It was 11:59 PM. I forced myself to push past the anger of being woken by my phone and shoved open the gilded door of the private room. “Excuse me, everyone, I apologize for the interruption, but I’m here to pick up my husband.” The next second, the room’s raucous New Year’s countdown came to a screeching halt. Dozens of eyes belonging to a room full of society’s elite were suddenly pinned on me. And the man sitting in the center seat, impeccably tailored, his expression cool and remote, was slowly tracing the rim of a cocktail glass. “…Audrey Rose?” Someone finally broke the heavy silence. “This is the Crestwood University Alumni New Year’s Eve gathering. This isn’t a refuge for Midtown State rejects.” A wave of laughter erupted. “Isn’t this the one from the ‘Primacy of Audrey’ scandal? The time Crestwood’s star student risked his academic career by rewriting the core thesis of his Political Science paper to be about her?” “I heard you had to desperately trick your way into your stepbrother’s bed and then force a wedding. Why else would he marry a scatterbrain like you? Now his wife is a Cambridge PhD. That’s what you call a perfect match. Why would you even dare show your face here?” The table full of gazes felt like tiny needles stabbing into my skin. They would never know. Rhys had once been the last-ranked student in his class. His desperate, brilliant climb to the top was all for me. But the past was the past, and it no longer mattered. I met all their stares, displaying none of the shame or panic they anticipated. I pulled my lips into a small, calm smile. “I’m not here to join your elite little countdown, ladies and gentlemen. I’m here to take my husband home.” Rhys finally looked up, his eyes deep and unsettling. “Audrey. We’ve been divorced for three years.” I gently curved my lips, putting on my standard, customer-service smile. “I know.” “And that’s why, Mr. Rhys, I wasn’t talking about you.” 1 “The nerve. Still trying to claim a piece of Rhys even after the divorce.” A few repressed snickers echoed in the room. Jax lit a cigarette and watched me with a bored, detached expression. “First time I’ve seen someone so eager to play the mistress.” Jax had been my and Rhys’s best friend in high school. And once, he had been the second-kindest person in the world to me. But when Rhys and I fell apart, Jax didn’t hesitate to side with him. Because the woman he loved was the very reason for the end of my marriage—the other woman. And he had spent years helping Rhys keep their relationship a secret from me. Only I had been the fool, kept completely in the dark from start to finish. “Jax, enough.” Rhys’s lips tightened as he gave a cold warning. Jax, annoyed, stubbed out his cigarette. “What’s the big deal? A couple of words won’t hurt. A dimwit like Audrey Rose can’t possibly compare to someone as brilliant as Sloane. You only kept her around because you felt sorry for her, and she just held you back for years.” Rhys met my gaze, his voice low and firm. “Audrey Rose isn’t dumb.” Audrey Rose isn’t dumb. Coming from the mouth of a genius like Rhys, the statement always felt faintly ridiculous. But the sixteen-year-old Audrey Rose had believed it. The year I finished middle school, my mother married Rhys’s father, forming a new family. Rhys and I were the same age and ended up at the same average high school. We were even in the same class. He was dead last in the rankings; I was comfortably average. Rhys hated me, so he never spoke to me. I often saw Rhys getting into fights and facing disciplinary action. Then my mother would have to go to the school, quietly enduring the scoldings and abuse. One night, I went out for water and saw my mother sitting on the sofa, weeping late at night. “Audrey, what can I do to make Rhys accept me?” I didn’t know. I only knew that after that night, The cold truce Rhys and I had was replaced by open warfare. I put mustard in his drink, poured dirty water into his backpack, and slipped laxatives into his lunch. Rhys finally snarled a threat: “What else you got? Listen, Audrey Rose, if you don’t manage to ruin my life, I’m going to ruin your mother’s.” We maintained that vicious standoff for over six months. I thought I would hate Rhys forever. But in the end, he became the only person left in the world who loved me. 2 My conflict with Rhys ended after an incident of domestic violence. Rhys’s father beat my mother so badly that she ended up in the emergency room. As she was being loaded into the ambulance, his father was still spitting venom. “I chased you for a year or two, and you’re useless! All beauty, zero substance.” My mother was nearly forty, and for the first half of her life, my own father had spoiled her rotten. She naturally hadn’t learned to do much for herself. Hearing that comment, the cold mask Rhys wore instantly shattered. He stared at me in shock, murmuring to himself. “My dad didn’t tell me your mom seduced him…” Rhys hated my mother. He’d always believed she actively broke up his parents’ marriage, which led to his mother leaving. It didn’t matter anymore, because after that day, I didn’t have a mother, either. I took her favorite White Gardenias to the hospital to visit her, only to learn she had run off. She hadn’t taken anything. And she hadn’t taken me. Audrey Rose was homeless. I didn’t know where to go. Wandering the streets late that night, Rhys was the one who found me. His eyes were red, and he looked furious. Afraid he was going to hit me, I curled into a ball. Amidst my terror, his warm embrace wrapped around me. For the first time, I heard him speak with such tenderness. “Audrey Rose, come home with me.” “From now on, I’ll be your whole world.” I took the hand he offered and held on tight. And so, from that day when I was sixteen, Audrey Rose’s world had consisted of only Rhys. 3 After my mother’s passing away, Rhys’s father’s temper became increasingly volatile. Rhys, worried I might get hurt, moved us out. Our lives continued, but they were different now. I was no longer mischievous or a troublemaker, and Rhys’s eyes held a gentle softness. Rhys started spending more and more time reading and studying. I couldn’t help but ask him about it. “You never liked reading or going to class before.” He looked at me with great seriousness, then finally pinched my cheek gently and said with a warm sigh, “Audrey Rose, I want you to have a better life.” I saw the flush on his ears and nodded firmly. Audrey Rose, you absolutely cannot hold Rhys back. So I studied even harder, but while Rhys flipped his rankings from last place to first, I remained stuck in the middle. Rhys tutored me until midnight every night. I just stared at the Calculus problems, shaking my head. He’d say, “Audrey Rose, you really are a bit dense.” “But I love that about you. You’re adorable when you’re confused.” Sleepiness washed over me, and the pen slipped from my hand. I mumbled, “Rhys, can you slow down a little? I’m going to be left behind.” Rhys promised me. I would never have to chase him. He would always wait for me. He broke that promise. Later, he came to despise that confused, clumsy side of me. It only irritated him. 4 “Not dumb? You practically tutored her full-time, and she still only managed to get into a second-rate state college.” Jax played with his lighter, picking up the thread of the conversation. I glanced around the room, not seeing my actual husband, Leo Maxwell. Leo had indeed attended Crestwood, the same as Rhys, but they were in different programs. It was unlikely they would be at the same alumni party. I figured Leo must have sent me the wrong address. I couldn’t be bothered to dwell on the past any longer. “My apologies for the intrusion.” I dropped the words and walked out. I texted Leo, but he didn’t reply. His phone went straight to voicemail. I decided to head home. Just as I reached the car door, a hand clamped down on my wrist. “Please, Audrey. Can you forgive me?” Rhys looked down, an expression I couldn’t decipher in his eyes. Audrey. That casual, familiar use of my name. It used to make me blush, a perfect way for a conservative guy like Rhys to flirt. But later, that very familiarity was what ruined me. “Rhys, are you addicted to performing?” I shook off his hand, my face blank. “I don’t need your forgiveness.” The tension was broken by a soft, contemptuous sneer. “Audrey Rose, I never expected to see you here.” Sloane approached in high heels, as arrogant and self-satisfied as always. In the past, I would have been intimidated by her presence. I would have felt admiration, even a reflexive self-loathing. But now, after that shameful history had tormented me countless times, all that remained was a profound calm. “Audrey Rose, why don’t you come home with Rhys and me? Your mother misses you so much.” I didn’t think I’d be able to say it so calmly, three years later. “I don’t have a mother.” My former love, my mother. They all chose her, Sloane. And I had long ago decided I didn’t want any of them. Sloane grabbed my wrist, subtly exposing the gold bracelet on her own. It was Rhys’s mother’s family heirloom. I had worn that bracelet for ten years. Rhys and my relationship had only lasted ten. 5 Jax was right; I was always dense. Even though Rhys worked himself to the bone tutoring me, I could only manage to scrape into Midtown State. Rhys, however, crushed the college entrance exams, was named the state’s top scorer, and went to Crestwood University. We were both in the city, not too far apart. Though we couldn’t be together all the time, our relationship was intensely close and affectionate. It was the simplest happiness, and a memory I would cherish for the rest of my life. Rhys was handsome and brilliant; many people chased him. But he always gave me complete security. I often went to his campus to visit him during college. He was too famous; the smallest rumor would draw attention. Gradually, people on the forums started saying I wasn’t good enough for him. That I was worthless aside from my face, a fool with no ability or background who didn’t deserve a prodigy. Rhys had already made our relationship public. He was furious when he heard these things. He said they didn’t know how wonderful I was. So, on a major final exam that semester, He took the foundational principle of Dialectical Materialism and replaced it everywhere with The Primacy of Audrey. He nearly failed the course and was publicly reprimanded by the department for having “love on the brain.” The incident rocked the entire campus. Rhys was afraid that anyone might not know I was his girlfriend, yet when we got married, he insisted: “Audrey Rose, let’s keep this a secret for now.” “Just wait a few years. I’ll make a name for myself, and then I’ll marry you in the grand style you deserve.” I agreed. In the fourth year of our marriage, Rhys’s career had soared. I never got the wedding I dreamed of. I got his betrayal. 6 On our fourth wedding anniversary, Rhys flew into a terrible rage. Because I had apparently lost the bracelet he gave me. Furious, he slammed the door and stormed out. It was the first time in his life he had ever spoken to me with such venom. It was pouring rain that day. I searched everywhere we’d ever been. I suddenly remembered the little house where Rhys and I had lived in high school. Rhys had bought that house later on. Because the walls inside were covered with thousands of photos of us from those three years. The moment I pushed open the door. I saw Rhys with another woman pressed underneath him. A moment of intense, breathless frenzy. My head spun, and I instantly lost my voice. I knew who she was: Sloane. Rhys had mentioned her, but rarely. He initially told me her father had forced her onto his team and he figured she’d be nothing but trouble. But later, he’d said Sloane was incredibly capable, brilliant, and sharp. It was around that time that Rhys started thinking I was dumb. Our common ground shrank. Rhys would often say: “Can you please stop asking? I tell you things, and you still don’t get it.” “Audrey Rose, you’re so slow.” Yet, I was genuinely happy he had found a compatible colleague. But now, Sloane was wearing that bracelet, her eyes filled with cold provocation. I had been tormented by guilt, searching like a dog for something I thought I’d lost. It turns out I hadn’t lost it. Rhys had personally handed it over to someone else. She slowly stood up, leaning against Rhys. “Why so surprised?” “We’ve done it in your bedroom, in the bathroom, in front of the window in your penthouse—everywhere in the city you thought was yours. Today, we just wanted to try the spot where you two first did it.” A ringing in my ears deafened me, and all the strength drained from my body. Operating on pure instinct, I grabbed the photo frame from the table and hurled it. Rhys shielded her with his body, his eyes bloodshot. “Audrey Rose, are you insane!” The man who had promised to be my whole world. He shoved me hard to the floor. My hand was covered in glass shards. The photo— It was the first picture Rhys and I ever took. He was beaming, his arm around me, showing me off. But now, it was shattered. And the look in his eyes was pure revulsion. Before I could even process that, another bombshell exploded near my ear. “Audrey Rose, can you stop the drama? You’re suffocating! No wonder your own mother walked out on you!” It turned out my mother had remarried. She had married Sloane’s father and had genuinely doted on Sloane for ten years. My decade of fantasy had become a nightmare. Later, Rhys demanded a divorce. I didn’t want to give them what they wanted, but I couldn’t fight them. Everyone I loved had defected to the other side. My partner, my friend. And, my mother. 7 Rhys locked me up in the city apartment. For nearly a week, he unleashed all his rage on me. “I won’t sign. You want to marry her? In your dreams.” At the time, the marriage certificate felt like my only leverage. I was stubborn, desperate, and felt like a madwoman. A week later, a blurred video was leaked. The audio, however, was painfully clear. “My darling, I love you most. Just try to love Audrey a little more than you do now.” This was from years ago, when he was always traveling. He’d said he needed a way to feel close to me when I wasn’t there. Rhys was terrifyingly conservative. So when he initially suggested making the video, I was both shy and surprised. Rhys and Sloane were masters of spin. That one sentence on the video completely turned public opinion against me. And the final nails in my coffin were driven by my own mother and my closest friend. My mother said I was a manipulative child who had trapped Rhys, forcing her to leave. Jax claimed Rhys had only ever seen me as a little sister, that I was the one who climbed into his bed, forcing him to take responsibility and marry me. The final, fatal blow came from Rhys himself. I lay numbly on the bed, watching my family and friend’s accusations, when Sloane came to see me. She told me she had confessed her love to Rhys in college. Rhys had rejected her. His reason? He didn’t feel worthy of her yet. If she was willing, she could wait a few years for him. Wait until he had the success to stand beside her, until he could approach her openly. That night, I finally gave in. I agreed to the divorce. As I signed the papers, I thought back. Sixteen-year-old Rhys, full of ambition, promising me a better life. But twenty-six-year-old Rhys’s future never included Audrey Rose. Wiping away my tears, I forced myself to ask him. “What was I to you? A consolation prize?” “Or just a temporary fix until you found the person you truly loved?” Rhys said, “I did love you, Audrey Rose. That was real.” I held back my tears. The love was real, but the change of heart was just as real. 8 During the mandatory cooling-off period, I barely left the house. The scandal with Rhys and me had become too public. Leaving the apartment meant I was mocked and insulted, or worse, subjected to various forms of harassment. The day we were officially divorced, I discovered I was pregnant. Rhys and I had tried to conceive for two years with no luck, but on the day we divorced— I went back to the old high school house. I hadn’t taken any assets from the divorce, only the title to that one small property. I threw out the bed they had used, and I lived curled up on the sofa every day. Listening to music, playing the guitar, reading. When I thought of Rhys, I would burn a photo. In the beginning, I burned hundreds a day. I forced myself to wait at least an hour between sessions. Later, the frequency of burning photos became less and less. I never paid much mind to the baby growing inside me. I suppose the child knew I didn’t want her. She was very gentle, very quiet. For six months, I had an easy pregnancy. But in the sixth month, I terminated the pregnancy. Because in the sixth month after the divorce, Rhys and Sloane got married. It was an enormous wedding. Even grander than the unfulfilled fantasy of the one Rhys had promised me. That day, I ran out of photos to burn. How could twenty-six-year-old Audrey Rose possibly be dumber than sixteen-year-old Audrey Rose? What sixteen-year-old Audrey Rose had held onto so tightly, Twenty-six-year-old Audrey Rose could finally let go of. Rhys would no longer be a part of Audrey Rose’s world. 9 “Audrey, you’ve changed so much, I barely recognize you. You weren’t this cold before.” Rhys frowned at me. I smirked. “Oh, really? And you used to say you only loved me.” Sloane shot me a fierce glare. “Audrey Rose, don’t be shameless. Are you trying to flirt with my husband right in front of me?” “I have zero interest in your husband.” I glanced at Rhys, my heart devoid of any reaction. I pushed past them. “Get out of my way. I’m going home.” The moment I opened the car door. A man’s coarse yell echoed through the parking garage. “Sis! Don’t you dare leave! Your husband is about to tear this whole place apart looking for you!” Finn, Rhys’s younger brother, gasped as he ran up to me, his face pale. “Holy hell, thank goodness you weren’t lost, Sis. My brother was about to kill me.” I was a bit slow to process. I looked up to see Rhys’s face frozen solid. He opened his mouth and squeezed out a few words: “You got married? When? To who?”

