After seven years of marriage, I was his collateral for a debt, the ATM in my mother-in-law’s eyes. I had boiled all my love and hope into a bitter medicine made from my trampled dignity. Until forced kneeling in the chapel shattered my knee, until the call from my dying father was cut off without mercy— I finally saw clearly that the man who kept saying he loved me had never truly cared whether I lived or died. This debt settlement called marriage was due to end. Grace Gardner’s POV “Grace Gardner, this is your seventh year in the Foster family as collateral for a debt, isn’t it?” At the Christmas family dinner, Mrs. Foster placed an promissory note on the table in front of a full table of relatives, her eyes fixed on me. The once-lively long dining table fell silent in an instant. No one responded. One gaze after another stabbed toward me, sitting at the very end of the long dining table, as if they were watching a joke. Seven years ago, my biological father had pressed my finger down to sign and fingerprint, sending me into the Foster family like a piece of collateral. From that day on, in the Foster family, I was a debt first, and only then Mrs. Foster. Ever since then, at every Christmas family dinner, this promissory note would appear on the dining table right on time, becoming the blade Mrs. Foster used to humiliate me in public. I lowered my eyes, both hands clenching a piece of paper in my pocket. It was a bank statement, one I had found three days ago in an old box in the storage room. The transfer records from the past six years matched up, entry by entry. In the note field of the final transfer, one sentence was written in black and white—Loan Repaid in Full. The debt had been paid off long ago. The promissory note Mrs. Foster was holding was nothing more than a scrap of paper meant to disgust me. “Lost your voice? I asked you how many years are left.” Mrs. Foster pressed harder. I lifted my reddened eyes. I did not take out that bank statement. Instead, I cast a pleading look toward my husband, Zachary Foster, who was sitting in the head seat. Six years ago, also on Christmas, Mrs. Foster had called me a debt-repayment servant. Back then, Zachary had overturned the table in front of all the elders, eyes red as he pointed at everyone and roared, “She is the wife I married into this family, not a debt-repayment tool!” Those words became the only obsession that carried me through seven years of humiliation in the Foster family. Every time Mrs. Foster humiliated me with that promissory note, I desperately found excuses for him in my heart. Mother was an elder. It was hard for him to contradict her in public. He was too busy. The timing was wrong. He would definitely handle it privately… But today, the irrefutable evidence that the debt was paid was right in my pocket! As long as he was willing to say one word, even if it was only to shield me for a moment, Mrs. Foster would shut up. I stared at him, my eyes stinging. And yet Zachary only leaned against the back of his chair, his long fingers lazily turning a stemmed glass. Faced with my nearly pleading gaze, his expression did not change. He did not even lift his eyelids. A few seconds later, he unhurriedly picked up his coffee and took a sip. As if the woman being trampled underfoot and ground into the dirt in front of everyone was not his wife at all. Faint laughter rose around the table. Mrs. Foster sneered smugly. “A debtor with three years left unpaid thinks she’s qualified to sit here and vote? Mr. Walter, remove Grace Gardner from the family council roster.” This year, Mrs. Foster wanted to stomp me into the mud completely. My nails dug deep into my palms until they broke the skin. I did not argue back. Without a word, I endured it until the banquet ended, then stopped Zachary at the second-floor stairwell. “I have something to tell you.” My voice was trembling. Zachary lowered his head, scrolling on his phone, not even sparing me a glance from the corner of his eye. His tone was cold and impatient. “I’m tired today. Another time.” With that, he walked around me without the slightest mercy and went straight back to the study. Late that night, I sat alone in the cold bedroom. I smoothed out that crumpled bank statement bit by bit and spread it on the desk. Then I picked up a pen and wrote, stroke by stroke, in the blank space on page four: Debt Paid in Full. After a pause, I wrote another line: Zachary Foster was present and did not speak. The pen had just stopped when Zachary’s voice suddenly came from the hallway. The study door had not been fully closed. He was on the phone with a friend, his tone carrying a casual chuckle. “It’s not like you don’t know how my mother is. She’s old, so she likes dredging up old grievances. Every Christmas, it’s just going through the motions. Everyone laughs it off and moves on.” Whatever the person on the other end said, Zachary gave a dismissive scoff. “She can’t even take that little bit of grievance? There’s nothing worth being serious about. Let her be.” With a boom, all the blood in my body turned cold. The knuckles gripping the pen slowly went white. It felt as if a huge gash had been torn open in my chest, and freezing wind was howling straight in. So it wasn’t that he couldn’t protect me. It was only that, in this man’s heart, the humiliation I suffered and the dignity that had been ground to pieces were simply not worth him getting serious over. Plop. A tear fell onto the bank statement, blurring the writing. I raised my hand and wiped the tears away hard, my gaze cooling little by little.

Grace Gardner’s POV After wiping away my tears, I did not wait for Zachary to return to the bedroom like I usually did. Since this man could not be relied on, I could only rely on myself. That night, I sat under the cold desk lamp and went through the daily reimbursement records from my seven years in the Foster family all over again. The principal Mrs. Foster claimed could never be paid off had long since been settled in my bank statement. The so-called difference was a dead debt that the finance manager had forcibly squeezed out by cutting off the beginning and end of items I had already repaid, then piling on compound interest like they were sucking blood! Early the next morning, as expected, word came from the old family estate again, telling me to go over and reconcile the accounts. The finance manager held a tablet, his voice cold as he checked the accounts entry by entry. Mrs. Foster sat high and mighty on the main mahogany sofa, then slapped that photocopied fake promissory note down in front of me. “Take it back and look at it carefully! Look at exactly how much that father of yours still owes our Foster family!” I lowered my eyes and did not argue a single word. I picked up that photocopy, folded it, and put it into my pocket. And in that same pocket, pressed tightly beneath it, was the bank statement that showed the debt had already been paid in full. When I left the old family estate, I deliberately stopped Walter, the butler, and tentatively brought up the accounts. Walter paused for half a beat, his gaze contemptuous. “Mrs. Foster has the original promissory note in her hands. Naturally, what Mrs. Foster says is what counts. Besides, Mr. Foster is so busy. How would he have time to interfere with household accounts?” My heart could not have died any more thoroughly. Late at night, I hid in the cramped storage room. I tried calling to consult about a small loan, wanting to leave myself some escape money that would not go through the Foster family accounts. The customer service representative’s voice was cold and mechanical. “Ma’am, you have no proof of income. Your spouse would need to sign a consent form.” The hand holding my phone fell limply. A spouse’s signature? That would be the same as telling Zachary I was checking the accounts and preparing to run away! I stuffed the original bank statement and that photocopy of the fake promissory note into the most hidden compartment of an old suitcase, then covered them tightly with worn-out curtains. In this man-eating mansion, money, accounts, and status were all locks, one after another. But this time, the evidence belonged only to me.

Grace Gardner’s POV The night I hid the evidence, I lay awake in the darkness until dawn. I was clearly aware that if I wanted to escape this hellhole, evidence alone was not enough. I had to have money I could control myself. But this was an impossible dead end. Because in the Foster family, I did not even have the freedom to buy a packet of salt. Every month, all of my living expenses had to be attached to receipts, reviewed by the butler, and then reported to Mrs. Foster. Once, I took four extra bags of salt at the supermarket, and Mrs. Foster’s voice message smashed into my phone that same night like a death summons: “Why did you buy so much salt? Didn’t you just buy some last month? Mom isn’t trying to control you, but even if it’s only two dollars, as an outsider, you should still know your place.” If I wanted to break free from this humiliation, I had to go out and work. The next day, I went behind the Foster family’s backs and interviewed at a company. I passed both the written test and the interview, but when HR handed me the onboarding form and saw Zachary Foster’s name filled in under the spouse section, their expression changed immediately. “Ms. Gardner, I’m sorry. According to policy, because of your identity, you need Mr. Foster’s personal signature and consent before you can be employed.” I froze where I stood. I did not argue. I got up and left that building. The fluorescent lights in the corridor made my eyes sting. I did not even have the right to want independence. At dinner, Mrs. Foster was not there. For once, it was only Zachary and me. As if tossing me charity, Zachary said casually, “Next month, I’ll take you to the annex villa for two days. I’ll talk to my mother.” My motion of eating paused. Borrowing this last faint trace of warmth between husband and wife, I spoke hoarsely. “Zachary, if I want to go out and work in the future, do you think that would be okay?” Zachary put down his fork, his brows drawing together slightly. “This family doesn’t need the little bit of money you’d earn.” “I just feel that staying home every day…” “What?” He cut me off without mercy, his gaze filled with condescending scrutiny. “You don’t like your life now? Being Mrs. Foster is such a hardship for you?” One question nailed me straight onto the pillar of shame labeled ungrateful. Just as those words stabbed me so deeply that my whole body went cold, Mrs. Carter came over with a cold expression: “Mrs. Foster said that since Grace still hasn’t paid off her debt, she is to go to the chapel tonight and keep vigil overnight. She’s the eldest daughter-in-law of the Foster household. She is to kneel there and reflect properly!” Zachary was sitting on the living room sofa, the glow of his phone screen falling across his handsome face. He heard every word clearly. He knew perfectly well how hard the hardwood floor in the chapel was. He also knew perfectly well that I had a serious old injury in my knee, and that kneeling too long would leave me in unbearable agony. But he did not even raise his head. His finger even slid calmly across the screen again. I looked steadily at him, then forced one word out to Mrs. Carter: “Okay.” That night, I knelt on the chapel’s icy floor, the cold drilling from my knee into the cracks of my bones like knives. In the latter half of the night, when I tried to stand, my left leg could no longer straighten at all. I braced myself against the wall and dragged my body back to the bedroom step by step. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I clutched my knee, which hurt so badly it was spasming, and the last trace of light in my eyes went out completely.

Grace Gardner’s POV The excruciating pain tortured me for three days. During those three days, Zachary went out early and came home late as usual. He did not even ask one word of concern. And Mrs. Foster’s mental torment of me gave me no chance to breathe at all. Before the family’s month-end tea gathering, Walter, the butler, arrived at the annex villa right on schedule. “Mrs. Foster said there will be a meeting in the main hall in three days. All the women of the family are to attend.” Walter paused, his gaze mocking. “You only need to bring your ears.” I held on to the doorframe, my left knee still aching as if needles were stabbing into it. Only bring my ears meant depriving me of the right to speak. Like a servant, I was arranged at the very end of the long dining table, in the seat closest to the door. Mrs. Foster tapped the tabletop and raised her voice. “Starting this year, seats will be adjusted. Some people still have outstanding debts, so it is unsuitable for them to participate in internal family affairs!” The women around the table whispered among themselves, their contemptuous gazes sweeping toward me. I shot to my feet. Mrs. Foster immediately raised her hand and snapped sharply, “Today, you only brought your ears!” I did not sit down. I looked past the long dining table, straight at Zachary on the other side. Zachary sat there, his screen lit. With my own eyes, I watched his thumb swipe once, twice, three times. On the fourth time, he finally stopped. But he still did not raise his head to look at me even once. With a cold smile, Mrs. Foster had the butler remove the nameplate marking her as the Foster family’s eldest daughter-in-law in front of everyone. The metal plate struck the tabletop with a piercing, muffled thud. In the entire room, not a single person said even half a word for me. After the meeting ended, I stopped Zachary in the corridor and held that removed nameplate in my palm. “Your mother took down my nameplate in front of everyone.” My voice trembled slightly. Zachary only swept it a bland glance, his brows faintly furrowing. “Things like that are only formalities. Don’t take them too seriously.” “Formalities?” I stared at him. “Mother only wants to reassure the elders. Stop making a scene.” He lifted his hand, making the exact same impatient gesture Mrs. Foster had used just now to stop me. “Go back and rest.” I shut my mouth instantly. Back in the room, I opened the drawer. The photocopy claiming I owed a debt lay side by side with this nameplate symbolizing the Foster family’s eldest daughter-in-law. The two things were like two lies so disgusting they made me sick.

Grace Gardner’s POV I had thought that after the nameplate was removed, I would become completely invisible in the Foster family, and at least earn a moment of peace. But I had underestimated Mrs. Foster’s methods of tormenting people. Humiliation in the Foster family had always been a slow slicing, inch by inch. Before lunch on the day after the nameplate was taken down, eight people were seated in the small reception room. Mrs. Foster sat high in the head seat, with Zachary beside her. On the table lay the documents for the Foster Group Charitable Foundation’s spring allocation. In previous years, I had always personally signed for this fund and followed up on the process. “Starting this year, I will review this fund,” Mrs. Foster announced coldly. “For the household accounts, it is always more reassuring when an elder personally checks things over.” The butler handed the folder directly to Mrs. Foster. This year, my signature field was completely empty. But when the previous page was flipped open, my notes and signature from last year, earned through so much hard work, were still pressed beneath it. An elder from a side branch immediately smiled ingratiatingly. “With you personally managing it, of course it will be more reliable. it will prevent certain people with dirty hands from messing with it, the elder Mrs. Foster sighed hypocritically.” After Mrs. Foster signed, she sighed hypocritically. “I’m also helping Grace share the burden. That girl hasn’t had it easy.” Only then did Zachary finally deign to look at me across from him. “Mother is only afraid you’re too tired. Don’t take it to heart.” His voice was warm and gentle. Listening to those high-sounding words, I suddenly felt a wave of nausea. I finally saw through this man’s fixed, disgusting pattern— Using an old debt to humiliate me in public was called dredging up old grievances. Taking down my nameplate in public was called reassuring the elders. Stripping away my last bit of signing authority was called being afraid I was too tired. In Zachary’s mouth, every single flaying, tendon-stripping thing Mrs. Foster did to me could be whitewashed with a decent, affectionate reason! After lunch ended, I returned to my room. I pulled out a blank envelope and took out every out-of-pocket receipt and transportation invoice related to the charitable foundation from the past nearly three months, one by one, then placed them neatly inside. On the front of the envelope, I wrote today’s date with heavy strokes. At dusk, Zachary unusually came to my room carrying a box of expensive desserts and casually asked whether my knee was doing better. Without even looking at that box of desserts, I pushed the envelope full of out-of-pocket receipts directly in front of him. I said nothing. Zachary glanced at the date on the front of the envelope. He had no interest at all in opening it. I turned around and walked toward the kitchen to heat the herbal pack for my knee. The boiling water churned, and scalding steam rushed up, burning my fingers so sharply that they jerked back. That piercing pain in my left knee began to surge upward again, endless and unrelenting.

Grace Gardner’s POV That night, the scalding herbal pack ultimately failed to warm my ice-cold heart, and it also failed to ease the piercing pain in my knee. Yet first thing the next morning, Mrs. Foster issued a new order of torment. “Go to the chapel and recheck all the old ledgers and photocopies of promissory notes from the years of debt collection, one by one.” Walter, the butler, stood in the doorway, delivering the message from above. “Mrs. Foster said that since you are the Foster family’s eldest daughter-in-law, you should set a good example of repaying debts before God.” The chapel was bone-chillingly cold. There was only a low table, a cold cushion, and a table full of scattered account pages. Walter locked the heavy wooden door from the outside with a backhand motion. “You are not allowed to get up or drink water until you finish checking everything. Those are the rules.” The instant I knelt down, my left knee made a teeth-grating click. Agony swept through my entire body in an instant. I bit down hard on my lower lip, my face as pale as paper, yet I did not make a single sound. With trembling hands, I began checking the papers one by one. Those old files had no numbering at all, and the dates were completely out of order. The only thing that was perfectly clear was the record of Mrs. Foster’s humiliation of me over these seven years: public questioning, reprimands in the side hall, forced kneeling, compound interest… Half an hour later, Walter pushed the door open a crack and asked with a sneer, “Mrs. Foster asks, how many years are left on your debt?” My fingers turning the pages were already frozen stiff. Without raising my head, I said, “However many years she says are left.” Walter snorted coldly and slammed the door shut again. Time passed, minute by minute. The ache in my knee bloomed into a throbbing swell, burrowing deep within my bone tissue. I broke out in cold sweats and my vision blurred repeatedly. I attempted to shift my weight to ease the strain, yet I crumpled back to my knees after barely ten seconds. After that, my knee was not just in pain anymore. It had lost all feeling completely. When Walter pushed the door open again two hours later, I was digging my fingers hard into the floor tiles with both hands, trying to stand. But my left leg was like a useless piece of wood, dragging behind me without the slightest response. Walter frowned, took out his phone, and called Zachary Foster. He even deliberately put it on speaker. “Mr. Foster, Grace doesn’t seem to be able to stand up.” The other end of the line was quiet for two seconds. Then Zachary Foster’s careless, faintly irritated voice rang out clearly in the empty chapel. “Mother is just following the rules. It’s not like she physically punished her. Once she’s done checking the old files, it’ll be over. Tell her not to overthink things just because of a little pain and make everyone look bad.” The call was cut off without mercy. Half-sprawled on the cold floor tiles, I listened to that icy busy tone, and my tears finally fell silently onto the dust-covered floor. I did not cry out in pain again. I only reached out with a trembling hand and silently pulled over the next loose sheet. Two hours later, Walter half-dragged, half-pulled me into the hospital. The ER doctor looked at the scans, his brows tightly furrowed. Pointing at the lower edge of the patella, he said sternly, “What happened?! The old injury has worsened, and the cartilage wear is irreversible! From now on, this knee of yours can only be maintained through long-term rehabilitation. It will never fully return to normal!” The cartilage damage was permanent; full recovery would never be possible. I numbly took the medical record, my gaze fixed on the doctor’s signature and the date. After returning to the annex villa, I locked the door behind me and took out the real bank statement from the hidden compartment of my old leather suitcase. In the blank space beside the final paid-off record, my hand trembling, I wrote stroke by stroke with such force that the pen nearly cut through the paper: [March 7 of the sixth year, Debt Paid in Full. In the seventh year, I was forced to kneel until I was crippled.] [And he knew all of it.]

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I once thought loving someone enough to lay down my life for them was the purest, unbreakable love there was. Until, in the wind and snow, I heard the “late husband” I had tried to die for eight times carefully holding another woman in his arms while pretending to be someone else. He said, “Once I stabilize the situation, she’ll understand.” It hit me then—my wholehearted love was just an inconvenience he could put off sorting out for later. And so, I finally learned to live for myself. Bella Hayes POV To die for my husband, Evan Foster, who had “died” in a car accident, I almost jumped off the cliff edge at Snowridge for the eighth time. But only now did I realize that the kind of love I had been willing to throw my life away for was the biggest joke in the world! My husband, Evan Foster, who should have been burned to a charred corpse in that car accident, wasn’t dead at all. He was living under the identity of his half-brother, “Eric Foster,” carefully holding another pregnant woman in his arms. At that moment, wrapped in an emergency blanket, I stood stiffly outside the lounge at the rescue station, listening to the suppressed sobbing and angry scolding of Evan Foster’s mother, Anna Clark, coming from inside. “Evan! How much longer are you going to keep lying to her?! Bella Hayes climbed over the guardrail at the accident site eight whole times for you! Are you really going to watch her die for love, right in front of you?!” Inside the room, the man I had loved deeply for three years was silent for a long time. When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse yet cruel. “Mom, the real Eric died saving me. Grace Carter is still carrying his child. She can’t handle the shock of her fiancé’s tragic death. Right now, I can only be Eric Foster.” “And what about Bella Hayes?! She’s your legally wedded wife!” “Once Grace safely gives birth, and once the situation at Foster Group stabilizes, I’ll tell Bella Hayes the truth.” His tone carried a certainty so self-righteous it sounded natural. “She loves me that much. She’ll understand.” “She’ll understand.” Those words were like a rusty, blunt knife, grinding my heart to pieces while it was still alive. For Evan, I had tried to die eight times. I had tormented myself until I looked neither human nor ghost, and I had nearly built up a tolerance to sedatives. And Evan, to protect another woman’s pregnancy, had personally faked his own death. He had watched me fall apart in agony, yet from his lofty position, he was certain that in the end, I would generously forgive him?! The door to the lounge was suddenly pushed open. “Eric Foster” looked up, met my dead, hollow eyes, and his face went deathly pale in an instant. He blurted out, “Bella!” Not Bella Hayes. Not Ms. Hayes. But “Bella,” the name he would only murmur in a low, lingering voice between the sheets, in the depths of passionate nights. I looked at that face, my stomach churning violently. All I felt was overwhelming disgust. The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed hard. Then he abruptly came back to himself and put on that restrained, compassionate expression. “Bella Hayes, why are you standing here? The doctor said you can’t be out in the wind.” I didn’t expose him. I only tucked my wind-tangled hair behind my ear, my voice as light as a weightless flake of snow. “Eric Foster, is your brother really dead?” A flash of extreme humiliation passed through “Eric Foster’s” eyes, but he still gritted his teeth and said, “Bella Hayes, my condolences.” I nodded. With that nod, I completely severed the obsession I had held for Evan Foster for three years. I turned and walked into the wind and snow. No matter how the man behind me called out, I never looked back again. The Evan Foster I had loved had already died in that car accident. The one still alive was a vile man who had played me for a fool for another woman’s sake.

