I was about to sign the adoption papers for the sweet-faced girl when a blazing scarlet text overlay suddenly flashed across my vision. [NO! The main character, Lily, is sweet, but she’s a total love-struck idiot! She wastes the entire family fortune for the male lead later!] [Look at that gloomy little girl in the corner! That’s the future villainess, the Commercial Queen. She looks scary now, but give her a little love, and she’ll be the fiercest protector of the family!] [Yes, yes, yes! Don’t pick Lily! Pick the villainess! I want to see the villainess defy her fate this time!] My hand, clutching the pen, froze. I looked past the crowd and landed on the girl huddled in the corner, clutching her knees, her eyes sharp and guarded, like a young wolf. I put down the pen and smiled at the director of the children’s home. “I’ll take that child as well.” 1 The director, Ms. Hayes, was visibly startled by my decision. She followed my gaze and frowned. “Rowan… she’s a bit unusual. A few families adopted her before, but they brought her back within a couple of days. They said she would stay awake all night, just staring at them. Said it was unsettling. Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider Lily?” Lily was the sweet girl. Hearing her name, she blinked her big, innocent eyes up at me, undeniably endearing. But the overlay on my vision went ballistic. [Green Tea Alert! Lily is already putting on the poor-little-me act. In the original plot, she used this trick to get her adoptive mother to kick her own daughter out of the house!] [Rowan is just suffering from a massive lack of security! She was on watch, protecting her new home! Those fools just didn’t understand!] I had made my decision. So, this was a combined Fake Heiress meets Bad Boy CEO soap opera, was it? I walked up to Rowan and crouched down. She snapped her head up. Her eyes, stark black and white, were full of caution, like a small animal ready to bite. “I’m not going with you,” her voice was a low rasp, carrying a chilling indifference that didn’t belong on a child her age. I pulled a classic, red-wrapped Starburst from my jacket pocket, peeled back the paper, and held it out to her mouth. “Come home with me. From now on, if anyone gives you a hard time, I’ll help you beat their ass. Including that little drama queen next to us.” Rowan froze. She stared intensely at the candy, her throat moving slightly. Next to us, Lily’s eyes welled up instantly at being called a “drama queen.” The scarlet text went wild: [HOLY MOLY! This Mom is a boss! I love her!] [One sentence, two girls handled. This is the kind of mother a powerhouse female lead needs!] I laughed, gently pushing the Starburst into Rowan’s mouth. I also reached out and patted Lily’s head. “What’s with the tears? You’re coming with me, too. My house needs a couple of noisy kids to fill it up.” 02 The adoption went smoothly. My husband, George—a man of few words but absolute obedience—and I held a hand each, leading the two vastly different girls back to our home. We lived in a good-sized suburban house with a nice backyard. “Wow! It’s a huge house!” Lily twirled around the entryway in excitement, a happy little butterfly. Rowan, in contrast, stood silently at the door, gripping her worn backpack, her eyes warily taking in the surroundings. The text overlay popped up again: [Look at Rowan’s stress reaction. She must have endured so much. My heart is breaking.] [Lily’s adaptation skills are something else. But… she seems a little careless.] I crouched down to help them with their shoes. “This is your home now. There are two bedrooms upstairs with good light. You can pick one, or share?” “I want the pink one!” Lily declared immediately, without hesitation. Rowan pressed her lips together. “I don’t care. The storage room is fine.” I frowned, reaching out to gently flick Rowan’s forehead. “Don’t talk nonsense. No one sleeps in a storage room here. Since Lily picked pink, the blue one is yours. If you hate the color, we’ll call the contractors tomorrow and have it completely redone.” Rowan covered her forehead, looking at me with disbelief. It seemed no one had ever treated her with such “rudeness,” yet also with an odd, fierce affection. That night, I purposely left the hallway light on. When I got up for a drink of water later, I saw Rowan’s door slightly ajar. Through the crack, I saw the small figure was not sleeping on the soft bed. She was curled up on the floor, hugging her blanket, facing the doorway. In her hand, she held a sharpened pencil. A single, teary-eyed line floated into view: [Waaah, she’s protecting herself, and she’s protecting this new home.] I sighed. I pretended not to see, but as I walked past, I spoke loudly and deliberately: “George, did you double-check the window locks and the doors? Our security system is directly linked to the precinct. Not even a fly could get in here.” The small body in the room visibly relaxed. 03 Life quickly settled into a routine of controlled chaos. Lily was sweet, affectionate, and easily charmed the neighbors. Rowan, however, was a perpetual loner, her eyes shadowed. Neighbors privately called her “the odd girl.” Until a month later, on a Saturday afternoon. I was in the kitchen simmering a stew when a huge crash echoed from the living room. Then came Lily’s heart-wrenching sobs. I rushed out to see my favorite vintage Murano glass vase shattered on the floor. Lily sat amidst the fragments, crying hysterically, a small cut bleeding on her finger. Rowan stood nearby, expressionless, holding a shard of glass. “What happened?” I asked, my voice calm but firm. The text overlay instantly exploded: [It’s happening! The classic scene! In the original plot, the heroine broke the vase herself and blamed the anti-heroine, which led to the anti-heroine being grounded for three days, triggering her full villainess blackening!] [Mom, you have to investigate thoroughly! Don’t be fooled by Lily’s tears!] My heart sank. I looked at Lily. Lily choked out her words, pointing at Rowan: “It was… Rowan. She pushed me, and the vase fell… But I don’t blame her, Mom, please don’t scold her.” A perfectly executed emotional maneuver. I turned to Rowan. “Did you push her?” Rowan squeezed her hand holding the shard, drawing a bead of blood. She scoffed coldly. “If I said no, would you believe me?” The despair in her eyes suggested she already knew the answer. I walked over, firmly took Rowan’s hand, pried her fingers open, and tossed the shard away. I grabbed the first aid kit, put a bandage on Rowan’s palm first, and then one on Lily’s finger. Only after that did I speak, slowly and deliberately: “We have security cameras in the house. One is right next to the TV. It’s a 360-degree, no-blind-spot camera.” The air thickened instantly. Lily’s sobs cut off, her face turning pale. Rowan suddenly looked up, a flicker of disbelief in her eyes. In truth, the ‘camera’ was just a little ceramic ornament. But the bluff was enough. I looked at Lily, my tone serious. “I’ll give you one more chance. Tell me again, what happened?” Lily trembled, lowering her head. “It was me… I was trying to reach the candy jar on the shelf and I accidentally knocked it over… I was afraid you would be mad at me…” I sighed and gently touched Rowan’s head, feeling her entire body stiffen under my touch. “Rowan, why didn’t you defend yourself just now?” Rowan turned her face away, her voice muffled: “No one ever believes me anyway.” “I do.” I stated it definitively. “In this house, if you say you didn’t do it, I believe you. But if I find out anyone is lying, the consequences will be much worse than a broken vase.” That evening, for the first time, Rowan voluntarily sat on the living room sofa. She sat far away from me, but her eyes never left me. The text overlay erupted in cheers: [YES! Mom is mighty! Rowan’s emotional wall finally has a crack!] [Lily’s personality needs to be fixed, though. She’ll be a liability otherwise.] 04 To correct Lily’s habit of deflection and to help Rowan heal her inner wounds, I implemented a strict “Family Points System.” Chores, high grades, and honesty earned points. Lying and shifting blame incurred double deductions. Points could be redeemed for wishes. At first, Lily struggled, often trying to use her charm to sneak by. But I was immovable, even dragging George into an “Anti-Pity Party League.” Rowan, conversely, became a point-hoarding machine. She silently swept, did the dishes every night, and aced every test. Six months later, Rowan approached me with a hard-earned one hundred points. “I want to redeem a wish.” “Tell me.” She hesitated for a long time, then whispered, “I… I want to change the lock on my room to one that can be bolted from the inside.” A pang of sadness hit me. This child still carried so much fear. “Granted. And not just the lock. I’m also getting you a full, enormous, architectural LEGO castle. How does that sound?” Rowan’s eyes brightened. The corner of her mouth lifted in the smallest of smiles—her first since arriving. It was fleeting, but like ice melting in spring, it was breathtaking. As for Lily, after I deducted her points three times and she watched her favorite doll get locked away, she finally started to behave. She clumsily began helping Rowan clean up, often doing more harm than good, but at least she stopped pushing the blame. Once, I overheard the two girls whispering on the porch. Lily: “Rowan, I can’t figure out this problem. Can you help me? I’ll use the points transfer function and give you half of mine.” Rowan’s response was cold: “Who needs your points. Hand it over, you idiot. You still can’t figure this out?” Despite the insulting tone, the sound of her explaining the steps didn’t stop. Watching them, I felt an inexplicable urge to cry. Who said the wicked stepsister and the sweet sister couldn’t coexist peacefully? They looked pretty harmonious to me. 05 Time flew by like a shooting star. Nine years passed in a blink. Both girls were now in high school. Rowan grew into a cool, untouchable ice queen, the undisputed academic goddess of the school, though her personality remained guarded. Lily blossomed into a gorgeous, sweet-natured girl, the recognized campus beauty, constantly surrounded by fawning boys. That evening at dinner, the text overlay began to flash a frantic warning. [WARNING! WARNING! The male lead is about to show up!] [The scumbag who makes Lily a love-struck idiot and ultimately bankrupts the whole family—Jax Remington—is transferring here!] [Original plot: Jax first flirts with Rowan, finds her boring, then moves to Lily. The sisters turn against each other because of him. Rowan is pushed to villainy, and Lily runs off with him for love!] The hand holding my chopsticks shook, nearly dropping the braised beef onto the table. Jax Remington? The legendary Scion of the Remington Group? Walking testosterone? I took a deep breath, looking at my two daughters who were currently watching a celebrity gossip show together. I absolutely would not let this one bad apple spoil the two perfect batches of stew I had lovingly raised! I cleared my throat. “Ahem. I heard a new student is transferring to your school tomorrow?” Lily chewed on her chopstick. “Oh, yeah. I heard he’s super hot and a total trust fund baby! The whole school is losing it.” Rowan didn’t look up. “Boring. I’d rather spend that time on two more physics problems.” I nodded in approval, giving Rowan the largest piece of prime rib. “Rowan is right. Men only slow down your sword. Especially the ones who are rich and handsome. They are usually just spoiled dirtbags.” Lily pouted. “Mom, that’s such a generalization. What if it’s true love?” I scoffed. “True love? Can true love pay the bills? Can it help you get into college? Can it buy you a house?” Lily stuck out her tongue, not daring to argue. But I knew that teenage hormonal surge wasn’t something a few sentences could suppress. 06 To strictly monitor the situation, I decided to return to my old habits—volunteering at the school. Under the guise of the PTA Booster Club, I set up several “eyes and ears” around campus. The reports came in a few days later. Jax Remington was indeed a troublemaker. He immediately bought out the entire vending machine for the whole class, except for Rowan. His reason? Rowan’s look of utter disdain bothered him. On my way home that day, I hid in the car, watching the school entrance. I saw a boy in a ridiculously modified school uniform, a backpack slung over one shoulder, blocking Lily’s path. That signature smirk made my fists clench. The text overlay was screaming: [That’s the smirk! It’s cheesy, but it’s an absolute killer for a high school girl!] [Lily is blushing! Oh no, oh no, the plot is starting!] Jax leaned a hand on the wall, successfully pinning Lily. “Hey, sweetcheeks. Heard you’re the school beauty? How about being my girlfriend?” Lily was clearly overwhelmed, frightened like a trapped rabbit, her face the color of a ripe apple. “You… you need to move…” “What if I don’t?” Jax leaned in closer. Just as I was about to open the car door and charge out, a backpack came whistling through the air. “THWACK!” It landed with precise accuracy on the back of Jax’s head. Jax stumbled, clutching his head and swearing, “Who the hell wants to die?” Rowan stepped out from the shadows, her face cold. In her hand was a thick AP Calculus workbook. She walked up to Lily and firmly pulled her behind her back. “I’m her sister. You want to date her? Finish this textbook first. If your score is below 90% on the final test, you get lost.” Jax laughed, enraged. “Who are you? Why are you trying to manage my life?” Rowan’s eyes were arctic, looking at him like a piece of trash. “I’m your worst nightmare.” Silence descended upon the crowd. Even I was stunned. When did my quiet, study-focused, Ice Queen Rowan learn to drop mic-worthy insults? The text overlay was a sea of WTFs. [QUEEN! Take my knees!] [This is the right way to play this! I ship this: Icy sister x Clumsy sister!]

