On my 28th birthday, my grandmother was nagging me about getting engaged again. I took a cab to my boyfriend’s office, only to overhear him telling a female colleague that I was average-looking, from an average family, and just wasn’t good enough for his. His mother, he said, had always despised me, and now he was having second thoughts about marrying me. I’d been with Ted Hoffman since I was 18. Ten whole years, and I never imagined he’d be weighing the pros and cons of our relationship. That night, when he came home, I didn’t ask him a single question. For the first time, I just ate my dinner in silence, showered, and went to bed. As we lay there, he finally asked, “Chloe, you’re being awfully quiet. Are you trying to pick a fight? You’re not thinking of breaking up with me, are you?” “Do you want to?” I asked back. “Yeah,” Ted said. Then he got up, dressed, and left for a party with that same female colleague. I didn’t feel sad or heartbroken. I just opened my phone. I scrolled to an old classmate, Dean Miller, who was also being pressured to get married. A while back, he’d messaged me, “Hey, what if we gave it a shot?” 1 I texted him at 1 AM. I didn’t feel like I was being forward. I knew how much pressure Dean was under to get married; he was probably more desperate than I was. Sure enough, a few minutes later, he replied. “?” “Chloe, are you serious? Last I heard, you had a boyfriend.” “Just broke up,” I typed. “I’m done trying to fix men. If you’re okay with it, let’s just make this work for both of us.” Dean didn’t hesitate. An “OK” popped up almost instantly, followed by a long explanation. “You know I’m still in the army, right? Stationed out in the desert. Probably won’t be discharged for another year.” “After that, I’ll either get a government placement or find a new job. Can’t say what the income will be.” “I have a house my mom bought for me, paid in full. You can live there after we’re married.” “I’ve got about 50k in savings and I’ll get a discharge bonus, but I’m no high-flyer. Probably can’t provide like your ex-boyfriend did.” Dean and I used to sit near each other in high school. He’d seen the whole story of me and Ted unfold. If he was okay with all of this, then I had nothing left to say. I replied with a simple “Okay” and we set a date to get the marriage license. He had a week of leave coming up. That gave me enough time to pack my things and move. Once that was settled, I opened my social media feed. Unsurprisingly, Ted’s colleague, Lily Yan, had just posted: [Drinking the pain away with my childhood sweetheart.] In the photo, Ted and Lily were clinking glasses, their heads so close they were almost touching. Their breath mingled in the air, and Ted’s eyes were hazy with drink. I liked the post. A second later, a message from Ted popped up. [Are you jealous? Don’t be like that. Lily’s just like a little sister to me.] Right. They grew up together, their bond closer than mine with him ever was. Lily looked like a porcelain doll. It wasn’t just Ted; I could see her appeal, too. She’d been studying abroad and had only recently returned, placed in the Hoffman family’s company by her parents to gain experience. That’s when she and Ted started spending more time together. I used to genuinely think of her as a little sister. It took me a long time to realize that their social circle was a fortress, and I was on the outside. Before Lily came back, Ted would take me to his friends’ gatherings. They were never warm, but at least they were polite. After her return, she became the only woman in their group. Ted would always say I didn’t like crowds and leave me at home. The truth was, he thought I was clueless and awkward, not clever and charming like Lily. We fought about his unspoken comparisons countless times. And every time, I was the one who quietly gave in. So this time, when he assumed I was just throwing a tantrum, I didn’t argue. I just told him: [I’m not. We broke up. Your life is none of my business anymore.] Then I blocked him. A few hours later, Ted stumbled home, drunk. He collapsed onto the sofa. There was a lipstick smudge on his collar. The person helping him was Lily. She was a little drunk too, repeating over and over, “Chloe, I’m so sorry. I couldn’t stop Ted. Please don’t be mad at him.” I wasn’t mad. He was my ex-boyfriend. There was nothing to be mad about. I helped Lily into a chair and poured her a glass of honey water, treating her like a guest. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” She was so disarmingly sweet. Even if she had a hint of malice, those misty eyes made it impossible to stay angry. No wonder Ted was so taken with her. 2 The next morning, Ted woke up with a pounding headache. He instinctively called out my name, “Chloe,” but was met with silence. Stumbling out of the bedroom, he saw me on the sofa, typing away on my laptop. His voice turned sharp. “Chloe, my head is killing me.” “I heard,” I said without looking up. Ted paused, then demanded, “My head hurts. Go make me some lemon water.” I could barely be bothered to respond. My creative juices were flowing, and I didn’t want the interruption. “You can make it yourself. I’m a little busy.” With that, I got up and went into the study, leaving Ted standing there, stunned. Making hangover tea wasn’t difficult. Light the stove, boil water, add honey and lemon, let it cool. I’d done it for him countless times. He’d drunk it countless times. He never thought it was anything special. But now that it was gone, an emptiness gnawed at him. The memory of our breakup last night soured his mood, and a bitter resentment began to brew. He fumbled around the kitchen, made himself something to eat, and then knocked on the bedroom door. “Since we’re broken up, you should move out. This is my family’s apartment.” He spat out the words my family’s apartment with extra venom. My fingers froze over the keyboard. A sharp pain, like a knife twisting in my gut, shot through me. Ten years together. He knew I was an orphan, that I craved a family more than anything. When we first moved in, he’d promised me that even though the deed was in his name, this was my home, too. And now, one day after breaking up, he was kicking me out. I looked up. The man at the door had a face of stone, his eyes cold and distant. He looked at me not like a lover, but with a simmering annoyance. I took a deep breath. “Fine. Can I move out tomorrow? I haven’t had time to pack.” A smirk played on his lips. “No. Today. We’re broken up. There’s no reason for you to stay here.” I looked at him as if he were a complete stranger. “Alright. Whatever you say.” They say a woman never truly has a home. Break up, you move out. Get divorced, you move out. If your name isn’t on the property, a single word from a man can leave you homeless. For the first time, I understood that feeling deep in my bones. After he left for work, I began to pack up my life. For ten years, I truly believed I would marry Ted Hoffman. I had poured my heart into this apartment, making it a home. Plush toys and figurines, lace-trimmed curtains, delicate and adorable pots and pans. Packing it all felt like an impossible task. The more I tried to organize, the more chaotic it became. My head started to spin. Maybe it would be easier to just throw it all away. As I stood there lost in thought, the doorbell rang. It was Ted’s mother. 3 She didn’t know we had broken up. The moment she stepped inside, she started in on me, just like always. Mrs. Hoffman had never liked me. Every meeting was an opportunity for her to find fault. I used to just endure it, hoping that with time, she would eventually accept me. This time was no different. The words flew out of her mouth. “Chloe, you live off my son, you use my son’s things, and this is how you keep the place? A complete mess!” “I don’t know what Ted ever saw in you. No looks, no family background, and you can’t even keep a house clean. You’re completely useless.” “I know you didn’t have parents to teach you any better, but you can’t be this hopeless. Look at this place, it’s a pigsty! How can anyone live here?” “Clean this up right now and come home with me. We have guests coming, and I need you to help out in the kitchen.” The words tumbled out of her so fast I couldn’t get a word in edgewise to tell her we were no longer together. Finally, when she paused for a breath, I managed to say, “I can’t. I have things to do.” She cut me off. “What could you possibly have to do? Sit around writing those silly little stories of yours? Fine. If you come, I’ll give you a thousand dollars for your trouble.” The offer of a thousand dollars stopped the rest of my sentence in my throat. Well, if we were broken up, I might as well get something out of it. It was only when I arrived at the Hoffman residence that I understood her true intentions. She had invited the Yan family for dinner and wanted me to be their waitress. I should have felt a pang of hurt, but as I stood in the corner and watched Ted walk in with Lily and her parents, I suddenly understood what he meant when he said we were “not a good match.” Lily’s parents, impeccably dressed and radiating wealth, walked ahead. Lily and Ted followed, side-by-side, looking for all the world like a young couple visiting the in-laws. They were a perfect pair. I had been to the Hoffman house many times. In my teens, it was to prove I could stand up to them. In my twenties, it was to convince Mrs. Hoffman to accept me as a daughter-in-law. I served tea, did laundry, cooked meals. I did everything I could to be the perfect, dutiful partner. But I realized then that all my efforts had earned me fewer smiles from Mrs. Hoffman than a single gift from Lily. The ruby necklace around Mrs. Hoffman’s neck was a casual gift from the Yans, worth a small fortune. For families like theirs, it was nothing. I laughed at myself. How could I have been so naive? How could I believe love could conquer all, wasting half my life on Ted? Six more days, and I would be free of this quagmire. Even though my arrangement with Dean was one of convenience, I was surprisingly happy about it. I was a creature of habit, terrified of change. I would never have left this situation unless I was forced to. But now, facing the prospect of a new life with a new man, I felt a strange sense of excitement. Once the Yans arrived, I was expected to leave. Mrs. Hoffman transferred the money to my account and told me to use the back door. In ten years together, to prove I wasn’t a gold digger, I had never accepted any expensive gifts from Ted or taken advantage of his family’s wealth. Getting that sudden influx of cash, I felt a pang of regret. If I had known we wouldn’t get married, I should have gotten more out of it. Why waste the title of “girlfriend”? As I was unlocking a rental scooter, Ted caught up to me. He had known I was there all along. His face was a dark mask. “Chloe, where are you going?” “Back to the apartment to finish packing,” I said. “You told me to move out, remember?” Ted let out a ragged breath. He pulled me into his arms, his voice tight with frustration. “Why do you have to be so difficult?” He stroked my hair, just as he had a thousand times before when he was trying to soothe me. “You used to be such a sweet girl. When did you get such a temper?” “Just because I said no to Grandma about the engagement, you throw this huge fit. Can’t you just be a little more understanding?” I turned my head and buried my face in his neck, allowing myself one last moment of closeness. “I can, Ted. I can be understanding.” Understanding enough to let you go, to not stand in your way as you find someone who is your equal, like Lily. He misunderstood, thinking I was giving in. A long sigh of relief escaped him. “Good. My family is having dinner with the Yans tonight. It’s just business, don’t read too much into it.” “There’s nothing going on between me and Lily. I only see her as a sister. I’ll come find you after dinner. You just wait for me at home, okay?” He kissed my forehead and turned to leave. I watched his tall figure walk away, and for a moment, I was transported back ten years. It was this same person, his face flushed, his voice trembling, who had come up to me and confessed, “Chloe, I like you. Will you be my girlfriend?” The ocean that once was is now just a trickle of water. After only a few thousand days, our story had reached its end. I sighed silently. Perhaps all love stories are destined to die young. 4 Back at the apartment, I threw out all the trinkets I could part with and packed the rest. I was still sorting through everything late that night when Ted returned. The moment he walked in, the smile on his face froze. He sighed heavily. “Chloe, I thought we agreed you weren’t going to do this.” I had already dozed off waiting and woke with a crick in my neck. “I’m not. We broke up. I have no reason to keep living in your apartment.” Ted’s patience wore thin. He tossed his jacket aside. “Fine. Have it your way. But you should know, if you walk out that door, I’m not coming after you.” Perfect. Right in front of him, I placed my key on the shoe cabinet and turned to leave. Ted watched me for a moment, but then he followed, blocking my path. He was visibly agitated. “What is it going to take to make you just listen to me for once?” he demanded, as if I were the one being completely unreasonable. His attitude was so absurd I couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, I don’t know,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe if you had agreed to get engaged, I wouldn’t be ‘making a scene’.” Ted clenched his jaw. “Chloe, just give me some more time to get used to the idea. Right now… I just don’t think you’re a suitable person to marry.” A suitable person to marry. I couldn’t quite grasp what that meant. The first time I heard that phrase was five years ago. My grandmother had just had heart surgery. Fearing she might not have much time left, she wanted to see me and Ted married. Back then, we were still deeply in love. When I brought up marriage, he froze. He held me for a long time without saying a word. Finally, he whispered, “Chloe, let me talk to my parents first, okay? I’ll give you an answer after that.” I nodded, my heart filled with hope, believing he was planning our future. But after that day, something in Ted shifted. He was still gentle and attentive, but whenever I mentioned engagement or marriage, he would change the subject. If I pressed him, he would get angry. “Look at you, you don’t have a stable job or income. How is this supposed to work? What would my parents think?” “Chloe, I’ve been holding this in, but you’re just not marriage material. You don’t know how to dress, you can’t socialize, and you don’t understand anything about business. You can’t help the family company at all.” He tore me down until I was worthless. But when I would break down and say I wanted to end things, he would send long, pleading messages to win me back. I always thought the root of his hesitation was his mother. It wasn’t until Lily returned that Ted’s attitude did a complete one-eighty. His actions showed me exactly what a “suitable” marriage partner looked like. No matter how much a man loves you, it won’t stop him from weighing his options and choosing the path that benefits him the most. I left the apartment I had lived in for years. Since Dean hadn’t arrived yet, I had nowhere to go, so I rented a small studio for the time being. I took stock of my savings, thinking about making a down payment on a place of my own in the city. Since Dean was away most of the year, it probably wouldn’t matter to him where we lived. I browsed online listings and actually found a few decent pre-owned apartments. After scheduling some viewings, I stayed home and finished writing the third installment of my online novel series. 5 The day I published the final chapter of my novel, Dean came back. We hadn’t seen each other in ten years, but he had barely changed. Strong brows, dark eyes, and tanned skin stretched over muscles bigger than my fist. His tall, powerful frame exuded a raw, masculine energy. He wasn’t as classically handsome as Ted, but he was rugged, radiating pure testosterone. The thought that this man was going to be my husband made me blush. “Dean, long time no see.” He grinned. “Chloe. It’s been too long.” His smile was so genuine. We spent one night catching up, and the next day, we went and got our marriage license. The red certificate I had dreamed of getting with Ted for years, the one I had longed for, was now in my hands after a ten-minute appointment with a different man. On the way back, my heart was a whirlwind of emotions. After getting the license, I took him to my grandmother’s house in the countryside. She was living with my uncle and seemed to be in good spirits. When she saw Dean, her face lit up. “Chloe, who is this?” I handed her our marriage certificate. “Grandma, I’m married. This is my husband, Dean.” She didn’t seem surprised at all, nor did she ask about Ted. She just examined the certificate over and over, then studied Dean for a long moment. “Good,” she said. “This is good. You two look right together.” The photographer at the registrar’s office had said the same thing. Looking at our photo together, I felt an unexpected sense of rightness, a strange feeling that this was how things were always meant to be. Dean just smiled. “Grandma, I’ll take good care of Chloe. Don’t you worry. We’ll give you a great-grandchild as soon as we can.” He was a natural actor. After we left, he handed back the cash gifts he’d received from my family. “I know this is probably a lot to take in at once, so I’m not going to push you,” he said, pressing a bank card into my hand. “You keep these. And this card, consider it a wedding gift from me.” I fiddled with the card in my hand. “Dean,” I finally asked, “what exactly is this between us?” He chuckled softly. “Let’s call it fate.” He was stationed so far away for so long, he never had time for a girlfriend. Pushing 30, he was indifferent to the idea of love. If his mother hadn’t been pressuring him, he never would have rushed into marriage with a near-stranger. He chose me because he figured a familiar face was better than a complete unknown. At least kissing me wouldn’t be awkward. He didn’t care that I had a long-term ex. In his mind, a woman who could stay with one man for ten years had to be a good person at her core. Only loyal people hold on to a relationship for that long. People like that live by a code. Seeing the relaxed expression on his face, I could guess what he was thinking. That was fine. I was also ready to just let life happen and see where it took us. Maybe it would turn out okay. We went to visit his mother next. Amazingly, my new mother-in-law adored me. She immediately gave me a card with a generous check inside and refused to let me lift a finger to help with dinner or the dishes. Before we left, she gave me another card. She told me it was for a down payment on a house. “I know we bought a place here in town, but Dean said you’re used to the city and might not want to move back,” she explained. “This is a little something to help you buy furniture and decorate. Get nice things. A comfortable home makes for a comfortable life.” His mom had been a waitress at the same diner for over a decade. Her hands were rough with calluses. That card probably held her life savings, and she had just handed it over to me without a second thought. My hand trembled as I took it. In the car, I slipped the card back into Dean’s pocket. “I can’t take this. You should hold onto it and find a way to give it back to your mom.” He glanced at it silently. “No. You’re my wife now. This money is yours to manage.”

