Sleepless, I scrolled through my phone and stumbled upon a chilling post: URGENT BULLETIN: Lock-Picking Killer Operating in City. Targeting Solo Women. Latest Incident: Oasis Court, Building 3, Unit 701. Victim Killed at 11:00 PM. My stomach dropped like an anchor. Oasis Court, Building 3, Unit 701. That was my apartment. I scrolled down. Attached was a simulated crime scene diagram. The layout, the furniture, even the arrangement of objects on the dining table—it was an exact replica of my living room. And the post’s timestamp? It was dated for tomorrow. A cold dread spread through my chest. What was this? A murder prediction, sent from the future? Then. Click. A distinct, unmistakable turning of the tumbler, coming from the front door. A beat later, the door creaked open. Someone was actually coming in. 1 My blood turned to ice. I slammed the phone screen dark, plunging the bedroom into complete blackness. I’d gotten ready for bed early and had already turned off the living room light, lying in bed to scroll. Now, the darkness was my only shield. Heavy footsteps padded across the hardwood floor in the living room—slow, cautious. Whoever it was seemed to be taking a careful inventory of the apartment. I remembered the bedroom door was still slightly ajar. If they reached the doorway, they’d spot me instantly. But I couldn’t risk standing up. The house was too quiet. Any sudden movement, any sound, would betray my location. I fought a fierce internal battle. Swallowing hard, I decided to disappear. I executed the move at the most agonizing pace, sliding out of the covers. Hand first, then my legs. I rolled onto the floor and then, inch by agonizing inch, slid myself under the bed. Once I was flat on my back on the floor, I peered through the narrow gap between the bed frame and the rug. A tall silhouette moved from the sofa, pausing briefly to check it, then slowly drifted toward the dining table. The table sat diagonally across from my bedroom door. They only needed to turn around to see the open door. The figure stopped right by the table. I frowned in confusion. Then I remembered. Ten minutes ago, I had poured myself a glass of hot water and left it there. The water was still scalding. A touch of the glass would immediately tell them the apartment wasn’t empty. Sure enough, after a moment’s pause, the figure’s gaze snapped toward the bedroom doorway. My heart hammered against my ribs. As the footsteps resumed, slow but purposeful, coming straight toward me, each step landed directly on my frayed nerves. The post was right. The killer found me. He’s actually going to do it. I wanted to bolt, but the bedroom offered no escape. I wanted to scream, but my throat was a vise. I watched, helpless, as a pair of shoes stopped right at the foot of the bed, the toes pointing directly at my face. Then, a face, twisted in a sneer, locked onto my terror-stricken eyes. A large hand, encased in a rubber glove, shot out like a steel claw, grabbing a handful of my hair and dragging me out from beneath the bed. I thrashed and yelled, fighting until my lungs burned. Then, the cold edge of a blade sliced across my neck. Blood erupted. My phone slipped from my sweat-slicked hand and hit the floor, the screen cracking and lighting up. The time: 11:00. Excruciating pain overwhelmed my consciousness. 2 When I opened my eyes again, I was lying spread-eagle on my bedroom floor, my pajamas soaked in cold sweat. My phone was by the pillow, its screen glowing. The time read: 10:45 PM. Was I… reborn? I had returned to the fifteen minutes before my death. A phantom ache still throbbed in my neck, a brutal reminder that the horror I’d just experienced wasn’t a nightmare. My hands shaking, I grabbed the phone and frantically searched the web for that prophetic news post. Soon, the chilling headline materialized: URGENT BULLETIN: Lock-Picking Killer Operating in City. Targeting Solo Women. Latest Incident: Oasis Court, Building 3, Unit 701. Victim Killed at 11:00 PM. My heart felt ready to burst through my chest. It had been real. I had already died once at the hands of this killer. The time stamp on my phone just before the end—it matched the post exactly. I was slated to be murdered at 11:00 PM. I glanced at the current time. It was just past 10:46 PM. I had fourteen minutes to cheat my gruesome fate. I focused on the key phrase in the post: Targeting Solo Women. I remembered the men’s athletic shoes I’d accidentally ordered online last week and hadn’t gotten around to returning. I scrambled out of bed, raced to the entryway closet, and snatched them. I deliberately pulled the laces undone and scuffed the heels to make them look worn. Then, I carefully opened the front door, placed the shoes casually on the doormat, pointing inward. A subtle signal that a man also lived here. I quickly shut the door, lifted the handle to engage the multi-point lock, and threw the heavy-duty deadbolt. Since I lived alone, I’d splurged on the most secure lock I could find. The locksmith had guaranteed me: “With this deadbolt engaged, even a professional could spend half a day on it, and any attempt at a forced entry would make enough noise to alert the whole precinct. You’ll have more than enough time to call 911.” For extra measure, I shoved the heavy dining table against the door. Even if he breached the lock, the barricade would buy me a few precious seconds. Next, I remembered I had Frank, one of the security guards at Oasis Court, on my contacts list. I quickly messaged him, asking if he could check the camera feed for my building, looking for any unfamiliar faces. Frank was a kind, helpful man. Without asking questions, he promised he’d keep an eye on the surveillance and text me immediately if he saw anything. I thanked him, then retreated to my bedroom closet, pulled the door shut, and held my breath. The minutes bled away, stretching into an agonizing eternity, until the clock finally hit 11:00 PM. I listened, muscles tensed, for any sound at the front door. But 11:00 came and went in silence. No key turning, no scraping, no door being pushed open. My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was Frank. He’d sent me a message and an attached screen recording of the surveillance video. “Kiddo, I checked the feeds. No strangers entering your building. Rest easy!” I clicked the video, scrubbing through it. The entire wall of monitors showed the main gates, the building lobby, the underground garage, and even the camera pointed at my seventh-floor hallway. I watched the time stamp on the video pass 11:00 PM. Not a single person walked past my unit. My tightly wound nerves finally began to relax. Did I actually stop him? Did I just dodge it? Just as I prepared to exit the closet, a thought struck me. If the killer didn’t come, would the prophetic post change? I opened my phone and pulled up the thread. It was still there. But the title had shifted: URGENT BULLETIN: Lock-Picking Killer Operating in City. Targeting Solo Women. Latest Incident: Oasis Court, Building 3, Unit 701. Victim Killed at 11:05 PM. 11:05? The impact was physical, a ringing in my ears. My phone’s clock ruthlessly ticked over from 11:04 to 11:05. And then I heard it—the heavy, rhythmic footsteps outside the closet door. They crossed the living room and paused in the bedroom. How? How did he get in? The security camera didn’t catch him, and I’d put up both a distraction and a barricade! Reality offered no time for contemplation. The tall shadow loomed, and through the closet door slats, I saw his face approaching, wreathed in that same sinister smile. Without hesitation, he wrenched the door open. I screamed, dragged out like a sacrificial lamb. His knife flashed, scoring my neck again. In the grip of absolute terror, my voice was a broken, tear-choked whisper. “W-why… why me? How did you get in…?” No answer. The agony of dying swept over me. With an unfinished, furious question hanging in the air, I closed my eyes.

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Five years ago, the daughter of Vivian Jiang and me died in a car accident. Vivian, with her childhood sweetheart, had already left for the States to give birth, and she didn’t even attend Fiona’s funeral. Years passed, marked by a sinking silence. I encountered her again at the cemetery. I was holding a small cake, wanting to spend a quiet moment with my daughter. Instead, I saw Vivian placing a limited-edition doll in front of the headstone. Beside her, a small girl burrowed into her mother’s arms: “Mommy, do you think my sister will like the gift I picked out?” 1 The autumn cemetery was shrouded in a desolate chill. Vivian bent down, carefully zipping up the little girl’s coat—a gesture of extreme patience and tenderness. It was the motherly love my Fiona had never known. The girl spotted the doll on top of my cake and asked curiously: “Mister, is today my sister’s birthday? Are you here to celebrate too?” I turned my head, pretending not to hear. I used a wipe to clean the photo on the headstone and inserted the candle into the cake. My Fiona, her life frozen at the age of five. The little girl looked at the cake, then up at Vivian, and finally back at me. Silently, she took out her own doll and placed it next to the headstone. I felt a sudden lurch. The girl had deep eyes and was tall for her age, sharing a distinct resemblance to the maternal side of her lineage. Five parts Fiona. If I hadn’t known whose genetic continuation she was, I might have impulsively pulled her into my arms, seeking comfort from the waves of grief that crashed over me countless times since losing my own daughter. The cold wind sliced in from all directions. I tried to light the candle several times. Perhaps my hands were trembling too much, because I kept failing. Vivian naturally reached for the lighter in my hand. For a fleeting instant, our skin touched. Once, her scent, her warmth—I was addicted to them. Now, all I felt was a gut-deep nausea. I snatched the lighter back, my movement violent, shoving her a few steps back. The little girl yelled at me, instinctively protective: “Pushing is wrong! You need to apologize to my mommy!” 2 “Nora, that is enough.” Vivian’s voice was low and heavy, utterly devoid of the recent gentle warmth. The little girl’s eyes filled with a wounded look that was strikingly like her father’s. Proud and stubbornly defiant. It made me instantly recall Liam’s arrogance when Vivian was first pregnant, as he gloated in front of me: “Sloane, if fate hadn’t intervened, Vivian would have met me first. She would never have needed to marry an aimless rich boy like you.” Vivian knelt, touching Nora’s puffy cheek. “You love your older sister the most, don’t you? This is her father. If you speak too loudly, she will be upset.” I clenched my jaw. How dare Vivian? She let Liam’s daughter call my Fiona her sister, even sharing the subtle resonance of the name—Nora/Fiona. I had no intention of lingering. I was back in the country to move Fiona’s grave. I was heading to find the grounds manager to discuss the arrangements. Vivian, holding Nora, followed closely behind me. When she heard my request, her voice was terribly raw. “Sloane, you haven’t visited Fiona in five years. And the moment you return, you want to take her away?” “She is my daughter. I forbid it.” I let my gaze sweep over Vivian with chilling indifference. Her hair was silken black, her makeup flawless… Five years after losing Fiona, Vivian was still living a charmed life. Unlike me, where the first strands of gray were starting to appear at my temples. If Fiona were still here, she would hurt for me, wouldn’t she? But she wasn’t. I tilted my head back slightly, a cold smile curling my lip: “I’m not consulting you. You didn’t even attend Fiona’s funeral. You have no right to discuss this with me.” 3 Vivian looked like she was trying to swallow something difficult. Just as she was about to speak, her phone screen lit up. The little girl, thin and pale-faced, said in a childish lisp: “Daddy’s calling! He must be worried about Mommy and the new baby.” Vivian turned her back to take the call. Nora, ignoring my cold expression, leaned toward me and whispered conspiratorially: “I’m going to be a big sister, just like my big sister! Daddy is really excited about the new baby. I’m going to share all my toys.” My hand, turning the pages of the cemetery paperwork, froze. Vivian and Liam. A truly devoted couple, it seemed. Mutually successful in business, and married life producing a second child in five years. Their daughter looked incredibly well-protected. My expression darkened, but Nora didn’t seem afraid. Not like my Fiona. Before she was three, her mother was too busy conquering new territories to spend time with her. After she turned three, Vivian fell in love with Liam. She resented me, and therefore, she resented my child. She wouldn’t come home for Fiona’s birthday or Children’s Day. The last time, on a rainy night, Fiona insisted on waiting for her mother. She said her mother had promised to bring her a doll from “back East.” In that one heartbreaking lapse, my Fiona slipped into the street and was hit by a car. 4 Vivian finished her call, and I was preparing to sign the contract with the cemetery. She grabbed my wrist, visibly straining to control her emotions. “I told you, you are not taking Fiona.” I remained motionless, my face expressionless: “You can go tell that to my daughter yourself.” Vivian’s grip tightened, the pressure sharp and painful. Once, this woman would have burst into tears if I simply scraped my knee. But Vivian broke her vow. Barely a thousand days into our marriage, she was already sleeping with Liam in the company’s executive office. I had fought, I had screamed, I had made scenes. All I earned was Liam’s calculated encroachment on my life. With Vivian’s passive permission, I was eventually locked out of my own company. 5 The contract was ripped into shreds, and Vivian’s jaw was fiercely set. She instructed her driver, Mrs. Davis, to take Nora to the car. Seeing my face, Mrs. Davis’s expression flickered with panic. “M-Mister Sloane!” Years ago, when Vivian was a struggling socialite, Mrs. Davis worked for my family, the Su’s. She had witnessed me arguing with my step-sister, Cara, on Vivian’s behalf. And she was the one who hid the evidence of Liam’s presence in my car. Truly, the money flowed out of the rich family, but the reliable driver was a constant. Vivian’s eyes were dark, like an unfathomable well. The sheer authority of a powerful executive radiated from her. She turned and threatened the cemetery director: “If my daughter’s rest is disturbed in any way, I will make sure you understand what the true cost of that will be.” The director shot me an apologetic, helpless look and hurried away. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I lifted my hand, intending to strike Vivian. But the blow didn’t land. My hand was fiercely restrained by hers. Vivian’s voice was a low snarl of concentrated bitterness: “Sloane, you want to cut every tie between us, including Fiona.” “You hate me, don’t you?” She pressed forward, pinning me against the pale gray wall, dusting the air with small, gritty particles. I took a deep breath: “Hate you for what? Must I dedicate my life to thinking about a dog that bit my family, just because I couldn’t kill it?” With Vivian’s current wealth and standing, my family, even in its peak, couldn’t match her. I’d done too much eggshell-breaking against concrete. I’d lost too much. She was willing to ruthlessly attack me and my family for Liam. I had learned to accept life’s random cruelty and helplessness. I just wanted to take my Fiona and leave. 6 Each layer of autumn rain brings a new layer of cold. It was clear the paperwork wouldn’t be finished today. I prepared to leave. Vivian glanced at my thin jacket, then instinctively slipped off her expensive overcoat, moving to drape it over my shoulders. “Where are you going? I’ll take you.” I slapped the six-figure Kiton coat onto the wet ground. The top Neapolitan women’s brand, famous for its impeccable tailoring. The luxurious fabric instantly soaked up the damp dirt. I used to be obsessed with buying Vivian clothes, dressing the woman I loved in the way I loved to see her. Vivian gave a low, self-mocking laugh: “When I first met you, you were still the arrogant, spoiled heir of a powerful family.” “I once desperately hoped you would always maintain that high-and-mighty stance.” “But you were the one who destroyed me, weren’t you?” “I…” A barely perceptible tremor of panic laced her otherwise calm voice. Dark clouds pressed in, and the sky turned gloomy. My ride-share arrived. Ignoring Vivian’s arm suspended in the air, I slid into the back seat. But less than two minutes down the road, the driver, a friendly older guy, looked into the rear-view mirror and whistled: “Is that lady trying to film an American action movie? She looks like she’s about to force us off the road.” I looked back. The large black SUV was advancing aggressively, fearlessly. It quickly pulled up right alongside the back seat of my car. Vivian rolled down her window, her lips moving to say something. Nora, strapped into a child safety seat, had a small, frightened expression. I ignored them both. The driver, however, was suddenly righteous: “That’s your wife and daughter, right? You still let her bully you in front of your own family? That’s not right, man. Your deceased relative won’t rest easy!” “Don’t worry. I used to race cars. I’ll make sure we lose this tail.” He gripped the steering wheel, floored the gas pedal, and sped past the SUV. Almost simultaneously, I received two messages. “Give me another chance. Let’s talk properly.” “Sloane, Dr. Elena Reid, the neurology expert, arrives in the city this weekend. There might be hope for your sister.” 7 The first message was undoubtedly from Vivian. Five years ago, I had blocked her number, changed mine, and vanished completely. She was clearly resourceful to get my new contact information so quickly. The second was from Cara’s close friend, Joanna. She was a doctor, trained overseas, specializing in neurology. My sister, Cara, suffered severe brain damage in the car accident, leaving her memory and cognitive function significantly impaired. I had spent the last several years supporting her grueling physical and cognitive therapy abroad. The results had been minimal. Joanna saying there was “hope” was likely just an effort to soothe me. Arriving at the hospital, I tipped the driver a hefty two hundred dollars. He left happily, wishing me well. The lives of ordinary people seemed so much better—simple and predictable, their worries small. Born into the Su family, I tasted life on a silver platter. A pair of small leather shoes for a school dance cost eighteen thousand dollars. But how can flowers bloom for a hundred days? When my mother died, my sister, Cara, took over the family business. It took a merciless, iron-fisted approach to manage the pack of wolves—our extended family—circling her. Yet, she couldn’t resist my pleas when it came to Vivian’s investment. Vivian, the then-heiress, was facing complete bankruptcy, her life having hit rock bottom. I found her in a bar, being forced to drink by her old rivals. The moon in the sky, dragged through the mud. I couldn’t stand seeing my moon fall. I hounded Cara, demanding she pay off Vivian’s colossal debt. When Cara initially refused, I leveraged the emotional debt she owed my mother for taking her in from the orphanage. Finally, she relented: “Sloane, the Su legacy is yours. You call the shots.” The tragedy of my life began when I poured everything into love, without looking back. Vivian accepted my help and swore an oath at my parents’ grave that she would never betray me. But the truth proved that once a person becomes the embodiment of power, they subconsciously rewrite their own origin story, recasting the debt of gratitude that once supported them as a flaw that needed to be overcome. 8 In the VIP room, I helped Cara practice a simple tea ceremony, breaking down the steps one by one. Her intellect had regressed to that of a five- or six-year-old. She had suffered from aphasia for a time, and her emotions were easily agitated. Dr. Chan entered the room and looked at me awkwardly: “Dr. Reid was brought in by Mr. Liam. He said his father has a severe migraine and needed the most authoritative specialist.” This wasn’t the first time Liam had pulled a stunt like this. That year, snow fell heavily, and Fiona developed a high fever. I called Vivian, but Liam answered, saying my wife was at his place, taking a shower. I accused him of seducing a married woman. Liam used his influence to make Vivian turn off her phone, and she didn’t come home that night. I drove slowly through the snow, Fiona sleeping in the back, nearly flung to the floor several times when I slammed the brakes. Yet, she still managed to mumble a warning: “Daddy, the road is slippery, be careful. I’ll be so sad if you get hurt.” Now, Liam, emboldened by his success, was only getting worse. My anger flared, and I stormed over to the adjacent VIP room. 9 Liam’s lips were slightly curled, his expression one of pure arrogance. He looked just as he had before—the proud, untouchable swan. But his frame was overly thin, making his head look disproportionately large. A strange, imbalanced look. I had heard Liam’s name before I saw him. Vivian had mentioned him a few times at home. Back then, the Jiang family’s debt crisis was over, and things had stabilized. Vivian decided to pivot the family business toward technology. She had rarely met such a skilled new talent in computer science—returned from an overseas Ivy League school, perfectly aligned with her vision. A subconscious sense of danger made me jealous. Vivian had gently pinched my nose: “High-level talent isn’t sorted by gender. If you’re worried, I’ll file a report from the office every day.” And she did. The next day, she had a real-time monitor installed in the conference room so I could check her movements whenever I wanted. Until one time, when core technology was leaked, and the company took a hit. Liam suggested the monitor might have been compromised, his tone carrying the conceit of a genius, subtly implying I was interfering too much. Vivian had immediately lost her temper with him, flatly stating that I was the company’s owner and would never betray the firm. I didn’t want to be involved in the dispute. And with Fiona’s birth, all my love poured into my child, making me less inclined to take unnecessary action. Liam quietly seized the opportunity, using the excuse of “expanding territory” to travel everywhere with Vivian. Proximity breeds indiscretion. Especially between two brilliant, similarly aged people who shared a vision for their career, their proximity rapidly ignited a consuming fire. I, the stay-at-home father, became irritable and anxious, constantly demanding updates on Vivian’s whereabouts. She started avoiding home, finding less and less time for our sweet, soft Fiona. I filed for divorce several times. Vivian firmly refused, claiming she couldn’t live without me. I, too, didn’t want our daughter to grow up in a broken home, and she promised to keep her distance from Liam. In the end, I lost everything. Utterly wiped out. 10 I walked up to Dr. Reid. She was speaking English and gesturing to Liam’s father, who appeared perfectly fine. Liam was just doing this to needle me. Five years ago, he’d used the exact same tactic to steal Fiona’s pediatrician and take him abroad. I introduced myself to Dr. Reid. She smiled warmly, thanking me for funding her student’s lab a year prior. Just as she was about to leave with me, Liam caught his father’s eye. Liam Senior immediately blocked the doorway: “She was hired by my son. You have no right to take her.” I didn’t spare him a glance, violently shaking off his hand, which clung to me like a vulture’s claw. Seeing his father pushed aside, Liam looked like he’d found the perfect excuse to act. He raised his hand to slap me. But the years of physical therapy with Cara had made me strong. I countered, pinning both his arms and slamming him against the wall. “Sloane, how dare you touch me? Vivian won’t forgive you for this.” I leaned close to his ear, enunciating every word clearly: “I haven’t come for you yet, but you’re coming to provoke me? Are you not afraid that the truth about the car accident five years ago will come out and you and your father will go to prison?” Liam’s face instantly went white. After Fiona’s funeral, I was a ghost. I planned to drive to the cemetery, but Cara saw my state and insisted on taking the offerings and a toy car for me. On the way, she was broadsided by a large truck. The official report blamed the driver for drunk driving, and he was jailed. The successive blows of loss nearly destroyed me. I quickly divorced Vivian. At the time, she was newly pregnant. She didn’t want the child she conceived with her beloved to be labeled illegitimate, so she readily agreed. I took Cara abroad for treatment, desperate to utilize the critical first six months of post-injury functional recovery. When I later tried to investigate the truck driver’s background, I found a suspicious wire transfer in his bank account, and all other evidence had been professionally sanitized. The cover-up was meticulous. It took me a year to finally trace it back to Liam Senior. He saw that Fiona’s death hadn’t made Vivian leave me. He contacted a distant relative in a rural area, who found a truck-driving cousin. A convoluted scheme. The goal was to remove me so his son could take my place. Vivian might not have known initially, but that didn’t stop her from covering for her lover, burying the truth in the deepest chasm. 11 Moments later, Liam regained his composure: “You don’t have proof. Otherwise, you’d have acted already.” “Poor Cara. She loved you all these years, only to end up utterly lacking in dignity.” “I heard she can’t even control her bladder, and needs to be taught everything from scratch. Tragic.” I remembered him mocking me years ago. “Mr. Sloane, you’re pathetic. You can’t even hold onto your own wife’s heart.” He had sent me a photo of Vivian lying next to him in bed. I raised my arm again, wanting to strike his loathsome face. Again, it didn’t land. Vivian had arrived, grasping my wrist with bloodshot eyes. Nora cried out in her childish voice: “Daddy, did this bad man bully you?” She made a move to kick me, but Vivian sharply stopped her: “Nora, what did I tell you?”

