I was obsessed with this sweet high school romance novel. The male lead was everything—my type, down to the last detail. So, there I was, curled up in bed, squealing “husband” at my phone screen, and then…poof. I was in the book. Not as the main character, of course. I was the side character he wouldn’t spare a single glance for. Heartbreak. Despair. Resignation. Fine. If I couldn’t win the heart of the male lead, I would win the heart of academia. And so, my new life began. I studied with a feverish intensity, my nose buried in a book while I ate, while I walked. Even on the toilet. By some strange twist of fate, I tested into the same advanced class as him. Just when I thought I could fly under the radar, the female lead cornered me. She accused me of trying to steal her man. What? 1 The day I transmigrated into this world, I fell for Liam Kendrick. It wasn’t love at first sight; it was a long-nurtured crush. Back when I was just a reader, I’d clutch my blankets and whisper his name like a prayer. The cool, brilliant, untouchable academic star—he was my ultimate weakness. Seeing him in the flesh? It was almost too much to handle. But reality was a cold shower. Here, in this world, he wasn’t my fictional crush anymore. He was a complete stranger, and I was just a ghost in the halls. All I could do was watch from the sidelines as his epic love story with the female lead, Mia, unfolded. A hollow ache settled in my chest, a constant, dull pressure. Back then, he and Mia weren’t together yet. A legion of girls had crushes on Liam, and a brave few even confessed. Every single one was met with his signature icy rejection. I knew my own quiet admiration was destined for the same fate, so I buried it deep. I was a nobody. A girl with a fractured family, not pretty enough, not confident enough. I didn’t even get the standard transmigrator’s starter pack—no magical system, no cheat codes to grant my every wish. All I had was a burning frustration, which I channeled into my studies. It was partly because it was what a girl my age was supposed to do, and partly because of a tiny, selfish hope. I wanted to get closer to Liam. Just a little. I wasn’t asking for a miracle. Just being able to see him every day would be enough. From that day on, I was the first one to arrive at school and the last to leave, a book always in my hand, even during lunch. After one placement exam, my rank shot up by over two hundred spots, landing me in the honors class—Liam and Mia’s class. On my first day in the new classroom, Mia rushed over. “Ava? Who are you looking for?” In the original story, my character was a certified slacker. She and Mia were frenemies; she’d gossip about people with Mia by day and then lie in bed at night, seething with jealousy over Mia’s effortless radiance. Studying was the last thing on her mind. So, Mia naturally assumed I was lost. “I tested into this class,” I explained quietly. “What?” Her eyes widened. She spun around and ran to the front of the class to check the roster on the teacher’s desk. When she came back, she gave me a slow, deliberate once-over. “Wow. Big improvement.” I managed a shy smile and slipped into my new seat, my head bowed. Liam sat on the other side of the room. Pretending to gaze out the window, I snuck a peek at him from the corner of my eye. Mia was already chattering at him, probably telling him about my surprising arrival. He looked utterly uninterested, but he did flick a brief, indifferent glance in my direction. I held my breath, my gaze snapping back to the notebook on my desk so fast it was almost comical. That was close. Too close. We almost made eye contact. 2 The atmosphere in the honors class was a different world. The intensity was palpable. Here, I wasn’t the weird one for studying during breaks. Everyone did. We’d cluster in small groups, debating complex problems, our voices a low, focused hum. I thrived. My grades stabilized, keeping me near the top of our year. Eventually, I got into the same magnet high school as Liam and Mia. Based on our entrance exam scores, I just barely scraped into the same homeroom as Liam. He was ranked first; I was third from the bottom. Mia, however, was placed in a different class. The original plot needed this separation. Liam was the genius, while Mia was the effortlessly smart and charming girl who could ace tests without ever seeming to try. The author split them up so Mia could meet the second male lead in her new class, sparking a whole new arc of sweet and sour drama. None of that mattered to me. I just kept my head down and studied. For the first two years of high school, Liam and I were just classmates. We never spoke. The only times we were ever in the same frame were when Mia would occasionally stop by to chat with me. Even when we’d pass each other in the halls after school, we were strangers. No nods, no greetings. He genuinely didn’t notice me. I, on the other hand, was a master of deception. My heart would thunder in my chest whenever he was near, but my face remained a perfect, placid mask. Not a single crack. I was getting really good at this. My obsession with studying meant my already-tenuous friendship with Mia faded into almost nothing. By the time we were nearing graduation, she had all but forgotten I existed. Then, senior year started, and she suddenly became friendly again. She insisted I was studying too hard, that I needed to relax. One day, she even roped Liam into her plans, inviting me to hang out with them. Did I want to go? Absolutely not. That time could be better spent tackling a few practice exams. But she was relentless, and I finally caved. I figured I could just bring my review book and study while they had fun. When I arrived at the meeting spot, my mind went blank. An amusement park. According to the novel, this was where they would have their first kiss. This was the moment they’d finally break through that last barrier and officially become a couple. My heart was in turmoil. I went through the motions of the day in a daze, barely registering the rides or the food. As dusk fell, the park lit up in a cascade of dreamlike colors. Mia grabbed Liam’s hand and pulled him toward the fireworks show. I trailed behind them, a forgotten shadow dozens of feet away, jostled by the swelling crowd. There, under a sky exploding with shimmering light, they confessed their feelings. Mia stood on her toes and gave Liam a shy, tender kiss. It was a picture-perfect moment, and I couldn’t bear to watch. I dropped my head, my vision blurring as hot tears fell, one after another, splattering onto the pages of my review book. I fled, a coward escaping a scene not meant for my eyes. I sent Mia a text, lying that I had to get home before my curfew. Of course, she didn’t reply. They had already forgotten I was ever there. As they held hands, their fingers intertwined with a promise of forever, their forgotten third wheel was running home, wiping away tears. I collapsed in my empty apartment and let out a choked, desperate sob. I’m sorry. This time, I just couldn’t pretend anymore. But even as the sobs wracked my body, I forced myself to grab a workbook and start writing, the pen shaking in my hand. A one-sided crush is a special kind of torture, especially for someone like me, who had nothing else. My only superpower, I guess, was having lived a life before this one. I knew the grinding importance of studying. And I knew not to waste myself on a love that was never meant to be. 3 Liam and Mia were officially together. Their ten-year romance, a marathon of love and devotion, was just beginning. They would fight, they would break up, but Liam would never stop loving Mia, and she would always have a place for him in her heart. A beautiful sentiment. For me, it was a death sentence. I wasn’t the only one suffering. The second male lead, Caleb, was about to have his world turned upside down. After they got together, his unrequited love for Mia would drive him to stir up all sorts of trouble. In the book, I was supposed to be one of the people fanning the flames, but frankly, I was more worried about my midterm grades. A wave of relief washed over me when my teacher told me, a proud smile on her face, that I’d placed second in the year. It soothed the ache in my heart, just a little. From third-to-last at the start of the year to second place by midterms. My hard work was finally paying off. In our class, seats were assigned based on rank. Liam was the immovable king, always in the first-place seat. And now, I was assigned to the desk right next to him. My desk mate. His desk mate. This had to be the start of something, right? The kind of trope that sets up a whole story. In reality? Nothing happened. We sat inches apart, but days went by without a single word exchanged. His silence was born of his naturally aloof personality; mine was born of a guilty conscience. I didn’t dare speak. The first and only thing he said to me in a week was a quiet observation. “Ava, your water bottle is leaking.” As I wiped up the puddle, I couldn’t help but correct him on a different matter. “It’s Ava Song…” Haha. He didn’t even remember my last name. We continued on like that, two strangers sharing a desk, until one day Mia stormed into our classroom and started a fight with Liam right in front of me. She demanded to know why he hadn’t told her we were desk mates. Liam just frowned, genuinely confused. “Is that important?” Since the school year began, he’d already had several desk mates thanks to the constant reshuffling after each exam. But for some reason, Mia seemed particularly bothered by me. Her eyes darted between me and him. In the end, she didn’t say another word. She just turned and ran out, tears streaming down her face. I guess I could see her point. I was someone she knew, at least peripherally. If my boyfriend was suddenly sitting next to a girl I was acquainted with and didn’t mention it, I’d probably feel a little slighted, too. After lunch, I decided to find Mia and try to clear the air. “Mia…” I called her name, but she acted like she hadn’t heard me, laughing and joking with her friends. “Oh my god, so I watched that movie you told me about yesterday, and I was literally dying, hahaha…” I stood there awkwardly for a beat before deciding to retreat. This was clearly not the time. We barely talked anymore anyway; bringing up something as trivial as our seating arrangement would probably just make things weirder. And Liam and I were practically strangers. He’d sort it out with her. It wasn’t my problem. Overthinking it was a waste of brainpower, so I let it go. A few days later, however, someone was waiting for me after school. “Ava Song, right?” It was Caleb Vance, the second male lead. I had my earbuds in, listening to a language lesson, and didn’t even hear him call my name. I walked right past him. He let out an indignant squawk, jumped in front of me, and yanked the earbuds out of my ears. “…” I scowled. “Can I help you?” My expression must have been less than friendly, because he flinched before puffing his chest out, trying to look tough. “Listen up!” he snarled. “I don’t like that Kendrick kid, but I’m not gonna let you hurt Mia and mess up their relationship.” That was… a weird way to phrase things. It took me a second to process. “How exactly am I messing up their relationship?” “Don’t play dumb,” Caleb scoffed, crossing his arms. “You’re the one trying to seduce Liam, aren’t you? Hah. All this trouble, and for what? I thought you’d be some supermodel or something, but you’re not even half as pretty as Mia.” I was trying to seduce Liam? That was news to me. “Do you have any proof?” I asked, my voice flat. “Of course I do!” he declared. “The proof is that you’re sitting next to him!” “…You do know seats in our class are assigned by grades, right?” I paused, letting the implication hang in the air. “Oh, wait. Are you suggesting I should have intentionally failed my exam just to avoid sitting next to him?” “That would be for the best.” Caleb didn’t catch the sarcasm, a smug grin spreading across his face. Normally, I wouldn’t waste my breath on someone like him. But his rudeness, combined with the baseless accusations, had officially crossed a line. “Too bad,” I said, my voice dripping with ice. “Unlike you, who had mommy and daddy pull some strings to get in here, I don’t play games with my education.” Caleb was a trust-fund kid. His parents, new money, wanted him to have the prestige of a public magnet school rather than some elite private academy. But the “money can buy anything” mindset was already hardwired into his brain. He could afford to treat life like a game. I couldn’t. Sitting next to Liam was a happy accident. But even if it wasn’t him, I had earned that seat. In fact, I was coming for his seat. Caleb’s face turned purple with rage. He threatened to make me pay. It was exactly like his character in the book—impulsive and hot-headed, but not truly malicious. After all, he was here, warning me not to hurt the girl he loved, even as he was heartbroken that she was with someone else. I didn’t take his threats seriously. Until the next monthly exam. When I was caught for cheating. 4 In the middle of the exam, I was pulled out of my seat. The proctor announced that a student had reported me for bringing a cheat sheet into the exam. Then, like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat, he fished a tiny, translucent slip of paper from my pocket. It was covered in minuscule, printed text—a summary of all the key concepts for the test. “Ava, Ava, Ava! I always thought you were such an honest and hardworking student. How could you do something like this!?” “This isn’t just irresponsible to yourself! You’re bringing shame upon your family and our entire class!” “Your grades at the beginning of the year were mediocre. Did you use tricks like this to improve so dramatically?” I stood in the principal’s office, a storm of accusations raining down on me from the disappointed teachers. They questioned my integrity, my character, my past achievements. When I insisted the cheat sheet wasn’t mine, it only made things worse. Denying it was an admission of guilt. I wracked my brain. Before the exam, I’d left my blazer on my chair when I went to the bathroom. That must have been when someone slipped it into my pocket and then reported me. It had to be Caleb, or someone he’d put up to it. The plan was crude, but devastatingly effective. Who would even think to do something so childish in high school? I had no way to prove my innocence. My only defense was to suggest they question the person who reported me. But they cited student privacy, refusing to reveal the name. The verdict was final. I was guilty. A school-wide announcement was made. The Dean of Students was a firm believer in making an example of people. There would be no anonymity. [HONORS CLASS STUDENT AVA SONG (ID# XXXX) CAUGHT CHEATING ON MONTHLY EXAM] The bright red text scrolled across the digital announcement board in the main lobby. Every student who walked into the building saw it. Naturally, I became a pariah. No one wanted me in their group for projects. No one would partner with me in gym class. During after-school cleanup, I was assigned all the outdoor tasks by myself. “Stay away, cheater,” they’d sneer, making exaggerated faces of disgust. It was fine. I wasn’t a real teenager. Their accusations could frame me, but they couldn’t break me. I weathered the storm. When the exam results were posted, my score was nullified. I was moved to a desk in the corner of the classroom, a place of exile. A new girl sat next to Liam. She was brilliant, popular, and had a very public crush on him. She’d bring him water after basketball practice and “accidentally” fall asleep on his shoulder during study hall. Mia, however, seemed completely unbothered, sometimes even linking her arm with Liam’s just to watch the other girl’s eyes well up with tears. Caleb didn’t bother her at all. He would just lean against the back door of our classroom, a triumphant, gloating look on his face as he watched me. He’d mouth the word. Serves. You. Right. … Reading the book, I never realized Caleb was this immature. My public shaming was his victory. But did it really affect me? Not really. I kept studying, kept eating, kept moving forward. During gym, when no one would partner with me, I’d sneak back to the empty classroom to work on practice exams. I was just finishing the last problem on a difficult calculus worksheet when I sensed someone beside me. It was Liam. He had been standing there, watching me, for who knows how long. Not watching me, exactly, but watching my paper. He was holding a basketball under one arm; he must have come back to grab it. He was so close. Close enough for me to catch the clean, fresh scent of his soap. For some reason, neither of us spoke. The classroom was silent, so quiet I could hear the frantic drumming of my own heart. A strange, poignant sadness washed over me. I didn’t want to speak. I didn’t want to move. I wanted time to freeze in this one, perfect moment. But I couldn’t let myself be greedy. Another few seconds, and the fragile atmosphere might shatter into something complicated and awkward. Finally, I broke the silence. “What’s up?” “Hmm…” He paused, his eyes still on my paper. “You made a mistake on this step.” Which one? Can you show me? That’s what I should have said. The desk next to me was empty, a seat no one wanted. If I had just asked, he might have sat down, his voice a low murmur as he explained the complex problem. Instead, the pragmatic, self-protective part of me took over. I calmly picked up my phone and opened a study app. “Oh. I’ll just look it up online.” “Okay.” Liam turned and walked away. As I efficiently uploaded a picture of the problem, a silent tear traced a path down my cheek. Stupid, stubborn pride. I was hopeless.