My mother traded my life for a headline. The heart transplant was a success, and the local news was there to cover the miracle. “Dr. Gilbert, we understand your biological son has been on the waiting list for three years…” My mother, Dr. Penelope Gilbert, Chief of Cardiothoracic Surgery, cut the reporter off with a practiced, saintly smile. “As a doctor’s family, Cameron has always understood the core principle of medicine: selflessness. Putting others first. He supports this decision fully.” I remembered three months ago, when she’d told me, her voice clipped and professional, that the heart had an “unforeseen complication” and I’d “have to wait a bit longer.” But now, the recovering recipient, Fitch Connelly, was up on the stage, gazing at my mother with tearful devotion. “Dr. Gilbert is my second mother,” Fitch choked out, clasping her hands. “She waived my fees, she took me into her home, she gave me warmth…” To accommodate him, she’d told me not to come home for six months, claiming my old room was needed for “storage.” The sight of them, locked in that tearful, loving embrace, sent a searing pain through my chest. My vision tunneled. I needed my sublingual nitro. A reporter, sensing a dramatic moment, grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the stage lights. My mother’s smile vanished the moment she saw my face—a grimace of agony, not the joyful support she’d promised the cameras. She recoiled, then forced a dazzling recovery. She announced, right there, that she’d formally adopted Fitch as her “godson,” the poor, deserving student she’d mentored, and instructed me to call him my younger brother. Blood rushed to my head. My heart monitor, still strapped beneath my shirt, probably looked like a seismograph during a quake. Yet, my voice, when it came out, was terrifyingly calm. “Since you’ve found yourself a new son, I think I’ll make my exit from this family.” I looked directly at the camera. “Wouldn’t want to interrupt this touching display of motherly devotion!” 1 I slammed the microphone down and turned to leave. My mother grabbed my arm, her manicured nails digging in. “Cam, Fitch needs long-term rehabilitation. As my son, doing this in front of reporters—what will people think? How much damage will this do to his recovery?” I stared at her, utterly bewildered. My suffering, my heart failure, my agonizing wait—none of it registered. She was only afraid my departure would tarnish her precious new son’s public image. My father, Robert, rushed over to join the damage control. “Cameron, there are twenty reporters here. Where is your decorum? You have to fake it until the cameras are off, for God’s sake!” They dragged me back, forcing me toward the lights to apologize to Fitch. My mother, my father, and Fitch stood hand in hand, a perfect, glowing trinity of familial bliss. I was the interloper, a hostile ghost at someone else’s happy ending. The pressure cooker of my emotions finally blew. I stomped on the congratulatory banner the reporters had brought my mother, grinding the silk under my heel. Then, I grabbed her National Medical Excellence Award and smashed it against the edge of the stage. The gold figurine broke in half. My mother lunged, her hand raised to strike. It stopped inches from my face. “How did I raise such an ungrateful snake?” she hissed, her eyes blazing. I met her glare. “Ungrateful?” My voice sliced through the stunned silence. “When my myocarditis first flared, you called it ‘a common ailment’ and told me to go to the ER for an IV on my own.” “But when Fitch’s blood work showed a slight fluctuation, you flew in a team of specialists from the Mayo Clinic overnight.” The air in the room froze solid. The reporters’ cameras flashed non-stop. My mother rushed forward, trying to block the cameras. “Cam, let’s talk about this privately…” “Privately?” I laughed, but the sound caught in my throat and tears spilled over. “Three years ago, I was lying in the ER, my chest convulsing every time my heart beat. Did either of you visit me?” “The doctor recommended I be admitted, and you said the hospital beds were tight, better left for sicker patients.” “And now I know why.” I looked past the cameras to Fitch, who was shrinking into his chair. “That ‘tight bed’ was being held in reserve for your ‘more deserving son.’” Dad rushed me, trying to yank me away. I shook him off. “And you! You’re my biological father!” “But you knew my heart was failing, that I wouldn’t last the year, and you agreed to let her give my perfectly matched heart to a complete stranger?” I leaned in, my voice low and venomous. “What is it, Mom? Is this pauper your bastard child from some affair?” SMACK! My mother’s open hand finally connected. “You are out of control! Apologize to Fitch right now!” “Apologize?” I laughed again, the sound now raw and broken. “I’ve been rushed to the ICU in critical condition multiple times, and you couldn’t even arrange a private room for me.” “Your colleagues begged you, they offered to pull strings, and you insisted we couldn’t have ‘special treatment.’” “So why? Why is it okay to pull every string in the state for an orphan who wasn’t even terminal?” I was spiraling, trying to find a logical anchor. Even if she was a saint of medicine, wasn’t her job to save the dying? I was the one dying. Why was I forced to yield? “Since you love him so much, keep him. Let him be your son.” 2 I tried to leave, but a lightning bolt of pain shot through my chest, and I doubled over, vomiting a torrent of dark blood. When I woke again, a crushing weight was on my sternum. Each labored heartbeat felt like ripping through shattered glass. Through the glass wall of the ICU, I could hear Dr. Ben Carter, Mom’s colleague, speaking in hushed, urgent tones. “This syncope was a severe acute heart failure exacerbation. His dilated cardiomyopathy… even the most optimistic prognosis gives him less than six months. If he has another acute event like this…” The door hissed open. My mother walked in, still in her white coat. Fitch, eyes red and puffy, stood nervously in the doorway clutching a bouquet. “You’re awake?” My mother stopped by my bedside. Her tone held no concern, only a brittle exhaustion and annoyance. “I’ve managed to contain the reporters for now, but today’s stunt was extremely damaging. Fitch was surrounded, questioned, and almost had a panic attack.” I tried to speak, but my throat was too dry. “Cam, I’m so sorry…” Fitch took a tentative step forward, tears running down his face. “It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have accepted the surgery. I… I’ll give the heart back…” “Don’t talk nonsense!” My mother instantly turned, pulling Fitch into a tight, comforting hug. “The surgery was a complete success. You’re recovering beautifully. Don’t say such stupid things.” She rubbed his back with a tender affection I had never once received in my memory. Then she looked back at me, her expression instantly hardening. “Look at how mature Fitch is. He knows what a rare opportunity he was given, and he cooperates fully with his rehab. He never complains. And you? You created a public scene, embarrassed us all, and made things incredibly difficult for him!” My father sighed from the doorway. “Cam, your mother’s been through a lot. Try to be considerate…” “Considerate?” My cardiac monitor shrieked a warning. “I’ve been considerate for twenty-three years! Considerate of your demanding schedules, considerate of your sicker patients, considerate of your public selflessness!” Dr. Carter rushed in. “Dr. Gilbert, the patient cannot be emotionally agitated!” My mother ignored him and pressed on, her voice rising. “Do you know how hard Fitch’s life has been? An orphan, pulled himself through college, and even when he was sick, he kept it a secret because he was afraid of bothering anyone! And you? Privileged from birth, never wanting for anything! Just this one time…” “One time?” I laughed, the tears streaming now. “The first time I was hospitalized with myocarditis, I was ten. You said your department had a critical patient and dumped me on a floor nurse.” “I passed out in gym class at fifteen. The school nurse recommended a full cardiology workup, and you said studies were more important—we’d do it that summer.” “I was diagnosed with my heart condition at nineteen, and you said I was young, I’d be fine with medication.” Each word was a new stab of pain in my chest. “But for Fitch, you arranged consultations with the top specialists in the country, a private, VIP room, and the heart I waited three goddamn years for!” Fitch was sobbing harder. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry… Dr. Gilbert, please give the heart to Cam. I… I can wait…” “Wait for what?” I snapped at him. “Your heart is now functioning almost normally. Wait for what? For me to die so you can feel guilty?” “Cameron!” My mother’s voice was a sharp command. “How dare you! Fitch has only the best intentions!” “Intentions?” I fixed my gaze on my mother. “Mom, you are so selfless, so dedicated to your Hippocratic oath, so willing to sacrifice everything for the greater good…” I sucked in a rattling breath. The pain was making the room spin, but I had to finish. “Then why didn’t you donate? You were a match, too. You’re his godmother. Giving Fitch your heart would have made you a true martyr. Wouldn’t that have been the truly great sacrifice?” 3 A paralyzing silence fell over the ICU room. My mother’s face was utterly drained of color. Her lips trembled, unable to form a word. “You… you…” She pointed at me, her finger shaking violently. “What about me?” I leaned back against the headboard, the pain now dull and endless. “You said your family had to understand sacrifice. You said we had to put others first. So, donate! Give Fitch your heart, and I’ll wait for mine. Then no one owes anyone anything! Wouldn’t that be the perfect scenario?” “You’ve lost your mind!” My father was shaking with pure rage. “How dare you speak to your mother like that!” Fitch slid to his knees with a loud thud. He was wailing, a sound of sheer, unadulterated distress. “It’s all my fault! I’m going to find a doctor right now! I’ll get them to arrange surgery to give the heart back to Cam! Dr. Gilbert gave me this life, I’ll return it to him!” He tried to bolt, but my mother held him in a vise-like grip. “You foolish boy, stop talking crazy!” She held Fitch tightly, patting his back. Then she looked up at me. In her eyes, beyond the disappointment, I saw a flicker of raw hatred. “Cameron Allen, I never knew you could be so utterly malicious.” She was visibly broken. “Fitch just had major surgery. You want him to undergo another one to remove the heart? You are asking for his death!” “And am I wrong to fight for my own?” Dr. Carter stepped forward, his face etched with concern. “Dr. Gilbert, the patient is highly unstable. He needs quiet…” “He needs to reflect!” My mother cut him off, walking to my bedside. “Cameron, I am making this clear: Fitch is my son now, and I will care for him until he is fully recovered. As for you…” She paused, making a final, agonizing decision. “When your attitude stabilizes, and you apologize to Fitch, then we will talk.” She took Fitch’s hand and walked out of the ICU without a backward glance. My father looked at me, his eyes full of a strange, complex mix of shame and anger, before following them. The door closed. Through the glass, I watched my mother gently wipe Fitch’s tears in the hallway. My father put an arm around Fitch’s shoulders. The three of them merged into a single silhouette under the corridor lights. I lay in the sterile silence of the ICU, listening to my own heart beat a slow, fading rhythm. Some things, it turned out, were more suffocating than heart failure. Dr. Carter hesitated, then leaned close, his voice a low whisper. “The truth is… last week, there was a brain-dead donor. A heart, fully matched to you.” “But that donor heart… your mother signed off on transferring it to another patient.” I looked at him, motionless. “W-why?” Dr. Carter’s voice shook slightly. “That patient also needed a transplant, but his case was nowhere near as critical as yours. Everyone in the department thinks… it makes no sense.” It made perfect sense. My mother had to prove she had no selfish motive. She had to prove her sacrifice was total, her judgment unimpeachable. Even if the cost was my life. “Thank you for telling me, Doctor.” My voice was muffled by the oxygen mask. “Don’t give up,” Dr. Carter said urgently. “I’ve already contacted other transplant centers out of state. We’ll find a way…” “It’s okay.” I shook my head gently. “Just get me a paper and a pen. I need to write a will to sever all ties.” I looked out at the three figures who were now gone from the corridor. “And then, I need to sign an organ donation agreement.” 4 My parents never reappeared. Fitch, however, started sending me daily video updates. He showed me my old bedroom being redecorated for him, Mom and Dad cooking him special meals, and the trash can where he’d tossed Buster the Bear, my worn-out childhood stuffed animal. Mom had bought me Buster when I was a kid and terrified of being alone during her night shifts. I’d dragged that battered bear through every hospital stay, every fever, every lonely night. Now, I didn’t need him anymore. “Cam, big brother, I don’t think Dr. Gilbert likes you very much. She and Mr. Gilbert are taking me on a little stress-relief trip, but they won’t come see you.” “Why can’t you just apologize? They brought you up, you’ve been so privileged, and you’re so ungrateful… you’re a real snake in the grass…” I stared at the screen. My heart monitor shrieked a frantic warning. Finally, I opened the social media app Pulse, changed my ID to @CamWaitingForAHeart. I posted my official diagnosis, followed by a detailed account of my mother’s lie. Then, I attached Fitch’s video. The caption was simple: What does it take for a biological son to be less important than a charity case? Three hours later, my mother burst into the ICU, her hair a mess. “Cameron Allen! What have you done!” She snatched my phone. “Delete it! Delete it right now!” The screen showed 999+ shares and tens of thousands of comments. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?! Fitch has been doxed! People are tracking down the children’s home he came from! He just had surgery, he can’t handle this kind of stress!” I looked at her, calm now. “And me? I’m lying in the ICU. Do you think I can handle his daily videos mocking me?” “He was concerned about you!” “Concerned?” I smiled faintly. “Or concerned about when I would die, so he could completely replace me?” “You…” My mother raised her hand, then forced it back down. She took a deep breath, shifting into her calm, professional medical voice. “Cameron, your emotional instability and these statements have caused severe negative repercussions for the hospital and me personally. Delete the content and issue a public apology. If you do that, I will not pursue this.” “Not pursue it?” I repeated the words softly. “Mom, what will you pursue? Cutting off my medical coverage, like before?” Her eyes darted away for a millisecond. In that flicker, I had my answer. “Dr. Carter,” my mother turned to her colleague who had just rushed in, “effective immediately, Cameron Allen is discharged. This hospital does not tolerate hostile patients.” Dr. Carter was shocked. “Dr. Gilbert! His condition is critical! He cannot be discharged!” “Then transfer him.” My mother’s voice was arctic. “Our facility is too small for his drama.” She leaned down, her mouth close to my ear, her voice a low, icy chisel: “Delete the posts, apologize publicly, and admit you were emotionally unstable and fabricated the story. Otherwise, not a single hospital in this entire state will accept you.” I looked at her face, inches from mine. That face had once rested against my feverish forehead to check my temperature. That face had once held mine and promised, “Mommy will fix this.” Now, it held only cold indifference and naked threat. “As you wish,” I said. She turned and left. At the door, she looked back. “Cameron, don’t blame me for being ruthless. You destroyed Fitch’s life first.” The door closed. Dr. Carter stood by my bed. After a long moment, he whispered, “I can help you contact hospitals out of state…” “Don’t bother.” I stared at the ceiling. “Dr. Carter, thank you for taking care of me. But I’m tired.” Truly tired. I couldn’t fight anymore, and I couldn’t wait any longer. The next morning, I signed my discharge papers. The bill showed an outstanding balance of twenty-seven thousand dollars. My mother, true to her word, had cut off all coverage. I wired the hospital my last savings, signed a promissory note, and walked out. As I dragged my suitcase away from the main entrance, the pain in my chest was blinding. “Cameron!” My mother’s voice called from behind me. 5 I turned and saw her, my father, and Fitch. They stood together on the hospital steps, a picture of worried elegance. My mother was impeccably dressed and perfectly made up, wearing a look of measured concern. “Cam, why did you check yourself out?” She hurried toward me, reaching out to steady me. “You need to come back in. You’re too weak…” I sidestepped her touch. “Dr. Gilbert. State your business.” Her smile fractured for a second, then snapped back into place. “The reporters want to do a follow-up interview in the conference room. Let’s go talk. Let’s clear up this misunderstanding, okay?” “Misunderstanding?” I looked at the three of them. “What’s the misunderstanding? That I don’t have heart disease, or that you didn’t give my heart to someone else?” “Cameron Allen!” My father hissed, pulling me aside. “Must you talk like this?” Fitch stepped forward, his eyes still red. “Cam, it’s all my fault. I came here today to tell the reporters the truth. I’ll give the heart back, I’ll go back to the children’s home…” “Fitch!” My mother hugged him protectively. “Don’t say such ridiculous things!” She turned back to me, her tone softening. “Cam, your mother was wrong. Just give me a chance. Let’s solve this as a family, alright?” A family. The word was a bitter joke. I studied their faces, watching the performance of concern play out. Then, I understood. The social media post was still trending. The public anger was a firestorm. Hospital management was breathing down her neck. Her career, her honor, was in jeopardy. She wasn’t worried about me. She was worried about her reputation. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll go.” In the conference room, Fitch sat glued to my mother’s side. I sat on the periphery. A reporter began the questioning. “Dr. Gilbert, can you explain your rationale at the time?” My mother took the microphone, her voice dripping with emotion. “As a doctor, I admit my professional judgment may have been overly rational, ignoring my son’s emotional needs. But as a mother, I love my child deeply…” As she spoke, she reached out to take my hand. I pulled it away. Every camera in the room captured the rejection. “Cameron Allen,” a reporter asked shrewdly, “you don’t seem to agree with your mother’s statement?” The microphone was thrust toward me. I smiled. “I agree with my mother. She does love her child very deeply.” A collective sigh of relief went through the room. But my next words sent the hearts of the guilty straight into their throats. “The child Dr. Gilbert loves is her sponsored godson, Fitch Connelly.” My mother’s face went dark. She tried to subtly signal me to shut up. I ignored her. “Of course, you could also interpret it this way: what my mother loves more is her reputation.” “It’s the endless praise she gets, always earned at the expense of my life!” “Cameron Allen!” My mother slammed her hand on the table and stood up, the fury in her eyes threatening to consume me. I stood up to meet her challenge. “You always said I couldn’t have special treatment as a family member, to avoid gossip. I accepted that.” “So, even when my heart was screaming, I checked in, paid my bills, and went to checkups all by myself.” “But why did you personally walk him through the staff entrance the first time he came to the hospital?” I pointed at Fitch. “Every follow-up appointment was with an exclusive specialist. For his surgery, you used every resource you had, even the heart that was rightfully mine…” “Enough!” My mother shot to her feet, knocking the table with a crash. “Cameron Allen! What exactly do you want?” “What do I want?” I was shaking, my heart hammering like a trapped bird. My vision dimmed, but I had to finish. “I want to ask every reporter here, and everyone watching this screen.” I turned to face the cameras, speaking slowly, deliberately: “Can you truly trust a surgeon who would sacrifice her own son’s life to save her reputation?” “Cameron! You’re lying!” My mother was shaking violently. Fitch began to cry. “No, Dr. Gilbert isn’t like that…” The room erupted in chaos. Reporters were shouting, flashbulbs were popping, and hospital executives scrambled to restore order. I couldn’t hold myself up any longer. I collapsed, rigid as a board, and the blood started bubbling from my mouth. My mother tried frantically to stop the cameras. “Don’t film this! He’s faking it! He’s trying to manipulate you!” She grabbed my collar and yanked me up, her strength terrifying. “You ungrateful leech! How could you be so manipulative? What did I ever deny you?” In that final second, I managed a satisfied smile for the camera that captured my mother’s savage, broken expression. Dr. Carter rushed in. The paddles of the defibrillator slammed onto my chest. But the monitor’s frantic beeping slowed, then settled into a single, horrifyingly straight line. “Cameron Allen, male, twenty-three years old, pronounced deceased at 10:06 a.m. following unsuccessful resuscitation.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389417”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Five years. My wedding band hadn’t left my finger since the day I put it on, yet on the morning of our anniversary, I found a silk men’s tie—not mine—tucked into the passenger seat of Bianca’s car. “Oh, that,” she said, dismissively waving a hand. “My new junior associate must have left it when we were running accounts yesterday.” That night, for our intimate anniversary dinner, she brought the associate. Chase. She insisted he sit right beside her. “I haven’t been feeling well recently,” she murmured, her voice laced with manufactured frailty. “He needs to be near me to monitor my schedule and make sure I don’t overdo it.” Later that week, when I went to her office suite, Chase blocked the door, forcing me to book an appointment with my own wife. His eyes, usually hidden behind an unctuous smile, were arrogant. That was the line. I fired him on the spot. Bianca barely reacted. “Just an assistant, Fion,” she said, a delicate shrug lifting her silk shoulders. “If you don’t like him, let him go.” We settled back into our routine, an uneasy, brittle peace. It was as if that small friction had never occurred. But the atmosphere at the firm changed. Almost overnight, I became an outcast, frozen out by colleagues, and even the new interns felt emboldened enough to publicly challenge me. Then the ‘accidents’ started. I began having freak near-misses on the drive home. The worst one landed me in the ICU for a week. The final, devastating blow came with Barnaby. My loyal Golden Retriever, whom I’d raised for eight years, was maliciously murdered and left on our doorstep. After burying Barnaby beneath a weeping cherry tree in my parents’ plot, I went to a downtown bar, desperate to numb the grief. I was numbly trying to drink away the pain when I overheard a group of women in the next booth—Bianca’s old college friends. “When do you think Fion will figure out Bianca arranged the ‘accidents’?” one slurred. “Doesn’t matter, does it? Even if he knew she killed his dog, he’d still crawl back begging for forgiveness,” another scoffed. “Fion just doesn’t know his place, firing her boy.” The ice in my veins didn’t melt; it shattered. My head spun. The isolation, the crashes, the murder of my dog—it had all been Bianca’s cold, calculated retaliation for daring to fire Chase. So be it. I would give them what they wanted. … Bianca was gently rubbing Chase’s temples, her fingers light and solicitous. Her friends were cooing. “Bianca really treasures Chase, doesn’t she? Have you ever seen her so attentive to anyone else?” “After he was humiliated and fired publicly, she immediately bought him that villa. The luxury cars she’s gifted him? They’re practically disposable.” Bianca’s lips curled into a faint, satisfied smile. “I won’t see Chase suffer. And I want everyone to know: even without a job, as long as I’m around, he’ll never want for anything.” The room tilted. I gripped the back of a chair, fighting to stay upright. Moments later, Chase announced a sudden headache and slipped upstairs to rest. As soon as he was out of sight, Bianca’s expression hardened. “How’s the rest of the plan coming along?” “Smoothly, Queen B. You should have seen Fion’s face when he saw the dog’s carcass.” Bianca nodded, her voice devoid of warmth. “He forced Chase to resign and triggered his anxiety disorder, leading to his heart issues. The pain Chase suffered, I will make Fion repay it a hundredfold.” One of her friends leaned in, excited. “It’s been a while since the last accident. Time for another one?” Another worried, “But if they happen too often, won’t he call the police? What if they trace it back to us?” Bianca casually took a sip of her champagne. “He won’t. Every time he’s hospitalized, I’m right there, holding his hand, never leaving his side. He just thinks he has rotten luck. He’d never suspect me.” I turned, clamping a hand over my mouth, stifling a sob. I should have suspected. Why had she been so unnaturally tender after every single crash? I’d thought it was guilt, worry. It was only the satisfaction of the perpetrator watching their victim bleed. But Barnaby. We’d gotten him when we first started dating. He was family. How could she have killed him? Barnaby had run away once years ago, and after that, he’d never stepped outside, even with the door wide open. He was a big dog; it would have taken two people to drag him out, let alone fight him. But Bianca, with her friends, had managed it easily. When she cornered him, when she put her hands on him, why would he fight? He would have just thought his mom was playing a game. I leaned on the bar, tears streaming. Bianca glanced at her phone, her brow knitting into a sharp line. She slammed the phone down, her teeth clenched. “I thought the punishment was enough, but Chase still can’t sleep because of him! Schedule the next one as planned. I will make Fion pay a hundred times over for his stupidity!” My ears were ringing. The world was blurry and distant. The fracture in my arm—from the last crash—was still healing, and every movement sent a jolt of raw pain through me. Before, if I’d just scalded myself with coffee, Bianca would have rushed me to the ER. Now, thanks to her, my body was a patchwork of old injuries piled on top of new. I don’t know how I got home. Standing at the door, I instinctively waited for Barnaby to greet me. The sudden, agonizing memory that he was gone brought me back to reality. I locked myself in the bedroom and cried until I was hollow. I eventually heard the front door open. Bianca stood in the doorway, then her eyes fell on me. She paused, then knelt and pulled me into her embrace. “I’m so heartbroken about Barnaby too, my love. I promise I’ll find the monster who did this and make them pay,” she whispered. “I’ll buy you another dog, okay? Don’t be sad.” I violently shoved her away. She didn’t get angry. Instead, she grabbed my hands, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. “It’s my fault. I failed to protect you and Barnaby.” She left the room and returned with a glass of what looked like a homemade soothing drink. “It’s an herbal calming tea I picked up for you. Drink this, relax your nerves, and get some rest.” Like a ragdoll, I let her hold the glass to my lips and drink. Within two minutes, my head was swimming, my consciousness fading. My body hit the floor. As I slipped into blackness, I heard Bianca’s voice, cold and detached, talking into her phone. “Send the guys in. Take him away. This time, dump him directly onto the interstate.” This time, my legs were crushed beneath a speeding car. When the police brought me to the hospital, Bianca was there immediately. She gripped my hand, her face a mask of anguish. “The doctor says you’re under too much stress, darling. You were sleepwalking. It’s all my fault. I should have been watching you at home.” My legs were numb with agony, and tears flowed uncontrollably. All this excruciating torment—just because I fired Chase. Bianca, how little do you value my life? Would my death mean nothing to you? “The orthopedic surgeon isn’t on call tonight, but hold on, my love, I’ll summon a specialist from another city!” But before I opened my eyes, while my mind was still floating, I distinctly heard her talking to a nurse: “Chase is having trouble sleeping. Pull every available doctor to check on him. Fion has survived worse injuries; he can wait a couple of days.” I wished, in that moment, that the car had just killed me. That the asphalt had claimed me so I didn’t have to endure this anymore. The driver, afraid of a fatality, used their connections to finally get an orthopedic surgeon. Even a stranger, I thought bitterly, was kinder than my wife. When I awoke in the hospital room, the first face I saw was Chase’s. He gave a sickly, thin-lipped smile, his voice a concerned, gentle murmur as he asked about my well-being. Then, his right hand slipped beneath the covers and pressed down hard on my broken leg. A white-hot streak of pain ripped from my thigh to my brain. I shrieked, my body slack. My weak shove barely connected with him. Chase threw himself backward dramatically, landing hard on the floor with a groan. Hearing the noise, Bianca burst into the room. She helped Chase up, then scowled at me. “Fion, I know you resent Chase, but he came here out of kindness to check on you.” “Rest up,” she ordered. They walked out, arm in arm. I didn’t see Bianca again until I could move slowly with crutches. Trembling, I made my way to the cemetery. My parents had passed years ago, and I had dug a small, quiet hole next to their headstone for Barnaby. The scene that met me stopped my heart. The entire burial plot was overturned. The white, fragile bones of my parents were scattered haphazardly on the dirt. I screamed, a sound ripped from my gut. I threw the crutches away and crawled, bloody-kneed, toward the mess. I lay on the desecrated ground, wailing uncontrollably. A cemetery worker rushed over. “Are you next of kin? A man and woman came in today with a crew. They just started digging everything up. We couldn’t stop them.” My vision narrowed with rage. Bianca. Why? Why are you doing this to me? My heart constricted, suffocating me. I pulled out my phone, my fingers shaking so badly I kept misdialing her number. When I finally connected, she hung up on me twice. Ten minutes later, she answered. The first sound I heard was heavy, ragged breathing—two sets. My voice emerged as a raw, strangled bellow. “Bianca! What did you do to my parents’ graves! Why?” Her voice was thick with annoyance. “Chase knows a little about feng shui. He said their burial spot was cursed, which is why you’ve been getting hurt lately. He was trying to help them relocate—but we got halfway through and ran out of time, so we just left it.” She hung up. Hatred, pure and deep, consumed me. I couldn’t protect my dog, and now I couldn’t even give my parents peace in death. I wiped my tears. A cold, absolute resolve settled in my chest. Even dragging this broken, crippled body, I would have my revenge. Back at the apartment, I found Bianca and Chase emerging from the bedroom, their clothes rumpled and mismatched. Fury surged. I swung my crutch at Bianca. Before I could turn my rage to Chase, Bianca kicked out, sending me sprawling to the floor. “Are you insane? Just because we didn’t get your parents’ plot moved in time?” Chase immediately burst into tears, dramatically falling to his knees. “I’m so sorry, Fion. I’ll go right back and work all night. I promise I’ll have it moved tonight!” I screamed, my voice cracking. “Who told you to touch them! They’re my parents! Who gives you the right! And Barnaby! He was just a dog!” Bianca rushed to pull Chase into her arms, shooting me a hateful glare over his shoulder. “I think you’ve truly gone mad. You can be difficult with me, but I will not allow you to hurt Chase!” I lay on the floor. The sutures on my wounds had torn open. Blood soaked my pants and dripped onto the pristine white marble. Bianca and Chase stood over me, perfectly fine, not a speck of dirt on their clothes. Who was truly hurting whom? “Fine. I’m a madman. I don’t deserve you. Just let me go!” Bianca frowned. “What are you talking about? You’re my husband. Don’t misunderstand—I’ve always loved you. But you hurt Chase, and you need to pay the price.” I shook my head, despairing. “Haven’t I paid enough?” I looked up and noticed the ring on Chase’s finger: a three-carat diamond, blazing on his hand. Our engagement ring had been a modest 0.3 carats. I had offered to buy hers, but she insisted on buying mine, claiming she was an independent woman. Knowing she was struggling financially then, I’d accepted the small stone. She promised me she’d get me a massive one when she was rich. Now, she was rich, and the massive diamond was on another man’s hand. Catching my eye, Bianca looked slightly uncomfortable. “Chase comes from a wealthy family; he needs the best. But yours does need an upgrade. I’ll find you a bigger one soon.” The sheer arrogance made my chest ache. Didn’t she remember? Before her, I had been the pampered son of a wealthy family, too. After we married, she refused my family’s money, and to protect her pride, my lifestyle plummeted. I stopped buying luxury goods and canceled my five-star memberships. Over time, she had simply convinced herself I didn’t deserve nice things. My thoughts were violently interrupted by a panicked shriek. Chase was scrambling behind Bianca, trembling. “Fion, why are you doing this to me! You know I’m terrified of rats!” I looked down. A small rat was scurrying across the high-rise living room floor. Before I could defend myself, Bianca slapped me so hard my head swam. “How could a rat get up here? You put it here, didn’t you!” Chase was shaking and weeping behind her. Bianca’s eyes were filled with hatred, like she was looking at an enemy. She kicked my injured leg. The agony was too much. I blacked out. When I woke up, I was dangling in a cage suspended in mid-air. A chorus of frantic squeaking came from below. I looked down, and a wave of revulsion and icy horror washed over me. Below me, a dense, writhing mass of rats covered the floor. “Help… please… help…” My voice was a choked, useless rasp. My legs were already slick with fresh blood, but the fear eclipsed the piercing pain. It was only when I looked up and saw the two figures standing calmly on the balcony railing that I truly understood despair. Bianca’s voice drifted down, chillingly rational. “Fion, this is for your own good. You need to stop with these cruel games. Experience Chase’s fear, and maybe you’ll learn.” Knowing it was futile, I screamed anyway. “Please, I’m begging you! I didn’t do this! I swear I won’t do it again!” The next second, the cage floor dropped open. I fell, plunging straight into the swarm of rodents. Their needle-sharp teeth tore at my raw wounds. The primal instinct to survive forced me to shield my head, pushing with the last of my strength. I woke again in a hospital bed, wrapped like a mummy, unable to move. My legs were completely numb. A cold terror gripped me. Would I ever walk again? Bianca stood beside me, her expression one of pained concern. “Fion, why do you always pick fights with Chase? If you just got along, none of this would happen.” She softened slightly. “Those were lab rats, they didn’t have diseases. But someone mistakenly mixed in a sick one, which is why your leg got infected. The person who did it knows they messed up. It wasn’t intentional.” I knew exactly who that person was. My heart pounded, the anger choking my breath. “Get out! Both of you, get out!” Bianca’s face went cold. “You are truly ungrateful. Chase already apologized, and you still act like this.” She turned and stormed out. I fumbled for the phone on the bedside table and dialed a number I hadn’t used in years. It was answered almost instantly. I couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. “Shirley. I miss you. I don’t want to be with Bianca anymore… it hurts so much…” I sobbed into the phone. The woman on the other end drew a sharp breath. Her voice was low and gravelly. “I’m on the next flight to you. I will make both of them pay for what they’ve done.” A deep, profound calm settled over me. I finally slept soundly. But I woke to a sudden, terrible stillness. Bianca was standing beside me. Seeing the cold, empty look in her eyes, a bead of sweat tracked down my temple. “What are you doing?” She reached out and gently stroked my cheek. Then I saw the syringe in her hand. My blood ran cold. Her voice was an unnerving whisper. “Once I inject this, you’ll never walk again.” “Be a good boy. Stop making trouble. I’ll take care of you forever.” I was paralyzed, forced to watch as she plunged the needle into my numb thigh. I closed my eyes in absolute despair.