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The moment I was bound to the Charmer Cultivation System, I was gifted a unique cheat: the ability to manufacture dreams. The System, trapped in my mind, was buzzing with panic. 【The Male Leads and Supporting Male Characters currently have a favorability score of -99 toward the host. What good is a dream-making ability going to do?!】 I answered casually, “A wet dream is still a dream, isn’t it?” The System: ? I tapped enthusiastically on my mental keyboard. “The aloof, brilliant professor… he must be so repressed. I’ll give him a full set of candles and a little leather crop in his dreams!” System: 【Wait, wait…】 “The reckless, boy-next-door type… I wonder if he’s learned how to be reckless in bed yet. Perfect. I’ll give him a thorough education in his sleep!” System: 【Stop right there…】 A few nights passed. The men who had consistently treated me with total disgust started to soften their attitudes. Meanwhile, their white moonlight, the golden girl they idolized, watched the suspicious blush on their faces every time they saw me and practically ground her teeth. Before she could make her first move, I pulled out my keyboard again. “My seemingly hostile sister, the certified mean girl, is secretly harboring very different feelings toward me…” The System shrieked in horror, blocking me immediately. 【No! Absolutely not! We don’t need that kind of favorability!】 1 When other people transmigrate into novels, they are usually bound to a standard Charmer System. The cheat code is activated, and suddenly the male leads, supporting characters, family, and friends all lose their minds, falling all over themselves to shower the heroine with affection. The System I was stuck with was a Charmer Cultivation System. I got nothing upfront. I had to actively scheme and work to become the charmer myself before I could complete the mission. The System finished its timid explanation. Seeing my silence, it nervously pressed on. 【I also have some bad news…】 【In this world, you are just a cannon fodder character, unloved by your father and mother. Your fiancé and your childhood best friend both adore your sister, Serena Scott.】 【And just one hour ago, you had a huge fight at a dinner party.】 【In front of everyone, you pushed her into the swimming pool.】 【So, their favorability scores have already plummeted to -99…】 Me: “…” This wasn’t a little difficult; this was Hell Difficulty, plain and simple. I tentatively asked, “If I don’t complete the mission, what’s the penalty?” The System was succinct: 【Eradication.】 【But if the mission is successful, you can return to your original life.】 I offered a small, unimpressed smile. “Who do you take me for? You think that pathetic carrot is enough to turn me into a simpering lackey? A dog wouldn’t…” 【…Plus, you’ll receive a cash reward of ten billion dollars.】 2 Done! I’ll be the best damn lackey you’ve ever seen! Ten billion to be a lackey? That’s like money falling from the sky. But the System wasn’t wrong. This dream-making ability did seem relatively useless. Just as I was trying to figure out how to leverage this cheat, my cheap fiancé, Rhys Hawthorne, walked straight toward me. The novel described him as the youngest core figure in the East Coast’s most exclusive research circles—a genius almost preternaturally clever. The Hawthorne family was already old money, but Rhys’s status in the research community, securing major government contracts, had elevated them to an untouchable level among the city’s elite. Everyone knew that the normally cold and aloof Rhys Hawthorne reserved his rare smiles for only one person: my sister, Serena. Anyone who dared hurt her, Rhys would relentlessly torment, making it impossible for them to exist in this city. Case in point, right now. Serena had choked on water when she fell into the pool and still hadn’t fully recovered, so our parents had punished me by making me stand outside her door, facing the wall. Rhys approached and immediately grabbed my throat, squeezing hard. “You had better pray Serena is alright, or you will find out the consequences!” His suit was impeccably tailored, but even the severity of his frameless glasses couldn’t entirely mask the devastating tilt of his eyes. In that instant, I suddenly understood exactly how to use my new ability. Before I could react, however, a scoffing voice came from behind me. “Professor Hawthorne, aren’t you afraid of soiling your hands by touching her?” “She’s the kind of woman who sacrifices all shame just to net an engagement. The more attention you give her, the more excited she gets.” Oh, that would be my cheap childhood friend, Jaxon Bell. Rhys’s brow furrowed. He immediately let go of me, pulling out a crisp handkerchief to meticulously wipe the hand that had touched me. Only after he was satisfied that it was clean did he adjust his glasses, resuming his usual cold detachment. The moment he turned away, Jax grabbed my wrist, his grip like steel. He hissed, “Don’t think I’m doing you a favor, Zara Scott.” “I’ll settle the score with you once Serena is awake!” The disgust in his eyes was authentic. Rhys’s disgust was just as real. But I didn’t care. My eyes were fixed on Rhys’s retreating back. The forbidden type. The most alluring thing about the forbidden type isn’t the handsome face. It’s the pristine, buttoned-up shirt and the trousers that are perfectly ironed, yet somehow… bulging. I tapped the System. The inspiration was finally here. “A wet dream is still a dream, right?” 3 After Serena woke up, I was forced to endure another long, pointless lecture from my parents before I finally made it to my favorite time: sleep. The System informed me that my fiancé and my childhood friend had both gone to sleep. I immediately submitted the dream scenario I’d been editing all day. Without waiting for its approval, I eagerly plunged into Rhys Hawthorne’s dream. … In a dimly lit laboratory, Rhys had been drugged and then restrained to a chair using what I could only describe as an “artistic” technique. His shirt buttons remained meticulously fastened, right up to the hollow of his throat. Yet, no restraint could lock away the inferno of desire raging through him. He was forced to lean his head back, panting raggedly. Men, I thought, always sound better panting than singing. I smiled in satisfaction and walked straight up to him. He didn’t realize it was a dream. The moment he saw me, his brow knitted together in a furious knot. He swallowed the raw, nearly unmanageable panting and snapped, “Who gave you permission to enter my lab? Get out.” I glanced down at his trousers and offered a kind suggestion: “Are you sure you want me to leave, Professor Hawthorne?” Rhys’s reason was being scorched away by the chemical heat in his veins. The drug-induced rapid thump of his heart hammered against his eardrums, making it hard to hear. But he refused to lose control in front of someone he hated. He ground his teeth, trying to endure it. When he looked up, the woman he despised was still standing there. His aversion intensified. He finally looked down at the ropes and said, “Since you won’t leave, help me.” Hearing that, I quietly pulled a small leather crop from behind my back and smiled, a smile as wicked as the devil’s own. “Of course.” He’d only asked for help, not specified what kind. As his eyes glazed over, I snapped the whip across his chest, leaving a faint, pink-red line across his peck. He didn’t see it coming. A suppressed groan escaped him, and his body trembled with a mixture of pain and heightened arousal. When he realized what I’d done, rage twisted his face. “What are you doing!” he bellowed. The System screamed in my mind: 【Stop! Host! With that one lash, Rhys Hawthorne’s favorability just dropped to -99.99!】 【I thought you were going to seduce him with a wet dream, not whip him!】 I ignored the System, looking down at Rhys with a dismissive smirk. “What’s the shouting for? Didn’t you enjoy it?” “If you didn’t enjoy it, why did you groan?” Play a man’s game, leave him nowhere to go. He stammered out “You…” repeatedly, unable to form a coherent sentence. He finally closed his eyes, stewing in silent fury. I wasn’t about to give him a moment to recover. The next snap of the whip landed precisely on a more sensitive spot: his lower abdomen. Rhys gasped sharply, his entire body rigid for a long moment. When he finally calmed down, his ear tips were flushed crimson, but his eyes were clear again. He narrowed them, fixing me with a cold stare. “You’re the one who drugged me, aren’t you? What is it you want?” “A few years ago, you maneuvered your way into my bed, and I gave you the engagement you wanted. What more could you possibly be dissatisfied with?” I met his gaze, smirked, and lifted my foot, grinding my heel down on him until another guttural sound of discomfort escaped him. I traced the whip from his throat all the way to his abs. Then, I leaned in, breathing a light laugh against his ear. “I want you to fall in love with me.” “But I’ll let you off the hook for today. We’ll start tomorrow. Be sure to drive me to campus in the morning.” “If you don’t show, we’ll continue this tomorrow night.” I extracted myself from the dream, and the System immediately began a real-time broadcast of Rhys’s awakening. The moment I left, he shot upright in bed, drenched in sweat. He rubbed his temples, full of self-loathing. “Why would I dream of that woman? And that kind of dream?” Rhys took several deep breaths. Finally calm, he got out of bed to change his clothes. Hearing this, I wrinkled my nose in disgust. “He got that worked up from just that? Did he soil his trousers already?” “Is he that repressed? Maybe he has performance issues.” The System sounded utterly defeated. 【Is this really okay?】 【Do you realize Rhys Hawthorne’s favorability was 0.01 away from hitting -100! At -100, you are eradicated!】 I didn’t answer, only asking casually, “What’s Rhys doing now?” System: 【He changed his pants and went into the bathroom. Why?】 Me: “Keep reporting.” 【He’s been in the bathroom for 10 minutes. Still hasn’t come out.】 【20 minutes in the bathroom, still in there.】 【He’s out. Looks like he changed his pants again.】 “And what’s the favorability score now?” The System was silent for a moment before replying: 【-79.99.】 【Congratulations, Host. Rhys Hawthorne’s favorability has increased by 20 points.】 4 Since I had two dream opportunities per night, I certainly wasn’t going to let Jax Bell slip away. The Bell house was right next door to the Scott house, so the original me, Serena, and Jax grew up together. From the time we were children, no matter what happened between the Scott sisters, Jax always sided unconditionally with Serena. However, after reviewing the original Zara’s memories, I realized Jax’s feelings for her were more complicated. Although he always publicly took Serena’s side, if Zara was hurt, he would secretly feel bad and sneak over to give her medicine. Then, the next time he listened to Serena and her friends gossip, he would immediately turn around and coldly mock Zara again. Simply put, he was easily swayed and too quick to believe gossip. So, to deal with this kind of clumsy, volatile boy, I didn’t need complicated schemes. I just needed to mess with his head. The problem was that I’d spent too long with Rhys. Jax had already entered natural sleep, and it was too late to construct a new dream for him. I had to barge right into whatever he was already dreaming. His dream was set on a beach on a summer night. Under a shower of dazzling fireworks, a boy and a girl were sitting side by side on the sand. The girl, her face flushed, was shyly pulling something out, looking like she was confessing to Jax. I took a closer look. It was Serena. Of course. Even in his dreams, the guy is still wishing his crush would confess to him. The confession ended, and Jax naturally leaned in to kiss Serena. I smirked, snapped my fingers, and instantly replaced Serena with myself. Unfortunately, just as the kiss was about to land, Jax’s eyes snapped open. The moment he saw me, he shot up, shocked into silence. “You… why are you here?” “How did you get into my dream?” I pulled him back down, gently tracing the outline of his ear. I laughed softly. “Why wouldn’t it be me?” “Didn’t you just accept my confession? Weren’t you just about to kiss me?” He violently pushed me away, putting distance between us. His face was a mask of repulsion as he sneered at me. “You? Are you kidding? If it were you, I wouldn’t even let you finish the confession!” “I was going to kiss Serena. She was just here… Wait!” He suddenly figured it out, his eyes widening. “This is a dream! I must be dreaming!” “Why else would Serena’s face change to yours in the blink of an eye?” “It has to be a dream!” I rested my chin in my hand, watching him with interest. “If it’s a dream, doesn’t the fact that my face replaced Serena’s at the most crucial moment of the kiss prove that you like me?” “Unless you’re thinking about me constantly, why would I appear in your dream?” “I bet you even have a picture of me taped above your bed, don’t you?” I was only joking, but he reacted like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. He instantly exploded, yelling at me, “Zara Scott, don’t be delusional!” “I would rather like a dog, or a pig, than you!” “I haven’t forgotten what you did to Serena, or what you did to Professor Hawthorne.” “I hate desperate, pathetic women who chase men like you!” The moment the words left his mouth, I grabbed the back of his neck and kissed him. The instant our lips met, I saw his pupils flicker. He was so pure. Was this his first kiss? He appeared to be completely frozen. Before he could react, I leaned my forehead against his. My fingers slid down the side of his face to his throat, and then traced slow circles on his chest, continuing the mental attack. “Am I really the delusional one?” “You know I love boys with a citrus-soda scent, the athletic type. So why do you wear that gray athletic hoodie every single day, spray that orange-zest cologne, and walk around me all the time?” “There are so many colors for sweatpants, yet you constantly show up in those thin gray ones. What’s the message you’re trying to send?” “Wearing clothes that provocative, isn’t that just trying to lure me in?” My finger trailed over his chest and lingered briefly on his abs. I smiled in satisfaction. “Look. You still haven’t pushed me away.” “Are you still going to tell me you don’t like me?” Following the path of my finger, his eyes dropped to his own pants, and his face instantly turned a deep crimson. Before he could pull away in furious embarrassment, I placed a feather-light kiss on his lips again. Then, I leaned close to his ear and whispered: “Jaxon Bell, you like me.” “If you don’t believe me, check if I’m still in your dreams for the next few nights.” … Mission accomplished. I dissolved into a wisp of smoke, leaving the dream. The System applauded in my head. 【The Master of Mind Games, truly. But you might have failed this time.】 【Jax looked easily fooled in the dream, but his favorability score hasn’t budged at all.】 I chuckled, leaning back calmly. “Check what he does when he wakes up.” The System, skeptical, opened the mental surveillance feed for me. It watched with me, narrating enthusiastically. 【Hahaha, he ripped up the photo of the three of you on his bedside table!】 【Wait, he really did have your photo at his bedside! How did you guess that?】 【He looks so angry, he’s rubbing his hair into a bird’s nest and jumping off the bed.】 【He just smashed that bottle of orange-zest cologne!】 【Oh? He’s calming down now.】 【He’s sitting on the edge of the bed… touching his lips?】 【…Congratulations, Host. Jaxon Bell’s favorability has increased by 50 points.】 【Current favorability: -49.】 5 Unlike Jax, highly intelligent individuals like Rhys Hawthorne weren’t so easily fooled. The 20 points of favorability that spiked after the dream due to a rush of hormones immediately dropped by 10 points once he was fully awake. Naturally, he didn’t take the dream seriously and didn’t show up to drive me to campus the next morning. Since he was going to be stubborn, I wouldn’t let him off the hook in the dream world. Over the next few days, I tried almost every stimulating fantasy item I could think of on him: candles, whips, dog chains, electrical stimulation devices—the works. Every morning, I would end the dream by reminding him to come to the Scott house. But he was too rooted in his scientific rationality. He refused to believe there could be any link between a dream and reality. It took a full week before he finally arrived at our door, looking like he was just testing a hypothesis. I don’t know if it was because I’d gone too far in the dreams, but he looked genuinely haggard after a week of my nocturnal torment. However, I still underestimated the depth of his hatred for me. Having come all this way, he bypassed me entirely. He quickly walked over to Serena, who had just stepped outside, and gently helped her stand. He offered her a tender smile. “Serena, how is your recovery progressing?” “My schedule isn’t heavy today, and the city’s premier Music Conservatory is on my way to the lab. I thought I’d give you a ride.” Serena was a piano major at the conservatory, which was indeed more convenient than my school. But did he have to be so openly antagonistic? Did he think the dreams meant the opposite of what I said? Serena’s eyes were filled with surprise. As she leaned into Rhys, she seemed to remember something and cautiously glanced at me. “Are you only taking me? What about my sister?” “After all… she is your fiancée.” Rhys instinctively looked at me too. However, the moment our eyes met, he flinched as if burned, a quick shudder running through him. The tips of his ears instantly flushed crimson. He blinked rapidly, deliberately breaking eye contact. Noticing his overly intense reaction, he lowered his gaze, a hint of self-loathing flickering across his face. He spoke coldly, “Ignore her. Let’s go.” I watched, amused, as he quickly ushered a confused Serena into the car and drove away. I turned to the System. “What was that about, Rhys?” The System checked the favorability history but couldn’t explain it either. 【I don’t know. His favorability has been all over the place. Up 20 in the dream, down 10 when he wakes up.】 【But his score is already up to -9.99. He shouldn’t be so cold to you anymore.】 【Could he be… embarrassed?】 Embarrassed, is it? Then let’s up the ante! “System, does he have a habit of taking a nap?” 【Yes. His research is very taxing, so he usually takes a short nap in his lab after lunch.】 I sneered. “Then at noon, increase the dosage!”