Bella Hayes POV When I returned to the Foster villa, four bodyguards stood guard outside the master bedroom, and they had even installed two surveillance cameras. “Eric Foster” walked in with a glass of water and a pillbox, impatience pressed between his brows. “Bella Hayes, take the sedatives first. The doctor said you’re emotionally unstable. Be good.” Be good. Those were the two words Evan loved saying to me most. I used to think they were indulgent and affectionate. Only now did I understand that they were just convenient tools for training me. I suspected I’d never been his wife or lover, just someone he could keep under his thumb. I glanced at the pillbox and pushed it away coldly. “I don’t want to take them.” “You haven’t slept in two days!” His tone grew heavier, faintly carrying the pressure of someone used to standing above others. I lifted my head and stared him down. “What? Afraid that if I’m awake, I’ll get in the way of you taking care of Grace Carter?” “Eric Foster’s” heart gave a violent jump. He instinctively avoided my gaze. “Grace Carter is carrying the Foster family’s child. My brother is gone. It’s only right that I take care of Grace in his place.” I watched him act, without even the strength left to laugh at him. “Fine. Take good care of her, then.” I took the pills and swallowed them in one gulp. The look in “Eric Foster’s” eyes as he watched me was dark and unreadable, but in the end, he said nothing. As soon as “Eric Foster” left, I immediately locked the bathroom door. From the hidden compartment at the very bottom of the sink cabinet, I pulled out an old backup phone. I didn’t cry or make a scene the way I used to whenever I felt wronged. Instead, I calmly dialed the number of Ethan Cole, the assistant my father, Charles Hayes, trusted most. “Ethan Cole, I want to leave the Foster family. Tomorrow morning, bring people to pick me up.” Ethan Cole sounded a little surprised on the other end, but he immediately said, “Of course, Ms. Hayes. I’ll be there on time tomorrow morning.” After hanging up, I let out a breath of relief. I walked out of the bathroom and pulled open the drawer of my vanity. Inside were all the memories Evan and I had shared. But as expected, every photo, letter, ticket stub related to Evan—even our marriage certificate—had been taken away. They wanted to erase every trace of Evan’s existence because they were afraid I would go insane. But he had never considered that I no longer cared about Evan. For Grace Carter, he could turn from Evan Foster into Eric Foster. And for myself, I could also turn from Mrs. Foster back into Bella Hayes. I let out a cold laugh and neatly pulled the wedding ring off my ring finger. That diamond ring, engraved on the inside with both our names, had once been something I treasured like my own life. But now, it felt like a disgusting dog collar. I casually tossed the ring into the trash can. Then I began packing the things that belonged to me. My ID documents, passport, bank cards, and the bracelet my mother, Mia Hayes, had left me. My hands shook slightly, my heart hammering away in my chest. But with every item I took away, my love for Evan Foster died a little more thoroughly. I knew very clearly that this time, I wasn’t acting out of anger. I was saving myself.

Bella Hayes POV Early the next morning, Grace Carter came to the villa with her slightly visible baby bump. She wore a pitiful white dress, and the moment she came in and saw me, her eyes reddened. “I came to see Bella Hayes. If Eric Foster hadn’t gotten into that accident trying to save Evan, the Foster family wouldn’t have ended up like this…” With a single sentence, she put all the blame for Evan’s “death” on me. “Eric Foster” walked out of the study. The first thing he looked at wasn’t me, but Grace Carter’s belly. “Didn’t I tell you to stay home and rest during the pregnancy? Why did you come all the way here?” Grace Carter bit her lip and leaned weakly against him, as if she had no bones. “I dreamed about Eric Foster… I was afraid Bella Hayes might do something reckless, and I was also afraid that once the baby is born, there won’t be a father to love them. I’m scared…” “Eric Foster” held her and comforted her gently. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here.” “Grace Carter, don’t worry. I won’t let anyone hurt you, and I won’t let anyone hurt the child.” Grace Carter leaned softly in his arms, her eyes filled with dependence and trust. “You’re so good to me. I want to be with you forever.” I stood on the staircase, coldly watching this adulterous pair compete in their acting. All I felt was a wave of nausea rising in my throat. If, before today, I had still held even the tiniest expectation for Evan, then today, every last bit of that expectation had been ground into sand. I had completely, utterly given up. I would never have the slightest fantasy about him again. This person was no longer the Evan Foster who had once loved me. Or perhaps I couldn’t even be sure whether Evan Foster had ever felt even the slightest love for me back then. “You call him Eric Foster so smoothly,” I said, slowly walking down the stairs and looking at Grace Carter with a half-smile. Grace Carter’s face went pale. In panic, she grabbed “Eric Foster’s” sleeve. “Bella Hayes, what do you mean by that?” “Eric Foster” immediately frowned and stepped in front of Grace Carter. “Bella Hayes, Grace can’t handle any shock. Watch what you say.” I looked at his protective stance and only found it absurd. “It was just an offhand comment. Why are you two so nervous?” Grace Carter lowered her eyes and timidly changed the subject. “Bella Hayes, tonight is the anniversary of the day Eric Foster and I originally set our wedding date. I want to ask you for one thing. At tonight’s family dinner with the elders, could you please not mention trying to jump off the cliff again? Grandpa and Grandma can’t handle the shock.” “Eric Foster” immediately chimed in as well. “That’s right, Bella Hayes. You should come sit with everyone tonight too. This family can’t keep being weighed down by your depression.” Depression. He faked his death, and I was destroyed by grief for him. In the end, it somehow became my sin in this family? I looked at Grace Carter’s face, wearing that manipulative innocent act to the extreme, and suddenly laughed. “Sure. I’ll be at tonight’s anniversary dinner on time.” I wanted to see with my own eyes just how far Evan Foster would trample the Foster family’s dignity into the mud for this woman.

Bella Hayes POV At the dinner in the villa’s east hall, the seats were filled with relatives from the Foster family. Grace Carter sat beside “Eric Foster,” every bit like the lady of the Foster family, as the elders surrounded her with concern and questions. One drunken older relative patted “Eric Foster” on the shoulder and sighed. “Eric, your brother is gone, and Bella Hayes is pitiful too. In the future, if she needs to be sent away, just send her away. Don’t let a widow like her wail at home every day. It’s bad for the family!” “Eric Foster’s” hand tightened abruptly around his wineglass. Grace Carter immediately tried to smooth things over with reddened eyes. “Please don’t say that. Bella Hayes just loved Evan too much.” “Love or not, she can’t keep trying to kill herself every day! She’s completely disgraced the Foster family!” “The Foster family’s dignity?” I, who had been silent the entire time, suddenly stood. My cool voice instantly cut through the noise in the room. My gaze was like a blade as it pierced straight toward “Eric Foster.” “You stripped my room bare, took all my phones, and posted guards to lock me up like a prisoner. Tell me, Eric—was all that for the Fosters’ precious reputation?” The entire room fell deathly silent. Anna Clark’s expression changed drastically. “Bella Hayes, what nonsense are you saying?!” “Eric Foster” shot to his feet, his eyes panicked yet cold. “Bella Hayes, you’ve had too much to drink. I’ll take you back to your room.” “Don’t touch me!” I violently flung off his hand. I pulled a document from my bag and threw it directly onto the center of the table. “Since all the elders are here today, I’ll make myself clear. I’ve already entrusted a lawyer to conduct a full investigation and freeze all marital assets under Evan Foster’s name! If Foster Group has any documents that require my signature, contact my lawyer directly. Don’t let ‘Eric Foster’ bring them in front of me and disgust me again!” Everyone in the room sucked in a sharp breath. “Bella Hayes! Are you insane? Your husband is barely cold in the grave, and you’re already thinking about fighting over the family fortune?!” Grace Carter’s tears instantly burst free. Clutching her stomach, she collapsed crying into “Eric Foster’s” arms. “Bella Hayes, do you blame me? If you think the baby and I are in your way, I’ll leave right now. I would never fight you for your money…” I looked down at her nauseating display from above and let out a cold laugh. “Don’t bother going. If you’re so fond of hand-me-down garbage other people cast aside, you’re welcome to cling to it.” “Bella Hayes! Are you done making a scene?!” “Eric Foster” erupted in rage, the veins on his forehead throbbing. I looked at the face I had once loved so deeply. There was no warmth left in my eyes. “Evan Foster, I’ve already died for you eight times. From now on, whether the Foster family lives or dies has nothing to do with me.” The moment those words came out, the hall instantly plunged into deathly silence! What had she called him?! Evan Foster?! “Eric Foster’s” face turned as white as paper in an instant, his pupils contracting violently. He instinctively tried to pull me back, but I avoided him without mercy. I didn’t spare him another glance. I turned and strode out of the brightly lit hall. Outside, Ethan Cole’s car was already waiting in the wind and snow. I opened the car door and left behind all of the Foster family’s hypocrisy, schemes, and that sickening so-called devotion forever.

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“Fiona, the baby’s condition is unstable. We need you, as the temporary guardian, to sign off on the subsequent treatment.” I put down my pen and looked across the conference table. Opposite me stood Sean. He was holding a newborn, his eyes bloodshot. “Sean,” I said, my voice incredibly calm. “This baby is the biological son of you and Hailey, isn’t it?” The conference room fell dead silent. Sean’s face turned paper-white. “What are you talking about?” I turned my phone screen toward him. On it, the barcode from the luxury maternity retreat, Hailey’s payment records, and the timestamps of his car entering and leaving the retreat’s garage were neatly lined up. “Do you want me to call the police so they can verify the parents’ identities?” The baby started crying. Sean took a step back, looking as if the ground had been swept from beneath his feet. As for me, I simply picked up the European clinical fellowship offer, an opportunity that had taken me two long years to secure, and slipped it back into my folder. In this life, I was done raising anyone else’s child.

Fiona’s POV I never could have imagined that while I was signing my final departure paperwork at the university, Sean would burst in holding a baby. My advisor and several other classmates who were also heading abroad were sitting in the conference room. In just a few days, I was supposed to leave for a prestigious medical fellowship in Europe. It was an opportunity I had spent two grueling years preparing for. In my past life, I never made that flight. It was Sean back then, too, showing up with a sudden infant. He claimed the baby had been abandoned in the alley behind his family’s clinic. He told me his health was poor and that he might never have biological children. He said since we were getting married anyway, we should just take the baby in. I loved him so much then, pitied him so much, that I actually canceled my plane ticket, gave up my fellowship, and brought that baby home. We named the boy Caleb. I raised Caleb, slaved away for Sean’s family, and took care of his “paralyzed” mother, until I eventually worked myself into a terminal illness. When I begged for treatment, Sean and Caleb complained it was too expensive. They brought me home and gave me nothing but cheap painkillers. On the day I died, I heard Caleb crying in Hailey’s arms. “Mom, I can finally call you Mom open and honest now.” Only then did I realize that the child I had spent my entire life raising was the biological son of Sean and Hailey. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of my departure. The baby in Sean’s arms was wrapped in a light blue blanket, his cries weak. Sean stood at the door, his eyes red, looking like the victim. “Fiona, I know you’re busy today, but I had nowhere else to turn. Someone left this baby in the alley behind our old clinic. Social Services needs a temporary guardian to sign off immediately. Can you please just help me watch him for a bit?” My professors sat beside me, keeping quiet. I didn’t even stand up. I just asked, “Why are you looking for me?” Sean was visibly taken aback. After all, the old Fiona would never ask “why.” Whenever he said he needed me, I would always worry about his struggles first, completely ignoring my own limits. Sean lowered his voice. “You’re a medical student, and you’re so detail-oriented. We’re getting married soon anyway. Helping me is helping our future family.” I smiled. Family. In my past life, everyone in Sean’s family had that word glued to their lips. Giving up my fellowship was “for the family.” Quitting my job was “for the family.” Using my mother’s retirement money to buy Caleb an apartment was “for the family.” Even when I was dying and my bones ached, they said the family couldn’t let a sick patient drag them down. I looked at the folder in Sean’s hands. “What do you want me to sign?” Sean quickly handed the papers over. “Just a temporary foster intake form. CPS said we can do a transitional placement with a familiar family first before they find a permanent home.” I flipped to the first page. On the form, my name, home address, and future family plans were already filled out. Only the signature line was blank. What disgusted me even more was the background section. It was written as if I had already enthusiastically agreed. To be married soon. Female applicant has a medical background, stable household, and a long-term desire to provide care. These words hit me like a slap in the face. They were exactly like the praise Sean’s family used to shower me with in my past life. Fiona is so patient. Fiona is so caring. Fiona is the perfect mother. They praised me so much that eventually, saying “no” felt like a crime. The department head noticed something was off and frowned slightly. “Fiona, did you clear this placement with the university’s travel board beforehand?” “No,” I answered instantly. “I am here today to confirm my flight to Europe, not to sign up for motherhood.” Someone in the room let out a soft gasp. Sean’s expression turned incredibly dark. He probably hadn’t expected me to be so blunt in front of my peers. In the past, I always protected his fragile ego. Even if I felt wronged, I would wait until we got home to ask him quietly about it. But I had cared about his feelings for an entire lifetime already. That was enough. I looked up. “Where did you get my ID copies?” Sean stiffened. “From when I helped you organize your licensing exam materials last month. Fiona, don’t sweat the small stuff. The baby can’t wait.” “Small stuff?” I slammed the folder shut. “You took my personal documents, filled out a foster form without my consent, and crashed my academic meeting to force me to sign it. You really know how to pick your moments, Sean.” Sean’s voice dropped. “Do you really have to embarrass me in front of everyone?” I pulled out my phone. Panic flashed in his eyes. “What are you doing?” “Calling 911,” I said calmly. “An abandoned baby is a matter for the police, the hospital, and Child Protective Services. It is not the job of an unmarried medical student.” The baby started crying again. Sean hugged the infant closer, his eyes turning cold. “Fiona, when did you become so heartless?” I stood up and took my passport and visa documents back. “Since the day I died once.” Sean froze. He obviously couldn’t understand what I meant. He probably just thought I was talking nonsense out of anger. But I was completely sober. I could clearly see the familiar designer watch on his wrist, the loose threads on the baby’s blanket, and the light blue hair tie, the exact brand Hailey always used, wrapped around the baby’s bottle bag. I hadn’t noticed these details in my past life. Back then, my mind had been filled with Sean’s tearful eyes and his heartbreaking lie: “I might never have my own kids.” I had valued his pain too much and my own future too little. In this life, I wouldn’t fall for the same trap twice.

Fiona’s POV By the time the police arrived at the university building, Sean was still standing in the hallway, holding the baby. He kept trying to explain himself, claiming he was just panicking, that I was his fiancée, and that we were going to build a life together anyway. But when the officers asked him for the exact time and location he found the baby, and why there was no initial police report, his answers became incredibly vague. “In the alley behind our closed family clinic,” Sean stammered. “I went there this morning to pick up some old boxes, and the baby was just… there.” The officer asked, “Why didn’t you call 911 immediately?” Sean looked at me. “I was afraid the baby would suffer in a state facility. Fiona has a medical background. I thought she could care for him first.” I spoke up. “I never consented to this.” Sean snapped at me, frustrated. “I know you’re mad at me, but the baby is innocent!” “If he’s innocent, he deserves to go through the proper legal channels.” I looked at the officer. “I suspect this man of identity fraud. He used my personal documents to forge a foster application and tried to sabotage my career.” Hearing this, the department head’s face turned dead serious. Sean panicked. “Fiona! Do you really have to take it this far?” I handed my document folder to the officer. “I never authorized any agency to use my ID. The signature is blank because he came here to coerce me into signing it on the spot.” The officer took the file, reviewed it, and looked at Sean. “Who gave you these forms?” Sean’s lips trembled. “A local community volunteer.” Suddenly, I pointed to the edge of the baby’s blanket. “The baby has a hospital band on.” Everyone looked. Tucked inside the soft blanket was a tiny pink hospital identification band, printed with a serial number and the initials of a luxury private maternity retreat. Sean instinctively tried to shield the baby, but it was too late. The officer saw the motion. “We are taking the baby to the hospital for an evaluation, and we will run a trace on the hospital ID. Mr. Sean, as the person who ‘found’ the infant, you need to come with us to give a formal statement.” Sean’s face drained of color. I went to the hospital to give my statement. My dad, Arthur, and my mom, Helen, rushed over as soon as they got my call. My mom grabbed my hands immediately. “You didn’t sign anything, did you?” “No, Mom.” My dad glared at Sean, his voice dripping with anger. “What the hell were you doing with my daughter’s ID?” Sean still tried to defend himself. “Sir, I was only doing it for the baby.” My dad let out a harsh laugh. “For the baby? So you decided to exploit my daughter?” My dad was usually a mild-tempered man. He had always viewed Sean as the sweet boy next door. Not wealthy, but stable and hardworking. In my past life, when I insisted on staying, my dad had opposed it. But he ultimately gave in because I cried and said I loved Sean. Living this life again, I finally saw the deep disappointment and fear in my father’s eyes. He didn’t look down on Sean for being poor. He was just a father who finally realized someone was trying to turn his precious daughter into a stepping stone for another family. The baby was taken into the ER. The doctor explained they would treat him under the safe-haven protocol and contact CPS. When Sean heard “CPS,” his expression grew even worse. Not long after, Hailey rushed in. She was still in her nurse’s uniform, her eyes puffy. Her first words weren’t about the baby’s health, but: “Sean, why are the police involved?” I stood by the wall, raising an eyebrow. Hailey acted as if she had just noticed me, squeezing out a fragile, apologetic smile. “Fiona, you’re here too. Please don’t misunderstand… Sean just has a heart of gold.” In my past life, Hailey was always like this. Fragile, sweet, always playing the victim. She cried when she took my scholarship, saying she would study hard on my behalf. She cried when she claimed Caleb back, saying her years away from him were her life’s greatest regret. I stared at her. “You got here incredibly fast.” Hailey’s eyelashes fluttered. “The hospital group chat was talking about an ER intake.” I replied flatly, “The baby literally just entered the ER. The news traveled to the inpatient ward that quickly?” Hailey’s face stiffened. Sean immediately stepped in front of her, blocking my view. “Fiona, Hailey is a nurse. What’s wrong with her caring about a patient?” “Did I say there was something wrong?” I smiled slightly. “I was just curious.” The police officer paused his pen on his notepad, took a long look at them, and continued writing. Watching Sean instinctively shield Hailey, the last trace of affection I had for him evaporated. I had seen this exact protective posture in my past life. Every time Hailey visited our house and her eyes welled up, Sean would stand in front of her. Back then, I had been so drained by housework that I would just turn down the stove in the kitchen, pretending not to hear his soft murmurs of comfort in the living room. I used to lie to myself, thinking Sean was just a loyal, caring friend. Now I knew the real word for it: favoritism.

Fiona’s POV The doctor soon came out with an update. The baby had a minor infection and mild dehydration, but his life wasn’t in danger. He needed to be admitted for observation. Since his identity was unknown, the hospital would proceed with state emergency custody, and the medical bills would be temporarily covered by the state social fund. I listened carefully. In my past life, Sean had sweet-talked me into taking the baby home on day one. After that, every bill, every sleepless night, and every heavy responsibility fell squarely on my shoulders. By the time I wanted to back out, his family had already put me on a pedestal as the “perfect mother.” If I complained about being tired, I was labeled selfish and ungrateful. In this life, I wouldn’t make the first mistake. Sean, however, was getting desperate. “We can’t let him go to state custody. He’s so small. If he keeps moving around facilities, it’ll ruin his health. Fiona, it’s just a temporary signature. No one is asking you to adopt him right now!” My mom was trembling with rage. “Are you out of your mind? My daughter leaves for Europe next week. Why on earth should she sign up to be a foster parent?” Hailey chimed in, her voice soft and timid. “Mrs. Helen, Sean is just worried about the baby. Fiona is a medical student; taking care of him for a few days shouldn’t be that hard, right? Maybe the trip to Europe can be pushed back a bit.” I turned my gaze to her. “If it’s so easy, why don’t you sign the papers?” Hailey turned pale. “I’m a nurse at this hospital. It’s a conflict of interest for me to sign.” “But aren’t you the one who cares about the baby the most?” Hailey’s eyes filled with tears instantly. “Fiona, why are you attacking me? I was just stating a fact. Your family is well-off. Even if you delay your fellowship for a year, you’ll have another chance. But if nobody helps this baby, his life could be ruined.” I actually laughed out loud. My family is well-off, so I should sacrifice. My grades are good, so I should step aside. I have a soft heart, so I should be the one to suffer. In my past life, everyone used these exact arguments to slowly push me into a corner. “I cannot delay,” I said, looking Hailey dead in the eye. “Not even for an hour.” Sean’s face twisted. “Are you seriously going to abandon a baby just for your career?” I countered, “Are you seriously trying to ruin your fiancée’s career for a baby of unknown origin?” Sean choked on his words. Hailey whispered, “Sean, stop pushing Fiona. If she doesn’t want to, forget it. I can come by and check on the baby after my shifts.” Her words sounded like a compromise, but they were designed to make me look incredibly cold and selfish. I refused to play her game. I turned to the doctor. “I am not the baby’s relative, nor am I his guardian. Please do not contact me for any future signatures or payments. Sean is the one who found him, and the police are still investigating the baby’s origin.” The doctor nodded. “Understood.” Sean gritted his teeth. “Fiona, do you have to draw such a harsh line between us?” “Yes,” I said. “There is absolutely no legal or biological relationship between me and this child.” Just as the words left my mouth, the phone in Hailey’s pocket vibrated. She glanced at it, and a look of sheer panic flashed across her face. I caught it. Though she quickly flipped the phone screen-down, I caught a glimpse of a text message from an unsaved number: The hospital band wasn’t removed. Don’t let them trace it back to the retreat. I didn’t expose her right then and there. I just looked out the window. My calm reflection stared back at me in the hospital glass. The prey had already exposed their weakness. There was another reason I didn’t call them out on the spot. I knew Sean and Hailey too well. If I accused them right there, they would have thrown a massive scene. One would cry about her “good intentions,” the other would claim he was “just scared,” and they would use the baby as a shield so no one would dare to press further. I wasn’t going to fall into that circus again. In this life, I wanted hard evidence. Written, undeniable evidence. When I got home, I wrote down every single detail in my notes. Sean’s excuses, Hailey’s arrival time, the baby’s ID band number, the doctor’s statements. I recorded everything chronologically. In my past life, I lost because I believed “family” shouldn’t keep score or keep receipts. But bad people thrive when good people don’t keep receipts. In this life, I would make sure every lie was documented, and every suspicious move had a paper trail.