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My annual income is $1.5 million. My salary account, my secondary credit card, every investment portfolio—it all sat with my mother. She insisted she was handling my finances. I believed her. Until my wife’s water broke. When I called my mother for the cash, she told me, “The account is empty.” I hung up, and that same night, I called the bank’s customer service line. “Hello, I need to place a hold on every bank card in my name.” By early morning, my mother had called me thirty-seven times, a frenzy of pure panic. 01 The cell phone in my pocket vibrated like a grenade about to detonate. I was staring at a dense wall of code on my monitor, my fingers a blur on the keyboard. Then the name “Harper” popped up on the screen, and my heart seized up. I swiped to answer. Harper’s voice came through, tight, laced with suppressed pain. “Gavin, I think… my water just broke.” Voom. The tightrope I’d been walking in my mind snapped. “Don’t panic. I’m coming home now!” I grabbed my jacket from the back of my chair and burst out of the conference room, ignoring the project manager’s astonished shouts behind me. I drove like a maniac, speeding all the way home. I collected Harper, who already had the hospital bag ready, along with her parents, the Petersons, and raced to St. Jude’s Women’s Center. The hospital hallway was saturated with the cold, acrid smell of antiseptic. Harper was on a rolling gurney. Her face was pale, glistening with a fine sheen of sweat. She gripped my hand so tightly her knuckles were white. “I’m here. Just breathe.” I leaned down and kissed her forehead, my own voice trembling despite my effort to keep it steady. The doctor calmly outlined the procedure. A nurse hurried over with a clipboard. “Family, please take care of the admission process. We need a hundred thousand dollar deposit.” “Understood. Right away.” I gave Harper’s hand a reassuring squeeze and walked toward the payment counter. I pulled out my phone and dialed the number I knew by heart. It rang for an agonizingly long time before it was picked up. “Hello? What do you want?” My mother, Joyce Stone, sounded sharply annoyed, her voice muffled by the sound of a loud, trashy reality TV show playing in the background. “Mom, Harper’s in labor. We’re at the hospital. Can you transfer a hundred thousand to my card? I need to pay the deposit.” I tried to keep the heat out of my voice. “In labor? Already?” She paused, the TV noise momentarily dipping, then she spoke with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Oh, I’m busy right now, honey. I can’t leave.” “You don’t have to come. Just transfer the money.” “The money?” Her voice went up an octave. “What money? The accounts are dry.” I thought I’d misheard her. “What do you mean, dry? What about the salary I wire every month? What about the investment accounts?” “Oh, those.” She said it as if discussing the weather. “Well, your brother, Trevor, saw a new BMW X5 he liked a while ago, so I got it for him. Then he said he was getting into a partnership for some new venture, so I gave him the rest to invest. A man has to have his own business, you know.” Her tone was utterly, sickeningly rational. Through the receiver, I could clearly hear Trevor’s loud, spoiled laugh. “Mom, stop talking to him. Focus! My turn!” That laugh felt like a poisoned needle plunging into my eardrum. 1.5 million a year. Five years of non-stop work. That was 7.5 million. Now, my wife was on a gurney waiting for the cash we needed for her delivery, and my own mother was telling me she’d given the entire fortune to my useless younger brother for a luxury SUV and some vague, bogus investments. Blood rushed to my head, then immediately drained away, freezing my entire system. I said nothing. I couldn’t form a single word. I just disconnected the call. The world went silent. I turned back and saw the Petersons standing anxiously near the door. The worry and genuine care in their eyes felt like a stinging slap across my face. I, the son-in-law who earned a staggering salary, couldn’t even cover my own wife’s hospital admission fee. A monstrous mix of shame and white-hot fury clenched my heart. I took a deep breath, the antiseptic scent sharper than ever. I walked to the end of the hall where a window was open. The night air rushed in, chilling me to the bone. Without a second thought, I started dialing the customer service numbers for every single bank account in my name. “Hello, I need to report all my cards as stolen.” “Yes. Every checking, savings, and credit card, including the secondary cards.” “That’s right. All of them.” “Please mail the replacement cards to my office address, and hold them for pickup only.” My voice was unnaturally calm, a cold, robotic tone I barely recognized. I hung up the last call and walked back to the payment desk. Mr. Peterson was already there, handing his own bank card to the cashier. “Gavin, don’t worry about the money,” he said, patting my shoulder, his voice steady. “We have some retirement funds. We’ll cover it. Harper and the baby are what matters.” I looked at the silver in his hair, and my eyes burned. I nodded heavily, pushing the crushing guilt and the towering hatred back down into the deepest part of my gut. Joyce. Trevor. You forced my hand. 02 I sat on the hard bench outside the delivery room all night. Starting at five in the morning, my phone went into crisis mode. The name “Mom” flashed on the screen, over and over—one time, ten times, thirty times… I didn’t answer. I hit the silent button and let it vibrate, a desperate, muted struggle in my palm, like a creature whose neck had been snapped. The entire world was quiet. All I could hear was the frantic drumming of my own heart and the distant, occasional cry of an infant. Harper had been inside for four hours. Every minute felt like an hour in a fryer. Finally, the calls stopped. In their place came a string of red exclamation points in our family chat, a cascade of furious texts. “Gavin Stone, you ungrateful snake! You think you’re too big for me now? You dare ignore my calls?” “What did you do to the cards? Why can’t I take money out?” “Your brother had an important dinner today and the credit card was declined! He was mortified! What are you trying to pull?” “I’m warning you, if you don’t come explain yourself, you and I are done!” The voice messages were shrill, curses that seemed to scratch the screen. Then came the inevitable message from my dear brother, Trevor. “Dude, what the hell? My secondary card is frozen? Did you move the money? I was hosting clients! You made me look like an absolute idiot!” His texts were full of self-righteous entitlement, as if freezing his account was a criminal offense on my part. I looked at the messages and a cold, tight smirk pulled at my lips. Mortified? When my wife was in the delivery room, fighting for her life, and I couldn’t pay the bill, who saved me from being mortified? I could almost see it: Joyce realizing all the cards were dead, throwing a fit in the bank lobby, and eventually being dragged out by security like a sack of trash. It would have been… magnificent. My phone buzzed again—Joyce’s final ultimatum. “Gavin, I don’t care where you are or what you’re doing. Get your butt home and explain this! Or you can forget you ever had a mother!” The irony was overwhelming. This mother? I was already forgetting. I dimmed the screen and slipped the phone back into my pocket. Just then, a loud, clear “WAAAH!” erupted from the delivery room. The door opened. A nurse emerged, smiling, holding a tightly swaddled baby. “Congratulations! It’s a healthy baby boy. Mother and son are doing well!” In that moment, the entire night’s anxiety, rage, and coldness melted away. I rushed over, looked at that wrinkled little face, and my heart filled with an unbearable, soft warmth. The knot in my chest finally unraveled. My son. My wife. From this day forward, this was my only family. 03 Harper was moved to a VIP suite. The Petersons bustled around, their faces shining with uncontained joy. I held Harper’s hand, watching her weak but satisfied smile, and looked at our son sleeping peacefully in the bassinet beside her. The world felt quiet and perfectly complete. The tranquility lasted exactly two hours. The door to the suite was violently shoved open with a jarring BANG. Joyce and Trevor stormed in, their faces contorted with rage. “Gavin!” Joyce’s voice was a shriek that threatened to lift the roof. She crossed the room in three strides, her finger jabbing the air inches from my nose. “You ungrateful bastard! You think you’re so smart now? Who gave you the right to freeze the bank cards?” Her eyes were bloodshot, her hair a mess. She looked like a woman who hadn’t slept, a complete madwoman. I frowned, stood up, and placed myself between her and Harper’s bed. “Mom, this is a hospital. Harper just gave birth and needs rest. Please leave.” My voice was flat and icy. “I leave? Why should I leave? I raised you with my own two hands, and now you marry a wife and forget your mother! I’m not done with you, and you’re already trying to kick me out?” She put her hands on her hips, ready for a brawl. Trevor immediately chimed in. “Seriously, bro, this is low! Mom has been frantic looking for you! And you’re hiding out here with… with them!” “Them?” I slowly repeated the word, my gaze sharp as a razor. The Petersons stepped forward. Mrs. Peterson stood beside Harper’s bed and addressed Joyce. “Joyce, please, calm down. Harper just had surgery; she’s fragile. She shouldn’t be upset.” “You stay out of this!” Joyce completely dismissed her. “This has nothing to do with you! This is our family business! It’s your daughter, that… that gold-digger, who’s corrupted my son!” She moved to shove Mrs. Peterson aside. I grabbed her wrist, my grip firm. “Enough.” My voice wasn’t loud, but the entire room fell instantly silent. Joyce flinched, shocked by the sudden hardness in my eyes, but quickly recovered, launching into her classic dramatic routine. She collapsed onto the floor, began to wail, and pounded her thigh. “Oh, what sin did I commit! To raise a son who just turns into a tool for someone else’s family! I fed him, I clothed him, I put him through college! Now he’s successful, makes millions, and he won’t recognize his own mother! My life is so hard…” Her hysterics drew curious onlookers into the doorway. I watched her performance in silence, my face blank. When her sobs began to quiet, I finally spoke, every word slow and distinct, carrying clearly to every person present. “I make a million and a half dollars a year. Since I was promoted to Technical Director five years ago, my paycheck has been deposited into your accounts, untouched.” “Five years. No more, no less. Seven and a half million dollars.” “Where is it?” I posed the question with the same casual tone one might use to ask about the time. Joyce’s wailing choked off immediately. She lifted her head, and for the first time, her eyes held genuine panic and evasion. The hospital suite was utterly silent. She opened her mouth, but not a single sound came out. $7.5 million. The number was a mountain, crushing the air out of her lungs and clogging her throat. Her theatrics, her curses, her feigned distress—they all collapsed into a ridiculous, pathetic farce in the face of that cold, indisputable figure. 04 “The money… the money?” Joyce repeated my words, stammering, her eyes darting around like a broken record player. Her mind was racing, trying to conjure a plausible lie. But before she could speak, Trevor sprang up like a cornered animal. “It’s spent, obviously!” He jutted out his chin, adopting a self-assured sneer. “Wasn’t I supposed to have startup capital for my business? Is buying a BMW X5 for transport and networking too much to ask? Besides, family expenses, holiday gifts, all the favors—that takes money, right?” He spoke with an arrogant air, proudly flashing the brand-new gold watch on his wrist—a watch he’d charged to my secondary card just last month. “Oh, and by the way, I bought my girlfriend a Hermès bag for her birthday. That’s for networking, too!” Every word he spoke was like a dull blade, scraping at my very core. From the bed, Harper, who had been silently watching, finally spoke, her voice clear and chilling.