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The friendship between Asher, Genevieve, and me spanned what felt like seventy years. They were celebrated chemists. And I was the chemist’s wife, and the chemist’s best friend. My life was spent quietly supporting their careers. Then they died on the same day. Their wills stipulated that they leave all their assets to each other and be buried side-by-side: “I want to properly make it up to Genevieve in the next life.” “Next time, can you not compete with me for Asher, please?” In a blink, I was eighteen again. Watching their faces flush as they looked into each other’s eyes, I smiled and erased the answers on my placement exam sheet. This time, I wouldn’t participate in their love story, or be their accessory. I had a name. I had my own life. 1 I walked out of the classroom and immediately saw Asher, my boyfriend, and Genevieve, my best friend, kissing in the hallway. “You’re insane, what if Scarlett sees us?” “What am I supposed to do? I love you. After getting this second chance, I’m not afraid of anything.” The corner of his white shirt lifted in the breeze. Her long hair swayed gently in the same wind. Two brilliant students, two intellectual prodigies—a match made in heaven. I stood there for a long time. Only after they separated and regained their composure did I walk over to grab my backpack. Genevieve greeted me as if nothing had happened. “Scarlett, why did you submit your paper so late? Didn’t I secretly signal the answers to you?” Asher deliberately averted his eyes, his voice flat and cold. “Hurry up and pack. We’re waiting for you.” In the setting sun, our three shadows were separated by a wide space. “Cheating isn’t good. I wanted to rely on myself. I re-calculated every problem,” I said, looking up. “I have plans with another friend. I won’t be walking home with you two.” Asher and Genevieve froze simultaneously. I shouldered my backpack and turned, jogging in the opposite direction. If we’d all been given a second chance, then let’s each walk our own path and grant each other the freedom to do so. 2 In elementary school, the annual physical examination uncovered three cases of a vanishingly rare blood type in the entire district. It was me, Asher, and Genevieve. That bizarre coincidence was what brought us together and kept us linked for seventy years. The first pair of sneakers that truly fit me were a gift from Genevieve. The first love letter I received was from Asher. They were smart and beautiful, from well-off families. As they soared, they never completely left me behind, dragging me along to the same university and into the same research institute. Even in death. My tomb was squeezed tightly next to theirs. It was a small plot carved out beside the mountains of flowers sent by countless junior scholars. The name “Scarlett” on my headstone had long faded, almost invisible. But the imposing block letters—Wife of Chemist Asher [Surname], Closest Confidante of Chemist Genevieve [Surname]—were stark and clear. It made passersby realize, Oh, right. There was someone else. In truth, I lived a life of comfort, accompanied by geniuses. I shouldn’t have had any regrets. But standing at the endpoint of that life, looking back, I realized that so many of my hurts were ones I swallowed in silence. 3 In school, my grades were mediocre, but I had a real talent for drawing. I’d even been recognized by the Dean of the prestigious Pratt Institute. My family couldn’t afford to send me to intensive training, so I secretly taught myself and signed up for the arts college entrance exam. But on the day of the test, Asher and Genevieve got into a car accident. To give them a blood transfusion, I missed the exam. In the hospital room, Genevieve cried, apologizing to me. “I’m so sorry, so sorry, it’s all our fault! But seriously, you, a regular person, were thinking of art school? Art is so expensive, can your family even afford it?” Genevieve wasn’t wrong. My family couldn’t even cover the fees for me to re-take the college entrance exam, so art school wasn’t a sensible choice. There was disappointment and hurt in my heart. But I had saved the lives of two dear friends, so it felt worth it. To repay me, Asher and Genevieve spent my entire senior year intensely coaching me. In the end, all three of us stayed in New York City. They were admitted to a top-tier university, while I went to a state school for a two-year associate’s degree in Business Management. My school was close, very close, to theirs. Life was stable and happy with my close friends nearby. The year I graduated, the Dean of Pratt Institute hadn’t forgotten me. He invited me to join his restoration project internship at the Smithsonian National Gallery. I was thrilled and rushed to tell Asher and Genevieve. Instead, I learned they had both been headhunted by a research institute and were moving to a remote state research hub in the Pacific Northwest. Genevieve held my hand, reluctant to let go. “Scarlett, I’m truly happy for you, you’re finally achieving your dream! But your long-distance relationship with Asher is going to be tough, right? Also, is that Dean really legit? It’s strange for someone so prestigious to specifically invite you, a…” Asher sat in the corner, silent. A flicker of dissatisfaction crossed his cool eyes. We mutually agreed to a break to plan our lives. The news that arrived before the breakup, however, was my pregnancy. 4 They say the fetus releases hormones to interfere with the mother’s thinking to ensure its survival. Perhaps thinking of my own mother who raised me as a single parent, or perhaps simply seeing a life, I couldn’t bring myself to have the procedure. I turned down the internship, married Asher, and moved with him to the Pacific Northwest research hub. Asher and Genevieve’s careers were flourishing, and they even secured a clerical “relative position” for me at the institute. The pay was low, the work was minimal—easy and stable. The institute-assigned townhomes were adjacent, and the three of us continued to spend every day together. Summer BBQs, winter fondue parties—life was warm and comfortable. A few years later, a position opened up for the Director of Communications at the institute. My performance over the years had been stellar. I’d won several national awards for the institute, and the scientific infographics and illustrations I created were chosen as the national publicity template. I was on the path to promotion. However, Asher and Genevieve were also being promoted simultaneously and were set to leave for a critical, high-level project in the high-desert facility in Arizona. Genevieve bought champagne to celebrate. “Cheers to us all shining in our respective fields! But, Scarlett, the Director role is going to be so demanding. Weekly meetings across the state—you won’t have time to manage the house, will you?” Asher held our daughter, who was secretly wiping away tears, and reminded me in a low voice: “Scarlett, one of us has to take care of Tess.” Our daughter was about to start elementary school. Genevieve’s son, Leo—the result of her unplanned single-motherhood, as she’d claimed—was just off formula. Someone had to manage the household affairs, and someone needed to look after the elderly parents. After weighing the options. It was me, yet again, who conceded, giving up the promotion opportunity. I put down the paintbrush for good and picked up the spatula, devoting myself to the family for decades in a whirlwind of domestic chores. The children grew up successful, and the family was harmonious. I lived a life many envied. But what did I think about during those restless nights? I thought about the day my mother died. I frantically called my immediate supervisor, Genevieve, begging for special permission to leave the state. I called from morning until night, pleading with so many people. Only after my mother took her last breath did I receive a text from Asher explaining: “Genevieve was chairing a high-stakes review for a multi-million dollar project—her phone was off and silent. Your minor issue can wait until another day.” … I thought about the day my daughter got married, and I picked up my brush to prepare a gift for her. The piece looked worse than something a first-year art student would whip up. I never displayed it or gave it to her. The time I wasted discarding the artwork delayed me. When I returned to the reception hall, Genevieve had already taken my place, holding my daughter’s hand and walking her out for the send-off. … I thought about the day Asher received his Lifetime Achievement Award. The children, students, and colleagues gathered around me backstage, helping me adjust the corsage. The cameras would focus on me, his wife, when he offered his thanks. I was going to be on national television. But. Asher spoke for a long time, mentioning every detail of his journey, yet he never once spoke my name. It was all Genevieve. He thanked his lifelong partner, his closest confidante, his soulmate, Genevieve. From the day they met in their youth until they grew old together, Genevieve had accompanied him through every landscape of his life. They had watched the stars together in the vast emptiness of the desert. They had stood side-by-side at the pinnacle of the chemical world. My decades of cooking, cleaning, and managing the minutiae of life—a housekeeper could have done the same. What was there to thank me for? 5 I arranged the funerals for Asher and Genevieve. They died on the same day. The last wills they left behind contained the exact same phrase. To leave the estate to the other, and to be buried together. “Scarlett, I gave you all my love in this life, but in the next, I want to properly compensate her.” “Scarlett, I gave you all my love in this life, but in the next, can you please stop competing with me for him?” What was I then? Was I just a spectator in their magnificent lives? I suddenly remembered the night, decades ago, when Asher confessed his love to me. I carried milkshakes and went to meet them for New Year’s Eve. I opened the door to find flowers and a cake in the living room. The candlelight reflected in Asher’s deep eyes, focused intensely on Genevieve. The words slipped out. “Are you two confessing?” Genevieve instantly blushed and pushed me toward Asher. “How could we be! I would never like this jerk! We’re competitors! We just want to out-score and obliterate each other to be top of the class!” The clock struck midnight, and colorful fireworks exploded outside the window. Asher gave Genevieve one last look, then pulled the love letter from his pocket and handed it to me. “Yeah, I don’t like her either. Don’t flatter yourself. I like Scarlett.” The prince and princess were just sparring partners, speaking lies against their hearts. And the extra, the background character, foolishly believed every word. I spent a lifetime marking up the wrong manuscript, mistaking a footnote for a chapter. If only I could start over. If only I could start over. I would stay far away from both of them. I would reclaim my vibrant, brilliant life. 6 I woke up during the last half-year of high school. The school was splitting into an elite STEM track and a General Studies track. Without Genevieve’s help on the placement exam, my score was only good enough for the General Studies track. I felt it was a perfect chance to say goodbye. I exited the three-person group chat, deleted their contacts, and only left one message. “I need to focus on my studies. I won’t be using my phone anymore.” I didn’t expect Asher to track me down on the first day of the new semester. He wore a clean, blue-and-white uniform, his posture was perfect, and his features were handsome, drawing the attention of every girl who passed by. Even in our previous life, Asher, well into his later years, never lacked admirers. Looking at that face now, I didn’t feel a single flicker of attraction. “Scarlett, I’m going to request an opportunity from the principal for you to retake the placement exam and rejoin the STEM track. Prepare yourself.” Just as I was about to speak, Genevieve suddenly ran up, linking her arms through both of ours. “What are you two whispering about without me? You’ve got a boyfriend and you forget your best friend and best rival?!” “Scarlett, honestly, I told you the answers, and you didn’t even cheat. How do you expect to pass the exam on your own?” “And Asher is such a good-looking guy, if you don’t keep a tight leash on him, what if another girl snaps him up this semester?” I delicately tasted the subtext in every one of her sentences and then slowly lowered my gaze and smiled. I turned and gently detached Genevieve’s arm. “Then I’ll just break up with Asher now. We won’t be in the same classes, and we’re not living together anymore. Dating would just be a hassle. I need to focus on my studies for the next few months until graduation.” Asher froze for an instant, his hands slowly clenching into fists at his sides. Just as I turned to leave, he suddenly grabbed my wrist. “Scarlett, you’ll regret this.”

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On my birthday, Seraphina’s assistant, Blake, put me up for auction on a live stream like some used-up piece of furniture. The title screamed: “The Barren Trophy Husband, The Wastrel with the Zero-Count, The Parasite of the Maxwell Dynasty.” Seraphina was afraid I would show up at the company and make a scene. That evening, she brought home a carton of discount, near-expired chocolate mousse from the grocery store. The syrup was already seeping out of the cracked plastic rim. “Asher, Blake was just being playful,” she said, her voice strained. “He’s a little… brash, but he picked this out specially for you. Don’t make such a big deal out of it.” Dad—my father-in-law, Arthur—was shaking with pure rage. He grabbed the heavy porcelain vase on the side table, ready to hurl it at her. I just stared at the film of melted, cheap cream coating the surface of the mousse. I closed my eyes and made a wish: “I hope this year, I finally find the strength to leave this house.” 1 As the words faded. Dad’s expression, which had been contorted with fury, suddenly froze. “Asher, you…” “Asher Cole, what Oscar-winning tragedy are you auditioning for now?” Seraphina’s already dark mood soured further. “I handled the Blake thing. The stream was deleted. It was just a stupid joke. Why are you dragging it out?” Her gaze flicked over Dad, then a sudden, hollow realization dawned on her face. She curved her lips into a smirk of pure disdain. “You’re not trying to play up the drama because Dad’s here, are you? Asher, you’re thirty years old. Can you stop with the childish games?” I met her gaze, not flinching from the unconcealed contempt in her eyes. I kept my voice flat. “Let’s say I am. Seraphina, I want a divorce.” The words were a pause button. The muscles in Seraphina’s face instantly seized up. A wave of raw panic and anxiety surged into Dad’s eyes. “Asher, you can’t talk about divorce! I already had the platform ban the account. If that’s not enough, I’ll transfer Sera’s assistant to the overseas division immediately…” This incident was only the last shard of glass—the final, pathetic straw. My marriage to Seraphina. The chasm had opened the day Blake became her personal assistant. It was a silent, black gulf we both pretended wasn’t there. “Asher, take the win and move on! Blake brought you a cake to apologize. What more do you want?” The wick of the cheap candle had burned out. The melted wax had coagulated into an ugly, brittle crust on the mousse. It was the final seal on this relationship that had rotted from the inside out. I traced the rough, uneven terrain of the old scar beneath my collarbone, ignoring her. I turned to Dad. “Do you remember when I dropped out of college my sophomore year?” That year. I acquired the indelible mark I would carry for the rest of my life. And the person who had inflicted it was Blake Harrison. It was only because the research project I was part of had received the specific funding grant managed by the professor Blake had a crush on. He and a few guys from his fraternity dragged me from the lab to a storage warehouse for discarded equipment. They used an industrial-grade solvent to burn my skin. They made me kneel and scrape mud off their sneakers with my tongue. At the time, Seraphina had just taken over the family business. When she came to the university to pick me up. I was a discarded rag doll, thrown next to the dumpster behind the administration building, with massive chemical burns from my neck to my chest. The moment Seraphina saw me, she broke. She tore off her cashmere coat and wrapped me in it, her scream tearing through the air as she called the paramedics. On the way to the hospital. She was trembling uncontrollably, whispering over and over into my ear: “Asher, wait. I promise, I will make them pay for this.” Yet, six months ago. When I found out her new assistant was Blake. I cornered her in her office, sobbing hysterically. I clutched her sleeve and pleaded, “Please, just send him away? I’m begging you, I can’t see him again.” She looked at my breakdown. She was cold and calm, as if watching a drama that had nothing to do with her. She said lightly, “Asher, let the past go. People make mistakes—he paid his dues; he was expelled. You have to give him a chance at redemption.” The sight of him. It was a floodgate opening on memories I had forcibly locked away. My depression, which I thought was managed, came roaring back. I couldn’t tell anyone. I just secretly doubled my medication dose every day. Every time I saw the concern in Dad’s eyes. I choked back the words, not wanting to worry him anymore. I chewed up all the suffering and swallowed it whole. Until yesterday, when my therapist told me, his face grave: “Mr. Cole, if your condition doesn’t come under effective control soon, I can’t guarantee what will happen next.” I knew. The unspoken words were… If I don’t get control, I’m headed for self-destruction. When I was twelve. My parents, environmental