A neck injury caused my vocal cords to close up, leaving me suddenly unable to speak. To help find a cure, my husband, Carter, threw himself into research and medical studies. The day he returned from a medical exchange program at another hospital, I prepared a surprise for him. But then, I heard a high-pitched female voice leaking from his Bluetooth AirPods: “I want a kiss! Come on, kiss me!” “Why aren’t you talking? Are you scared because your wife is right next to you?” In that exact moment, it hit me. Our marriage was completely over. The second I took his coat and turned around to hang it on the rack, a third voice filled the quiet room. “I want a kiss! Come on, kiss me!” “Why aren’t you talking? Are you scared because your wife is right next to you?” My hands froze mid-air, and the smile on my face instantly stiffened. It took me several seconds just to process what I was hearing. When I finally turned around, Carter had already lowered his head. His handsome fingers were tapping rapidly across his phone screen, sending out a flurry of Snapchat notifications. The moment he stopped typing, that whiny female voice leaked through his AirPods again: “Giggle… Tell me, would your wife be pissed if she knew we were on FaceTime right now?” This time, I knew for a sure. It wasn’t a hallucination. The voice was coming from my husband, Carter. He seemed completely oblivious to the fact that his AirPods were bleeding sound. He was also completely unaware of how wide and stupid his grin looked, practically stretching from ear to ear. And worst of all, he had completely forgotten that his wife of three years was standing right in front of him. He was flirting with another woman right in front of my face, without a single care in the world. I dug my fingernails deep into my palms, my mind a chaotic blur. I couldn’t tell if I was just reacting slowly, or if I secretly wanted to let the pain sink in deeper. Either way, I just stood there, quietly watching him. I had no intention of warning him or interrupting. I wondered what text he had just sent her. On the other end, the woman’s voice turned into a whiny pout: “I know, I know. Once your wife can talk again, we’ll stop.” “But what if she stays a mute forever? Living with a mute must be so boring! Didn’t you say you love my voice? I can make some sounds for you right now.” Those suggestive, graphic words sent a sudden wave of nausea straight to my stomach. Disgusting images of the two of them together flashed through my mind. My eyes darkened, and a fierce anger flared up inside me. But to my surprise, Carter chose that exact moment to look up. Meeting my gaze, he froze for a second. Then, in his usual gentle tone, he asked, “What’s wrong, Sophia? Not happy to see me?” I didn’t miss the flicker of guilt that crossed his face, even if it vanished in a split second. So, when he reached his hand out toward me, my body reacted on pure instinct. I flinched and stepped back, avoiding his touch. Carter froze, finally sensing that something was off. “A patient’s family had an emergency,” he explained quickly. “I had to reply to their message.” “I’m sorry, Sophia. I brought you a special gift. Forgive me, okay?” His voice was soft and coaxing, showing none of the impatience he might have had in the past. If this had been before, my heart would have melted instantly. But right now, all I could think was: *What a great actor.* If his AirPods hadn’t leaked those voices, I would never have guessed that he was sweet-talking me while actively keeping another woman on the line. What disgusted me even more was the exact moment he placed the gift box in my hands. The leaked audio piped up again: “If your wife doesn’t like it, don’t blame me! You’re the one who made me pick it out!” My hands shook, and the gift slipped, crashing onto the floor. I didn’t even bother to bend down and pick it up. I felt like I had been dumped into a freezing winter blizzard, cold seeping deep into my bones. But Carter, acting as if nothing had happened, calmly picked up the box. Without a hint of annoyance in his voice, he asked, “Why so clumsy today? Are you feeling sick somewhere?” I shook my head, keeping my mouth shut. The next second, he said, “Don’t worry. This new trial drug from the study is amazing. You’ll be speaking in no time.” But he had no idea. I could already speak. I had planned to give him the big surprise tonight. Now, I realized there was absolutely no point.

By the time Carter finished his shower and came out, I was already lying in bed. He waited until his body warmed up under the sheets before pulling me into his arms. For three years of marriage, he had always been like this. Patient, detailed, gentle, and incredibly attentive. I never could have imagined that a man who seemed to love me with his entire soul could do something so cheap behind my back. Feeling his hands wrap around my waist and slide under my shirt, I forced my body to relax, but I gave absolutely no response. Carter’s hand stopped. “Asleep?” he whispered. I closed my eyes and let out an annoyed grunt, turning away from him. He pulled his hand back and gently patted my head. “Alright, go to sleep. I won’t bother you.” I still didn’t answer. Only when I heard his breathing turn deep and even did I slowly open my eyes. Then, I pushed his arm off my waist. Actually, I had recognized the voice today. It was Chloe Bennett, Carter’s medical assistant at the hospital. On Chloe’s very first day as his assistant, Carter had voluntarily brought it up to me. Before I could even show any jealousy, he had said: “I’m going to talk to the chief resident and swap her out for a male assistant. I want you to feel completely secure.” He had always kept clean boundaries and behaved like a perfect gentleman. I trusted him implicitly anyway, and seeing him take the initiative made me smile. I told him: “It’s fine, Carter. It’s just work. I trust you!” Looking back now, I finally saw the truth. He used this reverse psychology trick every single time. Like when they pulled overnight shifts together. Or when they traveled out of town for medical exchange programs. But I had made my boundary clear to Carter from the very beginning. If you love me, cherish me. If you don’t, just say it and leave. Don’t whisper sweet nothings in my ear while stabbing me in the back with another woman. Tears silently slipped down the side of my face. My chest ached with a sharp, suffocating pain. I didn’t know when he and Chloe had started their little affair. All I knew was that the moment I heard her voice, this marriage was dead. But the next morning, Carter didn’t even give me a chance to bring up divorce. At 5:00 AM, my phone buzzed with a Snapchat from him. He said the hospital had called an emergency medical outreach program to offer free clinics in a remote town. I knew their hospital did charity work like this. But I remembered clearly that this outreach program always happened in May. It was September. It was nothing but a lazy lie. I bit my lip, a wave of bitterness washing over me, followed quickly by pure mockery. They couldn’t even handle being apart for one night before he had to run off to find her. Fine. Since he was so desperate, I should do him a favor and vacate the position. Save him the trouble of waking up before dawn to make up stupid excuses. I called a divorce lawyer and drove straight to their office. When I stepped out of the law firm with the paperwork in my bag, my phone vibrated in my hand. I opened it. It was a Snapchat from Chloe. It was a couple of photos of Carter checking a patient’s pulse, followed by a short video. The caption read: *[Sophia, don’t worry! There are only old ladies in this remote town. Dr. Sterling is perfectly safe! 😉]* I wasn’t surprised by her message. In fact, the only reason I had recognized her voice so quickly yesterday was because of her frequent messages. I couldn’t even remember when we had added each other on Snapchat. I only remembered how she had slide into my DMs, acting all familiar, calling me “Sophia” and laughing: “Don’t worry, Sophia. I’m going to be the guardian angel of your marriage!” And she kept her word. From then on, she constantly sent me updates on Carter’s schedule. Even when I told her politely that she didn’t need to do that, that it made me feel like I was spying on my own husband. But when Carter found out, he just smiled and said: “It’s fine. If it gives you peace of mind, I don’t mind you having eyes on me.” Carter had never taken photos during his previous outreach trips. But I remembered vividly that during the last trip, he wore the exact shirt shown in her photo today. But he wasn’t wearing that shirt when he left this morning. After three years of marriage, I bought almost all of his clothes. With one glance at his closet, I knew exactly what he was wearing on any given day. I had always assumed Chloe was the annoying third wheel trying to get close to us. Now I realized I was the actual outsider. I was just a fool. A complete idiot played by the two of them.

By the time I snapped out of my thoughts, I realized I had walked all the way to the hospital. I stood at the entrance for a couple of seconds, preparing to turn around and leave. Suddenly, a voice called out to me: “Sophia! You’re here to see Dr. Sterling? It feels like we haven’t seen you around in forever!” I forced a sweet smile and typed a quick reply on my phone. But from our brief chat, I found out something interesting. Carter hadn’t gone to any remote town today. In fact, he was right here in the hospital. If I had just come to the hospital on a normal day, his clumsy lie would have crumbled instantly. He had built his lie on the foundation of my absolute, blind trust. And he had trampled all over it. After the doctor walked away, I didn’t leave. I walked into the building. But before entering, I made a quick stop at the diner across the street to buy a takeout order. Carter’s favorite meal. My rule in life was simple: if the love is gone, leave with dignity. But since he wanted to play a role in a drama, I wanted to see how he’d finish his performance. I walked up to his office, a path I knew by heart. Just as I raised my hand to knock, a soft, whiny voice drifted through the door. “You’re so bad… You tore my new lace panties, and you have to buy me a new pair.” A man’s low, deep voice coaxed, “I’ll buy you whatever you want.” “Did you sleep with your wife last night?” The air went dead silent for a few seconds. Then, Carter’s voice rang out: “No.” Chloe let out a giggling laugh, her sounds growing louder and more shameless. I didn’t stay to listen to the rest. Humans are masochists. Even when we already know the ugly truth, we still demand to see it with our own eyes. But I didn’t see this as a sign of weakness. When it’s time for your heart to get cut, don’t run from the blade. Let it cut deep so you never look back. He was ruthless, so I had no reason to be soft. Before leaving, I stopped a nurse I knew and asked her to deliver the takeout to Carter’s desk. I typed a message on my phone, telling her that Carter was currently away from his desk and asking her to deliver it in exactly ten minutes. Ignoring her confused expression, I turned and walked out of the hospital. No secret stays hidden forever. People see who you are, even when you think you’re a master of disguise. After leaving, I caught a cab back home. Less than twenty minutes later, my phone lit up with a FaceTime call from Carter. He had received the food. I swiped to answer, eager to see what lie he would spin this time. The video connected, and the first thing I noticed was his messy, mismatched collar. Carter was an extreme neat freak. He never allowed a single wrinkle on his clothes. For his collar to be this messed up, he must have been in an incredible hurry. After three years of marriage, I realized I didn’t know this man at all. He pretended to love me with his whole life, yet he slept with another woman. He clearly didn’t love me, yet the panic on his face right now didn’t look fake. I didn’t understand, and I didn’t care to. So, I stayed silent, just staring at him through the screen. His voice rushed out, filled with concern, “Sophia, why did you come to the hospital today? Are you feeling sick?” Looking at him, a wave of exhaustion washed over me. It was so pathetic. We had reached this point, and if he had just owned up to it like a man, I might have respected him a little. Instead, he chose to double down on his lies and test my reaction. I casually typed a simple *[Fine]* and sent it. Carter let out a breath and lied, “I was supposed to go to the outreach program, but an emergency surgery popped up and I couldn’t leave. I literally just stepped out of the OR.” He watched my face closely as he spoke. Seeing no anger on my face, he probed further, “Did you come up to my office?” I almost laughed out loud. He was lying, so I lied right back. I typed out that I had gone to the hospital, remembered he was supposed to be out of town, and left the food with his colleague. His colleague must have misunderstood and brought it to his desk. It was a lie filled with holes, but Carter swallowed it whole. Seeing him visibly relax, my eyes chilled. Even after the call ended, I sat in silence for a long time. Since his lie had been exposed, Carter had no choice but to come home that night. He acted as if nothing had happened, even bringing home a boba tea for me. I didn’t touch it. I just pushed it aside and sent him a text: *[I’m going to visit my parents tomorrow.]* The moment he read it, Carter asked, “Do you want me to come with you? I happen to be off tomorrow.” I shook my head, declining. To stop him from pushing, I typed: *[You’ve been working so hard lately. Just stay home and rest.]* A brief hesitation crossed his face before he sighed, “Alright then.” It was exactly the answer I wanted, yet hearing him agree so easily still made my chest feel empty. If this had been before, he would have either insisted on coming or begged me to stay home with him. But now… Whatever. People have to adapt to sudden changes, including the sudden death of someone’s love. The night went by in peaceful silence. The only difference was that neither of us knew what was waiting for us tomorrow. The moment I arrived at my parents’ house, I told them the good news—I could speak again. They were absolutely thrilled, declaring they were going to cook a massive feast to celebrate. My mom insisted I text Carter to make sure he came over for dinner tonight. I nodded and smiled. “Okay.” Tonight was definitely a night to celebrate. But whether Carter could make it was a different story. After breakfast, my dad came back from the grocery store around 11:00 AM. Right then, Carter sent me two texts: *[It’s so boring at home. I should have gone with you.]* *[I miss you, babe.]* II didn’t reply. Instead, I opened our home security camera app on my phone.