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At the Christmas party, Bella Snow, a Gen Z intern in my department, suggested we go to an exclusive private restaurant. Under the table, she rubbed her foot against my calf. “Director,” she purred, “if you don’t have a few too many drinks tonight, how am I supposed to get my chance to move up?” To avoid any suggestion of impropriety, I made a point of arriving late. When I walked in, I found they had ordered ten king crabs and two bottles of Louis XIII. The moment she saw me, Bella stood up, a triumphant smirk on her face, and led the other interns towards the door. “Oh, the Director’s here! We kids won’t disturb your meal.” “You can get the check, though,” she added with a wink. “After all, you’re the one making six figures.” They giggled as they scurried out, even snatching a few unopened boxes of expensive cigars on their way. I looked at the bill, my face impassive, and paid with my card. Then, I took out my phone and sent a message to the department’s group chat. “This year’s Christmas team-building event was a great success. Thank you all for your participation.” “As per company policy, the budget for this event was $1,000, which I have paid in advance.” “The remaining $14,000, which exceeded the budget, will be split among the 12 participating colleagues. That’s $1,167 per person.” “Please transfer the amount to me by the end of the workday tomorrow. I will provide an itemized receipt.” 1 The day before Christmas, Bella Snow was livestreaming from her desk, her phone propped up right next to her company monitor. She swayed her hips for the camera, the hem of her short pleated skirt threatening to fly up as she spoke in a syrupy-sweet voice. “Hey everyone! Tonight, I’m going to show you what a super-exclusive private dinner looks like.” “And while I’m at it,” she giggled, “I’m going to conquer our uptight, sleazy old director.” The comments section exploded with encouragement. The department’s administrative assistant walked over with a form, whispering a reminder. “Bella, you need to submit the restaurant choice for approval in advance for team events. And the budget is capped at one hundred dollars per person.” Bella snorted. “This is a private dinner hosted by Director King for us interns. Your little rules don’t apply to him, do they?” The assistant, flushed with embarrassment, retreated with her form. I was in the break room making coffee and saw the entire exchange. The dinner was set for seven, but I deliberately waited until eight to leave. Pushing open the door to the private room, I was hit by a wall of alcohol and seafood fumes. The massive round table was a wasteland of empty glasses and plates, dominated by the shells of a dozen enormous king crabs. Several gift-wrapped boxes of premium bird’s nest soup were stacked in a corner. Seeing me, Bella showed no sign of awkwardness. Instead, she rose to her feet like the hostess of the party. She dangled a set of car keys and shouted to the group of tipsy interns. “Alright, ladies, next stop, karaoke! Director King is here to pay the bill!” A male intern, his eyes glazed over, slapped the table. “Thanks, Director King! You’re the man!” As Bella passed me, she paused and whispered, her voice meant only for me. “Wyatt, consider this meal the down payment for pursuing me.” “Too bad,” she smirked, “I’m not interested in old men.” With that, she and her entourage swept out of the room in a chorus of laughter. A waiter approached with a credit card machine and the bill. “Sir, your total is fifteen thousand dollars. Will that be card or digital payment?” Diners at nearby tables cast curious glances, their whispers reaching my ears. I ignored them, pulled a black card from my wallet, and handed it to him. “Card. And please print an itemized receipt for me.” The waiter’s hand faltered for a second before his professional mask slipped back into place. On the way home, I pulled over and opened a file from the company’s internal server. The employee handbook, Chapter 3, Article 12, “Team Building Expense Reimbursement Policy,” was clear: Departmental team-building events have a per-person budget cap of $100. All expenses must be submitted to the administrative and finance departments for prior approval. I took a screenshot. Late that night, I posted a message in the main department group chat, tagging everyone. “This year’s Christmas team-building event was a great success. My thanks to Bella Snow, Jessica Lee, Mark Chen… and the other 12 colleagues for their enthusiastic participation.” “As per company policy, the budget for this event was $1,000, which I have paid in advance and will be reimbursed by the company.” “The remaining $14,000, which exceeded the budget, is to be split among the 12 participating colleagues. That’s $1,167 per person.” “Please transfer the funds to my Venmo or PayPal by 9 AM tomorrow when you arrive at work.” “I will forward the itemized receipt to each of you shortly.” The chat went dead silent. The interns, who had just been flaunting their lavish dinner on social media, were nowhere to be found. Half an hour later, an intern named Jessica meekly typed a message. “Director, you make a seven-figure salary. Are you really going to nickel-and-dime us interns over this? We only make three thousand a month.” I picked up my phone and typed a reply. “I earned my money through skill and hard work. It didn’t fall from the sky. I have no intention of paying for someone else’s vanity and greed.” “This is a workplace, not your parents’ house.” “If I don’t see the money by 9 AM tomorrow, our legal department will be in touch.” Bella remained silent in the group chat. But two minutes later, a colleague, Liam, sent me a screenshot. It was Bella’s social media post, a picture of her flipping off the camera in a karaoke room. The caption read: “Warning: avoid this sleazy, gross old man. Tried to get me to sleep with him, and when I refused, he’s trying to make me split a $15,000 dinner bill. So disgusting! Ugh!” The post was hidden from my view. I looked at the screenshot, a faint smile playing on my lips. 2 The next day, I walked into the office right on time. A group of interns from the dinner were huddled in a corner. They scattered the moment they saw me, their eyes a mixture of resentment, contempt, and schadenfreude. At nine o’clock sharp, the morning meeting began. Bella clicked in on her high heels at 9:05. She walked straight to the associate director’s chair next to mine, sat down, and started touching up her makeup. I glanced at her but said nothing, launching directly into the day’s agenda. “Bella, where’s the first draft of the marketing proposal I asked for yesterday?” She snapped her compact shut with a click, checked her reflection, and rolled her eyes. “Oh, Director King, I was so disgusted by a certain cheapskate last night that I couldn’t sleep a wink.” “How could I possibly have the energy to think about proposals?” “Besides,” she added with a sneer, “we Gen Z are here to fix the workplace, not to be slaves for capitalists. Stop rushing me.” “Yeah! I’m in a bad mood, no inspiration.” “This is our silent protest against exploitation by unethical management!” another chimed in. I ignored their outburst and turned my attention to another intern, Mark. “Mark, what about the competitor analysis report you were assigned?” Mark leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and pulled out his phone to play a game. “Director, Bella said we’re all on strike today. You can deal with it.” I opened my laptop, my fingers tapping a few keys, and accessed the company’s security system. I clipped and saved the footage from yesterday afternoon: Bella’s livestream, the admin’s attempt to intervene, and this morning’s footage of them all arriving late and playing on their phones. I packaged it all into an email to the Head of HR. The subject line read: [Regarding Serious Breaches of Labor Discipline and Attendance Irregularities by Interns in the Creative Department]. The meeting ended on a sour note. As I was getting water from the break room, I passed the smoking lounge and heard Bella on the phone, her voice loud. “He just wants to sleep with me! I’m telling you, from my very first day, he was staring at me with those creepy, leering eyes!” “That dinner was a trap. He wanted to get me drunk, but luckily, I was smart enough to get out of there.” “Now that he sees I didn’t take the bait, he’s furious. He’s using the dinner bill to pressure me. Isn’t that disgusting? What a pervert!” I leaned against the doorframe, cup in hand, and waited for her to hang up. “Bella,” I said calmly, “slander is a criminal offense. Are you aware of that?” She jumped, startled, but quickly composed herself with a sneer. “Well, well, Director King eavesdropping on private conversations? How tacky.” “I’m warning you,” I said, my voice low, “you have a few hours left before the deadline for the transfer.” “Think carefully. Is it better to lose a thousand dollars, or to lose a whole lot more?” Bella burst into exaggerated laughter. She suddenly whipped out her phone, opened her streaming app, and shoved the camera in my face. “Everyone! Everyone, come and see! This sleazy old man is threatening me now!” “Just because I wouldn’t let him harass me, he’s threatening to sue me for slander! Everyone, come and judge for yourselves!” Thousands of viewers flooded the stream, and the comments scrolled by in a blur of insults directed at me. “Wow, that guy looks decent, but he’s such a creep.” “Go girl! Sue him! Ruin his career!” “Get out of there, sister! People like that will retaliate!” I didn’t flinch or try to grab her phone. I even managed a slight smile for the camera. “Hello, I’m Wyatt King.” “You’d better not end this stream,” I said, my voice even. “This is all evidence for the court.” With that, I turned and walked away, leaving her stunned and speechless. Back at my desk, I sent a text to my personal lawyer. “Get ready. Slander suit, with a civil claim for damages attached.” At five-thirty, the workday ended. The group of interns strutted past my desk, making a point to snort contemptuously. Just then, my phone vibrated. It was a Venmo notification for $1,167. From Liam. He included a message. “Director, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean for this to happen. Bella forced us to go.” “She said anyone who didn’t go wasn’t a team player and would be ostracized…” I stared at the message for a few seconds. Then I hit “Decline Payment.” I replied: “You don’t need to pay this. Don’t do anything. Just watch.” 3 The next day, I was jolted awake by the frantic ringing of my phone. It was the company’s PR Director, her voice laced with panic. “Wyatt! What on earth did you do to that intern? The entire internet is filled with stories about you!” I hung up and opened Twitter. The third trending topic was a single hashtag: #AdAgencyDirectorHarassment. I clicked on it. It led to a long, detailed article, complete with photos, posted by a gossip account with over a million followers. The headline was sensational: [EXCLUSIVE! Renowned Ad Agency Creative Director Wyatt King Accused of Luring Female Intern with Position, Attempting Assault, and Extortion!] The article painted me as a lecherous middle-aged man who preyed on young, beautiful interns, constantly harassing them. The “proof” was a series of carefully cropped chat screenshots. For instance, I had asked Bella: “Is the proposal finished? If you have time tonight, let’s discuss the details.” The screenshot only showed: “Do you have time tonight?” Another example: I had said, “That skirt you’re wearing today is a bit too short and unprofessional for the office. Please be mindful of the dress code.” The screenshot only showed: “That skirt you’re wearing today…” followed by a drooling emoji. The most damning piece of evidence was a so-called “candid photo.” It was from the restaurant. My pen had fallen on the floor, and I had bent down to pick it up. The photo, taken from an incredibly misleading angle, made it look like my head was buried under Bella’s skirt. The caption read: “He was touching me under the table! I was so scared my legs went weak!” The comment section was a cesspool of thousands of comments, all of them personal attacks. “This guy should be chemically castrated!” “He looks so respectable, I can’t believe he’s so disgusting!” “That Bella girl is no angel either, wearing a schoolgirl skirt to work?” The story spread like wildfire through the industry. The CEO of a pre-IPO company I was courting for a major merger sent a direct email. “Mr. King, in light of the current negative press regarding your personal conduct, we have decided to suspend all collaboration to mitigate risk. We wish you the best.” I had spent six months on that project, worth hundreds of millions. It vanished in an instant. And then, a greater blow fell. My wife, her eyes red-rimmed, threw a set of divorce papers in my face. “Wyatt, you’ve completely humiliated me!” “My mother called, asking if you’re keeping a mistress!” “I don’t want to hear your excuses. Let’s just separate for now. I need time to think, to reconsider our entire relationship.” She didn’t give me a chance to speak. She just dragged her suitcase out and slammed the door behind her. Then came the messages from several headhunters I’d worked with for years, simple “sorry” emojis. The word was already out. I was blacklisted from the industry because of a sex scandal. The moment I got to the office, my door was kicked open. Bella and her cronies strode in. She slammed her phone down on my desk. It was open to the article slandering me. “So, Director King, how does it feel? It’s not too late to get on your knees and beg.” She looked down at me, her face a mask of undisguised triumph and greed. “Here’s the deal. You’ll forget about the dinner bill, and you’ll pay each of the twelve of us one hundred thousand dollars for emotional distress.” “Then, you’ll post a public apology on the company website and your personal Twitter, admitting that you harassed me first.” “Do that, and I’ll be the bigger person and ask the gossip site to take down the article. What do you say?” I had only one word for her. “Out.” The smile froze on her face. I ignored her, locked my office door, and closed the blinds, shutting out the frantic knocking from the PR and HR departments. From my drawer, I took out everything I had prepared. The itemized receipt from the restaurant, officially stamped. The video footage of their collective work stoppage from that morning. And a digital voice recorder, containing Bella’s extortion attempt from just moments ago. I took a deep breath and dialed 911. “Hello, this is Wyatt King. I’m calling to report a case of online slander and blackmail.” After hanging up, I sent a text to Liam. “My office. Now.” A few minutes later, Liam slipped in, looking nervous. I didn’t waste time. I pushed a file across the desk to him. It was a detailed bank statement I had acquired from a private investigator. The account holder was Bella Snow. For the past six months, there had been a regular monthly deposit of thirty to fifty thousand dollars from the corporate account of that very same private restaurant. “This is proof that Bella was using her position to steer clients to that restaurant in exchange for a hefty kickback on their alcohol sales.” I looked up, my eyes locking onto his. “It’s called corporate embezzlement. It carries a sentence of three to ten years.” “She used you as a pawn. Are you still going to cover for her?” “Think carefully. Do you want a full-time job with a modest salary, or do you want to go to jail with her as an accomplice?” The color drained from Liam’s face. His lips trembled, unable to form words. With a shaking hand, he pulled out his own phone and played an audio file. “Director… I recorded this at the dinner…” “I just wanted to have it as a memory…” I took the phone and pressed play. Bella’s cloying, syrupy voice filled the room, crystal clear. “Go wild, girls! Order the most expensive things on the menu!” “This old man is all about saving face. There’s no way he won’t pay!” “He wants to sleep with me, does he? Well, tonight we’re going to make him bleed! Teach him that I’m not that easy!” “Why’s he so jumpy? It’s just my foot, it’s not like he’s going to get pregnant. What a prude…” I picked up my own recorder from the desk and smiled.

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The year-end bonuses were announced, and the entire department erupted. Everyone got $60,000. I was the only one who got zero. My supervisor advised me, “Young people shouldn’t get so hung up on gains and losses. You need to see the big picture.” I nodded and went back to writing my code without another word. At the end of the year, the chairman called me in, beaming, to renew my contract—a direct offer for six years. “The company needs a workhorse like you.” I turned my laptop towards him. On the screen was the final version of the project I had just completed. The buyer was his arch-nemesis. At the same time, I placed a resignation letter and a request for a non-compete agreement waiver on his desk. “Mr. King,” I said, “my new employer offered me a six-million-dollar signing bonus. I’m done playing your games.” 1 My phone vibrated on my desk like a trapped animal. In the company’s tech department group chat, the red notification bubble glowed stubbornly, the number climbing from 99+ to a height I couldn’t be bothered to count. The mood was jubilant. The screen was a blur of digital red envelopes and bold screenshots of bank transfers. “Holy crap! $60,000! The company must have made a killing this year!” “Mr. King is the GOAT! Stick with him and you’ll eat well!” “Confirmed in my account! Thanks, team! Ready to give it my all again next year!” In every screenshot, the glaring “$60,000.00” was like a raging fire, searing the eyes of everyone who saw it and igniting a frenzy throughout the office. The air was thick with the cloying sweetness of money, mixed with the irrepressible excitement and boisterous laughter of my colleagues. I, Luke, was the sole outsider to this celebration. I opened my pay stub, my fingertip feeling a chill as it touched the screen. The page loaded. Every other line item was normal, until my eyes slid to the very bottom. Year-End Bonus. Followed by a number that felt like a cold, calculated insult. “$0.00”. No shock, no anger. In that moment, my mind was a complete blank. It was as if a deep-sea mine had detonated inside my skull, and in its wake, the world fell into a dead silence. All sound, all color, bled away. All that remained was that “$0.00,” burning itself onto my retinas like a vicious brand. “Luke, my office.” My supervisor, Leo Kane, stood at his door, beckoning to me. He wore that familiar smile—affable, yet permitting no argument. I stood up without expression, pulling back my chair and walking through the ecstatic crowd. My colleagues, who had just been cheering, now wore complicated expressions as they looked at me. Some pity, some gloating, but mostly, the detached amusement of watching a drama unfold. I didn’t care. I walked into his office and closed the door, shutting out the noise. Leo pointed to the chair opposite him and poured me a glass of water himself. “Luke, you saw the pay stub, right?” he began, his tone as calm and steady as a therapist conducting a session. I nodded, saying nothing. “I know you must be feeling like this is unfair,” he continued slowly, taking a sip of his tea. “But you have to understand, as a young man, you need to see the big picture. You can’t just focus on short-term gains and losses.” The big picture? A cold laugh echoed in my mind. Such a familiar phrase. When he made us work late into the night, he’d say, “Young people need to hustle to grow quickly. That’s seeing the big picture.” When he made us take over failing projects for free, he’d say, “With great ability comes great responsibility. This is the company’s trust in you. You have to have perspective.” Now, with those same words, he was erasing the blood and sweat of more than three hundred days and nights of my life. “You are the core of Project Zenith, the soul of the operation. The company sees it, and the chairman sees it,” Leo’s voice was laced with a persuasive power. “This, you could say, is a special test from Mr. King. He wants to see if you’re just in it for the money, or if he can truly entrust the company’s future to you.” “Pass this test, prove your loyalty and your perspective, and your future will be limitless.