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I was traveling for work. I fronted thirty-seven thousand. Two months later, I submitted the expense reports. Finance said the receipts were non-compliant and kicked them back. I resubmitted three times, then Finance said the VP’s signature was missing. The VP signed, then she said I had to wait for the next month’s cycle. At three in the morning, my boss called, demanding I book the six a.m. flight. I said: “There’s no money left in my account.” My boss exploded: “You can’t pull together five grand? Where the hell has your money gone?” I pulled up the reimbursement record and read it to him, transaction by transaction. On the other end of the line, there was a silence that lasted exactly five minutes. 1 The phone vibrating shook me awake. Outside, the window was ink-black. I jolted up from the couch, grabbed the screen, and the name “David Davies” flashed, sending a twitch to the corner of my eye. Three a.m. I swiped to answer, my voice thick with sleep. “Hello, Mr. Davies.” “Leo, you awake? Listen, I need you to book the earliest flight to Charlotte. The six a.m. one. You have to make it.” Mr. Davies’ voice was a rapid-fire command, too urgent to allow for a moment’s thought. My brain went thrum, and the fog instantly cleared. Another emergency trip. Another fronted expense. I gripped the phone, a second of silence hanging between us. “Mr. Davies, I…” “No buts, Leo! This is a Code Red. The Charlotte project hit a snag, and you’re the only one who can handle their technical questions. The client is waiting at nine. If you’re late, the sky falls.” His voice, amplified by the speaker, was practically a roar. I could picture him pacing his bedroom, frantic. I took a deep breath, shifting my stiff body on the cheap sofa. The studio apartment was dark, lit only by a faint, sickly glow from the street outside. “Mr. Davies,” I said. “I can’t book the flight.” The line went dead quiet. After a few seconds, his voice returned, cold, laced with disbelief and accusation. “What does that mean? What do you mean you can’t book the flight?” “I have no money in my bank account.” I spoke the five words, and the energy drained out of me. It was a profound humiliation. A man in his early thirties, at three in the morning, telling his company CEO he couldn’t afford an emergency, five-hundred-dollar plane ticket. Mr. Davies was completely ignited, his voice ratcheting up eight octaves like a string of firecrackers. “Leo! Are you messing with me? A round-trip flight to Charlotte is five hundred, maybe a thousand, tops! You can’t front that? Where did all your bonuses and salary go? What, are you funding a secret family?” His venomous assumptions hit me like needles. I didn’t answer. A knot of cotton, thick and hard, was lodged in my chest. I lowered the phone, hit the speaker button, and tossed it onto the sofa. Then I fumbled for my other, work phone on the coffee table. I unlocked it and opened the Notes app. It was a digital ledger of the past two months of my professional disgrace. “Mr. Davies, listen.” My voice was eerily calm. “September third. Trip to Phoenix for project kickoff. Flight and hotel. Fronted one thousand, eight hundred, sixty dollars.” “September tenth. Client dinner with the Phoenix team. Fronted two thousand, two hundred dollars.” “September seventeenth. Emergency procurement of samples. Fronted three thousand, five hundred dollars.” “September twenty-fifth. Return flight from Phoenix. Eight hundred, ninety dollars.” “October eighth. First day after the holiday. Trip to Atlanta. Flight. One thousand, two hundred dollars.” “October ninth. Client entertainment in Atlanta. Fronted four thousand dollars.” I read out the list, item by item, with zero emotion. Each line was like a small cut to my own heart. The numbers, the city names, the memory of each transaction played out like a film in my mind. I read at a steady, measured pace. The Note contained twenty-seven entries in total, each one followed by a clear, undeniable dollar amount. On the other end of the line, Mr. Davies’ breathing grew ragged. He seemed to try to interrupt, making only a quick, single syllable sound each time before I blocked him with the next expense entry. In the dark apartment, only my cold voice and the numbers echoed. “…October twenty-eighth. Just last week. Final trip to Charlotte. Round-trip flight and accommodation. Fronted three thousand, nine hundred, eighty dollars.” “Total amount outstanding: thirty-seven thousand, two hundred, forty dollars.” “Mr. Davies, this is all company project spending. The September reports? I submitted them three times. Veronica said the formatting was wrong. The October reports? She said I had to wait for the next cycle.” “My salary is eight thousand a month. After the mortgage and car payment, what’s left of my money is tied up in these outstanding reimbursements.” “Right now, across three bank apps on my phone, the total balance is under fifty dollars.” “So, Mr. Davies, I genuinely cannot afford the five-hundred-dollar flight.” “It’s not that I don’t want to go. It’s that I have no money to go.” I finished the last sentence and fell silent. The entire world was quiet. On the phone, a deathly stillness. No roaring, no questioning, not even the sound of his breath. I stared at the ceiling, my eyes dry and aching. Time crept by, second by second. One minute. Two minutes. Three minutes. He remained silent, like a statue. I knew he hadn’t hung up; the line was still open. This silence was heavier than any shout. After precisely five minutes, a faint, almost inaudible sigh came through the speaker. Then, a sharp click. He hung up. 2 The phone screen went dark, and the room returned to the deep black. I stayed in the same position, lying on the couch, unmoving. My body was exhausted, but my mind was perfectly clear. That five-minute silence felt like a long, drawn-out battle. I didn’t know what Mr. Davies was thinking—shock, perhaps, shame, or fury. But in that moment, I knew I had won. Not won against my boss, but won back a sliver of my own dignity. I sat up, poured myself a glass of cold water, and chugged it down. The icy liquid slid down my throat, dissipating some of the fire that had been burning in my chest. What now? Fired? Or would he send the money, only to keep me on the hook like a slave? I didn’t know, and I couldn’t bring myself to care. The two-month-long tightrope I’d been walking had finally snapped tonight. And with the break came a strange release. I picked up my personal phone, opened the chat with my girlfriend, Sienna, and typed a line: Babe, I might be losing my job. I stared at it for a moment, then deleted it, word by word. No need to worry her yet. The phone vibrated again. It was Mr. Davies. I looked at the screen, hesitated, and then answered. “Leo.” This time, his voice was much calmer, tinged with a weariness I’d never heard before. “I’m here.” “You don’t need to go to Charlotte,” he said. “I’ve tasked Marcus, the VP, to figure it out.” “Understood.” I acknowledged it, feeling no particular emotion. “You…” He seemed to want to say something, then stopped. “You need to get to the office. Now. Immediately.” “Now?” I checked the time. Three-thirty a.m. “Yes, now. Bring all your expense reports, all the original receipts, everything.” His tone left no room for argument. “And take a cab. I’ll reimburse the fare when you get here.” “I’m on my way.” I hung up, stood up, and flipped on the lights. In the harsh light, I saw my own drawn face—deep-set eyes, unshaven stubble. I walked into the bedroom, pulled open a drawer, and took out a thick manila envelope. I dumped the contents onto the bed. Invoices, statements, meal receipts, taxi slips—piled up like a small mountain. Each one was paper-clipped to a small note detailing the date and purpose. I had tried to submit them three times. Each time, Veronica, the finance manager, had found a new, petty reason to reject them. “The vendor name on this invoice isn’t the full company name. Needs to be a corporate title.” “These taxi receipts are sequential. That’s non-compliant.” “This dinner receipt lacks an itemized statement. Can’t accept it.” “Mr. Davies’ signature here is illegible. Auditors will flag it. Get a clearer one.” Each time, I had to carry the stack of papers around like a supplicant, chasing down executives and department heads for re-signatures, re-attachments, and re-submissions. And each time, she found a new flaw. I restacked all the documents, put them back into the envelope, and held it to my chest like a ticking bomb. Downstairs, I called a cab. The night air was cold, making me shiver. The driver asked, “Where to, boss?” “The Apex Building.” Thirty minutes later, the cab stopped outside the office tower. I paid the fare and walked into the deserted lobby. Only the security desk was lit. I swiped my keycard and went up. Sixteenth floor. The entire floor was pitch black, save for a sliver of light spilling from Mr. Davies’ corner office. I pushed the door open. Mr. Davies was sitting behind his desk, a cigarette pinched between his fingers. The ashtray was overflowing with butts. He looked up, gave a slight lift of his chin, and gestured for me to sit. “Did you bring the documents?” I placed the manila envelope on the desk in front of him. He didn’t touch it. He just stared at me, his eyes clouded with a complex mix of emotions. “Leo, why didn’t you tell me sooner?” I tried to smile, but it felt forced, brittle. “Mr. Davies, I did. I mentioned it last month—the pressure from fronting funds, the slow reimbursement cycle. You said you knew, and you’d push Finance.” He froze, trying to recall the moment. “Do you remember? In the break room, after I finished briefing you on the project, I added it at the end. You were on a call and just waved your hand at me.” Mr. Davies’ face changed. He remembered. He crushed out his cigarette, lit another one, and took a long, hard drag. “Was it Veronica who was holding up the process?” “I don’t know if she was deliberately holding me up. I just know that the reports I submitted two months ago still haven’t been processed for a single penny.” Mr. Davies was silent for a beat. He picked up my work phone from the desk and dialed a number. “Veronica! Get your ass down to the office! Now! I’m giving you thirty minutes. If you’re not here, don’t bother coming in tomorrow!” He roared into the phone, the veins in his neck bulging. He slammed the phone onto the desk, his chest heaving. I watched him. I felt no satisfaction, only a profound sense of sorrow. Why wait until now? 3 The wait for Veronica was filled with a deathly quiet. Mr. Davies chain-smoked, and the office was shrouded in a gray haze. I remained silent, watching the sky outside gradually change from inky black to slate-blue. The events of the past two months played out in my mind like a fast-forwarded film. The first time I handed the September reports to Veronica. She was in her mid-thirties, well-groomed, with a perpetually polite, professional smile. She took the stack, briefly flipped through, and smiled. “Leo, your filing isn’t compliant. Look, receipts need to be ordered chronologically, from top to bottom, smallest amount to largest.” I hadn’t thought much of it then, assuming I was inexperienced. I immediately apologized, took them back, and reorganized. The second time, she smiled again. “Oh, dear. You’ve written the amount wrong. See here? This is three hundred sixty-five dollars and fifty cents. It must be written out fully—Three Hundred Sixty-Five Dollars and Fifty Cents. One misplaced word and our strict compliance rules reject it.” I took them back to correct the handwriting. The third time, she finally conceded the formatting was okay, but then pointed to a dinner receipt. “This won’t work. Company policy: any single meal expense over fifty dollars requires an itemized statement.” I explained, “Veronica, this was a quick meal with the client, no detailed receipt was provided by the restaurant.” Her smile grew sweeter. “Then I’m afraid it’s unacceptable. Without the detail, the external auditors will flag it. You’ll have to find a way to get one.” I went back to the restaurant; they said their system couldn’t generate one. I returned to Veronica, and she spread her hands. “My hands are tied. Policy is policy.” That day, I stood in her office doorway for ten minutes. She just watched me with that serene smile, her eyes entirely devoid of warmth. In that moment, I suspected she was doing this on purpose. Later, I had to get a special waiver from Mr. Davies just to clear that single receipt. But in October, she found new games to play. “Mr. Davies’ signature is too messy. What if the auditors accuse us of forging a signature? You need to go get a clean, clear one.” I waited outside Mr. Davies’ office for two hours until his meeting was over, then carefully asked him to sign the form again. Once submitted, she returned it again. “Wait. Your approval flow is incorrect. The department head signs first, then Mr. Davies. You reversed the order. Do it over.” I wanted to smash the stack of papers in my hand against her face. But I held back. I needed this job. I needed the paycheck. I even wondered if I had offended her somehow. I’d brought her a gift from an out-of-town trip; she smiled and accepted it, only to tell me during my next reimbursement attempt that my long-distance train ticket was handwritten and non-compliant—it had to be machine-printed. Meanwhile, another colleague, Mitch—a distant cousin of Mr. Davies’ wife—walked in. I personally witnessed him handing Veronica a crumpled, handwritten slip of paper that read: “Office supplies: Five hundred.” Veronica didn’t even look at it. She simply pulled five hundred dollars in cash from her drawer and handed it to him, saying with a wink, “Mitch, try to write legibly next time, okay?” Mitch pocketed the cash and gave me a smug look. In that split second, all the humiliation and fury boiled to the surface. Why? Just because I lacked connections, lacked a safety net, just because I was an ordinary guy trying to make it in the city—did that mean I deserved to be abused like this? I started secretly collecting evidence. The time of every submission, the reason for every rejection, every instance of her differential treatment—I used my phone to record audio or take screenshots. I wasn’t sure what I’d use them for. I just knew, instinctively, that they might be necessary someday. I even considered reporting her to Mr. Davies, but like in the break room, he was too busy. Too preoccupied to listen to the grievances of a low-level employee. In his world, there were multi-million-dollar contracts and projects a hundred times more important than my little problem. He wasn’t evil. He was just indifferent. Just like his questioning on the phone, “Where the hell has your money gone?” He never considered that his employee might be financially ruined because he was fronting the company’s operating costs. Creak— The office door opened, and Veronica appeared in the frame. She had obviously rushed here; her hair was a mess, and her face showed remnants of sleep and annoyance. When she saw me, her eyes flashed with surprise, but she quickly masked it with that familiar, professional, fake smile. “Mr. Davies, calling me in so late? What’s the emergency?” she asked in a saccharine tone, acting as if she were completely unaware of what was happening. I looked at her and felt that the woman was terrifying. She was like a snake—beautifully colored, but utterly poisonous. 4 Mr. Davies didn’t look at her. He pointed at the manila envelope on the desk, his voice like ice. “Veronica. Explain this to me. What is going on?” Veronica’s gaze fell on the envelope, and the smile on her face stiffened. She walked over, picked up the folder, and slowly began flipping through the documents. She turned the pages one by one, very slowly. The office was so quiet I could hear the shush-shush of her fingernails against the paper. “Oh, these are Leo’s expense reports.” She finally spoke, her tone light, as if discussing the weather. “I was just about to process them. It hasn’t hit the end-of-month closing date yet.” I let out a low, cold laugh. Mr. Davies snapped his head up and glared at her. “Not hit the closing date? The September reports, and it’s now the end of October? And you’re telling me it hasn’t hit the closing date?” Veronica seemed startled by the intensity of his rage, but she quickly regained her composure, adopting an injured expression. “Mr. Davies, you know our compliance is very strict. Leo’s… his submissions had too many issues. Non-compliant here, missing documentation there. I was protecting the company! If an external audit finds an issue, I’m the one on the hook.” As she spoke, she glanced at me, her eyes holding a touch of reproach, as if I were the clueless troublemaker. “Too many issues?” Mr. Davies picked up my work phone, which I had left on the desk, opened the Notes app, and threw it in front of her. “Look for yourself. Does this list accurately reflect the ‘issues’ you raised?” Veronica picked up the phone, and her face instantly drained of color. The list was written in plain, clear detail: “Sept 20. Submitted. Veronica said receipt gluing was non-compliant. Rejected.” “Sept 25. Second submission. Veronica said capital letters for the amount were incorrect. Rejected.” “Oct 9. Third submission. Veronica said meal receipt lacked itemized statement. Rejected.” “Oct 15. Submitted October reports. Veronica said executive signature order was incorrect. Rejected.” “Oct 22. Resubmitted. Veronica claimed one cab receipt showed evidence of alteration. Entire batch rejected.” Line after line, item after item, they stood as carved indictments. Veronica’s face ran the gamut of emotions, from red to white to a sickly green. Her hands began to shake, her lips trembled, and she couldn’t utter a single word. “Veronica.” Mr. Davies’ voice was squeezed through clenched teeth. “I’m asking you one more time. Did you do this?” “I… I…” Cold sweat beaded on Veronica’s forehead. She looked at me desperately, her eyes pleading. I ignored her and simply kept my gaze fixed on Mr. Davies. I wasn’t here to argue with her today. I was here to resolve a problem. “Mr. Davies, I have a little more you might want to see.” I pulled out my personal phone and opened a folder. Inside were several audio clips and one video. I played an audio clip first. It was my conversation with Veronica. “Veronica, I genuinely can’t get an itemized receipt for this fast-food place. They said their system doesn’t generate one.” “Then my hands are tied. Policy is policy. Leo, I’m not singling you out. Anyone else would face the same standards.” Her gentle, warm voice played back from the phone. I immediately followed it with the video. The footage was slightly shaky; I had covertly recorded it near the finance office doorway. In the frame, Mitch, the boss’s nephew, was handing Veronica that handwritten IOU—the “white bar receipt”—grinning. “Veronica, need a cash advance.” “You little spender.” Veronica smiled, counted five hundred dollars in cash from her drawer, and handed it to him without even glancing at the note. The video finished playing. You could hear a pin drop in the office. Veronica’s face was utterly colorless, like a blank sheet of paper. She slumped in the chair, her gaze vacant. Mr. Davies stared at her, his eyes blazing. He picked up the ashtray on his desk, seemingly intending to throw it, but stopped halfway and slammed it down. “Veronica,” he said, his voice flat and deliberate. “You are truly something else.” He stood up and began pacing the office, like a caged animal. The life and death of his entire company rested on his shoulders, and his trusted Finance Manager had been using this petty, underhanded method to force out his most capable employee. He stopped, turning to face me, his eyes showing a seriousness I had never seen before. “Leo, I apologize.” He said it. “This was my failure.” Then, he turned to Veronica, his voice devoid of all emotion. “Right now. Calculate every single one of Leo’s outstanding reimbursements. To the penny. Then, transfer the full amount to his account. From your personal funds.” Veronica snapped her head up, unable to believe her ears. “Mr. Davies! I… I don’t have that kind of money!” “I don’t care what you have!” Mr. Davies slammed his hand on the desk. “Embezzlement, misappropriation of company funds—that’s your problem! Leo’s account must reflect that money by six a.m. this morning! Otherwise, you’ll face the full consequences!” He pointed a shaking finger at her. “And that Charlotte project? You go. Now.”

