Ever since I was a child, my mother sneered at me, saying I was born with a hollow leg. She claimed I stole nutrients from my brother in the womb and fought him for the bottle the second we were born. In middle school, to make sure my brother, Joey, grew taller than me, she only gave me half a dinner roll for supper. I was often so dizzy from hunger that I’d stare at my teachers and drool. I couldn’t help it. My teacher’s freckled face looked like a sesame seed bun—oily, warm, and golden. The sun outside the window was a giant pancake, crispy on the edges and dripping with butter. Even my seatmate smelled delicious, radiating the creamy scent of fresh milk. After class, I’d chug water until my stomach felt like it was going to burst, yet I remained ravenous. At lunchtime, nobody reached the cafeteria faster than me. With that desperate speed, I swept the gold medals in the school’s 400m and 1600m dashes. The coach gave me fifty bucks as a prize. But Joey snitched, and the moment I got home, my mother snatched it away. “Everything you eat, wear, and drink costs me money! How dare you hide cash? No dinner for you tonight!” I sat there, smelling the roasted ribs wafting from the dining table. I pretended to eat, chewing air with all my might, imagining succulent, fatty meat between my teeth. But the fantasy failed. In the middle of the night, my stomach felt like it was on fire. I got up to use the bathroom and saw my dad’s poker change on the coffee table. Two quarters and a dollar bill. I couldn’t resist. That was the start of my life as a thief. Minimum fifty cents, maximum two dollars. I took it every few days. I knew I’d get caught eventually. But the gas station cheeseburgers were so good! The hot dogs were so warm! The greasy fries were worth every risk. 1 Soon, spicy Cheetos became the trend at school. Fifty cents a bag. I didn’t dare buy them. If I bought snacks, I wouldn’t have money for dinner. Between “eating well” and “eating enough,” I had no choice. When the cravings became unbearable, I’d ask my seatmate if I could have his empty bag so I could dip my bread in the leftover spicy dust. He looked shocked for a second. But from then on, he started sharing half his snacks with me. The more I ate, the more guilty I felt. Since I had nothing to share in return, that guilt morphed into a heavy, defensive pride. Finally, I snapped. I stole a five-dollar bill. I bought eight bags of Cheetos and gave them all to him. That evening, I went to buy a burger as usual. I saw my mom sprinting toward me, brandishing a rolling pin. Between “fear” and “food,” I chose to eat fearfully. I ran as fast as I could, stuffing the burger into my mouth with every stride. But she caught me. “This little brat learned to steal! Everyone, look! This is the daughter I raise, and she repays us by stealing her father’s hard-earned cash!” The rolling pin slammed into my back and stomach, stroke after stroke. “You can tell a criminal from age three. She’s hopeless!” neighbors whispered. “Good! Beat some sense into her!” I ignored the agony in my body and the mockery in their voices. I forced the last bite of the bun down my throat, feeling the bliss of a full stomach. The fullness outweighed the pain. As my mother dragged me home, I wept tears of satiation. At least the money was safely in my stomach. Otherwise, the beating would have been for nothing. 2 By high school, my mother threw her hands up. “No money. You stole it all. How are you going to school?” “I found you a job at the local meatpacking plant. They provide three meals. You’re a minor, so your checks go to my account.” I nodded obediently. That night, while they slept, I packed my bag. I pried up a floorboard and took the three thousand dollars my dad had hidden. I took another two thousand from behind the toilet tank that my mom had won gambling. I ran to a boarding school across the state line to enroll. I thought I’d finally eat well, but the lunch lady, Mrs. Gable, was a nightmare. She had a “tremor” in her hand that only acted up when I was in line. A scoop of beef stew would reach my tray as three pieces of fat and a slice of ginger. My portions were half the size of the boys’. After the nth time being cheated, I snapped. “Why do the guys get mountain-sized plates while mine is the size of a fist?” Mrs. Gable’s triple chin wobbled. “How much can a skinny girl eat? It’s a waste! Come back for extra rice if you’re still hungry.” I polished off my plate and went back for more. She sneered. “Extra sides cost a swipe. Only plain rice is free.” I calculated my balance. Fine. Being full was enough. So, I went back for plain rice every single meal. 3 But once you’ve tasted meat, plain rice is soul-crushing. My seatmate, Mia, was kind. She was a vegetarian and hated meat. Every time they served steak or pork, she gave it to me and ate the potatoes. She said she didn’t trust “mystery meat.” Perfect! I’d eat anything. Even if the pig was older than my grandfather, as long as it filled me up, I was in. But then Mia left to study in Switzerland. My meat supply vanished. Before she left, she handed me her meal card. “I don’t want to deal with the refund. Just use the balance for me.” I thanked her profusely. When I swiped the card, I saw a balance of one thousand dollars. For the first time in my life, I was too sad to eat. Besides my parents and relatives, the world was full of people who treated me well. So well I didn’t know how to repay them. Then, Mrs. Gable’s “tremor” got worse. The beef-and-potato stew was precisely zero beef and all potato. I exploded. “Where is the meat?!” She hammered the tray with her ladle. “Girls don’t eat meat. It’s a waste. Save it for the boys!” “Next!” I didn’t understand. Since when did girls hate meat? I stood my ground at the front of the line. Annoyed, she finally slopped a spoonful of gravy and three tiny scraps of meat onto my plate. “Fine! Take it! You’re like a starving ghost. Have you never seen meat in your life?” I sat down and took a bite. It was all ginger. At that moment, a dark rage took hold of me. 4 The next day, I intentionally sat in the middle of the varsity football table. “Wow, look at all that meat on your plate,” I said loudly. “Are you dating Mrs. Gable from the service window to get that kind of ‘special’ treatment?” “She always brags about sleeping with the ‘fresh meat’ on the team. Which one of you is her favorite?” I saw the guys’ faces turn pale and I bolted with my tray. I was terrified they’d punch me. The rumor spread like wildfire. Teenage boys have massive egos. Soon, the narrative became: if you have meat on your plate, you’re sleeping with the lunch lady. The guys were so embarrassed that they refused to go to her window. Eventually, parents heard the “sexual harassment” rumors and complained to the board. The school fired Mrs. Gable. When I heard she was gone, I felt a tiny sting of guilt. But as my own portions grew larger and meatier, that guilt vanished completely. I thought I could finally focus on studying. But one day, my principal pulled me out of class. In his office sat the two people I hated most. “You little thief! You’re dead!” “We’ll drop the theft charges if you come work at the plant to pay for Joey’s college! It’s your fault your grades are so good—you’ve sucked all the luck away from your brother!” 5 The joy of a full stomach evaporated. “I’m not going! I’m going to graduate!” The principal tried to mediate. “Let’s stay calm. Grades aren’t ‘stolen.’ About the theft—is there a misunderstanding?” In front of strangers, my mother was a professional victim. “Principal, she’s a liar! She’s been stealing since she was ten. Every penny we have, she takes!” “She took five thousand dollars! Who knows what she’s doing with thugs or boys at her age?” “What’s the point of school for a girl like this? She’s a menace to society! I’m her mother; it breaks my heart, but she’s out of control!” She wiped a non-existent tear. I bit my lip, trying to hold back the flood. The principal looked at me gently. “Jane, I don’t think you’re a bad kid. Can I ask what you did with the money?” The dam broke. I didn’t want to cry! Crying makes them win! But because he believed me, I couldn’t help it. I wiped my eyes with my sleeve and screamed: “I was hungry! I stole it to buy bread! Burgers! Noodles! I was starving!” “I took the money for tuition because they wouldn’t let me come to school!” The office went silent. My dad lunged and slapped me across the face. “Liar! Who ever mistreated you? Everything you own, I paid for!” The principal jumped in to stop him. My mom grabbed my arm. “Come home! You’re nothing but a liar!” I dropped to the floor and hugged the office doorframe. The principal roared: “Enough! Stop it!” My mom sneered. “Mind your own business, teacher.” The principal pulled me back toward him. “How much did she take?” My mom’s eyes widened. “Five thousand! Why, you gonna pay us back?” “Give me your Venmo. I’ll send it now. Leave the girl alone. Let her study.” My mom opened her app instantly. “Fine, but we aren’t paying a cent for her living expenses from now on.”

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By the time my mother was pregnant, my parents had already reached a firm consensus on education. If it was a girl, she would be raised in luxury. If it was a boy, he would be raised in hardship. They never expected twins. So, they made a radical choice: they split us up. I stayed in the city as a pampered heiress, while my brother was sent to a remote farm with our mother to work the land. Eighteen years later, I followed my father to the countryside. In the distance, I saw a young man with sun-bronzed skin hauling two heavy crates of vegetables. I asked, “Dad, are we here on a charity mission?” My father looked the boy over and nodded with satisfaction. “Charity? No. Get to know him—this is your brother.” 1 I stared at the boy. His features were strikingly similar to my father’s. Then, a woman dressed in simple, rugged clothes stepped out of the farmhouse. My world tilted. Wasn’t this my mother, who was supposed to be on a permanent business trip in Europe? The boy looked confused. “Mom, is this your new boyfriend or something?” My mother laughed, ruffling his hair. “Don’t be smart. This is your father. And this is your twin sister, Aria.” The boy looked even more lost. “My dad? You told me he died in a construction accident to pay for my baby formula…” My mother beamed. “Well, you just got into a top-tier university, so he’s risen from the grave. Aren’t you happy?” Neither my brother nor I found the joke funny. My mother handed Silas’s acceptance letter to my father and finally laid out the truth. Eighteen years ago, they saw too many of their friends fail as parents. The wealthy kids around them were becoming soft and entitled. They were terrified. So, they drafted a plan. A daughter would be raised in high society, making her untouchable to the common man. A son would be raised in poverty, hardened by manual labor to eventually lead the family empire. To prevent us from influencing each other, they kept us apart. I received an elite education in the city. Silas received a “tough-love” education on a farm. My father was only here because Silas had finally “proven himself” with his college acceptance. I watched my parents look at Silas with such adoration, and a bitter taste filled my mouth. I knew that tonight’s celebration wasn’t for me. It was for the return of the king. 2 I looked at Silas. He smelled of soil and sweat, standing there with a timid posture. My parents told him to pack his things immediately to head back to the estate. Silas whispered, “The local diner is still waiting for their produce.” “I’ll handle it,” my father said, ordering me to help Silas pack. When Silas walked into his room later, the tension was thick. I wanted to offer help, but he shot me a look of pure disgust. “Don’t touch my stuff!” I walked out, frustrated. In the yard, I saw that the vegetable garden Silas had spent years tending had been completely stripped. The neighbors were thanking my father for his “generosity.” I looked back at Silas. His eyes were hollow. He had spent his life watering those plants, only for my parents to give them away for free to buy social favors. My father didn’t care about the price of a few vegetables. Silas packed his life into tattered duffel bags. My father frowned. “Just take your IDs. That trash can be thrown away.” Silas gripped the bags and didn’t move. “Silas!” my father’s voice turned sharp. “Mom said you should use things until they’re gone,” Silas said quietly. Mother smiled. “The hard times are over, Silas. You’re coming home to the good life.” Silas tightened his jaw and condensed his life into a single bag. On the drive back, my parents took turns bragging. Mother took credit for Silas’s “blue-collar grit.” Father bragged about me being the most sought-after debutante, already engaged to the Blackwood heir. They thought they were geniuses. I thought they were insane—manufacturing suffering just for an ego trip. 3 On the drive, Silas didn’t speak a word, staring out the window. As the farms faded and the skyscrapers rose, his curiosity was replaced by a heavy dread. When we pulled into the Sterling estate, he looked completely lost. I tried to talk to him, but his face suddenly went white. Our Husky, Duke, lunged forward, barking ferociously at the stranger. Silas fell backward onto the gravel, trembling. I was horrified. “Silas! Are you okay?” My father sneered. “Scared of a dog? What a coward.” Mother sighed. “Honestly, Silas. It’s just a dog. Don’t be so pathetic.” I grabbed Duke’s leash. “He’s just loud, Silas. He’s gentle. Look, you can pet him.” I pulled the dog closer. Silas crawled backward, his eyes wild with rage. “GET HIM AWAY FROM ME!” I signaled a maid to take the dog away. Silas stood up, his tall frame looming over me. His voice was shaking. “Try being locked in a shed with a starving stray for three days because you missed a chore. Then tell me he’s gentle.” I stared at him, stunned. My father didn’t care. “That was to fix your attitude. A man shouldn’t be afraid of a pet.” Silas’s fists were clenched so hard his knuckles were white. I saw the way he looked at my parents. For a second, I thought he was going to kill them. Instead, he looked at Duke, who was happily chewing on a bone Mother had given him. Silas looked at the dog, then at himself. He realized he hadn’t moved to a palace. He had just moved to a more expensive prison. 4 My parents forced us to get ready for the gala. “This is the night you officially become the Sterling heir,” my father told him. He had spent months planning this, inviting every major CEO in the city. Silas looked handsome in a tuxedo, but he moved like a man walking to his execution. In the ballroom, he stared at the crystal chandeliers with disbelief. I led him through the crowd. “Silas, this is my fiancé, Julian.” Julian looked at Silas’s calloused hands and smirked. He spoke in rapid French to me. “Your brother looks like a farmhand in a costume. Stay away from him, Aria.” I felt a sting of discomfort. “He’s brilliant. He got into a top school.” “So what?” Julian sneered. “My company is full of top-tier grads. Pedigree is what matters here.” 5 After a dance, I heard my parents lecturing Silas about social etiquette. They forced him to ask a billionaire’s daughter to dance. It was a disaster. She screamed when he stepped on her toes and called him a “hillbilly.” The room erupted in whispers. My father was livid. “You’ve humiliated the Sterling name! How hard is it to follow a beat?” “I didn’t ask for this,” Silas whispered. “You do what you’re told!” Father roared. “If I told you to jump off a bridge, you’d do it for this family!” “Do you want me to?” Silas asked. Father’s face turned purple. “Is this the ‘tough’ kid you raised? He’s useless!” Silas looked at my mother, pleading for help. She didn’t move. “This is your life now, honey. You’ll learn.” They had built a “Truman Show” for Silas, and every move was calculated. I watched Silas’s shoulders slump. “He’s broken,” Julian whispered in my ear. “Why?” “Because he’s poor in his soul,” Julian laughed. “He’s hollow.” 6 Silas didn’t get a summer vacation. He was sent to elite grooming classes. Every day, I heard my parents berating him. “Why can’t you play golf like the others?” “Why are you so quiet? Act like you belong!” Silas’s head dropped lower every day. I began to hold my breath whenever I passed him in the halls. I never saw him smile. Not once. The house felt like a bomb waiting to explode. My parents told me to help him. “He’s going to be your backer when you marry into the Blackwoods.” “Maybe he’s not meant for this,” I whispered. My father’s gaze was like a knife. “He has no choice!” I realized then that my father never considered me. No matter how hard I worked, I was just a pawn to be traded away. I took Duke for a walk to clear my head. Near the lake, I heard someone screaming. I saw Silas on the grass, wearing his old farm clothes, chest heaving. I walked over and handed him a bottle of water. He jumped like a startled animal, accidentally bumping into me. We both fell onto the grass. I started giggling. He looked at Duke, who was tied up far away, and he finally relaxed. I sat down. “Still having a hard time?” “Yeah,” he whispered. Our first real conversation.

