloe’s face? [Uncle Bob]: Chloe stealing her sister’s man? That’s low. Chloe’s face turned bright red. She looked at Julian helplessly, begging for him to save her. But Julian didn’t even look at her. She turned her rage on me. “Sarah! Delete it! Are you trying to ruin me?” I laughed. “Why? Brother-in-law is handsome! Why hide him? Look at the lighting, it’s romantic. You should save it. It’ll be a great memory when you’re old.” Chloe stomped her foot. “Didn’t you hear Mom and Dad? He is your fiancé!” I chuckled. “Sis, are you gaslighting me too? If he’s mine, why were you kissing him? Or is Uncle Bob right? Are you screwing my man behind my back?” Chloe froze. Then, her eyes darted around, and she dropped to her knees in front of our parents. “It was an emergency! Julian had an asthma attack! He didn’t have his inhaler! I was giving him artificial respiration!” “Sarah loves him so much, I would never steal him! Mom, Dad, believe me!” Wow. Tongue-kissing constitutes CPR now? Only an idiot would believe that. “Julian,” Mom asked, her voice trembling. “Is that true? Was it… medical?” Julian hesitated for a split second, then nodded. Mom let out a huge breath. “Oh, thank god. I knew you two weren’t like that.” Okay, so my mother is the idiot. Dad looked furious. He wanted to say something, but Mom grabbed his arm and shook her head sharply. Dad looked at me, sighed, and swallowed his words. “Sarah,” they said, eyes watering. “It was a misunderstanding. Don’t overthink it. We wouldn’t lie to you.” I looked at them, baffled. Why were they protecting this guy? “Sarah has amnesia,” Mom told Julian apologetically. “Please be patient with her. And when she remembers… please don’t hurt her again.” Jesus. Did this guy save the world or something? Why was my family bowing down to him? 4 My parents made a hasty exit, claiming they had business to attend to. “Julian, take care of Sarah. Maybe if you talk, she’ll remember,” Mom said. They practically shoved Chloe out the door. “Leave them alone.” When the door clicked shut, the room went silent. Julian stared at me, calculating. I smiled awkwardly. “Sarah,” he said slowly. “You really don’t remember me?” I shook my head. “What do you remember?” “I remember getting a 1580 on my SATs and having Ivy League schools fighting over me,” I grinned. That was a good year. Disgust flashed in Julian’s eyes. “A dog really can’t stop eating shit. You lose your memory, and you still can’t stop lying.” My smile vanished. “Excuse me? Who’s lying? The College Board website doesn’t lie.” Julian sneered. “The one with the 1580 was Chloe. You just love stealing her credit.” Excuse me? Chloe? The girl who thought Europe was a country? If Chloe got a 1580, I’ll eat my shoe. My parents threw a party when she broke 1000. “Brother-in-law, you can’t just rewrite history because you’re sleeping with her. Open the portal. Let’s check.” He tried to refuse, but I dragged him onto the bed and opened the verification site on my phone. Julian smirked, confident I was about to be humiliated. The internet was slow. The loading circle spun and spun. I slapped my thigh in frustration. Smack. Julian grunted in pain. “Sarah!” “Oops. Sorry.” The page loaded. Name: Sarah Hayes. Score: 1580. Julian froze. He refreshed the page. He checked the URL. He thought I had built a fake website. I rolled my eyes. “Type in your own info if you don’t believe it.” He snatched the phone and typed fast. He looked nervous. Name: Julian Blackwood. Score: 1510. I burst out laughing. “Hahaha! You scrub! You were just scared I was smarter than you!” Julian stared at the screen, muttering, “So… you weren’t lying back then.” I slapped his thigh again. “Of course not!” He winced, grabbing my wrist. “Use your words, not your hands.” “Sorry, Brother-in-law. I got excited.” His face darkened. “Stop calling me that. I’m your fiancé.” I shoved him off the bed. “Stop joking! Even with amnesia, I know my type. You aren’t it.” He hit the floor hard. He didn’t get up. “Brother-in-law? Stop faking. Chloe isn’t here to pity you.” When the cold sweat started beading on his forehead, I realized he wasn’t acting. I hit the call button. He was carried out on a stretcher. I called my parents. “Mom, Dad… I think I broke him.”

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I was scrolling through Reddit late one night when I stumbled upon a disturbing thread on r/AskReddit. [Serious] What is the most effective way to drive someone legally insane? The top-voted comment was chilling in its simplicity: > “Repeat the exact same routine as the day before. Wear the same clothes, say the same lines. If they notice, gaslight them. Tell them they are remembering it wrong.” When I opened my eyes the next morning, my husband was buttoning his shirt. It was a charcoal pinstripe suit he rarely wore. “You’re up,” he said, checking his watch. “Big all-hands meeting today. I need to head in early.” My ears began to ring. He wore that exact suit yesterday. He said those exact words yesterday. 1 David finished dressing and walked out of the bedroom. I shook my head, trying to clear the fog. Stop overthinking, Emily, I told myself. You were just doom-scrolling too late last night. I washed up and went to the kitchen. My mother-in-law, Barbara, placed breakfast on the island counter and waved at me with a bright smile. “Eat up, honey. Oatmeal with blueberries and scrambled eggs today.” It was the exact same breakfast as yesterday. Is this a coincidence? Suppresing my unease, I sat down and started eating. Barbara handed a packed lunch bag to David. “David, don’t forget to pick up my heating pad from CVS on your way home.” My head snapped up. “Didn’t he buy that yesterday?” Barbara turned around, looking confused. “No? You must be remembering it wrong, dear.” David muttered a quick agreement, grabbed our daughter, Lily, and rushed out the door for school drop-off. I put down my spoon. “Mom, I remember clearly. You asked David for the heating pad yesterday. The gray one with the auto-shutoff.” Barbara stared at me for a long moment, then shook her head with a pitying look. “Emily, you’re definitely confused.” “I’ll prove it.” I walked into Barbara’s room and threw open her closet. Nothing. No heating pad. Did he really not buy it yesterday? “Emily, I’m going for my morning walk. Clean up the kitchen when you’re done,” Barbara called out. The front door slammed shut. I was alone. I walked back to the dining table. At Barbara’s spot, a glass of water sat half-full. A fork lay on the floor. A spoon balanced precariously on the edge of her plate. Yesterday, I saw that spoon wobbling. I had reached out and moved it to stop it from falling. Clatter. The spoon fell to the floor. My heart hammered against my ribs. I pulled out my phone and tried to find that Reddit thread from last night. 2 The thread was still there. New comments had rolled in. > This isn’t realistic. You can’t replicate an entire day. > Yeah, people encounter too many random variables. They’d notice. > OP, can you give an example? I scrolled down. The original commenter had replied. > You don’t need to replicate everything. You just need specific ‘anchors.’ Unease and panic will do the rest of the work. Wear the same outfit. Say a specific phrase. Drop an object at the same time. Once the target recognizes the pattern, their brain will break trying to rationalize it. The events of the morning weren’t just coincidences. They were anchors. Did David see this post? Is he trying to break me? But… why? David and I have been together since college. We built a startup together, sold it, and started a new venture. We were successful. After Lily was born, I stepped back to manage the household while David ran the company. For six years, he had been the model husband and father. He always said, “A happy home is my shield.” What motive could he possibly have? An affair? We have a prenup; he could just ask for a divorce. Custody? Lily prefers him anyway; she’d likely choose him in court. The company? He’s the majority shareholder. I’m no threat. There was no logical reason to drive me insane. I must be losing it, I thought, laughing nervously. But that night, David came home with a new heating pad. They had the exact same conversation as the night before. Barbara watched the exact same episode of Wheel of Fortune. David played “Rock, Paper, Scissors” with Lily. Best two out of three. David won. Again. I felt sick, but I swallowed the fear. It’s just a routine. People have routines. The next morning, I opened my eyes. David was buttoning the charcoal pinstripe suit. “You’re up,” he said. “Big all-hands meeting today. I need to head in early.” I sat up, cold sweat drenching my back. David never wore the same suit three days in a row. “David,” I said, my voice trembling. “You’ve worn that suit for two days. You’re wearing it again?” 3 “You’re remembering it wrong, Em. This is the first time I’ve worn it this week.” He answered casually, not breaking his rhythm, and walked out. I jumped out of bed. Breakfast: Oatmeal with blueberries. Scrambled eggs. The request: “Don’t forget the heating pad.” It was a carbon copy of yesterday. And the day before. I swallowed hard. “Mom… can we have pancakes tomorrow?” Barbara frowned. “I make something different every day, Emily. Why are you so picky? Sit down and eat.” I stiffened, then turned and ran back to the bedroom. “I’m going for my walk,” Barbara yelled. The door slammed. One minute later… Clatter. The spoon hit the floor. With every predictable sound, my sanity fractured a little more. I grabbed my phone to check the Reddit user. I couldn’t find the post. It was deleted. But I followed the user. I clicked their profile. The account still existed. I forced myself to calm down. They were gaslighting me. I knew it. But why? I tore the house apart looking for clues. Lipstick on collars? Receipts? Burner phones? Nothing. I felt like the crazy wife in a Lifetime movie. I needed air. I put on my coat and stepped outside. My neighbor, Mr. Henderson, was walking his Golden Retriever. “Morning, Emily! Don’t worry, Buster doesn’t bite.” I nodded mutely and followed him into the elevator. In the reflection of the elevator doors, I saw him grip the leash tightly with both hands. Just like yesterday. Buzz. My blood turned to ice. For the next three days, every time I left the house, Mr. Henderson was there. “Buster doesn’t bite.” The grip on the leash. Was it a coincidence? Or did David pay him off? I spent the days wandering the city, lurking near David’s office. I found nothing. I took a deep breath before entering my house. Ignore it, I told myself. If you react, you lose. 4 Day four. Day five. Day six. For two weeks, David wore the pinstripe suit. We ate oatmeal and eggs. He bought a heating pad every single night. I tried screaming at them. I flipped the dining table. I threw the suit in the trash. The next morning, the table was upright, the suit was back, and the loop reset. Even Lily looked at me with wide, fearful eyes. “Mommy, you’re scaring me.” I tried staying awake all night to catch them resetting the stage. I couldn’t. Every night, a heavy drowsiness would take me, and I’d pass out. I was reaching my breaking point. I needed an anchor of my own. I called Sarah. Sarah used to be my assistant. Now she was the HR Director at our company. She was my closest friend. I was the one who promoted her. We met at a coffee shop near the office. Sarah looked polished and professional. But when she saw me, her brow furrowed. “Emily… you look… exhausted. Are you okay?” I grabbed her hand like a lifeline and spilled everything. The suit. The oatmeal. The spoon. Sarah listened, her expression shifting from concern to bewilderment. “Emily,” she said gently. “Is it possible… you’re under too much stress?” “What do you mean?” “I see David every day. He hasn’t worn the same suit for two weeks. That would be insane. Look.” She pulled out her phone and scrolled through the company’s Instagram feed. Photos from meetings over the last two weeks. David was wearing a navy suit. A grey blazer. A polo shirt. Never the pinstripe. My ears rang. I slumped back into my chair. Am I the problem? Maybe the Reddit thread never existed. Maybe I hallucinated it to justify my mental break. I felt small. Broken. A waiter brought our coffees. Sarah took a sip and frowned. “This is soy milk. I asked for oat. I’ll be right back.” She stood up and walked to the counter. I stared at her back. Sarah had beautiful, long wavy hair that cascaded down her back. It was distinctive. Wait. I pulled out my phone. I went to the Reddit user’s profile. The profile picture was a woman from behind. I held my phone up, comparing the photo to Sarah standing at the counter. My heart stopped. It was her. The pieces slammed into place. “Emily? You okay?” Sarah was back. She looked at me with deep concern. The concern you show a lunatic. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “How’s the family, Sarah?” A flash of panic darted through her eyes before she masked it with a smile. “Good! Just me and my cat. Single life, you know?” She was lying. I knew she was lying. And that lie was the key to everything. I left the coffee shop and drove straight to the one place that would confirm my theory. When I got home that night, the loop continued. Barbara watched TV. David played the game with Lily. But this time, I didn’t feel fear. I felt a cold, sharp rage. David looked at me. “Honey, you’re shaking. I’m making an appointment with a psychiatrist for tomorrow. For your own good.” So this was the endgame. I nodded. “Okay.”