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial, solemn whisper. “Trust me, the company will never mistreat a true contributor.” I looked at him, at the face that seemed so sincere as he sold me this fantasy. I could see the calculation and contempt in his eyes. He saw me as a tech nerd he could easily manipulate, a fool who didn’t understand office politics, someone who could be placated with a few empty words. I didn’t argue. I didn’t question him. I just nodded calmly. “I understand, Leo.” My compliance pleased him. His smile widened. “That’s the spirit! I knew you were a smart guy. Go on, get back to work. Finish up Project Zenith, and I’ll be sure to put in a good word for you with the chairman.” I walked out of his office. The air outside still felt feverish. A few people were gathered around my desk. Evan, my college classmate and the lead of Tech Team Two, was at the center of the huddle. He saw me, pushed through the crowd, and came over to slap my shoulder hard. “Luke, man, don’t sweat it. It’s just a bonus, right? My treat tonight at The Gilded Lantern. I’ll make it up to you!” His voice was loud, dripping with charity, ensuring everyone around us could hear. I saw the brand-new Rolex Submariner on his wrist, glinting under the office lights. I saw the pristine, limited-edition Jordans on his feet. All bought with that $60,000, I presumed. Bought with my hard work. And his so-called “treat” was just an opportunity to parade me around as a pathetic charity case. I ignored him and went back to my seat. I opened my phone. The last message in my chat with my girlfriend, Jenna, was the “Good morning” I’d sent her. I sent a new message: “Bonuses are out.” A long time later, she replied with a single word. “Okay.” She didn’t ask how much I got. Not a single word of concern. I opened her social media. Her latest post was from ten minutes ago. A nine-photo grid of her and her friends shopping at designer stores. A new Chanel bag, a Cartier bracelet. The caption read: “Choice is more important than effort. So happy!” In the photos, she was smiling radiantly, a brightness I had never seen before. I shut off my phone. My heart felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand, tightening its grip until all the blood was forced out, leaving only a cold, suffocating ache. Humiliation, resentment, fury… a thousand emotions churned in my chest, threatening to shatter my composure. But I held them back. I took a deep breath, pushing it all down. I opened my IDE. The blue light from the screen cast a cold glow on my face. I typed a single command. git push A seemingly innocuous security patch for Project Zenith was calmly committed to the repository. Just then, in the department chat, Leo tagged everyone, then tagged me individually. He shared an article titled, Young Man, Your Perspective Defines Your Future. The group chat immediately filled with agreement. “Leo’s right!” “See the big picture, and your path will only get wider!” “We should all learn from Luke, not sweating the small stuff!” The praise felt like a thousand tiny needles piercing my heart. I closed the chat window without a flicker of emotion and opened an encrypted email client. An unread message sat in my inbox. I opened it. The body contained a single sentence. “The fish is off the hook.” The sender was Mr. Cole, CEO of Stratos Tech and Chairman King’s mortal enemy. My lips pressed into a thin line. I typed two words in reply. “Into the net.” 2 It was drizzling when I left work. I called Jenna, wanting to take her out to dinner, to talk things through. I had already booked a table at her favorite French restaurant and even rehearsed my opening lines. I wanted to ask her what had gone wrong between us. She answered, her voice edged with impatience. “Hello? What is it?” “Jenna, let’s have dinner tonight. I booked—” “I can’t!” she cut me off sharply. “I have to entertain a really important client tonight. You eat by yourself. If there’s nothing else, I have to go, I’m busy.” Beep… beep… beep… Listening to the dial tone, I stood at the entrance of the office building, letting the cold rain fall on my face. The wind bit at my skin. I laughed at myself, a bitter, hollow sound, and walked towards the parking garage. My car was in the furthest corner of the second basement level, a dimly lit, deserted spot. As I approached it, a ripple of tinkling laughter echoed from behind a nearby pillar. A voice I knew all too well. It was Jenna. I froze, my body rigid. Beside Leo’s new BMW 5 Series, Jenna, in flawless makeup and a tight black dress I’d never seen before, was laughing as she bent down to get into the passenger seat. She wasn’t carrying her usual Coach bag; a brand-new Hermès was slung over her arm. Leo gallantly closed the door for her and walked around to the driver’s side. As the car started, he rolled down his window, his gaze landing directly on me. He paused for a second, then a knowing smirk spread across his face. “Luke, still here? Good timing. I’m just giving Jenna a ride. You young people should communicate more.” His tone was that of a caring supervisor, but he stressed the word “communicate” with a heavy, suggestive emphasis. I watched the BMW’s taillights disappear at the garage exit, feeling as if I’d been turned to ice. The cold started in my fingertips, spreading inch by inch until it reached my heart, solidifying into a block of permafrost. So her “important client” was our supervisor. So “I can’t” just meant she couldn’t for me. So her post about “choice is more important than effort” was about this. I went home. The apartment was dark and empty. On the dining table sat a beautifully wrapped gift box. My anniversary gift for our three years together, something I had been planning for a long time. A Tiffany necklace. It had taken me three months of scrimping and saving to afford it. I had imagined her look of surprise a thousand times. How laughable it all seemed now. In her eyes, that necklace was probably worth less than a single tire on Leo’s car. On autopilot, I opened my laptop. On the desktop was a small program I had written myself, with an icon of an inconspicuous blue radar. I had coded a location tracker for her phone, worried about her walking home alone at night. She had accused me of not trusting her, and we’d had a huge fight over it. I deleted it in front of her, but I had kept a backup. I double-clicked the icon and entered Jenna’s phone number. A blinking red dot immediately appeared on the city map. The location was Miyabi, the most expensive Japanese restaurant in the city. The kind of place where a meal costs five figures. I stared at the red dot, the last shred of hope in my heart extinguished. I refreshed my social media feed. A mutual friend from the marketing department had posted something thirty seconds ago. It was a screenshot of a bill, the background clearly the private room at Miyabi. The name on the bill was Evan’s. The caption read: “Thanks for the amazing dinner, Evan and Leo! Best meal of the year!” Below it was a group photo. In the picture, Jenna sat between Leo and Evan, a wine glass in her hand, her face flushed and her smile dazzling. She was looking up at Evan, her eyes filled with a worshipful adoration I had never seen directed at me. In that instant, I could almost hear my own heart shattering. Not with a sharp, agonizing pain, but with a final, numb silence. I picked up the gift box from the table, walked to the door, opened the trash chute, and let go. A dull thud. Our past, buried with my own hands. I returned to my computer and opened the source code for Project Zenith. In the ocean of millions of lines of code, I found a core encryption module. And there, I left a mark only I could understand. The number “0”. The “0” from my zero-dollar bonus. The “0” that meant resetting everything to zero. It was a back door. A one-way door to hell. 3 A week later, the company was decked out in celebratory banners, the atmosphere electric. The award ceremony for the first phase of Project Zenith was being held in the headquarters’ largest auditorium. Chairman King himself was expected to attend. I sat in the back row, a ghost in the corner. The big screen displayed a polished PowerPoint presentation. Ninety percent of its content was what I had typed out, character by character, during countless sleepless nights over the past year. But now, on the “Core Project Members” slide, my name was listed last. And the presentation was credited to a single person. Evan. He walked onto the stage in a brand-new designer suit, his hair slicked back, looking every bit the triumphant “Project Lead.” The spotlight followed him, making him the undeniable star of the show. “Chairman King, esteemed leaders, dear colleagues, good afternoon.” His voice boomed through the microphone. “The success of Project Zenith is a testament to the company’s visionary strategy, the trust and support of Mr. King and our leadership, and of course, the tireless efforts of our entire team…” He launched into a grandiloquent speech, casually attributing my core algorithms to a “breakthrough” he had achieved after “repeated verification and overcoming significant challenges,” with the “able assistance of Luke and other colleagues.” Leo, sitting beside him, added helpfully, “Evan is truly outstanding and has a great sense of the big picture. From the very beginning, I knew he was the man for the job. It turns out my judgment was correct.” He painted himself as a discerning mentor, a master strategist. The two of them were a perfectly rehearsed act. In the front row, Chairman King beamed, nodding frequently. When Evan finished, Mr. King personally went on stage and clapped him on the shoulder. “Well done! This is the future of our company! Capable, responsible, and most importantly, has perspective!” his voice was strong and clear. “To recognize Evan’s outstanding contributions to Project Zenith, I am pleased to announce that the company will award him the down payment for a 1,000-square-foot apartment at The Waterfront!” The announcement was met with thunderous applause. Everyone looked at Evan with envy. The Waterfront was the most exclusive riverfront property in the city. The down payment alone was at least half a million dollars. I saw Jenna, in the front row, jump to her feet, clapping enthusiastically. She gazed up at the brilliant man on stage, her eyes shining with undisguised admiration. A look I once thought was reserved only for me. All eyes were on the stage. No one noticed me in the corner, also clapping. A placid smile was on my face, but my eyes were a frozen, bottomless lake. My phone was discreetly raised, aimed at the stage. The camera was recording everything. Evan’s lies, Leo’s hypocrisy, Mr. King’s foolishness, and Jenna’s adoration. It would all become evidence. After the ceremony, Evan was swarmed by a crowd, a conquering hero. He saw me and made a point to come over, putting on his “best buddy” act. “Luke, don’t be discouraged. This was mainly to boost morale, to concentrate our resources. I haven’t forgotten your contribution, brother. Next time, it’ll be you.” He “comforted” me with condescension, as if I were a junior who needed his guidance. I looked at his disingenuous face and nodded with a smile. “Congratulations, Evan.” My voice was quiet, but every word was crystal clear. “You deserve it.” He clearly missed the meaning behind my words, grinning smugly before being swept away by his admirers. I watched him go, the smile on my lips turning colder. Yes. You deserve it. All of you will get exactly what you deserve.

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At fifteen, Adrian Hale helped me escape an abusive orphanage. At seventeen, I was working in a VIP lounge in the city’s underbelly when I was dragged into an alley and nearly assaulted. He was the one who found me, who stabbed those men into comas. On the day of his trial, facing a barrage of flashbulbs, he held his head high and said he had no regrets. “I just wanted to protect the woman I love, Seraphina Monroe. I wanted her to finally be able to stand in the sun.” At twenty-two, Adrian was released from prison. When he found out I was still a delivery driver in Aura City, he threw himself into the glittering world of high society and made me the richest woman in the city. After we were married, he shared every detail of his life with me, publicly referring to himself only as “Seraphina Monroe’s husband.” Then, at twenty-five, the grand casino we built together, The Empyrean, opened its doors. I lit up the sky with a half-hour fireworks display from the Zenith Tower. But when I came home, I found ten empty condom boxes on the nightstand. In the trash, there were stained tissues—the aftermath of their passion. I kicked the disgusting evidence in front of Adrian. But he didn’t even look up. He glanced at it with casual indifference and called for a maid to clean it up. “It was just a game, Seraphina. Don’t take it so seriously.” I laughed coldly and handed him the divorce papers I’d prepared. “I never play games.” Adrian swatted them out of my hand. “We are never separating. Unless I’m dead.” He had said those exact words at our wedding. It was the same promise we made to each other when we first escaped the orphanage at fifteen. But now, ten years later, it was the dead of winter. “We’ll talk when you’ve calmed down.” He left. The only thing left on the divorce papers on the floor was the print of his shoe. A moment after he was gone, my phone lit up with two messages from an unknown number. “Seraphina, can you just let Adrian go? You’re old news, a washed-up hag. You can’t even get a man excited anymore!” “You must have seen the mess in the bedroom. I’m telling you, I’m the only one who can make Adrian happy.” A series of intimate photos followed. A woman, her shoulders bare, lay on our bed, her eyes smoldering with desire. Adrian’s back was to the camera, his muscles taut, his skin slick with a thin layer of sweat. The tattoo of my name, which he had gotten on his arm just for me, was a glaring wound in the picture. “See? Adrian’s true love is me, not you!” “So I suggest you step aside. Otherwise, you won’t be keeping your position at the company for much longer.” The woman’s taunts were laced with a naive arrogance, as if such a declaration of ownership could actually make me back down. I laughed until my heart trembled. Then I went online and listed the millions of dollars’ worth of jewelry Adrian had bought me over the years for one dollar each. When Adrian returned, he found me directing the maids as they packed everything away. After a maid told him what was happening, his eyelids lifted slightly. “They’re just trinkets. If you don’t like them, it’s good to get rid of them.” I leaned against the window, a wine glass in my hand, and said nothing. He walked towards me, his leather shoes silent on the marble floor. He took the glass from my lips and drained it in one gulp. “She’s young and reckless, all bark and no bite. Is she really worth getting this angry over?” He finished the wine and placed the empty glass back in my hand. His dismissive attitude made it seem as if I wasn’t the one who had fought beside him through blood and fire to build our empire. As if it had been someone else. I smiled faintly. “You’re right. I shouldn’t be so petty.” I tossed a stack of photos onto the sofa. The girl’s face, a bloody, unrecognizable mess, was in full view. “So I taught her a lesson myself.” My voice was calm. The words had barely left my lips when a rush of air whipped past my cheek. “Seraphina!” Adrian’s hand was raised, his face contorted with rage. The slap stopped less than an inch from my face. “Bianca is a model! Doing this… you’re trying to ruin her!” There was no love in his eyes. Only a raw, burning hatred, as if he wanted me gone. I stared at him, and for a moment, I was back in the rain-soaked alley at seventeen. I was working at a nightclub, and a group of men had dragged me into the darkness, tearing at my clothes. He had looked at them with that same expression, right before he stabbed each of them over thirty times. The only difference was, this time, that look was directed at me. “So?” I crushed the wine glass in my hand. With my other, I grabbed his arm and pressed his palm tight against my cheek. “Are you going to punish me like this… for her?” Our eyes clashed, a silent, vicious battle. The metallic scent of blood filled the air between us. Only then did he see the shards of glass embedded in my palm. “Seraphina.” He flinched, trying to pull his hand back. I didn’t move. I just watched as he took my hand and began to painstakingly pick out the slivers of glass. “I would never truly hurt you.” “She was out of line. She deserved a lesson.” He finally answered my question. A trickle of blood oozed from the wound, and he instinctively bent down, his lips covering the cut. Back in the orphanage, when other kids hurt us and we had no medicine, we would “disinfect” each other’s wounds this way. Even now, he held onto the habit. I pulled my hand away. “Don’t. It’s dirty.” Adrian froze. Then he called for a maid to bandage my hand. And he walked out. He didn’t come back for days. But my private investigators kept me informed. Adrian was with Bianca, taking her to the best plastic surgeons for skin grafts. Within a week, she was back in the public eye, having landed five major luxury brand fashion shows. When I heard the news, I went straight to The Empyrean to find him. On the golden walls, massive LED screens played a loop of Bianca’s runway videos. “It seems you really like her,” I said calmly. “You’re willing to give her the company’s top resources as compensation.” Adrian’s lips thinned. He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Seraphina, you hurt her.” “As your husband and her mentor, it’s my duty to make it up to her. Why can’t you just let it go?” I found it laughable. I pulled the divorce papers from behind my back. “Sign this, and I’ll let her go.” This time, he didn’t just toss the papers aside. He ripped them to shreds. “I told you, we are never separating. Unless I’m dead!” I knew he couldn’t let go of his obsession. Even more, he couldn’t let go of the empire we had built together. I smiled, grabbed a nearby bottle of Lafite, and smashed it against the massive screen beside me. Screams erupted in the lobby as people scrambled to get away. When the entire ground floor was empty, I stared at him, my feet crunching over the broken glass. “Adrian.” I called his name softly, a trail of blood marking my path as I walked toward him. I raised my hand. The jagged edge of the broken bottle was pressed against his throat. “Do you really think I don’t have the guts to send you to your grave?” His pupils contracted. He grabbed the bottleneck, his knuckles white. I didn’t back down. I pushed it deeper. “If you don’t agree to this divorce, I’ll send you on your way myself!” My entire body was tense. I could see beads of blood forming on his neck. But in the next second, he let go. The sharp glass plunged into his throat. Blood instantly soaked my hand. He just looked at me and smiled. “Seraphina, I will never agree to a divorce.” He grabbed my hand, forcing the bottle in deeper. “If you’re going to force my hand, then do it now.” His tone was as casual as if he were asking what was for dinner. I yanked the bottle back. A warm spray hit my face. The smell of blood filled my nostrils, thick and suffocating. I was dizzy, thrown back to that rainy night at seventeen. All the strength drained from my body. The bottle fell from my hand, shattering on the floor. “Seraphina.” A pair of cold hands steadied me. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here.” Adrian gently patted my trembling back, even as his own blood soaked his shirt. He had held me just like this for fifteen years in that orphanage, trying to shield me from harm with his own frail body, trying to warm me with his own cold skin. He would whisper it over and over, “Don’t be afraid, Seraphina. I’m here.” We had carried that love through twenty-five years of blood and tears. And now, it was unrecognizable. I pushed him away, forcing myself to walk. My weak limbs gave out, and I collapsed to the floor. “Seraphina!” He moved to help me up. “Stay away!” I clawed my way back to my feet and stumbled out. After that, Adrian and I didn’t see each other. My sources told me he was recovering in the hospital, with Bianca constantly by his side. In her spare time, she managed to win an international modeling award. I paid it no mind, focusing solely on running The Empyrean. But Bianca couldn’t wait. She came to the casino to flaunt her victory. “Seraphina, this award was a birthday gift from Adrian.” She brandished the golden trophy, her eyes glinting with triumph. “Did you really think scarring my face would make him leave me?” She stepped closer. “Adrian’s love for me is real. The more you hurt me, the more he cherishes me. These endorsements and awards are just small tokens of his affection. What I really love is how much more passionate he’s become.” I noticed then that she had removed the silk scarf from her neck. Her pale skin was covered in a constellation of dark red marks, each one a testament to the wild, unrestrained nights she and Adrian had spent together. “You’re so pathetic, Seraphina.” She tilted her head back, her face a mask of scorn. “I hear you and Adrian have been together for eight years and still don’t have a child.” “You should get that checked out. It would be a shame if I beat you to motherhood.” I smiled. In the blink of an eye, Bianca screamed. She clutched her stomach and crumpled to the floor, her eyes burning with hatred. “Seraphina, you’ll burn in hell for this!” The curve of my lips widened. I brought the sharp point of my heel down hard on her face. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you die long before I do.” “Aren’t you afraid Adrian will hate you for this?” she choked out. I pressed down harder. “What happens between him and me is none of your business.” That night, Adrian came home. He had his men surround the villa, their presence a silent, menacing siege. An armored car was parked outside. He had only ever used such tactics when eliminating threats to our organization. I never thought they would be turned on me. I opened the door. We stood facing each other, each of us flanked by a sea of bodyguards. “Seraphina.” It was the first time he had ever said my name with such coldness. “Aren’t you going to give Bianca an explanation?” “She came looking for a fight. I just gave her what she wanted. Isn’t that right?” I descended the staircase slowly, stopping in front of him. The faint glow of his cigarette failed to illuminate his entire face. “Did you really think I was as docile as the rumors say? That I’d welcome your mistress with a smile?” I exhaled a plume of smoke. “Adrian, don’t forget, half of everything you have is in my name.” “The only reason I haven’t made this a public spectacle is out of respect for our history. But that doesn’t mean I’ll let some clown disrespect me.” I held out the divorce papers again, dropped my cigarette, and crushed it under my heel. “But if you sign this, I can let everything else go.” The clouds blotted out the moon completely. In the darkness, I didn’t miss the red glint in Adrian’s eyes. I sighed. “For twenty-five years, you helped me escape that hellhole, you went to prison to protect me. In return, I willingly conquered half of Aura City for you, so you could be free to find your own happiness.” “My debt to you is paid. Let’s part ways amicably.” “Amicably.” Adrian finally spoke, sneering the word. His response was to snatch a lighter and set the divorce papers ablaze. “I won’t let her bother you again.” The flames died out. He turned and left with his men, without a backward glance. I stood there until his silhouette vanished, then let out a series of stifled coughs. “Boss.” My men rushed to my side. I waved them away. “It’s nothing. The usual.” To gain a foothold in Aura City, the endless dinners and drinks had taken their toll on my lungs. It was a chronic problem even the best doctors couldn’t fix. The cough persisted for days. I finally made an appointment at a private hospital, only to walk in on Bianca, in her room, threatening to kill herself. “Adrian, you said you loved me! Why won’t you divorce her? Why won’t you stand up for me?” “Don’t you know I’m ruined like this? I might as well be dead!” She grabbed a fruit knife and tried to plunge it into her own chest. Adrian blocked it with his arm. A long, deep gash opened up, blood pouring out. The knife clattered to the floor. Ignoring his bleeding arm, he cupped her face and kissed her deeply. A grotesque, desperate passion. Just like eight years ago. I pushed the door open. They both turned to look at me. “Seraphina! I’ll make you pay for this!” Bianca shrieked, scrambling for the knife and lunging at me. I twisted her arm behind her back and threw her to the floor. Adrian grabbed my forearm. “Seraphina, don’t.” “Don’t what?” I laughed, a humorless sound. “You’re the one who said she wouldn’t bother me again.” “I gave you the courtesy of handling it, but now she’s trying to kill me. If I don’t do something, you both might actually think I’m a pushover.” SLAP! The sound of my hand connecting with Bianca’s face echoed in the room. That single blow seemed to shatter the fragile truce between Adrian and me. He shoved me away like a madman, grabbing the knife and pointing it at my heart. “Seraphina, if you touch Bianca again, don’t blame me for what happens.” The tip of the blade tore the collar of my shirt. He stood before Bianca like a guardian, ready to fight her battles. Not long ago, he had sworn he would never hurt me. “Are you sure you want to do this to me… for her?” The hand holding the knife was trembling, but his eyes were resolute. “Seraphina, you’re forcing me to do this.” “I won’t let you hurt her again.” I laughed. I truly laughed. “Adrian, there’s no going back for us.” Only when you’ve loved can the absence of it be so monstrous. The Adrian of seventeen was gone forever.