scientists, were caught in a sudden flash flood during a fieldwork trip. They had carved out a small air pocket for me between the rock and the mud, their last words echoing: “Asher, live. We’ll be the wind that follows you.” They used their lives. To give me a second chance at survival. Dad, a dear friend of my father, came back from the mountains with me to the Maxwell estate. His eyes were red-rimmed as he held me. “Asher, you must live well, carrying your parents’ hope. Only if you live a good life can they rest easy up there.” So, I had to divorce her. I had to leave Seraphina, who no longer loved me. My words brought the past back for Dad as well. He started to tremble, looking at Seraphina in disbelief. “The person who hurt Asher all those years ago… is the same person who publicly humiliated him on a stream now?” A fleeting look of terror crossed Seraphina’s eyes, but she insisted on defending Blake. “That was years ago! You sued him, Dad! He was expelled! He paid the price. Why can’t we be the bigger people and give him a chance to start over?” Dad’s hand shook so violently he couldn’t hold a grip. He raised his hand and slapped her hard across the face. “You wicked girl! We give him a chance? Who gave Asher a chance?! Look at the scars he carries! He destroyed Asher’s future, and you still defend him?! Are you even human?!” His chest heaved, his eyes burning with fury. He turned and grabbed my hand. “Asher, get the divorce! We don’t need this kind of unprincipled creature in the family!” With that. He dragged me out the door, away from the suffocating enclosure of the house. Once outside, tears rolled silently down his red eyes. The hand gripping mine was cold as ice. He choked back a sob. “Asher, why didn’t you tell me you were in so much pain? If anything happened to you, how could I face your parents when I see them again?” Looking at his tear-streaked face. A dense, bitter feeling welled up in my chest, making it hard to breathe. “I’m fine, Dad. It’s all in the past…” I patted the back of his hand lightly. His scalding tears dropped onto my skin. But I knew. This would never be “the past.” I would never forget Blake’s malice. Nor would I forget the triumphant, challenging looks he threw my way whenever Seraphina stood between us, shielding him. “Asher, I… I agree to the divorce. But you have to remember, I will always be your father, and the Maxwells will always be your fallback.” Dad took me back to the Maxwell family’s ancestral home. I used to stay here for a few days when Seraphina was away on business, so my room was kept exactly as I liked it. After I calmed Dad down. I went up to wash. When I came out of the shower. I sent Seraphina a message. “Arrange a time. Let’s go to the courthouse for the divorce paperwork in the next couple of days.” She didn’t reply. The next day, she sent someone over with a crate of the artisan grapes I liked. Mrs. Rodriguez, the housekeeper, opened the box and frowned. “Why are these grapes withered? And they smell sour?” She skeptically picked one off the vine and tasted it. The next moment, her face twisted in disgust. She spat it out hurriedly. “Sir, they’re all rotten.” “Just throw them away.” I didn’t look up, my eyes fixed on the blank chat thread. Immediately, a message from Blake popped up. It was a photo: two crates of plump, vibrant green grapes sitting on a sleek, luxurious office desk. His text read: “Sera just had these air-freighted for me. Too much for one person. Want me to send you some? Oops—I don’t have the old house address. Could you send it?” I stared at the message. I didn’t reply. This wasn’t his first taunt. The first time, he’d been with Seraphina at a charity gala, and she’d drunk too much. He added me on a messaging app, asking for our home address. I wanted to ignore him, but I couldn’t leave Seraphina stranded. I accepted the request and sent the pin. I waited in the living room until 3 AM. They never showed. Just as the sun began to break. He sent a photo—Blake’s bare torso, a careless V sign flashed at the camera, leaning into Seraphina’s sleeping shoulder. The caption: “You know, Asher? We were sleeping together before she made me her assistant. This is number five. Your woman has been mine for a long time now.” That’s when I finally understood. Why she could so easily tell me to forgive him for everything he’d done to me. My illness resurfaced with brutal force. I collapsed, crying, using a shard of broken porcelain to slice my wrist. When Seraphina finally returned. I was unconscious from blood loss. When I woke up. Her eyes finally held a flicker of guilt. She apologized, claiming she was drunk, that it was a momentary lapse in judgment. I didn’t dare tell Dad. I swallowed the bitter pill alone. After that, Blake sent increasingly brazen photos. My medication doses grew larger and larger. One time, even after taking the pills, I still had an episode. Seraphina was gone again, claiming a last-minute business trip. When Blake sent me a pin to their hotel suite. I walked, lost and disoriented, onto the high-rise balcony. I thought, if I just jumped, all of this would end. Just as I prepared to let go. Dad’s call pulled me back. He asked what I wanted to eat the next day. He wanted to cook for me. Hearing his gentle voice. I clamped my hand over my mouth. Stifling the tidal wave of sobs that threatened to drown me. I told him: “I’d like your signature Beef and Barley Stew, Dad.” He would never know. That phone call. Gave me a third chance at life. I stayed at the old house for a week. Seraphina still hadn’t replied. I realized I needed to push her. So. I returned to the house that had witnessed all my humiliation. But this time, the moment I pushed the door open. I heard Blake’s feigned voice of concern: “Sera, are you sure about swapping your actual wedding photo with this fake one of us? Asher already hates me. Seeing this is going to make him even angrier.” “He…” She stopped mid-sentence. She saw me standing in the foyer. She pressed her lips together, then said stiffly, “It was a team-building forfeit. This picture has to stay up for a month.” The full-wall wedding photo of us had been tossed carelessly by the sofa. In its place. Was a clearly photoshopped picture of Blake and Seraphina embracing on a beach, styled as an engagement photo. I didn’t say a word. I walked past Blake, picked up the discarded wedding photo—which looked exactly like a piece of trash—and walked outside. Then. I smashed the glass frame with my bare fist, pulled out the photo, and tore it into confetti, piece by piece. Seraphina’s chest tightened as she watched. An unfamiliar sense of dread washed over her. She strode forward and grabbed my wrist. “Asher Cole, what are you doing?!” “Cleaning up the garbage.” “Stop making a scene, okay?” Seraphina’s eyes were full of reproach, as if she were making a monumental concession. “Asher, as soon as this project is done, I’ll send him overseas. We can go back to how things were, alright?” How things were? Was it when I was hospitalized with acute pancreatitis, and she abandoned an important board meeting to keep vigil by my bedside for three days? Or was it when I was being viciously cyberbullied, and she used all her resources to suppress the media, shielding me and saying, “Asher, don’t be afraid. I’ll always stand in front of you.” She had seen me at my worst, broken and barely human during my first depressive episode. She knew the entire, ugly story of the root cause. And yet she eventually said… He learned his lesson. Give him a chance to redeem himself. She expected me to forgive Blake while she was busy falling into bed with him. She helped him slice me up, one paper cut at a time. “Seraphina, we can’t go back.” There was no emotion on my face. I said calmly, “We’ll get the divorce finalized after Dad’s birthday celebration. Otherwise, I will file a lawsuit.” “I will never agree to a divorce. Don’t even think about it!” Seraphina’s eyes were shadowed and cold as she said this. She didn’t notice the look of theatrical amusement on Blake’s face behind her. The conversation was over. I had nothing more to say. In front of her, I booked a deep-cleaning service right then and there. As I left, I instructed the cleaner: “Remove every single photo of me, every single item that belongs to me. Everything.” I left without a backward glance at Seraphina. In the blink of an eye. It was Dad’s sixtieth birthday party. I arrived early to help him welcome guests, fulfilling my role as the Maxwell son-in-law. But Seraphina arrived with Blake in tow. Meeting my gaze, she looked slightly guilty. She quickly explained: “Blake wanted to apologize to you and Dad in person. He’ll leave right after saying his well wishes. You don’t have to pay any attention to him.” “That’s right, Asher. I came here specifically to make amends. I heard you didn’t like the mousse, so I prepared a different gift.” He walked toward me, a cheerful smile plastered on his face. He stopped half a meter away. He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Asher Cole, let’s make a bet. If you win, I walk away from Sera for good. If you lose, you vanish forever. What do you say?” “What are you tryin—” Before I could finish. Blake tore open a small jewelry box. He pulled out a utility knife and violently shoved the handle into my hand. “Guess what happens if you injure me? Will Seraphina hate you forever?” My face blanched. I instinctively struggled to pull my hand away. “Ah! It hurts! Asher, why are you doing this to me…” Before I could even process what was happening. Seraphina, like a gale force wind, charged at me. The next second. A searing, ripping pain exploded in my abdomen. A rush of warm liquid gushed out. I looked down at the knife handle buried in my stomach. I tried to call her name, but I could only slump weakly to the floor. My vision blurred. As my consciousness faded completely, I saw her anxiously supporting Blake, who had only a minor scratch on his hand. She rushed toward the exit without turning back.

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It was the day before Christmas Eve, a bitter December day, when I shoved eighty-year-old Mrs. Elaine Caldwell’s worn suitcase out of my condo and into the hallway. I ignored the confusion in her eyes and the shock on my husband’s face, pushing her gently but firmly through the open door. “Please, my dear…” Mrs. Caldwell’s voice was a frail, trembling whisper, her cloudy eyes swimming with tears. “I… I have nowhere to go…” My husband, Leo, rushed forward and grabbed my arm. “Are you out of your mind, Sienna? She’s Eighty. It’s freezing!” I pulled my arm free, my gaze cold as I watched the elderly woman’s cracked, fragile hands clutching the door frame. “Either she walks out herself,” I said, my voice utterly unforgiving, “or I help her go.” Leo stared at me, disbelief warring with outrage. Mrs. Caldwell, still sobbing softly, finally let go. “I’m going… I’m going right now…” She bent her back, her posture a question mark, and slowly shuffled toward the elevator. Her small, thin frame shivered visibly in the harsh overhead light of the hallway. I slammed the door shut, cutting off the sight and the sound. 1 Leo Grant stood staring at me, his eyes full of the horror and confusion you reserve for a complete stranger. “Sienna, do you have any idea what you just did?” His voice shook with barely suppressed anger. “It’s raining outside. Where is an eighty-year-old woman supposed to go?” He reached for the doorknob, but I moved faster, blocking his path. “Step aside,” he gritted out. “She can go wherever she wants, but this is my home,” I stood my ground. “No one opens this door without my permission.” He took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to rein in his fury. “Fine. Then tell me why. Why suddenly kick out Mrs. Caldwell?” “She’s lived here for ten years, never missed a rent payment. What could she possibly have done?” Just then, my mother-in-law, Donna, emerged from the bedroom, drawn by the noise. “What in the world is all this shouting about?” “Mom, Sienna just kicked Mrs. Caldwell out,” Leo explained, his voice tight. “Threw her luggage out with her, for no reason.” Donna’s face immediately fell. “Sienna, how could you? She’s an old woman! What kind of heartless thing is this?” I looked at them, mother and son, working themselves into a coordinated lather. “This is the condo my brother left me. The title is in my name, only my name.” “I am the owner. I can rent to whomever I choose and terminate a lease when I choose. Do I need a reason?” “You are completely insane!” Leo’s face was turning a mottled shade of red. “Just because Dean left you this place, you think you can be a tyrant?” “Have you forgotten how good Mrs. Caldwell has been to us over the years?” “That’s right,” Donna chimed in, tears welling up dramatically. “She took care of me when I had the flu last year. You need to have some conscience, Sienna!” I listened to their accusations with a blank face, my inner world utterly calm. “Are you finished?” I asked quietly. “If you are, go back to your rooms. This is not up for discussion.” Leo glared at me, his jaw clenched, then stomped off to the bedroom. Donna sighed heavily and followed him. A half-hour later, Leo burst back out. “I can’t do this. I have to go check on her. It’s late, where could she possibly be?” This time, I didn’t stop him, but simply followed him down the stairs. Donna, equally distressed, trailed after us. In the lobby, we found Mrs. Caldwell sitting alone on a hard bench, her battered old suitcase beside her. Her thin, gray hair was plastered to her wrinkled forehead from the rain, and she looked impossibly small and fragile beneath the lobby’s glaring lights. “Mrs. Caldwell,” Leo hurried over, concern flooding his voice. “Let me take you to a motel for the night. We can figure things out tomorrow…” “Who told you to interfere?” I cut him off, my voice sharp. “A motel? Don’t be ridiculous.” I walked up to Mrs. Caldwell and looked down at her. “Who allowed you to sit here? This is a communal area, not a waiting room. Please leave immediately.” She looked up, her cloudy eyes full of raw tears. She tried to support herself with a trembling hand, but her strength gave out, and she sank back onto the bench. “Sienna!” Leo finally exploded. “Do you have any humanity left? It’s pouring outside! Where do you expect an old woman to go?” “I don’t care where she goes,” I said coldly. “As long as she is not in my building.” Donna was visibly upset. “Sienna, I am begging you. Let her stay tonight. Just tonight. We can talk about this tomorrow.” “No,” I refused, the word a final, absolute sound. “Fine. Fine! FINE!” Leo nodded repeatedly, his eyes burning with disappointment. “Since you’re going to be this ruthless, don’t blame me for what I do next.” He pulled out his phone and dialed the Property Manager’s office. “I want to file a complaint! Someone is illegally forcing an elderly resident out of her home. Send someone here immediately!” Within five minutes, Mr. Mendez, the Property Manager, arrived with two security guards. Seeing Mrs. Caldwell hunched and shivering on the bench, his face became grim. “Ms. Reed, what is going on?” He approached me quickly. “This woman is very elderly, and it’s pouring rain on a winter night. This handling is completely inappropriate.” Leo jumped in before I could speak. “Mr. Mendez, my wife kicked our tenant out for no reason and threw her belongings into the hall. Mrs. Caldwell is over eighty, has lived here for ten years, and now has no place to stay.” I met Mr. Mendez’s gaze calmly. “Mr. Mendez, if I recall correctly, the deed for Unit 202 in Building 3 is in my name, Sienna Reed, alone.” “I am the owner. I have the right to choose my tenants and the right to terminate any lease. That is my legal right, and I trust Property Management will not interfere with an owner’s private business.” Mr. Mendez looked uncomfortable. He glanced from the trembling Mrs. Caldwell to me. “Ms. Reed, you are correct. We cannot interfere with an owner’s lease decisions.” “But this situation is extremely alarming. Could you please make an exception and at least allow her to stay tonight?” “No.” My voice was a block of ice. “The lease is terminated. I suggest you quickly contact Social Services for temporary shelter. That is not my responsibility.” “Sienna!” Leo grabbed my arm again. “Are you really going to burn every bridge?” I sharply pulled my hand away. “Mr. Mendez, if you are not going to take any action, please leave. I have other things to deal with.” Mr. Mendez sighed and signaled to the two guards. “Since the owner has stated her position, we will not intervene further.” “However, Ms. Reed, I still urge you to reconsider.” Watching the property staff leave, Leo and Donna looked absolutely disgusted. Ignoring their furious stares, I walked directly up to Mrs. Caldwell. “You need to leave now,” my voice was pure frost. “Don’t force me to call the police.” Mrs. Caldwell used the back of the bench to steady herself and laboriously stood up. Her lips trembled, but no words came out. She just silently pulled her suitcase, shaking with every step, and headed toward the glass doors. “Wait!” Donna suddenly cried out. “Mrs. Caldwell, we’ll go with you!” Leo shot me a look of pure hatred, hurried to Donna’s side, and together they helped Mrs. Caldwell out of the lobby. Watching the three figures disappear into the rainy night, I immediately pulled out my phone and opened the Grandview Condo Owner’s Group chat. [Urgent Rental: Grandview, Building 3, Unit 202. One bedroom/one bath. Ready to move in. $2000/month. First, last, and security deposit required. DM for details.] The moment the message was sent, the group chat exploded. “Isn’t that Mrs. Caldwell’s place? Why is it suddenly for rent?” “I just saw Mrs. Caldwell being forced out! In this rain! That is horrific.” “@SiennaReed You are absolutely ruthless. Mrs. Caldwell is 80! You’re going to pay for this!” I watched the incoming messages with a blank expression, ready to reply, when a photo