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When I was four, Julian and I were kidnapped together. To protect my little brother, I ended up with a broken leg that never healed right. When the police finally found us, Julian was crying, curled up in my arms. I forced myself to stand straight through the agonizing pain and smiled at my mother. “Mom, look… Julian is safe…” I thought as long as Julian was okay, Mom would be happy. She loved him the most, after all. Instead, Mom slapped me hard across the face. “You truly are a monster!” she shrieked. “Did you think that by losing your brother, we would only love you?” From that day on, the only thing left in Mom’s eyes when she looked at me was cold disgust. Mom threw grand, lavish birthday parties for Julian every year. But on my birthday, I was locked in the dark basement. “Do you really think you deserve to celebrate? A wicked thing like you should just rot!” Mom would gently take Julian’s hand and walk away. “Only Julian is my sweet boy. You are Mommy’s pride and joy.” If I became her pride, would she love me too? I locked myself in the music room, practicing piano day and night without sleep. Finally, I won the prestigious full-tuition scholarship spot for the Vienna Conservatory prep program. But even though I was the one who won it, Julian was the one they sent. Mom, it hurts… and I feel a little empty inside… The doctor said I have terminal stomach cancer. I guess I’ll just let Julian have the spot. But Mom, how do I become your pride? I’m so tired. Everything hurts. I just want to sleep… In my dreams, Mom loved me so much. She held me close, crying, telling me how sorry she was…

On the day I was diagnosed with terminal stomach cancer, my brother, Julian, was sitting in a first-class cabin flying to Vienna. He was going to perform in a piano competition that should have been mine. Ever since the kidnapping, Mom had blamed me for everything. At first, Dad tried to speak up for me. But Mom would shield Julian like a wild lioness protecting her cub, screaming hysterically at Dad: “Because of her, Julian was traumatized! He has severe PTSD! The doctor said it could affect him for the rest of his life! I will not let Julian suffer even a second of discomfort because of her!” So, I endured it. Until I turned fifteen, and the diagnosis came. Terminal stomach cancer. My legs felt like cotton wool as I limped back home. My stomach felt like it was holding a block of ice—cold, hard, and sharp, constantly stabbing into my insides. In my pocket, the thin medical report was warm, soaked with the cold sweat from my palms. The doctor had told me to notify my family immediately and get admitted to the hospital. I gripped the paper, hesitating for a long time. In the end, I decided to tell them in person. I needed their help. This time, I really couldn’t hold on by myself. I pushed the door open. The living room was warm and brightly lit. Dad, Mom, and Julian were sitting on the couch together. They looked like a perfect, happy family, laughing at something on the TV. The moment the door opened, the smile on Mom’s face vanished. It was replaced by instant, unfiltered disgust. “Chloe, you finally decided to show up? Do you know what time it is? I told you to go to the school and pick up Julian’s performance suit. Where the hell did you go?” My hand tightened around the diagnosis sheet in my pocket. “I… I wasn’t feeling well. I had to go to the hospital…” “The hospital? What kind of game are you playing now?” Mom stood up, walked over, and looked down at me with a sneer. “Oh, I get it. You see Julian going to Vienna, so you feel bitter. Now you’re faking an illness to steal his spotlight and get attention?” Dad frowned slightly and spoke up. “Eleanor, that’s enough. She just got home. Let’s talk nicely.” “Talk nicely?” Mom’s voice spiked. “What is there to talk about with her? Arthur, look at her miserable, gloomy face! It’s bad luck! Julian is about to perform on the biggest stage of his life. Can’t she just let us have one peaceful day?” Julian stood up from the couch, walking over to Mom’s side. He looked at me with pure disdain. “Chloe, cut it out. You do this every single time. Aren’t you tired of this act?” Inside my pocket, my nails tore right through the paper. The sharp pain in my stomach grew worse, like a thousand needles stabbing me at once. Looking at their three cold, familiar faces, I felt my knees buckling. In utter despair, I used every ounce of my remaining strength to whisper words that felt foreign even to my own ears: “Mom… I’m dying…”

The living room fell dead silent for a second. Then, Mom let out a sharp, mocking laugh. There was no warmth in her eyes. “Dying? Good,” she pointed at the front door, her voice dripping with venom. “Then go die somewhere else. Don’t do it in this house. You’ll ruin my expensive carpets. You’re nothing but an eyesore!” Dad’s lips parted, but he closed them. He turned his head away, sighing. “Chloe, stop throwing tantrums. Go to your room. Don’t ruin Julian’s mood.” I looked at them and smiled. But large, hot tears rolled down my cheeks. Right. How could I forget? I didn’t even have the right to be sick in this house. How could I deserve to die in front of them? I turned around, dragging my heavy legs, and went up to my small attic bedroom. Deep inside my closet, there was a locked wooden box. I unlocked it with the key I kept under my pillow. Inside were all my “treasures.” A fountain pen Dad gave me for my tenth birthday. The only gold star sticker my kindergarten teacher had ever awarded me. And a crescent-shaped white seashell I found on the beach when I was five. I took the crumpled diagnosis sheet and placed it inside the box, right next to those treasures. The doctor’s words echoed in my head: “Kid, you came too late. The cancer has already metastasized… Surgery won’t do much now. Chemotherapy might prolong your life a little, but the process will be extremely painful… Still, I suggest you inform your family and get admitted.” Prolonging my life… would be extremely painful. And my family wanted me to die somewhere else. I looked at the glass of cold water on my desk. Quietly, I pulled out the bottle of strong painkillers the doctor had prescribed—the ones with severe side effects. I poured the entire contents into my palm. Mom, I won’t annoy you anymore. This time, I’ll do exactly what you want. The sweet coating of the pills started melting against my sweaty palm, feeling sticky. I threw my head back and swallowed them all, wash down with the cold water, like swallowing handfuls of candy. There was no bitterness. Just a numb, mechanical sensation. Very quickly, my stomach began to burn like fire. It was a violent, tearing pain, worse than anything I had ever felt before. Mom always said taking medicine makes the pain go away. But I took the whole bottle. Why did it hurt so much? I collapsed onto my desk, my body curling into tight spasms. Cold sweat instantly soaked my thin school uniform. I bit my bottom lip hard, refusing to let out a single sound. Downstairs, the front door clicked shut. Then came the sound of the car engine revving. The three of them were leaving for the airport. They were heading to the grand, glorious hall that belonged to Julian. While I was left behind in this freezing, dark room, walking toward death all by myself. My phone screen lit up. It was an Ins post from Mom. In the photo, the airport’s VIP lounge was brightly lit and luxurious. Mom was holding Dad’s arm, smiling elegantly and happily. Julian stood between them, wearing a perfectly tailored little tuxedo, making a peace sign at the camera. The caption read: “Leaving all the bad luck behind! Off we go! Pre-congratulations to my little pianist. Play your heart out at the Golden Hall! You are Mommy’s eternal pride!” “My pride… leaving the bad luck behind…” So, I was the bad luck. That spot in Vienna was supposed to be mine. I had played piano since I was six. Day and night, I practiced until my fingertips bled. I would wrap them in tape and keep playing. Meanwhile, Julian only sat at the piano when he was in a good mood. Our school only had one spot for the program. At the auditions, I played “La Campanella”, a piece I had practiced thousands of times. All the judges gave me the highest score. But when the final list came out, the name on it was Julian Carter. I had run to the music teacher to ask why. He avoided my gaze, stammering, “Chloe, this was… a decision made by the school board after looking at the overall picture.” I ran home and, for the first time in my life, yelled at Mom. “Why? Why did you steal my spot?” Mom was packing Julian’s bags. She didn’t even look up. Her tone was completely casual. “What do you mean ‘steal’? You’re the older sister. Isn’t it normal to let your brother have it?” “Julian needs this opportunity to rebuild his confidence. It’s good for his PTSD. You owe him this.” “Besides, your brother is naturally more talented than you. It would be a waste to send you.” …At that moment, I realized my entire life was a joke. The burning pain in my stomach flared up again. A thick, copper taste rushed up my throat. I clamped my hand over my mouth and forced the blood back down. I couldn’t throw up. If I threw up, I might survive, and then they’d have to spend money on getting my stomach pumped. Mom always said I was a burden. I didn’t want to burden them anymore.

The sky slowly darkened, and the city lights outside began to flicker. I heard Thomas, our butler, calling from downstairs. “Miss Chloe, dinner is ready. Please come down and eat something.” Using the last bit of my energy, I called back, “Thomas, I’m really tired. I think I’ll just sleep tonight. Don’t wait up.” “Alright, Miss Chloe. I’ll leave some warm food in the kitchen for you. Eat whenever you feel hungry.” There was a hint of worry in Thomas’s voice. The sharp pain in my stomach began to fade into a cold numbness. I was so cold. So sleepy. I slid off the desk chair, crawling onto my small bed with the last of my strength, pulling the blanket over my head. It was pitch black under the covers, just like the basement Mom used to lock me in. But I wasn’t afraid of the dark anymore. Once I fell asleep, it wouldn’t hurt. Once I fell asleep, no one would ever have to worry about me again. My mind started to drift. “Dad, Mom, it really hurts. The pills didn’t taste like anything. They weren’t good.” “If I fall asleep, will you guys, on the other side of the world, ever think about the daughter you left behind?” Morning came. My stomach didn’t hurt anymore. My body felt incredibly light, like a breath of invisible air. I floated up from the bed. Whoa. People really can fly. I floated up to the ceiling, looking down at my small bed. Under the blanket was the thin, still shape of “me.” She was sleeping so deeply. Even her brow was completely relaxed. “Miss Chloe, it’s time to wake up for school! You’ll be late!” Thomas called from downstairs. After a while, he called again. Hearing no answer, he walked up the stairs, worried, and knocked gently on my door. “Miss Chloe? Are you awake?” I floated right in front of him, waving my hands. “Thomas, good morning! I’m awake!” But he couldn’t see me. He couldn’t hear my voice. He just stared anxiously at the closed door. He hesitated, but decided not to push the door open. He turned and went back downstairs. A little later, Dad called. Thomas answered it on speakerphone. “Thomas, where is Chloe? Put her on.” Dad’s voice sounded tired. There was a lot of noise in the background. “Mr. Carter, Miss Chloe is… still asleep. I called her a few times, but she didn’t answer.” On the other end, Dad was silent for a few seconds. Then came an annoyed sigh. “That girl is getting more and more undisciplined. Forget it. Just tell her Julian’s performance was a huge success. The whole crowd gave him a standing ovation. He really made the Carter family proud! We’ll bring her a souvenir when we get back.” Then I heard Mom’s sharp, smug voice in the background: “Why bother telling her? She’s probably eating her heart out with jealousy! Just let her sleep. Out of sight, out of mind!” Julian’s voice joined in, filled with arrogant excitement. “Dad, Mom, don’t worry about her. Hurry up! We’re going to that three-star Michelin restaurant!” The call cut off. Thomas stood in the empty living room, holding the phone. His white hair looked exceptionally bright in the morning sun. He looked up toward my room and let out a long, heavy sigh. I really wanted to tell them that I wasn’t jealous. “I’m right here! I turned into a little flying fairy!” But no matter how loud I screamed, they didn’t react. The sunlight streamed through the window, warm and bright. But I couldn’t feel any of it. I felt completely cold. Mom, I wasn’t trying to throw a tantrum. I really did wake up. I’ve been floating here for so long. Can’t you see me? It’s just that the “me” lying on the bed… she was too tired. She didn’t want to wake up anymore.

In the afternoon, my school called. Thomas answered it again. “Hello, is this Chloe’s parent? This is her homeroom teacher, Mrs. Gable. Chloe didn’t show up for school today. Is she sick?” Thomas looked at the family portrait hanging on the wall and hesitated. “Ah… yes, she’s not feeling well today. She’s resting at home.” In the photo, Dad and Mom were holding a beaming Julian. I was standing on the very edge of the frame, my smile stiff and forced. On the other end, Mrs. Gable went quiet for a moment. Then she lowered her voice. “Is Mr. Carter there? I think it’s better if I tell you this directly. About the scholarship spot to Vienna… During the auditions, several judges actually agreed that Chloe played much better. But…” “Her mother came to the school personally. She said Julian needed this to overcome his psychological trauma, and asked the school to give the spot to him.” “Sigh, Chloe is a good kid… but her spirit has been very low since then. Her test grades have dropped significantly. She’s a proud girl with high self-esteem, and we’re all very worried about her.” “I understand. Thank you, Mrs. Gable,” Thomas said, his voice sounding incredibly heavy. After hanging up, the massive house fell into a graveyard silence. Thomas sat on the couch for a long, long time. Finally, he picked up the phone and dialed Dad’s number in Europe. It rang for a while before Dad picked up. The background was filled with loud music and clinking glasses. “Thomas? What is it? I’m busy here,” Dad said, sounding annoyed. Thomas repeated everything Mrs. Gable had just said, word for word. There was a long silence on the other end. After what felt like forever, Dad spoke, his voice suddenly sounding exhausted. “I… I see. Go… go check on Chloe. Don’t let her stay locked up. Take her out for a nice meal.” But before he could finish, Mom’s sharp voice cut in over the line: “Arthur, what do you mean by that? Are you blaming me? Was I wrong to do that for Julian?” “Julian is the future of our family! Chloe is just petty and jealous! She can’t even handle a little setback like this? How is she going to survive in the real world?” “Don’t pamper her! Let her reflect on her behavior! I want to see how long she can keep up this attitude!” The call disconnected again. I floated next to Thomas, looking at the deep sadness and pity etched into his wrinkled face. My heart ached. Mom, I didn’t want to make you feel guilty. I only wished that, just once, you could have believed in my talent the way you believed in Julian’s. Just once. That would have been enough. By evening, Thomas had made a bowl of my favorite seafood pasta. He walked up to my room. He stood at the door for a long time before finally pushing it open. He set the bowl on my nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed. Looking at the small shape under the blanket, he sighed softly. “Miss Chloe, I know you feel wronged. It’s Mr. and Mrs. Carter’s fault. They… they are just more worried about the young master.” “Don’t be angry with them. It’s not worth ruining your health over. Come on, sit up and eat some pasta. It’s still hot.” He reached out, wanting to pat my head, but his hand hovered in the air before gently resting on the blanket, patting it softly. “Tomorrow… tomorrow, Thomas will take you to the amusement park. We won’t tell them.” His back looked so lonely. “Thomas, I’m not angry anymore.” “But I don’t think I can go to the amusement park tomorrow.” … Dad and Mom finally came back from Vienna with Julian. The house was incredibly lively today. Nana, Papa, Grandma, and Grandpa—everyone was here. They brought piles of presents, their faces glowing with joy. I suddenly remembered. Today was Julian’s birthday. Mom used to say that both Julian and I were precious gifts from heaven. Later, she said I was a curse sent to punish her, and Julian was her only true angel. In the living room, Julian was wearing a custom white suit. His hair was perfectly styled. He looked like an elegant little prince. Everyone crowded around him, praising his piano skills, saying he brought glory to the Carter family, and talking about how he looked more like a proper heir every day. Mom had a genuine, beautiful smile on her face—the kind I hadn’t seen in years. It was so warm, so gentle. This was nice. Mom was finally smiling. As long as I wasn’t around, she could be this happy. Nana handed Julian a massive, limited-edition Lego set and casually looked around. “By the way, where is Chloe?” The smile on Mom’s face instantly froze. Her tone turned icy. “Don’t bring her up. Who knows what kind of tantrum she’s throwing now. She’s been locked in her room ‘sleeping’ for days. Having her out here on a happy day like this would only ruin the mood!”

