1 My husband was arrested again. His mistress called the cops on him. When I got the call to post his bail, I found her at the station, draped in one of his dress shirts, the hem barely grazing the tops of her thighs. She jabbed a finger in my face. “You’re pathetic,” she sneered. “Such a washed-up housewife you can’t even keep your own husband on a leash. I’m so sick of him clinging to me.” My husband, Alex, immediately stepped in front of her, a shield against the wife he expected to fly into a rage. He shot me a look of pure annoyance, bracing himself for the usual scene where I’d try to claw her eyes out. But this time, I didn’t even bother to look up. I signed the release papers the officer handed me and turned to leave. Alex froze for a second, stunned. He chased after me, his fingers clamping around my wrist like a vise. He stared into my face, searching for something, anything. “Are you even my wife anymore?” he demanded. My eyes were flat, empty. Not for long, I thought. … The drive to the police station had taken over half an hour, stuck in gridlocked traffic. I’d spent the time stewing in the cramped, dark car, my mind churning with violent fantasies of how I would ruin them, how I would finally force that woman out of our lives for good. But then, the sky, which had been overcast for days, suddenly broke. A sliver of sun cut through the gloom. I rolled down my window. In the park across the street, children were chasing each other through a playground. A teenage girl laughed as she tossed a handful of golden ginkgo leaves into the air, letting them rain down around her like confetti. In that single, quiet moment, it hit me. Wasting all my time and energy on a man who’d already left me in his heart… it was utterly pointless. Alex was still standing there, looking lost. Chloe, annoyed at being ignored, pulled down the collar of her shirt, revealing a constellation of angry red marks on her shoulder. “Officer,” she whined, her voice dripping with false victimhood. “He held me captive in his bed for days. He kept saying he’d die without me. Look what he did to me. This is kidnapping!” Her eyes flicked to me, a glint of triumph in them. “I have a witness. His wife knows all about it.” My nails dug into my palms. Three days ago, my mother’s condition took a turn for the worse. She gripped my hand, her voice a fragile whisper, telling me her last wish was to see Alex and me happy together one last time. She kept asking why he hadn’t visited, why it had been so long. She said she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving me all alone in this world. I called Alex’s phone, again and again and again. My mother took her last breath in my arms just as the call finally connected. My voice was shredded from crying. “Alex,” I choked out, “my mom is gone.” But the voice that answered wasn’t his. It was Chloe, giggling. “Well, congratulations,” she chirped. “But Alex is a little busy right now. He’s like a guard dog, terrified I’ll sneak off.” That night, I held my mother’s cold, stiff body and cried until there were no tears left. All I had left for Alex was a reservoir of pure, unadulterated hate. Chloe seemed to relish the broken look on my face. She crossed her arms, sizing me up. “Honey, playing the victim won’t keep a man.” She smirked. “But I’ll give you a chance to get back in his good graces. Get on your knees and beg. If you do, I’ll drop the charges.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I turned to the officer. “I’d like to report Alex Walker for soliciting prostitution.” Chloe’s eyes widened. “You take that back, you bitch!” she shrieked. I let my gaze drift over her, taking in the Cartier bracelet, the limited-edition Hermès bag, the Harry Winston sapphire necklace. “He bought you all this after you slept with him for three days,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “You aren’t married. So what is it, if not a transaction?” Chloe screamed and lunged for me, but Alex caught her. A slow smile spread across his face. “That’s enough, Lena,” he said, his tone dismissive. “Any more of this and she’ll be impossible to calm down.” He scooped the hysterical Chloe into his arms and carried her to his car. Before getting in, he glanced back at me, his voice laced with the condescending charity one might offer a beggar. “I’ll be home later to see you.” He was so sure I’d be thrilled. After all, over the past year, I had cried, I had screamed, I had even tried to kill myself. And through it all, he had never once come to my bed, claiming he’d promised Chloe he’d be faithful to her. He barely even came home. I’d grown used to sleeping alone. So when a warm hand settled on my waist in the dead of night, a violent shiver ran through me. “I’m home. Happy now?” Alex’s voice was a low murmur in my ear. He pressed me down into the mattress, his lips finding mine in a gentle kiss. But the scent of another woman, mingled with his own, was a sharp invasion. The image of him with Chloe, kissing her, touching her, flashed behind my eyes. A wave of nausea churned in my stomach. I shoved him off me and scrambled to the bathroom, gagging over the sink. Alex followed, frowning. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?” “You’re dirty,” I whispered, the word escaping before I could stop it. His hand, which had been reaching for me, froze in midair. His expression hardened, his eyes turning to chips of ice. His fists clenched so tight the knuckles went white. With a roar, he smashed his fist into the mirror. “You fucking dare call me dirty, Lena?” he snarled, grabbing the back of my neck and forcing my face toward the shattered reflection. “Look at yourself! What part of you is better than Chloe? I take pity on you, I come home to you, and you pull this holier-than-thou act?” He leaned in closer, his voice a venomous hiss. “And don’t you forget. You’re the one who pushed me to her in the first place.” The woman in the mirror was a stranger. Her eyes were dull and bloodshot, her skin sallow. A few strands of gray were visible in her tangled mess of hair. They say a woman ages ten years after having a child. But what about a woman whose child has died? Our daughter, Lily, was three. She was hit by a car, right in front of me. For a long time after, I kept hearing her last word echoing in my ears, a tiny, tear-filled cry of “Mommy…” Night after night, I’d curl up in her little bed, clutching her blankets and stuffed animals. In the depths of my agony, I once bit Alex’s hand until it bled, sinking my teeth into his flesh. He just held me, whispering, “Don’t cry, my love. We’ll have another child.” I slapped him so hard the sound cracked through the room. I screamed at him, telling him he didn’t deserve to be Lily’s father. That if she could hear him, she’d be heartbroken. I refused to let him touch me after that. Word got around our social circle, and business partners started sending women to his hotel rooms, trying to curry favor. Every single one of them was thrown out, disheveled and humiliated. Alex would stand there with a smile on his face, but his eyes were pure ice. “If I get my hands dirty,” he’d say, “my wife won’t be happy.” He took me to Switzerland to get away, to escape the world that was filled with ghosts of our daughter. We went skiing, we visited glowworm caves, we chased the Northern Lights. For a moment, we both thought things were getting better. One night, the entire city was lit up with fireworks. He held me close, his lips about to meet mine. But then I saw a little girl playing nearby. I pushed him away and cried out Lily’s name, the sobs tearing through me. And in that moment, Alex finally broke. “Enough!” he roared. “Lena, are you going to be like this forever? Are you going to stay lost in this madness?” He stared at me, his eyes bloodshot and raw, then turned and walked away. He never came back to me. Soon after, Chloe appeared in his life. My fingers traced the fractured lines in the mirror, touching the reflection of my own haggard face. This had to end. A sharp edge of glass pricked my fingertip, and a bead of blood welled up. Alex sighed. He found the first-aid kit and gently took my hand, carefully applying a bandage to the small cut. “The women on the outside will always be on the outside,” he said softly. “Just be good. No one is going to take your place as Mrs. Walker.” He let go of my hand. “Go make me some soup.” Alex was incredibly picky. His favorite mushroom consommé was an all-day affair. Cleaning and soaking the ingredients, steaming them with sherry to remove any earthiness, then simmering the broth over a low flame for hours. I’d be trapped in the kitchen for half the day. After I found out about him and Chloe, I tried everything. We fought. I screamed. And then, desperate not to lose fifteen years of history, I started to plead. I made my world revolve around him. I took care of his every need. No matter how late he was, I’d leave a light on, waiting. The soup I made for him would cool, and I’d reheat it. It would cool again, and I’d reheat it again. Even though he rarely came home, I kept this ritual up for a whole year. On the rare occasions he did show up, he’d glance at the pot on the stove, a frown creasing his brow. “Lena,” he’d ask, his voice laced with disdain, “would you just die without me?” This time, I pulled my hand away from his touch. “I’m tired,” I said. “Go find Chloe. I’m a light sleeper. I can’t rest with someone next to me.” I got back into bed, pulled the covers up, and turned my back to him, ignoring the way his face instantly darkened. I paid no mind to the burning intensity of his stare on my back. A long moment passed. Then, the bedroom door slammed with enough force to shake the walls. I let out a long breath. And for the first time in three years, I slept soundly through the night. Over the next few days, I met with a lawyer to discuss the divorce. Meanwhile, Alex’s social media, dormant for years, exploded with activity. He won a bidding war for Chloe at a charity auction. He chartered a private yacht for a moonlit cruise. He even took her to the lakeside cabin—a place I hadn’t been able to set foot in since Lily died. Alex and I had built that cabin with our own hands. We’d harvested the timber ourselves, sanded each plank until it was smooth, and spent countless nights poring over blueprints. It took us two years. Our little family used to spend summer nights there, staring up at the stars through the skylight. Lily’s fluffy head would be nestled in the crook of my arm, her little voice whispering, “Daddy, Mommy, let’s be together forever.” It had only been a year since she died. How could he defile that place with her? The filth of it all made my stomach turn. I drove there immediately. When Alex saw me, a flicker of something—maybe satisfaction—lit up his dark eyes. He leaned back lazily, lighting a cigarette. “Chloe’s birthday is coming up,” he said, a trail of smoke curling from his lips. “Since you don’t seem to care about anything anymore, I thought I’d tear down this old shack and build her a proper vacation home.” He gestured for the construction crew to approach, but he didn’t give the order to start. He just watched me, his gaze dark and intense. Waiting. I nodded slowly. “A birthday deserves a gift.” I paused, then added, “But this is all just material junk. You should give her something far more valuable.” “And what’s that?” he asked, his voice tight. “Give her your name,” I said flatly. “Make her Mrs. Walker.” Alex went rigid. The smirk vanished from his lips, replaced by a hard, straight line. A vein throbbed in his temple. He looked like he was about to explode. I walked past him into the cabin and picked up the one thing I wanted: a little porcelain cat Lily and I had fired together. Nothing else mattered. When I got home, the lawyer was waiting with the divorce papers. The division of assets was clear and simple. I started packing, carefully placing Lily’s photo albums, toys, and clothes into boxes. That evening, my phone rang. It was one of Alex’s friends. “Lena, you have to get to the hospital, now!” he said, his voice frantic. “Alex got drunk and into a fight. Someone cut his arm with a knife, it’s a really deep gash.” “Okay,” I said. I grabbed the divorce papers. This was the perfect opportunity to settle things. Suddenly, a burst of laughter erupted from the other end of the line. “I won! Pay up, pay up! I told you guys she’d come running.” “Remember in college? They were long distance, and she’d take a ten-hour bus ride every Friday just to do his laundry and cook for him.” “Yeah, and when Alex got mugged on that business trip to Paris, Lena took a knife for him.” “Forget one Chloe. Alex could have a dozen mistresses, and Lena would never leave him.” I heard Alex chuckle softly before taking the phone. “Bring me some of that mushroom consommé you make,” he said. Then he added, almost as an afterthought, “And I didn’t let Chloe touch Lily’s cabin.” He hung up before I could reply. A moment later, a new post popped up on my social feed. It was a photo of Chloe sitting on Alex’s lap, his own tie wrapped loosely around his neck, held in her hand. Her smile was pure venom.