flooded the chat. It showed Mrs. Caldwell sitting alone on a stone pillar by the complex entrance, completely soaked, her white hair clinging to her face. Her back was hunched, and she was clutching a tattered cloth bag. Her suitcase was tipped over in a puddle next to her. Leo had posted the photo, with a caption: “This is the handiwork of my wonderful wife! An 80-year-old woman, a tenant for ten years, cruelly thrown out of her home.” “Let the community judge!” The group chat erupted. Accusations flooded in like a tide. “She’s an animal! How could anyone treat an elderly person like that?” “@SiennaReed Do you have no conscience? Mrs. Caldwell was so kind to everyone here, have you forgotten?” “People like this don’t belong in our community! Get out!” “I’ve already called the police. They’ll be there soon!” I watched the screen, my fingers trembling slightly as the insults refreshed. My phone began to vibrate incessantly, calls coming in from unknown numbers, one after the other. When I answered, all I heard was enraged screaming and cursing. “You heartless monster! You’ll be cursed!” “Just wait, the police are coming for you!” I quietly hung up and turned off my phone. I walked to the window and looked toward the complex entrance. Through the rain, I could faintly see three silhouettes still standing there. Leo held the umbrella, Donna seemed to be talking, and Mrs. Caldwell kept her head down, her thin shoulders shaking slightly in the downpour. The next morning, I was woken by a rapid, insistent ring at the door. Peeking through the peephole, I saw several strangers holding cameras, led by a woman in a sharp business suit—a reporter. Leo and Donna stood behind them, their faces grim. “Ms. Reed, we are with the City Gazette. We’d like to interview you about the eviction of your eighty-year-old tenant.” I opened the door just enough, and the cameras immediately focused on me. The reporter was aggressive. “Why did you force an elderly tenant out in the freezing rain in the middle of winter? Don’t you think that is cruel?” Leo, standing by, said in a cold voice, “The whole city knows what you did now.” I looked directly into the camera lens. “This is my property. I have the right to decide who rents it.” “But Mrs. Caldwell is eighty years old! Did you consider her safety?” “She is not my responsibility,” I finished, and tried to close the door. Just then, my phone rang. It was the Community Director. “Ms. Reed, we’ve received countless resident complaints. A generous citizen has offered Mrs. Caldwell a free place to stay in the next complex. Could you please permit her…” “No,” I cut him off immediately. “According to our contract, pending the formal termination of the lease, she is not permitted to move into any alternative property.” “What?” The voice on the other end was shocked. “But you are the one who kicked her out!” “That is a separate issue,” I said, and hung up. I saw everyone staring at me as if I were a creature from a nightmare. The female reporter shook her head, disbelieving. “I’ve covered a lot of ugly stories, but I’ve never seen anyone as… cold-blooded as you.” The story quickly went viral. “Cold-Blooded Landlord” and “Elderly Woman Evicted in Rain” dominated local headlines and social media. My photo and personal information were plastered everywhere, and the internet was a cesspool of condemnation. That afternoon, when I prepared to leave for work, I found a crowd of people gathered outside the complex gate, many live-streaming on their phones. The moment they saw me, they swarmed. “There she is! Look at the monster!” “Bullying an eighty-year-old! Shame on you!” I pushed through the crowd, heading straight for my car parked curbside. Suddenly, an egg hit the side of my head, the viscous liquid running down my hair and face. “Elder abuser! You deserve to die!” a middle-aged woman screamed. I wiped the yolk from my cheek and kept walking. That’s when I saw the Community Director leading Mrs. Caldwell out of the community service center, surrounded by several well-meaning neighbors. “Mrs. Caldwell, don’t worry, we found you a nice new place.” “Yes, right across the street. Everything’s ready for you.” I sped up, and to the shock of everyone, I grabbed Mrs. Caldwell’s frail wrist. “Who allowed you to look elsewhere?” I demanded, my grip firm. “Per the contract terms, pending formal termination, you are confined to the designated temporary residence.” “Sienna! Are you truly insane?” The Community Director shoved me away. “Are you only satisfied if Mrs. Caldwell is homeless and on the street?” Mrs. Caldwell’s lips trembled, her tear-filled eyes looking up at me. “Sienna, my dear… what did I do wrong…?” “You don’t need to know,” I fixed my eyes on hers. “You only need to remember that without my permission, you are not allowed to go anywhere.” The surrounding crowd erupted in furious shouts. “This woman isn’t human!” “Call the police! She needs to be arrested!” Ignoring the cacophony of condemnation, I turned and walked away. Behind me, I heard Mrs. Caldwell’s distressed weeping and Leo’s furious yell: “Sienna, you absolute menace! We are getting a divorce if you keep this up!” The next day, I dragged myself to the office, utterly drained by the relentless online abuse and the cold stares in public. I found my manager, Mr. Harrison, and the HR Director waiting for me right at the lobby entrance, their expressions grim. “Sienna, finally,” Mr. Harrison stopped me. “Let’s go upstairs and talk.” Under the curious gaze of my colleagues, I followed them into a conference room. The HR Director slid a document across the table. “This is a notice of suspension,” she adjusted her glasses. “Your recent personal conduct has generated an extremely negative public reaction, causing severe damage to the company’s reputation.” “The management team has decided you are suspended from all duties, effective immediately. Go home and reflect.” “On what grounds?” I couldn’t help but argue, my voice shaking with agitation. “This is my private life! It has nothing to do with my work!” “Private?” Mr. Harrison scoffed. “The entire city is buzzing about the ‘Cold-Blooded Landlord’ from our firm who threw an eighty-year-old woman out into the winter rain! “Do you know how many partners called this morning to question us? The company’s image has been dragged through the mud because of you!” Looking at their angry faces, I knew any defense was futile. Clutching the suspension notice, I practically fled the office. My phone vibrated constantly, the screen filling with unknown numbers and malicious curses.

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The movie had been running for ten minutes, and there was still no reply from Dean Ryder. I was about to call him when my phone buzzed with an alert. It was from his old gaming group, and Talia Shaw, his childhood friend, was tagging him frantically, begging him to log in. The next second, the account that used my couple’s avatar popped up and instantly replied: Hop on. Big brother is here to carry you. A sudden, utter hollowness settled in my chest. I backed out of the group chat without a word, bought a bucket of popcorn, and watched the rest of the premiere alone. It wasn’t until the house lights came up that I saw the dozens of missed calls from Dean. There was also a panicked, grammatically disastrous voicemail: “Babe, Talia can vouch for me! I swear, I had a real emergency that just popped up!” “Tomorrow, I promise I’ll take you to see the movie. We’ll watch it together, okay?” I didn’t reply. I finally realized my future no longer required his participation. 1 Dean came home while I was sitting on the couch playing a mobile game. “Honey, can I trade these roses for a bowl of your famous chicken noodle soup?” He knelt on the floor, looking sheepish and overtly charming, tentatively holding out a bouquet of deep red roses. I didn’t stop my game, only giving him a brief look. “Thank you.” Seeing my mild reaction, he visibly relaxed, humming as he turned on the TV to catch the entertainment news. Just as the crystal exploded and my rank went up to the next star, I gathered up the takeout containers and walked toward the kitchen. Passing the trash can, I tossed the bouquet inside. His face froze. “What the hell was that?” I was washing my hands and, confused by his abrupt, accusatory tone, glanced at him. He was staring at the trash can, looking like I’d just stomped on his sincere, fragile heart. I offered a simple explanation: “I’m allergic to pollen.” The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them. Unless he’d developed early-onset amnesia, he couldn’t have forgotten that two of my trips to the emergency room were due to severe pollen allergies. In previous fights, I’d accepted his roses with apology cards to give him an easy out. Now, I just felt stupid for ever letting him get away with it. Dean looked awkward. He tried to pivot. “Okay, I’ll get you a different gift next time, I promise. Anyway, I’m starving, Anya.” I yawned and headed for the bedroom. “There’s instant ramen in the pantry.” Dean looked stunned. He stared at me, incredulous. “You’re not going to make it for me?” He used to complain my homemade soup was “too simple” and “bland,” but whenever he specifically asked for my cooking, I’d feel a rush of quiet satisfaction, as if he’d finally admitted he needed me. His face darkened now. “I want your egg drop soup! Didn’t you say instant ramen was unhealthy?” I paused, speaking seriously. “Once or twice won’t hurt. Besides, you have that iron stomach, right?” My words stopped him cold. He was a former pro gamer and now an Esports coach. Because of his erratic training schedule, he often neglected healthy eating, and his stomach was a mess. I used to go out of my way to make sure he ate well. I wouldn’t have known he was feeding my carefully prepared, early-morning nutrition meals to someone else if I hadn’t decided to surprise him with soup at his training facility one day. I lost it that day. I cried, I yelled. Dean just watched my meltdown quietly. When I finally tired myself out, he pulled me into his arms. “If I really wanted Talia, you think you’d still be here?” “Anya, you’re two years older than me. Can you just be mature about this? It was just a lunchbox.” “She has a delicate stomach, so I gave her the meal to help her out. I have an iron stomach; I can eat anything.” Dean frowned, looking me up and down. He let out a short, cold laugh. “You’re still mad because I missed the movie, aren’t you?” “Fine, be mad at me. But this is between us. You just quietly leaving the group chat—how do you think that makes Talia look? She’s the admin.” It was just a group for boosting ranks; members came and went. Me leaving would embarrass Talia? “I’m not throwing a fit. I don’t know anyone in that chat. It makes no difference if I leave.” I was too tired for this and wanted to sleep. But he changed his expression and blocked the bedroom door. “You left right when Talia was asking me to play a match.” “Anyone who doesn’t know the situation will assume she intervened in our relationship and drove you out of the group.” That made me laugh for real. He was afraid his childhood friend would be labeled a homewrecker. “Fine. Fine. I’ll make a post clarifying it. Tomorrow.” “Is that what this is about…” Bang. I locked the door behind me. 2 Dean wasn’t the type to sleep on the sofa—that was below him. The last time he slept on the sofa was right before he retired from professional gaming. I had stayed up all night with him during a training session. I fell asleep on his single bed while watching a movie. He was afraid of waking me, so he tiptoed away and squeezed himself onto a small futon couch for the night. I told him to replace the tiny bed with a queen size. He just smiled and tapped my nose. “Don’t think for a second you’re going to be able to control me twenty-four-seven.” Now, the practice room had a new, huge bed. When I asked him why, he shrugged. “Talia hosts tournaments sometimes, and she stops by to rest. The old bed wasn’t comfortable for her.” His blunt honesty left me speechless. He didn’t even realize he was instinctively putting Talia before everything else. Dean didn’t show up at the apartment for three days. But his Instagram feed was overflowing with his life. He was back to racing and hitting the city’s hottest bars, completely in his element. He’d posted more in three days than he had in the last six months combined. Scrolling down, I saw Talia’s recent post. The photo showed Dean in his racing suit, his arm casually around Talia’s waist, raising a trophy and grinning. The caption: Boys will be boys. Guess he’s still a big kid. They looked exactly like a couple in the throes of new romance, sharing a moment of triumph. I tapped the like button. Then I called a car service and went to the office to submit my resignation. My manager was surprised. “So sudden?” She knew how hard I’d fought to get here. From an industry novice to someone well-respected with strong connections—it had cost me countless late nights, endless rounds of drinks, and swallowing my pride more times than I could count. I didn’t actually love the work. I persisted for two reasons: one, the job was strategically helpful for Dean’s career; and two, I was fiercely competitive and needed to prove I could succeed. As she signed the paperwork, my manager teased me. “I heard your family is overseas. Are you going back to get married?” I smiled and shook my head. “I guess I’m just homesick.” I had defied my family’s wishes to chase this love across the country. It turned out I bet on the wrong person. When my colleagues heard I was leaving, they insisted on a farewell dinner. I couldn’t refuse, so I agreed to host. I didn’t expect to run into Dean and Talia at the restaurant. Fortunately, they were on their way out just as we were being seated. As we brushed past, Dean gave me a cold, dismissive look, then smiled and wrapped his arm around Talia’s shoulders. “Let’s go. Big brother is taking you for some killer shots tonight.” A flicker of surprise crossed Talia’s face, quickly replaced by a challenging look directed at me. She leaned into Dean’s ear, giggling. “Aren’t you worried about Anya getting upset?” Dean scoffed. “She doesn’t get a say.” I heard their retreating footsteps and felt a wave of relief. This was best. No awkward small talk required. The dinner with my colleagues was fun and went on past midnight. I was trying to call a cab when a familiar Porsche Panamera pulled up beside me. The window lowered, revealing Dean’s grim face. “Get in.” I was annoyed and surprised—drunk driving was illegal. He instantly saw my thought and snapped impatiently. “Hanging out with a bunch of guys, drinking until midnight. You’re unbelievable, Anya.” “I haven’t had a drop of alcohol. Now, move the car, or I’ll get a cab.” It was genuinely hard to find a ride at this hour. I swallowed my annoyance and climbed into the back seat. I closed my eyes for a moment to rest. When I opened the window for some fresh air, I realized the car hadn’t moved. I opened my eyes and met Dean’s intense, complicated gaze. “Anya Wells, am I your chauffeur?” I paused, then spoke without thinking. “Huh? Didn’t you say I don’t get carsick, so I should just sit in the back?” 3 I wasn’t a person who liked to dredge up old wounds—especially since I was already planning to break up with him. But his righteous accusation, as if I were the rude one, made me throw that jab. The passenger seat had briefly belonged to me. But after Talia moved, Dean started “conveniently” driving her to and from work. She got violently carsick, and Dean gave me a definitive look: “Anya, you’re fine in the car. Go sit in the back.” The words choked me. My nose stung. “Why should I? I won’t.” From then on, he left early every day just to avoid me, terrified I might try to ride in his car. I sighed and closed my eyes again. “If you’re not driving, open the door. I’ll call a Lyft.” I heard an exasperated sigh, and the engine finally turned over. When we got home, Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, his face etched with weariness. “Honey, can we just stop fighting now?” All I wanted was a hot bath. I casually agreed. “Sure.” He suddenly became agitated. “Talia and I are only friends. She said she’d never been racing, so I took her. That’s all.” “I know.” I stood in front of the bathroom cabinet, debating between a bath bomb and Epsom salts. He seemed lost for a response. “Then why didn’t you even reply to my texts?” I pretended not to hear and stepped into the bathroom. It was only then that I saw how many messages he’d sent after I learned to block him out. I went to the bar because you locked the door. I couldn’t sleep on the floor, could I? I’ve decided I’m never giving up racing for you. I was kidding, Anya! Don’t take it seriously. Not replying to me? You’re really going through with this. I’m waiting for your shift to end so I can take you home. Anya, I give up… Thinking back to the movie night, the sheer emptiness of waiting for a single text from him, I suddenly understood. He could care. He could be anxious about missing a message. He could guard his chat window all day, just waiting for my reply—but only when I pulled away. Dean used to set my contact to Do Not Disturb because he found me annoying. But the constantly buzzing gaming group chat? He’d never muted that. No wonder Talia could tag him in the group and get a reply in seconds. I got out of the shower and felt a new kind of dilemma. The apartment only had one bedroom with a comfortable bed. If I broke up with him right now, I’d have nowhere to sleep. Dean seemed even more distressed. He looked at me, opening and closing his mouth as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t. Then his phone rang. It was Talia. He quickly answered, the girl’s muffled, crying voice faintly audible. He hung up, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Talia had an accident, didn’t she? Don’t worry. Go.” His tension eased. “She got into a fender-bender. It’s her first time, and she doesn’t know what to do. I’m just going to go help her.” “Please, don’t read anything more into this. I’m begging you.” He naturally reached out and gave me a quick, thoughtless hug. I stood rigid, barely stopping myself from pushing him away with all my strength. Focused only on Talia, he missed my small, telling gesture. He turned and rushed out the door. Before falling asleep, I unpinned Dean’s contact from the top of my chat list. He sent several more scattered messages. The latest read: The hospital won’t let me leave. They said I have to stay as a guardian. I’ll take you shopping tomorrow… I didn’t read past that. I tossed my phone aside and fell asleep. 