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My garage became my neighbor’s free parking spot. The roller shutter door was broken for three months, and Marcus’s black Audi sat in my garage for those entire three months. “Sweetheart, your door won’t close anyway. And I see you don’t even have a car. It’s just sitting empty.” He patted my shoulder, ash from his cigarette falling onto my shirt collar. “Once this batch of goods sells, I’ll buy you dinner.” I just smiled and said nothing. The next day, I called the repairman. A month later, Marcus was jumping mad in my garage. His Audi, along with a ten-million-dollar contract inside it, was locked tight by my newly installed smart roller door. When the HOA manager called, I was boarding my flight. “Chloe, where are you? Marcus is losing his mind! He said he’d get down on his knees and beg you!” I walked through the boarding gate, sounding completely surprised: “My garage? I haven’t used it in forever. How could anyone else’s stuff be in there?” I stood in front of my garage. There was a car parked inside, but it wasn’t mine. It was shiny and clean, obviously just washed. The wheels were resting right on top of the renovation materials I had stored inside. A few PVC pipes had cracked under the weight. I couldn’t even count how many times I had called him about moving his car. Every time, he either ignored the call or gave me the same entitled excuse: “Your garage is empty anyway. We’re neighbors, what’s the big deal?” But now, I had a better plan. “Hey, sweetheart, you’re back?” Marcus, who owned the custom furniture workshop next door, strolled over. He was jingling his keychain. “Marcus,” I said, pointing at the garage. “My materials…” “Oh, that’s nothing!” He waved his hand dismissively. “Your door is broken anyway, right? It’s just wasting space. My shop has been crazy busy lately, and I had nowhere to park. So I used your spot.” There it was again. He said it so naturally, like it was the most normal thing in the world. I stared at him in silence. Seeing that I didn’t speak, he took a step closer and lowered his voice. “Look, Chloe, you’re letting good space go to waste. I’m doing you a favor by keeping it in use. You should be thanking me.” I almost laughed out of sheer anger. “I actually need to use those materials.” “Oh, come on!” He patted my shoulder roughly. “You young people take things too seriously. How much could that cheap plastic be worth? Once this new inventory sells, I’m making this much.” He held up five fingers. “When that happens, I’ll buy you the best materials, and I’ll take you out to any restaurant you want. My treat.” With that, he actually opened my storage cabinet inside the garage, took out a bottle of mineral water I had left there, unscrewed it, and took a drink. “Nice water. Sweeter than the stuff I have at home.” Looking at his smug face, I swallowed my words. With people like him, arguing is a waste of breath. He lived in his own world where everything he wanted belonged to him, and everything he took was his right. “Alright,” I nodded. “You have a point.” Marcus blinked, then burst into a loud laugh, slapping my back hard. “That’s what I’m talking about! Good girl! You get it!” He walked off, satisfied. Before leaving, he even swiped a fresh pack of screws I had left on top of my toolbox. The moment I got inside my house, the smile wiped off my face. I opened my laptop and booked the best storage service in town to move all my valuables out of the garage. Finally, I booked a flight to New York. Since you love that garage so much, I’ll let you enjoy it. The trap is set. I hope you like the game.

I sat by the floor-to-ceiling window of my hotel room, holding a glass of champagne. My phone screen was lit up, showing a live security feed of my garage. To make sure I didn’t miss a thing, I had secretly installed several HD cameras covering every single angle before I left. On the screen, Marcus’s car was still parked comfortably in my garage. Not only that, but several boxes of his inventory—looks like unsold lighting fixtures from his shop—were now stacked in the corner. Just then, his wife, Brenda, waddled into the frame, carrying a massive cardboard box. She shoved it onto the top shelf of my unused bookcase. She even used her sleeve to wipe the dust off the shelf, looking around as if she owned the place. She spoke into her phone, her voice coming through the mic crystal clear: “Marcus said this neighbor is a pushover. She doesn’t care at all, so we can use the garage however we want. Since her cheap door is broken anyway, we might as well take advantage of it.” I took a sip of my champagne, feeling incredibly pleased. Perfect. The prey was walking straight into the trap, and I was hundreds of miles away. Over the next few weeks, I watched my garage turn into Marcus’s personal warehouse and junkyard like I was watching a reality TV show. First, it was a few boxes of lights. Then, rolls of wire and half-empty paint cans. Eventually, they even shoved in their son’s old desk and computer. My cracked renovation materials had been kicked into the darkest corner, gathering dust. I watched the feed as Marcus directed his workers to squeeze a half-broken, rusty old freezer into my already packed garage. Greed has no bottom. All I had to do was dig the hole remotely. I didn’t even need to be there to push him in. My trip to New York was coming to an end. The timing was perfect. From my hotel room, I contacted the smart home installation company I had researched earlier. “Yes, the order we discussed. You can start the installation now,” I spoke into my headset. “I’ve detailed everything in the email. If any neighbors ask, just tell them it’s a routine remote maintenance order from the owner. No need to chat.” “Understood, Ms. Miller. Once it’s installed, all controls will be transferred to your phone app.” On the day of the installation, I watched the whole thing on my live feed. The professional team was fast. The old, broken door was gone, and the new smart roller door was installed flawlessly. The sleek silver-gray door looked high-end and operated in near silence. The commotion brought Marcus out. He walked around the new door, his eyes a mix of surprise and a sneaky sort of joy. He tried to strike up a conversation with the technician. “Hey, is the owner back? Why the sudden repair?” The technician didn’t even look up, giving the exact answer I had prepared. “No idea. We just follow the order. The owner booked it remotely.” “Ah…” Marcus nodded thoughtfully. He rubbed his hand over the smooth metal door and muttered under his breath, “Well, it looks safer now anyway. My goods… I mean, she won’t be back anytime soon anyway.” He had no idea that this door, which he thought was protecting his stash, was about to become his worst nightmare. After the team left, I looked at the app notification on my phone. I gently swiped the screen. The door rolled up silently, then rolled down. A satisfying click sounded as it locked shut, and the app chirped to confirm. I had left him a working door, just like I had left him one last chance. But he would never take it.

The big day finally arrived. From watching the cameras, I knew that Marcus had a meeting at 10:00 AM today to pick up a huge client from Miami. This client was his golden ticket. A massive order that could save his struggling business. And the physical contract and product samples were locked inside the trunk of his Audi. At 9:30 AM, I sat at my hotel desk, packing my bags while watching the live feed. On screen, Marcus was wearing a tight suit, his hair slicked back with gel. He stood in front of my garage, adjusting his tie with a smug grin. His wife, Brenda, stood behind him, buzzing in his ear about the contract details and how to kiss up to the client. At 9:40 AM, he pulled out his phone, a fake, flattering smile plastered on his face as he texted the client. At 9:50 AM, he took a thick folder from Brenda and stuffed it into his briefcase. At 9:55 AM, he took a deep breath, looking victorious, and reached out to pull open the garage door—ever since the new door was installed, he had been opening and closing it manually without any issues. But this time, the door didn’t budge. His smile froze. He pulled harder. The door remained locked tight, like a solid steel wall. “What’s wrong?” Brenda hissed, stepping closer. “Why won’t it open? It worked fine yesterday!” “What the hell?” Marcus muttered, getting annoyed. He slammed his palms against the door. “Did this brand-new piece of junk break already?” He walked around the door, searching for a keyhole or any way to force it. But this smart door was designed to be perfectly seamless for security. Aside from a maintenance panel that required special tools, there was no physical lock to pick. “The remote! Get the remote from the owner!” Brenda shrieked. “Right! The remote!” Marcus gasped like a drowning man catching a rope. He whipped out his phone and called my number. In my quiet hotel room, my phone began to buzz on the desk. I watched his caller ID flash. I calmly folded my last shirt and placed it in my suitcase, letting the phone ring until it went silent. Once, twice, three times… He called repeatedly, his panic rising with every ring. On the feed, sweat was beads on his forehead, and his slicked-back hair was starting to fall apart. “She’s not picking up! Why isn’t she picking up?!” he yelled at Brenda, his voice cracking with fear. “How should I know?! You said she was an easy target!” Brenda screamed back. “What do we do now? The client lands at noon! It takes over an hour to get to the airport! If we miss him, this deal is dead!” “I know! I know what time it is!” Marcus kicked the door hard, making a dull thud. A dusty footprint appeared on my pristine silver door. “This damn door! This stupid bitch!” At exactly 10:00 AM, I zipped up my suitcase and grabbed my room key. My phone showed over a dozen missed calls. It was time to start the show.

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I maxed out my personal credit card to entertain our biggest client, drinking top-shelf whiskey until my stomach burned, just to secure a million-dollar contract for the company. But the finance department rejected my expense report. The reason? “This expenditure was a personal, voluntary act.” My manager patted my shoulder and said, “Think of it as an investment in your career, Logan. Don’t sweat the small stuff.” I nodded, smiled, and silently tucked the $2,500 receipt back into my wallet. A week later, the most prestigious company in the industry reached out to us for a massive partnership. This time, I refused to take the lead. “Company policy states that employees must participate in large-scale, sudden projects voluntarily. No one can be forced.” “Besides, I’m completely broke. I don’t have the money to entertain clients anymore.” My manager lost his mind, but none of my colleagues stepped up to take the bullet. Finally, the CEO called me directly: “Logan, I just personally approved your $2,500 reimbursement. Now, pick up the project immediately!”

Twenty-five hundred dollars. I stared at the bank alert on my phone, then looked at the printed hotel restaurant receipt in my hand. That was the price of last night’s victory. To secure that million-dollar contract from our client, I had paid out of my own pocket to host their project manager and lead engineers at a five-star hotel. By the time the whiskey ran dry, we had finalized the details, and they signed the contract right there at the table. “It was worth it,” I told myself. When I got back to the office, I filled out the expense report, attached the receipts, the contract copy, and a detailed explanation, then sent it to finance. Three days later, it was rejected. A cold, robotic line of text sat in the status section: “After review, this expense has been deemed a voluntary personal action and does not meet the company’s standard for business entertainment reimbursement.” I went straight to the finance office. The finance manager, Bradley, casually tossed my printed report onto his desk. He took a slow sip of his coffee and said, “Look, Logan, the system is clear. If it’s rejected, it’s rejected. Nothing I can do.” “But this money was spent to close the Apex Tech deal,” I said, clenching my fists and forcing my voice to remain calm. “You know how critical this contract is for our company’s Q4 targets.” “Hey, I’m just the finance guy,” Bradley said, waving his hand dismissively. “Save the speech. I just follow the guidelines. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m buried in paperwork.” I stared at him, took the rejected paper from his desk, and walked out without another word. Next, I went to my direct supervisor, Arthur Vance, the department manager. Arthur was in his mid-forties, with perfectly styled hair and a sharp suit. He leaned back in his leather chair, listened to my explanation, glanced at the rejected report, and threw it on his desk. “Logan,” he said, using that patronizing, fatherly tone he loved so much. “I heard about this. But finance has their rules. You didn’t submit a pre-approval request before taking them out.” “Arthur, it was an emergency,” I argued. “The client’s executives only had that one free night. I had to make a move. And I got the contract. It’s worth a million dollars.” “And you did a great job. The company will remember your contribution,” Arthur said. He stood up, walked over, and patted my shoulder. The luxury watch on his wrist caught the light. “But rules are rules.” “You’re young, Logan. You need to keep your eyes on the long game. Don’t sweat the small stuff.” “Sometimes, taking one for the team is a blessing in disguise.” His hand on my shoulder was warm, but his eyes were filled with condescension. I looked at his smug face, then down at the flimsy receipt on his desk. I nodded. “I understand, Arthur.” I picked up the receipt, turned around, and left his office. Back at my desk, I folded the $2,500 receipt once, twice, and tucked it into the deepest corner of my wallet. Oh, I was going to get this money back. With interest.

Over the next few days, I went about my work as usual. I replied to emails, managed my ongoing projects, and attended department meetings. I never mentioned the rejected reimbursement to anyone. Whenever Arthur ran into me in the hallway, he would give me an approving nod. When the down payment from the Apex Tech deal hit the company’s account, Arthur praised me in front of everyone during our weekly meeting. He said I had “great initiative” and “didn’t cry over petty expenses.” I just kept my head down, doodling mindless lines on my notepad. During lunch, my colleague Leo leaned in and lowered his voice. “Hey Logan, is it true? They actually refused to reimburse you for the Apex dinner?” Rumors sure traveled fast in this place. “Yeah,” I replied casually, digging into my salad. “That’s bullshit!” Leo hissed. “Twenty-five hundred bucks? And you’re just letting it go?” “What else can I do?” I looked up at him. “It’s company policy.” “Company policy my ass!” Leo spat. “Arthur is just exploiting us to make his own budget look good. Last month, he took some clients to a VIP golf simulator lounge, spent five grand, and got every penny back!” I didn’t reply. Some things were better left unsaid. That afternoon, my phone rang. It was Marcus, the lead engineer from Apex Tech. Outside of work, we had actually become pretty good friends. “Logan, I need a quick favor,” Marcus said, his voice sounding rushed. “What’s up, Marcus?” “Our parent company is hosting a massive national tech summit next month. Huge budget, high profile. But our event planning agency just completely dropped the ball. Can your company handle a high-stakes event like this? We need speed and top-tier execution.” My heart skipped a beat. The Apex Tech National Summit was legendary in our industry. The budget was easily in the seven-figure range. “What are the specific requirements, Marcus? Send them over,” I said, keeping my tone perfectly level. “Awesome. I’ll email you the RFP right now. I need an initial proposal and a quote by Thursday morning at the latest. A bunch of agencies are begging for this, but I love working with you, so I’m giving you first dibs.” “Thanks, Marcus. I’ll look out for it.” A minute later, my inbox chimed. I opened the document and scanned through it. The scale, technical requirements, and prestige of this event were far beyond our department’s usual scope, but our company definitely had the capacity to pull it off. This was a massive opportunity. A goldmine of profit and reputation. And it was the perfect lever. I saved the document to a private folder and did not report it to Arthur.