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389133”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I’d stumbled into a private chat group for trust fund heiresses. Their daily routine consisted of bragging about buying new yachts. For fun, I decided to play along with my own brand of surreal humor. I asked the girls to Venmo me $50. Ping! $20,000 has been deposited into your account. The heiress said she’d hit her daily transfer limit and that I should get the rest from her sister. “My sister’s getting engaged,” she typed. “She’s in a great mood, just throwing money around. You should hit her up, catch some of that good luck!” But when I looked at the wedding invitation she posted in the group, the woman in the white dress looked hauntingly familiar. Wasn’t that my girlfriend? The one who shared my tiny, cramped apartment? The same girlfriend who, just last night, was trying to get people to click her discount link to save three dollars on a purchase. 1 Sensing my gaze, Julia Keane turned her head, nuzzling my cheek with the tip of her nose. “Babe, I just need 0.03 more diamonds to unlock the deal!” Her long lashes cast soft shadows over her almond-shaped eyes. Her brows were gentle, her lips soft and sweet. Her face was so delicate, so impossibly pretty, that she even made the knock-off cartoon pajamas she was wearing look like Chanel. My smile felt brittle. “Don’t you have a sister?” I asked, testing the waters. “You could send the link to her. She could help.” “Oh, I totally forgot!” Julia’s eyes lit up. She quickly started forwarding the message, deliberately angling her phone screen away from me. I waited, my own phone silent in my hand, my eyes fixed on the heiress chat group. Sure enough, a second later, the group’s admin—Julia’s sister—posted a link from a discount shopping app. The user “ParisianPrincess” typed, “OMG, my sister is helping out her broke boyfriend again! Can you guys click the link for him? @everyone” “HamptonsHeiress” replied with a facepalm emoji. “Is she still on that stupid dare? A while back, she was trying to get 99 likes on a post just so they could get a hotpot discount. And don’t get me started on that farming game. She had us all feeding her virtual chickens…” “ManhattanMaven” sent a scoffing reply. “She’s surprisingly dedicated to that guy. Last month she asked me to find him an apartment. Downtown Manhattan, $800 a month, south-facing windows. Please. I ended up just giving her one of my places for free.” ParisianPrincess added, “Don’t worry, it’s almost over. My sister’s getting married next week. She said she’s just going to ghost him. Clean break.” Seeing my icon was silent, the admin tagged me. “@FallenHeir, you should click the link for my sister too. And while you’re at it, hit her up for the other $30k she owes you. Hope you get back on your feet soon!” “You got it, boss,” I typed back. This was my burner account. After helping Julia with her discount, I’d added her sister as a contact. She accepted instantly and sent over $30,000. I sent back a simple message: Thanks. Congratulations on the wedding. She replied with a coffee cup emoji. Online, she was dismissive, cold, and utterly indifferent. But here, in our apartment, she rested her cheek against my knee, looking up at me with an expression of pure, trusting dependence. “Babe, I’m thirsty.” 2 I met Julia at a gala hosted by some obscenely wealthy family. I was there working as a server, and I saw her in a maid’s uniform, surrounded by a gaggle of socialites who were teasing her. “Look at the little rich girl! Is your whole outfit worth even a thousand dollars?” “I’d rather not say.” Seeing Julia, her brow furrowed in discomfort, reminded me of my first time at one of these events. I’d mistaken a glass of champagne for mouthwash and spat it onto the table. The host’s face had turned to stone. In the middle of summer, he’d poured a glass of ice water over my head. “Rinse your own mouth out,” he sneered. Having been rained on before, I saw Julia as one of my own. I felt a pang of sympathy. I walked over, took her hand, and pulled her away from the group. “The chef needs you in the kitchen.” The other women gave us a strange look. “You two know each other?” Julia looked at me and nodded. “Yeah. I’ll get back to work.” At that moment, a flicker of a smile crossed her face. I thought it was gratitude. Looking back now, I realize she was just sizing up the prey that had wandered right into her trap. After the party, I gave her a ride home on my moped. She held onto the corner of my jacket as I shared my hard-won wisdom on side hustles. “You gotta join the neighborhood groups online. They’re always posting gigs for tutoring or cleaning. And I heard from a guy that if you hang around the dumpsters in the rich neighborhoods, you can sometimes find designer stuff they just throw out.” Julia gently corrected me. “They don’t use dumpsters. All their trash is sorted and collected by a private service.” I glanced back, impressed, and made a mental note. She clearly had some experience; she wasn’t some naive kid fresh out of school. That night, I treated her to a five-dollar hot dog from a street cart. Julia wrinkled her nose and took the tiniest, most hesitant bite. I thought she was just being frugal, never considering that for a girl like her, it was the equivalent of being fed garbage. We exchanged numbers. She’d send me leads on catering gigs at mansions; I’d send her tips on how to save money. Every job she recommended was with a family that was surprisingly pleasant and respectful. I never once suspected a thing. The day I finally saved up ten thousand dollars, I asked her out to a nice dinner to celebrate. Julia got stuck in traffic, and while I was waiting at the restaurant, my family found me. An acquaintance had told them they’d seen me working in a wealthy neighborhood, supposedly making a fortune. They’d driven all night to track me down. They held me down, took my phone, and transferred every last cent out of my account. They were kind enough to leave me three dollars and sixty cents. When Julia finally arrived, I was squatting by the restaurant entrance. I looked up at her and scratched my head. “Sorry. The money’s gone. How about I take you back to my place and cook you dinner instead?” 3 That was the first time I ever saw Julia truly angry. “Aren’t you going to call the police?!” But it wasn’t that simple. Family matters never are. I’m adopted. My mother couldn’t conceive before she took me in, but when I was five, she gave birth to my sister. From that day on, I became a resource. I got into NYU, but my tuition fund was used to buy my sister designer bags. The day I was supposed to get my diploma, they tricked me into coming home, having already arranged my marriage to line their own pockets and buy my sister’s fiancé a sports car. The first suit I bought with my own paycheck was taken and used as a bed for the family dog. Every time I tried to stand up for myself, my parents would start with the waterworks, calling me an ungrateful monster, clutching their chests and talking about their weak hearts. Even the most righteous judge backs down in the face of shameless hysterics. Now, thousands of miles away in a new city, they had still managed to find me. A bitter taste filled my throat, but looking at Julia, I forced a smile. I didn’t want her to see me like this, so broken. “It’s okay. I’ll just move. I’ve dealt with this for years. Don’t worry about it.” Julia took off her jacket. It was still warm. She draped it over my shoulders, her own warmth seeping into my chilled skin. She took my cold hands in hers, and her voice was laced with an unfamiliar chill. “If you don’t solve a problem, it will never go away.” The next day, I heard my mother’s small business was being audited for tax evasion. My father’s construction site was shut down after an anonymous tip to OSHA about safety violations. My sister was fired after being caught bullying a coworker and then, in a freak accident, was mugged by some street thugs who broke both her legs. Her fiancé left her, and she lost the baby. They were so caught up in their own disasters that they never had the chance to bother me again. They simply vanished from my life. I was on the back of Julia’s moped when I heard the news. She was wobbling, still unsteady with the controls, but her voice was bright with laughter. “I had some of my friends help out. It’s fine, don’t worry.” I wrapped my arms around her. Her back was soft, shielding me from the wind. My eyes stung, and I pressed my face against her shoulder. A selfish thought crept into my mind. “I don’t have any money to pay you back,” I murmured. “How about I offer myself instead?” Julia stiffened for a moment, then answered, her voice muffled. “I’m just afraid you’ll be the one getting the short end of the deal.” Looking back, I realize she was worried about me getting hurt when I found out the truth about her identity. But what’s a poor man’s heart worth, really? I’m more upset about the buy-one-get-one-free milk teas I shared with her, the streaming accounts I let her use. All the little things she never needed, all the gestures born from my own self-deception. 4 After dinner, Julia fell asleep beside me, tucking my hand into the warmth of her arms. She knew I was always cold, my hands and feet like ice since I was a child. Quietly, I opened the heiress chat. The admin, flush with cash from her sister’s generosity, was planning a trip to Iceland to see the Northern Lights. She was giving away her old travel itinerary for Paris. The other heiresses were bored. “Paris is so last season.” The admin immediately tagged me. “@FallenHeir, you want to go to Paris? I have a friend there who also went broke and made a comeback. Maybe you could learn from her! Type 1 to claim.” “111!” I typed back instantly. I confirmed the travel dates with her—right before Julia’s engagement party. Later that night, unable to sleep, I sent a private message to the admin, Julia’s sister. “That boyfriend of your sister’s… you don’t think he’ll try to crash the wedding, do you?” She sent back a laughing emoji. “FallenHeir, you’re new here so you don’t know. My sister lost a dare and had to dress up as a maid at that party. The dumbass boyfriend played the hero and ‘rescued’ her. That’s how they got together.” “A friend of ours dared her to keep up the act for a few months. The prize was a set of antique porcelain my sister’s fiancé really wanted, so she agreed.” My fingers felt cold as they tapped against the screen. “What about the guy? Aren’t you guys going to give him some money or something?” “My sister’s been good enough to him! The guy’s one of those suckers who gives everything to his family. Julia had to get her hands dirty cleaning up his messes. A clean break is more than he deserves! Does he really think a frog can marry a princess?” “And if he gets clingy, she’ll just toss some money at him. Problems of the poor are easy to solve~” Suddenly, the phone was snatched from my hand. I looked up into Julia’s eyes, dark in the dim light of the bedroom. My heart hammered against my ribs. Did she see the tears in my eyes? Would she demand to know what was wrong? Could we finally talk about everything? If she just apologized, just explained, was there still a chance for us? I opened my mouth to ask. But Julia just turned off the screen and wrapped her arms around me, her voice thick with sleep. “Babe, don’t stay up so late. I have to work in the morning.” I lay beside her, wide awake, staring at the ceiling. My mind was already packing my bags for the trip. 5 As soon as the sun was up, Julia left for work. Before she left, she washed my clothes and hung them up to dry in the sun. I’d had a sudden bout of stomach flu last night, and she tucked a bottle of painkillers into my pocket. She gave me her usual kiss at the door and said she’d see me tonight. The moment the door closed, a notification popped up from the heiress chat. The admin had posted: “My sister is on her way to pick out a gift for her fiancé! They are SO perfect together!” What a coincidence. I was also picking out a gift to leave for Julia. The three wool sweaters in the closet were for her. The collection of plushies I thought were cheap knock-offs—all authentic, imported items Julia had bought—were also for her. Even the toilet paper was some fancy imported brand; my skin was too rough to have ever noticed the difference. The dress I’d saved up to buy for her birthday was hers to keep. I wouldn’t be around to celebrate with her this year. I logged her device out of all my shared streaming accounts. Finally, I checked the fridge. There was one carton of yogurt left. I remembered how Julia would take a few sips and then toss it. I’d once snatched it back from her, showing her how to lick the lid clean. “If you don’t lick the lid, you must be a secret millionaire.” A strange expression had flickered across her face. Then, realizing I was joking, she’d laughed and kissed the smudge of yogurt from the corner of my mouth. When she saw all my little habits born of poverty, did she find them charming? Or did she find me pathetic? I decided it didn’t matter anymore. I grabbed my suitcase, walked out of our apartment, and sent Julia one last text. “I’m out of town for work. Won’t be coming home.” Of course, she didn’t reply. A video popped up in the heiress chat. It was Julia, straightening a man’s tie, her smile gentle and elegant. “My sister helping her future husband try on his suit. So sweet,” the caption read. “HamptonsHeiress”: “999!” (for luck) “ManhattanMaven”: “A match made in heaven.” Feeling generous, I added my own comment. “Wishing the happy couple a lifetime of happiness and beautiful twin babies!” Suddenly, a cash prize notification appeared in the chat. It was from Julia. She must have been added to the group at some point. “Thank you all for the well wishes.” No one claimed the money. So I did. Wow. A hundred thousand dollars. Tears sprang to my eyes. I ordered the most expensive coffee on the menu without looking at the price, hailed a cab without checking the fare, and headed straight for the airport. 6 Landed in Paris. The unfamiliar surroundings and the crush of the crowd felt overwhelming. I dragged my suitcase, feeling out of place and clumsy. After a few steps, I saw a sign held high above the crowd. It read: FallenHeir, where are you? The woman holding the sign was dressed in a sleek black trench coat. Her features were sharp and coolly beautiful, and she looked vaguely familiar. She glanced at her watch, a picture of impatient elegance amidst the waiting throng. I ducked my head and walked over, placing my hand on her sign. “Hi.” Her voice was as cool as her expression, but surprisingly loud. “You’re FallenHeir? Let’s go. I’m Elara.” “FallenHeir, have you eaten?” “FallenHeir, where are you staying?” I hurried to catch up with her. “Shh, shh, could you keep it down? I have a name. It’s Leo!” “Right. Got it, Mr. Leo.” She took my suitcase and led the way. A discreet black Maybach was waiting at the curb. As I settled into the plush leather seat, I opened the group chat to let the admin know I’d arrived safely. But the chat was in utter chaos. The admin, ParisianPrincess, was spamming the chat. “HOLY SHIT, MY SISTER RAN AWAY FROM HER OWN ENGAGEMENT PARTY!” “ManhattanMaven” immediately replied: “Spill. Now.” “HamptonsHeiress” was more succinct: “DETAILS.”

