Back in time, I immediately secured a new room and dedicated medical team for my daughter. Returning to the old room for her chart, I caught Paisley, my husband’s spoiled star student, pulling the oxygen tube off another premature baby. In my past life, she had done the same to my child, giggling as she snipped the line with surgical scissors. My husband kicked me aside, coddling her while she sobbed that I’d attacked her. He pinned me to the wall, forced me to kneel before her and the entire staff, and let my daughter die. Labeled insane, I was tortured to death in an asylum. Now, watching her repeat the cruelty on another infant, I felt no shock, only cold resolve. This time, I would not beg. I would make sure she and my husband paid before they could destroy another life. … 1 The moment I pushed the ICU door open, I caught Paisley pulling the oxygen tube off the incubator. “Dr. Derek can only have one baby, and that is me. How dare an ugly creature like you try to compete with me?” The nightmare of my past life flashed before my eyes. My daughter’s face turning purple from suffocation, her tiny lungs gasping for air. Panic seized my heart, and I lunged forward like a madwoman. “Stop!” Paisley flinched, but the moment she recognized me, that innocent, mocking smirk returned to her face. “Why are you screaming? You scared me. It is just a little tube. It is not like pulling it will kill anyone.” “That is a living child!” I screamed, reaching out to snatch the tube back. “How dare you raise your voice at me? Who asked you to bring this thing into the world anyway? It is just a pathetic preemie. It will never be as precious as me. Dr. Derek said I am his favorite little girl!” Paisley was an intern at the hospital and a student of my husband, Derek. Around her, Derek was always endlessly patient and fond. Backed by his authority as Chief Medical Officer, Paisley acted like she owned the hospital, treating me with utter contempt. Hearing the infant’s faint, agonizing breaths, panic and rage consumed me. I grabbed her wrist tightly. “Paisley! You are supposed to be a doctor, not a monster who plays with a patient’s life!” Just as I reached for the oxygen line, Paisley let out a soft snort, whipped out a pair of surgical scissors from her pocket, and snapped the tube in half. Her grin widened. “Oops. Looks like it is completely useless now.” She tossed the severed tube onto the floor. “If you know I am a doctor, then you should listen to me. Stand still and let me punish you for your rude behavior.” She grabbed a heavy metal chart clipboard and slammed it against my forehead. Obsessed with saving the baby, I failed to dodge. Sharp agony exploded across my brow, and warm blood trickled down my face, blurring my vision. Her laugh turned hysterical. “That is what you get for sticking your nose where it does not belong!” Hatred devoured my entire soul, but I could not afford to waste time on her. I stumbled toward the emergency call button on the wall. Her expression changed, and she grabbed me tightly. “You are not allowed to press that!” Blood dripped into my eye. I shoved her away with all my strength and slapped the emergency call button, praying someone would come save this poor child. A second later, the ICU door swung open. Seeing the newcomer, Paisley immediately dissolved into tears and threw herself into his arms. 2 “Doctor! You are finally here! She hit me!” The man who walked in was Derek. Without asking a single question, he kicked me squarely in the stomach. I could not dodge in time. My body slammed against the hard bed frame, reopening my fresh C-section wound. A tearing, excruciating pain radiated through my core. Derek froze for a fraction of a second, his brows furrowing. “Sarah? What are you doing here? I thought a patient was causing trouble for Paisley.” Paisley. He called her so intimately. He was not even her original supervisor when she joined the hospital, yet he somehow managed to transfer her under his wing. As the Chief Medical Officer, he was always too busy to come home, claiming he was slammed with surgeries for six months straight. Yet Paisley’s social media was full of photos of him guiding her late at night in his office. I used to confront him, but he always brushed it off, accusing me of being insecure about his work. It was not until my past life, when Paisley pulled my daughter’s oxygen tube, and Derek covered up her crime while punishing me, that I realized how foolish I had been. He even forged medical reports to commit me to a psychiatric facility, where I was tortured to death. Only now, saving the baby was the only thing that mattered. I dragged my battered body across the floor, clutching his trousers. “Derek, save the baby first! She pulled and cut the oxygen tube. The baby is suffocating! Please, check on the baby!” Paisley interrupted me with pathetic, soft sobs. “Doctor, she is just jealous because you are so nice to me. She wants to ruin my career. If you had come any later, she would have strangled me to death.” She sobbed softly, wiping her tears. “Women with postpartum depression are so terrifying. My heart aches for you, Doctor.” Derek’s attention was instantly captured. He pulled her close, gently wiping her tears with his thumb. “Paisley is just an innocent fresh graduate. She respected you and cared about you, which is why I let her check on you. How dare you fabricate lies and lay a hand on her? You are vile!” He barked orders at me, grabbing me like a stray dog and throwing me onto the floor right in front of Paisley. “Apologize to Paisley right now, or I will have your daughter thrown out of this hospital immediately!” His words felt like an ice pick plunging into my chest. My pupils dilated in shock. “Derek! Do you even have a heart?!” Before our marriage, Derek claimed he wanted to be childfree and forced me to get an IUD. Seven years into our marriage, unable to withstand his mother’s pressure, he suddenly demanded a child. I ruined my body taking hormones, desperately trying to conceive, but nothing worked for two years. My mother-in-law badmouthed me everywhere, telling neighbors and hospital staff that I was a broken vessel. When I begged Derek to go for a checkup, he claimed he was too busy and made me go alone. My results were completely fine. It was only later that I discovered he suffered from severe sperm motility issues. “Honey, let us do IVF,” he had cried back then, looking so sincere. “Once we have a child, my mother will treat you better. When I am busy at work, the baby will keep you company.” Believing his heartfelt words and loving children myself, I endured hundreds of painful injections and three brutal years of egg retrievals before finally conceiving. When our daughter was born prematurely, he never came to see her once. I called him countless times and asked nurses to reach him, only to receive his cold, detached response: I am a doctor and the Chief Medical Officer. Am I supposed to break rules and give you special treatment? What would others think of me? You are a mother now, grow up. All I wanted was for him to hold his daughter just once. “Don’t cry, little one,” Derek whispered, stroking Paisley’s back. “Your teacher will handle this. Your senior’s wife always listens to me. She will apologize to you right now.” He looked down at me with supreme disdain. “You are just doing this to get my attention, aren’t you? Stop making things hard for Paisley. If you beg for her forgiveness nicely, I will give you three minutes with our daughter.” A bitter laugh escaped my throat. Tears mixed with blood on my face as I raised my head to stare at him. “Derek, let us get a divorce.” 3 In twelve years of marriage, Derek had never seen such cold determination in my eyes. Perhaps feeling his authority challenged, rage flickered in his gaze. “Have you lost your mind after giving birth? Divorce? Absolutely not.” “Look at yourself. You cannot even handle my mother, and now you are making a scene with me. You are a complete failure as a woman. No wonder you spend your time picking fights with my student.” Paisley, still dabbing her eyes, suddenly perked up. She spoke in a meek, trembling voice. “Doctor, it is all my fault for making her angry. Let her hit me and curse at me. I can take it. I am strong.” She then turned to me, lowering herself pitifully. “I am just a junior intern. Can you please stop using divorce to threaten Dr. Derek?” I stopped wasting my breath on their pathetic act. Every second counted for the child in the incubator. Derek did not rule the entire world. Outside this room were other nurses, patients, and the police. I pulled out my phone with trembling hands while shuffling toward the door. “Help! An intern just pulled the oxygen line of a premature baby! Somebody help!” “Hello, 911? My name is Sarah, I am at City General Hospital…” A sharp blow knocked the phone out of my hand. It shattered against the wall. “Are you insane!” Derek shoved me back inside. “You are throwing a temper tantrum over a tiny misunderstanding with my student, and you want to call the police? Do you want to ruin my career?!” I glared at him with pure hatred. I did not just want to ruin his career. I wanted to tear him apart to avenge my daughter from my past life. “Get out of my way!” During our struggle, my collar was ripped open, exposing deep, faint scars across my collarbone and shoulders. Those were injuries I had taken for him years ago when angry family members of patients tried to attack him at the hospital. His gaze softened slightly, his tone involuntarily relaxing. “Sarah, stop this madness. I worked for over a decade to reach this position. Can you not show a little grace? She is just a student I favor. There is nothing inappropriate between us. Do not use an innocent baby as an excuse to throw a fit. Calm down.” I screamed at the top of my lungs, “Then go check on the baby! If you won’t save the child, get out of my way so someone else can!” He wore a look of utter disappointment, as if I were beyond salvation. I knew him too well. No matter what I said, he would never believe me. His heart had been completely biased toward Paisley from the very start. Gathering every ounce of strength left in my body, I raised my hand and slapped him hard across the face. “Get lost!” “Doctor!” Paisley shrieked, her eyes instantly reddening. “How could you hit him! You are awful! Let me blow on it, Doctor, so it won’t hurt.” Enraged by my slap, Derek shoved me violently. I used the momentum to turn the door handle and burst into the corridor. “Doctor! Somebody save the baby!” I grabbed the arm of a passing doctor. “The baby is suffocating without oxygen! Please, hurry, save the child!” Sweat poured down my body as I babbled frantically. My screams attracted the attention of patients and visitors in the hallway. The doctor tried to calm me down, telling me to speak slowly. I took a deep breath. “An intern in your hospital, Paisley, pulled the oxygen tube of a premature infant! Your Chief Medical Officer, Derek, is covering for her…” Before I could finish, the doctor bowed respectfully toward someone behind me. “Chief Officer Derek.” A chill ran down my spine as a heavy hand clamped down onto my bleeding shoulder. 4 All eyes in the corridor locked onto us. Derek maintained his composed, professional composure. “Everyone, please do not be alarmed. This is my wife. She just gave birth to our premature daughter, and due to emotional instability, she is speaking incoherently.” Given his prestigious status and calm demeanor, the onlookers instantly changed their perspective. “This is a hospital, if you have family drama, take it home. She looks completely unhinged. Being a doctor must be so exhausting.” “Dr. Derek is the backbone of our hospital. So young, yet so accomplished, gentle, and dedicated to his patients. He is famous for being a wonderful doctor.” “I saw his picture on the hospital wall of honor. If he says it is fine, it must be fine. Women who just gave birth are emotionally fragile, but making up lies to smear her own husband is just embarrassing.” Their whispers stabbed into my ears like sharp needles. Pointing fingers surrounded me. I leaned against the wall, my abdominal wound oozing blood, my body ice cold and drained of strength. I pleaded with the young doctor, “Just go inside and check. Send any doctor in. That is a human life, a fragile baby!” The young doctor hesitated and made a move toward the room, but Paisley stepped in his path. “She is just jealous because Dr. Derek is nice to me. She is a patient, and you cannot listen to the wild accusations of a sick person.” Derek immediately chimed in, “Please trust me, everyone. It is my fault for not handling my wife’s emotional episode properly. The child is perfectly fine. I will reason with her.” The crowd began to disperse, reassured by his authority. Suddenly, a high-pitched, continuous medical alarm pierced through the air from inside the room. My heart plummeted into an abyss, mirroring the exact moment my daughter died in my previous life. I sprinted into the room like a lunatic. Fearing I would cause more trouble, Derek rushed in right behind me. When his eyes landed on the severed oxygen tube and the baby’s cyanotic, bluish-purple face, panic finally struck him. The heart monitor flatlined into a straight, solid tone. The baby was gone. Paisley muttered under her breath in a tiny voice, “Finally, that ugly thing is dead.” Her voice was extremely low, but Derek heard it clearly. His complexion shifted rapidly. Looking at me as I collapsed beside the bed weeping hysterically, he pulled me tightly into his arms. “It was just a weak little girl anyway. Even if she survived, she probably would have had underlying genetic defects.” “Stop crying. Once this blows over, we will try IVF again. We will aim for a boy next time. My mother and the elders will respect you, and our lives will be peaceful.” I stared at him in sheer disbelief, thrashing violently in his grip. I screamed, then burst into manic laughter. Paisley took a step back, feigning terror. “She is scaring me! She looks completely insane. Doctor, maybe we should send her to the psychiatric ward.” People from the hallway began gathering at the door again. Unable to handle Paisley’s suggestion at that moment, Derek tried to regain control of the room. “Everyone, stay calm! I will take full responsibility for this incident!” Losing too much blood, my strength faded, and my vision began to turn black. Just as my consciousness drifted toward the void, a frantic nurse hurried down the hall. “Is baby Hope’s family here? Your baby has been successfully stabilized in her new room!” Derek froze. Paisley turned pale. Hope was my daughter’s name. The heavy weight crushing my chest finally lifted, and tears I had held back streamed down my face. Derek lost his composure, his voice cracking wildly. “My daughter is in a new room? Then whose premature baby is in this incubator?!”

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My roommate loved making explicit phone calls with her online boyfriend in the middle of the night. Every single night, her talk got dirtier and louder. We were kept awake until the break of dawn, practically begging her to tone it down. Instead of showing an ounce of remorse, she smirked at us and said we were just bitter and lonely. “Dying of jealousy watching someone else get loved, huh?” “Not my fault you girls are too ugly to land a guy.” The funny thing was, she was easily the least attractive girl in our dorm. The three of us didn’t care about dating because our workload in Microchip Engineering was brutal. As the top program on campus, if you failed an exam, you wouldn’t graduate. Period. We studied all day and barely had enough sleep to function. To catch some rest, we tried everything. We talked to her nicely. We yelled. We even reported her to campus housing. Nothing worked. Brooke refused to change. Since every other dorm in the building was fully booked, I was pushed to my absolute limit. I gave her one last warning. “Keep pushing me, and I swear I’ll patch your explicit phone calls directly into the university PA system.” “If you’re so shameless, let the entire campus listen.” 1 “Who are you trying to fool? Are you some kind of hacker?” Brooke laughed so hard her entire bunk bed shook. “Did you watch too many cheesy spy movies? You think you can just tap away at your laptop keyboard and crack into the school’s broadcast system? Monica, you study microchips, not computer hacking. Who do you think you are?” I stared at her without saying a word. Broadcasting her trashy calls didn’t require high-level hacking skills at all. All I needed was for the radio station to keep its power supply on overnight, plus an old wireless broadcast transmitter brought into our room. As a senior technician at the campus radio station, I could pull that off with my eyes closed. I had already run the plan by my other two roommates. Since none of us could sleep anyway, we decided to see who could play dirty better. Brooke had crossed the line first. Her obsessive romance was none of our business. At first, she claimed there were mosquitoes on the balcony, so we kindly let her make her private calls inside the room. Then she pushed her luck. First, it was calling from ten to eleven at night. Then it stretched until midnight. Recently, she was still whispering dirty talk at two in the morning. It went from “Do you miss me today?” to explicit details about her favorite bedroom positions. She never wore headphones. She kept the speaker on full blast. She acted as if the three girls living in the same room didn’t exist. The night before my midterms, she talked until three in the morning. I buried my head under my blanket trying to memorize formulas while listening to her moaning on speaker. Because I couldn’t sleep, I failed the exam. Failing meant retaking the class. It meant losing my academic scholarship. It meant kissing my fast-track graduate school recommendation goodbye. I took a screenshot of my failing grade and posted it in the room group chat, begging her to keep her voice down. She replied with a laughing cat emoji. “You failed because you’re dumb. Blaming me now?” I was about to jump out of bed and tear her hair out, but my roommate Brenda held me back. “Don’t lose your temper, Monica. She wants us to hit her. Then she’ll report us for bullying and get us disciplined.” Dealing with a shameless parasite is exhausting because normal people have things to lose, while parasites have nothing to lose. So, to deal with a parasite, I had to be even nastier. “Who am I? I’m the one about to ruin your life,” I said, my voice cold as ice. “Keep doing what you’re doing, and let’s see how fast you get socially destroyed.” Brooke stopped laughing and glared at me. “You think your empty threats scare me? Monica, I’ve known you for two years. You’re a weak coward. What could you possibly do?” She yawned and slumped back onto her pillow. “Whatever. I’m not wasting my breath on you losers. My man is waiting for me.” She pulled out her phone, and the screen lit up with an active call. “Babe… are you there? My roommates are picking on me again…” Her boyfriend’s rough voice blasted through the speaker. “Damn, those bitter virgins again? Baby, just wait. Once I come over to your campus, I’ll teach those miserable sluts a real lesson.” “Oh, don’t be so aggressive, babe. They’re just jealous. Ignore them. Tell me, did you miss me today?” On the bed next to mine, Pathy sat up abruptly, ready to unleash a flood of curses. I put a hand on her arm and shook my head. “Tonight is the last time she gets to act like a queen.” When morning came, I headed straight for the radio station. 2 At the bottom of the equipment cabinet in the station room lay a pile of retired cables, broken audio jacks, and old CD players. Underneath it all sat a cardboard box with a faded label: Outdoor Event Broadcast Gear—Decommissioned. I had stumbled upon this box while cleaning the storage room last month. The model was outdated, but every component worked perfectly. I pulled out my phone, switched on Bluetooth, and located the transmitter signal. I played a song as a test and turned on the station monitor speaker. The music flowed through clear and crisp, without static or interruption. Signal rock solid. That was all I needed. When I returned to the dorm, voices were already drifting through the cracked door. “Don’t you think she’s mentally ill?” Brooke was on the phone, her voice so loud it echoed down the hallway. “So what if I talk to my boyfriend? It’s my personal freedom! Those three act like total psychos, giving me dirty looks every single day. I don’t owe them anything!” “She even threatened me last night, saying she’d get me socially ruined. You know what she claimed? That she’d patch my calls into the school broadcast system! I almost died laughing! She’s a microchip student. When her laptop broke last month, she had to ask an IT guy to fix it, and now she brags about hacking!” Her online boyfriend chuckled over the line. “Did she really say that? Broadcasting our private talk to the whole university? Sounds kinda hot.” “Hot my ass,” Brooke sneered. “She’s all talk. I know Monica inside out. She complains every day, and has anything ever happened to me? Weak losers stay weak forever!” “And that girl Pathy? Built like a fire hydrant, but her temper is worse than a guy’s! Don’t even get me started on Brenda. Scruffy and pale like she just crawled out of a storm drain! The three of them can’t get a man to save their lives, so they just grind over textbooks like mindless robots. Hahaha, total freaks!” I pushed the door open. Brooke glanced at me without the slightest hint of embarrassment. Instead, she cranked the speaker volume up another notch. “Babe… my roomie is back to play third wheel again…” I ignored her baby voice, put on my noise-canceling headphones, and opened my textbook. Brooke kept trying to get a reaction out of me. “If you want to read, go to the library! Don’t sit here acting like a buzzkill! Since you love studying so much, why don’t you sleep in the library? Save yourself the walk.” “I’m serious. Since all three of you hate my guts, why don’t you move out? I’d get a whole four-person room to myself. So spacious! Then my boyfriend could come stay over whenever he wants.” I pulled off one headphone and looked her dead in the eye. “If you pay for our housing fees, we’ll pack up and leave right now. If you can’t afford it, shut your mouth.” She didn’t expect me to snap back, stumbling for words. Her boyfriend chimed in through the speaker. “Who’s that? The pimple-faced one you mentioned?” “Yeah, that’s her. Ugly face, huge attitude,” Brooke told her phone while staring at me. “Telling you to shut up? Who the hell does she think she is? When I get some free time, I’ll pop by your campus and see if she keeps that big mouth open!” The guy sounded like a uneducated thug from a sketchy street gang. I couldn’t fathom how Brooke, a college student, could fall for a loser like him. “Sorry to break it to you, but our campus doesn’t just let any random trash walk in. Stick to working your factory shift so you can afford your cheap beer,” I said calmly. A single effortless line, and her boyfriend completely lost his temper, screaming obscenities through the speaker. I put my headphones back on and tuned them out. Winning a petty verbal spat meant nothing. Tonight, Brooke would learn what real consequences felt like. 3 By evening, Pathy and Brenda returned to the dorm one after another. Pathy slammed her backpack onto her desk and collapsed into her chair. “Professor Vance’s lecture today wasn’t a class. It was a weaponized lullaby.” “Didn’t sleep well?” I asked. “What do you think?” she shot back. Nobody in our room had slept well. Being forced to listen to someone else’s dirty late-night routine at two in the morning would ruin anyone’s sleep schedule. Dark circles hung heavy beneath Pathy’s eyes. Brenda stayed silent, her eyes red and puffy. She opened her planner, which was packed with dense notes tracking her packed schedule. Up at six-thirty, library by seven, four tough engineering lectures during the day, followed by an online mock exam at night. She was the top student in our room and worked harder than anyone. Freshman year, she ranked third in the entire department. But this year, thanks to Brooke’s constant late-night noise, she barely managed to stay in the top ten. All of us, including Brooke, knew why Brenda worked so hard. Her parents were disabled, living off small disability checks. It had taken her entire family three full years to save up enough money for her college tuition. Every time her parents called, they always reminded her, “Focus on your studies, darling. Don’t starve yourself. If you run short on cash, we’ll find a way.” Every time she hung up, she cried silently, wiped her tears, and went back to solving equations. On nights like these, what she needed was proper rest, not being woken up at midnight by Brooke’s shameless groans. “Brenda, after tonight, you’ll finally get a good night’s sleep,” I whispered, comforting her. She rubbed her eyes. “Will your plan really work?” I unlocked my desk drawer and pulled out a palm-sized black transmitter. “The receiver is already wired into the main mixer in the radio station. The main fader is turned down right now, so it’s silent.” “When Brooke makes her phone call tonight, her audio signal will transmit directly to the radio room. Then, every speaker across campus will blast her voice.” “The academic buildings, the dining hall, the track field, the dorm entrances, the security booth, the main administration lobby. Everyone will know exactly who she is.” Pathy let out a sharp laugh. “If she still has the nerve to bother us after that, her skin must be thicker than concrete!” Brenda thought for a moment, then raised a crucial question. “What if someone is working at the radio station tonight?” “Nobody will be there. The evening broadcast show is paused for a format overhaul starting this week. The radio room is completely empty at night.” “And after it starts playing?” Brenda pressed on. “Won’t someone run over to shut it down? Will we accomplish what we want?” “Don’t worry. The radio room is on the top floor of the furthest academic building. The doors are locked at night. Running over there and unlocking the system will take at least fifteen minutes. That’s more than enough time to make Brooke a legend.” Pathy clapped her hands softly. “The stage is set. We’re just waiting for the trash to perform.” Right as the words left her mouth, Brooke pushed the door open, fresh out of the shower. 