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I spent two years in a relationship with a guy younger than me. He was handsome, full of energy, and charming. Just when I was thinking about taking the next step, we had a fight. In a fit of rage, the man who used to sweetly call me “Babe” let his mask slip. “Old hag.” Later, at his loud, crowded birthday party, I happened to be dining at a nearby table with a new man. He saw me and rushed over like a lunatic. “Babe, let’s stop this cold war, okay?” I smiled at him calmly. “Sorry, we’re already broken up.” “Oh, by the way, don’t call me Babe anymore. You should probably call me… sister-in-law.” 1 The moment the words left his mouth, we both froze. “Old hag.” I never thought I’d hear those words come from Liam’s mouth. “I… I didn’t mean that.” Liam’s face softened a bit, but his words remained stubborn. “Annie, I’m barely twenty-two. Do you really expect me to be as dead inside as you are?” I suddenly felt exhausted. Liam was young. Vibrant. He was still in grad school. After we moved in together, he went out drinking every two or three days, often stumbling home at 2 or 3 AM. I didn’t have his energy. Between the pressure at work and his late nights, I was barely sleeping. Every time the door creaked open, every drunken stumble in the hallway, ruined my entire night. For months, my nerves had been frayed, fatigue eating away at me. I tried to talk to him, to ask him to cut back on the pointless partying. But in his anger, the truth slipped out. “No wonder the guys call you an old hag. You’re just a buzzkill who won’t let anyone have fun.” In that instant, I was stunned. It was like I was looking at a stranger. The silence stretched for minutes. Liam’s phone buzzed. A male voice on the other end urged him on: “Liam, bro, where are you? Did Annie lock you in?” “No way, Liam! Is the old hag actually grounding you?” That second voice belonged to a girl. I knew her. She was the “princess” of Liam’s friend group. Cute face, disgusting personality. “Shut up,” Liam snapped, frowning as he hung up. He looked at me, his tone slightly softer. “I won’t come back tonight. I won’t disturb your sleep.” Slam. The door closed. I stared at the door for a long time before looking down. It was only a four-year age gap. When things were good, I was his sweet “Babe.” When he was angry, the truth came out. To him, I was just an old hag who was four years his senior. 2 Liam didn’t come home that night. I took half a sleeping pill and actually got some rest. My biological clock woke me up at six. I heard the front door open. I washed up and walked out to find Liam just returning. He was holding bags of my favorite breakfast from the bakery down the street. Seeing me awake, he pulled a small velvet box from his pocket like he was presenting a treasure. Inside was a necklace I had left in my online cart for months, too hesitant to buy. “About last night… I said something stupid. Don’t hold it against me, okay?” That was Liam. Dating a younger guy wasn’t easy. We fought a lot over the last two years. He was generous with gifts—flowers, luxury items I wanted but wouldn’t buy for myself. Usually, a little coaxing and a gift would smooth things over. But this time, I knew. I couldn’t let it go. “Old hag.” Those two words had torn through the illusion of our love. It was repulsive. Liam thought this was just another small spat. He thought his usual tricks would work. But I just felt tired. “I’m not mad anymore,” I said flatly. “Go get some sleep.” Liam let out a sigh of relief. After he went into the bedroom, I left the necklace on the entryway table. This sweet date couldn’t fix the slap in the face he gave me last night. 3 For the next few days, Liam focused on his studies. His schedule became almost normal. Until the weekend. He tested the waters. “It’s Sarah’s birthday. We’re going to Karaoke tonight. Won’t be late.” Sarah. The girl who called me an old hag on the phone. I knew exactly what she was about. “I haven’t been to Karaoke in a while,” I said, looking at him. Liam froze. “You… want to go?” “Can’t I?” I rarely joined his social events. In the first six months, the “honeymoon phase,” he dragged me along. But I realized quickly that those loud, chaotic environments weren’t for me. Eventually, our social lives separated completely. The last time I saw his friends was months ago, at Liam’s birthday. “It’s going to be loud. I’m afraid you won’t like it,” Liam mumbled, trying to find an excuse. I shook my head calmly. “It’s fine. I’m off tomorrow. I want to relax too.” Liam looked uncomfortable, but he agreed. Before we left, he picked out a trendy, oversized hoodie for me. “See? Now you look a few years younger.” I smiled faintly but didn’t speak. His friends often made fun of my age behind my back. “Robbing the cradle,” they’d say. Or they’d joke that Liam was smart for snagging a “sugar mommy” early. In the beginning, Liam would drink them under the table for those comments. “Say one more word about my girl and I’ll end you,” he’d slur. Back then, he really didn’t care about the four years. But now? It had become his biggest insecurity. 4 We got to the Karaoke bar around eight. Liam immediately melted into the crowd of his friends. They greeted me politely, but their eyes were cold. Sarah, the birthday girl, saw me and made a dramatic face. “Annie! Who bought you that hoodie? You’re, like, twenty-eight. Trying a bit hard, aren’t we?” “Sarah.” Liam’s voice carried a warning. “Annie looks great. Don’t be rude.” Sarah huffed, then shoved the guy next to Liam out of the way and clung to Liam’s arm. “Come on, Liam! It’s my birthday! Don’t just sit with Annie. Come play dice with me!” Liam didn’t pull away. He glanced at me, his expression relaxed and handsome. “Babe, I’ll be right back.” “Okay.” The room got loud fast. These kids, with no real jobs or stress, drank and screamed over the music. I sat silently with a drink, watching Liam’s voice get louder. When he won a game, he high-fived Sarah, their bodies pressing together naturally. Noise. Chaos. Everything I hated. After the honeymoon phase, I had calmed down. I realized our differences weren’t “complementary”—they were cracks in the foundation. Different schedules. Different hobbies. I wanted to rest on weekends; he wanted to party. I tried to keep up, but it just left me exhausted. I had thought about breaking up before. But I naively believed that love conquers all. “Liam! Why did you push me?” Sarah’s whiny voice cut through the noise. Liam was drunk now. Sarah was clinging to him like ivy. But when her arm brushed his, Liam pushed her away. His rejection was loud and clear. “Get off. You’re not Annie. My Annie isn’t this… young.” 5 Sarah pouted, pretending to be mad. “What? Are you saying Annie is old?” Liam mumbled something I couldn’t catch, except for one sentence. “She’s twenty-eight.” Sarah beamed. She glanced at me, her eyes full of triumph. She was a sophomore. Eight years younger than me. She was definitely “tender” compared to me. Our fights lately always circled back to sleep schedules and age. He’d started tagging me in TikToks of younger, “hotter” girls. When I got upset, he’d say, “They’re young and pretty. What’s wrong with looking?” Yeah. Everyone was young and pretty. Except me. I was old and dead inside. I quietly gathered my things. As I walked out, a few people noticed. “Annie, you heading out? Don’t worry, we’ll take care of Liam,” a guy by the door said. I nodded perfunctorily. Nobody wanted me there. Including Liam. Just like I didn’t fit in this room, I didn’t fit in his life. Age, personality… we were just wrong. Two years of trial and error, and the result was failure. I called an Uber. The night wind hit my face, making my eyes water. The driver, a woman in her thirties, saw me in the rearview mirror. “Rough night, honey? If he’s not the one, dump him. You’re too young to waste your time being sad.” I wiped my eyes. She was right. Why suffer? Better to cut it off. I opened Liam’s chat. I didn’t hesitate. “Liam, let’s break up. Let’s end this on good terms.” 6 The next morning, I took all my saved vacation time and booked a trip. I had just finished a huge project, and my boss gave me a $2,000 bonus. Fifteen hours later, I landed in a foreign country. My phone buzzed. It was Liam. “Annie, what is wrong with you? Breaking up out of nowhere? Do you know all my friends saw that text?” Seeing the new scenery, my mood lifted. My voice was calm. “If you’re embarrassed, you can tell them you dumped me.” I didn’t care about my reputation. When I started dating a guy four years younger, people talked. A little more gossip wouldn’t hurt. “Annie, that’s not the point. Why are we breaking up?” Liam was suppressing his anger. Why? There were too many reasons. I was too lazy to list them. “Liam, I don’t want to date a younger guy anymore.” I didn’t want to be called an “old hag” behind my back by the boy I loved. It hurt too much. “You pursued me, remember? Were you just playing with me?” Liam gritted his teeth. Right. I chased him. We were at the same university. Before I graduated with my Master’s, I had a brief campus romance. Liam was hot, rich, and a gentleman. I thought I had won the lottery. But nobody is perfect. I enjoyed his youth, so I had to pay the price: his immaturity, his lifestyle, and the endless stream of girls hovering around him. I had paid enough. “Yeah, my bad. Liam, I apologize. But we’re done.” My calmness must have infuriated him. “Fine! Break up then! Annie, don’t you dare regret this!” I thought about it. I wouldn’t.