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The moment I saw the girl, pale and curled up like a discarded doll, the words started floating. They always did when something big was about to happen—text flickering above my head, sometimes silent, sometimes a faint whisper only I could hear. [Ugh, the true heiress suffered for eighteen years, only to come home and immediately be left to die, and her so-called family is still on vacation with the fake one.] [They only regret it after she’s dead. Too little, too late.] [I’m so sick of this “dead girl literature.” I’m sending the author a box cutter.] I was only five, but I could make out a few key words. The main one? Dying. I scrambled, hoisting my little arm and tugging hard on my bodyguard’s jacket. I pointed a chubby finger at the huddled figure by the dumpster. “Ash, call Daddy right now. Tell him Piper wants that doll.” 1 Ash followed the direction of my pointed finger. He finally saw the person curled up near the trash receptacle. He knelt down to adjust my collar. “Little Miss, that is a person, not a doll.” I nodded, not really listening to him. “Oh, okay. Then I want that person. Tell Daddy to buy her for me.” Daddy, James “J.C.” Cole, always said his little girl was born to have everything she wanted. If she didn’t have it, it just meant he hadn’t thrown enough money at the problem. Asking him to buy a person? That didn’t seem too much. Nope. Not too much at all. Having settled the matter, I adopted my best “Daddy-voice,” a total mogul decree. “Ash, no matter the price. Buy her.” Ash clapped a hand over my mouth, eyes darting around to make sure no one had heard me. He leaned in conspiratorially. “Little Miss, we are in the States. And Mr. Cole runs legitimate businesses. He is not a human trafficker.” I finally understood. I couldn’t buy her. I started spinning in frantic little circles on the spot. This is a catastrophe! A total catastrophe!! CAT-A-STRO-PHE!!! Just then, the girl suddenly coughed and then spat a mouthful of bright red blood before collapsing completely. I had never seen anything like that before. I burst into tears on the spot. “But… but that sister is going to die!” The sight of me crying sent Ash into a panic. He scrambled to his feet to call my father. My outburst drew the attention of the floating words above. [What’s happening? Is the true heiress going to be saved? Did we get the script wrong?] [Who cares? As long as she lives!] [Wait, isn’t that Piper Cole, the little princess of the ridiculously rich Cole family? I remember the fake heiress’s swapper parents tried to pull the same trick with their second daughter and Piper, but the true heiress stopped it. She was locked up for a month and only given a slice of bread a day for that!] I squinted, trying hard to read those words. My eyes went wide, my mouth formed a perfect ‘O,’ and a realization dawned. Oh my goodness! This sister had saved me! She was my guardian angel. I had to save her. Just then, my father’s booming voice came through Ash’s phone. “Ashton, you’ve been with me this long and you still need me to tell you what to do? It’s just a person! If you can’t buy her, then find another way! Figure it out!” “Get this done, and your salary is doubled. Don’t you dare let my baby girl be disappointed.” I covered my mouth, stifling a giggle as Daddy scolded Ash. Hehe. Piper wanted it. Piper got it. 2 VIP I sat by the hospital bed, cheerfully swinging my legs while munching on little cubes of apple that Ash had cut for me. Wow. This sister was so pretty, like a real-life doll. If her original parents didn’t want her, then she was mine now. Happy! Ash walked up to me and began his report. “Little Miss, this is Callie Hart, the daughter of the wealthy Hart family, who was lost for eighteen years.” “She was only recently brought home, but the Harts don’t exactly dote on her. She’s been back for two months, and they haven’t found the time to take her to change her legal name.” “Just yesterday, both of the Hart daughters had their birthdays. The Hart family gave all their household staff the day off, and the three of them flew out of the country, leaving Callie here alone.” The floating comments were furious: [“No time to change her name?” Please. The fake heiress, Gemma, sabotaged it every time.] [Gemma even said the name Callie was good, and maybe it would help the Harts have a boy next.] [If the name is so good, why doesn’t Gemma take it? They shouldn’t be called the Harts. They should be called The Nutcases.] I didn’t understand everything, but I recognized the last few words. I blurted them out. “Nutcases!” “A whole family of nutcases!” Ash looked at me in astonishment. “Little Miss, where did you learn that word?” I pointed at the floating text above his head, and Ash just looked confused. He really was a dummy. My fairy tales said only smart people could see things others couldn’t. I could see the words, so I was the smartest! The floating words realized I could see them and started greeting me. [OMG, the little princess can see us!] [So you saved the true heiress because you saw our comments? You are such a sweet, kind baby!] [(Voice recording): How could the little princess read that? You have to send voice messages like me!] Soon, the words turned into a chorus of voices, making me giggle uncontrollably. Just then, the true heiress woke up. I quickly climbed onto the bed and put my hand on her forehead. Yes! Not hot anymore. She looked at me, bewildered. “Am I… seeing an angel?” She even pinched my soft cheek to see if I was real. As she pinched, tears started to fall. Seeing her cry, my own little eyes immediately welled up, and I started to wail, too. Ash stood there, completely overwhelmed by two crying girls. Finally, after his frantic efforts to calm us down, we both stopped. I sat at a little table, eating a tiny cake, while Ash explained the whole situation to the girl. When he asked her if she would be my “doll” (my word, not his), a flicker of confusion crossed her face, but she nodded anyway. The floating text laughed: [True Heiress: I don’t get it, but whatever the angel says, I’ll do it.] 3 Ash explained that because of the fake heiress Gemma’s constant interference, the Harts had never legally transferred Callie’s residency status. Upon hearing Callie’s story, Daddy learned about the whole baby-swap conspiracy where the Greers (Callie’s swapper parents) had tried to repeat the trick with me. He was furious and had the Greers arrested immediately. To thank Callie, Daddy made a grand gesture: he officially adopted her. Her new name was to be Summer Cole. The moment she held her new I.D. card, Summer murmured: “It only took an hour to change my name.” “And those awful people… they really should have been arrested years ago.” “I guess…” It seemed she was about to cry again. Ash cut her off immediately. Summer touched the small, fluffy rabbit mask that Ash had just placed on her face. “Moo?” Ash glanced at me, completely engrossed in counting ants nearby, and let out a sigh of relief. “Miss Summer, I am begging you. I cannot lose the six-figure salary I just negotiated. You cry, Little Miss cries. It’s a whole thing.” The floating text went wild with laughter: [Who gets me? I was about to get emotional, and Ash just killed the mood!] [Ash: Please, Grandma, don’t cry. If you cry, Little Miss cries, and I get penalized.] [Hahahaha, the working man, Ash: I know you’re sad, but please be sad silently.] [Am I the only one who broke down when I heard ‘six-figure salary’? Dude, let me play your part!] I turned around, my eyes widening. I scurried over. “Ash, I want a rabbit mask just like Sister’s!” Hehe, not only did Piper have a rabbit mask, but I also had a big sister now! I was beyond happy. 4 For the first few days Summer was home, she was always so cautious and walked on eggshells. That wouldn’t do. I decided I needed to take her out to play in the sandpit and help her relax. It was my favorite game! I called my neighbors, Brooks and Violet, and made sure to grab a pink bucket and a small shovel specifically for Summer. “Sister, here you go!” I shoved the tools into her hands. “It’s so much fun!” Summer took the tools and crouched by the sandpit, watching us. She asked Ash, “Do rich kids play in the dirt? I thought Gemma had to go to debutante finishing school and social etiquette classes her entire life.” Ash replied, “That’s for regular wealthy families who need to marry their daughters off. The Coles don’t. Mr. Cole said he’s going to give the Little Miss a happy childhood.” Summer nodded, falling silent, but I saw the look of pure envy on her face as she watched us. Brooks was already piling sand into a massive castle. Violet was shaping a mud cake. I quickly squatted down and began digging a hole. I announced, “I’m going to dig a super big swimming pool!” Brooks laughed at me. “You said that last time, and you only dug a tiny puddle.” “This time is for real!” I huffed. Summer looked at me and asked quietly, “Can I help you?” “Of course, you can!” I said joyfully. “We’ll dig together!” Summer picked up the little shovel and started digging with me. Her movements were slow, and she didn’t move much sand, but she was smiling. The floating comments drifted by: [Summer is so gentle. My heart breaks seeing her so tentative.] [She’s probably never been allowed to play like this before.] [Definitely not. In the Greer house, it’s a miracle she even survived.] I was about to talk to Summer when I heard a sharp, shrill voice. “Callie Greer? What are you doing here?” We looked up and saw three people standing by the sandpit. I remembered them. They had tried to talk to me at a party Daddy hosted. They looked furious. Summer’s hand gave a sudden twitch, and her little shovel clattered into the sandpit. The man, Mr. Hart, pointed at Summer and started berating her. “Your father knows you have resentment, but running off like this—what kind of behavior is that? Gemma is the daughter we raised. It’s perfectly normal for us to favor her! Didn’t she share our love with you for eighteen years?” Huh? My little five-year-old brain was growing new wrinkles. Adults have the strangest morals. Mrs. Hart frowned. “Come home with us! Playing with a bunch of common kids, how will you ever marry well if people hear about this!” I looked at Brooks and Violet, still absorbed in their play. Brooks was the son of a shipping billionaire, and Violet’s father was a real estate titan. Gemma stood off to the side, fake-crying. “Sister, if you wanted Dad and Mom’s attention, you could just say so! How could you pretend to die? Do you know how worried they were? They cried!” Summer kept her head down, saying nothing. I saw her hand trembling. The floating text exploded: [Seriously! How did these three nutcases find her?] [Pretend to die? She was actually dying! If Piper hadn’t found her, she’d be dead right now!] [The fake heiress is putting on a show again. The Academy owes her an Oscar.] I was mad. Super mad! This was my sister! How dare they yell at her! I shot to my feet, grabbed my small shovel, and rushed in front of Summer, arms spread wide. “Go away!” I yelled. “Don’t you dare yell at my sister!” The three Harts froze. Gemma looked at me with disgust. “Ugh, who is this filthy child? She stinks!” She lifted her foot to kick me. But the next second, Gemma was sent flying two yards away. Wow! Summer and I looked up at Ash in total awe. Mrs. Hart shrieked, running to pick up Gemma. “Gemma! Are you hurt?” “Do you even know who I am? Who authorized you to kick…” Mr. Hart looked furiously at Ash, but the moment he saw Ash’s face, his words caught in his throat. He put on a sickly-sweet smile. “Ah, Mr. Ashton. Is that you?”

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After I died saving Holden Blackwood, he didn’t behave like a grieving widower in some tragic romance novel. Three days after he’d rushed through my funeral—a perfunctory, cold affair—he married his assistant, Bonnie Shaw. Their wedding was lavish, a spectacle of gilded excess. Meanwhile, my photo from the mantelpiece was tossed into the kitchen trash, and no one in the Blackwood estate dared speak my name again. Our four-year-old son, Ford, rushed his father, clutching his leg, only to be roughly kicked away. “Elma is dead!” Holden roared, his face a mask of cold fury. “You will start calling Bonnie ‘Mama’ immediately, or you’ll be out of this house!” “Furthermore, you’re starting boarding school next month. You won’t interfere with Bonnie’s pregnancy.” Ford ran away that afternoon, clutching my portrait. He was hit by a car and died alone on the side of the road. Holden used the priceless collection of artwork I’d inherited from my father—my dowry—to leverage his company’s recovery. He became the city’s wealthiest magnate and lived to the age of ninety. It turned out, the tidy moral structure of justice in novels was a comforting lie. Then, I woke up. I was back on the morning Holden Blackwood fell into the sea. And I understood. It wasn’t an accident at all. My death in the last life was the result of a cruel, desperate gamble they’d orchestrated. This time, I decided to watch the game from the sidelines. “Mommy!” The small, whiny voice, thick with injustice, jolted me fully awake. Ford, all four years of him, tumbled into my embrace, his body soft and warm. The flash of my past life—him lying broken by the road, hugging my framed photo, crying for his mother—stabbed into my mind. I had been a frantic ghost, circling uselessly above him, unable to stop his fate. My arms tightened around him now. “Mommy, I want to go on the boat with you and Daddy,” Ford pleaded, looking up with wide, beseeching eyes. The boat. I froze. Holden’s voice, sharp and impatient, cut in from behind me. “Move it, Elma. What are you waiting for?” I turned slowly. The man I’d loved with a lifetime’s devotion was walking toward me. His face was still devastatingly handsome, but my heart felt like a frozen, hollow space in my chest. “If we’re late for the summit, I’m holding you responsible!” It all clicked into place. Today was the Lakehurst Commercial Summit. And today was the anniversary of my death. “Perhaps you shouldn’t go.” Bonnie, immaculate in a silk dress, floated down the sweeping staircase and naturally looped her arm through Holden’s. “The little guy is sensitive. The sea air will make him sick again.” She shot me a glance, a tiny, triumphant smirk playing on her lips. In the previous life, I would have lunged, tearing her off him. But this time, when Ford shrieked, “Bad woman! Let go of my Daddy!” I held him back with a voice that was suddenly, terrifyingly calm. “Ford, come back.” I scooped him up, rising to my feet. “Bonnie’s right. He should stay home with the nanny.” A flicker of surprise crossed Holden’s face. Three months ago, when I first discovered their affair, I’d trashed his office, made a public scene, and begged him on my knees not to leave me. This composure must seem deeply, unnervingly abnormal to him. “Elma, you’re…” He paused, assessing me. “You’re being sensible.” I didn’t reply. I simply turned and walked up the stairs. I wouldn’t go to the yacht, not yet. In the past, Ford had witnessed my drowning, a trauma that ultimately broke him. This time, all I cared about was his safety. I quickly changed my clothes and came back down. As Holden reached for my hand, I slipped past him, letting Bonnie take the front seat. I settled into the back. The yacht deck was cold, the water vast and flat. I couldn’t help but remember the morgue in the hospital, my dead body wrapped in plastic, and Holden weeping over me. The grief hadn’t seemed fake. So why, just three days later, did he throw away my photo and marry Bonnie? Even if the love was gone, I had still saved his life. Just then, a faint crash echoed from the cabin. Bonnie poked her head out. Seeing the deck was empty, she nervously retreated. “The private investigator got the proof!” Her voice was low, tight. “She’s been meeting with that man frequently… Holden, she’s cheating on you!” “Enough!” Holden’s voice sounded exhausted. “I told you, you’ll be compensated handsomely. But as long as Elma is alive, there is only one Mrs. Blackwood.” “Don’t you want to know if she cares about you, though?” Bonnie hissed. The man stopped walking. “If she jumps in after you, it proves her loyalty.” “And if she… doesn’t jump?” “Don’t worry, I have a rescue boat standing by.” Bonnie gripped his arm. “It’s just a little drama, a show of desperate love. She won’t be in any real danger.” The silence stretched, long and deadly. Holden finally gave in, a single, decisive nod. I almost laughed out loud. My death in the previous life was born from their stupid, manufactured suspicion. The “other man” was just a rare stamp dealer. Holden was obsessed with collecting, and I’d been trying to buy him a surprise set. He never gave me a chance to explain. A heavy splash echoed from the other end of the deck. “Honey, help me!” Holden was thrashing in the icy water. Last time, I jumped and lost my life. This time, I stood still. I calmly pulled out a small bag of sunflower seeds and began shelling them. Bonnie was stunned. “Mrs. Blackwood, you’re not going to save him? You don’t care about Mr. Blackwood’s safety?” “I have a terrible cold,” I replied with an effortless shrug. “Can’t risk getting worse. You look awfully concerned, though. You should go save him.” With a swift movement, I shoved her backward. Bonnie shrieked as she plummeted into the sea. Her flailing and desperate cries for help instantly merged with Holden’s frantic splashing. I wiped my hands clean and pulled out my phone. I sent two quick messages. One to my lawyer, instructing him to prepare the final divorce documents. The second to my childhood rival and estranged friend in France. Keep an eye on the painter, Theo Moretti, at St. Mary’s Hospital. I’m giving you a massive score. The rescue crew was efficient. Neither of them died. Bonnie woke up quickly. I carried a thermos of hot soup to the hospital room but she wasn’t there. I walked toward the nurses’ station and paused by the utility closet, hearing hushed voices. “The plan is ruined!” It was the crewman’s voice. “Elma didn’t jump. We can’t testify that she was pushing the CEO’s head underwater to inherit his estate…” I held my breath. Was this the whole truth? No wonder Holden hated me so much shortly after my death. “Don’t panic,” Bonnie chuckled lightly. “Her refusal to jump only proves she never cared about Holden.” “I have plenty of ways to make them divorce!” She leaned in close to the man’s ear, dropping her voice further. “Besides, I have a massive kill-switch ready.” I couldn’t make out the rest. Seeing them about to conclude, I swiftly retreated to the room. Holden was awake, his face pale and clammy. He struggled to sit up, grabbing my wrist in a vice grip. “Why… why didn’t you jump in to save me?” I gently pulled my arm away. “I have a cold. I shouldn’t go near the water.” He stared, then loosened his grip. “You… you weren’t like this before.” Yes, before. In the past, I drained my father’s inheritance to help him rebuild, gave up my job as an art buyer to focus on getting pregnant. I sacrificed my life, and still couldn’t save my only son. Just then, Bonnie rushed in. She threw herself into Holden’s arms, clutching him tightly. “Holden, you scared me to death!” “Thank goodness I didn’t hesitate and just jumped straight in…” As she spoke, Bonnie glanced at me triumphantly. I simply smiled, pulling out my phone and pressing record. “That was a rather reluctant jump, wasn’t it, Bonnie?” I hit the play button. The conversation from the yacht deck filled the sterile room. “I have a