4 “Who are you calling trash?” Brooke glared at us, clutching her towel. I glanced at her sideways. “Why? Are you applying for the title?” Pathy snickered. “Speak of the devil!” Even Brenda, usually quiet and timid, joined in. “Don’t be so sensitive, Brooke. Nobody named you.” Brooke’s face flushed red with anger. With three of us united, she couldn’t win a verbal fight. So she resorted to her favorite tactic to irritate us. Setting her phone on the nightstand, she dialed her boyfriend’s number on speaker. “Babe… I’m putting on my body lotion… Too bad you can’t smell it… Such a shame…” “My roommates? Oh, they’re all here, pretending to read their stupid books!” “I’m telling you, they just called me trash. I didn’t bother arguing with them. Lowering myself to their level is so tacky!” “All they do is study! Look at Pathy’s face, built like a fire hydrant! What’s the point of reading all those books when no guy will ever marry her?” Hearing this, the three of us exchanged a knowing smile. Only a shallow, insecure girl would measure a woman’s entire worth by her physical looks and marriage potential. Each of us had real goals worth striving for. Pathy scored second in the latest department mock exam and had a strong shot at a direct master’s program. If Brenda climbed back into the top three, she wouldn’t just secure a master’s spot; she would swim in full-ride graduate fellowships! As for me, Brooke had no idea that my family owned one of the top microchip manufacturing enterprises in the country. I chose this grueling major to master the core technology before taking over the family business. Both Pathy and Brenda were future core talents I planned to recruit for my company. And even setting all that aside, without heavy makeup, any of us looked miles better than Brooke with her thick layer of cheap foundation. Her unearned confidence stemmed entirely from acting cheap, attracting swarms of low-life guys who fed her ego with meaningless compliments. At eight-thirty, Brooke finally wrapped up her call. She climbed down her bed ladder and started aggressively rummaging through the wardrobe. “Where is my black mini skirt? The one I bought at the mall last week. Did one of you steal it?” Nobody paid her any mind. She stomped over to Brenda’s closet and pulled it open. Out of the three of us, she picked on Brenda the most because Brenda seemed gentle and weak. Brenda moved to stop her, but Brooke shoved her back hard. “I’m looking for my clothes! Did you steal it? What are you panicking for?” Pathy couldn’t stand it anymore and leaped down from her bed to back Brenda up. While the two of them blocked Brooke, I walked straight to Brooke’s wardrobe, grabbed a handful of her clothes, and dumped them onto the floor. “Is finding a skirt really that hard? There. Much easier now, right?” Her black mini skirt sat right there in plain sight on the top shelf. She had been staging a scene on purpose. Brooke’s face turned beet red. She couldn’t physically fight all three of us at once. She snatched the skirt off the floor and held it against her waist. “My boyfriend is coming to visit me this weekend! Just wait until he gets here, you’re all going to pay!” “He said we should book a hotel room downtown, but I don’t see why we should waste money. Why don’t you three spend the night at the library and leave the room to us?” “If you do that, maybe my boyfriend will cool off and spare you!” It was a pathetic, low-class threat. None of us bothered answering. We simply climbed back into our beds to rest. Brooke scoffed loudly. “Ungrateful snobs!” Under my blanket, I brought up the remote control interface for the radio station transmitter on my phone, confirming that the receiver indicator light was solid green. Lights-out time arrived. The room fell into pitch darkness. Only Brooke’s bed remained illuminated by the bright white glow of her phone screen. Brooke’s voice cut through the dark night, loud and shameless. “Babe… what are we talking about tonight? I’m in a bad mood… I need something extra naughty…”

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1 After transmigrating into a cheesy CEO romance novel, I found myself bound to a husband-hunting mini-app alongside another transmigrated girl. Whichever one of us managed to woo the almighty corporate tycoon, Dominic King, would win the ultimate clearance key to go home. I threw myself into the task with the desperate hustle of a burnt-out tech engineer. I stayed on call twenty-four hours a day, pulling all-nighters for him. Yet the app kept savagely deducting my points. System Notice: Stayed up all night brewing stomach medicine for the male lead. Favorability points deducted: 10. Reason: Deeply scheming; shameless attempt to curry favor. System Notice: Walked six miles in a torrential rainstorm to deliver an urgent file to the male lead. Points deducted: 100. Reason: The billionaire CEO saw right through your pathetic sob story. I originally assumed Dominic was just an impossible man to satisfy. That was until I caught a accidental glimpse of the other transmigrated girl’s status panel. Her name was Zoe. System Notice: Called the male lead a useless dog. Favorability points added: 500! Reason: What a fierce, thorny rose! I watched in total disbelief as Zoe slapped Dominic square across the face. His favorability points skyrocketed on the spot, while Zoe stood there crying out of sheer frustration. In that exact moment, enlightenment struck me like a freight train. “Girl,” I whispered, leaning over to Zoe. “Forget this trash CEO. What do you say we team up and burn this whole system to the ground?” … “It worked! It actually worked!” “Miss Harper’s risk-control model is an absolute masterpiece! If not for her, King Enterprises would have lost at least three billion dollars today!” Ding! Host Harper worked through the night to patch the cyberattack on King Enterprises’ risk model, saving the male lead three billion dollars. Favorability points deducted: 10. Current favorability score: Negative 90. Reason: Showing off professional talent; attempting to capture the male lead’s attention through work performance. Highly manipulative. Warning: If favorability drops below Negative 100, the host will face immediate physical annihilation! What on earth? I just saved his family empire billions of dollars, and he penalizes my favorability score?! The Chief Financial Officer was still raving, “Miss Harper is the undisputed hero of this crisis! Mr. King, I strongly propose the board award her a special bonus…” “Enough.” Dominic slammed the report onto the marble desk with a loud bang. The applause in the boardroom died instantly. The executives, sensing the lethal shift in the air, quickly filed out of the room. Dominic raised his icy gaze, fixing his eyes on me. “Don’t flatter yourself just because you did a little bit of work for King Enterprises,” he sneered. “Harper, put away your pathetic little tricks. I will never love a woman like you.” I almost laughed out loud from sheer rage. In this twisted fictional world, a woman doing her job exceptionally well wasn’t called competence; it was called seduction. “Are you completely out of your mind, Dominic?!” I froze for a second. I hadn’t opened my mouth. Who said what I was thinking? I turned around to see Zoe, my rival for the conquest spot, bursting straight into the executive office. Dominic’s face instantly lit up with arrogant delight. He stood up and strode toward Zoe. “Did you come all this way just to see me?” Zoe took a step back, grabbed a heavy jewelry box, and hurled it directly at his face. “I told you already! I don’t like you, and I don’t want your stupid gifts!” Zoe shouted. “Dominic, stop having your security goons stalk me!” Dominic’s eyes darkened dangerously. He grabbed Zoe’s wrist in a vise grip and yanked her hard against his chest. “Let go of me!” Dominic leaned in close, his gaze dropping to her lips. “The harder you fight me, the more fascinating I find you.” Zoe’s arm swung back and landed a brutal slap across his left cheek. The crack resonated through the office. A bright red handprint bloomed on Dominic’s face. Zoe ripped her wrist free and yelled at the top of her lungs, “Dominic, you absolute trash! When I say I don’t like you, I mean I don’t like you! Can you not understand basic English?!” Based on my agonizing experience of losing points for doing good deeds, I was certain Zoe’s violent outburst would trigger the system to erase her on the spot. Ding! Zoe insulted the male lead and slapped him across the face. Male lead favorability skyrocketing by 500 points! Reason: She is so terrified, yet she uses sharp thorns to protect her fragile heart. A woman’s rejection is truly the ultimate expression of overwhelming love and self-preservation. She is so pure, so untamed, utterly unlike those gold-digging sluts outside! My hands trembled so hard that the neatly stacked files in my arms spilled all over the floor. What kind of unhinged, masochistic logic was this?! Hearing the system announcement in her head, Zoe stood frozen for a second. She turned around and darted out the door, running past me in total distress. Dominic reached up, slowly tracing his swollen left cheek as he watched her retreating figure with a dark, satisfied smile. “Zoe,” he murmured to himself. “You really are unlike any other woman.” 2 The sound of rushing water echoed inside the executive restroom. Zoe stood in front of the sink, desperately scrubbing the palm she had just used to slap Dominic, her skin turning raw under the hot tap. “Disgusting…” she sobbed softly, cursing under her breath. I leaned against the doorway, waiting until her breathing steadied before walking over. “Let’s make a deal.” Zoe spun around, her guard immediately going up when she saw me. “A deal with you?” she scoffed, wiping her eyes. “With the pathetic lapdog who spends all day groveling around that psycho? My favorability score is almost maxed out. I’ll be going home soon. Why would I ever team up with you?” I sighed, stepped forward, and reached out to turn off the running faucet. “Who told you that reaching maximum points lets you go home?” Zoe froze. “What do you mean?” I leaned in close, lowering my voice to a whisper. “Did you ever actually read the fine print at the very bottom of the app’s terms and conditions?” Zoe’s breathing hitched. “The ultimate clearance reward isn’t returning to the real world,” I revealed quietly. “The final reward is being permanently locked inside this book, marrying Dominic, and giving birth to eight of his heirs to achieve a happy ending.” Zoe’s face turned deathly pale. “No… That’s impossible…” She shook her head in sheer denial. “If you don’t believe me, open your app panel right now. Scroll all the way to the bottom and read the tiny grey text.” A few seconds passed in agonizing silence. Zoe opened her eyes, her knuckles white as she gripped the marble edge of the sink. “How could this be…” she gasped, her voice breaking down. “I’m just a glorified breeding tool trapped in this hellhole? I’m supposed to spend the rest of my life tied to that repulsive freak?!” I extended my right hand toward her at the perfect moment. “Zoe, fighting against each other is completely pointless. We are both victims of this insane system. Instead of letting a husband-hunting app ruin our lives, let’s team up.” “Let me hack this world into pieces.” Zoe stared at my open palm, the panic in her eyes slowly hardening into fierce determination. “Fine.” She gripped my hand tightly, her teeth grit. “Screw this pathetic male lead. I wouldn’t bear his children if my life depended on it!” Warning! Warning! Anomalous alliance detected between hosts Harper and Zoe! Status: Severe Out-Of-Character violation! Executing Level One High-Voltage Shock Penalty! “Wait, what? Shocks?!” Before we could react, an invisible bolt of raw electricity slammed down from above. Zoe and I screamed in unison, our bodies convulsing violently as we collapsed onto the cold tile floor. “Damn it, this thing is for real!” Zoe groaned, cold sweat pouring down her forehead. The system voice continued its mechanical assault: Mandatory Directive Issued! Harper: At Mrs. King’s charity gala tonight, fall to your knees and beg Dominic to marry you! Zoe: At Mrs. King’s charity gala, reject the ten-million-dollar hush check offered by Dominic’s mother, and offer your body to the billionaire CEO! Failure to comply will result in a tenfold voltage increase until brain death occurs! This system was an absolute monster. I was in too much physical agony to even curse out loud. Zoe and I had to support each other, limping out of the restroom step by agonizing step. The moment we stumbled out, we ran right into Dominic. He looked back and forth between Zoe and me, his mind constructing some bizarre narrative as he let out a cold, arrogant smirk. “Harper, you act so innocent on the surface, but you actually dared to bully Zoe in the restroom behind my back?” Before I could even open my mouth to explain, Dominic grabbed me by the collar and shoved me hard onto the floor. “Are you blind?!” Zoe shrieked, rushing to pull me up. “Which of your eyes saw her bullying me?! Can’t you see neither of us can even stand properly?!” My vision swam from the painful impact, yet I still caught the expression of pure delight washing over Dominic’s face. “Zoe, you two are fighting over me?” he purred, stepping closer. “Don’t worry, my heart belongs only to you!” He reached out, attempting to wrap his arms around Zoe. Facing a creature completely incapable of processing human speech, Zoe gave up on words entirely. She swung her arm back with everything she had and delivered a thunderous slap right across Dominic’s right cheek. Now his face was perfectly symmetrical. I was so terrified for her that I forgot my own physical pain. I genuinely feared the system would erase Zoe on the spot, destroying my only ally. Instead, Dominic closed his eyes, an expression of twisted ecstasy spreading across his face. “Zoe… You’re jealous because I spoke to her, aren’t you? Does your hand hurt from hitting me?” Watching Dominic’s spineless, masochistic act, I genuinely wondered if his brain had been replaced with sludge. Zoe wiped her hand on her dress in disgust, stepped back, and spat out a single word: “Get lost.” Dominic withdrew his hand with a deeply devoted look. “Zoe, whatever demand you make, I will grant it.” With that, he actually turned around and walked away. Once he was out of sight, Zoe wiped her palm against her skirt again and muttered, “Total creep. I swear I’m going to find a hacker to wipe this stupid app off the face of the earth.” Her words hit me like a lightning bolt. Could this app actually be hacked? If it was structured as a mini-app, with tasks, UI panels, and a backend server, then there had to be a data entry point somewhere! I just needed to get my hands on a terminal. Just as I outlined my hack plan to Zoe, a group of suit-wearing bodyguards surrounded us. “Miss Harper, Miss Zoe, Mrs. King requests your presence at the gala. The limousine is waiting outside.” 3 We were escorted to the grand ballroom of the King estate, where the entire high-society elite of the city had gathered. Dominic’s mother, Victoria King, sat at the head table like a queen on a throne. Sitting right beside her was David, my fictional father in this story world. As we approached, Mrs. King pulled a check from her designer handbag and tossed it straight into Zoe’s face. “Here is a hundred thousand dollars. Take the money and never show your face in front of my son again.” Zoe raised her wine glass, clearly tempted to splash the red wine across Mrs. King’s face. The system’s shrill warning blared inside our heads: Maintain your character persona! Out-of-character behavior forbidden! Reject the check immediately and profess your passionate love to the male lead! Prove that your love cannot be bought with money! Otherwise, face immediate physical annihilation! Zoe’s hand froze in midair. Having just endured an electric shock, she had no desire to experience it again so soon. Dominic, observing Zoe’s defiant posture from across the room, felt the flames of obsession burn even hotter in his chest. Ding! Zoe maintained her stubborn pride in the face of financial humiliation. Male lead favorability +100! Reason: That stubborn, enduring look in your eyes makes me want to possess you right this instant! Zoe’s face turned completely green. I had no doubt that if she wasn’t worried about Dominic creeping over to lick her hands, she would have shattered her glass and ended the narcissist on the spot. Seeing Zoe stand silent like a mute, Mrs. King sneered in contempt. “Common girls from lowborn families. Show them a bit of cash, and they lose their ability to speak.” After humiliating Zoe, Mrs. King turned her sharp gaze to me. “Harper, dear, I have always favored you. As long as your father signs this investment agreement tonight, Dominic will agree to get engaged to you next month.” She pulled a thick document from her folder and slid it across the table. It was a predatory contract designed to bleed my father’s business completely dry. David looked at the agreement, his jaw clenched as his knuckles turned white. “Sweetheart,” David whispered, looking up at me with fatherly concern. “Do you really want to marry him? If you truly want this, dad will sign it.” I looked at the contract in Mrs. King’s hands, then met Zoe’s eyes. We both knew the system wouldn’t give us a peaceful way out tonight. We either followed its pre-written script like puppets, or we smashed the table to pieces during the chaos. The irritating system clock began chiming: Force your father to sign the agreement within ten minutes using threats of self-harm! Failure will result in immediate physical annihilation! A blood-red countdown timer flickered in front of my eyes. Zoe glanced at her phone screen, leaned in, and whispered to me, “When the chaos starts, find a way to make your move. Don’t worry about me.” Right on cue, the double doors of the banquet hall were kicked open with a loud bang. Leading the intruding gang was Toby, Zoe’s useless, debt-ridden younger brother. Knowing what was about to unfold, Zoe gave me a swift signal. I nodded, leaned down, and whispered to David, “Dad, wait for me to come back. Whatever you do, do not sign that paper!” Using the sudden commotion as cover, I darted toward the grand staircase and headed straight for Dominic’s second-floor study. I had repaired his laptop once before. During that repair, I had spotted a strange, hidden background process running inside the terminal root directory. Looking back now, that process was almost certainly the data port left by the system inside this world! If I could breach his personal computer and trace the data port back to the system core, I would have a real chance at rewriting the operational rules of this entire universe. Dominic’s laptop sat right on his executive desk. I locked the heavy oak door behind me and sat down. My fingers flew across the keyboard in a blur of motion. Outside the door, security guards began pounding frantically. “Miss Harper! Open the door! Mrs. King is still waiting for you downstairs!” I tuned out the noise entirely, my eyes glued to the terminal code streaming across the screen. World Core Anchor: Dominic King. Plot Maintainer: Victoria King. Hosts are required to complete conquest tasks surrounding the anchor point. System Backend Breach Progress: 10%… 30%… 50%… System Backend Breach Progress: 99%… Access Privilege Takeover: Failed. Damn it! Downstairs in the hall, the thugs dragged Zoe to the center of the room, demanding money. Zoe’s face was pale, but her voice remained cold as ice. “I don’t have any money! You built up those gambling debts yourself, so pay them off yourself!” The thug leader’s face darkened. “Bitch, you’re doing this the hard way.” Several thugs lunged forward, pinning Zoe firmly to the ground. As Zoe fought back with everything she had, Dominic stopped the security guards from stepping in. Holding a glass of red wine, he stood nearby, watching her struggle with a cold, superior smile. “Zoe,” he purred. “Beg me.” “Promise to become my woman, and I’ll save you.” Zoe’s dress strap snapped during the struggle. She spat directly toward his shoes. “In your wildest dreams! Dominic, I would rather sleep with a toad than let you touch me!” Dominic’s eyes narrowed maliciously. “You’ll regret this.” When I rushed back downstairs, Zoe was still pinned to the floor, while Mrs. King forced a pen into David’s hands. “David, everyone here knows how deeply your daughter loves my son,” Mrs. King coaxed smoothly. “She won’t survive without Dominic. Sign this paper, and Harper becomes the future mistress of the King family.” David held the pen, the veins on his hands bulging under the pressure. He understood nothing of high-society traps; he only cared that without this marriage, his daughter might lose her mind. “Dad, don’t sign it!” I roared. I vaulted over the mezzanine railing, landed on the floor, and snatched the pen straight out of his hand. Warning! Hosts Harper and Zoe have failed their mandatory tasks! Annihilation countdown reached zero! Punishment protocol activated! Executing maximum directive: Immediate physical annihilation! A sickening electrical hum vibrated through the air overhead. A massive pillar of lightning ripped through the ceiling, descending straight toward us!