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The city’s golden boy, the heir to the Lindenlaub empire, announced he was joining a monastery, leaving me standing alone at the altar. The socialites all placed their bets: I’d be kicked to the curb before the season was over. But to everyone’s shock, my new husband, Jake Lindenlaub, shed his celibate persona and spent our nights tangled in passionate embraces. Just as the world decided I was the siren who had lured the saint from his pedestal, I overheard a conversation between him and his friends. “Your wife is adorable, completely clueless,” one of them drawled. “Three years, seven different guys, and she hasn’t suspected a thing. She actually thinks you’re just a master of variety in the bedroom.” Another laughed. “You’re never home during the day, and she still makes you dinner. Doesn’t question a thing.” Jake Lindenlaub chuckled, tapping the ash from his cigarette. “She’s a small-town girl. Sheltered. She has no idea how we play in the city. Easily impressed.” The man who had been with me just last night corrected him. “Don’t talk about her like that. She’s just… innocent.” My lover from the month before that chimed in. “Yeah, she’s sweet. I had a headache once and she gave me a massage.” Jake’s face darkened. “You guys can stop coming over,” he said, his voice flat. “My mother wants a grandchild.” I glanced down at the flimsy lingerie I was wearing. And sighed. Jake Lindenlaub has seven brothers. I still had one to go. 1 City boys play rough. On our wedding night, the prince of Manhattan’s elite not only insisted the lights be off, but he also blindfolded me with a silk tie. He had dismissed all the servants from the villa. My wedding dress, tiara, and shoes were scattered in a trail from the grand staircase to the master bedroom. Two antique vases were casualties of our chaotic journey. In the pitch-black, I couldn’t see a thing, but my hands found his abs. They were spectacular. “Jake, be gentle…” This one was built like a god. He wrapped an arm around me from behind, covering my mouth with one hand while his own mouth was busy leaving a trail of love bites along my shoulder. The next morning, I single-handedly debunked the rumors of Jake Lindenlaub’s asceticism. I limped so badly I had to skip the formal post-wedding brunch with his mother. In an instant, the news that Jake Lindenlaub had fallen from grace spread like wildfire. I became the talk of the town. My sister called me in a panic from across the ocean. “So? How was it?” I was busy applying concealer to a particularly vicious mark on my shoulder. “Seven rounds. Nothing special.” The truth was, I knew it wasn’t Jake on our wedding night. While he thought I was asleep, he’d taken a call by the bed, his fingers toying with a lock of my hair. “Can’t leave now, she just cried herself to sleep.” “What are you worried about? It’s not like your parents are going to come inspect the sheets.” “She’s a simple one. Didn’t suspect a thing.” After he hung up, I waited a few calculated seconds before “sleepwalking” my way into his arms, my hands exploring freely. I knew this man couldn’t resist a bit of teasing. And since he wasn’t my man, every touch was a bonus. My motto: a good deal is a terrible thing to waste. After six months, I was getting bored. While this brother was away on a business trip, I decided to harass the real Jake with a video call. He picked up on the tenth try. “What is it?” That was the real Jake Lindenlaub. Cold, distant, and perpetually annoyed by my very existence. He had never once set foot in our marital home. I feigned ignorance, my voice a playful purr. “Last night, you said you were going to absolutely wreck me. Why aren’t you home yet?” I was sprawled on the pillows, my eyes red-rimmed. “I feel so… needy. And this floor-to-ceiling window has a perfect view of the city lights. Do you think anyone’s ever watched us?” “I want to play piano on your back again. You’re so good at it.” Jake wasn’t looking at the screen, but I could see the color drain from his face. “Shut up. Don’t talk about that during the day.” See? It was his own kinky idea, but even he felt the phantom weight of cuckold horns when it was said out loud. I wasn’t done. “You promised. If you don’t come back, I’ll just come to your office. I don’t mind an audience. You have thirty minutes.” I had been dying to meet the rest of his brothers. To get rid of me, Jake promised he would be home that night. Of course, he wouldn’t be coming. So, half an hour later, the lights in the villa went out once again. And in walked a sunny, athletic type. For three years, the lingerie in my closet was in a constant cycle of being bought, worn, and torn. 2 Jake was right. I was just a poor girl from a small town. The only reason I married him was a stroke of dumb luck. His mother adored me, his grandparents loved me, and they all said I had a “lucky aura.” They promised me a stake in the family company if I married him. Of course, being ridiculously charming is a skill in itself. I admit it, I’m a professional. At first, I didn’t want to marry him. I just figured a man that wealthy couldn’t possibly be clean. As for all that talk about being a celibate monk? I didn’t buy it for a second. A man’s virginity is the greatest dowry. My sister nearly slapped me. “Are you a virgin?” I shook my head. I’d had four or five boyfriends. “Then what’s with the double standard?! You’re going to sleep with someone eventually, why not sleep with Jake Lindenlaub? He’s rich, he’s gorgeous, his family loves you. Try it out for a few years. If it doesn’t work, you can always get a divorce!” “And if he actually becomes a monk? Even better! Your in-laws love you, your wallet is full, and your husband isn’t even home to annoy you. Only an idiot would turn this down!” “A trust fund is a hell of a lot sexier than a 401(k), isn’t it?” And just like that, a small-town girl hit the jackpot. I endured the judgmental stares of high society, ate six-figure meals that left me hungry, and wore shoes that couldn’t get wet. I watched as seven-figure sums were deposited into my bank account every day. My life, a bleak, desolate wasteland. Oh, the tragedy. I was suffering so much. Was it really too much to ask for him to send a few of his brothers to comfort me? I considered it fair compensation. Jake had seven close friends—a band of brothers. In three years, I had slept with six of them. I was an equal-opportunity lover, giving each man a solid six-month run. Just as I was getting tired of the current one and plotting how to switch to the next, it was my mother-in-law’s birthday. I was summoned back to the family estate. She eyed my flat stomach with a sigh. “Three years and still no news. That boy Jake is really useless.” “He’s just very diligent with protection,” I offered. “You’re still using it?” I nodded solemnly. The city boys might play rough, but they weren’t stupid enough to play with fire. Jake and I were rarely seen together in public. In fact, we had barely ever met. The main hall was crowded, so I took a tray of drinks upstairs, hoping to hide out in Jake’s study. But as I approached the door, I heard a cynical laugh from inside. “That small-town girl is so naive. Three years, and she still hasn’t caught on? Jake, your family picked a real winner for you. So pure.” I knew that voice. It belonged to one of Jake’s brothers. I used to love hearing it whisper in my ear. “The old folks really know what they’re doing. A girl like that… almost makes me want to get one of my own.” There were nine men in the study, lounging in various states of casual arrogance—leaning against walls, sprawled on sofas, perched on desks. It was a sea of long legs and devastatingly handsome faces. “So, who do you guys think is her favorite?” I held my breath, my grip tightening on the tray. Damn, I was good. I assumed they were deciding who was next on the roster. My money was on the youngest of the group, a kid named Noah. He was still in college, all innocent charm and blushing cheeks. He called me “ma’am” and would turn bright red if I so much as smiled at him. I could make him cry in three minutes flat. But then Jake, who had been silent until now, sat up. He tapped the ash from his cigarette, his expression unreadable. “No need. My mother is pushing for a grandchild.” His brother was stunned. “So you’re giving in? I thought you swore off women forever.” “My mother was just diagnosed with a heart condition. She doesn’t have much time left. She wants to see her grandchild.” Damn. What a buzzkill. 3 So, no Noah, and my celibate husband was coming home. A double whammy of disappointment. I stood outside the bedroom, looking pathetic, and checked my phone. A seven-figure deposit notification popped up. A smile instantly bloomed on my face as I walked in. “Darling, I’ve missed you so much!” Jake was impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, his cufflinks sparkling. A pair of gold-rimmed glasses rested on his aristocratic nose, and a string of prayer beads was wrapped around his wrist. He really did look like a saint. He was sitting on the sofa, reading a book. His eyes flicked up, scanning me from head to toe. “Go take a shower.” If I wasn’t mistaken, the book in his hand was mine. The last brother had used it as a coaster. I cursed silently under my breath, grabbed a silk nightgown, and headed for the bathroom. The real Jake was no slouch. He was just as handsome and well-built as the others. This was the first time I’d seen him up close. As he leaned over me, his features were sharp and defined, his lips thin and sensual, his lashes long and dark. The man radiated pure, unadulterated sex appeal. If it weren’t for the fact that, as he pressed down on me, his hands were suddenly snapped into a pair of handcuffs attached to the headboard, I probably wouldn’t have burst out laughing. Now, Jake was half-curled on the bed, his face a thundercloud. “You play these games often?” He clearly had no idea what his brothers had been up to in his villa. As he struggled, the chains on the cuffs tightened. I poked my finger into his cheek, feigning surprise. “Don’t you remember? You bought these for me.” “You don’t need me to unlock them, do you?” I adjusted my robe, batting my eyelashes innocently. “You said you had a surprise for me the other day. I can’t believe it was this. You’re making me blush.” Jake’s face grew even darker. His best friend… …in his marital home… …gave his wife… …a very special gift. A gift that he had now received, and couldn’t get off. “I guess you’re not in the mood to play tonight.” I fought back a wave of hysterical laughter, wiped away a non-existent tear, and climbed over him. “I’ll just sleep in the guest room then. Don’t worry about me. I’m not afraid of sleeping alone. Really.” “Wait!” Jake gritted out. “Do me a favor.” Of course, I didn’t unlock him. I just tossed him his phone. I’d considered keeping it, but if he died and it was blamed on me, my bank account might suffer. All that money, left to the whims of strangers? Unacceptable. Jake called for help. Half an hour later, a luxury car pulled up to the villa. I opened the door. The night wind felt cool against my neck. Leo, the sixth brother, took a deep breath. Last night, in the dark, he had promised to make me cry. Tonight, he was here to unlock his best friend. The phone call between them must have been excruciating. As I was heading up the stairs, I stumbled. Leo’s hand shot out, steadying me by the waist. “Careful, baby.” I regained my balance and shot him a look. “What did you just call me?” He quickly retracted his hand, clearing his throat. “Ma’am.” The man who had spent nights whispering “baby” in my ear now couldn’t even spare me a second glance. The injustice of it all. I didn’t call him out. “Are you a locksmith or something?” “What?” I pushed open the bedroom door. Jake was still trapped on the bed, his face like stone, the chains rattling as he clenched his fists. I pointed at the cold metal on his wrists. “For that.” 4 In the dead silence between the two brothers, my feigned ignorance was a work of art. A poor, sheltered girl from a small town. What would I know? Leo followed the instructions and finally freed Jake. The two best friends stood in stony silence. My phone rang, shattering the tension. I hung up. “I have a client for a manicure. I have to go.” When you have too much money, you start wanting to “experience life.” In other words, you invent hardships for yourself. I had opened a nail salon. Business was slow, but I had a few loyal customers. Jake clearly had things to discuss with Leo. He tossed me his car keys and told me to take his car. As I headed to the garage, I could hear the sounds of a fight breaking out upstairs. “You went too fucking far!” “You’re the one who wanted to be a monk! You’re blaming me?!” Who won, who lost? I couldn’t care less. The sea breeze was refreshing. I sat in my private cabana by the beach, my toolkit open, a rainbow of polish bottles laid out. I held a man’s hand in mine, his fingers long and elegant. I carefully applied a coat of shimmering polish. Seeing a speck of dust, I gently blew it away. The man’s body tensed. “You’re a hard woman to book an appointment with.” I worked on each nail meticulously. “I’m the owner. You’re lucky to get me once a month.” I placed a tiny pink heart sticker on his middle finger. “Like it?” I looked up and met his intense gaze. He was watching me. Suddenly, he covered my eyes with his hand. His lips, warm and soft, pressed against mine. “Sera, I’m a man. I don’t care about the manicure.” This was Ethan, the first brother. The muscular one, lean and powerful but not intimidating. After three minutes, I pushed him away and slapped him. Ouch. My hand stung. “My name is Seraphina.” “I know!” Ethan stared at me for a moment, then took my reddened hand and gently blew on it. “That must have hurt. I remember you don’t like pain.” Dude, it’s a little late for that now. I’m not one to go back for seconds. I made an excuse and left. Ethan followed me. “Jake has always hated women. He swore he was going to be a monk. As his wife, you must have suffered a lot. But I’m different. You were happy with me, weren’t you?” I stopped. Against the light, he looked even more handsome. I could never bring myself to be mean to a handsome man. I took a few more steps and stopped again. From this angle, he wasn’t nearly as attractive. I slapped him again, decisively. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! You’re just a client. I’m a married woman. Please have some respect and stay away from me!” What a joke. I was the victim here. Did he really think I was going to have an honest conversation with him? Not a chance. Ethan tried to soothe my hand again. I snatched it away, turned on my thousand-dollar heels, clutched my forty-thousand-dollar Chanel bag, and stormed off to my million-dollar Ferrari. And came face-to-face with a stone-cold Jake. His fingers were tapping on the steering wheel, a tell-tale sign of his displeasure. “Have you been in contact with him this whole time?” He had just been in a fight with Leo. A fresh bruise on his cheek made his already severe face look even more menacing.

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My husband, Henry, had a terrible temper. He was rarely home, and when he was, he’d storm in like a king, ordering everyone around. It’s why my best friend was always telling me to divorce him. In my last life, I listened. I screamed back at him, and after the final, explosive fight, I packed up my parents, my son, and left. But I never imagined how impossible it would be to support my family alone. When I tried to crawl back to Henry, I found him with her—my best friend. She’d tricked him into becoming her little puppet, and he’d handed over every penny he had. Only then did I realize she’d wanted him all along, plotting to steal him for herself. My world shattered. Driving home in a daze, I was hit by a truck. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the moment Serena first started poisoning my mind, urging me to leave him. This time, without a second thought, I blocked her number. Then I turned to my husband, who was in the middle of ranting about how my clothes were a disgrace and my taste was garbage, and I smiled sweetly. “You’re right, honey. I’ll go change right now. Whatever you want.” 1 In our two years of marriage, it was the first time I’d ever met his anger with a smile. It actually stunned him into silence for a second. While he was still processing, I’d already slipped out of my t-shirt and jeans and emerged from the walk-in closet in a silk slip dress. The hard lines of Henry’s face softened. “That’s better,” he said, his voice losing its edge. “Don’t wear those ugly things again. They do nothing for you.” Who wears a slip dress to lounge around the house? No one. But Henry liked to see it. If I didn’t do exactly what he wanted, his words turned to daggers. I used to burn with indignation. We’d fallen in love on our own terms, we were both actors in the same industry—why did a marriage certificate suddenly make me his subordinate? I refused to accept it. Every time he criticized my clothes, I fought back, hard. One fight, then another, and another. He’d always end up red-faced with fury, and I’d be left with a bitter taste in my mouth. Afterward, I’d vent to my best friend, Serena. Her advice was always the same. “I’m just saying, Clara,” she’d start, “we live in an age of equality. What man gets to act like a tyrant in his own home these days? Other guys treat their wives like queens, terrified of hurting their feelings. And then there’s Henry. He thinks dropping a little money every month makes him lord of the manor. It’s one thing for you to put up with it, but making your parents walk on eggshells? That’s just cruel. If I were you, I’d divorce him. Find some hot young actor and see how he likes that.” As angry as I was, I always hesitated. “But… I’ve been out of the industry for so long. And Leo is only a year old. If I leave him now, how will I find work?” Serena would cut me off. “Are you kidding me? You’re just as talented as he is, if not more. Besides, I’m still in the business. I can get you auditions. We don’t need a man to survive.” Despite her words, the thought of divorce terrified me. I let things drag on with Henry, stuck in our cycle of fighting and making up. Then came the time he went to shoot a film deep in the mountains and was gone for three months. A nasty flu swept through the city, and everyone in my house—my parents, my son, and me—came down with it. I was burning up, my fever spiking to 103. When I called Henry, I could hear the chaos of the film set in the background. He barely let me get two words out before he exploded. “Clara, for God’s sake, you’re a grown woman! Go to a doctor! Hire a nurse! What do you think I give you all that money for? I’m in the middle of nowhere, I can’t just drop everything and come back. Why are you calling me and adding to my stress?” Listening to the symphony of coughs and cries from the living room, I felt a wave of fear and self-pity wash over me. My voice trembled. “Henry, I just… I needed to hear your voice. I needed some comfort.” “I don’t have time for this!” He took a sharp breath; I could hear a director yelling for him in the distance. He reined in his anger. “Figure it out yourself, Clara. The whole crew, hundreds of people, have been waiting for this snowstorm. We have to shoot. Don’t call me for the next few days. I’ll text you when I’m free.” He hung up. Then, he blocked my number. I stared at the red exclamation point on my screen, my heart fracturing. Just then, Serena called. When I told her what happened, she rushed over and helped me get my parents and Leo to the hospital. After everyone was settled, she sat beside me, sighing dramatically. “See? What did I tell you? That man is useless. Besides throwing money at you, what good is he?” I was numb, unable to speak. A moment later, my phone buzzed with a dozen videos from her—all about how to leave a man who isn’t there for you when you need him most. As I watched, the idea of leaving Henry started to feel less like a threat and more like a promise. What I didn’t know was that Serena had her own agenda. I’d forgotten that without Henry, I’d also be without the $50,000 he deposited into my account every month. The money Serena dismissed as “useless” was what gave me, my parents, and my son a life of comfort and ease. So, when I opened my eyes to this second chance, Henry’s role in my life was redefined. He was no longer my husband. He was my patron, my ATM, my golden goose. If I had to flatter a boss to keep a job, what were a few harsh words from the man who funded my entire life? With that clarity, I forced a smile onto my face. “You must be exhausted, honey,” I said, looking at him. “Let me run a bath for you.” He just nodded, his anger deflating into confusion. 