Fiona’s POV The next morning, I received three emails. The first was from the university’s travel board, notifying me that someone had tried to log into my student portal at 3:00 AM to submit a deferral request. The system had blocked it due to an unrecognized IP address. The second was from a state foster platform, thanking me for submitting an “expression of interest” for emergency foster care, stating they were only waiting for my final e-signature. The third was the most ridiculous. It was an unsubmitted application for my fellowship spot, with Hailey listed as the alternate candidate. The cover letter stated that I was withdrawing due to “unexpected family planning” and highly recommended my classmate, Hailey, to take my place. My mom’s face turned red with anger when she read it. “How dare they!” My dad immediately called our family lawyer. But I remained completely calm. I saved the original emails, took screenshots, and changed all my passwords right in front of the lawyer. After reviewing the files, the lawyer said, “This isn’t just a lover’s spat. Unauthorized access to student accounts, identity theft, and forging legal documents to sabotage your academic standing. We can absolutely file criminal charges.” I nodded. “Then let’s take it all the way.” My mom looked at me, worried. “Fiona, don’t force yourself to be strong if you’re hurting.” “Mom, I’m not forcing anything.” I closed my laptop. “I just finally know where to put my energy.” In my past life, I spent all my energy on enduring. Enduring Sean’s busy schedule, enduring his mother’s fake illnesses, enduring Caleb’s terrible tantrums, and enduring Hailey constantly appearing in my life as a “close friend.” I endured so much that when I got sick, my pain was treated as an inconvenience to them. In this life, I was done enduring. My phone rang. It was Sean. I put it on speaker. “Fiona, don’t blow this out of proportion,” Sean said, his voice hushed. “The deferral application was just a draft; I didn’t submit it. And the foster platform was just an inquiry. No official documents were signed. Calling the police won’t benefit anyone.” I replied, “You mean it won’t benefit you.” There was a pause on the line. “We’ve been together for so many years. Are you really going to ruin my life over a few forms?” “You tried to ruin my life over those exact forms.” His breathing grew heavy. Sean finally lost his temper. “Is going to Europe really that important to you? More important than a baby’s life? More important than me? More important than our future?” I said softly, “Yes, it is more important than you.” Sean gasped. I added, “It is more important than all of you combined.” I hung up. The living room was dead silent for a few seconds. My dad suddenly let out a soft chuckle. “You should have done that a long time ago.” I smiled. It was a small smile, but a massive weight lifted off my shoulders. Saying no to Sean didn’t make my world collapse. Putting myself first didn’t make me a bad person. The lawyer quickly gathered the evidence. That afternoon, I filed an official police report for identity theft and submitted a formal statement to the university about my compromised account. The department head emailed me back quickly: Your fellowship status remains fully secure. Please proceed with your travel plans as scheduled. Looking at the email, my heart finally settled. This time, nobody was going to press the pause button on my life. The department head later sent me a private text. She told me that many students face intense emotional and familial pressure before going abroad. She had seen too many bright young women give up their dreams for guilt-tripping partners. She reminded me that my future was worth protecting. Reading her text, I sat in silence for a long time. I wasn’t the only one who had almost been dragged down. And there were people in this world who would look me in the eye and say: Your future matters. That night, I sat at my desk and checked my travel documents one last time. My passport, my visa, my health clearance, my housing confirmation, my credit cards. They were all real, solid, and sitting right in front of me. No longer stuffed into the back of a drawer because of Sean’s “just wait one more year.” My mom brought in a glass of warm milk. Seeing my straight posture, she gently stroked my hair. “Are you exhausted, sweetie?” I shook my head. Actually, I was. Rebirth didn’t magically erase the trauma. The memory of the physical pain from the hospital bed, Caleb’s hateful glares, and Sean’s tenderness toward Hailey were still wired into my brain. But this time, I didn’t have to swallow the pain and pretend everything was fine. “Mom,” I said suddenly. “If I had made the wrong choice in the past, would you and Dad have hated me?” My mom paused, her eyes tearing up. “You are our daughter, Fiona. If you take a wrong turn, we pull you back. Why would we ever hate you?” I took a sip of the warm milk. The warmth traveled down my throat, and my eyes welled up.

Fiona’s POV Once Sean was called in for questioning, Hailey was the first to crack. She showed up at my apartment building that evening, holding a bag of fruit, her eyes swollen from crying. My mom didn’t even want to let her in, but I told her to let Hailey up. I wanted to see what kind of performance Hailey had prepared this time. Hailey sat on the edge of the sofa, her hands trembling. “Fiona, I know you’re mad at me, but I swear I didn’t know anything. Sean just asked me if I would want the fellowship spot if you decided not to go. I thought you had made the decision yourself.” I poured her a glass of water. “And you were happy to take it?” Hailey bit her lip. “It was an opportunity of a lifetime. My family isn’t wealthy like yours. When an opportunity like that comes around, I have to grab it.” “So because my family is doing well, I should just hand my hard work over to you?” Hailey’s tears began to flow. “That’s not what I meant. Fiona, you’ve had everything since we were kids. Loving parents, supportive teachers, and Sean loved you first. But what about me? I have to fight for every single scrap.” I stared at her. In my past life, I had been deeply moved by this exact speech. I had pitied her, thinking a single sacrifice on my part wouldn’t hurt. But what I handed over wasn’t just a spot in a program; it was my entire life. “You can fight all you want, Hailey. But why did you have to steal from me?” Hailey’s face went white. I unlocked my phone and slid the screenshot of her text message across the table. “Who sent you this?” Hailey’s hand shook so violently she almost dropped her glass. “I… I don’t know,” she stammered, trying to deny it. “Probably just spam.” “Fine. I’ll let the police run a trace on the number.” Hailey finally dropped her act. Her voice turned sharp and desperate. “Are you trying to destroy us? The baby is already sick, and Sean is at his wits’ end because of you. I just wanted a chance at a better life. Why can’t you just let this go?” My mom let out a disgusted laugh. “You stole from my daughter, and now you have the nerve to ask her to let it go?” Hailey suddenly glared at me, her eyes filled with venom. “Do you really think you’ve won? Sean has always loved me. The baby is ours. The only reason he chose you was because your family has money and could help him climb the social ladder!” Her words didn’t hurt me at all. In my past life, a revelation like this would have broken me. Now, it just felt pathetic. “Then you two deserve each other,” I said calmly. “The baby, Sean, and his family’s mess. You can have them all back.” The color drained from Hailey’s face. She wanted Sean’s affection, but she absolutely did not want his family’s financial burden. Her plan was to have me raise the child, pay the bills, and care for his mother, while she could swoop in later as the biological mother, playing the victim. I stood up and opened the door. “Get out.” Hailey snarled, “You’ll regret this, Fiona! Even if you go to Europe, Sean won’t wait for you!” I looked at her. “That is the best news I’ve heard all day.” I shut the door, cutting off her sobbing. My mom hugged me tightly. “Don’t listen to a word she said, sweetie.” “I won’t, Mom.” I finally understood that Hailey’s ultimate cruelty wasn’t stealing Sean. It was her constant attempt to gaslight me into believing that everything stolen from me was just something I “owed” her. After Hailey left, my mom was still furious. “She practically grew up eating at our table! Did I ever treat her poorly? When you had study guides, I made you print copies for her. When you went to competitions, I made extra lunches for her. How can she take so much from us and still feel entitled to steal your life?” I rubbed my mom’s back to soothe her. “Mom, don’t waste your energy on her.” “I’m not angry for her,” my mom said, her eyes red. “I’m just heartbroken for you. You always told us Sean was struggling, Hailey was struggling… but my daughter was struggling too.” Those words hit me hard, and my tears finally broke. In my past life, everyone was struggling except me. I had listened to their complaints for so long that I forgot to ask myself: Fiona, aren’t you tired? In this life, someone was finally asking for me. I didn’t sleep well that night. I dreamed of my past life, standing in Sean’s kitchen washing dishes. The sink was piled high with greasy plates. Caleb was screaming my name from the living room, and Sean’s mother was pounding on her bedroom door for attention. My hands were covered in soap suds, and no matter how hard I scrubbed, I couldn’t get them clean. I woke up before dawn, drenched in sweat. I sat on the edge of my bed for a long time, then turned on my desk lamp. I rechecked my documents. The paper was real. The visa was real. The suitcase was real. I was no longer trapped in that nightmare. I was finally awake.

Fiona’s POV The truth about the baby came to light very quickly. Based on the hospital band serial number, the police traced the birth to a high-end private maternity retreat. The facility initially cited client privacy, but they complied once the police presented a formal warrant. The baby had been born at a private hospital affiliated with the retreat. The mother had registered under a fake name, but the bank account used to pay the bills belonged to Hailey’s aunt. Furthermore, Sean’s license plate had been captured entering the retreat’s garage on the day of the birth. Sean could no longer play innocent. He cornered me at a coffee shop near campus. I had just finalized my departure details with my advisor and was about to head home. Sean stood at the entrance, looking exhausted and significantly thinner. “Fiona, we need to talk.” “My lawyer is right here,” I said, pointing to the man sitting next to me. Sean froze, then let out a bitter laugh. “You won’t even see me without a lawyer now?” “Correct.” My bluntness left him speechless. He slowly sat down, his voice cracking. “The baby is mine. It was an accident. Hailey and I got drunk one night… and then she got pregnant. I panicked. I was terrified you would leave me if you found out, so I came up with this plan.” I stared at him. “Your plan was to package your child as an abandoned baby and dump him on me?” Sean’s eyes turned red. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I just knew how kind-hearted you are. I thought if you raised him for a bit, you would fall in love with him, and even if you found out the truth later, you wouldn’t be able to leave.” “So you gambled on my kindness.” “I gambled on our love!” Sean pleaded, reaching across the table. “Fiona, you’re the one I love. Hailey was just a mistake. If we raise this baby together, we can still have a perfect family.” I wanted to laugh at his audacity. I had heard some disgusting things in my past life, but his ability to spin his betrayal into an act of love still shocked me. “A perfect family?” I asked slowly. “The biological mother watches from the sidelines, the biological father pretends he found the kid in an alley, and the fiancée gives up her career to raise him? You call that a perfect family?” Sean’s face turned ash-gray. “I know I messed up,” he whispered, swallowing his pride. “But please, don’t go to Europe. I can’t handle this on my own. The baby needs medical care, and Hailey is falling apart. If you stay, we can start over.” Looking at him, I felt the memory of my past self slipping away. Why had I ever loved a man like this? Perhaps Sean was never worth it. I had simply projected all my youthful fantasies onto him, refusing to admit I had made a terrible mistake. “Sean,” I said. “You’re not struggling because the situation is hard. You’re struggling because you don’t want to take responsibility.” I stood up to leave. Sean jumped up. “Fiona!” My lawyer stepped in, blocking him. “Mr. Sean, if you continue to harass my client, we will call the police.” I slipped my lawyer’s business card into my bag. I was no longer in the business of cleaning up Sean’s messes. On the ride home, my lawyer warned me, “Sean is extremely unstable right now. He might try to corner you again before your flight. Do not meet him alone.” I nodded. “I know.” I wasn’t afraid of Sean. I had simply learned that putting yourself in danger isn’t “brave.” It’s foolish. In my past life, I believed our years together meant he would never truly hurt me. But I learned the hard way that harm doesn’t always come in the form of physical violence. Sometimes, a coerced signature, a guilt-trip, or a stolen opportunity can destroy your life just as easily. Outside the car window, the city lights blurred past. Looking at my reflection, I realized how young I still was. At this exact age in my past life, I was already learning how to mix baby formula, walking on eggshells around Sean’s mother, and crying quietly into my pillow at night. Now, I had the time to choose differently. And that was worth everything. Sean sent me dozens of messages after that. Sometimes he begged, sometimes he cursed, and sometimes he pretended nothing happened, asking if I had eaten. I didn’t reply to a single one. I realized that ignoring him was a skill, a way of training myself to no longer be controlled by his emotions. In the past, whenever Sean was unhappy, I would immediately analyze what I had done wrong. Now, whether he was happy or falling apart was entirely his own problem. I was completely done with him.

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I died on the night my sister, Natasha, became a legend. It was the finals of the International Youth Dance Championship. The spotlight was blindingly bright, and everyone in the crowd was screaming her name. But the person standing in the center of the stage, wearing her costume and dancing her final piece, was me. My name is Emma. I am Natasha’s twin sister, born three minutes after her. I was also the shadow hidden behind her spotlight. Natasha was supposed to be hidden in the dressing room by Mom and Dad, pretending her old injury had flared up, waiting for me to finish the entire performance in her place. But as I landed the final grand jeté, my starving body finally gave out. My old right ankle injury tore apart, and the back of my head slammed heavily against the edge of the stage. When the blood pooled around me, Mom’s first instinct wasn’t to save my life. She rushed to my side and hissed under her breath: “Get up, Emma! Don’t you dare ruin things for Natasha right now!” I wanted to laugh, but I couldn’t make a sound. Before my consciousness faded completely, Natasha rushed into the crowd wearing her hospital gown. She fell to her knees beside me, crying hysterically: “She’s not Natasha!” “Her name is Emma!” “She’s my sister!” “You forced her to do this!” The entire crowd gasped. I thought my name had finally stepped into the light. But only after I died did I realize that the living can tell far more lies than the dead can bleed.

Seven hours after my death, Mom and Dad wheeled my body into the morgue. The next second, they forced Natasha into her award ceremony gown. Natasha sat on the metal bench in the hospital hallway, her hospital gown still draped over her shoulders. Her face was as white as paper. Mom shoved the dress into her arms. “Put it on.” Natasha looked up, her eyes bloodshot. “Emma is still in there.” Mom slapped her hard across the face. “I know she’s in there!” “But the media is waiting outside, and the committee is waiting too!” “Do you want the whole world to know that the prodigy dancer we raised for eighteen years is a fraud?” Natasha’s head snapped to the side from the force of the blow. She didn’t move for a long time. Dad was standing at the end of the hallway making a call, his voice low but every word cutting sharply into my ears. “Yes, Natasha’s old injury flared up. She was resting backstage.” “Emma has always been mentally unstable. She stole Natasha’s costume and snuck onto the stage.” “Natasha was so traumatized by the incident that she started talking nonsense.” “We have the medical records. The PR statement will be released tonight.” I floated in the air, watching him calmly arrange the narrative of my death. So, I wasn’t forced to death by them. I was just a mentally unstable, identity-stealing lunatic who ruined a genius dancer’s night of glory. Natasha suddenly stood up and lunged to grab Dad’s phone. “You can’t say that about her!” Dad grabbed her wrist, twisting it back. His eyes were cold and venomous. “Natasha, you better wake up.” “Emma is already dead.” “Your endorsements, your Ivy League scout offers, your invitations from international dance companies, and our family’s academy franchise contracts—they are all still on the line.” Natasha’s voice shook. “That was Emma’s life!” Dad stared at her, his voice freezing cold. “Her life isn’t worth five million dollars in breach of contract fees.” The silence that followed was suffocating. Mom picked the gown up from the floor and handed it back to Natasha. “Your father mortgaged the entire academy for you.” “If we lose this championship, our whole family is ruined.” Natasha looked at her and suddenly let out a bitter laugh. “So Emma deserved to die?” Mom’s eyes flickered with guilt, but she quickly hardened her face. “She danced in your shadow for so many years. Carrying this for you one last time is the least she can do to repay us for raising her.” I thought ghosts couldn’t feel pain. But at that moment, it felt like a knife was being driven into my chest all over again. Natasha didn’t change into the dress. She threw the expensive white tulle gown straight into the trash can. In the next second, Dad grabbed her by the hair, forcing her face down toward the trash. “Pick it up.” Natasha bit her lip hard. “No.” Dad leaned down and whispered in her ear: “If you dare disobey me, I won’t even buy Emma a niche in the columbarium.” Natasha froze. “What do you mean?” Dad let go of her and slowly adjusted his cuffs. “The dead are the most obedient.” “Once they are turned to ash, where they go and how they are kept is entirely up to the living.” Natasha finally bent her knees and pulled the gown out of the trash. Her tears dripped onto the white fabric, one by one. Standing next to her, I finally understood. They didn’t just want to steal my dancing. They wanted to steal my death.

The next day, videos of the competition were all over YouTube. The top comments under the videos were all expressing pity for Natasha: “A prodigy’s night of glory ruined by her mentally unstable twin sister who stole her costume.” “Natasha’s breakdown on stage was clearly a PTSD response.” “The worst pain is being hurt by your own family.” My face in the videos was heavily blurred, but my name was dragged through the mud in every comment section. “Emma is so evil. Was she so jealous of Natasha that she had to steal her identity?” “I heard she had mental issues since childhood. Her parents did their best raising her. They are saints.” “Natasha is so unlucky. Her injury flared up, and then her sister ruined her career.” Mom scrolled through the comments, letting out a sigh of relief. “The public is sensible after all.” Natasha sat at the dining table. The bowl of oatmeal in front of her had already gone completely cold. She suddenly asked, “Where did those medical records come from?” Dad threw a stack of documents onto the table. “Don’t worry about it.” Natasha picked them up and flipped through them. Age ten: Personality disorder. Age twelve: Aggressive tendencies. Age fifteen: Delusional desire to replace Natasha. Age eighteen: Severe mental instability, long-term custody recommended. Every page was stamped and signed by a doctor. But I had never been to those hospitals. The only clinic I ever visited was orthopedics. Because of fluid in my knees, torn ankle ligaments, back spasms, and my right foot that had never properly healed after the car crash when I was seven. Natasha flipped to the end and suddenly stopped. An old X-ray folder had been removed, leaving only the empty manila envelope. On the cover, it read: Emma, Age 7, Shattered Right Ankle. Natasha stared at those words, her fingers tightening. “Where is this X-ray?” Mom’s expression shifted. “Lost it a long time ago.” Natasha looked up. “Why is this the only one that’s lost?” Dad said coldly, “Natasha, that is none of your concern right now.” Mom shoved a script in front of her. “We are recording a statement video this afternoon. Read exactly what is written here.” Natasha looked at the first line, and her hands began to tremble. “Emma had been mentally unstable for a long time. On the day of the event, she stole my costume and snuck onto the stage, leading to the tragic accident.” She kept reading. “In my state of extreme shock and grief, I mistook her toxic, pathological obsession with me for family coercion.” “Please do not blame my parents. They are the ones hurting the most.” Natasha laughed, though tears streamed down her face. “You two are disgusting.” Dad raised his hand to strike her. This time, Natasha didn’t dodge. Instead, she leaned into his hand. “Do it. Slap me hard. Make sure it’s swollen so the media can get a clear shot of it this afternoon.” Dad’s hand stopped in mid-air. Mom looked incredibly uncomfortable. “Natasha, do you really want to fight us?” Natasha glared at them. “I want to hold a funeral for Emma.” “Absolutely not,” Mom refused instantly. “The media is watching us. If we hold a funeral, everyone will start asking questions.” “Asking what?” Natasha’s voice was freezing. “Asking why the dead one wasn’t me?” Silence fell over the dining room like a tomb. Dad threw a sealed plastic bag onto the table. Inside were my old pointe shoes from the stage. The satin was worn through at the toes, and the ribbons were stained with dried, dark blood. “Emma’s things are all in here,” Dad said. “If you cooperate, we will give her a quiet, clean memorial.” “If you don’t, these things, along with her ashes, will be dumped in the trash.” Natasha reached out to grab the shoes. But Dad pressed his hand flat over the bag. “Record the video first.” At three in the afternoon, the camera turned on. Natasha wore a plain white sweater, her face completely pale. Mom stood behind the camera, holding up the script. Dad stood beside her, clutching my pointe shoes in his hand. Natasha stared at the lens for a long time. So long that Mom muttered impatiently, “Speak.” Natasha finally opened her mouth. “I am Natasha.” “The girl who died on stage last night was my twin sister, Emma.” Our parents’ faces twisted instantly. Natasha continued: “She wasn’t crazy.” “And she didn’t steal my identity.” “She—” Dad slammed the power strip off, and the screen cut to black. What they didn’t know was that before the recording, Natasha had used an old phone hidden in her sleeve to log into my burner account and start a live stream. So, those twelve seconds still made it to the internet. It wasn’t on Natasha’s verified account. It was on a burner account I had helped her register three years ago, linked to an old email our parents knew nothing about. I had once written the password at the very bottom of her notes app, hidden under a childish title: For when you want to tell the truth. Back then, she had asked me why I made it. I told her, “Because one day, you’ll want to run away.” She hadn’t answered me then. But she remembered. Unfortunately, this time, she still didn’t get to finish her sentence.