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1 On the first day I returned to the wealthy Montgomery estate as their long-lost biological daughter, I wrote three words across my forehead with a black marker: DON’T HIT ME. The fake daughter, Tiffany, burst into hysterical laughter on the spot. Clad in a studded punk jacket, she made a ridiculous face at me. “I thought our long-lost sister would be some kind of tough girl, but you’re just a pathetic little coward!” “Seriously, what a loser!” She chewed her bubblegum loudly, leaned over, and spat it directly into my hair. I bit my lower lip tightly, my eyes brimming with tears, but I didn’t utter a single sound. My biological older brother, Brandon, sneered in satisfaction. “At least you know your place. The Montgomerys aren’t people you want to mess with.” My biological parents looked at me with open disgust. “Look at her, weak and useless. How does she carry an ounce of Montgomery blood? I genuinely suspect Tiffany is our real daughter.” Our very first family reunion ended in cold mockery and utter disdain. After everyone left, I sat alone in the vast, freezing living room, clutching my deceased adoptive mother’s framed portrait to my chest. Tears dripped onto the glass frame. “Mama… they don’t seem to like Maddy very much.” “But don’t worry, Mama. Maddy warned them nicely. As long as they don’t hit Maddy first, Maddy won’t hit them back. Maddy is the sweetest boxer in the world.” … I wept over Mama’s portrait for a long time before gently placing it back into my backpack. Inside the bag was an insulated stainless steel thermos that Mama had prepared for me before she passed away. It was packed with warm, soft-boiled eggs, my absolute favorite. I unscrewed the lid, feeling the gentle heat radiating from inside. Taking one out, I carefully rolled the warm egg over my swollen eyes. Back at the underground fighting ring, I used to see injured boxers soothe their bruises like this. Sure enough, the swelling around my eyes subsided quickly. Afraid the eggs would get cold, I hurriedly placed it back inside. I couldn’t bring myself to eat even a single one. As I sat there cradling the thermos, Tiffany walked down the grand staircase, puffing on a thin cigarette. The moment I saw her, my eyes lit up with genuine hope. “Sister!” I rushed over, holding up the thermos and opening the lid right in front of her face. I forced the sweetest, brightest smile I could muster. “Sister, have an egg!” I beamed at her. “My mama, I mean, my adoptive mother, boiled these for me before I came here. They’re soft-boiled!” “Maddy loves soft-boiled eggs the most. I know you’ll love them too!” Mama always told me that good things must be shared with family. I remembered every single word she taught me. If I shared my very best thing with my sister, she would treat me like real family, right? Yet, just as I looked up at her with big, expectant eyes, Tiffany raised her hand and slapped the thermos away. “Get lost, freak!” The stainless steel thermos tumbled down the marble stairs, shattering into pieces. My heart felt as if it shattered right alongside it. The soft-boiled eggs bounced down the steps, their warm yolks breaking and spilling everywhere. “Maddy’s eggs!” I scrambled down the stairs like a madwoman, picking up the ruined eggs. Sharp metal fragments from the thermos sliced into my fingers, but I didn’t even feel the pain. Tiffany put out her cigarette butt, casually flicking the hot ash right onto my broken eggs. “Are you mentally deficient?” “What disgusting garbage. Dogs wouldn’t even eat this trash!” She walked past me, her sharp high heels stepping directly onto the egg yolks, stomping them into a muddy, unrecognizable mess. I couldn’t hold back my emotions any longer. Tears flooded my vision. Before walking away, she glared down at me with venom. “And stop playing dumb in front of me. You think acting cute makes Mom and Dad like you and hate me?” I shook my head frantically, trying to explain that I had no such intentions. Tiffany didn’t buy a word. She let out a cold, sinister laugh. “Then prove it to me.” She pointed her long nails at the blackened, stomped egg yolk on the floor. “Kneel down and eat every bite off the floor. Then I’ll believe you.” I froze. “Sister… the eggs are dirty…” I whispered timidly. Tiffany’s face twisted in rage. She raised her palm to strike me, but right before the slap landed, my biological brother Brandon appeared and caught her wrist. “Tiffany! What are you doing?!” He paused, glancing at Tiffany’s shocked expression. Then he turned to me, walking over with a smooth, gentle smile as he patted my head. “Silly girl, these eggs were left for you by your adoptive mother, weren’t they?” I nodded vigorously. His smile widened, turning far more twisted than Tiffany’s. “Then you must eat them all. Otherwise, your dead mother up in heaven will be very angry with you.” My heart skipped a terrifying beat. Without a second thought, I reached down, scooped up the dirty, ash-covered egg yolk from the floor, and shoved it into my mouth. “Mama, don’t be mad… please don’t be mad…” “Maddy didn’t mean to hurt Mama’s feelings…” As I chewed the bitter, dirty egg, tears streamed down my face in heavy rivers. Mama, you lied to me. You said they would treat me like family. But they hate me so much. 2 My brain had never worked quite right. Doctors told my adoptive mother that a childhood brain injury had permanently arrested my mental development. Intellectually, I would remain five years old forever. Fortunately, nature gave me extraordinary physical gifts. Though I looked slender and frail, I possessed terrifying, explosive physical strength. When my adoptive mother fell gravely ill from kidney failure, she couldn’t afford dialysis on her meager income from collecting recyclable trash. To raise money for her treatments, I entered the underground bare-knuckle boxing circuit. One victory paid a thousand dollars, exactly enough for one dialysis session. On my very first day in the ring, I lacked technique and suffered three broken ribs. I didn’t cry. During my second fight, I lost again, my lower jaw dislocated by a heavy hook. I still didn’t cry. My third fight, my fourth fight, defeat after defeat. My body was covered in severe fractures and dark bruises, yet I stood back up on that canvas every single time, battered and bleeding, without shedding a single tear. I had to earn money. I had to save my mama. It wasn’t until my fifth match, when my opponent locked me in a brutal chokehold that nearly knocked me unconscious, that a spectator shouted from the crowd that the hospital was calling for payment and my mother was dying. In that precise moment, I burst into tears. I bit my lip so hard it bled, forcing my muscles past their physical limits. My joints popped and cracked as I tore through my opponent’s lock. The moment I broke free, I swung my fists blindly through my tears. That night, weeping uncontrollably, I beat every fighter in that arena until they cried. When I dragged my blood-soaked body into the hospital, the doctors had stabilized Mama, but the ongoing medical fees remained a bottomless pit. So, I became a full-time underground cage fighter. I evolved from a terrified rookie into an undisputed, terrifying queen of the ring who defeated massive opponents purely through brutal muscle memory. I never ran out of cash again. Yet, a month later, even when I slammed stacks of hundred-dollar bills onto the chief doctor’s desk and fell to my knees begging him, money could no longer save Mama. On her final day, she told me she hated the smell of the hospital and wanted to go home. I carried her on my back, walking miles down the road. Resting her chin on my shoulder, she whispered that she had boiled soft-boiled eggs for me in her thermos, my favorite treat. She apologized, saying she should never have picked me out of that trash dump years ago, forcing me to suffer a hard life with her. She told me that the wealthy Montgomery family had finally found me. Her dying wish was for me to return to my biological family and live a happy, comfortable life. She told me to be sincere, to work hard to fit into my new home. I remembered every single word she said. But was the Montgomery house really my home? On my second morning at the estate, laughter echoed constantly across the breakfast table between Tiffany and Brandon. I kept my head down, shoveling food into my mouth, pretending I didn’t hear them making fun of me. “Dad, Mom, ever since Maddy came back, you haven’t assigned her a bedroom yet,” Tiffany said, giving our parents a meaningful look. My biological father didn’t even bother raising his eyes from his newspaper. Finally, my biological mother, Victoria, chimed in indifferently, “Whatever. She’s a brain-damaged dummy. Does it matter where she sleeps?” I buried my face deeper into my bowl, gripping my fork tightly, saying nothing. Mama had told me that her biggest wish was for Maddy to be happy in her new home. So, I pretended to be deaf and kept eating. The atmosphere at the table grew suffocatingly cold, punctuated only by Tiffany’s sharp, ringing laughter. “How about we put her in the guest bathroom?” Tiffany suggested brightly. “She grew up living in a literal garbage dump anyway. Our guest bathroom is practically a palace compared to her old home!” Brandon immediately chimed in with a laugh. “Great idea! Her brain is full of garbage anyway. Maybe she’ll get flushed down the toilet one day!” The siblings burst into loud laughter. My biological parents’ faces darkened instantly. My father slammed his fork onto the table. “We’re eating breakfast! What are you talking about?!” He glared at me with deep disgust. “Disgusting. I lost my appetite.” My biological mother pushed her plate away, muttering aloud without the slightest hesitation, “I knew the moment she was born that she was defective. That’s why I tossed her in the trash dump and brought our sweet Tiffany home instead.” “I thought I was rid of that useless girl forever, but that homeless trash lady actually dragged her back right before dying. What a nuisance.” “She even fell to her knees begging me, saying she was dying and afraid no one would take care of the dummy. She threatened to call the news media if I didn’t take her back. Absolute psychos, the both of them.” My hands stopped moving. So… I was abandoned at birth? Mama had begged them on her knees just so I could have a place to live? Tears dripped into my food bowl. I don’t even remember how I was dragged across the floor and thrown into the dark guest bathroom. When the heavy door slammed shut and locked from the outside, the entire world fell silent, leaving only me and my backpack. I pulled out Mama’s framed portrait from my bag and cried like a pathetic child. “Mama… why were you so foolish?” “Mama, I miss you so much.” “Is this really my home? Are these people really my family?” 3 I spent the entire night curled up on the cold bathroom tile, cradling Mama’s portrait in my arms. Suddenly, a bucket of ice-cold water slammed through the doorway. The freezing water drenched me from head to toe. I gasped, jerking awake, only to see Tiffany leaning against the doorframe, smirking down at me. “Time to wake up, trash lady’s daughter!” She insulted Mama the second she opened her mouth. My fists clenched tight, then slowly uncurled. Mama told me never to hit family members, no matter how hurt I felt. Maddy wanted to be an obedient girl. “My mama wasn’t a trash lady,” I replied in a quiet, trembling voice. The smirk on Tiffany’s face instantly vanished. She called for Brandon. With a heavy kick, Brandon busted open the locked bathroom door. The moment they walked in, they saw me holding Mama’s portrait tight against my chest. Brandon crossed his arms, his face twisted in disgust. “What kind of creepy trash is that?” Tiffany initially hid behind Brandon’s back out of instinct, but hearing Brandon’s words, she let out a loud laugh. “You’re so right, Brandon! It really is creepy trash! Hahaha!” My fists hardened again. “Stop calling my mama creepy trash!” I glared at them, my voice raised several decibels. “Your trash mother is a ghost now! She’s dead and rotting!” Tiffany screamed back viciously. Before I could react, she lunged forward and ripped Mama’s portrait right out of my hands. “Give it back to me!” I yelled. Tiffany pulled a thick permanent marker from her pocket and began scribbling directly over Mama’s face. “Make me! What are you gonna do about it, dummy?” Brandon stood by the doorway with his arms crossed, watching the show with an amused smile. “Be careful, Tiffany. She’s not just dumb, she might be crazy too.” Tiffany scoffed, holding up her artwork to show me. She had drawn a mustache over Mama’s lip and a crude turtle across her cheek. I reached my breaking point. I lunged forward and grabbed Tiffany hard by her collar! “Give it back!” My entire body shook with violent rage. Yet Mama’s final words echoed inside my mind: Never hit your family! I forced myself to hold back! Tiffany panicked, terror flashing through her eyes as her voice trembled. “Dad! Mom! Maddy is going to beat me up!” I instinctively let go of her collar, but it was already too late. My biological parents had rushed down the hallway. Tiffany threw herself into their arms, weeping tears of fake terror. “Dad, Mom, Maddy is insane! I just made a little joke with her picture, and she tried to murder me!” Brandon chimed in from the side. “Tiffany was just putting a little makeup on that trash lady’s face. Maddy has only been home for two days, and her temper is already out of control.” I looked helplessly at my biological parents. Their faces remained cold and disappointed. My father waved his hand impatiently. “It’s just a harmless joke! The drawing looks fine. You should thank Tiffany for beautifying the frame, why are you trying to hit her?” My biological mother waved her hand in utter disgust. “Take that hideously ugly picture away! It’s creeping me out!” “Throw it in the trash!” “Quick, throw it away! Don’t let me see it again! It’s bringing terrible luck to our home!” Uncertain of how to dispose of the frame, Tiffany looked around the bathroom. With a cruel laugh, she tossed Mama’s portrait straight into the open toilet bowl! Dirty water splashed over Mama’s face, making it look as though she was crying. Tiffany burst into laughter. “Hey, look at that! The toilet is the perfect washing machine for her face!” “I really am a genius!” Brandon and my biological parents nodded in total approval. “Tiffany is right. That’s our smart daughter.” “Close the toilet lid. We’ll have the maid scrub it later.” “Don’t let that trash dirty our toilet.” They discussed the matter casually, completely ignoring the fact that I had already reached into the toilet bowl and pulled Mama’s portrait out. Looking at Mama’s stained, dirty face, my hand trembled as I carefully wiped the water away. “Mama, I’m sorry.” “Maddy is going to be a bad girl today.” “I promised I would never hit family members… but Mama forgot that long, long ago, Maddy swore a solemn oath to protect Mama no matter what.” I cracked my knuckles, flexing my iron wrists. “And besides, Maddy only promised never to hit family.” “You monsters are NOT my family.”