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The year was our fifth, but for the last three, I’d been keeping a younger man. I no longer let Liam’s betrayals turn me inside out. Just like now. I spotted the shredded sheer stockings snagged on the passenger side floor mat. Liam glanced over, a lazy, indulgent smile playing on his lips. “Little thing likes to play rough, Eleanor. Don’t mind her.” This time, I didn’t scream. I didn’t smash things. I merely nodded, a gesture of quiet acceptance. His face clouded. He slammed on the brakes. 1 “Don’t come over tonight. Liam’s back.” The immediate reply was a crying-face emoji. A small, genuine smile almost escaped me. I looked up and met Liam’s intensely dark gaze, finally registering the suffocating silence in the car. I lowered the phone, my tone flat. “What is it?” “You look… different.” I felt a slight jolt. This wasn’t the first time his latest distraction, Maya, had decided to rub my nose in it. Last time, it was a lace thong tucked into the pocket of Liam’s tuxedo jacket. I had destroyed our bedroom then, screaming at Liam until I sounded like a feral animal. All I got in return was his cold, clipped voice: “Can you just act normal for once?” Now, I was finally doing what he asked—facing his infidelity with utter, profound calm. I gave a short, brittle laugh. “Isn’t this exactly what you wanted?” Liam’s expression hardened, a cynical edge entering his voice. “Maya might be young, but she’s certainly got some moves. Entertaining, you know.” He looked at me, his eyes challenging. “You should take notes, El. Stop being so goddamn boring.” He raised an eyebrow, a clear taunt. “Maybe then I’d stick around the apartment for more than a few days.” “Don’t bother,” I said, leaning my head against the cool window and closing my eyes. He hadn’t been home for a solid month. He’d taken Maya to the Maldives—a honeymoon of sorts—complete with highly-publicized, non-stop Instagram stories. It had made me the biggest joke in our social circle. Now, he stood in the doorway of our bedroom, his brow furrowed as he took in the changes. I’d replaced all the bedding, taken down the framed wedding photo from the nightstand, and purged any trace of his routine. The room was sterile. Uninhabited. “Where are my things?” “I tossed them.” Liam spun around. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He stared at me, then abruptly softened his voice, forcing a charming smile. “Honey, I know I went too far this time. You’re mad, right?” “Look, I’m home now, aren’t I?” “I even brought you a peace offering.” He placed a discreetly wrapped shopping bag on the coffee table and headed into the bathroom. He emerged moments later, toweling his damp hair, his voice laced with suspicion. “Why did you switch out my shower gel?” I paused, confused for a moment before remembering. Damon had changed it. The younger man had complained he didn’t like the heavy sandalwood scent Liam favored, replacing it with something crisp—Orange Blossom. That familiar, musky scent of Liam’s damp skin and the newly layered citrus crept closer. He wrapped his arms around me from behind, deliberately pressing his body against my neck. “God, I missed you, Eleanor…” My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic, panicked beat. The fading hickey Damon had left on my collarbone was still visible. If Liam looked down even an inch, he would see it. I twisted, shoving him away with all my strength. “I’m not Maya. Go find her if you’re horny.” Liam stumbled back a few steps before catching himself, his face now a mask of fury. His voice was squeezed out, raw with rage. “Are you ever going to drop this, Eleanor?” “It was just a honeymoon trip. Have I never taken you on a trip? Does it really warrant this meltdown?” I met his eyes, my voice chillingly calm. “It does. And Liam? I think you’re disgusting.” The veins pulsed in his fists hanging at his sides. He snatched his jacket from the sofa. “Fine. Be a martyr! Just don’t come crawling back when that little boy breaks your heart.” The front door slammed, the noise echoing through the apartment. I walked to the coffee table and looked at the bag. The fifth wedding anniversary. I’d forgotten until that moment. I opened the box. It was a handbag—the limited-edition piece I’d posted about on my social media a few days ago. One of only five in the world. I let out a weary chuckle. It must have been so inconvenient for him, having to shop for me while he was on his extended sex-cation. My phone chimed. It was a photo from Maya. She was half-dressed, Liam’s head resting carelessly on her breast. “Auntie, you had your chance. Why didn’t you use it?” “I specifically told Liam to go home and check on you.” 2 The phone’s sudden, sharp ring cut through the quiet of the night. I answered. Liam’s voice was slurred, thick with alcohol. “Eleanor… Eleanor, come get me…” I was about to hang up when a different, sober voice cut in. “Hello? Your husband is pretty drunk. Could you come pick him up? We’re closing soon.” Without a moment’s hesitation, I recited Maya’s phone number. “Call her. I’m tied up.” This wasn’t a new scene. Years ago, while I was running a high fever, I’d driven an hour in the dead of night to fetch him. But when I reached for him, he’d violently shoved me away, drunkenly insisting he only wanted Maya. “I don’t want you. I want Maya,” he’d slurred. “Just leave me alone.” I’d stumbled back, my hand striking the sharp metal corner of a table. The blood that dripped onto the floor was nothing compared to the agony in my heart. My thoughts returned to the present, and I examined the faint scar on the back of my hand. Thankfully, wounds could heal. And my heart was finally numb. It was much later, in that half-sleep where the mind never truly rests, that the familiar ringtone sounded again. This time, the voice was a completely new, irritated woman’s. “Are you this drunkard’s wife?” “He showed up on my porch banging on the door. You need to come get him, or I’m calling the cops.” “What?” She gave me an address. I put the phone down, sitting on the edge of the bed in a daze. Liam, wasted and confused, had stumbled all the way back to the crappy studio apartment we’d shared when we first graduated. I apologized profusely to the woman and quickly guided Liam away from her porch. He reeked of cheap bourbon and sweat, his mind clearly disconnected from reality. “Rory… did the audition wear you out today…?” The long-forgotten pet name gave me a brief, painful moment of disorientation. Liam was so drunk he thought we were back in our post-grad days. Back then, we were broke. We lived in that cramped, noisy apartment, dreaming up our impossible future. I worked late at the orchestra, and no matter how late his own shifts were, he always showed up to walk me home. He would hold me, his eyes red with fatigue, promising that one day he’d give me the life I deserved. My eyes suddenly stung. A tear rolled down my cheek. I quickly lowered my head to wipe it away, but Liam’s hand was faster. He lifted his hand and very gently brushed the tear away. Then he looked at me, a wounded puppy. “Wife, why don’t you get angry anymore? Why did you change the shower gel…?” “How can you not be mad at Maya…?” “You’ve changed…” I looked down at his face, finally able to speak to him without malice. “Because I’m tired, Liam.” He suddenly pulled his hand away and, fumbling inside his coat, pulled something out. In the faint glow of the streetlamp, I saw it: a plastic container holding a small, perfect slice of strawberry cake. My favorite. I thought he’d forgotten that long ago. And thinking of cake, I remembered the very first time I found out he was cheating. 3 Maya wasn’t his first. I discovered his very first affair on my birthday. I had prepared a candlelit dinner, even bought a ridiculous new dress, and waited for him to come home. I waited on the sofa from the early afternoon until late into the night. When he finally pushed the door open, the sight of the room startled him. He paused, then his eyes widened in sudden realization. He’d forgotten my birthday. Embarrassed, he tried to cover his mistake, hastily handing me the first thing he could grab—a mango mousse cake. He didn’t even remember that I was severely allergic to mangoes. In that instant, a woman’s intuition became razor-sharp certainty. I stood up abruptly, yanking open his shirt collar. A fresh, livid kiss mark stood out starkly against his clavicle. The world shattered. I broke everything I could reach. I cried until I choked, demanding to know why he’d done it. I hit him. A flurry of desperate slaps. What was Liam’s reaction then? He knelt. He begged me to forgive him. After that, I became a wreck—suspicious, volatile, checking his phone. He grew increasingly annoyed, increasingly absent. Then Maya arrived. The usual messy, agonizing argument followed, but this time, Liam didn’t concede. He rubbed his temples in frustration. “Eleanor, I’m telling you now—I’m not cutting things off with Maya. I love her.” “Just settle down and be the perfect Mrs. Vance. I promise she won’t threaten your position.” My heart felt like it was being ripped into two separate, raw halves. The pain was so great I couldn’t even cry. So I spoke, my voice a ragged whisper. “Liam, let’s get divorced.” Liam crushed the cigarette in his hand, his voice turning to ice. “No way.” “For us, there’s only death, not divorce. Don’t even think about it.” “Do you want your mother to die? Then you’ll sit down and shut up.” My mother was critically ill then. I was only a lowly pianist in the ensemble, nowhere near able to afford her medical bills. Liam was paying for the ICU. I learned in that moment that my mother’s life was his leverage. Every day that followed, I felt like I was dying. I watched him escort Maya to galas and industry events. They looked like the perfect couple; I felt like the mistress hidden in the shadows. I started swallowing anti-depressants and sleeping pills, barely sleeping a minute through the long nights. After I slit my wrist a second time, and Liam responded by slapping me across the face, I woke up. I thought: Why? I wasn’t the one who had wronged him. Why was I the one destroying myself? If Liam couldn’t give me happiness, I would find it somewhere else. That’s when I met Damon. He was younger, kinder, and infinitely more attentive than Liam. Most importantly, he listened. He hung on my every word. Just like Liam, I had a secret lover.