4 Dean’s “tomorrow” was never actually tomorrow. After my resignation handoff was finalized, I moved into my best friend Piper’s apartment. Late one night, we ordered a ton of fried chicken and huddled on the sofa to watch a horror movie. Just before the jump scare was about to pop up, I cleverly started scrolling through my phone. When I saw Talia’s Instagram post, it felt like I’d missed the jump scare entirely. The photo showed Dean, sleeves rolled up, offering a peeled apple to a frail, white-haired elderly woman. Little Grandma, I finally pulled it off and brought him to meet you. The comments below were what really hit me: If Dean’s “pretend boyfriend” stunt gets back to Anya, she’s gonna flip the entire planet, LOL. Anya shouldn’t be jealous, haha. Dean can’t live without her. These were his former teammates. They had always disliked me, thinking I was too controlling, too old, and unworthy of Dean. Dean had always passively allowed their snide remarks and insults. He’d just laugh and wave it off. “They’re just joking. You know I can’t live without you.” It turned out that simple, dismissive reassurance had become their private joke at my expense. “What are you looking at?” Piper clapped my shoulder. Startled, I dropped my phone, and she snatched it up. Her eyes immediately went red with fury. “That dog! I’m going to kill him!” She immediately called Dean. He didn’t answer. “It’s okay, Piper. I don’t love him anymore.” I wasn’t heartbroken; my eyes just felt a little raw. Piper sighed and helped me block Dean’s number and all his social media accounts. “I just feel like you wasted so much time.” It wasn’t a waste; seeing the truth of this relationship now was still a win. Piper’s anger faded as quickly as it came. When the delivery arrived, she insisted on playing rock-paper-scissors to see who had to answer the door. “You cheated!” I laughed. I pulled open the door, and my smile froze instantly. Dean stood on the mat, travel-worn and haggard. I was about to slam the door shut, but he braced his hand against the frame, his eyes red and his voice hoarse. “Anya, you quit your job behind my back, and you blocked me?”

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Six years later, I saw Serena Hartley again at the alumni mixer. She was standing just outside the restaurant entrance, shivering slightly in a crisp, light designer dress, stamping her feet to keep warm. “Liam, I’m so happy you actually came.” She rushed toward me, her voice the soft, melodic murmur I remembered. “You still remember the maple-pecan cinnamon rolls from the Old Town Bakery, right? I got up at the crack of dawn and waited in line forever for them.” She held out a steaming paper bag. “Hurry, try one. Tell me they still taste the same.” I pushed the bag back, my expression flat. “I haven’t liked those in years.” Serena’s smile froze mid-frame. She reached out and took my arm. “Don’t be angry anymore, okay?” Her voice dropped to a plea. “Let the past stay in the past. Please?” She paused, her eyes searching mine. “I told you, no matter what, you will always be the most important person in the world to me.” Watching her gently wipe away a manufactured tear, the platinum band on her ring finger catching the light, I shook my head. “No, it’s not going to pass.” The story went sour, crashed, and burned six years ago. There was no point in talking about what-ifs anymore. 1 “When you left for San Francisco without a word, I worried about you for so long.” I raised my eyes to Serena. She was wearing a meticulously tailored tweed suit—Chanel-adjacent—and speaking with that same gentle, almost liquid softness. Everyone always said Serena was the ideal wife, the perfect partner. I used to believe it, too. She was thoughtful, attentive, always sensing what people needed. She was the Campus Queen, the ultimate sweetheart, the Golden Girl everyone put on a pedestal. When she became the Student Body President, her popularity skyrocketed. I genuinely felt that if I hadn’t snagged her early, a perfect girlfriend like her would have been completely out of my league. That’s why, when she’d stammered out her wish to keep our relationship a secret, I’d agreed without a second thought. “Liam, if our dating goes public, I’m afraid of too much attention. It’s for us,” she’d insisted. Back then, I just thought she was being considerate of our privacy. “Liam, sit here. You get cold easily; that spot by the vent is too drafty.” As I walked with Serena toward our designated table, she thoughtfully handed me a warm, damp cloth to clean my hands. I glanced at the seating chart. Myself, Serena, and Harrison Pierce were all seated together. Good. That made tonight’s plan much more convenient. I hadn’t come to this reunion to catch up; I’d come to finally settle a score. “Well, well. Look who the cat dragged in. The home-wrecking male gigolo.” That familiar, abrasive voice. I turned and there he was: Harrison Pierce. He draped an arm possessively around Serena, staking his claim. “Six years later, and you’re still shameless enough to chase her all the way here?” Serena patted his arm, her voice gentle. “Harrison, please don’t. Liam has probably had a difficult few years on his own.” The rest of the alumni at the table started buzzing, their eyes darting between us. I didn’t acknowledge Harrison. I just smiled faintly and took my seat. Harrison’s face darkened, but he just tugged Serena down into the seat directly opposite me. The small talk started up immediately. “It’s great to finally have a full reunion this year.” “I heard not only is Liam Hawthorne here, but even the old class secretary who moved overseas is joining us.” “Hey, Serena and Harrison, you’ve been married for years now. Why haven’t you had a baby yet?” “Such a gorgeous couple. It’d be a shame not to have a few more little ones.” At that, the polished smile on Serena’s face flickered, showing a split-second of unnatural stiffness. Harrison quickly jumped in. “That’s on me. I’m afraid if Serena has a baby, she’ll split her love for me.” He squeezed her hand. “We’ve faced so many challenges and still made it through.” He then turned to me, lighting a cigarette with a deliberate air of nonchalance. “Isn’t that right, Liam?” He blew out a plume of smoke. “After all this time, you’re not still fantasizing about my wife, are you?” 2 Harrison had raised his voice. The entire room heard him. All eyes in the room were now focused on me. Serena’s eyes, bright with a strange anticipation, seemed to be waiting for my answer, too. My phone chimed. I used the notification as an excuse to avoid answering, pretending to check a call. My wife was texting: Almost there. Knowing she was about to join our table, I quickly snapped a photo of the room and sent it to her. Serena caught the movement. “Liam, you went completely off the grid these past few years. What were you doing?” She leaned forward, concern etched on her perfect face. “Did you run into some trouble?” “You don’t have to pretend everything is fine. You can tell us. We’re classmates; we’ll help if we can.” Harrison chimed in, feigning camaraderie. “Yeah, Liam, no need to put on an act for your old college buddies.” He gestured dismissively at my suit. “This whole ‘bespoke’ thing, these unheard-of labels you’re wearing…” He chuckled. “I get it. After all these years, a guy cares about his image and his status.” Watching Harrison go on and on, I cut him off, my voice even. “After all those years with Serena, you two really have become exactly alike.” “So incredibly fake.” Harrison shot up from his chair, ready to charge across the table. Serena quickly grabbed his sleeve and pulled him back. The other alumni started playing peacemaker. “Liam, you dropped out so early. Without a degree, it must be tough to find work, right?” “Look, you can’t blame everyone else for what happened back then. You did kind of cross a line…” The chatter went on, a cascade of thinly veiled accusations and casual cruelty. Not one person seemed to care about how I felt. I let out a short, hollow laugh, which made everyone pause. When the room fell silent, I spoke, my voice calm. “That thing? Are you referring to the time I was slandered as the ‘home-wrecking male gigolo’?” Serena spoke softly. “Liam, you’ve changed so much. You never used to want anyone to bring that up.” She looked at me, still the picture of gentle solicitude, her expression full of concern. Unfortunately, it was that exact brand of soft, gentle cruelty—her velvet-gloved strike—that had destroyed me over and over. 3 Serena and I grew up as neighbors. Unlike the flawless Campus Queen everyone saw in college, her home life was sordid and fractured. Her father was constantly cheating, and their home was a battlefield of fights and abuse. After he tried to sexually assault her during a drunken rage, she convinced her mother to divorce him and they moved near my family to escape his harassment. My mother constantly praised Serena—a good, sensible girl who took care of her family. My mother gave her free tutoring and always made her a hot meal when no one was home. Slowly, over time, we fell for each other, and after graduation, we became official. Serena always said that the moment she first saw me, she knew I was the man she could trust her life to. She’d claimed that, aside from her mother, I was the most important person to her in the world. She became the perfect girlfriend, attentive and doting, terrified of me suffering even the smallest slight. My mother used to say I must have been a saint in a past life to deserve Serena. So when she cried and begged me to go to the same university as her, I didn’t hesitate to change my enrollment. I gave up my spot in the pre-law program I loved to follow her to a less competitive school. I was young then, and I believed that true love was invincible. If she hadn’t been blinded by Harrison Pierce’s relentless pursuit, I truly thought we would be together forever. In the beginning, Serena was annoyed by Harrison more than interested. “Harrison is like a mosquito, I can’t get rid of him,” she’d complain. “My personality is too soft. If I try to be harsh, he thinks I’m playing hard to get.” She started avoiding him, but that only seemed to encourage Harrison. He kept up a steady stream of expensive gifts, and soon, everyone on campus was shipping them as a couple. Slowly, I noticed her attempts to avoid him turn into quiet companionship. The luxury jewelry she’d once refused was now draped around her neck. I confronted her about it a few times. Each time, her eyes would well up, and she’d cry, “You know boys are so sensitive about their pride, Liam. If I reject him too harshly, I’ll devastate him. He likes me so much; I can’t be that cruel.” But the real turning point was when she voted for Harrison for the Student Body Vice Presidency, a position I had desperately wanted. I was furious and demanded an explanation. Her beautiful, crescent-moon eyebrows furrowed slightly, but her voice remained soft and musical. “Harrison is so impulsive. If I didn’t vote for him, he’d throw a massive fit and cause a scene. You know he’s like a pampered toddler; it takes so much effort to calm him down.” As she spoke, the corners of her mouth curled up in a tiny, gentle smile, an expression filled with subtle, unfamiliar warmth. I had seen the way she used to love me. I knew her heart had shifted. Yet, I still tried to cling to any proof that she was still mine. I started manufacturing problems and petty drama, just so she would have to use her energy to fix them—just so I could see her still fighting for me. The final hammer blow came when my tablet synced with her electronic journal. The cold, unforgiving digital text documented her anxiety and frustration: 【Job hunting failed again. Is it true that people from ordinary backgrounds can never get ahead?】 【Harrison pulled strings with his family. I’m interning at Pierce Group without even an interview.】 【I shouldn’t betray Liam, but… what can he really give me?】 【Liam started trouble again today. I must have spoiled him too much before.】 【The scarf Harrison gave me was over four figures. He really does love me.】 【I’m so sorry, Liam…】 The journal entry stopped on the day of the student election. I’d always believed you should cherish what you have when you find it, but the result told me that people change. My girlfriend was gone. 4 I broke up with Serena. She cried and pleaded for me to stay, but I walked away. I finally accepted the fact that Serena had only loved me briefly. However, Serena became the one who wouldn’t let go. Beyond the daily flood of texts and calls, she began showing up everywhere I went. I asked her what she wanted, and her eyes would fill with tears. “Liam, you can let go of three years of history so easily, but I can’t.” Her body would tremble, and the tears would slide down her cheeks, a single drop landing on my heart, making it waver. I told her to give me three days to think. That very night, Harrison posted their official announcement on social media. I laughed coldly and blocked her everywhere. The anger and humiliation festered, and I fell ill the next day. As I drifted in a feverish sleep, I heard someone screaming my name outside. It was Serena. Unable to contact me and hearing I’d taken a leave of absence, she’d bought me medicine and rushed it over. “Liam, you never take care of yourself, you get sick easily, and you hate taking pills,” she called up. “I’m going to wait here until you come down.” The neighbors started peering out curiously. I stumbled out the door to grab the medication. That evening, Harrison posted about me online: 【Look how shameless the campus gigolo is now @LiamHawthorne】 The post included a badly-timed photo of me accepting the medicine from Serena, making it look like I was trying to pull her into a hug. He included dozens of screencaps of my sweet, loving texts to Serena from years ago, carefully omitting all the time stamps. He even uploaded several heavily AI-edited, suggestive photos of me, implying I was some kind of male prostitute. The comments were immediately filled with “insider” details: 【He rents a place off-campus just to bring girls home.】 【Don’t let the innocent face fool you. He’s been the cheapest date on campus for years.】 People didn’t care about the truth; they just gorged on the gossip. The post went viral instantly. Walking around campus, I was met with whispers and looks of disgust. “God, the nerve of that sleaze… a third wheel and a gigolo.” I tried to act tough, but every night I had to take an aggressive dose of sleeping pills just to fall asleep. I was the victim of the failed relationship, yet a simple rumor had successfully branded me as the detested other man. I started to fear leaving the apartment, hiding in my rental, hoping the rumors would eventually die down. One day, in the cafeteria, one of Harrison’s cronies emptied a box of condoms into my tray of food. I couldn’t take it anymore. I unblocked Serena and sent a single text: 【Please, help me.】 5 Serena replied quickly: 【Liam, Harrison is just a little childish, he’s not a bad person.】 【Don’t worry, I promise I’ll clear all this up for you.】 Soon after, the post vanished, and Harrison stopped harassing me. I tentatively started leaving the house. The other students had new gossip, and I faded back into anonymity. The period of cyberbullying felt like a terrible, surreal interlude. Just when I thought it was all over, a video was uploaded to the campus forum. It was Serena. She was gently draped around Harrison, her voice soft and pure. “My heart has only ever been yours, Harrison.” “Liam and I had a brief acquaintance, but I had no idea about any of the feelings he had for me.” Her statement sealed my fate, confirming to everyone that I was the shameless, unwanted third party in their perfect relationship. The wave of cyberbullying crashed down again, stronger than before. My hands trembling, I tried to contact Serena, only to find I was blocked again. Then, one afternoon, Harrison’s entourage surrounded me in a dark alley, yelling at me to drop my pants. “What are you pretending for? They already posted pictures. Let us see if you’re as big as they say.” “Don’t be a jerk, man. Gender doesn’t matter. Let me get my rocks off; maybe I’ll feel bad for you then.” The group roared with laughter, pinning me to the ground. Several of them roughly started pulling down my jeans. I grabbed a jagged piece of rock from the ground and plunged it into the nearest guy. In the ensuing panic and yells of pain, I scrambled up and ran for my life. Because of the incident, my mother was called to the school. Watching my middle-aged mother bow and scrape, apologizing repeatedly to the teachers and the parents of Harrison’s friends, broke me. What had I done wrong? In the end, I was forced to drop out. I sank into a deep, debilitating depression, hiding at home. The early-morning wake-ups were harder than the sleepless nights; I would sit alone, waiting for the first hint of daylight before I dared to close my eyes. My mother never blamed me; she only told me to rest. Engulfed in the failure of my own love story, I failed to see how hard she was struggling to support me. One day, a phone call woke me from a deep sleep: “Liam Hawthorne? Your mother was in a car accident. You need to come down.” 6 To smooth things over with Harrison’s friends and their parents, my mother had used up all her savings to pay a massive settlement. To take care of me, listless and depressed at home, she had picked up two extra part-time jobs. Our schedules were completely out of sync, and I rarely saw her when I was lucid. When I saw her body in the morgue, I realized how utterly selfish I had been. In those six short months, she had aged terribly, her hair streaked with white. I took her now-icy hand and felt the thick, hardened calluses. My mother had always been meticulous about her hands, calling them a person’s second face. When had she stopped caring about herself for my sake? I listened, dazed and heartbroken, as the police explained the case. I only vaguely remembered something about a Porsche whose brakes failed, hitting my mother as she crossed the street. While going through her meager possessions, I saw the small, silk prayer charm I’d bought for her when I was eighteen, now stained dark red with blood. My emotions finally broke. I sobbed and raged, demanding to see the person responsible. But the driver was just a frail, middle-aged man who worked at a car wash. He claimed he’d taken a client’s car out for a late-night drive and the accident was a terrible coincidence. He was prepared to take the blame. But when I saw the accident vehicle, I knew it was no accident. It was the Porsche Harrison always drove around school, the one he constantly showed off. I’d seen Serena in the passenger seat hundreds of times. I knew the license plate number by heart. I immediately filed suit, insisting this was not an accident. Harrison was brought in for questioning, but he was released again almost immediately. The person who provided his airtight alibi was Serena. “Why, Serena? Did you forget everything my mother did for you when you were a child?” I yelled, grabbing her arm. Serena only stood there, gently weeping, then softly put her arms around me. “Liam, you can’t accuse Harrison of something so terrible based only on suspicion.” She pulled back slightly, looking into my eyes. “I promise I will stay with you, right by your side, until you get through this. Okay?” After hearing those words, I suddenly felt a profound calm. Why bother with a broken umbrella when you’re already drenched? In that moment of total despair, I stopped complaining. I left for San Francisco, cutting all ties. At the table, the class president, oblivious, excitedly announced the formal start of the reunion, snapping me out of my memory. My wife texted: I’m at the door. Harrison then stepped onto the small stage, snatched the microphone from the president, and yelled: “Liam Hawthorne! Six years later, are you still trying to be the home-wrecker?”