cold. You go save him.” Bonnie screamed, “He’s your husband! What does this have to do with me?” “You love him desperately, don’t you? Wouldn’t it be romantic to die together if you can’t save him?” She sounded terrified, shaking violently. “I don’t want to die! I have so much left to do!” The recording ended abruptly with the sound of her being shoved into the water. Holden’s face was the color of stone. Bonnie stammered, trying to make excuses, but he pointed a shaky finger toward the door. “Get out.” She rose, tears streaming down her face. Her phone rang as she reached the exit. She returned instantly, a terrifying confidence replacing her panic. She held the phone triumphantly in front of Holden. “I couldn’t figure out why his wife watched him drown… until I saw this.” A paternity test report. The subjects: Holden Blackwood and Ford Blackwood. The conclusion: Zero probability of blood relation. Holden’s hand trembled. He looked up, his eyes bloodshot. He hurled the phone at me, demanding an explanation. I didn’t flinch. “It seems Mrs. Blackwood wanted Holden to die so her bastard son could inherit the Blackwood fortune…” Bonnie helpfully added. “Then she could run off with her lover, is that right?” I remained silent. Holden shot up from the bed, ripping the IV from his arm. He grabbed my wrist and dragged me toward the door. “We’re going for a re-test now! We’ll find out the truth.” Bonnie’s face went white, her sudden anxiety visible. I yanked my arm away. “No.” Holden grew frantic. “If you have nothing to hide, what are you afraid of?” “If the test proves I’ve been wrongly accused…” I pointed at Bonnie’s stomach. “Then you abort her child. Do you dare take that bet?” Holden froze. In my previous life, I never knew Bonnie was pregnant until the end. I had always believed Holden was just playing around, and that if I were humble enough, he’d return to me. “Two months along, right?” I smiled, shifting my gaze to Bonnie’s barely noticeable bump. “About the same stage I was with Ford.” She instantly covered her belly, retreating behind Holden. “Elma! What are you doing? The baby is innocent!” “Nothing at all.” I smiled. “Just reminding you, Bonnie, that you need vitamins for the morning sickness. I can even recommend a good nutritionist.” My sudden generosity only deepened Holden’s confusion. “You’re not angry? Not jealous?” I shook my head. “Bonnie is carrying a Blackwood heir. Why would I be jealous?” “Unless…” He choked, his breathing ragged. “Unless your heart is simply not mine anymore?” I gave him no answer. “Ford is four. You hooked up with your lover four years ago, didn’t you? While I was busy rebuilding my life?” As Holden’s eyes became increasingly bloodshot, I remained completely silent. He could figure it out himself. If I’d truly had a lover, I would have left him ages ago. Why would I pour my father’s entire estate into saving him? He simply chose not to believe me. My phone vibrated. It was the reply from Jasper Reid. Theo Moretti critically ill. His last works expected to double in value. I closed my eyes, recalling the twelve paintings—the St. Christopher Series—I’d left for Holden in the previous life. I pulled a file from my bag and slapped it against his chest. “Let’s get divorced.” Holden stared at the words, DIVORCE AGREEMENT, and swallowed hard. “What did you say?” “Divorce,” I repeated. “When a marriage has no trust, it’s better to go our separate ways.” “Do you really have to do this?” His voice softened, a hint of desperation creeping in. “Just agree to the paternity test, give me an answer…” “And then what?” I cut him off. “Even if I’m proven innocent, will you punish Bonnie for this?” “Dare to subject her to an amniocentesis for DNA testing, or let me use your affair as grounds for a lawsuit?” He was immediately speechless. “Divorce, divorce, that’s all you think about!” He erupted in a sudden rage, snatching the papers and throwing them back. “I know what this is. You want to walk away with more money to give to your lover! Not a chance! I won’t sign this. You leave with nothing!” I picked up the pen without hesitation. And signed it cleanly. Holden tried to stop me but was too late. “You…” His hand shook. “You really want nothing, just to leave me?” “I only want the remaining part of my dowry.” “Those few mediocre paintings?” He tried to find a flicker of doubt in my eyes. “Elma, think clearly…” “Perfectly clear.” “Fine. Very good.” His eyes were red as he nodded. He immediately called the nanny, instructing her to pack my belongings. He insisted we leave the hospital and return home. The moment we walked in the door, he grabbed Ford and ordered my bags to be moved into the guest room. “Until the cooling-off period is over, you will live here.” “Why?” “Because you are still Mrs. Blackwood!” “This is illegal confinement!” The tension was immediate, a standoff. I knew his game: he wanted me here to witness his life with Bonnie, hoping I’d get jealous and beg him to withdraw the divorce papers. Tired of the drama, I grabbed my suitcase and turned to leave. Suddenly, he snatched Ford up and slammed the child’s head onto the corner of the dining table. Thud. A dull sound, followed by the sight of blood. Ford screamed in pain. I rushed over and held him, trembling all over. Holden immediately covered his fleeting moment of panic. “The child is hurt. You can’t drag him around in the cold looking for a place to stay, can you?” I looked up at him, seeing a stranger. I remembered the night Ford was born. I’d had a massive hemorrhage, and Holden stood outside the delivery room, his eyes red, pleading with the doctor to save me. Later, holding his son, he swore he would cherish us both for life. And now, he had deliberately smashed his son’s head just to keep me trapped. “Mr. Blackwood, call a doctor.” I turned, my voice venomous. He carelessly agreed, then wrapped his arm around Bonnie and disappeared into the master suite. For the next few days, Bonnie was the lady of the manor. In the living room, the dining room, on the stairs—I constantly found them entwined. Holden attended every prenatal appointment. When Bonnie wanted a midnight cake, he braved the snow to buy ingredients and baked until dawn. He completely ignored Ford and me. My lawyer called frequently, reminding me of the dwindling countdown to the official end of the cooling-off period. That night, with Ford in my arms, he asked, “Mommy, are you really leaving Daddy?” “Yes.” “When do we go? I don’t want to be here anymore.” I glanced at my phone. Soon. Two more days until the painter, Theo Moretti, died, and Holden’s company would face catastrophe. In the past life, he used my paintings to save himself. This time, I’d strike first. I texted Jasper. Be at the auction the day after tomorrow. If Theo doesn’t die, I’ll work in your gallery for life. You can’t lose. After a moment of silence, he replied with a single word. Deal. On the day of the auction, I dressed to kill and came downstairs. Holden and Bonnie were standing together. He paused, seeing me. “Let’s go, the car is warmed up.” I stepped in front of Bonnie, took Holden’s arm, and squeezed him out of her way. His mouth curved slightly. “Changed your mind about the divorce?” I just smiled, my eyes scanning the trunk of his car where the paintings were stored. I took the passenger seat. In the rearview mirror, Bonnie looked like she wanted to tear me apart. Holden, in a strangely good mood, kept discussing the items he was interested in bidding on. I was distracted, checking my phone and gazing out the window. At the venue, I chose a seat far away from them. Holden looked perplexed. “Sitting so far away? Are you trying to publicly humiliate me in front of the media?” “We’re getting divorced,” I said, shrugging. “Does it matter if we sit together?” His face darkened. He immediately bid aggressively, buying three expensive diamond sets for Bonnie. “A gift for the most important woman in my life,” he announced loudly. The media swarmed. “Mr. Blackwood, is it true your marriage with Mrs. Blackwood has broken down?” He avoided the question, smiling vaguely, looking at me, clearly expecting me to jump up and defend the marriage. I remained silent. I was calm and quiet, like a detached observer. Bonnie was ecstatic, clutching her jewelry boxes. Holden’s face grew darker and darker. Near the end, I stood up. I glanced at the familiar figure in the corner, Jasper Reid, and walked to the stage. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have a few paintings to auction today. They are my late father’s private collection.” A murmur rippled through the audience. “Why is Mrs. Blackwood selling her father’s things? Is the rumor of her divorce true?” I took the microphone. “Holden and I are finalizing our divorce.” “Since Mr. Blackwood demands I leave with nothing, I need to sell these for cash.” The media erupted. “Is this because of Bonnie?” Holden’s face was livid, but he forced a cold laugh. “Those worthless pieces? How much could they possibly be worth?” It was true. The painter, Theo Moretti, was completely obscure right now. But after his death, this series of twelve paintings would skyrocket in value. And today, was the day he died. “Don’t cause a scene, Elma,” Holden hissed, suppressing his fury. “If you need money, I’ll increase your allowance. I can even buy them myself at a low price as a charitable act.” “No, thank you.” I waved him off. “Keep your money for Bonnie’s jewelry, Mr. Blackwood. These paintings will find someone who truly appreciates them.” The auction floor went silent. No one bid. Holden raised an eyebrow triumphantly, but a voice from the corner cut him short. “Three million.” It was him. Jasper. Holden recognized him instantly. “Is he your lover?” Holden grabbed my wrist. I pulled away sharply. “Mr. Blackwood, please maintain decorum. If you’re not interested in the next lot, you may leave.” “Holden,” Bonnie tugged his sleeve. “My stomach hurts. Let’s go home.” Holden glared at me, then turned to leave. But as they approached the car, an international news alert popped up on his phone. At the same moment, the distinctive ping of news alerts filled the auction hall. Holden froze. French painter Theo Moretti passed away this morning. The value of his final works is expected to skyrocket. He spun around wildly. By the time he turned back, the bidding had already tripled. “I’ll raise the bid! Five million! I’ll take it!” He was panting, held back by security guards. “Attendees who have left the premises are disqualified from bidding.” I smiled. The auctioneer’s gavel struck the podium. “Sold for thirty million to Mr. Jasper Reid!” Holden was rigid, watching Jasper stand up and offer me a small, confident smile. In thirty minutes, the Blackwood Group would be facing a major crisis. And he had just missed his only chance for survival.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389413”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was notorious in the city of Portside for being “the impossible catch.” A sales associate at a high-end boutique, being pursued by the city’s most eligible bachelor, yet I played hard to get at every turn. Liam Hawthorne, the Portside “Prince,” would clear out my counter every month to boost my sales, but I’d immediately credit the commission to a colleague. When a stalker chased me, he didn’t hesitate to shield me from a knife attack; I, however, coldly abandoned him in the dark alley and walked away. Even when he defied his family for me, and was given the brutal, infamous ninety-nine lash strokes as punishment; I was out flashing a seductive smile, hooking up with a new, equally wealthy, man. Everyone said Liam was blinded, utterly foolish to be obsessed with a gold-digger like me. But my truth was, I was a cop. My role as a sales associate was a deep cover to get close to the crime boss, Victor Franklin, and investigate a horrific string of murders. Liam’s appearance had completely derailed all my plans. I fought him off with every cruel word I knew, but he wouldn’t quit. Just as I finally made contact with Victor Franklin, Liam would interfere, ruining the connection. I was ready to pull out, but my superiors suggested a pivot: play along with Liam, and use his access to penetrate Victor Franklin’s inner circle. And so, I started a relationship with Liam Hawthorne. Two years flew by. My mission had gone nowhere. And now, Liam had a new love. 1 I was half-kneeling, fitting a customer with a new pair of designer heels, when the photo of Liam and his new flame kissing hit the top trending list. The mall’s giant video screen was broadcasting the gossip news. A reporter deliberately prodded, “Mr. Hawthorne, you once declared Ms. Sylvia the most beautiful woman in Portside and nearly broke with your father for her. Are you truly done with her now?” Liam swirled a glass of red wine, a cold, dismissive smirk playing on his lips. “No matter how beautiful, I’ve had my fill. I’m sick of the sight of her.” My fingers twitched, nearly knocking over the shoe box. The client glanced around, then leaned in, whispering, “Agent Starling, you’ve been undercover with Liam for two years, and you’ve found nothing. Now that he’s moved on, why don’t you extract and rejoin the squad?” I thought of the photos I’d seen in the tabloids. Liam, the usually aloof and distinguished heir, was squeezed into a bustling, noisy street-food stall with this other girl. He was slightly turned, shielding her from the crowd, his eyes and the curve of his smile full of unconcealed affection. The moisture in my eyes slowly receded, leaving them cold and sharp. “Not yet. His sudden change of heart might just be the opening I need to break the case.” Before I could finish, a perfectly synchronized chorus of: “Mr. Hawthorne!” erupted at the doorway. Liam walked in, leading a young woman. She was dressed simply, with wide, clear, yet stubborn, fawn-like eyes. This was Chloe Young, the new girl he was completely infatuated with. “You,” he pointed at me, his voice flat, like he was addressing a stranger. “Come over and pick out an evening gown for Chloe.” I paused for a moment, then plastered on a professional smile and walked toward them. Chloe was already looking through the racks. When she wasn’t looking, Liam grabbed my arm and hissed under his breath, “If you let Chloe catch a whiff of what we were, you won’t be able to stay in this city.” I nodded, my smile unwavering. Chloe clearly wasn’t from this world. She was uncomfortable with the attentive service of a luxury sales associate. When I reached behind her to tie the laces of the gown, she flinched and quickly pulled away, “No, no, I can do it myself.” But she fumbled with the ribbon several times, unable to smooth the satin into a neat bow. Liam watched her clumsy attempts and suddenly laughed out loud. He stepped forward, his fingers expertly tying a perfect bow. Then, he dropped a light kiss on her cheek. “Beautiful, babe, truly beautiful.” Chloe’s face flushed crimson. Watching that scene, I felt a sharp blade twisting in my chest. I dug my nails into my palms, fighting back the tears. You are a detective. Your duty is to protect this city, not cry over a man. I repeated the mantra silently. But the next morning, the headline, ‘Hawthorne Heir Takes New Lover, Ms. Sylvia’s Beauty Withers in Sorrow,’ was trending. Liam’s mother, Mrs. Evelyn Hawthorne, summoned me to the family estate. Stepping into the courtyard, I saw Liam kneeling by the main entrance. His dress shirt was ripped from a whipping, and the bloody welts were horrifying. His father, Mr. Richard Hawthorne, was pointing at him, roaring: “You cut off ties with those low-life women immediately and get back with Starling! Or I’ll beat you to death!” Mrs. Hawthorne was also tearfully pleading, “Liam, Starling carried your child, and then you—you tormented her so badly. Everyone in Portside knows she’s your woman! You can’t just abandon her…” Liam held his neck stiff, refusing to yield, and looked up at his father. “Then kill me. Even in death, my soul belongs with Chloe.” I stared at his rigid back. It brought back the memory of a year ago, when he had stood against his father just like this, for me. He had even gone on a hunger strike for three days, and jumped from the second floor, willing to limp just to escape and see me. Back then, looking at the bruised and broken Liam, all I could think was: Liam, when this mission is over, I will tell you everything, and we will be together forever. Now, the scene was a mirror image, but my heart was utterly cold. Fortunately, my mission was due to end in less than a month. After that, I would disappear from his world forever. I stepped forward and took Mr. Hawthorne’s arm. “Uncle, please stop. Hitting him won’t help. This is between us. Let us resolve it, okay?” Mr. Hawthorne gasped, pulling back his hand, and said with pained sincerity, “Starling, you are the only daughter-in-law we recognize.” I offered a slight smile. “Uncle, we will talk properly. Please, rest first.” Mr. Hawthorne entered the house, still looking worried. I helped Liam sit down and asked a maid to bring a first-aid kit. Just as I reached out to treat his wounds, he frowned and refused. “I’ll do it myself.” My hand hung in the air, and a bitter smile touched my lips. That was Liam. When he loved someone, it was with his whole heart, with no room for anyone else. Liam expertly cut his shirt away and started to disinfect and dress his own wounds. He sneered, “Starling Sylvia, don’t think for a second that winning over my parents means I’ll take you back. I’m tired of you…” I smiled faintly. “I know.” The three words were so calm they momentarily choked Liam into silence. I continued, “But you also know that because of you, my reputation is ruined. Mr. Hawthorne, you owe me compensation.” He gave me a cold side-eye. “How much money do you want?” “Five million, and an invitation to the Heavenly Gate Gala.” The Heavenly Gate Gala was a high-end private event hosted by Victor Franklin. I had a strong suspicion that the missing girls and the actresses whose deaths were ruled as accidents were all somehow connected to this gathering. Liam’s eyebrows furrowed deeper. “Why do you want to go to the Heavenly Gate Gala?” I shrugged. “To find a new rich man, of course. Since you don’t want me, I have to find a replacement, don’t I?” Liam looked stunned, then rage flared across his face. “Starling Sylvia, I never knew you were so vulgar.” “I’m certainly not as pure and innocent as your Ms. Young,” I met his gaze calmly. “Mr. Hawthorne, you promised to compensate me. You wouldn’t break your word, would you?” Liam’s eyes were bloodshot, and he ground the words out, “You’ll get the invitation by the end of the month. Go if you want. But don’t come crawling back to me when you run into trouble.” I looked at him, my smile light and clear. “Don’t worry. Even if I die alone in a ditch, I won’t come back and beg you.” Liam stared at my relieved smile, a vein throbbing in his forehead. “Starling Sylvia, did you ever love me at all?” I hesitated slightly. “Why do you ask?” “If you loved me, how could you be planning to find a new man so quickly after I broke up with you?” “If that’s what you choose to believe, then that’s the answer.” I dropped the line, turned decisively, and walked away, terrified that if I stayed a second longer, he would see the tears welling up in my eyes. How could I not have loved him? If I hadn’t, why would I have stayed by his side for two years with no progress on the case? If I hadn’t, why would I have become pregnant with his child, and then, fearing it would implicate the Hawthorne family, painfully chose to end the pregnancy? But it was all in the past. Our beginning was a mistake. We were destined to be strangers, star-crossed and without a future. 