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My eight-year-old son was in a car crash. He was dying, and he needed a rare blood type: RH-negative. Panda blood. I rolled up my sleeve. “Doctor, take mine. I’m a match.” But my husband, Julian, grabbed my arm, his grip like steel. “Wait! I’ll call someone else! She has it, too!” I slapped the divorce papers onto his chest. “Fine. Let her come. But you sign these first.” He clutched the papers, his voice cracking. “Evelyn, are you fucking insane? Our son is lying in there fighting for his life, and you’re talking about divorce?” I stared at him, my face a cold mask. “I am.” His mother rushed forward, her hand flying to my face. The crack of the slap echoed in the sterile hallway. “You venomous bitch! Julian is just worried about your health, and you throw a tantrum!” I didn’t flinch. I walked to the door of the operating room and made an announcement that froze the world. “Doctor! Stop all pre-op preparations. The patient’s family is refusing the blood transfusion, and we are refusing the surgery.” Julian and his mother went rigid. He pointed a trembling finger at me. “You almost died in this hospital to save him. Evelyn, are you trying to kill him now?” I met his gaze, too tired to even show an expression. “I remember. But that was then. Now, I don’t want him anymore.” 1 The doctors and nurses stared at us, their movements ceasing. The air in the hallway outside the ER turned thick and heavy, punctuated only by the faint beeping of machinery. Julian’s eyes were shot with blood as he jabbed a finger in my direction. “Evelyn, say that again.” “I said, stop the surgery,” I repeated, my voice quiet but slicing through the silence. His mother snapped out of her shock and lunged at me again, but Julian caught her around the waist. She clawed at the air, her face contorted. “You heartless monster! Artie is in there! He’s your own flesh and blood! How could you say something so vile!” I watched her, silent. Struggling to restrain his mother, Julian roared at me, “What the hell do you want? Is this because I called Rachel? There’s nothing between us! It’s just… she has the same rare blood type, and I didn’t want you to go through that again!” “You didn’t want me to suffer?” I asked, my voice dripping with ice. “Julian, can you say that and actually believe it?” He choked on his words, his face darkening. “Is now the time for this? Our son’s life is on the line! Whatever you’re upset about, we can talk about it at home after the surgery is over!” “Home?” I looked at him. “Julian, we don’t have a home anymore.” I held the divorce papers out to him again. “Sign them. I’ve already contacted the blood bank and several volunteers. The second you sign, they’ll be on their way. There will be more than enough blood for Artie’s surgery.” His mother’s wailing stopped. Both she and Julian stared at me as if I were a madwoman. “To force a divorce, you’d gamble with our son’s life?” Julian asked, each word squeezed through clenched teeth. “I told you,” I said, unyielding. “Sign the papers, and the blood will be here.” Bystanders began to gather, their whispers turning into a chorus of judgment. “What is wrong with that woman? She’s so cruel.” “I know, right? Even a wolf won’t eat its own cub. Her husband was just trying to protect her, and she’s holding her own kid’s life for ransom.” The words washed over me, but I felt nothing. Julian’s chest heaved. “Fine, Evelyn. You’re ruthless. You win.” He let go of his mother, snatched the papers and pen from my hand, and scrawled his name across the signature line. Then he threw the agreement back at me, hitting me squarely in the chest. “Are you satisfied now? Can we save our son?” I picked up the papers from the floor, verified his signature, and tucked them into my purse. I turned to the nearest doctor. “You can prepare for surgery. The blood supply will be here shortly.” With that, I turned and walked away. Julian screamed after me, “Where are you going? You’re not going to stay for his surgery?” I didn’t look back. “Whether he lives or dies is no longer my concern.” 2 As I stepped out of the hospital’s main entrance, a car screeched to a halt in front of me. The passenger door flew open, and a woman in a white sundress scrambled out, her face a mask of worry. It was Rachel. She saw me and froze for a second before rushing over. “Evelyn, how’s Artie? Julian called me, he said there was an accident.” I looked at her—the woman who had lingered in the shadow of my marriage for a decade. “He’ll live.” I tossed the words at her and moved to walk away. But Rachel grabbed my wrist, her eyes welling with tears. “Evelyn, I know you’ve always misunderstood my relationship with Julian, but the child is what’s important right now. Please don’t be angry with him. He was just so worried about you.” Her voice was soft, but loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. An older woman passing by stopped to scold me. “What kind of wife are you? This young lady is trying to talk sense into you, and you’re just standing there with that sour face! Have you no conscience, abandoning your own son?” Rachel quickly intervened. “Ma’am, please don’t say that. Evelyn is just exhausted.” The more “reasonable” she acted, the more monstrous I appeared. I ripped my hand from her grasp. “Don’t touch me.” Rachel stumbled back, a tear rolling down her cheek. “I’m sorry, Evelyn, I didn’t mean to.” Just then, Julian came running out of the hospital. Seeing the scene, he immediately rushed to Rachel’s side, shielding her behind him. He glared at me, his face a thundercloud. “Evelyn! Have you not caused enough trouble? Rachel came here out of the goodness of her heart, and you attack her?” His mother followed, her eyes landing on Rachel as if she were a savior. She grabbed Rachel’s hands. “Oh, you dear girl, you’re finally here! You have to go see Artie. That witch has abandoned him. We only have you now!” Rachel soothed Julian’s mother while telling him, “Julian, don’t blame Evelyn. This must be a terrible shock for her.” The three of them stood there, a perfect picture of a loving, concerned family. And I was the wicked outsider. Looking at them, I felt my ten-year marriage crumble into a bitter joke. I didn’t say another word. I hailed a cab and left. As the car pulled away, I could see Julian holding Rachel in his arms in the rearview mirror, his mother dabbing her eyes beside them. Back at the apartment—my apartment, bought before the marriage and solely in my name—I started packing my things. For ten years, I had poured my soul into making this place a home, but now I realized it held not a single ounce of warmth for me. That evening, my mother called. The moment I answered, a torrent of accusations hit me. “Evelyn! Have you lost your mind? Artie is in a horrific accident, and you’re at the hospital fighting with his father over a divorce? You’ve brought nothing but shame on me and your father!” “Mom, I—” “Don’t you call me Mom! I don’t have a heartless daughter like you!” Her voice was shrill. “Julian told me everything. He didn’t want you to give blood because he was worried about you! You hemorrhaged so badly when you had Artie, your health has been fragile ever since. How can you be so ungrateful!” I stood there, phone in hand, unable to speak. “Now you get yourself back to that hospital immediately! Apologize to Julian and go see Artie! If you still consider me your mother, you will go now!” She hung up. I stared at the black screen, a cold hand squeezing my heart. It was true. I almost died giving birth to Artie. But no one in that family ever knew why I had bled so much. 3 I didn’t go back to the hospital. The next day, Julian showed up at my apartment with my parents in tow. The moment I opened the door, my father’s hand struck my face. “You animal! You dare show your face here!” he roared, his finger shaking with fury. “Artie had a raging fever last night, calling for his mommy over and over. Where were you? Is your heart made of stone?” My mother held onto my father, tears streaming down her face. “Evelyn, please, come to the hospital with us. The child is innocent. Whatever problems you have with Julian, you can’t take it out on your son.” Julian stood behind them, his expression one of profound pain. “Honey, I know I was wrong. I never should have called Rachel. Please, come back with me. Artie can’t lose you.” His performance was so convincing, even my parents were completely taken in. I touched my stinging cheek and looked at the three of them. “Are you finished?” My father stared. “What kind of attitude is that?” “If you’re finished, then get out. I need to rest.” I pointed to the door. “You!” He raised his hand to strike me again, but my mother desperately held him back. Julian stepped in front of me. “Uncle, please don’t be angry. It’s all my fault. I’m the one who mishandled things and upset Evelyn.” He turned to me, his eyes red-rimmed. “Honey, hit me, scream at me, do whatever you want. Just don’t abandon me and our son. After all these years together, how can you just throw it all away?” He reached for my hand, but I stepped back, avoiding his touch. “Julian, stop acting. Aren’t you tired?” His face went stiff for a fraction of a second before being consumed by an even greater sorrow. “Evelyn, how did you become like this? This isn’t you. You used to love Artie so much. You would have done anything to give him the world.” “Yes,” I nodded. “I used to be quite the fool.” My parents, seeing my impenetrable resolve, finally gave up. “Evelyn,” my mother said through her tears, “if you insist on this divorce, then don’t you ever step foot in our house again. We’ll act as if we never had a daughter.” My father pointed at Julian. “From now on, Julian is our son!” I looked at them, the last flicker of warmth in my heart extinguishing. “Fine.” That single word left my parents and Julian stunned. They must have thought threatening me with family ties would make me yield, just as it had every other time for the past decade. They were wrong. After they left, I got a call from my lawyer. “Ms. Hayes, Mr. Thorne has been served with the court summons. However, he’s leaked a story to the press. He’s claiming you’ve been mistreating your son, and that due to a marital dispute, you refused to provide a life-saving transfusion, leaving the boy in critical condition.” I opened my phone. The news was everywhere. “The Ice-Cold Heiress: Why She Let Her Own Son Suffer.” “‘Mommy Doesn’t Want Me Anymore,’ Cries 8-Year-Old Crash Victim.” The comments were a firestorm of hatred. My photo, my workplace, even my home address had been doxxed. A crowd of self-proclaimed “justice warriors” was already gathered outside my office building, holding signs demanding I be fired. Soon after, my boss called and told me to take an indefinite leave of absence. In the afternoon, Rachel called me. Her voice was a soft, innocent whisper. “Evelyn, please don’t blame Julian. You pushed him to this.” “Artie isn’t doing well. He needs his mother. Could you please… just come see him?” “In what capacity are you calling me?” I asked. A few seconds of silence. “I… I’m Artie’s aunt. And your friend.” “Friend?” I laughed out loud. “Rachel, you don’t even deserve the word.” I hung up. A moment later, my phone buzzed. It was a picture from Rachel. In the photo, Artie was lying in his hospital bed. Rachel was leaning over him, gently wiping his face with a cloth. Julian and his mother stood beside them, their faces glowing with adoration as they watched. The scene was sickeningly perfect. Beneath the photo was a single line of text. “Evelyn, we’re all waiting for you to come home.” 4 The day of the hearing, the courtroom was packed. Reporters, social justice advocates, and a host of my so-called friends and relatives were all there to witness my downfall. Julian arrived with Artie and Rachel. Artie was in a wheelchair, pale and fragile, his arm in a cast. The moment he saw me, his eyes filled with tears. “Mommy, please don’t divorce Daddy. It’s all my fault. I promise I won’t ever get sick again.” His pathetic cries elicited a wave of sympathy from the gallery. Julian’s mother was putting on her own show, wailing and pointing at me. “You’re a curse! A curse on our family! What did we ever do to deserve you?” Julian held Artie, playing the part of the tragic hero. “Evelyn, after all this, are you still going to be so stubborn? Are you really willing to destroy your son’s future for your own selfish pride?” Rachel stood by his side, ready with a tissue, whispering words of comfort. I watched their performance, my face an emotionless slate. Julian’s lawyer stood and began to list my “crimes.” From forgetting to buy Julian an anniversary gift, to not personally cooking for my mother-in-law’s birthday, all the way to my “refusal to save” Artie after the accident. Every detail was crafted to paint me as a selfish, cold-hearted, and unreasonable monster. Finally, the lawyer presented a medical report. “Your Honor, my client’s son, Arthur Thorne, suffered from cerebral hypoxia due to the defendant’s deliberate delay. He may suffer from permanent neurological damage as a result.” “Furthermore, the defendant has engaged in long-term emotional abuse, causing the child severe psychological trauma. We petition the court to grant full custody to Mr. Thorne and demand the defendant pay one million dollars in damages for emotional distress.” The judge looked at me, his eyes filled with disapproval. “Defendant, do you have anything to say in response to these allegations?” Every eye in the room was on me, waiting to see how I would squirm my way out of this. I rose to my feet. I didn’t look at Julian. I looked at the witness stand, directly at Rachel. “I have a question for Ms. Rachel Miller.”