The next morning, Arthur practically burst into my cubicle, his face flushed with excitement. “Logan! Did Apex Tech contact you? I heard they’re looking for a lead agency for their national tech summit!” Word traveled fast. I wasn’t sure if someone from Marcus’s team had mentioned it, or if he had heard it through other channels. “Yes, Marcus sent me the RFP yesterday afternoon,” I said honestly. “Incredible!” Arthur rubbed his hands together greedily. “This is a massive deal! It makes the previous million-dollar contract look like pocket change!” “Get a preliminary proposal and budget ready. I need it on my desk by the end of the day so I can personally pitch it to their executives!” I didn’t move. “What’s the matter? Is there a problem?” Arthur frowned, noticed my lack of enthusiasm. “Arthur, we can’t take this project,” I said calmly. “Can’t take it? Why?” Arthur’s voice jumped an octave. “Our company is more than capable!” “Capability is one thing, but resources are another,” I said, looking him dead in the eye. “To execute a project of this scale, we’ll need extensive travel, off-site coordination, and massive upfront expenses. It’s not going to be cheap.” “According to company policy, the project lead has to front these costs and submit them for reimbursement later. Personally, my bank account is currently in the red, so I can’t afford to play bank for the company again.” “Furthermore, the RFP requires a team of senior engineers to work on-site for at least two weeks of testing. Under our current HR policy, this kind of overtime is considered ‘voluntary.’ I don’t think it’s fair to force my colleagues to sacrifice their personal lives for ‘voluntary’ corporate charity.” I paused, mimicking the exact tone he had used on me. “After all, we have to look at the long game. We can’t keep letting our employees take losses, right?” The excitement on Arthur’s face instantly froze. He stared at me, his mouth open, as if I were speaking a foreign language. “What… what are you saying?” “I’m saying,” I repeated clearly, “I personally decline to take on this project.” “And since the company highly respects ‘voluntary’ actions, I suggest we politely decline Apex Tech’s invitation.” The office went dead silent. Arthur stared at me, his eyes burning with rage. He had never expected me to weaponize his own PUA logic against him. “Logan Miller!” he slammed his hand on the desk. “You are doing this on purpose! Just because of that petty $2,500, you’re willing to ruin a multi-million-dollar deal for this company?!” “You’re overreacting, Arthur,” I said, my voice smooth as silk. “I’m just strictly following company guidelines and looking out for my team. How is that sabotage?” “That $2,500 was my ‘voluntary personal action.’ And refusing this project is also my ‘voluntary personal choice.’” I emphasized the word “voluntary” heavily. Arthur’s face turned a deep, angry purple. He pointed a shaking finger at me, but couldn’t squeeze out a single word. The fire was lit. And it was beautiful.

I went back to my desk. I could feel the curious stares of my coworkers. The shouting match in Arthur’s office hadn’t been quiet. Arthur immediately posted a notice about the Apex Tech project in our team WhatsApp group, asking for “volunteers” to lead it. But hours passed, and the chat remained dead silent. With my $2,500 horror story fresh in their minds, nobody was stupid enough to risk their own money and sanity on the company’s “goodwill.” By mid-afternoon, my desk phone rang. It was Arthur. His voice was tight, barely suppressing his rage. “My office. Now.” When I walked back in, the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. Arthur sat behind his desk, hands clasped, trying to regain his dominant managerial posture. But the sweat on his forehead gave him away. “Logan, let’s cut the crap,” he took a deep breath. “This project is vital for the company. We must have it. Name your terms.” “I don’t have terms, Arthur,” I said. “I’m just respecting company principles.” “Stop playing mind games with me!” he snapped, raising his voice again. “It’s about the damn $2,500, isn’t it? Fine! I’ll sign off on the reimbursement right now! Just take the damn project!” He grabbed his pen, waving it over an empty desk. Too bad the receipt was still sitting in my wallet. I watched him squirm. He wanted to solve a massive problem with the absolute minimum effort, still trying to patronize me. I felt absolutely nothing. “Arthur, the reimbursement is in the past. It’s fine,” I said smoothly. “Right now, I’m thinking about the logistical risks of this project and the morale of the team. Forcing this through violates my professional principles.” “Your principles?” Arthur practically laughed, a manic edge to his voice. “Since when does your principle involve fighting the very company that pays your salary?” “My principle is simple: do business the right way,” I corrected him. “The company pays for company expenses. Employees get paid for their work. No free labor, no personal credit cards.” Arthur glared at me, the silence stretching between us like a ticking bomb. Suddenly, his desk phone rang. The sharp ringtone made him jump. He glanced at the caller ID, and his face instantly turned pale. It was the executive line from the top floor. He took a shaky breath and picked up, his voice instantly turning submissive. “Yes, Mr. Reynolds… Yes, sir, we are actively reviewing the Apex Tech proposal. Yes, Logan Miller is the lead on that account…” “What? Marcus Davis called you directly? He asked why we haven’t responded to the RFP yet?” Cold sweat began to bead on Arthur’s forehead. “…Yes, sir, I understand. We absolutely cannot lose this account. Don’t worry, Mr. Reynolds, I will personally handle this… What? You want to speak with Logan? Right now?” Arthur snapped his head up to look at me, his eyes wide with sheer panic. He covered the mouthpiece with his hand and whispered hoarsely, “Mr. Reynolds wants to talk to you.”

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My mother took my life just to please my stepfather. My stepfather’s son saw the robot-shaped inhaler I used to save my life during asthma attacks. He cried and demanded to have it. My stepfather glanced at my mother. Without hesitation, she turned around and snatched the robot from my hands. “Mom—” Before I could finish, the air in my throat was cut off. The boy pushed me to the ground. I desperately clawed at my pocket, trying to reach my emergency spray. “Faking it again,” my stepfather sneered. “Girls are always so dramatic.” My mother’s face flushed with instant embarrassment. She snatched my spray and threw it hard onto the floor. “Can you stop acting for once?! Just give me some peace!” I curled up on the cold floor, my chest feeling as if it were being crushed by a giant fist. I couldn’t draw a single breath. “It’s just a toy. It belongs to your little brother now.” She turned around to comfort the crying boy. She never looked back. My consciousness began to fade. “Mom, I’m sorry.” “I shouldn’t have fought with Leo.” “Please don’t let Richard think you love me more than him.”

It felt as if my entire windpipe was being squeezed shut from the inside. I knelt on the floor, my fingers clawing at my throat, my nails digging deep into my skin. But nothing came out. My chest felt like it was stuffed with red-hot iron, burning and exploding from the inside. I wanted to cry out for my mom. My mouth opened, but only faint gasps escaped. No air went in. Leo stood in front of me, cradling the robot inhaler in his arms. It had a white plastic shell and a blue breathing light on its belly. I had charged it for two hours last night. Now, the blue light blinked in his hands, casting a rhythmic glow. He looked down at me, his lips curving into a smirk. “Stella, you’re faking it, right? My mom said you love to play pretend.” He held the robot high, waving it toward his father. “Dad, look! It lights up!” Richard was leaning back on the sofa, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He didn’t even raise his eyelids. “Alright, bring it over. Let Dad have a look.” Leo ran past me, the toe of his shoe scraping my arm. I collapsed sideways onto the floor, my head hitting the tile with a dull thud. It hurt. But compared to the suffocating agony in my chest, this pain was nothing. I crawled on the floor, my fingers stretching forward. The blue spray bottle was lying next to the table leg, having slipped out of my pocket when I was pushed. It was less than three steps away. I crawled one step closer. Richard’s foot extended, kicking the spray deep under the sofa. “Still acting,” he exhaled a cloud of smoke, ashes falling onto the floor. “Girls are so dramatic. Leo, don’t learn from your sister. She’s always putting on a show.” Leo giggled. My fingers couldn’t reach the spray anymore. The dust from under the sofa billowed out, coughing into my nose. I coughed once, then twice, and each cough squeezed my remaining airway even tighter. “Mom.” “Mom, please look at me.” My mother walked out of the kitchen, holding a plate of sliced apples. Seeing me sprawled on the floor, her eyebrows knitted together. I knew that look too well—it wasn’t worry. It was annoyance. “Stella, what is it this time?” I couldn’t speak. I pointed toward the bottom of the sofa, my fingers trembling violently. Leo spoke up first. “Mom, Stella said she wants her robot back. But you just gave it to me.” His voice was soft, his eyes wide as he looked at my mother. I could never master that innocent expression. I only knew how to stay silent, keep my head down, and say “I’m fine.” My mother set the plate of apples on the coffee table, then bent down to lift Leo onto her lap. He leaned into her chest, the robot resting on his knees, its blue light flashing. “Stella, you’re fifteen years old,” my mother scolded. “Stealing things from a five-year-old child? Have you no shame?” My finger was still pointing under the sofa. “Mom, the spray. It’s under there.” “Here we go again,” Richard stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray. “Every time things don’t go her way, she plays dead on the floor. Your mother might tolerate this, but I won’t. If you want to lie there, go ahead. Just don’t ruin our dinner.” He stood up, took a slice of apple, and stuffed it into his mouth. As he walked past me, his foot kicked my leg, telling me to get out of the way. My leg was shoved aside, and it slowly curled back. It wasn’t by choice; my body was shaking uncontrollably. My mother glanced at me. Just one glance. Then she turned her head back, feeding an apple slice to Leo and wiping the juice from his chin with a tissue. “Mom, isn’t Stella going to eat dinner?” Leo asked. “Ignore her,” my mother’s voice came from the kitchen as she set the table. “When she gets hungry enough, she’ll crawl up on her own.” “When I get hungry enough, I’ll crawl up on my own.” I lay on the cold tiles, the chill seeping into my bones. Outside, the sky was still bright. It was a summer evening, and the setting sun bathed the living room in a warm, golden hue. On the TV stand sat a framed family portrait—Richard, my mother, and Leo. The three of them, smiling perfectly. Without me. That photo was taken last Christmas. That day, my mother made me wear a bright red sweater, saying it looked festive. I put it on. But when we arrived at the photo studio, Richard saw me and frowned. “Why did she come too?” My mother said nothing. The photographer told the mother and son to lean closer. The father wrapped his arm around the mother, and the son stood in front. I stood on the very edge. The photographer said, “Sweetie, move closer to the center.” My mother replied, “No need. Just take it like this.” The shutter clicked, and I was cropped out.

The savory scent of dinner drifted over. Baked lobster, Tomahawk steak, salad, and clam chowder. Everything Leo loved. He was a picky eater, so my mother always cooked to his tastes. I wasn’t picky. I could eat anything. Or eat nothing at all. The clanking of the spatula against the pan, the clinking of silverware, the sound of Leo’s voice, and Richard’s laughter. My mother said, “Leo, eat more meat. Look how thin you are.” Richard said, “Don’t just eat meat. Have some veggies too.” Leo said, “Dad, I want some soup.” My mother said, “I’ll get it for you, sweetie.” I lay on the floor, my cheek pressed against the cold tiles, staring at the apple peels near the table leg. It had been a very long time since anyone had served me soup. The blockage in my airway remained. Inhaling felt like someone scraping the inside of my throat with sandpaper. Exhaling sounded like a slow leak. I tried to take a deep breath. A sharp, whistling sound came from my throat, thin and high, like a dying bird. No one heard. Or perhaps they heard, but nobody cared. I closed my eyes and buried my face in my arms. The tiles were freezing, but my tears were hot. When they rolled onto the floor, they immediately turned cold. I struggled to open my eyes and saw that my fingernails had turned a dark purple, as if they had been pinched. When I used to have attacks, my mother would panic. She would scramble through the nightstand to find my inhaler, pressing it against my lips with shaking hands. She would hold me and whisper, “It’s okay, it’s okay. Mom is here.” But that was a long time ago. Back then, there was no Richard, no Leo, and no family portrait. Back then, she still called me Starry. Dinner was over. Leo jumped off the sofa and ran to the TV stand, standing on his tiptoes to turn on the television. The loud, high-pitched voices of a cartoon filled the room. Suddenly, he seemed to remember something. He turned and walked over. Lying on the floor, I heard the slap-slap of his slippers getting closer. “Stella.” He squatted down, bringing his face close to mine. A five-year-old’s face, pale and round. He tilted his head, looking at me with a serious expression, as if examining an injured cat. “Stella, are you really dead?” I didn’t move. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I couldn’t. The fire in my chest was still burning, and every breath felt like swallowing shards of glass. He reached out and poked my cheek. “Get up and play with me.” His finger was warm, smelling of sweet apples. I still didn’t move. He stood up and stepped on my hair. Not hard, just a testing tap, like stepping on an object to see what it was. Then he ran away, his slippers pitter-pattering as the cartoon continued to blare. A moment later, Richard walked over. His leather slippers made a creaking sound against the floor. He stood over me, looking down, the smell of cigarette smoke washing over me. “Still lying there?” He nudged my shoulder with the toe of his shoe. I wobbled slightly but didn’t move. He squatted, grabbed my collar, and yanked me up from the floor. My upper body left the ground, my collar choking my neck. My windpipe, already blocked, was completely squeezed shut. My mouth hung open, like a fish gasping on dry land. He let go. I crashed back onto the floor. The back of my head hit the tiles, and my vision went white. “Fine. If you love lying down so much, go lie outside.” He grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the front door. My back scraped against the floor, my shirt bunching up, leaving my skin to rub directly against the tiles. It hurt, but it didn’t matter anymore. He opened the door and shoved me out. My forehead struck the doorframe with a dull thud. Warm blood trickled down from above my eyebrow, flowing into my eye, turning the world red. The door shut. With a click.