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I was forged in conflict. I learned to fight and scratch for everything I wanted, even at five, when I threw a tantrum demanding my parents get a vasectomy so they could only have me. When I was eight, my father, George Ashworth, tried to sneak his illegitimate son into the house while my mother was in Europe opening our new division. He wanted to play the “family” card, hoping I’d accept the half-brother he’d kept secret. I didn’t. I tossed the recorded evidence right onto my mother’s desk. She flew back that same night and filed for divorce. As the defaulting, at-fault party, George was forced into a settlement that left him bankrupt and entirely outside the company. Growing up, I only sharpened that edge, living by the creed of profit above all. I never bent the knee for sentiment. On the day Ashworth Global was set to ring the NASDAQ bell, my entire inner circle—my executive partner, my fiancé, and my corporate image endorser—pulled a collective vanishing act. A B-list actress named Skylar Bloom had posted a tearful photo of a cut finger in the Maldives. In a synchronized display of heroic idiocy, the three of them—Rhys, Cameron, and Leo—commandeered my private jet and flew off to be her knights in shining armor. I was left alone, facing a sea of media flashbulbs, becoming the city’s joke. Afterward, my business partner, Rhys Kincaid, had the nerve to be righteous. “Skylar was bleeding alone in a foreign country. What if she got tetanus? Can’t you be less cold-blooded for once?” My fiancé, Cameron Wilde, frowned with practiced annoyance. “It’s just an IPO, Sloane. We’ll have a dozen more opportunities. I’ll be there next time.” And Leo Maxwell, my childhood friend and company endorser, offered his fake condolences. “I told my agent to cut your endorsement fee by twenty percent and I’ll throw in a free campaign. Girls should smile more; that’s how happiness finds you.” I looked at the three fools in front of me, calmly closing the folder that contained the company’s controlling documents. “I am notifying you as the sole proprietary holder of Ashworth Global,” I said, my voice dangerously even. “You’re finished.” “Since you love caring for the helpless so much, you can rot in the gutter with her, you pathetic rats!” 1 Across the vast mahogany table, the three men sat, their posture relaxed, almost dismissive. Rhys Kincaid was tossing the Montblanc pen I’d gifted him from hand to hand, his expression bored. Cameron Wilde was hunched over his phone, texting someone with a gentle smile that had never once been aimed at me. Leo Maxwell was busy checking his hair on the reflective screen. The A-list celebrity could never go a moment without worrying about his flawless face. They hadn’t grasped the severity of the situation. In their minds, I, Sloane Ashworth, was a hard ass, but one they could always tame. They assumed that if they acted as a united front, I would cave—because that’s how it had always been for the past twenty-something years. Rhys finally tired of his pen-twirling and tossed the expensive instrument onto the table. “Sloane, that’s enough.” “We simply borrowed your plane to pick up a friend. Did you really have to throw this massive fit and ban us from the celebration party?” Cameron put his phone down and looked up, his brow furrowed, clearly thinking I was being utterly unreasonable. “He’s right, Cleo. Skylar was alone and terrified. We are her friends; of course, we had to help. As the head of Ashworth, shouldn’t you have a little more—perspective?” Leo scoffed, leaning back in his chair. He looked at the other two. “I think Sloane is just jealous. Jealous that we care about Skylar so much.” “Seriously, we’ve been best friends since kindergarten, and you’re still getting petty? It’s a bad look, Ashworth.” The three of them, in perfect harmony, dismissed an egregious corporate betrayal as nothing more than a woman’s fit of jealousy and small-mindedness. Their arrogance was comical. One was my executive partner, holding a ten percent equity stake. One was my fiancé, linking our families in a massive financial merger. And the last was the face of the company, who was not only paid a fortune but enjoyed the best resources my empire could offer. They benefited from my success, yet at the most critical moment, they had stabbed me in the back for the sake of their untouchable muse, Skylar Bloom. I pressed the internal line button. “Send the heads of Legal, Finance, and Security in.” The men froze, clearly realizing I wasn’t going to accept their apologies this time. Rhys frowned. “Why call them? This is an internal matter, we can handle it—” I ignored him. I pulled three prepared documents from my drawer, laying them out on the table. I had drafted these myself, under the blazing lights of the world’s media on that infamous day, staring at the empty chairs reserved for my partner, my fiancé, and my endorser. I knew then that these three fools, blinded by lust and ego, were no longer fit to stand beside me. “It is an internal matter, indeed.” I flipped open the first document and slid it to Rhys. “Rhys Kincaid, this is a Notice of Partnership Termination.” “Given your unexcused absence at the critical moment of the company’s IPO launch, you have severely breached the partnership agreement, causing substantial reputational damage and stock fluctuation.” “Per the terms, Ashworth Global is exercising its right to compulsorily buy back all of your shares at a non-negotiable floor price, and you are liable for all resulting damages.” Rhys shot to his feet, his face ashen. “Sloane, are you insane? You’re kicking me out?” I didn’t look at him, turning to toss the second document at Cameron. “Cameron Wilde, this is a Rescission of Engagement and a Termination Letter for all current Ashworth-Wilde joint projects.” “Your actions severely damaged my personal reputation, which directly harmed Ashworth Global’s image. Our families’ merger is void, effective immediately.” “Furthermore, all of the Wilde family’s construction projects currently underway under Ashworth funding are to be suspended and liquidated immediately.” Cameron’s pupils contracted; his controlled composure shattered. “Sloane, that’s a billion-dollar project! You’re playing with our livelihoods over a petty squabble!” Finally, I looked at the stunned Leo Maxwell, and I slapped the legal notice onto his expensive, perfectly sculpted face. “Leo Maxwell, this is a Contract Termination and Damages Claim.” “As a brand endorser, you vanished without cause on the day of a major brand event, and your social media conduct has since created a negative public narrative. You are in breach.” “The penalty for this breach is three hundred million dollars, payable into the corporate account within three business days.” A deathly silence fell over the office. The three men stared at me in stunned disbelief. After a long moment, Leo spoke, his voice trembling. “Sloane, you… you have to be kidding. All this, for something so minor?” I leaned back in my chair, crossing my hands over my chest, my gaze flat. “Minor?” “You stole my private jet, causing me to miss the final roadshow, which is minor?” “You made me ring the bell alone in front of the world’s media, turning me into a joke, which is minor?” “You illegally charged the cost of private charters, luxury hotels, and a private medical team for Skylar to the company’s expense account, which is minor?” I stood, leaning my hands on the desk, my physical presence looming over them. “I apologize. I was not born with a sense of humor for your petty crimes.” “Since you deem this a ‘minor’ issue, I’m going to show you what a major problem looks like.” “Security. Escort them out.” 2 The three men were still shouting as security ushered them out. Rhys pointed his finger at me, calling me cold-blooded and promising I’d die alone. Cameron, face dark with fury, threatened to call my father to discipline me. Leo screamed that he would expose my villainy and let his millions of fans tear me apart online. I stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the chaotic scene as the paparazzi swarmed them downstairs. I had never felt such perfect, serene satisfaction. Suddenly, my phone vibrated. It was a text from Rhys. “Sloane, don’t be so cruel.” “Skylar really did cut her finger; it was an emergency, and we were worried about tetanus. Can’t you show a little human compassion?” Attached was a photo. In the picture, Skylar was lying on a first-class seat, her hand wrapped in thick, dramatic bandages. She looked fragile and pitiful, a tear tracked down her cheek. The three men hovered around her, their faces etched with genuine concern. I zoomed in on the photo. Hmm. That bandage was so thick, you’d think she’d lost a limb. Compassion? My compassion had expired years ago. I typed a reply, utterly nonchalant: “Oh, honey. If the situation was so ‘emergency’ and the fear of tetanus so high, it must be an infection with a severe, highly contagious, unknown foreign pathogen! I’d be happy to help you all!” After hitting send, I immediately dialed the city’s Centers for Disease Control (CDC) and Customs and Border Protection (CBP). “Hello, I’d like to file an anonymous tip.” “A private jet, recently arrived from the Maldives, is attempting to smuggle passengers without proper health declarations. There is one passenger with a suspected high-pathogenicity infectious disease and a severe open wound.” “Yes, and three others are close contacts.” “This plane not only failed to file its health manifesto, but it actively tried to bypass customs. For the safety of our city, I urge you to handle this with the utmost urgency.” I hung up and sent one final message to Rhys: “Since you all stressed how serious it was, I’ve done you a favor and called the most professional medical isolation team to ensure your life safety.” “No need to thank me. It’s my last act of mercy as your former partner.” Half an hour later, the internet exploded. #LeoMaxwellAndCoDetainedAtAirport #SuspectedUnknownForeignVirus #PrivateJetQuarantinedAndFumigated In the video, Skylar was being forcefully escorted onto a negative-pressure ambulance by agents in full hazmat gear. She was terrified, her face pale. In her struggle, the thick gauze fell loose, exposing the wound. It was a scratch less than a centimeter long, and it was—already scabbed over. The CBP agents on-site paused, their expressions turning from professional vigilance to utter fury. “This is the high-pathogenicity wound you claimed?” “This is the life-threatening tetanus?” Rhys, Cameron, and Leo were also forcibly loaded into a separate quarantine vehicle. They frantically tried to explain it was just a scratch, a minor cut, that they were rushing and didn’t file the paperwork. But in the face of strict federal regulations, every excuse sounded like a lie. “Failure to comply with health declarations and falsifying documentation. Suspected obstruction of federal health inspection laws. You will be held for mandatory observation and transferred to police custody immediately.” Watching their miserable faces on the live feed, I smiled. I said I was a serious person. Since they claimed the situation was grave, I handled it by the gravest standards. Enjoy the ride. 3 Between mandatory quarantine and administrative detention, they would be locked up for at least two weeks. Two weeks was plenty of time for me to clean house. First, I convened an emergency board meeting. Using my absolute majority controlling stake, I unanimously passed a resolution to remove Rhys Kincaid from his position as Executive Director. I didn’t stop there. I fired all the cronies Rhys had installed, citing incompetence and unmet performance metrics. For the few who tried to fight back, I had the accounting department drop their files of fake expense reports. “You can walk out with dignity, or you can let me call the police for corporate fraud. Choose.” Watching them scurry out, clutching their cardboard boxes, the toxic atmosphere at Ashworth Global immediately cleared. Next was Cameron. The projects between the Wildes and Ashworth were vast and complex. In the past, I would have deferred to family ties and tolerated his incompetence. But now, with the gloves off, I was going to cut deep. I ordered Legal to issue a demand letter, citing Cameron’s unilateral breach of the engagement and partnership agreement. I then froze the capital accounts for every joint construction project. The Wilde family had a massive, multi-billion-dollar development underway. The sudden, complete halt of capital bled their project dry. Robert Wilde, Cameron’s father and my former prospective father-in-law, called me, his voice shaking with rage. “Sloane, you’re shooting yourself in the foot! The project stops, and Ashworth loses money too!” My tone was calm. “Mr. Wilde, you’re mistaken.” “Ashworth only provided the financing; the Wilde family handled the operations. Now, thanks to your heir’s criminal misconduct, the Wilde family’s reputation is in ruins. I have the right to stop funding to protect Ashworth’s assets.” “As for the losses, the contract is clear: the defaulting party—that’s you—is fully liable. You’ll be filling a multi-billion-dollar hole.” I heard the sound of glass shattering on the other end, followed by Robert Wilde’s roar. “Fine! Fine, Sloane! You’re ruthless, but you’ll pay for this! Just you wait!” I hung up and instantly blocked his number. Wait? I never wait for my enemies. Finally, Leo Maxwell. As a top-tier celebrity, his commercial value relied entirely on his pristine image. Now, he was facing not just federal charges for obstructing health inspections, but a storm of public outrage. I had the PR department release a single, cold, and concise statement: [In light of the egregious violation of law and social conduct by the artist Leo Maxwell, Ashworth Global has terminated all affiliations, effective immediately, and reserves the right to pursue full damages for breach of contract.] This move was a scalpel to his jugular. Major brands followed my lead, cutting ties left and right. Leo’s agent called, sobbing and begging, claiming Leo was merely trying to be loyal, that it was a moment of poor judgment. “Loyalty?” I looked down at the flight manifest on my desk. They had forged my signature to authorize the private jet’s flight. “Falsifying documents and stealing a private jet. That isn’t ‘loyalty.’” “That’s grand larceny.” “Tell Leo I require the full three hundred million dollars in breach penalties. If a penny is missing, I will move for forced execution and seize every single asset he owns.” “Additionally, I’m forwarding the evidence of the forged flight authorization to the Economic Crimes Unit to pursue criminal charges for the forgery of corporate documents.” “He can beg his dear Skylar Bloom to save him now.” Having cleaned up the mess, I felt a lightness I hadn’t realized I was missing. Childhood friends, fiancés, partners—they could all go to hell. If you don’t want to share the cake, you get to rot in the gutter with the rats. 4 Two weeks later, the three men were released. The first thing they did wasn’t to apologize or mitigate the damage. It was to host a massive, nationally televised press conference. The event was titled: “Exposing the Bullying Tactics of the Cold-Blooded Capitalist, Sloane Ashworth.” The venue was the city’s most luxurious hotel—the same one Skylar was staying at. Hundreds of media outlets were present, flashbulbs blazing. Skylar, clad in a pristine white dress, looked devastatingly vulnerable, her face deliberately pale and bare of makeup. She sat at the center, flanked by Rhys on the left and Cameron on the right, with Leo standing stoically behind her. They were a united front of victims. Skylar cried for three full minutes before she managed to speak. “I apologize to the public, and most of all, to Ms. Ashworth.” “I know Ms. Ashworth has always disliked me, feeling I wasn’t worthy of being friends with Rhys and Cameron. I understand that.” “But I never, ever intended to take anything from her.” “That day, I was so scared. My finger was bleeding heavily, and I thought I might die…” She held up the hand with the tiny scratch—now barely a faded pink line—for the cameras. “It was only because Rhys and the others were so worried about me that they took Ms. Ashworth’s plane in the heat of the moment.” “We are willing to pay for the jet fuel, and we are willing to apologize.” “But Ms. Ashworth… why such cruelty?” “Why call the federal agents on us? Why let the CDC drag us away like we were diseased criminals?” She wept, her body shaking delicately. Rhys immediately put his arm around her, glaring at the cameras. “Sloane Ashworth is a psychopath. This is nothing but a vicious character assassination.” “She is using her power and wealth to systematically crush us out of spite and jealousy.” “She is even trying to throw me out of the company I helped build from the ground up just to force me to surrender.” Cameron took the microphone, his expression grim. “My engagement to Sloane was always a corporate tragedy arranged by our families.” “She fundamentally misunderstands love. All she sees is profit, control, and winning.” “A woman like that is terrifying. I am thankful I didn’t marry her.” Leo Maxwell, the actor, delivered a heartfelt monologue to the lens. “In this whole cynical industry, only Skylar is pure and innocent.” “Sloane, with her stench of money and cold ambition, isn’t worthy of cleaning Skylar’s shoes.” “She can blacklist me; I don’t care. If it means protecting Skylar, I will quit Hollywood forever!” The statements set off a firestorm online. #JusticeForSkylar #SloaneAshworthIsAVillain #ColdBloodedBillionaire The hashtags dominated social media. Misled netizens swarmed Ashworth Global’s official accounts with hateful comments. Someone even Photoshopped my obituary and sent it to the front desk. The company stock began to flutter nervously. The old-guard board members, the vultures who feared instability, called me one after another, demanding answers. “Ms. Ashworth, is this how you manage a crisis? You’ve turned the company into a circus!” “If you cannot quell this public outrage, we will be forced to activate the impeachment proceedings.” I watched the four of them on the live stream, noting the frantic stock ticker on my desktop. I wasn’t worried. Instead, I poured my assistant a cup of tea. “Patience.” “Let them play their part a little longer.” “The audience isn’t big enough yet. The backlash isn’t intense enough.” “The moment the entire internet is howling my name is the perfect moment to drop the net.” I was waiting for a file, one that would guarantee their complete, irreversible ruin. 5 The press conference reached its dramatic peak. Encouraged by the three men, Skylar pulled out her phone. “To prove how vindictive Ms. Ashworth is, I have an audio recording here.” “It’s what she said to me after I accidentally spilled some wine on her shoe at a gala a few months ago.” She hit play. My voice, cold and measured, cut through the silence. “You think you can just walk away? That shoe is a custom-made Chanel slingback worth eighty-eight thousand dollars. Pay for it, then disappear. Don’t try to play the damsel with me; I don’t fall for it.” The room erupted in gasps. The reporters murmured: “No way, that’s so arrogant!” “Over a pair of shoes?” “Is this the face of modern capitalism?” Skylar cried harder. “Ms. Ashworth has always looked down on me, seeing me as nothing more than a poor girl…” Rhys, Cameron, and Leo looked indignant, as if I were the villain in a Greek tragedy. Just then, the massive screen behind them, which was displaying Skylar’s tearful photo, suddenly flashed. It went black, and a line of stark white text appeared: [EVIDENCE DISCLOSURE: THE CASE OF ASHWORTH GLOBAL PRIVATE JET THEFT & CORPORATE FUND MISAPPROPRIATION] The audience was stunned. Then, a high-definition video began to play. The setting was Rhys Kincaid’s lavish office. The timestamp was two hours before the private jet’s takeoff. In the frame, Rhys, Cameron, and Leo were gathered, smoking and laughing. There was no urgency, no concern, only calculated glee. Rhys exhaled a plume of smoke, chuckling. “Skylar is so dramatic. Cuts her finger and posts it online.” Cameron carelessly played with a lighter. “She wants attention. And frankly, I’m sick of Sloane the Ice Queen. All she talks about is the IPO. No romance, no fun.” Leo had his feet propped up on the desk. “Hey, Sloane’s new jet is sweet. I haven’t flown on it yet. Why don’t we take that one to pick up Skylar?” “Might as well grab a quick week in the Maldives. Sloane is too busy to notice.” Rhys hesitated. “The plane is Sloane’s personal asset. We don’t have the authorization.” Cameron sneered. “What are you afraid of? The three of us can’t handle one Sloane Ashworth?” “We’ll just claim it was a rescue mission. Even if she finds out, is she going to burn us over something so trivial? She needs us.” Leo roared with laughter. “Exactly! Sloane is a pathetic, unloved creature. Just give her a little sweet talk, and she’ll open her wallet. This is a lesson for her, making her realize who she really needs to beg.” Rhys ultimately gave the final nod. “Fine. Let’s go. There’s twenty million in the corporate account for ‘miscellaneous overseas promotion.’ We’ll use that to charter Skylar a private island for a few days. We can always cook the books later.” The video footage was crystal clear, the audio sharp. Every word, every casual laugh, landed like a brutal slap on the faces of the four people on stage and the hundreds in the audience. The reporters who had just been denouncing me now stared, jaws slackened in total shock. Immediately, the screen shifted to Skylar Bloom’s private text messages. The timestamp was one hour before takeoff. She texted Rhys: “Babe, my finger hurts so bad. Hurry! Is Sloane’s new jet super comfy? I really want to try it…” Attached was a deliberately zoomed-in photo of the tiny cut, with the caption: “It would be so perfect to recover on the beach in the Maldives.” Rhys instantly replied: “Wait for us, darling. Picking you up now. Consider this a vacation.” Skylar sent a shy emoji: “Won’t that be too much trouble for Ms. Ashworth?” Rhys: “Forget that ice maiden. With us around, nobody can touch you.” This exchange confirmed Skylar was an active participant in the manipulation. The livestream chat went silent, then exploded with a flood of new comments. [WHAT IS THIS PLOT TWIST?!] [It was never a rescue; it was a vacation plot?!] [Misappropriation of funds? Falsifying books? These are federal crimes!] [These men are disgusting. Mooches who think they’re entitled!] [Where are the Skylar fans now? This is your innocent goddess?] On the stage, the four faces turned bone-white. Rhys tried to lunge for the power cable, but it was useless. Cameron’s water glass slipped from his numb fingers and shattered on the floor. Leo instinctively shielded his face, trying to escape the cameras. Skylar was too terrified to even cry, frozen in place. And it wasn’t over. The screen rotated again, showing pages of official, red-stamped financial audit reports. Every single transaction was flagged for criminal misconduct. Rhys’s fictitious overseas promotion funds were clearly traced to Skylar’s island resort bill. The money Cameron diverted from the Ashworth-Wilde joint projects was used to plug holes in his father’s books. Leo’s chat logs, detailing his insider trading and the sale of confidential company data, were displayed with dates and content. Finally, the screen cut to a live feed from the city’s FBI Economic Crimes Division. The Division Chief addressed the camera gravely. “We have formally launched an investigation into Rhys Kincaid, Cameron Wilde, and Leo Maxwell on charges of embezzlement and corporate fund misappropriation. Skylar Bloom, as a co-conspirator, is also under investigation.” “Preliminary findings confirm the total misappropriated funds exceed five hundred and thirty million dollars. Evidence has been secured. We will be taking all four individuals into custody immediately.” As the feed ended, the doors to the banquet hall burst open. A team of police officers marched in. The lead officer strode onto the stage and displayed the warrants. “Rhys Kincaid, Cameron Wilde, Leo Maxwell, and Skylar Bloom. You are under arrest for severe economic crimes. You are now being taken into criminal custody.” Rhys’s knees buckled; he collapsed onto the carpet. Cameron tried to argue. “I’m the heir to the Wilde fortune! You can’t arrest me! I need my lawyer!” Leo immediately tried to deflect. “This isn’t my fault! Rhys made me do it! I’m just an artist; I don’t understand any of this!” Skylar shrieked, clutching the table leg. “I’m innocent! They gave me the money! I didn’t know! I’m the victim here!” The four allies, moments ago a picture of devoted friendship, immediately tore each other apart under the weight of the law. No one believed their tears now. Reporters shoved their lenses right into their faces, documenting every miserable moment. Watching them being led out and loaded into the police vehicles, I finally felt the tension leave my body. However, just as the police motorcade began to pull away, my phone rang. It was an unknown number. I answered. A voice, distorted by a scrambler, came through the line. “Sloane Ashworth, well done.” “You’ve neutralized these pawns, which saves me a lot of trouble.” “Those three fools were only ever useful for wasting company resources and stuffing Skylar’s pockets. They were useless to my real plan. You’ve cleared the deadwood for me, saving me the trouble of doing it myself.” He gave a cold, sinister chuckle. “But do you think you’ve won?” “Check the wire transfer log for the Ashworth Global overseas account. That five billion—is it still there?” I shot to my feet, my heart pounding in my chest. The overseas account? That was Ashworth’s core capital, the massive reserve for our European expansion—the final lifeline my mother had left me. I immediately logged into the bank system. The screen displayed an unbearable truth. BALANCE: 0. “What did you do? Who are you?” I demanded into the phone. The voice chuckled again. “Who I am is irrelevant. What matters, Sloane, is this: Welcome to the real Hell Mode.” The line went dead. I stared at the dark screen, my hands ice cold.