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On the way to the airport, taking my whole family to the Florida Keys for New Year’s Eve, I idly scrolled through a social media forum and a post caught my eye. “My broke relative is insisting on tagging along to our oceanfront villa for the holidays, but we just want our own family time without outsiders. Should we let her stay?” I frowned, thinking how clueless that relative must be. Crashing a family’s private holiday reunion? The nerve. The top-voted comment was pure genius, and I found myself nodding in agreement. “Book her a cheap motel far away from your place. That way, she gets the message and can’t leech off you.” When we got to the airport terminal, I shook my head, shut off my phone, and felt a private surge of satisfaction. This time, at least, I was the one footing the entire bill. But when I met up with my family, the first thing they did was shove a phone into my hand, displaying the booking confirmation for a remote motel. I recognized the name of the place instantly. It was the same one my brother had mocked in our family group chat two nights ago, the one he said “even rats would avoid.” A tremor ran through me, but I told myself it had to be a joke. It wasn’t until they all went to the restroom that I checked my brother’s backpack. Tucked away in a hidden inner pocket was another key card. On it, printed in elegant script, were the words for the villa I had booked: “Seaview Holiday Estates.” 1 I gently slid the “Seaview Holiday Estates” key card back into the hidden pocket of my brother’s backpack. As my fingers brushed against the cold plastic, my heart turned to ice. So, the “broke relative” from that forum post… it was me. I had to fight to keep my face from twitching. Don’t lose it. Not yet. A few minutes later, my brother, Ben, and my parents, Helen and Robert, returned, laughing and chatting. Ben was holding two Starbucks cups; my parents had their own warm drinks. Only my hands were empty, standing guard over four massive suitcases. “Clara, what are you spacing out for?” Ben swung his backpack onto his shoulder. It was the latest Louis Vuitton model, a birthday gift I’d bought him just last month. He glanced at me. “You got Mom’s text with the booking, right? That motel is super trendy, has a great vibe. Plus, it’s close to the airport, so it’ll be easier for you to get over your jet lag.” I looked at him, and a wave of nausea washed over me. Jet lag? There was no time difference between here and the Keys. I swallowed the disgust and feigned confusion. “Ben, this motel… I think you mentioned it in the group chat. Didn’t you say it was a place even rats would avoid? Why book it for me?” Ben’s eyes darted away for a second. “Sis, you’re so behind the times,” he said, recovering smoothly. “It’s called brutalist chic. It’s the hottest new trend, like a rustic-luxe experience. I had to pull some strings just to get you a room.” I watched him lie without batting an eye and scoffed internally. Peeling paint is brutalist chic? Then I guess a garbage dump is post-modern installation art. Before I could retort, my mother, Helen, chimed in. “That’s right! That’s what it’s called! Think about it, Clara, the villas by the sea are so damp. You’ve had bad joints since you were a kid. I was worried you’d catch a chill, so we deliberately booked you somewhere further from the water. We did it because we love you.” You love me, so you put me in a fifty-dollar-a-night death trap while my brother stays in a villa that costs thousands? I turned to my father, Robert, the only person in the family who ever seemed to take my side. He avoided my gaze and pulled a small bottle of complimentary airport water from his pocket. “Clara, listen to your mother. Your brother was just trying to save some money, this trip is a big expense, after all. This water is warm, I got it just for you. Go on, drink up.” He handed me the bottle, his face a mask of fatherly affection. The bottle was warm in my hand, but it couldn’t warm my heart. Save money? The flights, the five-star villa, the food and activities for this trip—a cool ten thousand dollars—had all come out of my bank account. And I had transferred the money to Ben to manage. Now they were talking to me about saving money? I twisted the cap and took a sip. “Alright,” I said with a nod and a smile, but my eyes were glacial. “I’ll listen to you. I’ll stay there.” Ben and Helen exchanged a look of palpable relief. They thought I was still the same old pushover, the fool who would do anything for a crumb of affection. Too bad. That fool died the moment my fingers touched that key card. 2 The departure lounge was a cacophony of voices and announcements of delayed flights. We found a row of empty seats and sat down. Helen immediately started pulling snacks from her purse and offering them to Ben, terrified her precious son might starve. “Ben, have some of this jerky. I got the spicy kind, just for you.” “Ugh, Mom, no. It gets stuck in my teeth.” Ben pushed her hand away impatiently and went back to his phone. Helen wasn’t offended. She just smiled and started eating the jerky herself, never once thinking to offer me any. The scene was so familiar it was almost numbing. I stared at the half-empty bottle of warm water in my hand, my mind drifting back in time. The year I got into college, my family bought a few large Dungeness crabs to celebrate. It was the first time we’d ever eaten something so expensive. When they were served, Helen quickly piled the largest, meatiest ones onto Ben’s and my father’s plates. By the time she got to me, all that was left was a scrawny one with a missing leg. I didn’t think much of it and reached for it. But Helen tapped the back of my hand with her chopsticks. “Girls shouldn’t eat so much ‘cooling’ food, it’s bad for your body. The roe is especially bad. I’ll scoop it out for Ben, you can just eat the meat.” Without waiting for a reply, she broke the crab open, scraped out the meager amount of roe inside, and dumped it all into Ben’s bowl. He was only ten at the time, his mouth full and his face gleaming with oil. All I got were a few skinny legs with barely any meat. I cried myself to sleep that night. My father, Robert, quietly opened my door and slipped me a hard-boiled egg. “Clara, don’t be mad at your mom. She just means well. Dad boiled an egg for you, eat it while it’s warm.” I remembered that egg for years. I always thought it was a symbol of his love. Just like this bottle of warm water. “Hey, sis, gimme your power bank.” Ben’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts. He held out his hand expectantly, not even looking up from his phone. I glanced at the brand-new iPhone 15 Pro Max in his hand, another gift from me. I was still using a three-year-old model with a cracked screen. “It’s dead,” I said coldly. Ben looked up, stunned. “No way. You always bring two fully charged ones whenever we go anywhere. Hurry up, I’m about to lose this game!” His voice was a demanding whine. Helen chimed in from the side. “Clara, what’s the big deal? Just let your brother use it. It’s not like you play games, what do you need the battery for?” I clenched my phone, my knuckles turning white. “I said, it’s dead.” My voice was firm, and I stared directly into Ben’s eyes. He was taken aback by my glare, muttered “stingy,” and turned away. Robert stepped in to play peacemaker again. He patted my shoulder and whispered, “Clara, don’t fight with your brother. You know him, he’s still just a kid.” A twenty-five-year-old kid? More like a man-child. I looked at my father’s face, etched with feigned helplessness, and a fresh wave of disappointment washed over me. Your love, Dad, is worthless when it comes up against Ben’s wants. Just then, my phone buzzed. A text from my bank. A credit card alert for a pre-authorized charge of three hundred dollars. The location was a high-end restaurant right here in the airport. I looked up and saw Ben waving his phone at someone in the distance. Following his gaze, I saw a girl in a white dress pulling a pink suitcase, walking toward us. I knew who she was. It was Kathy, Ben’s girlfriend of three months, the one he claimed came from a very wealthy family. 3 Kathy was dressed head-to-toe in designer brands. The pink suitcase she was pulling was a limited-edition Rimowa. But the most ironic part was the Burberry scarf wrapped around her neck. I had just bought it for myself last week to wear for the holidays. It had vanished from my room two days ago. Helen told me a rat probably got it. I never realized rats grew to be this big. “Helen! Robert! Ben!” Kathy called out sweetly. My mother’s face blossomed into a wide grin as she grabbed Kathy’s hand. “Kathy, dear, you’re here! You must be tired. Sit, sit!” Ben was even more attentive, kicking my suitcase aside to make room for her. “Babe, I missed you so much.” The two of them started cuddling as if no one else was there. “Oh, Clara, you’re here too,” Kathy said, as if just noticing me, her voice dripping with fake surprise. She adjusted the scarf around her neck. “Yeah,” I said, my eyes fixed on it. Kathy seemed to notice my gaze and smiled. “Your mom is just the sweetest. She said this color looked so good on me that she insisted I take it. You don’t mind, do you, sis?” I looked at Helen. She avoided my eyes, mumbling, “Oh, that old thing. Clara barely wore it. It looks so much better on you, Kathy, so I just gave it to her.” I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. “Of course. My old rags look perfect on you.” Kathy’s face fell. Ben shot to his feet, pointing a finger at me. “Clara! What the hell is that supposed to mean? What’s your problem? Kathy is our guest!” “A guest?” I sneered. “If she’s a guest, who bought her plane ticket? Who’s paying for her room?” The three-hundred-dollar charge on my card was still fresh on my phone screen. Ben looked guilty for a second but puffed out his chest. “Kathy paid her own way! And besides, so what if we spend a little money? It’s not like our family can’t afford it!” Sensing the escalating tension, Robert quickly grabbed Ben and shot me a warning look. “Clara, that’s enough. It’s the holidays, don’t make a scene.” “Fine. I won’t say another word.” I sat back down and closed my eyes. Beside me, Kathy linked her arm through Helen’s and asked, seemingly innocently, “So, Helen, is the villa big? Will there be enough room for all of us?” Helen patted her hand, her voice full of affection. “Don’t you worry, dear, it’s huge! Three large bedrooms. Your uncle and I will take one, Ben gets another, and we saved the last one—the master suite with the best view—especially for you!” My eyes snapped open. So that was it. The rooms had been assigned long before we even left. “Oh, but what about Clara?” Kathy asked, feigning concern. “Isn’t she staying at the villa? Is it because I’m here that she…” “Don’t be silly!” Helen cut her off, her tone self-righteous. “Your sister… she’s looking for an experience! She said the villas are too noisy, so she specifically chose a rustic-luxe motel to get back to nature. Right, Clara?” She stared at me, her eyes flashing a clear warning. I looked right back at her, the last thread of affection in my heart snapping. “That’s right,” I said, a slow smile spreading across my face. “Since Mom arranged everything so thoughtfully, I should definitely go and have the full experience.” “After all, you picked this special place just for me.”