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The billionaire scion of New York, Julian Blackwood, famously despised gold diggers. Unfortunately, I was one. When I found out about his little pet peeve, I asked him casually, “Julian, what would you do if someone got close to you just for your money?” He didn’t even look up from his phone. “Kill them.” Me: ? Excuse me? Since when were you a psycho? That was a dealbreaker. I was here for the bag, not a body bag. I packed my valuables and ran away overnight. I left a note: [Not gonna bother you anymore. I’m leaving. Hope you find someone who loves you for you, not your wallet.] Three days later, I was haggling at a pawn shop over my designer bags when a black Centurion card slammed onto the counter. The man standing there had red-rimmed eyes. “Babe,” he rasped, “take all my money. Just bother me for the rest of your life, okay?” 1 “Babe, what are you looking at?” Julian had a networking dinner tonight and didn’t get back until nearly eleven. The scent of expensive scotch clung to him, making me wrinkle my nose. I pushed him toward the bathroom. “Don’t kiss me until you scrub that smell off!” He laughed and scooped me up bridal style, carrying me into the bathroom with him. Steam filled the room, fogging up the mirrors. His hand reached for the strap of my silk nightgown. “Let’s shower together.” “No,” I refused. He insisted. Riiip— The ridiculously expensive, easily-torn nightgown Julian had picked out split in two. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Babe…” I kept my face deadpan. “I said no. I already showered before you got home. Washing twice is bad for my skin.” I pulled the tattered silk around me and shoved him back into the shower, closing the glass door. “Stop ripping my clothes! They’re expensive!” Seriously! Just take it off normally! That was the third one this week. Spendthrift! The water ran loudly; Julian was clearly speed-running his shower. I lay on the bed, scrolling through my phone. A WeChat notification popped up from my best friend, Sarah. Sarah: [Look at this link] It was an article titled: [Deep Dive into the Secret Lives of the Elite!] I sent back a question mark and clicked it. I skimmed through the usual gossip about famous socialites until my eyes snagged on a specific paragraph. [Julian Blackwood, heir to the Blackwood empire, reportedly has zero tolerance for gold diggers. Rumor has it he once…] Sarah sent a screenshot of that exact section. Sarah: [Babe, is this true?] Me: [Idk? Probably fake news?] Sarah: [A lot of the other stuff in here is verified. Maybe you should test him?] I hesitated, switching back to the article to read the rest, when a hot, damp chest pressed against my back. “Babe, is your phone more interesting than me?” Guilty as charged, I swiped the page away instantly. “What?” Julian turned my head, gripping my chin. “Wearing this just to tease me, huh?” His voice pitched up at the end, dangerously seductive. I put on my best doe-eyed look. “I would never.” My finger traced his jawline. “But… I’m desperate. My mother is in the hospital…” I closed my eyes, channeling my inner tragic heroine. “Mr. Blackwood, if you give me fifty thousand—no, ten thousand is fine—I’m yours tonight.” He bit my earlobe. “Tonight, you entertain me.” 2 Entertain him? I was the one who needed saving. I kicked him. “I’m tired.” He caught my ankle and hooked it over his shoulder. “You rest, babe. I’ll do the work.” Rest my ass! By the end, I couldn’t even lift my arms. Julian cuddled me, whispering sweet nothings until I was dozing off. He carried me to the sink to wash up. Through half-lidded eyes, I saw him kiss my forehead in the dim light, like I was something sacred. “I love you, babe.” Maybe it was the roleplay earlier, or the article, but I mumbled, “If a woman got close to you for money, what would you do?” He was rummaging for a fresh nightgown. Without missing a beat, he said, “Make them disappear.” I froze, sleep vanishing. “What?” He pulled the silk over my head. “Kill them.” He kissed my lips, satisfied. “Okay, sleep now.” He pressed my head to his chest and said goodnight. But I was wide awake. Crap. I was the woman who got close to him for money. Since when was he a murderer?! 3 I came from a broken home. Gambling addict dad, day-trading mom. I was an only child. They lived in their own worlds, barely noticing me. Luckily, when I was small, they were rich. A rich neglectful childhood isn’t the worst thing. But in middle school, the market crashed, and dad’s luck ran out. They sold everything. The house filled with screaming matches. I went from a princess to a pauper overnight. That poverty lasted until college. Not because they bounced back, but because one night, during a fight, a lit cigarette met a spilled bottle of vodka. The fire took them both. My terrible family turned to ash. They left me nothing but debt. Loan sharks, credit card debt—they had borrowed from everyone. After they missed payments, collectors blocked my dorm room door, threatening me. They doxxed me online. It was hell. I couldn’t work; I couldn’t make money. They pushed me to the edge. I was ready to end it. Then I looked in the mirror. Young. Beautiful. It was the only inheritance my parents left me. Aside from them, the world was beautiful. I wanted to live. At any cost. Truth be told, I got with Julian for the money. If he were broke, I wouldn’t have looked twice. And now Julian says he hates gold diggers. He hates me. I peeked at him. He was asleep. I traced his face, inch by inch. “Julian…” His eyes snapped open. He grabbed my wrist. “Babe, thought you were tired? Still got energy?” He flipped me over. I squeezed my eyes shut. “Tired! Tired! I’m sleeping!” 4 Morning. I said goodbye to Julian and burrowed back into the blankets. He tucked me in, chuckling. “Lazybones.” I threw a pillow at him. “You have the nerve? Who made me this tired?!” He was an energy vampire. It was 8 AM. I went to sleep at 3 AM! Why doesn’t he reflect on his actions?! Julian kissed me. “My bad. Next time we’ll start earlier.” Me: ? Can we just cancel the event entirely? He knew he was pushing it, so he ruffled my hair and fled. I slept until noon. When I woke up, my phone was blowing up. I replied to Julian’s “good morning” text first, then checked the rest. Sarah had sent a wall of text. [Did you test him?] [What did he say?] [Why aren’t you replying?] [???] [Hello?] [Did the test turn into sex?] [Okay, confirmed. That’s what happened.] [Whatever, reply when you wake up tomorrow.] [Actually, you might not wake up. Reply tomorrow afternoon.] Me: … Speechless. I replied: [1] (Acknowledged). Sarah was probably still asleep. I rubbed my chin, thinking. I didn’t really “test” him. I just asked. And Julian gave me an honest answer. He really hates gold diggers. I sighed. I’m screwed. If he finds out… I’m dead. For him, it’s not a question of can he do it, but does he want to. And honestly… I felt guilty. If he didn’t love me, it would be fine. A transaction. I provide emotional value, he provides cash. But Julian loved me. And I treated him like an ATM. What’s the saying? Mixing sincerity with lies is like mixing chocolate with sh*t. If I were him, I’d hate me too. He’d destroy me. The more I thought about it, the colder I felt. I have to run. Run fast. Before he figures it out. I packed immediately. I kept the sentimental stuff, the specific gifts. But Julian gave me a lot. Random gifts, PR packages sent to him. I sorted through it all. I could sell a lot of this. I spent the day packing. When I was done, I clapped the dust off my hands and waited for Julian. 5 Feeling guilty, I went to the supermarket and bought a feast. I cooked a full meal. Julian walked in just as I was plating the sweet and sour ribs. He hugged me from behind. “Babe, you cooked?” I slapped his hand. “Wash up. Dinner time.” He ignored me, turning my face for a kiss. I let him. I was compliant now. I wrapped my arms around his neck, panting. “Eat first.” He nibbled my lip. “Don’t want food. Want you.” I didn’t want to waste my effort. “I spent three hours on this. Eat!” He put me down obediently. We washed our hands together. He kissed my cheek. “Babe cooked for me. I’m the luckiest man alive.” He was so easy to please. My guilt spiked.

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My parents’ biological daughter, kidnapped seventeen years ago, finally came home. Mom held her tight, calling her “sweetheart” and “darling” through her tears. But the girl stared straight at me, feigning innocence: “Since I’m back, shouldn’t she go back to her own family now?” She thought I was some random adoptee who had stolen her luxurious life. She didn’t notice that the moment those words left her mouth, the entire room went dead silent. 1 Bella is my parents’ biological daughter. She was kidnapped as a toddler and sold to a family in a remote rural area. Today was the day she finally came home. I had just gotten back from baseball practice. As soon as I reached the door, I heard muffled sobbing from inside. Walking into the living room, I saw Mom hugging a girl, crying uncontrollably. Dad stood beside them, a six-foot man with red, puffy eyes. Mom’s voice was hoarse: “I’ve waited so long for you.” “You don’t know how much I regret leaving you with that nanny.” I instantly understood who this girl was. My parents had a biological daughter. Back when they were launching their startup, they were too busy to care for her themselves, so they hired a nanny. They left early and came home late, barely seeing her. They had no idea the nanny was part of a human trafficking ring. When she was four, the nanny sold her. They spent years looking, but never found her. Until today. “Who is that?” A thin voice snapped me back to reality. I looked up and found her staring at me. I frowned instinctively. There was something unsettling about her gaze. She flinched dramatically, shrinking back into Mom’s arms. Mom patted her back soothingly. “Don’t be afraid. That’s your sister, Chloe.” Then she introduced her to me: “Chloe, this is your sister, Bella.” “But… I remember I didn’t have a sister.” She hesitated for a second, then looked at me with timid, fearful eyes. Mom explained, “Chloe is…” I smiled and cut in: “I was adopted.” “Oh, I see.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, sounding lost. “So Mom and Dad already had another child.” Mom quickly hugged her tighter. “Bella, having a sister isn’t a bad thing. It just means there’s one more person to love you.” Bella looked down, tears spilling over. “I thought Mom and Dad would only love me. Why do you have to share my love with her?” 2 Now I was sure. My discomfort wasn’t my imagination. She was hostile. I could understand it. She’d suffered for years while I lived the good life with her biological parents. Seeing another kid in her spot would sting. I started to explain, “Bella, actually I’m—” But Bella suddenly wailed louder, cutting me off. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come back! I’m just interrupting your happy family of three!” Dad panicked. “Bella, what are you saying? Your mother and I have prayed for this day for years! We’re overjoyed you’re home. No parent wants their child to suffer out there!” Bella looked at Dad helplessly. “Really?” “Of course!” Getting the reassurance she wanted, she broke into a tearful smile and hugged Dad tight, resting her head on his shoulder. “Thank you, Daddy.” My parents let out a collective breath of relief. Then, Bella dropped the bomb. “Since I’m back, shouldn’t she go back to her own family now?” The air in the room vanished. The only sound was shallow breathing. She looked at Mom expectantly. Mom looked away. Dad pretended to drink his tea to avoid eye contact. Bella finally realized something was wrong. Panic flickered across her face. “Dad? Did I say something wrong?” I caught the flash of annoyance in her eyes. I paused. Dad cleared his throat. “Having two daughters is a blessing. Let’s not change anything.” Mom chimed in, “Exactly. You just got back. If you need anything, Chloe can help you.” Bella clearly didn’t expect to be shut down so quickly. She looked at me, stunned. I smirked. “Sure thing.” I grabbed my baseball bat and turned to leave. Behind me, Mom’s panicked voice called out, “Chloe! Chloe!” 3 I walked straight to the house next door. I used my fingerprint to unlock the door and let myself in. This house belonged to my Aunt Sarah and Uncle Mike—my actual biological parents. Yes, I was “adopted” by my current parents (my Aunt Linda and Uncle Dave), but it wasn’t a standard adoption. When Bella, my Aunt Linda’s hostile daughter, glared at me, I understood her anger. But I didn’t feel guilty. I didn’t owe her anything. Seventeen years ago, Aunt Linda lost Bella. She was suicidal. She knelt in front of my bio-mom, begging to adopt me to fill the void. My mom refused at first. She had three sons and had finally gotten the daughter she wanted. Why would she give me up? But Aunt Linda and Uncle Dave bought the house right next door. They looked like walking skeletons, consumed by grief. My mom’s heart broke for her sister, and she finally agreed. My name is Chloe Su-Miller. “Su” is my bio-dad’s last name. “Miller” is my bio-mom’s. That was the only condition my mom set for the adoption. To the outside world, Aunt Linda and Uncle Dave loved me so much they gave me my mother’s maiden name as a middle name. Even Bella thought I was some random orphan who lucked into her life. But honestly? I was born to be spoiled. If I had stayed with my bio-parents, my life would have been even better. My bio-parents are wealthy, free-spirited, and deeply in love. My oldest brother is a ruthless CEO. My second brother is a gentle hospital director. My third brother is a famous, rebellious film director. I have an army of backers. Thinking back to the resentment in Bella’s eyes, I chuckled. My life was about to get interesting. The new cousin… she’s a piece of work. 4 Since I can remember, my bio-parents and brothers never ignored me. When Aunt Linda and Uncle Dave were busy, my bio-family took care of me. They always told me that even though I was adopted by Aunt Linda, their door was always open. They kept a room for me, fully stocked with a library and a piano. So, sitting here on their couch, eating fruit prepared by the housekeeper, felt completely natural. Suddenly, footsteps pounded outside. Mom and Dad (Linda and Dave) rushed in. “Chloe! Chloe!” “What’s wrong?” Mom saw me safe on the couch and sighed in relief. She rushed over and cupped my face. “Chloe, baby, I know you’re hurt. Bella is just sensitive right now. Please don’t be mad.” I raised an eyebrow. “So I deserve to be treated like an intruder?” Dad jumped. “What are you saying?!” “We watched you grow from a tiny baby into a beautiful young woman. You are our daughter. Who dares treat you like an intruder?” Mom added, “Chloe, hearing you say that breaks my heart.” “Fine,” I said. “But I don’t want to go back and listen to her talk like that. I’ll stay here for a few days.” Mom and Dad shouted in unison: “No! You’re coming home with us. We’re worried about you.” They flanked me, one arm around my shoulders, one around my waist, and practically marched me back next door. They were terrified I’d stay with my bio-parents and never come back. Good. They hadn’t been completely brainwashed by Bella yet. I glanced up at a second-floor window. The curtain twitched. A figure was standing there. I smiled. Bella, I win this round.