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It was at the low-income street fair, as the city officers were clearing us out, that my ex-husband stepped in. Rhys sighed, the sound heavy, almost patronizing. “Let’s just remarry, Sera. Wren is too young to be going through this kind of hardship.” I agreed without a moment’s hesitation. When we moved back in, I stopped fighting. I stopped throwing fits of jealousy and I stopped demanding his time. Wren also stopped competing with his childhood friend’s daughter for her father’s attention. He could spend the night with Lana and her little girl, and my daughter and I wouldn’t call or text. If we ran into them in public, Wren and I would discreetly fade into the background. We became exactly the well-behaved, undemanding pair he always wanted us to be. But then, he looked at me, his eyes reddening. “Sera, why aren’t you angry?” “Wren, why don’t you just ask Daddy for a hug?” 1 We finished the re-marriage paperwork and walked back to the house. Rhys followed a step behind. Wren and I were standing at the front door. “Why don’t you go in?” he asked. I said, calmly, “The code’s been changed.” Just then, the door swung open from the inside. Lana Bellweather stood there in an apron, a feigned annoyance on her face. “What took you so long? Laney’s been asking for you for ages—Oh, Ms. Jones?” I gave her a small, polite nod. “Ms. Jones, please don’t misunderstand. Rhys has been so swamped with work, I just came over to make him some bone broth.” “I’m always forgetting the code, so Rhys changed it to my birthday. I’ll change it back right away.” But she didn’t move. The triumphant glimmer in her eyes was unmistakable. “Daddy!” A small figure launched itself at Rhys’s legs. Lana immediately clapped a hand over the girl’s mouth, looking distraught, as if I were a threat. “Laney, Mommy told you to call him Mr. Beaumont, remember?” Rhys looked over, thoroughly embarrassed. Seeing that Wren and I weren’t causing the scene we would have years ago, a flicker of surprise crossed his face. Wren’s room had a lot of new things. Lana bit her lower lip. “Laney sometimes sleeps here…” The tiny hand in my palm tightened. Wren whispered, “Mommy, I can sleep in a different room.” A sudden, dull ache squeezed my heart, a feeling I hadn’t expected. Before, when Rhys paid attention to Laney, Wren would throw a tantrum, crying, “Daddy is mine!” And every time, Rhys would snap at me for poor parenting. Now, she just stared quietly at the transformed room. Children are sensitive. She already understood that only the favored ones are allowed to act out. Rhys frowned. Lana quickly interjected, “I’ll take the things out. Ms. Jones, please don’t be mad at Laney or me—” The mother and daughter huddled together, trembling slightly, the picture of delicate victimhood. In the past, these kinds of passive-aggressive remarks would have instantly triggered me, leading to a huge fight with Rhys. Now, I just looked at them, saying nothing. Rhys suddenly spoke. “Lana, don’t come in and out of my house so casually anymore. As a single mother, you need to protect your reputation.” As they finished gathering their things, Laney said tearfully, “Daddy, Laney wants you to take us home.” Rhys hesitated, looking toward me. I smiled. “You and Ms. Bellweather have known each other for years, Rhys. Of course you should take them.” He opened his mouth to say something, but I turned and walked to the kitchen to boil some water. Before he left, Rhys rushed back in. “Wait for me. When I get back, we need to have a real talk.” It wasn’t until they were completely gone that Wren and I finally let the air out of our lungs. A moment later, my phone pinged. Lana Bellweather: [I’m so sorry, Ms. Jones. Laney is used to Rhys watching her animated movie with her. He’ll be home a little later.] 2 That familiar, apologetic tone. I smiled faintly and sent a brief reply: [Okay.] Rhys didn’t come home until the next day. I was reading Wren her pre-nap story. I didn’t ask any questions. Throwing a tantrum or getting jealous, like I used to, would only make him resent me and, worse, reflect badly on Wren. After Wren fell asleep, Rhys handed me a small box. Inside was a black diamond necklace—the one I had always wanted but was outbid on at an auction years ago. If this had happened before, I would have joyfully jumped up and wrapped my arms around him. Now, I felt absolutely nothing. I used to love jewelry. But after we moved to the city village, a thief tried to snatch my necklace, pulling me down a flight of concrete stairs. I ended up with a concussion and a bloody mess. Since then, I realized these things were nothing but vanity, and potentially deadly. Not getting the ecstatic reaction he expected, Rhys shifted uncomfortably. “Let me put it on you.” I smiled and stepped back. “Thank you, but I don’t wear jewelry anymore.” He froze. I went to the kitchen to cut some fruit. When I came back, Rhys was gone. In the afternoon, I took Wren out. For two years, I had barely scraped by, and Wren often wore the landlord’s daughter’s hand-me-downs. Now, I could finally buy her clothes that fit. As we entered the children’s boutique, we ran into Lana and Laney. And Rhys. The saleswoman was effusive, presenting them with a garment. “Mr. Beaumont, Mrs. Beaumont, these are the new arrivals from yesterday. They would look gorgeous on Princess Laney.” Laney shouted, “I want this one!” Rhys smiled and swiped his card. “Ma’am, can I help you?” Another sales associate approached me. I spoke softly. “I’d like to buy my child a couple of outfits she can wear right now.” Rhys and his group looked over. I pretended not to notice, taking Wren’s hand and walking further into the store. When we came out of the fitting room, Lana and Laney were gone. Rhys looked at me, his expression complex. “It’s Laney’s birthday today. I was just buying her a gift…” “I see. Well, send her my best.” I turned toward the confused saleswoman. “I’ll take both of these outfits, please.” As I moved toward the checkout, Rhys grabbed my arm. I quickly pulled my hand away. The saleswoman’s eyes flickered between us. “Ma’am, you and Mr. Beaumont…” I smiled easily. “We’re just acquaintances.” Clang! “Mr. Beaumont, your phone!” I turned back. Rhys was staring at me, his eyes wide. “What the hell are you saying?” I tilted my head, confused. “Aren’t you supposed to be celebrating her birthday with them?” He just glared, his chest heaving, but said nothing. I didn’t understand, but I wasn’t going to provoke him. I took Wren’s hand and headed for the exit. Just outside the shop, Rhys grabbed me again. He asked in a low, heavy voice, “You’re just going to let them mistake our relationship like that?” I laughed, a short, dry sound. “Aren’t you the one who cares the most about Lana’s reputation?” Rhys was stumped, speechless for a moment. He finally managed, “You’re not like you used to be.” I used to start a fight over exactly this. Rhys would always be impatient. “Stop being hysterical. Lana is a single mother and it’s hard for her. If people think she’s Mrs. Beaumont, they won’t harass her.” But now, what was the point of fighting Lana for his attention? All I wanted was to raise Wren well and give her the comfortable life she deserved. I said calmly, “Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?” Rhys’s face went white with fury. He flung his hand away and left. I didn’t care. I took Wren for food and bought her a few more things. A life where I didn’t have to worry about the rent or the next meal. It almost felt like before the divorce. 3 After we first got married, I became a stay-at-home wife. Everyone envied me: a girl with a wealthy father, married to a self-made, brilliant young talent. I truly thought I would be happy forever. Until Lana got divorced. Rhys missed our first Valentine’s Day, claiming he was stuck working late. But when he finally got home, Lana showed up at our door to “deliver his forgotten tie.” I was confused. He just rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Lana works near the office. She just dropped it off on her way home.” I wanted to ask more, but his exhaustion seemed genuine, and I softened. I had an easy life at home. He was working so hard. It didn’t feel right to doubt him. I told myself that a marriage requires trust, and I shouldn’t be foolishly jealous. But then these instances kept piling up. On our anniversary, Rhys left me alone at the fancy restaurant to rescue Lana from a conflict with her landlord. During a sudden downpour, Wren and I were stranded at the preschool, while Rhys drove Lana and Laney home. Wren caught the flu and had a high fever. I couldn’t reach Rhys, so I took her to the emergency room alone. There, I saw him with an entire team of specialists attending to Laney’s scraped elbow. Every single time, Lana would preemptively text me. [I’m so sorry, Ms. Jones. Rhys didn’t want me living there anymore, so he set me up in one of his apartments.] [I’m so sorry, Ms. Jones. It was all my fault for feeling dizzy. Rhys will be on his way to pick you up as soon as he drops me off.] [I’m so sorry, Ms. Jones. Rhys is just overly concerned about Laney. I’ll talk to him about it later.] I finally snapped. I kept questioning Rhys: who was his wife? Who was his daughter? At first, he would patiently explain. “We’ve known each other forever, Sera. I’m just helping her out.” But he grew impatient. “You have money, you don’t understand how hard it is for people from lower-income backgrounds. Can’t you show her some compassion?” “Lana is a single mother, struggling. Why do you insist on attacking her?” “Are you helpless? I have so much to do at work, do I really need to revolve my life around you two?” “If you can’t raise the child right, hire a new nanny! She’s acting like a bully at this age, she’s going to be impossible later on!” Wren and I stopped looking forward to his return. Because every time he walked through the door, the small warmth in our house was replaced by screaming matches. Wren grew quieter and quieter. Even her preschool teacher asked me if everything was okay at home. The moment I truly decided to divorce him was the day of Rhys’s company annual gala. He told me he was working late. I’d been constantly exhausted and sleepy lately, and completely forgot about the gala. Until I saw a post on social media. [The Henda Tech CEO and his First Lady are a perfect match. Such a movie-star couple.] The picture was Rhys and Lana standing side-by-side at the gala. I called Rhys five or six times, but no answer. The seventh call finally went through, but Lana’s voice answered. “Ms. Jones, Rhys is very busy right now. You can tell me whatever you need to, it’s the same thing.” I demanded she put Rhys on the phone. She gave a delicate laugh. “Ms. Jones, I’m Rhys’s executive assistant. He has no secrets from me, you know.” “Did you know that tonight, so many people have told me that I’m better suited to be Mrs. Beaumont?” My body was trembling. I hung up the phone and, still in my slippers, bolted for the gala venue. 4 Lana had her arms wrapped around Rhys’s waist, leaning fully into his embrace. I tore them apart in a rage, glaring at Rhys. “This is your working late? Hugging and cozying up with her is work?” Lana rushed over to grab me. “Ms. Jones, I was drinking. Please don’t misunderstand—” I violently shook her hand off and glared at her. “Don’t touch me, you home-wrecker!” My push wasn’t strong, but she cried out dramatically and dropped to the floor. “Seraphina Jones! What is wrong with you?” Rhys roughly shoved me aside, rushing to help Lana up, checking her for injuries with agonizing care. My lower back slammed against the corner of a table. The pain brought tears to my eyes. Lana, eyes red, fought back tears. “It’s all my fault. Please, don’t fight because of me…” Rhys quickly reassured her. “It has nothing to do with you, Lana. She’s being hysterical.” He turned back to me, his gaze cold, laced with pure disgust. “Seraphina Jones, I have told you countless times, her mother entrusted me with Lana’s care on her deathbed.” “Do you have any idea how hard it is for her to raise a child alone? How can you, a woman, be so malicious as to call her a mistress?” The look he gave me was icy, even showing a hint of revulsion. “My patience is limited. You need to stop this.” “Don’t make me regret marrying you.” The words caused a terrible ringing in my ears. I stared at Rhys, completely shattered. I wanted to scream: I’m your wife! How can you side with a stranger? I wanted to tell him: Lana baits me every time! Are you blind? I wanted to recount the gloating phone call. But a terrible blockage filled my throat. All I could manage was, “Then let’s get divorced.” The moment the words left my mouth, I felt a strange sense of freedom. I didn’t even care about the look of triumph on Lana’s face. Rhys was stunned, then gave a cold, dismissive laugh. “Seraphina, what else can you do but threaten divorce? Does your life consist of nothing but fighting for attention?” Then, he helped Lana away. I went home and sat in the living room until dawn. It wasn’t until Wren started wailing that I realized my legs were covered in blood. The second child, who had quietly arrived, had quietly left. A week later, Rhys and I divorced. I retained full custody of Wren. Not long after, my father’s company ran into trouble. Several key partnerships were maliciously snatched away. Within six months, we had to file for bankruptcy. The stress put my father in the hospital with a heart attack. He died after several attempts to save him. I used the remaining assets to pay the employees’ severance. The heiress became a single mother in a slum. Wren suffered terribly because of me. I woke up crying countless times, regretting that I had dragged her into this mess. This time, I wouldn’t waste a single breath fighting for Rhys’s affection. As long as Wren and I could have a secure, comfortable life, Rhys could find ten ‘Lanas,’ and I would look the other way. 5 Rhys never came back that night after leaving the boutique. Three days later, Wren started at her new school. I started setting up my online shop. My handmade pet clothes and small trinkets had sold well at the flea market. Many customers had suggested I start a proper shop. Back then, I worked as a server during the day and could only set up my stall at night. My output wasn’t high enough. Now, with a little money saved, I could finally launch it. In my previous marriage, I always had a spare room for my sewing projects. I converted it into a home studio and bought equipment for live craft streaming. Rhys came home just as I was having dinner. He walked to the kitchen and looked around. “You didn’t make any for me?” I blinked. “I assumed you wouldn’t be home.” He was momentarily speechless. I quickly headed for the kitchen. “I’ll make some right now. Just wait a minute.” As I washed vegetables, I remembered—no matter when he came home, I always had a hot meal waiting. Even if it went uneaten and had to be thrown out. But today, I honestly forgot. I sighed. I’d have to remember next time. Dinner was silent again. After a long time, Rhys spoke. “The company had an issue with a project this week. I was staying in the office.” “Oh.” I thought for a moment and added, “That must be tiring. I’ll run you a hot bath.” He looked at me in silence for a while, then suddenly rubbed his face. His voice was faint. “You haven’t called me, not even once, this whole time.” I used to constantly share my life with him. I’d send dozens of texts a day—even though he rarely replied—because I was afraid to bother him with a call. But now, I was no longer the Seraphina who lived solely for him. “I didn’t want to disrupt your work.” Rhys stared at me, his voice carrying an unclear meaning. “What do you think I’m doing? Something you could disrupt?” I just smiled. “Whatever you’re doing, it’s not my place to interrupt.” The air filled with silence again. I started clearing the table and heading to the kitchen. Rhys followed. “There are a lot of delivery boxes outside. What did you buy?” I hesitated for a moment, then told the truth. “I started an online shop. Those are my supplies.” He nodded, saying nothing. A moment later, a text popped up. He had transferred a large sum of money to my account. “Thank you.” Rhys paused as he reached for the fruit bowl. “We’re married, Sera. My money is yours. Don’t be so formal.” I smiled and remained silent. Rhys’s phone rang. The screen showed Lana’s name. He glanced at me and answered right in front of me. I wasn’t interested. I wisely walked to the balcony to collect the laundry. “Lana has an issue…” I handed him his jacket. “You should go quickly.” He looked at me intently. “I’ll be back soon.” Rhys had only been gone for a few minutes when the preschool teacher called. “Wren’s mother, Wren fell off the slide.” I rushed to the hospital. The teacher explained as she led me toward the room. “Wren had a disagreement with another child…” As she finished, we reached the emergency room door. The other child’s parent was also being led in. It was Lana. And Rhys.