The light came on. Through the crack at the bottom of the door, I saw a thin strip of warm yellow light casting onto the back of my hand. From inside came Leo’s laughter, the cartoon characters chatting, Richard saying, “Hand Dad the remote,” and my mother saying, “Leo, turn off the TV, it’s time for your bath.” I lay outside the door. The autumn night wind swept through the hallway, blowing over me. I was wearing a short-sleeved shirt, and goosebumps broke out across my arms. It wasn’t cold. Or maybe I was past the point of cold, unable to feel it anymore. The blood on my forehead kept flowing, running down my cheek and into my ear, sticky and warm. I lifted my hand to wipe it, but my arm fell back down halfway, as if the bones had been removed. I stared at the hallway ceiling. A fluorescent light bulb hummed softly. A moth rested on it, its shadow cast on the floor, completely still. The lights inside the apartment went out. Leo said, “Goodnight, Mom.” My mother said, “Make sure you cover yourself up, Leo.” Richard said, “Go to sleep early, you have school tomorrow.” Silence fell. Occasionally, there was the sound of someone tossing in bed, a creak of the mattress, and then silence again. The pipes gurgled as water ran down from the upper floors. Someone next door was snoring in a rhythmic cadence. I lay outside the door, watching the moth. It remained on the bulb, its wings folded, gray and dusty, completely unnoticed. Just like me. Inconsequential in life, unnoticed in death. I didn’t know how much time had passed. It could have been midnight, or close to dawn. The hallway light went out. It was motion-activated, shutting off when no one walked by. Everything turned pitch black. Even the sliver of light under the door was gone. I lay in the dark. My chest didn’t hurt as much anymore. It wasn’t getting better; it had just gone numb. My breathing was still there, but it was shallow and faint, like a thin thread about to snap. I suddenly remembered something. Last winter, my mother took me to the hospital for a check-up. The doctor said my condition couldn’t be ignored anymore, and that surgery should be done as soon as possible. My mother said we had to wait. We had just bought a new apartment, and money was tight. The doctor warned that if we kept waiting, the next attack could be my last. My mother nodded and said she understood. After leaving the hospital, she bought me a glazed donut. It was covered in sugar, sweet and slightly tart. She bought one for herself too. We stood at the hospital entrance, eating. Suddenly she smiled and said, “Starry, you loved these when you were little. You’d cry if I didn’t buy you one.” I said, “Mom, you still remember.” She said, “Of course I do. You’re my baby girl.” That was the last time she called me Starry. When dawn broke, I was awakened by the sound of footsteps. Not human footsteps. It was the rustling of a broom sweeping the floor, rustle, rustle, coming from the end of the hallway. It was Maria, the building cleaner. Seeing me, her broom stopped. “Oh my, why is this child lying here?” She knelt down and touched the back of my hand to my cheek. “She’s ice cold.” Her voice changed. She patted my face, felt my hand, and then stood up, banging on the door. “Is anyone home?! Your child is lying out here! Come out, quick!”

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My mother was assaulted by a vagrant on her way to take me to the hospital for a high fever. Shattered and crying, she fell into the river and drowned. Blaming me for her death, my father and brother channeled all their hatred toward me, forcing me to kneel by the riverbank every single day as penance. But then, I was targeted by the same monsters. After hours of brutal torment, I was dragged into the deep, lawless mountains. I searched desperately for a chance to escape. Before my phone died, I made one last, desperate call to my brother, Damian. But Damian only sneered over the line: “Keep acting, Sienna! Even if you really got kidnapped, you brought it on yourself!” “You were the one who should have been ruined that night, not Mom!” I lost all hope. The villagers caught me, dragged me back, and broke my bones, tearing me apart in the name of “purifying the impure.” Later, my mother, who had actually survived and was on a classified undercover mission, returned home safely. When she found out that my shattered bones were among the remains of the trafficking victims she had brought back, she went completely insane.

When Damian was called to the police station in the middle of the night, the facial recognition on the security footage hadn’t been fully restored yet. Between the blind spots of the camera and the pitch-black night, it was hard to make out the victim’s face. The detective met Damian, his sharp eyes scanning him from head to toe. With a heavy voice, the detective placed a watch in front of him. “We found this at the crime scene. It has old and new scratches all over it, and your fingerprints are on it.” “More importantly, we verified with the store. You ordered this watch yourself.” Damian frowned, his gaze falling on the battered watch. The glass face was shattered, the strap hacked to pieces by something sharp. He flipped it over gently and saw the letters engraved on the inside. “I bought it,” he said, pausing. Thinking of me, a look of disgust flashed in his eyes, and his voice turned ice-cold. “But my sister, Sienna, threw this watch away. If she’s in trouble, go find her. Her life has nothing to do with me.” With that, he stood up abruptly, turning to leave the station. But his eyes were caught by the security footage playing on a loop on a nearby screen. It was the tape of the vagrant attack. The screen was playing the exact moment I was being brutally assaulted by multiple men in the shadows. Blood trailed across the ground, stretching into the darkness. Thud! Damian slammed his fist violently onto the table. His eyes turned bloodshot, welling with tears. His entire body began to shake, consumed by pure rage. “Animals! Those goddamn scumbags! So many of them, ganging up on one helpless girl!” “Bastards!” A faint smile touched my ghostly lips. Could this count as Damian crying for me? Since Mom “died,” I hadn’t seen him show this much emotion in a long time. The footage kept playing. After the monsters finished, they brutally broke my legs and dragged me into a blind spot. Hoarse screams and sadistic laughter mingled on the tape. Fear, despair, and excruciating pain seemed to wrap around me again, swallowing me whole. Right before I disappeared from the camera’s view, my blurry, half-ruined face was exposed for a split second. The officers in the room looked grim, some stepping forward to pat Damian’s shoulder in sympathy. “This is the latest attack. A lot of women have gone missing or been hurt lately. Don’t you have a sister? Keep her safe.” “Don’t let her end up like this poor girl. She’s been missing for two days, and no one even filed a report. We don’t even know who she is.” Damian didn’t say a word, his eyes glued to the screen. I lowered my head with a bitter smile, looking at my own shattered soul. Damian hated me. Why would he ever protect me? If he cared, I wouldn’t have been dead for two days without them even noticing. It hurt so bad. After a long silence, Damian spoke, his voice hoarse and dripping with sarcasm. “The watch belongs to that girl. It’s highly likely the victim is someone my sister knows. I’ll ask her when I get back.” “Both cases are tied to her. There’s no way she doesn’t know something about this.” “As for protecting her? She doesn’t deserve it.”

The tension in the room vanished, replaced by a suffocating silence. It only eased when Damian offered to lead the officers to find me for questioning. “Damian, does your sister like to hang out by the river at night? Why would she be out there?” “Hey, I get it. Sibling drama, right? My sister drives me crazy too!” “But she’s your blood. Who else is going to spoil her? Just swallow your pride and make up. Don’t hold a grudge against a kid.” “I told you, she doesn’t deserve it! She can rot for all I care!” Damian snapped, as if a raw nerve had been touched. In a fit of rage, he hurled his phone onto the ground, his chest heaving. Everyone stared at him, bewildered and concerned. “You don’t know the truth! The victim of the first attack years ago was my mom!” “Sienna killed her! She is a walking curse!” “If she hadn’t whined about a stupid fever and forced Mom to take her to the hospital in the middle of the night, Mom would still be alive!” Damian’s voice cracked, his emotions spiraling. He covered his face, trying to suppress the agonizing pain buried deep in his heart. By the end, he was screaming, sounding like a wounded, helpless child begging for his mother. “Because of her, I don’t have a mother anymore! How could I ever protect a murderer?!” “My dad and I wanted to build a memorial, but we didn’t even have a body to bury!” Damian cried, and I wept right alongside him. My chest ached so badly I felt like throwing up. For years, every time I knelt by that river, those were the exact words hurled at me. Dad called me a curse, a murderer, the most evil child on earth. Damian hated me. He hated me for taking Mom away, for having a fever that night. They said I was the one who destroyed our perfect family. So, they would grab me by the neck, shove my head into the freezing water, and ask me over and over why it wasn’t me who died that night. They wanted to prove a point—that between me and Mom, Mom was the only one who mattered. But they forgot. Once, I was the little girl they held in the palms of their hands. An officer sighed heavily, breaking the silence. “The living are what matters now. You guys are family.” “I said, she doesn’t deserve it!” The light in my eyes died out. I shook my head bitterly. If Damian knew I was dead, would he feel a little happier? A little relieved? Would he… forgive me just a little? “Captain! We searched the entire riverbank! No sign of her!” “But we found a mess of chaotic footprints. And this—a strawberry hairpin.” That hairpin was hand-crafted by Damian. It had a tiny GPS tracker hidden inside. Back when I was in middle school, Damian forgot to pick me up, and I got lost. My family and the police searched for six months before rescuing me from a trafficking ring. I never forgot Damian’s guilt-ridden eyes back then, or my parents’ terrified, loving faces. Damian had sworn he would protect me from getting hurt for the rest of his life. Yet, all that love turned into a double-edged sword, sending me straight back to hell. Damian only spared the hairpin a cold glance before stepping forward to inspect the footprints. My heart began to race with a spark of hope. I wasn’t kneeling there like I usually did, and my hairpin was on the ground. Damian was smart; surely he would notice something was off? If he just mentioned it to the police… Maybe… they could still find my body. “Damian! Where is your sister? Could she have been kidnapped?”

The officers immediately grew tense. Connecting my disappearance with the vagrant attack from earlier, the truth was staring them in the face. My heart climbed into my throat. But Damian just let out a cold laugh, pulling up his call log and showing it to them. “Her? Kidnapped? Where could a cockroach like her go? She called me this morning, playing the victim again!” “She loves lying. She loves directing her own little dramas! Killing my mother wasn’t enough, now she’s pulling this stunt!” I frantically spun around them, wishing with everything in me that I could scream the truth into their ears. I wasn’t lying! I wasn’t playing victim! Everything I said was real! Why won’t you believe me?! But my voice couldn’t reach them. Damian, convinced of his own theory, looked eager to drag me out and expose my “lies” to the world. Eventually, the last drop of hope drained from me. I just stared at him, numb. He was on the phone with Dad, talking about me. “Sienna is pulling her old tricks again. She’s probably out hooking up with some trashy guy.” “She doesn’t feel a shred of remorse! Even if she dies, she deserves it! Let’s see how many days she can last out there!” Dad’s final words hit me like a physical blow. The pain in my chest was blinding, and a familiar coldness washed over my face. Of course. Even if I died, they wouldn’t care. The police search was called off. I followed Damian back home. The next morning, before nine, my school counselor called. He was a good man, always worried that my family issues would ruin my education. He cared about me when no one else did. “Hello? Damian? I heard from the teachers that Sienna hasn’t been in class for days. Is everything okay?” The voice was filled with genuine warmth. My eyes welled with tears, and they spilled over instantly. If there was anyone left in this world who cared about me, it was Mr. Sterling. I wanted so badly to thank him, to thank him for remembering me. But I would never get the chance. “Mr. Sterling? Or are you just one of the trashy guys Sienna is fooling around with?” “Is she standing right next to you, telling you what to say? Does she want to see us worry? Why is she so obsessed with these cheap dramas?” “No, you misunderstand—” “Save it! Tell her to get her ass back to the river and kneel. If she keeps this up, I’m legally disowning her!” “And you! Aren’t you afraid she’ll ruin your life too? She’s a monster who didn’t even spare her own mother!” Before the counselor could explain, Damian slammed the phone down. His face was still flushed with lingering anger. Dad walked out of his room, frowning. “Was that Sienna?” “Don’t worry about her. If she doesn’t want to come home, she doesn’t have to.” “She kept me up all night. I just finalized the disownment papers and posted them on social media.” “She’s dead to this family now.” I stared at Dad, frozen. My heart sank to the absolute bottom of a frozen lake, aching with a dull, throbbing pain. I curled up on the floor, hugging my knees, wanting to cry but having no tears left. Damian’s number was only listed as my emergency contact because Mr. Sterling had insisted on it. Back then, the counselor had comforted me, saying Damian and Dad were just angry, that they would understand one day. He told me guys express love differently, that Damian probably cared deep down. He even said he sometimes saw Damian lingering near the school gates. I had believed him. I wrote down Damian’s number, hoping I would never have to use it, hoping I would stay safe and not be a burden. Only later did I realize Mr. Sterling had just been trying to comfort me. Damian didn’t care. He never came to see me. And now that his number was finally used as an emergency contact, it was completely useless. It only brought anger to everyone and pushed Dad to legally cut ties with me. Dad, do you really hate me that much? So much that you had to sever our very last bond? The pain in my chest intensified, suffocating me. Knock, knock, knock. “Richard! Sienna! Damian! Open the door! My undercover mission is over! I’m home!”

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My childhood best friend, Ethan, fell head over heels for the new girl at school. She smoked, drank, got tattoos, and picked fights. But in Ethan’s eyes, that wasn’t being a delinquent. It was “freedom.” It was “cool.” I once warned him to stay away from her. She wasn’t the kind of girl kids like us—straight-A students—should mess with. But Ethan just looked at me and said, “Chloe, you don’t get it. She’s living the life I’ve always wanted.” I went to the counselor’s office to hand in my AP Physics Olympiad form. That was when I saw Ethan. He was wearing ripped jeans and a graphic tee—the exact same one Skylar wore. He stood in front of Mrs. Gable with his arms crossed. The respect he used to have for teachers was gone. His eyes held nothing but arrogance and annoyance. “Ethan, look at your grade on this practice exam. You dropped from an A straight to a C.” “Look at yourself. Do you even look like an honors student anymore?!” Mrs. Gable’s desk was covered with Ethan’s latest test papers. I squinted. The pages were covered in red ink, and his handwriting was a sloppy mess. Was this a joke? Ethan used to get perfect scores on every single test. His handwriting was always flawless. His test papers used to be scanned and distributed to the entire school as answer keys. A C? He couldn’t get a C even if he took the test with his eyes closed. Yet, Ethan just stood there, completely unfazed. He smirked, looking up at the ceiling, ignoring every word Mrs. Gable said. “Ethan! I’m talking to you! What is this attitude?” Ethan let out a cold laugh. “It’s just who I am now.” Suddenly, he leaned down, getting right in Mrs. Gable’s face. He lowered his voice. “Are you only worried about my grades because you’ll lose your Ivy League placement bonus if I don’t get into Harvard?” Mrs. Gable’s face turned bright red. She pointed a finger at the smirking Ethan, but she was so angry she couldn’t squeeze out a single word. Honestly, if it weren’t for the school’s strict code of conduct, I was pretty sure Mrs. Gable would have cursed him out right then and there. In the end, she didn’t say anything else. She just let out a heavy sigh, threw the test paper at Ethan, and waved him off. “Fine. Whatever. If you want to ruin your life, go ahead.”