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Before they were married, I was walking down the street with my brother. His girlfriend mistook me for his mistress and punched me in the face. My eye socket shattered, and I lost sight in one eye. Her excuse? She laughed and stuck out her tongue. “Sorry, my eyesight is bad. I misjudged. I’m marrying your brother soon, so we’re family. Let’s not hold grudges, okay?” My mother and brother told me to let it go. They said I shouldn’t ruin his happiness. After they got married, I was taking a shower in my own home. My sister-in-law kicked the door open and poured a pot of boiling water over me. I suffered severe burns all over my body. She cried and threw herself into my brother’s arms. “I just love you too much! I can’t stand any other woman near you!” My brother was moved by her “love” and forgave her. I was dumped in a hospital by my family and left to rot. I died of sepsis. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day before I went shopping with my brother. 1 “Hannah’s birthday is coming up. I need to get her a gift. Sis, come help me pick something out.” Tom shook my shoulder, jolting me awake. The phantom pain of boiling water searing my skin lingered for a second. I frantically rolled up my sleeve, but my arm was smooth and unscarred. “What are you doing? Let’s go,” Tom urged, his voice louder now. I glanced at my phone. The date confirmed it. I had been reborn. “I can’t,” I said, clutching my stomach and frowning. “Cramps. Bad ones. I’m not going anywhere.” “You’re so dramatic,” my mom’s voice cut in as she walked into the room. She grabbed my arm and yanked me off the bed. “It’s just cramps. Stop faking it. Get up and go with your brother!” I fell to the floor, unprepared for the shove. It hurt, but I didn’t care. Right now, my priority was saving my eye. “Mom, why don’t you go with Tom? You have better taste than me. If Hannah knows you picked it out, she’ll be even happier.” Mom rolled her eyes. “I’m busy.” I knew the drill. Tom wanted me to go so I would pay. Mom knew it too, which is why she didn’t want to go. I pulled out my phone and Venmo’d Tom $500. “Here. My treat. Buy yourself some new clothes for the season while you’re at it.” Seeing the money, Mom’s expression softened instantly. Tom, realizing he had a payer, stopped caring who went with him. “Fine. Mom, go change. Let’s head out.” Mom turned toward her bedroom, and I followed. “Mom, wear this one,” I said, pulling a bright red jacket from her closet. “It makes you look younger and gives you a great complexion.” She put it on without a second thought. I watched them leave and let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. But I didn’t stay home. I followed them. Tom and Mom went straight to the mall. Tom knew exactly what he wanted—the luxury counters on the first floor. I watched from a distance, hidden behind a pillar. Soon, a familiar figure appeared. Hannah, Tom’s girlfriend, walked in arm-in-arm with her best friend. “Hannah, look! Isn’t that your boyfriend?” the friend pointed. Hannah squinted. She saw Tom walking arm-in-arm with a woman. They were laughing, looking intimate. Because of the angle and the woman’s loose hair, Hannah couldn’t see her face. But she didn’t need to. It was a woman. That was enough. “Unbelievable! He tells me he’s shopping for my gift, but he’s actually out with some skank? Watch me teach her a lesson!” Hannah rolled up her sleeves and charged. “TOM!” she screamed. Tom and Mom turned around at the sound of his name. In that split second, Hannah’s fist connected squarely with Mom’s eye socket. Crack. “AHHH!” Mom screamed, stumbling back, clutching her face. “You must be desperate!” Hannah shrieked. “You’re hooking up with a grandma? If you want to break up, just say so!” Tom stood frozen in shock before rushing to support Mom. Seeing him help “the other woman” only fueled Hannah’s rage. “I’ll kill you, you old homewrecker! Shameless old hag!” “Are you crazy?!” Tom roared. “This is my mother!” Hannah’s hand froze in mid-air. “W-what?” Mom was wailing in agony. “My eye! It hurts! I can’t see! Tom, my eye!” “Auntie… I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean to… I thought you were…” Hannah tried to reach out, but Mom slapped her hand away. “Get me to the hospital! Now!” They rushed out, ignoring Hannah completely. Hannah stood there for a moment, realizing she had just punched her future mother-in-law. But she wasn’t about to lose her meal ticket. She ran after them. Watching the chaos unfold, I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. 2 In my last life, I was the one walking next to Tom. I didn’t even touch him, but Hannah saw us and decided I was his mistress. She sucker-punched me. Even after Tom explained I was his sister, she refused to believe it. She kept hitting me and blocked me from going to the hospital. By the time I got treatment, it was too late. I lost my left eye. When I wanted to press charges, she played the victim. “I have bad eyesight. You two were too close. Siblings should have boundaries.” “You only lost one eye. Are you really going to ruin your brother’s happiness over that? You’re so selfish.” I was furious, but Mom snatched my phone and slapped me. “You troublemaker! It’s just an eye! You still have one left! Do you want your brother to be alone forever?” Because of my disability, I lost my promotion. My boss moved me to a dead-end admin job making coffee. Later, Hannah came home early and found Tom alone. She heard the shower running and assumed he had a woman over. She boiled a pot of water, kicked the bathroom door open, and threw it without looking. It was me. I screamed as my skin melted off. Hannah laughed. “Die, homewrecker!” When the steam cleared and she saw it was me, she gasped. “Sister? Why are you showering in the middle of the day? Are you trying to seduce my husband?!” I called 911 myself, naked and burning. While I needed skin grafts, Tom and Mom stole my savings and told the doctors to stop treatment. “Let her go. It’s too expensive.” I died of infection. On my deathbed, Hannah sneered at me. “Next time, stay away from other people’s husbands.” At my funeral, they told everyone I had seduced my own brother and that my death was karma. I died in agony and shame. But God gave me a second chance. And this time, this family of vipers was going to pay. 3 Tom called me from the ambulance, screaming for me to come to the hospital. When I arrived, the doctor was examining Mom. Hannah looked me up and down. “Who are you?” In this life, I had kept my distance from Tom specifically to avoid her wrath. I smiled. “You must be Hannah. I’m Tom’s sister. You two are perfect for each other.” Hannah didn’t respond. She looked pale. Her punch at the mall had been full force. She had meant to maim. Mom’s eyeball had ruptured on impact. Blood was still oozing from the corner of her eye. The doctor sighed. “We have to remove the eye immediately to prevent infection.” Mom gasped and fainted with her one good eye rolling back. I rushed forward, wailing theatrically. “Oh, Mom! My poor mother! Who did this to you?! How will you live as a cyclops?!” My wailing woke Mom up. She remembered her attacker. She leaped up, grabbing Hannah by the hair with one hand and slapping her with the other. “You bitch! Give me back my eye! Give it back!” Hannah was a bully, but she couldn’t fight. She screamed for Tom to help. Tom stood there, useless, trying to pull them apart. “Tom! Break up with this psycho right now! She is never stepping foot in my house!” Mom screamed. Hannah, battered and crying, clung to Tom’s arm. “Babe, I’m sorry! I just loved you too much! I lost my mind!” She turned to Mom. “Auntie, I’ll make it up to you! I’ll marry into your family and take care of you forever! I’ll be your eyes!” Tom’s face lit up. He was satisfied. He got the girl and the “caretaker.” But Mom wasn’t having it. “Get out! I don’t want a lunatic like you!” She glared at Tom. “If you stay with her, you’re dead to me!” I stepped in to mediate. “Okay, everyone calm down. Mom is emotional. You two wait outside. I’ll talk to her.” Hannah sat on the bench, rubbing her swollen face. Tom sat next to her. I went back into the room. Hannah had to marry Tom. They deserved each other. I needed them under one roof so they could destroy each other. I sat next to Mom. “Mom, calm down. Think about the future.” Mom glared at me. “What do you mean?” A few minutes later, I called the lovebirds back in. “I agree to let you marry my son,” Mom said to Hannah. 4 Hannah beamed, opening her mouth to thank her. “But I have conditions,” Mom interrupted. “First, you blinded me. You pay for the surgery and the hospital stay.” “Second, no dowry. No wedding gifts. If it weren’t for Tom, I’d have you arrested. You’d go to prison for assault.” Hannah frowned at the “no dowry” part. Mom immediately reached for her phone to dial 911. I jumped in. “Hannah, think about it. Once you’re married, we’re family. Money ruins relationships. And if Mom presses charges, you’ll have a criminal record. Your future kids won’t be able to get government jobs.” Tom, realizing he wouldn’t have to pay a dowry, immediately sided with us. Outnumbered, Hannah agreed. Her parents, hearing she had blinded her future mother-in-law, were too ashamed to argue. Since Mom needed surgery, there was no wedding. They just signed the papers at the courthouse. Mom lost her eye. I bought her a pirate patch. Hannah moved in. Mom made it her mission to make Hannah’s life hell. But they were newlyweds, so Tom and Hannah were still in the honeymoon phase. Hannah, however, couldn’t stop being paranoid. One day, she asked Tom to drive her to her parents’ house. When she got in the car, she noticed the passenger seat had been moved forward. She didn’t explode immediately. She waited until she got home. “Sis,” she asked me casually. “Did you sit in Tom’s car recently? Did you adjust the seat?” I looked confused. “Me? No. Why?” Hannah went silent. “Maybe I saw it wrong.” “Besides, I’m taller than you. If I moved it, I’d move it back, not forward.” Hannah’s fist clenched. She was short. If the seat was moved forward, the person who sat there was shorter than her. A woman. In Hannah’s mind, this was a declaration of war from a mistress. I saw the cruel glint in her eye and quietly retreated to my room. I wasn’t getting caught in the crossfire. That evening, Tom was late. Mom called him, but he didn’t pick up. Hannah smiled. “Mom, let’s eat. He’s probably busy.” Mom scoffed. “Eat, eat, eat. My son is working hard and you just think about food.” Hannah ignored her. She was in a good mood. Around 8 PM, the door opened. Tom stumbled in. He looked like a ghost. He was sweating profusely, his eyes wild. He looked at the three of us. Then, through gritted teeth, he hissed: “Which one of you put superglue on my passenger seat?”