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1 My parents pitied my cognitively disabled twin Tina, so they secretly swapped our memories. My research papers became hers, my restored antiques hers. Tina basked as the city’s celebrated prodigy while I was stripped of intellect, reduced to a babbling idiot. They patted my head, cooing, “Even if you are a dummy, we love you.” That lie held until Tina accidentally burned a priceless tapestry at the museum. Facing millions in damages and decades in prison, they dragged me to the clinic. “Take her memory of the arson and implant it into Sophie. Let her rot. Don’t ruin Tina’s future.” The procedure was flawless. Under intense neural rewriting, even Supreme Court lie detectors couldn’t detect a glitch. As freezing electrodes pressed to my temples, I saw my parents’ eyes brimming with worry, but only for Tina. The truth pierced my fog: they only ever loved her. But this implanted memory would become the weapon that sent them straight to hell. … “Mom, are you guys being serious right now? You want me to go to jail for Tina?” I stared at the woman in front of me in pure disbelief. The unconditional love she had just promised me crumbled like wet paper. Faced with my questioning, a flash of annoyance crossed my mother’s face. She impatiently waved her hand, signaling the orderlies to pin me down. “Who let you out of your room. Whatever, this saves me the trouble of tricking you into coming down here.” “This is about our family’s survival. Your sister is absolutely not going to prison.” I was shoved onto the cold steel operating table. Heavy leather straps buckled around my wrists and ankles. I could only watch in horror as the technicians prepped the neural override machines. Just mentioning Tina made my mother tear up. She turned to my father to complain. “Tina is already pitiful enough with her condition. As the older sister, Sophie should be begging to take the fall. Instead, she has the nerve to talk back to me. I raised an ungrateful brat.” “Stop crying Martha,” my dad soothed her. “Once the memory swap is done, all evidence of Tina doing it will be wiped clean. She will be perfectly fine.” A piercing, agonizing pain drilled through my skull. My vision whited out. The last thing I saw was the immense satisfaction in my mother’s eyes. It was a look that stung more than the needles in my scalp. In all my life, I had never seen her look at me with such absolute approval. The roaring flames from the museum erupted deep within my mind. I stood shivering in the middle of our living room, tears spilling out of my eyes uncontrollably. My mother glared at me, her voice dripping with disgust. “Sophie Davis, do you have any idea how much I have sacrificed to raise you? And how do you repay me?” “You burn down a national treasure. You drag your sister’s name through the mud and get her slammed by the press. You made this mess, so you are going to take the punishment.” I stared at her blankly. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. A tiny voice in my head screamed that this was wrong. But under my mother’s disappointed glare, my body just nodded mechanically. I asked her in a childish, broken voice. “Mom, am I going to jail? Can I eat seafood then?” Every time Tina won an award, Mom would order a massive seafood feast. Huge Boston lobsters, fresh oysters, the works. But she never let me have a single bite. She always said it was Tina’s special day and I had already eaten enough junk food. I was not allowed to steal my sister’s thunder. But I had no memories of my own left. I literally did not know what seafood tasted like. Going to prison sounded like a big deal. I figured it was finally my turn to celebrate. Seeing the genuine yearning in my eyes, my mother froze for a second. She turned around, walked into the kitchen, and brought out a plate of rotting, foul smelling raw oysters. My dad frowned. “Isn’t that Tina’s leftovers from last week? It is completely spoiled. She can’t eat that.” “This is the seafood she has been begging for,” my mother replied coldly. Like a starved animal, I grabbed the slimy meat and shoved it into my mouth. It was putrid. Bitter. Disgusting. It tasted absolutely nothing like the delicacy I had imagined. Seeing me slow down, my mother scowled and snapped at me. “You are the one who wanted it. You finally have the guts to demand your sister’s food, so you better lick that plate clean.” “Or you will never eat another meal in this house again.” Terrified, I choked down the rest of the rotting sludge. The vile stench made me gag violently. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and forced a pathetic, eager smile for my mother. Neither of them cared that halfway to the police station, my breathing turned into ragged wheezes. Angry red hives exploded across my neck and arms. The itching was absolute torture. I opened my mouth to beg for help. My mother grabbed my collar and shoved me out of the parked car onto the concrete. She looked at my thrashing body with pure revulsion. “Are you done putting on a show?” “You know you have a severe seafood allergy and you still shoveled it down. You just love making our lives a living hell. Do you have any idea how much trouble your little arson stunt has caused Tina?” “You have been a burden for twenty years. We are sick of tolerating you.” I sat paralyzed on the pavement, gasping for air. “I am sorry Mom. I didn’t know.” Mom was mad. I ruined things for Tina. I needed to apologize. “I am sorry Tina. I shouldn’t have started the fire.” I messed around at the museum. I burned the tapestry. It was all my fault. I shouldn’t have gone to the exhibit. But wait. Why was I at the museum on Tina’s birthday. I was never allowed to leave the house on her birthday. The conflicting memories began tearing my brain apart. I clutched my head, crying and babbling apologies to no one. My screams drew a crowd. A few relatives of the people injured in the museum fire recognized me. Their faces twisted with rage as they swarmed me. They cursed at me, spitting venom, venting all their grief and fury on my fragile body. I looked up helplessly at my mother standing by the car. But all I saw in her eyes was relief. She was glad I was the one taking the hits. I tried to crawl toward her, but the angry mob blocked my path. My struggling only made them madder. Someone shoved me hard. I fell backward, and my skull cracked violently against a sharp fire hydrant. The physical trauma acted like a sledgehammer to the mental barricades. The locked memories flooded my brain like a broken dam. Blood pooled on the gray pavement. The crowd stepped back in panic. “Oh my god, she is bleeding. Is she going to die? Someone call an ambulance.” “Relax. She is a total psycho. She is way tougher than her genius sister. She won’t die.” My mother remained rooted to her spot, watching me bleed out with the cold detachment of a bystander. Blood dripped down my face, mixing with my tears. While I was being beaten and humiliated, her first instinct was not to protect me, but to celebrate that her plan was working. She did not love me. Not even a fraction. When I opened my eyes again, the hospital room was dead quiet. The violent blow to my head had somehow realigned my fractured neural pathways. Everything was crystal clear now. The groundbreaking thesis that earned Tina her Ivy League spot was written by me. I spent three months running on black coffee to finish it. The shiny trophies lining Tina’s bedroom shelf were bought with my deteriorating eyesight and endless nights of studying. Simply because Tina was born slow and needed extra padding in life, my sweat and tears became the stepping stones my parents casually placed under her feet. My chest hurt so much I could not breathe. Tears streamed down my face in absolute silence. I scared the hell out of the nurse walking in. My mother followed right behind her. Seeing my tears, her face darkened instantly. She pointed a manicured finger at me and started screaming. “You have some nerve crying.” “If your little arson scandal hadn’t blown up on the news, Tina wouldn’t have been harassed by reporters today. Get your ass out of that bed and pack your things. We are leaving.” The stitches on my scalp throbbed with a dull ache, but I suddenly lost the energy to argue. When I was seven, a pot of boiling water spilled on me. My entire back was covered in hideous burns. But my parents cared more about Tina twisting her ankle on the stairs. They said Tina was a fragile genius. She needed to be pampered. I was just the family idiot. A few scars on my back didn’t matter. I looked at my mother, who was currently stressed out of her mind over Tina, and asked her in a raspy voice. “Mom. Why did I leave the house on the day of the fire?” She froze. A flicker of guilt crossed her eyes. “How should I know? If you hadn’t sneaked out like a maniac, our family wouldn’t be dealing with this nightmare.” Ice water ran through my veins. I stared her dead in the eye and spoke slowly. “But that day was Tina’s birthday. You and Dad strictly forbade me from ever stepping outside on her birthday. You said letting the neighbors see my face would embarrass her.” Under my mother’s expanding pupils, I continued. “Tina has already stolen my entire life. Is it still not enough?” A stinging slap landed squarely on my cheek, leaving my ear ringing. The nurse had already slipped out. My mother glared at me with absolute righteous indignation. “That is your sister’s life. I know you are bitter.” “But Tina is the recognized prodigy now. She cannot go to jail. You are the older sister. Throwing yourself on the sword for her is your duty.” “I already paid people to wipe the security footage of Tina starting the fire. Sophie, do not make this harder than it has to be. You are taking the fall for this, whether you like it or not.” I sat on the sterile hospital bed, laughing and crying like a maniac. I was grieving for myself. How could a mother be this biased. To protect one daughter, she was willing to bury the other alive. She looked at me with a complicated expression. “I already called the precinct and told them you are ready to confess. They will be here any minute. Be a good girl, Sophie.” “Your father and I will be waiting for you when you get out.” The door swung open just as she finished her sentence. Four uniformed officers walked in with handcuffs. I looked at my mother in horror and started screaming. “I didn’t do it. It wasn’t me.” She completely cut off the officers’ hesitation. “She is the one who did it, officers. Please make sure you interrogate her thoroughly.” Thanks to my parents’ enthusiastic cooperation, I was subjected to grueling interrogations for days. Under the extreme psychological pressure, my newly restored memories clashed violently with the implanted ones. My brain short-circuited. I started speaking in pure gibberish. The lead detective couldn’t bear to watch it anymore. Soon after, the police knocked on my family’s front door with a medical envelope. “Based on our psychiatric evaluations, Sophie Davis is suffering from severe trauma induced psychosis. We cannot proceed with a standard interrogation.” “If you can provide proof of a pre existing mental condition, the judge can commute her sentence to a medical facility.” I stared blankly at the scene playing out in my living room. A tiny spark of hope flickered in my chest, only to be ruthlessly extinguished by a firm voice. “We do not have any medical records. Please punish Sophie according to the maximum extent of the law.” My mother stood there. The smile on her face was as warm as a spring breeze, yet it drove a spike of solid ice right through my heart. She glanced at me coldly. “If a standard interrogation won’t work, then put her on the Neural Tribunal.” The detective was stunned. He asked her to repeat herself. “Are you absolutely sure, ma’am? The Neural Tribunal extracts memories by force. The brain damage is completely irreversible. It often leads to permanent vegetative states.” My mother waved him off like he was bothering her with trivia. “It is fine. She has always been resilient. We have to give the angry public the truth, right?” As the police left, the detective gave me a look of profound pity. I suddenly wanted to burst out laughing. Of course she wasn’t worried. The memories of the fire were sitting right inside my brain, and Tina’s tracks were perfectly covered. She was cutting off every single escape route I had. Memories truly do not lie. I let a tear slip down my cheek. I only hoped that when the truth finally came out, my parents would be able to pay the price. The Neural Tribunal was scheduled three days later. I was released on bail and followed my mother back home. The house was filled with joyous laughter, which died the second I stepped through the door. Tina was sitting at the dining table, eating premium crab legs that my dad was carefully shelling for her. My mother caught me staring at the food and smirked. “You want some? Just plead guilty on that stand, and I will buy you all the crab you want.” I felt like I was five years old again. I had simply asked Dad to pass me a piece of braised beef. Instead, I got a thirty minute screaming lecture. They called me greedy, spoiled, and completely selfish. They made me grovel and apologize before I was allowed to eat plain rice. But Tina could demand the moon and never pay a dime. The disgust on my mother’s face vanished the second she looked back at Tina. It was replaced by pure, unfiltered adoration. Tina threw her fork on the table and started whining loudly. “Why is she back. Do you guys not love me anymore. Are you trying to send me to jail.” Because of one tiny tantrum, both my parents rushed over to coddle her. My dad pushed a mountain of sweet crab meat in front of her and patted his chest. “Daddy loves you the most, sweetheart. Stop crying. Once this blows over, Daddy will go buy you that Porsche you wanted, okay?” My mom quickly chimed in. “Mommy loves you too. If you are stressed out, I will take a month off work and we can go vacation in Paris. How does that sound?” I stood frozen in the hallway like an unwanted trespasser. Tina could shed two fake tears and get a hundred thousand dollar sports car. When I was sixteen, I asked for a five dollar ice cream and got called a financial leech. My mother, who always claimed she was too busy to talk to me for even one minute, was suddenly ready to drop everything for a month in Paris. I thought my heart was entirely numb to their blatant favoritism. But it still felt like it was being fed through a meat grinder. Hearing their promises, Tina finally gave a condescending nod. She glared at me. “Get her out of my sight.” Because of that one sentence, my mother grabbed me by the hair and dragged me into the basement storage room. Right as she was closing the heavy metal door, I begged her. “Mom, I am sorry. Please do not lock me in here, please.” Absolute pitch black darkness swallowed the room. My body began to violently tremble. A suffocating wave of pure panic crushed my lungs. I slammed my fists against the door, screaming at the top of my lungs. My mother’s voice filtered through the steel, cold and utterly devoid of empathy. “Stop acting crazy. Sit in there and think about what you did. Do not ruin your sister’s mood.” It felt like I was going to cry out every drop of blood in my body. Because Tina was born with severe nyctophobia and fear of the dark, they had doctors extract that fear and dump it into my brain when I was only three years old. I was so young that the trauma multiplied a hundredfold. They were the ones who gave me this crippling phobia. But they conveniently forgot about it, treating my terror as a nuisance. I screamed and scratched at the walls in the dark until my throat bled, but no one came. Faint sounds of a comedy show playing on the upstairs TV drifted down to the basement. I curled into a ball, my mind flashing through the last twenty five years of hell. Because of the constant memory swaps, my life was entirely fractured. One second, I was weeping tears of joy over a breakthrough in genetic sequencing. The next second, my brain would be wiped clean, and I would become a drooling idiot who forgot how to use a fork. I survived in a fog, stuffed full of memories that did not belong to me, until I couldn’t even tell who I was anymore. But a vessel can only hold so much trash before it breaks. During those years of induced idiocy, I endured the abuse of hired nurses, the cold violence of my parents, and the mockery of our entire neighborhood. I was obsessed with seafood because of a memory that wasn’t mine. But eating it meant actual death. Every tragedy in my life was orchestrated by the two people who brought me into this world. Just as my consciousness began to fade, a bucket of freezing ice water was dumped over my head. “Time is up. Stop playing dead. We have a trial to get to.” The icy water dripped down my eyelashes, splashing onto the concrete floor. I couldn’t tell the difference between the water and my tears. I looked up at her, my voice completely hollow. “Why do you treat me like this.” My mother froze. A brief flash of panic crossed her eyes. But a second later, she squared her shoulders and looked at me with righteous fury. “Are you blaming me?” “Sophie, I put a roof over your head and food in your stomach. Without me, you would have died in a gutter. What right do you have to judge me?” “I raised you for twenty five years, and you do not have an ounce of gratitude in your body.” Gratitude. I was supposed to be grateful. Grateful that she hollowed out my brain for twenty five years. Grateful that she ruined my future. Grateful for the endless emotional torture. It was beyond absurd. I remained dead silent as they shoved me into the car. I didn’t snap out of it until we arrived at the steps of the Federal Neural Tribunal. A massive crowd of protesters and journalists had already swarmed the plaza. The moment I stepped out, cameras flashed like strobe lights, and microphones were shoved into my face. “Sophie. Do you feel any remorse for destroying a piece of national history.” “Your sister Tina is a literal genius and a charity ambassador. Why did you turn out to be a sociopath? Are you jealous of her?” “We heard you were raised by your grandmother when you were young. Did her toxic parenting make you like this?” Hearing my grandmother mentioned, a surge of pure rage ignited in my chest. I opened my mouth to yell back, but Tina’s soft, victimized voice echoed from behind me. “Maybe that is the case. I grew up in the city with Mom, receiving proper tutoring. But Sophie… she spent too much time in the countryside. I guess she picked up some bad habits.” I turned around, staring in disbelief at the monster wearing my face. She was smiling smugly for the cameras, and even turned to look at our mother, who gave her an encouraging nod. It was true. I was raised by my Nana when I was a toddler. In this entire mess of fake and stolen memories, the warmth of my grandmother was the only real thing I had left. When my intellect started fluctuating wildly, Nana was the only one who didn’t abandon me. She constantly took me to different clinics, begging for answers. And for that, Tina endlessly framed her, pulled cruel pranks on her, and accused her of abuse. Eventually, my dad used it as an excuse to lock Nana away in a miserable nursing home. I lunged forward, wanting to grab Tina by the throat and demand to know why she was dragging Nana into this. But my mother stepped in, shoving me back with brutal force. A sharp slap cracked across my face. She looked at me with absolute loathing. “What is wrong with you.” “We are in front of the whole country, and you are still trying to bully your sister.” Tina cowered behind our mother perfectly, but her eyes locked onto mine, shining with vicious delight. “Is my sister mad because I mentioned Grandma?” “But Sophie, if you actually cared about her, why didn’t you even show up to her funeral?” “Besides, Grandma died because of you.” I froze. A freezing, venomous dread wrapped around my spine. “Because of me…?” “Yeah,” Tina nodded innocently, projecting her voice for the microphones. “Grandma saw the news about you burning down the museum. It gave her a massive heart attack. She died in the hospital, completely alone. It is all your fault.” I looked at my mother in sheer horror. Despair crashed over me like a tidal wave. Violent, heavy tears poured out of my eyes. I cried until the capillaries in my eyes burst, bleeding crimson tears down my cheeks. Like a dying riverbed bleeding out its last drop of mud. My teeth chattered uncontrollably. I threw myself at my mother, screaming like a wounded animal. “Why didn’t you tell me. You knew the truth. Why didn’t you tell her it wasn’t me.” She was the only person in this godforsaken world who actually loved me. And she died thinking I was a monster. I am so sorry, Nana. I am so sorry. The outraged crowd began throwing garbage and half full coffee cups at me. Two massive court bailiffs grabbed my arms and dragged me up to the transparent Tribunal stage. The sour stench of spilled coffee soaked my clothes, but I didn’t care. I just kept my eyes locked onto the mother and daughter standing in the front row. The neural extractors were clamped onto my skull. A massive surge of electricity ripped through my nervous system. Total paralysis hit instantly. My organs felt like they were being roasted on an open fire. My head felt like it was going to split open. But the physical agony was nothing compared to the gaping hole in my chest. Down in the audience, Tina was smiling brightly, looking like a total winner. Until the colossal holographic screen suspended above the courtroom suddenly flickered to life. Tina’s smile died instantly.