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Four years after I died, my headstone was already crooked. I haunted Jim’s dreams for weeks, begging him to come fix it. But he wouldn’t come. Frustrated, I kept up my ghostly wailing, crying about how miserable I was in the afterlife. In his sleep, Jim just scowled. “Leave me alone, Erica. I’m not going. I’m busy.” And yet, one night, he showed up right after getting off work, a shovel slung over his shoulder. The man had never done a day of manual labor in his life. He took one swing. And my headstone… it toppled over completely. Jim, a cigarette dangling from his lips, actually let out a short, sharp laugh. “Damn it, Erica. Are you doing this just to mess with me?” 1. Another All Souls’ Eve came and went. As usual, Jim burned nothing for me. My debts in the Underworld just kept piling up. Even the Reapers were telling me to just move on, to reincarnate already. I looked down at the tattered rags I wore and shook my head. No. Jim was too much of a bastard. I had to watch him raise our daughter. Only then would I be willing to let go. Jim and I have a daughter. She’s four years old this year. I don’t know her name. I don’t even know what she looks like. Jim won’t let me see her. He rarely visits me, either. The first year after my death, he went on a rampage, throwing everything of mine out of the house. He forbade the nanny from even speaking my name. It was as if he was trying to erase me from his world, scouring away every last trace until nothing remained. The house was covered in wards. He slept with silver charms by his pillow. And my daughter’s room was sealed behind a web of protective circles. Even a fleeting glimpse of her was an impossible dream. For a man like Jim, who never believed in ghosts or gods, to go to such lengths… he must have really put his back into it. He despised me that much. So how could I ever hope he would treat our daughter with kindness? I have to watch. I have to stay until she’s grown. 2. A cold wind sliced through the night. I huddled behind my fallen headstone, wrapping my arms around myself, but I couldn’t stop shivering. The cemetery was swallowed by darkness. I buried my face in my knees, too scared to look up. Too scared of being seen by the other shades passing through. These lost souls, they prey on helpless spirits like me. They steal your clothes. They devour your offerings. They hoard the warmth of incense meant for others. I had no one, so I was an easy target. A sound rustled nearby. I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed my face deeper into my knees, holding my breath. Suddenly, the sound stopped right in front of my grave. With a heavy thud, a shovel landed at my feet. I peeked out from behind the stone, and a sob nearly escaped my lips. It was Jim. He stood there in a black overcoat, his features sharp and severe in the moonlight. He cast a lazy, dismissive glance at my headstone as if to confirm it was mine. As if it were hard to tell. He hated complications. The massive marble slab bore only a few words. Beloved Wife: Erica. Husband: Jim. He hadn’t even added our daughter’s name. He wasn’t in any hurry to fix the stone. Instead, he crouched down, pulled a cigarette from his coat, and lit it, his eyes fixed on the small, faded photograph of me. A cloud of smoke curled from his lips. “Erica,” he murmured, his voice a low drawl, “you had all that money. You couldn’t have left a little for me when you died?” “Now here I am, in the prime of my life, running a business and raising a kid.” He tapped the ash from his cigarette and gently poked my forehead in the picture. The nerve of him. He was the one who spent his days partying and chasing women. Of course I had to leave something for my daughter. He was still thinking about my money, even after I was dead. Shameless. A surge of fury shot through me. I whipped up a gust of wind and sent it howling straight at him. Jim’s hair was thrown into disarray, the collar of his coat flipped up, and a smudge of ash landed on his sleeve. But he didn’t get angry. He just flicked the ash away, his gaze lifting slightly. “Mad now, are you?” “You’ve been dead this long, and you’re still holding such a grudge.” I conjured another gust, slapping it across his face. He talked too much. Instead of getting angry, Jim just smiled. He stubbed out the cigarette under his heel and picked up the shovel. “Fine, I’ll fix it.” “I don’t know why being a ghost is so complicated. One day you’re crying about being cold, the next you’re complaining you’re broke.” “Erica, you’re a ghost. Have some dignity, will you?” I glared at him. It was his fault. He barely visited once a year. How was I supposed to get by without clothes or offerings? Every time I told him I needed something, he’d brush me off, his eyes closed in feigned sleep. “I got it.” “Stop haunting my dreams.” “My sleep is precious. I have to wake up and earn money for your daughter’s formula.” I believed his crap. I waited and waited. And waited some more. Finally, when I couldn’t wait any longer, I slipped back into his dreams. He was still lying there, eyes shut, and spoke with weary familiarity. “Erica, you again. Don’t you ghosts ever sleep?” “You promised you’d burn me some money!” Jim chuckled. “Forgot. Just wait a little longer. I’ll get to it when I have time.” Right. No time? He had enough time to take our daughter with him to meet a blind date. He was a master at squeezing minutes out of his day, but when it came to me, he was always “too busy.” At least this time he showed a flicker of conscience. I only had to scream at him in his dreams twice before he showed up. Jim hefted the shovel, sizing up the hole. I watched him, a frown creasing my ghostly brow. He looked a little too eager. Did he even know what he was doing? Of course not. Jim brought the shovel down with a powerful swing. My headstone crashed to the ground. It landed at his feet, kicking up a cloud of dust that settled on his expensive trousers. Jim grimaced and muttered a curse under his breath. Then I heard him ask, “Erica, you can probably still live here without a roof, right?” A fire ignited in my soul. I clenched my fists, ready to give him a slap he’d feel in the mortal world. “Daddy!” 3. A small, sweet voice drifted from the darkness. I froze. Jim flinched, immediately hiding his cigarette and frantically brushing the ash off his coat. My head snapped around. There, running towards us, was a little girl in a white puffer jacket. Her hair was woven into beautiful little braids, her cheeks rosy and full. Her eyes were like dark, round grapes, shining and bright. She was laughing as she ran straight for Jim. She was so small, so soft. It was effortless for Jim to scoop her into his arms, wrapping his large coat around her, hiding her completely from my view. “Didn’t Daddy tell you to wait in the car?” Jim’s voice had lost its edge, replaced by a gentle warmth. He nuzzled his nose against the little girl’s cheek. “Mrs. Lynn said she’s making stew at home, and I’m hungry.” She wrapped her tiny arms around Jim’s neck, pressing her cheek against his. “Daddy, your face is so cold. Let’s go home.” She kissed his cheek, then her small hands moved to cover his ears, a tiny, earnest attempt to shield him from the wind. So smart. So sweet. I couldn’t get enough of the sight of her. Jim kissed her back, pulling the coat tighter around her. He glanced at the ruined gravesite. “Erica, you’ll have to make do with the house for now.” “My daughter’s hungry. I have to go.” My fists tightened. I surged after him. “When are you going to fix it?!” Jim couldn’t hear me. But the little girl in his arms peeked out from the folds of his coat, her grape-like eyes looking right at me. Then, she spoke. “Daddy, isn’t that lady going home?” Her little finger pointed directly at me. Jim froze. He glanced over his shoulder. Of course, there was nothing there. Without another word, he shrugged off his entire overcoat, wrapped our daughter in it until she was a tight, warm bundle, and strode towards the cemetery gates. As he left, his voice floated back, a low, flat warning. “Don’t even think about following me, Erica. The wards I have at home will be more than you can handle.” I stopped in my tracks. All I did was stir a gentle breeze to brush the last of the ash from his cuff. Jim’s eyes dropped to the spot where the wind touched him. For a moment, he said nothing. Then, he turned and walked away without looking back. I stood there, alone, and didn’t follow. 4. Silence descended. I sat on my overturned headstone, my mind drifting back to a time long, long ago. Jim and I had an arranged marriage. A merger of two family empires. He loved to play. He was a fixture in the tabloids. A star of the gossip columns. He was at his wildest at twenty-seven. I was twenty-three. We were forced together. Before the wedding, he’d smirked at me. “There’s a line of women waiting to be Mrs. Jim. You’re such a good girl, Erica. Try not to get your heart broken.” I met his gaze, my voice even. “If any of them had what it takes, the spot wouldn’t have been vacant for me to fill.” He raised an eyebrow, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “I thought you were more of a poet, Miss Zhou.” “I know a little about strategy, too,” I said modestly. Jim laughed. I’d never seen him laugh like that. His teeth were perfectly white, his hair catching the light, and genuine delight danced at the corners of his eyes. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, his suit jacket draped over one arm. He looked part lazy rogue, part confident heir. “Alright then,” he said. “From now on, you protect me, Miss Zhou.” I had met many men, but none were like Jim. Beneath the polished, handsome exterior was a core of untamable recklessness. I knew I could never hold onto him. I wouldn’t dare dream that a man like him could ever love just one person. So I never overstepped. I never tried to cage him. In two years of marriage, I never once interfered in his affairs. He liked my cooking, but he was always too busy to come home. Often, he would show up at ten at night and ask me to make him something. I would only ever make him a simple omelet with a side of greens. Jim wasn’t a picky eater; he always finished every bite. I’d make the food and go back to my room. He’d eat and leave, never staying the night. I had the sprawling three-thousand-square-foot apartment all to myself. It was a peaceful existence. But that idyllic life didn’t last. After two years, Jim’s parents started pressuring us to have a child. Jim hated the idea. He dropped all pretense of a happy marriage. He was photographed with other women at galas. He spent a fortune launching the careers of aspiring starlets. He even had his father’s mistress send a floral arrangement to his mother’s company launch party. In the span of two weeks, the family business was trending for all the wrong reasons. Jim’s mother was furious. But Jim just sat across from me at dinner, calm as ever, placing a piece of fish in my bowl. “The fish is good. Eat up.” As he was leaving, he put on his coat and glanced back at me. “Don’t worry about my mother.” He paused, then added, “If she gives you any trouble, call me.” Just as he predicted, she did. His mother was a formidable woman. Unable to control her son, she turned her pressure on me. Back then, I didn’t know how to bow my head or show weakness. She made my life difficult, time and time again, but I never told Jim. Until my family’s company started to fail. Investors pulled out. The cash flow dried up. Desperate, my father told me to go to Jim’s mother, to beg her to give us a lifeline. It was only then that I learned how badly my family’s business had been struggling. It couldn’t withstand the targeted attacks from Jim’s mother. So I went to see her. For the first time in my life, I learned to bow my head. She agreed to save my family’s company. But there was a price. She wanted me to have a child. “Jim is a lost cause,” she said coolly. “I need a new heir.” 5. I signed the non-disclosure agreement. One evening, as Jim was finishing his omelet and getting ready to leave, I took out two wine glasses. Under the warm glow of the dining room lights, Jim looked up, a playful smile touching his lips. I stood up, the pencil skirt molding to my form, the click of my heels echoing on the marble floor. Jim leaned back in his chair, draping his jacket over the back, watching me with a lazy, amused expression. I walked over to him and, looking down, carefully poured the wine. A drop splashed onto the back of my hand. He watched me for a second, then his large hand covered mine, and in one smooth motion, he pulled me onto his lap. I sat there, my ears burning, but forced myself to remain composed. Jim chuckled and drained his glass. The scent of wine was intoxicating. He leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear. “Trying to make me stay?” I buried my face in the crook of his neck, unable to meet his eyes. I could only manage a small, shy nod. Jim toyed with a strand of my hair that had fallen near his hand. “Can’t drive after drinking,” he murmured. “Guess you’ll have to put me up for the night?” “Hmm?” I didn’t answer with words. I just pressed a soft kiss to his neck. His blood was warm. I could feel his pulse beating against my lips. Jim laughed, tilting my chin up. His kiss was possessive and absolute, stealing the air from my lungs. It was a night of beautiful madness. After that, Jim started coming home more often. He spent more and more time with me. Back then, under the guise of caring for his health, I asked him to quit smoking and drinking. And he did. He started carrying candy and gum in his pockets instead. He made time to have dinner with me. He took walks with me in the evenings. He learned my favorite foods at fancy restaurants, my preferred level of sweetness in a bubble tea. That life lasted for four months. Then, I found out I was pregnant. Joy, then shock. And then, a wave of panic and fear washed over me. According to the contract, the child belonged to his mother the moment it was born. I couldn’t let her find out about the baby yet. So I told no one. Not even Jim. Until he found the contract. I thought he would explode with rage. I braced myself for it. But all he did was ask me, his voice quiet and hollow, “Erica, do you even have a heart?” “You used our child as a bargaining chip.” I gripped the sleeve of his shirt, my face pale. I couldn’t say a word. I had deceived him. From the very beginning, I had never considered asking for his help. I had never imagined that our tangled lives would weave something real between us. I had used him. There was no defense for it. “I thought you had some feelings for me,” he said, his voice laced with betrayal. “I didn’t think you could be bought by my mother.” “Erica—” He said my name, and his eyes were filled with ice. “We’re done.” I sighed, unable to bear the memory of his frozen gaze. I only remember that in the four years that followed, he returned to his world of parties and beautiful women. He had completely moved on from me. A gust of wind swept by. I shrank into myself, wrapping my arms tighter around my knees. My mind was filled with the image of my daughter’s round, dark eyes. So beautiful. She had grown up safe and sound. She was such a good girl. A tear escaped, then another. Laughter mixed with sobs. A sour ache bloomed in my chest, and the tears wouldn’t stop, soaking the front of my spectral form. The cold wind bit at me, making my very bones ache. My heart felt like it was being squeezed by a giant hand, and I couldn’t breathe. So I cried harder. Until the cemetery was filled with my desolate, echoing wails. On and on. Endlessly. Tears fell, drop by drop, onto my cold legs, staining the exposed white bone beneath with a ghostly red. I clenched my twisted, broken fingers, my nails digging into the raw flesh. The pain was excruciating. A voice, thick with blood and sorrow, tore from my throat. “What are you crying about?” “Isn’t being a ghost better than being alive?” “All this wailing is giving me a headache.” 6. I looked up. A young woman was leaning against a nearby headstone, casually munching on an apple she’d clearly filched from an offering plate. Behind her stood two figures I knew well. The Reapers who were assigned to guide me. I blinked, the tears stopping mid-fall. “I’m not going,” I blurted out. “I’m not reincarnating.” “I have to watch my daughter grow up.” One of the Reapers sighed. “In your current state, you can’t even get past the front gate of their house. How do you expect to watch over your daughter?” “But because you’ve shown kindness and helped the other lost souls here, we’ve petitioned the higher-ups on your behalf. We found a body for you.” “She looks about eighty percent like you did.” They pushed the young woman forward. She took another bite of her apple and did a little twirl. “So? What do you think? Satisfied?” I wiped away the blood and tears, finally getting a good look at her. She was slender, with fair skin. A small, red beauty mark dotted the corner of one eye. She was the spitting image of me in my early twenties. I hesitated. “If I take your body, what about you?” “Eh, I’m sick. No cure. I was going to die soon anyway,” she said with a shrug. “If you can use it, take it. Saves me the suffering.” “But what about your parents? What if they realize I’m not you…?” She shook her head. “Tough luck my whole life. Grew up in an orphanage. No family.” “The Reapers promised me a storefront in the Underworld so I can start a business.” “I’m done with the pain of living.” “Just say yes already.” I nodded, my eyes filling with fresh tears of gratitude. I thanked them over and over. The Reapers pulled my spirit from its ruined form and pushed it into the new body. I stared at my hands in wonder. They were warm. No longer cold and brittle, no longer carrying the faint, scorched scent of my death. The Reapers led the young woman’s soul away. Before they vanished, one turned back. “You have fifteen days.” “Erica, may you find your peace.” I listened to the strong, steady beat of my new heart, tears streaming down my face. Fifteen days. I would have taken fifteen minutes. I missed my child so much. After they left, I walked out of the cemetery. Using the information the girl had left in her phone’s notes, I found her small rental apartment and settled in. That night, I drafted a resume. My target was Apex Holdings. The company Jim had built from the ground up after I died. 7. The next morning, I applied some light makeup and changed into a white pantsuit. Standing in front of the mirror, I felt a jolt. I looked so much like my younger self. I smiled at my reflection. “Hello, Ava.” Ava’s identity was that of a top university graduate with an impeccable resume and extensive work experience. Getting into Apex wasn’t difficult. After a series of interviews, I was hired a week later. I didn’t see Jim on my first day. But I knew my resume had landed on his desk long before. My work experience, my hobbies and interests… I had filled it all out as myself. Jim had once helped me edit my own resume, back in the second year after I graduated. He’d had me work as his intern, personally training me for six months. Besides, the photo on this resume was a dead ringer for me. He had to know.