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My coworker was heading overseas for a vacation and asked me to book her flight. “I’ll transfer you the money in a bit,” she said casually. I booked the ticket. It cost me two thousand dollars. I waited all day. No transfer came through. I nudged her about it. She replied, “I already sent it. Check again.” I checked my Venmo, my PayPal, my bank accounts. I even counted the change in my digital wallet. Nothing. An hour before her flight was scheduled to take off, I canceled the ticket. She called me from the airport, screaming, “Are you insane?!” I replied calmly, “No money, no ticket.” The next day, she blasted me on social media for being heartless. My only response was a single screenshot: the cancellation confirmation next to our chat history. 01 I posted the screenshot—the one showing both the successful ticket cancellation and my unanswered requests for payment—to my own social media feed. I didn’t add a single word of commentary. Afterward, I placed my phone face down on the desk, trying to detach myself from the whole messy affair. But the quiet didn’t last long. My phone began to vibrate violently, like a bomb about to detonate. I knew what had happened. Someone had dropped the screenshot into our 300-person company-wide group chat. Sure enough, when I tapped the blinking icon, the message count was already at 99+. “Whoa, is Mindy really that savage?” “Two thousand dollars is no small amount. I’d have canceled it too.” “Seriously, what’s wrong with Phoebe? Saying she paid when she didn’t? Is she playing people for fools?” The support lasted for all of three messages before the tide turned. A woman named Sienna, a core member of Phoebe’s office clique, fired the first shot. “Mindy, aren’t you overreacting a little? So Phoebe was a bit late with the money. For two grand, you’re just going to leave her stranded at the airport? You’ve ruined her entire vacation!” Another one quickly followed. “Exactly! Phoebe is in tears. She said the signal at the airport was terrible and the transfer was delayed. Couldn’t you have just waited a little longer?” And then, the main actress made her entrance. A sixty-second voice memo popped up. I pressed play, and Phoebe’s choked, tear-filled voice filled the air. “Mindy… I really… I really did send it… I was looking for a signal for ages, the Wi-Fi was just so bad… I tried calling you but you didn’t pick up… How could you… how could you just cancel the ticket… sob…” She wailed as if she’d suffered the world’s greatest injustice. She followed up with a few more fragmented voice notes, each one perfectly crafted to fit her “innocent victim” narrative. “I just assumed you’d received it… I trusted you so much…” “Did you do this on purpose… were you just waiting to see me humiliated…” “I’m all alone at the airport now, my luggage is already checked in, what am I supposed to do…” The group chat began to waver. Even Mark, a colleague I was usually on good terms with, sent a message: “Mindy, I think you went a bit too far this time. Phoebe’s all by herself at the airport, imagine how helpless she must feel.” Mark’s words felt like an icy hand squeezing my heart. See? This is the corporate world. No one cares about the truth. They only care about who seems more pitiful. Just then, a red exclamation point appeared on my screen. It was from my direct supervisor, Sarah, the administrative manager. “This is a work channel. Keep personal matters out of it!” The moment her profile picture appeared, the noisy chat fell silent. But before I could even breathe a sigh of relief, a private message from Sarah popped up. “Mindy, come to my office.” Her tone was cold, sharp, and displeased. I took a deep breath, pushed back my chair, and stood up. When I walked into her office, she was leaning back in her chair, arms crossed, her eyes a mixture of judgment and disapproval. “Mindy, how long have you been with the company?” she asked. “A year and a half, Sarah.” “A year and a half, and still so impulsive.” Her fingertips tapped lightly on the desk, each tap a hammer blow to my nerves. “I know you feel wronged, but you need to be more tactful. Phoebe was being immature by escalating this, but when you followed suit, it became your problem too.” “Is it worth destroying a professional relationship over a few thousand dollars? How are you supposed to work with her now? What do you think this makes the rest of the department think of you?” Her words were like a thousand tiny cuts, shredding my already frayed nerves. Wronged? No. What I felt was a bone-deep chill and a profound sense of disgust. I listened to her “rules for corporate survival” in silence, not uttering a single word of protest. Only when she said, “Alright, go back to your desk and think about this,” did I turn and leave. Back at my desk, my phone screen was lit up with a private message from Phoebe. “Mindy, I know you didn’t do it on purpose. I don’t blame you. We’re still best friends.” It was followed by a “hugging” emoji. Reading those words, a wave of nausea churned in my stomach. I laughed, my shoulders shaking. Best friends? Fine. Let’s make this storm a hurricane. 02 Phoebe didn’t come to work the next day. But her battle had just begun, and her chosen arena was social media. It was a meticulously crafted, thousand-word essay, accompanied by a perfectly lit selfie of her at the airport, a single tear clinging to her eyelash, looking utterly heartbroken. The title: “To Mindy, the Sister I Once Trusted Most.” She used flowery, dramatic language to recount our “deeply moving” friendship. She wrote about how, when I was a new hire, she had “held my hand” and taught me the ropes. In reality, she had dumped all her menial tasks on me while she went for coffee and chatted with other colleagues. She wrote about how she had “stood up for me” when I was criticized by our boss. In reality, she had stolen credit for my project, and when a flaw was discovered, she had thrown me under the bus to take the blame. In her version of events, black was white and white was black. The ticket incident was framed as “a premeditated and malicious act of revenge, born from her jealousy of my overseas vacation.” She tearfully condemned my cold-hearted cruelty. At the end of her post, she casually mentioned, “I just can’t believe our friendship isn’t even worth two thousand dollars. That amount is nothing to me. What truly hurt me was your cold, unfeeling heart.” To support her “I’m too rich to care about the money” persona, she included a few old photos of herself wearing knock-off luxury bracelets and handbags. The post exploded across our shared social circles. The comments were a one-sided massacre. “Mindy is disgusting. So jealous.” “You never really know a person. Poor Phoebe.” “Stay away from people like that. You never know when they’ll stab you in the back.” I even saw that Mark, my “friend,” had liked the post. That tiny red heart was like a white-hot needle piercing my eye. Rage, hot as lava, churned in my chest, threatening to burn away my reason. I gripped my phone, my knuckles white with tension. Calm down. Mindy, you have to stay calm. Anger wouldn’t solve anything. It would just turn me into a raving lunatic, just like her. I forced myself to take deep, slow breaths, pushing the searing fury back down. Then, I started scrolling through two years of my chat history with Phoebe. I opened the file archive on my work computer. One by one, the incidents came back to me. All the moments I had dismissed, all the times I had told myself, “It’s not worth making a fuss over,” were now laid bare before me. And then I found it. The presentation for that major client, the one that won Phoebe the “Employee of the Quarter” award. I checked the file properties. Author: Mindy. Creation time: 3:15 AM. I found the chat log where I sent her the source file. The timestamp was 4:00 AM. My message: “Phoebe, take a look and see if anything else needs changing.” Her reply: “You’re the best, Mindy! It’s perfect! Thanks for your hard work!” My fingertip traced the cold screen, and a cold sense of satisfaction bloomed in my chest. So you like to act, do you, Phoebe? Fine. I’ll build you a bigger stage. Without a word to anyone, I saved these screenshots, along with records of every other time she had taken advantage of me, into a new folder on my desktop. I named the folder: “Judgment.” 03 The moment I stepped into the office the next day, I could feel the suffocating weight of my isolation. The air itself felt thick. Colleagues were clustered in small groups, their conversations halting the second I appeared. They stared at me with a strange mix of contempt and pity. Their whispers buzzed around me like flies. Phoebe was there. She was wearing a new dress and her makeup was flawless. Her eyes were a little puffy, but her face held the smug look of a victor. She didn’t confront me directly. As she passed my desk, she said to the person next to her, just loud enough for me to hear, “Some people just can’t stand to see others happy.” I ignored her, put on my headphones, and started to work. Around ten o’clock, a commotion erupted outside. A flashy red Porsche had pulled up in front of the building, and a man got out. He was dressed in loud, logo-covered streetwear, his hair slicked back with too much gel. He looked like your typical trust-fund kid, hollowed out by booze and late nights. He stormed into our office, with a demure Phoebe trailing behind him like a loyal puppy. “Who’s Mindy?” the man bellowed, his voice dripping with arrogance. Every head in the office turned toward me. He strode over to my desk and pointed a finger in my face, his spittle flying. “You’re Mindy? Some broke, gold-digging nobody, and you dare to bully my Phoebe? What, are you just jealous that she gets to travel the world while you’re stuck here being a corporate slave?” His voice was shrill, each word an insult. The office was dead silent. Everyone had become an audience to this drama. I even saw Mark in the corner, discreetly filming the scene with his phone. The man, seeing I wasn’t reacting, pulled a thick wad of cash from his designer wallet—maybe a few hundred dollars—and threw it contemptuously onto my desk. The bills scattered, each one a mocking sneer. “Take it. That’s for the ticket, and for your troubles. Now, apologize to Phoebe. Immediately.” He ordered me around as if he were bestowing upon me a great favor. A current of pure humiliation shot through me. My body began to tremble, not from fear, but from rage. And in that moment, I smiled. I slowly rose from my chair, my gaze traveling past him to the woman trying to hide behind him. Then, I spoke, my voice low but clear enough to carry across the entire office. “First, she owes me two thousand dollars, not a few hundred.” “Second, I don’t want your dirty money.” “And third, tell her—Phoebe—to talk to me herself.” With that, I bent down and picked up the scattered bills, one by one. Then, I walked calmly to the window. As everyone watched in stunned silence, I pushed it open and flung my arm forward.

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My dad died a hero when I was six. He’d saved someone, leaving my mother to care for my ailing grandmother and fend off the debt collectors who were a constant presence at our door. But no matter how hard life got, my mom never remarried. “Your father was a hero,” she’d always say, her voice soft with reverence. “I want you to be just like him. Always do good.” During my senior year of college, a freshman I’d helped out invited me to her family’s home for New Year’s. “Dad, open up! I brought a friend home!” she called out, her voice bright and cheerful. But when the door swung open, I froze. Her father… he had my father’s face. 1 “You must be Zoe, right?” Winona’s father greeted me with a warm, polite smile. “Come on in, make yourself at home. I’m afraid my wife is away on a business trip, so you’ll have to put up with my cooking. Don’t be too harsh a critic, okay?” The resemblance was staggering. It was more than a resemblance—it was him. I just stood there, staring, the world seeming to slow down around me. Those familiar features, the slight downturn of his lips, and especially the small, triangular scar just below his eye. He looked older, of course, etched with the lines of time, but he was undeniably the man from the faded photograph my mother cherished, the one she’d look at for hours on end. Even his voice, with its faint trace of a Westland accent, was the same. “Mr. Vance, are you from Westland?” I asked, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. He glanced at me, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “How did you know? I moved out here more than twenty years ago. Haven’t been back since.” Twenty years ago? My father disappeared sixteen years ago, when I was six. The timeline was wrong. Could he have a twin brother I never knew about? Or was it possible for two complete strangers to look so utterly identical? I followed Winona to the guest room, my mind a chaotic whirl of questions. “Zoe? Are you feeling okay?” she asked, her brow furrowed with concern. I opened my mouth, but no words came out. How could I possibly say it? ‘Hey, your dad is the spitting image of my dead father.’ It sounded insane. My eyes scanned the room and landed on an old family photo on the desk. The date printed in the corner was from twenty years ago. I would have been two. In the picture, Winona was just a newborn, cradled in her parents’ arms. Their names were engraved on the frame. Vincent & Isabelle Vance. Her father’s name was Vincent. My father’s name was Victor. Victor Vance. The last name was the same. “I’m fine,” I managed, forcing a smile. “It’s just… your parents are such a handsome couple. How did they meet?” Winona’s face lit up, clearly delighted to share their story. “My mom always says she was on a business trip in Flatwater about twenty years ago. She got mugged, and my dad chased the robbers off.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “It was love at first sight. As soon as her work was done, he followed her all the way back here to Seabrook.” Flatwater. The name hit me like a physical blow. The rest of her words blurred into a dull hum. My family was from Flatwater, a small town in Westland. If this was a coincidence, it was the cruelest one imaginable. “Do you know where in Flatwater your dad is from?” I interrupted, my voice more urgent than I intended. Winona shook her head. “I don’t think so. He told me his parents passed away a long time ago, which is why he had nothing tying him down. He left Westland and never looked back.” My grandmother died when I was eighteen. So maybe it wasn’t him. Maybe there was no connection at all. But the doubt was a hook in my heart, and I couldn’t let it go. Later, at the dinner table, I decided to test the waters. I pretended to make casual conversation, steering the topic toward local heroes. “It’s funny, I’m from Flatwater too. Small world, huh?” I said, my eyes fixed on Vincent’s face, searching for any crack in his carefully constructed facade. “My dad was a real do-gooder, too. I bet you two would have gotten along great. It’s a shame he’s not around anymore. He drowned saving someone when I was six. They never found the body.” At the mention of this, the man’s head snapped up. Our eyes met. He tried to mask it, to keep his expression neutral, but I saw it—the subtle twitch in his jaw, the way his eyes narrowed as he truly studied my face for the first time. It was a flicker of something more than just sympathy. It was recognition. A cold dread washed over me. What had started as a wild suspicion now solidified into a terrifying certainty. He and my father weren’t just connected. They were the same person. Vincent Vance was the supposedly dead Victor Vance. 2 The realization that my father was alive didn’t bring joy. It brought a hot, searing wave of shame and rage. I wanted to grab him by the collar and scream. If you were alive, why didn’t you come home? He disappeared when I was six, yet Winona was only two years younger than me. The math was ugly and undeniable. He didn’t care about me or my mother. But what about Grandma? Did he not care about his own mother, either? I thought of the beautiful woman in that family photograph, and of the casual way Winona had mentioned her maternal grandfather’s powerful position. The bitter truth settled in my stomach. Whatever the answer was, asking for it would only be a form of self-torture. It would only prove that my mother, my grandmother, and I were nothing but burdens he had been all too happy to cast off. Sixteen years had passed since that “accident.” I was no longer a child who needed a father. “Mr. Vance,” I said, putting a little too much weight on the name as I broke eye contact. “You must be so happy to have a daughter like Winona.” I could almost hear the quiet sigh of relief from him. “Happy, yes. But raising her has cost me a fortune,” he said, his tone laced with an unconscious doting that made my skin crawl. “But you know, Zoe, I think of you as a daughter, too. I’ll take you both shopping tomorrow. Pick out whatever you like, it’s on me.” A sheet of ice formed around my heart. He thought of me as a daughter? No. He was a guilty man trying to buy my silence. “That’s very kind of you, but no thank you,” I said, emphasizing my words. “I’m already imposing. I couldn’t possibly let a man I’ve just met buy me gifts.” “You’re our guest…” he started to insist, but Winona, who had just finished her meal, playfully stuck her tongue out at him. “Dad, you’re going to make her uncomfortable,” she said, getting up and pulling me by the hand toward her room. “But I have tons of clothes I’ve barely worn. I’m sure Zoe wouldn’t mind taking some of those, right?” Listening to her casually mention which coats were designer and which were filled with premium goose down, a sense of grim acceptance washed over me. My feelings toward Winona were complicated, but I held no ill will against her. I hadn’t known my father long enough to miss him, and she was, by all accounts, a genuinely sweet girl, completely devoid of any spoiled-rich-kid attitude. I squeezed her hand gently. “Thank you, Winona. This is more than enough. I won’t have to buy a new winter coat this year.” The New Year’s holiday flew by in a haze of internal turmoil. Every time I looked at that familiar face, my mind was flooded with images of my mother, working her fingers to the bone to raise me, and my grandmother, whispering her son’s name on her deathbed. Winona was in her room packing her things to go back to the dorms. I was waiting anxiously in the living room, ready to leave, when a low voice pinned me to the spot. “Your grandmother… is she… is she doing okay?” The man, my father, had his face in his hands, but I could see the glint of tears in his eyes. Crocodile tears. I let out a cold, bitter laugh. “She died four years ago. The last words she ever spoke were ‘Victor Vance.’” The news seemed to stun him into silence. When he finally spoke, his voice was a ragged whisper. “It’s all my fault.” I had no patience for his performance. I stood up, grabbed my suitcase, and headed for the door. He caught up to me, pressing something into my hand. “There’s twenty thousand dollars in here,” he said, his expression now hard and serious. The tearful, remorseful man from moments ago had vanished. “From this day forward, we have no connection. Don’t you dare try to leverage anything from me or my family.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a menacing hiss. “And most importantly, you will not breathe a word of this to anyone.” His words struck me like a slap. My entire body trembled with rage. Did he really think twenty thousand dollars could erase sixteen years of abandonment and betrayal? The only reason I would stay silent was because I chose to, not because he’d bought me off. “My mother raised me without a single cent of child support from you!” I spat, my voice shaking. “I’m about to graduate. I don’t need your damn money.” I threw the bank card onto the floor, took a deep breath, and gave him a look of pure contempt. “You should thank God you have a daughter as good as Winona.” My voice dropped, turning icy. “Because if it weren’t for her, I would burn your entire world to the ground.” 3 Back at the dorm, I called my mom to let her know I was safe. Her warm, fussing voice over the phone was a balm to my raw nerves. As we talked about my job search after graduation, she sighed wistfully. “If only your father were still here,” she murmured. “He had so many connections. He could have found you a wonderful job in no time.” Listening to her weave tales of his competence and kindness, stories polished by years of loving memory, I almost blurted out the truth. Victor Vance isn’t dead. He abandoned us, changed his name to Vincent Vance, and wants nothing to do with us. He’d rather we all believe he’s a dead hero. But by the time we hung up, the words remained unsaid. In my mother’s heart, her husband was a saint, her spiritual anchor. The real Victor Vance was a scoundrel who had abandoned his dying mother, his wife, and his daughter without a second thought. When confronted, he’d shown no remorse—just a flicker of fake sadness for his mother and not a single question about the wife he’d left behind. What good would the truth do but shatter her? It was better to let the dead stay dead. The next day, I was in a large lecture hall with my roommate when I got the distinct feeling I was being watched. Whispers followed me like shadows. When I turned around, everyone would quickly look away, but I could still catch snippets of conversation. “Is that her? The homewrecker?” “I think so. I thought this kind of drama only happened in soap operas. Who actively tries to become their friend’s stepmom?” “That’s what gold diggers do. As long as the guy’s got money, they don’t care how old he is.” I was completely bewildered. Were they talking about me? When had I ever tried to break up a marriage? “Zoe, you need to see the campus confessions page! Now!” my roommate hissed, shoving her phone in my face. Her eyes were wide with shock. Anonymous Post: Senior Special Ed major Zoe Vance went home with a friend for New Year’s and is now trying to seduce her friend’s father. She’s a homewrecker trying to destroy their family. Update: The friend, feeling sorry for Zoe’s poor background, even gave her expensive designer clothes. This is how she repays her? An ungrateful, backstabbing snake. The baseless accusations on the screen felt like a hand closing around my throat, squeezing the air from my lungs. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who posted it. The only people who knew about the clothes were me, Winona, and her father. But why? Just yesterday, she had been so kind. Why would she intentionally try to ruin my reputation? I thought we were friends. I sat through the rest of the lecture on pins and needles. As soon as it was over, I found out Winona was at the gym and stormed over, my heart pounding with anger. At first, she denied everything. But when I pointed out that she was the only person at the university who knew I’d accepted her clothes, her demeanor shifted. She dropped the act, her expression hardening into a defiant sneer. “Did the post lie about anything?” she shot back. “You were so pathetic at my house you were practically begging for my old clothes. And you took a bank card from my dad! A card with twenty thousand dollars on it!” Her voice dripped with venom. “What is that if not being a shameless homewrecker?” She looked at me with pure hatred. “Let me tell you something, Zoe Vance. If my parents’ marriage falls apart because of you, I swear I’ll make you pay!” A collective gasp went through the crowd of students that had gathered around us. The revelation that I had accepted a huge sum of money from a middle-aged man seemed to cement the rumors. In their eyes, I was already tried and convicted. I was a gold digger. A homewrecker.

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Everyone in the gilded world of New York’s elite knew the titan Gaten Wolfhard had one weakness: the girl he’d raised as his own. A girl who was spoiled, arrogant, and unbearably possessive. So much so that even at my own wedding, she stood on a balcony in a dress that was a blatant copy of my own bridal gown. Making me, the actual bride, look like a pathetic fool. This continued until my family and I orchestrated Gaten Wolfhard’s spectacular downfall. Only then did the little princess come to me, bowing and scraping, begging for my forgiveness. I just laughed in her face. “You were so jealous before, weren’t you? You wanted to be Gaten’s bride yourself,” I said, my voice dripping with ice. “Well, congratulations. May the two of you live happily ever after—in prison.” 1 As I walked down the aisle, my eyes were drawn upward. There, on a small second-floor balcony, stood the girl. She wore a white gown nearly identical to mine, her eyes filled with tears as she gazed down at my fiancé, Gaten, waiting for me at the altar. And Gaten was looking right back up at her. The moment stretched, turning me, the bride, into a sideshow clown. My father, whose arm I held, clenched his free fist, but I gently pressed his hand down, a silent command to stay calm. Whispers slithered through the pews, impossible to ignore. “Who is that girl? Wearing white to a wedding… does she have any class at all?” A young woman beside her tugged at her arm, hissing, “That’s Mia, the girl he’s raised for eighteen years. They’re practically inseparable!” “Please, everyone knows what she’s after. But the Wolfhard matriarch couldn’t stand her. Forced Gaten to marry Seraphina Shaw instead.” Finally, under the searing glare of his mother, Gaten reluctantly tore his gaze away from the balcony. Someone quickly pulled the girl, Mia, from view. A moment later, she reappeared at Gaten’s side, stripped of the white gown and now wearing a simple dress. I smiled serenely and continued my procession, the picture of poise and grace—exactly the kind of “blue-blooded lady” the old Mrs. Wolfhard demanded for her son. Then, right in front of Mia, I let Gaten place the ring on my finger. We exchanged vows under the watchful eye of the officiant. I could see Mia’s eyes growing redder, her knuckles white. Gaten’s expression was a thundercloud. I watched them both, a flicker of cold amusement in my eyes. Oh, does your heart ache for her? I thought. Good. Let me make it worse. Just as Mia looked about to break, I reached out and grabbed her hand, my face alight with a warm, welcoming smile. “You must be Mia,” I chirped. “From today on, you can call me Mom.” A collective gasp went through the crowd, followed by a ripple of suppressed laughter. I maintained my dignified smile, looking down at her with mock maternal affection. “They say a daughter is her father’s first love. In your case, that seems to be quite literally true, doesn’t it?” My smile never wavered. But for Mia, it was as if I had stripped her naked in front of the entire world, exposing the secret she held closest to her heart. Under the weight of a hundred curious, mocking eyes, she turned and fled, her face burning with shame and fury. Gaten made a move to follow, but I held his arm in a vise grip. My smile remained plastered on my face. “For the sake of the Wolfhard-Shaw merger, darling husband, I suggest you plaster on a smile and let’s go greet our guests.” He shot me a look of pure hatred but clenched his jaw and, swallowing his rage, allowed me to lead him into the crowd. 2 The wedding was a resounding success, cementing the powerful new alliance between the Shaw and Wolfhard dynasties. In the weeks that followed, Gaten was consumed with managing the overseas aspects of our new joint venture, leaving him no time to mediate between his new wife and his precious ward. So, I had to take matters into my own hands. When the car pulled up to Gaten’s private villa, I saw my custom-monogrammed luggage strewn across the manicured lawn like discarded toys. And there she was, standing at the front door with the air of a reigning queen, a smug smirk on her face, waiting for me. I may have married for business, but I was still a Shaw, raised with every privilege. The maid who had come with me from my family home saw the scene and her hands curled into fists. “Miss Seraphina, just say the word.” I held up a hand to stop her. Stepping out of the car, I calmly walked over and picked up an emerald necklace lying at Mia’s feet. I straightened up, my eyes glinting as I looked at her. “Do you have any idea how much this necklace is worth?” Mia tossed her head back. “That’s junk for poor people. I wouldn’t be caught dead in it,” she sneered. “My vanity is covered in jewels Uncle Gaten bought me. I could give you a dozen if you beg nicely.” The words had barely left her mouth when I gave my maid a subtle nod. She understood instantly. She strode forward and delivered a slap so hard the sound echoed in the quiet, upscale neighborhood. Mia staggered back, clutching her cheek, her eyes wide with disbelief. My maid laughed coldly. “Who the hell do you think you are, talking to my lady like that?” Then, following another silent cue from me, she grabbed the struggling girl and forced her to her knees at my feet. I tilted Mia’s chin up with one hand, studying the pampered, delicate face. Then I slapped her. Twice. Hard. Gaten lived in a row of exclusive villas, and the houses weren’t far apart. The sharp, cracking sounds drew curious neighbors to their windows. Seeing the raw humiliation on Mia’s face, I let out a soft laugh. I didn’t care who she was or what she meant to Gaten. I, Seraphina Shaw, return every slight with interest. If you make me unhappy, I will make your life a living hell. I ground the stiletto heel of my shoe into the delicate knuckles of her outstretched hand. “Mia,” I said, my voice dangerously soft, “I know you’ve been by Gaten’s side for over a decade.” “But let me give you a piece of advice. Know your place.” “There is only one mistress of this house. If you had what it takes to make Gaten marry you, I wouldn’t be here. But you don’t. So you will learn to live under my roof, by my rules.” “Bury those pathetic little fantasies of yours, or I will beat them out of you. I’ll do it every single time, until you learn your lesson.” Mia opened her mouth to curse me, but I cut her off with two more swift slaps, leaving her sputtering with a mouthful of blood. Just then, a man who had been watching from the next villa couldn’t stand it any longer. He ran over and grabbed my raised hand. “Seraphina, that’s enough! Mia is just a child!” Without missing a beat, I redirected my swing and slapped him across the face. He recoiled, his hand flying to his cheek in the exact same pose as Mia. I raised an eyebrow. “Connor Vance. I suggest you stay out of things that don’t concern you.” “Mia is a legal adult. If you want to play house with her, that’s your business.” “But I am the mistress of the Wolfhard estate. This is a family matter. I’m disciplining my ungrateful stepdaughter. What business is it of yours?” Connor’s face flushed with anger, but I shut him down with one final sentence. “My family’s company, Shaw Industries, just acquired a thirty percent stake in your father’s corporation. We are now his largest shareholder.” My voice dropped to a silky threat. “So if you don’t want to cause problems for him, I suggest you leave. Now.” With that, I nodded to my maid. She grabbed Mia by the hair and dragged her into the villa like a sack of trash. 