2 After that day, Liam and I officially broke up. Soon, my former colleagues, who had always resented me, began to ostracize me. I was forced to attend increasingly seedy business functions. After downing glass after glass of hard liquor, my head spinning, I excused myself to the restroom and escaped to the hallway. From the adjacent private room, I heard a familiar voice: “I’ll drink this for Chloe. Don’t make it hard on her.” “The new sister-in-law is pretty, alright. Got our Liam all protective. But I wonder whose bed skills are better, hers or the former Ms. Sylvia’s?” Another playboy laughed. “Definitely the Sylvia beauty. And that waist, those curves…” Liam spat out a curse, his tone suddenly serious. “Shut up. Chloe is a good girl. If you dare say another dirty word like that, I’ll rip your mouths off.” Everyone knew Chloe was the apple of his eye and dared not joke any further. Listening from outside, I felt a sandstorm rage in my heart, dark and suffocating. Six months ago, soon after I recovered from the miscarriage, Liam would drag me to clubs and parties. He would aggressively kiss me and tear at my clothes in front of his friends. Balconies, luxury cars, public parks… he never cared about my reputation, taking me whenever and wherever he pleased. Once, at a villa party outside the city, he pinned me against the transparent floor-to-ceiling window… His friends were downstairs in the yard, playing cards, and they all saw me clearly when they looked up. Liam had never once scolded his friends for me. He had never once said that I was a good girl. Maybe, in his heart, I was nothing more than a vulgar, gold-digging sales associate. I managed a bitter, self-mocking smile and was about to leave. The door to the private room opened, and I bumped right into Liam. Our eyes locked, and silence fell between us. Then, a clear female voice broke the tension. “Liam Hawthorne! Why didn’t you call me when you came out?” Chloe Young hurried over. When she saw me, her face instantly soured. “Liam, you lied to me! You said you’d cut all ties with your ex!” With that, she turned and ran toward the elevator without a second glance. Liam panicked, yelling “Chloe!” and chasing after her without a moment of hesitation. I even heard him say, “What ex? She was just a casual plaything. Don’t think too much about it.” Plaything. So, for two years, I was just a game to him. It made sense. If it wasn’t just a game, why would he have treated me so carelessly? I offered a self-deprecating smile, my eyes filled with quiet despair. 3 The next day at work, the store manager gravely called me into her office and turned her laptop screen toward me. The screen showed an incredibly explicit photo. The manager pointed at the woman in the picture and struggled to speak. “Starling, is this… is this you?” I felt a sudden drop, as if I’d been plunged into an ice bath. My whole body went cold. It was a photo taken six months ago when Liam insisted on having me in the car, and a paparazzo snapped the shot. Liam had paid a hefty sum to buy the photo, storing it on his phone. I had begged him to delete it, but he said, “Starling Sylvia, if you dare to leave me, I’ll let everyone see what you look like.” But now, he was the one who had changed his mind, yet he still released the photo. The manager sighed, looking at my ashen face. “The photo has been mass-emailed to many colleagues. It’s spreading like wildfire. We’ve decided to put you on immediate leave. Go home and wait for notice.” I understood. As the photo spread, countless strangers would see this humiliating part of me. Even my colleagues at the police department. My reputation was utterly destroyed. Portside was no longer a place for me. Thankfully, the Heavenly Gate Gala was next week. Once the mission was complete, I would request a transfer and never return. … A week passed quickly. Holding the invitation Liam gave me, I walked into the Franklin family mansion. To my surprise, Liam was there, too. He strode up to me, his cold gaze raking over me. “You actually came? That desperate to find a new man?” He leaned in, his voice full of malicious intent. “Who doesn’t know you’ve been used up by me? What decent family would want you?” I shot him a look. “Thanks to you, everyone knows I’m great in bed. Your friends are lining up to ask me out.” Liam’s face darkened, and he grabbed my wrist. “This isn’t the place for you. I’ll give you more money, enough for the rest of your life. Leave now.” I had a feeling Liam knew something. “Liam Hawthorne, are you by any chance…” “Liam!” Chloe Young rushed over, clutching his arm and pulling him away from me. “You promised me you wouldn’t get mixed up with her again!” Liam’s face stiffened. “Chloe, I…” Chloe’s eyes welled up, and she turned and fled. Liam instantly ran after her, calling her name, without a moment of hesitation. But he couldn’t help glancing back, throwing me a look of extreme complexity. It was a warning, yet mixed with a trace of pleading. I sighed with relief when they left. I subtly observed my surroundings. When no one was looking, I quietly headed up the stairs to the top floor. Around the corner, two hulking bodyguards stood before a thick, ornately carved wooden door. I pretended to be drunk, swaying as I approached them. The bodyguards, unconcerned, reached out to steady me. “Miss, this isn’t where you’re supposed to be.” My wrist flipped, and a tranquilizer dart found its mark in one man’s neck. The other’s eyes widened in alarm. As he opened his mouth to shout, I delivered a sharp, clean strike to the back of his neck. They fell silently. I quickly fumbled a key from one of their pockets and opened the heavy door. What I saw inside chilled me to the bone. Handcuffs, leather whips, iron cages… and a huge surveillance screen. I finally understood. This so-called gala was a feast that consumed one living girl after another. Before midnight, it was a typical high-society gathering. After midnight, Victor Franklin would invite his carefully selected members to abuse these unfortunate young women. This kind of ‘game’ inevitably led to deaths. Girls without connections were quickly disposed of, their bodies dumped. The high-profile ones, like the actresses, were framed as suicides or accidents to fool the public. He even recorded the whole process to entertain himself and his friends. And this was only the tip of the iceberg. A crime spree of this magnitude had to involve a vast network for sourcing victims and a deep, dark money-laundering chain. My hands trembling, I copied all the evidence. With the files secured, I hurried out of the room of sin. But the moment I opened the door, an alarm blared. Victor Franklin must have discovered the intrusion. I rushed downstairs, only to find all the exits of the banquet hall sealed. The guests whispered in panic, and the room grew restive. Victor Franklin appeared on the spiral staircase and announced loudly, “There’s no need to panic, everyone. I’ve unfortunately misplaced a priceless antique. To prevent it from leaving the premises, we must temporarily close all exits for a search.” The moment he finished, Chloe Young, who was among the guests, suddenly pointed at me and shrieked, “It’s her! I’ve been watching her! I saw her sneak upstairs! She must have stolen it!” All eyes in the room turned toward me. Victor Franklin’s cold eyes locked onto me, a predatory smile playing on his lips. “Ms. Sylvia?” Liam was also watching me from the crowd, his expression complex, finally morphing into a sigh of deep disappointment. “Starling, you could have asked me for money. Why would you…” Victor Franklin advanced on me, step by step, his gaze the cold, calculating look of a viper eyeing its prey. “Hand over the item, Ms. Sylvia. You know this is… very important to me.” I looked at him calmly, holding up my small clutch bag. “I didn’t take anything. You can search me if you don’t believe me.” Victor Franklin narrowed his eyes, reaching for my bag. With a movement too fast to follow, I pulled a small handgun, strapped to my thigh, from under my dress. The dark muzzle was pressed firmly against Victor Franklin’s forehead. I straightened my spine, my voice clear and cold. “Victor Franklin, you are under arrest.” Just then, the villa’s main door was violently forced open. Fully armed police officers poured in, quickly securing the entire scene. The commanding officer rushed to my side, snapped to attention, and announced, “Agent Starling, Special Operations is in position. Please give the order.”

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The payroll file accidentally landed in the company group chat. Even though the finance team recalled it within seconds, I saw it. The intern’s salary on the spreadsheet was blinding. Ninety thousand dollars. Triple my own. I stared, slack-jawed, then slowly looked up at the young man across the desk from me, who was currently slacking off. After a moment’s thought, I quietly closed the project file I’d been checking for him. Then, with a strange sense of calm, I printed out my letter of resignation. Three years of my life, poured into this company, and I was worth less than a “walk-on intern,” Brody Hall, who had joined us three months ago. If he were a hard worker or a technical genius, I might have swallowed it. But Brody spent most of his time at his desk, glued to his screen, playing games. Like right now. Headphones on, tuned out from the world. I’d called him out on it a few times and flagged it to our Director. No change. I finally gave up. I figured, with an attitude like that, he must have some killer skills, right? Wrong. He couldn’t even write a simple API call without instruction. I had to walk him through reading system logs, step by painful step. It was honestly easier to do the work myself. I prided myself on being reliable, a bedrock for the engineering team. And yet, his paycheck was three times mine. I felt like an absolute fool. I joined NovaTech fresh out of college three years ago. I was fueled by that young, fierce belief that you fight for the dream, even if the conditions are tight. I led the charge on the company’s first few successful projects. I lost count of the all-nighters I pulled or the keyboards I wore out. Now, NovaTech was booming. We’d moved into a sleek new office tower and hired dozens of new employees. And me? I felt forgotten, stuck with a salary that hadn’t kept pace with my contributions or the company’s growth. It wasn’t just the money. It was the principle. The blatant, stinging unfairness. Clutching the printed resignation, I strode directly to the Director’s office and pushed the door open. Victor Kemp, our Technical Director, was smiling broadly at his screen, no doubt basking in the glory of some recent product launch. My heart sank a little, but my spine straightened. I knew what I had to do. Victor looked up, the smile dissolving. “Jas Clarke? What’s up?” I placed the resignation letter squarely on his desk. “Victor, I’m quitting. Per company policy, I will complete my full four-week handover.” Victor blinked, momentarily stunned. “Quitting? But things are great. What’s the issue? Are you having trouble? Did you… hear some office gossip?” My voice was so calm it surprised even me. “I saw the intern, Brody Hall’s, salary. It’s triple mine.” “That’s the only reason I’m leaving.” Victor’s face immediately hardened, then he adopted his patronizing look, the one that said, you don’t understand how the real world works. “Jas, salary is confidential. Whatever you saw, it has to be a misunderstanding.” I gave a dry, humorless laugh. “Then tell me, Victor. What is Brody’s salary?” Of course, he wouldn’t tell me. His tone became impatient. “Look, Jas, you’re one of our earliest hires and a core developer. I get that you’re upset. But the company follows standard pay practices. We’ve given you raises every year for the past three years—more than most of the veterans. As for Brody, he’s a high-achieving graduate. We can’t bring in top talent without offering a premium. You can’t let your personal feelings stall the company’s growth.” The sheer audacity of his speech made my blood run cold. “Victor, my contribution to NovaTech over the past three years is undeniable. Do you honestly think an eighty-thousand-dollar annual salary is appropriate for a Senior Systems Architect?” (I translated the original’s 10,000 RMB to $80k as an equivalent feeling of underpayment in a high-cost US city.) “Every time I’ve asked for a fair raise, you’ve fed me lines about the company’s ‘tight margins.’ I was a team player. And this is the result? Brody’s ‘high-achieving’ status hasn’t translated into any actual competence. If that’s your definition of talent, then let me go. I’ll make room.” With every sentence, Victor’s complexion darkened. By the end, he was practically yelling. “What is this? Are you threatening the company?” I scoffed. “Me? A disgruntled developer? I couldn’t threaten a start-up. I’m simply informing you of my career move. This is a notification of resignation, Victor, not an application for one. You don’t need to approve it. Besides, I’m saving the company a boatload of money. You should thank me.” With that, I turned and walked out, not looking back. As I opened the office door, Brenda, our financial administrator, was lurking outside. She saw me, her face pale, her eyes darting away. I walked past her without a word. Once she slipped into Victor’s office, I paused outside, curious, and leaned a fraction closer to the door. I heard Brenda’s emotional voice from inside. “Victor, is Jas really leaving? We don’t have anyone who can pick up her projects!” Victor’s impatient reply cut her off. “So what? The sky is going to fall because one female architect left? She’s been phoning it in for years, anyway. Her heart hasn’t been in it. Who cares if the code works? We need vision and disruption! Getting rid of the old guard is the best thing for the company’s bloodline. Tell HR to go out and hire a few more people like Brody. Money is not an issue!” Back at my desk, a tight knot of suppressed rage twisted in my stomach. I glanced up. Brody’s desk was empty. Gone fishing, as usual. My eyes fell to his computer screen. He hadn’t locked it. Not only that, he’d left his private messenger chat open. A message from a friend was pinned to the top. Chad: Bro, this gig is insane. Triple the salary to play XBox, and you got some corporate grandma cleaning up your messes? Seriously, her rent is probably half your paycheck, and she thinks she’s your boss? GTFO. A sudden, sharp clarity hit me. I finally understood why Brody had been so curious about my life when he first joined—asking about my neighborhood, my commute, even my favorite coffee shop. I thought he was just being friendly, a naive new hire. He was just gathering intel, feeding his friend ammunition to mock me! My hands clenched, my nails digging painful crescent moons into my palms. But the anger, pushed to its absolute limit, paradoxically left me feeling cold and focused. I sat back down, neatly compiled a comprehensive handover document, and then boxed up my few personal items. I was done. I would leave today. As I reached the main hallway, I saw Brody walking back from the designated smoking area, heading toward Victor’s office. He looked surprised to see me, a faint, fake smile on his face. “Hey, Jas, leaving early today?” I gave a curt nod. He didn’t move, blocking my way. “Hey, so, that system I asked you to check over? Is it solid? You know, I’m presenting it to Mr. Elias next week. It’s my first big project here, can’t mess it up.” I stopped, considering him for a moment. I asked him, my voice serious: “Brody, Victor gave you this project because he believes you have what it takes to own it. Do you believe that? If I hadn’t helped you, do you have the ability to complete this system yourself?” Brody’s face flushed with a mixture of shame and instant defensive anger. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? I called you ‘Jas’ as a courtesy. Don’t start thinking you’re hot stuff. I finished this system myself! You just checked the code. Are you trying to steal my credit?” My teeth ground together. Good. The mask is off. He wasn’t even bothering to pretend anymore. “If you’re so terrified of me stealing your credit,” I shot back, a thin, cold smile curving my lips, “then why did you ask me to check it in the first place?” Brody immediately choked, sputtering a denial, unable to meet my eyes. I didn’t wait for an answer. I turned and walked away. That night was the first genuinely restful sleep I’d had in months. When I woke up naturally the next morning, I felt a weight lift from my shoulders. I finally realized just how much the job had cost me. I didn’t rush to find a new job. Instead, I decided to take the time to center myself. I started cooking—trying new recipes, buying cute pottery and colorful linens for my apartment. I also resurrected a travel plan I’d put off for years: a solo hiking trip into the Blue Ridge Mountains. While I was collecting trail maps and gear recommendations, my former coworker, Sarah, messaged me. Sarah: Jas, you really left? Sarah was one of the few long-time employees. She’d been on an offsite meeting when I resigned. Jas: Yep. I’m out. Sarah: Was it that new intern that finally broke you? I felt a pang of curiosity. Jas: More or less. How did you guess? Sarah then spilled everything that had happened since I left. Apparently, not long after my departure, Brody presented his project to Mr. Elias, the CEO. Victor was right there beside him, giving a hyperbolic, non-stop pitch. Sarah: Victor was practically crowning Brody the next Elon Musk. You know Mr. Elias doesn’t understand the tech. He instantly greenlit the project—said we were going ‘all-in’ on resources and fast-tracking the launch! Reading the messages, I felt strangely detached. I was even a little amused. Because I knew… It wouldn’t be that simple. I’d seen Brody’s project. Honestly? It was a mess of bugs and poor design. It was miles away from being a production-ready system. I messaged Sarah back: Jas: When is the next review? Sarah: Next week, I think. Mr. Elias said he’s bringing in a major venture capitalist to watch the final demo. I smiled. Jas: Make sure you don’t book any vacation time next week. There’s going to be a show. Then I returned to plotting my mountain route. A week later, I was deep in the Appalachians. The crisp air and the vast landscape had already cleansed the shadows from my mind. I took out my phone to snap a photo for my private feed when I saw a flurry of messages from Sarah. Sarah: JAS! YOU’RE A GODDESS! Sarah: How did you know the project was going to fail?! Sarah: It crashed mid-demo, right in front of the VC! Mr. Elias was furious and just walked out! The investor heard you had resigned and literally pulled the plug on their entire investment. We’re talking millions lost! Sarah: And you will NOT believe this—Victor just SCREAMED at Brody in front of the whole department! And then Mr. Elias called Victor into his office and reamed him out! Those two idiots! It’s insane! I laughed out loud, a full, unrestrained sound of pure vindication. I quickly typed back: Jas: Please tell me you recorded it. Sarah: You know I did! The video Sarah sent showed Brody, head bowed, standing like a shamed child as Victor pointed a finger inches from his face, bellowing. Watching their misery, I felt an exhilarating rush. The next second, a call came in from an unfamiliar number. I answered without thinking. It was Brody, his voice tight with panic and on the verge of tears.