After Ethan left, I stepped up and handed my Physics Olympiad registration form to Mrs. Gable. She took it, looked at me, and nodded with a small, relieved smile. Ethan and I had been competing in physics since our freshman year. In freshman year, I took third place, and Ethan took second. In sophomore year, I took second, and Ethan took first. I was always exactly one spot behind him, and it drove me crazy. I had made a bet with him. I told him that during our senior year, I would definitely take first place and rub it in his face. Back then, Ethan had just smiled, gently ruffling my hair. “Chloe, some things are just about raw IQ. You can’t beat me, and you never will.” “Even if you somehow get first, your overall SAT scores will never touch mine.” Looking at his confident, proud face back then, I had been more determined than ever to beat him. I always believed that if I worked hard enough, I could have everything I wanted. Just as I turned to leave, Mrs. Gable called out to me. I turned around, confused. She looked at me with worried eyes. “Chloe, you and Ethan are close. Can you please talk to him?” “He’s such a good kid. I don’t want him getting dragged down by the wrong crowd.” “Skylar’s family has serious money. Even if she drops out of high school, she can just go inherit her dad’s company.” “But what about Ethan? What is he going to do without college?” “Look at his grades lately. They’re in a freefall. And he’s starting to act like a street punk.” “I think I saw a tattoo on his arm earlier today.” “He used to be such a sweet, sensible boy. How did he ruin himself so fast?” Honestly, it wasn’t just Mrs. Gable who couldn’t figure it out. I couldn’t understand it either.

My mom and Ethan’s mom, Sarah, had been best friends since college. When they got pregnant, they made a pact. If they had kids of the same gender, they’d be best friends. If they had a boy and a girl, they’d arrange for them to end up together. So, Ethan and I grew up together. We were attached at the hip because of our moms. Later, when our families got richer, we bought houses right across the street from each other. In our moms’ eyes, we were practically engaged. Obviously, living closer was better. Ethan was incredibly handsome. He had big eyes, long eyelashes, and pale skin. Sometimes, he looked prettier than I did. Honestly, even without our moms pushing us, I had fallen for him anyway. Ever since kindergarten, I had told my mom that I was going to marry Ethan when I grew up. I told her, “He’s so pretty. Our babies are going to be gorgeous.” My mom just laughed and called me shameless. I also told Ethan, “I’m going to marry you when we grow up.” Ethan had just patted my head. “Sure. But you better keep up with me. Don’t get left behind.” So, starting in elementary school, I spent my life chasing after him. But the older we got, the more I realized how unfair life was. Why did Ethan get to sleep in class, play video games all night, and still rank first in the state? Meanwhile, I had to pay 100% attention in class, go to prep school after hours, and study until midnight just to barely keep up with his pace. I worked hard for over ten years, waiting for our senior year. I thought if I pushed myself for one more year, we’d go to the same Ivy League university, and eventually, we’d get married. But then, senior year started, Skylar transferred to our school, and everything changed.

Skylar wasn’t stunningly beautiful—at least, not to me. She had a messy, short haircut, wore oversized cargo pants, and carried a worn-out crossbody bag. She always looked incredibly relaxed, like she didn’t have a care in the world. She stood at the front of the classroom on her first day, chewing gum like a movie rebel. Before Mrs. Gable could even finish introducing her, Skylar interrupted. “Is that empty seat in the back mine?” She didn’t even wait for a nod. She just walked straight to the back row, threw her bag into the desk, put her head down, and went to sleep. Everyone said Skylar looked like trouble. For her first week, nobody dared to talk to her. Not that she cared. During breaks, she played on her phone. During class, she slept. I didn’t know what her deal was, but all the teachers seemed to have a silent agreement to leave her alone. Whether she slept, skipped homework, or cut class entirely, they just turned a blind eye. One day on our walk home, I brought up Skylar to Ethan. “Life really is unfair,” I sighed. “The AP exams are right around the corner, and I feel like twenty-four hours a day isn’t enough.” “But look at Skylar. She sleeps or plays on Snapchat all day. She doesn’t worry about a thing. I’m so jealous of her.” Usually, when I complained like this, Ethan would encourage me. He would say, “Don’t worry about others. Just focus on your own path.” But this time, he actually agreed. “Yeah. I envy her too.” “She’s free. She does whatever she wants. Nobody is forcing her to go to Harvard.” “She’s so relaxed. No dress code, no constant studying, she doesn’t even have to show up to class if she doesn’t want to.” “She’s wild. The other day, I saw her climb the school fence with some guys. Her world is so colorful.” Ethan’s eyes literally lit up when he spoke about Skylar. He whispered, “Chloe, I really envy her. I think… I want to try living like that.” At the time, I thought he was just venting, the same way I was. I never imagined he didn’t just want to dream about it. He wanted to live it.

It’s hard for a bad student to become good, but it is incredibly easy for a good student to go bad. I didn’t know when Ethan and Skylar actually started dating. I hadn’t even noticed him talking to her. But by the time I found out, they were already wearing matching vintage jackets at school, and Ethan’s grades had begun to plummet. On a Friday walk home, the silence between us was deafening. As we neared our houses, I couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Ethan, are you dating Skylar?” I asked. He nodded. “Is that why your grades are dropping?” His face instantly darkened. “Chloe, why are you acting like everyone else? Why does everyone blame Skylar for my grades?” “My grades have nothing to do with her.” “How can you say that? I saw you. You bought a burner phone.” “You spend all of class texting her, don’t you?” Ethan stiffened. He snapped, “Mind your own business,” and got off the bus early. We weren’t even at our stop yet. He was practically running away. But I didn’t chase him. I had AP prep homework to do. I didn’t have time to chase a boy. Soon after, Ethan started skipping study hall with Skylar. Before he skipped, he would always come to my desk and beg me to cover for him. Since he had always been a golden student, the teachers were incredibly lenient with him. All he had to say was, “The classroom is too loud for me to focus,” and they would let him go study in the library. They only cared about his final scores anyway. “Ethan, did you even finish the homework packets for this week?” I asked him one day when he begged me to cover for him again. He scoffed. “Please. That baby stuff? I don’t even need to look at it.” He glanced down at the AP English practice test I was working on. With just a single glance, he pointed out two mistakes I had made in the multiple-choice section. Then, he smirked at me, as if to say: “See? You work so hard, and I can spot your mistakes in a second.” “Do you really think someone like me needs to do homework?” I swallowed my anger, corrected my answers, and nodded.

I knew Ethan’s personality too well. You had to stroke his ego. If I nagged him like Mrs. Gable did, he would only hate me, and he’d hate school even more. So, I tried to trick him into focusing on his studies again. For example, I would take a brutally hard math Olympiad question to him and ask him how to solve it. But just as he got focused and started sketching out formulas, I would suddenly snatch the paper back and say, “Oh, never mind, I got it!” Then I’d explain the solution to him with a smug grin, adding, “Bummer, Ethan. Guess you’re getting a bit rusty.” I wanted to trigger his competitive nature. But my tricks stopped working because Mrs. Gable finally called Ethan’s mom about his failing grades. The two middle-aged women staged an intervention. They sat him down, begging him to focus on his future, telling him he could date whoever he wanted once he got into a good college. Ethan’s mom even brought me into it. “Look at Chloe! She used to have average grades, but she worked her butt off just to get into the same AP classes as you.” “Ethan, I’m not trying to control your life. But you are brilliant. If you ruin your shot at the Ivy League over a high school crush, you will regret it forever.” “Exactly,” Mrs. Gable chimed in. “Even if you want to date, you should date someone who shares your goals. This Skylar girl…” Mrs. Gable trailed off. Ethan didn’t say a word. He just sat there, taking their lecture in silence. The summary of their speech was simple: “Break up with Skylar, study hard, and get into Harvard.” They thought his silence meant he was listening. But after that day, Ethan didn’t just skip study hall. He started skipping core classes too. See? I told you. You have to handle him with care, or he snaps.

By the end of the semester, Ethan went from straight A’s to failing multiple classes. When Sarah came back from the school meeting, her face was completely pale. That night, I could hear her screaming through the walls of our house. “Your father and I worked ourselves to the bone to pay for your tuition and prep classes! You’re on the verge of graduation, and you’re just throwing it all away?!” “You could date anyone, anytime! Why does it have to be during your senior year?!” “Do you have any idea how hard Chloe is working? She studies until midnight every single night!” “How did you become like this? Tattoos?! Who taught you that?!” I tried to tune it out, but our houses were close, and Sarah was completely hysterical. At 11:00 PM, I was fully focused on a tough physics problem when someone knocked on my door. Weird. My mom never disturbed me when I was studying. I opened the door. My mom stood there, looking uncomfortable. “Chloe… can you come out for a second?” I walked into the living room and saw Sarah sitting on our couch, her eyes red and swollen. The moment she saw me, she burst into tears again. “Chloe… Ethan ran away.”

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In the third year of my marriage to Victor, his first love, Aurora, came back to the country. For her sake, he even spat cruel words at me: “She didn’t do anything wrong. Don’t be so vicious.” Fine. Just as he wished, I was done playing the role of his “vicious” wife. But later, he clung to me like a dog, begging on his knees for my forgiveness: “Charlotte, please, can we not get a divorce?” I didn’t even look back. I just went to the club and ordered two more hot male hosts. “Charlotte, why isn’t Victor shopping with you today?” I kept my head down, scrolling through my phone, and gave a casual reply: “Oh, him? He’s a total workaholic. He’s out of town on another business trip.” Predictably, they squealed in envy and started showering Victor with praises. Their flattery was always the same: Oh, if he weren’t working, he’d definitely be here holding your bags. Victor is truly a one-in-a-million husband. My head started to throb just listening to them. If I hadn’t come to pick up Chloe’s pre-ordered birthday gift today, I wouldn’t have run into them at all. These girls smiled at your face, but who knew what kind of dirt they gossiped about behind your back. Years ago, when Victor and I first got together, we had a small fight, and I complained to them a bit. They twisted my words and ran straight to Victor’s mother, Penelope. It resulted in Victor getting a massive lecture from his mom. “Miss Christopher, your custom pink diamond necklace is packed and ready.” The sales associate walked up to me, handing over a gorgeous gift box wrapped in a red silk bow with a professional smile. I snapped out of my thoughts, took the box, and opened it. As expected of a custom collection from Hermès. It was definitely worth the month-long wait. Holding the luxury piece instantly lifted my mood. I thanked the associate and stood up. Turning to the girls sitting on the lounge sofa, I said, “You girls take your time. I have a dinner to catch. See you later.” Faking peace and happiness had become my most practiced skill.

By the time I picked up the gift, I was running a bit late. I rushed as fast as I could, but I still lagged behind schedule. When I pushed open the door to the private VIP dining room, almost everyone was already seated, though dinner hadn’t started yet. The moment I entered, the groups chatting around the long table stood up to greet me. Chloe sat in the center. Today was her big night. She looked absolutely stunning in a sleek, form-fitting designer gown. “Charlotte! Over here!” Seeing me, she immediately patted the empty seat next to hers and waved frantically. I handed her the gift. She gasped in excitement, and the crowd around us instantly joined in with a chorus of compliments. I leaned down and gave her a tight hug. Chloe and I had been best friends for fifteen years, ever since middle school. Thinking of our history brought a genuine smile to my face. I don’t know why, but lately, Victor had been on my mind constantly. He had only been away for three days this time. Before, even when he traveled for weeks, I had never missed him this intensely. The party was lively. Most of the guests were our mutual friends, though there were a few unfamiliar faces. During dinner, I excused myself to the restroom. While washing my hands, I heard the running water and voices gossiping outside the stall. “Who is that girl? Her gift was insane! That custom brand piece easily costs seven figures!” “That’s Charlotte. The heiress of the Christopher family.” “The Christophers are wealthy, sure, but her husband is Victor.” “As in, Franklin Realty?!” The water stopped, and their voices faded into the hallway.

I stepped out of the stall, washed my hands, and looked at my bright, flawless face in the mirror. Everyone said I was incredibly lucky to marry into the Franklin family, especially since Victor’s mother, Penelope, adored me. After all, though the Christophers were rich, we couldn’t quite match the massive empire of the Franklins. But what those gossiping girls didn’t know was that years ago, when the Franklin family faced a severe financial crisis, it was my family who consistently injected capital to save them. The seed money Victor used to rebuild Franklin Realty came entirely from my family. Penelope saw my devotion, so of course, she treated me like her own daughter. As for Victor, I never loved him for his money. I loved him simply because he was Victor, and I was willing to give him my everything. When I convinced my parents to invest in the Franklins back then, they asked me: “What if Victor betrays you in the future?” Before they could even finish, I shut down the idea immediately. “He won’t. I trust Victor.” Time proved I hadn’t made a mistake. Victor had always been worthy of my love. Seven years of dating, three years of marriage, eighteen years of knowing each other. To me, Victor had always been that pure, honest boy from my youth. I touched up my lipstick and left the restroom. On my way back, I walked past several private lounges, all noisy and wild. But outside one door, I froze. I thought I heard Victor’s voice. The door was slightly ajar. Peering through the gap, I saw the scene inside. Victor was wrapping his arm around a woman’s waist, shielding her protectively. Opposite them stood several middle-aged, pot-bellied businessmen holding whiskey glasses. Suddenly, one of the men said something offensive. Victor lost his temper. He smashed a glass on the floor, grabbed the woman’s wrist, and stormed out of the room. The moment he stepped out, he crashed right into me. The impact of the two of them sent me stumbling back several steps. But before he even looked at me, I heard him ask anxiously, “Aurora, are you okay?” Aurora?