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1 When Ross was up for Associate Professor, a violent patient shoved me down, causing a hemorrhage and miscarriage. He told me to suck it up because he could not afford a scandal during evaluations. After surgery, my uterine lining was dangerously thin and I was still bleeding. I just wanted a prescription to recover, but he looked at me with irritation. I have a waiting room full of critically ill patients, he said coldly. If I bypass the system for you, what will people think? So I was forced to wait at the very end of the general admission line. Behind me, two nurses gossiped with envy. Chloe is so lucky. She hangs around Dr. Sullivan all day and gets personal consultations without booking. Chloe was a scholarship student from a rural town, the only female student Ross had ever publicly mentored. She had been in his office for over an hour. Through the door crack, I heard her ask, Kerry did not look happy out there. What exactly is your relationship? Ross sighed softly. We are just friends. The prescription ticket crumpled in my fist. He had promised that once he made professor, he would go public with our three-year secret relationship and marry me. Now he was letting another woman sit in his personal chair, handing her a hot water bottle for her cramps. His strict boundaries only applied to me. Standing in the crowded hallway for my IV drip, the fight drained out of me. I did not want to hold on anymore. I did not want him anymore, either. … An hour later, Ross finally noticed me leaning against the cold hallway wall with an IV needle in my hand. He frowned in confusion. “Why are you getting your IV out here? Are there no beds available?” “There are. But I gave mine up.” I looked up at the ceiling. Honestly, I wasn’t just giving up a hospital bed. I was giving up the three years I had spent happily eating dirt just to support his career. In the past, I would have cried and demanded an explanation. “Why is it okay for you to give your female student special treatment, but you treat me like absolute garbage?” But now, I was just too tired to ask. “Are you done playing these games?” Ross impatiently loosened his tie and snatched the paper ticket out of my hand, slamming it onto his desk. The edge of the paper was soaked with condensation, wrinkling and tearing. Much like our shattered, pathetic three-year relationship. “Kerry, you are purposely putting on this pitiful act just to guilt trip me. You think throwing your past sacrifices in my face will make me bend the rules for you?” “Well, it won’t happen.” He slammed his coffee mug down hard enough to spill it. “I told you, we have to keep our distance at work. Half the board is watching my every move. If I show favoritism to you even once, everything I have killed myself to achieve will be gone.” It felt like a knife twisting in my gut. Bending the rules for me would ruin his career. But bending them for Chloe required no boundaries at all. She could freely waltz in and out of his office and occupy his desk for private consultations. Writing free prescriptions for personal use was a massive violation of hospital policy. Yet, whenever Chloe felt the slightest bit unwell, she would head straight to the pharmacy to grab whatever she needed. Ross saw it, knew it, and intentionally turned a blind eye. Meanwhile, when I was doubling over from post-op abdominal pain and took a single painkiller from the staff reserve, he publicly berated me. “If everyone acted as unprofessionally as you, this hospital would be shut down in a week.” I was forced to grit my teeth and endure the pain, eventually passing out during clinical rounds. Instead of helping me, he used my collapse to solidify his “iron-fisted, impartial” persona in front of the entire medical staff. “As an assisting resident, failing to report your physical condition beforehand and delaying the ward rounds shows a complete lack of responsibility.” “Mark it down. Deduct her entire attendance bonus for the month. If it happens again, you are off my rounds permanently.” When I confronted him with red, teary eyes, asking him why he was being so cruel, he looked at me like I was being unreasonable. “Rules are rules. If everyone was as irresponsible as you, the hospital’s discipline would be a joke. What is the point of having regulations?” When a colleague tried to defend me, Ross instantly turned on him in front of the whole department. “If you have a problem with how I run my team, you are free to leave. Question my authority again, and I won’t be so polite.” “Fine. It won’t happen again.” I pulled a tissue from the box and quietly wiped up the coffee he had just spilled on his desk. I didn’t look at him once. My sudden, eerie obedience made Ross freeze. It was like he hadn’t expected me to be this calm. He was used to me fighting back. But then he just scoffed. “Instead of throwing these cold tantrums, you should learn a thing or two from Chloe. She knows how to protect my reputation in public, and she is sweet and knows her place in private.” “She would never act as petty and calculating as you.” “Would she also abort her baby for you?” I looked him dead in the eye, genuinely curious about what kind of answer he would give. “Kerry… don’t push it…” Click. Before he could finish his sentence, he reached for his pen, and a sleek tube of lipstick fell out of his coat pocket. Givenchy. For my birthday, I had stood at the makeup counter for half an hour, staring longingly at that exact shade. Ross had told me that the color didn’t suit me, and that a luxury brand like that didn’t match my skin tone or my “status.” I had walked away empty-handed. And now, here it was, falling out of his pocket. “It is a gift for you.” His explanation was painfully awkward. His eyes darted around, refusing to meet mine. “You stared at it for a long time at the mall, remember? I was waiting for the right moment to surprise you, but I guess it fell out first.” I let out a bitter, mocking laugh. “That is the weakest lie I have ever heard. You are gifting me used makeup?” I casually popped the cap off the lipstick. “No luxury gift box? No velvet pouch? Not even the basic plastic seal from the store?” Ross’s face lost all its color, inch by inch. I stared at him. “If you tell enough lies, even you stop believing them, don’t you?” Last month, the hospital managed to secure a few highly coveted spots for the state’s top medical symposium. It was a massive networking opportunity. I was thrilled. I asked him if he could bring me along just to audit and take notes. Without a second thought, he frowned and rejected me. “This forum has an extremely high barrier to entry. It is strictly for licensed attending physicians and enrolled grad students. You haven’t passed your boards yet. You don’t have the credentials.” I believed him. I put my head down and studied harder for my exams. Just three days later, I saw a photo on the hospital’s official news page. Sitting in the very first row, looking incredibly attentive, was Chloe. She wasn’t a grad student. She wasn’t a licensed physician. In terms of credentials and basic medical knowledge, she was miles behind me. Yet, she felt perfectly entitled to sit in the front row. Faced with my ruthless dismantling of his lies, Ross was left completely speechless. The pale shock on his face instantly morphed into an ugly, defensive gray. “Are you seriously going to hold onto this trivial crap and not let it go? You are just looking for a fight.” Seeing me just stare at him in silence, his tone grew even more self-righteous. “Fine. Yes, Chloe used it.” “At the symposium, I noticed she looked a little pale, so I let her borrow it to touch up. But I bought it for you. It is just a tube of lipstick. She used it once, so what? Why do you have to be so damn dramatic about everything?” Looking at his utterly absurd justification, the very last shred of warmth I had for him turned to ice. She just borrowed it? When it came to Chloe using my things, it was no big deal. But last week, when I casually flipped through a notebook on his desk for two seconds, he screamed at me in front of four other doctors. “Do you have any concept of boundaries? Touching someone else’s personal property without permission is absolutely disgraceful. Do you have no common decency?” I found out later that the notebook belonged to Chloe. Every single clinical note inside was written by him, staying up all night to personally outline key concepts for her. “Ross.” I looked at him with absolute calm. “I originally thought we hadn’t reached the point where we needed to completely tear each other apart.” “I thought, at the very least, out of respect for the three years we spent together, and out of respect for the child that briefly existed between us, you would leave some dignity for both of us.” “I thought you wouldn’t let those three years become a complete joke.” My throat tightened for a second. “But clearly, I was overthinking it. I let my emotions make me stupid.” I grabbed the crumpled prescription ticket, threw it in the trash, and turned away, not giving him another glance. On the day of my abortion, lying on that freezing surgical table, I asked myself a question. If this baby had been born safely, would Ross have finally dropped the act? Would he have finally seen all my sacrifices and the indignities I suffered? Would he have looked me in the eye and sincerely said, “I want to marry you”? Looking back now, losing the baby was probably the best thing that could have happened to him. “Kerry, you never know when to back down. You always obsess over the smallest, most petty details. If you walk out that door, do not bother coming back.” “Deal. I won’t.” A gust of wind blew in as I opened the door. The heavy scent of gardenias immediately caused a dense rash to break out across my forearms. I was deathly allergic to the flower. Even the slightest exposure caused severe swelling and unbearable itching. Yet, this hospital was practically overflowing with them. My original plan was to build up enough clinical experience, apply for a fellowship abroad, and leave this place for good. But for Ross, I forced myself to stay here, suffering through it for three years. “Excuse me, I am looking for Professor Davis. I am a former student of hers. My name is Kerry.” After walking out of Ross’s office, I didn’t go straight home. Instead, I headed toward the senior professor’s office. Back in college, I won the gold medal in a national medical competition with a solo research paper. My unique analytical perspective caught the attention of many senior professors in the department. Of course, that included Ross. Back then, he was just a low-level teaching assistant. He had no title, no tenure, and zero authority to lead his own students. Yet, he waited for me outside the library every single day. He told me I was the most gifted student he had ever seen, practically begging me to give him the chance to work alongside me. Seeing the pure, unfiltered ambition in his eyes, and his worn-out, faded shirts, my heart softened, and I agreed. For countless nights after that, we squeezed into tiny, cramped study rooms, cracking impossible medical cases. We traveled to endless medical seminars together. We stayed up until 3 AM, splitting a single cup of instant ramen. On the rare occasions we finished early, we would catch a movie at a rundown, cheap theater off-campus. The days were simple, but they were the best years of my youth. Eventually, his professional admiration morphed into something more. After a movie one night, he suddenly grabbed my hand and confessed. “Kerry, I like you. From the first moment I saw you, I knew you were the one. I want to be with you.” “Please give me a chance. Let me take care of you for the rest of my life. Please say yes.” We kissed in the fading glow of the movie screen, sealing our relationship. But Ross was always paranoid about his lack of a solid foundation. He constantly reminded me that it wasn’t the right time to go public, asking me to wait until he got his promotion so we could announce it properly. I believed him. I willingly buried our relationship in the dark. And that wait lasted three grueling years. “Are you absolutely sure about applying for the direct Ph.D. program overseas? If you leave, you won’t be able to come back for five whole years. Does Ross know about this?” Professor Davis looked up at me, her tone laced with careful testing. “He doesn’t know, but my mind is made up. Professor, I want to go out and build my own career. You once told me that no matter what I decided, you would support me.” “I would like this to stay our little secret.” No one understood my talent and potential better than Professor Davis. When I graduated with my bachelor’s, she immediately secured a spot for me in the graduate program, promising me the best research resources available. But Ross’s sudden intrusion brought my entire future to a screeching halt. “Alright. We leave in two days. Go home and pack your things.” When I got to my dorm, the door was wide open. My clothes, my bedding, and my personal belongings were scattered all over the floor like garbage. Chloe was sitting on my bed, lazily flipping through one of my textbooks. Surrounding her were two or three female interns. They were giggling and dividing up my snacks and expensive skincare products. “What the hell do you think you are doing?” Hearing my voice, Chloe slowly looked up. Scanning my exhausted, disheveled face, she didn’t show a single ounce of guilt. In fact, she looked incredibly arrogant. “Your room? Is your name painted on the wall?” “If I recall correctly, this room was assigned to Professor Sullivan. You have been mooching off his space for years. How do you still have the nerve to loiter here?” She leaned lazily against my headboard, kicking my meticulously annotated graduate prep manuals and journals onto the dirty floor. “You aren’t a licensed doctor, and you aren’t legally registered as a faculty dependent. You are just wasting a staff housing quota. Have you no shame?” “Yeah,” the two interns quickly chimed in, eager to watch the drama unfold. “We heard you gave up grad school just to chase after Professor Sullivan.” “But he has already explicitly rejected you, and you still refuse to let it go. Kerry, how can you be this pathetic?” My heart skipped a beat. Explicitly rejected? We had never even publicly announced our relationship. Where did a rejection come from? Before I could ask, Chloe pulled out her phone and shoved the screen in my face. It was the pinned, top post on the hospital’s internal forum. Posted by Ross Sullivan. “Declaration on Maintaining Professional Boundaries and Rejecting Inappropriate Harassment.” “As an Associate Professor of this department, I have always strictly adhered to hospital regulations and maintained clear boundaries with my students. However, recently, I have been subjected to frequent harassment by an intern who is attempting to forcefully insert herself into my personal and professional life.” “This public notice serves as a strict warning to end all such boundary-crossing behavior. I urge all students in this institution to focus on their professional development and maintain an appropriate distance from faculty members.” Attached at the bottom of the post were several photos of me. The photos I had sent him, full of tender, loving words from a girlfriend. Now, under his pen, they had been twisted into evidence of my psychotic stalking. “See that? You are the laughingstock of the entire hospital now. If I were you, I would have packed my bags and disappeared ages ago. How do you still have the face to stay here?” As Chloe spoke, she lifted her foot and ground her shoe into my pillow. The pillow my mother had hand-stitched for me the night before I left for college. “Get off my bed.” “Ahhh.” Caught off guard, I shoved her, and Chloe tumbled backward onto the mattress. Ross happened to walk in at that exact moment. Without a second thought, he violently shoved me back. My forehead slammed into the metal bed frame. Blood began oozing from the cut. He didn’t even glance at me. His entire focus was on pulling Chloe into his arms. And Chloe, who was just acting like a tyrannical bully two seconds ago, instantly masked her viciousness. She stood up timidly from the bed, nervously gripping the hem of her shirt. “Professor Sullivan, I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have temporarily moved into Kerry’s room. She… she really seems to hate me. She said some awful things to me and even pushed me. I… I should just go.” Her shoulders trembled as she cried, giant tears rolling down her cheeks. She took a step toward the door. Ross quickly grabbed her wrist, stopping her. “You didn’t do anything wrong. She is the one in the wrong.” I stared at him in utter disbelief. “Chloe has highly sensitive skin. With the heavy rains lately, her dorm wall got moldy, and she broke out in a terrible rash. She isn’t like you. You are healthy and tough. You can sleep anywhere.” The blood rushed to my head, making me so dizzy I could barely stand. No one knew the significance of this dorm room better than I did. This was the room Ross fought tooth and nail to secure for me during his first, most financially unstable year as a teaching assistant. It was the only premium single room in the entire building. It was soundproof, had great natural light, and was perfectly insulated. Most importantly, it was the room closest to his own quarters. Back then, he had gently promised me. “I am giving you the best, most convenient room so you can study in peace, without anyone ever bothering you.” And now, with one casual sentence, he was handing it over to Chloe. “Fine. She can have the room. But you have to sign a written agreement with me right now.” “An agreement stating that as soon as her dorm airs out, you will return this room to me.” I reached into my bag and pulled out the early graduation approval form I had prepared days ago, shoving it in front of him. Because I was still technically registered under him as a student, I needed his signature to formally withdraw and graduate early. But Ross was so entirely focused on comforting Chloe that he didn’t even bother reading the paper. He just scoffed, thinking I was being incredibly petty and childish for making a fuss over a dorm room, and aggressively scribbled his signature at the bottom. But Ross, by signing this paper, you just ensured we will truly have absolutely nothing to do with each other ever again. “Kerry.” Ross frowned, standing in the doorway. “Why can’t you just understand me? I had my reasons for doing this.” “Right. Posting our private texts and photos on the hospital forum, and publicly framing me as a crazy stalker, was also just you having your reasons.” Ross’s self-righteous expression froze for a second. He remained silent for a long time before muttering a defense. “I admit I handled that poorly, and I am sorry. But the hospital is currently heavily promoting financial aid for underprivileged students. If rumors started spreading about us, it would ruin her chances at the scholarship and her academic future.” “And?” “Anyone with eyes can see that our relationship isn’t normal. If I didn’t post that statement, they would keep gossiping about us. Eventually, not just Chloe, but both of us would be dragged down by the scandal.” “Okay.” The seven years of confusion, resentment, and desperate hope I harbored were completely flatlined in this instant. I didn’t want to hear another word of his pathetic excuses. The next day, the final make-up exam list was posted. Everyone in the department knew that Chloe was the one constantly showing up late, leaving early, and failing the attendance requirements. But her name wasn’t on the list. Instead, mine was. Ross had personally gone into the system and tampered with my attendance and clinical practicum records, slapping me with a completely fabricated truancy penalty. Even though my overseas Ph.D. program didn’t require my domestic transcripts. This was about my final shred of dignity. I blocked Ross’s path in the hallway. “I had perfect attendance. I scored a hundred on my practicals. My thesis was rated outstanding. On what grounds did you mark me as truant?” Ross looked up at me, his eyes filled with nothing but impatience and disgust. “It is just a truancy mark, it is not a big deal. Kerry, stop obsessing over these tiny things and acting like a lunatic.” So, “Do you care more about your title, or about Chloe?” He didn’t answer, but his silence told me everything I needed to know. The students crowding the hallway, fueled by the narrative on the forum, started pointing fingers at me. “She fails her own classes and blames the professor. How shameless can you get? If I were her, I would have dropped out by now.” “She has a rotten attitude and is just trying to find a shortcut. So embarrassing.” The crowd pushed closer. In the chaos, a hand suddenly shot out and shoved me down the concrete stairs. Caught entirely off guard, I tumbled down and slammed onto the cement landing. Ross didn’t even turn his head. It wasn’t until I sent him one final text. “Ross Sullivan, we are done. I hope I never see your face again for the rest of my life.” That his phone call finally came through. But I was already boarding my flight.

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At my welcome-home gala, as the three-tiered cake was cut, Mona, the adopted golden child, grabbed my hand with tears in her eyes. “Rachel, could you please move out for a while?” The ballroom fell silent. Guests exchanged glances. Mona trembled, claiming she lived in terror of being thrown out. Eleanor pulled her close, eyes red. Nate shot me an icy look. Glowing phantom text appeared: [Do not agree! You are the real heiress! Tear her apart! Cry and throw a fit!] In my past life, I obeyed. I smashed my glass, screamed for them to choose, and caused a scene. High society branded me a feral brat. Mona framed my adoptive parents, driving them to death. I burned alive in a warehouse. This time, I let out a soft, mocking laugh. “Sure. Since you are so terrified, I will pack my things tonight.” 1 Mona’s theatrical sobbing paused for a fraction of a second. She stared at me blankly, as if she had misheard. Nate furrowed his brow. The self-righteous lecture he had queued up on his tongue was suddenly stuck in his throat. The crowd was a mix of pity and pure entertainment. A few socialites had already discreetly pulled out their phones, waiting to record the “feral true daughter” going insane. Instead, I reached out and gently straightened Mona’s crooked pearl hair clip. “You are used to living in the master estate. Do not stress yourself out. I will move out.” Eleanor let out a massive, visible sigh of relief. Then she realized how terrible that looked. She quickly reached for my hand. “Rachel, sweetheart, that is not what I meant. You just got home. How can we let you live outside?” Mona leaned heavier against Eleanor’s chest, fresh tears spilling over. “Mom, I don’t want to chase my sister away. I am just… I am just so scared.” Nate immediately lowered his voice to coax her. “No one is blaming you, Mona.” I smiled. “Then let’s do exactly what she asked.” The phantom text in my vision was going absolutely ballistic. [Are you out of your mind? She told you to get lost, and you are actually leaving?] [This is a billionaire family drama, not a charity show!] [If you take a step back now, she will step all over you forever!] I lowered my eyes, watching the glowing words fade. In my past life, I thought the exact same thing. I felt that eighteen years of my life had been stolen. I felt that coming back meant I deserved at least a bedroom, a hug, and a little bit of favoritism. So I fought. I forced Mona to move out of the master suite. I forced my parents to publicly label her as nothing more than a foster child. I forced Nate to fulfill his engagement to the true Harrington heiress. And the result? Mona faked a midnight fever, and Eleanor cried until she passed out. Nate publicly humiliated me, stating that bloodline wasn’t a free pass to act like a monster. Relying on her fragile health and endless tears, Mona became the ultimate victim in everyone’s eyes. In the end, my adoptive mother was killed in a hit-and-run on a rainy night while trying to deliver evidence to save me. My adoptive father died of a broken heart, branded as a con artist who tried to extort a billionaire family. Right before he flatlined, he held my hand and asked if I was happy at the Harrington estate. I didn’t have the face to answer him. In this life, I wasn’t going to fight over a bedroom. A bedroom wasn’t worth my life. Nate stared at me with heavy suspicion. “Rachel, you better not be playing some twisted mind game.” I looked up at him and sneered. “Do not worry, Nate. I am not going to fight for you, either.” His face paled instantly. Mona gripped Eleanor’s hand tight. “The marriage pact between our families has always been maintained by you and Mona over the years. Since she is the only one you recognize, you two should keep it.” I raised my champagne flute. My voice wasn’t loud, but it carried perfectly across the silent ballroom. “I wish you and Mona a very long, very happy life together.” A collective, muffled gasp rippled through the guests. Mona’s face drained of color. She wanted me to lose my temper, not give her my public blessing. Once the blessing was out in the open, she and Nate were shoved squarely into the spotlight. The romance was theirs, but the heavy corporate responsibilities of the engagement were now theirs, too. After the banquet wrapped up, the head butler asked if I wanted to rest in the main house for the night. I shook my head. “Book me a hotel suite. I am leaving right now.” Eleanor panicked. “Rachel, please do not do this. It breaks my heart to see you leave.” I looked her dead in the eye. “Mom, Mona is the one who said she was scared.” She choked on her words. Standing at the top of the grand staircase, wrapped in a cashmere shawl, Mona watched me leave. A faint, triumphant gleam hid in the depths of her eyes. 2 The hotel suite was dead quiet. I unzipped my suitcase. I didn’t have many clothes. At the very bottom lay an old, weathered manila envelope. It was a gift from my adoptive father, Arthur. He and my adoptive mother, Martha, ran a tiny, rundown pharmacy in a small town. Growing up, I shadowed them, learning how to read prescription labels, check batch numbers, and audit inventory logs. When the Harrington family finally found me, the socialites whispered that I smelled like cheap rubbing