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I was five when I had the fever. A high, blinding one. The doctors said it was the delayed treatment that left me permanently a beat behind. A little slower, a little weaker, never quite catching up to the world around me. Next to me, my sister, Genevieve, two years younger, was a burst of effervescent sunlight—quick, graceful, and adored. Of course, she was the favorite. Even the boy who was supposed to marry me—my childhood crush and eventual fiancé—grew to dislike my clumsy presence and broke the engagement for her. The only constant, the only harbor, was Callum. “Don’t cry, you little fool,” he’d say, pulling me into the crook of his arm. “If they won’t have you, I will.” I clung to Callum. He was the one person who saw past the C-minus grades and the perpetually lost expression. Then, I saw him comforting Genevieve. “You love Rhys,” he was saying, his voice a low, rough velvet. “I’ll step aside, willingly.” Genevieve was weeping, her head buried in his chest. “Since I can’t be with you the way I want,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “I’ll get engaged to your sister. I’ll become family in a different sense. I just need to be near you, Genevieve.” A shard of ice shot through me. “I’ve always loved you,” he finished, his voice breaking. Ah. It turned out that even Callum, my rock, was never truly mine. 1 I stepped back, my feet frozen to the spot. I had come to find Callum, hoping to ask if he had time to accompany me to a doctor’s appointment. I thought I might be pregnant. The doctor, a girl I vaguely remembered from high school, smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Congratulations,” she said. “You’re definitely pregnant.” Then, her face softened with concern. “But you came alone?” I sat in the sterile hospital corridor, tracing the faint shadow of the ultrasound image on the sheet. I gently touched the paper with my thumb. “Will you be as unwelcome as I am?” I whispered to the shadow. “It’s alright. Mama will love you. Don’t be afraid to come into this world.” Callum was waiting when I got home, his expression tight with anxiety. “Where did you run off to? You didn’t answer your phone. Do you have any idea how worried I was?” Seeing me safe, the tension eased from his shoulders. His voice softened as he took the medical sheet from my hand. “What’s this you’re holding?” I wanted to show him. I opened my mouth. “Callum—” Genevieve’s voice cut through the air. “I’m home!” Callum’s gaze lifted, pulled away by her voice as effortlessly as a tether cut free. He discreetly released my hand. “Your sister’s back. Let’s eat.” The table was set with all of Genevieve’s favorite dishes. I had no appetite. A wave of involuntary nausea seized me, and I clapped a hand over my mouth, suppressing a dry heave. Callum, mid-motion of preparing the meal for Genevieve, paused. He frowned at me, his eyes sharp with subtle rebuke. “Aubrey, don’t be dramatic.” “You need to get over this picky eating of yours.” Genevieve was pregnant. But her husband, Rhys, was on an overseas business trip when a local conflict erupted. He was still missing. Worried about her, my parents had moved her into my house. “Aubrey, all you do is your little drawing and painting anyway. It’s not a real job,” my mother had lectured me. “We’re all so busy. You need to take good care of your sister, watch over her, and make sure nothing happens to her.” “Right now, Genevieve comes first. Everything is about Genevieve.” I had heard versions of this speech my whole life. Unlike healthy, bright Genevieve, I was the slow one, the sickly one, the straight C-minus student who always made my parents sigh and worry. I couldn’t tell when other children were teasing me. Once, my mother had plucked a handful of weeds that had been thrown on my head and flung them onto the pavement, her face tight with fury. “Why are you so stupid? Can’t you fight back?” When I was sick and wanted to climb into my father’s embrace, he would push me away, his expression grim. “Aubrey, I have to take your sister to her conservatory competition. Stop making a scene.” Even Genevieve would ask me, when my hospitalization meant they had to cut short her family vacation: “Sister, why are you always such a pain?” My family poured all their energy and dreams into the healthy, talented, and beautiful Genevieve. In the beginning, when Rhys and I were still engaged, he used to visit me. He’d bring little toys or books. I loved Rhys. But as we got older, he stopped coming. He and Genevieve grew closer, their bond glittering and undeniable. If someone suggested including me in their plans, Rhys would wave a dismissive hand. “Don’t bother calling her. She’s boring.” “How can two sisters be so different, from the same parents? Genevieve is a swan, and she’s just… the forgettable understudy.” The first boy I ever loved fell for my sister. I took the small, carefully wrapped gift I’d prepared for Rhys and hid it, retreating from their orbit. I learned to disappear. Only Callum was different. He would find me when I was hiding and crying. He would sit by the lake and light a birthday candle for me when everyone else forgot. He never missed a year after that. When I was twenty, Rhys publicly and cruelly ended our engagement: “Lian Zhixia is too slow and boring! Who would marry her?” Callum had taken my hand, led me away, and said, “I will.” I looked into the mirror, at my own swollen, red eyes. If only Callum hadn’t been lying. 2. My birthday was just two days after the hospital visit. I saw the tickets tucked into Callum’s jacket pocket: two passes to the VIP viewing deck for the biggest Summer Firework Spectacular in the neighboring city. “Callum, I don’t want to go there for my birthday,” I said quietly. His eyes froze for a split second. He smoothly withdrew the tickets, deliberated, and then said, “Aubrey, these aren’t for you.” “Genevieve said she wanted a change of scenery to clear her head. I can’t let her go alone.” Suddenly, I was eighteen again, back in the darkness of a night when the whole family was celebrating Genevieve’s latest trophy, and no one remembered my birthday. Every bone in my body felt a faint ache. I managed to make my voice sound light. “What about me, then? It’s my birthday that night.” Callum pinched the bridge of his nose. “Genevieve is still very fragile right now. If we throw a big party for you, it might upset her.” He looked at me with an earnest plea. “Aubrey, birthdays can be celebrated later. Just this once. We grew up together; we should look out for each other.” “Besides, you don’t like big crowds anyway. I promise I’ll come home as early as I can. Be mature about this.” On my birthday, I saw the photos on Genevieve’s social media feed. The bright, dazzling fireworks framed her silhouette and Callum’s. She was making a wish for her baby’s health and for news of Rhys. Callum’s profile, steady and knight-like, suddenly brought back a flood of forgotten details from my nineteenth birthday. That year, the neighboring city held its first firework show, and we all went. Rhys and Genevieve vanished into the crowd almost immediately. The chaotic human tide nearly caused a stampede. I couldn’t breathe, my heart hammering in my ears. Just as I stumbled, Callum fought his way through the crush and shielded me. When he saw only me, he looked startled. He craned his neck, looking around desperately. “Where’s Genevieve?” When they finally rejoined us, Genevieve’s face was flushed, her hand tightly laced with Rhys’s. She smiled brightly. “Callum, were you looking for me? I just saw your text that you needed to talk.” Callum’s gaze dropped to their interlocked hands, then back to Genevieve’s radiant smile. Rhys scoffed, a flicker of hostility in his eyes. “What, you planning on declaring your feelings to Genevieve tonight too?” Callum’s arm suddenly wrapped around my shoulder, and he laughed, the sound hollow. “I was actually looking for you two to secretly brainstorm what we should do for Aubrey’s birthday.” Genevieve, in the first flush of love, saw my closeness with Callum through a lens of romance. “Wow, Callum, you’re so good to my sister.” She emphasized the word good. Amidst the explosions of light, Callum handed me a small box he’d been clutching. “Happy birthday, Aubrey.” I held the small box carefully, overwhelmed, my ears burning red. I was so dense. It took me all these years to realize the truth. I finally understood why, when he couldn’t find them in the crowd that night, Callum had frantically called Genevieve’s name. I understood the controlled grief and loss in his eyes when he looked at Genevieve and Rhys. And why the gift he gave me that night was a necklace shaped like a cello. I understood the way his eyes had darted away when I’d said excitedly, “Thank you for remembering my birthday.” Callum didn’t come home before the new day arrived. I blew out the candles on my small cake alone. I used to wish that my parents would care more, that Callum would love me forever, and that Rhys and Genevieve would stop hating me. A faint, muffled sob echoed in the dark apartment. Now, I just wanted to leave them all behind. The candles were out. My twenty-eight years of foolish life were over. 3. Rhys was found and brought home, but he had significant memory loss. I didn’t go to the hospital with them. I knew the truth of what happened at Rhys and Genevieve’s engagement party years ago. Someone had spiked Rhys’s drink, and I had been trapped with him in a secluded room. His heavy breathing was hot on my neck. I was screaming, terrified, when finally someone found us. I stumbled out, clutching my torn dress, reeling from the terror. But when I looked up, everyone was staring at me with a look of vile judgment. My father’s hand swung across my face. The slap made my ears ring, and he was breathing heavily, his chest heaving with rage. “Shameful!” he roared. “How dare you destroy your sister’s engagement party like this?” Rhys, the drug’s effect now fading, and Genevieve looked at me with pure disgust. “Sister, your engagement to Rhys was an outdated arrangement by our parents,” Genevieve said, her voice dripping with scorn. “He doesn’t love you. Why are you grasping for something that isn’t yours?” Rhys added, his voice ice cold, “Did you stoop this low because I broke off the engagement? I always thought you were just dull and boring. I underestimated your sheer malice.” “Get out. I never want to see you again.” No matter how I explained, they refused to believe me. I became a transparent ghost in my own home. Slowly, I stopped speaking altogether. The only person who claimed to believe me was Callum. Though even he said, “Aubrey, of course I believe you.” “But apologize to Genevieve. It’s her important day, and you ruined it.” Later, he proposed, saying that marrying him would silence the gossips. Now, Genevieve was sobbing in his arms, venting her frustration over Rhys’s memory loss. Callum’s hand stroked her shoulder, an endless stream of tenderness in his touch. Genevieve, needing a reaction from Rhys, asked Callum to pretend to be her boyfriend and provoke him. The next thing I heard was that Rhys and Callum had gotten into a fistfight. They stood confronting each other like two lions defending their territory. Rhys, predictably, was being cruel. “I suddenly remembered, isn’t your wife my ex-fiancée? You just go around picking up my sloppy seconds, don’t you?” Callum grabbed Rhys’s collar, squeezing so hard Rhys could only gasp for air. “What are you so proud of?” Callum spat out, his face a mask of fury. “If I hadn’t been watching Aubrey’s every move and sent someone to find her, your little plot to drug him would have worked. You would have been completely out of the picture!” The last wire holding my sanity snapped. The only fragile strand of trust I had clung to—that Callum had married me out of true compassion—was just his self-serving lie: “I watched her, so she couldn’t do anything worse.” “I sacrificed my own happiness, and I’ve been putting up with Aubrey for you for years! That’s enough!” They tossed me between them like unwanted trash. Callum took Genevieve away for a vacation. Three days after they left, a whole design team and a contractor arrived at the house. “Mr. Thorne instructed us to complete the remodel before his return.” I saw his long list of requirements: the room layout, the flowers in the courtyard, the furniture brands. Everything was to be changed to fit Genevieve’s preferences. I packed my own belongings and watched as they took down my illustrations, turned my art studio into a music room, and tore out all the flowers in the garden to replant them. I remembered the day we moved in, when Callum had affectionately ruffled my hair. “I used to live here alone, but now it’s ours. We can design it exactly the way you like.” Back then, no matter what I suggested, Callum would smile warmly and say, “Yes, whatever you like is fine.” He never interfered, never questioned. Now I knew. It wasn’t devotion; it was indifference. For the person he truly loved, he was diligent and devoted, fussing over the temperature of the room. 4. I received a text from Callum just before he and Genevieve were due to return. “Aubrey, I need to talk to you about something when I get back.” But that night, I didn’t even have time to grab a coat before I was dragged to the hospital. Genevieve and Callum had been in a car accident on their way home. They had hit a pedestrian. “You’re the same blood type as the injured person. You’ll stay here,” my mother ordered, her eyes wild. “If the blood bank runs low, they’ll use yours.” The cold night air hit my thin top, clinging to my back. It was a cold that pierced to the bone. I spoke with a terrifying new calmness. “I can’t donate.” Callum’s brow furrowed. “Aubrey, this person absolutely cannot die.” My mother’s fingernails dug into my arm. “What is the meaning of this? Are you trying to hurt your sister?” “How can I hurt her? You were so afraid of her being stressed that you already sent her home, didn’t you?” I looked at their accusing faces. “Why don’t you ever listen to me? Am I really that malicious?” My nose began to sting. “None of you even asked why I can’t donate.” No one answered. As I started to walk away, Callum seized my shoulders and pressed me back down onto the bench. My tears were clinging to my lashes. His grip was like iron; I couldn’t move an inch. The amount of blood they took wasn’t huge, but afterward, I was dizzy and nauseous. Callum started to move toward me to embrace me, but I bent over, dry heaving. I didn’t have the strength to push him away, so I simply stumbled to my feet. I walked slowly, carefully, suppressing the urge to vomit. My pale, almost ghostly reflection stared back at me in the glass door. I turned back to them. “I helped the person you love most. I don’t owe you anything now, do I?” The next day, the media ran the story about the traffic accident. They praised “renowned artist Genevieve Thorne” for taking full responsibility, noting that her family had also “volunteered to donate blood as a token of apology.” The injured party was stable. Callum, acting as spokesman, called for safety and established a corresponding charitable foundation. Public opinion soared. Everyone was calling Genevieve the “goddess of the music world,” praising her and her family’s kind hearts and social responsibility. I stared at the screen, a laugh bubbling up and turning into a ragged sob. They hadn’t needed my blood at all. They only needed me as a footnote—a detail to complete my sister’s beautiful narrative. Aubrey Lian, how pathetic are you? Callum was shocked when he got a call from an old high school acquaintance. He was silent for a moment before placing the name. “Callum, I tried calling Aubrey, but she didn’t pick up. How is she doing? Any severe reaction to the blood donation?” Callum was confused by the sudden concern. He replied politely, “Thank you for asking. She’s perfectly fine.” The voice on the other end let out a long sigh of relief. “That’s reckless. She came in alone for the prenatal check-up a while back.” “Then she came in alone for the termination. And right after that, she goes and donates blood? Luckily, everything turned out okay.” A roaring sound filled Callum’s ears. He hung up abruptly, forcing a careless chuckle. “Who was that scammer?” “They got the whole story wrong. They didn’t even know who was pregnant.” I need to tell Aubrey to block that number. He dialed the phone number that had flashed on his screen almost every day for months. “The number you have dialed is currently unavailable. Please try again later.” The line went dead again and again. Callum ignored Genevieve’s questioning stare and bolted out the door.