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I’m going to die. But no one cares. So I’ll wish for no afterlife. Let’s never meet again. 1 When Lucas Thorne walked out with his suitcase, I was a small, shivering bundle, swallowed by my overcoat as I curled up on the sofa. He paused, his back ramrod straight, and glanced over his shoulder just once. In the silent, sterile light of the afternoon, he offered no final words. He just left. And I… I never even lifted my head. The door clicked shut. My head remained bowed for a long, long time before I finally found the strength to look up, to face the light pouring in from the window. It felt like the whole world had abandoned me. My own husband didn’t want me anymore. He, too, believed I was rotten to the core. And he was right. I didn’t deserve anyone’s forgiveness. My hand, trembling, found its way to my stomach. Just a week ago, a tiny, four-month-old baby was nestled here. But it slipped away, silent and unseen. I was so lonely. All I ever wanted was a little baby of my own. I would have taught him to read, to sing, to say ‘Mama.’ But that dream was gone now. The title of Mrs. Thorne was never meant for me. This was my punishment, wasn’t it? For stealing a role that belonged to someone else. I slumped against the arm of the sofa, a hollow laugh escaping my lips. “I think… I think I’m really out of strength.” After sitting there for what felt like an eternity, I slowly rose and walked to the console table. I picked up the silver picture frame and laid it face down. Some say love is forever. But for me, love was over. 2 My hand was steady as I flicked the lighter, the tiny flame dancing as I held it to the corner of the heavy curtain tassel. Then, the phone rang, shrill and insistent. I turned my head, hesitating for a second, but I let it ring. It didn’t stop. It just kept calling, a relentless demand. Finally, I picked it up. “Hello?” “Why didn’t you answer?” The voice was cold, impatient. My mother. I watched the flame catch, a small orange flower blooming on the fabric. “Is something wrong?” “Stella’s liver… they’re saying there’s a problem. You need to go to the hospital and get tested as a match.” I coughed, a dry, racking sound. “Are you even listening to me?” I nodded, though she couldn’t see. The smoke was getting thicker, clawing at my throat. I coughed again, harder this time. “I understand.” “What’s with that cough?” “Too much smoke,” I rasped. “Something’s burning.” I didn’t wait for a reply. I dropped the phone, grabbed the small fire extinguisher from the kitchen, and blasted the nascent flame until it was nothing but a charred, ugly smudge. When the fire was out, I tossed the extinguisher aside and collapsed onto the scorched corner of the sofa, gasping for air. Finally, my hand moved to rest over my liver. My liver? Fine. If this was one last way I could help Stella, then maybe… maybe it would be enough to atone for my sins. 3 When I arrived at the hospital, my parents were already waiting outside her room. “What took you so long?” my mother snapped, her foot tapping impatiently on the polished floor. My gaze was flat, lifeless, as I took in the two people who had given me life but never a home. My father eventually placed a restraining hand on her arm. “That’s enough,” he murmured. He led the way into the hospital room. My eyes immediately found the bed, but the first person I saw wasn’t my sister. It was Lucas. My gaze dropped to the floor, deliberately ignoring the flicker of shock in his eyes. “I have to get to the office,” he said, rising to his feet. He gave my parents a stiff nod. For a man who was always so composed, he seemed almost flustered as he brushed past me. I lifted my head and stared out the window. Of course. He had never kept vigil at the hospital for me, not during either of my miscarriages. I had told myself it didn’t hurt anymore. But in that moment, a familiar sting pricked my eyes. It was gone as quickly as it came. My eyes were dry again. 4 The person on the bed was pale and still, lost in a deep, colorless sleep. I raised my hand. “What do you think you’re doing?” my mother’s voice was a harsh command. My hand simply settled on my sister’s head, gently smoothing a few stray strands of hair. Only after I was done did I turn to face them. “The compatibility test. When does it start?” My father seemed momentarily taken aback by the dead, cold calm in my voice. Just then, the doctor walked in. “Is she here?” he asked, before his eyes landed on me. He froze for a second, his professional demeanor faltering. 5 “You’re not a suitable candidate for this test.” I said nothing. “Nora, are you deaf?” my mother hissed. “Go home.” “I can do it,” I said, my voice quiet but firm, directed at the doctor. “Please.” With that, I turned and walked out of the room. “You—” the doctor started, following me into the hallway. “You just had a miscarriage a few days ago. Are you trying to kill yourself?” I paused at the door, my back to him. “It’s just a test. It won’t kill me.” Behind me, I heard him let out a long, weary sigh. 6 The number of tests they ran was endless. I ended up staying at the hospital for three days, figuring it was a good enough place to rest and recover. Finally, on the third day, it was over. I made my way up to the fifth floor, to the premium private suites. The sight of the perfect little family unit—father, mother, and daughter, all gathered together—made me stop in my tracks. It was my father who saw me first, beckoning me over. I nodded and stepped inside. “Dad, Mom. Stella.” “Well?” my mother asked immediately. “Are the results back?” “Not yet.” “I’m heading home now,” I said. My eyes met Stella’s for a fleeting second. She looked away almost instantly, her gaze dropping to her lap. “Fine, you can go,” my mother said, dismissing me with a wave of her hand. I nodded again. Just as I reached the door, my father called out. “Nora. I think Lucas must have dropped this. Could you take it to him?” I turned. He was holding out a small, intricately carved silver locket. It hung from a delicate chain, catching the light. I stared at it, frozen. “We found it the day Lucas was here.” My eyes instinctively flickered to Stella and my mother, then back to the locket. Reluctantly, I reached out and took it. “Okay.” As the door closed behind me, I heard their hushed voices. “What are you doing? Are you afraid she won’t get to see him enough?” “Something is wrong between them. I’m afraid they’re not going to make it.” I walked down the silent corridor and didn’t look back. 7 Thorne Enterprises. I waited for half an hour before Lucas finally finished his meeting. He strode into his office, and the moment he saw me, a frown creased his forehead. I drained the last sip of cold tea from the cup in my hand and stood up, holding out the locket. “I just came to give you this.” His eyes fell to the object in my palm, and his frown deepened with impatience. He didn’t take it. Was it because my hands had touched it? Was I that repulsive to him now? I turned and placed the locket on the polished surface of his massive desk. I gave a small nod, ready to leave. “Wait.” He walked towards the desk as I walked towards the door. I stopped. “Is there something else?” He gestured to the sofa. “Sit.” I stood there, motionless, for a few seconds. He took off his suit jacket but didn’t speak, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. I decided to break the silence. “Are you here to ask if the test was a success?” I was about to say the results weren’t back yet, but my phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out. At the same moment, his phone buzzed on the desk. I understood. He had been monitoring the results from the hospital all along. A small, bitter smile touched my lips. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll go home. I should rest up, make sure I’m in the best possible condition for the surgery.” I was about to pull the door open when he spoke again, his voice strained. “Nora, after the transplant… let’s try to make this work. For real.” My hand froze on the doorknob. What… what did he just say? Was he finally willing to accept me? To accept the woman he had called the most wicked, manipulative person he knew? But… I don’t want to make it work with you anymore, Lucas. I’m so tired. So, so tired. I didn’t answer him. I just opened the door and walked away. 8 Back home, I put a whole chicken on to simmer and then left the kitchen. Adrift and empty, I turned on the television, the noise a meaningless buzz in the background. Eventually, I drifted off, a half-eaten bowl of soup on the coffee table, the TV screen flickering in the dark. When I woke the next day, I was still on the sofa. The house was silent, save for the soft rustle of sunlight filtering through the curtains. This place was too big. Too empty. I should get a cat. The thought was a sudden impulse. I grabbed my phone and started scrolling through pictures of kittens from a local shelter. I even picked one out, a little calico with big, curious eyes. Then I closed the app. A cat? No. A pet is a commitment for life, not a momentary whim to fill the silence. 9 A week before the surgery, I was admitted to the hospital. My mother came to visit. She sat for a long time, and we didn’t exchange a single word. She didn’t speak, and I had nothing to say. “I’m sorry,” she finally mumbled, staring at the floor. “All the private rooms on the fifth floor were taken. Otherwise, your father and I would have booked one for you.” I just nodded, turning my head to look out the window. “You used to be such a sweet talker when you were little. I don’t know what happened to you.” She sighed and stood up. “Well, I’m going back upstairs. I’ll come see you again later.” “Okay.” She left. My gaze drifted to the chair where she had sat, and to the basket of fruit she had left on the floor beside it. A small, humorless smile played on my lips. The way she had clutched the basket, shifting her weight awkwardly before scurrying out—it was almost comical. She felt guilty? Was that even possible? I really couldn’t understand her. Couldn’t she have just left the fruit upstairs with Stella and then come down to see me? But no. She detested me. Why would she ever make a special trip just for me? 10 Today was the last round of pre-op checks. The surgery was tomorrow. I returned to my room, clutching a folder full of my medical reports. The room was as cold and empty as ever. I sat on the edge of the bed, my mind adrift. Why was it so quiet? Oh, right. Lucas. Didn’t he say he wanted to “make things work”? He never came home during the days I was recovering. He hadn’t visited me once during the week I’d been in the hospital. Was this his idea of trying? No. He said after the surgery, we’d make things work. I knew what it really meant. It wasn’t about love. It was about debt. He felt he owed me, and he was willing to pay with the rest of his life. As long as Stella was healthy, he would have nothing left to wish for. 11 The day of the surgery. Just as Stella and I were about to be wheeled into the operating theater, Lucas arrived, rushing down the hall. “Dad, Mom, I’m so scared,” Stella whimpered. “It’s okay, sweetie, it’s okay,” my mother cooed, adjusting the surgical cap on Stella’s head. “Just think of it as taking a nap. The doctor said you’ll be perfectly healthy when you wake up.” “Are they going in now?” Lucas asked, breathless. “Yes.” Stella pulled her hand from our mother’s grasp and reached for Lucas. He instinctively moved to take it. But then, she drew her hand back, offering a weak smile instead. “Lucas, you came.” His hand froze in mid-air. He glanced at me, then quickly retracted it. “Yes. It’s a very advanced procedure now. Don’t be afraid.” “Okay.” She smiled again. “You should say something to Nora. She’s been waiting for you.” Lucas nodded and turned to me. But his lips seemed sealed, weighed down by a thousand unspoken words. He just stared. The surgical team, scrubbed and masked, moved in. “Alright, it’s time to go. Family, please clear the way.” The gurneys began to roll. In that last moment, fear finally broke through Stella’s composure. She reached out again, her voice a desperate whisper of the name that was always on her lips. “Lucas.” “Don’t be afraid,” he said, his hand briefly touching the rail of her gurney as she was wheeled past him. My gurney was in the lead. I watched the whole scene unfold with a strange, detached calm. Quietly. Peacefully. The heavy doors of the operating room began to slide shut, slowly eclipsing Lucas’s tall, solitary figure. I closed my eyes. Just as the anesthesia began its cold creep through my veins, I heard a soft voice beside me. “Thank you, Nora. For being willing to do this for me.” As consciousness faded, I managed a final whisper. “You’re welcome.” 12 A long, numb dream. It was a kaleidoscope of fractured images and muffled sounds. I felt like I was blindfolded, wandering through an empty corridor. A voice seemed to echo from nowhere. If you had known this life would be like this, would you still have chosen to come? I turned towards the voice, but there was nothing there. The scene shifted. I was floating above an operating room. Doctors were huddled, their voices low and urgent. “Why did they take so much?” “The consent form said seventy percent, didn’t it?” “Seventy? That’s insane. Can the donor even recover from that?” … Wasn’t I still alive? Why did I feel so light, like my body was drifting away? I floated further, watching the scene below. There was so much blood on the operating table. So much. “They’re sisters, you know. But the mother clearly favors the older one. It’s like she wanted them to take more, just to be sure.” “And the younger one didn’t object?” “She just looked at the form, then stared out the window. Didn’t say a word.” “God, I just wanted to go over and hug her.” I didn’t know where I was drifting. I just kept floating away. 13 Four days later. I slowly opened my eyes. My limbs felt like they were nailed to the bed, heavy and without sensation. Only my eyes could move, darting around the stark white room. “You’re awake.” A young nurse leaned over me, her face breaking into a kind smile. I managed a small nod. “Would you like some water? I can help you.” “Thank you…” I rasped. She poured a small cup of water and placed a straw to my lips. The simple act of swallowing sent a searing pain through my entire body. “Easy does it,” she said gently. “Just sip slowly.” After two small sips, she took the cup away. “My sister,” I whispered, “she…” “Stella Hayes? She woke up yesterday. Already moved out of the ICU.” Good. That was good. I nodded again, relieved. “Um…” the nurse started, then hesitated. I slowly turned my gaze to her. She seemed to be steeling herself. “Are… are you two really sisters?” I let my eyelids fall shut. “And that handsome man… is he your husband? Or… your sister’s?” Her voice was a mixture of curiosity and pity. I could guess what had happened in the ICU over the past few days, while both Stella and I lay unconscious. I didn’t answer. I just let the heavy darkness pull me back under. 14 Two days later, I was moved out of the ICU. There was still no private room available. I used my phone to hire a private care aide to help me with medications and errands. Most of the time, I just slept. My body was overwhelmed by a profound exhaustion. Logically, I should have been getting stronger each day. But I just couldn’t seem to wake up. I wanted to go home, but I didn’t even have the strength to get dressed. I didn’t want to be a burden on the hospital’s resources, so I just prayed for the day I’d have enough energy to leave. One afternoon, my mother came to see me. She had brought soup. The aide was setting up my tray table for dinner when my mother dismissed her. She opened the thermos, and the rich aroma of fish broth filled the air. “Don’t eat that hospital food,” she said, her head bowed as she poured the soup. “It has no nutrition. Drink this.” For the first time, I felt something other than contempt from her. It wasn’t that she wouldn’t look at me; it was that she couldn’t bear to look at me. I knew what I must look like. So thin my chin had become a sharp point. I reached for the spoon, but my hand, bruised and swollen from countless IVs, trembled violently. She took the spoon from me, lifted the bowl, and brought a spoonful to my lips. “Here.” I stared at her for a long moment, then opened my mouth and sipped the warm liquid. One spoonful after another. She fed me with a quiet, tireless patience. That afternoon, even the sunlight streaming through the window felt warm. When the soup was gone, she closed the thermos and sat for a while longer. “Is there anything else you want to eat?” I shook my head. “I’m full.” She nodded and continued to sit in silence. I noticed a few strands of silver in her dark hair. The hospital vigil must have taken its toll. “Well, I’m going back,” she said finally. “I’ll come see you again.” I nodded. As she walked around the foot of the bed, a wave of anxiety washed over me. “Mom,” I called out, my voice weak. “Is Stella… is she doing better?” She nodded. “She’s recovering very well. She’s already been dischar—” She stopped abruptly, realizing her mistake. I froze. Stella was already home. My mother’s face flushed with embarrassment. But I just smiled. “That’s good. I’m glad.” She nodded quickly and hurried out of the room. As her footsteps faded down the hall, a desperate urge to see her one last time seized me. I pushed myself up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed, and shuffled out into the corridor. I watched her retreating back grow smaller and smaller. Will you really come back next time? No. Probably not. But that was okay. Don’t come back. I was being discharged soon, too. Her figure disappeared around the corner. And the tears finally fell, silent and slow. It was just like when I was a child, abandoned at the amusement park. I had watched that same back walk away, growing smaller and smaller, no matter how fast I ran. No one knew. I was lost at three. I didn’t find my way back to the Hayes family until I was thirteen. And no one, no one knew that in those ten lost years, I had endured countless beatings, been tricked and betrayed more times than I could count. And when I finally came home, nobody liked me anyway. They said my eyes looked greedy. Selfish. That I was a bad seed. None of that ever really hurt me. The thing that broke me, the thing I carried like a stone in my heart, was the truth I finally confirmed. It was never about getting lost. It was about being left. Mother, that year, you abandoned me on purpose.