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Seven years into our marriage, the “pet” Holden Winchester kept on the side got bored. She turned tail and ran, leaving behind only one sentence: “Holden, I’ve got enough of your money. Now, I don’t want you anymore either.” I watched from the sidelines, coldly waiting to see how long Holden could tolerate this. After all, scenes like this had been playing out constantly for the past three years. But this time, he just smiled with terrifying indifference. “She’s just a pet. Did she really think I gave her my heart?” That was until, not long after, news broke that her car had crashed and burned. The man who had always been cold and unfeeling instantly went insane. 1 After Mia died, Holden acted like a man possessed. He locked himself in his study, refusing to eat or drink. I knocked on the door. The only response was a cold, “Get out.” I knew he was grieving. I wanted to apologize. But I shut my mouth, realizing how ridiculous I was being. We hadn’t divorced yet. He was the one who cheated. Why should I be the one to say sorry? I looked at the cold dinner on the table. The soup I had spent five hours simmering had formed a congealed film on top. It smelled faintly of decay. I dumped it all into the trash compactor. Just like our twenty-year bond. If I didn’t throw it out now, it would only rot and breed maggots. Disgusting to me, and disgusting to everyone else. On the eighth day, Holden finally emerged. He had cleaned himself up, shaved, and returned to his usual untouchable, elite persona. But the look he gave me was darker than ever, as if I were the one responsible for his beloved’s death. I looked at him calmly, waiting for the storm. We had known each other for years, married for seven. From school uniforms to wedding gowns, I always thought we were walking the same path. But halfway through, someone decided to get off the bus. I was forced to accept it. “Where is she?” Holden’s voice was dead, devoid of emotion. After a long silence, I whispered, “Buried.” Holden’s face instantly darkened. He looked at me with intense hatred. “Genevieve, who gave you permission to bury her?” “Do your dirty hands… even… deserve… to touch her?” His eyes were ferocious, grinding the words out through clenched teeth. I could feel that if I weren’t pregnant right now, he would have rushed over to strangle me. But I overestimated my place in his heart. The next second, I was pinned against the sofa. His large hand tightened around my throat, squeezing the last bit of air from my lungs. The world spun. Darkness encroached on my vision. Sounds faded away. His tone was maniacal. “You really think being pregnant makes you safe?” “It’s just a mistake. Did you really think I’d care about it?” “Mia is dead. Don’t worry, you and the little bastard in your belly are next.” The terror of suffocation made me want to scream for help, but my throat was clamped shut. Not a sound came out. I realized then that Holden really wanted me dead. I don’t know how much time passed before the weight vanished, followed by the sound of the front door slamming. Consciousness slowly returned. I sat on the sofa, dazed. I picked up my phone and scheduled an appointment at the clinic. 2 Holden and I were childhood sweethearts, but we were also a business merger. Our parents arranged the match when we were three. We got our marriage license before we even graduated college. Life after marriage was harmonious, happy even. Maybe it was his upbringing, but Holden was never one to be surprised by anything. He didn’t know how to yield, how to love, or how to say sweet things. But he would prepare small surprises for me. On my birthday, he would bake a cake himself. Then, like a magic trick, he’d produce the necklace I’d been eyeing and hug me tight. “Gen, it’s not that I don’t have a heart. Give me time. I’ll figure out how to love you properly.” “Don’t give up on me, okay?” Every time he said that, I would nod vigorously, whispering that we had a lifetime to figure it out. In the heat of the night, he would lean close to my ear, whispering intimate things that made me blush. When did it change? Maybe the day Holden met Mia. I had pushed myself too hard the day before and couldn’t wake up. He went to a scheduled event alone. Mia was someone else’s assistant. Fresh out of college, nervous and stiff. She smiled shyly—harmless and cute. She didn’t know how to play golf, so she boldly asked Holden to teach her. They exchanged numbers. From meeting to starting an affair took less than two weeks. Mia quit her job and jumped ship to his company. Holden kept her by his side, teaching her everything, cultivating her like a rose waiting to bloom. The funny thing is, I never even got a chance to confront her. Holden hid her too well. I tried to investigate, but found nothing. Instead, I’d face his rage the next day. Once, I paid a fortune to get Mia’s personal info. Before I could do anything, a dossier on my father’s mistress landed on my desk. And not just my dad. The privacy of everyone in my family was laid bare. Holden’s warning was clear: If I targeted Mia, my family’s dirty laundry would be aired to the public. That night, I smashed everything in the villa in front of him. Holden just sat on the sofa, watching me break things with indifference. He looked at me like I was the crazy one. Funny… Now he’s the one who’s gone crazy. 3 That night, just as I fell asleep, his assistant called me. “Ms. Sterling, Mr. Winchester is digging up the grave. Please, come stop him.” I laughed. I was the wife Holden married, yet everyone called Mia “Mrs. Winchester” and referred to me as “Ms. Sterling.” Since the last time I decided to divorce and then ghosted him, Holden had announced on the company’s official social media: Mia is the only wife I recognize in this life. After that day, I became the laughingstock of the city. I pulled the corner of my mouth; my neck still throbbed with pain. “If it’s his business, call the Winchester family. Don’t tell me. It has nothing to do with me.” I hung up. I never thought Holden would stoop to grave-robbing. Since he got with Mia, we talked about divorce more often than we ate dinner. But it never happened. Either I refused, or Mia called him away with some excuse. The last time was two months ago. Holden offered me half his assets to sign the papers. I agreed. But the day before we were to sign, I found out I was pregnant. I didn’t show up. Holden blew up my phone that day. That was also the day Mia left. When Holden’s grandfather, the patriarch of the family, found out, he talked to Holden all night. Holden might ignore everyone else, but he respected the Old Man. The next day, Holden withdrew all his search teams. He stopped looking for her. We didn’t speak again. Divorce wasn’t mentioned. I thought that even if he didn’t care about me, he cared about the child. Now I see that trying to use a child to tie down a man was the most pathetic thing I’ve ever done. The next day, I went to the clinic. I’m not a saint. I didn’t want to be a single mother. I can live without love, but my child should be born into a whole family. The procedure was quick. I was discharged that afternoon. Now that the child was gone, divorce was just a piece of paper. Holden hadn’t shown up once during this time. But of course, he was scouring the world for his little lover. He refused to believe Mia was actually dead. 4 Seven years of marriage. I didn’t have much stuff, but it wasn’t little either. I hired someone to set up a burn barrel in the yard. I burned everything that could burn. The jewelry I couldn’t burn, I sold. I didn’t want to take a single thing from this villa, nor leave a trace behind. Might as well burn it all. When Holden returned, he walked in just as I threw our wedding photo into the fire. I was surprised. I hadn’t seen him in over a month; I thought he’d died of heartbreak. Through the smoke, his eyes were cold. He looked at me like I was already dead. He was holding a funerary urn. As he passed me, Holden suddenly shoved me. If the butler hadn’t been quick enough to catch me, I would have fallen into the fire. My face would have been ruined. A chill shot up from the soles of my feet. Holden had truly lost his mind. He was using this to get revenge. Holden clicked his tongue, as if disappointed I hadn’t fallen. “Clean this up.” He turned and went upstairs. A nameless fire roared to life in my chest. Holden keeping a mistress? I tolerated it. Threatening my family? I tolerated it. Mia’s constant provocations? I tolerated it. Him getting me drunk and pregnant? I tolerated that too. I endured it all for three years. Now he openly wanted me dead. I wasn’t going to endure it anymore. If that’s how it is, let’s all burn. I rushed up, grabbed Holden’s arm, and spun him around. I slapped him across the face with everything I had. His head snapped to the side. He stared back at me with eyes like ice. Looking at the red handprint on Holden’s face, I felt a flash of immense satisfaction. “Tomorrow morning, 9 AM. We divorce.” “I didn’t cause Mia’s death. Don’t dump your dirty water on me. You know exactly how I got pregnant. I didn’t show up for the divorce that day because your mother took me to the family estate.” “And your little lover? Your mother ordered the burial because she couldn’t stand seeing you act like a ghost. Don’t pin your guilt on me.” Holden didn’t react to my explanation. I didn’t care if he believed me. It had nothing to do with me anymore. I made myself clear. As I left the Winchester villa, I thought about the question Holden had asked me once. “Have you ever tasted the feeling of your beloved dying?” Beloved? Ha. How did I answer him back then? Oh, right. I said: “Holden, to me, you’ve been dead for a long time.” When two people are in love, they can’t see anyone else. Once, I couldn’t see Mia. Now, Holden couldn’t see me.