My parents fought back quickly. They spin-doctored Natasha’s short video, presenting it as “evidence of post-traumatic dissociation.” Mom sat in front of the camera, crying so hard she almost fainted. “We had two daughters. One is gone, and the other has lost her mind.” “Please, stop triggering Natasha.” “Emma had been obsessed with mimicking her sister since she was a child, fantasizing that she was the real Natasha.” “As parents, we did everything we could.” Dad also appeared on screen, his eyes red. “Emma was our child. We don’t blame her.” “She is gone now. Please, let her rest in peace.” Watching the screen, I felt so disgusted I wanted to throw up. They refused to even give me a funeral, yet they preached about letting me rest in peace on camera. The internet quickly turned. “The parents are so tragic.” “Natasha is clearly not mentally stable right now.” “Emma is still torturing her family even after she’s dead. How horrifying.” Natasha was locked in her bedroom. Her phone, laptop, door lock, and window latches were all confiscated. She was trapped in a room, just like I used to be. Except her room had a bed, warm meals, and bright lights. My old room—the basement studio—had nothing but mirrors and a barre. That night, Natasha went down to the basement for the first time. Her hands shook violently as she picked the lock with a hairpin. I followed her down. When the light clicked on, she froze. There were still dried blood stains on the wooden floor from my intense training sessions. My worn-out knee pads were piled in the corner. Next to the mirror, a yellowed training schedule was taped to the wall. 6:00 AM: Cardio. 8:00 AM: Flexibility. 10:00 AM: Routine drills. 2:00 PM: Full run-through. 9:00 PM: Weight check. The last column read: “Three days before the competition: Limit food intake to match Natasha’s weight.” Natasha reached out to touch the paper, her fingers trembling. She suddenly crouched down and pried a tiny SD card out of a crack in the floorboards. I stared in shock. I had hidden that. A long time ago, I knew they would eventually discard me. I didn’t have the courage to run, and I had nowhere to go. So, I secretly recorded every forced training session, every injury, and every time Mom screamed that I was “worthless,” saving them on that card. I had planned to mail it to Christine after the competition. But I never made it. Natasha clutched the SD card in her palm and whispered, “Emma, I found it.” Just as she stood up, the basement light at the top of the stairs suddenly brightened. Mom stood there, her face deathly pale. “What is in your hand?” Natasha hid her hand behind her back. Mom shrieked, “Give it to me!” Natasha turned to run. But Dad rushed down the stairs, catching her in a tight grip. The SD card slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor. Mom instantly stepped on it with a loud crunch. The tiny card was crushed to pieces under her heel. Natasha stared blankly at the shattered plastic. The last bit of light in her eyes died. Mom wasn’t done. She slapped Natasha hard across the face. “You’ve been completely corrupted by that parasite.” Natasha slowly raised her head. “She wasn’t a parasite.” Mom screamed: “Yes, she was!” “Since the day she was born, she dragged you down.” “If it weren’t for her, our family would have had only one perfect, prodigy daughter!” Natasha suddenly asked, “So the car accident when we were seven… did you plan that too?” Mom’s voice cut off instantly. Dad’s face twisted in shock. I froze as well. The car accident? Natasha stared dead into Mom’s eyes. “I saw Emma’s old X-ray records today.” “A shattered right ankle.” “She couldn’t put full pressure on her right foot after that, yet you told her she was naturally unfit for public competitions.” “I always thought it was just an accident.” Mom’s lips turned white. Dad interrupted harshly: “Natasha! Have you lost your mind?” Natasha laughed. “I guess it wasn’t an accident after all.” Standing in the cold basement, I felt my entire world turn to ice. So my life in the shadows wasn’t just bad luck. It was meticulously orchestrated by them from the very beginning.

Christine arrived the next day. She didn’t bring flowers. She brought a cease-and-desist letter and a voice recorder. Mom blocked the doorway, forcing a polite smile. “Christine, Natasha is not feeling well lately. She’s not fit to receive visitors.” Christine stared at her coldly. “I’m not here to see Natasha.” “I’m here to ask about Emma.” Mom’s smile instantly stiffened. Christine opened her phone, showing a screenshot of the backstage footage from the night of the competition. Though the video was blurry, it clearly showed the dancer’s right ankle buckling outward upon landing. “Natasha doesn’t have an old injury in her right ankle,” Christine said. “But Emma does.” Mom’s face went cold. “What are you implying?” “I am implying that I suspect you have been running a long-term identity fraud scheme in these competitions.” Dad walked out of the living room. “Christine, watch your mouth.” Christine didn’t back down. “I have already petitioned the committee to retrieve the full backstage security footage.” Dad smiled faintly. “Feel free to try.” “But I heard there was a power surge backstage that night, and most of the video files were corrupted.” Christine’s expression tightened. Dad stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You have your own dance company, and you have students.” “Slandering an international champion won’t do you any good.” Christine glared at him. “Do you really think the dead leave no evidence?” Dad remained silent, but Mom let out a cold sneer. “Of course the dead don’t.” “Only the living have voices. Only the living make evidence.” A muffled banging noise came from upstairs. Natasha was throwing herself against her bedroom door. “Christine!” “The basement! They destroyed the evidence in the basement!” Dad’s face darkened instantly. He turned to head upstairs. Christine suddenly raised her voice: “Natasha! I hear you!” “And I will remember Emma’s name!” Those words made Natasha quiet down, and they made me want to cry. It turned out that having someone remember your name was such a difficult thing. After Christine left, Dad called a crew to tear down the basement that very night. The mirrors were carted away, the barres were unscrewed, and the floorboards were pried up. My blood stains, the training schedules, and my old knee pads were all stuffed into black trash bags. Mom stood by, urging them, “Hurry up.” “The media is coming tomorrow morning to film Natasha’s recovery documentary.” Dad frowned. “We can’t keep the ashes either.” Natasha stood at the top of the stairs, her face losing all color. “You promised you would let her have a proper burial.” Mom avoided her gaze. Dad said: “Keeping them is a liability.” “Scatter them. Keep it clean.” Natasha rushed down the stairs to grab the urn. Dad shoved her away. She crashed against the wall, wincing in pain, but she desperately locked her hands around the cuff of his pants. “Don’t touch her.” Dad looked down at her. There was no fatherly affection in his eyes—only disgust. “If you keep fighting me, I will make sure she doesn’t even have a place to rest.” Natasha’s grip slowly loosened. She watched Dad lock my cremation urn inside the wall safe. The electronic lock clicked shut. Dad said, “We will dispose of it after the award ceremony.” My ashes had become their final hostage. Late that night, Natasha quietly opened the sealed bag containing my pointe shoes. She clutched them to her chest, sobbing for hours. Then, she suddenly stopped. When her fingers brushed the heel of the left shoe, she paused. Those shoes were never used on stage again; I had hidden them in the deepest corner of the basement. I had gathered all my secret videos from my old phone, camera cards, and the basement computer. Before the finals, I had copied everything onto a micro SD card, sealed it in a waterproof capsule, stuffed it into the hollow heel of my left pointe shoe, and hand-stitched it shut with thick thread. Because I knew those shoes were the only things my parents would never try to sell, exhibit, or use to promote Natasha’s glory. Natasha used to help me mend my shoes when we were kids. She could feel the difference immediately. At that moment, her eyes turned fiercely red. “Emma… you left a way out after all.”

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I had been with Christopher for seven years. Seven years of a long-distance relationship. He came from a dirt-poor background but had a sky-high ego. I walked on eggshells to protect his precious self-esteem. Not only did I pay cash to buy him a ten-million-dollar luxury penthouse in Manhattan, but I also used my family’s massive connections to slide him into a high-paying executive role at a top investment bank. He always told me, “Once I save up enough money, Chloe, I’m going to give you the wedding of your dreams.” To surprise him, I secretly flew to New York to custom-order my wedding dress. But in the bridal boutique, I ended up helping a pregnant woman who was being looked down upon by the staff. Clutching my hand, she gushed with blushing pride about her multi-millionaire, incredibly sweet, investment-bank-VP fiancé. Until she pulled out his photo. I stared at the man on her phone screen—the man I had loved with all my heart for seven years. It felt like my entire world had frozen over.

Early autumn in New York brought a chilly breeze. I pushed open the glass doors of HAPPY Bridal Boutique. The store manager immediately rushed over, her face practically glowing with a welcoming smile. “Miss Nathaniel! You’re here! The designer made some minor adjustments to the sketches you liked based on your measurements. Please, follow me to the VIP lounge.” I nodded and followed her inside. Actually, Christopher had no idea I was in New York today. We had been together for seven years. From college to our careers, it was seven years of flying back and forth between coasts. While he was grinding in New York, I was back in Los Angeles helping my family run our venture capital firm. Over these seven years, I watched him go from a broke student who hesitated to buy a Starbucks latte to a VP at a prestigious investment bank. Of course, none of that would have happened without me pulling strings behind the scenes, securing deals for him, and cleaning up his messes. But I never told him. His pride was too fragile, almost painfully sensitive. Last month, he finally got promoted. He choked up over FaceTime, saying, “Chloe, I finally made it. I finally feel like I’m worthy of standing by your side.” “When I get my year-end bonus, let’s get married, okay?” At that moment, I cried like a total fool. So, I secretly booked a flight to New York today, wanting to get my dress secured first. I wanted to give him the ultimate surprise. While I was sitting on the leather sofa flipping through the catalog, a loud argument broke out in the main lobby. “Is this how you run a business? I told you, my wedding is early next month! I need to secure this dress today!” “Can’t I just pay extra?” A young, high-pitched, and slightly spoiled female voice echoed through the lounge. The store manager looked embarrassed and gave me an apologetic smile. “Miss Nathaniel, please excuse me for a moment. I’ll go handle this.” I had nothing else to do, so I followed her out. In the lobby, a young woman wearing a Chanel dress from the latest fall collection was sitting on the sofa, puffing with anger. She was gorgeous, with a sweet face and baby-soft features. What caught my eye was her slightly round belly. She looked about four or five months pregnant. The manager was desperately trying to explain, “Miss Aurora, it’s really not about the money.” “The gown you want is a hand-made haute couture piece by our chief designer. From measuring to the final embroidery, it takes at least three months.” “Next month is simply impossible.” “I don’t care!” Aurora touched her belly, her eyes welling with tears. “My baby can’t wait!” “My husband said I must wear the most beautiful gown and have the grandest wedding.” “Are you guys looking down on me?” Aurora got so worked up that her face suddenly went pale. She swayed, nearly tumbling off the sofa. “Miss Aurora!” The manager panicked. Quick on my feet, I lunged forward and caught her. I reached into my bag, pulled out an imported fruit candy I always kept on me, unwrapped it, and popped it into her mouth. “Low blood sugar?” I asked gently, helping her lean back onto the sofa. Aurora sucked on the candy. After a long minute, the color slowly returned to her face. She looked at me with teary eyes, like a startled little deer. “Thank you so much. Everything went black for a second. I thought something was going to happen to my baby.” “You shouldn’t get this stressed while pregnant.” I handed her a tissue and turned to the manager. “Betty, didn’t the Milan headquarters just send over a ready-to-wear runway piece last month?” “The measurements should be close to this lady’s. With some minor alterations, we can have it ready in two weeks, right?” The manager blinked, then nodded respectfully. “Yes, Miss Nathaniel. But that was reserved as your backup option…” “It’s fine. I’m not in a rush. Let her have it,” I said with a faint smile. Hearing this, Aurora’s eyes lit up instantly. She grabbed my hand. “Really? You’re letting me have your dress?” “Oh my god, you are literally my savior!” Her name was Aurora, a fairly popular beauty influencer on Instagram. Because I had done her a huge favor, she insisted on taking me to the Rosewood Hotel next door for high tea to thank me. Seeing that she was heavily pregnant and alone, I agreed. Stirring her black tea, the happiness radiating from Aurora’s face was almost suffocating. “You have no idea. I originally wanted to have the wedding after the baby was born.” “But my husband refused. He said he couldn’t let me feel neglected. He insisted that our baby must witness our love from inside my belly.” She rested her chin on her hands, smiling as if she were drowning in honey. I smiled along. “Your husband must love you very much.” “Of course he does!” Aurora raised her chin proudly. “Even though he came from some poor rural town and couldn’t even afford tuition back then.” “He’s incredibly ambitious. He’s already an investment bank VP! And he is absolutely gorgeous!” The hand holding my teacup froze. Born in a poor town. Investment bank VP. Putting those details together made something click in my mind. But I brushed it off. New York was huge, after all. There were plenty of investment banks and young, successful men. Aurora continued to brag endlessly. “And he is so generous to me. He gave me his credit card and lets me spend tens of thousands every month.” “Not long ago, he bought a three-hundred-square-meter luxury penthouse in Manhattan with cash. Even though only his name is on the deed right now, he said he’d add mine once we get married.” Hearing the words “Manhattan penthouse” and “cash,” my heart skipped a beat. A luxury penthouse in Manhattan cost tens of millions. How could a newly promoted VP afford that in cash, no matter how much he made? Unless… A wild, utterly absurd thought began to take root in my mind like a thorny vine, wrapping tightly around my chest. “What… what is your husband’s last name?” I forced my voice to sound calm, but only I knew that my fingertips were trembling. Unaware, Aurora smiled and pulled a gold-embossed wedding invitation from her bag, sliding it over to me. “Christopher Vance. You have to come visit me when you’re in New York!” Christopher Vance. The name felt like a dagger piercing straight through my eyes. I stared at the name I knew all too well. My mind went completely blank. A deafening buzz filled my ears, making me dizzy.

“Are you okay? You look so pale.” Seeing my silence, Aurora leaned in with concern. I snapped back to reality, took a deep breath, and forced down the rising nausea in my throat. “I’m… I’m fine.” I squeezed out a smile that probably looked worse than crying. “I just… the name sounds familiar.” “Really?” Aurora’s eyes lit up with pride. “He’s quite famous in the finance circle! To become a VP at his age, so many people are jealous.” “You’re in business too, so it makes sense you’ve heard of him.” Looking at her innocent, boasting face, the blood in my veins turned to ice. How could I not have heard of him? Christopher. The man I had loved and financially supported for seven long years. The shy boy on the college campus who once blushed while handing me a bottle of water, unable to even look me in the eye. The man who once cried through my phone screen when I was sick, swearing he would make it big just to treat me like a princess. And now, he was someone else’s Christopher. He was even having a child with her? I gripped my porcelain teacup so hard my knuckles turned white. My nails dug into my palms. “How long… have you two been together?” My voice sounded raspy, like sandpaper. “Almost a year,” Aurora recalled, a blush creeping onto her cheeks. “We met at a gala.” “He was wearing a custom designer suit, looking so cold and distant. Other women tried to hit on him, but he completely ignored them.” “Then I accidentally spilled my wine on him. Instead of getting mad, he took off his jacket and put it over my shoulders so I wouldn’t feel embarrassed in my stained dress.” “Don’t you think that’s just fate?” A year. I closed my eyes, my chest aching so bad I couldn’t breathe. A year ago was exactly when Christopher’s career hit a massive bottleneck. He was depressed and miserable. Back then, worried about his stress levels, I flew to New York every single weekend to be with him. I cooked for him, massaged his shoulders, and stayed up all night listening to him vent about work. I even went behind his back to beg my father to hand over a multi-million-dollar, guaranteed-profit project to Christopher’s team. That was the only reason he overcame his crisis and got promoted. But what did he do? During the days and nights I wasn’t in New York, he wore the designer suits I bought him, playing the role of a cold, brooding billionaire at galas to charm other women. “Look, we just took our wedding photos last week.” Aurora eagerly pushed her phone screen in front of my face. In the photo, Christopher wore a crisp white tuxedo, wrapping his arms tenderly around Aurora from behind. His hand rested gently on her baby bump. He was leaning down, kissing her cheek. The look in his eyes was filled with a tenderness and devotion I had never seen before. In our seven years together, Christopher rarely took photos. He always claimed he wasn’t photogenic, saying it was too cheesy for men to take photos all the time. We didn’t even have a decent couple’s photo. The only one we had was one I forced him to take at our college graduation. In that photo, his brow was furrowed, looking entirely annoyed. It turned out he didn’t hate photos. He just hated taking them with me. “Handsome, right?” Aurora giggled as she took her phone back. “Honestly, at first, I felt pretty insecure.” “He’s so successful, and there are always trashy girls throwing themselves at him.” “Especially his crazy ex-girlfriend. She’s an absolute nightmare!” Hearing “ex-girlfriend,” my nerves spiked. “An ex-girlfriend?” I asked, pretending to be casual. “Yeah!” Aurora rolled her eyes in disgust. “Christopher said she was a gold-digging parasite. Her family was dirt poor, and she relied entirely on him for money.” “Later, Christopher found out she was sleeping around behind his back, so he dumped her.” “But she wouldn’t let go. She kept texting him for money every other day.” “Christopher is too soft-hearted. He felt bad for her, so he’d occasionally throw her a few bucks to get her to go away.” I wanted to laugh out loud at the sheer absurdity. A dirt-poor gold digger? Sleeping around? Soft-hearted charity? Christopher, you really are something else. You spent the hundreds of thousands of dollars of allowance I gave you every month, lived in the penthouse I paid for in full, and drove the Porsche I bought you. Yet, in front of your new girl, you turned me into a pathetic, desperate, gold-digging ex? For seven years, I was a fool, played like a toy in his hands. To protect his ego, I never let him spend a single dime on me. I secretly settled the bill whenever we ate out. I always bought him the most expensive gifts for holidays. Meanwhile, he only got me cheap, twenty-dollar trinkets, which I cherished like priceless treasures. I thought that was love. I thought it was mutual respect. In reality, it was just a one-woman show. And he sat in the audience, watching me perform like a clown, probably laughing his head off. “Women like that deserve to be put in their place!” Aurora balled her hand into a fist, then smiled again. “But it’s fine now. Christopher blocked her on everything.” “He told me he only cares about me and our baby now.” My ears buzzed. Nausea washed over me again. I couldn’t take it anymore. I stood up abruptly. “What’s wrong?” Aurora gasped, startled. “I need to use the restroom.” I practically fled to the bathroom. Clinging to the sink, I dry-heaved for several minutes, but nothing came out. Staring at the pale, red-eyed woman in the mirror, I felt entirely detached. Chloe, you are pathetic. All the business logic and intelligence you took pride in shattered into worthless dust the moment love was involved. I turned on the faucet and splashed cold water onto my face. The freezing water dripped down my cheeks, completely washing away the last shred of my foolish illusions. Christopher, since you had the balls to do this, don’t blame me for what comes next. You want to step on my back, use my money, and give another woman the wedding of the century? Keep dreaming.

I dried my face, touched up my makeup, and replaced the vulnerability in my eyes with cold, calculated steel. When I walked back, Aurora was on her phone, leaving a sweet voice message. “Chris, what do you want for dinner tonight?” “I met an amazing lady today. She actually let me have her custom wedding gown!” “Can I invite her over to our place for dinner tonight?” I walked up just in time to hear this. Have dinner at their place? At the twenty-million-dollar penthouse I paid for in full, where I hadn’t even spent a single night? A cold smirk tugged at the corner of my lips. I was just wondering how to confront this trash. She was handing me the opportunity on a silver platter. “Sure,” I said smoothly as I sat down, offering a warm smile. “Actually, my hotel reservation had some issues, and I don’t have a place to stay tonight.” “I hope I won’t be intruding?” “No way!” Aurora grabbed my hand excitedly. “It’s an honor to have you!” “Christopher is always busy with work, and I get so bored alone at home.” “Isn’t your boyfriend in New York too? Why don’t you call him to join us?” I lowered my gaze to hide the mockery in my eyes. “No need. He’s… ‘working late.’” I put extra emphasis on “working late.” Over the past seven years, Christopher had used this excuse to brush me off countless times. “Ah, that’s too bad. Long-distance is so hard. You have to be understanding.” Aurora comforted me like an experienced wife, then happily pulled me along. “Let’s go. We can take my car!” In the parking garage, a brand-new, metallic pink Porsche Panamera pulled up in front of us. My pupils dilated when I saw the car. This was the gift I bought Christopher for his thirtieth birthday last year. Because he said people in investment banking looked down on you if you didn’t drive a good car, I ordered the top-tier trim, which cost me nearly three hundred thousand dollars. But now, the car was wrapped in hot pink, serving as Aurora’s ride. “Pretty, right?” Aurora tapped the car door, beaming. “It’s a pregnancy gift from Christopher!” “He said pink suits me perfectly. Get in, what are you waiting for?” I took a deep breath, fighting the urge to key the car, and climbed into the passenger seat. The interior smelled of sweet, cloying perfume. A photo of the two of them hung from the rearview mirror. The back seat was piled high with luxury shopping bags. Every single detail in this car felt like a slap to my face. As we drove out, Aurora’s phone rang. It was a FaceTime call from Christopher. Aurora mounted her phone on the dashboard and answered it. On the screen, the face I knew down to the bone appeared. Christopher was wearing the Armani custom shirt I bought him, his tie slightly loosened, his brow furrowed in his classic “busy executive” look. But the moment he saw Aurora, his expression softened instantly. His eyes filled with warmth, even a hint of subservience. “Hey babe. Did the baby behave today? Are you tired from trying on dresses?” His deep, smooth voice was once my favorite sound. Now, it just made me sick. “Not tired at all! I met an amazing person who helped me today!” Aurora chirped. “Chris, when are you getting off work?” “I invited her over for dinner. Hurry home and cook for us!” Christopher on the screen paused, then smiled dotingly. “You always make decisions on a whim.” “Fine, I’ll head back now. What do you want to eat? I’ll stop by the grocery store.” “I want steak!” “Sure, whatever you want. Wait for me at home.” Christopher blew a kiss to the camera and hung up. Sitting in the passenger seat, I was out of the camera’s angle, so Christopher didn’t see me. But I saw his loving, attentive face clearly. For seven years, he had never spoken to me in that tone. He was always cold, always saying, “I’m busy,” “Don’t start,” or “Be mature.” I thought he was just naturally distant and bad with words. It turned out he knew exactly how to love someone. He just didn’t love me. He gave all his warmth, patience, and emotional care to another woman. And left the coldness, excuses, and financial demands for me. “Isn’t my husband literally the best?” Aurora turned to me, smiling. I stared at the traffic ahead, my lips curling into a cold line. “Yeah. He’s quite the ‘husband.’”