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The day I was fired, the HR manager, Jen, stopped me at my desk, pointing at my laptop. “That’s company property. Leave it.” I scoffed and slapped a receipt from my drawer onto the desk. “Read it and weep. Thirty-two hundred dollars, in my name.” With that, in front of everyone, I packed it up and walked out. Half an hour later, the police showed up at my door. The company had reported me for theft. I showed them my evidence. The way the cops looked at Jen, you’d think she was a complete idiot. By the next day, the entire tech park knew. My former employer, in a desperate attempt to score a free laptop, had earned itself the title of “Stingiest Company of the Year.” 01 After the police left, a dead silence fell over the office. It was a silence more piercing than any noise, making your eardrums ache. Every pair of eyes was a spotlight fixed on Jen’s face as it cycled through shades of red, green, and finally, a ghostly white. She stood frozen, like a cheap wax figure on the verge of melting. I clutched my cardboard box, which held three years of my life and a $3,200 laptop, and walked step by step through the suffocating air. I didn’t look back. I didn’t say goodbye. The last shred of dignity between me and this company had been pulverized the moment they decided to call the police. The elevator doors slid shut, sealing off the complicated stares behind me. Reflected in the mirrored wall was a woman with black-framed glasses and a blank expression. That was me. Lynn. Back at my rental, I tossed the box in a corner without a second glance. The tension that had held me together finally snapped, and a tidal wave of exhaustion washed over me. I threw myself onto the sofa, not wanting to move, not wanting to think. My phone buzzed in my pocket. A message from my best friend, asking how I was. I replied, “Job’s gone, don’t worry,” and switched to airplane mode. I needed quiet. I needed to process the sheer absurdity of it all. The next morning, I was woken by my phone vibrating incessantly. I turned off airplane mode, and a hundred messages flooded in. There were cautious condolences from former colleagues. There were links to the office gossip from friends at other companies. Our company’s name, paired with the headline “Called the Cops to Steal a Laptop,” was exploding across the tech park’s internal forums and anonymous message boards. The comment sections were a festival of schadenfreude. “LMAO, Mr. Collins’s cheapness has finally gone viral.” “I feel bad for the HR lady. Her performance review is going to be brutal. Not only did she fail to save the boss money, she got him the headline of the year.” “Don’t feel too bad for her. That HR manager is no saint. They call her ‘Jen the Hatchet-Woman’ for a reason.” “Am I the only one curious about the specs on a $3,200 laptop? That girl is a legend!” I stared at the screen, but the expected rush of vindication never came. Instead, I felt hollow. Almost sad. For a company to become famous this way… how pathetic. And I was the star of this farce. I clicked on a link to an article on the tech park’s news blog. It was a vivid, detailed account of yesterday’s events. My name was omitted, but phrases like “stood up to HR,” “slapped down the receipt,” and “vindicated by the police” had turned me into the campus’s most mysterious new legend. The phone’s glow illuminated my impassive face. I bet Mr. Collins’s office was a lively place right now. Sure enough, that afternoon, a former colleague who was still employed there sent me a secret message. “Lynn, Collins is losing it. He just smashed a mug in his office.” “Jen got screamed at so hard she cried her eyes out.” “He said at the meeting that the fallout from this is too damaging and he refuses to let it go.” I stared at the words, my fingers tapping the screen. “What’s he going to do?” “No idea, but he told Jen to find out who leaked the story. He also said he’s going to teach you a ‘lesson,’ that this kind of insubordination can’t be tolerated.” A lesson? Insubordination? A chill shot up my spine. They made the mistake, they suffered the humiliation, and somehow, I was the one in the wrong. I didn’t reply. Putting down my phone, I opened a job search app and started updating my resume. Whatever happened, life had to go on. I needed a job. I sent my resume to a few companies I’d been interested in for a while. With my portfolio and project experience, getting an interview should have been easy. But the entire afternoon passed in silence. Nothing. Only the cold, automated “Application Submitted” status. A sense of foreboding crept over me. That evening, I opened a recruiting app and saw that for one company I’d applied to just that morning, my status had already changed to “Not a Fit.” That was too fast. Abnormally fast. Normally, it took HR at least a day or two to screen resumes. It felt as if my name had been flagged. As if the moment it appeared, the system automatically rejected it. I turned off my phone, and the room plunged into darkness. The city’s neon glow seeped through the cracks in the curtains, casting a mottled web of light on the ceiling. Mr. Collins’s words, “teach you a lesson,” echoed in my ears. Rage, like a vine growing wild in the dark, coiled tightly around my heart. I understood. The real war was just beginning. 02 The next few days were a bizarre, soul-crushing loop. Apply. Rejected. Apply. Rejected. The headhunters who had once eagerly courted me now seemed to have vanished from the face of the earth. Their social media feeds went silent, and my messages were met with a digital void. My meticulously crafted resume had become worthless, tossed into the internet’s trash bin without even earning me a single interview. It was as if the entire industry had slammed its doors in my face. It felt like I was drowning in the deep sea, surrounded by icy water, flailing desperately but unable to reach the surface. The feeling of suffocation was overwhelming. I knew Mr. Collins’s “lesson” had arrived. He was using the network he’d built over a decade to weave a massive, invisible net, intending to blacklist me completely. I wouldn’t accept it. I found a small but promising startup whose work I admired and submitted my application. To my surprise, I got a call for an interview the next day. I walked into their office building feeling like I was on a pilgrimage. The interview went exceptionally well. From the department head to the company partner, everyone seemed genuinely impressed with my skills and past projects. During the final round, the partner closed my resume, looked at me, and his expression turned to one of regret. “Lynn, we are very impressed with your abilities.” “However… we won’t be able to extend you an offer.” My heart plummeted. “May I ask why?” My voice was steady, betraying none of the turmoil inside. The partner hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “Your former employer… when we did a background check, we heard some… unfavorable things.” “They said you weren’t trustworthy. That you had professional conduct issues. That you were fired for theft of company property.” A switch flipped in my brain. Blood rushed to my head. So, that was the crime they had pinned on me. How vicious. How precise. For a professional, it was a death sentence. “I suggest,” the partner said, his eyes filled with sympathy, “that you look into this. Clear your name. Otherwise, you’re going to have a very hard time in this industry.” I stood up and gave him a deep bow. “Thank you for telling me.” Walking out of that building, the midday sun was so bright it hurt my eyes. I stood on the bustling street, feeling like a ghost. Rage, humiliation, helplessness… a storm of emotions raged inside me, threatening to tear me apart. Mr. Collins. Jen. You weren’t just trying to block my path. You were trying to destroy me. I pulled out my phone, my fingers white from gripping it so tightly. I called a friend who worked as a recruiter in the industry. “Do me a favor. Ask around. Find out what Mr. Collins at Innovate Solutions has been saying about me lately.” My friend got back to me quickly. The reality was even worse than I’d imagined. In Collins’s telling, I was a malicious, petty employee who had been caught red-handed trying to steal from the company. The laptop was spun as a premeditated act of theft, and the police incident was twisted into a spiteful act of retaliation after I was caught. He even embellished the story, claiming I was a divisive force in the office with a terrible work ethic. “Lynn, that guy is a real piece of work,” my friend fumed over the phone. “He’s trying to bury you.” I hung up, my chest heaving. A peaceful resolution? Not anymore. When I’m backed into a corner with nowhere left to go, I have only two choices: jump, or push them off with me. I went home, drew the curtains, and the world went dark. I sat in the blackness for a long time, until my eyes adjusted to the gloom. Then, I opened my $3,200 laptop. The desktop was a minimalist design I’d created myself. I opened a heavily encrypted folder. Inside was a complete record of my three years at that company. Every instance of overtime, with timestamped screenshots of my clock-ins and clock-outs, accurate to the minute. Audio recordings of every meeting where Mr. Collins made empty promises and gaslit his employees. Every email chain where I was asked to perform tasks far outside my job description. Copies of every unpaid expense report. A detailed breakdown of every withheld bonus. I’m a pack rat by nature, conditioned to save and document everything. I never trusted verbal promises, only what was in black and white. I thought these files would never be needed, that they were just a way to soothe my own anxiety. Now, I saw them for what they were. My only weapons. I sorted the files, meticulously organizing and labeling each one. Every file was a piece of a puzzle. When assembled, they would reveal the ugly, greedy, and cruel reality hiding behind Mr. Collins’s benevolent mask of “family culture.” By the time I was finished, night had fallen again. I stared at the screen, at the dense grid of folders, my gaze cold and resolute. You think you can use your power to define who I am, Collins? I’ll use your own evidence to show the world exactly what you are. You may have started this war. But I will be the one to end it. 03 This wasn’t enough. This evidence could prove Collins was a terrible boss and would give me the upper hand in a labor dispute. But it wouldn’t be enough to destroy the company he was so proud of. It wouldn’t be enough to wash away the filth he’d thrown on my name. I needed a sharper sword. One that could pierce his armor and strike a fatal blow. I thought of someone. Alex. The former god-tier developer from the tech department, a classic tech geek. He’d been fired a month before me. The official reason was “insubordination and refusal to follow management’s direction.” The real reason was laughably absurd. Mr. Collins’s wife had bought a new phone and couldn’t figure out how to transfer her data. Collins had simply ordered Alex to go to his house and do it for her. Alex, who was in the middle of cracking a difficult technical problem, had replied flatly, “I’m not your personal butler, and this is company time.” The next day, Jen called him in for a meeting, and he was out the door. He was one of the few people in the company who had dared to stand up to Collins. I had a feeling he wouldn’t just let it go. I found Alex’s contact info and sent him a message. “You free? We need to talk.” He replied almost instantly. “Always. Send me the address.” We met at a loud barbecue joint. The sizzle of the grill and the roar of the crowd were the perfect cover. Alex looked the same as always: plaid shirt, slightly messy hair, but his eyes were bright. He walked over with two beers and set them on the table. “Heard about what happened. The whole campus is talking about it.” He twisted the cap off one and handed it to me. “Badass.” I clinked my bottle against his and took a long swig of the cold beer. “You too,” I said. Alex laughed, a little self-deprecatingly. “I was just being stubborn. You were actually strategic.” “So what’s the situation now?” he asked. I told him everything: the fruitless job hunt, the smear campaign Collins was running. When I finished, Alex slammed his skewer down on the table. “That old bastard! He’s a real piece of work!” His anger was raw and immediate. I knew I’d found the right person. “I’m not letting this go,” I said, looking him straight in the eye. “He wants me dead and buried, professionally. I’m going to make sure he’s the one who goes down first.” Alex’s eyes lit up. It was the excitement of meeting a worthy opponent, the thrill of finding an outlet for his own pent-up rage. “Count me in,” he said without a second’s hesitation. “I’ve been wanting to take him down for a while.” “What do you need me to do?” “I need an opening,” I said. “Something that will cripple him. A labor dispute is just a slap on the wrist for him.” Alex went quiet, turning his beer bottle over in his hands, thinking. The smoky air of the restaurant, thick with the smell of grilled meat, hung around us. After a long moment, he looked up and lowered his voice. “I might… have something.” My heart skipped a beat. “What is it?” “Do you know who makes the core software our company’s business relies on?” I shook my head. I was in marketing; I didn’t know much about the tech side. “It’s the flagship product from Stellar Dynamics. A single commercial license costs one hundred fifty thousand dollars.” “Our company,” Alex said, a cold smile touching his lips, “is using a pirated copy.” I froze. I knew Collins was cheap, but I thought it was limited to nickel-and-diming employee benefits and cutting labor costs. I never imagined he would risk the company’s entire operation on something like this. “How do you know?” I asked. “Because I was the one who had to install and maintain that pirated copy,” Alex said, his voice laced with scorn. “When Collins told me to find a cracked version, I warned him. I told him using it for commercial purposes was a huge risk. If we got caught, the fines would be astronomical.” “Guess what he said?” “‘Risk is just another cost of doing business. We’re a small company; we have to control costs. If nobody talks, who’s going to know?’” “If nobody talks, who’s going to know?” I repeated the words, the irony thick in my throat. “When he fired me, I took some precautions,” Alex leaned closer, his voice even lower. “I backed up everything from my computer. All the server logs showing the use of the pirated software, the internal IP addresses, the specific version information.” “It’s a complete chain of evidence.” “All we have to do is deliver this evidence to the legal department at Stellar Dynamics…” Alex didn’t need to finish. I understood. My breath caught in my chest. This wasn’t a sword. This was a battle-ax. An ax powerful enough to shatter the fortress of Innovate Solutions. “Good,” my voice trembled with excitement. “This is where we start.” In the middle of the noisy restaurant, we clinked our beer bottles together. The sharp sound of glass on glass was like a battle cry. A two-person alliance was forged. 04 Alex and I moved quickly and quietly. We were like spies, communicating only through encrypted channels. He sent me the evidence in a heavily secured email. It was a massive compressed file containing detailed server logs, every startup record of the pirated software, the internal IP addresses that used it, and the specific information of the cracked version. The evidence was more thorough than I could have imagined. Alex, ever the professional, had even timestamped every file in a way that couldn’t be altered, anticipating it might be used in court. Looking at these files, I could picture Collins’s smug face, proud of saving over a hundred grand, completely oblivious to the time bomb a casually dismissed employee had planted for him. My job was to light the fuse. I didn’t go to the police or any government agency. The process would be too slow, and it might tip him off. I wanted Innovate Solutions to be judged by its victim. I spent a full day drafting an anonymous tip, my tone calm to the point of being cruel. I stripped out all emotion and simply laid out the facts: how Innovate Solutions had been using pirated Stellar software for commercial gain for years. I attached Alex’s technical evidence, listing each piece of the chain. At the end of the letter, I wrote: “Your company’s intellectual property is being shamelessly stolen, and the thieves are profiting handsomely from your hard work. As a loyal user of the Stellar software suite, I cannot stand by and let this happen.” I reread it. Every word was coated in ice. Using a newly created, untraceable email address, I sent the letter and its attachments to the public email address of Stellar Dynamics’ legal department. To be absolutely sure, I also burned all the materials onto a disc and mailed it anonymously from a remote postbox to their CEO. Once it was all done, I deleted every trace of the sent files and local copies. As if nothing had happened. All that was left was to wait. Every day of waiting was agony. I refreshed Stellar Dynamics’ website and industry news feeds constantly. Alex was even more on edge than I was, messaging me every hour to see if there was any news. I told him to be patient. A shark always comes when it smells blood in the water. Two weeks later, on a quiet Wednesday afternoon, Alex sent me a photo. It showed several people in black suits, exuding an air of authority, standing at the reception desk of Innovate Solutions. The man in the lead wore a pin on his lapel: the Stellar Dynamics logo. Alex’s text followed: “They’re here.” My heart leaped into my throat. He sent another photo. It was Mr. Collins, face plastered with a sycophantic grin, bowing and scraping as he led the group into a conference room. Alex’s live commentary began. “They just served him with a court investigation order and a letter from their lawyers.” “They’re inspecting the company servers now.” “Collins’s face has gone green.” “The tech department guys were called in. I bet they can’t delete the logs I left behind.” “LOL, Collins is on the phone now, looks like his dog just died.” I watched the messages roll in, my palms sweating. I was nervous, but also morbidly thrilled. An hour later, Alex sent one last message. “Caught red-handed. The lawyer just announced they’re filing a lawsuit against Innovate Solutions. They’re seeking damages of… five hundred thousand dollars.” Five hundred thousand dollars. I let out a long, slow breath. For Innovate Solutions, which was already struggling with cash flow, that amount was a death blow. You tried to save a hundred fifty thousand, Collins. Now you have to pay five hundred thousand. I wonder what your calculating mind thinks of that. That evening, Stellar Dynamics posted an official statement on their blog. The language was severe, explicitly calling out Innovate Solutions for its infringement and declaring they would pursue legal action to the fullest extent. The story blew up. The article’s reach was far wider than the “laptopgate” incident. After all, this involved an industry giant. What was once a local tech park joke had now become a cautionary tale for the entire industry. I could almost hear the sound of the “respectable” reputation Collins had spent years building shatter into a million pieces. It was a crisp, satisfying sound. But this was just the appetizer. The main course was yet to come.