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I chased Luke Sterling for two years. Every gift I gave him, he tossed to his roommate with a look of pure annoyance. So, on his birthday, I skipped the middleman. I gave the gift directly to his roommate and vanished. Later, Luke called, his voice thick with irritation. “What did she send this time? What kind of game is she playing?” His roommate glanced at me, currently lounging on his bed, and replied in a lazy drawl. “Something to eat.” “Did you take it?” Jax hummed a “yes,” lowering his head to meticulously clean the sheets. “Yeah.” “I ate it all. Don’t bother coming back.” 1 The day before Luke’s birthday, my roommate asked me, her eyes wide with curiosity. “Jenna, what did you get Luke this time?” I didn’t even look up from my laptop. “Nothing.” She paused, stunned. “But… isn’t his birthday tomorrow? You’re obsessed with him. Usually, you go all out…” I cut her off. “I don’t like him anymore.” She stared at me like I’d just announced the sky was green. “Are you joking? Is this because Luke was grinding on that girl, Chloe, at the mixer?” Predictable. At the Freshman Welcome Mixer, the crowd had peer-pressured Luke and Chloe, the campus “It Girl,” into a slow dance. It got heated. It got intimate. The air was thick with tension. Everyone in the room had turned to look at me. They expected a breakdown. A scene. Tears. But I just smiled, turned around, and walked away in silence. Everyone knew I had a thing for Luke Sterling. For two years, I had been his shadow. Need coffee at 6 AM? I was there. Forgot an assignment? I dropped it off. For his birthday last year, I spent two months and half my savings tracking down a signed jersey from his favorite NBA player. When I dropped it off at his dorm, he didn’t even look at it. “I didn’t ask for this,” he scoffed. “I’m busy. Just give it to Jax.” I had heard that sentence so many times my ears were bleeding. Jax was Luke’s roommate. Ten times I went to see Luke, nine times he “wasn’t there.” When I asked where he was, he’d just tell me to leave my stuff with Jax. But Jax—Jax Wilder—was the campus “Ice King.” Every time I knocked on their door, he looked at me like I was a pest. Eventually, I stopped wanting to bother him, too. 2 My declaration that I was “over Luke” spread through the dorms like wildfire overnight. The next day, I went to the campus mail center to pick up a package. On my way back, I ran into Luke and his entourage. Someone spotted the box in my hands and laughed. “See, Luke? No way Jenna is over you.” “She was just jealous yesterday. Playing hard to get.” “Look at that box. She obviously bought you a gift anyway.” Luke looked over. The stormy expression he’d worn earlier softened into something smug. He smirked, extending a hand toward me with rare generosity. “Since we’re both here, just hand it over.” I clutched the box tighter and took a step back. “Hand what over?” Luke froze. His brow furrowed in annoyance. “Don’t play dumb.” “Jenna, I don’t have time to flirt with you right now.” I looked him dead in the eye and asked, sincerely: “Then can you stop blocking the sidewalk?” Luke’s hand was still hovering in the air, stiff as a board. I walked around him without looking back. Behind me, the whispers started immediately. “Luke, don’t be mad. She’s just salty about yesterday.” “That box had ‘Gift’ written all over it. Who else would it be for?” “She probably wants to go back and wrap it properly. You know how extra she is.” Through the chorus of excuses, I heard Luke scoff coldly. “Whatever. Who cares.” 3 I was planning to wrap the gift. But it wasn’t for Luke. A week ago, I heard Luke was sick. I rushed to the pharmacy, bought cold meds, and ran to his dorm. But before I got to the door, I saw Luke and his friends walking out. One of them was tossing a pile of stuff into the dumpster by the entrance. “I don’t get why Jenna sends all this junk,” he complained. “She made this herself, right? Craftsmanship is okay, I guess.” “So what? Chloe didn’t like it, so Luke had to toss it.” “She should’ve sent something expensive. At least we could’ve pawned it…” “Hey, think she’ll bring medicine today since Luke’s sick?” “Duh. I bet twenty bucks on it.” Luke’s voice cut through the air, cold and dismissive. “Don’t bet on things that don’t matter.” They walked away, laughing. The “junk” in the dumpster was everything I had given Luke. Two years of gifts. Things I made because he said he liked a certain style. Things I queued for hours to buy because he liked a post on Instagram. Handmade. Custom-ordered. Heartfelt. And now, trash. Watching their backs, I suddenly felt… empty. I was about to throw the bag of medicine into the dumpster too. But then, a shadowy figure emerged from the dorm hallway. Cap pulled low, mask up. He looked around cautiously, then dove into the trash. He started picking up the things Luke had just thrown away. He gathered them up and sprinted back into the building. He was careful, terrified of being seen. But as he reached for a box, his sleeve rode up. I saw the limited-edition Patek Philippe watch. And I recognized the broad shoulders beneath the black hoodie. It was Jax. 4 Jax Wilder was actually more popular than Luke. Richer, hotter, taller. The guy everyone whispered about but no one dared approach because he radiated “Do Not Disturb” energy. I remembered the first time I gave Luke cookies I baked myself. Luke glanced at the tin and tossed it onto his desk with a sneer. “You made these? Is it safe to eat?” I stood there, humiliated, staring at the tin. Jax was in the room, leaning back in his chair. Without a word, he reached out with a long arm, snagged the tin, and popped a cookie into his mouth. “No poison. Tastes fine.” Luke clicked his tongue. “You like ’em? You take ’em.” Jax shrugged, grabbing another one. “Sure.” Luke had always dumped my gifts on Jax. Jax had always been rude, but he had never rejected them. But I never imagined… That the high-and-mighty Jax Wilder, the campus prince, would dig through a dumpster for my “junk.” 5 I wrapped the package and walked to the boys’ dorm. I called Jax. “Jax, I’m downstairs. I have something for you.” The background noise on his end was loud. His voice came through, lazy and indifferent as always. “Luke’s birthday gift?” I rushed to correct him. “No. It’s a gift for you.” Silence. A long pause. “For me?” His tone was skeptical. “Yeah. Can you come down?” He was down in two minutes. He looked like he hadn’t even checked a mirror—hair messy, a long black trench coat thrown over a t-shirt. “What is it?” I tugged gently on his sleeve. “Can we go inside?” Jax’s eyes narrowed instantly. “You want to go up to my room?” I nodded. His voice dropped several degrees. “So you can wait there for Luke to come back?” He let out a short, cold laugh, eyeing the box in my hand. “Is this a bribe?” Jax rarely showed emotion. Even over the phone, I could handle him. But face-to-face with those icy eyes, I was intimidated. “No…” He turned to leave. My hand moved faster than my brain. I grabbed his forearm. My voice wobbled. “Jax, please believe me.” “I’m not looking for Luke. I don’t like him anymore…” “Can you just… not mention him?” Jax stopped. He turned slowly, staring at my face. “Why are you crying?” His voice was gruff. Almost annoyed. I sniffled, looking up at him. “I swear.” Jax stared at me for what felt like forever. Then he looked away, waving a dismissive hand. “Whatever. Don’t tell me that stuff.” “I’m not interested.”

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In the fifth year of our marriage, I asked Ethan for a divorce. The reason? I found potato chip crumbs on the passenger seat of his car. He had a strict rule: no eating in his car. Ever. He scoffed at me. “You’re throwing everything away over that?” This time, I didn’t look down. I didn’t fold. I looked him dead in the eye and said with absolute clarity: “Yes. Over that.” 1 When I took the car to the detailer, the guy frowned and asked: “Ma’am, there are food crumbs all over the interior. Do you want the deep cleaning package?” I froze, my reflex was to deny it immediately. “That’s impossible.” Ethan was obsessive. He couldn’t stand anyone eating in his precious Mercedes. We had fought about it multiple times. How could there be crumbs? The guy pointed. I leaned in and saw them—yellow flakes of potato chips, dusted with seasoning, scattered in the crevices of the leather passenger seat. … I drove home and sat in the garage for a long time. Finally, I pulled the SD card from the dashcam. It didn’t take long to find the footage from yesterday afternoon. There was a moment of silence, then the sound of the passenger door closing. A familiar female voice laughed: “Right on time today!” The voice was sweet, carrying that specific kind of energy only a fresh college graduate has. My heart went cold instantly. Ethan’s voice was light, almost playful. “How did you get out so early? Didn’t your manager say anything?” Hailey giggled. “Everyone knows about us. Who would dare stop me?” If a woman my age said that, it would sound calculating and tacky. But coming from a twenty-two-year-old intern, it just sounded bold and cute. Sure enough, Ethan chuckled. He didn’t correct her. I suddenly remembered when we were first married. I was working at his startup back then. One day, I ran into him in the hallway and tried to say hi. He walked right past me, stone-faced, as if I were invisible. When I confronted him at home, he frowned and said: “I don’t want the office knowing about us. They’ll think I’m playing favorites or that you only got the job because of nepotism.” Shortly after, his parents suggested I stay home to manage the household. So, I quit. Turns out, he didn’t mind people knowing about his relationships. He just minded people knowing about me. The sound of a crinkling bag pulled me back to the video. Hailey was crunching loudly on chips. Ethan didn’t say a word. “Oops,” Hailey said. “I dropped some crumbs. Sorry.” “It’s fine,” Ethan said, his voice gentle. “I’ll get it detailed later.” He paused, then added, “Don’t fill up on junk food. I’m taking you somewhere nice for dinner.” The footage ended there. I sat in the dark garage, silence ringing in my ears. I tried not to dwell on the past, but the memory forced its way in. Two years ago. I was running late, hadn’t eaten, and brought a bagel into the car. Ethan had snapped at me. “Get out. Don’t eat in my car!” I tried to explain, panic rising. “It’s just a plain bagel, it won’t make a mess, it doesn’t smell…” He looked at me with pure disgust. Then he hit the gas and drove off. Leaving me standing in the garage, holding a bagel, stunned. It was raining that day. I couldn’t get an Uber. I ran to the subway, broke a heel, and arrived at work soaking wet. My boss chewed me out in front of everyone. I have hypoglycemia. From the stress and hunger, I almost blacked out. I only survived because a coworker slipped me a granola bar. But now? Now, someone was allowed to eat in his car. His rules weren’t unbreakable. He just hadn’t met the right person to break them for. I closed my eyes. After a long moment, I reached into my purse and pulled out the divorce papers. I had printed them six months ago. I just never had the guts to serve them. To be honest, I couldn’t let go. I had loved him for so long. He was my entire youth. From the day I fell for him, I was waiting. Waiting