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Claire Bennett, my roommate, tried to mask the surprise, but a greedy glint flashed in her eyes when she learned my monthly allowance was $4,500. She dug into her pocket, pulling out a crumpled two-dollar bill. She pressed it into my hand. “Sutton, you have way more money than you need every month, and honestly, it’s not fair to the rest of us here at Ellison. It encourages unhealthy competition. So, we’re going to split our monthly allowances. Fifty-fifty.” “I’m not trying to be unfair, of course. My monthly budget is barely two hundred dollars, so I’m giving you back two.” I almost laughed. I thought she was performing some kind of avant-garde satire. But then I looked at her, her face drawn and pale from what I knew was genuine, self-inflicted hunger, and I felt the old, misplaced pity. I reflexively transferred fifty dollars to her account, enough for a decent week’s worth of food. Her face darkened immediately as she stared at the screen. She shrieked, “What the hell is this? Didn’t you pass basic math? Half of four thousand five hundred is twenty-two hundred and fifty! You still owe me two thousand two hundred! Give it to me!” The sheer audacity was so familiar it broke the dam of my rage. I remembered what came next—the knife. The blood. I wanted to transfer rooms and never look at her again, but before I could, the memory of that cruel, righteous fury on her face returned, and with it, the cold steel. She had felt so justified, believing I was hoarding wealth that was rightfully hers. “Bitch! You have so much money and you won’t give it to me? Are you saving it for your coffin? I said split it! Are you trying to starve me? Die, you whore!” It was a visceral memory. A cold, sharp blade sinking into my sternum. I jolted, my breath catching on a ghost of a scream. I was back. I was back to the day she first found out about the money. 1 “Fifty dollars? You think you can buy me off with a pity handout? Give me the rest of the money, or I’ll make you regret it!” The familiar venomous words were proof. I had been reborn. The phantom pain of the scissors slicing through my heart made me shiver, an uncontrollable, shaking coldness that started deep in my chest. Last time, Claire knew I was wealthy, and combined with her pitiful allowance, she decided to demand a 50/50 split. I’d refused her, offered her the small cash gift out of pity, and tried to frame it as an early birthday present so she wouldn’t lose face, telling her to ask her own parents for money. But she hadn’t lost face; she’d gone into a homicidal rage, grabbing the nearest sharp object. Claire pushed my shoulder roughly. “Are you deaf?!” she yelled. I pushed her hand away, a cold smile settling on my face. I snatched her phone and immediately initiated a refund on the fifty-dollar transfer. My voice was low, cutting through the silence. “Since you look down on it so much, give me back my money.” Claire gaped, then her face twisted with a hateful fury. “You absolute tramp! You’re so rich, and you’re trying to steal my fifty dollars? Are you so broke you need to beg? Give me back my money!” I leaned in, my voice laced with venom. “Give you back your money? That fifty was mine to begin with. And you really thought you could trade two dollars for twenty-two hundred and fifty? Go back to sleep, Claire. Everything is possible in your dreams.” Her face went slack, then darkened further. She glared at me, her eyes tiny with hate. “Why are you acting so superior? I’m telling you this for your own good! What does a woman like you need that much money for? Are you going to blow it on escorts? Don’t come crying to me when you end up with some bastard child because I didn’t warn you!” She took a step toward me, puffing out her chest. “Besides, if you just gave the money to me, I’d be saving it for you anyway! It’s not like I’d waste it!” I was stunned. I knew she was shameless, but her delusions had only grown since the last time. “Do you not have parents, Claire?” I shot back, the words hitting like stones. “Do you have to beg other people for money? Are you a common beggar?” That did it. Claire exploded, lunging forward and slapping me across the face. My cheek stung, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the fury burning away the ghost of a wound. “All my parents’ money is set aside for my brother!” she screamed, her voice cracking with self-pity and entitlement. “How could a degenerate with no brothers like you ever understand real family priority?” “I’m trying to help you! Your parents are destroying you by giving you so much money! They want you to fail so they can just have a boy later! And why should I have to go beg them for money when you have enough to feed an army? I told you I’m doing this for your own good! Why are you so selfish and evil?” Her eyes were manic. “I was willing to give you back half of my two hundred dollars! Why won’t you give me half of yours? You filthy, selfish tramp! Give me the money!” “A woman doesn’t need this kind of cash! You’re probably just giving it to some scumbag hookup! You’d rather give it to some lowlife than help me, and I’m not even asking for a handout!” Tramp. Whore. Scum. The familiar words. The memory of the knife. I couldn’t stand it. This time, I didn’t hold back. I aimed a vicious kick into her gut and we were locked in a wild, furious brawl. 2 My other two roommates, Maya Finn and Michele Miller, walked in right then. They stared for a shocked second, then rushed over, pulling us apart. “What is going on?” Maya pleaded, grabbing my arm. “Just talk it out! Stop fighting!” Claire hadn’t won. Her face was a mask of sheer hatred. She wrenched free, stumbled to the door, yanked it open, and screamed at the top of her lungs, “Sutton Hayes would rather waste her money supporting men and buying herself lavish junk than helping a student in need! She probably gives all her money to some deadbeat she’s knocked up with a bastard child!” “And she just stole fifty dollars from me!” With a dramatic wail, she collapsed to her knees, clutching her head and sobbing. “I only get two hundred dollars a month! How long do you think it took me to save up that fifty dollars? How can you bully a low-income student like this?” The noise brought a crowd of curious students. The immediate reaction of the onlookers was fury. They rushed to lift Claire up, glaring at me. “Rich girl thinks she can just bully the poor kid?” one girl spat. “Who gets money like that anyway? She probably got it from some shady source! She must be supporting a side hustle or something!” “We should report this! What kind of scum are we letting into this school?” “Don’t worry, we’ll get justice for you! Give her back the money, or we’ll report you to the faculty!” I was too furious to speak. Instead, I calmly explained the situation and showed them the initial transfer and immediate refund of the fifty dollars on my phone. The crowd went silent. The loudest accusers suddenly took a step back from Claire. “Wait, really? Is that what happened? She wanted an almost two-thousand-dollar split for two dollars? That’s not bullying, that’s just… robbery.” But Claire was utterly convinced of her righteousness. She stood up straight and declared, “What did I say that was wrong? What does one person need all that money for? And yes, she gave me the fifty, so it was mine! She’s the thief for taking it back! And she still owes me the two thousand two hundred dollars! She has to give it to me!” She then turned to Maya and Michele. “Besides, I was going to split mine with her! She’s the one who refused!” Everyone stared. Michele voiced the collective thought. “Are you kidding? You wanted to trade one hundred dollars for twenty-two hundred and fifty? Are you brain-damaged?” Claire bristled. “You’re all obsessed with money! Money, money, money! So what if it was one hundred dollars? It’s the principle of the split! Are you looking down on my two hundred dollars?” She rolled her eyes in genuine exasperation. “Honestly, I can’t explain this to you simpletons. Just remember to pay up.” Then she looked directly at Maya and Michele. “And that goes for you two as well.” Maya and Michele exchanged a look of pure dread. Claire immediately sent a group message with her Venmo account. “Your allowance is two thousand a month. So you two need to send me one thousand dollars each, right now.” “And I’ll send you both a hundred dollars back, so you don’t go spreading rumors about me. I’m not ripping you off, unlike you selfish jerks.” Maya and Michele looked at her like she was a creature from another planet. Michele finally spoke, a slow, incredulous realization in her voice. “Why would we give you our money? You want to trade a hundred for a thousand? Did you forget to take your medication?” Maya added, hitting the core problem. “And if it’s a ‘dorm split,’ why aren’t we all splitting everything evenly? If you’re getting a thousand dollars from each of us, your allowance is way higher than ours!” Her face flushed crimson. “Shut up! I’m a low-income student! You guys should be doing this as a charitable donation! Can’t you see I’m starving? Why are you so damn calculating? Where’s your compassion?” The crowd finally turned completely against her. “That is beyond shameless,” a voice shouted from the doorway. “If you’re starving, talk to your parents! Why does everyone else’s money concern you? Stop being so possessive over other people’s wallets!” “She seriously had the nerve to try and flip the narrative. I thought she was a victim, but she’s just delusional! Asking for charity after trying to rob them is insane. I’d be embarrassed to help a lunatic like that.” Claire’s face was beet red. She bit her lip until it was white, tears welling in her eyes. She stamped her foot and yelled, “You all look down on poor people! You’re evil!” She then bolted out the door, leaving everyone staring at the empty hallway. The incident was laughed about for the rest of the day, but I knew the laugh wouldn’t last. Claire Bennett had far more chaos left in her. 3 The next day, Maya, Michele, and I returned to our dorm after classes to find it completely ransacked, as if a hurricane had gone through it. All my designer clothing and expensive cosmetics were gone. Worse, the emergency bank card my father had given me—the one with $10,000 on it—was missing. Maya and Michele had their valuables stolen too, and to make it even more spiteful, their beds had been slashed and covered in filthy water. Our first thought was to call the police. But just then, Claire strutted in, adorned in brand-new, gaudy jewelry and clothing. She put on a show of mock surprise. “Oh my goodness! What happened to you guys? Did you get robbed? No way! Couldn’t be!” “I told you! I told you it was for your own good to give me the money! Now look what happened! You brought this on yourselves! You were too greedy, and now you have nothing! Even your beds are unusable now! Maybe next time you’ll learn to be a little friendlier!” Her taunts were too obvious. Maya couldn’t take it and yelled, “Did you do this, you thief?” Claire pouted. “You losers only know how to attack the disadvantaged, don’t you? I’ll sue you for slander!” “Then where did you get all this new stuff?” Maya demanded, gesturing to Claire’s expensive-looking handbag. I cut Maya off. I had a different idea. I raised an eyebrow at Claire and said, “We already called the police.” Claire hadn’t expected that. Her triumphant sneer froze and began to twist into panic. “You called the cops for what?! You heartless, motherless wretches! You should have called Manager Wallace first!” She realized she’d let something slip. She quickly tried to cover. “Calling the police is damaging the school’s reputation! You’ll all be expelled! Just wait!” Right in front of us, she called Manager Wallace, our faculty advisor, twisting the story into a malicious complaint. Even through the phone, we could hear the Manager’s enraged, bellowing voice. Claire hung up, looking smug, clearly believing we were finished. Manager Wallace burst into the room moments later, his face white with rage, mixed with a hint of panicked fear. He grabbed my arm and shook it, shouting into my face: “Why the hell did you call the police? When something happens on campus, you come to me! You completely bypassed the administration! Do you have any idea what this means?” “Cancel the police call immediately! Tell them it’s a mistake, a misunderstanding! Or you’ll be expelled, do you hear me?” His voice was so loud it drew more students to the doorway. He calmed himself slightly. “You three were bullying your classmate yesterday, and I was going to deal with that, and now you’ve caused this scandal? I’m calling all your parents in! Especially yours, Sutton!” He locked eyes with me, his voice a lethal whisper. “I want to see what kind of terrible parents raise such a rotten person!” Maya gasped, realizing the threat. “But Manager, our things were stolen, and our beds were destroyed! Can’t you see?” The Manager puffed out his chest, using his authority like a shield. “I see. So what? That doesn’t justify calling the police!” I let my gaze drift between Claire, with her cheap new pearls, and Manager Wallace, whose anger was too loud to be genuine. Then I smiled a cold, devastating smile. “Manager Wallace, I just didn’t slip you a big enough bribe, did I? Is that why you’re teaming up with Claire to screw me over?” His face went from pale to scarlet. He instinctively hauled back and slapped me again, a loud crack echoing in the room. “Shut up! What the hell are you talking about?” The students watching gasped. “The teacher hit her! No way! Is what she said true?” The Manager instantly regretted his action. He looked around wildly, his hand still stinging. I pressed my advantage. “Claire is the thief. She stole our things. And you, Manager, you’re an accessory. Enjoy prison, both of you.” Claire’s eyes were filled with pure malice, but she managed a triumphant smirk. “What evidence do you have? There are no cameras in the dorms! No witnesses! No physical proof! You can’t even produce the stolen items! You say I stole it? Prove it! If you can’t, I’m suing you for slander!” The watching students began to mutter amongst themselves. The general consensus was that even with yesterday’s drama, you couldn’t accuse someone without proof. Wallace, sensing the shift, let out a shaky breath. “You think I’m afraid of the police?” he sneered. I returned his cold look with a smirk of my own. You should be. Just then, the police arrived. And I, in front of the stunned onlookers, finally presented the evidence I’d prepared.

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For thirteen years, I’ve been the Head Chef at the most exclusive private high school in the city, feeding the kids of the ultra-rich. They call it the cafeteria, but my food is the real draw. I’ve spoiled every single one of those privileged palates. We weren’t wealthy, but my husband, Scott, was honest and hardworking, and our daughter, Tess, was bright and beautiful. I always felt like my life was perfectly—simply—happy. That was until my ten-year-old, Tess, got into a minor spat with a few mean girls at her elementary school and was shoved off a fourth-floor roof. My honest, gentle husband went to the school seeking justice and was thrown out of a black SUV at the school gates, his legs broken, like trash. That afternoon, I was sitting by my serving window, wiping away quiet tears, when a hand lightly touched my shoulder. “Aunt Brenda, what’s good for lunch today?” I hastily rubbed my face. I looked up to see a group of the usually loud and joking students standing there, their expressions unexpectedly serious. “Aunt Brenda, who hurt you? Why are you crying?” 1 The morning started with soft, fat snowflakes drifting past the window. I pulled out the fresh ingredients I’d prepped the night before, chopping them fine, mixing them into the seasoned meat, and kneading the mixture until it was firm. I added the flavorings and a drizzle of hot oil, and the aroma instantly blossomed. I glanced over at the giant stockpot — the cream stew had been cooking, turning a milky white, bubbling softly. I pulled out the cooked chicken breast and sliced it thin, then started making a huge stockpot of hummus. Only then did I begin making the sandwiches. The lunch bell was a chaotic explosion, and moments later, the students flooded in. Jax Peterson, the most notorious troublemaker, was the first one to the window. “Aunt Brenda! I’m starving. What’s the special?” I smiled back. “It’s the first real snow, honey. I made four kinds of sandwiches. If you don’t want sandwiches, there’s lamb broth, and if you want hummus, I have that beautiful cream stew!” Right behind him, Caleb Harrison, who’d grown up with Jax, strolled in slowly. “All this variety, Aunt Brenda? Aren’t you working yourself too hard?” He leaned closer. “By the way, my father said your raise for next year is basically confirmed. And the European study tour the school organizes over the summer? You can bring Tess. The school will cover all the expenses. Come hang out with us.” Caleb was the Chairman of the Board’s son. He looked distant, but when he spoke, the matter was settled. I beamed, my face splitting into a wide grin, and served him a huge bowl of the lcream stew, the meat piled high like a little mountain. Jax, standing next to him, immediately protested. “Aunt Brenda, you’re playing favorites! Why does his bowl have more meat than mine?” “You’ll both get plenty! There’s plenty in the pot. Come back for seconds if you need to!” I gestured to the bounty behind me. “It’s all yours!” Jax almost jumped for joy. “Woo! Aunt Brenda, I love you!” 2 I grew up poor, the eldest of three, cooking for the whole family on a stool by the stove by the time I was seven. When I finished middle school, my father, puffing on his cheap, hand-rolled cigarette, told me they couldn’t afford high school. The next day, I shredded my acceptance letter, packed a flimsy duffel bag, and caught the northbound train. I was fifteen. I started on an electronics assembly line, then lucked into a big restaurant as a line cook’s assistant. The head chef, seeing I was diligent and just a kid, took pity on me and taught me the real craft. I used my savings for night school and got my certification. When I was twenty-one, I landed the job here at this elite school. Thirteen years. It went by in a blur. After I finished the kitchen clean-up at three o’clock, I went to pick up Tess from her elementary school nearby. She’s ten years old, in fourth grade. When she saw me, she presented a certificate like a trophy. “Mom! I won first place in the city-wide writing contest! My teacher said I get to go to the national competition next month!” My hands shook. I pulled her into a tight hug. “Oh, Tess! My brilliant girl!” “Tell me what you want for dinner. Tonight, your dad is cooking!” Tess’s ponytail bounced as she skipped along, holding my hand. That’s when I felt the icy prickle on my back—like someone was watching us. I turned around. Two girls about Tess’s age were standing by the school entrance, glaring at us with a cold, malevolent gaze. “Who are they, sweetie?” I asked Tess. Tess followed my eyes, and her face immediately fell. “We used to be best friends.” “She wanted me to pass her a note during the last test, and I said no. Now she’s not speaking to me.” She looked up, worried. “Mom, did I do the wrong thing?” I shook my head, squatting down to smooth her wind-blown hair. “No, Tess. You did exactly the right thing. That kind of friend is no loss.” That evening, Scott came home at six. He was carrying a fancy box from an upscale bakery. It was to celebrate Tess’s award. “And, you know… to celebrate our twelfth anniversary.” I flushed a little. “We’re old news, Scott. You don’t need to do all that sentimental stuff…” His own face turned red. He scratched his head. “The lady at the bakery said anniversaries need ‘rituals.’ You relax, I’m cooking tonight.” Scott was a quiet man, not one for flowery words. He just worked hard. Soon, a table full of our favorite food appeared. We lit the candles. Tess closed her eyes, making a wish. “I hope our family of three stays together forever, and Mom and Dad are healthy, and we get richer!” 