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Sienna had told me to dump him about eight hundred times. Each time, I’d hesitate, weeping into my hands. “But he treats me so well.” Sienna would just roll her eyes and tell me to go jump off a bridge. It wasn’t until I found another package of lingerie—meant for Liam, but definitely not from me—that I finally listened to her. Even when he was on his knees begging, I didn’t look back. I was driving over to Sienna’s place to give her the good news when her Instagram post popped up on my feed. A hard launch. The caption read: How could the pavement ever understand the moonlight? She never knew you. I do. The photo was intimate. Liam, eyes red from crying, and Sienna leaning in to kiss his cheek, a consoling angel. Someone commented, accusing her of being the other woman. She replied without a shred of shame: If she could be fooled by a few cheap pieces of lingerie I mailed to her house, how can she claim she really loves him? Besides, she’s so plain. She doesn’t deserve Liam the way I do. I slammed on the brakes and whipped the car around. I was in such a rush to confront her that I didn’t see the oncoming traffic. I died on impact. Then, I opened my eyes. Reborn. Or reset. I was back in the parking lot. I immediately blocked Sienna on everything, got into my car, and prepared to drive away forever. That’s when a woman, her face masked in blood, started pounding on my window. “Mara! Save me! That’s not me!” 1 I froze, hand hovering over the ignition. Outside, the woman was slapping the glass frantically. Her features were a ruin of blood and gore, but I’d known Sienna for thirteen years. I knew the shape of her eyes, the set of her jaw. That was her. But I had just left her upstairs. We had just argued. She was sitting in her living room fuming. How could she be here, battered and bloody? “Mara! Unlock the door!” She yanked at the handle, looking over her shoulder in terror. Like something was hunting her. Thinking of what Sienna—the Sienna upstairs—had done in my past life, a chill crawled up my spine. What if… what if Sienna had been replaced? The Sienna I grew up with wasn’t the type to steal a boyfriend. She wasn’t competitive like that. I looked at the desperate, terrified woman outside my window. I decided to trust my gut. “Quick! Get in!” I blinked hard. And suddenly, I was just sitting in the driver’s seat. Alone. I turned my head. The window was rolled down. The wind was hitting my face, cold and sharp. There was no one banging on the glass. Did I… did I just nod off? “Mara, get back here!” Sienna came storming out of the apartment building entrance. Her face was clean. No blood. Just anger. “What do you mean ‘he treats you well’? You don’t want to break up with him?” She looked exactly as she had in my previous life. Furious, protective. “How many times has he ‘accidentally’ received lingerie from some mystery woman? And this time it was used! The mistress is practically dancing on your grave, and you’re still nostalgic?” The exact same words. In my past life, whenever a package arrived, I’d run to her crying. And she would say, without hesitation: “Dump him.” But I always felt I should let Liam explain. And every time he did, I’d send Sienna a text: It was all a misunderstanding. We’re good now. It used to drive her crazy. But now, looking at her indignation, I remembered the post she made after she took Liam from me. It wasn’t in vain, telling her to break up for so long. Every time I mailed those packages, I was terrified she’d figure out it was me. I tried so hard to confuse her. Finally, she’s not thinking with her heart anymore. I won. I opened the car door and stepped out. I looked down at her from the curb. “Sienna. We’re done.” Her pupils contracted. “You’re ending our friendship over a guy?” “Did I stutter?” “Mara, we’ve known each other for thirteen years. You’ve only known him for three!” Exactly. So why did you stab me in the back? I stared her down. “Yes. We’re done.” “Fine.” She pointed a manicured finger at me. “When he ruins your life, don’t come crying back to me!” She spun around and stomped back upstairs. For a second, I felt a wave of dizziness. She sounded so much like the Sienna I knew. The real one. If I had said those words to the Sienna I thought I knew, she wouldn’t have reacted any differently. I shook my head. The truth of the last life had been revealed. I couldn’t ignore it, no matter how much I wanted to believe in her. Even though the bloody Sienna was just a nightmare, the Sienna upstairs who plotted against me wasn’t any different from a stranger. This friendship was ending in the ugliest way possible. I got back in the car and rolled up the window. As I reached for the gear shift, my eyes locked onto the glass. There, printed clearly against the sunlight. A chaotic mess of bloody handprints. Right where the woman in my dream had been pressing. I looked up toward the apartment complex. Behind the curtains of Sienna’s bedroom window, a pair of eyes seemed to be watching me dead on. 2 I wiped the window clean. People from dreams don’t leave physical evidence. Sienna’s complex was full of unruly kids. I decided it had to be a prank. When I got home, there was another package on my doorstep. I opened it. Purple lace stockings and a matching corset. Reeking of cheap, heavy perfume. In my last life, my first reaction was to scream at Liam. Then I’d go cry to Sienna. But now, I knew exactly who had sent it. The image of the bloody face from my dream flashed in my mind. My hand clenched around the stockings. If the Sienna upstairs isn’t the real Sienna, then the real one must be… I thought about it. I needed to go back to her apartment. To avoid suspicion, I baked a “peace offering” cake. When I showed up at her door with a fruit cake, her first instinct was to slam the door in my face. I jammed my foot in the gap, putting on my best pathetic face. “Sienna, please! That woman sent more underwear to provoke me! I know I was wrong. He’s trash! Absolute trash!” Sienna eyed me with suspicion. I pouted. “Please, Sienna. Without you, who’s going to help me destroy him?” She let out a cold laugh. “Fine. I’ll forgive you this once.” The door opened. I walked in, my eyes scanning everything. I was looking for any sign of a struggle, any trace of a second person. “What’s with you?” She turned around, holding a knife to cut the cake. “You keep looking around. What, you think I’m hiding a man?” She was technically right. But it was strange. Other than her things and mine, there was no trace of a third person. If the bloody Sienna from my dream was here, she would have left a trail. I watched her slice the cake. Maybe… maybe I was wrong? “Did that loser boyfriend of yours finally make you lose your mind?” Sienna forked a piece of cake and shoved it into her mouth. She chewed enthusiastically. “Hey, the frosting isn’t bad this time.” I stared at her mouth. My heart stopped. Sienna was deathly allergic to mangoes. I had deliberately filled the middle layer with mango puree to test her. And this person, who was eating it without a care in the world… Who is she? 3 “What’s wrong?” She looked at me, chewing on a piece of mango pulp. My face went pale. My legs felt heavy, like lead. “Nothing…” “If it’s nothing, then eat!” She smiled and handed me a fork. I hesitated, taking it. Under the sleeve of my sweater, my other hand had already dialed 911 on my phone. My hand trembled as I reached for the cake. Slap! Her expression darkened instantly. She smacked my hand away. “What are you doing?” “Sienna?” I looked at her, shocked by the sudden shift in her demeanor. My heart hammered against my ribs. “Why are you trying to eat the mango?” She stared at me with intense, terrifying focus. My breathing hitched. Did she know? Did she know I was testing her? “You’re allergic to mangoes. Did you forget?” “What?” I pointed at myself. Me? Allergic to mangoes? Since I was a kid, mango had been my favorite fruit. Sienna was the one with the allergy. “Did that guy drive you crazy? You forgot your own fatal allergy?” Sienna glared at me. I looked at her. I put the piece of mango from the fork into my mouth. I stared right back. “Sienna, watch closely. The person allergic to mangoes has never been me. It’s you.” Her face went white. “Mara…” “So, tell me. Who the hell are you?” She looked at me in shock. “Speak!” I stood up to grab her collar. Suddenly, my throat seized up. Tighter than a vise. I fell to my knees, clawing at my neck. I looked down at my arm and saw angry red hives erupting across my skin. “I told you! I told you that you were allergic, why won’t you listen!” Sienna was on her phone, screaming. “Hello? 911? My friend is having a severe allergic reaction! Mangoes! Please hurry!” Mango allergy… Me? That’s impossible. Sienna was the one allergic to mangoes. Always. Thud. I collapsed onto the floor. The last thing I heard was Sienna’s frantic, terrified voice calling my name. 4 When I woke up in the hospital, I still refused to believe I was the one with the allergy. Until the diagnosis report was thrown in my lap. The doctor frowned. “You were admitted to this very ward as a child for acute anaphylaxis. Did I not tell you explicitly that you could never touch a mango again? Not even the juice?” I looked at the words Mango Allergy typed clearly on the paper. I turned a look of disbelief toward Liam. He sighed, sitting by the bed. “Mara, when we first started dating, you told me you were allergic. I’ve been keeping mangoes away from you for three years. Did you really forget?” My mind wasn’t on the cheating anymore. I crushed the medical report in my fist. A terrifying thought took root in my brain. What if… what if I’m the one who’s sick? Not just the allergy. But everything else. That afternoon, I found myself sitting in the psychiatric ward. 5 “I am absolutely certain the lingerie I received wasn’t fake.” I dumped the pile of lace and silk onto the doctor’s desk. The psychiatrist raised an eyebrow. “So, I don’t believe that what’s happening to me is illogical. Take the underwear. Take the bloody handprints on my car. The mango allergy… maybe that was an accident.” I had just been reborn, after all. Maybe I got some wires crossed during the reset. But Sienna’s betrayal in my past life—that wasn’t a mistake. The doctor adjusted her glasses and sighed. “You’re right. These objects are real. But the lingerie…” She turned my phone around and slid it across the desk. “I found a different story on your device.” The Amazon app was open. It was logged into a secondary account. I clicked on the order history. Page after page. It was all lingerie. The most recent purchase? Purple lace stockings and a corset. And a bottle of heavy perfume. I slumped back into the chair. For the past year… all those packages I received… I bought them? I looked over at Sienna. Does that mean… she actually thought Liam was cheating on me? That she was trying to protect me? And Liam. He sat beside me, holding my hand, and sighed. “So you were buying them for me? I thought someone was trying to break us up, pretending to be a mistress. I spent months trying to track down the sender.” The doctor pushed her glasses up her nose again. “As for the bloody handprints, I asked a friend in law enforcement to pull the street surveillance.” She played the video on her tablet. It showed me stumbling down the stairs. My hands were covered in red paint or dye from somewhere. I looked drunk, unable to figure out the door handle. I smeared red handprints all over the window and the handle. I accidentally triggered the window to roll down. Finally, I managed to open the door, got in, and passed out in the driver’s seat. When I woke up in the video, I looked at the open window with total confusion. “So, Ms. Mara. The bloody handprints? You left them.” I stared in disbelief as she placed a diagnosis on the table. Delusional Disorder. She spoke calmly. “Or perhaps a form of dissociative identity disorder. You do things that are out of character, and then you forget them. Based on the timeline, you’ve been suffering from this for a while.” So… In my past life, when I thought Liam was cheating and Sienna was stabbing me in the back… It was all me? I was directing the whole play? Liam gripped my trembling shoulders and pulled me into a hug. “It’s okay. I actually noticed something was off. I’m ready to face this with you.” Sienna grabbed my hand too. “Don’t be scared, bestie. We’ve known each other for thirteen years. We can get through anything. I’ll help you get better.” Tears welled up in my eyes. No one betrayed me. From start to finish, it was just my broken mind. “Doctor? Is it curable?” Liam asked, his voice full of worry. The doctor looked down, writing a prescription. “It can be controlled with medication. At the very least, she won’t see things that aren’t there, and she won’t act out anymore.” Liam squeezed me tighter. “See? There’s a solution. Don’t be afraid.” I nodded vigorously. I looked at Sienna. No, I should say… the Sienna I was hallucinating. Because standing right behind the Sienna holding my hand… was the bloody woman again. “Mara…” She took a step forward, leaving a wet, red footprint on the tile. “I told you… that’s not me.” I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. “What is it?” the doctor asked. “Nothing. Just another hallucination,” I said, pointing behind Sienna. “I see the bloody version of Sienna again.” The doctor smiled gently. “Don’t worry, once you take the meds…” She followed my finger. Her words died in her throat. “AAAAHHH!” She fell out of her chair, scrambling backward. “Run! Run!” Sienna turned around. Her face went pale at the exact same moment Liam’s did. “RUN!” 6 The doctor shoved me aside and bolted out the door. The last thing I remember was the back of my head cracking against a metal filing cabinet. Then, darkness. When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. Liam let out a breath and stroked my hair. “Does it hurt? Do you know who I am? You didn’t knock yourself stupid, did you?” “Liam!” I grabbed his wrist. “Where is Sienna?” “You rang?” Sienna walked in the door carrying three takeout containers. “I go out to get us food and you miss me already?” I froze. “How are you guys so calm?” Sienna blinked. “What do you mean? The doctor said it’s just a mild concussion. You just bumped your head.” “No!” I tried to sit up. “You saw it! Both of you! Why are you acting like nothing happened?” Sienna blinked again. “Saw what?” “You!” “I’m right here.” “No… the other one! The bloody one!” I gestured wildly, frustration boiling over. “You definitely saw her! You guys screamed!” Their expressions shifted. A micro-second of a glance passed between them. Sienna stepped forward and hugged me. “Okay, Mara, relax. You fell. You hit your head. You’re hallucinating again.” “It wasn’t a hallucination!” I pushed her away. “You saw it. I know you saw it! You were terrified!” “Okay, okay.” A hand clamped over my mouth. Liam cleared his throat. “Honey, you’re remembering it wrong.” “I am not!” “Really, Mara. We…” Sienna looked at Liam again. “We didn’t see anything.” I nodded slowly. “Fine. You didn’t see it. But someone else definitely did.” I swung my legs out of bed. I marched down the hall and kicked open the door to the psychiatrist’s office. I pointed a finger at the doctor from before. “She saw it!”