for him to see me. I waited while he chased the head cheerleader in college. I waited when his mother forced them to break up. I waited while he hit rock bottom, and under family pressure, he chose me—the safe option. I waited for years, but he never fell in love with me. When I first saw Hailey at the company holiday party, my intuition screamed. She looked just like his ex. Bright, loud, fiery. I saw his eyes linger on her. Then I saw him approve her resume, even though she was underqualified. The red flags started waving when Hailey called him one night. It was “work-related,” but interns don’t call the CEO directly. We were eating dinner. Ethan dropped his fork, fumbling to answer the phone. His voice was tight, nervous. “Don’t worry. I’ll talk to HR. They won’t blame you.” After he hung up, he sat there dazed. Then, the corners of his mouth slowly crept up into a smile he couldn’t suppress. That night, he was in such a good mood he was humming in the shower. I felt like I was drowning in ice water. At first, I don’t think he intended to cheat. It was just emotional. But love is like a cough; you can’t hide it. He started coming home late. He spent nights texting, smiling at his screen like a teenager with a crush. No matter how I cried or begged for his attention, he would shut me down with one sentence: “If you’re so unhappy, you can leave.” And I would always fold. It wasn’t him that defeated me. It was my own love for him. But now? I didn’t want to love him anymore. Divorcing over potato chip crumbs sounds insane. But it was the straw that broke the camel’s back. 2 When I handed the papers to Ethan, he was typing on his laptop. He glanced at them annoyed and tossed them aside. “What is this? Another renovation estimate?” “I’ve told you, the housing market isn’t—” “It’s divorce papers,” I cut him off. “Read them. We need to discuss the asset division.” Ethan froze. He picked up the document, flipped through a page, and let out a mocking laugh. “Chloe, really? Since when did you start with these dramatic theatrics?” “I feed you, I clothe you, I give you this lifestyle. And now you want me to play along with your little soap opera?” I looked him in the eye. “If your memory still works, you’ll recall I had a career. You and your mother begged me to quit to manage your life.” “Nannies and housekeepers in this city cost five grand a month, minimum. You aren’t ‘keeping’ me. I’ve been working for you for free. Don’t make yourself out to be some hero.” Ethan looked up, genuinely shocked. I had never spoken to him like this. His shock turned into anger. He slammed the papers onto the table. “Have you lost your mind?!” “I saw the crumbs in the passenger seat,” I said calmly. Ethan frowned deeply. “Over that? seriously?” I nodded. “Yes. Over that.” “If you don’t agree, I’ll file through the courts. It’ll get messy. That won’t look good for your company’s image, will it?” Ethan stared at me, his eyes dark. After a long standoff, he grabbed a pen, scribbled his signature aggressively, and threw the papers back at me. “Happy now?!” “Let me tell you something, Chloe. Don’t come crawling back to me crying like you used to.” He sneered. “Like a dog.” My heart felt a sharp, familiar squeeze. He knew exactly where to stab to hurt me the most. But the pain passed quickly. “Let’s go,” I said, grabbing my coat. “My lawyer can file this electronically, but you need to vacate the house while we sort this out. Or I will.” “You leave,” he snapped. “This is my house.” “Fine.” … Moving out was easier than I thought. Ethan didn’t even look at me as I packed. He just drove off to work, leaving me in the driveway. I realized as I packed that most of the things in the house belonged to him. My life fit into a single 28-inch suitcase. I checked into a hotel. Lying on the pristine white sheets, I realized something strange. Leaving Ethan wasn’t hard. I used to think I would die without him. But I didn’t feel grief. I felt relief. Like a boulder had been lifted off my chest. I hadn’t been in love with him for a long time. I was just addicted to the habit of loving him. 3 I planned to sleep in, but my phone rang early the next morning. It was Barbara, Ethan’s mother. “Sorry to wake you, Chloe,” she said, her voice sugary sweet. Before I could speak, she launched into her agenda. “Remind Ethan that his Uncle Jerry’s birthday is next Wednesday. Make sure he doesn’t forget.” “And don’t drink at the party, okay? You need to drive him home.” I rubbed my temples. “Barbara, why don’t you call Ethan?” “Oh, I don’t want to wake him,” she said naturally. “He works so hard. Not like you, enjoying the easy life at home…” Standard Barbara. In her eyes, Ethan sitting in an air-conditioned office was hard labor. Me cooking, cleaning, managing the finances, and waiting on him hand and foot was “vacation.” I gripped the phone, finally letting my anger surface. “Actually, Barbara, you might not know this.” “Ethan and I are divorced.” I hung up before she could scream. I didn’t get peace for long. Ethan called that evening. “Come home. My parents are here.” “Not my problem,” I said. “Handle your own family.” “Your parents are here too.” He hung up. I sighed. I knew I couldn’t avoid the fallout forever. Fine. There were things I wanted to say anyway. … When I walked into the house, Barbara looked me up and down and laughed. “There she is! Oh, young couples fight, it’s normal. Chloe probably just got bored at home and wanted some drama.” “But really, Chloe, causing a scene is one thing. Making your parents fly all the way out here? That’s selfish. Ethan has a business to run.” I looked at Ethan. He sat on the sofa, scrolling on his phone, acting deaf. Just like always. I swallowed the last bit of disappointment. Why did I expect him to defend me? Barbara was a control freak. She broke up Ethan and his ex because the girl was “too independent.” She picked me because my parents were professors—respectable—and I was “soft.” From the moment I handed her the tea at the wedding, she lectured me on serving her son. We tried to go to the Maldives for our honeymoon. Barbara insisted on coming. When we hesitated, she cried about being a lonely widow until we caved. It was a nightmare. She treated me like the maid, making me carry her bags while she linked arms with Ethan. She was the queen of passive-aggressive torture. I hate cilantro. It tastes like soap to me. But whenever Barbara visited to “help cook,” every dish was loaded with cilantro. “Oh, Chloe, try this,” she’d say, piling it on my bowl. “It’s good for you.” If I complained, Ethan would snap: “Mom is old, she forgot. Just eat it. Stop being ungrateful.” She would “lose” the AC remote in the summer. She would mix my delicates with Ethan’s gym socks in the wash. Small things. But they piled up until I felt like I was suffocating. Ethan knew. But Barbara had “sacrificed so much” for him, so he never stood up for me. He just hid in the garage or stayed late at work. That was when the warmth between us finally died. I looked Barbara in the eye. “You called my parents here, not me.” She blinked. “Chloe, you—” I stepped forward. “And stop talking about Ethan supporting me. I had a career. He begged me to work for his company when he couldn’t afford a CPA. Then you begged me to quit to take care of him.” “Even if I just calculate my rate as a live-in housekeeper and chef, I’ve paid my way. You think without me as his wife, he stops functioning?” Ethan stood up. “Chloe! Watch your tone with my mother!” I snapped. “That’s your mother, not mine! I’m done playing this game!” “She didn’t raise me! I respected her because of you. But now that we’re divorcing? I don’t have to deal with this toxicity!” “Where was your voice when she forced me to eat food I hate? When she turned off the AC in July? When she ruined our honeymoon?” “You coward! You just hid in the garage!” “Ethan, what kind of man are you?!” The room went silent. I was shaking, tears streaming down my face. Ethan looked stunned. For a second, I saw something in his eyes… guilt? My dad stood up, his face dark. My mom grabbed me and hugged me tight. “Chloe…” she sobbed. I buried my face in her shoulder. I finally realized who I had let down. Not Ethan. Not his mom. But my own parents, who raised me to be strong, and myself. “Oh, look at her, so emotional over nothing,” Barbara laughed nervously. “We’re all family here…” “I haven’t died yet,” my mom snapped, lifting her head. “She doesn’t need you to be her mother!” Barbara gasped. “In-law, how can you—” “Shut up!” My dad stepped in. “I never wanted her to marry you,” Dad said to Ethan. “But she loved you. We gave you a down payment for this house. We asked for nothing but for you to treat her well.” “Is this how you keep your promise?” Ethan backed away. “Dad, I—” “Don’t call me Dad.” We walked out. I couldn’t go home with them yet because I had to finalize the assets and the court filing. They left me with a check and a hug. “Take a vacation. We’re here for you.” That night in the hotel, I slept for eight hours straight. For the last four years, I had suffered from insomnia and mild depression. Now? I slept like a baby. 4 I started updating my resume. I had offers from the Big Four accounting firms out of college. I had talent. I had just paused it. Scrolling through LinkedIn, I saw old classmates making partner, starting businesses, traveling. I had nothing but a failed marriage. But I was only twenty-seven. I could start over. … That night, my phone pinged. A notification from the Nest camera in the old house. I hadn’t disconnected it yet. I accidentally clicked it. Ethan was walking in with Hailey. He didn’t waste any time. Ethan was drunk, stumbling. Hailey was struggling to hold him up. “Water,” he mumbled. “Where’s the hangover soup?” “I don’t know how to make soup,” Hailey laughed, breathless. “Just drink tap water.” Ethan knocked the glass out of her hand. He stumbled toward the bedroom. The thought of them in my bed made me nauseous. But a minute later, Ethan ran out, shirt unbuttoned, pushing Hailey away. “You’re not my wife! Get out!” Hailey froze. “I’m Hailey! You’re getting divorced!” “No!” Ethan shouted, slurring. “I’m not! You’re not her! Get out!” Hailey, humiliated and furious, grabbed her purse and slammed the door. Ethan tripped and fell onto the living room rug. “Chloe…” he groaned. “I fell.” Silence. “Chloe, my head hurts. Come rub my temples.” Silence. He passed out on the floor. I watched, feeling nothing but a dull pity. I thought he loved Hailey. His rules didn’t apply to her. He defended her. But turns out, he just wanted the thrill. And he wanted a maid. I woke up at 2 AM for water and checked the cam again. Ethan was awake, sitting in the dark living room, staring at nothing. He clutched his stomach. “Chloe… my stomach pills. Where are they?” Ethan had an ulcer from too much drinking. I had nursed him back to health, organizing his meds in labelled boxes. He shouted my name into the empty house. Finally, he got up and started tearing through the cabinets. He threw things on the floor until he found the plastic organizer I kept under the TV. He picked up a bottle of antacids. He stared at the yellow sticky note on it. I knew what it said. I wrote it. Chew 1-2 tablets. Take after meals or before bed. Do not drink milk with this. He stared at my handwriting for a long time. Then, he buried his face in his knees and started to cry.