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1 Five years after we broke up, my ex-boyfriend was on a livestream, asking for advice on how to get me to refund the $650 he’d spent on me during our relationship. “Host, my ex is a total gold digger,” he whined into the camera. “She had to have a special bowl of collagen porridge every morning. A hundred bucks a bowl! I could buy enough bread to last me three years with that money.” “My sister had a miscarriage, and when I asked her to help with the hospital bills, she said no. But then she went and bought her own mom a Chanel bag.” “Isn’t my sister’s health more important than some designer purse?” “Then my sister got into a little trouble and just needed a hundred grand to sort things out, and she actually broke up with me over it.” “It’s all her fault I’m still single. Host, you gotta help me. Help me get my $650 back.” If I remembered correctly, Ethan Lowe had never bought me so much as a bottle of water. Where in the hell did he get the figure $650? I immediately requested to join the livestream to confront him. … Listening to Ethan’s litany of lies, I was shaking with rage. I had dated Ethan for five years. In that time, I bought him Air Jordans, a Rolex Submariner, and took his entire family on a vacation to Europe. I gave him a ten-thousand-dollar monthly allowance and paid for his sister’s private maternity nurse and hospital bills when she had her baby. I even paid the breakup fee he owed his previous girlfriend. The real reason I dumped Ethan was because his sister had an affair, got pregnant, and he demanded I pay for her abortion. When I refused, he gave me the silent treatment for a month. Then, on my birthday, he suddenly reached out. I thought he wanted to reconcile. Turns out, he wanted me to give his sister’s much younger boyfriend a hundred thousand dollars in hush money to appease him. That was the moment the fog in my brain finally cleared. Why on earth should I pay off my boyfriend’s sister’s side piece? I might have money, but I wasn’t a fool. After the breakup, I kicked him out of my apartment. I never expected that while I was away on a business trip, Ethan would come back and clean the place out. He took everything. Even the toilet. It was because he’d demanded “emotional distress compensation” and I’d refused. He’d told me if I wouldn’t give it to him, he’d take it himself. I was going to call the police, but his mother got on her knees and begged me, saying her son had just had a moment of confusion and asked me to forgive him. I felt sorry for her, and since I wasn’t short on cash, I let it go. I never dreamed that five years later, he’d be on a livestream demanding reimbursement for dating expenses, doxxing me in the process. In the few minutes I’d been watching, I’d already received over thirty calls from unknown numbers all over the country. I typed in the comments: [Host, this is Scarlett Vance, the ex-girlfriend of “Man_on_the_Rise.” I’d like to join the stream and set the record straight.] The host’s face lit up. “Man on the Rise, your ex is here! Are you willing to go live with her?” Ethan stammered, “Uh, maybe not. Scarlett has a really bad temper. I’m afraid she’ll just yell at me. Can’t you just tell her to send me the money?” The chat immediately filled with messages of support for Ethan. [No wonder he was cheap with her. His ex is a psycho.] [I’d slap a woman like that three times a day and wouldn’t spend a dime on her. $650 over five years is generous.] I responded by dropping ten “Carnivals,” the most expensive gift on the platform. [Host, let me on with Ethan, and I’ll drop ten more.] The chat exploded. [Damn, that’s like three grand in one go! This woman is a queen!] [Someone who drops ten Carnivals without blinking is worried about $650? Yeah, right.] The host practically leaped out of his chair and patched me into the stream. The second my face appeared on screen, I let him have it. “Ethan, have you ever spent a single penny on me? Where did you even come up with the number six-fifty?” “Show me the receipts.” Hearing me deny it, Ethan flew into a rage. “See, Scarlett? I told everyone you were a gold digger! You spend my money, block me, and then pretend it never happened, is that it?” A troll in the chat egged him on. [Bro, post the receipts and shut her up! That’s over six hundred bucks! You could cater a whole table at a wedding with that kind of money!] Ethan, completely missing the sarcasm, immediately sent the “receipt” to the host. “Host, do me a favor and display this for everyone to see.” The host opened the file and burst out laughing. “Sorry, everyone! I’m usually very professional, unless I literally can’t help it!” The moment the receipt appeared on screen, the chat went wild. [You have got to be kidding me. Is this guy for real?] [And he calls that her spending his money? I’d be too embarrassed to even admit this happened.] Ethan’s breathing grew ragged, his voice a little weak. “Well, if Scarlett hadn’t broken up with me without giving me a breakup fee, would I have tripped and fallen while I was at her apartment taking what I was owed?” “I got a huge gash on my leg! It needed three stitches! The pain was excruciating!” “I called Scarlett from the hospital to ask her to pay the bill, but she’d already blocked me.” I laughed out loud. What a shame he didn’t break his neck. “Ethan, let me get this straight. You hired a locksmith to illegally enter my home, stole my furniture and appliances, and then you accidentally hurt yourself during the robbery and you’re blaming me? Does that sound like the logic of a sane person?” “If you’d just given me the hundred grand I asked for, would I have fallen in the first place?” he shot back, completely shameless. “Because you were so stingy, I’ve been living in poverty for years.” “Just pay up. If you don’t, this won’t be about just six hundred and fifty dollars anymore!” That whole incident with the furniture five years ago left a disgusting taste in my mouth. My moment of pity had haunted me. If I gave in to him now, I’d never forgive myself. I snorted. “I’m not giving you a single cent. What are you going to do about it?” Suddenly, a young woman’s voice piped up from Ethan’s side. “Listen here, you old hag! I’m Ethan’s fiancée. You have to give him his money back. How else is he supposed to pay for my dowry?” I frowned, certain I must have misheard. “Honey, how much is Ethan paying for your dowry? How can it possibly come down to a measly six hundred and fifty bucks?” “He’s giving me $1,314,” she said proudly. “It’s to show he’ll love me for life.” I was floored. “$131,400? Ethan is that cheap? He’s actually willing to spend that much on you?” “Not one hundred thirty-one thousand,” Ethan corrected her quickly. “It’s one thousand, three hundred and fourteen dollars. It symbolizes that I’ll love Cindy forever.” I couldn’t help it; I roared with laughter. The chat was on fire. [What century is this? A $1,314 dowry payment? That’s more insulting than giving nothing at all.] [If that was my daughter, I’d drag her home and break her legs if she didn’t listen.] But Cindy was shameless. “What do you people know? You can’t put a price on love. My boyfriend may not have a lot of money, but he’s willing to humble himself and get back all the money he spent on his exes just to marry me. That’s true dedication.” I was laughing so hard tears were streaming down my face. So I wasn’t the first victim? There were others? Trying to stifle my giggles, I asked, “So, Ethan, how much have you managed to raise so far?” “I just need your six hundred and fifty,” he announced proudly. “Once I have that, I can officially go to Cindy’s family and propose.” The host spoke up, his voice full of pity. “Young lady, take some advice from an older brother. Go home. If you marry a man like this, you’re signing up for a lifetime of misery.” From her voice, Cindy sounded about the same age as my younger sister. A wave of sympathy washed over me. “Sweetie, you’re young. You don’t know what real love is. Ethan is not a good person. By not giving him this money, I’m saving you.” Cindy wasn’t having it. “You shameless old witch! Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. You don’t want me to marry him because you’re still in love with him! Well, you can forget it! Ethan told me you have that old lady smell, and if it wasn’t for your money, he wouldn’t have looked at you twice!” I was so furious I wanted to reach through the screen and throttle him. Yes, I was three years older than Ethan, but I was in my early thirties. I worked out daily, had a meticulous skincare routine, and could easily pass for someone in their early twenties. Old lady smell? And he was the one who relentlessly pursued me, claiming he loved older women because they made him feel secure. I had made it crystal clear from the start: I was twenty-seven and dating for marriage. If he wasn’t serious, he shouldn’t waste my time. He swore on his entire family’s lives that if he didn’t marry me, they would all suffer a lifetime of misfortune. Only then did I agree to date him. I laid down the law. “Ethan, I’m not giving you a dime. If you want it so badly, sue me.” He shot back with his own threat. “You just wait, Scarlett. I’ll be at your place in ten minutes. I’m gonna beat the crap out of you!” “Fine,” I snarled. “If you don’t show up, you’re not a man.” With that, he disconnected. The host looked worried. “Scarlett, you need to call the police right now. A broke man like that has nothing to lose. He might do something crazy!” I just smiled. He wanted to play tough? I knew people a lot tougher than him. “Host, mind if I run a little ad on your stream?” “Anyone local who can get to my apartment complex within ten minutes, come on down. No limit on numbers. I’m paying a hundred bucks a head for your time. I need people who can curse creatively. The filthier, the better.” “Also looking for some tough-looking guys with neck tattoos, maybe some local heavy-hitters. Name your price.” I dropped my address in the comments, and the host pinned it to the top. The chat was a blur of messages. [Lady, I don’t need the money. I just love drama.] [Sis, me and my dorm mates are three minutes away. We’ll protect you!] [Honey, my mother-in-law has been undefeated in arguments for thirty years, and we live in the same complex. We’re on our way down.] [Damn it, why do I live so far away? I want in on this!] The host was practically vibrating with excitement. “This is killing me! I want to be there so bad! I can’t imagine what that guy and his girlfriend will do when they see a whole crowd waiting for them. Scarlett, please, you have to livestream it.” I’m a businesswoman. I would never pass up an opportunity for this much free publicity. I sent a message to my work group chat: “Team, time for some overtime. Grab the new product samples and promo materials and get to my apartment complex ASAP. Everyone gets a thousand-dollar bonus, plus reimbursed travel. You can take tomorrow morning off.” I shook my husband awake. “Get up! Get the camera! The viral moment of a lifetime is here!” He was groggy. “What’s going on?” “My ex-boyfriend is on his way over to extort me. We’re going to the front gate to meet him.” That woke him up instantly. “I’m calling my buddies. If that punk lays a single finger on you, I’ll break him.” I smiled. “No need. I have reinforcements.” When I got to the front gate of my complex, I was stunned. Did these people teleport? There were already over a hundred people gathered, with dozens of phones set up on tripods, all streaming. A neighbor waved. “Scarlett, we’re all here to protect you!” When the strangers realized I was the main character, they all started cheering and waving. A few huge, muscular guys came over. “Ma’am, we don’t want your money. We just want a word with this little punk.” A dozen older women were cracking their knuckles excitedly. “Honey, just give the signal. We’ll drag his ancestors out of their graves and curse them all over again.” I thanked everyone, gave the building security a heads-up, and immediately got to work hanging up my company’s promotional banners. Within eight minutes, my entire team had arrived. They started handing out samples and brochures to the crowd, setting up ad displays along the sidewalk. Twenty minutes later, Ethan and Cindy pulled up on a single shared rental bike. Ethan was holding a small switch he’d broken off a tree. He saw the sea of people and froze. “It’s midnight,” he muttered. “Why are there so many people here?” Cindy yelled, “Ethan, let’s go! If Scarlett doesn’t pay up today, we’ll do what we did last time and empty her apartment!” I waved. “Ethan! Over here!” He strutted over, twig in hand, a smug look on his face. “Scarlett, did you come out here just to meet me? You miss me that much?” Cindy looked alarmed. “I admit you’re kind of pretty, Scarlett, but if you try to steal Ethan from me, I’ll fight you!” I made a gagging sound. “Please, Ethan, don’t make me sick. I was young and dumb enough to take a few bites of shit, and the memory still turns my stomach. I have no desire to even look at shit anymore.” His face flushed with rage. “How dare you be so vulgar, Scarlett? You’re the shit!” He wanted to curse me out? Fine. Let him face the full might of the nation’s most formidable fighting force: angry grandmas. I temporarily paused my own stream and gave the aunties a subtle nod. They immediately swarmed Ethan and Cindy, unleashing a verbal onslaught. The barrage of profanity was so intense that none of it was broadcastable. I could hear other streamers nearby groaning that their accounts were getting banned. Ethan and Cindy spun around, trying to fire back, but their voices were completely drowned out by the sonic wall of insults. The sheer volume of spittle flying from the aunties’ mouths was enough to give them a shower. Ethan snapped and tried to get physical. But the moment he raised his little switch, one of the tattooed guys grabbed his arm. “You even think about touching one of them, little man, and you won’t see tomorrow’s sunrise.” “There are cameras everywhere!” Ethan shrieked, pointing at the security cameras. “You hit me, and I’ll call the cops! I’ll sue you for everything you’ve got!” “Yeah!” Cindy chimed in. “We’ll sue you blind!” The tattooed guy just picked Ethan up and tossed him into the crowd. A swarm of people immediately closed in. When they parted, Ethan was on the ground, his face bruised and his glasses shattered. Cindy, who had been so aggressive just moments before, was now silent as a mouse. “You just wait,” Ethan whimpered, holding his jaw. “I’m calling the police! I’ll have you all thrown in jail for life!” I held up my phone. “Already did that for you. They’ll be here any second.” When the police arrived, Ethan ran to them like they were his long-lost family. “Officers, you have to arrest Scarlett and all these men! They assaulted me! Execute them!” I calmly explained the situation to the officers, who then reviewed the security footage. I hadn’t touched Ethan. The aunties, while verbally abusive, hadn’t caused any physical harm, which wasn’t illegal. Plus, they were all over sixty-eight. Good luck prosecuting them. “What about the guys who hit me?” Ethan whined. “You have to arrest them!” But the crowd had been packed so tightly that the cameras couldn’t see who had thrown the punches. Ethan couldn’t identify his attackers either, so the matter was dropped. Someone in the crowd yelled, “Get out of here before we give you another round!” Ethan shot me a look of pure hatred. “Fine, Scarlett, I’ll go. But you have to reimburse me for the shared bike fee.” The crowd erupted in laughter. Ethan seemed oblivious, holding his hand out expectantly. One of the guys couldn’t take it anymore, pulled a ten-dollar bill from his wallet, and threw it at him. “I’ll pay it for her. Now get lost before you embarrass yourself any further.” Ethan glared at me one last time, then grabbed Cindy and stormed off. As they left, I faintly heard him say, “Don’t worry, Cindy. I swear I’ll get that thirteen-hundred-and-fourteen-dollar dowry for you.” What a mess. How could any girl be so clueless? I had my team continue handing out gifts and paid the promised appearance fees, spending about three thousand dollars in total. I wasn’t short on money. I just refused to give that parasite the satisfaction. The incident was a marketing miracle. My social media account gained a million followers overnight, and I quickly got it verified. The people who had tried our samples that night flooded the comments with rave reviews. The new product line sold out the moment it launched. Business owners from all over the country started messaging me, asking for exclusive distribution rights. Ethan, of course, showed up in my comments section: [Scarlett, you owe me. All this traffic came from me. You have to give me half of your profits.] I didn’t block him. I just let him rave. The more outrageous his claims, the better my engagement numbers got. When he saw I was ignoring him, he posted one last threat: [You wanna be heartless, Scarlett? Fine. Don’t come crying to me when things go wrong.] I didn’t take him seriously. He was broke and pathetic, all talk and no action. But a week later, my factory was in trouble. Big trouble.

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On New Year’s Eve, my fiancée’s ex posted a photo online showing her with wine spilled on her dress, along with the caption: “Her trembling was the prize of the night.” My hands shook as I called Elara. After a long silence, she answered, breathless. “Sean… I was drugged. Aiden helped me. But I’m still clean for you.” I tried to believe it was just a terrible accident. Three months later, at our wedding, Elara threw a positive pregnancy test at my feet. “It only happened once,” she said, “but you can still be this child’s father.” I laughed coldly. “Get rid of it, or get out of my life.” As I walked away, I took out my phone. “I accept the marriage proposal to Gudenrath Corp.” [1] The Gudenrath family moved with ruthless efficiency. Two hours later, Seraphina Gudenrath and I were officially married, her dowry a portfolio worth two hundred million dollars. She signed the papers and immediately flew to an international conference. I stood there, holding our marriage certificate, feeling dazed. Five years of my life, all for a betrayal so complete it felt like a dream. My phone buzzed relentlessly in my pocket. I sighed and finally answered. “Sean, aren’t you always the most understanding person? I’m having a baby. Shouldn’t you be happy?” “I swear to you, you will be the only father this child has.” Elara’s voice was urgent, but there was no trace of apology in it. “Right. I understand,” I replied, my voice flat. “Is there anything else?” There was a moment of silence on her end, and I could faintly hear the sound of a man’s suppressed sobs in the background. She must have realized my calm was unnatural. Her tone softened. “Why don’t you come home first?” “Aiden is emotionally unstable right now. He just keeps crying. I can’t just leave him.” “There’s no need,” I cut her off. Her voice instantly turned to ice. “Sean Croft! What is your problem?” “Aiden was kind enough to help me, and you publicly humiliated him! Isn’t that enough for you? What more do you want?” My heart clenched, a sharp, stabbing pain. I suppressed the turmoil rising in my chest and said, word by word, “Elara, we’re over.” The air seemed to freeze. Her breath hitched, and then she exploded. “Are you insane?” “I got pregnant, that’s all! It’s not like I’m refusing to marry you! Why are you being so aggressive?” I let out a self-deprecating laugh but didn’t answer. Her patience ran out. “Fine! Be that way!” she spat. “Don’t come crying back to me later!” The line went dead. [2] I didn’t go home. I drove to the old Morris estate. Even though Elara had been unfaithful, her parents had always been kind to me. It was only right to end things with them face-to-face. But as I pushed open the grand doors, the scene inside plunged me into an icy abyss. Elara was sitting with her parents, Aiden’s arm linked with hers. She carefully ladled soup for him, even bringing the spoon to his lips with a tenderness in her eyes I hadn’t seen in years. Her mother watched them with a pleased smile. “Look at you two,” she teased her husband. “About to be parents and still acting like newlyweds.” A perfect, happy family of four. I had once dreamed of a moment like that. In the past, when I would put food on her plate, she would smile sweetly and say, “Thank you, darling,” only to discard anything I had touched the moment I looked away. She was the cherished only daughter of the Morris family, an untouchable flower on a high peak. She even flinched away from my kisses. And now, she was pregnant with Aiden’s child, doting on him like a loving wife. Elara caught sight of me from the corner of her eye and sneered. “I knew it. Impossible to shake him off.” Her father cleared his throat, trying to smooth things over. “You’re here. Come, sit and eat. Elara’s pregnant. Don’t upset her.” I stared at them, numb. “No, thank you.” Aiden spoke to the maid with an air of familiarity. “Sean, you should have called ahead. The staff didn’t set an extra place for you.” His hair was perfectly styled, his clothes expensive. He looked nothing like the down-on-his-luck intern from three months ago. Clearly, life at the Morris estate suited him. I ignored him and handed the gift I’d brought to the butler. “Stop right there!” Elara slammed her hand on the table, her face dark with rage. “Didn’t you hear Aiden speaking to you? Don’t you even have the decency to say thank you? You have no manners at all!” I turned slowly, a cold smile spreading across my face. “Thank him for what?” “Thank him for knocking up my fiancée and making me a cuckold? Or should I flip this table and scream at him in front of your parents for being a shameless homewrecker?” Elara’s face flushed, and she covered her mouth, gagging. Aiden patted her back, his voice choked with emotion. “Elara, are you okay?” He turned to me, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. “Sean, it’s all my fault. Please don’t upset her anymore.” “I’m only staying here because I’m worried about the baby. I’ll leave as soon as it’s born, I swear! I won’t get in your way!” He then placed a hand on Elara’s stomach and began to sob. “Baby, I’m so sorry. Daddy loves you, and he doesn’t want to abandon you, but Daddy did a bad thing. Our family was never meant to be.” “As long as you and Mommy are happy, I’ll do anything.” With that, he collapsed, crying, into Elara’s arms. Her mother had seen enough. She threw down her chopsticks and pointed a trembling finger at me. “How dare you! It’s just a child! How can you be so petty? You are not fit to be a son-in-law to this family!” Any last shred of guilt Elara might have felt evaporated. She glared at me with pure hatred. “You ungrateful bastard!” I let out a cold laugh and turned to leave. My indifference seemed to enrage her further. With a wild scream, she grabbed the nearest bowl and hurled it at my head. A searing pain exploded in the back of my skull. Warm liquid trickled through my hair. My vision went black, and I collapsed. [3] My head was ringing, the sharp pain spreading like a tidal wave. I forced myself to my feet. Aiden rushed over, his voice dripping with false concern. “Sean, are you okay? My sister is pregnant, she’s so weak. How could you pretend to faint like that?” “Get away from me,” I said coldly, not even bothering to raise a hand to him. But he suddenly let out an exaggerated gasp and stumbled backward, crashing heavily into the coffee table. “Ah! Sean, I was just trying to help you…” he whimpered, his lower lip trembling as his eyes welled up. Elara panicked, rushing to his side. She turned on me, her eyes blazing. “Sean, are you insane? How dare you touch him!” Her parents looked on with disgust, as if I were something vile. “He fell on his own!” I choked out, the words catching in my throat. Elara’s eyes were merciless. She slapped me hard across the face. “Still lying! Get to the family chapel and kneel. Don’t even think about coming out until you’ve begged for forgiveness nine hundred times!” Before I could protest, two security guards stormed in, roughly bound my hands and feet, and dragged me away. I thrashed on the floor, screaming, “Let me go!” Her only reply was a cold command: “Reflect on what you’ve done!” The heavy doors slammed shut, plunging me into silence. I struggled desperately, the rough rope cutting into my wrists, my skin scraping raw against the stone floor. Finally, exhausted, I slumped onto the icy ground, a bitter sting in my nose. Through the door, I could hear their voices clearly. “Elara, isn’t this a little too harsh? He’s still your fiancé, after all.” “You’re too kind, Aiden. After how he treated you, you’re still defending him.” Elara’s voice was sharp with disdain. “If I don’t teach him a lesson and curb that temper of his, how is he supposed to take care of our child?” Aiden hesitated. “Sister, are you doing this because you don’t like him? Then why are you still marrying him?” Sudden silence. I held my breath, my heart pounding, desperate to hear her answer. If she hated me this much, why wouldn’t she let me go? After a moment, Elara let out a small laugh, her voice turning frigid. “It’s for the Croft family resources, of course. They’ve been very useful over the years.” “Marrying him is the only way to get full control of Croft Industries. Why else would I tie myself to such a useless piece of trash?” The truth was a razor-sharp knife, plunging straight into my heart. My blood ran cold. So that was it. She had never loved me. She only ever wanted my family’s name and power. In a daze, I remembered the car crash five years ago, when I had been severely injured while saving her. She had knelt by my hospital bed and sworn she would never marry anyone else. Even when the doctors told us I could no longer have children, she had just cried and said, “It doesn’t matter. Without children, I can love only you with my whole heart.” How pathetic. I had actually believed her clumsy lies. I had pulled every string I could, used every Croft connection to pave her way to success. And all along, she had been playing me for a fool. There is no greater sorrow than a dead heart. A despair colder than the stone floor settled over me, and I drifted into a fitful sleep. The chapel doors didn’t open until the next day. I was curled in a ball, my lips blue from the cold. Elara frowned at my pathetic state. “Useless waste. You kneel for one night and you look like this. How pathetic.” I slowly looked up, a grim smile on my face. “Sorry to disappoint you.” She looked away in disgust. “Aiden wants seafood congee. Go make it for him. And remember, no ginger. He doesn’t like it.” My nails dug into my palms, but I felt nothing. I forced the words through my teeth. “And what if I don’t?” [4] A dangerous glint appeared in Elara’s eyes. She suddenly kicked me hard in the chest. “Do you really think you’re the young master here? If it weren’t for Aiden, you would never have a child in your life! You should be on your knees thanking him, and you have the nerve to refuse to cook him a meal?” The feeling of bone cracking sent a wave of blackness over my vision. I coughed, spitting up a mouthful of blood. I wiped my mouth and slowly pushed myself up. “Elara, we’re done.” “You have no right to order me around.” A cold draft swept through the chapel. She stared at me for a second, then scoffed. “Are you trying to play hard to get? Don’t you find that disgusting?” Aiden appeared at her side, draping a coat over her shoulders. “Elara,” he whispered, “don’t get upset with him on my account. It’s not good for the baby. I just won’t eat. A lowly person like me doesn’t deserve to have Sean cook for him anyway.” He was wearing my silk pajamas, his chest covered in love bites. His eyes were full of triumphant provocation. But I no longer cared. “Move. You’re in my way,” I said, my voice distant. Elara suddenly grabbed my wrist, her nails digging into my skin and drawing blood. “You’re not going anywhere without my permission!” she shrieked. I yanked my arm free. “Ah!” The momentum sent her staggering backward, and she collapsed onto the floor. “You animal!” Her parents came running at the sound. Her mother cradled her pale-faced daughter while her father swung a fist at my face. I couldn’t dodge in time and took the full force of the blow. The taste of rust filled my mouth. Aiden wrapped his arms around Elara, his voice trembling. “It’s all my fault. If I weren’t here, you two wouldn’t be fighting.” He looked at me, his eyes brimming with tears. “Sean, if you’re angry, take it out on me. Please, just don’t hurt Elara and the baby…” Elara clutched her stomach, her eyes bloodshot. “Sean! Aiden went through so much to get me pregnant with this child! If anything happens to my baby, I’ll kill you!” Her father flew into an even greater rage. He grabbed me by the neck and slammed me onto the altar. The candlesticks toppled over, hot wax splashing across my back and instantly raising a swath of angry red welts. I arched my back, gagging, but only managed to spit up more blood. The marriage certificate slipped from my jacket pocket, its bright red cover a startling contrast against the grey stone floor. When she saw the names on it, Elara’s face changed, her arrogance vanishing. “You… to spite me, you actually married someone else?” she stammered in disbelief. I struggled to my feet, using the wall for support, and met her eyes again. “I gave you a choice.” In the dead silence of the room, Elara screamed, “That’s impossible! This has to be a fake! Who else would marry a defective man like you?” Just as the words left her mouth, a cool, clear female voice cut through the air. “I would.” Everyone turned. There, standing silhouetted against the light, was Seraphina Gudenrath, dressed in a stunning red gown.