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“A year-end bonus of $2,000, and you expect me to be grateful?” The smile froze on HR manager Susan’s face. I’ve been at this company for 8 years, wrote 1.27 million lines of code, and supported 3 core systems. Year-end bonus, $2,000. “Chris, you have to understand the company’s difficulties…” I laughed. I took a piece of paper from my bag and placed it in front of her. A resignation letter. The date was today. 1 Susan stared at the resignation letter, stunned for a full five seconds. “Chris, don’t be impulsive.” “I’m not impulsive,” I said. “I’ve thought about this for a long time.” 8 years. From joining as a fresh graduate to now, exactly 8 years. I was employee number 7, arriving earlier than most of the management. Back then, the company operated out of a residential house. A few of us tech guys squeezed into a room less than 200 square feet. No AC in summer, no heating in winter. The first line of code I wrote is still running today. “You know if you leave now, the year-end bonus is gone, right?” Susan said. “$2,000,” I said. “I don’t want it.” Susan’s expression turned a bit ugly. “Chris, I know you feel aggrieved, but you have to understand…” “Susan,” I interrupted her, “do you know how much overtime I worked last month?” She didn’t speak. “187 hours,” I said. “Averaging 6 hours of overtime every day. No overtime pay, no compensatory leave, not even a single ‘thank you’.” “This… the company does have some issues with overtime culture…” “It’s not an issue of overtime culture,” I said. “It’s that you take my dedication for granted.” Susan opened her mouth but couldn’t say anything. I stood up. “What’s the process?” “You… are you really sure?” “I’m sure.” Susan looked at me with complex eyes. “Do you know you’re on the layoff list?” I was stunned for a moment. “What?” “In this round of layoffs, you’re on the list,” Susan said. “Ranked first.” I stared at her, thinking I heard wrong. “Ranked first?” “Yes.” “The reason?” Susan lowered her head, afraid to look at me. “Highly replaceable.” These two words, like a knife, stabbed into my chest. Highly replaceable. Me? The person who built the entire payment system from scratch? The person who maintained 3 core modules alone for 8 years? The person who was called up at 3 AM to fix bugs, went to work as usual the next day, and never took a sick day? Highly replaceable? I suddenly laughed. “Fine,” I said. “Then let’s see you try to replace me.” Susan looked up, her expression a bit panicked. “Chris, what do you mean?” “Nothing.” I picked up my bag. “I’ve submitted my resignation letter. You arrange the process.” “Wait…” I didn’t wait. Pushed open the door and walked out. The hallway was quiet. Sunlight shone in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the wall with the company values written on it. “People-oriented.” “Growing together.” “Grateful for the journey.” I looked at these words and found them ironic. 8 years. I gave my youth, time, and energy, all to this company. What did I get in return? A phrase “highly replaceable.” I took a deep breath and continued walking forward. Passing by the pantry, I heard people chatting. “Heard 20% are getting cut this time.” “Really? Is the list out?” “Out, out. I heard Chris in the tech department is ranked first.” “Chris? The one who doesn’t talk much?” “Yeah, yeah, that’s him.” “Isn’t he an old timer? 8 years, right? Why cut him first?” “Heard the team lead proposed it, saying he’s highly replaceable.” “Huh? He’s highly replaceable?” “Who knows, anyway, what the team lead says goes.” I stood at the door, didn’t go in. Those two people were still chatting. “He seems to be in charge of the payment system, right?” “More than that, seems like there’s also risk control, settlement… I don’t understand the specifics.” “Then what about these systems?” “Don’t know, anyway, the team lead said no problem, can find someone to take over soon.” “Alright then.” I had heard enough. Turned around and went back to my desk. Opened the computer and started organizing things. 8 years of files, emails, code records. I won’t take anything belonging to the company. But I will take myself. My ability, my experience, my understanding of this system. These are not on any server. They are in my brain. You say I’m highly replaceable? Then show me a replacement. 2 While organizing things, my mind was full of images from these 8 years. In 2016, I just graduated with a master’s degree in computer science from a top university and joined this startup with only 30 people at the time. The person who interviewed me was Mr. Wang, the current CTO. Back then, he didn’t have so much gray hair and wasn’t so greasy. He told me: “Chris, although our company is small, we have dreams. Come, let’s make this big together.” I believed him. On the first day of work, I was assigned to the payment group. There was only me in the group. “The payment system is the core,” Mr. Wang said. “You must do it well.” I asked: “Just me?” “Just you for now. When the company has money, we’ll hire people for you.” I waited for 8 years. Didn’t wait for a single person. The payment system from 0 to 1, from 1 to 100, was all coded by me line by line. Later, the company expanded its business, adding risk control and settlement systems. No one took over, still me. I alone shouldered 3 core systems. Crashed in the early morning? Me. Bugs during holidays? Me. Urgent new requirements online? Me. I don’t remember how many times I was woken up by phone calls at 3 AM, opening my computer with sleepy eyes to fix bugs. Fixed, dawn broke, went to work as usual. No overtime pay, no compensatory leave, no one said a word of thanks. Because everyone thought this was what Chris should do. Isn’t Chris always like this? Chris won’t refuse. Chris has no life, Chris only has work. Yes. I have no life. Had a girlfriend once, she said I was too busy with work and had no time for her, broke up. Parents urged me to marry, I said too busy with work, no time for blind dates, they scolded me for being unfilial. Friends gathering, I was always absent, because who knows when I would be called to fix bugs. I gave all my time to this company. What did I get in return? In 2018, the company’s first financing, valued at $20 million. That year my year-end bonus was $5,000. In 2020, the company’s second financing, valued at $100 million. That year my year-end bonus was $8,000. In 2022, the company went public, market value $500 million. That year my year-end bonus was $10,000. 2024, now. Company market value $800 million. My year-end bonus, $2,000. I don’t understand. The company gets bigger and bigger, but my year-end bonus gets smaller and smaller. I went to ask HR. Susan said: “Chris, the company’s efficiency is not good this year, everyone is tightening their belts.” I said: “But I saw the news, the company’s profit increased by 30% last year.” Susan smiled: “News, you know, there’s a lot of water in it.” I went to ask the team lead again. Linda, my current direct leader, parachuted in two years ago. She worked in a big tech company before, resume looks beautiful, can’t write code, but very good at reporting. She said: “Chris, your problem is you don’t know how to manage up. You did so many things, but the leaders don’t know. You have to learn to express yourself.” I said: “I write weekly reports every week, monthly reports every month, and I send email reports every time a big requirement goes online.” She said: “That’s different. Your reports are too technical, leaders can’t understand. You have to learn to use language leaders can understand.” I stopped talking. I indeed can’t speak pretty words. I only know how to write code. But isn’t writing code valuable? Without code, how does the company operate? Without my 8 years of dedication, where does the $800 million market value come from? I couldn’t figure it out. Until this year’s year-end rating came out, I completely figured it out. That day, I saw my grade: B. What is the concept of B? It means “normal.” Not good, nor bad. Year-end bonus coefficient 0.5. And Linda, my leader, rated S. S is the highest level. Year-end bonus coefficient 2.0. She came for 2 years, what did she do? Changed the format of my weekly report, reported up. Added a cover to my technical plan, reported up. Changed the wording of my code achievements, reported up. Oh, right, she also did a big thing. Changed the color of a button in our system. From blue to green. For this one thing, she reported 3 times and won an “Innovation Award.” I wrote 1.27 million lines of code, rated B. She changed a button color, rated S. This is the company’s values. This is their interpretation of “people-oriented.” 3 I thought I was chilled enough. Until I saw that optimization list. Actually, Susan didn’t intend for me to see it. I discovered it myself. That noon, I went to find Susan to ask about the resignation process. She wasn’t at her desk, computer was on, an Excel spreadsheet on the screen. “2024 Q4 Organizational Optimization List”. My name was on the first line. The remark behind wrote: “Suggested optimization reason: Long working years, serious salary inversion, highly replaceable. Suggested by: Linda.” I stared at those words, heart pounding. Salary inversion. Yes, my salary is indeed not high. 8 years, my salary rose from $120k at entry to current $250k. Average increase less than $20k per year. And the fresh graduates recruited last year started at $220k. Interns I mentored, salary higher than me after conversion. Newcomers I taught, now leaders of other groups, annual salary twice mine. I applied for salary adjustment. Applied every year. Rejected every year. The reason is always: “Market is not good this year.” “Company budget limited.” “Wait a bit more, there will be adjustments next year.” I waited for 8 years. Waited for the words “serious salary inversion.” Highly replaceable. These two words make me feel even more ironic. In the whole company, only I understand all the logic of the payment system. Only I can save the crashed system at 3 AM. Only I know what those legacy codes are about. Highly replaceable? Can you find a second Chris? But I didn’t question anyone. I just silently returned to my desk and continued organizing things. At 3 PM, Linda came to find me. “Chris, heard you resigned?” “Yes.” “Don’t be impulsive,” she looked kind, “It’s year-end, if you leave now, you won’t have the year-end bonus.” “$2,000, don’t want it.” She was stunned for a moment. “You resign just because the bonus is small?” “Not because of the bonus,” I said. “Because I don’t want to do it anymore.” “Did you find your next job?” “No.” “Then you quit without a job?” She frowned. “Chris, you are 32, naked resignation at this age is very dangerous.” “Thanks for caring.” She sighed. “Chris, I know you might have some opinions about me. But you have to understand, the rating thing is not decided by me alone.” I didn’t speak. “Your work is indeed done well, but you have to learn to express. Look at you, never talk in meetings, never mention ideas, how do leaders know your ability?” I still didn’t speak. “And…” she lowered her voice, “to be honest, everyone has seen your code, indeed written okay. But this thing, anyone else can do it too. Technology, whoever writes it is the same.” This sentence made me completely give up hope. Technology, whoever writes it is the same. Good. Then let “whoever” write it. “Linda,” I finally spoke, “do you know what the core logic of the payment system is?” She was stunned. “This… I’m not from a technical background…” “Do you know how many requests the risk control system processes per second?” “This is too detailed…” “Do you know how the reconciliation logic of the settlement system is designed?” She stopped talking. “You know nothing,” I said, “but you say whoever writes it is the same.” “Chris, what is this attitude?” “Just this attitude.” I stood up. “I’ve already submitted the resignation letter, leaving in a month. This month, I only do handover, no new requirements.” “You…” “Also,” I looked at her, “you said I’m highly replaceable. Then show me a replacement.” 4 That night, I didn’t work overtime. As soon as off-work time came, I packed up and left. This was the first time in 8 years. Before, I never dared to leave on time. Because there were always endless bugs to fix, requirements to do, meetings to attend. But today, I don’t care. Anyway, I’m leaving. The moment I walked out of the company gate, I took a deep breath. The night wind blew on my face, a bit cold, but very clear. 8 years. I’m finally leaving this place. Phone rang. It was Mom calling. “Chris, how come you have time to answer the phone at this hour?” “Mom, I resigned.” Silence on the other end for a few seconds. “Resigned? Why?” “Don’t want to do it anymore.” “Don’t want to do it? You are 32, what will you do if not this? How much savings do you have? How long can it last you?” “Mom…” “Your dad is in poor health, I need medicine every month, your brother just bought a house, mortgage hasn’t been paid off…” “Mom, I know.” “You know and you still resign? Chris, is your brain broken?” I was silent. “Explain clearly to me, what happened? Were you fired?” “No, I quit myself.” “Then why?” “Because…” I thought for a moment, “Because they said I’m highly replaceable.” Mom was stunned. “What replaceability?” “It means I’m not important, can be replaced anytime.” “Then let them replace, you find the next one. Why are you so impulsive?” “Mom, I worked in this company for 8 years.” “I know.” “8 years, I gave all my time to them. No weekends, no holidays, no life of my own.” “Isn’t work all like this?” “Mom, my year-end bonus, only $2,000.” Silence again on the other end. “$2,000… is a bit little?” “More than a bit. I wrote 1.27 million lines of code, supported 3 core systems of the company. $2,000, not enough for my food for a month.” Mom sighed. “Then resign if you resign. Anyway, you are at this age, take this time to go on blind dates and find a wife.” I smiled bitterly. “Mom, I’m hanging up.” “Wait…” I didn’t wait, hung up directly. I knew Mom didn’t understand. She never worked in her life, didn’t know what workplace meant. Didn’t know what it meant to give without return. Didn’t know what it meant to exchange 8 years of youth for a phrase “highly replaceable.” But it doesn’t matter. I don’t need her to understand. I just need to know myself, what I am doing. That night, I returned to my rental apartment, cooked a bowl of instant noodles. Eating instant noodles, I started counting. How much savings do I have? 8 years of work, saving frugally every month, saved about $500,000. Not much, but enough to last me two years. Two years time, enough for me to find the next job. Or, do something myself. I don’t know what the future holds. But I know, I can’t be like this anymore. Finished instant noodles, I opened the computer. Not for work, but to write a document. A handover document. I want to write down all knowledge, experience, logic of these 8 years. Not for the company, for myself. This is my professionalism. I can leave, but I won’t sabotage. Code is still their code, system is still their system. I only take away things belonging to me— My ability, my experience, my brain. Writing until 2 AM, I finally finished. Looking at that document of over 100 pages, I suddenly wanted to laugh a bit. Over 100 pages. 8 years of painstaking effort, condensed into over 100 pages. But I know, no one can truly understand these 100+ pages. Because true knowledge is in my brain. Those historical pits, those hidden bugs, those logics only I know. These cannot be explained clearly by a document. I closed the computer, went to bed. Starting tomorrow, I am a free man.

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Nine months pregnant, I suddenly craved the caramel apples my husband and I used to eat when we first started dating. I pestered him to drive me to get some, but as soon as we got in the car, the smart navigation system automatically popped up a destination. It was an unfamiliar apartment complex on the west side of the city. My husband quickly clicked the ‘X’ when the pop-up appeared, changing the subject with a casual air. I tacitly pretended nothing had happened. That night after going to bed, I connected to the car control app. In the cloud-uploaded driving records, the car had a 30-mile abnormal route every day. Just recently, the “Owner” had categorized it as a “Daily Habit.” In the video records, every night after I fell asleep, my husband would secretly get up. Under the cover of night, he would drive to the address I had accidentally seen. Every time the car arrived, a slender figure was waiting at the entrance of the apartment building. She would take his coat, dust it off, and adjust his scarf before he left. Most of the time, she would gently say: “If you’re too busy, you don’t have to come see me. I’m not like your wife, who can’t be left alone for a moment.” That night, I had insomnia. Married for five years, it took four rounds of IVF to conceive this child. I couldn’t bring myself to be ruthless. Friends also advised me that at least my husband still had feelings and responsibility for me. Marriage needs management; turn a blind eye and it will pass. But a week later, on the day of my difficult labor, inside the delivery room, my husband’s phone suddenly rang. An anxious voice came from the other end: “Sarah is standing on the edge of the roof now, saying if you don’t come, she’ll jump!” His movement to pull his hand away was faster than his brain. “She is the daughter of my late mentor…” He dared not look into my eyes, “I’m just going to persuade her to come down.” Red-eyed, I screamed hoarsely at his back: “If you dare to leave today! I will consider this child to have no father!” My husband paused, looking back at me with a pained expression. But the next second, he still rushed out of the hospital with firm steps. 1 I knew who the woman on the other end of the phone was. I had seen her countless times in Lucas’s dashcam footage. I lay on the operating table, my clothes soaked through with sweat, clinging messily to my body. The child was not yet born, but the father had already abandoned him. In my hazy consciousness, I heard my parents and in-laws arguing outside. Intense contractions hit like a tsunami, but they couldn’t compare to one ten-thousandth of the pain in my heart. My mother roared through tears: “Who is that woman? Is Lucas crazy? Leaving his wife while she’s giving birth?” The Sterling elders were frantically making calls, their voices crying: “Emily, hold on a little longer. We’ve sent people to find that disgrace. If he doesn’t come back today, we’ll pretend we never had this son!” My wedding ring slipped off my finger during the struggle and rolled under the bed, kicked into the shadows by rushing medical staff. The contractions became more urgent, and the alarms of the machines rose and fell. “Fetal heart rate dropping!” The doctor’s shout pierced the air, and my vision went black. When I opened my eyes again, the smell of disinfectant drilled into my nose. The nurse was adjusting the IV drip speed. Seeing me awake, she said softly: “It’s a miracle we saved you from the hemorrhage. Children… there will be more in the future.” With a boom, my heart felt like it had been pierced through. My mother sat by the bed, tears in her eyes, gently wiping mine: “My baby, you’ve suffered.” My father stood by the bed with a heartache expression, and my in-laws stood in the corner full of guilt. I looked at the pale ceiling, tears silently flowing into my hair. The days and nights of these five years played on loop like a silent movie before my eyes. From Lucas’s proposal at the graduation ceremony when we were twenty-two. To him staying up late preparing various pregnancy nutrition meals for me. To the way he seriously recorded fetal heart data at every checkup. Now, all these tender fragments had become a joke. At the door, Lucas’s childhood friend, Mark, stood there guiltily. “Sister-in-law, Sarah, her depression flared up. She said if Lucas didn’t go, she would jump off the building. There was really no choice… You…” He didn’t dare to continue, seeming to realize the inappropriateness. “So what? Do I need to be understanding?” I mocked expressionlessly. I wanted to ask him, how many times did you help Lucas lie to me? Every time you said it was a gathering between friends, how many times was it true? But suddenly I didn’t want to know. From the delivery room to the ward, I waited for my legal husband to return, from dark until dawn, until night fell again. At 8 PM, Lucas, who had disappeared for a full twenty hours, finally appeared. His suit was wrinkled, and his eyes dodged mine. “Emily, I’m sorry.” His voice was dry. “Sarah’s condition was really dangerous. My mentor entrusted her to me before he died, I had to…” I interrupted him, voice hoarse: “Do you know our child is gone?” “You knew I was having a C-section yesterday, but you still chose to be with her.” “Lucas, that was our child!” Silence spread in the ward. He held my hand, his palm ice cold. “Emily, in these five years, I’ve never begged you for anything. Just this once, I beg you not to make a scene.” “Sarah just lost her father. If she is accused of interfering in someone else’s family again, her depression will worsen.” I looked at the pleading in his eyes, my heart tearing into pieces. He shouldn’t be begging me; he should be kneeling and crying at the door of the NICU. A person’s first reaction can’t lie. He didn’t ask the doctor why I had a hemorrhage. Didn’t ask how scared I was during the surgery. Once he opened his mouth, it was all about another woman. Tears poured out, soaking the pillowcase. Using all my strength, I squeezed out a word from my throat: “Okay.” He was visibly relieved, then said: “Sarah needs someone with her right now. I’ll move in with her for a while.” “When her mood stabilizes, about five months or so, I’ll move back. It won’t be too late for us to have children then, okay?” Lucas’s tone was like arranging a work meeting. My eyes widened abruptly, as if a basin of ice water had been poured over my head. The child we looked forward to for five years was not yet cold in his grave, yet he was already planning a future for another woman. In this instant, my world collapsed. 