2 In the bathroom, I drew a steaming bath for him, even testing the water with Leo’s little rubber duck to make sure the temperature was perfect. When Henry came in, his eyes were still on me, searching. “Clara.” “Hmm?” “Are you still mad at me? I told you, I had to block you. It was an emergency. You’ve been on set, you know the pressure when hundreds of people are waiting on you.” He spoke quickly, his voice tight. “We drove hours to that remote location just for that one snowstorm. If we missed the shot, the whole production would have been delayed. I couldn’t let that happen. You, of all people, should understand.” He was getting worked up again. In my past life, this would have been my cue to plant my hands on my hips and let him have it. So, your job is more important than your wife and child? Our whole family is in the hospital, and you’re mad that I called you? But now, I understood. Henry was a simple man. Like most men, he wanted a wife to make his life easier, not harder. The thrill of the chase was for dating; marriage was for comfort, for peace, for enjoying the warmth of a home without any effort. I stepped closer and wrapped my arms around his neck, nuzzling him like a cat. “I know,” I whispered. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called. I was panicking and wasn’t thinking about what was happening on your end. You just spent months roughing it in the mountains. You need to relax. Get in the bath. We can talk about it after you’ve rested, okay?” I stroked his cheek. I could feel the tension drain out of him. For once, he didn’t lash out. He let out a long sigh, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “Clara, if only you were always this understanding.” 3 I knew why he said that. I was eight years younger than him, practically still a kid when we got married. When we were dating, he’d spoiled me rotten, giving me anything I wanted. After I got pregnant, my parents moved in. As their only child, they doted on me, turning me into even more of a princess. Henry used to joke that he felt less like he’d married a wife and more like he’d adopted a daughter. I thought it was a sign of his love. Then I saw him with Serena. She was so subservient to him that when his shoelace came undone, she would drop to her knees and tie it for him. Henry would look at her, his heart melting. “You don’t have to do that. I can get it.” Serena would just smile. “I know. But I want to take care of you. You had it so rough with Clara. Let me be the one to love you now. Let me spoil you.” Her words were like a magic spell. He would pull her into his arms, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you, baby. I never knew what love was until I met you. Come on, let’s go to the mall. I’ll buy you a new Louis Vuitton.” Serena would feign protest. “Oh, honey, you work so hard for your money. You don’t need to spend it on me.” But she never said no. Instead, she’d kiss him deeply. I watched them like a creep, a ghost from his past, as they strolled hand-in-hand through the luxury boutiques. Henry, who was always so quick to anger with me, was a sea of calm with Serena. If he ever raised his voice, she would gently place a hand on his chest and whisper, “Easy, honey. You’re scaring me when you talk so loud.” And he would instantly soften, docile as a puppy. Watching her masterful performance, I finally understood how naive I’d been. Henry was a catch. Parents deceased, ruggedly handsome, and a titan in the industry. Marrying him had been like winning the lottery. He’d moved my parents into the sprawling mansion he’d bought, and we all lived under his roof. He was gone for months at a time filming, and the $50,000 he sent every month was more than enough for us to live in luxury. On top of that, there were the diamond necklaces, the designer bags, and the million-dollar checks he’d write for my parents at the end of the year. He wasn’t reckless with his fortune, either. He invested in real estate and had set up a massive education fund for our son. He was a perfect man, aside from his foul temper. Why on earth had I ever thought of letting him go? I wanted to slap myself for being so foolish, for ruining my life and the lives of my family. This time, I would take a page out of Serena’s book. I would conquer him with softness. I refused to fail again. 4 The next day, Henry slept in until noon. Just like they always did, my parents kept his breakfast warm in the oven, waiting for him to wake up. I put Leo down for his nap and ate a couple of pastries. My mom sidled up to me, nudging me in the ribs. “Well, look at you. Being a good girl today? Not a single complaint about Henry sleeping in?” In the past, my patience would have worn thin by 10 a.m. I would have stormed into the bedroom, ripped the covers off him, and yelled at him for disrespecting my parents by not eating with the family. This time, I just smiled at her. “He’s exhausted from filming, Mom. Let him sleep. I’m a mother now, I can’t keep acting like a child.” “Oh, honey, come listen to this!” my mom called out to my dad, laughing. “Our daughter says she’s grown up!” Watching my parents chuckle together, a familiar ache bloomed in my chest. In my last life, when I’d insisted on the divorce, we had very little money. To maintain our standard of living, they’d both had to find jobs in their old age. I couldn’t imagine how they managed after I died. And Leo. He was just a baby, left without a mother. The pain was so sharp it brought tears to my eyes. Just then, Henry opened the bedroom door and saw me, my face streaked with tears. Something in his chest clenched. He walked over. “What’s wrong? Who upset you?” I quickly wiped my eyes and shook my head. “No one. I was just thinking how lucky I am, how happy this life is.” Henry stared at me, another flicker of surprise in his eyes. After he showered, he took his seat at the head of the table. I served him a plate of food and a bowl of soup. “Mom was simmering this all morning. Try it.” He took a sip, his face stern. “It’s good. But a bit heavy on the garlic next time.” My mom smiled awkwardly. “Oh, but the pork belly needs garlic to cut the richness.” “Then find another way,” he said dismissively. “The French cook without garlic all the time and their food is incredible. You have to think outside the box, not just stick to the old ways.” There it was, that familiar, overbearing tone. I felt the old anger rising in my throat. I took a deep breath, forcing it down. “Okay, we’ll try a different recipe next time. I hope you still like everything else. The fish is really good.” I placed a piece of fish on his plate. The rest of the meal was tense. Everyone but Henry ate carefully, cautiously. Afterward, he was heading out for a meeting. He grabbed his phone. “Clara, I transferred $500,000 to your account. Go buy something nice for your parents.” He paused at the door. “Director Zhao wants to go over a script with me. I might be home late.” He’d just gotten back last night, and he was already leaving again. He hadn’t even seen Leo. My first instinct was to ask him to stay a little longer, to at least say hello to his son so the boy wouldn’t forget his face. But then I thought better of it. Of course the golden goose had to go out and make more gold. 5 By the time Henry left, it was already evening. With my parents at home watching Leo, I grabbed my purse and headed to the mall. I’d been suffocating for too long. In the six months between the divorce and the car crash in my past life, I hadn’t bought a single new thing for myself. I walked into the designer boutique and bought every single item I’d seen Henry buy for Serena. I was just stepping out, my arms loaded with bags, when I saw her walking toward me. Serena’s eyes flickered over my haul, a flash of envy in their depths. “Clara, why did you block me?” I met her gaze, my voice cool. “I just didn’t feel like talking.” “We’ve been best friends for five years. You can’t just cut me off like that.” “Yes, I can.” “But why? Clara, you at least owe me a reason.” “We’re just too different.” The last thing I needed was someone constantly whispering in my ear, telling me to leave my golden goose. But Serena wouldn’t give up. She grabbed my arm. “I don’t think I’ve done anything to deserve this. Unless… unless it’s because I gave you some advice when you and Henry were fighting. But I was just trying to help you! A man like Henry, what good is he, really?” I let out a short, sharp laugh. “If he’s so useless, why is he so coveted?” Serena’s face paled. “Who… who’s coveting him? Are you saying… he’s cheating on you?” “Oh, I think we both know who I’m talking about.” I was done with her. I turned to walk away. But I had underestimated her shamelessness. Two days later, she showed up at my door, arms full of gifts, acting as if nothing had happened. My parents, unaware of our falling out, welcomed her in with smiles. “Serena, you’re here! Clara and Henry are still asleep. Would you like to wait?” Serena didn’t answer right away. Her eyes scanned the enormous house, lingering for a moment on the new Hermès bag I’d left in the corner. I came down the stairs just in time to catch the envy on her face. “What are you doing here?” She snapped back to the present. “I came to explain.” Before she could continue, Henry came downstairs, dressed in casual loungewear. A faint love bite was still visible on his neck from our fooling around the night before. Serena’s expression soured. “Honestly, Henry, you two are a little much. There are parents and a child in the house. You could at least try to cover that up.” Henry never liked being criticized, especially in public. He shot her a glare. “This is my house. What I wear is none of your business.” Serena realized her mistake. She forced a conciliatory smile. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I just came by because Clara was so upset when her parents were in the hospital. She said some pretty awful things about you, and I was worried about your marriage.” At her words, Henry’s face darkened with rage. “Clara, you talked about me behind my back?” Serena jumped in. “I told her you had your reasons, but she wouldn’t listen. I think she resents you, feels like you think you can just buy her off. She said you’re a terrible husband and a worse father, always busy with work and never there when it counts. She said any random man off the street would be more useful than you.” 6 As Henry’s expression grew stormier, my mom couldn’t stay silent any longer. “Serena, are you here to mediate or to pour gasoline on the fire? Every word out of your mouth is poison.” I gently held her back. “Mom, you and Dad go upstairs. I’ll handle this.” Once they were gone, I turned to Serena. “Serena, did you really come all this way just to tell him that?” She lifted her chin defiantly. “I was worried you couldn’t handle your husband. We’re best friends. I don’t want to see you get hurt.” “Right.” I walked over to Henry and looped my arm through his, my first priority to diffuse his anger. “I’m so sorry, honey,” I said softly. “I had a fever that day, I wasn’t thinking straight. The words just came out.” I looked up at him, my eyes wide and pleading. “You can yell at me, hit me, whatever you want. Just don’t be angry. Please, let’s get you some breakfast before your stomach starts hurting.” Henry’s face was a stone mask, but he didn’t pull away. I led him to the dining table and ladled a bowl of oatmeal for him. “You love the artisanal pickles, let me get you some.” His voice was hard. “No. First, explain what she was talking about.” His hand was hot, his muscles coiled with tension. He was barely holding his anger in check. If I had tried to defend myself out of pride, it would have erupted into a full-blown war. But this time, I just focused on him, my voice trembling with concern. Then I knelt beside his chair, taking his hand and pressing it against my cheek. “Henry, do you know what happened that day? Leo’s fever shot up to 105. He had a febrile seizure. The doctor said if we’d been a few minutes later, it could have been… permanent.” Tears started to well up in my eyes. “My dad was vomiting blood, my mom had an inflammation of the heart… it felt like my whole family was knocking on death’s door. And I was alone. I was trying so hard to hold it all together, and when Serena showed up, it was like she was a lifeline. I just… I broke down. I said things I shouldn’t have.” Fat tears rolled down my cheeks as I rested my head on his knee. “I know I was wrong. I should never have tarnished your reputation like that. Please… punish me. I’ll never do it again. I’m so sorry, Henry, I’m so, so sorry.” I sobbed, my body shaking. Showing weakness, turning on the waterworks… I’m a Juilliard-trained actress, after all. A few tears are nothing. At first, Henry just watched me, his expression cold. But as my crying intensified, my nose turning red, my breath catching in ragged gasps, he finally moved. He let out a deep sigh and pulled me to my feet, wrapping his arms around me. “Okay, okay, stop crying,” he murmured into my hair. “It’s fine. I’m not mad anymore.”

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My daughter has reached that charmingly treacherous age where she doesn’t lie, but she’ll say the most terrifying things with a straight face. From the backseat of the car, she asked her father in all seriousness, “Daddy, when are we going back to that nice nurse’s house for milkshakes?” I watched my husband’s face tighten, then I gently probed for more information. “Was the nurse pretty, sweetie?” My daughter nodded enthusiastically. Then she leaned forward and whispered to her dad, “Is it a secret?” Just as I was deciding on the perfect spot to bury my husband’s body, he rubbed his temples and let out a weary laugh. “Lily, are you trying to tear this family apart?” he said. “I took you to The Nightingale Cafe. It’s a cafe, honey, not a nurse’s house.” My heart, which had been lodged in my throat, settled back into my chest. That night, my daughter snuck into my bed and whispered in my ear. “Mommy, I remembered it wrong. It wasn’t a nurse, and it wasn’t a milkshake.” “It was another lady. She made iced tea for me and Daddy at her house.” “They were in the kitchen making it for two hours. I was so thirsty…” 1 My daughter’s words were a shard of ice, plunging unexpectedly into my heart. I lay rigid in bed, the blood in my veins turning to slush. Beside me, my daughter’s small body was warm, her breathing even. She was fast asleep. But I felt like I’d been plunged into a frozen lake, cold from head to toe. Her words ricocheted around my mind like a stampede, threatening to trample my sanity. My first thought was of Kevin’s high school sweetheart. But I forced myself to calm down, telling myself over and over that my daughter was young, that her memory was unreliable. She’d just confused “The Nightingale Cafe” with a nurse’s house; it was entirely possible she was mixing up iced tea and milkshakes, too. You can’t take a child’s words as gospel. The next morning, I tried again, feigning casualness. “Sweetie, that lady you told me about yesterday, what did she look like? Do you remember?” My daughter, in the middle of stuffing a piece of toast into her mouth, tilted her head and thought very seriously. “Umm… she had long, curly hair. It was a little lighter than your hair, Mommy.” My heart eased slightly. I had seen Kevin’s ex just last week; she had a sharp, stylish bob. But I pressed on. “And did you see Daddy and the lady… do anything?” She shook her head, her voice muffled by the toast. “Nope. They were just in the kitchen. I waited for a long, long, long time before they came out.” “What were they talking about when they came out?” “I couldn’t hear very well. Daddy seemed kind of unhappy, and the lady’s eyes were all red, like she was crying.” The pieces of the story formed a hazy, unsettling picture in my mind, like looking through fogged glass. I couldn’t see anything clearly, but I knew something was wrong. My daughter hadn’t seen any concrete proof. She was just a child, describing what she saw through her own limited understanding. But it was that very uncertainty, the vague and suggestive nature of her account, that felt like a dull knife sawing back and forth across my heart. I decided I had to find out for myself. I started watching Kevin, subtly at first. His phone, his schedule, his credit card statements. His phone was clean. Chat logs were sparse, call histories filled with work colleagues and family. He seemed so certain of my trust that he didn’t even bother to hide anything. Then I checked his credit card statement. A series of strange charges crawled across the page like a line of ants. They were small amounts—a few hundred dollars here and there—tucked between his usual expenses. You wouldn’t notice them unless you were looking closely. But they were frequent, almost weekly. There was a charge from a trendy online women’s boutique, a style I would never wear. There were bills from a high-end sushi restaurant on nights he claimed he was working late at the office, eating takeout with his project team. The most glaring charge was from a boutique hotel on a weekday afternoon. I printed the statement and circled every suspicious transaction in red ink. That evening, Kevin came home early, bringing me a carton of fresh strawberries. He saw me on the sofa, my face a grim mask, the heavily marked paper spread out on the coffee table. He froze. I pushed the statement toward him, my voice dangerously calm. “Kevin. Explain these.” 