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In the year my social anxiety was at its peak, I played mute in the bed of Julian Blackwood, the billionaire heir of New York. No matter how hard he worked, I just gritted my teeth and didn’t make a sound. Until his “one that got away” was returning to the country, and he wired me a $30 million severance package. Overwhelmed with excitement, I blurted out: “Thank you, boss! You’re so generous!” I covered my mouth guiltily, while the man laughed in disbelief. “My little mute, don’t tell me I just pounded a medical miracle out of you?” 1 Being a mute sugar baby had its perks. No need for flattery off the bed. No need to praise the sugar daddy in bed. The only downside was— I couldn’t curse when I was desperate. Like right now. Julian noticed I was zoning out. His hands gripped my waist. He flipped me over roughly. Gnawing and biting. Ferocious, as if he wanted to tear my flesh off and swallow it whole. Ahhh, you dog! I cursed wildly in my heart. But on the surface, I was pitifully weak. Eyes red, tears falling plip-plop. Finding leverage in the shaking. Hugging the man’s neck. Rubbing my cheek against his, begging for mercy. Based on experience. As long as I put on this expression. Julian would end the battle quickly. But tonight, he seemed possessed. He pulled out one ultra-thin condom after another. From the bed to the bathroom to the sofa. Making a fuss until midnight. Only then did he carry me back to bed, satisfied. I was exhausted. But thinking about what was coming next. Sleepiness vanished instantly. This afternoon, one of Julian’s friends visited. The study door wasn’t closed tight. Whispers drifted out. “Gigi is coming back tomorrow. Will you send a car or pick her up yourself?” “Is ‘Gigi’ a name you’re allowed to call her?” Julian’s voice was cold. The man quickly corrected himself. “Okay, okay, I’m not worthy. That’s your exclusive nickname…” Though begging for mercy, it was mostly teasing. Everyone in the circle knew Julian had a “white moonlight”—the one that got away—whom he couldn’t forget. She was well-protected by Julian. People only knew of her existence. Didn’t know her name, or what she looked like. No one knew why they weren’t together. Once, when I was helping Julian organize his study. I saw a yellowed old photo. The girl wore a hat, side profile to the camera. The only visible half-face. Resembled me by eighty percent. The memory of meeting Julian for the first time flashed through my mind. I was playing on my phone by the roadside. A car stopped in front of me. Without looking, I thought it was my Uber. Opened the door and sat in. When you’re out, you give yourself your own identity. As a socially anxious person, to avoid small talk with drivers. Every time I got in a car, I’d pull out a prepared scrolling screen on my phone. [I am mute, please do not talk to me.] The moment I shoved the phone out. I realized the driver was a cold, noble, handsome man. So handsome that even if he drove for Uber. His aura made the car look like a luxury vehicle I couldn’t afford. He looked at my phone screen again and again. Stunned for a long time, before asking hoarsely where I was going. … Seeing the photo, I realized. Julian’s loss of composure back then. Wasn’t because I got in the wrong car. He didn’t kick me out on the spot. Wasn’t because of my fake mute identity. But because I looked like his “white moonlight.” The office was silent for a moment, then voices rose again. “What about the one at home?” “Timid, and a mute. Probably can’t be seen in public…” I didn’t listen further. Sensibly turned and left. If I didn’t leave, I wouldn’t be able to control my emotions. And laugh out loud on the spot. Three years! Three whole years! Played mute for three years! Finally endured until the breakup! So happy I couldn’t sleep at all. I turned my back to Julian. Unlocked my phone, clicked into the “Sugar Canary Support Group.” I was pulled in by an enthusiastic girl at a dinner party I attended with Julian. The ultimate goal of the group members was to get a sky-high breakup fee. Financial freedom, lying flat for retirement. I couldn’t help sharing in the group. [Julian’s white moonlight is coming back soon!] As soon as the message went out, the night owls exploded. [Ahhh, congrats Lily!] [Pick her up, pick her up! Heard my sugar daddy’s white moonlight is studying in Germany…] [Envious of you sisters, mine doesn’t have a white moonlight (lifeless version)] After a wave of envy, Sarah @ me curiously. [Mr. Blackwood is so rich and generous to you, the breakup fee must be huge!] Julian had always been generous to me. Fifty thousand dollars a month for pocket money. Sending bags and jewelry every few days. Occasionally giving luxury cars and houses on a whim. I didn’t take the cars or houses. After all, a poor person can’t afford to maintain a luxury car! Can’t afford the property management fees for a mansion! Hard to take away, selling requires an agent… Just thinking about it made a socially anxious person collapse. So the only hope for getting rich was Julian’s breakup fee. A few million? Or tens of millions? The more I thought, the more excited I got, twisting like a pretzel in bed. The next second, I was dragged back into the man’s arms. “Not sleepy?” The hot body pressed up again. I was scared and used my hands and feet to push him away. Put my hands together under my face. Signaling I’d sleep immediately! “Tomorrow I’m going to the airport to pick up someone very important to me.” I snapped open the eyes I just closed. Julian asked casually: “Do you… want to come along?” I was dumbfounded. Who? Me? Asking me if I want to go? The substitute picking up the white moonlight. Are you planning to anger the white moonlight to death on the spot? I shook my head violently. Julian looked at me intently. “Alright… you’re timid. See her when you want to.” Julian always indulged me. When we first got together, he mentioned arranging a job for me. After I refused, he never brought it up again. As a socially anxious shut-in. This life of not having to go out to work. Being fed and clothed. I actually was a bit reluctant to leave. Emotions uncontrollably dipped low. At this moment, the phone vibrated. It was a text notification of a bank transfer. “I probably won’t be back tomorrow night. Might not have time to accompany you for the next two days.” “Take this money, buy whatever you like…” I didn’t pay attention to Julian. Staring at the phone screen with glowing eyes. One, ten, hundred, thousand, ten thousand, hundred thousand, million, ten million… Rubbed my eyes. Counted again and again. It really was eight figures! Julian gave a breakup fee of thirty million! Thirty million! Poor person suddenly rich. Money rushed to my head. In excitement, I blurted out: “Thank you boss! Boss is generous!” “…” Eyes met. The atmosphere instantly solidified. Doomed! Overjoyed and forgot I was a mute! Just how can a person be so polite. Realizing what stupid thing I did. I covered my mouth guiltily. Waist softened, body slid down. Buried myself in the blanket. The next instant, I was lifted up by the scruff of my neck by the man. “Little mute.” The little girl he pampered in his heart for three years suddenly wasn’t mute. Julian was practically laughed out of anger. “Don’t tell me, I just pounded a medical miracle out of you?” Haha. This cold joke wasn’t funny at all. Nowhere to hide. To block the burning gaze scanning my body. I had to cover my face tightly with my hands. “Little mute, speak.” I shook my head, voice muffled. “Mutes can’t speak.” “…” Julian pinched the bridge of his nose. Looking at the little girl in front of him, face red. Wishing she could hide, he felt helpless. “Don’t you have anything to say?” I bit my lip, a bit lost. Yes, I pretended to be mute and deceived him. I don’t defend myself. And the breakup fee has already arrived. What else is there to say? I have nothing to say! But obviously, I had to say something now. Change of thought. Think about what Julian wants to hear, loves to hear. Suddenly, a flash of inspiration. “Brother…” Julian’s breath hitched. As a cultured person. I desperately recalled the past readings. Those indescribable smut novels. Picking and choosing, finally found a sentence I could say. “Brother is so big… so great, I like it so much…” I praised stutteringly. Uneasily moved the two fingers covering my eyes. Glanced at Julian’s expression. Eyebrows raised, corners of the mouth not tight. Seemed not angry? Pretending to be mute to escape for so long, finally couldn’t hide. Luckily tonight was the last night being a canary. I racked my brains, searching all inventory in my head. “Brother is so amazing tonight, fierce like you took medicine.” Julian’s face instantly blackened. “What did you say? Say it again?” I swallowed. Was something wrong with that? Maybe he didn’t like being called Brother? Right, Julian was older after all. Couldn’t appreciate the “Oppa/Brother” sentiment. Heart beating like a drum. I summoned my courage and repeated: “Daddy is so amazing tonight…” The rest of the words were unspoken. Swallowed by the sticky entanglement. The man grabbed my hands that didn’t know where to put. Going lower and lower. Julian’s dark eyes glowed green in the dim wall light. “Little mute, call me that again.” … Dawn was breaking. The man was so excited as if he opened the door to a new world. I buried my wet head in the pillow. Thinking dizzily. Luckily I was wise before, pretended to be mute for three years. Otherwise, I would definitely die in bed! 2 Woke up again in the afternoon. Body sore all over. Throat hoarse from shouting all night, couldn’t speak. Now truly mute. Dragged legs like prosthetics downstairs. Aunt Wang saw me. Nodded greeting, turned into the kitchen to bring warm porridge to the table. Did all this, then like a house elf. Quietly disappeared. Julian knew I didn’t like contact with strangers. So he instructed from the start. Everyone entering and leaving the house must lower their presence. Very friendly to social phobia. The more I thought, the more I felt Julian was actually quite good. Rich and handsome, detailed where he should be. Rough where he shouldn’t be detailed. The only flaw was. There was another woman in his heart. “Sigh…” I was melancholic for three seconds. Hand inadvertently clicked open the thirty million transfer record. Seems, it appears… Not that much love anymore huh. My heart is too small, only holds money. As for Julian? Forget it, seeing as he’s a good person. Let’s help him out! Thinking this. I lay back on the bed with peace of mind. Opened a novel from the shelf. Chapter One: The White Moonlight Returns. Yes, need this. Study study. Half an hour later. I was pissed off by the male and female leads who didn’t communicate. Exited the novel expressionlessly. Opened WeChat, sent a cat peeking emoji to Julian. Julian replied instantly. “Awake? Aunt Wang kept the porridge warm for you, eat something good tonight, don’t be greedy.” “Still hurt? Better?” Ahhhhhhhh! Capable men ask if you’re tired. Super capable men ask if it hurts, if it’s better. I buried myself in the blanket, kicking my legs. After a long while, replied coldly. “Mm.” Julian didn’t reply instantly again. Probably busy. I took the opportunity to share collected articles. Don’t Miss the Her Beside You. Men’s Words Are Not As Good As Direct Action. Thirty Tips for Wooing Girls: Giving What They Like. … Sent nearly ten articles, then clicked open a game with peace of mind. Played for over two hours. Checked messages again, realized Julian had replied long ago. “Received.” What does “Received” mean? Work message sent to the wrong person? The next second received a call from Julian’s assistant. Confused, went downstairs to open the door. The other party took out a black card and handed it to me. “Miss Lily, this is the supplementary card Mr. Blackwood asked me to bring you.” My eyes widened like fried eggs. “For… for me?” Mr. Hayes’s always tight, robot-like expression collapsed in this instant. “Miss