The car pulled into one of New York’s most exclusive residential buildings—the Senna Residences. The security was incredibly tight, but Aurora scanned her face and drove right in. In the underground garage, she parked in a private spot. I glanced at the spot number: A-001. Another thing I paid for. I followed Aurora into the private elevator, riding it straight to the penthouse. The moment the door opened, even though I was prepared, the sight still pierced my chest. I had personally hired a top Italian designer to style this three-hundred-square-meter penthouse. From the Mediterranean-style archways to the million-dollar crystal chandelier in the living room, to the smart home system—every detail had my heart poured into it. Back then, Christopher said he liked a minimalist style, so I had replaced all the furniture with sleek black, white, and gray tones. But now, the spacious living room was covered in a fluffy pink rug. The sofa was piled with cute plushies, and a massive crib sat by the floor-to-ceiling windows. The entire home had been transformed by Aurora into a cozy pink castle. My hard work had been effortlessly wiped out by another woman. “Make yourself at home!” Aurora greeted me warmly, pulling a pair of brand-new pink slippers from the shoe cabinet. I glanced down at the cabinet. The dozens of limited-edition sneakers I had bought him were completely gone. They were replaced by Aurora’s high heels and maternity shoes. “What do you want to drink? Juice or coffee?” Aurora walked toward the open kitchen. “Water is fine, thank you.” I walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking down at the glittering New York skyline. This was where I had imagined us standing side-by-side, countless times. “Look at this!” Aurora walked over with a glass of water, pointing proudly to a massive oil painting on the wall. It was a portrait of them. Christopher in a tuxedo, Aurora in a wedding gown, staring deeply into each other’s eyes. “Christopher commissioned this. It cost hundreds of thousands!” “He said he wanted to freeze our most beautiful moment forever,” Aurora sighed dreamily. I stared coldly at the painting, my stomach churning again. Hundreds of thousands? Last month, Christopher told me he needed to butter up some clients for a project and was short on cash. I wired him a million dollars without a second thought. So, my money went into painting this disgusting trash. “Aurora,” I turned around, looking at her glowing face. “Do you really know Christopher?” Aurora blinked, confused. “What do you mean?” “Nothing.” I smiled, taking a sip of water. “I just think men nowadays are really good at pretending.” “Especially the ones who suddenly get rich. You should be careful.” Aurora burst out laughing. “You’re overthinking! Christopher is not like that.” “I have his credit cards, and I can check his phone whenever I want.” “He doesn’t even have any female friends. How could he lie to me?” “Really?” I put down my glass, my eyes mocking. “What about that crazy ex-girlfriend? What if she comes back?” At the mention of the ex, Aurora’s face darkened, her teeth clenching. “She wouldn’t dare! If she tries to ruin my family, I’ll tear her face apart!” “A cheap escort trying to steal my man? Please.” “A cheap escort?” I raised an eyebrow, holding back the urge to splash the water in her face. “Yeah! Christopher told me himself,” Aurora said with pure disgust. “He said she worked at some shady gentleman’s club. Who knows what diseases she has.” “Christopher was fooled by her at first, thinking she was some innocent college girl.” “Once he found out the truth, he was so disgusted he packed up and left overnight.” I trembled with pure rage, my nails biting so deep into my palms that they drew blood. Christopher, you have truly set a new low for human trash. To paint yourself as a saint in front of your mistress, you turned me—a partner at a top venture capital firm in LA—into a diseased escort?! I closed my eyes, taking several deep breaths to force down the fury. Fine. Great. Christopher, since you love acting so much, I’ll play along tonight. Just then, the front door beeped as the smart lock scanned a fingerprint. “Chris is back!” Aurora squealed, flying toward the door like a happy bird. The door opened, and Christopher walked in carrying two large grocery bags. As he kicked off his shoes, he caught the throwing-herself-at-him Aurora and kissed her forehead. “Miss me?” “Yes! So much!” Aurora clung to his neck. “Missed you too.” Christopher pinched her nose dotingly, then raised his head. His gaze swept past Aurora’s shoulder and landed on the living room. In that instant, time froze. The smile on Christopher’s face turned into a solid block of ice the moment he saw me. His pupils dilated. Pure terror and disbelief washed over his eyes. The grocery bags slipped from his hands, hitting the floor with a loud thud. Tomatoes rolled out, stopping right at my feet. “You… how are you…” His mouth hung open like a dying fish. He couldn’t even squeeze out a full sentence. Aurora was startled by his reaction. She looked back at me, then laughed, pulling his arm. “Chris, why do you look like that?” “It’s like you’ve seen a ghost. This is the nice lady I told you about!” “She let me have her wedding dress today, or I would’ve cried my eyes out!” Aurora dragged the statue-like Christopher over to me. “Let me introduce you properly. This is my husband, Christopher.” Staring at Christopher’s pale, sweat-slicked face, my lips curved into a freezing smirk. I extended my right hand, my voice clear and sharp. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Vance. I’ve heard so much about you.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “442738”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

Right after the SATs, I went to our senior prom. At the party, I took a single drink and blacked out completely. When I woke up, I was lying naked in Ethan’s bed. And Chloe, our school’s resident mean girl, was holding a camera right in my face, snapping photos. “You have no idea how pathetic and desperate you looked last night!” she sneered. The other classmates gathered in the hotel room burst into a chorus of nasty laughter. Then Ethan, my childhood best friend whom I grew up with, tossed a giant T-shirt at me. “Are you stupid? Didn’t you know that drink was spiked with a roofie?” Tears streamed down my face. I didn’t even dare to ask what had actually happened last night. Ethan looked at me with pure disgust. “Forget it. Chloe was just playing a joke. Don’t look so victimized. With you looking like a fat pig, what guy would actually want to touch you?” At that exact moment, my ten-year-old crush on Ethan died a brutal death. Ethan’s shirt was huge, fitting me like a baggy dress. Chloe held the camera, lightly kicking a husky lying on the floor with her sneaker. “Look at how she was hugging this dog last night. Kissing it and rubbing all over it. It was hilarious. I’ve never seen anyone get horny over a dog before.” A few people laughed along, but their voices quickly quieted down. Some classmates stole glances at me, looking a bit uneasy but saying nothing. Ethan poured a glass of warm water and walked over. I reached out to take it, but he bypassed my hand and handed it directly to Chloe. “Rinse your mouth. You’ve laughed your throat hoarse.” Chloe took the glass and winked at me maliciously. “My bad, April. Maybe the joke went a little too far.” “But seriously, I didn’t think you’d actually drink it. The cup literally had a sticky note that said ‘Don’t drink.’” I kept my mouth shut. There was indeed a cup on the table, and the sticky note on it was now soggy and illegible. But last night, that cup had been handed to me by Ethan. He had grabbed it from the table and shoved it into my hands. “Drink up, your face is super red.” Only after I took two big gulps did he lazily add, “Oh, actually, I think I grabbed the wrong one.” Chloe had led the applause then, and everyone cheered. I hadn’t realized what was happening in my hazy state. And after that, my memory went completely blank. The next morning, my photos spread like wildfire across our school’s Snapchat groups. Me, hugging a husky, clothes disheveled, face twisted in tears. The caption read: “One night for $100. Best deal in town.” There were over three hundred people in that group chat. Ethan was one of them. He didn’t leave the group. He didn’t say a single word to stop them. He only sent me one private message. “Don’t take it too seriously.” I stared at those five words all night. I never replied. On the day we had to go back to school to sign our final college enrollment forms, I wore an oversized black T-shirt. I tried my best to blend into the shadows. But the moment I walked into the classroom, someone let out a loud whistle. “Hey look, the dog-girl is here.” Whispers and giggles erupted, elbows digging into ribs. I walked to my desk. Carved deeply into the wooden surface were four words: “FAT PIG FOR SLAUGHTER.” I didn’t know when they had carved it, but the gashes were deep. I covered it up with a piece of scrap paper. Chloe sat diagonally in front of me. She turned around with a sweet smile. “April, which college are you committing to?” “Ethan and I are both going to Harvard. Why don’t you come with us?” She wrapped her arm around Ethan’s, leaning her head on his shoulder. “Once we’re in college, we can still look out for you.” Ethan kept his head down, flipping through his college paperwork, not looking at me once. A guy sitting nearby scoffed. “Why would she go to Harvard? Does the dining hall need someone to clear out the trash cans?” The classroom burst into laughter. Ethan finally looked up and said quietly, “That’s enough.” His voice wasn’t loud, but the laughter died down instantly. Chloe pouted. “It was just a joke, Ethan. You’re always so protective of her.” Ethan didn’t reply. Instead, he turned around to look at me. “What happened to your leg?” I froze. His eyes fell on my knees. I had tripped on the stairs yesterday, scraping off a patch of skin and leaving a massive, ugly purple bruise. My cropped pants couldn’t hide it. “It’s nothing,” I said flatly. “Did you put ointment on it?” “Yes.” He dug a fresh tube of ointment out of his backpack and tossed it onto my desk. “This is new. Put it on twice a day.” Seeing this, Chloe snatched at it. “I want some too! I scraped my knee yesterday too.” Ethan pinned her hand down. “Like hell you did. Who was the one whining for me to carry them up the stairs last night?” Chloe giggled, her voice dripping with honey. “Then you should carry April too. Her leg is actually hurt.” Ethan stayed silent. Chloe chuckled nastily. “Oh, right. You can’t carry her. She’s too heavy. Haha.” Her laughter was shrill, sounding like nails on a chalkboard. I ripped open the packaging of the ointment, squeezed a bit out, and slowly dabbed it onto my knee. It felt cold, then it began to sting. Ethan turned to me again. “Seriously, which school are you choosing?” “I haven’t decided yet.” “Stop overthinking. Harvard. Have you signed the acceptance form?” “Yes.” “Which choice is it?” “My top choice.” He nodded, looking visibly relieved. “Good.” “Your GPA is just enough to get in. Don’t waste your potential on some local community college.” Chloe chipped in, “Going to community college is fine too. At least she’d be close to home to cook for her mom.” I remained silent. Ethan shot Chloe a warning look, and Chloe stuck her tongue out. “What? Did I say something wrong? Her mom literally runs a cheap little diner.” “Though, honestly, her pork stew is actually pretty good.”

The bell rang. Mrs. Gable walked in to distribute the official, triplicated enrollment confirmation forms. Once we signed the bottom of these printed sheets, our college decisions were legally locked in and unchangeable. The classroom went dead quiet, filled only with the scratching of pens. My fingers gripped my pen so tightly they turned white. Ethan leaned over and whispered, “Let me check yours before you sign. Don’t make a mistake.” I didn’t acknowledge him. He began writing his own name in his signature, messy cursive. Chloe copied his choices, writing slowly, a step behind him. Just then, Chloe’s phone buzzed loudly. She picked it up, her loud voice echoing through the quiet room. “Hey, Mom! Yeah, I’m signing my college forms right now.” “What? Oh, you mean April’s photos?” “That wasn’t me! I don’t know who leaked them to the group chat.” She chuckled into the receiver. “Oh my god, seriously, it has nothing to do with me. I just filmed the video; I didn’t post it.” “I only showed it to Ethan. He was the one laughing his head off at it.” Several classmates turned their heads to look at me, then quickly looked back down. Some were shaking their shoulders, trying desperately to hold in their giggles. Ethan’s hand froze mid-stroke. He shot Chloe a frustrated look, then turned to soothe me. “I need to go to the office for a second. Just ignore her. She’s just acting like a dumb girl. The drama will blow over in a couple of days.” I stopped writing. I stared at the back of Chloe’s head. She was still on the phone, her voice getting louder and more arrogant. “Seriously, Mom, you should have heard her. She was moaning so loud while hugging that husky.” “No guy would ever touch her. No one would take her even if she paid them $100.” “Alright, alright, I’ll stop. I’ll show you the video when I get home tonight. It’s comedy gold.” I stood up. My chair legs scraped against the floor, making a sharp, screeching sound. The classroom fell dead silent. Chloe turned around, her phone still pressed to her ear. “What?” I walked over to her. I stopped right in front of her desk. Then, I raised my hand and slapped her across the face. The loud, crisp crack echoed off the walls. Chloe was completely stunned. Her phone flew out of her hand, the screen shattering as it hit the floor. She clutched her cheek, her eyes wide with shock, her mouth open but unable to make a sound. Everyone was staring. The air in the room froze solid. My voice sounded incredibly calm, even to my own ears. “That first slap is for your parents, since they clearly failed to raise you.” “A mouth is meant for speaking human words, not spewing trash.” Chloe finally snapped out of her shock. She bolted up, knocking her chair backward. She was half a head taller than me, and she shoved me hard. “You slapped me? You bitch, you dare slap me?!” The shove sent me stumbling back, my back slamming painfully into the edge of a desk. A sharp ache flared up, but I took a step forward anyway. I raised my hand again and delivered a second slap. This time she tried to dodge, but my palm caught her hard across the ear, sending her stumbling sideways. Pens and papers on her desk went flying everywhere. “This second slap is for myself.” “You filmed me, posted my photos, and humiliated me for three straight days.” “Did you think it was funny?” I glared at her, my eyes burning, but I refused to let a single tear fall. “Is it still funny now?” Chloe clutched both sides of her face, her eyes welling with tears as she screamed at the top of her lungs: “Ethan!”

The classroom door was pushed open. Ethan walked back in, holding some papers he had just printed from the main office. The moment he saw the chaos, his face darkened completely. “What the hell is going on?” Chloe lunged at him, grabbing his arm desperately. “She hit me! She’s completely insane, Ethan! She hit me!” Ethan looked at the red handprints blooming on her cheeks, then turned his gaze to me. “You slapped her?” I looked him straight in the eyes. “She deserved it.” His expression shifted from disbelief to cold anger. “I told you, Chloe was just joking.” “Why are you making such a big deal out of this? Nothing actually happened to you that night anyway.” Ethan had beautiful eyes and a perfectly straight nose. When he spoke, his Adam’s apple bobbed. I used to think every single part of him was designed perfectly to fit my heart. Now, all I felt was a dull, heavy ache. “A joke? She called me a fat pig for three days, and I ignored it.” “She set me up, and I let it slide.” “She filmed me and put it online, and did you say a single word?” Ethan frowned. “Chloe filmed the video, yes, but she wasn’t the one who posted it to the group chat.” “It was her mom who accidentally forwarded it.” I let out a cold, cynical laugh. “She literally just said on the phone that she only showed it to you.” Ethan’s face went rigid. Chloe gripped his arm even tighter. “Ethan, I didn’t say that! She’s lying…” Ethan glanced at her, then back at me. His lips parted, but all he said was, “Even if she did, you shouldn’t have resorted to violence.” I nodded slowly. “Right. I shouldn’t have hit her.” “I should have kept quiet, kept being your little punching bag and your favorite joke.” “For three years in high school, you guys gave me cruel nicknames, hid my homework, and stuffed trash into my locker.” “On my birthday, she gifted me weight-loss pills while you stood there laughing.” “When I gave my speech on stage, she led the crowd in booing me off, and you stood by doing absolutely nothing.” “Ethan, I used to think you were just bad at expressing yourself.” “I actually believed that deep down, you cared about me.” My voice began to tremble. “When you handed me that drink last night… did you know what was in it?” Ethan didn’t say a word. His silence was my answer. I inhaled deeply and nodded. “I see.” I turned around and walked back to my desk. I picked up the enrollment confirmation form. “Are you finished signing?” Ethan’s voice called out from behind me. I ignored him. He spoke again, his tone carrying that usual, arrogant sense of authority. “Don’t throw a tantrum. Your college choice affects your entire life. If you aren’t with me at Harvard, I worry you won’t…” He sounded so casual, as if the conflict we just had was nothing but a minor lover’s spat. I folded the paper and slipped it into my pocket. Just then, my phone rang. It was my mom. I picked it up and walked to the very end of the hallway to answer. “Hey, Mom.” “April, sweetie, have you signed the form? You’re going to Harvard, right?” My mom’s voice sounded exhausted from her long shift at the diner, but it was incredibly warm. “Don’t worry about the money. I’ll take on extra shifts. We can afford the tuition.” “Ethan is going to Harvard too, right? Since you two grew up together, you can look out for each other.” I leaned against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. Tears fell, hot and heavy, onto the floor. I couldn’t bring myself to answer because I didn’t want her to hear me crying. I quickly hung up. I walked back into the classroom. Ethan was standing right by my desk, holding his signed enrollment sheet. “Here,” he said, handing it to me. I took it and glanced at it. First choice: Harvard University. Major: Computer Science. The second choice line was left blank. He had only filled out one option. “Fill yours out the exact same way. Don’t overthink it. Your GPA is a guaranteed lock for Harvard.” I stared at his handwriting. The ink was barely dry. Chloe was back in her seat, pressing a wet paper towel to her cheek. She glared at me, muttering under her breath, “Psycho. Like a rabid dog.” Ethan turned to her. “Shut up, Chloe.” Chloe went quiet, but rolled her eyes dramatically. Mrs. Gable walked back into the room. “Alright class, listen up. Once you sign this form, it’s final. It cannot be changed.” “We have twenty minutes before the portal closes. Get them to my desk.” She stood at the podium and began collecting the sheets. I walked straight up to the front, grabbed a pen from the teacher’s desk, and laid my paper down flat. The system would lock in five minutes. I raised the pen and drew a heavy, brutal line right through “Harvard University.” I scribbled over it so hard that the paper made a sharp scratching sound. “What are you doing?!” Ethan lunged forward, grabbing my wrist in a tight grip. “Are you insane?!” I ripped my hand away from his grasp. Mrs. Gable stood up immediately. “Ethan, do not interfere with other students’ enrollment forms.” Ethan ignored her, his eyes locked onto mine. “April, where are you committing?!” I didn’t say a word. I kept writing. He reached out to snatch the paper away from me. I dodged, my wrist slamming hard against the sharp corner of the podium. A jolt of pain shot up my arm. “Where the hell are you going?!” he roared. The entire classroom stared at us in shock. Chloe stood up, her face filled with confusion. I finished writing. I slapped the paper down onto Mrs. Gable’s desk. I signed my name. And pressed my thumbprint on the seal. Mrs. Gable looked at the paper, then looked up at me in shock. “Are you sure about this, April?” “Yes.” “Alright. It’s submitted.” The computer let out a soft beep. The enrollment portal was officially closed.

Ethan stood by the podium, his face a mask of absolute disbelief. I walked down the steps, trying to pass him. He grabbed my arm roughly. “April! You…” I looked down at his hand, then up at his face. “Let go of me.” He didn’t budge. I forced his fingers off my arm, one by one. “Is all of this really necessary? Just over a stupid joke?!” he snapped. I slung my backpack over my shoulder and walked toward the exit. Chloe’s mocking voice rang out from behind. “Oh, look at her playing hard to get. Does she seriously think this is going to make you chase her, Ethan?” “Just let her go. She’ll come crawling back in a couple of days anyway…” Before I could even cross the threshold of the door, Ethan took two giant strides, caught up to me, and yanked my wrist back. The force of his pull spun me halfway around. “Where did you commit?!” “April! Answer me!” His eyes were bloodshot, his face contorted in a rage I had never seen before. Chloe swaggered over, standing right behind him with her arms crossed. “Forget it, Ethan. Where else could she possibly go? Probably that cheap state school down south. She’s just putting on a show to scare you.” She laughed nastily. “Look at her legs. She walks like a penguin.” I struggled to free my wrist, but I couldn’t. Ethan’s hand was like an iron shackle. I stopped fighting and stared directly into his eyes. “Ethan, what makes you think I would ever want to go to the same university as you?” He froze. “Because I tutored you?” “Because I vouched for you to the teachers?” “Or because I used to love you?” His entire face went rigid. As I spoke those last words, I felt something that had been built over ten long years finally shatter into pieces. Someone called Ethan’s name from the end of the hallway—it sounded like one of his friends from the other class. Chloe pushed past me, grabbing Ethan’s hand. “Ethan, leave her. Let’s go.” Ethan stood frozen, letting her pull him back a step, his eyes still glued to me. Seeing his hesitation, Chloe decided to twist the knife. “Oh, by the way, her mom just posted a screenshot in the community group chat, asking what those photos were about.” “Want to see? Her mom seems pretty furious.” She held up her phone, showing a Snapchat chat window with my mother’s username. My mom had forwarded the photo Chloe leaked, followed by three question marks. Below it was our home address pinned on the map. My blood ran cold instantly. “You promised you wouldn’t send it to my mom,” I whispered, my voice trembling. Chloe shrugged. “I didn’t send it to her. She saw it in the public group chat herself.” “My mom was the one who posted it there, and I couldn’t stop her.” “Not my fault.” I looked at her face. The left side of her cheek was swollen, but her lips were curled into a smug, victorious grin. She was thoroughly enjoying my terror. It was all just a show to her. Ethan stood right next to her, completely silent. My mouth opened, but no words came out. I turned and walked away. One step at a time, I headed down the concrete stairs. This was the hallway I had walked for three years, yet it had never felt this long. Behind me, Ethan’s voice boomed. “April!” I didn’t stop. Heavy, panicked footsteps chased after me. “Stop right there!” A hand grabbed my shoulder from behind, yanking me backward. I lost my balance. My foot slipped off the edge of the step. The sharp edge of the concrete step slammed hard into my shin bone. An agonizing pain shot up my leg. I let out a choked gasp as my body fell backward. Ethan’s grip on my shoulder vanished. I didn’t know if he had let go out of shock, or if I had simply slipped out of his grasp. All I knew was that I was falling. My head slammed violently against the concrete step with a sickening thud. Then my shoulders, my back, and my hips battered against the stairs, step by step. My body rolled down like a heavy sack of sand, completely out of control. Finally, I came to a stop on the landing of the first floor. The world went dead silent for a few seconds. Then, the screaming started. Someone upstairs screamed at the top of their lungs, “Oh my god! She fell down the stairs!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “442737”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

My best friend, Zach Taylor, was complaining to me again. He said his girlfriend had a crazy high sex drive and he could barely keep up with her in bed. I couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. Because my own fiancée, Chloe Vance, was completely ice-cold. She absolutely detested intimacy. Years ago, Chloe was assaulted, leaving her with severe psychological trauma. Ever since, she panicked whenever a man touched her. I loved her, so I respected her boundaries and locked my own desires away. Today was Zach’s wedding day. He asked me to take the ten-carat diamond ring he’d prepared and deliver it to his bride in the bridal suite. As I walked in, I saw a familiar back sitting in front of the vanity mirror, wearing a stunning white lace wedding dress. When my eyes locked onto the butterfly tattoo on her shoulder blade, my entire body went numb. I could never mistake it. Zach’s bride was none other than my frigid fiancée, Chloe. Sitting next to her was our mutual friend, Ashley. “Chloe, are you really going through with this? If Ethan finds out, he’s going to lose his mind.” Chloe paused, a flash of pain crossing her eyes before instantly vanishing. “He’s in New York, thousands of miles away. My assistant locked down all the media channels. He won’t hear a single rumor.” Ashley panicked. “But you can only have one legal husband! What about your five years with Ethan?” “We won’t divorce because Ethan and I never legally registered our marriage at City Hall. The papers we signed were fake.” Chloe’s voice was bone-chillingly cold. I leaned against the hallway wall, clutching the ring box so hard that the metal edges cut deep into my palm. Drip. Drip. Fresh blood splattered onto the marble floor. She admitted it. Our marriage was a lie. What did those five years of romance, surprises, and devotion even mean to her? Chloe’s expression softened into something tender as she continued. “Years ago, when I was drugged at that party, I ended up in Zach’s bed by mistake. I got pregnant with his child. I couldn’t let our daughter grow up without a father.” I moved, slipping the ring box into my pocket. The two people I trusted most in this world had been sleeping together behind my back, and they had a four-year-old child to show for it. I wanted to storm in. I wanted to tear those two cheaters apart. But Chloe’s next words stripped away any right I had to complain. “When Victoria found out about Zach and me, I thought she would hate me for betraying Ethan,” Chloe murmured, her eyes shimmering with emotion. “But instead, she thanked me. Because of this, she found her biological son. Zach is the real heir to the Reynolds family. Ethan has been living high on the hog in Zach’s place for over twenty years, while Zach was suffering out there. Zach was the one who was supposed to be my childhood sweetheart. He was the one who was supposed to live this luxury life with me.” Ashley was stunned. “Then what about Ethan? You’re just going to throw him away like trash?” “He only got to be with me because he stole Zach’s identity. All I feel for him now is a bit of pity…” As Chloe’s voice drifted off, I clenched my teeth so hard they nearly shattered. The words *child of a fraud* and *thief who stole a life* echoed relentlessly in my head. I turned and walked out of the wedding venue. Behind me, the minister was starting the vows. I paused, my footsteps dragging. At our commitment ceremony years ago, Chloe’s father had thought she hated the arranged marriage with me and tried to swap the groom. When Chloe realized it wasn’t me at the altar, she had thrown a massive tantrum, chasing me all the way to London to beg me back. It was the same grandeur, the same luxury cars, the same church. But today, the man she was marrying was someone else. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a text from Victoria. *”Ethan, there’s something I’ve kept from you for a long time… You were switched at birth. My real son is refusing to return home. He says he will only come back if you pack your things and go back to your biological parents.”* My throat tightened as I watched the stage. My finger hovered over the screen. On stage, Zach was sliding the ring onto Chloe’s finger. She held Zach’s arm, and as she looked out at the crowd, she finally spotted me. Her face paled, and she quickly rushed down the aisle toward me. “Ethan, don’t get the wrong idea. Zach was being forced by his family to marry a twice-divorced, ugly older woman. I only did this to save him. I didn’t want you to watch your best friend get miserable.” Her excuse was pathetic. Seeing her standing up there, softly accepting another man’s kiss on her forehead, compared to the countless nights she had recoiled from my touch… It was a sickening joke. Noticing how white my face was, Chloe dragged me into the dressing room. She poured some of my heart medication into her palm and held it out. “Ethan, you look terrible. Take this.” I didn’t take it. The pills slipped through her fingers, scattering all over the floor. “Chloe, those nights you refused to sleep in my bed… was it really because of your PTSD? Or did I just disgust you?” My voice shook violently, my chest heaving. I wanted an answer. I wanted her to admit she had loved me, to admit her physical rejection wasn’t because of who I was. Suddenly, a little boy rushed out from behind the rack, shoving me hard against the wall. “Bad man! Don’t hurt my mommy!” I stumbled backward, my head slamming hard against the sharp edge of the window sill. A warm liquid instantly flowed down my forehead, staining my white collar crimson. The little boy sat on the floor, wailing. Chloe’s hand, which had instinctively reached out to catch me, froze. She pulled her hand back and scooped the boy into her arms. “Ethan! No matter how angry you are, you can’t take it out on a child!” I leaned against the wall to steady myself, looking at the two of them. My head had never been clearer. I tapped my screen and sent the reply to Victoria. *”I understand. I’ll swap back. I’ll pack my things and move out within a week.”*

Zach rushed into the room, shielding Chloe and the boy behind his back, looking at me with hostile eyes. But once he saw the blood dripping down my face, his expression faltered. “Ethan… the kid didn’t know any better. Don’t take it to heart.” “We’ve been brothers for over a decade,” I said, my voice hoarse and raw. “Zach, how long have you two been doing this behind my back?” “I never knew she had two completely different faces—one for you, and one for me.” Zach panicked, his lips trembling. After a long silence, he seemed to find his courage, raising his chin. “Before I knew I was the real Reynolds heir, I was so jealous of how Chloe treated you.” “But ever since that night she climbed into my bed by mistake, I saw the necklace on Victoria’s neck. That’s when I knew. I am the real son.” Chloe stepped out from behind Zach, standing firmly by his side. I took a deep breath. “Even if you hated the universe, why did you have to sleep with my woman? Zach, we’ve been brothers for so long…” Zach’s eyes turned bloodshot, his emotions boiling over. “Don’t give me that charity bullshit! If we hadn’t been switched, all of this—including Chloe—would have been mine! Am I wrong?” “I would have been the rightful heir of the Reynolds Group, not some guy hiding in the shadows while my son is called a bastard!” He glared at me, his voice full of resentment. “Ethan, have some conscience. You enjoyed my luxury life for over twenty years. How could you live so peacefully?” Chloe instinctively reached out to support me as I swayed, but then she looked at Zach with a sigh. “Zach, stop it.” “Why should I stop? Why do I have to be the one who suffers? I should just leave then!” Zach yelled, spinning around and storming out of the room. Chloe’s throat bobbed. She gave me a long, complicated look. “Ethan, I…” “Just go,” I whispered, closing my eyes to hold back the sting. If his suffering was because of me, I had no right to argue. But in my heart, I kept asking myself: what did I do wrong? What luxury did I actually enjoy? For the last twenty years in the Reynolds family, Victoria had trained me ruthlessly to be the perfect successor. Anything I wanted, I had to earn myself. At seventeen, while my classmates went on European vacations, I was stressing over college tuition, book fees, and living expenses. I had no holidays, no childhood, and even my marriage was pre-arranged. I thought my life was just a set program. I never expected Chloe to be my only variable. And now, that variable had turned into a bomb that blew my life to pieces. As I walked out of the venue, I ran right into Victoria. “Victoria, you…” “I am not your mother,” she interrupted coldly. My throat felt like it was blocked by concrete. I forced myself to correct my words. “Mrs. Reynolds.” “Where is Zach?” she asked, searching the lobby. When she saw him across the street, she ran straight toward him without looking back once. I watched her go. Across the street, Zach was crouching by a tree, venting his anger. Chloe was half-kneeling beside him, comforting him. It looked exactly like our engagement party years ago. Back then, Chloe had stood before Victoria, promising to always stay by my side and love me forever. Looking at it now, it was nothing but a sickening farce. My phone rang continuously. I picked it up. “Is this Ethan Reynolds? This is the National DNA Registry. We’ve found a match for your genetic profile. We need one more blood sample to confirm. Once the results are out, we will notify you immediately.” “Okay. I’ll send it as soon as possible.” I hung up, walking aimlessly down the street. Suddenly, Chloe ran up and grabbed my arm. “Ethan! I’m not going to leave you just because of your identity. Can you please be reasonable? Don’t make things difficult for me.” If I didn’t know our marriage was a sham, I might have actually believed her. I might have pitied her. I looked up, barely dodging a speeding car. Seeing my silence, her tone softened. “The Reynolds Group is holding a press conference tomorrow to announce Zach’s return. He’s feeling very insecure right now. Since you two used to be close, I need you to be there to support him and show the media there’s no bad blood.” I nodded slowly, my body swaying in the cold wind. Through the corner of my eye, I saw Chloe reach out to steady me, but Zach pulled her back from behind. I averted my gaze. These things never belonged to me anyway. Giving them back was only a matter of time. “Fine. I’ll be there.” The day of the press conference arrived. The reporters were all waiting to see the downfall of the once-proud Ethan Reynolds. They wanted to see the imposter fall from grace. But in the very last minute of the countdown, the entire venue erupted into chaos. I snapped my head around to look at the giant screen. The embarrassing photos of Zach’s wild past had vanished. Instead, they had been replaced by compromised, highly inappropriate photos of me—each one ten times more humiliating than anything Zach had ever faced. A flood of abuse immediately came crashing down on me from the crowd. “I knew this Ethan guy was trash! He was afraid the real heir would take his spot, so he leaked these to ruin him!” “How malicious! The real heir is the victim here!” “Put Ethan in jail! Get him out of here!” The press conference was abruptly canceled, and the room descended into madness.

Zach clutched his head, looking like he was on the verge of a mental breakdown. He glared at me with pure hatred. “Ethan! How could you do this to me? I never wanted to hurt you, but you’re trying to drive me to suicide!” I opened my mouth to explain, but a barrage of plastic water bottles slammed into my face and chest, cutting off my words. I shielded my head. Through the gaps of my arms, I saw Chloe quickly ushering Zach out of the hall. “I didn’t do this! Chloe! Do you really think I’m that kind of person?” I screamed. But before I could take a step, my feet swept through empty air. Someone had shoved me violently from behind. I fell off the two-meter-high stage, my vision instantly going black as the insults continued to rain down. When I woke up, I was in a damp, dark basement. A harsh light turned on, revealing me tied hand and foot, kneeling on the cold concrete. Chloe stood half-hidden in the shadows. She dragged me up by my collar. “You did it.” Her voice was filled with absolute certainty. “I didn’t! Chloe, is this really who I am in your eyes? I told you, I would never do something so pathetic!” I desperately tried to explain, but she didn’t listen to a single word. “Set up the cameras,” she ordered coldly. Several burly men walked in. They dumped a bucket of filthy sewer water right over my head. Their grip was brutal and ruthless. *Click. Click. Click.* The camera shutters went off. I reeked of filth, my face pressed hard into the muddy floor. Every shred of my dignity as a man was crushed to dust. My eyes burned red. “Are you insane? I have proof that it wasn’t me!” But I knew Chloe. Once she set her mind on something, she was merciless. Just like when a major shareholder had insulted me years ago, she had ruined his career within a day, making sure no company in the country would ever hire him. Now, she was doing the same to me—to protect Zach. “Zach is on the verge of jumping off a building, yet he still begged me not to punish you!” Chloe said, her face twisted with anger. “He suffered for twenty years, and all he wanted was some security. How could you hate him this much?” “Do you want to see him dead?” I shook my head violently, spitting out the dirt. “I… didn’t… do… it…” “Liar,” Chloe sneered. “You used to tell me everything. If you didn’t do it, why didn’t you show me the proof earlier?” I let out a bitter laugh. I used to throw tantrums because I knew she loved me. Now? I was nothing to her. She waved her hand. Two bodyguards stepped forward, tightening the ropes around my neck and arms until they bruised. They forced my head up to face a large monitor. It was Chloe’s phone screen, being mirrored. Without a shred of hesitation, her finger tapped the screen, uploading hundreds of compromised photos of me online. Within minutes, it trended to number one on social media. With every refresh, my dignity was dragged deeper into the mud. The negative posts about Zach were instantly buried by the scandal surrounding me. Thousands of people screenshotted, shared, and insulted me. The most disgusting slurs flooded my Instagram and SnapChat. “Turns out the fake heir took those photos himself to frame the real one!” “He’s a designer, right? I bet all his work was plagiarized too!” I watched in horror as the design portfolio I had worked on for over a year was reported and taken down. My social media accounts were permanently banned. I was held down, unable to even lower my head. Shame burned through my body like a hot iron, from my scalp to my toes. My vision blurred, and right before I passed out, Chloe’s soft voice drifted into my ears. “Ethan, be good. You owe this to Zach.” The same Chloe who used to shield me from Victoria’s demands was now forcing me to submit. I managed a smile that was uglier than crying. I regretted everything. I cursed myself for ever holding onto a shred of hope for her. When I woke up again, I was in a warm bed. I sat up abruptly. Chloe was standing beside me, holding a glass of warm water and some painkillers. Her face was incredibly gentle. It was as if the woman who had stripped me of my dignity yesterday didn’t exist. “Ethan, are you hungry?” She tucked the blanket around me. Her every movement was filled with the devotion of the old Chloe. It felt like the humiliation of yesterday was just a nightmare. My body trembled as I pushed her away, getting out of bed and walking out of the room. But when I stepped into the living room, my breath hitched. Hanging right in the center of the wall was a massive wedding portrait—of Chloe and Zach. I froze, looking around the penthouse. Every corner of this room was filled with things I had once dreamed of.

I remembered holding a picture of a limited-edition graphics card—one of only ten in the world—and smiling at Chloe. “This is a masterpiece, but it’s impossible to get. Chloe, do you think you could find one for me?” Chloe had snuggled into my chest back then, whispering, “I’ll get the whole set for you, I promise.” I had waited for a long time, but she never mentioned it again, so I assumed she forgot. I never managed to get my hands on it. But here, in Zach’s apartment, the entire set was proudly on display. The high-end gaming setup, the custom ergonomic chair, even the small collectible figurines—everything I had ever begged for was sitting here. She had given all of it to him. Chloe’s phone rang, and she quickly hurried out of the apartment to take the call. A moment later, Zach walked out of the bedroom, holding a plate of my favorite food. I silently took the plate and started eating, mouthful by mouthful. Tears silently streamed down my face. Honestly, I had never hated him. We had been brothers for over ten years. We had eaten cheap street food together and shared expensive dinners. I never expected us to end up like this over the same woman. “Zach, do you still hate me…” Before I could finish, a sharp, agonizing pain flared in my abdomen, forcing the words back down my throat. I doubled over, cold sweat instantly drenching my back as my knees crashed onto the floor in front of him. “Zach… call an ambulance…” I gasped. But instead of helping, Zach lunged forward, his hands gripping my neck as his boot slammed hard into my lower abdomen. “I’m sorry, Ethan,” he hissed, his face contorting with malice. “But I have no choice.” “If you can still have kids, Chloe will never let you go. She’ll stop taking her birth control pills and try to have another baby with you.” “She’s pregnant with my child right now. I won’t let anyone threaten my baby’s future.” I shook violently, the pain in my gut turning into a white-hot scream. But Chloe and I had never… Unless… Zach was telling the truth. The excruciating pain in my lower abdomen intensified. That night wasn’t a dream. Chloe had slept with me, but she had treated me like Zach. And then, she took the morning-after pill. I had thought it was just a fever dream. But it was real. She had fallen for Zach a long time ago. That was why our child would never be born. My mind flashed back to Chloe’s first pregnancy, how carefully I had cared for her. But when one of my business rivals sought revenge, Chloe had miscarried at seven months upon hearing the news. The hospital floor had been covered in blood that day. I had held her tight, her hot tears soaking my neck as she whispered, “It’s okay, Ethan. We’ll have another baby. As long as you’re safe, nothing else matters.” I slammed my fist into the floor, the physical pain bringing back a sliver of my sanity. I wanted to fight back, to save what was left of my pride. But it was useless. Zach’s hands clamped over my mouth, suffocating my screams. “I’ve been sleeping with Chloe this whole time. Since I’m the real heir, she wanted to make it up to me. She wanted to give me the life she promised you!” “Every time I talked to you about my ‘secret girlfriend,’ I was laughing inside, wondering how you’d react when you found out it was Chloe. You stole my life, so you deserve to suffer.” His face twisted with sick satisfaction. “Don’t blame me, Ethan. I have to destroy you before she starts feeling pity for you again.” “You enjoyed my life for over twenty years. You don’t get a happy ending.” My consciousness began to fade. In my haze, I remembered the first time I pressed my ear against Chloe’s belly to listen for a heartbeat. She had told me our life would be perfect, that we had a bright future, and that she would always be on my side. Then, the scene shattered. Chloe’s cold face appeared, telling me how disappointed she was, asking how I could live so peacefully after stealing someone else’s life. I shook my head violently. *Chloe, how could you believe him?* But she didn’t move. She only drifted further and further away into a sea of red. When I opened my eyes again, I was lying in a cramped, pitch-black space. It was completely sealed. Through a tiny ventilation slit, my eyes locked onto the words on the wall outside: *CREMATION CHAMBER 4*. My heart stopped. I was still alive! I kicked the metal walls of the container frantically, screaming at the top of my lungs. I didn’t want to die! My mind was terrifyingly sharp. If no one heard me, I was going to be burned alive. Suddenly, the heavy metal lid was yanked open. Fresh air rushed into my lungs. I gasped, grabbing the jacket of the person standing over me. “Help me…” The two workers stared at me in absolute horror. “He’s alive! Oh my god, this guy is still alive!” They used my phone to call Chloe, and I was taken to the waiting room to recover. When Chloe arrived, Zach was hovering right behind her, his face dark. But the moment Zach saw me, he immediately put on a confused, innocent act. “Chloe… I really didn’t mean to. Our son’s dog died, and I wanted to cremate it… I didn’t know Ethan would hide in there because he was throwing a tantrum…” Chloe glanced at me, the panic in her eyes instantly replaced by cold irritation. “Ethan, if you’re done throwing your tantrum, come home with me.” Her very first words were an accusation. “Zach was just stressed. He’s been having a hard time lately. Don’t hold a grudge over a misunderstanding.” I had been locked in a coffin, nearly burned alive. And she dismissed all of it as me “throwing a tantrum.”

Before I could speak, Victoria rushed into the room. She bypassed me completely, throwing her arms around Zach. “Oh my god, Zach! Were you terrified?” I turned my head away. Twenty years of being her son, twenty years of calling her mother. Even without blood, I thought there was some affection. But she didn’t care about my burns or my trauma. She only cared about the monster who tried to kill me. Chloe was busy whispering comforts to Zach. The three of them looked like a perfect, happy family. “Ethan, since you’re fine, let’s drop this. Zach can’t handle any more stress.” I clutched my phone, my knuckles turning white. “Drop this? I almost died, and you want me to just drop it because I’m ‘fine’?” “Chloe, look at the security footage! See for yourself if he did it on purpose!” I thrust my phone in front of her, my finger tapping on the video. *Smack!* “Enough!” Chloe slapped the phone out of my hand. Her high heel came down hard, crushing the screen of my phone into pieces. Her eyes were icy. “I don’t need to watch it. No matter what the camera shows, Zach didn’t mean it.” “Ethan, you didn’t use to be this petty. When are you going to stop this?” I looked up at her, my heart completely turning to stone. Petty? If Zach was hurt, Chloe would tear the world apart to get revenge for him. But when it was me, she didn’t even want to see the proof. Zach took a deep breath and suddenly dropped to his knees in front of me. “Ethan, please, I beg you. Don’t make things hard for me. Aren’t we brothers?” “I just wanted a family. I just wanted someone to love me. I’ve been alone for so long.” Victoria’s eyes welled with tears as she comforted him, while Chloe pulled Zach back to his feet. It was laughable. Victoria and the woman I loved were both shielding him. What else did Zach want from me? “My life was so miserable before this. Watching you live in luxury made me hate you. I couldn’t help it. It was my fault,” Zach sobbed. “If my existence makes you this unhappy, I’ll leave. I’ll go back to the gutter and never bother you again.” The last bit of hesitation in Chloe’s eyes vanished. Her voice carried no warmth. “Take Ethan and make him experience everything Zach had to go through.” Zach looked up, our eyes meeting. *Is this what you wanted?* *Did you almost kill yourself just to put on this show?* My silence was deafening. Zach stiffened, quickly looking away. Our ten years of brotherhood died right then and there. On that very day, I decided to let go of the two women I had loved most. … For the next three days, I was subjected to Chloe’s version of “penance.” I was dragged to a shoe factory, forced to squat in front of mountains of foul-smelling leather, polishing shoe after shoe until I felt like vomiting, but I wasn’t allowed to stop. On the second day, her bodyguards took me to a convenience store in the slums. I was forced to stock shelves and work the register for over sixteen hours straight. My legs swelled so badly that every step felt like dragging lead blocks. The moment I sat down to rest for a minute, Chloe’s cold calls and Victoria’s screaming texts would flood my screen. By the third day, my legs were so swollen I couldn’t even stand. The injury in my lower abdomen had flared up, throbbing with a sickening heat. Only then did Chloe order them to stop. She had me thrown into the slums, into the dilapidated apartment where Zach used to live. I thought it would be a decent place. Instead, it was a damp, moldy, rat-infested basement. Zach really hated me. But when he was struggling, I was the one who skipped meals to save money from my strict allowance to help him pay rent. I was the one who used my first business profit to pay off his student loans and fund his first startup. The room was tiny, the walls peeling, the air thick with mildew. The betrayal cut deeper than any physical wound. Back then, during summer break, I was worried Zach wouldn’t have money, so I hired him as Chloe’s assistant, paying him three thousand dollars a day. I made up business trips just so Chloe and I could take him to travel all over Europe with us. And this was how he repaid me. I wiped the sweat and tears from my face. My SnapChat buzzed with a friend request. *”Hi Ethan. I’m Beatrice. I’m your biological mother.”* A lump formed in my throat. I typed a long message. *Why did you take so long? How did they mix us up? Why…* But before I could hit send, a deafening roar shook the building. I looked out the window. A massive demolition excavator was tearing down the building next door, and it was heading straight for my unit. The walls began to crack, and dust rained down. Without thinking, I quickly sent my location to Beatrice. *”Come get me.”* As the excavator’s metal claw reached the window, my phone rang. It was Chloe. I tried to scramble out of the window, accidentally hitting accept on her call. “Ethan, everything is settled. I talked to Victoria. You can stay in the family.” “Zach and his kid won’t threaten your position. Just be good, and I’ll come pick you up.” “Ethan? Hello?… ” I didn’t hesitate. I jumped out of the second-story window. My phone slipped from my grip, the screen still showing the active call as it smashed onto the concrete

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Last night, I received a termination email from HR. The reason? I was “too old,” “lacked a prestigious degree,” and was “holding back the company’s modernization.” This morning, the HR manager pulled me aside, looking at me with a mix of pity and helplessness. “Aria, you crossed the wrong person this time.” I followed her gaze. Across the glass partition, Chloe Davis was laughing loudly, surrounded by her clique of newly hired team members. Chloe was the CEO’s niece. Two weeks ago, she was parachuted into the sales department as the new Director. She brought a dozen of her college classmates with her, branding them as a “highly intellectual, Gen-Z elite task force.” Yesterday, I rejected her marketing proposal because it was completely detached from reality. Suddenly, Chloe glanced my way. Her eyes flashed with childish provocation. “Older, uneducated women really should just stay home and be housewives. It saves them from embarrassing themselves in the professional world!” I didn’t say a word. I just calmly signed the severance agreement. What she didn’t realize was that I didn’t need this job. The company needed me. A few minutes later, I posted a simple update on my Instagram: “Officially resigned. Excited for the next chapter.” Within seconds, my notifications blew up.

My former clients immediately began commenting under my post. “Aria! Come to my company. I’ll triple whatever salary they were paying you!” “Triple? That’s thinking too small. Aria, name your price. My firm is always open to you.” My Snapchat buzzed. It was Eleanor Vance, one of my biggest clients. “Aria, what is going on? We literally just discussed our quarterly contract. You resigned before we even signed?” I typed back, “I’m sorry, Eleanor. My name was put on the company’s restructuring list. A new representative will reach out to you shortly.” She sent a confused emoji. “You? Laid off?” “Is your firm trying to go bankrupt?” I replied with a helpless shrug emoji. She immediately texted back: “If you aren’t managing our account, I will have to reconsider this partnership entirely.” Seeing these messages, a wave of relief washed over me. Having spent ten years in this industry, I had built an ironclad network of high-profile clients. Many competitors had tried to headhunt me with massive signing bonuses, but I had always turned them down. I believed in loyalty. Ten years ago, when I freshly graduated from college, I sent out hundreds of resumes and got nothing but rejections. Just when I was about to give up, Richard Davis, the CEO of this company, gave me a chance. To repay that debt, I worked tirelessly. I treated every small task with absolute perfection. I secured deal after deal, single-handedly boosting the department’s revenue and ensuring everyone got their bonuses. But lately, things had gone sour. A week ago, Chloe and her “elite team” made a massive logistical error that almost cost the company millions. I pointed out their mistake during a meeting. That very night, Richard called me to “remind me of my place” and deducted my monthly bonus. Three days ago, Chloe encouraged the team to practice “quiet quitting” and leave exactly at 5 PM, leaving half-finished client presentations behind. I stayed up all night to clean up their mess. Yet, behind my back, they called me a “toxic micro-manager.” Suddenly, the company-wide WhatsApp group lit up. [Effective today, Chloe Davis is officially promoted to Executive Director of Sales.] The group chat exploded with celebratory emojis and congratulatory messages. Many of them were from junior employees I had personally trained and mentored from scratch. Those messages woke me up. This place was no longer worth my loyalty. “Aria.” Chloe pushed my office door open, looking around at my half-packed boxes. “Cleaning out your desk?” “Make sure you wipe it down before you leave. Consider it practice for your future housework.” “Take your time. Enjoy your final moments of contributing to this company!” I gave her a flat look and ignored her. My silence annoyed her. She stepped closer, pointing a manicured finger at me. “Why are you acting so high and mighty? So what if you were the top sales representative? I fired you with a single sentence.” I let out a soft laugh. “Is that so?” “Did your uncle actually sign off on this layoff list?” “Or did you make this decision all by yourself?” Richard had been on an business trip in Europe for the past two weeks, unreachable unless it was an absolute emergency. I knew for a fact he had no idea. After all, no sane CEO would fire their top performer of ten years—the very backbone of the company’s revenue. Chloe flinched slightly, her confidence wavering for a fraction of a second, before she puffed out her chest again. “My uncle adores me. My family practically owns this place. You’re just an employee. Why would there be any consequences for firing you?” “Stop trying to scare me. You’re just bitter because you’re washed up and nobody else wants you!” I smiled gently. “Chloe, I highly doubt you can handle this position.” She tried to snap back, but stumbled over her words. I continued, “Do you even know our clients’ preferences? Do you know how to negotiate a contract? Can you even draft a viable proposal?” “This position isn’t for a pretty trophy, Chloe. Your textbook theories won’t survive in the real world.” “I suggest you get to work. Otherwise, you might end up begging me to come back.” I picked up my box and walked past her. She shrieked behind me, “Beg you to come back? In your dreams!” “Leave your client logs before you go!” I tapped my temple. “They’re all up here. Good luck.” As I walked through the open office, not a single person stood up to say goodbye. I didn’t feel sad anymore. Instead, I felt a strange curiosity. Without me there to fix their mistakes and fight for their bonuses, I wondered how long they would enjoy their “stress-free” work life. Let’s see how long this company lasts.

On my Uber ride home, my phone buzzed constantly. I opened the old department WhatsApp group. Chloe was busy pitching her grand vision. “I firmly believe that in this new era, we need fresh minds. We are young, and we represent the future. The old ways of doing things are completely outdated and toxic!” “Starting today, no more overtime. Under my leadership, everyone will have perfect work-life balance!” The chat was flooded with praise, alongside passive-aggressive digs aimed at me. Suddenly, I was added to a new, unofficial group chat. The creator was Logan, the office kiss-ass. “Honestly, Chloe is a hundred times better than Aria. At least she doesn’t force us to finish projects before going home!” Others quickly chimed in: “For real. I’m so glad Aria is gone. Besides breathing down our necks, what did she actually do for us?” “Exactly! That old witch was obsessed with deadlines.” “With a boss like Chloe, I’d gladly stay here forever.” “And she’s so sweet, she never raises her voice.” The messages piled up, each one more toxic than the last. Until I accidentally hit a thumbs-up emoji in response. The next second: [You have been removed from the group chat.] I stared at the screen. To say I wasn’t hurt would be a lie. I never liked making people work late. But when you lack the skill, you have to put in the time. Clients don’t pay for excuses. Every time we stayed late, it was because someone had botched a file, and I was always the last one to leave. I even fought HR tooth and nail to get them overtime pay. And yet, to them, my protection was “oppression.” I opened Instagram and saw a new post from Stella, my former mentee. “Nobody knows how exhausting it is to constantly be overshadowed by someone who thinks they are everyone’s mentor.” Underneath, someone commented, “Stella, you’re finally free now that she’s gone!” Stella replied, “Yes! Nobody knows how much I’ve had to endure.” I laughed out loud, utterly amused. Stella was the first intern I had personally trained. I poured my heart into mentoring her. When she made mistakes, I took the blame. When she needed a win, I put her name on my successful deals. When Chloe was promoted, Stella was the first to buy her flowers. And when I left today, she didn’t even look up from her screen. I thought she was just scared of Chloe’s reaction. But now I saw her true colors. Well, this made things easier. If we ever met in the business world again, I wouldn’t have to let personal feelings get in the way of crushing her. After I got home, I muted all work contacts and turned my phone to ‘Do Not Disturb.’ For ten years, I had skipped meals and lost sleep for this company. My friends told me to relax, and my family told me to stop being so stubborn. Finally, I was free. For the next few days, I didn’t look for a job. I needed to breathe and actually experience life. Occasionally, I would see updates about the company through mutual acquaintances. It was always Chloe buying the team boba, Chloe treating them to lunch, and so on. These posts were always uploaded right at 6:00 PM, almost as if they were trying to prove a point to me. I ignored them. Until Friday arrived, and the social media updates suddenly went dead silent.

I woke up on Friday morning to forty-five missed calls and countless urgent text messages. Most of them were from managers of other departments. [Aria, the marketing proposal is a mess. Call me back immediately!] [The client is demanding an emergency meeting. We need you to handle this.] [Where are you?] Even the CEO, Richard, had called me from Europe. Clearly, they had no idea I had been fired. When I picked up Richard’s next call, his voice boomed through the speaker. “Aria! Why aren’t you answering your phone during business hours? Do I pay you a top-tier salary so you can go on vacation whenever you want?” “The other department heads are complaining to me! The entire sales department is in absolute chaos!” “And what happened with Eleanor Vance? We were about to sign the contract, and now she’s pulling out because she says our new proposal is ‘garbage’!” “You’ve never made a mistake like this in ten years. Have you lost your mind the moment I left the country?” I waited for him to take a breath. “Mr. Davis, actually, I no longer—” He cut me off instantly. “I don’t care what excuse you have! Get back to the office right now and fix this mess!” He slammed the phone down. When I tried to call back, it went straight to voicemail. My phone rang all day, but I didn’t answer. By evening, a friend from another department filled me in on the drama. Apparently, after I left, the sales department fell apart. Chloe’s “elite team” was just a bunch of pampered college graduates who had no practical experience. Without me directing them, they had no idea how to execute a project. When a major client demanded a revised proposal, they couldn’t produce one, so they simply resubmitted an old draft with a few words changed. The client was insulted and blacklisted the company on the spot. Chloe, who usually rolled into the office at 10:00 AM, completely panicked when she heard the news. She lost her “sweet, modern boss” persona and screamed at everyone. My friend sent me a leaked video of the office. Chloe’s voice was screeching: “I give you guys perks! I let you go home early! And this is how you repay me?” “Why is the proposal not ready? Why did we lose the account? Are you all completely useless?” “Nobody goes home tonight! You will sleep in this office until this is fixed!” My friend texted: “Aria, you should have seen their faces. They were stunned. And Chloe got ripped apart by the board of directors for over an hour. She came out of the meeting crying.” Fixing a crisis like that required years of client data and industry experience—things Chloe couldn’t learn overnight. Without me, they were sinking. At 8:00 PM, I posted a photo of a freshly baked lemon cake on my Instagram. “Rainy days are perfect for baking and sleeping in.” I wasn’t a saint. They had humiliated me when I left, and I wasn’t about to play the hero now. Soon, a comment popped up from one of my former team members: “Aria, we finally realize how much you did for us.” It was deleted thirty seconds later. The next morning, everyone in the sales department shared Chloe’s late-night Instagram post. It was posted at 1:00 AM: “What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger! Rising above the challenges!” I chuckled and closed the app to update my resume. Just then, Stella called me. After a moment of hesitation, I answered. There was silence on the other end for a long time, followed by soft, muffled crying. “Aria…” she sobbed. “Can you… can you please come to the office?” I didn’t hesitate. “No, Stella.” She sounded shocked by my cold tone. After all, I used to protect her no matter what. “Please, Aria. If you don’t come, I’m going to get fired.” I smiled. “Well, let me see what’s going on then.” I hung up and called an Uber. I wanted to see exactly how she was going to get fired.

As soon as I walked into the lobby of the office building, I felt the heavy atmosphere. I stepped into the elevator and bumped into Richard, who had just returned from his flight, along with several board members. I nodded politely. “Aria, I hear Chloe has been doing a fantastic job lately?” Marcus Sterling, one of the senior board members, asked me. Before I could speak, I felt Richard shooting a warning glare at me from behind Marcus. “Actually, Mr. Sterling, I haven’t been at the office, so I wouldn’t know,” I replied smoothly. “If you want to know how she’s doing, you should see for yourself.” Marcus nodded. “Chloe is a bright girl,” Richard chimed in quickly, trying to control the narrative. “Aria was out for a few days, and things got a bit messy, but Chloe stepped up and saved the day. In fact, we are about to sign a major contract with Mr. Arthur King from Star Media today!” Star Media was the biggest player in our industry. I had dealt with Arthur King before. He was notoriously difficult and extremely strict. The only reason we had even reached the contract stage was because I had spent weeks studying his preferences, addressing every possible risk before he could even ask. “And,” Richard added proudly, “Chloe’s elite team of young graduates is incredibly capable. I’m planning to have them run parallel to Aria’s team to foster some healthy competition.” I mentally rolled my eyes. He wanted us to do all the heavy lifting while his niece took the credit. I was so glad I left. Ten years of loyalty, and this was how I was treated. “What do you think, Aria?” Richard asked, testing me. I smiled. “Mr. Davis, you might not know this, but I actually—” The elevator doors opened. “Let’s talk in the conference room,” Richard interrupted, waving his hand dismissively. “We need to sign the contract with Mr. King first. Aria, come with us. Watch and learn.” I didn’t get a chance to object before they ushered me down the hall. When we entered the conference room, Stella saw me and let out a massive sigh of relief. Chloe, however, sneered. “Why is Aria here? Did you finally realize you have nowhere else to go and come back to beg for your job?” The board members’ faces fell instantly. “Who are you talking to?” Marcus asked, his tone sharp. Richard jumped in, sweating. “This is my niece, Chloe. She’s young and sometimes speaks without thinking. Please don’t mind her.” Marcus glared at him. “Aria is the pillar of this department. Frankly, keeping her just in sales is a waste of her talent. You should treat her with respect.” Chloe froze, not daring to say another word as she shrank into the corner. A few minutes later, Arthur King arrived. When he saw me, he smiled and walked over to shake my hand. “Aria! I heard from Eleanor Vance that you had resigned, so I was actually planning to cancel our meeting today. But your team assured me you were still working here. I’m glad it was just a rumor.” I looked at Stella. She looked back at me with pleading, desperate eyes. So that was her plan. She wanted to use my name to secure the deal, and then take the credit. I looked away from her and faced Arthur. “Mr. King, you didn’t hear a rumor,” I said clearly. “I was indeed laid off by our new Director, Ms. Chloe Davis.”

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My husband, Liam, was slipped a spiked drink when he was young. He had a one-night stand with a woman, and she ended up pregnant. In the third year of our marriage, he looked at me with a guilty expression and said: “I didn’t find out about the boy until he was already six. He is the only mistake of my past, but a son of the corporate empire cannot be left raised in the slums. He carries my blood.” The child was innocent, after all. So, I agreed to let him move into our home. Unfortunately, the boy, Leo, hated my guts. “You’re a wicked woman! If it weren’t for you, my mommy would be living with my daddy right now!” I couldn’t stand his daily screaming and tantrums anymore. I proposed sending him to a prestigious boarding school. But Liam flatly refused. “He’s just a six-year-old child. Even if he dislikes you, what harm can he actually do? Since when did you become so heartless, Hailey?” And that brought us to today—when Leo pushed me down the stairs, causing me to miscarry. When Liam heard the news, he merely pinched the bridge of his nose with an exhausted sigh. “If you had just treated him like your own son, why would he have done this to you?” At that exact moment, the harsh truth finally clicked. In his heart, that boy was his family. I was just an outsider. Clutching my empty, aching stomach, I dialed my billionaire brother’s number. “Julian, my baby is gone. Please, come and take me home.”

Right after I hung up, Liam walked into the VIP hospital room. He was holding his illegitimate son, Leo, by the hand. The little boy had his lips pouted, looking completely defiant. “I didn’t do it on purpose! She slipped because she’s clumsy…” Liam tapped the back of the boy’s head and said in a cold tone, “I’m saying this for the last time. Apologize to Hailey.” For the past three months, he had been trying to force Leo to call me “Mom.” And every single time, Leo would throw the exact same hysterical tantrum: “No! I won’t!” “I already have a mommy! She took care of me for six years. We just don’t live together right now!” He threw his arms around Liam’s waist, sobbing. “Daddy, why don’t you want my real mommy? She’s so sweet. Why can’t we be together?” Liam froze, speechless. He had always avoided explaining to Leo why he and Chloe couldn’t be together. Looking at the boy’s tear-stained face, Liam’s eyes filled with intense guilt. After the nanny took Leo out of the room, Liam pulled up a chair and sat down beside my bed. “I’ve made him come here and apologize. You can’t seriously expect a six-year-old to get down on his knees and beg for your forgiveness, can you?” I clenched my fists under the blanket, my throat burning. “So my baby deserved to die?” During the three months since Leo arrived, he had spiked my water with harmful herbal extracts and abortive tea mixes more than once. A six-year-old child could never have come up with that on his own. It was glaringly obvious who was pulling the strings behind him. I had warned Liam before: “Send the boy back to his mother.” But Liam had remained silent, smoking on the balcony all night long. Later, as Leo kept sweetly calling him “Daddy” day after day, Liam’s cold exterior began to melt. The next time I brought it up, his face was like ice. “That’s out of the question.” “Chloe is manipulative and unstable. She will ruin my son if she raises him.” A suffocating silence hung in the hospital room. Liam rubbed his temples and said in a raspy voice, “I can compensate you in any way you want, Hailey. Just don’t ask me to send Leo away.” I turned my head away from him. “Then there’s nothing left to say.” Liam stared at my belly, a flicker of pain crossing his eyes. “Hailey, I’ve already lost one child. Do you want me to lose another?” “You should know that no one can ever threaten your position as my wife.” I kept my eyes lowered, swallowing the bitter taste in my mouth. Liam and I had an arranged marriage for business alliances. But looking back, we did share three years of genuine love. That was before we knew Leo existed. Back then, he aggressively outbid everyone at a high-end charity auction to win back my late mother’s vintage jewelry just to make me smile. He even shut down a private harbor in New York for an entire night just to throw a fireworks show for my birthday. But all of that ended abruptly the moment a six-year-old boy appeared. I touched my lower abdomen. Now that the anesthesia had fully worn off, a sharp, cramping pain flared up inside me. I closed my eyes and said quietly, “Liam, let’s get a divorce.” Liam stiffened, then let out a cold, cynical laugh. “Over a child?” “I know you hate Leo, and I know you’ve been paranoid about his mother.” “But I’ve told you a thousand times—you are my only wife. There is absolutely no need to be jealous of a woman who poses zero threat to you.”