3 Since the school was far from home, I usually stayed in the staff dorms during the week and only came home on weekends. When I went back to school on Monday, Scott handed me a large bag of his new pastries. “A few of your students helped me out a while ago. There was some trouble at the shop, and they stepped in, then bought a ton of stuff. Give these to them as a thank you.” After the lunch rush, I gave the pastries to a few of the girls I knew best. Jax, with his hawk-like eyes, saw the treats and started to wail. “Aunt Brenda! Playing favorites again! Why do the girls get all the goodies and I don’t?” One of the girls rolled her eyes. “Got a problem with that?” “No, no problem,” Jax said, grinning as he sidled closer. “I just wanted to ask Aunt Brenda for the bakery’s number. I need to buy some for my little sister.” “Cut it out. If you want one, just ask. You always use your sister as an excuse.” Listening to the kids’ noisy banter made my heart warm. 4 When I first started here, I was a stranger to all the students. It wasn’t until my third year that a particular girl caught my attention. Every day, she would linger at the serving window, eventually taking only the cheapest vegetable dish. I knew the drill: this school wasn’t just for the trust fund babies; they had a few merit scholars from tough backgrounds. So, every time I served her, I’d secretly bury a few pieces of short rib or baked salmon under the mountain of pasta. It was my quiet ritual. A few days later, the girl brought the tray back and, without a word, pushed it toward me. “I don’t like salmon, and I didn’t order this. Why did you decide to do this?” Her face was cold. That’s when I saw the shiny, expensive bracelet on her wrist. I realized I’d misjudged, and my face went hot. “I’m so sorry… I’ll get you a fresh plate right away.” My intention was simple: I’d suffered because of a lack of education and money. I wanted these kids to eat well and feel strong. You need fuel to study. I gave her a new plate of food. She was about to leave when she saw me serve the next student—a skinny boy—and saw my hand instinctively give his plate an extra box of milk. She paused. A moment later, she walked back to me. “I apologize. My attitude was wrong just now.” I stared at her, confused. “I thought… I thought you recognized me as the Chairman’s daughter and were trying to suck up to me.” Her name was Skylar Harrison, Caleb’s older sister. She told me she usually ate at home and had only come to the cafeteria that day because she’d fought with her family. From then on, we became friends. Whenever I introduced a new dish, I’d always ask Skylar to try it. “Aunt Brenda, these chicken wings are amazing. What’s the secret?” “I tried marinating them in a little plain yogurt.” “That’s a French technique, Aunt Brenda. You know French cuisine?” Her eyes went wide. I laughed, a little embarrassed. “French or not, I just experiment. I love looking at cookbooks.” “Seriously,” she said. “Your talent is wasted in a cafeteria. If you opened a private supper club, you’d be famous.” I had considered it. But… “I don’t know,” I said, thinking it over. “Being here, with all these young people, it just feels… secure.” Watching these bright, lively kids, it felt like I’d finally finished the high school I never got to attend. Thirteen years. I’d just finished the lunch rush that day when Tess’s homeroom teacher called. “Mrs. Miller, you need to come to the school. Tess is in trouble.” My stomach dropped. “What happened?” “A fight with a classmate. It’s gotten complicated. We need to have a meeting with the parents.” Jax, who hadn’t left yet, asked, “Aunt Brenda, what’s wrong? You look sick.” I was already ripping off my apron and heading for the door. “Nothing. I just have to run down to the elementary school.” “If you need anything, Aunt Brenda, just say the word!” 5 I threw open the office door and immediately saw Tess. Her ponytail was pulled out, and there were two bleeding scratch marks on her cheek. Standing opposite her was Madison Sinclair, the girl who had been glaring at us from the school entrance last week. Madison’s mother, Veronica Sinclair, was next to her, dressed in an expensive designer coat. She was holding Madison’s arm and yelling at Tess. “Such a vicious little brat! Look what she did to my daughter!” Her sharp, manicured nail was dangerously close to Tess’s eye. Rage flashed through me. I bolted forward, shielding Tess with my body. “Get away from my child!” I knelt down, quickly checking Tess over, and only when I confirmed there were no other injuries did I let out a breath. Veronica Sinclair looked me up and down, sizing up my work clothes, which I hadn’t had time to change out of. She let out a sneering laugh. “Who do you think you are, talking to me like that? Do you even know who I am?” I took a deep breath. “I don’t care who you are. Let’s talk facts, not bullying a child with your supposed power!” The homeroom teacher, Ms. Adams, finally intervened. “Alright, alright, let’s all calm down.” It turned out that Madison had been spreading a rumor that Tess’s award-winning essay was copied from her. Tess demanded an apology; Madison refused, and they got into a shoving match. Ms. Adams tried to smooth things over. “While Madison was certainly out of line, Tess did strike first. How about you both apologize, and we can move on?” I immediately bristled. “Ms. Adams, you can’t look at it that way. If no one had spread lies, would my daughter have hit anyone?” “I didn’t lie! She’s a copycat!” Madison shrieked. “I wrote that story in my journal ages ago! She stole it when she read my journal!” “You’re lying!” Tess shook with anger. “I told you the idea first! You wrote it down later!” Ms. Adams threw up her hands. “See? It’s a ‘he said, she said’ situation. Madison has her journal as evidence. Tess has nothing. Strictly speaking, your daughter is the one in the wrong.” Veronica Sinclair swelled with righteousness. “Exactly! What kind of values can a low-class family like this teach? This school shouldn’t even let poor students in. They ruin the environment!” I scoffed. “I wouldn’t be talking about good character. Judging by her mother, the rotten apple didn’t fall far from the tree.” “You!” Powder flaked off her enraged face. I didn’t back down. I looked her straight in the eye. “My daughter will not apologize. She was defending her honor.” “She is not a copycat.” Just then, the office door opened, and a breathless voice called out. “I agree! I believe Tess Miller would never plagiarize!” 6 It was Tess’s English teacher, Mr. Grant. “I just rushed back from the district conference,” Mr. Grant said, catching his breath. “Tess has always been in the top three for writing. Her work is inspired. A student like her would never stoop to copying someone else’s mundane journal entry.” “That’s what you think,” Veronica sneered, dripping with sarcasm. “Who knows what the family taught her? The apple never falls far from the tree, after all.” I shot back, “Are you introducing yourself?” Even with Mr. Grant’s support, school rules were clear: Tess had struck first and refused to apologize. She was suspended for three days. I didn’t argue. I just took Tess’s hand and walked out the school doors. I took her to the walk-in clinic to get her scratches cleaned, then to a fast-food restaurant and ordered a mountain of food. Tess chewed on a chicken nugget, her eyes welling up. “Mom, I really didn’t copy anything.” “I know you didn’t,” I said, stroking her hair. “You were good friends, you shared ideas. She took advantage of that.” “I trust you.” I gave her a firm look. “If someone throws mud at you, you throw it right back. You did the right thing.” “We’re not going to school for three days. I’m taking you on an adventure.” I called in sick to the school and spent the next three days with Tess. We browsed every bookstore in the city, buying all the books she wanted. We called Scott, and the three of us went to the amusement park and rode all the rides we usually felt too guilty to spend money on. On the day she went back to school, I dropped her off at the gate. “Tess, as long as you know you’re right, stick with it. I will always be your rock.” A week later, the national writing competition was held. Mr. Grant was escorting the team. Before they left, I video-chatted with Tess. “Don’t be nervous. Just do your best. I’ll make you a feast when you get back!” That afternoon, I was at the market picking out a fish when my phone rang. It was an unknown number. “Hello? Is this Brenda Miller? Your daughter is hurt.” “She turned in her test early, climbed to the fourth-floor terrace, and jumped off!” 7 I couldn’t hear anything else the person on the other end was saying. My mind was a chaotic hive of buzzing bees, and a sharp pain erupted behind my temples. I dropped the slippery fish in my hands and ran like a lunatic. The market floor was slick. I fell several times, scraping my knees, but I didn’t feel the blood seeping through my jeans. When I finally reached the hospital, the light above the operating room was a blinding, angry red. Scott was crouched in the corner. A six-foot-tall man, he was huddled in a small ball, hands clutching his head, making a wounded, animalistic sound. When he saw me, he looked up abruptly, his usually smiling eyes webbed with blood vessels. “Honey… our Tess…” His voice was a raw croak. Before he could finish the sentence, tears streamed down his face. My legs gave out. I collapsed onto the floor. “What happened? She was fine this morning! Why would she jump?” Two police officers in uniform walked over. One of them handed me a printed sheet of paper, his voice flat and official. “This was found on the roof terrace. We’ve interviewed the students at the scene. It’s an apparent suicide.” “Suicide?” I snatched the paper. It held a single, cold, printed line: [I did not copy. But I am so tired. Since none of you believe me, I will die to prove it.] “Bullshit!” I crumpled the paper and threw it to the ground. “My daughter has the most beautiful handwriting! She hates typing on a computer! And she told me this morning she wanted my short ribs for dinner! She would never kill herself!” “Ma’am, please calm down…” “Calm down? Are you kidding me?” I screamed hysterically. “What about Madison Sinclair? Who else was on that roof besides my daughter?” The officers exchanged a look of weary helplessness. “The surveillance cameras were non-functional. At the time, your daughter was the only person on the terrace. As for Madison Sinclair, she was confirmed to be in the testing room and has an alibi.” The cameras were non-functional. Again. How could the world be so convenient for the guilty? The operating room door opened. The surgeon took off his mask and shook his head. “We saved her life, but she has severe brain trauma and a fractured spine. Whether she wakes up, we’ll have to wait and see.” In that moment, the sky collapsed. 8 Tess lay in the Intensive Care Unit for three days. I was a puppet with its strings cut, moving mechanically—paying bills, signing forms, staring blankly through the glass window. Scott disappeared. He said he was going for a cigarette and never returned. It wasn’t until noon on the third day that the school security captain called me. “Brenda, you need to get back here! Your husband… he’s been badly beaten! He’s at the school gate!” A deafening roar filled my head. I stumbled back to the school, arriving just as the lunch period ended. A crowd had gathered at the gate. I pushed my way through and saw Scott lying on the asphalt. His two legs were twisted at a gruesome, unnatural angle. His face was covered in blood. He was unconscious. Next to him was a large, black luxury sedan. The window rolled down halfway, revealing a meticulously made-up face. It was Veronica Sinclair, Madison’s mother—the woman from the school office. She held a long, thin cigarette, her eyes coldly contemptuous as they swept over Scott and then landed on me. “Well, look who it is. The cafeteria lady.” She blew out a puff of smoke. “Keep your husband on a shorter leash. He showed up at my husband’s office, threatening him with a wrench. The nerve.” “This was just a lesson—a broken leg. If it happens again…” She gave a cold laugh and rolled up the window. “Drive.” The wheels crushed the gravel, and the car sped away. The students around us were pointing and whispering, but I couldn’t hear a word. I collapsed over Scott, wanting to hold him, but terrified to touch his legs. “Scott! Scott, wake up!” The security captain sighed, helping me call 911. “Brenda, you can’t mess with these people. Her husband is Richard Sinclair, a big real estate developer. They’re connected to the city council, right to the top.” I looked at my husband, barely alive in my arms, and then thought of my daughter in the ICU. A feeling of hatred unlike anything I had ever known slithered into my heart like a viper. Can’t mess with them? The one with nothing has nothing to lose. They destroyed my home. I will make sure they suffer for it.

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New Year’s Eve. I’d just crossed two thousand miles, flying in from my remote deployment, only to hear a girl at the arrivals gate call out my fiancé’s name into her phone. “Jamie, I’m off the plane! Where are you?” The voice, syrupy-sweet with that particular tone of new-love entitlement, came from right behind me. I froze, turning instinctively. “I know, I know, your base keeps you busy… but I’m here now. You can’t leave me alone for the holiday, can you?” Her coaxing tone was unsettlingly familiar. Three years ago, I’d said the exact same words to James Davies. Back then, he’d just been transferred to the Naval Base in San Diego, and I was still at medical school in Seattle, making every visit a cross-country haul. I shook my head, silently chiding myself for the sudden paranoia. It’s a huge world. There are thousands of men named James. But then, her voice sharpened, the words ringing clear: “Commander Davies, if you don’t come get me, I swear I’m going to hang a banner right outside your unit gates!” James Davies. My fiancé. The same rank. The same command. … On impulse, a sudden, cold dread overriding my reason, I pulled out my phone and sent James a text. [James, can you get leave tonight? I’m in the city.] No reply. The girl linked arms with a friend and drifted toward the checkout aisle of a small airport convenience store. She flashed her phone. “See? Five minutes, and he’s already checking my location.” Joking, she reached for the condoms, grabbing a handful of Trojans. Her friend gave her a suggestive look. “Seriously, Sutton? Going that wild?” “Sutton, you and James are seriously obsessed with each other. Were those complaints just a humblebrag for my benefit?” Sutton giggled, a brazen, youthful sound. “I’m not leaving anything for the other little vultures, am I?” Other customers glanced over, some stifling smiles. Sutton didn’t care, swaying her hips as she and her friend walked out. I paid for my water and followed them. It was the dead of a cold December, and Sutton was wearing a backless dress under a thin coat, her bare legs jarring against the icy wind. She looked barely twenty, all sunshine and carefree abandon. The exact opposite of me, a Naval Medical Officer, usually dressed in serviceable fabrics and always, always bare-faced. When they reached the curb, Sutton’s friend hailed a ride. Sutton continued walking, humming a tune as she went. Every corner, our paths aligned. When I finally recognized the melody, my steps slowed involuntarily. It was the song James had sung at a base talent show years ago—the one he’d claimed he only ever sang for me. Sutton pulled out her phone and dialed. “Jamie, I’m almost there. Wait for me outside?” Whatever he said in response, she pouted playfully. “I’m layered up, I’m not cold at all. If you don’t believe me, come check for yourself.” “You can even put your hands inside my coat, under my top, and on my…” I looked down at my phone. Still no reply. A cold draft slipped into my sleeves, and I shivered. My fingertip hovered over the screen, then I pressed the call button. A mechanical female voice coolly replied: “The number you have dialed is currently unavailable.” I understood. When he was on assignment or in intensive training, his phone was held by the command. That had to be it. “James!” Sutton suddenly broke into a little run and flung herself into a man’s arms. I tilted my umbrella up, looking forward. One glance, and I was pinned to the sidewalk. The man, in civilian clothes, hugged Sutton tight, then playfully ruffled her hair. “You, you menace.” He had the face that was etched into my very bones. At seven, we grew up together on the base housing complex. He pressed a miniature military challenge coin into my hand. “Maeve, every medal and coin I ever earn will belong to you.” At fifteen, he awkwardly told me to throw away love letters from other boys. “They’re not as good as me.” At nineteen, the night before he deployed, he stood outside my window until dawn, insisting he had to see me. At twenty-three, he was selected for Special Warfare, disappearing for three months of radio silence on a critical mission. The first thing he did when he got back, twenty pounds lighter, was find me at the hospital. Last month, he handed me his savings account card, accumulated over five years of active duty pay. “Maeve, once this promotion goes through, we’ll submit the marriage packet.” Twenty-one years. Childhood sweethearts. We were two steadfast pillars, growing side-by-side. Our love was my Anchor—my source of stability and truth. But in this one second. Everything turned to ash. The rain pounded a frantic rhythm on my umbrella. It wasn’t until they turned, embraced, and walked toward the side entrance of the base housing that I managed to pull myself from my stunned paralysis. My phone buzzed. It was James. [In a training cycle. Just got my phone back. What’s up?] The sudden downpour had drenched my shoes. The damp cold crept up from my feet. My legs felt like they were encased in concrete, and I couldn’t move. I adjusted the green field jacket I was wearing—the one he’d given me, the exact shade of his fatigues. My hand shaking, I dialed his number again. It connected, then was immediately rejected. James sent a new text: [My CO is right here, can’t talk. Text it out.] I bit down on my lip, typing word by word. [Training cycle, or spending time with another woman?] As I was about to hit send, a screeching halt sounded behind me. “Watch out!” I couldn’t react in time. A rogue delivery bike clipped me, sending me sprawling. The world spun as I landed hard on the slick, wet pavement. The sharp, cold dampness soaked through my clothes. The pain, sluggish and delayed, crawled from my knee up to my heart. The young Marine who’d crashed scrambled to help me up. “Ma’am, are you okay?” Seeing his uniform, his face pale with panic, I waved him off. “I’m fine. Just go.” My phone screen was shattered, and my unsent accusation was lost to the void. I found a cheap motel nearby and took a scalding shower. I bought a new phone, slipped my SIM card in. James’s latest message popped up: [Night drills tonight, no video call. Talk tomorrow. Be good.] I blinked, my eyes dry and gritty, sitting numbly on the edge of the bed. I simply could not understand. Why? Why would James cheat? And the girl—did she know she was a homewrecker? I opened my social media. Though I didn’t know the spelling of her name, I found her quickly in James’s ‘Following’ list on Instagram. Her profile picture was taken inside James’s barracks room. The perfectly folded blanket in the background was the “hospital corner” fold I’d spent hours teaching him. He’d hugged me then, saying, “Maeve’s folding is the gold standard. I have to keep it like this forever.” Sutton was a travel influencer with a decent following. I scrolled down. The earliest post linked to James was from June. Sutton clinging to a man’s arm, the background the hiking trail near the base. Caption: [First date with my military man! So happy!] That trail. It was the place we walked every time I visited. The place he’d promised: “Maeve, this trail is for us. Every step here will be a memory of you.” In July, Sutton was at the beach with James. It was my birthday that day. James had told me he was out on maneuvers. His actual dynamic was with Sutton, experiencing her “first time scuba diving.” I felt a chill deep in my bones. James’s face wasn’t fully visible in any of her pictures, but I recognized the jagged scar on his forearm—the one he’d gotten shielding me from broken glass when we were teenagers. I opened a private chat and sent Sutton a message. [Hi. Do you know James has a fiancée? Did he lie to you and say he was single?] Less than half an hour later, Sutton posted a new story. The picture was of a cocktail dress, impossibly short. [My battle armor for tonight. Gave someone a sneak peek, and he loved it.] I clenched my jaw, shaking with cold. Just last month, when I came to visit the base, James had gently pushed away my hug. He frowned. “Maeve, you smell like hospital disinfectant.” Sutton replied to my DM. [Maeve Sterling, the doctor. I know who you are.] [Love is a competition. Winner takes all.] [And right now, it looks like you lost.] I laughed—a sharp, mirthless sound. The night before James’s enlistment, he’d met me on the old training field behind the complex. In the moonlight, dressed in a brand-new uniform, he gave me a crisp salute. “Dr. Sterling, I promise you, no matter where I go, you are always my home base.” His eyes had been fierce and bright. “Maeve, I’m coming back, and we’re getting married.” For years, many doubted our long-distance military romance, yet we never broke. When he was on dangerous assignments, I couldn’t ask or guess, just clung to the nightly news updates. From Ensign to Lieutenant, then a Commander in Special Warfare. He’d said: “Once you finish your medical fellowship, you can apply to the Naval Hospital right here on my base.” Only a few months left. Happiness was just a few steps away. Yet today, he let a stranger declare me the loser. Sutton sent another DM. It was a secretly recorded video clip. James, in civvies, looking slightly drunk, his eyes glazed over in the dim bar light. Sutton’s voice, flirtatious: “Jamie, what’s your fiancée like?” The bar music was loud, but it didn’t drown out his reply. “Don’t even bring her up. Every day is the same routine.” “She’s boring.” He looked toward the camera, his gaze holding the familiar tenderness that was once only for me: “So, what are we doing that’s fresh tonight?” The camera shook, followed by the sound of an intimate kiss. The phone screen went dark, reflecting my own pale, horrified face. I scrambled to the bathroom and dry-heaved a few times, then booked a one-way train ticket back home. While packing, a searing pain gripped my lower right abdomen. Sweat beaded on my forehead. Suspecting acute appendicitis, I hailed a cab straight to the Naval Medical Center. It was peak flu season, and the ER was overflowing. I crouched outside the consultation room, too pained to stand upright. At three in the morning, I finally got my ultrasound report. The physician asked, “Acute appendicitis. Needs surgery. Where is your family?” James’s call came in right then. I rejected it. He called back persistently. In the quiet examination room, the distinct ringtone was impossible to ignore. I answered, and his voice was frantic, bordering on hysterical. “A friend sprained her ankle. How do I treat it right now? What’s the emergency protocol?” I heard Sutton’s muffled, low sob on his end. The last flicker of warmth inside me died. I said coldly, my voice flat: “Treat it however you want.” “Maeve Sterling! You’re a medical officer! Listen to yourself! How could you say that?!” James’s angry shout assaulted my ears. I curled into a ball, fighting the excruciating pain. I remembered him saying: “All my first aid knowledge came from you. I’ll only ever use it for you.” James continued, “She’s crying in pain. Just tell me what to do.” My eyes burned with unshed tears. I tilted my head back, forcing the hot liquid to retreat. The military surgeon across from me produced the consent form. “Ma’am, if no next-of-kin can make it, you can sign for yourself.” James was silent for a few seconds. “You… you’re at the hospital?” Without waiting for my answer, he stated confidently, “On a night shift, right? Since you’re not sleeping, is it really that hard to answer me? What kind of petty game are you playing?!” The tears finally broke through, streaming down my face. I laughed softly. “You’re right.” “It’s a petty game.” “James. You and I are finished.” James hung up first. His final sound was a scoff. “Fine, don’t talk. It’s not like I need you.” The dead connection and the relentless rain outside blended into an overwhelming cold. I put the phone down and offered the surgeon a tired apology. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have let you hear that.” My voice was hoarse. “My family won’t make it. I’ll sign for myself.” When I woke up, I was lying alone in the recovery room. The incision throbbed faintly. My phone had several new messages—from my Commanding Officer and my parents. After updating my CO on the surgery, I requested two extra days of leave. Facing my parents, however, was harder. My mother’s voice was anxious. “Didn’t you say you’d be home today?” “What happened?” The true collapse of an adult often means maintaining a façade of normalcy even when your heart is dead. I took a deep breath and said lightly, “The Naval Center had an emergency medical seminar. I decided to stay an extra couple of days to attend.” After repeated reassurances, my mother reluctantly hung up. I was finally drifting off to sleep when a knock came, and the door was pushed open. James walked in. He placed a bouquet of flowers by the bedside and reached out to touch my face. “Maeve, last night you just…” His fingers smelled of rubbing alcohol mixed with a familiar, floral cologne. The same scent. I’d smelled it on Sutton yesterday. I turned my head, pulling away. He lowered his hand. “I didn’t know you were here. I couldn’t reach you, so I called your CO. That’s how I found out you were admitted.” He looked at the back of my head, his tone laced with exasperation. “Do you really have to be like this?” He pulled out a small, velvet box and pushed it into my hand. “Happy New Year. Don’t be angry anymore, okay?” My palm was icy cold. Just five minutes before I was wheeled into surgery, Sutton had posted a story. A pile of gifts surrounded her. She unboxed them one by one: a designer handbag, a new phone, a couple’s resort package… Only the miniature, customized military medal, sitting to the side, prompted her to pout. “Ugh, what’s this? I wanted the real thing.” The person filming laughed indulgently. “Fine, if you don’t want it, I’ll give it to a buddy on the base.” I extended my hand off the bed rail, letting the velvet box drop onto the tiled floor. My throat was dry. “James, we’re done.” “Done?” He shook his head in disbelief, a single, sharp laugh escaping him. “I already submitted the marriage packet. And you’re telling me we’re done?” “Maeve, you’re not a child. Don’t be so unreasonable.” As he spoke, the phone in his pocket vibrated constantly. He pulled it out and quickly texted a reply. The room was too quiet. I saw the look on his face—gentle, patient—and knew exactly who he was texting. I repeated: “We’re done. Withdraw the paperwork.” His face darkened completely. “Stop joking. This isn’t funny.” I braced myself and sat up, handing him the flowers from the nightstand. “Take these, too.” They must have been a last-minute buy from the hospital gift shop. Tucked inside were two tulips, which I’m severely allergic to. James stood motionless, a flash of impatience in his eyes. I looked at him, truly looked, for a long moment. How did the face I’d etched onto my heart suddenly look so alien? “Stop this nonsense,” he said, his voice flat. I let out a low sigh. “James, I saw Sutton.” “If I don’t end this, are you expecting me to allow her to be a side piece for the rest of her life?” He froze.

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The email confirming my resignation was barely in my inbox when Sabrina hit the ‘send’ button on her message to the all-hands chat. “Nolan is leaving us,” her text read, tagging every single member of the company. “He’s treating the entire firm to dinner tomorrow night. You all pick the spot.” I froze, phone in hand. The entire firm. Veridian Tech had over a hundred employees, and not a single person had given me a heads-up. The group chat instantly exploded. Hundreds of replies instantly scroll-flashed across the screen. “That new Omakase place, five hundred bucks a head. He won’t be our boss anymore, so why not bleed him dry?” “Seafood feast! Lobster and King Crab! Let’s eat back his project bonus—I heard he cleared a fortune last month!” “He’s already out the door. We have to make this final stab count!” Watching the torrent of messages, my expression didn’t change. I slowly typed in the address for the most exclusive, high-end fine dining spot in the city—The Meridian Penthouse—and hit send. Then I picked up my cell and dialed the travel agent. “I need a ticket to the Maldives. Tomorrow morning. As soon as possible.” 1 By the time I hung up, the group chat was already hysterical over the location I’d dropped. “Holy cow! Nolan is actually going to bankrupt himself!” “He’s been so quiet, but finally, he’s treating us right on his way out? It’s about time.” “Exactly! His commission from those last few mega-deals could cover ten dinners like this!” “@Nolan, what time tomorrow? I’m starting my fast right now!” I ignored the continuous stream of messages, flipped the phone facedown on my desk, and started cleaning out my cubicle. Three years. I’d given this company countless days and nights. I’d bought into the future Sabrina painted for me. “Nolan, you’re the only one who can carry this project…” “Nolan, just a little more effort, darling. It’s for our future…” “Nolan, you are my biggest asset and my greatest hero…” But when I submitted my application for promotion, the only thing I got back was a dismissive, “You need more seasoning.” The next day, the position I bled for was air-dropped to Brock, a golden boy whose spreadsheets looked like abstract art. That was when I knew: my three years of tireless dedication were just a gilded carpet, rolled out to pave the way for the man she actually cared about. And now, they still wanted to set me up. They wanted me to pay out of pocket to feed that venomous couple and a hundred parasitic colleagues who were thrilled to see me fall? Fine. If that’s the game, I wanted every single one of them to remember exactly what that meal tasted like. “Hey, Nolan.” The smarmy voice hit me from behind. I didn’t have to turn around to know it was Brock. “I didn’t know you had it in you, man.” He stood there, arms crossed, sizing me up with a fake, condescending grin. “I thought you’d be in Sabrina’s office right now, begging her to withdraw your resignation. Didn’t know you were such a shark.” “The Meridian Penthouse? She took me there once—it’s a mortgage payment on a plate.” I didn’t dignify his words with a response, focusing instead on packing my things, one by one. Being ignored didn’t seem to bother him. He reached out and placed his hand, not heavily but deliberately, on the folder I was organizing. “Hold up, man. Don’t be so hasty. I actually came here about something important.” He kept the phony smile on his face, pushing his laptop toward me with his other hand. The screen showed a disastrously formatted quarterly summary report. “Sabrina needs the department’s consolidated report first thing tomorrow. Just tweak it for me, will you? It’s easy for you.” I glanced at the corporate catastrophe on the screen. “Brock, a reminder: my resignation is final. What you’re asking for is outside the scope of my responsibilities.” The smile on his face dimmed a fraction. “Come on, Nolan. Don’t be like that. I know you’re upset about leaving, but this report impacts the entire department’s review. If it looks sloppy, Sabrina might think you didn’t complete a proper handover, right?” “The handover was confirmed with a signed checklist.” My voice was flat. I pointed out a few glaring, amateur errors in the presentation. “And these are basic mistakes. They have nothing to do with the handover process.” My bluntness finally shattered his facade. “Nolan! What the hell is that supposed to mean?” His voice rose. “I might not be as experienced as you, but Sabrina trusts me now. She gives me the important work, not you…” He grew more agitated. “You don’t like it? Tough. I’m the Project Manager now, and I’m the one who will be by Sabrina’s side later! You’re just a stepping stone for me, man! I don’t need your evaluation of my competence!” Colleagues around us glanced over. I couldn’t be bothered to watch his performance and kept packing. “Time will prove your competence, Brock. It doesn’t require my opinion.” “You—!” He choked on his next word, finger pointed right at my face. “What are you two arguing about?” 2 Sabrina’s irritated voice cut in. Her brow furrowed, but her gaze instantly softened when it hit the agitated Brock. “Baby, what’s wrong? Who’s upsetting you?” “Sabrina…” Brock instantly found his anchor, his face a mask of wounded fury. “I just asked Nolan to look over the report, and he… he insulted me, said I was incompetent, that my work was garbage… He said I stole his spot… I just want to do a good job. I don’t want to disappoint you…” He sounded utterly distraught, as if I had subjected him to some heinous abuse. “Sabrina, am I really useless? Should I not have taken this position? Am I making things difficult for you?” He was, admittedly, a master of gaslighting and revisionist history. Hearing his plea, Sabrina’s frown deepened. She patted Brock’s back reassuringly. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re doing great. This position belongs to you, and no one has the right to second-guess that.” She then turned to me, her face hardening, her eyes full of cold reproof. “Nolan, what is your problem? Can’t you leave quietly? Brock was asking for guidance. Even if you don’t help, you don’t get to insult him! Look at how upset he is! You will apologize to him immediately!” Her voice cut clearly through the quiet office area. Everyone looked over, their attention fixed on me, waiting for my reaction. I looked at the couple before me: one a talented liar, the other a willing, biased listener. For three years, similar scenes had ended with my silent retreat. Not today. “Sabrina, I’m not the one who needs to apologize.” My tone was final, my eyes level with hers. Sabrina seemed taken aback by my defiance. She stared at me for a long moment, then lowered her voice. “Nolan, come into my office.” She closed the door, cutting off the outside view. Leaning against her desk, she tried to soften her tone. “Alright, Nolan. It’s just us. Stop being dramatic.” “The dinner tomorrow—that was just a formality. A way for you to save face. I’d never actually let you pay that much.” “I know you’re hurt that Brock got the position. That’s why you impulsively resigned. Look, I’ll bump your salary by fifteen grand a year. How about that?” “You can stay on as Brock’s deputy. We’ll go back to how things were. I’ll value your loyalty, Nolan, and rely on you.” “With your competence, you can keep the projects stable. That keeps the team steady and the company secure.” She squeezed my wrist, her thumb stroking the back of my hand, adopting a posture of concerned patronage. I looked at her face and felt a wave of nausea. I pulled my hand back sharply, the touch feeling like something unclean. “Sabrina, my resignation was a thoroughly considered decision. I am not playing games.” Her practiced smile faltered. Her tone carried a hint of disbelief. “So, you’re telling me you’d rather drop a hundred thousand dollars on a dinner for the whole firm just to spite me?” She scoffed. “Nolan, who taught you accounting? Why would you want to be such a fool?” My voice was flat. “Sabrina, I’ve run the numbers. Some investments, when they’re guaranteed to fail, you just cut your losses.” “Cut your losses?” A muscle twitched in Sabrina’s cheek. She slowly raised a hand to adjust the collar of her suit jacket. “Fine. Very well.” “Since you’re so wealthy, why don’t you do one last good deed?” She leaned forward, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “The quarterly earnings for your biggest project—The Prescott Account—just give the credit to Brock. You’re leaving anyway, so you won’t get the commission. Why not leave a good impression?” 3 I stopped packing and just looked at her familiar face. The last sliver of hope I had held onto—that she might possess a single ounce of decency—shattered. “I spent eight months locking down The Prescott Account.” “The contract was finalized last week, and the first payment hit the accounts yesterday. By company policy, those quarterly earnings belong to me.” The faint smile on Sabrina’s face vanished. “Policy is policy, but people are people.” “Brock is taking over all your clients. If his first quarter looks terrible, how is he going to command respect? You’re leaving. Leave on a high note. It’ll be better for your reputation in the industry.” “Sabrina.” I cut her off, meeting her eyes. “I personally believe my reputation doesn’t require such a costly sacrifice.” My repeated refusal finally ripped away her mask of benevolence. The anger in her voice was barely contained. “Nolan! Don’t push your luck! I’m trying to give you an out! What are you without Veridian? Who in this industry hires a man who torpedoes his relationship with his old firm?” “What I am, I’ll find out after I leave Veridian. I don’t need your concern, Sabrina.” “As for that dinner…” I allowed a small, cold smile to curl my lips. “The address is sent. You set the time.” Sabrina had clearly never been defied by me like this. Her face flashed from red to white. It took her a moment to grind out the words. “Nolan, you have guts! Fine, we’ll see you tomorrow night! I’m eager to see just how generous you can truly be!” When I walked out of the office building, the evening sun was setting. My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw a new message from Sabrina, again tagging the entire company. “Tomorrow at 6 PM sharp, everyone be there. Bring your families and friends—the more the merrier! Anyone who doesn’t show up is disrespecting Nolan, and disrespecting me! @everyone.” Beneath it was another rapid-fire stream of “Got it,” “Thank you, boss,” and excited emojis. I calmly swiped away the notification. No reply needed. I knew that however high they jumped tonight, they would fall that much harder tomorrow. At six the next morning, I walked through airport security with my suitcase. Sitting at the gate, I saw a self-righteous message pop up from Sabrina. “Nolan, you can still come back now. Apologize to Brock, finalize the Prescott handoff, and I’ll pretend yesterday never happened.” The same arrogant, exasperating tone. I hovered my finger over the screen for a moment, then swiped left and deleted the entire thread. Ten hours later, the plane touched down in Malé. The heavy, humid air of the tropics—salt and sun—hit me like a physical wave. I activated the local SIM card I’d purchased in advance. 4 The red unread numbers on the work group icon kept ticking upward. “Charge! I’m on the way! Eating back all his money tonight!” “I’m stuck in traffic! I’m so anxious—I want to be there early to order the most expensive dish!” “Who’s there already? Snap a picture of the wine list! I heard they have a $10,000 bottle of reserve Bordeaux?” “Screenshotting this! We’re eating him broke tonight!” Brock theatrically posted a mirror selfie. “Just tidying up a little. Can’t embarrass Sabrina.” Sabrina replied with a hug emoji. “You look handsome no matter what you wear, baby.” Below them, a string of “Perfect match” and “Power couple” messages followed. I continued to scroll, an amused expression on my face. “I’m here! Holy crap, this place is legit!” “Where’s Nolan? Has anyone seen Nolan?” “He’s not here yet, right? The lead always makes a dramatic entrance!” “Exactly. Maybe he’s at the bank. Eighty or a hundred thousand—he probably needs a whole briefcase of cash.” Sabrina sent a voice note. Tapping it, I heard her mocking tone. “What’s the rush? Nolan said he’s treating. He’ll show up. Go ahead and order. Get whatever you want. Don’t worry about the price tag today.” “You’re the best, Sabrina!” “I won’t hold back! Waiter, ten orders of the top-grade Kobe beef!” “Lobster! The biggest one you have!” “The wine! That $10,000 bottle—open two of them!” The chat was soon flooded with pictures of dishes: colossal King Crab, artfully arranged sashimi platters… Brock seemed to want more attention, posting a photo on his personal feed of himself and Sabrina clinking wine glasses, the glittering city lights spread out behind them. “Another evening of fine dining with my girl Sabrina. Life is good.” I glanced at my watch. It was four o’clock in the Maldives. Seven PM back home. The last message in the group chat was a direct question from Sabrina. “@Nolan, where are you? The entire company is waiting.” A faint smile touched my lips. I still didn’t reply. After all, the show was just beginning. I walked with my luggage toward the pre-booked ocean-view villa. The phone in my pocket vibrated a few times, but I ignored it. I changed into a comfortable pair of swim trunks, ordered two bottles of iced beer, and only pulled out my phone an hour later, settling into a lounger facing the ocean. By this time, the tone in the group chat had shifted. The food pictures had stopped. They were replaced by anxious inquiries. “What time is it? Is Nolan actually coming?” “Still going straight to voicemail. The phone’s off.” “No way he just stood us up, right?” “Don’t say that! How much is all that food and alcohol going to cost?” “I just discreetly asked the waiter… The current tab is already north of a hundred thousand dollars.” The messages started flying, punctuated with exclamation points. “The waiter just came by again asking who’s paying. He looked really uncomfortable…” “Should we… should we just split it? Let’s settle the bill and leave?” “Split it? A hundred thousand! I don’t even make that in six months!” “Sabrina said we could order whatever we wanted. It should be on her, shouldn’t it…?” The chat quickly devolved into a furious internal squabble and mutual accusations. The focus of the attack was shifting toward Sabrina. I took a long drink of the cold beer a server had just delivered. I took a photo of the stunning ocean view in front of me and dropped it into the group chat. Then I pressed the voice note button and spoke slowly. “My dearest former colleagues. I’m afraid I won’t be able to make it to dinner.” “Sabrina said you could pick any restaurant. I did. The address was sent. As for who is paying…” I paused for a deliberate second. “You ordered it, you own it.” “Enjoy your meal, everyone.”