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The world is just a giant, chaotic simulation run by unpaid interns. And I am the glitch. My dad is a Wall Street shark. I, however, still struggle with splitting the bill at dinner. My mom is an Oscar-winning actress. I look like an NPC in the background of her life. My brother curated his own art exhibition at four years old. At five, I was still eating paste and drooling. Even our housekeeper, Martha, and the butler, Alfred, are retired special ops or hidden geniuses. Luckily, they all spoil me rotten. I had made peace with my mediocrity… Until one day, a viral “Genius Girl” knocked on our door, demanding I vacate her spot as the real heiress. Great. The other shoe I’ve been waiting for my whole life has finally dropped. Chapter 1 I’ve always felt like a glitch in this family’s matrix. Dad is a financial tycoon. Mom is Hollywood royalty. Me? Average brain, average face. They say nature seeks balance. My brother, Julian, is the result of hoarding all the talent. Art prodigy at four, MIT at fifteen, and a permanent fixture on the “Most Handsome Faces” global list. I wanted to be jealous. I wanted to be a villain. I wanted to crawl around in the dark like a goblin. But I chose to make peace with myself. After all, you can’t win the genetic lottery twice in a row. I was living my best life, rotting in bed… Until the internet-famous Genius Girl showed up. “The nurse in the delivery room confessed! We were switched at birth! I am the real Sterling daughter!” “You’re so basic! How could you possibly be their daughter?” “Today, I’m taking back everything that belongs to me!” Tiffany stormed in alone, but she carried the energy of a SWAT team. Her confidence was so overwhelming that my family—sorry, me and the other family of three—fell into deep contemplation. Dad, looking up from his tablet: “Switched?” Mom, checking her manicure: “How would I know? I was too busy counting my stretch marks. Wasn’t the baby handed to Julian?” Julian, my stoic brother, paused for three seconds before delivering a cold fact: “I was three years old.” Mom paused, then tried to deflect the blame again. “But you loved holding the baby! You kept asking if you could share your new toy with your little girlfriend, Avery.” “Avery wasn’t my girlfriend.” “But she called me ‘Mommy’ every time she saw me…” I sat there, sweating bullets. Tiffany didn’t look too happy either. Seeing Mom and Julian drift off-topic, I stood up to interrupt. “Dad, Mom, Julian, look at my face. Then look at hers. Don’t we look more like a family?” She pointed at me, slumped on the sofa. I touched my plain face and nodded in agreement. Growing up, the compliments Julian received included, but were not limited to: “Dashing,” “Stunning,” “A carbon copy of his father.” For me? It was always: “She looks… healthy.” Depressing. “Also, I’ve been a straight-A student my whole life! But her? She’s been dead last since kindergarten. She even bought her college degree!” Tiffany continued to present her evidence. I lowered my head in shame. Since school started, Julian was always the Valedictorian. I was always the cautionary tale. My tutor didn’t believe in failure. She gave me private lessons until she suffered a stress-induced stroke and ended up in the ICU. In her delirium, she held my hand, whispering: “What… do the numbers mean… Avery… what do they mean?” I felt guilty. So, the night before the next exam, I pulled an all-nighter and memorized the entire math textbook. The next day, I became a campus legend for filling the entire exam sheet with formulas and getting a score of zero. Thinking back on this, I looked at my parents and brother with a heavy heart. “Is it possible… that you guys really are related?” Mom and Dad fell into deep thought. Julian looked solemn. Tiffany was still screaming: “Mom! Dad! Don’t you believe me? I’ve been suffering alone for eighteen years! How can you not believe me?” Just as the atmosphere reached a boiling point, Martha, who had been standing in the shadows, spoke up: “Sir, Madam… there is this technology called a DNA test.” Chapter 2 The DNA test went smoothly. The results would take a month. Tiffany wasn’t having it. She started arguing with the clinic staff. “Why do I have to wait a month?” “Because there’s a line.” “Do you know who I am?” “A citizen.” “Who gave you the audacity to speak to me like that?” ” The Constitution.” The receptionist was stone-faced. Tiffany was stomping her feet. I was curling my toes in second-hand embarrassment. A crowd was gathering. I couldn’t watch anymore, so I walked over and tugged her arm. “Maybe just wait? It’s only a month…” She shook me off. “Shut up! You just want to squat in my nest for another month! I won’t give you the chance!” She grabbed the receptionist’s lab coat and screamed: “I order you to get the results today, or face the consequences!” Chapter 3 The consequence was a three-day detention for disturbing the peace. Three days later, Tiffany returned. She demanded to move in, claiming she wanted to feel the “warmth of family” she had missed for years. Dad, cold as ice: “Martha, prep a room.” Tiffany cried tears of joy. “I knew you accepted me in your hearts! This is great. I’ll spend every day by your side from now on.” She shot me a glare and announced loudly: “I’m going to make up for all the lost time!” I turned my head, trying to keep a straight face. Lost time? Since I could remember, I woke up every day in a 10,000-square-foot mansion and ate breakfast at a dining table long enough to land a plane on. The permanent residents were Martha, Alfred, Julian (on weekends), and the two Dobermans in the yard. “Lonely, Rich, and Cold” was the tagline of my childhood. As a teen, my favorite hobby was looking up at the sky at a 45-degree angle, embodying the “Main Character Syndrome” of a sad indie movie. My social media posts were all: Money can’t buy love or If you know, you know. This behavior stopped the year Julian took screenshots of my posts, blew them up into a PowerPoint presentation, and played them on loop during Christmas dinner. I didn’t want to relive that social death, so I shed a tear of sympathy for Tiffany. Her dream was doomed. However, my glamorous Mom was beaming, clapping her hands in excitement. “That’s wonderful! I also want to make up for lost time! You’re so pretty, I’m going to dress you up like the most stunning princess!” Stunning princess? Hearing this, Julian and I synchronized a step backward. We wanted to speak. We stopped. But seeing Mom dragging Tiffany away with the excitement of a teenage girl… Julian and I looked at each other. We kept our mouths shut. … “I have so many couture gowns and no one to wear them! Finally, a model!” “Mom, if you want, I’ll be your model forever.” “Really? Oh, you’re so sweet. I’m going to cry.” Tiffany was eating it up. She glanced at me sideways. “Mom, didn’t you ever dress her up?” “I guess not. Since she’s not biological, you guys weren’t close…” “It’s like those dogs in the yard. Only a real mother and child have that bond. Fakes can never be real!” Tiffany was monologuing now. “Look at how those dogs lean on each other. It’s a metaphor for our family…” I couldn’t help it. “Goldie and Shadow are both male.” Tiffany’s smile froze. Me: “And they were neutered ten years ago.” Tiffany’s face went through the entire color spectrum. But soon, she regained her smug expression. Mom dragged her upstairs excitedly. Before she left, Tiffany shot me a victorious look. She didn’t notice the pity in my eyes. Good luck, soldier. Chapter 4 Lunchtime. Four people at the table. Me, Julian, Mom, and… a Dopamine Doll. A luxury gown, heavy jewelry, and a towering top hat. Not high fashion. High altitude. I looked at Tiffany, who was balancing an eight-layer cake decoration on her head and wearing makeup that made her look like a Victorian ghost. My sympathy reached new heights. Growing up, Mom tried to turn me into a doll. Unfortunately, my average looks and slacker attitude made her give up. Julian, despite his looks, inherited Dad’s death glare. He shut Mom down before she could even start. I know Mom never gave up. She bought dolls. She even ordered life-sized silicone figures using Dad’s credit card. That incident made the tabloids. I snapped back to reality and looked at Tiffany. Her corset was so tight she couldn’t sit, so she was standing to eat. She tried to pick up food, and the tower on her head wobbled. She looked down, and lead-based powder fell into her soup. Julian: “It’s not Christmas. Why is there a tree at the table?” Pfft. I usually don’t laugh. Unless I can’t help it. Mom was offended. “Isn’t it cute? Like a doll…” She batted her eyelashes. Julian: “Dolls don’t need oxygen. She looks like she’s about to pass out.” Mom looked guilty. She glanced at Tiffany with concern. I don’t know what possessed Tiffany, but facing Mom’s rare moment of emotion, she forced a smile uglier than a grimace. “No, I’m fine.” “Don’t force it,” I warned kindly. She didn’t appreciate it. “You wouldn’t understand. A parent’s love for their daughter is heavy like a mountain. This isn’t a burden; it’s the weight of love!” As soon as she finished saying “weight of love,” a crisp SNAP echoed in the air. Tiffany’s expression twisted. Her body trembled. Finally, the physics of the eight-layer hat took over. She tipped backward and hit the floor with a deafening crash. Chaos ensued. Indeed. Parental love is heavy. Like a mountain. Or a concussion.

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The day I went public with my childhood sweetheart, the genius Go prodigy took his own life. Reporters found his study filled with cabinets of antidepressants and a portrait of my profile, meticulously pieced together with black and white Go stones. His mentor’s voice choked with emotion: “That kid lost his parents when he was twelve. Chloe, you were his last tether to this world…” When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day I lost a game of Truth or Dare. My childhood friend’s secret boyfriend was excitedly suggesting, “Why don’t you two post a relationship announcement?” Chapter 1 News of Ethan Cole, the genius Go prodigy, winning seven consecutive games and breaking the undefeated record of a legendary master caused a massive stir back in the States. With his signature black trench coat, devastatingly good looks, and an aura of aloof indifference, he was absolutely slaying on every video platform, harvesting a legion of fangirls. During a livestream interview after his return, a young reporter teased, “God-tier Ethan, many of your new female fans are very curious about your relationship status. Care to share?” A staff member tugged at the reporter, whispering, “Did you not do your homework? Don’t ask. He never answers questions unrelated to Go, and he especially hates gossip.” The young reporter visibly tensed up. But unexpectedly, Ethan took the microphone. His pitch-black eyes stared unblinkingly into the camera lens, as if looking through it to lock eyes with someone specific. His clenched fingertips trembled slightly, as if it took every ounce of his strength to say: “I’m sorry. I like you.” It was clearly a confession, yet the desperate sense of putting everything on the line was suffocating. When the camera panned to Ethan’s phone, the lit screen displayed the relationship announcement post from me and my childhood friend on Instagram. But at the time, no one paid attention. The internet was still immersed in the joy of his victory, frantically guessing how excellent the girl must be to make a genius feel inferior. That night, news of Ethan’s suicide due to depression rocketed to the top of the trending list. “I like you” became his final words. The next day, when a reporter approached me, wanting to take me to Ethan’s apartment, my childhood friend, Josh Miller, screeched before I could react: “Lady, you must have the wrong person. How could Chloe Evans have anything to do with God-tier Ethan? She can’t even figure out Ludo, let alone Go. I’m a loyal fan of Ethan’s, the president of his fan club chapter. If you want to know what’s going on, you should take me.” I gently kicked Josh, but I had to agree with him. To me, Ethan was an existence from a completely different dimension. In my eyes, he was just a taciturn genius in a field I knew nothing about. Chapter 2 Ethan’s apartment was in a quiet suburb. Pushing open the study door, the first thing that caught my eye was a massive portrait of a girl’s profile, created entirely from black and white Go stones. Delicate, exquisite, breathtaking. Every detail revealed the creator’s intense, unyielding emotion—a love that endured until death. It made you want to take a picture. If that girl wasn’t me. I walked in, staring at the cabinets filled with antidepressant bottles labeled in foreign languages. Ethan’s mentor, a titan in the Go world, sighed deeply behind me, his voice choking up. “That kid had a hard life. Abused since childhood, and at twelve, he watched his parents beat each other to death. He became an orphan.” “Chloe, you were his last tether to this world.” My gaze shifted to a glass display case nearby. Inside was a broken strawberry hair clip, a half-eaten bag of dried mangoes, and a small note I had accidentally thrown out the window during study hall while chatting with Josh. It read: “Damn, I just realized guys look so hot in black trench coats.” … These pieces of trash I had casually discarded were treasured like precious gems. In contrast, his valuable championship certificates and trophies were carelessly shoved into a corner. “So, he chose to give up on life after seeing my announcement?” The mentor’s eyes were red. “All these years, Ethan was placed on a pedestal. He looked glorious on the surface, but his mental state was getting worse and worse. Every night, he could only sleep briefly while looking at your photo.” I couldn’t help but ask, “Master, why exactly did Ethan like me…” Before I could finish, a sharp pain shot through my brain. Before consciousness faded, I saw the mentor’s mouth moving, but I couldn’t hear a sound. Chapter 3 When I opened my eyes again, I was at the post-graduation party. We were a few rounds deep into Truth or Dare. Josh was watching Ethan’s livestream interview while discussing the relationship announcement caption with his new secret boyfriend on my phone. I woke as if from a dream and frantically stopped them. “Don’t post that. Pick another punishment.” A guy next to us shoved Josh playfully. “Yo, you got rejected again.” “Chloe, what’s up? Can’t handle the game today?” Seeing my genuine panic, Josh ignored them and stammered, “But I just posted it… Chloe, don’t panic, it’s only been a minute. I’m deleting it