He always referred to Leo’s mother as “that woman.” But he had no idea what a desperate woman would do for the sake of her child. The day I fell, Leo’s remote-control car had rolled right under my feet at the top of the stairs. I was five months pregnant back then. With my belly blocking my line of sight, I tripped and tumbled all the way down the grand staircase. I still remembered the look in Leo’s eyes. Panic, fear, but also a sick, subtle trace of satisfaction. He had clutched his smart-watch phone, his childish voice trembling as he spoke into it: “Mommy, she’s bleeding so much…” On the other end of the line, Chloe had whispered in a rushed, hushed tone: “Wait a little longer before you call for help.” “Listen to me, Leo. You cannot let her give birth to that baby. If she does, your father’s wealth will go to someone else.” “Only if that baby is gone will everything belong to you. And only then can mommy come back to your father’s side where she belongs…” There were security cameras all over our house. Liam was a ruthless, sharp businessman. It was impossible for him not to know. He just chose to turn a blind eye. For the sake of his son, he would always harbor a subconscious soft spot for the boy’s mother. On the day I was discharged, the nurse gave me a strange look. “Where is your husband?” I looked down at my phone. Liam had sent a message just minutes ago: [Leo says his mother is sick.] [Don’t worry, I won’t go see her myself. I’m just setting up a team of doctors to take care of her.] I closed my eyes, letting out a long, heavy breath. “My husband is dead,” I told the nurse. The nurse blinked in surprise, then offered me a knowing, supportive smile. “Congratulations.” Once my body recovered, I immediately began liquidating my assets. Julian’s company had invested $900 million into Liam’s firm back when we married. Pulling out that capital and dividing our assets was going to be a messy, massive war. I walked out of my family’s corporate office holding a thick stack of legal documents. On my drive back, I got stuck in a heavy traffic jam. My car ended up stopped right next to an elite private elementary school. “Daddy! You actually came to pick me up today!” Holding the steering wheel, I glanced at my rearview mirror. I saw Leo jumping eagerly into the back seat of my car. The car I was driving belonged to Liam’s fleet. The boy hadn’t even looked at the license plate before hopping in. The second he saw me in the driver’s seat, his face turned paper-white. “Hailey…”

Just then, a woman rushed over from the sidewalk, grabbing him out of the car and pulling him into her arms. “What do you think you’re doing? Why are you trying to kidnap my son!” “Just because you lost your own baby doesn’t mean you can steal mine! Leo didn’t mean to hurt you!” I narrowed my eyes. I recognized her instantly. Chloe. Leo’s eyes darted around before he buried his face in her chest, crying loudly. “Mommy! While you were gone, this lady kept hitting me!” “She wouldn’t give me food, and she wouldn’t let me see Daddy!” Chloe gasped dramatically, her eyes wide with manufactured horror. “How could you be so cruel? How could you abuse my little boy! He might not be yours, but he is the baby I raised with my own sweat and tears…” The street was packed with other wealthy mothers picking up their kids. Hearing this, several of them threw their takeout coffees and trash right at my windshield, whispering loudly: “Unbelievable. Stepmothers are always evil. She’s just bullying a child who doesn’t have his real mom around!” “Exactly. Look at her luxury clothes. She’s clearly a homewrecker who chased out the real mother and took her place!” Chloe held Leo tightly, weeping as though she were the ultimate victim. I rolled up my window, grabbed some tissues, and calmly wiped the coffee off my window. Then, I sent Liam a text: “Get over here.” It showed as read, but there was no reply. I sent another one: “At Leo’s school.” He grabbed the location pin immediately. Within ten minutes, his black SUV screeched to a halt nearby. After getting a quick rundown of what happened from the security guard, Liam glared coldly at the mother and son clinging to each other. Chloe swallowed hard, looking terrified. “I’m so sorry, Liam… I was just so worried about Leo. I didn’t mean to misunderstand your wife…” Liam didn’t even look at her. He turned to me and said, “I know you’re angry. I’ll make her apologize to you.” Chloe caught on quickly. She lowered her head submissively. “I am deeply sorry, Mrs. Vance.” Liam waved his hand dismissively, signaling her to take the child and leave. I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel and let out a sarcastic chuckle. “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to do?” Liam watched Chloe’s retreating figure. After a long pause, he sighed. “She’s still the boy’s mother, Hailey. Don’t push her too hard.” I looked away. My eyelashes fluttered slightly. When I first found out about Chloe, Liam had knelt before me and swore: “I was only nineteen when I was drugged.” “That woman only wanted my money. If I ever see her again, I will make sure she loses everything.” And yet, here they were, reunited. Staring into the eyes of the woman who shared his son’s face, his heart had inevitably softened. A dramatic reunion, wrapped in lingering looks of pity. I let out a breath, feeling a wave of nausea. I stepped on the gas and drove away. Rain began to pour down, splashing cold water through the half-open window onto my face. Right then, my phone lit up. I wiped my eyes. It was a message from Julian’s corporate legal team. [Hailey, we have finished auditing the assets. We are ready to pull our funding from Liam’s company at any moment.] I typed back instantly: [Do it. We pull out tomorrow. The faster, the better.]

When I got home, I immediately started reviewing the paperwork, double-checking every clause of the divorce agreement. When we got married, I had made Liam sign a prenuptial agreement. If any illegitimate children ever surfaced, he would have to leave the marriage with absolutely nothing. I still remembered the night he signed it under the glowing fireworks in New York. Back then, he would have agreed to anything I asked. I still remembered how my heart had fluttered. But now, I felt absolutely nothing for the girl I used to be. The door opened. Liam walked in. A faint scent of unfamiliar perfume clung to his sleeves. “Are you still mad at me?” “I sent Leo to sleep at his mother’s place tonight.” He walked over, trying to sound patient. “I know you want a family, Hailey. I’ll make sure Leo respects you and calls you Mom.” I didn’t even look up from my laptop. “He will never be my son.” Liam’s face darkened. He walked to the window and lit a cigarette. “Hailey, I don’t get it. Why are you so hostile toward a child?” “It seems like you’ve hated him from the very second he walked through our door.” He was wrong. It was Leo who hated me. When we first met, I had bought him a beautiful welcome gift. But not only did he throw it in the trash, he used the remote-control car to kill my unborn baby. At the thought of this, I shut my laptop and looked up at him coldly. “Liam, you know the truth.” “The truth about what?” “Every time you look at that boy, you see his mother.” Liam’s hand holding the cigarette shook violently. He let out a bitter, defensive laugh. “If there were ever a chance of me getting back with her, do you honestly think you would be my wife right now?” A sharp pang went through my chest. He despised Chloe’s low-class schemes, but that didn’t stop him from using her existence to humiliate me. Seeing that I didn’t argue back, a smug smile returned to his face. “Be good. Didn’t you always want to see the Northern Lights? I cleared three days of my schedule. Let’s fly out tomorrow, okay?” I turned my head away silently, completely checked out. The next morning, Liam saw my packed suitcases sitting by the door. He let out a soft laugh. “You already packed your bags? Look who couldn’t wait.” Just as I was about to pull out the signed divorce papers, Leo came bursting into the foyer, crying his eyes out. “Daddy! Today is the school’s Family Day!” “My daddy and mommy have never showed up together. All the other kids have both their parents there. They laugh at me and call me a charity case…” “Daddy, please come with Mommy just this once. Please…” Liam hesitated for a second. But in the end, he nodded. The Northern Lights we were supposed to see drifted further out of reach. He couldn’t even look me in the eye as he walked out the door. A few minutes later, my phone buzzed with a text from him. [I’m only doing this for the kid. I’m just showing up so he doesn’t get bullied.] I smiled bitterly to myself. First, it’s just showing up for the kid. Then what? A family photo? A family dinner? A family vacation? With a living child bridging them together, Liam and Chloe would never truly be apart. Fortunately, I had already built my exit strategy. At 2:00 PM, I finished loading my suitcases, waiting for Julian’s private security detail to pick me up. But just as I opened the front door, I ran right into a sweating, panicked Liam. In his arms was a pale, whimpering Leo. The boy’s leg was covered in blood, looking absolutely gruesome.

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While I was trying on my wedding dress, Julian’s best friend suddenly tagged me on Snapchat: “Stella, the invitations are shipping the day after tomorrow. Have you noticed the bride’s name isn’t yours yet?” Looking at myself in the mirror, draped in the pure white gown, my mind went entirely blank. The next second, a voice note from Julian’s childhood buddy, Carter, popped up in the group: “I bet Julian a grand that you wouldn’t notice until you got the physical invite. He changed the bride’s name to Melody.” “You’re way too carefree, Stella. Tell Julian to change it back quick, or are we still having a wedding?” I slowly unzipped the wedding dress, feeling a sudden wave of nausea wash over me. Melody Evans was Julian’s first love—the legendary “one that got away” in their elite social circle. Yet, marrying me was a vow Julian had made solemnly in front of both of our families. And now, during the wedding prep, they were using my self-respect as a pawn for their bets. “Julian, you’re wicked. I bet she’ll be crying and begging you to take her back once she finds out.” “I bet she won’t even dare to lose her temper. Whoever loses pays for next month’s yacht party.” Then, a special notification buzzed on my phone. Melody had posted a photoset on Instagram, wearing a limited-edition wedding gown. [Thank you for giving me my dream wedding dress, Julian~] Beneath it, Julian had commented with a red heart emoji. I calmly tapped the “like” button on her post. Then, I deleted the Snapchat wedding planning group and booked a one-way ticket to Alaska. The wedding was off. I’d rather go freeze in the mountain wind to clear my mind and wash the dirt from my eyes.

The harsh fluorescent lights of the bridal boutique reflected off the mirror. I folded the heavy train section by section and handed it back to the assistant. The assistant hurried after me with a measuring tape, smiling. “Miss Vance, do we still need to take another half-inch off the waist? Mr. Sterling said everything has to be absolutely perfect.” I looked at the white tulle in her hands, my voice flat. “No need. Cancel the order. Give this dress to the next customer.” The assistant froze, chasing me down with the contract. “Miss Vance, if you cancel now, the fitting fees and the deposit cannot be refunded.” I pulled my card from my designer bag and pressed the pen down. “Deduct whatever you need to. Just don’t contact Julian Sterling again, and don’t call my parents.” When I walked out of the store, the afternoon sun was so blinding it made my eyes water. On my phone, the wedding planner was still messaging me about the color palette of the flower wall. I leaned against the sidewalk railing, systematically canceling the hotel block, the florist, the makeup artist, and the limo service. The cancellation fees drained five thousand dollars from my account instantly. The wedding planner sounded incredibly hesitant. “Miss Vance, does Mr. Sterling know about this? He just called this morning to change the bride’s nameplates to Miss Evans. He said it was just a joke…” Staring at the transaction success screen, I said softly, “He likes to play games. Let him plan the rest himself.” My mother’s call cut in. In the background, I could hear the loud laughter of her country club friends. She lowered her voice, but couldn’t hide her smug excitement: “Stella! Julian’s assistant just delivered a trunk of designer perfumes and limited-edition bags. Everyone here is talking about how lucky you are.” “He also promised you the biggest wedding in the city. Stop being so stubborn. Men have to socialize. Just swallow your pride and it’ll pass.” I asked her, “Mom, what if the name on the invitation isn’t mine?” My mother paused, her voice instantly turning cold and sharp. “Don’t talk nonsense. A man like Julian willing to marry you is a miracle for our family. Don’t make a scene over nothing and embarrass both families.” I let out a soft laugh. “I get it. Enjoy the bags, Mom.” After hanging up, I dialed Julian. The moment the call connected, Melody’s soft, giggling voice drifted into my ear first. Someone in the background cheered, “Julian, Stella is checking up on you! Coax her quick, or the bride might actually run away.”

Julian’s voice sounded incredibly dismissive. “Stella, what is it now?” I watched the passing traffic and asked, “Was it fun, betting on my name on the invitations?” His side went quiet for a second, followed quickly by the clinking of champagne glasses. Julian chuckled, “The invitations haven’t even been printed yet. I’ll have them changed back tomorrow. Melody just got back to the country. The guys were just trying to make her feel welcome.” I replied, “So my dignity is just a cheap token for you to please her?” Julian clicked his tongue in irritation. “You’re about to become Mrs. Sterling. Can’t you show a little grace? Melody is in poor health. She just wanted to wear a wedding dress once to fulfill a bucket list wish.” Melody’s gentle voice floated over. “Julian, don’t fight with Stella because of me. I’ll take the dress off and give it back to her right now.” Julian’s tone instantly softened. “It’s not your fault. She’s just been in a mood lately.” I looked down and saw Melody’s Instagram had updated again. Next to two movie tickets was Julian’s hand resting on the steering wheel. That Cartier watch was something I bought him after pulling double shifts for six months at the animal shelter. Her caption read: [Thank you for always being my safety net for the rest of my life.] When Julian spoke to me again, his patience was completely gone. “Stella, can you not be such a buzzkill? You’re acting like a psychopath.” The call went dead. I stood at the subway entrance and cleared every single photo from our shared album with one tap. My phone buzzed again. Julian had Venmoed me five thousand dollars with a note: “Go buy a bag. Stop throwing a tantrum.” Standing at the turnstile, I declined the transfer and put Julian’s profile on “Do Not Disturb.” He quickly sent a text: “Stella, that’s enough. Take the exit ramp I’m giving you. Don’t wait until I lose my patience.” I let out a cold laugh and didn’t reply. That night, I went back to our penthouse and started packing my things. As the cardboard boxes piled up in the corner, I threw my animal shelter ID badge right into one. Just last week, Julian’s mother had told me, “A Sterling daughter-in-law rolling around in the dirt with stray animals is embarrassing.” So, I had handed in my resignation. Thinking about it now, it was utterly pathetic. As I bent down to grab the packing tape, Julian’s FaceTime call suddenly flashed on my screen. I answered. The screen showed the warm, upscale lighting of a boutique pet store. Melody was standing next to him, cradling a ragdoll cat, while Julian held a bag of imported cat food. He frowned. “Why did you decline the money?” I taped the box shut. “Don’t need it.” Julian said coldly, “You don’t need it? Does your pathetic salary even cover the wedding cancellation fees? Don’t make yourself look cheap just to spite me.” Melody leaned closer to the camera, her eyes perfectly rimmed with tears. “Stella, are you mad at Julian because I tried on the wedding dress yesterday?” I looked at the cat in her arms and warned quietly, “That cat has discharge in its ears. You should probably stop taking photos and take it to a vet first.” Melody’s face stiffened. Julian instantly blocked the lens. “Can you stop talking to people like they’re stray mutts?” My hand holding the tape froze. He used to love watching me treat injured animals. He used to say that when I bent down to help them, I practically glowed. Melody bit her lip. “It’s all my fault. My health is bad, and having a wedding dress photo shoot was just a silly dream of mine. I’ll delete the photos right now.” Julian wrapped an arm around her shoulder, his voice softening. “Don’t delete anything. You did nothing wrong.” When he turned back to me, his face was like ice. “Stella, look at how sweet Melody is, and look at you. Your petty jealousy is exhausting.” I folded the top of the box. “You two deserve each other.” Julian didn’t seem to process it. He went silent for two seconds before laughing. “Fine. Keep playing your little drama. I’ll have my assistant reprint the invitations tomorrow.”

I hung up. The Sterling family group chat was blowing up with new notifications. Julian’s mother had posted nine photos with the caption: [Finally met the lovely Melody whom Julian always talks about. So elegant and polite. No wonder everyone adores her.] The photos were from an exclusive Sterling family brunch. Melody sat right next to Victoria Sterling, and Julian was leaning in to serve her food. Victoria Sterling messaged me privately soon after: [Stella, Melody has traveled a long way back. We are just hosting her. Don’t overthink this. A Sterling bride needs to show some class.] I replied: [Mrs. Sterling, Julian and I are over. The wedding is canceled.] She called me immediately, her voice sharp and demanding. “What is wrong with you? Julian is willing to settle down and marry you, which is already giving your family plenty of face.” I put the phone on speaker on the table and continued taping my boxes. She tried to suppress her rage. “Melody is Julian’s first love. It’s normal for a man to have a past. If you hold on too tight, you’ll only push him away.” I said, “Then let him go.” The line went quiet for a moment before Victoria sneered. “Don’t you dare regret this. The Vance family has accepted so many of our favors. If we make this public, your family will be the one begging for mercy.” I hung up, throwing every plush toy, couple’s mug, and photo album Julian had ever given me into a heavy-duty trash bag. At the bottom of the closet sat a half-knitted grey sweater. I had been knitting it for Julian. His hands always got freezing cold in the winter. I grabbed the end of the yarn and pulled. The wool unraveled around my feet, looking exactly like the boundaries I had repeatedly compromised over the last three years. The donation truck arrived quickly. The driver lifted the heavy bags and asked, “Are you sure you don’t want any of this, miss?” I nodded. “None of it. Throw it away or recycle it.” The apartment slowly emptied out until only the spare key was left hanging by the door. Suddenly, the lock clicked. The door swung open, and Julian walked in, pushing two large pink suitcases. Julian scanned the empty living room, his brow furrowing. “Why is this place so empty?” Melody peeked out from behind him, still holding the cat, her voice timid. “Stella, am I intruding?” Julian pushed the suitcases inside, his tone completely matter-of-fact. “The pipes burst in her apartment. It’s not safe for a single girl to stay in a hotel. She’s going to stay here with us for a few days.” I asked, “In which room?” Julian pushed the bags toward the master bedroom. “Melody has trouble sleeping in unfamiliar places. She’ll take the master bedroom. Go clean up the guest room.” Melody quickly grabbed his sleeve. “Julian, don’t. Stella will be upset. I can just sleep on the couch.” Julian patted her hand to comfort her. “Your health is delicate. Don’t make yourself suffer.” He looked at me, his eyes cold. “You’re going to be the mistress of this house anyway. Can’t you be a little generous?” “This isn’t my house.” Julian’s face relaxed slightly. “At least you know that. I paid for this penthouse. Just because you picked out some furniture doesn’t mean you get to make the rules.” I reached out and took the keys off the hook. The metal felt ice-cold against my palm. Melody said softly, “Stella, don’t misunderstand. Julian is just worried about me. You’re still the most important person to him.” I looked at her. “Was the movie you guys saw last night good?” Melody’s eyes flickered with guilt. Julian immediately stepped in front of her. “Are you ever going to drop this? What does Melody owe you?” I said, “She doesn’t owe me anything. You do.” Julian stared at me, a sarcastic smirk playing on his lips. “Here we go again. Stella, every time you’re unhappy, you threaten to break up. Isn’t this getting old?” I grabbed my packed suitcase. The wheels rolled across the hardwood floor, making a sharp, distinct sound. The smirk faded from Julian’s face. “Where do you think you’re going?”

I put on my shoes by the door, my voice incredibly calm. “You don’t need to clean the guest room. You two can have this whole place to yourselves. Julian, we’re done.” Melody’s eyes instantly welled with tears. “Stella, this is my fault. I’ll leave right now. Please don’t ruin your wedding over this.” But Julian held her back, his eyes turning dangerous. “Let her go.” He leaned against the doorframe, his voice tight with anger. “If you walk out that door today, don’t expect me to chase you. You have three days to come back and apologize. If you do, I’ll pretend this never happened.” I opened the door. Julian added, “Stella, I won’t cover for you with your parents. When they start asking questions, you deal with them yourself.” My steps paused for half a second. For the past three years, my mother had bragged to everyone about how well I was marrying. My father had paraded the expensive whiskey and cigars Julian sent him in front of all our relatives. Julian knew how much I dreaded disappointing them. He always knew exactly where to stab. Melody chimed in softly, “Stella, your parents love Julian so much. You’re being so selfish.” I turned back to look at Julian. “Changing the bride’s name on the invites, taking her to meet your family, letting her sleep in my bed… and I’m the one being selfish?” Julian went silent for a second, but his arrogance quickly returned. “We can talk about all of that later. Get back inside. Who are you trying to put a show on for?” I placed the keys on the shoe rack. Julian’s eyes locked onto them, and his brow twitched. “You’re leaving the keys?” I replied, “Like you said, you bought this place. Now that someone else is sleeping in the master bedroom, it’s not appropriate for me to keep these.” His face completely darkened. “Stella, do you have to be this dramatic?” I didn’t answer. I pulled my suitcase into the elevator. Before the doors slid shut, Julian’s voice echoed down the hall: “Stella! If you walk out now, don’t you dare come crawling back!” As the elevator went down, I tossed the spare keycard straight into the trash chute. My phone buzzed. It was Claire, the shelter director: [Stella, a National Geographic documentary crew is coming tomorrow to film some conservation footage. Can you help us out for one last day before you officially leave? They’re looking for a veterinary consultant, and I think you’d be perfect for it.] I typed back: [Sure.] The moment my screen went dark, Melody’s Instagram popped up with an update. She was standing in front of the master bedroom’s floor-to-ceiling window. Her caption read: [After all the detours, I’m finally back where I feel safest.] The next morning, I arrived at the shelter with my suitcase. I changed into my scrubs, the familiar scent of disinfectant washing over me. As I was bending down to adjust the heating lamp for a puppy that had just come out of surgery, the courtyard outside suddenly erupted into chaos. Claire walked into the clinic room, wiping her hands, her face incredibly tense. “Stella, the National Geographic crew was filming, but Melody’s PR team suddenly barged in with their own cameras.” My hands paused. “Who authorized that?” Claire lowered her voice. “The shelter’s main donor called and said Melody needs a ‘charity angel’ shoot. Julian is out there with her too. The documentary director, Zach Thorne, looks absolutely furious. He’s just standing there with his crew, mocking them.” I walked out to the courtyard. Melody was standing by the cages in a pristine white dress, surrounded by cameras. She bent down, attempting to lift a golden puppy that had been neutered just yesterday. I immediately blocked the cage door. “He’s not even twenty-four hours post-op. You cannot hold him.” Melody looked up at me, her smile dripping with sweet innocence. “Stella, I just want to show everyone how cute he is. People will only donate if they see how sweet he is.” Julian stood just outside the camera frame, frowning. “Stella, don’t make a scene here.” I stared right into his eyes. “His incisions haven’t healed yet. If something happens, who takes the blame?”

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