2 He picked up the paper and went through it, line by line. His brow furrowed slightly, but there was no trace of panic on his face. “This dress was a birthday gift for a client’s wife. Her husband helped us out of a huge jam on the new project; I had to show my appreciation.” “These restaurants were all business dinners.” “See? The dates line up. I was with the clients from the Apex account that night. The receipts are in my car; I can show you tomorrow.” “And the hotel,” he said, pointing to the charge that had twisted my stomach into knots, his tone perfectly reasonable, “our partners from out of town came in. We booked a room for a few hours to have a meeting. It was quieter and more private than a coffee shop.” His explanations were flawless, his logic impeccable. He even offered to produce the receipts to prove it. He looked at me, his eyes filled with a weary sort of patience, not the anger of a man wrongly accused. He didn’t even chastise me for my lack of trust. “Honey, I know I haven’t been spending enough time with you and Lily lately, and it’s making your mind run wild. That’s my fault.” He moved to hug me, but I flinched away. His hands hovered in the air for an awkward moment before he let them drop. “I’ll be more careful from now on,” he said, his voice soft, as if soothing a hysterical child. “I’ll make sure to tell you about these things beforehand so there are no more misunderstandings.” I stared at him, speechless. I felt like a fool who had wound up for a knockout punch, only to sink my fist into a feather pillow. All my anger, my suspicion, my hurt—it was all choked off by his perfect, placid response, leaving a suffocating lump in my chest. I couldn’t find a single crack in his story. I even began to wonder if I was the one who was overthinking things, who was too sensitive. Two days later, my mother-in-law called. She dispensed with the usual pleasantries and got straight to the point. “Maya, Kevin tells me you two have been having some trouble lately.” I gripped the phone, leaning against the cold railing of the balcony, and watched the traffic flow below. “We’re fine, Mom.” “Good,” she said, her tone softening slightly. But her next words were like a soft, sharp blade, twisting in my heart. “Maya, I know it’s hard raising a child, but you have to understand it’s not easy for Kevin, either. A man has it much harder, trying to build a career, all the networking and entertaining he has to do. It’s all for the family. You need to be more understanding, be his support system. Don’t add to his stress, you hear me?” “A happy home needs a woman who can be generous and look past the small things. You know what kind of man Kevin is. Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill.” I listened in silence, not saying a word. Yes, what kind of man was Kevin? To the outside world, he was the perfect family man who adored his wife. To his mother, he was the responsible, dependable son. After I hung up, I felt a profound sense of isolation. My husband, with his patience and reason, had deflected all my accusations, leaving me with no outlet for my rage. I felt like a madwoman, utterly alone. I could see the elephant in the room, clear as day, but everyone around me was insisting there was nothing there, that my eyes were playing tricks on me. That feeling was more suffocating than catching him red-handed. Because my husband… he hadn’t even raised his voice. He had used the gentlest method possible to push me into the deepest abyss. 3 I had to find proof. I secretly planted a tiny, nearly invisible camera in Kevin’s car. For the next few days, I was a voyeur, glued to my phone screen. On the camera, Kevin’s life was painfully normal. Driving to work, picking up our daughter, the occasional trip to the grocery store. It was so normal it was terrifying. Until Friday. After work, he didn’t come straight home. A woman opened the passenger door and got in. My heart stopped. I stared at the screen, my breath catching in my throat. It was her. The woman my daughter had described, the one with the long, curly hair. But their conversation was another punch into a pillow. They talked about work, the stock market, gossip about a mutual friend. They even talked about me; Kevin mentioned casually that I’d been tired from work lately. Their conversation was like that of two old friends catching up—familiar, but with a carefully maintained distance. There wasn’t a single inappropriate word. She was out of the car in less than fifteen minutes. I rewatched the video again and again, searching for a flaw. I found none. But a woman, a woman who had no business being in his car, had appeared. That, in itself, was the biggest flaw of all. That night, after Lily was asleep, I took the phone and played the video for Kevin. “Who is she?” I asked. He watched it, his first reaction a flicker of surprise, then a look of weary resignation settled on his face. He was silent for so long I thought he was inventing a new lie. “She’s an old classmate,” he finally said. “Remember when you were out of town and Lily came down with a fever in the middle of the night? I rushed her to the ER, and it was an absolute zoo, packed like Grand Central Station. I ran into her there. She’s a nurse at that hospital. She called in a favor and got us bumped up the line so Lily could be seen right away. I took her out to dinner once to thank her.” His explanation was so plausible it made me feel like a hysterical shrew. He looked at me, his eyes filled with a disappointment I had never seen before. “Because of one thing our daughter said, a thing you don’t even know is true, you start suspecting me? You put a camera in my car, you treat me like a criminal.” He stood up and began pacing the living room, his voice tight with suppressed fury. “Maya, for years, I have worked my ass off for this family, for our marriage. And how do you repay me? You violate my privacy, you interrogate me like a detective. How are we supposed to live like this?” He stormed into his study and slammed the door. He didn’t sleep in our bedroom that night. The next day, he didn’t come home at all. He said he needed some time to cool off. I fell for it. Then I secretly followed him. He didn’t go to a hotel or any other suspicious place. He went to an upscale apartment complex. I hid behind a hedge like a private eye, feeling sordid and small. A few minutes later, a man came down to meet him. They were carrying beer and cigarettes, and they walked upstairs with their arms slung around each other’s shoulders. He looked exactly like any other good husband, blowing off steam with a buddy after a fight with his wife. I sat on a cold stone bench, staring up at the lighted window, feeling more lost and powerless than ever. Every lead was a dead end. I began to wonder if, as his mother said, I was the one with the problem. Was I the one pushing our family to the brink? 4 Kevin must have known I was following him, but he never said a word. Then, at a party with friends, the conversation turned to marriage. Kevin, holding a glass of wine, sighed with a mixture of humor and sincerity. “You guys are lucky. I don’t know what’s gotten into my wife lately. She’s so on edge, suspicious of everything. It’s like she’s a different person. I guess it’s my fault for being so busy. I haven’t been giving her the security she needs.” His words were thoughtful, taking all the blame on himself, but the way our friends looked at me changed. I sat there, my face burning, my hands and feet cold. I felt like a clown, stripped naked for everyone to stare at. I was being driven mad. A consensus began to form around me. Everyone pitied poor Kevin, such a good man, saddled with a paranoid, unstable wife. I locked myself at home, replaying every detail in my mind, but I couldn’t find a way forward. Was I really crazy? Had I invented an enemy that didn’t exist? That night, after Lily was asleep, I sat on the living room sofa and scrolled through the photos I had secretly taken outside that apartment building. The picture of Kevin and the other man was a little blurry. I stared at it, trying to will some clue into existence. Lily padded over to me, rubbing her eyes, and rested her head on my arm. She glanced at my phone screen and pointed a tiny finger at the blurry figure of the other man. “Mommy,” she said in her sweet, sleepy voice, “why do you have a picture of the Milkshake Man?” “The Milkshake Man?” I was confused. “Who’s that?” Her finger jabbed at the screen. “That man. The last time I was with Daddy, I was so, so thirsty, and he’s the one who came and got me and took me for a yummy milkshake.”

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The day my best friend quit her job, I started writing my resignation letter too. My manager, passing by, scoffed. “Her parents supported her before she got married, and her husband supports her now. She’s worth millions. And you?” He sneered. “With that pathetic salary of yours, can you even afford a plane ticket?” I was an orphan as a child. A student on financial aid in college. Now, just cheap labor. There really wasn’t much about me to command respect. But… “I can afford it.” My best friend says her husband isn’t nearly as much fun as I am. She’s paying me ten million dollars to be her companion on her trip around the world—take some photos, keep her company, all expenses paid. And ten million dollars? It’s just enough to buy this entire company. 1 “That’s it. I’m done.” My best friend, Jessica, slammed her resignation letter onto our director’s desk. The entire office fell silent. Dozens of pairs of eyes swiveled in her direction. Our director, Mr. Thompson, a paunchy man in his forties, adjusted his glasses and picked up the letter. “Now, Jessie, let’s not be hasty. If you have a grievance, you can always bring it to the company.” Jessica crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “And you’d do something about it? You stole my numbers last month. You stole my creative concept the month before that. And the bonus you promised me? Did your dog eat it?” A flush crept up Mr. Thompson’s neck, but he forced a smile. “Jessie, that’s not how it happened…” “I’m done talking to you,” she cut him off. She pulled the keys to her Rolls-Royce Phantom from her purse and twirled them around her finger. “My resignation is on your desk. Approve it or don’t. Either way, tomorrow, I’m starting my trip around the world.” With that, she spun on her heel and strode out. She paused at my desk and leaned in close. “What are you waiting for?” she whispered. “Get your letter signed and let’s blow this popsicle stand. We’re not wasting another minute on this leech.” I nodded and kept typing. After she left, the silence was shattered by a wave of whispers. “God, to be able to just walk out like that.” “Well, she can afford to. You know who her dad is, who her husband is. We’re not in the same league.” “Seriously. If I had a husband pulling in eight figures, I’d slap my resignation on his face, too.” Amid the murmurs, I finished my own letter. When I pushed open the door to his office, Mr. Thompson was leaning back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips. “You’re quitting, too?” I placed the letter on his desk. “Yes, Mr. Thompson. I’m resigning.” He stared at me, then let out a short, sharp laugh that grew until his shoulders were shaking. The sound, thick with contempt, was jarringly loud in the quiet office. He wiped a tear from his eye and pointed at me. “Jessica is quitting to go home and be a pampered wife, to pop out a few kids. Her parents left her ten condos downtown, and her husband is on the board of a publicly-traded company. They’re practically royalty.” He leaned forward, his hands clasped on the desk, and looked me up and down. “And you, Anna?” “You came from an orphanage. You put yourself through college on student loans. You make five thousand a month. After you pay your loans and your rent, what’s left?” He picked up his desk calculator and made a show of punching in numbers. “Let’s see… is that even enough for a budget flight to Miami?” His words were a dull knife, twisting in my gut. He was right. I came from an orphanage. I was drowning in student debt. I was the company’s cheap labor, and my five-thousand-dollar monthly salary was barely enough to survive on. From his perspective, I had nothing. But did being poor and having no connections mean I deserved to be humiliated like this? 2 Seeing my silence, Mr. Thompson’s smugness grew. He leaned back, his hands folded over his paunch, his chin held high. “Anna, a person needs to know their place.” His voice was low, but loud enough for the entire office to hear. “Don’t get swept up in the drama of the rich. You can’t even reach their world on your tiptoes.” Every word was a cold needle against my skin. I had no family, no background. I didn’t even know who my parents were. Jessica was my only friend. She took me to fancy restaurants, bought me clothes I could only dream of, and never once made me feel small for being poor. She said we were best friends. But to Mr. Thompson, I was just a pathetic hanger-on. He seemed pleased by the stricken look on my face. “Go back to your desk and get to work,” he said, bestowing his magnanimity upon me. “And I’ll even consider adding three hundred dollars to your performance bonus this month.” Three hundred dollars. For the project I’d pulled three all-nighters on, the one he’d put his name on and received a ten-thousand-dollar bonus for. For the creative concept I had meticulously developed, the one he had presented as his own to climb another rung up the corporate ladder. Three hundred dollars wasn’t compensation. It was an insult. Blood rushed to my head. I heard my own voice, hoarse and quiet, but perfectly clear. “I am resigning.” This time, there was no hesitation, no softening of the words. It was a statement of fact. The smile froze on his face. “Anna, do you think jobs grow on trees? Look at any job site. There are hundreds of applicants for every position. What do you have? A degree from a top school? Years of experience on major projects?” His voice turned venomous. “You walk out that door, and I’ll make sure you never work in this industry again. Your file, your letter of recommendation… it all goes through me.” He gestured to a filing cabinet. “All it takes is a few choice words from me, and you’re finished.” I dug my nails into my palms. I knew he would do it. It was how he controlled all of us at the bottom. He got off on the power. “I’m giving you one last chance,” he said, leaning back again, resuming his throne. “Take back your letter, tear it up, and we’ll forget this ever happened. And I’ll still give you the three hundred dollars.” He wouldn’t let me go. He didn’t need an employee; he needed a scapegoat, a workhorse he could exploit without complaint. A nobody he could bully. I knew if I backed down, I would keep my job. I could pay my rent next month. But I also knew that if I backed down, I would be affirming that I was a person who could be trampled on. He would only get worse. I would be trapped under his thumb, bled dry until I had nothing left to give. 3 “Mr. Thompson, you know exactly why I’m resigning.” “When you presented my proposal, you didn’t even bother to leave my name on the PowerPoint.” “The project bonus last month was twelve thousand dollars. You told me, ‘Young people should be willing to sacrifice for the company,’ and kept it all.” “I have records of everything.” With every fact I stated, a muscle in his jaw twitched. “What do you think will happen if I forward all of this in a mass email to the entire company?” I wasn’t Jessica. I couldn’t afford to burn bridges. But I wasn’t a doormat, either. The bonuses he’d pocketed, the credit he’d stolen—I remembered it all. He thought I was an easy target. He was about to find out that even a cornered mouse will bite. His face turned a blotchy red. He stared at me, his eyes burning with a furious hatred. Finally, he ground out two words. “Get. Out.” He snatched the letter from the desk and scrawled his name on it. “Now, get out!” I took the signed letter and turned to leave. As I reached the door, his voice stopped me. “Wait.” I paused, my back to him. “Anna, if we’re going to do this by the book, then we’ll do it all by the book.” His voice had regained its familiar, smug tone. “Company policy states that employees must give one month’s notice. You’ll be expected to complete a thorough handover.” I considered it. It was company policy. If I left now, he could withhold my final paycheck and my official termination papers. I nodded. “Fine. I’ll work out my notice.” 4 Back at my desk, my colleagues scattered, suddenly engrossed in their work. But I could feel their eyes on me—a mixture of pity, glee, and indifference. My phone buzzed. It was Jessica. Done yet? I’m downstairs. I’ll take you out for a celebratory feast. Welcome to your new life! I typed back: Thompson is making me work a one-month notice period. Her call came instantly. “What? Are you kidding me? You know what he’s going to do, right? He’s going to squeeze every last drop of blood out of you for the next thirty days.” I knew. But knowing and being able to do something about it were two different things. “Jessie, I…” “What are you waiting for?” she demanded. “I told you, I’m backing you! You’re going to start your own company! You’ll be his boss! What are you afraid of?”