now.” On the livestream, Ethan had just put down his phone and was being guided by staff to take questions. Crap. He must have already seen it. I didn’t have time to explain. I immediately got up to catch a cab to the Go club, simultaneously starting a voice call with Ethan on WeChat. Even though I had absolutely no memory of ever adding him. Once connected, his voice carried an imperceptible surprise and cautious probing: “Chloe Evans?” It was the first time I heard Ethan say my name. His voice was naturally deep and bewitching, unexpectedly tugging at my heartstrings. “The relationship post is fake. It was a punishment for losing Truth or Dare. Wait for me, I’m coming to the Go club right now.” Silence on the other end for about five seconds. If not for the sound of his breathing losing its rhythm and the trembling “Okay” at the end… I would have thought I was too late again. After hanging up. I let out a breath, slowly leaning my head back against the seat and closing my eyes. Ethan, I want to see just how crazy you really are. A bright future, the title of a genius, wealth, status, even his bone-deep love for Go. He was willing to abandon it all without a second thought… When I arrived at the Go club, the reporters had already left. On the way, Josh posted on his timeline: “How did he just cancel the interview after one phone call? That’s not Ethan’s style. WTF, which siren bewitched our God-tier Ethan into skipping work?” I commented instantly: “Is it possible you know this siren…” Josh: “Who? Who is it! Is it the school beauty, Sophie? Then it’s fine. Although our preferences differ, we’re both men, I understand him.” Me: “…” The autumn wind was bleak. The boy stood under the streetlamp. Who knows how long he had been waiting? The black trench coat made his skin look even paler. Six-foot-one, broad shoulders, long legs. The fluid lines of his muscles filled out the coat perfectly. He didn’t have to do anything, didn’t have to pose; just standing there was eye-catching enough. No wonder he went viral online. When our eyes met, Ethan’s dark, indifferent eyes suddenly lit up, rippling like water. Subtle dimples appeared at the corners of his mouth, and his gaze glued itself to me. It gave me the feeling of a starving predator in a barren snowfield suddenly spotting food—eyes glowing green. It was intense, almost too much to look at directly. Was he this happy just to see me? Even though I received plenty of love letters at school, Josh always teased me about being a “player” or a “tease.” But when I took the hot drink Ethan handed me, the moment our fingertips touched, my heart still skipped a beat. Jasmine milk tea, 30% sugar. My favorite order from my favorite spot. “Senior…” I lifted my chin, looking up slightly to meet his gaze. “You can call me Chloe.” Ethan’s ears turned crimson at a speed visible to the naked eye. His raven-black eyelashes trembled as if he were trying hard to suppress something. He lowered his head and gave a raspy acknowledgement. It felt like I was the one hitting on him. Josh complained countless times that despite being a top-ten honor student worthy of the honor roll… My face was too glamorous and lacked innocence, and my tone naturally carried a flirtatious lilt. I looked more like a delinquent slacker no matter how you sliced it. I tried to change the subject. “It’s so cold out. Why didn’t you wait inside?” “Forget waiting outside. When he heard you were coming, he clutched his phone and couldn’t even speak. Cancelled the interview. He wanted to fly over to pick you up.” A familiar middle-aged man walked out of the Go club, grinning from ear to ear. It was his mentor. “Ethan, why don’t you invite her inside?” As the mentor tugged at Ethan’s coat… A silver dagger fell from the boy’s person. It hit the pavement with a crisp clang. The atmosphere instantly froze. The mentor’s arm stiffened in mid-air. In that moment, I felt my brain short-circuit. If I hadn’t rushed to the club, hadn’t made that call. Right now, would Ethan have locked himself in his study, stared despairingly at that black and white profile, and turned the blade toward his wrist… A sharp pain pricked my heart. I quickly bent down to pick up the dagger. “Chloe!” Ethan’s cool voice carried a trace of urgency. I didn’t expect the blade to be so sharp. I just barely grazed the edge, and beads of blood rushed out from my fingertip. When Ethan used this to cut his wrist, he must have truly had zero will to live. Chapter 4 Inside the Go club, amidst the misty autumn rain. After disinfecting the cut, Ethan turned to get gauze. I grabbed the hem of his clothes with my good hand. “It’s just a scratch. No need to bandage it. Just blow on it and it’ll heal.” Ethan froze, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Can I?” “Hm?” The boy leaned down, reverently lifting my injured finger. His pale pink lips slowly moved closer. I realized belatedly that he interpreted “blow on it” as him blowing on it. Our warm breaths mingled, the air heating up rapidly. Just as we were about to touch, the sound of the mentor pushing the door open made me yank my hand back. The mentor waved at me, signaling me to follow him out. Ethan’s eyes darkened. He stared at my nearly healed wound, his gaze heavy. He watched me leave with puppy-dog eyes, a silent, humble plea for me to stay. It’s not like we’ll never see each other again, I mentally grumbled. But then I realized, in Ethan’s eyes, I was just visiting on a whim. Whether I would come back was truly an unknown to him. … “Chloe, were you scared? Getting hurt the first time you officially meet… that kid is going to cry from guilt. Don’t be afraid, he has no ill intentions. That dagger… it’s probably because…” Outside the door, the mentor stopped mid-sentence. I blinked. “It’s okay, Master. I know.” Shock washed over the mentor’s face. “You know? Did Ethan tell you? No, impossible. With his personality, he would never tell you and burden you. I’m going to find out which traitor ran their mouth later.” I answered silently in my heart: Master, you told me yourself. “Chloe, Ethan is really happy that you came. Maybe tonight he can take fewer sleeping pills. I’m not afraid to tell you, his dosage is getting higher and higher. It scares me. Chloe, really, thank you.” When the mentor bowed his head, I saw a few gray hairs. My nose started to sting. … When I returned to the room, Ethan was reviewing a game. His well-defined fingers held a black stone. It was incredibly pleasing to the eye—the image of a gentleman. He radiated a calmness and aloofness that didn’t match his age. I approached silently. My hands were still wet from washing them, so I playfully flicked water at him twice. He turned his head, pupils dilating in shock that I had returned. He didn’t wipe the water off even though I “bullied” him. His eyelashes were wet—I didn’t know if he had cried or if it was my water droplets. Up close, I noticed a cut on his finger in the exact same spot as mine. For a Go player, does he care so little about his hands? I thought it, so I blurted it out. Ethan stood up helplessly, hiding his hand behind his back. “Chloe, I’m sorry.” “Don’t say those two words to me ever again.” I tried to look fierce, but my voice was naturally soft, so it sounded more like flirting. “Why was that in the room?” I pointed at the dagger on the cabinet. “You touched it. It has your scent. I want to keep it.” Ethan whispered his explanation, hiding nothing. I could already picture Ethan taking this knife back to his study and reverently placing it in a glass display case. Even though the heat wasn’t on, my face started to burn. I paused for a moment. “The high school reunion next month. Are you going?” “Chloe, you don’t hate me?” Ethan asked cautiously. “You really want me to hate you?” “No.” I felt mischievous and leaned in closer, smiling. “So you want me to like you, then?” “Chloe…” Ethan gripped the Go stone tightly, his voice hoarse as he said my name. I felt like I was bullying him too much, so I took a step back. “Alright, sleep early tonight. Take fewer sleeping pills. If possible, don’t take any. I’m leaving.” “Okay.” The disappointment in the boy’s eyes was undisguised, like a dog abandoned in a storm by its owner. I couldn’t help but lift my hand. Ethan naturally bent down, making it easy for me to ruffle his soft hair. “So obedient. Will you do anything I ask?” “Yes.” I was just joking. I didn’t expect Ethan to answer so decisively. I didn’t know how to respond. The boy in front of me curved his lips, his tone humble yet serious, tinged with stubbornness. “I am willing to do anything for Chloe.” A cold wind blew in from the window, and my heart missed a beat again. I heard my voice: “In that case, Ethan, I order you to live well.”

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When I was young, I met someone who took my breath away. He was the golden boy, the son of a major shareholder. I was the scholarship kid from the wrong side of the tracks. On Liam’s birthday, his limited-edition sneakers went missing. Everyone decided I stole them. Even Liam looked at me with disdain. “Didn’t your mother teach you not to touch things that aren’t yours?” He didn’t know I didn’t have a mother. My father was “invited” to the school and humiliated in front of everyone. I was forced to drop out. Years later, I heard… The high-and-mighty Mr. Liam Vance had been looking for me for eleven years. Chapter 1 Everyone was convinced I stole Liam’s sneakers. They tore through my backpack. They even pried open my locker. “You guys are going too far!” Josh pulled a gift box out of my locker. “Still denying it? What’s this if not Liam’s shoes?” “Thief! Disgusting!” Even Liam looked at me with pure disgust. They were certain the box contained the stolen shoes. “That’s not…” Josh had already ripped the box open. Inside was a modest, off-brand wallet. Amidst the pile of luxury gifts Liam had received, it looked pathetic. “Whoa, don’t tell me this is your gift for Liam?” The whole room erupted in laughter. They looked at me like I was a joke. “No… it’s not.” Josh acted like he’d found a smoking gun. He picked up the birthday card and read it aloud. “To Liam, Happy Birthday. A small gift, hope you don’t mind.” “Hahahaha!” Josh clutched his stomach, laughing. Liam’s face grew darker. The look in his eyes turned from suspicion to repulsion. “Tara, you have the nerve to give this trash to Liam? This piece of junk isn’t even fit to wipe his shoes. So cheap… why even bother?” They didn’t know. I had saved up my lunch money for months to buy that wallet. Liam looked at the wallet like it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever seen. He walked up to me, cool and detached. “You trashing it, or am I?” I snatched the wallet back, ran a few steps, and threw it into the trash can myself. Along with the torn card. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Liam wiping his hand, the one that had touched the wallet, over and over again. I wanted to escape this farce. But Liam stopped me. “Tara, where are my sneakers?” “I really didn’t take them.” His gaze suddenly turned cold, filled with displeasure. “Didn’t your mother teach you not to touch things that aren’t yours?” My eyes instantly went red. They didn’t know. I really didn’t have a mother. But I didn’t take his stuff. “The thief is getting emotional? Liam, don’t waste your time. She really is motherless and uneducated. No one taught her the rules.” Liam’s cousin, Chloe, looked at me arrogantly. Her gaze mirrored Liam’s perfectly. “Selling those shoes would feed you and your dad for three years. If it wasn’t you, who else could it be?” “You searched everything. You looked everywhere. Why won’t you believe me?” Liam led his entourage out, carrying his gifts. On the last trip, he “accidentally” bumped into me. I expected an apology. Instead, he said, “How much is the word of a charity case worth, anyway?” Chapter 2 That’s when I knew. It wasn’t an accident. He bumped into me on purpose. None of them showed up for afternoon classes. The hallway was chaotic. People in the front row kept glancing back at me. I kept my head down, taking notes, until I heard my father’s voice from outside. “I’m… I’m sorry…” “Sorry…” “Dad…” I dropped my pen and ran out the back door. In the hallway, a group of them had surrounded my dad. Josh, specifically, tripped him. My dad just smiled apologetically, saying sorry over and over. “Dad!” Chloe grabbed me tight. She wouldn’t let me pass. The takeout box in Josh’s hand was dumped on the floor. It was the lunch my dad had brought for me. Sweet and sour pork. My favorite. Josh crouched down, feigning apology. “Oops, Uncle, my bad. Butterfingers!” “It’s… it’s okay…” “Hey, Uncle, is this food… good?” “Good, it’s good.” Josh smirked maliciously. “If it’s good, why aren’t you eating it?” My dad looked up. Liam was standing there, watching the show. The students around them jeered with fake enthusiasm. “Uncle, don’t tell me you’re picky?” “Uncle, we’re all Tara’s classmates. We’ve never seen anyone eat off the floor. Uncle, you wouldn’t deny us the show, right?” Under their aggressive taunts… My dad smiled and reached for the food on the ground. He laughed as he ate. Liam “accidentally” stepped on the food. But I knew. He did it on purpose. My dad grabbed the dirt-stained rice and put it in his mouth. I was sobbing uncontrollably. My arms were bruising from being held back. “Liam, I’m telling the Dean!” Liam paused slightly, but the others just laughed. “Hahaha! Don’t you know Liam’s dad is on the Board of Directors?” I knew. But I didn’t believe the school would cover for him like this. This was a prestigious state university, after all. I pulled my dad up. He couldn’t bear to leave the last two pieces of pork, stuffing them into his mouth. He smiled at me. “It’s okay. Food isn’t dirty just because it touched the ground.” “Dad…” We went to the Dean’s office. Liam sat in the Dean’s chair without a care in the world. He had his legs crossed, playing a game on his phone. The Dean smiled and offered Liam a blanket. But when he looked at me and my dad, his eyes were cold as ice. “Tara, apologize to Liam.” “Dean! You haven’t even heard what happened. Why should I apologize?” The Dean looked stern. “Don’t forget, you’re a scholarship student, a special admission. If you want to stay here, apologize to Liam.” “Dean, he falsely accused me of stealing and bullied my father, he…” The Dean’s voice rose sharply. “Did I stutter?” I wanted to argue. But my dad pulled my arm. “Apologize. We apologize.” “Dad, why should we apologize! They should be the ones apologizing!” Chloe stood there, arms crossed, sneering. “First, get one thing straight. This school might as well be named Vance! One