3 There was no blood relation between Mia and Gaten Wolfhard. But he truly had raised her like a delicate doll, sheltering her from the world. Her bedroom was even right next to his. According to the Wolfhard family staff, it was because “Miss Mia” had frequent nightmares, and Gaten needed to be close by to comfort her to sleep. I laughed out loud. The household staff, already aware that I was not a woman to be trifled with, lowered their heads nervously. “So,” I said, a dangerous smile playing on my lips. “That makes me, the new Mrs. Wolfhard, feel rather… superfluous. Am I just a prop in their twisted little psychodrama?” The head butler immediately understood. He turned and ordered the staff to move Miss Mia’s belongings to a room on the first floor. I watched, my expression glacial, as her things were carried downstairs, piece by piece. I didn’t care what their relationship had been before I arrived. But if Mia was stupid enough to challenge my authority in my own home, she would learn that my patience was non-existent. The Wolfhard-Shaw merger was in its critical early stages. No one would dare to cross me. It seemed news of his “little girl” being mistreated traveled fast. Gaten came home that night. At dinner, I was the picture of elegance in a pale green silk sheath dress and a simple shawl, every inch the perfect high-society wife. I smiled graciously as I ladled soup for him. But as I placed the bowl before him, he shot me a look of pure contempt. Then, he backhanded the bowl, sending scalding soup flying across the table. Droplets splattered onto the back of my hand, raising an immediate, angry red welt. Across from us, a flicker of triumph crossed Mia’s face before she masked it with a look of practiced pity. Gaten sneered. “Does it hurt?” “Did you think about Mia’s pain when you were hitting her this morning?” “Seraphina, who the hell do you think you are?” Mia stood up, her voice trembling as she played the part of the concerned peacemaker. “Uncle, please, it’s all my fault. Don’t fight because of me.” But I slowly straightened up, the demure and gentle expression gone from my face, replaced by a cold fury. I looked Gaten dead in the eye. And then I slapped him, hard, across the face. “Gaten,” I said, my voice like steel, “let me return your words to you.” “Who the hell do you think you are, to speak to me like that?” The sound of the slap echoed in the silent dining room. A perfect red handprint bloomed on his cheek. The diamond on my wedding ring had caught the light for a second before it connected, leaving a thin, bloody scratch across his perfect cheekbone. Mia let out a horrified shriek and rushed to his side. “Uncle, are you okay?” she cried, gently touching his face. I stared at the two of them, clinging to each other. Then, I let out a cold laugh, grabbed a dinner plate, and smashed it on the floor. The porcelain shattered, and by a stroke of perfect luck, a sharp fragment flew up and sliced Mia’s eyelid. She screamed, clutching her eye. Gaten, his face contorted with rage, lunged at me, but my bodyguard, a man built like a mountain, stepped between us. Smiling, I bent down and picked up a jagged piece of the broken plate. And I started walking toward Mia. 4 Gaten knew exactly what I intended to do. He struggled against my bodyguard’s iron grip, his voice a furious roar. “Seraphina! You dare!” I ignored him, giving my personal maid a look. She moved instantly, grabbing Mia’s arms in a grip so tight she couldn’t possibly break free. Then, with the porcelain shard in her other hand, my maid made two quick, clean slashes. Two deep cuts blossomed on Mia’s pretty face. Mia screamed, a raw, piercing sound, and stumbled backward, her hands flying to her ruined cheeks. I stood by the table, arms crossed, and calmly picked up a glass of red wine. I raised it in a mock toast to Gaten, a triumphant smile on my face. “Gaten,” I said, my voice sweet as poison, “if you didn’t want to play by my rules, you shouldn’t have married me.” “You came to my family for help. You brought me into this house. That makes me the one in charge here.” “Who does this little brat think she is, trying to challenge me?” I brushed an imaginary speck of dust from my dress and rose gracefully. “Consider this a small price for her insolence.” “If she ever tries something like this again, I wouldn’t hesitate to make her blind or deaf.” With a final, chillingly polite nod to Gaten, I turned and walked out, my staff following in my wake. While all this was happening, my maid had already called the old Wolfhard estate, painting a dramatic picture of how Miss Mia had humiliated me, and how Gaten had sided with her against his own wife. With the merger just beginning, the Wolfhard matriarch was terrified I would run back to my family and jeopardize the deal. By the time I finished delivering my ultimatum to Gaten, a car from the main estate was already waiting at the gate. Without a backward glance, I got in and was driven away. That night, after the Wolfhard matriarch had exhausted herself trying to soothe my “hurt feelings,” she was ready to storm over to Gaten’s villa and deal with Mia herself. But I played the part of the magnanimous wife. “She’s just a girl, acting out,” I said with a sigh. “It’s not worth making a fuss over.” The old woman was so moved by my “grace and understanding” that she immediately gifted me several priceless pieces from her private jewelry collection.

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My best friend was becoming my sister-in-law. I was thrilled. I volunteered to edit the “Love Journey” video for their wedding reception myself. My brother, Mason, smiled and went to get the footage. But the moment he opened my best friend’s laptop, his expression darkened. He kicked her, over and over again, breaking her ribs before locking her in the basement. “You filth! I finally found you!” My parents took one look at the laptop screen, and their eyes turned cold and predatory. “Drain her blood. Hang her up. Only pain can purify her sins.” I didn’t understand. I tried to speak, to stop them, but a heavy blow to the back of my head silenced me. As I lay dying, a string of floating text drifted across my vision: [Run, Harper! Your best friend is bad news!] [Your whole family is psycho! Run, you innocent flower!] It was too late. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the morning of the wedding…

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Ethan and I went viral because of one photo. In the picture, we’re standing in our blue and white varsity jackets, throwing up peace signs. Attached is the class ranking sheet: Ethan is #1. I’m #2. The top comment read: [There is zero romantic chemistry in their eyes. Just the sheer determination to academic-weapon the other person into oblivion.] I’ve been crushed by Ethan for ten years. I thought I was destined to be the eternal Salutatorian. Until I woke up… I realized I was the villainess in a high school romance novel. And Ethan? He’s the protagonist. Realizing this didn’t make me sad. It made me realize my time had come. I’m going to be Valedictorian! 1 I’ve been trailing behind Ethan for a decade. Every test, I’m one spot behind him. I am the “Forever Second Place” on the honor roll. During a nap in Homeroom, I gained sentience. I discovered I was the “Mean Girl” antagonist in a YA novel. In the story, to ruin the romance between the Hero and the Heroine, I act like a total brat until I get expelled. The Hero and the Transfer Student Heroine overcome me—the “obstacle”—and get together. But then, their grades slip, their parents freak out, and they break up. The Hero, to save the Heroine from her abusive father, deliberately misses the SATs, repeats a year with her, and they eventually go to a state college together for a Happily Ever After. The Hero of this story is Ethan, the guy who always beats me. After waking up, I sat up and glared at Ethan, who was chatting two rows ahead. Society is crumbling. How is this guy the Main Character? But it doesn’t matter. In the book, the Heroine transfers to our AP English class this week. Her arrival is the start of my bright future. As long as I refuse to play the villain, I won’t get distracted. I will crush Ethan and take the crown! I was buzzing with excitement all day. The thought of finally flipping the script was intoxicating. Walking home with Ethan that evening, I couldn’t hide my grin. Ethan looked confused, but his walking pace was practically Olympic speed. Our moms are besties, and we live right across the street from each other. Before we went inside, he looked at me like I was an idiot, then quickly shut his door. After dinner, my best friend texted me: “Girl, you’re trending!” She sent a TikTok link. It was a video I posted a few days ago after midterms. Just two pics: The selfie of me and Ethan, and the GPA ranking. No caption, but the internet got me. “No romance. Just the pure desire to academically destroy each other.” “Bro is even clutching a pen in the photo.” “When is she going to take him out to claim the throne?” I liked the comment about taking him out. Soon. 02 The Heroine transferred to our class the next day. When she introduced herself as “Maya,” I knew it was real. Just like in the book, the teacher assigned Maya the seat next to Ethan. I sat diagonally behind Ethan, with a perfect view of their backs. First day, Maya didn’t have her textbook yet. Ethan slid his book to the middle of the table so they could share. Mr. Henderson started explaining a complex calculus problem. They both leaned in, heads together, to look at the equation. They looked up at the same time, realizing their faces were inches apart. Realizing the proximity, they both jerked back and sat up straight. I couldn’t see their faces, but I clearly saw Maya’s ears turn bright red. Ethan awkwardly made a fist over his mouth and coughed. A weird feeling bubbled in my chest. I took a deep breath. Stop looking. This is what I want, right? Riley, stop looking at the boy. Focus on the GPA. I forced my attention back to the whiteboard. First period ended, and a group of guys surrounded Maya’s desk. I glanced over. Two of them were varsity jocks, known players who changed girlfriends like they changed socks. Maya, being cute and new, was fresh meat. She looked terrified. As Class President, I was about to step in, but Ethan—returning from the bathroom—got there first. He blocked Maya from their view. “Don’t you guys have anything better to do? The Dean is walking down the hall.” Hearing the Dean was coming, the guys scattered. Maya smiled shyly at Ethan to say thanks. I pulled back the foot I had stepped forward. A moment later, the Dean actually appeared at the door. He didn’t come in, just waved me over to the office to sort some files. Standing in the office, sorting scantron sheets, my brain was stuck on replay. The boy in the varsity jacket, backlit by the sun, shielding the nervous girl. And the girl looking at him with starry eyes. That’s probably what love looks like. Main characters are destined to attract each other. It’s physics. I shook my head, trying to shake the unwanted emotions out of my brain. That night, walking home, I was unusually quiet. Usually, I yap the whole way. Ethan, usually the listener, spoke first. “What’s up with you today? Something on your mind?” I looked up into his confused, concerned eyes. How do I say, I’m thinking about you? We grew up together. This was the first time I couldn’t speak freely. “What do you think of… Maya?” Ethan looked puzzled for a second. “Why do you ask?” “I’m Class President. Gotta know the new students to help them adjust.” I lied. Ethan nodded, buying it. “Her? She’s nice. Very quiet.” It was a neutral comment, but my heart sank. Sophomore year, our parents suspected us of dating. We sat in the living room for hours explaining we weren’t. Ethan had said, “I could never like Riley. If I liked someone, it would be a quiet girl.” I had punched him in the arm right there in front of our dads. That was when I crushed my own little high school crush on him. My feelings are complicated. We’re just childhood friends. But why does this hurt so much? I didn’t speak the rest of the way. At his door, he hesitated, then just said, “See you tomorrow.” 03 Maya successfully integrated into the class. She was beautiful, kind, and everyone loved her. Even I had to admit, she was a good person. It made sense why Ethan, usually a snob, would like her. Without me interfering as the villain, their romance was on the fast track. Maya wasn’t great at Math. The teacher asked Ethan to tutor her. For a while, Ethan stayed late after school to help her. The walk home went from “us” to just “me.” I tried to ignore the hollow feeling. I studied until midnight. Woke up at 5:30 AM. Starbucks, school, study. If I kept busy, I wouldn’t feel the loss. A week later, Ethan surprisingly turned down Maya’s request for tutoring and ran up to me. “Let’s go. Got my allowance. I’m treating you to hot pot.” I stared at him blankly. “Don’t you have to tutor her?” I regretted the words immediately. It sounded like jealousy. But Ethan didn’t mind. He grinned. “Not every day. I taught her the basics. Now I can walk home with you again.” Seeing his eyes crinkle in a smile, I froze. “Okay… sure. I have cleanup duty. Wait for me.” Ethan did half my work for me, and we left together. We were happily discussing whether to order extra beef or shrimp paste. Just outside the school gates, we took a shortcut through a small park. Usually, it’s empty. But today, I heard crying. We exchanged a look and walked faster. Behind the public restrooms, a group of sketchballs had cornered a girl in our school uniform. It was Maya. Ethan didn’t hesitate. He rushed in. He grabbed a guy with dyed yellow hair by the wrist. “Ow! You crazy? Let go!” The other guys surrounded us. “Oh, another pretty girl? Why don’t you both hang out with us?” One guy looked me up and down, whistling. Ethan grabbed him by the collar. The others lunged. I kicked the nearest one in the shin. Our parents put us in self-defense classes when we were kids. We aren’t Bruce Lee, but we can handle a few street punks. We dropped them, but one guy pulled a pocket knife and slashed my arm. Ethan saw red. He was about to pound the guy into the pavement, but I stopped him. That night, Maya and Ethan accompanied me to the ER. Maya kept thanking us. But the way she looked at Ethan… it was admiration. It was hero worship. We never got hot pot. The doctor said it wasn’t deep, but I had to eat bland food. We got home at 8 PM. My mom yelled at me for getting hurt. 04 After that, Maya was even more attentive to Ethan. When he played basketball, she was on the sidelines with Gatorade. I don’t know if he took it, but everyone could see Maya liked him. Ethan didn’t seem to react. I buried myself in books. School, home, study. But sometimes, my brain drifted to Ethan. His face—always gentle with me, only frowning when worried—started haunting my dreams. I didn’t want to admit it. But now, I knew. I actually liked Ethan. But he’s the Main Character. And she’s the Heroine. I’m just the villain. And villains who fall for the hero never get a happy ending.