Lily, aren’t… aren’t you mute?” Staring at each other. I seemed, to have not told him the truth. Look at this mess. Burned the elite’s CPU. After listening to the explanation, Mr. Hayes pushed his glasses. Brain started running again. “Sorry, I was inexperienced.” I pursed my lips, changing the topic extremely embarrassed. “Heard Mr. Blackwood is going to pick up someone important at the airport this afternoon?” Mr. Hayes nodded. “Yes, Miss Lily, are you going too?” Substitute picking up the white moonlight. Are you straight men crazy! I laughed awkwardly: “That’s not appropriate, is it?” Mr. Hayes thought of something. Corrected: “It is a bit sudden, better be mentally prepared before meeting.” What’s going on… Can’t this white moonlight just not be met? I immediately skirted around this topic. “Julian is so busy, did you help him prepare flowers, gifts or something for the pickup, a welcome dinner tonight?” “Miss Lily don’t worry about this, Mr. Blackwood arranged it last month.” Arranged last month… Haha! So much importance! I looked down at the black card in my hand. Couldn’t describe the mood. A bit sour, a bit bitter. After all, together for three years. Impossible to have absolutely no emotional fluctuation. To prevent myself from having messy thoughts. After saying goodbye to Mr. Hayes, I nestled back in bed to play games. Played games until early morning. Played until eyes were sore, head dizzy. Threw the phone. Passed out directly. Half awake half asleep, heard the door open. Eyes drooping. Hazily saw in the dim light, the man’s bare back. Back muscles thick and developed like a mountain. Lean narrow waist, back groove going down cleanly. Ah, dreaming of Julian too? I spat on myself hatefully. Turned over, continued sleeping. Haven’t slept deeply yet. Cool lips landed on my forehead. Moved to eyelids, nose tip, finally landed on red swollen lips. “Mm…” I was kissed a bit dazedly. Woke up with a start when Julian scooped my legs. Bounced up from the bed instantly. Turns out wasn’t dreaming just now! “You… why are you back!” Julian just came out of the bathroom, only wearing a white towel. Dim wall light shining on white skin. Eight pack abs openly seducing me. Whether front or back. I could only think of one word to describe this man. —Killshot! Licked lips, suddenly thirsty. “Can’t come back?” Julian checked the time, explained: “Worked a bit late, luckily things are handled, don’t need to rush to the company tomorrow.” I was a bit confused, “Overtime? Didn’t you push everything to pick up the plane?” “Hayes told you?” Julian spread his hands helplessly. “She changed flights without telling me.” “I waited at the airport for three hours, only to know she didn’t board.” “Probably still angry, purposely torturing me!” I clicked my tongue listening. This white moonlight sounds a bit hard to coax? But thinking about it makes sense. If easy to coax, would have been together long ago. What business would I, the substitute, have. Julian finished, waved at me. “Still swollen? Come here let me see.” If before, although shy I’d bury my head. Would still obediently go over. But now… “Did you see the message I sent you on WeChat?” Julian nodded, “That card has no limit, swipe as you please.” “Not enough to give what she likes?” Damn, seduced again. I moved my eyes away with difficulty. “Men who don’t love themselves are like rotten cabbage.” “…?” Julian obviously didn’t understand what I was saying. Patted the spot next to him. Signaling me to sit and talk. I looked warily. Confirmed the man’s eyes were very normal. Even a bit of sage mode flavor. Only then did I dawdle over to sit, teaching earnestly. “The past is the past, now is now.” “No matter what gap, what misunderstanding exists.” “If two people want to be together well, first is to cut off relationships that shouldn’t exist.” “Then give her a rightful identity to stand by your side, give her ample security.” Julian was thoughtful. “Then your suggestion is?” To prevent Julian and the white moonlight from dragging things out. Misunderstanding for hundreds of chapters. I decided to fast forward to the finale directly. “Propose!” “Since you love each other, my suggestion is to get married directly!”

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At a family dinner, my mom and her “frenemy” were trading passive-aggressive barbs across the table. Meanwhile, in the private room next door, the frenemy’s son and I were engaged in a different kind of battle. I kissed him until his voice went hoarse, begging for mercy. “Stop… my mom will hear us…” “You guys are so much drama,” I whispered. I took off my jacket and tied it around his waist. “Here. That’ll hide it.” 1 My mom has a frenemy named Donna. After they both got married, their friendship turned into a cold war. Donna had to win at everything. Since both families were well-off, they didn’t care about jewelry or cars. They competed through their children. Luke is Donna’s son. He’s been calm, stable, and a natural-born genius since he was a toddler. I, on the other hand, am lively, rebellious, and an art student who barely passes math. Influenced by our mothers, Luke and I couldn’t stand each other. At every gathering, I played video games. He ate quietly and studied flashcards. My mom and Donna’s conversations always went like this: “My Luke got first place in the grade again. He’s representing the school in the State Math Olympiad next month…” “Well, my baby got first place in the National Dance Finals.” As we grew up, their competition shifted. “Sigh, Luke got another love letter last month. Fortunately, he’s disciplined. He never talks to girls. He only cares about Yale.” My mom laughed, swirling her wine. “Donna, don’t be a helicopter parent. It’s normal to have a crush at this age…” Donna narrowed her eyes. “Aren’t you afraid Lulu will get distracted?” I looked up from my phone. “Auntie, what era is this? Dating in high school is practically a requirement.” “Oh? Our Lulu is so pretty, don’t tell me she’s already seeing someone?” Just as Donna said that, Luke’s chopsticks hit his plate with a loud clatter. My mom didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, tons of boys chase Lulu. Musicians, drummers, dancers… they all look like K-pop idols.” Donna snorted. “So what if they look like idols? My Luke is handsome too.” My mom looked at Luke. She opened her mouth but couldn’t refute it. Donna was right. Luke was the “face” of our high school. He wasn’t just a nerd. He was cold, tall, and devastatingly handsome. Even the dance teachers asked why he wasn’t in the performing arts program. He was a clean stream in a muddy river of teenage boys with bad haircuts and baggy jeans. Every time he walked past the art wing, girls practically fainted. Donna peeled a shrimp and put it on my plate. “Lulu, listen to Auntie. Don’t date those art boys. They’re players. You need to focus.” Donna had stepped on a landmine. I was a fangirl. I took this personally. “Sorry, Auntie,” I retorted. “Who says handsome guys are players? My boyfriend is incredibly disciplined. He scored a 1580 on his SATs.” Luke’s face went pale. His hand jerked, knocking over his water glass. Ice water flooded the table, soaking his pristine white shirt and slacks. He shot up, trying to stop the flow. “Oh my god, Luke, what’s wrong with you today?” Donna fussed, grabbing napkins. “Sorry. Auntie, Mom…” Luke’s dark eyes locked onto mine for a second. “Lulu… enjoy your meal. I need to go change.” I smirked at him. He lowered his head, grabbed his jacket, and practically ran out of the restaurant. That night, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Luke. Luke: [Can you teach me how to date?] I stared at the screen. I checked the contact info three times. It was definitely him. Me: [?] Luke: [If your boyfriend minds, pretend I didn’t ask. Sorry.] I sat up, eyes wide. Me: [My boyfriend says he doesn’t mind.] I glanced at the poster of Timothée Chalamet on my wall. Yeah, Timmy doesn’t mind. I couldn’t believe Luke actually bought my lie at dinner. But hey, if the Ice Prince wanted love advice, I was ready to serve. I grabbed a bag of chips and got comfortable. Me: [Hello? Don’t leave me hanging. Spill the tea.] Luke: [Thinking.] Me: [Thinking about what?] Luke: [The person I like has a boyfriend. But I read online that as long as they aren’t married, I still have a 50% chance. I… want to try.] My chip fell out of my mouth. Me: [Voice Message] “Damn, Luke. You want to be a homewrecker?” The model student was going rogue. I respected it. Luke: [Voice Message] “If he’s not as good as me, and doesn’t know her like I do… why can’t I steal her?” His voice was low and raspy through the speaker. I shivered. Me: [Question. Is the person you like… a girl?] Luke: […Yes. Lulu, do you really think I’m gay?] I sent a sweating emoji. You can’t blame me. He never talks to girls. The school beauty, Grace, chased him for two years. She baked him cookies, wrote him letters, everything. He ignored her so hard she cried in the bathroom for a week. Luke: [I don’t have many female friends. You’re the only one I can ask. Will you help me?] He was begging. Well, the “boyfriend” in the scenario was just an obstacle. And since the protagonist was Luke… honestly, the other guy didn’t stand a chance. Me: [Send me her MBTI. I’ll help you secure the bag in one month.] Luke: [She’s an ENFP. Lively, confident, cute. She’s very beautiful. So beautiful she’s intimidating.] I kicked my legs in the air, laughing. Me: [Omg. Luke, you’re down bad. You know introverts are just toys for extroverts, right? You’re destined to be her puppy.] Luke, the guy who replies with “Yes” or “No”, sent a sticker. It was a blushing puppy covering its eyes. Luke: [Teach me. How do I become her puppy?] My smile froze. Why was the Ice Prince suddenly acting so… submissive? My heart did a weird little flip. Me: [It’s late. I need beauty sleep. Class starts tomorrow.] Luke: [Okay. Goodnight.] Back to the cold robot. This contrast… it was deadly. I lay in the dark, clutching my phone. “If he uses this hot-and-cold tactic on that girl,” I whispered to the ceiling, “she’s doomed.” 2 The next morning, I was applying concealer to my dark circles when Luke texted. Luke: [Your advice worked. She texted me at 2 AM.] My hand slipped. 2 AM? That was when I texted him. He ignored me to talk to her? Luke: [To thank you, dinner is on me tonight?] I thought about it. Me: [Pass. If your crush sees us, she might misunderstand. I’ll be your remote consultant.] Luke: [Makes sense.] I was about to order an iced coffee and rot in bed when Mom burst in. “Lulu! Get dressed. Donna invited us to her new beach house for brunch.” “Mom, no…” “I’ll buy you that purse you wanted.” “Deal.” We arrived at Donna’s massive villa. She had set up a long table in the garden, piled high with seafood. “Just a simple lunch,” Donna bragged, holding a lobster the size of a toddler. “Helen, come help me in the kitchen.” My mom rolled her eyes but followed her in. I found a swing chair in the garden and closed my eyes. The sun was blazing. Suddenly, a shadow fell over me. “Didn’t sleep well?” I opened my eyes. A hand was hovering over my face, blocking the sun. Luke stood there, backlit by the morning light. He smelled like sea salt and clean laundry. “I slept fine,” I lied. “How’s the girl?” “We’re… talking past each other.” He moved the patio umbrella to shade me. “Just talking isn’t enough,” I said. “You need to make a move. But I guess since she’s taken, you can’t really be seen together.” “Is that how it is?” He sat down next to me. “I know I’m pathetic,” he murmured, looking at the ocean. “But my feelings… they’re getting out of control.” “Then just go for it,” I said. “What kind of guys do ENFPs like?” I thought of my celebrity crush. “Handsome. Sincere. Tall. Nice smile.” “Does your boyfriend have all that?” “Of course!” I beamed. “That’s good.” Luke’s voice was quiet. The wind messed up his hair. He looked really good today. “You’re not bad yourself,” I offered. He smirked. “Better than him?” I hesitated. Luke was Ivy League material, rich, and looked like a model. “He’s still better,” I said loyally to my fictional boyfriend. Luke’s smile vanished. “Why the long face?” “Born with it,” he said flatly. 