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Every year, Mom bought Savannah and me a piece of gold jewelry, saving them up for our future dowries. I’d always believed she treated my sister and me with perfect fairness, dividing everything down the middle. That illusion shattered when I overheard a snippet of conversation at the local jeweler’s. “I’m telling you, this mother is something else,” the clerk was saying. “She buys jewelry for both daughters every year, but one is solid gold, and the other is just gold-plated.” I froze. When I got home, I tried the online test I’d quickly looked up on the cuff Mom had given me last Christmas. It was solid gold. I was just starting to feel a familiar, gut-deep shame for having doubted her—for questioning the one constant in my life—when her call came through. “I mixed up your bracelet with Savannah’s,” she said, her voice tight with a sudden urgency. “You need to switch them back right now.” My throat constricted. I managed to ask, “Aren’t they exactly the same, Mom? Why do they need to be switched?” 1 The first thing I did after getting my first paycheck was drive out to the good jewelry store to pick out a necklace for Mom. Since we were kids, she had faithfully bought Savannah and me one piece of gold jewelry each year. She called them our “investment pieces,” our future bridal trove. Even when money was tight—and it was always tight—she never missed a year. “We don’t have much, Piper,” she’d always say, polishing the box. “But we can always find the money for these. They’re your security. They’ll make sure your in-laws never look down on you.” The irony was that in all those years, she had never bought anything for herself. I was determined to change that with my first salary. I was browsing the glass cases, trying to decide between a simple chain and a pendant, when I heard the low murmur of gossip from the staff counter. “That mother is seriously something else,” one voice whispered. “Buys jewelry for both daughters every year, but one is solid gold, and the other is gold-plated.” I stopped, the sound buzzing in my ears. I couldn’t help but listen. The other sales clerk asked, curious, “How do you know that?” The first explained, “I’ve worked here for years. She comes in every December. She picks out the solid gold one, and then she asks us to make an exact replica that’s just gold-plated silver.” “She says she’s building a dowry for her girls.” She sighed, a sound full of tired judgment. “But I guess some mothers just can’t treat their children equally.” My mind went blank. The situation she described—a mother buying gold jewelry for two daughters every year, but one real and one fake—why did it sound so much like my family? No. It can’t be us. Mom had always insisted she treated Savannah and me with perfect parity. Besides, this store was a good fifty miles from her house; she wouldn’t drive this far just for a necklace. “Ma’am? Ma’am, how do you like this piece?” The clerk was calling me back to reality. I gave her a weak smile and tried to focus on the display. But my heart wasn’t in it. The conversation kept looping in my head. I finally settled on a gold chain the clerk recommended and rushed out of the store. I drove home that weekend, eager to give Mom the necklace. When she saw me, her expression went oddly blank. “Piper? Why are you here? You didn’t call ahead.” “I wanted to surprise you.” But her reaction was chilly, distant. She didn’t smile, just stated flatly: “Well, you didn’t tell me, so I haven’t picked up any groceries. We’ll have to eat something simple for dinner.” I nodded, not arguing. Mom went into the kitchen, intending to make some pasta and a quick salad. Just as she started, the front door opened again. My sister’s voice, bright and familiar, rang out. “Mom, I’m home!” Mom instantly dropped her work and rushed out. Her face broke into a radiant smile as she looked at Savannah. “Oh, darling! You two both decided to come home today,” she cooed. “Sit down, relax. Tell me what you’re craving, and I’ll make it for you.” Savannah tossed her bag onto the sofa. “Oh, anything is fine, Mom. Don’t fuss.” Mom shook her head disapprovingly. “Nonsense. You work so hard. You need something hearty.” She went to the refrigerator. It was fully stocked—meats, fresh vegetables, organic eggs. Everything. It was nothing like the barren kitchen she’d described to me just ten minutes earlier. A profound, sickening coldness settled in my gut. 2 Mom finally called us to the dining table. The table was laden with food, a feast of rich, savory dishes. Every single one of them was Savannah’s favorite. Trying to sound lighthearted, I asked, almost joking, “I thought you said we didn’t have any food, Mom? How is it that the fridge is suddenly packed the second Savannah walks in?” Mom lifted her eyes and shot me a look of pure exasperation, then slammed her chopsticks down on the table. “You always have to pick a fight, don’t you?” she spat. “I do treat you two equally. I buy gold for your sister every year, and I never leave you out!” She leaned in, her voice rising. “Your sister came home with a stack of groceries and flowers, and look at you. You’re a working adult now, and you still walk in here empty-handed.” Savannah chimed in, glaring at me. “Seriously, Piper. Just eat. Why do you always have to start drama and try to compare yourself to me?” I realized then why she was so cold to me. I had committed the ultimate sin: I hadn’t brought a gift. I quickly pulled out the necklace. “I didn’t come empty-handed. This is for you, Mom. I forgot to give it to you earlier.” Her expression finally softened. She took the chain, sniffed, and gave a grudging, “Well, at least you have some conscience.” She waved me toward the table. “Now stop dawdling and eat.” The awkward moment seemed to pass, but my appetite was gone. All I could hear was the jeweler’s clerk: “One is solid gold, and the other is just gold-plated.” After dinner, I wrestled with the thought for hours before finally voicing it. “Mom, the simple cuff bracelet you bought us this year? I want to start wearing mine.” Mom’s movements stilled. She laughed, a short, bitter sound. “Aha. I knew that necklace wasn’t a spontaneous gift. You gave me a flimsy chain just so you could trade up for your more valuable piece. That’s a good strategy, Piper.” Her voice hardened. “Those are your dowry pieces. Are you that desperate to take possession of them already?” I swallowed hard. “But Savannah wears the jewelry you buy for her all the time.” “Piper, can you and Mom have a fight without dragging me into it?” Savannah burst out. She shoved her chair back and stomped off to her room, slamming the door. Mom gave me a disgusted look. “Honestly, Savannah finally comes home, and you just have to ruin it. Here,” she said, pulling the bracelet box from a high shelf and shoving it into my hand. “Take it. Are you happy now?” I drove back to my rental apartment first thing the next morning. I searched online again for the gold-plating test. I held the bracelet in my hand, frozen. If it was solid gold, I was the worst daughter alive, guilty of the deepest, ugliest suspicion. But if it was gold-plated… The clerk’s words had hollowed me out. I needed an answer. After a long, painful moment of indecision, I performed the test. I followed the instructions from the video exactly. The result came back: It was solid gold. A wave of relief and crushing guilt washed over me. I shouldn’t have doubted her. I owe her an apology. That’s when my phone rang. It was Mom. I answered, and her voice was a high, panicked edge of urgency. “I mixed up your bracelet with Savannah’s. Get back here and switch them immediately.” My throat tightened, a thick, metallic taste in my mouth. “Mom,” I managed. “Aren’t these bracelets exactly the same? Why do they need to be switched?” 3 There was a moment of silence on the line, a space where she was scrambling for an excuse. Then she gave up even trying. Her voice exploded in a sudden, furious burst. “Stop asking stupid questions! Just switch them back, like I told you!” I had my answer, but I needed to hear her say it. “Because the jewelry you bought for me all these years,” I pushed, my voice trembling, “is all gold-plated, isn’t it?” I had brutally broken the lie she had maintained for years, and in doing so, I had shredded the last thread of affection between us. Mom didn’t speak. My voice was barely a whisper. “You always said you treated Savannah and me with a perfectly level bowl of water. You always said we were equal.” “Why does she get solid gold, and I get plated junk?” Every slight I had ever rationalized, every ignored detail, rushed forward in agonizing clarity. In childhood, I wore Savannah’s hand-me-down clothes. Mom called it “fairness.” I was a better student than Savannah, so Mom poured money into tutors and expensive classes for her. “Savannah needs more help than you,” she’d explained. “If I don’t help her, it won’t be equal.” When I got into a university, Mom announced, “Your sister didn’t go to college after high school. If I pay your tuition, it would be unfair to her.” “You’ll have to figure out the tuition and living expenses yourself.” The examples were endless. She had never, not once, held the bowl level. I tried to keep speaking, but Mom had already hung up. That evening, I saw a new post on Savannah’s social media. The gold chain I had bought for my mother was now draped around Savannah’s neck. The caption read: My sister absolutely insisted on trying to steal my cuff. Thank goodness my mom is always fair and replaced it for me with a brand new necklace! I scrolled back through my contacts and found an account I had blocked long ago. The chat history held only a single, isolated message from years ago: Piper, can we meet? My father, Neil, had been trying to contact me for years. I had always refused, telling myself that meeting him would be a betrayal of the mother who “raised me alone.” This time, I agreed. I had one question he needed to answer. Neil and I hadn’t seen each other in over a decade. He tried to make small talk, but the awkwardness was crushing. I cut him off. “What was the real reason you and Mom divorced?” He paused, then sighed. “She said I didn’t treat you and your sister equally. She said I played favorites, and she demanded a divorce.” It was the same story Mom had told me—that she divorced him to protect me, because he favored Savannah. She always said I was supposed to live with him, but she fought tooth and nail for my custody because she feared I’d be neglected. But Neil added a detail my mother had carefully omitted. He did play favorites, he admitted—but the favorite wasn’t Savannah. It was me. Because Savannah wasn’t his biological daughter. The revelation hit me with a dizzying force. I had always assumed our different last names were just Mom keeping her maiden name for my sister and giving me his last name. I never dreamed this was the reason. They had been a blended family before I was born. Then I came along. Mom started arguing that he wasn’t giving Savannah as much attention, and they fought constantly. Finally, he said something that detonated their marriage. “I try to keep things level, but Piper is my biological daughter. I admit I might lean toward her slightly in my heart. But I have never financially cheated Savannah.” That was it. The argument that led to the divorce. He may have been painting a generous picture of himself, but I knew one thing was certain: Mom’s claim that she divorced him to protect me from his favoritism was a lie. I felt no sudden surge of fury or renewed pain. Only a cold, calm sense of recognition. Of course. I stood up to leave, but he stopped me. “Piper, we haven’t seen each other in years. Can’t we talk for a little longer?” I shook my head. He may have felt justified in the divorce, but he had still been absent for most of my life. Mom had been biased, but she had still raised me. He hadn’t paid a dime in child support. I said the thought out loud. He looked genuinely shocked. “Child support? I paid it every single month.” 4 “I’ve paid child support every month since the divorce,” he insisted. “She even made me pay extra every year—she said it was for the gold jewelry to build your dowry.” “And just a few months ago, she told me you were starting work and needed a down payment for an apartment near the city. I wired the money to her.” Now it was my turn to be stunned. Mom had always told me she never received a cent of support, that she had tirelessly raised us all on her own. But he was claiming he paid monthly support until I graduated college, funded the “gold dowry” jewelry, and most recently, gave her a large sum for an apartment down payment. I had never seen any of that money. My jewelry was gold-plated. I had paid for my entire university education with student loans and work-study. Seeing my disbelief, he pulled out his phone and showed me years of detailed wire transfers sent directly to my mother’s bank account. I don’t remember how I got home. Even with his bank records in my hand, a part of me didn’t want to believe it. What if he faked the records? What if he’s just trying to poison me against Mom? Then I saw Savannah’s new post on social media. It was a picture of a newly framed deed of ownership for a condo. The caption: So grateful to my amazing mom for the help. So excited to finally have my own place! #Homeowner My hand trembled as I held the phone. I remembered when I had first moved out for my job, I was broke and had asked Mom if she could lend me a little for a security deposit on a rental. She had snapped, “Where would I get that kind of money? You know our situation. Every cent I’ve ever earned has gone to you kids. I have nothing saved.” I ended up borrowing from a friend. She had no money to help me rent a tiny apartment, but she had hundreds of thousands of dollars to buy Savannah a condo. The post vanished a second later. She had blocked me. But I had already screenshotted it. Before I could figure out what to say to her, she called me first. “Piper, did you meet with that sorry excuse for a father today?” I didn’t deny it. “Yes.” The next second, her voice erupted in a violent rage. “I told you never to contact him! Don’t you remember what kind of man he is? He never cared for you after the divorce, never paid a dime! How dare you sneak around and meet him after everything I sacrificed to raise you?” She had used that narrative my entire life. That was why I avoided Neil—I thought seeing him would be a betrayal. But hearing the truth today, a terrifying possibility formed in my mind. She didn’t want me to see him because she was afraid the truth about the hidden child support would come out. I remembered the ferocious fights my mother had with my father over my custody. I had always convinced myself she fought for me because she loved me so deeply. That was the only thing that had allowed me to forgive her bias. But now, knowing Savannah wasn’t his… I realized Mom only fought so hard because my custody was tied to the constant, substantial child support payments from Neil. My mind drifted as Mom yelled into the phone, her tirade of accusations washing over me. Finally, she ran out of steam and hung up in a huff. Immediately, a notification popped up from the family group text. It was a photo of Neil and me sitting across from each other. Mom must have hired a private investigator. Below the photo, her message blazed across the screen. [Family, look at the daughter I raised with blood and sweat for twenty years.] [She knows that father never looked after her, never cared, yet she runs straight to him. She is an ungrateful wretch!] The barrage of relatives began, piling on the judgment. I smiled, a cold, hard finality settling in my chest. There was no going back now. I typed a single line, calm and absolute, and pressed send. [Then you can finally go back to pretending you don’t have this daughter.]