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It’s been five years since I died. My mom went on a national TV show with my sister, calling me an ungrateful daughter. “Chloe Starling, when your sister needed a heart transplant, you vanished.” “Now, you won’t even show up for your own father’s funeral!” “A person like you deserves to be spat on while alive and burn in hell when dead!” Amidst the gasps of the audience, a woman stood up. “Chloe isn’t coming.” My mom sneered. “Bullshit! Even if she’s hiding at the ends of the earth, I’ll find her!” The woman walked onto the stage and handed a USB drive to the host. “The truth you’re looking for is in here.” …… Chapter 1 “I don’t want the ‘truth,’ I want to see Chloe! If you know her, tell her to get her ass here right now!” Mom rolled her eyes, yelling directly into the camera. “Chloe, do you know your dad looked for you for five whole years? He worked himself to death just last month trying to find you!” “Are you out there living the high life with his money?” “You won’t even show your face at his funeral. You heartless, ungrateful brat!” She finished her rant and glared at the woman who had come onstage. “If you know where she is, hand her over!” The host turned to the woman. “Ma’am, what is your relationship with Chloe Starling?” The woman pulled a business card from her purse and held it up to the camera. “Hello everyone, I’m Sarah Cole, head of the Memory Capsule Project.” “Chloe was a participant in our internal trials. We became friends through the process.” A murmur ran through the audience. “I’ve heard of Memory Capsule. It extracts memories from the brain and turns them into video, like watching a movie.” “So this USB drive… it has Chloe’s memories on it?” “Who wants to see the memories of an ungrateful brat like that?” “Is she sick in the head? Won’t see her family, but sends them her memories…” The scene was chaotic. The host quickly took control. “Since Ms. Cole claims to be Chloe’s friend, let’s see what secrets this drive holds.” A staff member plugged the USB into a laptop. My sister, who had been silent, suddenly stood up in a panic. “We came to find Chloe, not watch this garbage.” “Mom, let’s go.” Mom always listened to my sister. She grabbed her hand and started walking offstage. Sarah reached out and blocked their path. “If you leave now, you will truly never see her again.” Mom hesitated. Finally, she led my sister back to their seats on stage. “Hmph. I want to see what kind of game Chloe is playing!” The lights dimmed, and the big screen flickered to life. It was me at six years old. I had been living in the countryside with my grandparents. Because I had to start elementary school, Mom and Dad brought me back to their city home. I looked enviously at the Elsa princess dress my sister was wearing and spoke timidly. “Hi, big sister.” My sister glanced at my faded t-shirt and shorts, tilting her chin up. “I don’t have a little sister. Mom said you’re my slave!” I tried to explain. “No, you’re the big sister, and I’m the little sister.” Before I finished, my sister burst into loud tears. “I don’t want a little sister, Mommy…” Mom rushed out of the kitchen at the sound, knocking me over as she scooped my crying sister into her arms. “Chloe, why are you so difficult? Bullying your sister the second you get back?” “Did you forget everything I told you in the car?” Seeing the devouring anger in Mom’s eyes, I trembled with fear. “N-no, I remember.” “Listen to your sister. Whatever your sister does, she is always right.” “Then apologize to her!” Mom glared at me coldly. I sniffled, my voice choked with sobs. “Sister, I’m sorry.” Mom patted my sister’s back, comforting her gently. “Luna, no one can ever take your place in Mommy’s heart. You are Mommy’s only treasure.” Later, Mom took my sister to the mall and bought her lots of beautiful new clothes. She stuffed the old clothes that wouldn’t fit in my sister’s closet into my room. “Chloe, these are gifts from your sister.” I had never seen so many pretty clothes. Even if they were my sister’s hand-me-downs, I was overjoyed. “Thank you, big sister.” That night, I woke up from a nightmare and went to find Mom. I saw my sister sleeping in Mom’s arms, looking up coquettishly. “Mommy, why is my name Luna and hers is Chloe?” Mom kissed her cheek. “Because the stars revolve around the moon. Mommy had your little sister just so she could keep you company.” My sister smiled smugly. “So little sister is my slave, right?” “Of course. Stars are born only to guard the moon.” Tears welled up in my eyes. I stood frozen in place. Only when the lights in the room went out did I drag my numb legs back to my room. The words echoed in my ears. Stars are born only to guard the moon… Chapter 2 The first memory clip ended, and the studio was dead silent. Until someone in the audience couldn’t hold back. “Such favoritism from a young age. No wonder Chloe ran away from that toxic family.” That one comment opened the floodgates. The crowd erupted in discussion. “She calls herself a mother? If you can’t treat them equally, don’t have a second child!” “I’d run too if I grew up in a house like that!” Accused by everyone, Mom jumped up anxiously from her seat. “Stop talking nonsense! I don’t have favorites! There was a reason…” The screen lighting up again cut off Mom’s words. I was ten years old. Today was Mom’s birthday. I used the allowance I had saved for a long time to pick out the most beautiful bouquet of lilies at the flower shop. I carried them carefully all the way home. But when I got to the door, I was dumbfounded. Nobody was home. I couldn’t get in. Mrs. Davis next door saw me sitting on the steps in a daze, looking surprised. “Chloe, your mom said they were going out for a birthday dinner. I saw her leave with Luna to meet your dad. How did they forget you?” I explained stubbornly, my eyes red. “I didn’t want to go. And I forgot my key.” They didn’t come back until late at night. I couldn’t help but complain. “Mom, Dad, how could you forget me?” Dad explained. “Your mom said you didn’t want to go out tonight. I even saved you a piece of cake.” I thought Mom would explain, but she used a matter-of-fact tone. “Chloe, I forgot to tell you. Your sister wanted to celebrate my birthday alone with me, so we didn’t call you.” Hearing this, Dad frowned in confusion. “Linda, how long are you going to keep this favoritism up? Isn’t Chloe your daughter too?” Mom sneered. “Mark, Luna has said many times she just wants the three of us to go out, but you always have to bring Chloe along. You don’t care about Luna’s feelings at all.” “You promised me you wouldn’t neglect Luna before I agreed to have a second child. But you haven’t kept your word all these years. You only care about Chloe!” Dad quickly covered my ears. “What nonsense are you spouting in front of the child? Have you cared for Chloe at all since she came back?” “Do you know Chloe already has serious psychological issues? She has to see a therapist every month!” Hearing this, a trace of panic flashed across Mom’s face. But she quickly calmed down. “What psychological issues can a child have? I think she just wants to compete for attention with Luna and is acting out to trick everyone!” “If you really think I made her sick, then send her back to your mother’s house.” Dad stared wide-eyed in disbelief. “Linda, do you know what you’re saying?” Mom’s face was cold. “I only know that Luna has heart disease. She can’t handle any stimulation. She can’t suffer any grievances!” They started arguing about it again. I lowered my head and went back to my room. That night, I endured the hunger and hid under the covers, crying myself to sleep. The next day, I found the bouquet of lilies was gone. I thought Mom had accepted my gift. “Mom, those flowers…” Before I could finish, Mom interrupted me. “Chloe, don’t bring messy flowers into the house anymore. Your sister said they stink.” My smile froze on my face. My gaze fell into the trash can nearby. The withered flowers were mixed with leftover food, emitting a foul smell. It was nauseating. I bit my lower lip hard, tears falling spinelessly. “Mom, that was my birthday gift to you…” Suddenly, my sister pointed to a new drawing hanging on the wall and laughed happily. “Mommy, you hung up the birthday gift I gave you! Thanks for liking it, Mommy!” Mom gave my sister a thumbs-up proudly. “Baby’s own drawing is so beautiful. Mommy should thank you.” Then she glanced at me with disgust. “Cry, cry, cry. All you know how to do is cry. Why did I give birth to a debt collector like you?” “Chloe, stop standing in the kitchen and getting in the way!” The scene ended there. Before the audience could react, Mom immediately grabbed the microphone. “This video must be faked with software! I don’t remember this happening at all!” “Director, even if you want ratings, you can’t slander us like this, right?” “I’m not recording this show anymore!” Chapter 3 Mom got up to leave. The host looked helplessly at the staff offstage. “Mom, don’t go.” Behind her, my voice came out with a sob. Mom stopped in her tracks. The screen lit up again. “Mom, please don’t leave me, okay?” I grabbed Mom’s sleeve, begging bitterly. The house was suddenly engulfed in raging fire. Flames and thick smoke were everywhere. Mom threw off my hand. “Luna is still sleeping in the big room. I have to find her first.” “Chloe, you stay here and be good. I’ll come save you after I find your sister!” I watched helplessly as Mom disappeared into the fire. I was choked by the thick smoke until tears streamed down my face. I don’t know how long it took, but firefighters rushed in and saved me from the sea of fire. Dad, who was at work, got the news and rushed to the hospital. I needed immediate surgery because of severe burns on my legs. Dad paced anxiously in the hallway. He turned and saw Mom leading my sister past him. “Linda!” Seeing Dad, Mom walked over excitedly. “Did you get my message? The house suddenly caught fire. Luckily, I got Luna to the hospital in time. The doctor said if we had been any later, and she inhaled too much smoke, her heart wouldn’t have been able to take it.” “I plan to let Luna stay in the hospital for a few days for observation. Anyway, the house isn’t livable anymore…” “Where’s Chloe?” Dad interrupted her with a dark face. Hearing my name, Mom was visibly stunned. Panic quickly welled up in her eyes. “Chloe… Chloe was still in the house. I was too anxious and forgot her. Honey, what do we do?” Dad laughed in anger at her reaction. Pointing at the operating room door, he roared. “Linda, are you crazy? The fire was so big, and you left Chloe alone in the room? Did you want to kill her?” “If the firefighters hadn’t saved Chloe in time, she might already be dead!” Hearing the news that I was saved, Mom breathed a sigh of relief. “As long as she’s okay. Wasn’t I just too worried because Luna has heart disease?” “When Chloe wakes up, I’ll explain it to her properly.” Seeing Mom’s indifferent attitude toward me. Dad clenched his fists and swallowed the words he was about to say. For the next few days, perhaps out of guilt, Mom stayed at the hospital to take care of me. Mom slept with me for the first time. Mom braided my hair for the first time. Mom fed me for the first time. …… So many firsts made me greedy for this hard-won motherly love. I even felt that this fire was a good thing. The cause of the fire was investigated. It was my sister lighting my Barbie doll on fire that caused it. But Mom blamed me instead. “Why didn’t you put your things away properly? Why did you leave them lying around?” I subconsciously retorted. “Even if I left things lying around, sister shouldn’t have started a fire in the house and destroyed our home!” A slap to the face stunned me. Mom’s eyes were red. “Chloe, did you forget what I told you? Whatever your sister does, she is always right. What right do you have to criticize her?” “If you hadn’t left things lying around, would she have started a fire? You are not allowed to mention this again!” The scene changed. I had already gotten into college. My sister and I attended the same university. She was a junior, and I was a freshman. On this day, a senior from a club confessed his love to me in front of everyone on the playground, using candles to form a