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1 On my commute, I saw a forum post titled: “Expecting a boy but overwhelmed with work. How can I get colleagues to help?” The OP shared her excitement about carrying the “family heir” but complained of morning sickness and a heavy workload, asking how to make coworkers more considerate. The comments tore into her entitlement: “Why work if the baby’s so precious?” and “Your husband should step up, not your colleagues.” Ignoring the backlash, she liked a manipulative suggestion: “Pick a quiet, young colleague to be the godmother—she won’t refuse, and you can boss her around.” I reported the post. Then, at work, my desk neighbor happily announced, “I’m pregnant—two months along!” Felicia’s voice was bright and cheerful, pitched just loud enough for the entire open-plan office to hear. A chorus of congratulations immediately filled the air. “Wow, Felicia, you’re going to be a mom!” “Congratulations!” Amid the well-wishes, Felicia grabbed my hand with an almost cloying warmth. “Chloe, you and I are the closest here. You’re so brilliant, I’ve always thought of you as a little sister.” “So, I wanted to ask if you would be my baby’s godmother. Let him soak up some of your good fortune!” I froze. The forum post flashed through my mind, specifically the line about “finding a quiet pushover to be the godmother.” It couldn’t be… that much of a coincidence, could it? I gently pulled my hand back, my smile feeling stiff and unnatural. “Congratulations, Felicia, that’s wonderful news. But… isn’t it a bit early to be asking me to be a godmother?” “I only just graduated. I’m practically still a kid myself.” Linda, a veteran colleague nearing retirement, chimed in with a good-natured laugh. “She’s right, Felicia. Chloe doesn’t even have a boyfriend yet. It wouldn’t be proper for her to be a godmother.” I shot her a grateful look. “Exactly! Linda’s right. My mom has warned me about that, too.” Felicia’s smile faltered for a split second, a flicker of annoyance in her eyes. But she quickly plastered it back on. “Oh, listen to me, getting carried away with excitement. I wasn’t thinking.” She said she wasn’t thinking, but she didn’t move. She clearly wasn’t finished. After a few seconds of silence, Felicia placed a hand on her still-flat stomach, her voice turning soft and frail. “Being pregnant is such a blessing, but sigh…” “It’s just this first trimester. The symptoms are hitting me so hard. I’m dizzy, nauseous, and my back aches if I sit for too long.” “And the subway every day… it’s so crowded, and I worry about the radiation from the security scanners. I don’t know if it’s safe for the baby…” Her tone shifted. “Chloe, don’t you drive to work every day?” “I was wondering… could I possibly get a ride with you?” A ride? We live in completely opposite directions. What she wanted wasn’t a ride, it was a free chauffeur. I laughed coldly to myself but put on a troubled, apologetic expression. “Oh, Felicia, what terrible timing.” “My car broke down last Friday. The mechanic said they have to order a part from out of state, and it’ll take at least a month. See? I had to take the subway this morning, too.” I held up my hands in a gesture of helplessness. I was suddenly incredibly grateful that I’d been too busy to get gas last weekend. This morning, the car wouldn’t even start. Felicia’s expression froze, a mixture of disappointment and disbelief. She looked like she wanted to argue but eventually just squeezed out a dry, “Really? What a coincidence.” At lunchtime, I took out my insulated lunch box. Today’s main course was pan-seared salmon. My mom knew it was my favorite and made a point of waking up early every day to pack me a lunch. The moment I twisted the lid open, a figure appeared at my side. Felicia stood over my desk and took a long, deep sniff of my food. “Wow, Chloe, that smells incredible!” Then, she clutched her chest as if in discomfort. “My morning sickness has been so bad, the smell of everything makes me sick. I can’t keep anything down.” “But the second I smelled your lunch… poof! My appetite is back!” Felicia stroked her abdomen and sighed dramatically. “This isn’t me being greedy. It must be my baby craving it!” 2 I… was speechless. She looked at me with wide, expectant eyes. “Chloe, could you bring an extra portion for me tomorrow? You’re already packing a lunch, so one more serving wouldn’t be too much trouble, would it?” Alarm bells went off in my head. Packing lunch for a pregnant woman? If anything she ate made her sick, I’d be the one to blame. No thank you. I forced a smile and quickly deflected. “Felicia, this is just how my mom cooks for me—lots of oil and salt. It might not be suitable for a pregnant woman.” There was no way I was agreeing to this. My mom already worked hard enough making my lunch; why on earth would she cook for Felicia? Felicia’s face fell, her voice instantly turning pitiful. “But I really can’t eat anything else, and the baby needs nutrients…” “Please, Chloe, just help your big sister out. Help the baby. We can discuss payment.” I remained unmoved, continuing my gentle refusal. “How about this, Felicia? I can send you the recipes later. They’re all simple home-cooked meals, so your family can make them for you. It’s always safer to eat food prepared at home.” “Besides, I’ve heard there are a lot of foods pregnant women should avoid. It’s better to have control over what you’re eating.” “My husband doesn’t know how to cook!” Felicia retorted, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “He’s a man! Why would he go into a kitchen and come out reeking of grease?” Her logic was so absurd it was almost funny. So, it was beneath her husband to cook, but my mother was expected to? Before I could say anything else, she reached out, and in a flash, snatched a piece of salmon from my lunch box and popped it into her mouth. I was completely stunned. I never imagined she would just grab food from my container. I was too shocked to even react. She chewed a couple of times, her eyes lighting up. “Oh, it’s fully cooked! This is delicious! My appetite is so off right now, this is exactly the kind of flavorful food I’ve been wanting.” “Chloe, just bring me a portion tomorrow!” Her tone was no longer a request; it was a demand. A knot of frustration tightened in my chest. The contents of that forum post echoed in my mind again. I deliberately furrowed my brow, my expression full of concern. “Felicia, you have to be extra careful when you’re pregnant. You can’t be casual about your diet!” “And my mom’s cooking… she’s not the best. Sometimes things are undercooked, or she adds too much salt. What if you eat it and don’t feel well?” Felicia waved her hand dismissively. “Then just tell your mom to be more careful. Make sure it’s cooked through and not too salty. It’s not a big deal.” She paused. “Are you worried I won’t pay you?” “I’ll give you five dollars a day for ingredients. That should be plenty, right? Vegetables at the supermarket are only a few cents a pound on sale.” When I didn’t respond, she added, “Besides, I’m always looking out for you. Remember that apple I gave you last week?” I almost laughed out loud. That apple was from the company’s complimentary afternoon snack cart. She had just passed one to me. Now it was some grand gesture of generosity? And five dollars? That wouldn’t even cover a corner of this piece of salmon. I took a deep breath and put on a righteous, responsible expression. “Felicia, this isn’t about money. The main thing is that my mom’s cooking isn’t standardized. What if she uses something you can’t eat? I can’t take that responsibility.” “We both need to be cautious. And didn’t you say this morning that your in-laws are placing a lot of importance on this baby?” With that, I turned to our colleague Brenda, who was eating at the next desk. “Brenda, you’ve had kids, you have experience. Isn’t that right? A pregnant woman’s diet needs to be carefully managed, doesn’t it?” Brenda nodded thoughtfully. “Chloe has a point. Felicia, you can’t be too careful with food from outside, especially from someone else’s home kitchen. What if you have an allergy or a bad reaction? That would be serious.” Several other mothers in the office chimed in. “That’s right! You care so much about the baby, you can’t just eat anything!” “Chloe’s young and can eat whatever, but you’re pregnant. Your body is different. You really do need to be particular.” Every word was reasonable, leaving Felicia with no room to argue. She had spent the whole morning bragging about the “precious heir” in her belly. She couldn’t very well turn around and say, “Oh, it’s fine, I can eat whatever.” Still, she wouldn’t give up. “But just once or twice…” “Not even once!” I cut her off immediately. “Felicia, you have to be responsible for your baby! Safety first!” An idea sparked in my mind, and I pulled out my phone. “Oh, I know! Let me recommend a professional meal delivery service for expectant mothers!” “I saw an ad for it. Scientifically balanced, nutritious meals… It’s a bit pricey, over a hundred dollars per meal, but the baby’s health is what’s most important, right?” Over a hundred dollars? Felicia’s lips twitched violently. With everyone watching, she couldn’t deny that her “baby was precious,” but she clearly wasn’t willing to spend that kind of money. She stood there, frozen, and forced a dry laugh. “Well… in that case, never mind. I… I don’t think I have much of an appetite anymore.” 3 That night, I collapsed onto my bed, exhausted. My phone screen lit up. The post I had reported earlier was still active—my report had been rejected. And it had been updated. I opened it. 【I’m so pissed! I tried the advice from you ladies today, but that little witch wouldn’t budge!】 【First, she played dumb to get out of being the godmother. Then at lunch, she deliberately ate amazing food in front of me to taunt me. I asked her nicely to pack an extra meal for me, and she had the nerve to give me attitude in front of everyone and even ganged up on me with the old hags in the office!】 【How can someone be so evil? Is she just jealous that I’m carrying a boy? How can I force her to obey me and show her what happens when you cross me?!】 Reading this, I was now 100% certain who the poster was. Felicia’s behavior was beyond shameless. I snorted with a mix of anger and amusement. The comments below were still mostly negative, but a new “suggestion” had quickly risen to the top. 【Girl, are you dense? Of course she’s going to say no if you ask her in private! You have to master the art of moral blackmail!】 【Find a public setting, in front of all your colleagues, especially your boss, and ask her to be the godmother again… but this time, give her a reason she can’t refuse, or would be too embarrassed to refuse!】 【Think about it. With everyone watching, including management, if she dares to say no, what will people think of her?】 【That she’s cold-hearted and ungrateful! How could she possibly survive in the company after that?】 Someone else added to the thread. 【Exactly! And once she’s the godmother, you’ll have plenty of opportunities to make her spend money.】 【Like when you’re in your postpartum period. Say you want to go to a nice postpartum recovery center, but you’re short on cash? Just ask the godmother to chip in! She agreed in front of everyone, how could she have the nerve to refuse?】 My eyes widened. So that was her game. This wasn’t about finding a godmother; it was about finding a long-term cash cow and ATM. Did she think I was the baby’s father? As expected, the original poster replied enthusiastically. 【This idea is brilliant! Why didn’t I think of that!】 【Perfect timing, too. Our monthly review meeting is in two days. All the staff and managers will be there!】 【Let’s see her try to escape this time!】 Staring at her gleeful words on the screen, a chill ran down my spine. The monthly review meeting was in two days. I turned off my phone and took a deep breath. If that’s how you want to play it, fine. I’ll play along. Two days later, at the monthly review meeting. As soon as Ms. Davis, our director, finished her closing remarks and announced the meeting was over, Felicia suddenly stood up. Under the confused gazes of everyone in the room, she walked to the front. “If I could have everyone’s attention for just one minute, I’d like to take this happy occasion to share some wonderful news!” All eyes turned to her. She placed a hand gently on her stomach, her voice turning sentimental and sorrowful, her eyes welling up. “There’s something that’s been weighing on my heart for a long time… Ever since I got pregnant, I’ve been having the same dream.” “In my dream, my unborn baby keeps telling me that he wants a godmother. And he’s already chosen the person.” Her gaze swept across the room and landed squarely on me. “That person is Chloe!” “We’re the best of friends. She’s kind, talented, and she’s the person I trust most in this world. The dream felt so real, I know it must be fate. It’s a connection my baby chose himself!” By this point, she seemed overwhelmed with emotion, tears shimmering in her eyes. Felicia pulled a small red envelope and a tiny pair of baby socks from her pocket and walked towards me. “Chloe, today, in front of all our managers and colleagues, I solemnly ask you to be my child’s godmother. This is a wish from both me and my baby!” “This envelope and these little socks are a small token from us. Please, you must accept it!” Before I could refuse, she had already shoved the envelope and socks into my hands. A look of triumphant surprise bloomed on Felicia’s face, but then, I smiled. I held the red envelope high in the air, my voice ringing out, full of delight. 4 “This gift from Felicia and the baby is so precious! Since it’s bringing so much good luck, I have a suggestion. Why don’t we donate this red envelope?” “We can buy afternoon tea for the entire department! Let’s all share in the good fortune!” “From now on, this baby will be our whole department’s treasure. What do you all say? We can all dote on him together!” My colleagues, unaware of the backstory, thought it was a fun and heartwarming idea and immediately cheered. “Great idea!” “That’s so generous of you, Chloe!” “Yes, let’s all be godfathers and godmothers!” Amid the cheers, Felicia’s face went rigid and pale. She wanted to stop me, but with everyone watching, she couldn’t find a reason. Encouraged by the crowd, I opened the envelope right then and there. Inside was a single, crumpled one-dollar bill. The buzzing room fell dead silent. The enthusiastic gazes of a moment ago turned strange, all of them now fixed on Felicia. The amount in the envelope was just a gesture, of course… but— One dollar? That was just pathetic. Felicia’s face flushed crimson. She scrambled to explain, her voice strained and awkward. “The-the money isn’t important! It’s a tradition where I’m from. The godmother envelope always has one dollar in it, for good luck—it symbolizes wholehearted devotion! It’s the sentiment that counts!” “Chloe, back home, a baby has to have a godmother chosen before they’re born to ensure they grow up safe and sound. My dream was a sign. You have to be the one!” Having found her footing, her voice grew louder, more insistent. “You wouldn’t disrespect a tradition like that, would you? You wouldn’t disregard the baby’s health and safety?” “Right, everyone? Traditions and a baby’s wish, those are important things!” As she’d hoped, a few colleagues who were swayed by her words began to murmur in agreement. “Well, you should respect traditions…” “Being a godmother is nice. You get a baby without the pain!” “It’s all for the baby’s sake, Chloe. You should just say yes.” I listened to the whispers with a silent, scornful laugh. Outwardly, I put on a look of dawning comprehension mixed with distress. “Oh, I see! Felicia, what a coincidence. We have a tradition where I’m from, too.” My voice was tinged with a naive confusion. “They say an unmarried woman can’t be a godmother, because it will jinx her own romantic prospects and make it hard for her to find a partner.” I turned to a few of the older women in the room. “Linda, Sarah, you’ve heard of that one, right? I think the older generation all says that.”

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I think I’ve activated a system. Whenever I get close to Ted, a deposit magically appears in my bank account. I asked him carefully, “You haven’t signed the papers from last night, have you?” He sneered. “What? Having second thoughts?” I plastered on my most shameless smile. “I had a dream last night. My grandpa was yelling at me from the great beyond. He said he just got settled in his grave, and I’m already pulling this stunt.” “He said we should at least wait until he’s reincarnated before we get a divorce.” 1 This morning at 7:58 AM, I confirmed this earth-shattering discovery. We were in the kitchen. I was turning around with a piece of whole-wheat toast in my mouth when I walked straight into someone’s chest. Ted’s eyes were bloodshot, like he’d been up all night. And I wasn’t wearing a bra. “S-sorry!” I crossed my arms over my chest. “It’s eight. I thought you’d already left for work.” He didn’t say anything. He just moved around me, opened the fridge, and poured a glass of ice water, gulping it down. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and a stray drop of water slid from the corner of his mouth, tracing a path down his jawline and disappearing into his collar. I stared, mesmerized, as that tempting droplet vanished at his collarbone. The next second, my pajama pocket vibrated. [Bank Account +$50,000] The sender was anonymous, the memo blank. It was like a transfer from another dimension. I stood there for a full minute, clutching my phone in a daze. It wasn’t until Ted was fully dressed and we were sitting across from each other at the breakfast table, the atmosphere as chilly as two strangers sharing a table, that I moved. There was only one apple left on the plate. We both reached for it at the same time. His hand covered mine. His palm was searing hot, and I snatched my hand back as if burned, laughing nervously. “You have it! You have it!” Ted stared at me. Honestly, his gaze was so sharp you could have peeled the apple with it. He picked it up and took a loud, crisp bite. Over the crunch, my phone screen lit up again. [+$20,000] 2 At this point, my brilliant mind had pieced together the following: Bumping into his chest (large-scale physical contact) = $50,000. Back of my hand touching his (brief skin contact) = $20,000. The more intimate the contact, the bigger the payout (hypothesis pending verification). Conclusion: Ted = a human ATM. This realization made me stare at the man across from me, who was methodically eating his apple. My gaze grew hotter and hotter. He set down the core and wiped his hands. “I’ll sign the papers tonight.” “Wait!” I blurted out. Ted looked up at me. “What? Having second thoughts?” “Well…” My brain went into overdrive. “I had a dream last night. My grandpa was yelling at me. Said he just got settled in his grave, and I’m already pulling this stunt. He said we should at least wait until he’s reincarnated before we get a divorce.” I added a sheepish grin. “And, hey, you wouldn’t want to disappoint your grandpa either, right?” The air was silent for a few seconds. He tugged at the corner of his mouth. “My grandfather passed away three years ago. By your logic, he should be in kindergarten by now.” “Kindergarten curriculum is very demanding. We shouldn’t distract him.” Ted looked at me as if I were a new and fascinating species of alien. After a moment, he stood up and grabbed his suit jacket. “Whatever you want. The company is expanding anyway. I don’t have time to deal with the paperwork.” As he walked toward the door, my eyes lit up. I dashed over and knelt down in front of him. “Let me get your shoes!” He froze, his voice tight. “Anya, what are you doing?” “Helping you with your shoes, of course,” I said, grabbing his ankle. “These leather shoes look best with your suit, but the laces are such a pain. Oh, and your tie is a little crooked. Let me fix that for you.” My fingers crept up his chest, my fingertips “accidentally” brushing against his Adam’s apple. Ted’s breath hitched. “There!” I stood up straight, beaming like a top salesperson who’d just smashed their quota. “Drive safe!” The door clicked shut. I excitedly pulled out my phone. Unlock—open messages— [+$30,000] Thirty thousand! Combined with the seventy thousand from this morning, that was a hundred grand in half an hour! I clutched my phone, whispering, “System? Are you there, System? Come out and chat for a minute?” No response. I’ve read enough novels to know that some systems are chatty and demanding, while others are the strong, silent type. Mine was clearly the latter. But I didn’t care. Humming a tune, I danced back into the living room and picked up the landline to call my best friend. “Hello? Mia! You are not going to believe this. I’ve been blessed by the god of wealth.” “In English, please.” “Every time I touch Ted, I get money. It’s like killing monsters and getting gold drops in a video game. I made a hundred grand in half an hour this morning!” There was a second of silence on the other end, followed by a piercing scream. “I told you, Anya! Ted is hot and rich! He gives you a hundred grand for one night? Sleep with him for a lifetime and you’ll be a billionaire! Wait… but why was it so short? Only… half an hour?” I knew what she was thinking, but I couldn’t be bothered to explain. “The thing is, I just asked for a divorce. It feels kind of lame to go back on my word now.” “A divorce? What’s a divorce worth?” Mia sounded like she wanted to shake me. “Your little non-profit is hundreds of thousands in the red. It’s going to shut down next month. You have over a hundred kids counting on you. Do you have a backup plan?” She’d hit my weak spot. “And what’s not to like about him? Is the black card in his suit pocket too uncomfortable? Or does he unbutton your shirt too fast at night?” “Anya,” her tone suddenly turned serious. “Ask yourself this. Do you really not like him, even a little bit?” I held the receiver, unable to answer. The divorce papers were still on the coffee table. I remembered last night, when I handed them to him. He was on the phone by the French windows. He hung up, turned, and his eyes scanned the black and white pages, finally settling on my face. “So, the day has finally come?” “Our grandfathers are gone,” I said calmly. “There’s no need to force this anymore.” He walked toward me but didn’t take the papers. “Anya, these three years must have been so hard on you.” “The feeling’s mutual,” I replied. He suddenly reached out, his fingertips tucking a loose strand of my hair behind my ear. I instinctively flinched back. “You’ve lost weight. Is the charity work that demanding?” “It’s fine. Can’t compare to you.” He turned away and headed for the study. “Don’t worry. I’ve been looking forward to this day for a long time, too.” 3 That night, Ted didn’t get home until ten. He reeked of alcohol. I was curled up on the sofa, looking at my charity’s financial statements. The red numbers were glaring. An eight-hundred-thousand-dollar deficit gaped at me like a monster waiting to devour children. “Still up?” He loosened his tie, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “Waiting for you.” An idea sparked in my mind. I closed my laptop. “Want some soup to sober up? I’ll go make some!” He seemed taken aback. “You know how?” “I’ll learn!” I bounced into the kitchen and emerged less than ten minutes later with a bowl of soup that looked highly questionable. “…Wanna try?” Ted stared intently at the bowl of unidentifiable sludge. “It’s not poisoned,” I said defensively. “I looked it up online.” I pushed the bowl toward him. He had no choice but to pick it up and down it in one go, as if facing his doom. He immediately started coughing violently. I cupped his flushed, dazed face in my hands. “How do you feel? A little better?” “It’s… it’s disgusting.” My smile froze. “And now I feel even worse.” I cleared my throat, trying to salvage the situation. “How about I give you a head massage? My dad always gets headaches after drinking, and my mom does this for him.” But he pulled away from my touch. “No, thanks. I’m going to bed.” He looked at me. “Thanks for the soup.” “Don’t mention it!” I put on my best customer-service smile. “It was my pleasure!” “Anya,” he said suddenly. “Why are you suddenly…” “Hmm?” “Never mind.” He shook his head and went to his room. “Goodnight.” “Goodnight!” The moment he was out of sight, I whipped out my phone. The screen lit up. [+$80,000] I clapped a hand over my mouth and fell back onto the sofa, laughing, my legs kicking in the air. That night, I had a dream. I dreamed that Ted had turned into a giant money tree. I was perched on a branch, happily picking the jingling gold coins. He stood below, calling up helplessly, “Anya, you’re crushing my leaves!” I looked down at him. “A leaf for ten thousand dollars. Want one?” He sighed and opened his arms. “Jump. I’ll catch you.” Without a moment’s hesitation, I leaped— And then I woke up. 4 “There’s a business gala on Friday,” Ted announced suddenly at breakfast. “Partners are expected. Are you free?” In the past, I always made excuses to get out of these things. I hated the fake small talk, hated being scrutinized under the title of “Mrs. Astley.” But this time, I nodded. His eyes were searching. “The charity isn’t busy?” “A wife has her duties, no matter how busy she is, right?” I wiped my mouth with a napkin. “We’re not divorced yet, after all.” He smiled faintly but didn’t say anything. Suddenly, his expression shifted. He watched as I walked over to his side of the table, napkin in hand, and leaned down, smiling at him. “You…” “Don’t move.” It was the first time we’d been this close. Close enough to see the fine texture of his skin, to smell the crisp, clean scent of his aftershave. Through the napkin, the pad of my finger gently pressed against his cheek. I wiped away a tiny fleck of coffee foam. “There.” My smile was angelic. “Perfect.” My phone vibrated again. 5 On Friday evening, Ted handed me a gift box. “Change into this.” Inside was a long, velvet dress in a deep forest green, elegantly tailored. At first glance, it seemed fine. But when I put it on, I realized the neckline was… a bit more daring than I’d anticipated. When I came downstairs, he was waiting in the living room. Black suit, silver cufflinks, his long legs crossed in a way that should have been illegal. The moment he saw me, his pupils visibly dilated. I awkwardly clutched the two suggestive pieces of fabric over my chest. “Does it look okay?” He walked over and draped a white shawl over my shoulders. “It’s gotten colder today,” he said. “I’m not cold…” “Wear it.” His tone left no room for argument. His fingers brushed against my bare shoulder, lingering for a second too long. At the gala, I was the only one who got the “colder weather” memo. All the other women were dressed to the nines, their figures on full display. I was the only one wrapped in a long shawl that nearly reached my ankles, not even a collarbone in sight. Ted parked me at the dessert table. “Just stay here and eat. Don’t wander off.” I watched him navigate the crowd with ease, and I suddenly felt the distance between us. This was the real him. In just a few short years since graduation, he had gone from a campus star to a rising tycoon. Compared to someone like me, who was constantly scrambling in the world of charity work, covered in metaphorical dust, we were in two completely different worlds. “Ted!” A woman in a red gown holding a glass of champagne approached him, linking her arm through his naturally. I recognized her. The daughter of some real estate mogul. A few months ago, a business magazine had run a story about their rumored romance. Although the next day, the copy of that magazine I’d been reading mysteriously vanished from our house. The woman stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. Ted didn’t pull away. My fork sank into a slice of cream cake. It’s fine, I told myself. Three years. I’m used to it. The unfamiliar perfumes, the lipstick stains on his white collars—they were all proof that we didn’t love each other. But why did my chest feel so tight? When the music started, I made a decision. I put down my plate, took off the shawl, and walked toward the dance floor. To the stunned surprise of everyone around us, I squeezed past the woman in red, took Ted’s hand, and placed it on his shoulder. “She seems to really like you. Want me to run some interference?” His smile was teasing. “Jealous?” “I just don’t want people to think Mr. Astley means nothing to his own wife.” I wrapped my arms around his neck and buried my face in his chest. “Let’s dance. Just one dance.” The melody was beautiful, the lights swirling overhead. His palm was hot against my waist, even through the fabric. I heard a strong, steady heartbeat. Thump, thump, thump. It was getting faster. For a moment, I forgot what I was doing. I forgot about the system, the bank account, the calculated touches and contrived closeness. 6 The day the money in my bank account passed five hundred thousand, I went to see Sean. The cemetery was on the north side of the city. The little girl he had saved comes every year. She’s ten now, with her hair in a ponytail. She showed me her honor roll certificate. “Anya,” she said quietly after laying down her flowers, “are you happy now?” I stroked her hair. “Yes.” “That’s good.” She smiled sweetly. “After Sean passed, my biggest wish was for you to be happy.” My eyes stung. It started pouring on the way back. When I got home, Ted was sitting in the living room. The TV was on, tuned to a financial news channel, but he didn’t seem to be watching, just fiddling with the remote. “Where were you?” he asked. “The cemetery,” I said, taking off my wet coat. “The one on the south side?” His voice was flat, cold. “Both our grandfathers are buried there.” “No, the one on the north side.” I was exhausted. “I was visiting an old friend.” He didn’t ask anything else. After a long silence, he turned off the TV, tossed the remote down with a clatter, and stood up to go to his study. “Since you’re so determined to get a divorce, Ms. Thorne, please keep your distance from me. Let’s not give anyone the wrong idea.” A fire ignited in my chest. “Don’t you worry, I’ve already found a new place. I can move out anytime! Besides, this house isn’t that big. How am I supposed to ‘keep my distance’ when we’re constantly running into each other?” He stopped and turned around. “Isn’t that big? I seem to recall someone, on her very first day here, remarking that this house was big enough to raise cattle. Now you’re saying it’s too cramped?” 7 That night, I dreamed of Sean. It was the same reservoir, the same struggling child in the water. I screamed frantically, “Don’t go! It’s too far, Sean, don’t go in!” But he jumped in anyway. Without a second thought. The moment the water swallowed him, the world went white. The man I had loved for four years, the man who had just been excitedly planning our future together, was now a cold, lifeless body. I woke up screaming. Covered in sweat, shaking uncontrollably. The door was suddenly thrown open. Ted rushed in, found me in the darkness, and pulled me into a fierce embrace. “It’s okay! It’s okay!”

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1 At the company’s annual gala, my wife, the CEO, suddenly called. She asked me what I was doing. “Washing your underwear, of course,” I answered, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “What’s up? I have to put these in the dryer when I’m done, and then I need to give the baby his bath.” A wave of laughter and applause erupted from her end of the line. The call ended abruptly. She didn’t come home until late, reeking of a nauseating mix of alcohol and perfume. I got up to make her some soup to sober her up. She grabbed my hand, her eyes bloodshot. “Robert, where’s your spine? Your pride?” I just smiled faintly. The proud Robert was dead. In this new life, all I wanted was for the people I loved to live. … Lisa turned me to face her, hysterical. “Say something!” she shrieked. “Tell me, where did you put my Robert? Give him back to me!” I smiled. “People change, don’t they?” Besides, she was the one who changed first. The anger and frustration in her eyes slowly faded into a weary sadness. “Can we just stop torturing each other?” My own eyes were calm. “What’s so bad about the way things are now?” Her shoulders slumped, and she took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. You should go back to bed.” Back in my room, I heard the sound of shattering glass. A little while later, she came in and sat on the edge of the bed. After a long silence, she spoke. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” “I’ve really broken it off with Kevin. And there won’t be any other men.” “What will it take for you to forgive me?” I didn’t want to fight with her. I stayed silent, gently patting our restless baby. Sleep, my love. Daddy will never leave you again. In my past life, when Lisa was two months pregnant, I discovered she was cheating on me. To be more precise, from the moment she started pursuing me, through our courtship, our marriage, and her pregnancy—a total of seven years—she had been sleeping with her childhood friend, Kevin. I wanted a divorce. She refused, no matter what I said. She told me over and over that she loved me, that the baby was mine. She kept me locked in the house in the name of love. When I tried to kill myself, she tied me to the bed. When I went on a hunger strike, she threatened me with my father’s safety. This went on until she gave birth. The moment our baby’s soft little hand closed around my finger, I felt like I had come back to life. He was my son. I watched him constantly, smiling when he smiled. Lisa was happy too. She had successfully used our son to keep me. But three months later, I had a complete mental breakdown and nearly threw our son from the third-floor balcony. Lisa snatched him from me and slapped me, her hands trembling with fear. “You’re insane!” She had me committed to a psychiatric hospital for a year. When she came to pick me up, she asked if I missed our son. Hearing his little voice call out “Daddy,” my heart clenched. I nodded. When we got home, Kevin was there, holding our son. “Lisa! I was just passing by and wanted to see the baby. I think he’s having an allergic reaction to something he ate.” Our son was struggling to breathe, his face already turning purple. At the hospital, the doctor said we were too late. I was plunged back into a deeper hell. “Murderer!” I lunged at Kevin, but Lisa threw herself in front of him. “Robert, calm down. I’m heartbroken too, but this was an accident. Kevin would never hurt our son on purpose.” She trusted him. “It wasn’t on purpose,” so he was absolved of all blame. My suspicions were just the ravings of a madman. After all, I had almost become my son’s killer once. I had no right to condemn anyone else. I found the lecture hall where Kevin taught and scrawled on the blackboard in red paint—KEVIN, A LIFE FOR A LIFE! I emptied the entire can of paint on him. Lisa dragged me to the hospital, her face grim. “Your father is having brain surgery in three days. Do you want him to die too?” 2 My father had a malignant brain tumor. They hadn’t dared to tell me. I stopped causing trouble. But my father died on the operating table. “Robert…” Lisa shook me awake, frowning as she wiped the cold sweat from my forehead. It took me a moment to come to. I stared at the date on my phone, slowly pulling myself out of the nightmare. I had been back for a year. On this day, Lisa had excitedly told me that our son had kicked for the first time. I placed my hand on her stomach. “Hey, baby, it’s Daddy. Give a little kick. Tell Mommy we both love her very much.” “Robert, can you forgive me? Just this once?” “Let it go,” I said. Love, forgiveness… it was all meaningless. All I wanted was for my son and my father to be safe and healthy. The next day, Lisa went with me to visit my dad. We took him for a full check-up. The tumor was still small, the surgical risk much lower. The operation was a success, and his recovery was smooth. A huge weight was lifted from my heart. It was a greater relief, a more profound joy, than my own second chance at life. I started cooking for Lisa every day, going on walks with her, getting some sun. We went shopping for baby clothes and decorated the nursery. I could even laugh and joke with her. I didn’t refuse her hugs or goodnight kisses. Lisa was happy, but there was always a faint shadow of worry in her eyes. Until our wedding anniversary. She wanted to be intimate. I pushed her away. “If you have needs, you can go to Kevin, or someone else,” I said calmly. “I don’t mind. Just be careful not to hurt the baby.” She looked as if she’d been doused with cold water, her eyes wide with disbelief. “What did you say?” “Robert, you still hate me, don’t you? You haven’t really forgiven me.” I shook my head and sat up, straightening my clothes. “I’ve just figured things out. You were right. Sex and love can be separate. I believe that you love me. I was just being too sensitive before.” I had accepted her explanation, but now she was the one who was angry. “Do you really think that?” I looked her in the eye and nodded. She slammed the door and didn’t come back all night. The next morning, she returned with a bouquet of flowers and an apology. “I’m sorry, honey. I was too emotional last night. It’s okay. We can take it slow. As long as you’re willing to give me a chance, I’d be happy with a platonic relationship for the rest of our lives.” She showed me her chat history. “I went to see Jane. She has security cameras. I can ask her to send you the footage if you want.” I smiled and nodded. “I believe you. You don’t have to explain.” The look in her eyes was more disappointed than if I had accused her. “Okay. Let’s have breakfast together.” “I didn’t sleep well last night. Will you take a nap with me later?” And so the days passed. Until one night, she found me in the walk-in closet, ironing a shirt. She flew into a rage, cutting the shirt to pieces. “What do you want from me?” she demanded, her eyes red. That’s when I realized the shirt wasn’t my size. Kevin must have left it here, and the housekeeper had probably put it with my things. “I’m begging you, Robert. Stop punishing me like this. This act you’re putting on—the perfect, long-suffering husband—does it make you happy?” I tried to explain that I just couldn’t sleep and was looking for something to do. “Fine. Fine…” She was so angry she was speechless. She tore off her own pajamas and threw them at me. “Then keep ironing! Since you have so much free time, you can do all the housework from now on. And all the laundry has to be done by hand.” I did as she said. And yes, there was a small part of me that took pleasure in seeing her lose control. In our worst fights, she would say that a social climber like me should be grateful for marrying her and changing my station in life. That a person can’t have everything. But when it came to herself, she conveniently forgot her own logic. She wanted my forgiveness, my understanding, and my unconditional love, as if nothing had ever happened. 