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On the eve of our wedding, Chloe Vance fell from a building and died. Everyone was convinced that I, the devoted fiancé, would follow her in death out of grief. But I didn’t shed a single tear. Three years later, I met her again. Not only had she come back from the dead, but she also had amnesia. “You’re my former fiancé? Haven’t seen you in years, how did you get so shabby? For old times’ sake, I can spare you one day a week to serve me.” I didn’t even spare her a glance. Chloe didn’t know that on the night she fell, I received a video recording. She also didn’t know that during the three years she pretended to have amnesia and traveled the world with Liam Black, I had gotten married. And the person I married was her biological sister. Chapter 1 In the private VIP room, the crowd hadn’t noticed me standing at the door yet. Someone suddenly brought it up. “Chloe, it’s been three years. What do you plan to do about Julian Sterling?” Chloe brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, indifferent. “It’s been three years, no rush. Let’s talk about it after I marry Liam.” The crowd laughed and chimed in. “If you ask me, that Julian Sterling is such a simp. Seeing Chloe again after three years, he’ll probably be shocked stupid!” “I heard he’s been living in squalor these past three years. Without Chloe, his life is indeed crap.” The room was filled with an air of merriment, the mockery in everyone’s voices undisguised. Just as I was about to leave, someone spotted me and shouted: “Julian Sterling!?” I was exposed to everyone’s gaze. The person who was making the most noise just now scratched his head awkwardly, trying to smooth things over. “Julian, Chloe is still alive. We didn’t tell you because she lost her memory and we were afraid of agitating you.” I glanced at them with disgust. Before I could speak, Chloe looked me up and down. “So you’re my fiancé? Why do you look so shabby? They say your living standards plummeted without me these past three years?” Chloe was still as arrogant and spoiled as ever. But I no longer had the tolerance I once did. Now, facing her, I felt only endless annoyance. Seeing my silence, Chloe wasn’t angry. She leaned lazily into Liam’s embrace, her index finger circling on his chest. Liam smiled and held Chloe’s mischievous hand, casting a provocative glance at me. “Julian, haven’t seen you in three years. How did you end up like this? No wonder Chloe forgot you. Who could remember you like this?” I frowned tightly, hands instinctively clenching into fists, disgusted by their debauchery. Chloe mistook my reaction for pain at their display of affection and looked smug. “Alright, don’t be so jealous. If you want to continue being with me, you have to adapt to this relationship. Don’t worry, I’ll save one day a week for you.” As soon as she finished, the people around immediately surrounded me, jeering with schadenfreude and belittlement. “Oh Julian, look, Chloe still has feelings for you. Even with amnesia, she keeps you in her heart, saving a day a week for you!” “As long as you serve Chloe and Liam well, won’t your life be better than before? Look at your shabby state. Had enough of the poor life? You have to seize this opportunity!” Liam leaned back on the sofa, legs resting on the coffee table, holding Chloe in his arms. He clicked his tongue. “No choice, Julian. You’ll have to suffer a bit for now. After all, the person Chloe loves most now is me.” Chloe chuckled at this. She admired her fresh manicure and glanced at me indifferently. “What’s there to feel aggrieved about? He loves me to death. He should be secretly happy to have even one day.” Hearing this, my heart clenched painfully. Chloe was so strange now I dared not recognize her. Years ago, she loved me so much. Once, when I had a high fever of 104 degrees that wouldn’t break for days, she dropped all her work to guard me day and night. She even personally climbed Mount Wuling, taking 9,999 steps, kowtowing every step, to pray for a safety amulet for me. Back then, looking at her swollen, bleeding forehead and bloody knees, I was too heartbroken to speak, calling her silly. But she held my face lovingly with both hands. “As long as you are safe and healthy, it’s worth it even if it costs my life.” Everything from the past was vivid in my mind, but reality had long changed. Turns out a person can change so much. Chapter 2 I suppressed the surging emotions, met Chloe’s moist eyes, showed the wedding ring on my hand, and tried to keep my tone calm. “You’ve mistaken me for someone else.” “Also, I’m already married.” The room fell silent instantly. Everyone looked at each other, exchanging glances, before bursting into laughter. Chloe raised an eyebrow faintly, glancing indifferently at the ring on my hand. “Married? Married which old auntie?” “Look at your shabby state. Did you buy that ring at a dollar store? What, thought this would stimulate my memory of you?” With that, she stood up quickly and yanked the ring off my ring finger. I had been exhausted from working on a project these past few days and couldn’t dodge in time. Liam stepped forward to examine the wedding ring carefully, then suddenly laughed out loud. “Chloe, why does this ring look so much like the ‘Heart of Eternity’ wedding rings your sister bid for in France three years ago?” “Don’t tell me Julian says he married your sister, Aria Vance?” Liam looked at me sideways, playing with the wedding ring in his hand. The private room became even livelier. This was too absurd for them. After all, Aria Vance was the primary heir of the Vance family now. Ruthless and decisive, she was the Ice Queen no one dared to offend in the business world. Yet such a person suddenly flash-married a mysterious man three years ago and loved him to the bone. For three years, no matter how the media dug, they couldn’t find a trace of information about her husband and daughter. “Julian, you’re not trying to say you’re that mysterious man no one could dig up for three years, are you?” Liam tossed the ring high and caught it, the diamonds flashing dazzlingly under the lights. “Oh, I have to say, the craftsmanship of this fake is really good. Which factory did you find to imitate it?” Their successive mockery made me impatient. “Don’t touch my ring, it’s real…” Before I could finish, Chloe slapped my face to the side. My cheek burned with pain instantly. “Julian Sterling, have you lost your mind? You dare spread rumors about my sister! Who doesn’t know she loves my brother-in-law to death? Even I haven’t seen his true face, and you dare to impersonate him. Who gave you the guts?!” I licked my dry lips, slowly turned my head, and met Chloe’s gaze. Perhaps my look was too terrifying; Chloe shrank back. Seeing this, Liam immediately jumped in. He shielded Chloe behind him and pointed at my nose, cursing: “Julian, how can you be so ungrateful? Chloe already promised to accompany you one day a week. It’s fine if you don’t cherish it, but now you dare to impersonate her brother-in-law. Who in the capital circle doesn’t know Chloe’s sister’s weak spot is her mysterious husband? Are you doing this to make her sister angry at Chloe? How vicious is your heart!” Hearing this, I felt a sense of daze. Once, Liam couldn’t tolerate me anywhere and had to suppress me in everything. He even smeared me in front of Chloe every day to break us up. But back then, Chloe didn’t believe him at all and even punished Liam severely for his malicious slander. But now, the person who used to defend me the most stood with Liam. She held Liam’s hand and slammed a stack of cash onto my face. “Enough, stop pretending. For old times’ sake, I won’t pursue this. Look at your shabby state; this money is enough for you to live it up for a month.” The sharp corner cut my face, oozing beads of blood. I ignored it, just looked up and stared dead at Chloe. A trace of guilt and panic inexplicably flashed across her face. Seeing this, I chuckled and bent down. The guilt and panic on Chloe’s face faded, replaced by mockery again. “Thought you had some backbone…” The next second, her words halted. Under Chloe’s dull gaze, I found the ring among the pile of red bills. Chloe paused, blocking me before I left the room. “Why are you still pretending even now? Any bill on the floor is enough to buy dozens of your broken rings!” Her expression was complex, with a hint of anger upon closer look. Ignoring her mood swings, I slapped her hand away fiercely. Chloe’s hand froze in mid-air, her teeth grinding audibly. “Fine, you’ve grown bold. Poverty really gives you a temper. My wedding with Liam is in three days. My sister is returning to the country that day too, and she’ll bring my mysterious brother-in-law. If you have the guts, come to the wedding!” Chapter 3 Hearing the word “wedding,” Liam’s eyes lit up, and he quickly added: “Maybe he’s afraid of being exposed and won’t dare to come.” I didn’t want to entangle with them anymore. I turned and strode away, leaving one sentence behind. “I’ll be there in three days. I hope you’ll still be this confident then.” Walking out of the club quickly, breathing fresh air, the nausea in my stomach finally subsided a lot. I took out my phone and watched the video I received three years ago again. In the video, the woman nestled in Liam’s arms, smiling lazily and wantonly. “Julian Sterling is too boring. Although I love him, he can’t give me the feeling I want.” “This fake death, I’ll go back when I’ve had enough fun. He’s good for settling down. But with this stunt, knowing his personality, he might want to die for love. You guys have to watch him.” The day I got the death certificate, I did think about ending it all. It was her friends who kept stopping me from doing anything foolish. Thinking back now, their distorted crying sounds were clearly them trying hard to hold back laughter. I put away my phone and looked at the dim streetlights. Whether Chloe is dead or alive, in my heart, there has been no place for her since three years ago. Three days later, I arrived at the wedding venue as promised. When Chloe saw me step into the venue, her tense expression suddenly relaxed. I withdrew my gaze and prepared to sit down unhurriedly, but someone tripped me hard, and I fell onto the nine-tier cake beside me. The decorations and cream crashed down. My tailored black suit was covered in cream, and I looked wretched. The wine glass also fell to the ground, the splashing glass shards scratching my face, blood oozing from my forehead. The venue was instantly in an uproar, everyone’s eyes glued to me. Cream blurred my vision. I struggled to get up, but before I could stand steady, I was pushed down heavily again. Liam’s angry roar came from above. “Julian, what do you mean? We kindly invited you to the wedding, you didn’t even give a gift, fine, but you deliberately sabotaged our wedding. Can’t stand to see us happy, can you?!” Many people came to this wedding, mostly hearing that Aria Vance would attend with her mysterious husband, rushing to curry favor with her sister. “What kind of people exist nowadays? Daring to bully Aria Vance’s sister, making a scene at her wedding. Let’s see how he ends up!” “Hey, look at the ring on that man’s hand. Why does it look so much like the ‘Heart of Eternity’ Aria Vance bid heavily for three years ago? How bold is this person!” “Who doesn’t know Aria loves her husband to the bone? Daring to be an imposter in such a setting, he must be tired of living!” Chloe also heard these words. Her chest heaved violently with anger, her beautiful eyes seeming to spit fire. “Julian, you jinx! I must have been blind to like you back then. You even wear this fake broken ring. Do you want my sister to deal with you personally when she arrives?!” With that, she lifted her skirt and ran towards me, then stomped on the ring finger of my left hand, grinding hard. Severe pain shot from the base of my finger. Ten fingers connected to the heart; I felt like thousands of sharp blades were piercing my heart. Seeing I wanted to struggle, Liam immediately shouted for everyone to hold me down. For a moment, I couldn’t move. Cream covered my vision. I wanted to struggle but couldn’t, finally roaring: “Aria Vance is my wife!” Chloe laughed upon hearing this, as if hearing a fantasy. Her foot pressed down harder, the heel tip about to break my ring finger. “Still thinking of being an imposter even now. Wait till my sister comes, see how you explain! She loves my brother-in-law so much, just wait to die!” Seeing Chloe was relentless, I felt despair in my heart. I tried my best to break free but was pinned down firmly by the crowd. I gritted my teeth inwardly. When the time comes, I won’t let any of these people off! Chloe applied force again, the sound of breaking bone clearly audible. I groaned in pain, but suddenly my body felt light. The crowd ignored me, hurriedly getting up to tidy their appearance, looking forward with burning eyes. The waiters opened the hall doors, and Aria Vance walked in with a daughter, surrounded like the moon by stars.

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Lucas left me behind on that rainy night. He thought I’d show up the next day like nothing had happened, just like I always did. But I forgot everything that happened after I was sixteen, including him. I went back to the small town in my memories and opened a flower shop. Later, a reality show came to film in the town. Under the gaze of cameras and passersby, This top celebrity, eyes red, ran towards my flower shop without a care for his image. Chapter 1 I had been in the hospital for a week. I tried multiple times to tell the doctor I was perfectly fine. But he insisted I must have amnesia. I laughed out of frustration. Wouldn’t I know if I had lost my memory? I said, “Doctor, listen to me. I remember where my home is. I remember my classmates from elementary, middle, and high school. How could I have amnesia?” “I want to be discharged. I’m really fine.” Seeing him unmoved, I cried, “Doctor, please have mercy on me! I don’t have much money left in my bank account, my phone is broken, and my family must be worried sick.” He looked at me silently for a long while, then nodded helplessly. “Fine!” Walking out, I took a deep breath of fresh air. I couldn’t stand the smell of disinfectant anymore. The midday sun was warm. I scratched my head, looking at the somewhat unfamiliar surroundings. Asking for directions along the way, I went to a store and bought a new phone. I stared blankly at the device in my hand. Only then did I remember that I had thrown away the crushed old phone along with the SIM card long ago. I asked for directions again and went to get a new phone plan. At that moment, a large screen on the International Trade Center building was playing an interview with a celebrity. Many people were standing in front of it. I passed by them. Some fans were excitedly explaining to older people who asked who he was. “Ma’am, Sir, his name is Lucas Sterling. He’s the new top star. He’s handsome and a great actor. Please support him.” Hearing this, I looked up curiously at the big screen. The host smiled and said, “Now let’s look at the most frequent question in the comments: Does someone as handsome as Lucas Sterling have an unrequited love?” The man was very handsome, with distinct eyebrows and bright eyes. He smiled slightly and said, “For now… no.” The girl sitting next to him covered her mouth and giggled. She had a fresh, girl-next-door look. She said, “I thought you were going to say yes! Give me some gossip.” People around me whispered about how well they matched. I blinked, feeling the man looked somewhat familiar, then shook my head. Who doesn’t find celebrities familiar? I continued walking without stopping. Chapter 2 After the interview, Lucas returned backstage. He looked around but still didn’t see me. His face darkened as he asked his agent, “Where is Mia?” The agent looked troubled. “I don’t know. I can’t reach her either.” “Did something happen to Mia?” Hearing this, Lucas felt a moment of panic. But then he remembered how he had left me alone at the hotel that day. He thought I was probably just throwing a tantrum again. Thinking of this, he relaxed and told his agent, “Text her. If I don’t see her tonight, I never want to see her again.” After buying everything and settling my affairs, I looked at my empty hands. Was I robbed while traveling? I bought a plane ticket back to Salt Lake City and sat waiting to board. I lowered my head to download and log into necessary apps on my phone. A commotion came from the entrance. I turned to look. It was a big scene. Many people were surrounding something in the center, while others filmed with phones and cameras. Seemed like someone famous. I lowered my head again. Suddenly, the doctor’s words echoed in my mind: You definitely forgot something. Forgot something? Forgot what? It seemed I really did forget something. It felt like a section was missing from the tape of my memory. I looked at the big star again. He was going through security. When he took off his mask and sunglasses… I felt like I should have seen him somewhere. Oh, it’s that new top star, Lucas Sterling. Chapter 3 A few months later, I was lying on a rattan chair in the flower shop. The midday breeze was warm as I watched the students with youthful faces just getting out of school. After returning to my grandparents’ home in my memory, the house was empty. Only two black-and-white photos of the elderly couple smiling kindly hung on the wall. Looking at the empty house, a wave of bitterness surged in my heart. It turned out I had lost my memory after age sixteen. My memory stopped at my freshman year of high school, when my grandparents were still cooking my favorite dishes at home, waiting for me to return from school. I forgot those memories. I didn’t know where I worked as an adult or if I was married. But I didn’t want to think too deeply about it. Something deep inside told me it wasn’t necessary. Because during the days I was in the hospital, no one came to visit me. So I opened a flower shop in this small town. Opening the shop, selling flowers, listening to stories, watching the sun rise and set, watching the waves roll. The TV in the shop was playing entertainment news. The host announced clearly: “Top star Lucas Sterling clarified his relationship with actress Chloe Summers from the drama ‘Coward’ in an exclusive interview this morning. Lucas stated they are just partners and hopes everyone views it rationally.” … “Lucas, are you crazy?” The agent pointed at him, cursing in exasperation. Although the drama had finished airing. But clarifying the rumors publicly without communicating with the other artist’s team would drive the fans who shipped them crazy. Lucas lowered his head, staring blankly at the chat page between him and me. It showed a message he had just sent: [It’s really a misunderstanding between me and Chloe. We were just cooperating for the drama promotion. You’ve been throwing a tantrum for so long, it’s time to come back.] This was the first time he bowed his head to me. But after a long time, I didn’t reply a single word. Seeing he wasn’t listening at all, the agent turned off his phone screen in anger and raised his voice: “Lucas, listen to me. If you want your career to continue, stop causing trouble. Look at how many people are eyeing your position? If you go down, someone new will replace you immediately.” “As for Mia, keep your feelings in check.” He gasped for air, glaring at him with disappointment. “Maybe she left and found a better path. You can’t expect a young girl to just be a dead-end assistant forever!” His heart shrank in pain. “Then why didn’t she tell me…” “Oh please, with your usual attitude towards her, if I were her, I would have walked out long ago. Tell you? Tell you my ass!” Lucas’s face gradually turned pale. He didn’t believe I would leave him. I had said from the beginning that I would stay with him forever. I liked him so much; how could I leave without a word? He thought I must be angry because he left me behind that rainy night. He also thought I misunderstood his relationship with Chloe. Now that he clarified it, I would be back soon. Chapter 4 Clearwater Town is by the sea, and my flower shop faces the ocean. Every day, I put the flowers outside and lie on the rattan chair inside, waiting for couples to buy flowers and take photos. These days, I still remembered nothing. Just then, a few elementary school kids walked in. They squatted in front of my shop, eyes wide, discussing what flowers these were. I walked out slowly with a fan and told them, “That’s a daisy, that’s a blue rose, that’s a rose…” “Wow!” They looked at me with admiration and applauded enthusiastically. “You’re amazing, sister! You know so many flower names.” Children’s thinking is always imaginative. A little girl said, “I want to open a flower shop like sister when I grow up.” “I want to be an astronaut.” “I want to be a big star, and you be my assistant.” A girl with two buns raised her hand and pointed to a boy with a bowl cut next to her. The boy nodded heavily. “Mm-hm, I want to be a big star’s assistant.” Watching them laugh, a blurry scene and dialogue suddenly rushed into my mind. In the scene, a girl rested her chin on her hand and said to a boy, “You will definitely be a big star in the future. I want to be your first fan.” The boy lowered his head to do his homework and didn’t respond. The girl wasn’t angry but continued cheerfully, “No, I decided I want to be the big star’s assistant.” … It hurts! I clutched my head and sat back in the shop in pain. When I recovered, my chest was heaving violently. Who was the boy in my mind just now?