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My sister-in-law lied about my abortion. I exposed her affair. The first time our families met. I was exchanging pleasantries with Ryan’s parents across the dinner table when my future sister-in-law, Sherry, suddenly had a “realization.” “Jolie, you look so familiar! Wait, I remember you—I think I was the one who performed your D&C!” She clapped a hand over her mouth in mock surprise, but the words were already out. The dinner table exploded. Ryan’s parents, who had been all smiles and warmth moments ago, started whispering and pointing: “These young people, they sure live life on the edge, huh…” “No wonder they were in such a hurry to meet the families; it all makes sense now…” My parents were mortified and humiliated. Ryan turned to me, his eyes blazing with fury. I slowly set down my forks, adjusted my posture, and calmly said: “It’s perfectly normal that I look familiar, Sherry. After all, I manage the surveillance and security logs at The Azure Towers. I see you entering Unit 602 in Building Six nearly every day.” 1 It was the first time both families were meeting. To make the event feel suitably grand and to avoid any awkward silence, my parents brought my outgoing Aunt Carol and my chatty cousin, Lisa, for support. Ryan Walker’s family, however, showed up in force: his parents, his grandparents, his older brother Brad and his wife Sherry, plus a horde of aunts, uncles, and cousins. We had to squeeze four extra chairs into the private dining room just to fit everyone. The food was served, and the first round of wine had been poured. I worked hard to keep the conversation flowing, talking with Ryan’s mother, a nervous smile plastered on my face. Ryan sat beside me, occasionally placing a piece of food on my plate, trying to signal support. The atmosphere was strained, but we were keeping it stable. Then, Ryan’s Aunt Barbara shifted the topic to me: “Jolie is so pretty and she dresses beautifully! You have to teach my daughter a few things. She can’t find a decent boyfriend; she’s always so frumpy!” Aunt Carol quickly jumped in: “Ryan is handsome and his job is fantastic. They really are a match made in heaven.” The relatives on both sides exchanged the usual flowery pleasantries. I was about to offer a polite reply when Sherry, sitting directly across from me, locked her gaze on me. “Jolie, even though this is our first time meeting, I feel like I know you from somewhere!” I offered a polite, noncommittal smile. “Maybe I just have one of those faces.” Sherry shook her head, her eyes scanning my features. Suddenly, she gasped, raising her voice as if struck by a lightning-bolt realization: “Ah, I remember now! I think I was the one who performed your D&C!” The moment the words left her mouth, the air around the table froze solid. Sherry feigned shock, placing a frantic hand over her mouth. “Oh, my gosh, my big mouth… I really shouldn’t have said that in front of everyone…” She was all panicked fluster, a picture of a woman who had “accidentally let a secret slip.” I was completely blindsided, unable to process that Sherry would fabricate such a vicious lie in public. I instinctively snapped back, “What in the world are you talking about?” She immediately adopted a look of extreme victimhood. “Oh, I am so sorry, Jolie. I just have a loose tongue! I didn’t mean to… It was a total mistake, I swear!” But the damage was done. The lie was airborne. Ryan’s mother’s smile vanished instantly. His father frowned deeply. Aunt Barbara, who had just been praising me, narrowed her eyes and looked away. A ripple of hushed whispers spread through the Walker relatives: “These young women, relying on their looks, they’re so reckless…” “No wonder she rushed the introductions; there was a reason for it.” “Tsk, tsk, she looks so quiet and refined. Who would have thought?” My parents’ faces were beet red, but they stammered, unable to string together a single sentence to defend their daughter’s honor. Ryan’s Aunt Barbara completely turned on me. “I take back everything I said. My kids absolutely cannot associate with this kind of person!” Only my Aunt Carol and cousin Lisa were furious enough to hit the table. “Jolie is not that kind of person! If you keep spouting nonsense, don’t blame us for getting ugly!” And Ryan? He spun toward me, his eyes full of shock and churning rage. “Jolie, is what Sherry said true? You’ve been hiding something from me—” “No!” I cut him off, my voice sharp and decisive. “I have never had that procedure.” But once the seed of doubt is planted, it grows with frantic speed. Ryan’s mother spoke coldly. “This kind of thing… there’s usually a fire where there’s smoke.” 2 I stared at the culprit, a tight, suffocating knot of anger in my chest. This was the first time I had ever met her. I had no quarrel with Sherry, yet she was inventing this malicious rumor out of thin air. I forced myself to keep my voice low. “Sherry, you can’t just spread lies. Slander is illegal!” Being called out seemed to make Sherry more tearful. Her eyes reddened. “Jolie, I truly didn’t mean to… I’m just a straightforward person. I say what I think; I don’t deal in veiled threats.” Her defense was a deliberate deflection, sharp as a needle. She could have easily cleared it up, but she chose to dance around the point, implying so much without confirming anything. I couldn’t figure out why she was targeting me. Still, for Ryan’s sake, I tried to keep my temper in check. “Sherry, you must have the wrong person. It wasn’t me. It couldn’t have been me.” I was offering her a clear path to retreat gracefully, but she interpreted it as me pressuring her. She immediately choked up. “Jolie, please don’t be so aggressive… I just thought you looked similar, I mentioned it off-hand. How can you accuse me of slander?” Sherry just kept repeating the same few phrases, subtly suggesting I had done something shameful and was now too cowardly to admit it. I finally reached my limit and hissed, “Sherry, we have no history. Why do you feel the need to attack me like this?” With that outburst, Sherry’s tears began to flow in earnest. She started sobbing and shrinking behind Ryan’s older brother, Brad, looking like a woman suffering the deepest injustice. But she didn’t forget to add: “Please don’t misunderstand. I wasn’t attacking Jolie… Ryan, please don’t let us fight because of me.” Brad immediately wrapped his arm around her, his tone hostile. “Sherry had a slip of the tongue. But Jolie, don’t you think your reaction is a little extreme?” Ryan, his face contorted, actually shouted at me: “Jolie Wong! Do you have to be so aggressive? If you had nothing to hide, would Sherry just make something up? Don’t you know what you did or didn’t do?!” A barrage of accusations, and Ryan didn’t spare a thought for my position as his girlfriend. Three years of our relationship, dismissed because of a few ambiguous words from a total stranger. He didn’t even try to defend me; he took the opposing side instantly. The Walker relatives piled on. “Exactly! Where there’s smoke, there’s fire!” “Sherry is a doctor, she has a code of ethics. Why would she lie?” “Right, it never comes from nowhere. Why would anyone target someone for no reason?” Ryan slammed his fist on the table and pointed a finger at me. “Jolie, you tell me the truth! Did you or did you not do something scandalous?” I took a deep breath, once again stating, “I did not.” Then I turned to Sherry, speaking slowly, deliberately. “Sherry, you claim you were my surgeon. Which hospital, and when? Slander has legal consequences.” Sherry’s eyes flickered with panic, but she quickly masked it with a look of wronged resignation. “Jolie, why are you forcing me… I really didn’t want to bring this up.” “I was trying to help you keep it a secret so Ryan wouldn’t find out. But you’re accusing me of lying, and I can’t take it…” “To prove I’m telling the truth, I’ll pull up the D&C record from the hospital right now!” She pulled out her phone and, in front of everyone, started tapping away, pulling up a chat log. She showed the phone to everyone, finally thrusting it under my nose. A note of triumph was barely concealed in her voice: “Jolie, look for yourself. I’m not lying. Your name is right here on the procedure slip!” 3 I wouldn’t admit to something I didn’t do, not even on my deathbed. I had suspected something was wrong the moment Sherry started fiddling with her phone. “What does one photograph prove? AI is so advanced now, anything can be photoshopped.” I saw a momentary flash of fear in her eyes, but she still refused to back down. She resumed her pitiful, tearful act, choking out: “Jolie, you can’t just lie and slander me! You’re going to be my sister-in-law; why would I make this up? I shouldn’t have come today. If it wasn’t for me, none of this would be happening!” Sherry sounded so sincere, the crowd immediately took her side. Ryan, hearing this, was fully convinced. A vein throbbed in his temple, and his eyes were filled with disgust as he looked at me: “Jolie Wong, what more do you have to say? No wonder you always said you were ‘working late’ on weekends… You were busy handling this dirty business!” Dirty business? Three years of my life, and that was what he thought of me. Ryan’s mother shrieked in agreement: “If a woman like this actually joins the Walker family, what will happen to our reputation?!” The others joined the chorus, their words growing nastier with every sentence: “Shameful! She clearly wasted her education!” “If she were my daughter, I’d slap her senseless!” “What a disgrace to her family. Such a depraved piece of trash!” My mother, having seen the supposed “evidence,” lost the last shred of her hopeful façade. Pointing at me, she burst into a furious whisper: “Jolie! Did you or didn’t you?! If you actually did something so shameful, I’ll pretend I never had a daughter!” “I did not!” I shouted the denial again, but my whole body was trembling uncontrollably. Aunt Carol and Lisa opened their mouths, but faced with the “evidence,” they fell silent. Every eye at the table felt like a needle poking my skin. Scorn, mockery, schadenfreude… And my closest family members, my parents and the man I was supposed to marry, not a single one believed me. Meanwhile, Sherry spoke again. This time, she was gently urging me to confess and repent. “Jolie, it’s okay to admit your mistakes! It doesn’t matter if your body is sullied, as long as your heart isn’t! Don’t worry, none of us will ever talk about this.” I burst out laughing, a cold, empty sound, then spoke deliberately: “Sherry, you know better than anyone whether that procedure slip is mine or not.” “As for dirty? You are the dirtiest one here.” I locked eyes with Sherry, desperate to see how far her malice would go. She flinched at the intensity of my gaze, recoiling slightly, her voice wavering: “You… you’re making false accusations! How am I dirty? You’re the one who had the D&C, not me!” Ryan seemed to snap. He lunged forward, pointing a finger directly at my face, spitting out toxic words from between his teeth: “Sherry was just exposing the truth, and you dare to turn the tables on her! I don’t need a pathetic girlfriend like you. We are done. I think you’re disgusting!” Staring at his distorted, enraged face, I suddenly felt a profound sense of absurdity. And a strange, clear calm. “We were barely engaged, you idiot! You’re so gullible, led around by the nose by your sister-in-law’s few empty words! You won’t even trust the woman you’ve been dating for three years!” Ryan completely lost control. In a blind rage, he grabbed a porcelain bowl nearby and threw it hard at me! He screamed at the top of his lungs: “Shut up! You don’t get to lecture me, you trash! Get back to where you belong!” I didn’t have time to duck. The bowl struck my forehead, and blood immediately began to run. Everyone froze. I lifted a hand and wiped my forehead, staining my palm crimson. I looked at Ryan, then slowly scanned the shocked, silent relatives, and finally, my parents, who were stunned but hadn’t moved an inch to help me. Suddenly, it all felt ludicrous. “Ryan, you’ve shown your true colors.” A flicker of panic crossed Ryan’s face. It was immediately replaced by deeper, self-righteous indignation. He sneered: “Blame yourself for being a tramp!” Sherry, ever the martyr, gently held Ryan back. “Don’t be angry. It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have brought it up.” She bit her lip, looking deeply virtuous. “The first meeting turned into this mess because of me. I… I should just leave. Please, don’t let me cause a rift between you two.” With that, she made a show of grabbing her purse. Brad quickly pulled her back, comforting her and urging her to stay. The others snapped out of their shock and began to persuade Sherry to remain. Finally, they all turned to me, demanding that I apologize to Sherry. Ryan pointed at me, gesturing toward the floor. “Jolie Wong! Look what you’ve done to Sherry! She’s still trying to defend you! You will apologize to her, on your knees, right now! You won’t get up until she forgives you!” My parents, seemingly finding the “right way” to salvage the situation, eagerly chimed in: “Jolie! Get down now! Listen to Ryan! It was your fault in the first place, what’s the harm in apologizing? Do you really want to ruin this engagement and shame the whole family just to prove a point?!” I looked at them in utter disbelief. These were the people closest to me: my parents and the man I was going to spend my life with. My heart felt dipped in ice water. “She slandered me, and you want me to kneel and apologize to her?” “Stop being so stubborn!” My father’s face was dark red. “The evidence is right there! The doctor and nurses can prove it! If your sister-in-law hadn’t been kind enough to expose you, you would have deceived the entire family! How could we ever face anyone? Instead of thanking her for helping you, you’re arguing! Kneel down!!” The relatives echoed the demand, all agreeing I should apologize to Sherry. They spoke with such conviction, such moral certainty. And I felt like I was watching the most ridiculous farce imaginable. “Me, kneel to her? Not in this lifetime.” Seeing my defiance, my parents angrily grabbed their forks and threw them at me, screaming about what a shameless child they had raised. Sherry, nestled safely among the protective circle of relatives, subtly glanced at me. In the depths of her eyes, I saw undisguised triumph and malice. Yet, her voice was soft and gentle: “Jolie, don’t be like this. As the older sister-in-law, I won’t actually make you kneel. As long as you admit your mistake and promise to live a better life, I’ll forgive you. After all, reform is what truly matters, isn’t it?” Hearing this, everyone praised her as “magnanimous” and “sensible.” Their contempt for me intensified, and they pressured me to confess. I casually set down my forks, looked at Sherry’s hypocritical face, and smiled. “It’s perfectly normal that I look familiar, Sherry. After all, I manage the surveillance and security logs at The Azure Towers. I see you entering Unit 602 in Building Six nearly every day.” “And if I recall correctly, the owner of that unit is not your husband, Brad Walker, is he?”