alcohol and dust. Only Martha had taken the time to carefully fold my faded shirts. “Rachel, wealth does not matter,” she had told me, her hands shaking. “Just do not let anyone treat you like garbage.” I pulled the documents out of the envelope. Inside was a photocopy of a yellowed accounting ledger, and a heavily scuffed employee ID badge. The badge read: “Harrington Pharmaceuticals – Old Factory.” The serial number ended in a seven. It was the exact style of the logistics pass used at the old factory the year I was abducted. In my past life, I only found out right before I died that my disappearance was never an accident. I pulled out my phone and texted my adoptive brother, Noah. “Put the original factory badge in a bank safe deposit box. Tell Mom and Dad not to go out alone for a while. Record all calls from unknown numbers.” Noah replied instantly. “Are those rich snobs bullying you?” Looking at the screen, my nose stung. The people who genuinely cared about my safety in the very first second were never the ones who shared my blood. “No. I moved out.” He sent back a string of exclamation points. “Did they kick you out?” I smiled slightly and typed back. “I agreed to it.” I had to step outside the Harrington family to truly see the rot inside it. Early the next morning, my biological father’s executive assistant picked me up from the hotel. He said the Dowager wanted to see me. Madam Harrington lived in the historic north estate. She was the widow of the pharmaceutical empire’s founder, and she held the master key to the family trust. In my past life, I sat in her study crying about how unfair everything was. She only asked me one question. “Besides crying, what exactly are you good for?” Eventually, she became completely disgusted with me. In this life, I walked straight into her mahogany study and slid three legal documents across her desk. “A request for a secondary DNA verification.” “A request to access the archives of the old Harrington factory.” “An asset boundary confirmation agreement.” The old woman raised her sharp, hawk-like eyes. “You just got found, and you are already trying to divide the family assets?” “I am drawing clear lines. Mona can keep living in the main house. She can keep playing the Harrington princess, and she can keep using the family’s resources. But the authorization needs to be on paper.” Madam Harrington narrowed her eyes. “Why?” “Because feelings can be blurry, but accounting cannot.” The study descended into a heavy silence. Suddenly, the old woman chuckled. “You do not look like the pathetic, easily bullied girl from last night’s banquet.” I let out a cold smile of my own. “There were too many people last night. It was not the right place to talk about ledgers.” She flipped through the agreement. The real estate, luxury cars, private drivers, PR teams, and high-end jewelry that Mona enjoyed were all explicitly listed as “borrowed assets authorized by the Harrington Trust.” They were not her natural inheritance. She would also retain her title as the Executive Chairwoman of the Harrington Charity Foundation. However, every single project grant, facial recognition approval, digital signature, and public statement had to be archived and legally traced back to her. The Dowager put down her fountain pen. “Is this you giving her a dignified exit?” “This is me giving the Harrington family an insurance policy.” She stared at me for a long, calculating minute before finally signing her name. “Take this to your father.” That afternoon, in the Harrington estate’s main living room. When Mona saw the agreement, the color drained slightly from her face. Eleanor didn’t understand corporate liabilities. She just thought I was causing unnecessary drama. “Rachel, Mona already got you to move out. Why do you have to write up all these aggressive documents?” I kept my tone perfectly even. “It is exactly because I moved out that this needs to be crystal clear. This prevents the tabloids from saying the Harringtons abuse their adopted daughter, and it prevents anyone from claiming I am plotting to steal her life back.” Nate picked up the contract and scanned it. “So this just guarantees that Mona can stay and use her usual resources?” “Yes.” His tense shoulders relaxed a bit. My biological father, Richard, also nodded in approval. “Sign it, Mona. It is a good way to manage public relations.” 3 Mona had absolutely no excuse to refuse. With tears welling in her eyes, she signed her name. As the pen tip hit the paper, I noticed her knuckles turning stark white. Perfect. She had just personally accepted the first key to the gates of hell. I lived in the hotel for two weeks. Ironically, the Harrington family contacted me far more often than they did in my past life. Richard had his driver deliver racks of designer clothes. Eleanor brought me homemade soup. Every time she dropped something off, she looked like she wanted to say something, but held back. “Rachel, please do not hold a grudge against Mona. Her health has always been fragile. She cannot handle emotional stress.” I took the thermos from her hands. “I know.” “Then when are you going to move back home?” “Whenever she stops being scared.” Eleanor was left completely speechless. I didn’t move back to the estate, but I did start spending my days in the Harrington corporate archives. The Dowager had granted me temporary clearance. The company’s most critical asset was called Project Lumina. Twenty years ago, Harrington Pharmaceuticals dodged bankruptcy thanks to a breakthrough drug for a rare disease. They eventually rolled all new R&D lines into Project Lumina. The media always spun the fairy tale that the moment Mona was adopted into the family, the crucial FDA approvals came through. From then on, she was branded as the family’s lucky charm. And she milked that persona for everything it was worth. Charity galas, hospital visits, promotional videos for sick children: she always placed herself right in the center, looking like an absolute angel. But down in the archives, I dug up an old email. The sender was Arthur, my adoptive father. In the email, he documented a severe adverse reaction to that exact drug, which he had observed at his grassroots pharmacy. He strongly advised Harrington Pharma to alter their warning labels and clinical submission data. The company took his advice. That was the only reason the approval passed. I stared at the printed email, my fingertips turning ice cold. Her so-called “lucky charm” status was built entirely on my adoptive father’s professional brilliance. Just then, Mona pushed open the archive door. She walked in holding a tray of coffee, flashing a sickly sweet smile. “Rachel, I heard you have been buried in files all week. I brought you a hot latte.” I didn’t take it. Her eyes immediately turned red. A few corporate employees walking past the glass door noticeably slowed their pace to watch the drama. I reached out, took the coffee, and set it on a far desk. “Thanks.” Mona glanced at the vintage clinical data near my hand. “Project Lumina is incredibly complex. Since you just got involved, it must be so exhausting for you. Grandpa always used to say that a pharmaceutical company’s true value is built on trust and companionship.” I looked up. “So you think the project should be handed over to you?” She shook her head frantically, looking incredibly wronged. “That is not what I meant at all.” “Good.” I handed her the itinerary for the upcoming corporate anniversary. “The company’s anniversary gala is next month. You will continue to be the keynote speaker for the charity foundation. The internet loves hearing you tell the Harrington family story. Make sure you talk extensively about Project Lumina.” Her eyes lit up for a fraction of a second before she forced them back into a look of hesitation. “Is that appropriate? You just got back…” “Your public image is rock solid. The media loves you. You are the perfect fit.” The phantom text exploded across my vision again. [Are you stupid? She is going to use this stage to cement her status as the heir!] [Do not give her the spotlight!] [Fight her for the microphone!] I didn’t even blink. Without a high stage, how could she suffer a fatal fall? That night, Noah texted me a photo. “Rachel, the factory manager linked to that old badge ID is Victor Harrington. He is currently the Executive VP.” Mona’s favorite uncle. In my past life, when I was framed for leaking corporate secrets, he was the very first person to hand fake evidence to the police. I replied. “Stop digging. Stay safe.” “I am not an idiot.” Looking at his text, I smiled softly. I hoped that in this life, we could both be smart about our revenge. 4 A week before the gala, Mona started dominating the trending topics. #HarringtonsLuckyCharm #EighteenYearsOfLove #TheAngelOfHarringtonCharity The PR accounts spun a narrative that could make anyone weep. They claimed the company was on the brink of death until Mona’s adoption reversed their karma. They praised her for accompanying the Dowager on charity missions since she was thirteen. They quoted the late grandfather, claiming he called her the absolute light of the Harrington family. The comment sections were a frenzy of praise. [The real daughter had to move to a hotel the second she got back. Clearly, the family knows who the better child is.] [Mona actually acts like a billionaire heiress. The other one is probably feral.] [Bloodline means nothing. Contribution is what matters.] Richard looked at the public sentiment reports, his face grim. “Mona, these articles are going way too far.” Mona lowered her head, looking utterly apologetic. “Dad, I had no idea the PR team would write things like this. If Rachel is upset, I will have them taken down immediately.” Nate instantly jumped to her defense. “Taking them down will just make us look guilty. Mona has poured her heart into charity for years. She deserves a little public praise.” Eleanor nodded in agreement. “Exactly. Rachel is not a petty girl. She won’t mind.” Everyone turned to look at me. I was casually scrolling through the charity foundation’s digital approval backend on an iPad. “The engagement metrics are great. We need the traffic for the anniversary gala anyway.” Richard paused, surprised. “You really do not mind?” “Would minding change anything?” He fell silent. I slid the iPad across the coffee table to Mona. “Since the media is going to grill you on our charity initiatives, you need to personally verify and sign off on this quarter’s three major medical relief partnerships tonight.” Mona’s finger hovered over the screen. “Doesn’t the foundation’s secretariat usually handle the final legal sign-offs?” “You are the Executive Chairwoman,” I reminded her calmly. “Your PR literally says you are hands-on with everything. You cannot have someone else forge your digital signature.” Nate frowned. “Rachel, there is no need to make things difficult for her over corporate red tape.” “When you take over your family’s empire, Nate, are you going to let your secretary sign legally binding financial documents for you?” His face darkened. Mona had no choice but to pick up the iPad. Facial recognition. Digital signature. Project confirmation. One after another. By the time she finished, her face was deathly pale. I was in a fantastic mood. On the night of the Harrington anniversary gala, the lights in the grand ballroom were blindingly bright. Partner hospital directors, regulatory advisors, board members, legacy media, and financial influencers were all present. Mona wore a stunning white gown, standing in the spotlight like a delicate, meticulously cultivated greenhouse flower. Nate stood proudly by her side. When he saw me, he lowered his voice. “Rachel, do not cause a scene tonight. Mona prepared for a long time.” I laughed. “Relax. I want to see her full performance more than anyone.” He frowned, clearly uneasy. Once the event kicked off, Mona took the stage to deliver the foundation’s keynote address. Her voice was soft, her pacing immaculate. “I may not share the Harrington blood, but this family gave me a name, and they taught me the true value of human life.” Thunderous applause echoed through the hall. The massive LED screen behind her flashed photos of her hospital visits. Sterile wards, smiling children, bouquets of flowers, warm hugs. The imagery was as flawless and pure as a commercial. Then, the host seamlessly transitioned the topic to Project Lumina. Mona’s eyes glistened with perfectly timed tears. “Grandpa solemnly entrusted this project to me. He believed in me, and I swear I have not let him down.” The exact moment those words left her mouth, the massive screen behind her went pitch black. A grainy, old video suddenly began playing. On the screen, the late grandfather lay in a hospital bed, his voice incredibly weak but distinct. “Project Lumina… must never, ever be handed over to Mona…” The ballroom erupted into chaos. Richard bolted up from his chair.

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Every month, I secretly paid Mary’s health insurance. My husband teased me for having too much money and a bleeding heart. I never explained. Mary was a chatterbox but incredibly observant. I knew she had a bad hip and struggled with bills, so I covered her premiums. What he didn’t realize was that Mary had access to every office, boardroom, and hallway. She saw people, heard whispers, and knew secrets better than HR. Over eight years, she’d come to see me as family. Last week, she slipped into my office, shut the door, and whispered, “Victoria, please don’t be mad. It’s about the new intern, Lexi. She and Mr. Foster sneak off to the breakroom. Yesterday, her blouse was unbuttoned and he had red lipstick on his collar.” Seeing her hesitate, I poured her water and told her to continue. She pulled out shredded paper taped together. “I fished this from Mr. Foster’s private trash.” It was a drafted Equity Transfer Agreement. 1 The name on the receiving end: Lexi. She was the underprivileged student I had personally sponsored three years ago. Lexi grew up in a dirt-poor rural town. Her father was paralyzed, and her mother was chronically ill. During her junior year of college, she couldn’t afford tuition and was on the verge of dropping out. The university sent a list of students needing financial aid to my charitable foundation, and her tragic essay caught my eye. I paid her tuition. I covered her living expenses. When she graduated, she called me, crying tears of gratitude, saying she wanted to stay in Seattle to work hard and repay my kindness. My heart softened, and I pulled some strings to get her an internship at my husband’s company. I still remember Richard wrapping his arms around my waist that night, kissing my cheek. “My wife has the biggest heart in the world. You don’t see young kids with that kind of loyalty and gratitude anymore.” I actually believed him. Looking at it now, I had invited a viper straight into my own home. Seeing all the color drain from my face, Mary reached into her pocket again and pulled out her phone. She tapped the screen and slid it across my desk. It was a video taken from the corner of the hallway, right outside the breakroom. Lexi and Richard walked out, one after the other. Lexi was fixing her messy hair. Richard casually reached out and squeezed her backside. The way they looked at each other, the practiced ease of their touches, it wasn’t a one-time mistake. That fifteen-second clip took my twelve-year marriage, along with my self-righteous charity, and smashed it into pieces. I locked the phone screen and slid it back to her. “Mary, this dies with us. Do not say a word to anyone.” Mary wiped a tear from her wrinkled cheek. “You’ve been an angel to me, Victoria. I couldn’t just stand by and watch them do you dirty like this.” When I got home that evening, the smell of roasted chicken filled the kitchen. Richard plated dinner and handed me a glass of wine, playing the perfect, attentive husband. “You look exhausted, honey. Long meetings today?” I stared at his face. Years ago, when his first startup went up in flames and left him drowning in debt, I drained my entire savings to bail him out. My father provided his first round of seed money to start this current company. During our toughest year, when the company was barely staying afloat, I was four months pregnant. I flew cross-country with him in the dead of winter to court investors. I sat at dinners, matching arrogant executives drink for drink just to secure the contracts we desperately needed. On the cab ride back to the hotel, the bleeding started. I lost the baby. The doctors told me the tissue scarring was severe, and my chances of conceiving again were practically zero. After years of agonizing IVF treatments, we finally got our miracle baby, our daughter Lily. Richard had dropped to his knees right there in the hospital room, crying like a child, swearing on his life that he would spend every breathing moment treating us like queens. A man’s oath is truly the cheapest thing on earth. I took a sip of my wine. “How is Lexi doing at the office?” His hand paused halfway to his mouth. Not a muscle in his face twitched. “She’s doing great. You know how rookies are. Give them a little room to run, and they surprise you.” Right as the words left his mouth, his phone lit up on the kitchen island. A text notification popped up on the lock screen. It was a selfie of a woman wrapped in a towel, shoulders bare. [Rich, just got out of the shower. Thinking of you.] He snatched the phone so fast he nearly knocked over his water glass, slamming it face-down on the marble counter. He let out a nervous chuckle. “Stupid group chat spam.” I forced the corners of my mouth into a smile. “Right.” The guiltier the dog, the louder it barks. 2 First thing the next morning, Mary slipped into my office under the guise of emptying the trash. She locked the door behind her. Her eyes were red and swollen. Seeing my pale face, her expression twisted with pure pity. “Victoria, I stayed late last night,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she leaned over my desk. “I heard Mr. Foster pacing in the stairwell on his phone.” She took a shaky breath. “He said he’s going to use the shareholder meeting next Wednesday to pin the entire thirty-million-dollar deficit from the Southside project on you. He’s planning to force you to resign in front of the whole board.” Tears spilled over her lashes, and her rough, calloused hands reached out to grab mine. “You look so tired, sweetheart. Please don’t let this ruin your health. I look at you, and I see my own daughter. You have a heart of gold. How did you end up with a monster like him?” A lump formed in my throat. I squeezed her hands back firmly. “Don’t worry, Mary. I am not going to sit back and let them slaughter me.” Next Wednesday. I had a few days. It was more than enough time for me to silently transfer the company’s actual core assets and intellectual property. Once you rip the bandage off a rotting wound, the infection underneath can’t stay hidden for long. On Saturday morning, Richard claimed he had an emergency site visit at our regional branch and rushed out the door before breakfast. Mary called me an hour later. “Lexi didn’t show up to work today,” she reported. “I was cleaning the pantry and heard some of the girls gossiping. They said Lexi is pregnant.” I told Mary to keep her ears open and hung up. Before I could even process the news, my front door clicked open. My mother-in-law, Eleanor, had let herself in with her spare key. She walked into the living room, her face immediately scrunching up in disgust. My sweet Lily was sitting on the plush rug, building a massive spaceship out of Legos. Eleanor didn’t even offer her a polite hello. “What is a little girl doing playing with boy’s toys? You’re raising her with zero manners,” Eleanor sneered. Lily flinched, dropping a plastic brick, and scrambled to hide behind my legs. I swallowed the fire burning in my chest and shielded my daughter. “Eleanor, what a surprise. Richard isn’t home.” “I’m not here for him. I’m here for you.” Eleanor marched over and claimed the center of the designer sofa. She crossed her arms, her chin tilted up in absolute arrogance. “Lexi called me yesterday.” My hand froze on the pitcher of water I was holding. Lexi? First-name basis already. How cozy. Eleanor’s eyes gleamed with a sickening, triumphant joy. “She is eight weeks along. I had a private specialist look at the ultrasounds. It is a boy. A confirmed male heir. Richard is a very successful man now, Victoria. You can’t honestly expect him to die without a son to carry on the family legacy, can you?” The living room fell into a deathly, suffocating silence. Lily looked up at me, her big brown eyes welling with tears. “Mommy, does Daddy not want us anymore?” My heart felt like it was being run through a meat grinder. “Go to your room, sweetie. Mommy needs to have a grown-up talk with Grandma.” I watched the nanny hurry Lily down the hall. The second the door clicked shut, the polite, accommodating daughter-in-law mask melted right off my face. I stared dead-eyed at the pompous old woman on my couch. “Eleanor, your son is committing adultery, and you came to my house to brag about it?” “So what if he is? Men have needs, and successful men have options!” Eleanor slammed her hand on the coffee table, entirely unapologetic. “You can’t give him a son. Are you going to block someone else from doing it? If you have half a brain, you’ll let Lexi have this baby and step aside gracefully. Do that, and you get to keep living like a rich housewife. Fight us, and I’ll make sure my son throws you out on the street with absolutely nothing!” I looked at her, truly amazed by her delusion. It was like watching a clown perform at a circus. “Eleanor, is the dementia kicking in early? Have you completely forgotten who the majority shareholder of this company actually is?” Eleanor laughed, a harsh, grating sound, looking at me like I was the punchline of a joke. “Victoria, you really think you’re untouchable, don’t you? The entire company answers to Richard now. Without him, you are a nobody!” “Alright,” I nodded, my voice dropping to a deadly calm. “Tell him to try me.” 3 Monday morning. The moment I stepped off the elevator, Mary was buffing the floor in the corridor. She saw me and immediately power-walked over, keeping her voice to a harsh whisper. “Victoria, watch your back. Mr. Foster called the senior board members into his office first thing this morning. Lexi was in there too. They just wrapped up, whispering and looking real smug. They’re setting a trap.” I gave her a reassuring nod. “Let them dig the hole. The deeper they dig, the harder they fall.” I walked into my private executive office and buzzed my secretary, telling her to send Lexi in immediately. Lexi walked through the door wearing a custom-tailored Chanel suit, a limited-edition Birkin bag draped over her forearm. If you didn’t know her background, you’d think she was a trust-fund heiress, not a girl who was eating ramen for dinner three years ago. “You wanted to see me, Victoria?” Lexi stood there, trying to look timid, but her eyes were darting around the room, assessing her future territory. I didn’t invite her to sit. I picked up a file folder and tossed a stack of printed real estate records onto the desk. It was the deed to a ten-million-dollar luxury penthouse in Bellevue. Lexi glanced down. All the color instantly drained from her face. “A fresh graduate, entirely debt-free, paying cash for a ten-million-dollar penthouse. Lexi, your earning potential is truly inspiring,” I said, leaning back in my leather chair, a cold smile playing on my lips. Her knees buckled. She knew I had found out everything. She dropped to her knees right there on the expensive carpet, the tears flowing like a broken faucet. “Victoria! Please, you have to understand, I didn’t mean for this to happen!” She sobbed, playing the sickeningly sweet victim act to perfection. “I was just so grateful to Mr. Foster for mentoring me. I couldn’t control my feelings! I never wanted to ruin your family. I just wanted to look up to him from the shadows.” Listening to this textbook manipulative garbage made my stomach churn. “Lexi, drop the pathetic act.” I stood up, walked around the desk, and used the tip of my stiletto to force her chin up. “You want to sleep with a married man? Fine, that just makes you trash. But your fatal mistake was coming after my money. I paid for the degree you hold. The clothes on your back, the bag on your arm, and even that little bargaining chip growing in your stomach, it was all bought with my money.” She froze, her eyes wide with sheer terror. She clearly hadn’t expected me to know about the pregnancy. Just then, my office door violently swung open. Richard stormed in, his face red with fury. He rushed over and pulled Lexi off the floor, shielding her behind his back. “Victoria! Have you lost your mind? Throwing your weight around to bully a junior employee?!” I looked at the tragic star-crossed lovers and felt a hysterical urge to laugh. “This is the garbage you’re falling on your sword for, Richard?” Richard took a deep breath. The mask was fully off now. He helped Lexi over to the sofa, then pulled a thick red folder from his briefcase and slapped it hard onto my desk. “Since we’re laying all our cards on the table, I’ll keep it brief. We are prepping for an IPO, and I’ve restructured the equity distribution.” He looked at me with cold, uncompromising entitlement. “Lexi is carrying my child. She is giving my family a future. I am taking fifteen percent of the shares under your name and transferring them to her. Consider it a trust fund for the kid.” I actually let out a laugh. Taking my equity to fund his illegitimate child. He really thought I was a spineless pushover. “And if I refuse to sign?” Richard smirked, his voice dripping with venom. “You’ve been out of the daily operations for years. The clients, the supply chains, the board, they all belong to me. If you don’t sign, I have a hundred ways to bleed this company dry and turn your shares into worthless toilet paper. Be smart about this, Victoria. Let’s keep it civil.” I stared into his eyes for a long, heavy moment. Slowly, the corners of my mouth curled up. “Alright,” I said, closing the red folder. “Since this is for the good of the company, let’s do it right. We’ll sign the transfer officially this Wednesday at the all-hands shareholder meeting, right in front of the entire executive board.” Richard blinked, stunned by my easy surrender. Then, a sickening, victorious grin spread across his face.