3 Today, our son had to get his vaccinations. He cried pitifully. I comforted him, yawning twice. Lisa, full of guilt, took the baby from me. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me yesterday…” I quickly took the blame. “I didn’t realize you were in the middle of a game. I’m sorry I embarrassed you.” She was about to say something when her phone rang. After a moment’s hesitation, she answered it in front of me, a show of transparency. It was Kevin. He’d been in a car accident. In my past life, she had been on a business trip for a week around this time. I took our son from her. “You should go. You’re the only family he has in this country. I was just thinking of going to see my dad anyway.” Her expression was a mixture of relief and disappointment. She hesitated, then turned and left. The driver hurried in. “Sir, shall we go?” Just then, my phone rang. My heart started to race. “Hello, this is the emergency room at Capital University Hospital. Are you a relative of Mr. Robert Thorne Sr.?” “Yes,” I answered, my voice trembling. My stomach twisted into a knot. When I got to the hospital, I saw Lisa. Kevin was sitting on a bench nearby. “Robert, don’t panic…” It turned out Kevin was the one who had caused the accident. The person he had hit was my father. The world around me seemed to blur. All I could hear was a ringing in my ears. “Robert, look at me…” My dazed state frightened Lisa. She grabbed my arms. “Don’t worry. Dad will be fine. The roads are slippery because of the snow. Kevin didn’t mean to do it. He’s very shaken up.” My eyes burned, and a metallic taste rose in my throat. “Didn’t mean to…” I let out a cold, sharp laugh. There it was again. Kevin walked over, his face full of apology. “Robert, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even recognize your dad. I was making a right turn, and he suddenly ran out to pick up his mask. I couldn’t brake in time.” Looking at him, I saw my son’s pained face, and I couldn’t breathe. The hatred boiling inside me was uncontrollable. I slapped him across the face. Lisa gave me a reproachful look, her eyes full of concern for Kevin. “I’ll have the driver take you home. I’ll deal with the police. Don’t blame him. He’s just as upset.” Kevin smiled magnanimously. “I know. I’m not mad. You don’t have to worry about me. Just stay with him.” I stumbled back, leaning against the wall for support, taking deep breaths. I couldn’t fall apart. My dad was still in surgery. “Family of Robert Thorne Sr…” Hearing the nurse call his name, my heart leaped into my throat. “I’m very sorry. The patient died from a cerebral hemorrhage. Time of death…” My vision went black, and I couldn’t stand. I doubled over, retching. I heard my phone ringing, but I couldn’t get my hand into my pocket. Lisa answered it for me. Her face went white. The nanny had been in a car accident on the way home with our son. I scrambled to my feet and ran, but my legs gave out from under me. The world went dark, and I passed out. As I drifted in and out of consciousness, I had only one thought. If my dad hadn’t had the surgery, would he have survived the accident, just like in my past life? I was a murderer too. If anything happened to my son, my guilt would be unforgivable. 4 My son lay in the ICU, his tiny body hooked up to a tangle of tubes. Cold tears streamed down my face. I clenched my jaw, making a silent vow. If my son died, this time I would take them all down with me. Lisa held my hand, offering hollow comfort. “Honey, the baby will be fine.” I squeezed her hand, staring at her. “Lisa, I want Kevin in jail!” She guiltily averted her gaze. “Let’s go back to your room first. You need to finish your IV. We can talk about this later.” My heart went cold. I closed my eyes. They had known each other since birth. They were closer than family. They told each other everything. They were intimate friends in every sense of the word. What was our flimsy love compared to that? What was I, her convenient husband? And what was my father, a man with no blood ties to him? The sedative kicked in, and I fell asleep. When I woke up, Kevin was sitting on the sofa, casually peeling an orange. “Robert…” he said, standing up and walking over to my bed. “I’m really sorry. I never thought it would come to this.” His apology was as perfunctory as if he’d made a mistake on a work document and had to appease his boss. The moment he heard the doorknob turn, he dropped to his knees. “A life for a life. I will atone for my sin.” Lisa rushed in and helped him up. “He had surgery on his knee,” she said to me, her tone accusatory. “Lisa, I’m a man. I take responsibility for my actions. I made a mistake, and I should be punished. Don’t break Robert’s heart anymore.” A sarcastic smile touched my lips. Lisa squeezed his arm, a silent gesture of reassurance. “You’ve already apologized. It’s okay. You can go home now.” We were alone. “I just went to see the baby.” “Robert, Dad is gone. But Kevin…” “Lisa, I’m pressing charges.” Her eyes instantly turned cold. “Robert, you can’t.” It was a statement of fact, and a thinly veiled threat. My heart felt like it was being torn apart. I let out a bitter laugh. “A divorce, then? Can I get a divorce?” She frowned. The word had become a taboo in our endless arguments. “Those are two different things.” I laughed harder, but tears streamed down my face. I felt suffocated, terrified, helpless. “Lisa, let’s get a divorce. I get our son, and you give me twenty million. Unless you lock me up for the rest of my life and cut off my arms and legs, I will kill you both.” Her eyes widened in shock, but she only sighed, her tone placating. “You’re too emotional right now. When you and the baby are both out of the hospital and you’ve calmed down, we can discuss whatever you want.” I took a deep breath. “Come closer. Close your eyes.” She was confused, but she did as I said. I pulled the IV needle from the back of my hand and, with all the strength I could muster, plunged it into her eye. She staggered back, clutching her eye, her face contorted in agony, her lips white. Her other eye was wide with disbelief, anger, and hurt. “You really hate me that much?” I looked at her calmly. “Do you really love me that much? You’re the one who imprisoned me with your so-called love, who made me lose my family, who pushed me to this point.” The next second, I broke down, shaking, convulsing, vomiting. A flicker of pity and pain seemed to cross her face. She agreed. Dealing with my father’s funeral, the divorce, moving, my medication, waiting for our son to be discharged… The next two months were an agony of suspense, terrified she would go back on her word. Finally, the day came when I could take my son home. I made sure to dress neatly. But when I got to the hospital, the nurse looked at me in surprise. “Mrs. Astley already picked up the baby.” My blood ran cold. It felt like my throat was closing up. I turned and ran, only to collide with a woman. “Robert, don’t be afraid. I’ll help you.”

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Two in the morning, and the community group chat exploded. 【Wife wanted. With love.】 【This is the lady from apartment 1202. I have been diagnosed with a terminal illness, and I can’t bear to leave my husband and son alone. Therefore, I am arranging a new marriage for my husband.】 【Requirements for the woman: Age 20-25, height 5’6″ or taller, slim build, earns $10k+ a month. Must be an only child from a local family, and must be child-free by choice.】 【A test of true love awaits. Qualified neighbors, please contact me directly.】 I stared at my phone, completely floored. You really see all kinds of crazy on the internet these days. A second later, my phone started vibrating like a jackhammer. Leah had tagged me. Three times. 【Ava from 1302, can’t you tell I’m talking to you?】 1 I was baffled. My parents bought this apartment for me. I’d only been living here a month, and I’d already run into a lunatic like this. The other night owls in the group started chiming in: 1501: 【What is this, some kind of performance art?】 803: 【This is why you shouldn’t stay up late. I’ve scrolled straight into the twilight zone.】 702: 【Dream on! Maybe if you wish hard enough when you go to sleep.】 1502: 【Is this for real? Even with a terminal illness, that’s no excuse for this kind of delusion. A princess isn’t going to marry a toad.】 … Someone quietly added: 【Has anyone checked who posted this?】 But it was too late. Leah started tagging everyone in a frenzy. 【I have no idea what you mean by ‘performance art’! I’m a faithful wife, so don’t project your own dirty thoughts onto me!】 【My soul is going to heaven, so what do you mean ‘twilight zone’? Are you cursing me? I hope your whole family gets hemorrhoids!】 【What I do in my sleep is none of your business! You’re just bitter my husband didn’t choose you!】 【Do you think a terminal illness is a joke?】 【You people aren’t just unhelpful, you’re vile and abusive! A bunch of animals!】 The people who had commented were verbally bludgeoned into silence. I watched it all unfold, determined to stay out of it. But Leah was like a rabid dog, sinking her teeth into me and refusing to let go. She sent me a dozen friend requests through the group chat. 【Ava, accept it! Now!】 【I’m a sick person! I can’t stay up late! Have you no compassion?!】 【Don’t play dead. I know you’re awake.】 【You leave for work at 8 AM and get home at 10 PM. You just got out of the shower! I know your routine.】 【ACCEPT IT!】 A wave of goosebumps washed over me as the notifications flooded my screen. Was this woman insane? Had she been spying on me? Annoyed, I swiped to dismiss the notification but accidentally tapped “Accept.” Instantly, a massive wall of text appeared in the chat box, as if it had been waiting to strike. 【Ava, once you’re with my husband, you’ll have to quit your job.】 【Our Leo wakes up at 8:30 for preschool and gets picked up at 3:30. Your current schedule won’t work for school runs.】 【And getting home at ten to cook is way too late. My husband has a sensitive stomach; he can’t go hungry.】 【Of course, your new job can’t pay any less than $10k a month. Otherwise, you won’t be able to support my family properly.】 I laughed out loud. 【With demands like that, what’s the dowry?】 She flew into a rage. 【What dowry? Did you even read my post!】 【I am a SICK WOMAN! This is a matchmaking service out of CHARITY! There is no dowry!】 … I couldn’t be bothered with her meltdown. I clicked on her social media profile. She posted at least ten times a day, all pictures of her husband and son. The most recent post was a photo of a cancer diagnosis. The caption read: 【My darlings, even from heaven, Mommy will always be watching over you.】 It was an early-stage cancer with a very high cure rate. Instead of seeking treatment, she was busy finding her husband’s next wife? Summoning what little kindness I had left, I tried to reason with her. “Ma’am, your priority right now should be getting treatment.” For her body and her mind. But I must have hit a nerve. She completely lost it. A 60-second voice memo landed in my inbox, a piercing shriek that nearly shattered my eardrum. “Ava! I’m not dead yet! You don’t get to tell me what to do!” “As long as I’m alive, you’ll always be the other woman! The mistress! A dirty little secret that can’t see the light of day!” “Even after I’m gone, my son will only ever call you ‘Auntie’!” “If you get any funny ideas, I’ll haunt you from beyond the grave!” I rolled my eyes. Right. Never try to reason with crazy. Block. Delete. 2 The next morning, I ran into Mrs. Gable, the cleaning lady, in the elevator. She worked part-time for me, a quiet and diligent woman. I casually asked her about Leah from 1202. Mrs. Gable’s face paled, and she lowered her voice to a whisper. “That one’s a lunatic!” “She’s been paralyzed for four years, the whole family is scared of her. Now she has cancer. Steer clear of her, dear. Don’t get involved.” She looked like she wanted to say more but held back. I could guess the rest. This woman was trouble. But I never expected this. I spent the morning meeting with clients. When I got back to the office at noon, my manager, David, called me into his office, his face like a thundercloud. He slammed a termination form down in front of me. I blinked, confused. “David, you’re quitting?” His face was beet-red, his neck swelling with rage. “No, you’re quitting!” “If you have a problem, you bring it to me! You don’t send your family here to harass us!” I was completely lost. “My family?” “Some woman! She stormed in here this morning, screaming at the top of her lungs, accusing the company of being immoral, of destroying families!” “She yelled that you had a terminally ill person at home, with a husband and child to care for, and yet you had the nerve to show up to work!” He was shaking with anger. “I’ve mentored you for three years, Ava. If you want to leave, fine. But don’t stoop to these kinds of cheap tactics!” It clicked. Leah. I immediately set the record straight. “David, my parents are healthy, I’m single, and I don’t have kids. The woman who came here is a psycho. I’ll handle it.” He looked skeptical, so I pulled up the group chat history. When he saw the “Wife wanted” post, his expression soured as if he’d swallowed a bug. 3 At three in the afternoon, I was in a meeting when my phone started buzzing nonstop. David shot me several dirty looks. I offered an apologetic smile and slipped out, hiding in the restroom to take the call. “Leo’s mom? School’s out. When are you coming to pick him up?” Leo. That was Leah’s son. I fought to keep my voice steady. “I’m not his mother!” The voice on the other end immediately turned accusatory. “As his mother, you’ve never once picked Leo up yourself. That’s not very responsible, is it?” “He’s been looking forward to you picking him up all day. He told everyone how beautiful you are. Are you really going to break his little heart?” “No matter how busy you are with work, a child’s youth only happens once!” My patience snapped. My own youth only happens once, too. Seeing that reasoning was pointless, I cleared my throat, plastered on my most sincere, professional smile, and purred into the phone. “Hello, ma’am. Have you considered refinancing your home loan?” “We offer low interest rates and fast approval. I see here that you have an excellent credit score…” Before I could finish, she slammed the phone down. I smirked and dialed back immediately. “Hi there, I really think you should consider our company’s offer…” Finally. Blocked. When David heard what was going on, he broke protocol and let me go home early. But as I reached my front door, I got a call from an unknown number. A cold, female voice drifted through the speaker. “Ava. You didn’t work late today. Looks like you listened to what I said yesterday.” “But Leo gets out of school at three-thirty. You’re not cutting it as a new mom!” “I can watch you now, but what about after I’m gone?” “Who knows if a tramp like you will abuse my child!” The voice was low and raspy, and it made my scalp tingle. I slammed the phone off, my eyes darting down the empty hallway. The motion-sensor lights were off, leaving everything in shadows. A chill crept up my spine. How did Leah know when I got home? 4 Inside, Mrs. Gable had already cooked dinner and left. I poured myself a large glass of red wine and downed half of it. Then, I grabbed a trash bag and scraped the leftover food into it. I mixed in some foul-smelling fermented tofu, a rotten egg… Clutching the bag, I staggered downstairs to apartment 1202. After putting on a mask and gloves, I smeared the putrid liquid all over the door, the keyhole, and the doorframe. An ungodly stench that assaulted the senses instantly filled the entire floor. I sat down in front of her door and began to wail. “Leah, how could you be so cruel!” “I’m only twenty-five! I’ve never even been in a serious relationship, and you’re forcing me to marry that pig of a husband!” “When I said no, you went to my office and made a scene!” “Do you know how hard it is to find a job right now? You’re trying to ruin my life!” The smell and my crying drew the neighbors out. They started to speak, then bent over, gagging. I thoughtfully handed them spare masks. “I’m so sorry… I had a little too much to drink, I’m just so upset…” Between sobs, I recounted everything—Leah spying on me, the scene at my office. After hearing my story, a few of the older women were filled with righteous indignation. “So you’re the Ava that Leah called out last night?” “That Leah is a piece of work! Look what she’s done to this poor girl!” My crying intensified. “I didn’t know what else to do! I was so stressed, I just had a couple of drinks and came to confront her.” “If she calls the cops, please, tell them I wasn’t looking for trouble. I just drank too much and acted impulsively!” The neighborhood watchdogs, filled with a sense of justice, puffed out their chests. “Don’t you worry, dear. We’ll vouch for you!” I dabbed at my tears, moved by their support. “But…” someone hesitated. “I’ve lived here for years, and I’ve never actually seen Leah.” The others nodded in agreement. “That’s right. She just hides away and torments people from the shadows.” “One time, I have no idea how I pissed her off, but she started threatening me with pictures of my grandson playing in the park!” “Me too! I once said something in the group chat about not guilt-tripping people, and she spent all night harassing me with calls from different numbers!” I stopped crying. A fuzzy idea began to form in my mind. Before I could grasp it, an old man stomped his foot in anger. “Call the police! We have to report her! We can’t let her terrorize the building like this anymore!” The police arrived quickly. After listening to the neighbors’ jumbled explanations, the officer looked at me, exasperated, and knocked on the door of 1202. I was still deep in my performance, tears streaming down my face. “Officer, Leah not only tried to force me to marry her husband, but she also went to my company and caused a huge scene…” The officer suddenly turned, a complicated look in his eyes. “You’re saying she went to your office and caused a scene?” I sensed something was off. Following his gaze, my eyes widened in shock. The one who opened the door was a chubby little boy. And Leah… was in a wheelchair. Paralyzed. Then who was the woman who stormed into my office this morning?!

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