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When I was fifteen, my father died in the line of duty saving a boy’s life. That boy was Caleb Davis. After the funeral, I moved into the Davis estate. With Caleb’s silent permission, I became his shadow. I followed him everywhere. Until the start of Senior Year, when I accidentally knocked over the acai bowl he’d bought for the beautiful new transfer student. For the first time ever, Caleb lost his temper with me. “Maya, your dad saved me, but my family has housed you for three years. We’re even. I don’t owe you anything.” He grabbed the girl’s hand and stormed off, leaving me to clean up the purple mess on the floor. I didn’t say a word. I wiped up the stains. Then I went to the guidance counselor’s office, took back my college application list, and silently crossed out Stanford. From that moment on, we were strangers. 1. After changing my college list, I hugged my AP Physics workbook and walked slowly back to homeroom. The bell hadn’t rung yet, and most students were catching up on sleep, heads on their desks. In the back corner, Caleb was leaning in close, tutoring Bella, the transfer student. Morning sunlight streamed through the blinds, illuminating their profiles. They looked perfect together. Quiet. Beautiful. My gaze drifted from Bella’s perfectly styled hair to the stain on her designer shirt. I had bumped into her earlier, spilling her breakfast. Caleb had immediately rushed her to the bathroom to clean it up. Thinking of his retreating back, the burn on my hand from the hot coffee I’d also spilled started to throb again. Crash. Someone stuck a foot out as I walked down the aisle. My stack of workbooks scattered across the linoleum floor. The noise startled the couple in the corner. Caleb looked up from the textbook, met my eyes for a second, and then looked back down. His best friend, sitting nearby, jeered. “Hey Caleb, looks like your shadow wants some physics help too.” It was Senior Year. I was top of the class in everything—except Physics. It was my Achilles’ heel. Before Bella transferred here, Caleb used to tutor me every morning before the bell. The quiet classroom filled with snickers. I pretended I didn’t hear them. I crouched down and started gathering the books. Maybe I looked pathetic, because Caleb frowned and started to stand up, as if to help. But just then, Bella, who was chewing on her pen cap, looped her arm through his. She seemed to notice me for the first time, flashing a bright, winning smile. “Hi Maya! Sorry, I’m hopeless at physics. Mr. Harrison put us in a study group together.” “Finders keepers,” she winked playfully. “I can’t let you steal him.” She stuck her tongue out, a faint blush on her cheeks. She was bubbly and gorgeous—the polar opposite of me, the quiet, brooding charity case. “Caleb,” she whispered, “I think I get this formula now. Can you explain the rest?” “Sure.” Caleb sat back down. He turned his head away, effectively dismissing me. The sunlight wrapped around them again, separating their world from mine in the shadows. He explained a complex concept. Bella looked confused. She rested her chin on her hand, tilting her head to stare at him. “Caleb, has anyone ever told you that you have really long eyelashes?” “Focus,” Caleb said, his voice cool. But he didn’t pull away. “Okay, okay, bossy.” She giggled, scooting her chair closer. I watched the scene for a second longer, clutching my workbook, then turned and walked away. Finders keepers… Funny. I remember Caleb whispering in my ear just last year: “Maya, from now on, can you only look at me?” 2. During lunch, the classroom was empty. I ate a sandwich while trying to solve a physics problem. Next to me sat an unopened takeout box. Sushi. It was getting warm. I had waited in line for forty minutes to buy it. But Bella said the cafeteria food was “gross,” so Caleb had taken her out to a bistro downtown. My sandwich tasted like cardboard. I couldn’t focus on the equations. “Stop crying. You look pathetic.” A hand with long, piano-player fingers tapped on my desk. A pack of tissues and a slice of strawberry shortcake slid into view. I looked up to see him pulling a gold medal out of his gym bag and tossing it onto my notebook. National Physics Olympiad. First Place. “Ethan? You’re back?” I grabbed a tissue and hastily wiped my face, shocked. Ethan was my lab partner in Sophomore year. He had transferred to the Gifted & Talented program for Physics and spent the last semester at a training camp at MIT. He was wearing a black hoodie, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms that had definitely filled out since I last saw him. He looked older. sharper. “If I didn’t come back, Caleb would probably bully you to death,” he said, pulling out the chair next to me. “Starting today, I’m your tutor.” He snatched the workbook from under my hand, uncapped a red pen, and started aggressively grading my attempts. At the mention of Caleb’s name, my nose started to sting again. “No… you don’t have to.” Watching the red X’s multiply on the page, I felt a wave of shame. But Ethan was efficient. He finished grading and immediately grabbed a piece of scratch paper. “You’re using the wrong formula for kinetic energy here…” His voice was deep, clear, and steady. Unlike Caleb’s rigid, textbook style, Ethan’s logic jumped around creatively. In minutes, the paper was covered in his elegant handwriting. I couldn’t even argue. I had to focus just to keep up with his brain. By the time I finished correcting my mistakes, I looked up to see Ethan happily devouring the sushi I had bought for Caleb. I tried to remember our past. We weren’t that close, were we? I wasn’t sure. Maybe he was just being a good guy. 3. After evening study hall, I stood in the parking lot, waiting for Caleb. I didn’t want a ride home. I just needed my house key. I’d left it in his car that morning. From a distance, I saw him walking under the streetlights. He had one hand in his pocket, walking slowly. Bella was skipping beside him. She looked up at him, eyes sparkling. “I got a B on the quiz today! You owe me ice cream, Caleb.” Caleb looked cold, but he nodded. He never could say no to a girl who knew how to flirt. Last year, during the junior class hiking trip, I passed out from exhaustion halfway up the trail. Caleb had crouched in front of me. “Maya, just ask nicely. Beg a little, and I’ll carry you.” I stood there, stubborn and silent. Since my dad died, I didn’t know how to be soft. I didn’t know how to beg. He had sighed, laughing helplessly, and pulled me onto his back anyway. “You’re impossible,” he’d said. It was foggy and cold on the mountain that day. But his back was warm. It made me feel safe. “Yay! Caleb, you’re the best!” Bella’s cheer snapped me back to reality. I stepped out of the shadows. Caleb saw me and stopped. He fished the key out of his pocket. “Walk home. Don’t tell my mom about this.” Bella saw me and hid behind Caleb’s shoulder, feigning shyness, but flashed a smug grin when he wasn’t looking. “Okay.” I took the key, adjusted my backpack, and walked away. 4. When I got back to the Davis house, Mrs. Davis had hot cocoa waiting. She took my bag, looking behind me. She noticed the redness around my eyes. “Maya? Have you been crying? Why are you alone?” “Where’s Caleb? Did he leave you behind? Tell me, and I’ll ground him until he’s thirty!” Mrs. Davis was a gentle soul. She treated me like a daughter. “It’s nothing, Mrs. Davis. My grades just slipped a little.” I sat at the island, sipping the cocoa. It was warm and sweet, melting the ice in my chest. I looked at her kind face and made a decision. “Mrs. Davis… I want to apply for a room in the campus dorms.” Our private prep school offered boarding for students who needed to focus. “Exams are coming up. I need to cut down on commute time.” Mrs. Davis paused. She checked the calendar on her phone. She looked reluctant, but she nodded. She touched my hair. “Your scores are fine, honey. You and Caleb are going to Stanford together. Don’t stress so much.” Stanford. Caleb talked about it constantly. We’re going to Stanford. I swallowed a mouthful of cocoa, tasting the lie. “Mrs. Davis… can you not tell Caleb I’m moving out?” I looked serious. She assumed it was a teenage spat. After all, for three years, everyone knew Caleb was my world. “Alright, alright. If he finds out you’re leaving, he’ll throw a fit.” She took my empty mug to the sink. Then I heard her phone dialing Caleb, telling him to get his butt home.

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After my parents divorced, they dumped my younger sister, Chloe, on me. I had just turned eighteen. I didn’t want her to suffer the broken home trauma I did, so I shielded her. I gave her everything. When she bombed her SATs, I liquidated my savings to send her abroad. I worked three jobs to fund her doctorate. When she returned as a high-earning Ivy League grad, I was dying. The stress and overwork had given me terminal cancer. She was making six figures a month, but she wouldn’t give me a dime for treatment. “Harper, didn’t you teach me that self-care comes first? Paying for your chemo would really impact my quality of life.” A month later, as I lay rotting in a hospice bed, I saw her Instagram post. A photo of her and our parents in front of a new mansion. Caption: Reunited at last. Bought this villa for Mom, Dad, and the inner child in me. Before I took my last breath, I received a 30,000-word email from her. It was a manifesto of how much she hated me. Then, I opened my eyes. I was back. Back to the day I took her in. This time, I’m not going to be the savior. Let’s see how you survive without my wallet, Chloe. 1. “Harper, she’s your flesh and blood. You’re the older sister; you have to step up. Who else is going to take her?” I looked at the girl standing in front of me, head down, looking meek and terrified. I listened to my mother’s gaslighting, and I realized I was back. In my past life, my relationship with my parents was toxic. They cut me off the moment I turned eighteen. My tuition, my rent—I earned every cent by scrubbing floors and waiting tables. They never cared if I starved. But the moment I landed a stable corporate job, they reappeared, demanding I raise their “mistake.” In my last life, I looked at Chloe and saw myself. I softened. I promised to break the cycle. I raised her with “Gentle Parenting.” I gave her money, freedom, and unconditional love. I raised her to be confident and bright, while I worked myself into an early grave. And she repaid me by letting me die, terrified that my medical bills would cut into her shopping budget. She claimed her failures were my fault. That I was too lenient. That she could have gone to Harvard if I had pushed her harder. Fine. “I didn’t give birth to her,” I said, my voice cold. “You wanted a second kid to fix your marriage. You fix this.” I shoved Chloe out the door and slammed it shut. Muffled screaming and crying echoed from the hallway. I remembered her manifesto. She said we should be selfish. Okay, Chloe. Message received. This time, I’m keeping all my love for myself. 2. I opened the door the next morning to leave for work. Chloe was curled up on my welcome mat, shivering. She jumped up, face red, stuttering. “Harper… Mom and Dad don’t want me. I only have you.” She sounded like a wounded animal. It was hard to connect this trembling child to the arrogant woman who watched me die. But I knew the truth. I locked the deadbolt. “Not my problem, Chloe. I’m not your legal guardian. I have zero obligation to help you.” I walked past her to the elevator. I didn’t expect her to follow me to the edge of the complex. When we reached the busy sidewalk, she dropped to her knees. “Harper, please! If you don’t take me in, I’ll just die right here!” Passersby stopped. Phones came out. The whispering started. “Oh, go ahead and die then,” I said. I tried to walk away, but she lunged and wrapped her arms around my leg. “Harper, you used to care! You’re not like this!” It was true. I used to be a doormat. I used to tell her to study hard so she could escape our parents. I didn’t know she was screenshotting those texts and sending them to Mom and Dad, painting me as the villain who was “corrupting” her. The crowd was growing. People were recording. I sighed. I knew how this game worked. “Get up. We’ll talk inside.” 3. Once the door closed, the act dropped. She looked at me with wide, expectant eyes. “Harper, I’ll move out as soon as I finish high school.” “You can stay,” I said, cutting her off. “But you pay rent. I’m not paying for your food, your clothes, or your school supplies. Ask Mom and Dad, or get a job.” Chloe panicked. “But I’m a Junior! I have AP classes from 8 AM to 4 PM. I can’t work!” I laughed. “When I was your age, I opened the bakery at 5 AM and closed the diner at midnight. I made it work.” In the last life, I bought her the trendy sneakers so she wouldn’t feel left out. She later wrote that the shoes were “the wrong color” and caused her lifelong trauma. “If you don’t have rent by the first of the month,” I said, grabbing my purse, “I’m calling the cops to have you removed for trespassing.” I left for work. Halfway there, my phone buzzed. A Venmo notification from Mom. Here’s some cash. Don’t be hard on your sister. She’s just a kid. Six years. She remembered my account info, but never used it to ask how I was. I wiped a tear. Not for them, but for the little girl inside me who still wanted a mother. I accepted the money. Then I texted back: This doesn’t even cover rent. Send another three grand. She did. I didn’t spend a dime on Chloe. I went to the mall. I bought a new wardrobe. I bought high-quality skincare. I put the rest into gold bars and a high-yield savings account. Everyone betrays you. Money doesn’t. I’m going to stack cash until Chloe graduates, and then I’m moving to Hawaii. 4. I came home carrying shopping bags and a bucket of Shake Shack. Chloe was pacing the living room. She froze when she saw the burger. “Harper… that smells so good. Can I have a bite? I haven’t eaten all day.” She was playing the poverty card. In the last life, I took her to Michelin-star restaurants to broaden her horizons. “No,” I said, sitting on the couch and taking a bite. “I’m starving. If you’re hungry, boil some pasta.” Silence. Then, she eyed my shopping bags. “Must be nice to buy pretty clothes. The kids at school call me a hillbilly because I dress like this.” I chewed my fry slowly. I knew the script. She wanted me to feel guilty and take her shopping. In the past, I spent three months’ salary to make her look like a princess. She later claimed that dressing her up made her lose focus on her studies. “Well,” I said, “the kids at school are right. You do look tacky.” “If you want to be popular, maybe stop focusing on your looks and focus on your grades.” Chloe’s eyes went red. She stormed into the guest room. Before I went to bed, I slid $500 under her door—money Mom had sent. “This is from Mom. Buy your own food. I’m not cooking for you.” In the past, I was her personal chef. I woke up at dawn to make her balanced meals. She complained I made her “socially awkward” by not letting her eat cafeteria food. Never again.

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