3 For the next month, Luke was a ghost. He went back to his “studies only” mode. I thought he gave up. Then, one night, he sent me a photo. It was his transcript. Perfect scores. And an early acceptance letter to Stanford. He unsent it immediately. Luke: [Sorry. Wrong chat.] Me: [Too late. Congrats, nerd.] Luke: [Think she’ll like it?] Me: [Oh, peacocking? Nice.] Luke: [Is it obvious?] Me: [Very. If she likes smart guys, you’re golden. If she likes abs…] Ping. Three photos came through. Selfies. In the mirror. Shirt lifted. I scrambled to save them. Click. Click. Before I could get the third one—the one with the V-line—he unsent everything. Me: [HEY! I wasn’t done inspecting!] Luke: [I’m shy.] Luke: [Besides, doesn’t your boyfriend have abs?] I screamed into my pillow. Touché, Luke. Touché. 4 The next day, I ran into him in the hallway. He nodded politely and kept walking. I grabbed his sleeve. “Morning, Luke.” He stopped. Students were staring. “Morning. Need something?” “I haven’t had breakfast. Come with me?” He hesitated, then turned around. “Okay.” We walked to the cafeteria. It was the first time we’d ever been seen together at school. I noticed my ponytail was level with his ear. “You’re 6’2, right?” I asked. “Yeah.” “I’m 5’7.” “And?” He looked down at me. “How tall is she?” I blurted out. “You know, the perfect height difference for kissing is 15cm.” Luke’s lips quirked. “I can bend down.” The morning sun hit his profile. He looked like the cover of a romance manga. “Whoa, is that Luke sitting with Lulu?” someone whispered. “Are they dating?” “No,” Luke said loudly, cutting through the gossip. “Just getting breakfast.” He bought me a pumpkin porridge and paid before I could get my wallet out. “Consultant fee,” he said. “Fair enough.” I took a bite. “I need a favor.” “Shoot.” “Tutor me in math. My grades are tanking.” His spoon clattered against the bowl. “Math?” “Yeah. Come over tonight? I’ll tell Mom.” “Can’t your boyfriend teach you?” I choked. “He’s… busy. Come on, please?” “Fine. Library. After school.” “No, my house. I need snacks to study.” He sighed, fighting a smile. “Fine. Your house.” He leaned across the table. “Can I test something?” “What?” He grabbed my hand. His fingers were long and cool. “Is this… how you hold hands?” he asked, his ears turning pink. “Not quite.” I interlaced our fingers and squeezed. “Like this.” He winced. “Ouch.” “Sorry. I have a strong grip.” “Do you squeeze your boyfriend’s hand this hard?” “Shut up,” I said, but I didn’t let go.

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I thought Julian Sterling was faking bankruptcy and a disability just to force me to break off our engagement. So, I kicked his wheelchair over and demanded money from him. He kept up the act until he couldn’t anymore. After Julian made his comeback, he accepted an interview. The reporter asked, “It was said that your legs had almost zero chance of recovery. How did you manage to stand again?” Julian’s voice trembled with emotion. “Because of my fiancée.” The reporter sighed, touched. “Your wife stayed by your side during your lowest moments. That’s true love.” Julian gritted his teeth. “No. She thought I was faking it and forced me to stand up!” 1 Unlike the “old money” debutantes of Manhattan, my family is new money. We struck it rich overnight. Even though we have cash, I never fit in with the Upper East Side princesses. Growing up, they excluded me, overtly and covertly. They didn’t welcome me, and honestly, I didn’t care for them either. But I always held a grudge. It wasn’t until I got engaged to Julian Sterling that my status in the socialite circle truly changed. The Sterling family is old money. True aristocracy. Not just rich—wealthy. As the heir to the Sterling empire, Julian showed terrifying business acumen and IQ from a young age. While his peers were partying in college, he had already founded his own company. Most importantly, being engaged to Julian brought me a lot of perks. The compliments from the circle, the way those mean girls hated me but had to suck up to me—it was satisfying. Of course, some couldn’t hold back their whispers. “What is she so smug about? Julian doesn’t actually like her. It’s just for his grandfather. Chloe is the one he truly loves.” “Whether he actually marries her in the end is still up in the air.” I sipped my tea calmly. So what if he has a “white moonlight”—a first love he can’t forget? Julian is only going to marry me. 2 I enjoyed everything Julian brought me until news broke that Sterling Corp had gone bankrupt and Julian was paralyzed. Some people kicked him while he was down. Others watched silently. But for the trust fund babies who only knew how to party, it was just a show. Tiffany, who had always been my nemesis, insinuated loudly at a brunch, “The Sterling family has stood for a hundred years. How come they go bankrupt as soon as they get engaged to her? Maybe she’s a jinx.” Her little minion giggled. “Maybe it’s fake. Just a ploy to get rid of her.” “I heard Chloe is coming back from Paris.” Their theories were ridiculous, but I believed them 100%. I hadn’t heard a whisper of trouble before this. Suddenly bankrupt? It was obviously a trap. Want to get rid of me? Ha. I’m going to cling to him like a ghost. 3 I skipped dinner and rushed straight to the Sterling estate. From a distance, I could hear the voices of the usual trust fund jerks, arrogant as ever. “Julian, you still think you’re the high-and-mighty heir? You’re a cripple now. If I told you to bark like a dog, I’d be doing you a favor. Don’t be ungrateful.” “Didn’t you love telling us to get lost? Now look who’s lost.” “Bro, he’s a cripple. He couldn’t get lost if he wanted to. Useless trash.” They laughed in a pack. The subject of their ridicule sat expressionless in a wheelchair, his eyes indifferent, as if they weren’t talking about him. I curled my lip in a sneer. What a coincidence. I show up just in time to see him being bullied. Does Julian think I’m stupid? It’s too scripted. Bravo. To break off the engagement, he staged a whole play. Even pretending to be disabled. It would be a waste if I didn’t play along. My heels clicked on the pavement. The group turned at the sound. Liam, the leader of the pack, whistled maliciously. “Yo, look who it is. Miss Harper. Here to return the ring?” I glanced at him coldly. “Get lost.” He exploded instantly. “Everyone knows your family is just nouveau riche trash. What are you proud of? New money and a cripple—a match made in heaven.” Slap. I slapped him across the face, shaking my stinging hand. “Did you learn to shut up now?” “You bitch!” Having been bullied by those mean girls for years, I took self-defense classes. I couldn’t beat a pro, but I could handle these hollowed-out party boys. I kicked Liam in the knee. He dropped to the ground. I threatened coldly, “Apologize to Julian.” “Don’t be stubborn. Your father still has a deal with my family.” He gritted his teeth, unwilling. “You’re only in it for the money anyway. Now that he’s a cripple, why would you marry him?” So that was it. They were trying to force me to break the engagement. After all this setup, the motive finally came out. I lowered my eyes to hide my emotions. “None of your business. I don’t love his money. I love him.” “No matter what happens, I won’t abandon him. I’ve decided he’s the one I’m spending my life with.” Liam reluctantly apologized to Julian. “Julian… sorry.” Behind me, where I couldn’t see, Julian’s eyelashes trembled violently. His hands gripped his thighs, clenching the fabric of his pants tight, then releasing. 4 “You don’t have to go this far. We haven’t even met that many times. They’re right. I’m a useless person now.” “The engagement…” Before he could finish, I covered his mouth. “I said I’ve chosen you. It’s just a small setback. We’ll get through it.” I looked at his legs. “What did the doctor say? Can they heal?” Changing the subject, Julian’s gaze fell on his legs, a shadow passing through his eyes. He pursed his lips. “The doctor said there’s a 10% chance I’ll stand again.” I played along, holding his hand. “Even if it’s 10%, we can’t give up. I’ll stay with you. I believe you’ll stand again.” I’m not breaking the engagement. I’m going to haunt you. He looked at me deeply, as if finally making a decision. “Okay.” In the rehab center, he stood up and fell down over and over again. Hands on the ground, the frustration in his eyes was thick enough to drown in. Sweat dripped from his forehead. He bit his lip until it bled. It was pathetic and messy. From the sidelines, I watched coldly. It must be hard for a healthy person to act disabled. Great acting. Very convincing. To play along with his “bankruptcy,” I convinced him to move into my apartment. “It’s easier for me to take care of you.” Julian’s voice was hoarse. The emotions in his eyes were turbulent, but I couldn’t read them. To fast-track our “bonding,” since he was playing the cripple, I treated him like one. I cooked for him, went to rehab with him, and played the supportive partner when he was down. I defended him against anyone who looked at him wrong. As time went on, it seemed to work. Julian visibly began to trust me. One day at home, he tried to stand but fell. He looked devastated and punched his own leg hard. I walked over, held his hand down, and spoke gently. “Take your time. Don’t rush.” He calmed down slowly and leaned his head on my shoulder. “I promise I’ll give you a good life.” That was the best line I’d heard in a while. Seeing him like this, the farce should be ending soon, right? 5 Monday. Julian went for a checkup. I didn’t want to watch his performance, so I made an excuse and had the driver take him. Lying in bed scrolling on my phone, I saw the messages in the group chat. The mean girls were at it again. “I told you Julian loves Chloe. As soon as she came back, he went running to her.” “The bankruptcy is probably fake. The disability is even more impossible. He looked fine to me.” “He really went to great lengths to get someone to break off the engagement.” So Julian wasn’t seeing a doctor. He was seeing Chloe. I stared at the messages coldly. In our circles, who doesn’t have a “white moonlight”? It’s normal. And I don’t even like Julian. I’m just in it for the status and power. As long as he doesn’t bring it up, I can pretend it didn’t happen. I sat in the living room waiting for Julian. From noon until sunset, until the last ray of light vanished from the horizon. Julian finally came back. He turned on the lights and saw me on the sofa, concern filling his face. “What happened? Why didn’t you turn on the lights?” I rubbed my temples, exhausted. “Nothing happened. I just didn’t want to.” Silence fell. Julian sat in his wheelchair, looking like he wanted to say something. I asked first. “Do you have something to say?” His gaze was restrained, as if making a difficult choice. “I’m a cripple now. I can’t give you anything. It’s better for you if we break the engagement.” Better for me? Even breaking up is “for my own good”? What a saint. He’s just a shameless scumbag. I’m not a pushover. Since he won’t take the easy way, he can eat dirt. He forced my hand. Under Julian’s nervous gaze, I stared at him coldly. “To marry your first love, you faked a disability and bankruptcy.” “You want to dump me to run off with Chloe? Dream on! Where’s your money? Give it to me!” “You’ve been living off me these past few days. You owe me double!” Julian looked blank, sitting helplessly in his wheelchair. “What first love? I don’t have one. And the bankruptcy isn’t fake, it’s real…” Still acting. I lost my patience completely. “I don’t care if it’s real or fake. If I don’t see five million dollars by tomorrow, you’re dead.” He grabbed my hand, begging. “Can you give me a week?” Fake. I knew it. I shook off his hand. “Fine.”