Victor was my first love, but I wasn’t his. His first love was Aurora. The first time I ever heard her name was back in high school during a morning assembly. “Victor, Aurora, George, and Maupassant are hereby suspended for public fighting.” Aurora came from a poor background, but she was exceptionally beautiful. From the moment she entered our elite school, she was targeted by wealthy, arrogant boys. Word was she was being harassed one day, and Victor happened to pass by. He fought off two guys to save her. A classic knight-in-shining-armor story. What followed was natural. During the time they were together, Victor stopped waiting to walk me home after school. He stopped inviting me out on holidays. Honestly, I was pretty heartbroken back then. But at that age, I hadn’t realized my own feelings yet. I just felt lonely without my best friend. However, their romance didn’t last. The Franklin family went bankrupt shortly after. The boys who held grudges against Victor didn’t miss the chance to humiliate him. Under immense pressure, Aurora broke up with him. She transferred schools soon after, and I never heard from her again. I never expected our reunion to look like this.

Standing in front of me, Aurora was still beautiful. She was the delicate, fragile type that instantly triggered a man’s protective instincts. Perhaps because Victor had pulled her too hard, her large eyes were brimming with tears. Even I felt a pang of pity looking at her. She didn’t answer Victor because she had spotted me first. Following her gaze, Victor saw me too. He instantly let go of her wrist like he had been burned. “Charlotte? What are you doing here?” “It’s Chloe’s birthday. I’m here celebrating with her. Didn’t you see the Snapchat message I sent you yesterday?” “I…” Before Victor could finish, Aurora cut in. “Miss Christopher, please don’t blame Victor. It’s all my fault. Victor was just helping me out.” I was surprised she still remembered my name after all these years. After all, in high school, I had only met her once at Victor’s birthday party. Back then, she was his official girlfriend, and I was just the best friend in the background. I looked at Victor. He looked panicked for a second, but quickly regained his composure. Suddenly, my phone rang. It was Chloe. “Charlotte, what’s taking you so long in the bathroom? Did you get lost? Do you need me to come get you?” “I’m on my way back,” I replied. Hanging up, I looked at Victor. “I’ll expect an explanation when you get home tonight.” To be honest, I knew Victor wouldn’t cheat on me. He probably just had a lingering savior complex for his first love. So, I was willing to give him a chance to explain. With that, I turned on my heels and walked away in my stilettos, completely ignoring Aurora. She wasn’t worth my time.

As soon as Chloe’s party ended, I went straight home. Unsurprisingly, Victor was already waiting for me on the living room sofa. “You’re back?” “Yeah,” I replied, kicking off my shoes. To match my dress tonight, I had worn a pair of complicated lace-up stilettos. Taking them off required untangling the straps, which was a hassle. Losing patience, I tried to rip them off. Victor walked over, knelt down in front of me, and gently untangled the straps for me. Looking down at his handsome face, I sighed. He knew me too well. He knew exactly how to make my heart soften. The shoes finally came off. I stood up to go wash my face. But Victor wrapped his arms around me from behind, pulling me tight against his chest. “Charlotte, there’s nothing going on between us.” “She moved back to LA last month and got a job at Franklin Realty. I swear, I had absolutely no idea.” “I only found out today when Johnson texted me saying some clients were harassing her at a dinner.” “She’s an employee under my company, and it happened during a business deal. I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing.” “If it bothers you, I’ll fire her tomorrow.” He sounded like a protective, overbearing alpha. I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Alright, why fire her? She didn’t make any mistakes at work, and she was trying hard to close a deal for the company.” I placed my hand over his, patting it gently. “I trust you. It’s a small issue, and I’m not that petty.” Because I believed that anyone who could be stolen away was just trash. And if he was trash, she could have him. “I’m going to shower. It’s been a long day, and I want to sleep early.” “Charlotte, let me join you.”

After that night, Victor treated me even better. Luxury jewelry and designer bags arrived at our house in a steady stream. I truly believed he had cut all ties with Aurora. Lately, whenever he went on business trips, he would FaceTime me every day, sharing every little detail of his schedule. “Victor, I’ll come pick you up at the airport. I’m just bored at home anyway.” “I’d love that, sweetheart. But drive slowly, okay? Be safe.” I pulled a pregnancy test report from my drawer and slid it into my designer bag. I had just gotten the blood test results yesterday. I was over two months pregnant. Touching my still-flat belly, a wave of pure happiness washed over me. “Baby, your daddy is about to find out you’re coming. Grow strong and healthy, okay?” Grabbing my car keys, I headed out. The weather was perfect today, the sun shining brightly. While waiting at a red light, I watched some kids playing in a nearby park, their laughter echoing through the air. Perhaps because I was about to become a mother, the sight touched me deeply. Ever since I got the results yesterday, I had been brainstorming names. If it was a boy, Henry. If it was a girl, Hathaway. The red light was counting down. I shifted the car into drive. Suddenly, a Toyota speeding from the side blew right through the red light, crashing violently into several cars. I spun the steering wheel hard to dodge, but it was too late. The moment of impact was deafening. My ears rang, shutting out all sound, and the last thing I saw was crimson blood pooling beneath me. “Ma’am, can you hear me? Stay with me!” I faintly heard the paramedic’s voice. I couldn’t speak, but I forced my lips to move, desperate to form the words. “Save… my baby…” The baby was only two months old. I had only found out yesterday. I hadn’t even had the chance to celebrate with his father. With the last of my strength, I placed my hand over my stomach. I could feel life slipping away from me.

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To steal my fortune, my husband, Marcus, and my best friend, Vivian, teamed up to ruin me. They secretly slipped my hotel room keycard to a slimy male client. Little did they know, I had already swapped my keycard with Marcus’s. Marcus and I had been married for five years. For the longest time, we were the picture-of-perfect couple. That was until I accidentally found out he was cheating on me. And the other woman was Vivian, my best friend. Looking at the photos of their secret rendezvous sent by my private investigator, my heart didn’t even skip a beat. I casually forwarded the evidence to my divorce lawyer. After all, as the CEO of one of the top enterprises in Minnesota, money was infinitely more important to me than any man. My phone buzzed twice. The PI had sent me two audio recordings. I tapped play, and the voices of Marcus and Vivian filled the room. Marcus’s voice was low, completely stripped of the gentle tone he usually used with me: “During her business trip to Houston, find a way to get Sophia drunk and slip her room keycard to Henderson.” “I’ve already arranged for paparazzi at the hotel entrance. The moment she steps out of that room with him, her reputation will be toast.” Vivian cooed in a sickly sweet, babyish voice: “Marcus, I’ll do whatever you say. But when are you finally going to divorce her? I’m tired of being your dirty little secret.” Marcus immediately comforted her with a soft, doting tone: “Vivian, just give me a little more time. Sophia made me sign a prenup. If I divorce her now, I walk away with absolutely nothing.” “But luckily, her company is facing a temporary cash flow crisis.” “Once this hotel scandal blows up, I’ll pressure her to fund a new company under my name as her safety net.” “By then, all her money will practically be mine.” Vivian giggled, her voice dripping with affection. “Marcus, you are brilliant! You better marry me the second you get that money.” “Don’t worry, babe. I’ll dump her so fast. The title of Mrs. Minnesota’s top tech wife belongs to you and only you.” The rest of the recording was just the two of them making out. It made me want to throw up. I had no idea they had sunk this low. Back then, Vivian was the one who practically begged me to give Marcus a chance. In two weeks, I was scheduled to go to Houston for a major partnership deal. Harold Henderson was the local representative—a middle-aged, greasy, pot-bellied investor. I almost laughed out loud at the sheer absurdity of their disgusting scheme. One was the husband I had shared a bed with for five years, and the other was the best friend I had known for seven. They lived off my dime and spent my money, only to turn around and stab me in the back. Perhaps they had lived in luxury for too long that they forgot who actually paid the bills. Originally, I was planning on a quiet, clean divorce. But now? I wasn’t going to let them off that easily. I picked up the office phone, called my assistant, and told my lawyer to temporarily hold off on drafting the divorce papers.

Right before clocking out, I called my assistant, Angela, into my office and had her announce the company’s latest layoff list. Vivian’s name was right at the top. But Vivian didn’t know yet, because she had already sneaked out early. Using our friendship as an excuse, she constantly showed up late, left early, and did zero actual work. She just occupied a desk, collected a fat paycheck, and even managed to smuggle her lazy relatives into our entry-level positions. She was using my money to fund her glamorous lifestyle. Normally, if it didn’t cause a major disaster, I shut my eyes for the sake of our history. But things were different now. I wasn’t about to spend another penny feeding ungrateful parasites. Sure enough, before I even reached the parking lot, one of Vivian’s gossip buddies in the office leaked the news to her. My phone rang instantly. “Sophia! Why is my name on the layoff list? You didn’t even give me a heads-up!” I sneered in silence. I was the boss. Since when did I need her permission to fire someone? But when I spoke, my voice sounded depressed and exhausted: “Vivian, you know the company’s current situation isn’t great.” “Plus, you’ve brought in so many of your relatives lately. The company payroll just can’t sustain them anymore.” The company was indeed facing a temporary hurdle, but I already had a solid solution in place. I just didn’t tell her. She snapped, panic dripping from her voice. “What? Then fire them! Why do you have to fire me?!” Of course. If she got fired, where else would she find such an easy, high-paying job to maintain her fake, high-society persona on Instagram? I feigned helpless guilt. “But what would your relatives say if I only kept you?” “Besides, you’ve been leaving early to go on dates every single day lately. I couldn’t even find you to discuss this.” She choked, suddenly flustered. “What… what dates? There are no dates! I’ve just been feeling under the weather, so I went home early.” “Listen, Sophia, you’re the boss. Figure something else out! Fire them, but keep me on the payroll!” With a loud beep, she hung up on me. I didn’t bother calling back to expose her lies. I knew exactly how many times she had met Marcus this week and what they talked about.

When I got home, Marcus was nowhere to be seen. Which was perfect. I had hired a crew of technicians to install hidden cameras in every corner of the house. It was late evening when Marcus finally strolled in. With a warm, charming smile on his face, he handed me a bouquet of fresh roses. “Sophia, honey, I got these for you on my way home.” In the past, Marcus would bring me flowers almost every day. Whenever I worked late, he would cook my favorite meals. He handled all the domestic chores so I could focus entirely on my career. In my eyes, he had been the perfect husband. I never would have guessed that he was secretly plotting to ruin my life and reputation. I stared at the roses, frozen. Seeing my hesitation, his eyes filled with rehearsed worry. “Sophia, are you too stressed out? Vivian told me your company is going through a rough patch.” Vivian? How cozy. I snapped back to reality. It turned out the signs were always there; I was just too busy to notice. Why did he always offer to pick me up from work but “coincidentally” have Vivian in the passenger seat? Why did Vivian always “happen” to show up at our dinner dates? Why did Vivian’s face light up with adoration every time she talked about my husband? My eyes narrowed slightly. I stared at him, trying to find a single shred of guilt behind his flawless acting. But there was none. Instead, he stepped closer and took my hand. “Sophia, you’ve worked so hard all these years. Why don’t you let me help you shoulder some of the burden?” I sneered inwardly. Over the years, he had repeatedly dropped hints about wanting me to fund a startup for him. I had always politely declined because I knew he lacked any real business acumen. But this time, I let my expression crumble into fake despair. “Marcus, I think the company is really going under this time.” A flash of absolute glee crossed his eyes before he quickly masked it with a gentle, comforting look. “It’s okay, Sophia. You’ve done amazing to get this far. You still have me!” Depend on you? I’d rather go bankrupt and sleep on the streets, I thought bitterly. Before marrying me, he had a mediocre, low-paying job. The moment we got married, he quit and hadn’t worked a day since, living entirely off my credit cards. And yet, he had the audacity to cheat on me and plot to steal my hard-earned money. Honestly, I would have gotten a better return on investment if I had hired a male model. The anger bubbled up inside me. Oh, I was going to destroy them both. I let out a shaky sigh. “Marcus, didn’t you always want to start your own business?” “I’ve been thinking. Instead of fighting this battle alone, maybe I should fund your startup so you can support me.” His face lit up with pure joy. “Are you serious? You’re willing to invest in me?” I looked at him, my eyes shining with fake sincerity. “Marcus, I know you’ve saved up some money over the years. Why don’t you use your savings to get the company started first? Once things settle down on my end, I’ll inject more capital.” The moment he heard he had to use his own money, his face fell. His voice turned sharp and defensive. “What are you talking about?!”