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Postpartum depression engulfed me. All I wanted was to die. Eddy pulled me back from the edge, crying, “I’ll get you through this, Annie.” He worked days hunting killers and nights feeding our son. Every morning he drove me to therapy, his eyes hollow from exhaustion, but he never quit. One evening he came home to the baby screaming. I was in the corner, cutting my arm with a knife. He slapped me hard. “If you can’t be a mother, why have him?” he shouted. “You want to die? Here—” He pressed his service pistol under my chin. I just waited. Then the baby cried “Mama,” and something stirred in me. I reached for him. But another woman was faster. She held him gently. “Ma’am, maybe you shouldn’t be near the baby right now.” That’s when I met Eddy’s protégée — vibrant, capable, and natural with our son. Eddy looked at her the way he once looked at me. They were the family now. It was time for me to go. 1 Our son, Leo, had a fever. My mind was a fog all day. I hadn’t even managed to keep him properly covered. When I tried to check on him, Eddy pushed me away. “Just take care of yourself,” he said, his voice flat. He and his protégé, Ava, moved around the apartment like a well-oiled machine. One dressed Leo while the other packed a bag. They worked in perfect sync. I was the outsider. I stood there, invisible, as they walked out the door, went down the stairs, and drove away. There was no anger between them, just efficiency. Ava was a much better mother than I could ever be. If I died, Eddy could be with her, couldn’t he? Wouldn’t his life be so much easier? I remembered the bottle of sleeping pills. Eddy, afraid I’d swallow them all, had locked them in the highest cabinet. I dragged a stool over and started trying combinations for the lock. I vaguely recalled it was a birthday. Mine. Incorrect. Eddy’s. Incorrect. Leo’s. Still incorrect. I hesitated for a moment. Then I typed in Ava’s. It clicked open. But inside, there wasn’t a bottle of sleeping pills. It was a small vial of clear liquid. A poison. Next to it was a note in his friend’s handwriting: Three minutes to death after ingestion. The cause of death will look identical to a sleeping pill overdose, but it will be agonizing. Think carefully before you use it. I laughed. A hollow, broken sound. So… Eddy had been planning to kill me for a while now. But… why couldn’t I bring myself to hate him? For the past six months, I had watched him suffer, and my heart had ached for him. A star detective, a man who outwitted monsters, was now trapped fighting a different kind of battle at home. He had to care for a newborn and stop his wife from killing herself. I wanted to help him, to share the burden. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t fight the illness, the impulse. The only things keeping me alive were his tearful pleas and the sound of my son calling me “Mama.” Now, he didn’t want me alive anymore. And when Ava held him, Leo stopped crying. I could finally die in peace. Eddy, I hope you two will be happy. I swallowed the contents of the vial and lay down on our bed. A thought flickered through my dimming mind: dying here would traumatize them. I tried to get up, to move somewhere else, but my body wouldn’t respond. I pressed a hand to my mouth, trying to keep the blood from staining the sheets. Through the haze, I heard the front door open again. It was Ava. “I just came back for some of Leo’s clothes,” she called out, presumably on the phone with Eddy. “You focus on the case, sir. I’ve got him.” My muscles went completely slack. 2 Eddy didn’t come home until the next day. He was carrying a small box from my favorite bakery. “Annie?” he called out as he took off his shoes. Silence. He called my name again. Still nothing. The detective in him sensed something was wrong. He bolted to the cabinet and saw the open lock. “Annie…” His hand trembled as he reached for the door. “No… please, no…” He swung the cabinet open. The bottle of sleeping pills was sitting right there. Floating in the air above him, I froze. Sleeping pills? But I was sure it had been the vial of poison. He emptied the bottle into his palm and counted. Two were missing. He walked into the bedroom and saw the lump under the covers. A wave of relief washed over his face. He put the cake in the fridge, then collapsed onto the sofa, exhausted. I watched him and a strange, sad smile formed on my spectral lips. Maybe Eddy had wanted to kill me. But at some point, he must have changed his mind and swapped the poison back for the pills. The poison… Ava must have switched it. And then yesterday, when she came back for the clothes, she must have put the sleeping pills back, creating the perfect illusion. But… Why wasn’t I angry with her? I knew I was a terrible mother. A burden of a wife. All I did was cause trouble. If someone else could take care of the people I loved, I could only be grateful. I just hoped that when they had a new baby of their own, they wouldn’t forget mine. 3 Eddy had only been asleep for a little while when a call from the precinct jolted him awake. By the time he finished with his case and came home, it was already eight in the evening. Mrs. Gable, the old woman who ran the corner market, was pacing anxiously at the bottom of our apartment building. “Mrs. Gable?” he asked. Her face lit up with relief. “Oh, Eddy, thank goodness you’re back! Annie didn’t come by for groceries today. She’s not answering her phone or her texts.” She clutched her basket. “Is she… having another episode? I can’t get into the building. You have to go check on her!” “It’s okay, ma’am,” Eddy said, a relaxed smile on his face. “She’s not sick.” His next words hit me like a physical blow. “Her depression, it’s all an act.” “What?” I whispered, watching them. Mrs. Gable tightened her grip on her basket. “But she told me… she said she’d come by every day, and if she ever missed a day, I should come check on her.” Eddy took the grocery basket from her and paid for the contents. “She fooled us all, Mrs. Gable. Her medical records were forged. If my rookie hadn’t stumbled upon the original file while working a case, I’d still think she was seriously ill. She just doesn’t want to take care of the baby. From now on, you don’t need to worry about her.” I laughed, a silent, bitter laugh, as tears I could no longer shed streamed down my face. So that’s why. That’s why he’d said those awful things to me. As if I’d abandoned our child on purpose. As if my depression was my fault. It was because… He thought I was faking it. Eddy, couldn’t you see the scars on my body? Couldn’t you see the despair in my eyes? But… I closed my spectral eyes. It didn’t matter anymore. Ava just wanted Eddy. And I was just a weight dragging him down. Let him think I was pretending. As long as you can be happy, Eddy. As long as you both take care of our son. Mrs. Gable still looked hesitant. “But she didn’t seem like she was…” “It’s because we had a little fight,” Eddy interrupted smoothly. “I took on a new protégé, and she’s feeling jealous. Just acting out.” Mrs. Gable finally relaxed. She offered a few words of advice about how young couples should work through their problems and then left. Eddy walked inside. “Mrs. Gable brought today’s groceries. What do you feel like eating?” No response. “Leo’s stable at the hospital, by the way. You don’t have to worry.” Still no response. “Annie.” His tone sharpened. “Can you stop pretending? If you don’t want to raise him, I will. You can do whatever you want, I won’t stop you. Just stop torturing me and our son with this fake depression!” Silence. The grocery basket creaked in his tightening grip. “And don’t worry. As long as you’re not running off to meet a lover, I don’t care what you do!” The apartment remained deathly quiet. “Annie, have you lost your mind?!” He threw open the bedroom door. I was huddled under the covers. He seemed to remember I’d taken the sleeping pills. He slammed the door shut with a cold scoff. His phone rang. This time, it was Ava. “Sir, the power’s out at my place… I’m a little scared…” The anger vanished from Eddy’s face, replaced by a gentle smile. “A detective who’s afraid of the dark?” His tone was so tender. It was the same tone he used to use with me. I was afraid of the dark, too. I always needed him by my side during a blackout. Ava’s voice trembled slightly. “It’s not just the dark… I’m worried your wife might do something like last time… mess with my wiring and try to hurt me…” I stared, stunned. When had I ever done something like that? I looked at Eddy. He should know. Even before I got sick, I would never have done such a thing. But the way his hand tightened around his phone told me everything. He believed her. “Don’t worry,” he said, his voice soft. “She took some sleeping pills. She’s out cold. I won’t let her hurt you again.” “But…” Ava sounded shy. “I’m still a little scared of the dark. Sir, could you… could you come over?” Eddy chuckled. “For a reason like that? Of course.” He went to change his clothes. I smiled, a bitter, hollow expression. It’s okay. I know I’m just a source of trouble for everyone. Ava was just saying what she needed to say to get me out of the way. And I was already gone. Eddy just hadn’t found out yet. As long as they take care of my son after they get married, then none of this was in vain. Eddy came back into the bedroom. He was carrying a bowl of warm oatmeal. The room was dark. He placed it on the nightstand. So… he was worried I’d be hungry when I woke up. A sad smile touched my lips. But I’m never waking up, Eddy. All you have to do is pull back the covers. Then you’ll see my body, soaked in its own blood. No. I shook my head violently. That would be too horrible. It’s better if he never finds out. 4 I knew Eddy wasn’t just going to Ava’s place to keep her company. The look in his eyes when he was with her was the same one he’d once saved only for me. Still, watching her lean into his embrace sent a pang of something through my non-existent heart. In the dim light of her apartment, Ava pressed herself against his chest. “Sir… the truth is, I became a cop because of you.” Eddy, a man who always kept a professional distance from other women, wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her tight. “Thank you, Ava. Without you, I would have been trapped in her lies forever, never able to breathe.” “Then why don’t you divorce her?” Eddy’s body stiffened. He gently pushed her back a little. “I’m afraid she’ll hurt you.” “I don’t mind getting hurt.” “But I do!” In the darkness, their eyes met. Ava started to cry, her shoulders shaking as she buried her face in his chest. A bitter smile formed on my lips. Don’t worry, Eddy. I approve. You have my blessing. The next morning, Ava left early. She arranged for a car to pick Leo up from the hospital. But she didn’t bring him home. I understood. How could I possibly take care of a child? And Ava had to work. So she took him to a relative’s house. As Eddy was leaving for work, he asked her, “How’s Leo?” “Don’t worry, he’s doing great at the hospital. Just a few more days and he’ll be ready to come home.” My head snapped up. Eddy smiled. “Thank you for taking care of him these past few days.” Wait… Didn’t she just pick him up? I tried to grab Eddy, to stop him, but my ghostly form passed right through him. “Eddy! Leo isn’t at the hospital! She took him!” I screamed, trailing helplessly behind him. “Eddy, just go to the hospital, you’ll see!” But Eddy just reached out and gently brushed Ava’s hair. “This new case is a tough one, I can’t look after Leo properly. I’m so glad I have you. I can really count on you. Once we crack this illegal drug manufacturing case, I’ll take you out to dinner.” “Oh, sir,” Ava said, patting his hand. “You know I’m not doing it for a dinner.” Eddy’s breath hitched. They were both adults. They knew what she meant. But he didn’t pull away. I was practically weeping. “Eddy! She’s lying! Go find our son!” As her car pulled away, I saw Ava’s sweet smile curdle and disappear. As soon as Eddy got to his office, the phone rang. It was the hospital. My eyes widened. “Is it about Leo? Are they calling to say he’s missing? Eddy, pick up! You need to know!” “Hello?” he answered. A familiar voice came through the line. “Mr. Hayes, Mrs. Hayes has missed her follow-up appointment for the second day in a row. With her severe suicidal tendencies, I’m worried. Is she alright?” “Doctor, she’s faking it.” The doctor paused. “That’s impossible.” “Doctor, please, can you stop helping her deceive me?” Eddy sighed, sitting in front of a mountain of case files. “My people found the original copy of your diagnosis. I have no intention of pressing charges for bribery or falsifying medical records, but I’d appreciate it if you stopped helping her cause trouble for me.” “Mr. Hayes, you’ve misunderstood. We gave the diagnosis directly to you. Your wife’s condition is—” “Are you testing me? Do you think I won’t have you arrested?” That shut the doctor up. After a moment of hesitation, he asked tentatively, “So… Mrs. Hayes is alright?” “She took some sleeping pills. She’s sleeping it off,” Eddy snapped. The doctor sounded relieved. “Oh, good.” I stared at the phone, waiting desperately for the pediatrics department to call. But the call never came. Not all day. An unseen force bound me to Eddy, pulling me along wherever he went. I followed him home. When he opened the door, the trash was still there from the day he took Leo to the hospital. Maggots were squirming in the bag, and a foul stench filled the air. The apartment was covered in a layer of dust. His face contorted with rage. “Annie! You’re not sick! Why are you still pretending? You can’t even be bothered to take out the trash?” Silence. He angrily gathered the trash and threw it outside the front door. I didn’t appear. “Annie, do I have to shove your real diagnosis in your face before you’ll stop this charade?” The bedroom remained silent. “What, are you mad that I didn’t come home last night? You lied to me, made me run around like an idiot, terrified you were going to kill yourself. I gave up a promotion for you, and I haven’t blamed you for that. What right do you have to be mad at me?” Still nothing. “Annie!” He threw the bedroom door open. The bowl of oatmeal on the nightstand was dried up, untouched. “Annie?” A terrible premonition began to creep into his heart. He ripped the covers off the bed. His pupils shrank to pinpricks. I stared at the bed, and a gasp I couldn’t make escaped me.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389002”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel