On the 30th day of the online hate campaign against me, my husband unlocked the door to the dark room. His childhood sweetheart, driving drunk, had hit and killed my mother in an empty alleyway. To clear her name, my husband used our child’s life to force me to sign a statement of forgiveness. Then, just to be safe, he lied to the world, claiming I was the one who had drunkenly killed my own mother. He took my phone and locked me in a dark room for a month. By the time I was let out, the media had painted me as a selfish, vicious, cold-blooded monster. I couldn’t take the pressure. I threw myself from our apartment building. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of the accident. This time, I locked my mother in her room and refused to let her leave. But who could have known? His precious sweetheart got behind the wheel and killed another old woman anyway. 1 I had just bolted the door to my mom’s room when my husband’s call came through. “Ella? Where are you?” His voice was a frayed rope of panic and tension. When I told him I was home, I heard him let out a quiet, shaky breath of relief. He was silent for a few seconds before continuing. “Crystal… Crystal hit someone with her car. I just finished dealing with it. I’m coming home now. You have to wait for me.” I froze, the words sinking in slowly. Crystal had hit someone again. But my mom was locked safely in her room. So who did she hit this time? The phone was on speaker, and my mom heard every word Leo said. Through the heavy oak of the door, I spoke to her. “You wanted to know why I locked you in here, why I wouldn’t let you go out.” “Promise me you’ll stay hidden in that room. Don’t make a sound until I tell you it’s okay.” “You’re about to find out why I did all this.” My mom, though confused, agreed. It wasn’t long before Leo returned. The front door flew open and he rushed towards me, pulling me into a tight, suffocating hug. His voice, muffled against the top of my head, was heavy with false sorrow. “Ella, I’m so, so sorry.” “Crystal… she accidentally hit your mother. The paramedics said… she died instantly.” 2 I shoved him away, wrenching myself from his arms. My face was a mask of disbelief. “What did you say? Who did you say she killed?” Leo looked at me with that pathetic, practiced expression of pity mixed with helplessness. “Ella, I know this is impossible to accept right now. Crystal told me everything. It wasn’t on purpose, she just… her eyes played a trick on her in the dark.” “If anyone’s to blame, it’s your mom for not watching where she was going.” “I’ve already given Crystal a piece of my mind. She’s completely traumatized, so I sent her home to rest. But she promised she’d come over in a couple of days to apologize to you in person.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Even if it wasn’t my mother who died today, it was still a human life. How could Crystal take a life and then just go home to rest, her conscience clear? “Leo, do you have any idea what you’re doing? You’re an accessory to a crime!” He sighed, pulling a folded document from his briefcase. A forgiveness agreement. He smoothed it out and held it in front of me. “I know you’re angry, but Crystal is a huge influencer with millions of followers. She can’t have a scandal like this attached to her name.” “Her father saved my life when I was a kid. I promised him I’d protect Crystal for the rest of my life. You’re my wife, Ella. We’re a team. That debt is yours to share, too.” “It was your mother who died. If you sign this, then even if this whole thing comes out later, it won’t affect Crystal.” “Just think of it as… helping me repay a debt.” My hand flew, the crack of my palm against his cheek echoing in the silent apartment. His head snapped to the side. “You’re a monster, Leo. A goddamn monster!” “Is a human life worth less than Crystal’s reputation to you?” The slap ignited a fire in his eyes. He shoved me, hard. I stumbled backward, my head cracking against the sharp corner of the coffee table. A lump, the size of an egg, instantly began to swell. He loomed over me, his face a storm cloud of disgust. “Ella, I’m not asking you. I’m telling you. You are going to sign this paper.” 3 In my last life, I never understood why Leo would throw me under the bus to protect Crystal, why he would threaten me with our own child’s life. Was his wife, his child, really worth less than her pristine reputation? This time, I understood perfectly. It was because Leo never loved me. He never loved our child. The person he loved, the person he had always loved, was Crystal. I clutched my throbbing forehead, staring up at the man I had once loved, my heart churning with a thick, bitter hatred. Hatred for what happened to my mother and me in that other life. Hatred for myself, for being so blind, for marrying a creature who was less than human. My undisguised loathing seemed to pierce through his anger, and a flicker of something like regret crossed his face. He reached a hand down, as if to pull me up. “Ella, I didn’t mean to push you. I was just angry. Let me see your head, is it bleeding…?” He was cut off by the frantic ringing of his phone. It was Crystal. He answered, and her delicate, tearful voice filled the room. “Leo, what do I do? I think someone took a picture of me.” Even though Leo had meticulously cleaned up the scene right after the crash, the alley had been dark. She hadn’t noticed a figure at the other end, phone held up, capturing the whole thing. “I just got an anonymous text with a photo. It’s a picture of our backs, standing over the body. What if they go to the police?” Crystal’s sobs were theatrical. Leo’s brow furrowed in deep concern. The police. Right. It suddenly hit me. I’d been so caught up in the chaos of my second chance that I hadn’t even thought to call them. While Leo was distracted, I pulled out my own phone, my fingers flying towards the keypad. If I could just report Crystal’s hit-and-run immediately, then no matter how well Leo cleaned the scene, the police would find the evidence. But before I could dial 911, he saw me. “Ella, what the hell do you think you’re doing? Are you calling the cops?” he roared. His hand shot out, slapping my phone from my grasp. It clattered to the floor, the screen shattering into a spiderweb of cracks. I didn’t care. I scrambled for it, desperate. The next thing I felt was a blinding, searing pain. Leo had stomped on my hand to stop me, his shoe grinding down on my fingers. He was snarling, a cruel smile twisting his lips as he pressed down, twisting his foot, crushing my bones. “Before I came home, I wiped everything clean for Crystal. The car is already on its way to a scrap yard, and the body… the body is probably being pushed into the incinerator as we speak.” “Even if you call the cops, there won’t be a shred of evidence to prove Crystal killed your mom!” 4 “It looks like you need to be taught a lesson the hard way before you’ll learn to behave.” With that, he grabbed a fistful of my hair and hauled me to my feet. My phone was a dead, black rectangle on the floor. But that wasn’t enough for him. He started dragging me towards the spare bedroom. The dark room. An entire month of my last life spent locked in there like an animal, eating and sleeping and pissing in the same small space. The memory of that bone-deep terror was so real it made my whole body tremble. As the door loomed closer, my heart hammered against my ribs. I looked at him, my eyes pleading. “Leo, please, no. I won’t call the police. Don’t lock me in there. You know how much I hate the dark.” I was trying to appeal to whatever shred of affection, whatever memory of our marriage, still existed within him. For a moment, his expression softened. He looked away. “Ella, I don’t want to hurt you. But I promised Crystal’s father I would protect her. Just sign the damn paper, and I’ll let you go.” “Why does it have to be me?” He said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Because it was your mother who died.” “But, Leo… how are you so absolutely certain that the person who died… was my mom?” He wasn’t expecting that. He froze. His grip on my hair loosened as he answered, almost automatically. “When Crystal called me, I drove to the scene immediately. She… she’d had a few drinks, and she was driving way too fast.” He hesitated, a hint of guilt creeping into his voice. It dropped to a near whisper. “The impact was… horrific. The body was unrecognizable.” “But I checked. She was wearing a silver bracelet on her wrist. I recognized it instantly. It was the custom one you gave your mother last year.” A custom bracelet? In that instant, everything clicked into place. I knew exactly who had died. It was my mother-in-law. Leo’s own mother. 5 Leo’s mother lived in the same complex as us. When I had the bracelets made, I ordered two identical ones—one for my mom, and one for hers. Leo wasn’t just protecting the person who killed his own mother. He had personally destroyed the evidence and sent his own mother’s body to be incinerated. The thought was so grotesquely absurd that a laugh escaped my lips, sharp and humorless. I picked up the forgiveness agreement from the floor, shoved it back in his face, and said with chilling sincerity, “Leo, I’m not qualified to sign this.” “And I’m telling you right now, if you actually force a signature on this, you will regret it for the rest of your life.” “Why?” he asked, a reflex. “Because the person who died wasn’t my mom,” I said. “It was yours.” I thought hearing this would make him pause, make him question, make him try to verify it. Instead, his face contorted with rage. He pointed a trembling finger at me. “Ella, have you lost your mind? How dare you curse my mother?” “You’d say anything to slander Crystal, wouldn’t you? It seems I was a fool to feel sorry for you.” He lunged at me again, ready to strike. I scrambled away. Watching him, a blind fool charging forward for the sake of his twisted love, I suddenly felt exhausted by it all. I sighed, preparing to call my mom out and force him to face the truth. “Leo, I’m telling you the truth. If you don’t believe me, I can…” My words were cut off by the ping of another message on his phone. It was Crystal. “Leo, is everything settled? Someone who claims they have a picture is demanding ten million dollars from me. If I don’t pay, they’re going to the police. I’m so scared.” The flicker of doubt in Leo’s eyes vanished, replaced by a storm of worry and fury. He thought for a moment, then looked at me, a slow, terrible smile spreading across his face. The words that followed were pure poison. “Besides the forgiveness statement, I just thought of an even better way to clear Crystal’s name completely.” “Ella… why don’t you take the fall for her?” “All you have to do is confess. Tell everyone that you were the one driving this morning, that you hit and killed your own mother.” “That way, even if the person with the photo comes forward, I, as your loving husband, can testify against you. I’ll say you paid them to frame Crystal.” It was the exact same plan from my previous life. My eyes burned, and a raw, ragged scream tore from my throat. “Leo, are you even human?” He was already lost in his own twisted logic, nodding to himself. “Don’t worry, Ella. I’ll hire the best defense attorney for you, get you a reduced sentence. While you’re inside, I’ll take care of our daughter, raise her myself. You won’t have a single thing to worry about.” “And when you get out, we can still be a happy family.” I choked out the words, each one tasting like blood. “You can go to hell.” “Leo, I will die before I let you get away with this!”

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During the annual awards ceremony, I stepped out for a restroom break. When I returned, my year-end bonus was revoked for allegedly assaulting a new colleague. In my first life, I desperately tried to prove my innocence using my smart bracelet’s motion tracker, but my director refused to believe me. In a struggle, I fell down the stairs and died. In my second life, I avoided the event entirely by calling in sick. Yet police soon surrounded my apartment, accusing me of homicide. The victim’s family stabbed me before I could defend myself. In my third life, I livestreamed from a public square to secure an alibi. Still, police arrested me with security footage showing me stabbing the colleague at the gala. I was executed days later. I’ve lost track of how many lives I’ve lived through this. This time, I walked straight into the gala, held a knife to the new colleague’s throat, and declared, “You’re being kidnapped.” … My sudden move sent a shockwave of terror through my colleagues. The director just chuckled, spreading his hands. “Is this some kind of avant-garde performance for the gala?” He took a tentative step toward me. “Clara, even a performance has its limits. This is going to give people the wrong impression about our company’s culture.” Flashes of a hundred different deaths flickered before my eyes. I could almost feel the phantom pains tearing through me again. A raw scream tore from my throat. “Stay back! One more step and I’ll do it!” To prove my point, I pressed the blade harder. A thin red line appeared on the new colleague’s neck. He let out a pained cry, and the room erupted in gasps of genuine horror. The reality of the situation finally sank in. This was a real kidnapping. Everyone scrambled backward. The director’s face went pale, sweat beading on his forehead. “Clara, calm down! We can talk about this, whatever it is!” But I’d tried talking. I’d tried in my very first life. I had the company’s latest, top-of-the-line sports watch, and I showed them the complete motion trajectory. During the five minutes I was gone from the gala, I had only gone to the bathroom. And yet, every single one of my colleagues swore they saw me beating the new guy to a pulp in those same five minutes. My desperate explanations were useless. Not far away, my director was pacing frantically. “Clara is usually so gentle. And this new guy isn’t even in her department.” “They have no reason to be enemies. What is she doing?” Exactly! I wanted to scream in agreement. I barely knew this guy. Our interactions were limited to polite nods in the breakroom. On top of that, he was a man, and I’ve been so shy my whole life I’ve hardly even spoken to men I wasn’t related to. There was no professional conflict, and certainly no romantic entanglement. So why? Why, in every single life, did another version of me appear out of thin air, hell-bent on killing him? It made no sense! Thinking of this, I looked expectantly at the colleague dialing 911. “Have you called them? Make sure you tell them it’s an emergency.” The colleague on the phone just stared at me, bewildered. “Isn’t Clara the kidnapper?” Once I was sure the police were on their way, I put my menacing mask back on. “Everyone, get back! Or he’s going to get hurt. And turn on the main lights!” Terrified I’d harm their colleague, they did as I said. The colorful stage lights went out, replaced by the stark white of the overhead fluorescents. Now I could finally see the new colleague’s face clearly. He had a quiet, handsome face, the kind that looked utterly harmless. He was currently cowering in front of me, his body rigid, his eyes swimming with tears. “Where are you from?” I asked him. “Where did you go to college?” He choked out the names of two cities I’d never heard of, confirming my suspicions. Our lives had absolutely no intersection. The frustration of countless failed loops washed over me, and my own sense of injustice was just as strong as his fear. “So,” I asked, “why do you think I’m kidnapping you?” He froze, then gave a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of his head. “I don’t know.” Right! Neither of the people involved could understand it, yet it kept happening, over and over again. In the endless lives that followed, no matter how I tried to hide or run, in that bizarre five-minute window, I would appear at his side and brutally take his life. And there was always unshakable, irrefutable proof that I was the killer. The wail of sirens grew closer. My resolve hardened. This time, I was going to find the truth. I was going to save both of us. The police were already downstairs. The sound of heavy footsteps was approaching. The director was still trying to reason with me. “This is the company gala! Whatever grudge you have, why air it out here?” His words hit me like a lightning bolt. Why at the gala? And in every life, the time the other me killed him was always during that same five-minute window at the company gala. It was always the same. 9:00 PM to 9:05 PM. I turned to the new colleague. “Does the time from 9:00 to 9:05 mean anything special to you?” This time, he didn’t answer right away. He stared into space for a few seconds, then shook his head, his expression strangely unnatural. I knew it instantly. Something was off. There’s more to this! But before I could press him further, the doors burst open. Because the call had reported a knife-point kidnapping, the police were armed with tasers and firearms. I saw the dark, gaping barrels of their guns pointed at me. My mind flashed with the memory of a bullet piercing my skull, a recurring finale in many of my past lives. A violent shudder ran through me. I bit my tongue, the sharp pain barely enough to steady my nerves. “Don’t move! Anyone comes closer, he gets another cut!” The lead officer frowned, his voice firm but controlled. “Ma’am, whatever your grievances are, we can talk about them. You don’t have to resort to extreme measures!” How could I talk? Tell them I’ve been reborn countless times, trapped on the night of the annual gala? They wouldn’t believe me. They’d just see a killer. I took a deep breath, using the new colleague as a human shield, and backed my way onto the awards stage. It was the most visible spot in the entire venue. If running away would never solve the problem, then I would face it head-on. Let’s just see. This time, I’m not leaving. I’m staying right here with him. Let’s see if that other me, the one who appears from nowhere, still comes to kill him. And these police officers would be my witnesses. My heart hammered in my chest. I kept glancing at the clock. In that moment of distraction, a young officer slipped behind the stage curtain. While my eyes were on the time, he lunged. Every officer is professionally trained. He slapped the knife from my hand with expert precision and had me pinned in seconds. “Take the suspect into custody! As for the victim, get him home safely and have a trauma counselor sent over!” My eyes were bloodshot as I screamed, “No! I can’t be separated from him!” The officers exchanged glances, clearly pegging me as some kind of obsessive stalker. I grabbed the lead officer’s arm, my explanation tumbling out in a frantic, desperate torrent. “He’s going to die after nine o’clock! You have to believe me! You need to protect him!” The officer sneered. “The only danger to him here is you.” “Cuff her. Take her away!” Cold metal snapped around my wrists, and I was completely powerless. The stares and whispers of my colleagues were a crushing weight. But then, with a thud, I dropped to my knees in front of the officer. “Someone who looks exactly like me is going to appear and kill him. I’m begging you, please, believe me…” I was sobbing, a deep, hopeless sound. The experience of death is a terrible, terrible thing. And I had experienced it more times than I could count. A female officer seemed moved by my despair. She tried to soothe me. “There’s no such thing as a perfect double. You’ll be at the station. You won’t be anywhere near him.” “Even if something did happen to him, we would be your alibi.” But would they? I slumped to the floor, my eyes vacant with despair. “No. You won’t.” In one life, to clear my name, I’d gotten myself arrested for shoplifting. But the moment the clock struck 9:00 PM, the officers on duty at the station all passed out, and the security cameras malfunctioned. Miles away, at the gala, the other me appeared. And now, these officers were dragging me out, pushing me toward the door. Knowing that I had failed to change his fate again, a wail of utter despair escaped me. But then, a voice cut through the noise from behind me. “Wait. You can’t take her.”

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1 My background is a secret. My knowledge of the law is not. No matter who you are, if you break the law in front of me, I will report you. On the first day of my reunion with my wealthy birth parents, they tried to lock me in the basement to “reflect on how to be a proper lady.” I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. “Hello, officer? I’d like to report a case of false imprisonment.” My fiancé, a domineering CEO, wanted to have my corneas transplanted into his childhood sweetheart. On the operating table, I calmly addressed the surgeon. “Doctor, removing an organ against a person’s will carries a sentence of over five years, ten if it results in serious injury. Would you like to stop now, or would you prefer to do hard time?” The doctor’s hand trembled. My fiancé, Julian, was enraged. “In this city, I am the law. What’s the big deal about taking your eyes?” I pulled a recording pen from my pocket. “Excellent. That’s solid evidence of involvement with organized crime. The RICO task force is always looking for textbook cases like you.” … I pressed the stop button and waved the pen at him. “Mr. Polson, that part where you said ‘I am the law’? The audio quality is crystal clear.” “You—!” Julian Polson couldn’t believe I’d dare to threaten him at a time like this. He lunged for the pen, his face contorted with fury. “Give that to me!” I vaulted off the operating table in one smooth motion. “Robbery, defined as the taking of property from another by force, is a felony punishable by up to three years in prison.” At that exact moment, the doors to the operating room were kicked open with a tremendous crash. BANG! The sound was followed by a voice of righteous authority. “Freeze! Police!” Detective Miller, the officer who’d taken my call, burst in with three other cops. The dark, unblinking lens of a body camera was aimed squarely at Julian and the surgeon still holding his scalpel. “Officer, thank God you’re here!” I feigned innocence and ducked behind Miller, pointing at Julian. “This man claims to be the law of this city. He was threatening me with a weapon, intending to forcibly harvest my organs for that woman over there, Tia Harrington. The doctor is his accomplice. I have the entire conspiracy recorded on this pen.” Julian froze, staring at the uniforms. He’d lived a life of privilege and power; he’d never been in a situation like this. “This is a misunderstanding! It’s a family matter! I’m Julian Polson, the CEO of Polson Industries…” Miller let out a cold laugh and produced a pair of handcuffs, snapping one onto Julian’s wrist with a sharp click. “Polson, is it? I don’t care if you’re a CEO or the King of England, you answer to the law. And there’s no ‘family matter’ exemption in the Penal Code. Take him away!” As I looked at Julian’s face—a bruised, disbelieving mess—I straightened the collar of my hospital gown and offered a polite, educational smile. “Mr. Polson, be sure to study up while you’re inside. I’ll send you a copy of the complete Penal Code. Prime delivery, on the house.” It was late by the time I finished giving my statement at the station. Julian’s team of high-powered lawyers managed to get him out on bail, citing “medical distress” and posting an exorbitant bond. But his reputation was in tatters, and for now, he was holed up in a hospital, too busy licking his wounds to bother me. That didn’t mean I was safe. The moment I pushed open the door to the Harrington family mansion, a bone china teacup came flying at my head. CRASH! It shattered at my feet, sending shards skittering across the marble floor. My birth mother, Mrs. Harrington, stood in the foyer, her perfectly preserved face twisted into a grotesque snarl. “You ungrateful little witch! You’ve been back one day and you’ve already sent your fiancé to jail? You’ve dragged the Harrington name through the mud!” On the sofa, my birth father, Mr. Harrington, ground out his cigarette in an ashtray, his expression grim. “What are you waiting for?” he barked. “Lock the doors!” With an audible click, four hulking bodyguards emerged from the shadows, blocking my only exit. Mr. Harrington rose to his feet, looking down his nose at me. “In this house, I’m your father. That makes me God. Since you love calling the police so much, you can spend the rest of your days rotting in the basement. Men, take her phone, her recorder, any electronic devices she has. And then teach her a lesson she won’t forget.” Two of the guards grabbed my shoulders, their meaty hands digging into me as they forcibly emptied my pockets. My mother snatched my phone and smashed it on the floor, grinding it into pieces with the heel of her stiletto. “Go on, record that! Call the cops now! Let’s see you try!” Faced with this suffocating violence, I didn’t cry or scream. I remained calm, even taking a moment to mentally appraise the shattered phone. “That was a custom model. Worth about twenty-five hundred dollars. The recorder was three hundred.” I lifted my head, my gaze sweeping coolly over my parents and their hired muscle. “Right now, in a confined space, you are forcibly seizing my property through violent means. According to the Penal Code, that’s called home invasion robbery. It carries a ten-year minimum sentence.” “Ha! Robbery?” Mrs. Harrington shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at me. “I’m your mother! What’s wrong with taking something of yours? I have every right to discipline you! In this house, family law is the only law that matters! Do it!” A bodyguard raised his hand to strike. I ducked my head, bit down on a black button that looked like a simple decoration on my collar, and yanked it hard. “WEEEEEE-OOOOOO-EEEEEE!!!” An ear-splitting, high-decibel alarm shrieked through the house, piercing enough to be heard across the entire wealthy neighborhood. It was a military-grade personal alarm, audible from a quarter-mile away. The bodyguard recoiled, clutching his ears in pain, his grip on me slackening. I seized the opportunity, lunging for the floor-to-ceiling window and grabbing a chair. CRASH! Standing in the shattered frame, I took a deep breath and yelled out to the neighboring mansions. “HELP! HOME INVASION! THEY’RE GOING TO KILL ME!” My scream was bloodcurdling. The man living next door was none other than retired Supreme Court Justice Albright, a man famous for his zero-tolerance policy on crime. In that instant, the color drained from my parents’ faces. Five minutes later, the familiar squad car pulled up, and the familiar Detective Miller stepped out. He looked at me, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “Miss Lawton… have we met before tonight?” I calmly pointed to the wreckage of my phone on the floor, then to the bodyguards. “Detective, your timing is perfect. These men physically restrained me and violently robbed me of my personal property, valued at over two thousand dollars. I have reason to believe they are part of an organized criminal enterprise. Oh, and by the way, the micro-camera hidden in my cufflink recorded the entire incident. It’s automatically backed up to the cloud.” I rolled up my sleeve, revealing the tiny lens, which glowed with a faint blue light. Mr. Harrington’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he fainted on the spot. After my eventful evening, Mr. and Mrs. Harrington weren’t arrested, but after a stern lecture from Detective Miller, they were forced to sign a domestic violence injunction. The stress sent them both to the hospital with heart palpitations. I thought I might get a moment of peace, but trouble, it seems, never sleeps. The next morning, my brother, Leo, kicked over my suitcase, grabbed my black laptop, and smashed it on the ground before stomping on it for good measure. Tia, the girl who was supposed to be waiting for a cornea donation, rushed to his side, feigning concern. “Leo, don’t! She just came from the countryside. I know the computer is old, but she saved up for it for so long by doing odd jobs…” “So that’s what that weird smell is. You think this piece of trash she bought with garbage money belongs in our house?” Leo smirked, satisfied with the shattered screen, and tossed a wad of cash in my face. “Ten thousand dollars. That’s enough to buy ten of your broken computers. Take the money, and go kneel and apologize to Mom, Dad, and Tia.” Tia covered her mouth, a little giggle escaping. “He’s just looking out for you, sis. Out with the old, in with the new, right?” My lips twitched into a smile. I applauded. “Impressive, Leo. World-class computer-smashing technique.” I knelt and picked up the remains of the laptop with a sigh. Leo frowned. “Cut the crap. Is the money not enough?” I held up a finger. “This was a custom, military-grade workstation. The hardware alone cost eighty-eight thousand dollars. More importantly, it contained three years of core research data I was running for a national laboratory. It was the only copy. No backup.” I flashed him a bright, white smile. “According to legal precedent, the destruction of scientific data is assessed by its replacement cost. The value of this data set is… approximately seven hundred thousand dollars.” Leo’s smirk froze on his face. “Seven hundred thousand? Who are you trying to scam?” “The Economic Crimes Division and a state appraiser will determine whether it’s real or not.” I pulled out a backup phone and dialed 911. Because the amount was so substantial and the act so malicious, Leo wasn’t even eligible for bail. As he was led away in handcuffs, Tia screamed. The family butler, who had just arrived, looked like he’d seen a ghost. A family, after all, should stick together. My fiancé was out on bail, my brother was in jail, and my parents were in the hospital. The scorecard was looking pretty good. The Harrington family was in ruins, but Tia’s resilience was truly something to behold. Minutes later, she was live-streaming from the hospital hallway, tears streaming down her face like a soap opera star. “Everyone, my sister just got here and she’s already sent my brother to jail and put my parents in the ICU… Why would she do this to us? Do people who grow up poor all have hearts of stone?” The comment section exploded with people calling me a monster. Donations started rolling in. Tia seized the moment, displaying a QR code. “To save my brother and pay for my parents’ medical bills, I’m willing to accept any help you can offer…” I stood in a corner, recording everything. Once I had enough evidence, I walked up and tapped her on the shoulder. “Great performance. The Academy owes you an Oscar.” Tia jumped, then shrieked into the camera. “It’s her! Everyone, this is the woman who’s trying to destroy our family!” Facing the vitriol of millions of viewers, I calmly held a payment receipt up to the camera. “First, Mom and Dad’s medical expenses are fully covered by their insurance. You don’t need to fundraise.” “Second, my brother was arrested for destroying national scientific data. The evidence is conclusive.” “And third,” I said, pointing to the personal account number that was rapidly accumulating funds, “you are fabricating a story to fraudulently solicit money from the public. According to the Penal Code, that’s called felony fraud. I took a quick look, and it looks like you’ve already passed the fifty-thousand-dollar mark. That’s a minimum of ten years. Congratulations.” “This… these are gifts! Not fraud!” Tia stammered, her face pale. “You can explain that to the police.” Right on cue, Detective Miller appeared with his colleagues from the Economic Crimes Division. They escorted a stunned Tia away for fraud and slander. As she was placed in the police car, the tide in the live stream turned instantly. The screen was flooded with comments: “The Law Queen is a badass!” And with that, the entire Harrington family was neutralized. I had just left the hospital after dealing with Tia when I felt a sharp, sudden pain in my neck. A taser. As I slipped into unconsciousness, I heard Julian’s cold, menacing voice. “You had your chance to do this the easy way. Take her.” I woke up to a bucket of ice-cold water splashing over my head. The salty tang of sea air, the blinding glare of a spotlight, and an endless expanse of black ocean. My hands and feet were bound to an iron pole with heavy-duty zip ties, tied so tightly they cut into my flesh. We were in international waters. On Julian’s private yacht. “You’re awake?” Julian sat on a leather sofa, swirling a glass of red wine. Behind him stood two dozen burly mercenaries, the bulges at their waists indicating they were armed. And next to him, fresh out of the ICU, sat Mr. and Mrs. Harrington. Mrs. Harrington saw my predicament and burst into triumphant laughter. “You little bitch, you love calling the cops, don’t you? Go on, call them! We’re in international waters! Twelve nautical miles out, nobody’s laws apply to us!” Mr. Harrington’s face was a mask of pure hatred. He slapped a file against my cheek. “Sign this ‘Property Transfer Agreement’ and this ‘Psychiatric Guardianship’ form. Sign over all your shares to Tia, then jump overboard and feed the sharks. If you do, we might even give you a proper memorial!” They had searched me thoroughly. No phone, no recorder, even the alarm button on my collar was gone. They had learned their lesson and cut off all my lifelines. Julian sauntered over, tilting my chin up with the toe of his expensive leather shoe, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Zoe Lawton, don’t even bother. This yacht is equipped with a full-spectrum signal jammer. Right now, there are no police, no cameras, and no laws.” “In this lawless place, what are you possibly going to fight me with?” It was a hopeless situation. Utterly and completely hopeless. It was so perfect, I couldn’t help but laugh. “What are you laughing at? Have you gone mad?” Julian frowned. I slowly lifted my head, my eyes glinting with excitement. “Thank you, Julian.” My voice was raw, but it carried a bone-deep chill. “Ever since I came back, being forced into this ‘long-lost daughter’ role… it’s been exhausting.” “Dealing with scum, I had to cite the law. Facing violence, I had to call the police. I had to maintain this ‘law-abiding citizen’ persona, even calculating the force of my self-defense so I wouldn’t cripple you and have to pay damages.” Julian froze. “What are you talking about?” “You said it yourself. These are international waters.” “No signal. No cameras. No police.” I took a deep breath, savoring the taste of freedom. “That means… whatever I do to you… isn’t illegal, right?” “You’re insane! Get her! Kill her!” Julian scrambled backward, his voice cracking with fear. The two dozen mercenaries surged forward, brandishing iron rods. With a sharp snap, I broke the nylon zip ties. I took off my broken glasses and tossed them into the sea. I rolled my wrists, producing a series of loud, popping cracks. Looking at the thug leading the charge, I offered a standard-issue smile. “I forgot to introduce myself properly.” “Before I took up studying the Penal Code, my day job was… a combat instructor for mercenary units in North Africa.” “Since the law can’t touch you here…” I exploded into motion, a phantom blur, and sent the first man flying ten feet with a single punch. “…tonight, I am the law.” THUD! The 250-pound man crashed onto the deck with a sickening crack of breaking ribs that echoed across the water. The air went dead silent. Julian stared at me, his face a mask of disbelief. “You… how is that possible…” He waved frantically at the other thugs.

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My stepmother loathed me. As a child, I’d left our yard gate open while playing at a friend’s house. My younger brother wandered out, was hit by a car, and died. My father, who adored him, shattered with grief and accused me of leaving the gate open on purpose. He locked me in the basement and raised me like an animal. Years later, starving after days without food, I crept upstairs and overheard my stepmother with her lover. “If you hadn’t left the gate open,” she whispered, “I wouldn’t fear my husband learning we killed Michael.” It was them all along. She saw me, panicked, and threw me down the stairs. I woke up again on the day my brother died. This time, I pointed upstairs and sweetly told my father, “Daddy, I did close the gate. The man in Mommy’s bedroom left it open.” 1 “Lily, did you really see a man leave the gate open?!” My father stood just outside the yard, his bloodshot eyes boring into me. A cold sneer formed in my mind. Look at him. So broken up over his precious son. In my last life, I explained over and over that I’d closed the gate, but he only listened to the venom my stepmother whispered in his ear. He was utterly convinced that I had murdered his only son. My own mother died bringing me into this world. Before her memorial was even over, he brought my stepmother—already pregnant—into our home. That woman, Charlotte, secured her position as the lady of the house with a premature baby boy, a birth that ruined her body and left her unable to have any more children. So Michael became the center of my father’s universe. After Michael died, Dad treated me like a dog. I ate from a dog bowl, slept in a cage, and was forced to bark to appease his impotent rage and his guilt towards Charlotte. This time, I wouldn’t be so stupid. I would use his masculine pride, his all-consuming love for his son, to drag that wretched pair through the mud. So the first thing I did after being reborn was to head straight home to catch my stepmother in the act. But I never made it. As I turned back, I saw him—Michael, standing right in the middle of the road. In the distance, my father’s face was a mask of horror. I was closer. Wanting to make a good impression this time, I lunged forward and pulled Michael back just as the car screeched past. I saved him, but not entirely. He didn’t die instantly like before, but the tires crushed his legs, leaving him crippled. “Honey!” Charlotte’s shriek tore through the air. She scrambled over, snot and tears streaming down her face, and clung to my father’s arm. “Don’t listen to this little bitch’s lies! Her mother died, and she’s always hated us! She opened the gate on purpose! She wanted to kill Michael!” Before Dad could react, I scurried over on my little legs and threw my arms around his thighs. I tilted my grimy face up, looking at him with the purest, most innocent eyes I could muster. “No, Daddy, I didn’t!” My voice was small and thick with tears, overflowing with injustice. “I want a mommy to love me too, but she doesn’t. I thought… I thought if I was nice to Michael, you would both love me…” I squeezed out a few fat tears as I spoke, my little hand pointing towards my brother, who was wailing in pain from his shattered legs. “I give Michael my milk every day, and I let him play with my favorite teddy bear… Just now, if I hadn’t pulled him back, he would have flown up to heaven and couldn’t play with me anymore. My teacher says we have to be kind and look after the young. I did that, Lily is a good girl. You have to believe me, Daddy.” Since I had always acted sweet to Michael to please my father, the words flowed from my lips without a hint of shame. I hugged his leg tighter, clinging to him with all the desperate strength a child could possess. Then, I cast my line. “If you don’t believe me, you can go upstairs right now and find that man! I bet he hasn’t even left yet!” 2 My father’s face darkened, twisting into a thunderous mask. He reached down and pinched my cheek, his voice a low growl. “Daddy believes you.” With that, he spun around and stormed towards the house, moving not like a man about to catch a cheater, but like a soldier heading into battle. Charlotte’s face went white. She tried to grab him but missed, stamping her foot in desperation. “Honey! The most important thing right now is getting our son to the hospital!” But my father could tolerate many things, but not betrayal. Not this. His son’s legs were nothing compared to his pride. He didn’t even look back as he charged upstairs. Of course, he found nothing. The man was long gone. But the cloying scent of a strange men’s cologne hung heavy in the air, a scent so thick it was suffocating. Charlotte, ever the actress, burst into fresh tears. She fumbled in her purse and pulled out an exquisitely packaged bottle of men’s cologne, her voice choked with sobs. “Honey, this was a gift for you. I wanted it to be a surprise…” It was an excuse a ghost wouldn’t believe. But my father had no proof. An ambulance wailed in the distance, arriving to take Michael away. Before he got in, my father stared hard at Charlotte, hissing through his teeth, “If I find out some bastard was the reason my son’s legs were broken, I’ll make sure his entire family pays.” I was frantic but powerless. I knew Charlotte was cunning, that she had prepared for this. I couldn’t beat her in one move; I’d have to find another chance. At the hospital, Michael wouldn’t stop crying from the pain. I immediately rushed to his bedside, grabbing his small hand. “Don’t cry, Michael,” I choked out. “Big sister is here.” He must have been dazed from the fall, or maybe my false kindness over the years had actually worked. He instinctively burrowed into my side. “Lily saved me,” he mumbled. My father, standing nearby, praised me for being so mature. But then his gaze fell on Michael’s cast-covered legs, and he sighed heavily. “Thank God,” he muttered, “it wasn’t worse.” With no proof, the mystery of the open gate remained just that. My father could only eye Charlotte with suspicion, while she played the part of the devoted, gentle wife to perfection, insisting the old gate latch had simply given way. And so, the matter was quietly dropped. Back home, Charlotte’s kindness towards me became almost suffocating. She cooked my favorite meals, bought me beautiful new dresses, and even tucked me in at night. She was so tender, you’d think I was her real daughter. My father saw all of this, and his suspicions began to fade. He probably figured that even if a woman had strayed, she’d come back to her senses for the sake of her child and her family. But I knew better. The nicer she was, the more it proved her guilt. She was desperately trying to wash the filth off herself so she could dump it all back onto me. I was waiting. Waiting for the fox to show its tail. But for all my planning, all my caution, I had underestimated her venom. One Saturday morning, Charlotte sent me upstairs to my room to do my homework. She then wheeled a sleeping Michael out onto the second-floor balcony to get some sun. I looked up from my workbook, a knot of dread tightening in my stomach. And then it happened. Just as my father pushed open the front door, a loud crash, followed by Charlotte’s bloodcurdling scream, echoed from the stairwell. “Aaaah! Lily! How could you push your brother!” My father, just stepping inside, froze. He looked up and saw me, standing in the second-floor hallway. And below, at the bottom of the stairs, Michael lay tangled in his overturned wheelchair. 3 I clenched my fists. Stay calm, Lily. You have to stay calm. “Daddy, I didn’t push him,” I said, my voice trembling just enough to sound like a terrified child. “I was in my room doing my homework. Mommy was on the balcony with Michael.” My father was holding my unconscious brother, his bloodshot eyes fixed on me like a predator about to pounce. Charlotte immediately jumped in. “I told Lily to watch Michael on the second floor while I went next door to borrow some scallions from Mrs. Gable! She can prove it!” A cold smile touched my lips. A perfect alibi. She had timed my father’s return perfectly, deliberately finding a neighbor to be her witness. Sure enough, Mrs. Gable, who had always been friendly with Charlotte, squeezed through the crowd of onlookers, her face a mask of righteousness. “It’s true, Daniel. Charlotte was just at my place getting scallions for that braised fish you love so much! I saw her walk back into her yard with my own two eyes!” She wasn’t finished. She pointed a finger at me, her voice dripping with condemnation. “But your daughter here, when we came over, we saw her just standing on the second floor, staring down at the scene without a single reaction! Honestly, Lily, how can a child be so cruel? I bet it was you who left the gate open last time, wasn’t it?” Her words were like a stone tossed into a pond, sending ripples of gossip through the neighbors. “She’s right, that girl’s always had a mean look about her.” “So jealous at such a young age. She’ll be real trouble when she’s older.” Seeing her advantage, Charlotte covered her face and began to sob, her body slumping weakly against my father. “Honey, don’t blame Lily. The gate incident was probably just an accident, and maybe… maybe this wasn’t on purpose either…” Her feigned defense only sealed my guilt. My father’s gaze turned to ice. He had seen it. He had seen Charlotte rushing in from the yard in a panic, while I stood on the second floor like a cold, detached spectator. Seeing is believing. “Last time, I saw you pull your brother back with my own eyes, and I believed you,” my father’s voice was hoarse, terrifying. “Now, I see you push him down the stairs with my own eyes! What else do you have to say for yourself!” The trust in his eyes shattered, replaced by a disgust so thick it was palpable. “You don’t even look scared. Lily, that rescue last time… was that all an act for me too?” Tears instantly welled in my eyes. “It wasn’t me!” I screamed, crying. “It was the man Mommy brought home! The same man from before! That’s why Mommy had time to go see Mrs. Gable!” “Daddy, don’t you believe me?” Through my sobs, I yelled with all my might, “Call the police! We have to call the police! On TV, they say to call the police when you’re in trouble! Let the officers check the wheelchair for fingerprints. They’ll prove that Lily is innocent!” I saw my father’s arm, wrapped around Charlotte, loosen slightly. I knew my words were working. I choked back a sob, my eyes fixed on my unconscious brother. “Daddy, if there’s really a bad person in our house who wants to hurt Michael, what’s going to happen to him?” That question was a needle, piercing straight into his most vulnerable spot. Charlotte’s face went deathly pale. She bit her lip, then, as if making a decision, she lifted her head, her eyes swimming with tears as she looked at my father. “That’s what I should be saying to you! The three of us were happy. If it wasn’t for this little monster, would our family ever know peace?” Her voice was thick with emotion, every word torn from her soul. “Honey, I gave up everything to be with you, to give you a son. How could I possibly harm our own flesh and blood? I cook for you every day, I keep this house perfect, have you forgotten all of that?” “It doesn’t matter if you misunderstand me, but I’m scared for you! I’m scared you’ll be blinded by this ungrateful viper and live to regret it!”

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After the miscarriage, my husband, a psychiatrist, erased my memory. He did it so he could take his patient, a young woman suffering from “depression,” on a therapeutic retreat. For the next three months, he and our son traveled with her, living a carefree life. When they had their fill of fun, he finally deigned to restore my memories. I was a wife and mother again. Except now, I didn’t care. I wasn’t a bother. They thought I was sulking, playing hard to get, trying to make a point. They didn’t pay it much mind. Not until they saw the post I made online. [HELP! My memory is back but my feelings aren’t. What do I do?!] [I can’t even empathize with my past self. Living under the same roof with my husband and son feels so tense and awkward now. Help!!!] … I was fast asleep, buried under the covers, when the lights flicked on with a sharp click, flooding the room with a hazy brightness. My eyes flew open. A tall figure stood by the door, his handsome face, framed by silver-rimmed glasses, was a mask of cold indifference. I blinked, my brain slowly catching up. It was my husband, Larry. His voice was steady, utterly devoid of emotion. “Why are you sleeping in the guest room?” I sat up, clutching the duvet to my chest, and forced a dry laugh. “My memory just came back. I’m still getting used to things.” “Let’s just sleep separately for a while, give me some time to adjust.” He nodded, as if it didn’t matter to him at all. “Suit yourself.” Then, as if it were an afterthought, he asked, “You didn’t call me today.” I looked at him, confused. “Call you about what? I didn’t need anything from you today. Why would I call?” The temperature in the room seemed to drop. “Before, if I came home after ten, you’d blow up my phone.” I cringed, the memory of my old behavior making my toes curl in embarrassment. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “It won’t happen again.” Looking back on those memories was like being a professional and stumbling upon your cringey high school social media page. The secondhand embarrassment was physically painful. The whole reason he’d hypnotized me in the first place was because I had called his patient at midnight. I had screamed at Serena, calling her a slut, accusing her of faking depression to seduce other women’s husbands. I told her if she was really sick, she should be taking medication, not stripping naked in a man’s bed. My tirade had left Serena sobbing. When Larry took the phone, his voice was as calm as ever, simply telling me he’d be home soon. I had been smug, thinking I’d scared off the homewrecker. But when Larry came home, he told me something else entirely. “I’m taking Serena to a cabin in the mountains for three months. Getting close to nature is part of her therapy.” Our son, Bobby, who was standing nearby, jumped up and down excitedly. “Me too, I wanna go! Serena gave me candy last time! I want to go with her!” I couldn’t believe it. “What about our anniversary trip? I’ve been planning it for two weeks. We were supposed to go as soon as Bobby was on vacation.” “We’re not going. Serena’s condition is serious. I need to be there for her treatment.” “I want to go to the mountains! I don’t want to go on a boring trip with Mom. I like Serena better anyway.” Of course, I refused. I screamed, I fought, I became hysterical. Larry shoved me away impatiently. Bobby rammed his head into me, pushing me back. A sharp, searing pain shot through me. A gush of warm, sticky blood pooled beneath me. I lost the baby we had been trying for for six months. And he, afraid I would cause more trouble, used a risky, experimental hypnotic procedure to erase my memory and left me in the hospital. “I promise,” I said, my voice firm, “I will never bother you with pointless calls again.” Larry’s expression only darkened. After a long moment, he stated with cold certainty, “Claire, you’re just sulking.” He turned to leave, tossing one last comment over his shoulder. “Throw your tantrum if you must. Just remember to tidy up my study.” I opened my mouth to say something, then closed it. Instead, I picked up my phone, yawning as I started searching for a good housekeeper. I couldn’t do it. I really couldn’t. I had to admire my past self. Waking up at six every morning to prepare a special breakfast for my son with his minefield of allergies. At seven, making a separate meal for Larry’s sensitive stomach. After grabbing a quick bite for myself, I’d start cleaning the entire house. Larry was a neat freak and couldn’t stand a speck of dust. His study, in particular, had to be immaculate. I had tried to replicate my old routine today and nearly passed out from exhaustion. I’d just shoved the files in his study into random drawers, which was probably why he’d made a point to remind me. I drifted off to sleep, but what felt like minutes later, a loud banging on the door jolted me awake. “Are you going to get up and make breakfast or not? I’m going to be late for school!” It was Bobby, yelling impatiently from the hallway. Time for breakfast. Good thing I was prepared. “I scheduled a delivery from that café you like,” I called out. “It’ll be here soon.” I rolled over and fell back asleep, vaguely hearing Bobby kick the door in frustration. “Dad never should have brought you back. Serena always makes me breakfast. You’re useless.” I was ripped from sleep again when Larry violently pulled me out of bed. “What did you feed Bobby!” I stared at him, completely bewildered. He dragged me to where Bobby stood, covered in red hives and struggling to breathe. “Even if you’re angry, you don’t take it out on our son! He has severe allergies. If I hadn’t found him when I did, he could have suffocated.” An ambulance rushed our son to the hospital. I ran after them, trying to explain. “I honestly don’t know what happened. I sent the café a list of his allergies when I ordered, I double-checked with them, and they promised they’d be careful. I never thought he’d still have a reaction.” Larry shot me a look of pure disgust. “Stop making things up. You’re the one who drove away the two nutritionists I hired. You’re the one who obsessively controls his diet. He said a few nice things about Serena because you suffocate him, and this is how you punish him.” “No, that’s not it, it’s because—” “Save it. Don’t make me regret giving you your memory back.” His icy words cut me off. I controlled Bobby’s diet because his body was incredibly sensitive. He was allergic to almost everything. And those two nutritionists? They quit after less than a week because they said dealing with his dietary restrictions was too much of a hassle. Whatever. It was too complicated to explain. Once the new housekeeper arrived, none of this would be my problem anymore. The doctor said it was a mild reaction to honey. Not a big deal. One IV drip and he’d be fine. I called the café. The manager explained that the honey sticks were a free promotional item, packaged separately and clearly labeled with an allergen warning. So, Bobby must have snuck it. He always had a sweet tooth, but he was allergic to honey, chocolate, and so many other things. The old me would have been watching him like a hawk. The new me… didn’t. And this was the result. “Claire!” I turned to tell Larry what I’d learned, but a small, warm body suddenly latched onto my legs. “Cece? What are you doing at the hospital?” I broke into a smile, crouching down to hug the little girl. She had been my friend during my amnesia. In the hospital, I had been lost and terrified, a huge, hollow emptiness where my heart should have been. I wandered through the days in a fog, a rudderless ship tossed in a storm, with no idea what to do. I didn’t even remember basic things. It was Cece who, like a patient teacher with a kindergartener, taught me everything again. She stayed with me, her presence a small, bright light in that cold, sterile place. “She got a little too ambitious on the swings and fell, bumped her head. Just getting it checked out,” a man’s voice said. It was Cece’s uncle, Alex. His eyes lit up when he saw me, a genuine warmth spreading across his face. “Oh no! Are you okay? Does it hurt?” I fussed over Cece, gently touching her head. She hugged me tight, rubbing her cheek against mine. “I’m okay, Auntie Claire. I just missed you so much.” “I missed you too, sweetie.” Alex watched us, his handsome face etched with concern. “What about you? What are you doing here? Is everything alright?” “I’m fine. It’s my son, he had an allergic reaction.” “Oh, good.” He breathed a sigh of relief, then immediately backtracked. “Uh… I didn’t mean it like that—I mean, is your son okay?” I couldn’t help but laugh. “He’s fine. Just needs some medicine.” He was about to say something else when Larry’s voice, laced with anger, cut through the air. “Claire—” I turned. His gaze shifted from Alex to me, my smile seeming to irritate him. He frowned. “Bobby is crying.” I quickly looked over at my son. The swelling on his face had gone down, but tears were streaming from his eyes, probably from the discomfort of the allergic reaction. He pointed a trembling finger at Cece, his voice choked with anger and hurt. “Who is she?” “This is Cece. She kept me company when I was in the hospital.” “Don’t cry now,” I said softly. “The tears will make your face itch. Besides, you’re the big brother. You have to set a good example for her.” For some reason, that only made him angrier. He started screaming, thrashing around. “She is not my sister! Go away! I don’t want you here!” He had never liked me much, and this wasn’t the first time he’d told me to leave. I saw the blood backing up into his IV line from his agitation and quickly stepped out of the room. I didn’t see his little face crumple as he started to cry even harder. After offering a significant amount of extra money, I finally found a housekeeper willing to come for a trial run. I gave them a heads-up. “I’ve hired someone. She’s coming over this afternoon. I’d like you both to be here to see if she’s a good fit.” Bobby, who had been uncharacteristically quiet since the hospital incident, spoke up in a small voice. “Mom… I thought… you didn’t like having other people in the house.”

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It was midnight. My fiancé’s secretary sent me a provocative photo. [We went for 4 hours today.] I didn’t have time to reply. Because the ghost of my childhood nemesis, who died ten years ago, suddenly appeared in my living room. “Is this your fiancé?” “Tsk… why does he look a little like me?” 1 When I opened the door and saw Caleb, I thought I was still drunk and hallucinating. He was still wearing his varsity jacket from our senior year of high school. His mouth was just as sharp as it used to be. “Wow, look at you. Cosplaying a drowned rat?” I looked down at my phone. The date was correct. I hadn’t time-traveled. Thinking my eyes were playing tricks on me, I was about to look up again when several messages popped up. [Miss Summers, congratulations on getting engaged to your consolation prize.] [But compared to you, Spencer seems to like me more.] [Four hours tonight. Twice.] The attached photo was a post-coital selfie of her and Spencer. Before I could look up, Caleb’s noisy voice rang in my ear again. “Whoa! NSFW! Is that allowed?” “Summer, does your phone have a virus?” “Wait, fiancé? You’re getting married?” “Holy crap! He’s cheating on you right before the engagement? You want a man like that?” “Hold on… this fiancé… why does he look a discount version of me?” “Do I smell a ‘replacement’ trope? Summer, don’t tell me you had a crush on me? Heh…” Caleb. The “Silent Groom” of our high school yearbook—because he looked best when he wasn’t talking. He was the main character of everyone’s high school life. Except for that mouth. Roasting him back was practically muscle memory. “Crush on you? Do I look insane?” My voice dropped, and Caleb froze. I froze too. The next second, screams erupted from the surrounding apartments. “Ahhh!!! A ghost!” “Ahhh!!! Someone can see the ghost!!!” 2 Ten minutes later, I finally calmed down. Leaning against the wall, I fished a cigarette out of my bag. “What is happening? Why can I see you?” Caleb was huddled in the corner. He looked even more shocked than I was. “I’d love to know the answer to that, too.” Click. Click. The lighter sparked but couldn’t ignite the rain-soaked cigarette. He paused, floated over, and tried to grab it. But he forgot—he couldn’t touch anything. His hand went straight through the smoke. Stunned for a second, he leaned in and sniffed me to cover his embarrassment. “Drinking? And smoking?” “Summer, when did you pick up these bad habits?” We went to the same middle and high school. Basically childhood friends. Just because he was three months older, he always loved to lecture me. I was never afraid of him then. I wasn’t afraid now. “It’s been a long time. I forgot.” His eyes went wide. “You forgot? How?” “Whatever. Forget it. It doesn’t matter.” Yeah. It didn’t matter. I tossed the cigarette, walked past him, and took off my soaked trench coat, letting it drop to the floor. He floated right behind me, sticking like glue. “Hey, aren’t you scared seeing me? Don’t you have questions…” His voice cut off abruptly. Because he saw that after taking off the coat, I was unzipping the back of my dress. The zipper was already down to my shoulder blades. He phased through the wall and vanished instantly. A second later, a roar came from the closed study. “Holy sh*t! Your fiancé cheats on you, so you decide to flash me?” “I am a pure, innocent ghost! I never even dated! Don’t try to force yourself on me!” “Besides, I’m dead! I can’t help you with that!” 3 Caleb’s voice made me pause. Right. He was dead. Ten years ago, the day after graduation. Car accident. I went to his funeral. Over the last decade, everything related to him had been burned or buried. No one around me even mentioned his name. Honestly, my brain was a mess. It was so chaotic that even though I forced myself to be calm, I couldn’t tell reality from a dream. I didn’t know if what I was doing even mattered. But in this moment, I suddenly sobered up. I looked at the empty living room. Then down at my dripping wet dress. My throat tightened. “I walked home in the rain. If I don’t take a hot shower and take some meds, I’ll be dead by morning.” The room was silent. So silent that seeing Caleb felt like a hallucination. But just as I held my breath, about to open the study door to check, his muffled voice came through. “Shut up. Don’t say the D-word…” 4 I sank into the bathtub, surrounded by hot water. Listening to the splash of water, I finally felt pulled back to reality. Just today, I had received a package of Caleb’s old belongings. Just an hour ago, I was at his grave. But through the wall, his voice was crystal clear. “Summer, what is the deal with that fiancé?” “I saw that text. That wasn’t the first time you got a photo like that, was it?” “And that guy’s face…” The topic I had been avoiding was forced back into the open. Yes. Spencer’s secretary, Tiffany, wasn’t the first to send photos to provoke me. But so what? I didn’t care. “Six years ago, my mom remarried a nouveau riche guy.” “It’s a business merger. A commercial marriage. You know the drill. He just happens to look like you. Don’t flatter yourself.” Caleb wouldn’t understand. He went quiet. The only sound was hurried footsteps moving from the living room to the bathroom door. Remembering his wall-phasing trick, I frowned. “Caleb, you aren’t trying to peek, are you?” No answer. Just a tall shadow cast against the frosted glass door. Do ghosts have shadows? Suspicious, I put on my robe and opened the door. But it wasn’t Caleb. It was Spencer, who should have been in a hotel with his secretary. He was holding a photo he’d dug out of Caleb’s box of belongings, looking at me with dark eyes. “I get sick, you send meds. I have a date, you deliver condoms in the rain. You’ve been simping for me for six years just because of this face?” “Caleb? Right, that’s the name you call out when you’re drunk.” Spencer’s words made my heart skip a beat. I instinctively looked toward Caleb, who was floating out of the study. But Spencer wasn’t done. He raised an eyebrow and laughed. His tone was casual, dangerous. “Where are you hiding him? Bring him out.”

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After the Great War, the military prostitutes were to be sold into brothels. To avoid this fate, they tried everything to seduce soldiers and get taken home. When the taciturn, dark-skinned Captain came looking for me, the entire camp was empty except for me and an old woman dying of a terminal illness. She laughed at me: “Little Rose, if someone is willing to take you, just go. Who are you waiting for? Don’t tell me it’s that high-and-mighty General Peyton, who’s about to marry the princess?” I said I needed to think about it. That night, Peyton pinned me to the bed. He gripped my chin, forcing me to look up at him. “I’m marrying the princess, and you’re jealous?” He scoffed. “You’ve got quite a temper.” “Nothing between us will change after I marry the princess. I bought a house outside the city. Wait for me there.” He never asked about the man who came for me during the day. He was so sure I wouldn’t leave with anyone else. But he didn’t know I had already agreed to go with the Captain named Zane. The day he married the princess was also the day I would marry Zane. 1 After the war ended, according to custom, we military prostitutes were to be sold into the lowest brothels. Those places were filled with all kinds of people: old, young, perverted, disgusting. It wasn’t a place for humans. So, starting three days ago, the younger women began trying every trick to seduce the soldiers. These men were the survivors of the war. Having won, they would be rewarded based on their merit. Even if they already had wives at home, becoming a kept mistress wasn’t a bad end. Zane appeared when a scoundrel was trying to take me back as a concubine. After I refused, he got angry and tackled me onto the bed in the tent. “Bitch! You’re the daughter of a criminal minister, a military prostitute, and you still think you’re a lady? Usually, the young general gets first dibs, but now it’s my turn to taste…” Before he could finish, he was grabbed by the collar and thrown to the ground. I scrambled up in a panic and saw Zane. He carried the scoundrel out like he was carrying a chick. At first, there was shouting outside, but it soon died down. After dealing with the man, Zane came back in and stood at the tent entrance like a mountain, blocking all the light. His wheat-colored skin was solid and vibrant, sweat dripping down his neck into his collarbone. He was breathing slightly hard, looking at me, but didn’t say a word. I don’t know how long passed. Finally, he said just one phrase: “I can.” It was a bit baffling, but I understood what he meant. These days, besides that scoundrel, five or six other men had come to me, saying they could take me home. Some even promised me the position of principal wife. After all, I was once the cherished daughter of the Minister of Revenue. I could play the zither, play chess, do calligraphy, and paint. My beauty alone was once famous throughout the capital. I refused them all. But this time, I stared into Zane’s eyes. He stiffly looked away. His face was taut, as if someone owed him money. But I saw that the tips of his ears were bright red. “I need to think about it.” I said. After Zane left, a weak voice came from the corner. “He might be the last one.” That was the only other woman left here besides me, an old prostitute suffering from a serious illness and running out of time. She laughed at me: “Little Rose, if he’s willing to take you, just go with him. Who are you waiting for? Don’t tell me it’s that high-and-mighty General Peyton, who’s about to marry the princess?” She knew I had some kind of relationship with Peyton. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be a military prostitute who didn’t have to serve others. But every two days, I would go out at night holding my zither. The only person who could have this privilege was the now-distinguished and glorious Peyton. She thought Peyton was just treating me like a plaything, and I shouldn’t pine for someone out of my league. But she didn’t know that it wasn’t me who refused to let go. 2 The night Zane came to find me, Peyton called me over. I had just entered his tent with my zither when I was pushed onto the table from behind. Peyton reached into my clothes with one hand and grabbed my neck with the other, forcing me to look up. His kiss was like a violent storm, without tenderness. I don’t know what was wrong with him today; he was unusually rough, from the table to the bed, from night until dawn. I was exhausted, lying weakly on the edge of the bed. Peyton hugged me from behind and asked: “I’m marrying the princess, and you’re jealous?” He paused for a moment and then said: “What right do you have to be jealous of the princess? Rose, you’re no longer the Capital’s Peony.” This title hadn’t been heard for a long time, and it inexplicably stirred up some memories. Back then, I was quite famous in the capital. Many sons of officials admired me, and Peyton was one of them. Among those playboys, his way of pursuing me was particularly unconventional. He would climb over my family’s wall, risking a beating from my father, to place a dew-covered sprig of plum blossoms on my windowsill. On the Lantern Festival, he bribed the girls in the brothel in advance. When my sisters and I passed by, those girls leaned on the railing upstairs, waving handkerchiefs of various colors that together formed the word “Rose.” My parents and brother cursed him for being rude. But they didn’t know that night I looked up at him, the stars were shining, and he leaned among the girls, showing a mouthful of white teeth, smiling freely and casually. My heart missed a beat. At that time, the war between Chen and Dayan had just begun, and many sons of noble families were sent to the battlefield to gain experience. Peyton was among them. They hurried to the battlefield. I didn’t have time, nor the position, to see him off. But that morning, I still saw a fresh sprig of red plum blossoms on the windowsill. There was a note underneath, in handwriting as bold and unrestrained as he was. ——”Wait for me to achieve success and fame, then I will come back to marry you.” I didn’t wait for his return. My father was charged with a serious crime because he stood on the wrong side, and our home was raided. My father and brother died, and my mother committed suicide. I was the only one left, thrown into the military camp as a prostitute. The first night, dozens of men broke in, cornering me like hungry wolves. “This is the Capital’s Peony, the unattainable Rose.” “I heard many sons in the capital wanted to marry her. She really is beautiful!” “Today, let’s brothers break her in…” A despair I had never felt before enveloped me. I was trembling all over and couldn’t move, thinking I should just let it happen. Death seemed like a good option. Suddenly, someone in silver armor broke in, a bloody spear blocking in front of me, shielding me from those disgusting gazes. “You dare to touch my person?” “You’re courting death!” Three years later, seeing Peyton again, he was darker and thinner, and a scar on the side of his face made him look a bit fierce. But facing me, he hugged me tightly, as if he had found a lost treasure: “Thank goodness, you’re alright.” Because of lingering fear, his hands were still trembling slightly. Afraid that I would get sick in this environment, Peyton asked me to move to his tent and took me to the nearby stream and grassland to relax whenever he had time. He knew I loved the zither. He found one somewhere in this remote place and placed it on my bed like a treasure. I played a song for him, and his smile was as refreshing as a spring breeze. “Hearing Rose play a song, death is worth it.” At that time, I really thought I could entrust my life to him. Peyton was very capable. In just one year, he achieved great military exploits and was promoted rapidly. With his protection, no one dared to have ideas about me. He socialized more and more late with those generals. Occasionally, they would call some young and beautiful military prostitutes to drink and feast in the main tent. I could hear those unbearable sounds. At first, I deceived myself thinking Peyton was definitely not one of them. Until he suddenly roughly turned me over on the bed, lying on the edge of the bed in a humiliating posture. I realized what he was going to do and instinctively pushed him away. He frowned: “This isn’t okay either? They… forget it, go to sleep.” He went to take a shower in frustration and slept holding me as usual. But my mind was full of the sentence he didn’t finish. They are all okay. They are all military prostitutes, why aren’t you? My heart sank to the bottom. The battles were frequent, Peyton was running around every day, and he came to see me less and less. A bold soldier mistakenly thought I had been abandoned, sneaked into my tent in the middle of the night, covered my mouth and nose tightly, and pressed his foul-smelling mouth against me. I struggled in panic and was slapped in the face by him. In an instant, my ears were buzzing, and my mind went blank. Fortunately, Peyton returned in time. He kicked the man away and held me in his arms. I thought he had dealt with that scoundrel, but a few days later, I saw that man again. He stood in front of the roasted sheep unscathed, laughing with others: “How could General Peyton really turn against me for a whore? He even treated me to a drink, saying women are like clothes, and the friendship with brothers is life-and-death.” “That chick is really tender. It’s a pity I didn’t get her. When I have a chance, I must screw her.” Meeting my eyes, he licked the corner of his mouth, disgusting to the extreme. The nightmarish scene appeared before my eyes again. I was terrified and asked Peyton about it. At that time, he was reading a book at the desk. Hearing this, his beautiful brows frowned slightly. He pulled me to sit on his lap and stroked the back of my neck with his hand. “Rose, personally, his uncle is my deputy general and saved my life. I can’t punish him.” “Officially… what reason should I use to deal with him? Bullying a military prostitute?” I stared at him blankly. His hand had already reached under my skirt, flippant and casual. Confused by passion, he comforted me saying: “You are mine. I will definitely not let others bully you. Wear more clothes when you go out of the tent in the future…” I felt like I knew the man in front of me for the first time. From then on, I knew men were unreliable. To escape this hell, I had to rely on myself. 3 Since the news of disbanding the military prostitutes came out, Peyton knew that many people secretly came to me to take me away. But he never asked, nor did he step forward to declare his sovereignty. As if he was sure I wouldn’t leave with anyone. He bit my ear gently, and I turned my head to avoid it. He sneered: “You’ve got quite a temper.” “After marrying the princess, nothing between us will change. I bought a house outside the city. That will be our home in the future.” He seemed to have forgotten the red plum blossoms placed on my windowsill that year. Also forgotten that two years ago, when he regained what was lost and held me like a treasure in his palm, he once said: “Rose, when the war is over, I will marry you and take you home.” What he genuinely wanted to marry was the stunningly talented legitimate daughter of the Qi family. And in his eyes, I had been reduced to a military prostitute. Everyone can give up on me. But I can’t give up on myself. I smiled and leaned obediently in his arms without speaking. Peyton didn’t know that before I came here to see him, I sent a message to the Captain named Zane. I agreed. On the day Peyton married the princess, I would go back to River City to marry Zane. This was the only way for me to escape this hell. This great victory, allowing the soldiers to take their preferred military prostitutes away was a grace given to them. It happened that Zane wanted to take me away, and it happened that he wasn’t a bad person. Someone from the imperial court came to announce the decree, and the generals were about to return to the capital first to receive awards. That night, Peyton hosted a banquet to entertain those officials. In the main tent, glasses were clinking. Those people felt bored, and someone mentioned: “I heard Rose is here with you?” Their eyes crossed, some with restless minds: “I’ve long heard of the reputation of the Capital’s Peony. Not only is she proficient in zither, chess, calligraphy, and painting, but her dancing skills are also superb. Why not call her up to dance for everyone to liven things up.” Just dancing was already them caring about face. Peyton had no reason to refuse. When he sent someone to bring the dancing clothes, I was applying medicine to my body. That dancing dress was almost transparent. After putting it on, it could barely cover the body, let alone cover these bruises made by Peyton. I held the clothes and remained silent. The person waiting outside the tent urged impatiently: “What’s wrong? Can’t you wear it? Do you want brother to help you?” “I can’t dance.” He was stunned and walked straight in. “General Peyton ordered you to perform a dance. You dare not go?” “Yes.” I pulled out the short knife that Peyton had given me for self-defense from under the pillow and stabbed it into my thigh. In an instant, blood spurted out. I said coldly: “I said, I can’t dance.” That person was scared by me and rushed out to report. When Peyton came back after appeasing those people, he was cold all over. He looked at my unbandaged wound, was silent for half a moment and asked: “Things are different now, Rose.” “It’s just asking you to dance. With your status, what position do you have to refuse?” I looked up at him and asked indifferently: “In your eyes, what is my status?” He glanced at the outside of the tent out of the corner of his eye and snorted coldly: “It seems that I have been too lenient with you on regular days. We will return to the capital tomorrow. Except for those military prostitutes who have written marriage contracts with soldiers, others will be sent to the labor camp according to the law. You also go there to temper your temperament. I’ll pick you up after I report on my work in the capital.” I suddenly looked up. He wants to send me to the labor camp? He looked at me heavily for a while and turned to leave. I knew Zane had already drawn up the marriage contract. After Peyton left tomorrow, Zane would also take me back to River City. He marries his princess. I marry my man. Perhaps in this life, this is the last time we meet. “General Peyton.” I rarely called him that. Peyton was stunned and stopped. I bowed to him and thanked him for protecting me these two years. “Have a safe journey. Rose won’t send you off.”

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My husband, Dr. Adrian Pierce, insisted on bringing his childhood sweetheart—a mere intern—into the OR as an assistant surgeon during a critical heart transplant. All I did was reprimand her for wearing rhinestone-encrusted acrylic nails in a sterile environment. Adrian abandoned the patient, chest cavity wide open, and stormed out of the operating room to comfort her. I begged him to come back and finish the surgery. He snapped at me: “Bella is upset right now. Can you not start drama with me at a time like this? Pause the surgery. Nothing is more important than Bella’s feelings.” The patient was left exposed on the table for forty minutes and died in agony. Later, we found out the patient was the beloved Mayor of our city. Adrian and his “little sister” Bella pinned the medical malpractice on me: “If you hadn’t gone crazy in the OR and chased us out, the Mayor wouldn’t have bled to death! This is all your fault!” I couldn’t prove my innocence. I was sentenced to life in prison, where I suffered until I died. Meanwhile, my husband and Bella walked down the aisle. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back to the day the Mayor was lying on our operating table. 1 “Maya, Adrian is the attending surgeon. He said I could keep my nails. What right do you, a lowly resident, have to lecture me?” Hearing the familiar, arrogant voice, I snapped my eyes open. Standing before me was Bella, looking down her nose at me with a smirk. I scanned the room. We were mid-heart transplant. Everyone was scrubbed in, covered head to toe in sterile gear. Everyone except Bella. Not only were her long acrylics studded with rhinestones, but she wasn’t even wearing a mask. That’s when I knew. I had been reborn. I was back to the day the Mayor died in our hospital. In my past life, Adrian insisted on having Bella assist. She was clumsy, handed him the wrong scalpels, broke sterile field protocol repeatedly, and almost dropped a rhinestone into the patient’s open chest. I scolded her about the nails. She took it as a personal attack and stormed off. Adrian abandoned the patient to chase after her. “Bella is upset right now. Can you not start drama with me at a time like this? Pause the surgery. Nothing is more important than Bella’s feelings.” The patient died. They blamed me. “If you hadn’t gone crazy in the OR and chased us out, the Mayor wouldn’t have bled to death! This is all your fault!” I died in prison. They got married and became the youngest Chief of Surgery and Vice Chief in the hospital’s history. I snapped back to reality just as Adrian frowned and scolded me. “Maya, this is an operating table, not a place for your jealousy. I approved her nails. Apologize to Bella.” Looking at Bella’s triumphant face, I swallowed my rage. “Why should I? Hospital policy forbids artificial nails in the OR. I did nothing wrong.” Seeing I wouldn’t budge, Bella’s face darkened. “Maya, admit it, you’re just targeting me. Fine, I’ll leave.” She tossed a scalpel onto the tray carelessly. It bounced and nearly sliced the patient’s aorta. Panic and anger surged through me. I grabbed the scalpel just as Adrian moved to chase Bella. I lowered my voice, urgent and cold. “Adrian, the patient’s chest is open. We need to proceed with the transplant immediately or he will die.” “You are a doctor. Are you going to watch him die?” Adrian looked at the door where Bella vanished, then at the patient. He gritted his teeth and picked up the scalpel. Just as I let out a breath of relief, Adrian’s phone rang. It was Bella. 2 Adrian put it on speaker. Bella’s angry voice filled the sterile room. “If you don’t come comfort me right now, I’m never talking to you again.” Adrian’s voice turned gentle. “Bella, honey, let me finish this surgery and I’ll come straight to you.” Bella huffed. “If you aren’t here in five minutes, I’m going to the clinic to get rid of this baby. You won’t be a father anymore.” Pregnant. The bitterness filled my mouth. In my past life, I thought they only got together after I went to prison. Turns out, they were already expecting. Before I could process the shock, Adrian dropped his instruments and bolted for the door. I grabbed his arm. “Adrian, you can’t leave. The patient can’t wait.” He glared at me with pure fury. “Didn’t you hear her? She’s going to abort my child! If I don’t go now, it’ll be too late!” I frowned. “What about the patient?” “I’ll be back as soon as I can. A few minutes won’t kill him.” I stared at him in disbelief. A heart transplant is a race against time. Every minute counts. Last time, the patient died because of this exact delay. I tightened my grip. I wouldn’t let him go. “Maya, let go! Are you trying to kill my child?” I started to deny it, but he shoved me hard. I stumbled and crashed back-first onto the metal instrument table. A groan escaped my lips. Adrian didn’t even look back. He sprinted out the door. The rest of the surgical team rushed to help me up. “Dr. Lin, are you okay? Dr. Pierce is out of line. Defending her is one thing, but getting physical?” “I knew something was going on between them. I didn’t think they’d be so blatant about a pregnancy.” I waved them off. “Not the time. I need to get him back.” The patient’s life was more important than Adrian’s betrayal. I wouldn’t let the tragedy repeat itself. I ran into the hallway, but I was immediately surrounded by the patient’s family. “Doctor, how is he? Is the surgery a success?” I recognized them instantly. The Mayor’s family. His elderly mother knelt before me, sobbing. “Doctor, please, save my son. I’m begging you.” His wife, seven months pregnant, also tried to kneel. “Doctor, please. Everyone says this is the best hospital. Please save my husband.” I pulled them up, looking them in the eye. “I promise you, I will do everything I can.” Adrian was gone. I returned to the OR. The team looked behind me expectantly. “Dr. Lin, where’s Dr. Pierce?” I shook my head. “I couldn’t catch him.” The anesthesiologist panicked. “The patient is under general anesthesia, chest cracked open. If we don’t operate now, he’ll die of shock or infection.” “Only Dr. Pierce is qualified for this procedure in the whole city. It’s too late to call in someone else.” I took a deep breath. “I’ll do it. Adrian and I were classmates. I know everything he knows.” The team rejected the idea immediately. “Maya, you’re a resident. Hospital protocol forbids you from leading a transplant.” “Just call Dr. Pierce again. Get him back here.” I swallowed the truth—that he wouldn’t come back—and dialed his number on speaker for everyone to hear. 3 “Where are you? Come back, we’re waiting for you.” Adrian’s voice crackled with rage. “Bella is crying her eyes out. Can you stop making a scene right now?” “Pause the surgery. I’ll do it once I’ve calmed Bella down.” Click. The room went dead silent. The anesthesiologist cursed. “By the time he comes back, the patient will be a corpse.” “Call him again. If this patient dies, we all go down.” I dialed again. “The patient is critical. You need to return.” “Heart transplants are high risk,” Adrian snapped. “If he dies, it’s just his bad luck.” I was stunned by his callousness. “If the patient dies and the family sues, can you handle the fallout?” Adrian scoffed. “He’s a nobody. No money, no power. If they sue, we’ll just say they’re extortionists.” “Stop calling me. Bella wants strawberries. I’m buying strawberries.” He hung up. Fury ignited in the room. “He abandoned a patient with an open chest to buy strawberries? He’s unfit to be a doctor!” “BP is dropping fast!” the anesthesiologist shouted. “If we don’t act now, we lose him!” I stepped up to the table. “I’m doing it.” They hesitated. “Who else?” I challenged. “Are you going to watch him die?” “It’s against protocol,” the anesthesiologist said, sweating. “If you do this, you take full responsibility.” “I will take full responsibility,” I said calmly. “We have no time. Assist me.” They exchanged looks, then nodded. I picked up the scalpel. I removed the failing heart. I implanted the donor organ. I sutured the vessels. My eyes were glued to the flat line on the monitor. Seconds ticked by. Agonizingly slow. Then, a blip. A steady rhythm. “We have a heartbeat!” the nurse cried. “Success!” I didn’t speak. I focused on closing the chest. When the last stitch was in, my legs gave out. I slumped to the floor, my scrub top soaked in cold sweat. An hour later, the patient woke up. And that was when everyone finally learned: He was the Mayor. 4 In the recovery room, I checked the Mayor’s vitals. Everything looked perfect. I let out a breath I felt like I’d been holding for hours. The Mayor smiled weakly. “I heard you performed the surgery. Thank you.” “But I recall Dr. Pierce was supposed to be my surgeon. Where is he? Did something happen?” Before I could answer, Adrian called. The Mayor glanced at the phone. “Answer it here.” I put it on speaker. “Where are you? Come to Bella’s apartment right now.” “I’m doing post-op checks. The transplant was successful.” Silence for a few seconds. “You did it? I’m surprised that guy’s tough enough to survive being left open for forty minutes.” “Pity. I thought we could use the body for research.” I saw the Mayor’s face turn purple with rage. “Adrian, watch your mouth. We are doctors. Our duty is to save lives.” “Why save these peasants?” Adrian sneered. “No power, no influence. Just a waste of resources.” “Their only use is for us to practice on, to refine our skills.” I gasped. The Mayor’s expression was terrifying. Adrian continued, oblivious. “You upset Bella earlier. She’s stressed. I’m giving you thirty minutes to get here and apologize.” “Also, she wants your home cooking. Buy groceries on the way.” He was treating his wife—a surgeon—like a maid. “I need to monitor the patient. He’s still critical.” “Is his life more important than Bella skipping a meal?” Adrian yelled. “The surgery is done. If he dies now, it’s fate.” “Don’t make me ask twice. Get your ass over here!” He hung up. I felt a chill in my bones. I never knew Adrian was this monstrous. To him, a “commoner’s” life was worthless. The Mayor was trembling with anger. “He abandoned me for his mistress… and he calls himself a doctor? He is a disgrace to the profession!” He started coughing violently. I rushed to soothe him. “Mayor, please, you just had a transplant. You cannot get agitated.” He took a deep breath. “You’re right. He’s not worth my health.” “But if Dr. Pierce thinks he’s a god who can decide who lives or dies, I will show him what happens when he loses that power.” He looked at his chief of staff. “Pass the order. Revoke Adrian Pierce’s medical license immediately. Ban him from practicing medicine for life.”

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The school bully turned the entire student body against me. The lovestruck rich kid got me fired from my jobs and killed my scholarship. The creepy manipulator tried to play me, planning to use me and toss me aside just to amuse her. Chloe Sinclair smiled, her expression innocent yet cruel. “Get on your knees and beg, Harper. Crawl around the football field three times like a dog. Maybe then I’ll tell them to back off.” At that exact moment, my phone wouldn’t stop buzzing in my pocket. [Babe, say you’ll be mine.] [No one will ever hurt you again.] [Baby, stop working those dead-end jobs.] [Let me take care of you. Isn’t that what you want?] [Do you like the new collar, Mistress?] Chapter 1 I was the disposable antagonist in a story where everyone loved the heroine. Unfortunately for the script, I was prettier than her. And I was smarter than her. So, when I secured the Valedictorian spot yet again, knocking Chloe Sinclair down to second place, she cornered me in the girls’ bathroom. She smiled sweetly, then slapped herself across the face—hard, twice. She mouthed the words to me: Are you ready for hell? A second later, Asher Sterling kicked the door open. Chloe threw herself into his arms, sobbing fake tears. Asher held her fragile frame, whispering comforts. When he looked at me, his eyes were dead cold. He didn’t say a word. No threats. No screaming. He just looked at me. A few hours later, I learned exactly what happens when you cross Northwood Academy’s princess. Chapter 2 My locker was stuffed with rotting trash. My textbooks were shredded. People “accidentally” spilled iced coffee on me in the halls. I got locked in the gym equipment room. Teachers ignored my raised hand. When I tried to speak to classmates, they covered their noses and walked away like I was a disease. So this was bullying. Fine. I decided to isolate them first. I stopped talking. I stopped participating. I walked with my head down. I cleaned the trash silently and taped my books back together. And then? I aced the midterms. My GPA climbed even higher. I beat Chloe by a landslide. Chloe’s eyes were red and puffy all afternoon. After school, a group of guys I didn’t know dragged me behind the abandoned bleachers. They didn’t hold back. Kicks, punches, pulling my hair. Someone burned the ends of my hair with a lighter. They tore my uniform. I saw a phone recording everything. Asher stood there, watching. Impassive. Like he was watching someone step on a cockroach. Until someone pulled out a pocket knife and brought it to my face. I felt a spike of panic. This face was my best asset. It would be a waste to ruin it. I forced my head up and locked eyes with Asher. I let tears fill my eyes—terrified, fragile, beautiful. Asher paused. I saw the flicker of surprise in his eyes. A spark of attraction he couldn’t hide. He looked away, his voice bored. “Not the face. Carve it somewhere else. Leave the girl some dignity.” They pinned me down. The blade cut into the skin of my stomach. I bit my lip until it bled, refusing to scream, just letting silent, tragic tears roll down my face. When they finally got bored and left, I stood up. I looked down at the word carved into my skin. SLUT. Just because I took the top spot from the princess? What if I took everything else she owned, too? Chapter 3 Asher Sterling’s family practically owned the city. He didn’t stay in the dorms; he had a luxury penthouse near campus. I found a way in. I stripped down, slid under his silk sheets, and waited. When the lights flicked on, Asher looked surprised for a split second. But he didn’t look away. His dark eyes raked over me, cold and predatory. I shivered, making my voice tremble. “C-can you make them stop? Please…” Asher smirked, lazy and arrogant. “Sure. If you’re obedient.” I played the part perfectly. The scared little rabbit. I cried and begged him to be gentle, while in the blind spots he couldn’t see, my eyes traced his features with greedy precision. Flawless skin, broad shoulders, old money aesthetics. I’d never tasted anything this expensive before. In stories like this, the best toys belong to the heroine. A nobody like me shouldn’t even be in the room. But Chloe handed him to me. It would be rude not to enjoy the meal. Chapter 4 Asher kept his word. The overt bullying stopped. Chloe was furious. Asher just shrugged. “She learned her lesson. She’s boring now.” To appease Chloe, Asher pulled strings to get me transferred out of the AP classes and into the remedial track. When I saw Chloe in the halls, I acted terrified. But in private, Asher and I were inseparable. We were addicted to each other. He showed his teeth, thinking he owned me. I played hard to get, just enough to keep him chasing. We talked, too. Asher was a cliché. Dead mom, emotionally distant billionaire dad. He only loved Chloe because she gave him a candy bar when they were six. Standard playbook. I became his sunshine. Good morning texts. Encouragement. Stupid little memes. It cost me zero dollars. Eventually, he started replying. [You coming over?] [No.] [Which dress?] [The red one.] [I saw a necklace that suits you. I’m saving up my tips to buy it.] […] On his birthday, I bought the necklace. I also brought a cheap cake I got with a coupon. Asher’s reaction was terrifying. He stomped on the gift box and grabbed me by the throat. “Who told you to celebrate this? You think because I sleep with you, you matter?” He squeezed until I saw spots. Then he threw me onto the couch. In the original story, Asher’s mom died in childbirth on his birthday. His dad blamed him. He never celebrated. He hid. Even Chloe knew better than to disturb him today. I coughed, gasping for air. Then I looked up and forced a smile through the pain. “But… it’s the day you were born. Birthdays are for cake. And wishes…” Asher kicked the coffee table. “Are you deaf? I said I don’t celebrate!” I asked calmly, “Because of your mother?” He froze. Then the rage exploded. He dragged me up. “Harper, do you have a death wish?” I looked right into his eyes. No fear. “She gave her life so you could exist in this world, Asher.” He stopped. “So, for this one day,” I whispered, “I want you to be happier than anyone else on earth. For her.”

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I chased after Julian for ten years. He loathed me, never sparing a kind glance or a gentle word. Until I was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Suddenly, he started to care. He doted on me, even planning a grand, public proposal that swept me off my feet. Just when I thought my years of suffering were finally being rewarded with love… He placed an organ donation agreement in front of me. “You don’t have much time left anyway,” he whispered, coaxing me like a lover. “Why not give your heart to Winnie? It would mean so much.” He lowered his voice, sounding so sweet, so reasonable. Julian will never know. On that very day, I discovered my diagnosis was a mistake. I accepted a job offer on the other side of the ocean and finally decided to leave him for good. Chapter 1 When I walked out of the hospital, I was burning up with a fever, my mind in a fog. Julian called. “Where are you? Didn’t I tell you Winnie’s heart condition is unstable? She can’t be left alone!” I blinked, and two hot tears rolled down my cheeks. My chest felt like it was being ripped open. I wanted to say, Can’t you be nice to me just for once, Julian? I have terminal cancer. I’m going to die soon. But I knew better. In Julian’s eyes, I was just a desperate dog who had been tailing him for a decade. He only had a heart for Winnie, his fragile “white moonlight”—his first love with the weak heart. “I’m coming. Don’t be mad,” I whispered. Even in the final stretch of my life, I was still protecting him, terrified of annoying him. When I arrived at Winnie’s apartment, I was soaked to the bone from the rain. My clothes clung to my shivering body. Winnie sneezed delicately. Julian shot me a look of pure disgust. “You’re dragging all that damp air inside. Winnie can’t handle the chill.” I bowed my head, clutching my bag tighter to hide the terminal cancer diagnosis buried deep inside. My heart twisted in agony. “I know. I’m sorry.” I wiped away a tear mixed with rain. Winnie and Julian were at the grand piano, playing a duet. Four hands, one melody. Watching their intimate silhouettes from behind, I had never felt so superfluous. “Chloe,” Winnie turned her head and smiled at me. “Can you go upstairs and fetch a painting for me? Please?” When she smiled like that, nothing good ever happened. Last time, she “accidentally” shattered a wine glass into my palm, then tearfully told Julian I was clumsy. The time before that, she mixed crushed peanuts into my food, sending me into anaphylactic shock. My shoulders trembled involuntarily. “Hurry up,” Julian scoffed, his gaze cold. “Why are you so slow today?” Sure enough, as I was carrying the painting down the stairs, Winnie, who had come up to “help,” let go without warning. I tumbled down like a ragdoll, landing in a heap of shattered glass. My back was sliced open by the shards. “Ah!” Winnie screamed, as if she hadn’t just pushed me. “I loved that painting!” She started sobbing, looking pitiful and fragile. Julian rushed over. He picked up the ruined canvas, not even sparing a glance to see if I was alive. “It’s all your fault! You’re so clumsy. Can you do anything right?” He sneered, nudging my leg with his foot. But when Winnie made mistakes, he never spoke like that. When I was hospitalized from the peanuts, he told Winnie, It’s okay. Chloe is tough. She won’t die that easily. But I was going to die. Really. I struggled to stand. Between the high fever and the blood loss, the room spun. Julian frowned, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. He reached out a hand, almost instinctively, to steady me. “My chest… it hurts,” Winnie gasped, clutching her heart. Julian’s attention snapped back to her instantly. “Stop acting,” he barked at me. “If you’re hurt, go clean it up. Standing there bleeding isn’t going to make me feel sorry for you.” I turned away. That’s when I saw it. On the table sat my original music score. It was my composition, the one I prepared for the national competition. I hadn’t shown it to anyone. “Where did you get this?” I snatched the sheets, hugging them to my chest. Julian didn’t hesitate. He ripped them from my hands. “Winnie has her solo piano recital coming up. She needs a piece.” I understood instantly. The key to my apartment… I had only ever given one to Julian. When I shyly played this piece for him weeks ago, pouring my love into every note, was he moved? Or was he just thinking how perfect it would be for Winnie? Tears erupted like a fountain. Then, a thought hit me. I was dying. I had stage four cancer. I didn’t need a career. I didn’t need accolades. It’s all worldly possessions. Let her have it. I don’t care anymore. I smiled through my tears—a broken, resigned smile. The smile seemed to trigger Julian. “Why are you so stingy? It’s just a song.” Behind him, Winnie looked at me with triumphant mockery. The stimulus was too much. My knees gave way, the fever spiked, and I collapsed into darkness. Chapter 2 When I woke up, I was alone in the hospital room. My backpack, containing the diagnosis, hadn’t been touched. I sat up slowly and thanked the nurse for stitching up my back. “The gentleman who brought you in paid for it,” she said, looking at me with pity. Julian… When Winnie was sick, he stayed by her bedside all night. He had never done that for me. Did this mean he cared, even just a tiny bit? My phone buzzed. It was the bakery owner, reminding me that the custom cake I ordered for Julian was ready. Right. Today was his twenty-seventh birthday. I met him ten years ago. My parents worked for the Sterling family and died in a factory accident. Old Mr. Sterling took pity on me and took me in. Back then, I cried every night. It was Julian who knocked on my door and fed me ice cream. He used to be kind. Until he realized I loved him. Then he turned to ice. “Being loved by someone so poor and low-class… it’s humiliating,” he told me once. “We are not from the same world, Chloe. Don’t mistake pity for love.” The next day, he brought Winnie home. I shook off the memories, exhausted, and went to pick up the cake. This might be the last birthday I spend with him. Regardless of everything, I wanted him to be happy. Julian’s birthday party was loud. His inner circle was all there. Standing at the door, I heard them joking. “The lapdog isn’t here this year? Did she finally give up?” Another guy laughed. “Chloe? She’s more loyal than a Golden Retriever. Ten years and you still can’t kick her away.” Julian let them talk. Then I heard his voice, cold and detached. “Ten years ago, we made a bet. How long until my cold shoulder made her quit? Turns out, she’s still here.” Laughter filled the room. I turned to leave, but Winnie spotted me. “Why don’t you come in? Did you finally realize you don’t belong?” Her eyes danced with malice. My tears hadn’t dried, but I looked her in the eye. “At least I’m not cruel.” Still, I hid the cake box behind my back. Comparing my humble gift to the ten-tier masterpiece Winnie ordered made me feel pathetic. “Sister-in-law is here!” Winnie announced loudly as we walked in. Julian frowned and told everyone to shut up, but he let Winnie sit right next to him. “Julian is so secretive. His mom already told us about the engagement.” Everyone’s eyes darted to me. I straightened my back, raised a glass of wine, and forced a smile that felt like a grimace. “Congratulations to you both, then.” I downed the wine in one gulp. “Are you crazy?” Julian grabbed my wrist, looking tense. He remembered I was allergic to alcohol. But last time, when Winnie and I argued, he forced me to drink to apologize until I got alcohol poisoning. His cruelty always outweighed his kindness. Death felt like a relief compared to loving him. “Julian,” Winnie called softly. He turned away immediately, dropping my hand. After the cake, the crowd chanted for Julian to open gifts. His friends were all old money; I was the charity case. When he got to mine, his expression darkened. It was a jade bangle. The quality wasn’t top-tier, but it was the only thing my mother had left me. I once told Julian that if I ever decided to die, I would leave this bangle to him. “What is this drama? First you play sick, now this cryptic goodbye crap?” He exploded in anger. “I underestimated your manipulative tactics.” Right. To him, I was always acting. I wiped my eyes. “I won’t be able to stay by your side anymore. I wish you and Winnie eternal happiness.” Even if my future was a blank void. Julian turned his back on me, practically shaking with rage. “Don’t be mad,” Winnie cooed, tugging his sleeve. She reached out a hand. “I think the bangle is pretty. Can I have it?” Julian looked down, then slid the bangle onto her wrist. Winnie flashed me a provocative smile and mouthed three words: You don’t deserve. I sat in the corner, and the love I held for Julian shattered into dust. My phone pinged. An email from Ethan. [Chloe, I’ve opened a music studio in New York. Do you want to come on board as a partner?] My hands trembled. “What are you looking at?” Maybe realizing he’d gone too far, Julian leaned over to look at my screen. I swiped away quickly. His eyes darkened. Then he saw my shopping app, still open in the background. In the cart sat a diamond ring. Expensive. Fiery. “Still pretending? You say ‘bless you’ with your mouth, but in your head, you’re still fantasizing about marrying me.” He smirked. The room erupted in laughter. They called me delusional. A toad lusting after swan meat. I locked my phone, face expressionless. “Think whatever you want.” I didn’t care anymore. Chapter 3 If only I had received that email sooner. Before the diagnosis. I would have packed my bags and left Julian forever with joy in my heart. I realized then that I had wanted to leave him for a long time. But it was too late. I had no future. Back home, I took off the amulet I had worn for ten years. When I was seventeen and gravely ill, Julian had hiked up a mountain to a temple to beg for these. One for him, one for me. The amulet didn’t work. Loving Julian didn’t work. Mrs. Sterling, Julian’s mother, messaged me to come to the main estate. I owed the Sterlings my life, so I never refused her. When I arrived, Julian was arguing with his family, refusing to look at me. Mrs. Sterling smiled. “Just in time. Rumors are spreading that Julian is engaged to Winnie.” She frowned. “I don’t like that girl. Heart condition, fragile, too needy.” She liked me, not for my personality or talent, but because I was healthy, obedient, and loved her son like a religion. “I called you here to discuss your marriage to Julian.” Julian crossed his arms and scoffed. “Her? Mom, are you senile? You care about status more than anyone.” He shoved me lightly. “What potion did you give her, Chloe? You’re really unscrupulous.” I looked him in the eye, calm. “Let go of me.” Julian froze. In ten years, I had never used that tone with him. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Sterling. We aren’t suitable. You can’t force this.” Julian blinked. “Chloe, you…” I pulled the diagnosis paper from my bag. “Three days ago, I was diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer. The doctor says I have less than a year.” Julian went limp. Like a puppet with its strings cut, he couldn’t support his own weight. He snatched the paper, reading it over and over. “We’ll see another doctor. It can be cured. It has to be cured.” His hands shook violently as he leaned his forehead on my shoulder. I felt the wetness of tears soaking my shirt. “It can’t be cured! Do you know what stage four means? I’m going to die. I won’t pester you anymore. Are you happy now?” I pushed him away, wiped my eyes, and broke down sobbing. Julian’s phone rang relentlessly. It was Winnie. “What do I do? My condition worsened. The doctor says I need a healthy heart donor immediately.” On the other end, Winnie wept pitifully. “I… I have to go to the hospital. She needs me. Once she’s settled, I’ll take you to a specialist.” The warmth in my heart turned to ice instantly. “Sure. Once she’s settled, bring her to burn incense on my grave.” I laughed coldly. It was always like this. Winnie’s needs were always priority one. My life was priority zero. I had learned not to expect anything. Shortly after Julian left, Winnie posted on social media. She tagged me. Photos of Julian running errands for her, feeding her, holding her hand while she got an IV drip. I left a comment: He’s trash, you’re cheap. A match made in heaven. I wasn’t living long anyway. Might as well burn bridges. Chapter 4 Three days later, Julian called. “Meet me at the beach where we first met. Please?” Julian was once kidnapped on that beach. The kidnappers took the money and threw him into the ocean. I jumped in and dragged him out. He had stopped breathing. I did CPR until my ribs ached. The first thing he did when he woke up was push me away. “Why is it you? Where is Winnie?” Recalling the past, I smiled bitterly. But my heart still clenched instinctively. I didn’t want him to be hurt. The sea was calm. Julian stood there holding a massive bouquet of flowers, looking handsome and clean. It was a grand, solemn proposal setup. I had run there sweating, without even putting on lipstick. I had told him a hundred times: If you propose, tell me beforehand. For the most important moment of my life, I want to be ready. I want to look beautiful. People who don’t love you never remember what you say. “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have been so cold. Please, give me one more chance to spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Will you?” Julian dropped to one knee. He opened the ring box. Inside was the exact ring from my shopping cart. He remembered. Maybe because the diamond was so bright, my dead heart fluttered. I covered my face, trying not to sob. This scene… it was what I had dreamed of for ten years. Just as I reached for the flowers, Winnie screamed— “NO!” She forgot her “heart condition” and sprinted over, kneeling in front of me. “Please don’t guilt-trip him! I know dying of cancer is sad, but he has no obligation to be with you…” Julian frowned, a flash of shock in his eyes. “Winnie, get up. I’m doing this voluntarily. Chloe didn’t force me.” I crossed my arms, watching them bicker. I hadn’t planned to say yes. But seeing Winnie’s desperation triggered my rebellious streak. I snatched the ring from the box. Take that, Winnie. Seeing me take the ring, Julian exhaled in relief. He held my hand with his left, and Winnie’s hand with his right. “The three of us… we’ve been friends for ten years.” He looked at me with earnest, pleading eyes. “Chloe, after we marry… sign an organ donation agreement, okay? You won’t live long anyway, and Winnie needs a heart.” Ah. There it was. My heart turned to stone. I understood now. The proposal wasn’t for me. It was for the vessel that carried Winnie’s spare part. It was pathetic, but I didn’t even feel sad. I was just numb. Used to it. Winnie looked at me like it was the obvious solution. I shook off their hands. “I think you misunderstood.” I stood tall. “Even if I toss this heart to stray dogs on the street, I will never give it to Winnie.” I laughed and turned to leave. Julian grabbed my waist from behind. “Chloe, don’t be impulsive! I love you!” After ten years, I finally heard him say he loved me. Too bad I didn’t give a damn anymore. My phone beeped. A text from the hospital. [We apologize deeply. There was a mix-up with patient records due to a similar name. Your scan results are clean. You are perfectly healthy.] An overwhelming wave of joy crashed over me. Only after facing death do you realize that love is nothing compared to life. I quickly replied to Ethan’s email and booked a flight for tonight. I accepted the job. Julian’s eyes flashed with panic. Maybe people sense when they are about to lose something forever. I didn’t say anything about the text. I just hugged him. “Darling, I accept your proposal. Go prepare the wedding.” “I have some business to handle abroad. Don’t worry. I’ll be back before the wedding date.” I lied. I was never coming back. But after all the humiliation he put me through, I wanted him to stand at the altar alone, waiting for a bride who would never arrive. That was my final revenge.

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