word from my cousin, and you’re done here.” Chloe looked me up and down. “Someone as poor as you, getting a special spot here… you should learn to keep your head down.” Chapter 3 “But I didn’t do anything wrong.” I said it firmly. Liam, still playing his game, glanced at me. “Your mistake is having a useless father.” Slap! I rushed over and slapped Liam across the face. He was stunned. Everyone in the office was stunned. “Tara, do you know what you just did?!” “Tara, are you crazy!” Chloe moved to hit me, but my dad pulled me behind him. The slap landed squarely on my dad’s face. “No mother, no manners. Is this how you were raised?” “Dad!” My dad held my hand down, shaking his head frantically. Liam stood up from the chair. The Dean was panicking, looking at me helplessly. “You two… kneel and apologize to Liam!” I was shaking with rage, but my dad put on that ingratiating smile again. “Kneel. I’ll kneel.” I pulled at my dad, trying to get him up. “Dad, I’m quitting. I’m not staying here.” “Don’t talk nonsense.” I looked helplessly at Liam. He was unmoved. I knew he was tacitly accepting this. My dad had a bad leg. When he knelt, he fell awkwardly to the floor. Everyone laughed. My dad rubbed his leg, looking up with a smile. “Uncle, that kowtow wasn’t very loud, was it? Did you eat too much just now?” My dad looked back at me with tears in his eyes. He shook his head at me, pleading. Then, he steeled himself. The sound of his head hitting the floor got louder. Crack! The tile cracked. Small stone shards dug into my dad’s forehead. His forehead turned red, blood seeping out. But facing Liam, my dad kept that fawning smile. “Mr. Liam, it was my Tara’s fault.” Liam finally lifted his eyelids. His look seemed to say: See? You were wrong. Yes, I was wrong. From the beginning, I shouldn’t have messed with Liam. I should have stayed far away from him. I shouldn’t have tried so hard to get into the honors class. When I helped my dad out, he couldn’t even walk straight. We sat on the steps outside the building. I used half a pack of tissues to wipe the blood. “It’s okay. Just… study hard. Stay in school.” “My daughter is the best student of the year.” “There’s still some pork left at home. We’ll eat it tonight.” I nodded, choking back tears. “Okay…” As I helped my dad walk away, a commotion started behind us. “Liam! The… the sneakers…” Josh looked at me. He didn’t finish his sentence. I didn’t care to know. That night, my dad developed a fever. I carried him to several hospitals. Only one was willing to take him. But we faced a massive surgery bill. In that moment, I felt the sky collapse. The next day, I went to school and withdrew. I worked two jobs to pay for my dad’s treatment. The doctor said he had a brain tumor. The violent impact had worsened his condition. I worked for three years. My hands were covered in chilblains, but I kept going. But my dad couldn’t hold on. That year, I lost my father forever. I didn’t see Liam again until eight years later, at a company party. It was supposed to be a standard corporate dinner. But Liam and Chloe were there. Chapter 4 My boss was fawning over Liam, clinking glasses. Liam’s gaze drifted toward me occasionally. Colleagues around me whispered. “I heard those two are the main investors for the Carey Project. Didn’t expect them to be so young.” “The boss is obsessed with the Carey Project. If we don’t land this tonight, we’re all screwed.” “More than that. Whoever lands this gets a 30% commission!” I felt uncomfortable being there. Thinking about the past with Liam made me sick. But of course, they brought it up. “I didn’t expect Mr. Lee’s company to hire people with such low education. That person… didn’t even finish college, right?” Chloe didn’t speak loudly, but the people over there heard it clearly. Everyone turned to look at me. “Ms. Vance is right. She… was a good student, but unfortunately family issues…” “I know. She was classmates with me and Liam.” Everyone looked at me with envy. They assumed that 30% commission was mine. They didn’t know Liam and I disgusted each other. “Really! Tara, why didn’t you say anything? Go toast Mr. Vance!” Colleagues urged me on, jealous. “Tara, go! Don’t miss this chance.” “Yeah, if you land this, you’re rich!” The boss’s secretary even shoved a wine glass into my hand. “Tara, they’re calling you.” I gripped the glass but couldn’t take a step. Liam’s stare was making my skin crawl. I placed the glass on the table. “Excuse me, I need to use the restroom.” Ignoring my boss’s glare, I rushed out. I stayed in the bathroom for twenty minutes to calm down. When I finally composed myself and walked out, I found Liam leaning against the wall outside. His dark eyes seemed to drill holes into me. “Long time no see.” “Mhm.” I tried to walk past him to the private room. His hand clamped onto my wrist. “I found the sneakers back then.” I looked at him, saying nothing. Trying to see the boy from eleven years ago through this man. “I was wrong. My bad.” I smiled bitterly and shook off his hand. “Mr. Vance, you still stand so high above everyone. My dad smashed his head open, and all it’s worth is a ‘my bad’? You can’t even say the words ‘I’m sorry’?” Liam fell silent. I washed my hands and went back to the room. The moment I entered, my boss started screaming. “Tara! Do you want this job or not! Is toasting Mr. Vance going to kill you? Out of everyone here, you’re the only one with a connection. What, you too good for it?” “I’m telling you, Tara, if the Carey Project falls through, it’s on you!” “You dare walk out on Mr. Vance? Did you see his face? Even I have to smile and beg! Who do you think you are?” In the room, no one dared to breathe. I sat down calmly. Accepting the criticism. He thought of something and raised his voice. “Don’t forget who paid for your dad’s treatment back then!”

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After six months of torture at the hands of Julian Thorne, I finally died. I plunged a fruit knife cleanly into my heart. I stopped breathing in less than three minutes. When Julian got the news, he laughed maniacally. “Good! Good riddance!” He ordered my heart to be removed, cremating only the empty shell of my body. He said I didn’t deserve to keep Mia’s heart. But later, he searched the entire country for mediums and priests, begging at altars. “Sarah, I’m begging you. Come back and see me, even if it’s just in my dreams…” Julian wept like a desperate child before the silk tree he had chopped down with his own hands. But my body was incomplete, my ashes scattered, my soul unable to return. Even though I was right there, he couldn’t see a thing. Chapter 1 When Julian heard I had stabbed myself in the heart and died, he froze for a few seconds, then burst into wild laughter. “Good! She’s finally dead! Saves me the trouble of doing it myself!” He laughed until tears streamed down his face. I knew he was crying tears of joy. After all, in the six months since we got married, he had used every method possible to torment me, both openly and secretly. Wasn’t his goal to “dispose” of me without crossing the legal line? Like when he gave me a kitten, only for me to find its dried corpse hanging from the window the next day. Like celebrating my birthday with me, then splashing photos of him making out with another woman across the tabloids the very next morning. He wouldn’t poison me directly, but he made sure the cook prepared meals with conflicting ingredients that slowly weakened my body. He moved me to an isolated villa in the hills to avoid prying neighbors, then blasted eerie noises at night until I nearly lost my mind. He destroyed the company my father left behind, forced my brother from wealth into debt, and even framed him to send him to prison. In Julian’s eyes, I deserved all of this. Because my family had “schemed” to kill his beloved sister and stolen her living heart. Chapter 2 When I died, only Lena was home. She was a deaf-mute woman Julian hired specifically to “care” for me. Her only job was to mechanically follow Julian’s nutritional plan and make sure I ate everything. Watermelon and lamb to hurt my kidneys, honey and brown rice to cause tinnitus, shrimp and oranges to create toxins. If I refused to eat, she would kneel before me and slap her own face frantically. I knew Julian was watching everything through the surveillance cameras. Whether he was eating, in a meeting, working, or socializing, he would watch and smile with satisfaction. This wasn’t my first suicide attempt. Trapped in this godforsaken place, with my body reaching its limit, I wanted a release. If I died, everyone would be free. I had slit my wrists, turning the bathwater red. But the plug mysteriously failed, the water drained, and the wound clotted. I swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills, only to find they were expired and useless. In despair, I jumped from the third floor, but a tree broke my fall, and I only shattered my shoulder blade. Julian smiled cruelly. “Sarah, stop acting. Someone like you wouldn’t give up your life so easily.” He said if I truly had a conscience, I wouldn’t have schemed to kill Mia and lived on for so many years. I explained countless times that Mia’s death was an accident. But he didn’t believe me. How could there be such a coincidence? Why did a million dollars appear in her account right before her car accident? Why did she sign an organ donation agreement on her deathbed with no family present? He was convinced my wealthy family had “bought” Mia’s life. So, he planned his revenge, starting from the day he knelt before me, pressing his cheek against my heart and weeping. He didn’t know that the heart was Mia’s willing gift to me, along with her deepest love for him. “Sarah, after I’m gone, please love Julian for me… he’s so lonely.” So, the person who willingly walked into this trap wasn’t just him. It was me too. Chapter 3 For the final attempt, I chose the cleanest, most efficient way. When the knife pierced my heart, I couldn’t even speak. In less than three minutes, the blood was gone, and so was I. Julian was taken in for questioning. The police suspected foul play because the wound didn’t look like a typical suicide. Suicides usually have hesitation marks—the body’s instinctive reaction to pain. I didn’t have any. Just one clean thrust into the heart. “Maybe she was just that determined to die?” Julian laughed coldly. Yes. Someone who really wants to die will grit their teeth and push the knife in, no matter the pain. … Julian had an alibi, and Lena had no motive. My pocket contained a handwritten suicide note, though most of it was soaked in blood, leaving only the words “Suicide Note” legible. Julian was released. But before he left, he demanded an autopsy. My heart and I were separated. He said I didn’t deserve to leave with Mia’s heart. At the funeral home, when my brother saw my chest cut open, he broke down. “Julian, you animal!” Handcuffed and guarded by police, he rushed at Julian and punched him in the face. “Give my sister’s heart back! She can’t leave like this…” My brother had aged overnight in detention, facing multiple charges after his bankruptcy. The police had granted him a brief visit for the funeral. “That never belonged to her,” Julian said coldly, staring at my body lying in the flowers. I was surrounded by blooms, filling the empty cavity in my chest. At my brother’s insistence, a mortician had made me look presentable for my departure. I saw Julian walk up to me, looking down at my cold face. He stuffed something into my clothes—a yellow paper charm. Julian didn’t believe in God or ghosts. But to suppress me, he chose to believe. “I want to make sure she never reincarnates. I won’t let her disturb Mia.” My brother lunged at him. “Julian, you’re evil! Sarah suffered enough—” “She deserved it.” Julian crushed a rose in his hand, the thorns piercing his skin. Blood dripped onto my pale lips. He used to love the taste of those lips. In that moment, I wondered if I had ever truly been loved. The police dragged my brother away. He screamed, “Julian, you’ll regret this! You’ll regret what you did to Sarah!” Regret? Standing in the empty hall, Julian stared at my smiling portrait. How could he regret it? From the moment he approached me with gentle lies, he had been planning this day. If he regretted anything, it was probably that he didn’t kill me himself. … Julian took Mia’s heart and incinerated it separately, burying the ashes in front of her grave, returning her body to wholeness. As for my ashes, he didn’t want them. He told the staff to throw them away. But laws prevented such disposal, so the staff stored me in a cheap urn. Since my brother was in custody, no one claimed me. That afternoon, a worker accidentally knocked over a shelf in the storage room. A gust of wind scattered me into the sky… Julian returned to the empty villa as darkness fell. Lena had prepared dinner, but he didn’t touch a bite. Finally, Julian spoke. “Lena, I’m moving out in a few days. This house is yours for retirement.” Chapter 4 Lena was deaf-mute, but she could hear with hearing aids. She signed something in response. I didn’t understand sign language, but her expression seemed to say, “I don’t need it.” “This is the last thing I can do for Mia.” Julian pushed the deed toward Lena. “I… really wish I could call you Mom with Mia one more time.” The food went cold. Julian looked up, staring in the direction of my soul. I knew he couldn’t see or feel me. If souls could communicate, why didn’t Mia ever come to him? Mia, I’m sorry. This is as far as I can go. I tried my best… Then, I saw Julian stand up. He pushed aside Lena’s food and opened the freezer. He took out a box of frozen dumplings. I had made them two months ago. Before he showed his true colors, we had moments of warmth. I was a good cook. My heart condition kept me from school and play, so cooking became my hobby. When we were together, Julian often missed meals due to work. I would bring food to his office and sit quietly by his side. He loved my dumplings, so I filled the freezer for him. Even if he hadn’t driven me to suicide, my heart wouldn’t have lasted much longer. Mia once said Julian suffered a lot as a child and often went hungry. Even now, wealthy and powerful, he ate without elegance. The water boiled. The dumplings floated, bobbing like my turbulent life. He devoured them, stuffing himself until he vomited. As he retched, he clawed at the floor and wailed. “You’re finally dead! You’re finally dead, Sarah!” I watched as he rolled onto the floor, covering his eyes with an arm, sobbing until the veins in his neck bulged. The next second, he scrambled up and ran into the yard. He grabbed a shovel and hacked down the silk tree.