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At our engagement party, my fiancée’s childhood best friend, Ryan, suggested playing a blindfolded guessing game. Unable to resist the crowd’s teasing, Chloe had no choice but to tie a black silk scarf over her eyes. When she stumbled over to Ryan, she first felt his face, and then, without warning, she slid her hand right between his thighs. “Ryan, I knew it was you! Still the same as always.” The room erupted into wild laughter and cheers. I stood there, the hand holding my plate of cake freezing instantly. Seeing my awkward expression, Ryan quickly tried to laugh it off, explaining: “Ethan, please don’t get the wrong idea. Chloe and I grew up together. She’s been grabbing onto me to sleep since we were kids.” “We’re just too familiar with each other, that’s all.” Quiet snickers rippled through the room. Chloe tried to look angry, her eyes wide, but she couldn’t help but giggle: “Oh, shut up, Ryan! How dare you expose me in front of everyone? I’m going to kill you!” “You have some nerve talking about me. Didn’t you also love cuddling me to sleep back then?” Ryan laughed, gently shaking her off, and waved his hand: “Chloe, that was ages ago. Why are you bringing it up now? Alright, stop playing around…” “What do you mean? Didn’t you just last week…” Chloe blurted out. But she cut herself off mid-sentence, suddenly snapping her mouth shut. The atmosphere in the VIP lounge instantly turned painfully awkward. Seeing this, Ryan quickly stepped in to smooth things over: “See! I told you Chloe can’t hold her liquor. She only had a few drinks and she’s already talking nonsense.” The guests looked at each other, forced a few laughs, and played along with the joke. But only I knew the truth. This was no drunken slip of the tongue. Last week was our six-year anniversary. While we were being intimate that night, I noticed a fresh hickey on her chest. She claimed it was just an allergic reaction to a bug bite. I didn’t think much of it at the time. Now I realized that Ryan was that “bug.” Sensing the tension, the guests tried to change the subject with some idle chatter. But I remained completely serious. I stood up and stared straight at Chloe: “Keep going. What happened last week?” Chloe froze for a second, then frowned impatiently: “Nothing happened. Can you not be so uptight? Ryan and I are best friends. What’s wrong with a little joking? He doesn’t even mind.” “But I mind.” The moment the words left my mouth, the lounge fell dead silent. All the laughter vanished. Ryan looked incredibly uncomfortable, awkwardly turning his face away. “Chloe, I don’t care what you and him did in the past, but we are about to get married. Don’t you feel disgusted with yourself doing these things with zero boundaries?” In the next second, Chloe exploded: “Ryan and I literally shared the same bed growing up! I’ve never seen him as a man, and he’s never seen me as a woman. Why does your mind have to be so incredibly filthy?” “If something was actually going on between Ryan and me, would I even be with you right now?” Chloe kept complaining at the top of her lungs. I laughed out of sheer anger. I walked straight up to Ryan and grabbed his belt: “Great. Since neither of you sees the other as the opposite sex, why don’t you prove it to everyone right here, right now? Let’s see if I’m just overthinking!” This time, absolutely no one was laughing. Ryan struggled in shame and anger, but I refused to let go. Seeing this, Chloe shrieked and lunged at me. She raised her hand and slapped me hard across the face. “Ethan! What the hell is wrong with you? If you’re crazy, go get therapy! Do you have to make everyone miserable just to be satisfied?!” Ryan, looking utterly victimized, tugged at her sleeve and whispered: “Chloe, don’t fight with Ethan because of me. It’s all my fault today… I took the joke too far. I didn’t realize Ethan would be this sensitive.” Hearing this, Chloe let out a cold sneer: “Oh, he is sensitive, alright.” Someone in the crowd couldn’t hold it in and snorted. My face burned with humiliation. Chloe shot me a disdainful look and mocked: “Ethan, why are you making that miserable face? For whom?” “Everyone else can take a joke. Why are you the only one losing your mind? How long are you going to keep acting like a dramatic child?” At that moment, I felt like a thousand needles were piercing my heart. Every breath I took brought a sharp, throbbing pain. In the end, I didn’t say another word. The overwhelming nausea in my stomach forced me to bolt out of the room. Standing outside the lounge, I fell to my knees, clutching my mouth. The stomach acid burned my throat as I gagged. It took a long time for the feeling to finally pass. Just then, I heard someone inside ask: “Chloe, seriously, tell us the truth. Have you and Ryan ever actually slept together?” “Of course we have,” Chloe replied almost instantly, without a hint of hesitation. But Ryan immediately cut in: “Wait, we never did the actual deed, so that doesn’t count!” “Then what does it count as?” Chloe asked with a sly laugh. “It counts as me giving you a few free massages, haha.” The lounge exploded into roaring laughter once again. I stood outside the door, my heart completely dead. All this blatant betrayal and crossing of lines. From her mouth, it was all just a lighthearted joke. After a moment of silence, I pulled out my phone and sent a message to our wedding planner on Snapchat: “Cancel the venue reservation. The wedding is off.”

When I woke up on the couch the next morning, a massive hangover made my head spin. But as soon as I opened my eyes, I saw Chloe sitting in front of her vanity mirror. “Oh, for your sake, I got up at six in the morning to do my makeup. I wouldn’t bother dressing up this nicely for anyone else.” I didn’t even need to guess to know Ryan was on the other end of the line. Chloe noticed I was awake through the mirror, and her hands paused. “Babe, I can’t go try on wedding dresses with you today. Ryan’s film crew is having their wrap party, and I have to go celebrate with him. Let’s do it another day.” I gave a quiet “okay” and continued to rub my temples. The dull, throbbing headache kept coming in waves. Seeing my pain, Chloe just rolled her eyes: “I told you not to drink so much, but you never listen.” “There’s honey in the kitchen. Go make yourself some honey water. I’m busy with my makeup and don’t have time.” I found it almost funny. She was too busy to pour me a glass of water, yet she could hold her phone between her shoulder and ear, terrified of missing a single word from Ryan. And as for what happened last night, Chloe acted as if she had total amnesia. No explanation, not even a half-assed apology. Maybe she truly believed she had done nothing wrong. I stood up and went to the kitchen to make the honey water. I looked back at Chloe and said quietly: “Chloe, let’s break up.” The person on the phone must have said something hilarious. She burst into loud laughter, completely ignoring my words. After a moment, Chloe asked dismissively: “What did you just say? I didn’t hear you.” “Nothing.” I shook my head. Soon, Chloe was ready to leave. Just as she reached for the doorknob, I grabbed her hand: “Why don’t I come with you?” Chloe looked at me with utter shock: “What are you going to do there?” Seeing that I didn’t reply, her tone quickly became annoyed. “Ethan, Ryan and I were just joking around last night. You didn’t actually take that seriously, did you?” “I’m going to his wrap party, and you want to tag along? Are you that paranoid that something is going on between us? Can you stop being so suspicious all the time?” Hearing this, I felt a surge of cold amusement. I hadn’t even said anything, and she was already defensive. “I’m on vacation these days, and I have nothing to do. I just want to go out and clear my head.” I looked at her calmly, a slight smile on my face: “Unless… Ryan is the one who minds me being there, and he doesn’t want me to come?” Chloe’s expression stiffened. She stammered: “No… you’re overthinking. Why would he care…” In the end, Chloe had no choice but to reluctantly agree. On the way to the set, she sat in the back seat, staring down at her phone playing a game. Halfway through, her AirPods died, and the audio blasted through the speakers: “Chloe, is your fiancé crazy? Why does he have to tag along to this? You have zero freedom.” “How did you end up with such a petty man? Yesterday he made everyone so uncomfortable. It was so embarrassing.” Then came Ryan’s voice, of course: “Chloe, didn’t we agree that you belong only to me today?” “And yet you brought your man along. You clearly don’t care about your best bro at all.” Hearing Ryan’s half-joking, petulant words, Chloe just hummed a few times without defending me. Twenty minutes later, we arrived at the venue. As soon as we got out of the car, Ryan walked up to greet us. When he saw Chloe, his eyes lit up: “Wow, why are you so dressed up today? Anyone would think you’re going on a hot date.” Chloe laughed and playfully punched his arm: “Stop it! You always say I look like a tomboy with zero feminine charm.” “Since I’m here to support our big star, of course I had to put in some effort.” “Oh wow, I’m honored.” Chloe blushed and giggled, hitting his chest again. Suddenly, she remembered I was standing right there. She immediately pulled her hand back and forced a fake smile at me: “Ethan, Ryan and I are just kidding around. You’re not going to get mad again like yesterday, right?” I smiled and said nothing. We walked into the venue hall. In the blink of an eye, Chloe had somehow changed into a white wedding gown. She was holding Ryan’s arm as they walked out from backstage. I froze slightly at the sight. The surrounding crew members immediately started teasing them: “Oh my god, they look so good together! What a handsome couple!” Ryan tried to suppress his grin, pretending to look annoyed: “Alright, that’s enough, guys. This is just for work, okay? Work!” He explained that the show needed some promotional posters re-shot. The lead actress was sick and couldn’t make it, and Chloe’s figure was the closest match. So, they asked her to stand in, and they would use AI face-swapping in post-production. In front of the camera, the two of them held each other intimately. But the photographer kept asking them to strike more passionate poses. Ryan said hypocritically: “Chloe, is this really okay? You and Ethan haven’t even taken your wedding photos yet, and here you are taking them with me. I’m worried he might feel bad.” Chloe remained nonchalant: “It’s fine. I’m just helping you with work. Ethan isn’t that petty.” Finally, when the photographer suggested a “camera-angle” kiss. The two of them didn’t even hesitate. They went straight in for a passionate French kiss right in front of the lens. As they were wrapping up, someone jokingly shouted: “Wow! Now that the wedding photos are done and the kissing is out of the way, should we head straight to the honeymoon suite?!”

Hearing this, Ryan tried to look serious: “Stop messing around. Chloe’s fiancé is right here. What honeymoon suite? Come on…” On the side, Chloe sneered: “Oh, look at you acting all innocent now. I’ve never seen you this shy before.” Just then, a crew member stepped up, pushing Chloe into Ryan’s arms with a smirk: “Ryan, weren’t you complaining that the lead actress was too stiff in that bed scene? Why don’t you and Chloe shoot a quick reference take? We can use AI face-swapping later. It’ll look incredibly real!” Chloe leaned into Ryan’s chest, half-resisting, but she didn’t say no. Ryan looked down at her, his voice dripping with temptation: “Chloe, are we best friends or what? If we are, do your boy a favor.” Chloe looked over at me, a hint of mockery on her face: “I want to help you, Ryan, but Ethan is right there. I’m just afraid he’ll start imagining things again.” But I just looked at her calmly and even nodded: “Why would I? Since it’s for Ryan’s work, I obviously don’t mind. If you’re okay with it, go ahead.” Hearing this, Chloe’s face instantly lit up with a massive smile. And at that exact moment, my heart went completely cold. It was just a test. And yet, this woman I had loved for six years. Exhibited her dirty, rotten, and boundary-less true self so eagerly. Once the camera rolled, the two of them lay on the decorated prop bed. Though they were covered by a duvet, their movements beneath it were incredibly violent. They nearly broke the bed. Chloe put on a very vocal performance, moaning loudly. With no script, she ad-libbed right on the spot: “Ah! You’re so much better than my fiancé! Just like that!” When the shoot ended, the crew members teased: “Wow, Chloe, your acting is insane! It’s your first time doing a scene like this, but you two looked like you’ve done it a hundred times before.” Chloe’s face flushed red at the comment. “Oh, stop it. It’s because Ryan is a professional actor. He didn’t show any physical reaction during the whole thing, so I didn’t feel awkward at all.” Ryan looked incredibly proud of himself. He pinched Chloe’s cheek and joked: “Of course. I told you, I only see you as my bro. How could I get turned on by a guy?” While they were chatting and laughing. A large crowd of Ryan’s fans arrived at the set for a meet-and-greet. Hearing that their idol had “sacrificed himself for art” by filming a passionate scene, they were all incredibly excited. A charity auction of the show’s props was organized on the spot, and fans rushed to bid. While the auction was in full swing. I stepped forward, held up a pair of men’s underwear, and yelled loudly: “Look here, everyone! This is the actual underwear your idol just wore during the bed scene! It’s still warm!”

The entire venue fell dead silent. Every single eye locked onto the underwear in my hand. In the next second, the fans in the crowd screamed with pure excitement: “Is that really Ryan’s underwear? I want it! I bid five thousand!” “Get out of my way! Don’t steal it from me! I bid twenty thousand! Quick… let me smell Ryan’s scent!” Seeing the chaotic scene, Chloe shrieked and rushed toward me: “Ethan! Are you out of your mind?! Why the hell did you bring his underwear out here?!” I blinked, pretending to look completely innocent: “Aren’t you guys auctioning off props as souvenirs for the fans?” “I saw that all of Ryan’s costumes were sold out for a lot of money. I figured the underwear he wore close to his body would be worth even more, right?” Saying this, I turned the underwear inside out. “But there’s one thing I’m really curious about. Chloe, didn’t you just say that Ryan is a professional actor and had absolutely no physical reaction during the whole scene?” I dragged out my words, and the crowd instantly let out a collective gasp. The fans’ expressions shifted from excitement to shock and suspicion. Ryan frantically tried to rush over and grab the underwear, but he was immediately blocked by several reporters: “Mr. Carter, can you explain what is going on here?” “As a professional actor, didn’t you claim that it was just acting?!” Facing the reporters’ aggressive questions, Ryan’s face flushed red with panic. He wanted to explain, but the evidence in my hand spoke for itself. Chloe was shaking with rage. She ran up to me, pointing at my face and screaming: “Ethan, you creep! You actually went and stole Ryan’s underwear?!” Seeing her intense reaction, I looked at her with feigned surprise: “Oh? I remember you saying with your own mouth… that Ryan is a professional actor and felt absolutely nothing during the bed scene with you?” I turned to the agitated crowd of fans and raised my voice: “Then Ryan was lying! He wasn’t just acting!” “And the entire shoot only lasted about three minutes. Finishing in less than three minutes… isn’t that the definition of premature ejaculation? That’s a medical condition, Ryan. You need to get that checked!” Hearing my words, the crowd exploded again: “What?! Ryan actually got turned on and finished in three minutes during a shoot? That is insane!” “Oh my god… I can’t accept this! How can my idol be a three-minute man?!” “Ryan, are you even human? Getting turned on by a basic girl like her? Do you have any respect for your fans?!” Faced with the insults and doubts, Ryan’s face turned completely pale. He rushed up to me. He snatched the underwear out of my hand and hissed through gritted teeth: “Ethan! Why did you bring my underwear out? Did you do this on purpose just to humiliate me?!” I blinked, mimicking his earlier tone, and let out a soft laugh: “Ryan, why are you saying that? I was just playing a little joke with everyone. You’re not actually taking it seriously, are you?” Watching him choke on his own words, I held back my laughter and delivered the final blow: “It’s okay. Erectile dysfunction and premature ejaculation are treatable. Do you want me to recommend a good doctor?”

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