2 I subconsciously touched my flat abdomen. A new little life was once nurtured there, proof that we once loved each other, but now it seemed so ironic. I slowly withdrew my hand from his grip, my voice terrifyingly calm: “Lucas.” “The first time you learned to make soup, you filled the kitchen with smoke just because I couldn’t eat anything due to morning sickness.” “You secretly recorded the baby’s heartbeat, set it as your ringtone, and showed it off to everyone.” “You lay at the door of the examination room shouting ‘Wifey don’t be afraid,’ refusing to leave even after being chased away by nurses three times.” “In these five years, you spoiled me until I couldn’t take care of myself, even squatting down to tie my shoelaces…” “I once truly believed we would be happy forever.” I raised my tear-stained face, voice shattered: “But now, I can’t see a single bit of care for me in your eyes anymore.” Memories of five years flooded in like a tide. Lucas’s Adam’s apple rolled violently, and finally, he said hoarsely: “But wifey, Sarah really needs me right now.” That “needs me” completely crushed my last shred of illusion. I looked at him, suddenly feeling the person in front of me was so strange. With a trembling voice, I gritted my teeth and spat out a word: “Get out!” His figure paused, seemingly wanting to hug me, but eventually disappeared at the end of the corridor without looking back. On the day of the child’s hundred-day memorial, I knelt in front of the grave. Lucas still didn’t come. “Baby, Mommy is here to see you.” My voice was soft but trembling uncontrollably. My mother put her arm around my shoulder and wiped tears, “Emily, Mom is here.” I choked in my mother’s arms: “It’s okay. At least the child came to accompany me.” “Besides, given the current situation, maybe it’s better he didn’t come to this family.” As soon as the voice fell, Lucas arrived late. He knelt beside me. “Baby, Daddy…” I interrupted him coldly: “I said it that day. If you dared to leave, the child wouldn’t have you as a father.” “Emily, I know you are sad, but don’t say such things…” He frowned at me, looking as if I was being unreasonable, while he was so magnanimous not to hold it against me. “As a father, I’m also sad that the child is gone. You…” My mother raised her hand and slapped him. “Sad? Your sadness is leaving your wife in difficult labor to take care of a shady woman outside?” Lucas’s face suddenly turned gloomy. Before he could say anything, Sarah rushed over from outside the cemetery with red eyes. She looked at Lucas, voice choking. “Lucas, are you done paying respects?” “Is it… finally time to move back?” My father rushed up immediately: “Lucas! What day is it today? You actually brought this woman here?” Lucas probably knew his behavior was inappropriate, saying guiltily: “Dad, I had no choice. Sarah’s mental state hasn’t been good recently. I can’t leave her alone at home.” “Mental state not good? Is it the turn of someone else’s husband to take care of her bad mental state? Do you know today is your child’s hundredth day? Do you know how Emily survived these days?” Sarah immediately lowered her head, voice as thin as a mosquito: “Uncle, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to. It’s just that Lucas said he was coming out today, and I was really scared, so I followed him.” Looking pitiful everywhere. Sure enough, Lucas immediately protected her, “Dad, just direct your anger at me, don’t make it difficult for her.” My father was furious, turning to look at Lucas’s parents: “This is the good son you raised!” My mother helped me stand up, trembling with anger: “Lucas, are you still human?” Lucas’s parents panicked too, quickly advising: “Lucas, today is indeed inappropriate. Find someone to send Sarah back first.” But Lucas acted as if he didn’t hear, instead tightening his grip on Sarah’s hand: “Her mental state just stabilized, she can’t be stimulated anymore.” I looked at him, voice dry: “So… in your eyes, she can’t be stimulated, but I can? I should bear the child’s death alone, right?” Before he could speak, Sarah said aggrievedly: “It’s okay, Lucas. Sister-in-law is right. I was insensible. You… you go back and take good care of Sister-in-law.” “I… I’ll go back now and pack your luggage.” She turned stumbling, her high heel tripping on a tombstone, and fell to the ground. Lucas’s hand holding mine tightened abruptly, almost letting go to rush over. But he didn’t move in the end, just watching Mark help her up. After a long time, he said deeply: “I’ll accompany you for a while longer.” “But Sarah, you must remember, Emily is my lawfully wedded wife.” “When she needs me back, I must leave.” “Don’t cry or make a scene. I have done my utmost these years.” Sarah bit her lip, as if she couldn’t hold it anymore, crying and running out of the cemetery. Lucas remained expressionless, not chasing. But the hand holding mine trembled slightly. Care cannot be hidden. Many years ago, I was hospitalized for acute gastroenteritis. He rushed back overnight from out of town. Clearly distressed with red eyes, he insisted on scolding me with a cold face for eating indiscriminately. He was like that then too, saying harsh words but his fingertips gently rubbing the back of my hand. 3 That night, in a private room at a restaurant. Elders from both families sat around the round table, the atmosphere oppressive. Mark whispered in Lucas’s ear. “Sister Sarah is still crying in the parking lot. The security guard says she refuses to get out of the car.” Lucas was serving me soup, movements calm and unhurried. He didn’t even look up: “Let her be.” The air in the room stagnated a bit more. This meal was tasteless, no different from when I usually ate alone. Sarah was the daughter of his and Mark’s mentor, growing up together. Although Mark didn’t say it openly. His care for her was ultimately more than for me, the rightful sister-in-law. When the main dishes were all served, the last dish, steamed leopard coral grouper, was turned to me. Mark suddenly spoke. “Leave some of this dish for Sister Sarah. She loves fish the most.” “If Sister-in-law wants to eat, just order another one.” Lucas sneered. Raised his hand, directly moving the whole plate of fish in front of me. His voice was cold and hard: “What my wife loves to eat, it’s not the turn of outsiders to share.” Despite saying so. After putting down his chopsticks, he frequently looked towards the door of the room. The waiter finished clearing the plates and was about to go out to dispose of the kitchen waste. Lucas was silent for a long time, suddenly stood up: “I’ll go.” The waiter handed over the garbage bag in astonishment, hesitating to speak. After Lucas left. Mark immediately moved to the farthest seat, bowing his head pretending to deal with emails. Parents on both sides were silent in embarrassment, chewing food mechanically. I felt chest tightness. Got up and walked to the corridor, wanting to breathe fresh air. Unknowingly, I walked to the underground parking lot. I faintly heard Sarah’s aggrieved sobbing, mixed with Lucas’s low comfort. Hiding behind a pillar, I saw light snow falling outside. Lucas and Sarah sat side by side on the hood of the car, sharing a bento box. He raised his hand, gently wiping the tear stains from her cheek. Sarah, red-eyed, punched him, face full of grievance. “You’re going back to her, why come to care about me!” Lucas let her hit him, with no impatience in his eyes. His gaze was gentle and tolerant. Completely different from the forced gentleness every time he looked at me. His voice was helpless. “Don’t say silly things.” “I promised my teacher to take care of you for a lifetime. Don’t you know if I would abandon you?” Sarah sobbed, leaning into his arms. Lucas picked up a piece of ribs, feeding it to her lips: “Specially ordered from a private kitchen and delivered.” “Much tastier than hotel food.” She took a bite, gradually stopping her crying. Lucas explained to her in a low voice. “Emily just lost a child, emotions unstable.” “Just accompanying her for a meal.” “If she’s satisfied, she won’t urge me home all day.” So, that’s what he thought. In these five years, he chose to side with me on many insignificant matters. Turns out he just felt that way, I would trouble Sarah less. A little favor was enough to make me grateful and stay by his side obediently. Looking into the parking lot with drifting light snow, the two still clinging together. Lucas had slight stomach trouble and usually ate very little. Clearly just dined in the private room, yet most of the bento went into his stomach. Maybe it’s true as others said. Meals taste sweet only when eaten with someone who shares your heart. Whether it’s a childhood sweetheart or a beloved one. Anyway, that person isn’t me. 4 I turned silently, taking the prepared divorce agreement from my bag. When I returned to the private room with the agreement, parents from both families stood up. After what just happened, the Sterling parents didn’t know how to mediate. My parents sighed, didn’t persuade much, just said “Divorce if you want.” Lucas’s mother hesitated, but still grabbed my hand and said: “Emily, give Lucas another chance, okay? Lucas is just this way because he values his mentor too much.” I didn’t speak, just placed the divorce agreement on the table. Just as Lucas’s mother was about to shed tears, the door opened. Lucas arrived. And brought Sarah. She wore Lucas’s suit jacket, looking around the room with a matter-of-fact expression, like the incoming Mrs. Sterling. The room fell instantly silent, all eyes focused on them. Lucas’s mother’s voice trembled: “Lucas, why did she come back again?” Lucas’s father threw his wine glass in anger: “Lucas, are you crazy?!” Lucas didn’t answer, just glanced at my coat, gaze landing on my face: “Finished eating?” “Mm.” I responded calmly: “I’m going home.” He seemed relieved, “Okay, message me when you get home.” He finished lightly, turning sideways to bring Sarah forward. “Dad, Mom, you know my mentor passed away. Before he died, he entrusted Sarah to me. I can’t break my word. I need to give her a job for the coming period, so she will temporarily join our company.” This open attitude made our questioning just now seem like making a fuss. Sarah showed a decent smile, reaching out to hold Lucas’s mother’s arm. “Hello Auntie, Lucas has always taken care of me. Today he specially brought me to meet the elders. Since everyone is here, how about I toast everyone?” Lucas’s mother looked at me troubledly, “Emily, how about… sit down and talk?” Just as I was about to refuse, Sarah interrupted, eyes provocative: “Sister Emily sit down too. After all, you are still the sister-in-law. You should be informed about some things, don’t you think?” Slap— A crisp slap sounded in the room. I looked in shock as my mom slapped Sarah. “Mom!” Mom glared at me with red eyes, voice trembling: “I carried you for ten months, don’t I understand you?” “From marrying him at twenty-two to twenty-seven now, five years! For him, you gave up the chance to study abroad, managed the company for him. When he drank until gastric bleeding for business, you stayed by his bed for three days without closing your eyes. You love him so much. If your heart wasn’t dead, could you bear to let go?” “I don’t ask for great wealth for you, but today he brings a mistress to humiliate you. As a mother, I can’t stand it!” “If you don’t want to hit her, I’ll do it for you!” Mom’s words were like a heavy hammer, finally knocking my tears down. Sarah covered her face, tears swirling in her eyes. Lucas immediately shielded her behind him, face terribly gloomy: “Emily, when did you learn to use elders…” “Do you know what disgusts me most about you?” I didn’t wait for him to finish, stepping forward and slapping him. “Lucas, the person who deserves hitting most is you!” After hitting, I pulled out the divorce agreement from the table and slammed it on him. Lucas caught the document, pupils contracting upon seeing the title. “Emily… you want a divorce?”

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The day I was brought back to the military base, I learned that I was the Commander’s only biological daughter. There was no hostility as I had imagined. My parents’ eyes were red when they saw me. Even Sarah, the girl who had enjoyed eighteen years of blessings in my place, meekly called me “Sister” and thoughtfully handed me slippers. But I just felt uncomfortable. When I couldn’t distinguish between a coffee spoon and a soup spoon, when I mispronounced “Shakespeare” as “Shake-spear”. I could always hear snickers behind my back. Until the neighbor, Mrs. Johnson, muttered to my mother. “Sarah is still the gracious one, presentable to take out. Luna… well, she lacks breeding after all.” I finally smashed the cup in my hand towards them. My mother roared at me. “Luna Vance! What are you making a scene about now!” I gritted my teeth. “You all just think I’m inferior to her in every way! She’s the one who stole my life, do I still have to listen with a smile?” My father stood at the door at some point, his face gloomy. “Enough! Sarah is innocent too!” “She’s innocent?” I laughed out loud, but tears fell. “So am I not innocent? Do I deserve everything?” I wiped my tears, speaking word by word. “This house cannot accommodate two daughters. You choose one.” …… My mother walked over, trying to take my hand, but I dodged abruptly. “Don’t touch me!” My mother missed, her hand frozen in mid-air. Seeing this, my father walked over and slapped me. His face was ashen. “Luna Vance, if you continue to be such a disgrace, don’t tell anyone you’re my daughter.” I covered my face and actually laughed. “Daughter? Do you really treat me as a daughter? In your eyes, am I not just an embarrassing country bumpkin?” I rushed back to my room, took out the old fountain pen with a slightly crooked nib, and smashed it hard on the floor. A few weeks ago, the family gave me this pen. I secretly vowed to study hard. To show them that even if I didn’t grow up in the city, I could catch up through hard work. I treated this pen as a treasure, reluctant to press too hard when practicing handwriting. But that day, I heard two kids next door discussing loudly in English without any inhibition. “Look at her broken pen, she uses it like a treasure every day, so tacky.” “Exactly, Sister Sarah stopped using such outdated models long ago. Only country bumpkins like her would treat someone else’s trash as a treasure.” The pen nib pierced my palm, but I felt no pain. It turned out the starting point I treasured was just a piece of trash to be laughed at in others’ eyes. At that moment, I felt cold all over. Clearly, I am the biological one. Why is she adored in the compound, while I was called a “bastard with no parents” in the village? Now even a fountain pen is a style she picked over and didn’t want. My voice trembled: “As soon as I came, everyone switched to English. I couldn’t tell coffee from black tea, and you mocked me. Imported chocolates, the latest things, were always sent to Sarah’s room first! Isn’t it just because you think I’m tacky, don’t understand, and don’t deserve to use them?” My mother explained anxiously. “Those were just kids joking, no malice!” My father also frowned tightly. “The family never shorted you on food stamps or fabric coupons. If you like something, buy it at the commissary yourself.” Sarah came over with tears in her eyes to hold my hand. “Sister, don’t be angry. You can take whatever you like from my room! If you want to learn English, I can teach you!” I shook off her hand, glaring at her deathly. “Who is your sister? There is only one daughter in this family, I don’t have a sister like you!” “Everything in this house should have been mine! You stole my life, and now you’re pretending to be a good person?” I pointed at Sarah and looked at my parents: “I want her gone. I want her to go back to her own home!” For a moment, the entire compound was terribly quiet. Sarah opened her mouth, tears falling, but made no sound. My mother hurriedly comforted me. “Luna, don’t say angry words…” Looking at their expressions, I understood everything. They wouldn’t choose me. My heart was cold and numb. I bent down and picked up the broken fountain pen on the floor. “You can’t bear to send her away, right?” Under their astonished gazes, I slashed my wrist fiercely with the nib. Warm liquid gushed out, falling on the floor. It didn’t hurt. Just felt relieved. I looked up and laughed low. “Then I’ll go.” When I slowly woke up, I found myself sent to the infirmary. I ripped off the needle on the back of my hand, lifted the quilt, and rushed out. Just at the door, I was stopped by my mother who hurried over. “Luna! My child! Calm down! Don’t do this anymore, it hurts Mom to see!” Her voice trembled, hugging me tightly. I struggled too hard, and the newly bandaged wound on my wrist burst open. Blood instantly stained the gauze red, dripping on the floor. But I seemed not to feel the pain, just looking at her absent-mindedly. “Hurts? You only feel hurt for Sarah… I’m just a country bumpkin who embarrasses you.” Just then, Sarah appeared at the corner of the corridor. Hearing my words, she stood blankly on the spot, the bag in her hand falling to the ground. She looked down at the fallen paper bag, silent for a few seconds. When she looked up again, there was a bitter smile on her face that was uglier than crying. “Mom,” Her voice was very light, with a calm of resignation. “Don’t be troubled… I’ll go.” She carefully picked up the paper bag and wiped the dust off it with her cuff. Then she walked up to me, handed the paper bag with both hands, her eyes filled with almost humble pleading. “Sister… this is a new shirt I bought for you, to compensate you. I’m sorry… it’s all my fault.” She wanted to stuff the paper bag into my hand, but hesitated, afraid to anger me again. My mother turned her face away, eyes red, and finally sighed long. “Sigh… Sarah, don’t be like this. Mom… Mom will talk to your dad.” A few days later, Sarah really moved out. Traces of her in the house were completely erased, as if she had never existed for these eighteen years. I was extremely happy, feeling that this home finally belonged completely to me. But I found that relaxed smiles were rarely seen on my parents’ faces anymore. I thought it was because I wasn’t good enough, didn’t work hard enough. I started cooking, making different delicious foods for my parents every day. Getting up before dawn every day to memorize words, do exercises, vowing to get into the best university and become their pride. Until New Year’s Eve, every household was bustling. Our family made dumplings with neighbors in the communal cafeteria. I clumsily learned to roll the dough, wanting to blend into this festivity. Luna’s once best friend blocked me by the stove when no one was paying attention. “Do you think by driving Sarah away, you can join us?” She crossed her arms, looking me up and down coldly. My hand adding firewood to the stove paused. “I didn’t drive her away, she felt sorry for me herself so…” “Come on,” She sneered, interrupting me. “Do you rural people always love to lie with eyes open like this? Now who in the whole compound doesn’t know that as soon as the ‘real daughter’ of the Vance family came back, she forced away our Sarah, whom we watched grow up, the most excellent and sensible one? Uncle Vance has no face to show when he goes out for meetings now!” Although the stove fire was flourishing, I felt cold all over. Why does everyone say that? Clearly, I am the victim whose life was stolen. Why does everyone think Sarah is pitiful? She stepped closer, voice filled with undisguised contempt. “Every time Uncle Vance took her out, who didn’t praise ‘like father, like daughter’? She speaks fluent English, plays the piano, behaves generously and appropriately. How much face did she earn for Uncle Vance? Besides throwing tantrums and threatening people, what can you do?” I opened my mouth, but my throat felt blocked, unable to spit out a word. Looking at my pale face, she suddenly covered her mouth and laughed. “You don’t really think Sarah went back to her poor mountain village, do you? Naive! Aunt Susan felt sorry for her and arranged a leisurely and decent job for her in the logistics department long ago. Now she has moved into the single dormitory assigned by the unit, conditions even better than at home! You…” “Just stay here and be your real daughter properly!” The staff dormitory was only a few streets away from the compound. I found the place without much effort and said to the comrade on guard at the door: “I am James Vance’s daughter, here to find my dad.” The door was ajar. I saw my parents standing at the door carrying big and small bags with loving faces. Sarah stood aside, reaching out to take them, but was blocked by my father. “You child, Mom and Dad are here to work for you, just rest well!” My father’s voice carried a smiling reproach. My mother put down the things and touched Sarah’s cheek with heartache. “Sarah, how can this dormitory condition compare to home? Is it cold at night? Is it convenient to eat? If anything happens, you must tell Mom, don’t wrong yourself, hear me?” Sarah smiled and massaged my mother’s shoulders, voice soft. “I know, Mom is the best to me! Dad too! I can’t bear to let you go…” The three faces were filled with warmth, about to carry things into the door. I walked over. “This staff dormitory looks quite comfortable to live in.” The three froze simultaneously. My father turned his head sharply, tone stiff. “How did you find this place?” I looked at their posture of subconsciously protecting Sarah. Looking at the panic in Sarah’s eyes and my mother’s pale face, I felt my blood coagulate. My voice began to tremble uncontrollably. “Didn’t I say… don’t interact with her anymore! Why… why did you still come to find her! And still… care about her so much!!” The last few words were almost roared out. My mother covered my mouth, whispering anxiously: “Keep your voice down! What are you shouting for! If the neighbors hear, how embarrassing for Sarah!” “Embarrassing?” Tears finally surged out uncontrollably. I threw off my mother’s hand and rolled up my sleeves. On them, new and old scars crisscrossed densely. “See this? These! Are all done by your ‘precious daughter’s’ biological parents!” They once made me wear single layer clothes to wash clothes in the frozen river in winter. Later, for two hundred dollars of dowry, they sold me to the village chief’s foolish son. I risked my life to escape, was caught back and beaten half dead… I pointed at Sarah, fingertips trembling. “If it weren’t for my dad… if the people my dad sent to find me didn’t arrive that day, I might be dead already!” I raised my teary eyes, looking at my parents, every word weeping blood. “Why? I lived in that hell for eighteen years. When you took me back, did you ever ask me ‘does it still hurt’, ‘are you afraid’? You didn’t! You only despised my roughness, despised me for being embarrassing!” My gaze turned to this tidy and warm dormitory. “But she just moved into this single dormitory! And you are so distressed?” My mother’s voice was already tinged with crying. “That… that’s different…” “What’s different?” I interrupted her sternly. My mother was rendered speechless by my questioning and blurted out. “After all, Sarah… we raised her with our own hands…” This sentence completely crushed and shattered the last faint hope in my heart. It turned out that blood ties were so fragile in the face of the warmth of day-to-day getting along. My mother was startled by her own blurted words, a flash of regret on her face. “Mom didn’t mean that…” “But encountering such a thing, Sarah was just a child then, she definitely didn’t want this either. Now Sarah has moved out. We as parents have been very fair, what more do you want?” I was stunned. What did I want? I just… just wanted to have equal weight as Sarah in their eyes. I just wanted them to ask me a sentence when I was in pain, just like they were nervous about whether Sarah was cold. How come now, it’s all my fault? A wave of grievance surged in my heart. “Fair? Just because the suffering I endured didn’t fall on the daughter you ‘raised with your own hands’, so you think it doesn’t matter, right? I just wanted you to look at me more, care about me a little more!” I pointed at Sarah, then at myself. “Both are daughters, you named her ‘Sarah’, cherishing her like a treasure! What about me? The day I came back was the full moon, you casually called me ‘Luna’! Even the name is so casual! Is this your so-called ‘fairness’?!” In the dormitory corridor, several doors had quietly opened a crack. Curious or probing gazes were cast over. My father’s face instantly turned ashen, veins throbbing on his forehead. He looked at me and growled: “Haven’t you embarrassed us enough!” “Guards!” Two guards who had been standing nearby stepped forward. “Send her back.” My father’s voice was unquestionable. “Without my permission, she is not allowed to come to the military area at will again!” I was almost half-carried away from that dormitory building. Father and mother, no one followed, and no one looked back at me. Back in that terribly quiet home, I was alone again. For the first few days, I locked myself in the room, cried, hated, and smashed things. But slowly, something colder and clearer replaced the hysteria. Since tears and questioning couldn’t exchange for equal love, since blood ties couldn’t beat day-to-day getting along. Then what do I want these empty expectations for? If love can’t be begged, then exchange for something tangible. A few days later, I went directly to my father’s office. Seeing me, his brows furrowed immediately. “What do you want this time?” His tone was undisguised impatience. I wasn’t agitated like before, my tone calm without any ripples. “Dad, since you arranged a job in the logistics department for Sarah and let her live in a single dormitory.” I paused, saying word by word: “Then I want a job too. Better than hers, with more future.” “Also, I want a house. In the city, it must be in a good location, a house that belongs to me.”