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Five years ago, Lucas asked if I wanted to leave with him. I said yes. I was always clear-eyed about it. There was no love between us. He needed a wife. I needed money. I played the role of a wife dutifully, spending his money recklessly. I asked him if it hurt his wallet. He was rich enough to just smile and say: “If it’s not enough, just ask.” Five years into the marriage, Lucas died. Great. No one to nag me about smoking or drinking. I could take the fortune he left me and have fun with young guys whenever I wanted. Three days after Lucas died, I received a letter written five years ago. The first line read: To my beloved wife. 1 The moment Lucas died, I went clubbing for three days straight. I popped bottles worth tens of thousands of dollars without blinking. A row of male models stood before me, waiting for me to pick. When I finally got tired and went home, Lucas’s lawyer handed me a letter. “This is a letter Mr. Vance left for you. According to his will, you are the sole heir to his entire estate.” My eyes widened in shock. Oh my god. Was Lucas crazy? We were only married for five years, no kids, and he left me everything? “Are you sure?” The lawyer nodded. “Mr. Vance drafted the will himself. There is no mistake.” Lucas must have lost his mind. I could barely keep the corners of my mouth from twitching up. The sheer joy went to my head, and I momentarily forgot about the letter he left me. The people most upset about Lucas leaving me everything were, of course, his relatives. When Lucas was dying, they were draped over his hospital bed, crying their lungs out. They put on such a show, only to get absolutely nothing. Lucas’s parents died when he was young. His only heir was me. The relatives stormed my house, looking ferocious, demanding I split the money. I used to hustle on the streets. I’ve seen all kinds of people. Did they think they could out-scum me? I was Lucas’s wife for five years. I earned this money. Trying to pry cash out of my hands? Keep dreaming. I crossed my arms, leaned against the doorframe, and sneered as they barked like dogs. “You want money? Fine.” “Lucas and I didn’t have kids. Whichever one of you gets on your knees and calls me ‘Mommy,’ I’ll give you the kid’s share.” These people were ancient. Their combined age was in the hundreds. They turned purple with rage, pointing fingers at my nose. “You gutter trash! Lucas just died and you’re already spending his money on men! Karma will get you!” I smiled, unbothered. “Uncle, ever heard of carpe diem?” The dead are gone. The living need to live it up, right? Besides, Lucas and I had no feelings. I married him for the money. Picking up a fortune for free? I’d wake up laughing from a dead sleep. In this life, money is king. Everything else is bullshit. 2 After cursing away the leeching relatives, the 6’2″ model I just added on Instagram called me. “Babe, when are you coming to see me? I can’t sleep without you.” His whiny, flirtatious tone made my heart flutter. “Got some stuff to handle. Not coming for a few days.” I transferred him $9,999. A little pocket change to keep him sweet. Hanging up, I sat on the leather sofa, sipping red wine, thinking about how to spend the money. So many zeros. It could cure trypophobia. This was the life I had fantasized about. Money, time, freedom. No more living in the shadows. Eat what I want, buy what I want, answer to no one. Aside from everything else, I was actually grateful to Lucas. Years ago, he met me at a gala where I snuck in to find a sugar daddy. He asked if I wanted to leave with him. I asked why. He smiled and said he needed a wife. Conveniently, I needed money. A fair trade. Win-win. Suddenly, I remembered the letter he left me. I didn’t know where I tossed it. What could he possibly say? A standard, gentle, boring gentleman like him? Probably some poetic nonsense. I didn’t care. I was actually annoyed that even in death, he wanted to lecture me. The wine wasn’t strong enough. I’m a heavy drinker. I went downstairs to get the ice wine I chilled. Opening the fridge, I saw a sticky note on the door. Drink less ice wine. Drink less in general. I froze. I remembered. Lucas wrote this. He hated my smoking and drinking. Said it was bad for my health. He tried to quit with me several times. I never stuck with it. I told him flatly: “Habits from a long time ago. Can’t change.” I clawed my way up from the gutter. I suffered too much. Alcohol and nicotine numb the pain. Of course I was dependent. Even after marrying Lucas and becoming a rich wife, I couldn’t change. Not elegant, not proper, not gentle. Lucas never scolded me. No disgust in his eyes. Just gentle warmth, like a sun-dried quilt. “Good habits can be formed too. I’ll do it with you.” He didn’t drink, didn’t smoke, had no vices. His hobbies were gardening, calligraphy, and reading. Mild and calm, as if he could never get angry. To me, he was boring to the extreme. I liked loud, thrilling things. I liked everything fresh and new. I was flashy, letting everyone know I had money. The complete opposite of Lucas. I dressed loud. Once I got rich, I piled expensive things on myself, regardless of whether they matched. People mocked me as a tasteless nouveau riche. I didn’t care. I asked Lucas if I embarrassed him. He just smiled gently and said: “You are very beautiful.” Just like that, we coexisted peacefully under one roof for five years. 3 Seeing the note, I clicked my tongue in annoyance and slammed the fridge shut. Still trying to control me from the grave. So annoying. Lost the mood to drink. I turned and went back upstairs. The room was quiet. On the nightstand sat the book he used to read every night. Thick and heavy. I used to joke it would make a good paperweight for instant noodles. He laughed and said I could try it after he finished reading. The letter I had tossed aside was sitting right on top of that book. I opened it. Two thin sheets of paper. Strong, elegant handwriting. His handwriting. I’m uneducated. Dropped out of high school to hustle. To me, writing letters is old-fashioned and tacky. But his letter had a faint scent that made me less resistant. The lawyer said this letter was written five years ago. Lucas instructed him to give it to me only after his death. That meant he knew he was going to die a long time ago. We had just gotten married, and he prepared this letter. What would it say? That marrying me was just making do? Or that now that he’s dead, I should divorce him and stay out of his family genealogy because a woman like me would stain his reputation? If he was so afraid of me staining him, why marry me in the first place? Just thinking about it made me furious. I let out a scornful laugh, wanting to see what bullshit this dead man had to say. The first line: To my beloved wife. 4 Growing up, my family favored boys over girls. My parents’ incompetence was the source of my pain. To support the little prince of the family, I was kicked out at fourteen to work illegally. I knew from a young age that no one loved me. To get my parents’ approval, I sent every penny home, keeping only enough to not starve. When I went home for Chinese New Year, my parents were unusually warm and gentle. I was secretly happy, like a kid getting a toy they wanted. New Year’s Eve, after dinner, they told me not to go back to work. They found a “good family” for me. $15,000 dowry. The man was twenty years older than me, had two dead wives, and was disabled. No parent pushes their child into a fire pit. So that night, I packed my things, accepted the fact that my parents didn’t love me, stole their money, and ran. I worked all kinds of jobs. Legal, illegal. As long as I got paid and stayed alive, I didn’t care. At twenty, I met a man. He was thoughtful. Bought me flowers, cakes, dresses. He took me for rides by the river on his electric scooter. The river wind was cold and damp, but my heart was warm. A man working construction sites, yet he had such a warm, sincere heart. He didn’t mind my background. He hurt for my past. He was different from everyone else. I fell deep into his trap of love. Until he gambled, got drunk, beat me black and blue, and ran off with my money. Only then did I clearly realize: no one in this world loves me. I am discarded trash. A fly. Love is worth less than shit to me. I don’t want love anymore. I want money. Lots of it. I became a sugar baby, worked as a hostess, a cam girl. Except for being a homewrecker or committing crimes, I did everything. I saved up a good amount over those years. Later, I met a kid begging on the street because he couldn’t afford school. I felt soft-hearted and gave him a hundred bucks. That night, I was targeted by his gang. Home invasion. Robbery. I almost died. I asked him why. The kid said everyone else gave a dollar or five. I gave a hundred, so I must be rich. With a cold knife against my neck, I swore: If I survive, I will be a bad woman. Mean, vicious, selfish, low, cold. 5 When you read this letter, I will already be dead. I couldn’t read past the second sentence. It was so melodramatic. It made me irritable. I stuffed the letter back messily and rolled my eyes. Did he think he was some savior? Saving a fallen woman like me, giving me warmth and a home, so I should mourn him forever? Ha. Married five years and he still didn’t know me. I’m heartless. He just died, and I’m out clubbing, drinking with models, living the same debauched life as before. I told him before we got married. He said he didn’t mind. I couldn’t help it. I took the letter out again. I knew you wouldn’t have the patience to keep reading. There was a cheeky smiley face drawn after the last word. Something he would do. “Fuck!” He knew me too well in this regard. This is a farewell letter, not a lecture. Read it without worry. I am deeply sorry that knowing my time was short, I still proposed to you and asked you to be my wife. My fingers gripping the paper tightened unconsciously. My heart skipped a beat, like cotton was stuffed in my throat. Why apologize? I was grateful to him. He was generous alive, and generous dead. A man willing to treat his wife well like this wouldn’t be bad at anything. Oh, except having a short life. Just as I was about to read on, my phone rang. Unknown number. As soon as I picked up, I heard a familiar voice: “Vivian, it’s Dad. Your man died and left you a lot of money, right? Your brother is getting married and needs cash. I know you have it. Taking out a hundred or two hundred thousand to help your brother isn’t a big deal.” A hundred thousand? He dared to dream? “I can burn some hell money for you, want that?” I hung up violently, no longer in the mood to read the letter. I could think with my toes and know it was Lucas’s hypocritical relatives who gave my number to that old bastard. What trash. Every single one of them looked down on me, thought I was low-class, unworthy of Lucas. Every holiday gathering, they had to passive-aggressively put me down. In the end, they’re all just trying to scrape some money from me. But Lucas was a good man. Every time those relatives spoke ill of me, gentle, scholarly Lucas would use his vast vocabulary to curse them out without using a single dirty word. Seeing those self-righteous old farts turn red with rage, I had to pinch Lucas’s thigh under the table to stop from laughing. I acted flashy, had no “aristocratic elegance.” Uncle Lucas would lecture me that a wife should be virtuous and raise children. Made sense. Taking Lucas’s money, I should do something. I pinched my throat to make my voice gentle, walked with small, slow steps. I looked like a waddling penguin. Lucas laughed, pulled me onto his lap, and said: “You don’t need to be virtuous. Just be yourself.” Other rich wives managed the household for their husbands. I lay around drinking and singing. Lucas came home and had to carry drunk-me to bed. Tsk tsk. Thinking about it, I really took advantage of him these five years. Kinda sorry about that. I sat on the bed, dazed. The room was so quiet my ears were ringing. The phone rang again. I thought it was my dad. Ready to curse him out, but it was the funeral home.

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