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While my boyfriend was cooking dinner, a female colleague texted him. “Miss you.” I thought for a moment, then replied for him. “Come over. She’s not home.” 1 It was a rare weekend where Liam wasn’t working overtime. I had begged him for ages before he finally agreed to make his signature sweet and sour ribs. While he was busy in the kitchen, his phone on the coffee table buzzed. I tapped the screen to wake it, but the display was dark from the angle. I looked closer. He had put on a privacy screen protector. A bad feeling immediately settled in my stomach. I suddenly remembered what a coworker had once told me: “When your partner starts using a privacy screen behind your back, it means they have secrets.” That sentence dug into my heart like a thorn. I tried to tell myself it was just a coincidence, but doubt grew like weeds in my mind. Luckily, he hadn’t changed his passcode yet. I unlocked the phone. A new WeChat message popped up from a name I didn’t recognize. The message was simple and direct. “Miss you.” My heart clenched, my eyes locked on those two words. I scrolled up, but the chat history was empty. Deleted. But those two simple words were enough to twist a knife in my gut. I tried to calm down, accidentally knocking over a glass of water on the table. Liam poked his head out of the kitchen, spatula in hand. “What happened?” I forced a smile, slipping his phone into my pocket. “Nothing. Just wanted to see how it’s going.” “Not fast enough,” he complained, frowning. “Getting the caramelization right is a pain. Next time, let’s just order takeout.” I froze for a second, then nodded. “Okay.” Liam seemed to have forgotten. I’m from the North; I don’t have a sweet tooth. The person who loves sweet and sour ribs is him. When we first bought this house, he pointed to the kitchen, his eyes shining with confidence and excitement. “This is my domain! No entry without my permission!” Every weekend, he would stay in, tinkering in the kitchen with recipes tailored just for me. Back then, he loved this home. He loved creating memories with me. The phone in my pocket felt like it weighed a ton, burning against my leg. Once my heart rate settled, I decided to reply for him. “Come over. She’s not home.” I was curious who she was. And I was curious how Liam would react. Not long after, the doorbell rang, sharp and piercing. I quickly changed my clothes and walked to the door. My hand hesitated on the cold metal handle for a moment before I pulled it open. The person outside clearly paused. The excitement on her face froze the moment she saw me. I looked her over. From her age to her face to her figure, I couldn’t help comparing every detail to myself. The conclusion was brutal—she beat me in every category. “You’re Chloe, right?” “You know me?” “Liam mentioned you.” The thought that my name might be a topic of their amusement made my disappointment in Liam deepen. She seemed to remember something, reaching into her bag to pull out a familiar Tupperware container. “I came to return this.” “Last time Liam brought ribs to the office, my blood sugar dropped suddenly, so he let me have them.” Looking at her clutching the container Liam and I had bought together at Target, I remembered his impatience this morning when I asked him to cook. My anger ignited instantly. I deliberately shouted toward the kitchen, “Honey, someone’s here for you!” Liam walked out, wiping his hands, looking confused. When he saw her, his face went blank. I watched them closely. There wasn’t the panic or guilt I expected. “What are you doing here?” Liam asked, puzzled. “I was in the neighborhood and remembered I still had your container, so I texted you.” “Texted me?” Liam suddenly realized something, glancing back at me before his face went cold. “Just leave the container.” But she didn’t leave immediately. She stood in the doorway, staring straight at me. “Miss Chloe, aren’t you going to invite me in?” I let out a cold laugh, stepping aside but keeping my eyes on Liam. “Well? Aren’t you going to invite her in? Perfect timing, we made sweet and sour ribs again today.” I emphasized “sweet and sour ribs.” Liam’s expression shifted. “Stop it.” Sensing Liam’s displeasure, she slowly replied. “Oh, I just remembered I have plans nearby. I got so excited I forgot. I’ll come hang out next time.” I didn’t say another word, just watched coldly as Liam walked her out. When he came back, his face was dark enough to drip ink. “What, couldn’t bear to let her go?” I leaned against the doorframe, mocking him. Liam glared at me angrily. “Don’t talk nonsense. She’s just a colleague.” I wasn’t letting him off that easy. “Colleague? Then what does ‘Miss you’ mean?” Liam looked exhausted. “We’ve been working on a project together. High pressure. We just joke around to relieve stress.” I didn’t believe a word of his bullshit. We had a huge fight. Since then, things between us have been incredibly tense. I started wondering if I was too impulsive, but then I’d remember how weak his excuse was. Living like this was suffocating. 2 I told my best friend, Jasmine, about my suspicions. She laughed for a solid minute. After my parents died in an accident, she and Liam became the most important people in my world. “You’re crazy,” she said. “Back in college, Liam bought boba for our entire dorm for a whole semester just to chase you. Remember when campus didn’t have a KFC? He took a bus for over an hour to bring it back for you, and he wouldn’t even eat a single fry because he wanted you to have them all.” I laughed bitterly. “Really? I forgot.” Jasmine talked excitedly about Liam’s courtship back in the day, but it felt so distant to me. Yeah, it’s been 10 years. I’m turning 28 in two months. Before she left, Jasmine gave me some serious advice. “Chloe, have a good talk with Liam. Set a date for the wedding soon.” “Don’t let things drag on and get messy.” Neither of us wanted to dig deeper. The sunk cost of a ten-year relationship was something I couldn’t afford to lose. That night, I texted Liam a photo of myself wearing black silk stockings. In the past, he would’ve replied instantly with something cheeky like, “Hubby is coming home right now, just wait a bit longer.” But today, he replied three hours later: “Working overtime.” I closed WeChat and opened Discord. I searched for his status. “Online – Mobile.” He wasn’t working. By the time I realized it, I had chewed my nails down to the quick. After my parents died, I developed a habit of biting my nails when anxious. Liam used to feel bad for me, saying he’d help me quit. He even painted bitter nail polish on with me. But now… A wave of irritation hit me. I almost didn’t reply, but I remembered Jasmine’s words. I typed again. “It’s okay. I’ll wait up for you.” This time, he didn’t reply at all. 3 I sat in the most visible spot in the living room. I had changed out of the tight stockings into loose pajamas, but I couldn’t hide my anxiety. The clock on the wall showed 1:00 AM. I held the photo album Liam made for me in college, lost in thought. When exactly did we go from inseparable lovers to roommates who barely saw each other? “Door unlocked. Welcome home.” The mechanical voice of the smart lock broke the silence and sparked a faint hope in my chest. I looked up sharply, trying to catch his figure in the dim light. Liam stood in the doorway for a long time before stepping inside. But the moment our eyes met, he looked away. That instant evasion hurt more than any words could. It made me feel a despair I’d never known. He stood in the entryway and suddenly snapped. “Can you stop leaving your shoes everywhere?” I froze, about to go tidy them, but he kicked my heels aside without mercy. There was a time when he would neatly arrange my shoes, charge my electric toothbrush, and pack away my seasonal clothes before I even thought of it. Now, those memories felt like a different life. I watched Liam walk out of the kitchen with a glass of water, identical to the one in front of me. Except his was brand new. He sat at the dining table and poured himself a drink. I stared at the glass, remembering our old habit of sharing one. I felt a sudden wave of grievance. “Why don’t you use the same cup as me anymore?” “No reason.” He was impatient, turning slightly to scroll on his phone with his back to me. I didn’t want the cold war to continue. I gathered my courage and hugged him from behind. “What are you doing!” He shook me off like I was a virus. I stared at the red mark on my wrist, my heart shattering. “Today is our 10th anniversary.” My voice trembled with despair and pleading. Liam froze. A flash of guilt crossed his eyes. But it only lasted a few seconds before cold indifference replaced it. “Send me a link for whatever gift you want. I’ll buy it tomorrow.” His tone was flat, like he was discussing a business transaction. “Tomorrow it won’t matter anymore.” I looked up at him, trying to use the cuteness he used to love. He once said he loved when I puffed my cheeks out when I was mad, like a pufferfish. But now, his eyes were colder than ice, looking at me like a stranger. “Chloe.” He said my full name. My heart dropped. Using my full name meant the invisible wall between us just got thicker. “Stop it.” Two words. Freezing cold. “We’re 28, not kids. Life isn’t built on anniversaries.” My heart contracted painfully. The man in front of me—suit-clad, mature, steady—was nothing like the boy in the white shirt smiling in the sun. I stared at him, searching for a trace of the past, but found only distance. Finally, I gave up arguing. I whispered, “Yeah, I’m 28.” He seemed to guess what I was going to say and cut me off. “You know my career is in a weird spot right now. I don’t want to get married yet…” Liam was about to say more, but his phone rang at the worst possible moment. He glanced at me and quickly silenced it. My heart sank, but I forced myself to stay calm, even adding a hint of pleading to my voice. “Then… when do you want to get married?” 4 He didn’t give me a straight answer. And he didn’t tell me to keep waiting. Instead— “If being with me makes you feel wronged, then…” “Then break up with you? So I’m the bad guy now?” The words tumbled out, and we both froze. Finally, Liam broke the silence. “I don’t deserve you.” I exploded. The emotions I’d been suppressing all night peaked. “Now you don’t deserve me? When you were chasing me with marching bands and banners, you didn’t think that?” Liam’s face turned livid. His lips moved like he wanted to speak, but he gave up. Just like our relationship—he didn’t even want to try to save it. I watched him walk toward the guest bedroom with a dark face, saying nothing. Until he twisted the handle and couldn’t open the door. He turned back and yelled at me. “Chloe! Can you stop causing drama! Open the door!” I kept my face cold, suppressing the disappointment churning inside me. “I told you to change that lock ages ago. The balcony window was open today, the wind slammed it shut. I can’t open it either.” He instinctively looked toward the balcony, as if to verify my story. The atmosphere grew heavier, the air suffocating. Until he broke the silence again. “Then I’ll go to a hotel.” My rationality snapped. I stood up abruptly, my voice sharp. “What, this huge house isn’t big enough for you? Or are you just done pretending?” Liam’s face looked ugly. Shock flashed in his eyes. He had never seen me lose control like this. He was speechless. “If anyone’s going to a hotel, it should be me. You bought this house. I can’t kick you out.” I kept shouting, as if making him uncomfortable would make me feel better. Or maybe, deep down, I hoped that making a scene would force him to care about my feelings again. “Chloe, you’re always like this. You never consider how others feel when you speak or act.” “What do you mean?” I widened my eyes like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. “What do I mean? You invited my colleague over last week on purpose. Did you think about how awkward it would be for me at work?” “Awkward? How so? She sent you a text saying ‘Miss you,’ and I’m not allowed to bring it up?” “I don’t want to explain anymore. Think what you want.” He shut down completely, ignoring my anger and anxiety. He turned and walked toward the door without looking back. At the threshold, he stopped, but didn’t turn around. “Chloe, if you really think we can’t go on, let’s just let it go.” I stiffened my neck and didn’t answer. My chest felt like it was going to explode. At that moment, I knew for sure. Liam didn’t love me anymore.

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