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Chapter 1 “Mom, this month’s salary is in. Check it.” I said while taking off my shoes. My cousin, Jessica Zhao, was also there. Seeing me, a flash of unnaturalness crossed her face. Then she put on a sweet smile: “Emma is back. Working so late today, you must be tired.” I ignored her, my gaze landing on the passbook on the coffee table. “Mom, is that my salary account passbook?” I walked over. Susan Lee tried to hide it in a panic, but it was too late. I picked up the passbook and opened it. The balance on the last page showed: $3.28. I blinked, thinking I saw it wrong. Looking back, the most recent transaction was three days ago: Transfer out $42,000.00. Looking further back, last month: Transfer out $8,600.00. My fingers started to tremble. “Mom, where is my money?” I asked, my voice surprisingly calm. Susan stood up, squeezing out a smile: “Emma, listen to mom.” “I asked where my money is!” I suddenly raised my voice. “Forty-two thousand! And last month’s eight thousand six hundred! Why is there only three dollars left in my salary account!” David Lin also stood up: “Emma, don’t rush, we were just about to tell you about this.” “Tell me what? That you transferred fifty thousand dollars of mine without my permission?” I slammed the passbook on the coffee table. “That’s my money! That’s the down payment I saved up by working overtime for ten years!” Jessica whispered: “Emma, Uncle and Aunt did it for my own good.” “For you?” I turned to her. “Jessica Zhao, using my money to make you look good?” Susan grabbed my hand: “Emma, Jessica is getting married next month. Her fiancé’s family demanded a dowry of $68,800, saying anything less would be losing face. We scraped together twenty thousand from home, plus the eighteen thousand Jessica handed over these years, still thirty thousand short…” “So you touched my money?” I shook off her hand. “Mom, that’s my money! That’s the money Lucas and I prepared to buy a house and get married!” “The house can be bought later!” Susan also raised her voice. “Jessica’s wedding is a once-in-a-lifetime event! She has no parents. If we don’t help her more, how can she hold her head up in her in-laws’ house!” This sentence again. I’ve heard it for twenty years. When I was seven, Jessica’s parents died in a car accident, and she moved into my house. Since then, my room was given to her, my new clothes were worn by her first, and my birthday cake had to be shared with her. Now, even my hard-earned money from ten years is given to her. “What about me?” My voice was trembling. “My wedding is on June 18th next month. How much dowry did you prepare for me?” The living room suddenly went quiet. David lowered his head, Susan’s eyes dodged. Jessica whispered: “Emma, Uncle and Aunt actually prepared for you.” “Prepared what?” I stared at her. “Say it, what did they prepare for me!” Susan took out a plastic bag from the drawer of the coffee table, containing two pairs of slippers, two sets of pajamas, and towels and toothbrushes. “These are all good brands.” She said. I looked at that plastic bag, then at the transfer receipts on the coffee table, and suddenly laughed. Laughed until tears came out. “So, Jessica’s dowry is $68,800, and my dowry is two pairs of slippers?” “Emma, don’t compare like this.” David tried to comfort me. “How should I compare?” I roared. “Compare who is stupider? Compare who handed over their salary for ten years like a day, only to have it all taken by parents to subsidize someone else’s daughter?” Jessica’s tears fell as she spoke: “Emma, don’t blame Uncle and Aunt. It’s all my fault. Or I won’t get married.” “Jessica, don’t talk nonsense!” Susan immediately hugged her. “The marriage is set, invitations are sent out, how can you not get married!” She turned to me, tone strict: “Emma Lin, look at what you’ve pushed Jessica into! We raised you so big, is it just to make you so selfish!” “I’m selfish?” I pointed at myself. “My monthly salary is $1,200, I give $1,000 to the family, keeping $200 for myself. I haven’t bought new clothes for three years, haven’t traveled for five years, working overtime until late every night! Every penny I saved was taken by you to save face! Now you say I’m selfish?” David sighed heavily: “Emma, Jessica’s situation is special, her parents left early.” “Her parents left early, so I deserve to die?” I completely broke down. “I am also your daughter! Doesn’t my wedding need face? Lucas’s family is also an ordinary family. What will they think of me when they see I only have two pairs of slippers as dowry! What will they think of our family!” Jessica sobbed and said: “Emma, Lucas loves you so much, he won’t mind.” “He doesn’t mind, but I mind!” I grabbed the transfer receipts on the coffee table. “This is evidence! I’m calling the police! Suing you for theft!” “You dare!” Susan rushed over to grab them. I stepped back to dodge, quickly taking photos of the receipts with my phone. “Now, I give you two choices.” I held up my phone. “First, return my fifty thousand dollars, not a penny less. You figure out the shortfall for Jessica’s dowry yourselves.” “Second, I call the police immediately, then post this matter in the family group chat, to your workplace, to Jessica’s in-laws. I want everyone to know you stole your own daughter’s money to give your niece as a dowry.” Susan’s face turned pale: “Emma Lin! You are trying to drive us to death!” “You forced me first!” My tears poured out. “Ten years! How many ten years do I have in my life! I scrimped and saved, I worked hard, I didn’t even dare to take leave when sick! What about you? Have you ever thought about my feelings!” Jessica cried even harder: “The money has already been transferred to my account. Part of it bought gold jewelry, part was withdrawn and spent.” “Then go return it! Go sell it!” I stared at her. “Jessica Zhao, if you don’t return this money to me today, I will go to your company, to your fiancé’s workplace, and tell everyone you are a thief!” “Enough!” David roared. He panted heavily, eyes bloodshot: “Emma Lin, we raised you for twenty-eight years, just to get you forcing us like this today?” “You forced me first.” I wiped my tears. “Choose, want her, or want me.” Susan cried: “How can you make us choose! Jessica is also our daughter!” “She is not!” I screamed hoarsely. “Her surname is Zhao! My surname is Lin! She is just your sister’s daughter! I am the one you carried for ten months!” David slumped back on the sofa, covering his face with his hands. Long silence. The ticking of the clock was particularly ear-piercing in the deadly silent living room. Finally, David looked up, daring not look into my eyes: “Jessica’s wedding cannot have mistakes. Her in-laws have status, invitations have been sent out.” I nodded, heart completely dead. “Okay, I understand.” I turned back to my room and started packing. Susan chased in: “Emma Lin! What are you doing!” “Moving out.” I threw clothes into the suitcase. “From now on, I cut off relations with you.” “You’re crazy! You are our daughter!” “You made your choice just now.” I zipped up the suitcase. “From now on, I am not your daughter. That fifty thousand, consider it buying out twenty-eight years of upbringing.” David stood at the door, voice hoarse: “Emma, don’t be impulsive, we can discuss the money matter again.” “Nothing to discuss.” I dragged the suitcase out. “My wedding is on June 18th, you don’t need to come.” Walking to the door, I looked back at them one last time. Susan was crying, David was sighing, Jessica shrank in the sofa, peeking at me from the corner of her eye. “Wish you family of three, happiness and perfection.” I closed the door, shutting twenty-eight years of affection behind me. Going down in the elevator, I took out my phone and called Lucas. The phone rang only once before connecting. “Emma?” “Lucas,” my voice trembled, “I moved out, come pick me up.” “Send me the location, arriving immediately.” Three minutes later, Lucas’s car stopped in front of me. He got out and took my suitcase, asking nothing, just hugging me tightly. “Go to our place.” He said. When the car drove out, I looked at the apartment complex one last time. Goodbye, the Emma Lin who always had to yield to others. From today on, I live only for myself. Chapter 2 Lucas’s apartment was small, one bedroom and one living room, but very clean. He helped me put away the suitcase and poured a glass of warm water: “Speak slowly, what happened?” I told the story from beginning to end. When I talked about the two pairs of slippers, I cried again. Lucas hugged me, suppressed anger in his voice: “How could they do this! That’s your hard-earned money from ten years!” “I want to call the police.” I said. “That’s fifty thousand, enough for a case.” “I support you.” Lucas took out his phone. “Call now.” I pressed his hand: “Wait, let me think.” “Think about what?” Lucas was anxious. “Emma, this is theft! It’s illegal!” I knew. But my mind was full of my mother’s red eyes from crying, my father’s hunched back. And Jessica’s look when she first came to my house at seven, thin and small, holding a worn-out teddy bear. “Give me one day.” I said. “Tomorrow, if they don’t return the money, I’ll call the police.” That night, I barely slept. The phone kept ringing. Susan called twenty-three times, David called fifteen times. I hung up all of them. At 3 AM, Susan sent a long WeChat message: [Emma, Mom knows we wronged you. But Jessica is really too pitiful. She has no parents. If the dowry is small, her in-laws will look down on her for life. You are our biological daughter, understand Mom and Dad. Mom will definitely return that fifty thousand to you in the future. Come back first, we’ll discuss properly.] I looked at this message and laughed. Laughing and laughing, tears flowed into my mouth, salty and bitter. I replied: [Return the money within today, otherwise police.] Then turned off the phone. At 8 AM the next morning, the doorbell rang. Lucas went to open the door. David and Susan stood outside. Susan’s eyes were swollen like walnuts, David’s hair turned half white overnight. Susan cried as soon as she opened her mouth, “Mom was wrong, Mom was really wrong.” “Where’s the money?” I asked. David took an envelope from his bag: “Here is three thousand, our last savings. The rest, we will pay back slowly.” “Fifty thousand, becomes three thousand?” I looked at them. “Dad, Mom, do you think I’m stupid?” “Jessica’s side has already spent the money.” Susan cried. “Bought gold, paid the wedding banquet deposit, really can’t take it out.” “Then go return it! Go ask for it!” My voice was shaking. “That’s my money! Why do you spend my money!” David suddenly knelt down. This fifty-eight-year-old man knelt in front of me. “Emma, Dad begs you, Jessica’s wedding really can’t be canceled. Her in-laws have already notified all relatives. If canceled now, how can she face people in the future.” “What about me?” I asked. “My wedding is less than a month away. You prepared two pairs of slippers for me. How do I face people?” Susan also knelt down: “Emma, Mom kowtows to you. Forgive us this time. We will definitely compensate you in the future.” I looked at my parents kneeling on the ground, heart feeling like cut by a knife. These are my parents. For someone else’s daughter, kneeling down to beg their own daughter. “Get up.” I said. They didn’t move. “Get up!” I roared. “You are forcing me like this! Telling me that if I don’t agree, it’s unfilial!” Lucas helped them up: “Uncle and Aunt, get up first. This doesn’t solve the problem.” David stood up, old tears flowing: “Emma, Dad knows we wronged you, but things are already like this. Just consider helping Jessica, helping us.” “Help?” I nodded. “Okay, I’ll help.” Their eyes lit up. “I’ll help you call the police.” I took out my phone. “Let the police handle it, see how to calculate this fifty thousand.” “No!” Susan rushed over to grab the phone. Lucas stopped her: “Auntie, Emma has already given you a chance.” Susan slumped on the ground, wailing loudly: “How did I raise such a cruel daughter like you! We raised you so big, just to be forced to death by you today!” “Cruel?” I squatted down looking at her. “Mom, when I was seven, Jessica grabbed my new dress, you said I was the older sister and should yield to her. When I was twelve, she broke my birthday gift, you said she didn’t do it on purpose. When I was eighteen, she peeked at my diary and broadcasted it everywhere, you said she was just curious.” “Now, she stole my fifty thousand, you say she is pitiful.” “Who is the cruel one?” Susan froze, unable to cry. David murmured: “Jessica has no parents, she is really pitiful.” “She is pitiful, so I deserve it?” I stood up. “Since you think she is more pitiful, then take good care of her. I don’t need you anymore.” I walked to the door and opened it: “Please leave, don’t come to find me again.” Susan wanted to say something more, but David pulled her back. When they walked to the door, David looked back at me. In that look was guilt, pain, but more of a resignation. They chose Jessica. Since the year she moved into my house at seven, they have always chosen her. The door closed. I leaned against the door, slowly sliding to sit on the floor. Lucas hugged me: “Emma, cry if you want to.” I couldn’t cry. My heart was already dead. Chapter 3 June 18th, my wedding. No parents attended, but I had Lucas, friends, colleagues. Lucas’s parents increased the betrothal gift from $8,800 to $18,800. His mother said: “Emma, from now on we are your mom and dad.” Wearing a rented wedding dress, standing on the stage, my eyes still couldn’t help searching. Knowing it was impossible, still hoping they would appear. They didn’t come. Halfway through the wedding, I received a text from Susan: [Emma, sorry, Mom can’t go today. Jessica’s wedding has some problems, we have to help her handle it. Wish you happiness.] I deleted the text, looked up, and smiled at Lucas. “I do.” After the wedding, I scrolled onto Jessica’s WeChat Moments. A grid of nine photos, all from her wedding scene. The last one was a family photo. My parents wearing new clothes, standing next to Jessica and her husband, smiling happily. Caption: [Thank Uncle and Aunt for giving me a second life. You are my biological parents.] Dozens of comments below, all praises. [Best Aunt and Uncle in China!] [Boundless love!] [Jessica is so blessed!] No one remembered that today was also my wedding. No one asked where my parents were. Lucas took away my phone: “Don’t look. We live our own life from now on.” I nodded, but the missing piece in my heart could never be filled. After marriage, Lucas and I moved into a rented apartment. Both our savings were taken by my parents. Not enough for down payment, could only continue renting. Lucas said: “It’s okay, we’ll save for another two years.” I started working desperately. Working during the day, taking private jobs at night, part-time jobs on weekends. Lucas persuaded me: “Emma, don’t push so hard. Health is important.” “I want to earn back that fifty thousand.” I said. “Earn it back cent by cent.” Three months later, I lost ten pounds but saved three thousand dollars. I deposited the money into a new card, writing on it: Own House. National Day, Lucas said: “Go home and see your parents, after all, it’s a holiday.” I shook my head: “That’s not my home.” “They are your parents after all.” “When they chose Jessica, they were no longer my parents.” Although saying so, in the dead of night, I still missed them. Missed the braised pork Mom made, missed the way Dad fixed bicycles. But thinking of that fifty thousand, my heart hardened. October 3rd, Susan suddenly called. Using a new number, I hadn’t blocked it. “Emma,” her voice was weak, “your dad is hospitalized, heart attack.” My heart tightened, but tone cold: “Oh.” “Doctor said bypass surgery costs ten thousand, we have no money.” “Where is Jessica?” I asked. “Didn’t she just receive a dowry of $68,800?” Silence on the other end. “Emma, Jessica’s money is in a fixed deposit, can’t be withdrawn.” “Then borrow money.” I said. “Don’t you love helping others the most? Now that you need help, go find those people you helped.” “Emma!” Susan cried. “He is your dad! Are you really going to leave him to die!” “My dad?” I repeated this word. “When my dad gave fifty thousand to someone else, did he think about me, his daughter?” “We were wrong… really wrong…” Susan cried heartbreakingly. “Your dad is now in ICU. Doctor says if no surgery…” “What does it have to do with me?” I hung up. Hand shaking, but I didn’t cry. Lucas looked at me: “Want to go see?” “No.” I said. “If I go, they will say again, biological daughter is better after all. Then continue to treat Jessica well.” I know them too well. Sure enough, the next day, Jessica posted on Moments: [Uncle sick in hospital, heartache. Transferred one thousand to Aunt, wish Uncle speedy recovery.] Image is transfer record. Below is another wave of praise: [Jessica so filial] [Aunt and Uncle didn’t love you in vain] I laughed. Ten thousand surgery fee, she transferred one thousand, and specifically posted on Moments. Really knows how to behave. Three days later, Susan called again. This time Lucas answered. After hanging up, Lucas said: “Your dad had the surgery, money borrowed from loan sharks.” “Oh.” “Your mom said Jessica agreed to pay back two hundred a month, but can only pay this much for now.” “Mm.” “Emma, you really don’t plan to care?” “Don’t care.” I said. “This is their choice, they bear the consequences themselves.”

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