heart shape. The video went viral online that night. The next night. My sister asked to meet me at a secluded intersection. “Chloe, first you steal Mom and Dad, and now you steal the man I like.” “Did you forget how Mom raised you? You are my slave. You have to listen to me. You can’t do anything to hurt me!” These words haunted me like a curse. My whole body froze. “Sister, I… I didn’t agree to him. I’ll give you whatever you want.” My sister sneered. “Give me everything?” “Chloe, it would be so good if you just died…” As her voice fell, a large truck sped through the intersection. The blinding headlights made people close their eyes. Just then, my sister pushed me toward the road. Honk honk honk— “Ah—” Chapter 4 The screen paused at the moment the truck ran over me. The whole audience gasped. Mom’s face was pale as she looked at my sister in disbelief. “Is… is this real?” A commotion broke out in the audience. “Did Chloe really die?” “This sister is too evil. The family already favors her so much, and she still wants to kill her sister?” “Is this a missing persons show or a true crime show?” “It seems Chloe isn’t hiding; she’s been dead for a long time.” My sister’s eyes flickered with terror. Her hands trembled as she held Mom’s arm. “I didn’t! Mom, you have to believe me! I didn’t kill Chloe!” “You don’t have proof! Don’t talk nonsense! I’m not a murderer!” Someone in the audience sneered. “The video is right in front of everyone. Who’s talking nonsense?” “Exactly. You had the guts to kill your own sister, why don’t you have the guts to admit it now?” My sister was anxious to the point of tears. “I didn’t! Mom, explain it for me, hurry!” Mom subtly withdrew her arm from my sister’s grasp. After hesitating again and again, she finally spoke. “But Chloe did disappear after that day. Her phone couldn’t be reached.” “You came home and told us Chloe ran away because she was mad at us. That’s why I didn’t call the police to look for her.” “Luna, tell Mom the truth now, okay?” My sister was red-faced with embarrassment, fine sweat covering her forehead. “I pushed her and was scare so I ran back to the dorm. But I went back an hour later.” “She and the truck were gone. There was no blood on the ground. I thought she was okay.” “But then she disappeared. I was afraid you guys would find out, so I lied to you. I didn’t mean to hurt her!” Mom swayed and slumped to the floor. “How could this happen? Luna, you’ve always been so kind. How could you harm your sister?” Seeing that even her doting mother didn’t believe her. My sister completely broke down. “Mom, I really didn’t kill her! Later, I went to the nearby hospitals to ask. They didn’t receive any car accident victims that day.” “I even went to the traffic police department. There was no record of that accident at all.” But no one on set believed her. Even the director’s crew was preparing to call the police. Just then, Sarah stood up. “I can prove that Luna Starling did not kill Chloe.” “The Memory Capsule isn’t finished. Let’s wait until everyone finishes watching before drawing conclusions.” My sister gave Sarah a grateful look and helped Mom back to her seat on the stage. The screen changed again. This time the background was a hospital. The truck driver had taken me for a checkup. I waved my hand at him. “Sir, my arm is just scraped a little. Some ointment will fix it.” But the driver insisted I get a full body checkup. “Miss, we can’t delay treatment in case there are internal injuries that we can’t see.” “I already paid the fees. Go get checked out quickly.” After the checkup, the driver handed me a bottle of milk and some bread. I took a few bites, and my stomach suddenly felt a sharp pain. I couldn’t help but vomit. “Miss, you’re vomiting blood!” The driver was scared and quickly called for a doctor. I was taken for another exam. When the results came out, the doctor looked at me solemnly. “Chloe, the results show you have advanced stomach cancer. The situation is not optimistic.” I looked at the doctor calmly. “How long do I have to live?” “If we treat it conservatively, at least six months…”

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Everyone mocked me. They said Liam would dump me, the “stand-in,” the moment she came back. But his “One That Got Away”—his legendary first love—dragged me to get a DNA test instead. “You guys look too much alike. I don’t believe there’s no blood relation.” That day, I discovered I was the long-lost heiress to a billion-dollar empire. Chapter 1 Liam’s “One That Got Away,” Chloe, returned to the States. Instead of a dramatic showdown, she dragged me to the hospital for a DNA test. While waiting for the results, I sat on a bench in the hallway. To my left was Liam, the CEO who was technically my “Sugar Daddy.” To my right was Chloe, the legendary Dream Girl. I was sandwiched between them, sitting stiff as a board. I didn’t dare move. Absolutely frozen. I felt like a ten-thousand-watt lightbulb, completely superfluous. I tried to get up to find another seat, but Liam and Chloe simultaneously pressed me back down by my shoulders. Liam: “Sit. Don’t wander off.” Chloe: “Sit. Wait for the results.” I sat back down timidly, squeezed between them like the filling in a very awkward Oreo. The doctor pushed open the door, holding a report. Doctor: “Ms. Chloe, the results are in.” Chloe stood up immediately. “Well? Is there a relation?” Doctor: “Yes. She is your biological younger sister who went missing years ago.” !!! I was so shocked I instinctively pinched Liam’s thigh. Liam glanced at me but said nothing. Chloe let out a long breath. “Biological sister. Good.” I wanted to say something but stopped. Chloe sighed. “The pressure of inheriting a billion-dollar empire alone was too much. Finally, someone to share the burden.” She gently stuffed a Black Card into my hand. “This card is yours now. I transferred fifty million dollars for pocket money. Spend it however you like.” In that instant, I forgot the word “no.” So, it was true when my foster mom said she picked me out of a dumpster! I took the card with trembling hands, moved to tears. “Thank you, sister.” After all these years, my billionaire sister finally found me! Chapter 2 I shamelessly asked my sister: “Sis, can I use this money to keep a man?” Liam frowned slightly. Chloe answered: “You can keep ten men if you want.” My eyes lit up. I said fawningly, “Sis, I’ll take you to a host club! I’ll order ten male models for you!” Chloe’s eyes lit up too. “Male models? Sounds good. Little sister, you understand me. I’ll order twenty for you!” My eyes were glowing like a starving wolf who hadn’t seen meat in eighty years. Liam rubbed his temples. He grabbed my collar. “Lucy, don’t forget the contract.” Oh right. I signed a three-year “Sugar Baby” contract with Liam. It said during the contract period, I couldn’t have intimate relationships with other men. There was still one week left on the contract. I looked down at the fifty million in the card, then looked up with newfound confidence. “Sorry, I’m breaching the contract.” Liam said, “Fine. The penalty is one hundred million.” I wilted instantly. “Sorry, I was wrong.” Chloe frowned slightly. She asked me, “What contract?” I stammered. Chloe narrowed her eyes. She pulled me behind her and questioned Liam. “Mr. Liam, rumors in the circle say you’re keeping my sister as a mistress?” Liam answered, “I am not keeping her.” He frowned. “Who told you that?” Chloe sneered. “Everyone says so.” She asked, “Then what is this contract you just mentioned?” I whispered, “Sugar Baby contract.” Liam answered, “Dating contract.” Me: “?!!” Liam: “……?” Chapter 3 I was shocked!! Liam paused too. After processing, his face darkened. “Sugar Baby contract? Who told you that?” I looked at him with question marks all over my face. “Didn’t you pay me for three years?” Liam rubbed his temples again. “No… I wasn’t keeping you. That was a dating contract.” Chloe frowned. “Who signs a contract to date?” Liam: “I thought signing a contract showed how seriously I took the relationship.” I hesitated. “Your ‘seriousness’ involves wiring me fifty grand a month and then sleeping with me?” Liam: “……” Liam’s expression was complicated. He looked like he wanted to explain but didn’t know how. Chloe looked at Liam with scrutiny. “Mr. Liam, soliciting prostitution is illegal. Technically, that contract is void. If you insist, I’ll have to call the police.” Liam sighed. “It wasn’t solicitation. The fifty grand was for dating expenses.” He said, “…I thought sexual activity during dating was normal, so I didn’t overthink it.” “I apologize. I wasn’t thoughtful enough and caused a misunderstanding. I’m sorry. Such things should wait until marriage.” The hospital hallway wasn’t the place for this. Chloe clicked her heels and said to me, “You decide.” I whispered, “Um, since it’s a dating contract, can I take a week off?” The contract ended in a week. If I took leave now, I could segue seamlessly into clubbing with male models the moment it expired. Liam pursed his lips. “You may.” After Liam agreed, I left the hospital with Chloe and got into her luxury car to go see my foster mom. Driving, Chloe said, “I think… Liam isn’t trustworthy. He’s not a good guy. Don’t contact him anymore.” Who believes a “Dating Contract”? Not even a dog would believe that! I felt a bit guilty. “Actually, I think he’s a good person.” Chloe raised an eyebrow. “How so?” Me: “When my mom was sick and we had no money, he paid the medical bills. Without him, my mom wouldn’t have made it.” Chloe: “So he kept you…” I touched my nose, embarrassed. “Because he paid the bills, I didn’t refuse when he wanted to keep me.” I believe in repaying debts of gratitude. Chloe thought for a moment. “When the contract ends, I’ll give you money to keep him back.” I thought for a moment too. “Sis, is there a possibility… he likes you?” Liam’s Dream Girl was my sister, and I was just the stand-in. Me keeping him felt like some weird cuckold fetish. Chloe slammed on the brakes. My forehead hit the dashboard. Ouch. Chloe looked horrified. “Impossible! Absolutely impossible! You’re mistaken.” Me: “He really likes you.” She hesitated. “I hooked up with his uncle and almost became his aunt. He shouldn’t… be that kinky, right?” My pupils quaked. I trembled, “Sis… you…” Chloe evaluated calmly, “If he really has feelings for me, he’s a pervert.” I hesitated. “Maybe he is a pervert?” Chloe gasped. “Stay away from perverts!” The car started moving again. Chloe thought for a long time, then said spookily: “Actually, I think… maybe that contract really was a dating contract…” I said spookily back: “Impossible, sis. Absolutely impossible!” Silence fell in the car. We looked at each other, speechless. Chloe hesitated. “But still, maybe… he has you in his heart?” Me: “Maybe his heart split in two. One half loves you, the other half loves me.” Chloe: “Hiss!” Chapter 4 We arrived at my apartment. Chloe met my foster mom, politely called her “Mom,” and explained the DNA test. Chloe: “My grandma was superstitious and preferred boys. She thought twins were bad luck, so she stole my sister at birth and threw her away.” “I didn’t know she existed until Grandma was hospitalized six months ago and confessed in a delirious state.” She acknowledged my foster mom as her godmother. “You are Lucy’s mother, so you are my mother too. I will take care of you with Lucy.” My mom looked at Chloe’s face, identical to mine, and accepted this goddaughter. After handling that, Chloe took me to the main estate to meet my biological parents. Chloe comforted me: “Don’t be nervous. Mom and Dad are great.” My billionaire parents were exactly as Chloe said—great and very enthusiastic. Billionaire Dad: “I’m transferring 20% of the company shares to you. That new commercial plot downtown is yours too!” Billionaire Mom: “My precious daughter suffered so much. Mom is transferring eighty million to your card right now!” When they learned about Liam from the secretary’s report, Billionaire Dad was furious. “Him? He dares to keep you?!” “I’m arranging ten blind dates for you immediately. Dump him!” Billionaire Dad was a man of his word. The next day, I was forced to sit at a large round table in a cafe with ten handsome, tall, wealthy men.

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