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My mother once dumped the richest man in the city. Eight years later, I beat up the billionaire’s son, and my teacher forced my mom to kneel and beg for forgiveness. The billionaire pushed open the door: “I used to treat you like a princess, afraid you’d melt in my mouth, and you’re on your knees for this?” “Sarah, whose face are you throwing away?” Chapter 1 I’ve never had a dad, nor have I ever met any relatives. It’s always been just my mom raising me. She works the night shift at a convenience store and often comes home very late. So she asked Mrs. Higgins next door to add a bowl for me when she made dinner for her granddaughter. Of course, it wasn’t for free. Mom paid Mrs. Higgins for the meals every month. But Mrs. Higgins took the money and turned around to buy milk and fruit for me. She often sighed about how hard my mom worked and told me not to tell her. I nodded, and she praised me for being a good girl. Actually, I just felt that if I were a little better, Mom could be a little more relaxed. In school, I was the most inconspicuous student in the class. Although I listened carefully in class, I never showed off. Classmates sometimes called me “The Mute” because they thought I didn’t like to talk. Actually, I just liked to eavesdrop on them. The topic most talked about by third graders was their families. Some classmates even told everyone about their dad having hemorrhoids or their mom fighting a mistress. There was a boy in class named Liam Black, a new transfer student. He always complained about his CEO dad. He said his dad had a temper like a dog every day, and his face was as cold as a widower’s. He said his dad had no time for him, and basically only the driver and nanny were at home every day. He said his dad only had money in his eyes, and for his birthday, he asked his secretary to pass on a black card. … In short, he didn’t like his dad. But I envied him for having a dad. I don’t know why, but among all the kids in the class, the one I wanted to be close to the most was Liam. Because I didn’t have a dad, and it was said that Liam didn’t have a mom. To some extent, we were the same kind. Walking in line after school, Liam complained that his dad’s cooking was terrible. I couldn’t help but chime in: “My mom makes delicious desserts.” As long as he talked to me, I could bring him desserts made by my mom. But Liam turned his head and glared at me fiercely: “What do you mean?” I looked at him in confusion. “You’re mocking me for not having a mom, right?” Liam pushed me hard, his face full of hostility. I fell to the ground, still dazed, when the homeroom teacher, Ms. Foster, shouted from behind: “Lily Evans, do you have eyes? You disrupted the line discipline, get up immediately!” I had to slowly get up from the ground and pat the dust off my clothes. Since I talked to Liam after school, I inexplicably became a thorn in his side and his followers’. Every time he passed by my seat, he would pinch my arm through my clothes. If we met head-on, he would also slam into my shoulder hard. Not to mention, he always had a large group of followers with him. Every time I passed, they would shout inexplicably: “Lily Evans, the little mute, so shameful.” Then they would make weird noises with their mouths. I mustered up the courage to tell the teacher. However, when I went to Ms. Foster’s office, she was sitting cross-legged with her phone, talking to someone unknown, calling him “Mr. Black” repeatedly, her eyes and brows full of smiles. I stood at the door for ten minutes, and she didn’t notice me. The bell rang; the next class was English. I had to go back. The English teacher taught an essay today, titled “My Dad”. I didn’t know how to write it, so I sat dryly for a whole class. The sky outside the window was gray, as if it was going to rain, making people feel heavy-hearted. However, Liam was very happy. He told everyone that his dad would come to pick him up today. After school, it really started to pour. Unexpectedly, in the huge campus, only Liam and I were left unpicked in the end. The security guard took us to the security room. Liam looked very bad, shouting at the smart watch on his wrist: “I don’t care! I don’t want to hear any excuses! You just have to come pick me up!” Then he put down his watch and stomped on the floor “bang bang bang”. I thought he really looked like a grumpy and unreasonable monkey. I don’t know how long it took, but the driver of Liam’s family finally appeared outside the security room. “I don’t want you, where’s my dad?” The little bully threw a tantrum at the driver outside the window. The driver made a call in embarrassment. Not long after, a man walked over unhurriedly holding a huge black umbrella. The sky was still gloomy, and the wind was howling outside the window— Although the umbrella brim covered his face, it could be seen that the man had an upright posture, a calmness that feared no wind or rain. Liam had already jumped up, rushed out of the security room, and ran quickly into the man’s arms. The man extended a hand and firmly grabbed Liam’s collar. Those were hands that looked powerful and safe—broad palms, distinct knuckles, just like a pair of hands a father should have. The man put Liam down, holding the umbrella in one hand, tilting most of the brim towards Liam. Then mercilessly, he patted Liam’s head. That crisp hit, like patting a watermelon, made me stare blankly. Liam didn’t mind. Instead, he suddenly turned his head and gave me a smug and gloating smile. “Poor thing.” He provoked me with a grimace, “Keep waiting by yourself!” Chapter 2 I simply stayed in the guard room. I almost finished my homework before the rain stopped. The security guard, Uncle Lee, even shared his dinner with me—a basket of delicious buns. After thanking him, I walked back to the apartment I rented with my mom. I simply mopped the floor and read “The Adventures of Bacteria World” before Mom finally came back. The bedroom door was pushed open, and Mom smiled and leaned half her body in from the door: “Baby, why haven’t you slept yet tonight?” I noticed the other half of her hand hidden behind the door at a glance. “Mom! Is your left hand hurt?” She scratched her head: “Sharp eyes, kiddo, worthy of 20/20 vision.” I asked her what happened. “Hit by goods,” she sighed, “Now it’s great, can’t use my left hand for half a month.” “Then can you rest at home for this half month?” I asked carefully. “Where are such kind capitalists? Giving you ten days or half a month off, do you still want the job?” I lowered my eyes, a little unhappy. “Ta-da—look what this is?” Mom suddenly raised her voice, quickly taking out the roast duck and a can of beer hidden behind her back to divert attention, “This is a gift from the stingy boss.” “Were you planning to eat it yourself?” I asked faintly. She scratched her face: “Am I that kind of person?” I had to help her recall the old cases of her hiding in the living room drinking milk tea, eating barbecue, and watching TV dramas alone after I fell asleep… Under the dim light, we shared the roast duck. I suddenly remembered Liam’s dad I saw today, so I whispered: “Mom, what kind of person was my dad?” I knew Mom didn’t like talking about Dad. But she was silent for a moment and actually told me: He had a bad temper, spent all his time on work, and only knew how to stuff black cards to solve problems… “Then what did he look like? Were his hands big?” “Pretty big, and quite tall.” Mom chuckled, “Why do you ask this?” I wanted to hear her say more, but Mom said emotionlessly: “Kiddo, knowing this is useless, he’s already dead.” I had to ask one last sentence eagerly: “Did Dad love me when he was alive?” She touched my head and said softly: “Sleep, baby.” I don’t know why, but I felt sadness on her smiling face. The next day, I arrived at school early and started making up the essay homework I didn’t finish yesterday. As a result, after handing in the essay, Mr. Lewis actually read mine aloud as a model essay in front of the whole class. “My Dad” My dad often keeps a straight face, always looking unhappy. My dad is always busy and can’t take care of me, but I know he is always by my side. My dad is the best dad in the world. Whenever it rains, he will drop all work and come to school to pick me up. His hands are so big, just like his big black umbrella, able to shield Mom and me from the wind and rain of the whole world… After school, Liam found me, his face full of anger: “You thief! You clearly wrote about my dad.” He reached out to push me. I quickly ran back, but he caught up instantly and pinned me against the wall at the back of the classroom, shouting fiercely: “Thief!” I suddenly got angry and pushed him forward hard. Actually, I was taller and stronger than him. He was pushed to the ground by me, his face turned black immediately, and he started cursing. I had never heard so many vicious words! New hatred piled on old grudges. Instead of letting him go, I rode on him. For every curse, I punched him. When I came back to my senses, Ms. Foster had already rushed to the classroom. She screamed, pulled me off Liam, and hugged him to comfort him for a long time. Liam cried pretentiously a few times, still shouting emotionally: “Ms. Foster, my dad entrusted me to you. I always treat you as my mom. I only have you now, boohoo.” Ms. Foster turned her head and stared at me fiercely: “Lily Evans, now, immediately, right now, ask your mom to come to school!” Chapter 3 “Does your daughter have violent tendencies?” Ms. Foster’s voice was shrill. “Look at how she beat up Liam!” Liam immediately groaned, pretending to be in great pain. Ms. Foster said to him softly: “Liam, be good. I called your dad, he’s coming.” Mom had her left arm in a cast, still wearing the green vest of a salesclerk and a cheap hat with the store logo. She seemed to have run over in a hurry, her bangs blown messy. She looked at me and said anxiously: “Lily is usually very good, she wouldn’t hit people for no reason.” Ms. Foster raised her voice: “Are you saying I’m slandering your daughter?” “I didn’t mean that.” Mom said quickly, “I just want to hear what the child has to say.” “Lily Evans,” Ms. Foster turned to ask me coldly, “Tell me yourself, where did you go wrong?” I pursed my lips stubbornly. Ms. Foster seemed angry: “Fine, if you won’t say it, I will.” “When standing in line, you didn’t follow the discipline.” “Other classmates don’t like you either. You don’t have any ability to integrate into the group.” “Now you’ve even learned to beat up classmates.” “Just now when the teacher asked you, you didn’t say a word. You’ve also learned to deceive.” “I just want to ask you, do you still have any respect for me as your homeroom teacher?” My mom looked at me and moved her lips: “Ms. Foster, maybe there’s some misunderstanding…” Ms. Foster showed a contemptuous smile: “Since you insist on turning a blind eye to your daughter’s mistakes, I have nothing to say.” She slammed the thermos cup in her hand heavily: “I can’t teach her. You find another famous teacher. Ask around yourself, which homeroom teacher in the school is willing to accept her, just transfer her out.” As soon as these words came out, my mom’s face turned pale. Although she didn’t usually act like a mother, she was very strict about education. Usually, if I scored less than 80 on a test, she would treat me to a “bamboo whip stir-fry pork” without mercy. What’s more, education has always been more important than life to her. “No.” Mom panicked a little, she begged quickly, “Ms. Foster, give Lily another chance. She’s young and ignorant.” Ms. Foster turned her head, snorted coldly, facing the wall. Mom continued to beg bitterly, saying almost all the good words. But no matter what Mom said, Ms. Foster just told her to find someone to transfer me to another class. But in a school, which homeroom teacher would take over a student that others didn’t want? “Please have mercy.” Mom raised her injured hand, “I will definitely educate Lily well when I go back, don’t throw her away.” Ms. Foster turned back, but still picked: “How can I trust you?” My mom paused, as if she had made up her mind: “Ms. Foster, I’m busy with work and don’t have time to care about Lily’s psychological state. She has always been alone, and no one taught her what to do and what not to do.” I looked at Mom blankly, the first time seeing her speak so seriously. Mom held the handle of the chair and slowly knelt down, begging again: “Ms. Foster, the one who is wrong is actually me, the mother. It’s me who didn’t teach her well, not Lily’s fault. Please give her another chance.” After speaking, her usually thin and straight shoulder blades folded deeply. I stared at her blankly. The one who usually laughed and didn’t act serious was my mom; the one kneeling on the ground, humbly begging the teacher not to abandon me, was my mom; the one who taught me to be honest and study hard was my mom… Hard life never crushed her, but at this moment, she gave up her dignity for me. I couldn’t hold on anymore and immediately hugged Mom’s shoulder and knelt beside her. “I’m sorry, it’s my fault, Mom, not your fault.” I had never felt so regretful for doing something. Tears gushed out of my eyes, and I felt my heart shattered into pieces. Ms. Foster seemed startled too, pressing her voice: “I didn’t mean that…” “I’m sorry Ms. Foster.” I cried too, “I won’t hit anyone again.” Amidst the noise, Liam suddenly shouted excitedly: “Dad, you’re finally here.” Ms. Foster was startled, quickly pushed us away, bent down and quickly fixed her lipstick in the small mirror on the desk. I heard a cold voice first: “Liam Black, tell me yourself, what trouble did you cause again?” The office door was pushed open, footsteps approached from far to near, and the man’s voice seemed to carry some fatigue and boredom: “Confess voluntarily, don’t make me do it.” I felt Mom’s figure seemed to stiffen a bit. She turned her head to look and immediately lowered her head, as if seeing something unbelievable. For a moment, I felt as if she wanted to hide under the desk chair. “Mr. Black.” Ms. Foster stood up with a smile, “You misunderstood, today Liam is the one being bullied, don’t criticize him.” The man stopped casually behind us: “Bullied by whom?” “Her.” Ms. Foster pointed at me and sighed, “This girl has some mental problems.” I didn’t dare to refute, so I could only turn around, lying on the ground and saying: “I’m sorry.” The man squatted down. He looked at the bruise on Liam’s face, his tone flat: “Got beaten? Does it hurt?” Liam quickly gave a pitiful “Hmm”. The man frowned, but said mercilessly: “Useless.” After criticizing Liam, his sharp eyes swept over me: “A girl, liking to fight at such a young age, didn’t your parents teach you manners?” Glared at by his gloomy eyes, I was almost scared to cry again, so I bit my lip tightly. “She indeed has no upbringing at home.” Ms. Foster said quickly, “I just taught her a lesson, her mom knelt down to apologize, sigh… Mr. Black, how do you think we should handle this?” “Handle this?” Mr. Black repeated slowly, anyone could hear the coldness in his tone. Hearing this, I immediately straightened up and grabbed the hem of his suit in panic: “Uncle, I didn’t mean to, I swear, I won’t provoke him again.” Mr. Black looked down at me and suddenly frowned. He pinched my chin with one hand, his eyes even revealing some confusion and puzzlement: “Why do you… look so much like…” He didn’t finish the rest, silenced for a while, just shook his head: “Ms. Foster, forget it.” Liam screamed: “How can we forget it?” “Then what do you want?” Mr. Black’s tone was impatient. “I want Lily Evans to apologize to me in front of the whole class tomorrow.” Liam’s mouth chattered, “She mocked me for not having a mom last time.” Mr. Black’s face turned black as a pot bottom, and my mom’s face turned completely white. She secretly looked at Liam, her eyes mixed with pain and division. She seemed to want to say something, but bit her lip, lowered her head even more, and her body trembled a little. I was worried and quickly clenched Mom’s hand. “Enough, you little brat.” Mr. Black raised his hand and grabbed Liam’s collar, “I think you really need a beating.” “It’s shameful enough to lose to a little girl, do you want the whole class to laugh at you?” Ms. Foster didn’t seem to expect the matter to end like this. She pursed her lips and said: “Since Mr. Black won’t pursue it, Lily Evans’s mom, then you apologize to Mr. Black.” Mom didn’t say a word, but trembled even more. Ms. Foster waited impatiently: “Lily Evans’s mom? Is being mute hereditary in your family?” Mr. Black seemed to finally notice a woman kneeling on the ground. He turned his head casually, and froze at a glance. He let go of Liam’s collar and stood up straight instantly. “I’m sorry.” Mom finally whispered, her head still buried low. The man’s lips parted, seeming to use great strength to shout a name: “Sarah… is that you?” I don’t know how he knew my mom’s name. “You mistook me for someone else.” Mom immediately turned her face away, but her left hand in a cast clenched painfully into a fist, as if enduring something. “It is you.” Mr. Black stared at Mom, the expression on his face unknown whether crying or laughing, hating or happy, the whole face twisted terrifyingly. “Sarah——” He seemed to chew the name apart, his eyes stared at Mom: “When did you come back?” Mom turned her head away, not meeting his eyes. Even Ms. Foster saw something was wrong, her face changed instantly: “Does Mr. Black know her?” “More than know.” He seemed to be furious, unable to endure anymore, pulling Mom up from the ground with one hand. “Eight years no see, you look like this poor and ridiculous appearance?” “Sarah, I used to treat you like a princess, afraid you’d melt in my mouth, and you damn well kneel here for someone today?” “Whose face are you throwing away?” “Get up!” After being pulled up, Mom quickly held my hand, seeming to want to take me away quickly. But Mr. Black still tightly held Mom’s thin wrist. Under everyone’s gaze, this tall and mighty man’s eyes actually turned red: “Sarah, haven’t seen you for so many years, you won’t even look up at me?” He seemed to realize something and suddenly looked at me: “How old are you?” I inexplicably met a pair of incredulous eyes, the owner of the eyes asked angrily: “Sarah, is she our—” “Lily is seven years old this year,” Mom interrupted him, “She is the daughter of me and my husband. Adrian Black, she has nothing to do with you.” She paused, her voice seeming to suppress great pain as she continued: “You also have no standing to question me now, whether I am a beggar or whatever.” I looked nervously between them. Actually, I am eight years old this year. I don’t know why Mom lied about my age. But I think Mom must have her reasons. Mr. Black listened to her words, only asking desolately: “You… got married?”

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