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1 Running the campus confession page for three years taught me much about human nature. Tonight was the deadline for college applications. I planned to moderate the page one last time before shutting it down for good. At 11:50 PM, an anonymous user messaged my inbox. He said he had hacked his childhood best friend’s portal and altered her entire application list. “It has been three years. I know she has a massive crush on me, but she always acts superior when she tutors me and the girl I actually like. Now, she applied to the exact same universities as me, while the girl I love bombed her SATs and got rejected everywhere. I deleted her safety schools so she gets rejected too. She can take a gap year and keep the girl I love company at community college. That is not too much to ask, right?” I stared at the glowing screen. My heart hammered against my ribs, and my fingertips turned ice cold. The typing bubble appeared again. “But we have been neighbors for eight years. I still care about her. Whisper, post this to the main page for me. If she happens to see this in the next ten minutes, she still has time to log in and change her schools back to the West Coast. If she misses it… then it is just fate.” I took a deep, shaky breath, fully intending to hit the block button. Then he sent a custom meme. It was a poorly drawn cartoon cat throwing a punch. I had drawn it myself on my iPad. I had only ever sent it to two people in the entire world. My best friend, and my childhood neighbor. … The anonymous user was Noah. My stomach violently dropped, replaced by a dense, suffocating pain spreading through my chest. I scrambled to open a new tab, loading the Common App portal with trembling hands. My customized list of West Coast safety and target schools, UCLA, UC Berkeley, and the University of Washington, had been entirely wiped out. In their place sat three new names. Harvard. MIT. Princeton. They were all Ivy League or elite East Coast universities. I stared at the screen, my blood turning to ice. “Whisper, are you still there? Are you going to post it?” The anonymous chat box pinged again. I gripped my phone, my knuckles turning white. The digital clock in the corner of my screen ticked forward. 11:51 PM. Nine minutes until the national submission portal locked permanently. I did not reply to him. My fingers flew across the keyboard, switching back to the admissions portal. The three seconds it took to load felt like three agonizing years. I stared at the pristine, updated list. My guaranteed acceptance to UW was gone. My target spot at UC Berkeley was gone. The three elite East Coast giants sat there, mocking me. Noah had completely severed my safety net. He knew my academic stats inside and out. I ranked sixth in our graduating class. My GPA was high enough to secure a spot at Berkeley, maybe even push for Stanford if I got lucky. But Harvard and MIT? He was deliberately throwing me to the wolves. He wanted me to get rejected across the board so I would be forced into a gap year. Another message popped up. “Whisper?” “I figured you of all people would understand. You have run this page for three years, you have seen how toxic people can be. Some girls are just too arrogant, thinking high grades entitle them to everything.” I stared at the text, feeling a thick knot of cotton forming in my throat. The childhood best friend who “acted so superior” when tutoring him. That was me. The girl who harbored a secret crush on him for three years. That was me. The girl who supposedly needed to step aside and sacrifice a year of her life for the girl he actually loved. That was me, too. And he had absolutely no idea he was confessing his crime directly to the victim. 11:52 PM. I took a desperate breath and clicked the edit button. I highlighted Harvard and hit delete. A security prompt popped up on the screen. Please enter the 6-digit verification code sent to your registered mobile device. I clicked send. I waited ten seconds. Twenty seconds. Thirty seconds. No text arrived. I clicked resend. A red error message flashed across the screen. This phone number has reached the maximum number of verification requests for the next 24 hours. When Noah logged into my account to change my schools, he intentionally spammed the verification button to max out the security limit. 11:53 PM. I scrambled to the manual appeal page. The system prompt read: Manual security overrides require a photo of a valid government ID and a live selfie. Processing time is 24 to 48 hours. Twenty four hours. I only had seven minutes left. The anonymous messages kept rolling in. “Whatever, Whisper. You do not have to post it.” “It does not really matter if she sees it or not. I just wanted to give her a fighting chance.” “Eight years is a long time, after all. I am not completely heartless.” A wave of pure, unfiltered nausea washed over me. It was not physical sickness. It was a freezing chill seeping out from the very marrow of my bones. Noah actually thought he was being merciful. He destroyed my future, set me up to fail, and then tossed a vague hint into a campus rumor page. If I miraculously saw it and fixed it in the final ten minutes, he could wash his hands of the guilt. If I missed it, it was just the universe deciding my fate. 11:55 PM. I tried a third option, dialing the national admissions support hotline. An automated busy signal buzzed against my ear. Nobody was staffing the lines at midnight. I dropped my phone on the desk and stared blankly at the ceiling. My mind was entirely chaotic, yet terrifyingly clear. When Noah intentionally burned through my verification codes, he knew his plan was foolproof. He knew me too well. He knew I wouldn’t run out to an internet cafe in the middle of the night. He knew I wouldn’t wake my parents up to borrow a phone. He knew I would be completely paralyzed in those final ten minutes. His only wild card was the confession page. He gambled on the tiny chance I might be scrolling through it. But he never could have guessed that I was the one pulling the strings behind the curtain. A final message lit up the chat box. “Whisper, one last question.” “Do you think a girl who secretly pines after a guy for three years, never confessing, just hovering around him under the guise of tutoring him…” “Do you think she is a little pathetic?” 11:57 PM. I did not type a single word in response. I aggressively searched for the manual override codes for the West Coast universities. Only spam links and dead ends loaded on Google. I clicked the appeal portal one last time, refusing to give up. 11:59 PM. 12:00 AM. The screen auto-refreshed. A grey banner locked the page. The application submission window is now permanently closed. I covered my face with both hands and finally let the tears fall in the silent, dark room. 2 At exactly one in the morning, a text from Noah popped up on my phone. “Isabel, you asleep yet?” I stared at my name on the screen. He always called me just Isabel, never using a nickname, never adding my last name. It was a familiar marker, a habit he assumed would simply never change. I did not reply. Another text followed right behind it. “Did you finalize your portal? You said you wanted to stay near the ocean, so UCLA is pretty much a lock for you.” His tone was incredibly casual, even capping it off with a smiley face emoji. It was as if nothing had happened. As if he had not just spent the last hour hiding behind an anonymous avatar, confessing his sabotage to my alter ego. As if he had not personally condemned me to three elite universities I supposedly had no chance of entering. I stared at that smiley face for a very long time. Three years ago, Noah transferred to our high school in Seattle and moved into the house right next to mine. On his very first day, he figured out my wifi password, memorized my birthday, and learned my cat’s name. By his second week, he was treating my house like his own. He played games on my iPad, watched shows on my Netflix account, and printed his essays on my printer. By the end of his first month, the entire junior class treated us like an inseparable pair. I did like him. From the day he moved in, all the way until tonight. But he would never know that. Because starting from his very first year, he had his eyes entirely on Sarah. Sarah sat directly behind him in calculus. Her voice was breathy and soft. She took forever to solve a simple equation, and she looked like a fragile porcelain doll. Noah’s excuse for asking me to tutor was simple. “Isabel, can you break this formula down for her? She never understands it when I explain it.” So I taught Sarah math. After a year of tutoring, her grades crawled from the brink of failure to slightly above average. Noah was thrilled. He bought me a matcha latte as a reward. During our junior year, Sarah’s English grades tanked. Noah came to me again. “You have the highest AP English score in the district. Help her out, will you? She wants to take advanced literature with me next semester.” I helped her. Then came our senior year, the final brutal stretch of college prep. Noah leaned against my locker. “It is the last semester. Can you run through the AP Physics curriculum with Sarah? Her foundation is terrible. I am terrified she will not even get into a state college.” I tutored her for six exhausting months. Three times a week, two hours a session. Sarah never once said thank you. Instead, at the end of every session, she would turn to Noah with wide, teary eyes and say, “Noah, Isabel was acting so mean to me again.” And Noah would invariably tap on my bedroom window later that night. “Isabel, can you try to be a little gentler? It is not her fault she struggles with the basics.” I was never mean to her. The closest I came to being harsh was telling her “We went over this exact formula yesterday” when she made the exact same mistake for the fourth time in a row. But the truth did not matter. In Noah’s eyes, Sarah was a delicate flower requiring constant protection. And me? I was just the smart, self-sufficient girl who didn’t need anyone looking out for her. My phone vibrated against the desk. It was not Noah this time. It was my best friend, Brooke. I answered the call, my throat tight. “Why are you still awake?” Brooke’s voice buzzed through the speaker. “Isabel, did your portal lock in? I just submitted mine and I am way too wired to sleep.” “It locked.” “UCLA, right? I committed to USC. We can totally take road trips down the coast together!” I sat in silence for a moment. “Brooke.” “Yeah?” “If someone secretly hacked into another person’s college portal and altered their applications, what kind of legal consequences would they face?” The line went dead silent for two full seconds. “What are you talking about? Whose portal got hacked?” I opened my mouth, desperate to tell her it was mine. But I forced the words back down. I had absolutely no proof. Noah used an anonymous account. The core architecture of Westwood Whispers guaranteed total privacy. The backend did not log IP addresses, nor did it publicly bind to a real identity. I had coded those privacy rules myself three years ago to protect vulnerable students. Now, those same rules were a rope binding my own hands. “Nothing,” I whispered. “I was just reading a thriller novel. Made me curious.” I hung up the phone. I lay in bed, staring blankly upward with wide eyes. The amber glow of the streetlamp painted shadows across my ceiling. Noah lived exactly one wall away from me. Right now, he was probably sleeping soundly. Dreaming his perfect dream, where I happily sacrificed a year of my life for the girl he loved, staying behind to keep him in my orbit. 3 Early the next morning, the doorbell rang. I opened the door in my oversized sleep shirt. Noah stood on the porch, holding a brown paper bag from my favorite bakery. “Morning. Got you a blueberry scone.” He brushed past me, walking inside with the practiced ease of someone entering his own kitchen. He dropped the bag on the dining table, pulled out a chair, and casually picked up my iPad, scrolling through my open tabs. Everything was perfectly, sickeningly normal. I stood by the front door, staring at the back of his head. “Noah.” “Yeah?” “What time did you go to sleep last night?” He didn’t even look up. “Around eleven thirty. Passed out right after I submitted my portal. You?” “About the same.” He turned his head and offered a bright, easy smile. “You locked in UCLA, right? I checked the data. With your GPA, you are a guaranteed admit. Stop stressing.” I did not say a word. He went back to swiping on the iPad. “Oh, by the way, Sarah’s application got messed up.” My heart skipped a painful beat. “She only put down one safety school, and left the rest blank. Her mom does not understand the system, and Sarah is just so clumsy with paperwork. I am really worried she won’t get matched anywhere.” He said the words “won’t get matched” with the casual tone of someone discussing the morning weather. I forced my voice to stay even. “And what does that have to do with me?” Noah looked up, a trace of practiced helplessness in his smile. “I never said it had anything to do with you. Just venting, that’s all. You know her family does not have a lot of money. If she really slips through the cracks, her parents can’t afford private tutoring for a gap year.” He spoke with total calm, his tone warm and reasonable. As if he were discussing a perfectly natural tragedy. Suddenly, his anonymous message from last night echoed violently in my head. “She can take a gap year and keep the girl I love company. That is not too much to ask, right?” He genuinely believed it wasn’t too much to ask. He truly felt justified. “Isabel, why aren’t you eating your scone?” “Not hungry.” “Let me heat it up for you. It tastes like cardboard when it’s cold.” He stood up and walked toward the kitchen. As he passed me, he casually reached out and patted the top of my head. “Stop looking so miserable. College applications are over. Time to relax.” The exact second his hand rested on my hair, my entire body went rigid. It wasn’t a flutter of teenage romance. It was a profound, nauseating sense of absurdity. These exact same fingers had typed away in the dark last night, systematically deleting my entire future. And now, they were patting my head, soothing me like a well-trained, obedient pet. The microwave buzzed to life. Noah leaned against the kitchen doorframe, scrolling through his phone. He casually glanced up. “By the way, wasn’t your anonymous confession page shutting down yesterday?” My pulse spiked dangerously. “Yeah.” “Can I take a look at the backend database? Just curious to see all the insane gossip you collected over three years.” He smiled naturally, posing it as an innocent question. But my eyes caught the slight hesitation in his thumb hovering over his phone screen. “No,” I replied smoothly. “The rule is strict anonymity. Even I don’t read the archived logs.” “Fair enough,” Noah said, looking away. “You always were a stickler for the rules.” The microwave beeped loudly. He pulled the warm scone out, set it on a plate in front of me, and even placed a napkin neatly to the side. “Eat up. I’m meeting Sarah at the school later to pick up our senior yearbooks. Do you want to tag along?” “No.” “Suit yourself.” He grabbed his keys and phone, heading for the front door. He paused in the entryway, looking back at me with genuine concern. “Isabel, did you sleep terribly last night? You have massive dark circles under your eyes.” I forced the corners of my mouth up. “Binge-watched a show until three.” “Get some rest.” The door clicked shut. I sat alone at the dining table, staring blindly at the steaming blueberry scone. He remembered my favorite pastry. But he conveniently forgot that my absolute dream was to stay on the West Coast. Or perhaps he did remember. He just decided my dreams were not important. I picked up my phone and reloaded the Common App portal. The banner remained aggressively grey. This application cycle is officially closed. Black text on a white background. Like a signed death warrant. 4 By late afternoon, the senior class group chat was exploding. Mr. Davis, our homeroom counselor, posted an announcement. Mandatory graduation assembly and final transcript confirmation tomorrow morning at 9 AM. All seniors must attend with their student IDs. A flood of messages immediately followed. People were sending screenshots of their college lists and panicking about acceptance rates. Sarah sent a voice memo, her tone breathy and laced with anxiety. “Does anyone know if we can still edit our portals? I think I forgot to list my backup state schools.” Noah replied instantly. “Don’t panic. We can ask Mr. Davis tomorrow. If worst comes to worst, we can appeal to the community college board.” The rest of the class immediately jumped in to comfort her. “Don’t worry Sarah, your GPA is fine!” “Yeah, with Noah looking out for you, you’re totally safe.” Not a single person asked about me. And not a single person knew that the only student whose portal was actually sabotaged was quietly reading every single message. I exited the chat and opened an incognito browser. How to report a maliciously altered college application. The legal advice forums all gave the exact same answer. Call the police. But filing a police report required hard evidence. What did I actually have? A screenshot of an anonymous chat box. The sender had no name, and the server didn’t track IP addresses. A screenshot of an ugly cat meme. I had sent it to Noah and Brooke, but anyone could have easily saved it to their camera roll if they glanced at Noah’s phone. A phone number permanently locked out by spamming verification codes. The server logs only showed that the limit was reached, not who pushed the button. Logically, I knew it was Noah. Legally, I could not prove a damn thing. Unless he confessed to it in person. I reopened the Westwood Whispers admin dashboard. The anonymous chat log from last night was still sitting there. The final timestamp was 12:01 AM. “Never mind, Whisper. Time is up. Let it be. The universe has made its choice for her. Goodnight.” I took a screenshot and saved it to an encrypted folder. Then I opened the user directory source code. When I coded the page, I tied every anonymous account to the last four digits of a student ID to prevent bot spam. However, I applied a heavy cryptographic hash to those digits to ensure absolute privacy. Even as the admin, I only saw a string of randomized characters. Unless I intentionally cracked my own encryption algorithm. I stared at the scrambled code for five long minutes before closing the laptop. Not yet. Brooke barged into my house right before dinner. She threw her backpack onto the couch the second she walked in. “Isabel, I need to show you something, but promise you won’t get mad.” “Show me what.” “Sarah was running her mouth in a side chat this afternoon.” She pulled out her phone and shoved it into my hands. It was a private group chat I wasn’t invited to, obnoxiously titled “Senior Trip Vibes.” Sarah’s message read: “Noah said Isabel applied to the same West Coast schools as us! We can totally still hang out on weekends in college!” A guy in the chat replied: “If Isabel tags along, it’s just going to turn into a mandatory study hall lmao.” Noah’s response: “That is just how she is, you guys are used to it by now. Just don’t say it to her face, she’s super sensitive about it.” Brooke locked her phone screen, looking at me carefully. “You did lock in UCLA, right? Nothing changed?” I stayed completely silent. “Isabel?” “It changed.” “What do you mean? Changed to what?” “Harvard. MIT. Princeton.” Brooke’s jaw dropped. “Are you out of your mind? Your GPA is amazing, but nobody gets into those without insane extracurriculars!” “I know.” “Then you are basically guaranteed to get rejected everywhere! Who the hell changed your portal?!” “I don’t know.” Brooke watched the dark expression on my face, and the horrific realization slowly dawned on her. “Wait. Was it… Noah?” 5 I didn’t nod, and I didn’t shake my head. Brooke sat in stunned silence for a very long time before finally whispering, “What are you going to do?” “I’ll figure it out at school tomorrow.” “But what if there is nothing the counselor can do? Isabel, with your grades, even if you do late admission, you can easily get into a decent local college.” “Late admissions for the West Coast quota are already full.” I cut her off. The UC system didn’t take late appeals for our district. I had already checked the statistics. If my portal couldn’t be rolled back, I only had two paths left. Beg a random, lower-tier college in the Midwest to accept me on probation. Or, take a gap year. Exactly what Noah wanted. Brooke sat beside me and squeezed my hand hard. “I am coming with you to Mr. Davis’s office tomorrow.” “Okay.” By the time she left, it was past nine. I sat alone at my desk, the glow of the monitor illuminating the dark room. I pulled up the cryptographic source code. I didn’t care if it took me all night, or an entire week. I was going to brute-force crack the encryption on that anonymous user ID. It was the only tangible proof I had. At four thirty in the morning, the decryption script finally finished executing. I stared at the four digits flashing in bright green text on the terminal. It was the exact ending of Noah’s student ID. I took a screenshot, saved it to the secure folder, and leaned back in my chair, exhaling a long, shuddering breath. My phone screen suddenly lit up in the dark. A text from Mr. Davis. “Isabel, please stay behind after the graduation assembly tomorrow. We need to have a private meeting regarding your admissions status.” Admissions status. The portals literally just closed. No college releases decisions in twelve hours. What status? Before I could type a reply, another notification slid down the screen. It was Noah. At 4:37 AM, he sent a text. “Isabel, dress nicely for the assembly tomorrow. I hired a photographer to take grad photos for us.” A second text quickly followed. “Oh, by the way, Sarah asked if you could tutor her over the summer for the community college placement exams. Think you can help out?” The graduation assembly was held in the main school auditorium. When I walked in, the first three rows were already packed. Noah waved at me from the second row. “Isabel, saved you a seat.” Sarah was sitting right next to him. I ignored him completely, walking straight to the back corner of the auditorium and taking an empty seat in the last row. Noah froze, his hand dropping awkwardly. He forced a smile but didn’t follow me. Sarah turned around, glanced at me, and whispered something into Noah’s ear. They both laughed. The ceremony dragged on forever. The principal gave a speech, the dean of students gave a speech, the valedictorian gave a speech. I didn’t hear a single word. I was just waiting. Waiting for the assembly to end so I could march into the counselor’s office. That text from Mr. Davis last night felt like a splinter buried deep in my brain. Admissions status. What the hell did that mean? Finally, the principal leaned into the microphone. “Congratulations, seniors. You are dismissed.” The crowd erupted into cheers. Students spilled into the aisles. Noah navigated through the folding chairs, heading straight for me. “Isabel, want to grab lunch? I booked a table at—” “No. Mr. Davis needs to see me.” I bypassed him entirely, walking briskly toward the administrative wing. Noah’s footsteps hurried behind me. “What for? Do you want me to come with you?” “No.” The door to Mr. Davis’s office was wide open. There were three people sitting inside. Mr. Davis, the school principal, and a middle-aged man wearing a sharp suit I had never seen before. “Isabel, come in. Have a seat.” Mr. Davis pointed to the leather chair across the desk. I sat down. The stranger in the suit slid a crisp, silver-embossed business card across the table. Arthur Vance. Director of Elite Admissions, Massachusetts Institute of Technology. “Isabel,” Mr. Vance started, lacing his fingers together on the desk. “Let’s confirm a few details first. Your final unweighted GPA is a 4.0, correct?” “Yes.” “And you won the gold medal at the National Physics Olympiad last year?” “Yes.” “State champion in the Chemistry Decathlon?” “Yes.” “And you are the lead author on two peer-reviewed papers published in the Journal of Applied Physics?” I hesitated for a fraction of a second. “Yes.” Mr. Vance opened the thick manila folder resting in front of him. “Isabel, based on MIT’s Elite Scholar Direct Admit program, evaluating your Olympiad medals, your published research, and your perfect academic record, you rank in the top three candidates nationwide.” He paused, looking directly into my eyes. “We just need verbal confirmation from you. Your absolute top choice on the portal is MIT, correct?”

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1 Always quick to forgive, I lived by my “King’s Theory.” A King, in a moment of great joy, grants absolute amnesty to his kingdom. So when my fiancé Julian abandoned me at our engagement party after a panicked call from my stepsister Kelly, making me Seattle high society’s laughingstock, I forgave him. He just had to hand me a slice of strawberry mousse cake the next day. When I was rushed to the ER with a violent fever on a stormy night and he hung up on my desperate calls because he was busy watching fireworks with her, I forgave him too. A handwritten apology note the next morning was all it took for me to pretend my heart hadn’t broken. But this time, everything changed. Kelly drove drunk and committed a hit-and-run. To protect her, Julian manipulated the timeline and made me the prime suspect at the police precinct. Standing outside the holding cell, I watched them huddle together in the dim corridor. Kelly’s eyes were red. “Julian, Grace is taking the fall for me. When she gets out, she’s going to hate me. What if she never speaks to me again?” Julian nonchalantly wiped a tear from her cheek. “Relax. You know how she is. Grace never holds a grudge. She’s got a short memory. She’s the easiest person in the world to coax. Once the dust settles, I’ll just buy her that designer necklace she’s been looking at, say a few sweet words, and she’ll completely forget this ever happened.” I leaned quietly against the cold concrete wall. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just felt that warm, beating place in my chest slowly freeze over, inch by agonizing inch. I was a King. I had granted them amnesty countless times before. But they forgot one crucial detail. A King possesses the mercy to grant pardons, but also holds the absolute power to strip everything away. From this moment forward, my world would never issue another pardon for either of them. … Forty-eight hours later, I walked out of the precinct. Julian’s Maybach was idling at the curb. Seeing me emerge, he pushed the car door open, his brow slightly furrowed. I slid into the passenger seat, my stomach violently spasming. I had spent two nights in a freezing, pitch-black holding cell. I hadn’t had a drop of water or a bite of food, and my chronic stomach ulcers had flared up with a vengeance. A velvet box was casually tossed into my lap. “The new Van Cleef release.” “My lawyer already handled the paperwork.” “I’ve got people pulling strings for the rest of the legal process. This won’t leave a mark on your permanent record. Consider the matter closed.” He paused, glancing at me before adding one last command. “When we get home, do not give Kelly attitude.” “She has been so guilty she hasn’t eaten in two days. You know how fragile she is, don’t scare her.” I looked down at the expensive jewelry box resting on my knees. It was exactly word-for-word what he had promised her in the corridor. One necklace, a few smooth words, and he thought he could buy out the injustice of me taking the fall for a crime I didn’t commit. He thought he could buy out forty-eight hours of sheer terror. I didn’t speak. I didn’t put the necklace on and ask him how it looked, like I would have in the past. I just calmly shoved the box into my purse. Julian watched me from the corner of his eye, his jaw tightening slightly. When we pushed the front door open, the smell of roasted chicken and warm soup filled the foyer. Kelly was walking out of the kitchen, carefully holding a large porcelain bowl of hot soup. Seeing me, her eyes immediately welled with tears. “Grace, you’re back.” When I just stood in the entryway staring at her, Julian kicked off his shoes and frowned. “What are you just standing there for? Kelly spent the entire morning cooking to welcome you home. Go wash your hands and sit down.” The agonizing cramps in my stomach were shooting up my spine. My fingertips were completely numb from the pain. “I’m not hungry. I just want to sleep.” My voice was incredibly light. I bypassed them both, heading straight for the staircase. “Grace!” Kelly suddenly took two quick steps forward, blocking my path. She held the boiling hot bowl of pork rib soup, looking at me with wide, pitiful eyes. “Grace, I know you blame me, but I swear it was an accident. Please.” “Just take one sip of the soup. If you drink it, that means you forgive me, right?” She stepped uncomfortably close. The scalding steam from the broth hit my face. “Move.” I frowned, reaching out to lightly push her wrists aside so I could pass. I barely used any force at all. Kelly suddenly let out a sharp gasp, her wrists twisting dramatically. “Ah!” More than half of the boiling, thick soup cascaded directly over my left hand and forearm. The heat was so intense my entire body locked up. I couldn’t even force a scream out of my throat. “Kelly!” Julian’s furious voice exploded from behind me. He took two massive strides forward, violently pulling Kelly behind his back to shield her. “Grace, have you lost your mind?!” Julian gripped Kelly’s wrists tightly, checking her for burns. “Are you determined to turn this house into a warzone?!” The back of my hand and my forearm were already blistering, turning a sickening, angry red. But Julian didn’t even glance at me. His eyes were entirely focused on the two pathetic tears rolling down Kelly’s cheeks. “I told you, I already handled the police! I bought you the damn necklace! What more do you want from us?!” Julian’s voice was dripping with exhaustion and bitter disappointment. “Just because you had to sit in a police station for two days, you think you have the right to take your rage out on a little girl?!” He didn’t know that the police hadn’t given me a single cup of warm water. He didn’t know I nearly died in that cell from a gastric hemorrhage. I didn’t look at him. I didn’t look at Kelly cowering like a frightened rabbit behind his broad shoulders. Without a single word of defense, I turned on my heel, walked into the downstairs bathroom, and locked the door. Outside, I could hear Kelly’s suppressed, theatrical sobbing. “Julian, she hates me. I know she hates me!” “I swear I didn’t mean to, the bowl was just so heavy, I lost my grip…” “It’s okay.” Julian’s voice was remarkably gentle as he comforted her. “She is just throwing a temper tantrum because she was stuck in lockup. She is using you as a punching bag. Let her cool off overnight, she will be fine tomorrow.” Using her as a punching bag? I looked at my ghostly pale face in the bathroom mirror and let out a dry, broken chuckle. I didn’t sleep a single minute that night. I had been freezing and starving for two days. I tore through my bedside drawer, desperately looking for my prescription ulcer medication. The drawer was completely empty. The pain was so blinding I didn’t have the strength to stand up. I curled into a tight ball on the bedroom rug, pressing my hands brutally into my stomach just to breathe. When dawn finally broke, I leaned heavily against the wall and dragged myself out of the bedroom. Kelly was arranging pastries on the dining table. When she saw me, her eyes darted away guiltily. I ignored her entirely, walking straight toward the kitchen trash can. At a glance, I spotted my white prescription bottle resting quietly at the bottom of the bin, covered in coffee grounds. “Grace…” Kelly walked over, her voice mousey and small. “I was cleaning your room last night. I saw that bottle didn’t have a label on it. I thought it was just expired vitamins, so I threw it out.” “I warmed up some milk for you. You should drink it.” Drinking milk on a completely empty stomach would only severely aggravate my bleeding ulcers. I didn’t say a word. I bent down to fish the bottle out of the trash. There were exactly two pills left inside. I needed them to survive the morning. “Grace, the trash is dirty!” Kelly suddenly lunged forward, grabbing my left wrist with a vice grip. She grabbed the exact spot where the boiling soup had melted my skin yesterday. Even through the fabric of my long sleeve, her nails dug in. The bone-piercing agony blacked out my vision for a second. Pure survival instinct took over, and I violently yanked my arm back to break her grip. “Ah!” Kelly screamed, stumbling backward. As fate would have it, she knocked over the glass of hot milk on the coffee table. The glass shattered across the floor. She threw her hands down to catch her fall, pressing her palm directly into the broken shards. Blood immediately pooled on the hardwood. “Grace!” A vicious roar echoed from the top of the stairs. Julian sprinted down the steps, aggressively shoving me aside, and dropped to his knees to help Kelly up. “Julian, it wasn’t Grace’s fault…” Kelly’s eyes were red, sucking in sharp breaths of pain as blood dripped from her hand. “I lost my balance. She was just trying to dig her pills out of the trash, and I didn’t want her to get her hands dirty…” Julian looked at the unlabeled, dirty plastic bottle in my hand. Then he looked at Kelly’s bleeding palm. He slowly turned his head to look at me, his eyes dark with fury. “A bottle of expired melatonin. You threw a fit over melatonin?” Melatonin. So in his eyes, the nights I spent writhing in agony, relying on medication just to stay conscious… he thought I just had mild insomnia. I stared down at him. “I didn’t push her. She grabbed my burn.” Julian’s gaze flicked to my left arm for a fraction of a second. “She was just trying to stop you from digging through the garbage. Even if she bumped you, you’re the older sister. Can’t you show a shred of grace?” Julian took a deep, stabilizing breath, trying to reign in his temper. “Grace, I know you took a hit for Kelly, and you’re traumatized.” “That is why I fixed the police issue. That is why I bought you the jewelry.” “Your record is clean. I thought we were past this.” “But ever since you walked through that door last night, you have been acting like a martyr.” “And now, over an empty pill bottle, you take your rage out on Kelly and shove her into broken glass.” “When did you become so vicious?” Vicious. The word slipped from the mouth of the man I had loved for seven years. It dropped like an anvil onto my chest. I didn’t argue. If this had happened a month ago, I would have smashed the pill bottle against the wall. I would have thrown my medical diagnosis papers right in his face. I would have rolled up my sleeve and forced him to look at the weeping, infected blisters on my arm. I would have screamed at him, asking how he could be so incredibly blind. But now? That place in my heart that used to ache at his misunderstandings… It was completely, utterly numb. The misunderstandings, the blatant favoritism. None of it mattered anymore. “You’re right.” I looked at him calmly, brushed the coffee grounds off the two pills, and swallowed them dry. “I am vicious.” Julian froze. He clearly hadn’t expected me to admit it so easily. The long, disappointed lecture he had prepared died in his throat. It was like he had thrown a knockout punch into a pillow. “Good. Glad you realize it.” He offered a stiff, awkward reply. “There is an industry gala this afternoon. Go change your clothes, you’re coming with me.” “There are a lot of rumors circulating about your arrest. We need to make a public appearance to shut them down.” He was so used to my compromises. He was used to the fact that if he offered me even the slightest sliver of a ladder, I would obediently climb down and resume playing the role of the perfect, understanding fiancée. Just like a King expects his subjects to fall to their knees in gratitude when he issues a pardon. I picked up my trench coat from the sofa and walked toward the front door. “I’m not going.” “Grace!” Julian barked my name from across the room. “How long are you going to keep throwing this tantrum?” I pulled the heavy oak door open. The blinding morning sunlight rushed in, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. “It’s not a tantrum.” I didn’t look back. I just spoke with terrifying clarity. The King has revoked all pardons. Julian, I am done playing your game. After leaving the house, I drove straight to the downtown trauma center. I registered, waited in line, and walked into the burn unit. When the doctor used trauma shears to cut the sleeve of my shirt open, he let out a sharp hiss. The fabric had completely melted into my skin. “How did you let a burn get this bad? The blistering is severe and the tissue is already necrotic. Why are you just now coming in?” The doctor frowned deeply, scolding me as he prepped the surgical tray for debridement. “The wound bed is extremely deep. Are you sure you can handle this without local anesthesia?” I looked at the sterile tray, visualizing the dead tissue that was about to be scraped away, and shook my head. “It’s fine. Just do it. I’m used to it.” The pain was so intense it felt like my nerves were being electrocuted with every breath. But compared to the persistent, hollow freezing sensation in my chest, the physical agony actually felt grounding. It felt real. After scraping away the dead skin and heavily bandaging my arm, the doctor told me to go to the first-floor pharmacy to pick up heavy antibiotics and proper ulcer medication. I was shivering violently from the shock. As soon as I stepped into the main lobby, I stopped dead in my tracks. Julian was standing near the pharmacy windows. He was holding a paper cup of perfectly lukewarm water, handing it gently to Kelly, who was sitting on a waiting bench. Kelly had a small, waterproof band-aid placed delicately over the center of her right palm. The ghost of a tear still clung to her eyelashes. “Does it still hurt?” “Dr. Lin personally checked it. No nerve damage. It won’t affect your piano recital next week. Just keep it dry for a few days.” I stood in the middle of the crowded hospital lobby, quietly watching the scene unfold. So he was capable of being attentive. When I was locked in the holding cell, burning up with a terrifying fever, I begged a sympathetic officer to let me use the phone. When I called Julian, begging him to bring me some medication, he just sighed impatiently into the receiver. “Grace, can you please stop fighting for attention right now?” “Kelly was so terrified by the police taking you away that she spiked a fever. I am at the clinic with her while she gets an IV. Drink some hot water and tough it out.” And then, he hung up on me. You see, he knew exactly what true heartbreak and worry looked like. He just never wasted those emotions on me. Kelly spotted me first. She practically jumped off the bench, the water sloshing in her cup. “Grace… what are you doing here?” Julian whipped his head around. He took long, aggressive strides toward me, his eyes locking onto the plastic pharmacy bag in my good hand. “Are you stalking us?” He looked down at me, his voice saturated with absolute disgust. “Grace, just because I didn’t coddle you over an empty pill bottle this morning?” “You felt the need to fake an illness and track us to the hospital just to play the victim?” “I wasn’t stalking you.” My throat was parched. I didn’t have the energy to argue. I stepped to the side, trying to walk past him toward the exit. “Stop right there.” Julian shot his hand out, clamping his fingers like a vice directly around my left forearm. He grabbed the exact spot where the doctor had just finished scraping the dead flesh from my burn. My survival instinct kicked in, and I violently wrenched my arm away. “Do not touch me!” I stumbled backward, slamming heavily into the cold marble wall. Julian froze, staring at his empty hand, clearly shocked that I had forcefully rejected his touch. Then, he let out a cold, mocking laugh. “Your temper is really getting out of hand.” Kelly hurried over, her eyes immediately welling with fresh tears. “Grace, please don’t be mad at Julian.” “It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have come to the hospital for a little cut.” “But Julian insisted. He said since I play the piano, my hands can’t have any scars, so he forced me to see the chief specialist…” Julian stepped forward, shielding Kelly behind him again, glaring at me with eyes like daggers. “Did you hear her?” “Kelly is a pianist. Do you have any idea how valuable her hands are?” “You pushed her this morning on purpose. If she hit a nerve on that glass, what would you have done?!” I stared at Julian—the man whose face had once made me willing to sacrifice absolutely everything—and felt nothing but profound absurdity. Right. I was an architectural designer. My hands drew blueprints. My hands built careers. But he had completely forgotten that. His entire universe revolved around Kelly’s piano recital next week. He had completely forgotten that I had a massive, career-defining solo design exhibition next month. An exhibition I had spent three years preparing for. He had forgotten that the centerpiece of the entire exhibition… Was the custom wedding band set I had designed for us. The pain radiating from my arm was sapping the last of my strength, making my vision blur. “Julian, just let it go…” Kelly whispered, clinging to his sleeve. “Grace looks really pale. Maybe she actually is sick?” Julian swept a cold, dismissive look over me, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “What could possibly be wrong with her? It’s the same routine every time. Play the victim, give me the silent treatment, and wait for me to grovel.” He checked his Rolex, his patience entirely exhausted. “Grace, I am telling you this one last time.” “You are attending the gala with me this afternoon.” “Go home and change your clothes. Now.” Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and walked toward the hospital exit, Kelly scurrying close behind. I leaned against the marble wall, watching their perfectly matched silhouettes disappear through the sliding glass doors, before slowly sinking onto a waiting bench. A single drop of fresh blood seeped through my black sleeve and splattered onto the pristine floor tiles. I didn’t call out to him. I didn’t cry out in pain. I didn’t even turn my head to watch him leave. I just leaned my head back against the wall, closed my eyes, and pulled out my phone. I dialed my lawyer. “Mr. Williams. I need you to draft a formal dissolution of engagement contract immediately.” I stared at the drop of blood on the floor. My voice was so calm, so devoid of emotion, that it didn’t even sound like my own. When I got back to the house, I packed a single suitcase. Before walking out the door, I sent Julian one final text message. “I will not be attending the gala today.” “I wish you both nothing but the best.”

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