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Everyone in the Manhattan elite knew that Rhett Kingston would lie about anything to protect his ‘sister,’ Sloane Avery. He’d even torn my ultrasound report to shreds right in front of the family at a holiday gala. “I have a congenital motility disorder, Wrenley. If you want to trap me, at least come up with a believable lie.” As the room drowned me in sneering, pitying glances, he gently wiped a tear from Sloane’s eye. It was in that moment I finally understood: for the unloved, even pregnancy is a capital offense. I touched my slightly swollen belly, turned, and jumped off the deck of that super-yacht. “Rhett, since you claim you can’t make a baby, then this one must be a ghost’s gift to me.” Five years later, his miniature clone outbid him for the prime development lot he’d been set on acquiring. Rhett’s eyes were bloodshot as he demanded a DNA test. My son just smiled. “Mister, you’re the one with the broken parts. You couldn’t make a smart kid like me if you tried.” 1 The auction hall went utterly silent. That high-pitched, childish voice was a slap across every face in the room. Rhett, down in the front row, had a face twisted with rage. The bidding paddle in his hand crumpled into a wad of useless plastic with a brittle, snapping sound. He was staring at the small boy in the first row, who was swinging his short legs. A face identical to his, yet it was the ultimate, public mockery. Rhett moved. He lunged over the plush chairs, a killing intent radiating from him. The security guards froze; the guests held their breath. He reached out, his fingers curled into a claw, aiming for the child’s collar. The boy didn’t flinch. He just looked up, his eyes—eyes exactly like mine—filled with chilling indifference. Just as Rhett’s hand was about to make contact, a dark blur erupted from the side. A hand encased in a black tactical glove clamped down on Rhett’s wrist. I put every ounce of my strength into the grip. Veins bulged on the back of Rhett’s hand, and the bones groaned. He tried to shake me off, wincing, but I didn’t budge. He followed my arm up, his gaze slamming into my icy pupils. Rhett’s eyes constricted violently. He stared at my face as if he’d seen a ghost, spitting two words through clenched teeth: “Wrenley Shaw?” Instantly, the room erupted. “Wren Shaw? Rhett Kingston’s ex-wife, the one who jumped off the yacht five years ago?” “I heard her body was never recovered. She’s alive?” “I heard she was pregnant with a bastard child and jumped because she was too ashamed…” The whispers buzzed like a swarm of flies. I expressionlessly ripped my hand away. The force made him stumble back a half step. I leaned down, straightened my son’s bowtie, and stood back up. I pulled off the glove, revealing a palm rough and calloused from years spent in salt water. A deep, jagged scar—the signature of acute decompression sickness—ran across my wrist. I looked Rhett dead in the eye. “Mr. Kingston, you have the wrong person. I’m this child’s father. Not your ex-wife.” Behind Rhett, Sloane Avery gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth. “A ghost! Rhett, she’s a ghost!” She scrambled back, trembling, and shrank against Rhett. Rhett instinctively pulled her into his arms, a reflex ingrained in his muscle memory. After he had soothed Sloane, he turned back to me. The initial shock in his eyes had been replaced by extreme loathing. Even after five years, his gaze was a physical stab. Rhett surveyed me, his eyes sweeping over my utility pants and heavy-duty leather boots, finally settling on my son. He sneered. “You didn’t die, but you ran for five years. Did you run out of money? Did you bring the bastard back to shake me down?” His look was the same as one you’d give a stray dog begging for scraps. “Wrenley, is that outfit of yours worth five hundred dollars combined? Did your lover finally get tired of paying your bills?” A few people chuckled nearby. Ignoring him, I took the Rubik’s Cube from my son and placed it on the table. Then, I raised my bidding paddle. My cool, clear voice carried across the hall: “Fifty million dollars.” The room gasped. It was the very piece of land Rhett had to have, and the opening bid was only twenty million. The scorn froze on Rhett’s face. The auctioneer frantically brought down the hammer. A staff member rushed over with the POS machine. I rolled up my sleeve, revealing the vicious scar on my wrist. It was the proof of five years spent fighting for my life. I swiped the card and signed the papers with smooth, fluid movements. “And one more thing,” I said, tucking the black card back into my pocket and looking directly at Rhett. “Mr. Kingston, if you’re not going to use those eyes, you should donate them. Get out of my way.” With that, I took my son’s hand and started to leave. Rhett’s face was dark. He gave a sharp hand signal to his bodyguards. The massive doors slammed shut. A dozen men in black suits sealed the exits. Rhett pushed Sloane aside and advanced on me, step by step, his teeth gritted. “You think you can just walk away? You will tell me who the hell this bastard is.” He pointed at my son, his eyes full of violent intent. “Trying to scam me? I don’t mind verifying paternity right here and now, and making you disappear again.” 2 The waiting room behind the auction stage. A dozen hulking bodyguards had me and my son surrounded. Rhett sat on a leather sofa, his long legs crossed in a display of arrogance. He was turning his signet ring, his eyes narrow and dark. “Talk, Wrenley.” A file was slapped onto the coffee table: the private investigator’s report from five years ago. “Which man sponsored you these five years? Did you use your body to earn fifty million?” Every word was a deep, deliberate wound. Sloane held a steaming mug of herbal tea, her eyes red, the picture of delicate sorrow. “Sister, don’t provoke Rhett. Just tell him who the father is, and the Kingston family will give you a settlement.” Her gaze drifted pointedly toward Rhett’s lower half, her voice dropping, yet perfectly audible to everyone. “After all, everyone knows about Rhett’s diagnosis five years ago.” “To insist the child is his? Isn’t that just twisting the knife in his old wound?” It was a perfectly aimed, brutal blow. My son, Atlas, suddenly laughed. The sound was bright but chillingly devoid of childish warmth. He unwrapped a stick of gum, chewed twice, and looked at Sloane. “Auntie, your perfume is a little heavy. Smells like the industrial-grade cleaner they use in the subway bathrooms.” Sloane’s face stiffened, her tears hanging precariously. Rhett suddenly shot to his feet, raising his hand to slap Atlas across the face. “You ill-mannered bastard! How dare you speak to her that way?” The force in his swing was brutal and unchecked. I snatched my phone off the table and slammed it hard onto the back of his hand. Bang! The phone screen shattered. Rhett’s hand instantly swelled and turned red. He cried out, clutching his hand, glaring at me. “Wrenley Shaw! You hit me for that bastard?” I pulled my son behind me, my eyes cold. “Rhett Kingston, clean up your mouth. Whether he’s a bastard or not—don’t you know the answer yourself?” Rhett’s anger twisted into a laugh, his eyes wild. “Fine! Great!” He roared at the bodyguards. “Drag the little brat out for a DNA test! “I want the results now! I want every person in this city to see whose mongrel child you were carrying! He pointed a shaking finger at my nose, his voice raw. “I will prove my innocence! Prove that I never touched a tramp like you!” To humiliate me, he was willing to publicly declare his own inadequacy. The logic was completely deranged. The bodyguards moved in to grab my son. Atlas didn’t resist. He simply plucked a single strand of hair from his head and offered it. I waved off the bodyguards, took the hair from Atlas, and walked to Rhett. I placed the strand on the coffee table, my eyes regarding him like a piece of trash. “Test it.” My tone was frighteningly calm. “But Rhett, you won’t like the consequences.” Just as Rhett was about to explode again, Sloane gasped and clutched her chest. “Rhett, I don’t feel well. My heart hurts.” Her face went instantly pale, and she slid boneless to the floor. Rhett’s rage evaporated, replaced by pure panic. He shoved me aside, rushing to scoop Sloane into his arms. “Sloane! Where’s your medication? Get the car! Hurry!” He charged toward the door with Sloane. As he passed me, he didn’t spare me a glance. He only tossed back a cold, final order: “Watch this crazy woman and that bastard! They aren’t to leave until the results come back!” Half the room cleared out. I stood there, watching his panicked retreat. It was the same five years ago. If Sloane so much as frowned, the world stopped. Even when I was hemorrhaging in the delivery room. I reached into my bag and pulled out a wrinkled piece of old newspaper—the clipping showing Rhett tearing my ultrasound report in the hospital. I crumpled it into a ball and dropped it into the waste bin. Then, I dialed an encrypted number. “Hello.” “The salvage operation can commence. Bring that item up.” 3 Three days later, the滨海码头. The sea wind was biting. Rhett’s black SUV was parked by the dock. He stood in the wind, clutching the sealed paternity report. Sloane was wrapped in his cashmere overcoat, pressed against him. Her face was flushed, showing no sign of illness. I walked up with Atlas. A bodyguard moved to block me. Rhett waved the manila envelope. His gaze was icy. “You want this?” He pointed to the dark, bottomless water below. “Sloane accidentally dropped the Kingston family heirloom ring. It can’t be lost.” He stared at me, a cruel smile on his lips. “Wrenley, I heard you’re in deep-sea salvage now.” “Since you’re so skilled, why don’t you retrieve it for Sloane?” It was naked humiliation. The late autumn sea water was freezing, and the currents were treacherous. Sloane grabbed Rhett’s arm with fake concern. “Rhett, forget it. “The ring is just a ring. The water is too cold, and Sister is too delicate. Don’t make her go.” She said don’t go, but her eyes were full of provocation and anticipation. Rhett’s face was cold. “It’s your engagement ring. It has to be recovered.” “She’s a professional, isn’t she? If she can’t handle a simple dive, how can she justify that fifty million?” I ignored their performance. I bent down and handed Atlas to my assistant. I stripped off my jacket, revealing the black dive suit underneath. “My terms.” I checked my oxygen tank, my voice sharp and cold. “If I retrieve it, you destroy the paternity report immediately. The Kingstons and I are done. This child will have absolutely no claim on you.” Rhett looked surprised, then sneered. “So eager to destroy it? Looks like you already know the results are shameful. Fine. You have my word.” In his mind, I was desperate and guilty. I put on my mask, bit down on the regulator, and took a running leap. Plunge! I disappeared entirely into the gray-black water. The large monitoring screen on the dock instantly lit up, showing a live feed from the camera on my helmet. My heart rate data was a flat, steady line. Rhett stared at the screen, his brows furrowed. Eight-degree water, and my composure was infuriating him. The visibility underwater was poor. Suddenly, a strong current slammed into me. Someone had tampered with the setup. My supply line jerked violently, and the airflow in my regulator stopped. Suffocation hit me instantly. I looked up. I could vaguely see the operator on the boat deck violently shaking the lines. Sloane had paid someone off. She wanted me dead. On the monitor, my heart rate remained stubbornly stable. I didn’t panic or struggle. Calmly, I reached behind me, cut the main air hose, and opened the small, auxiliary reserve tank. A trick this clumsy wouldn’t be enough. Using the current, I executed a roll, broke free, and plunged straight into the seabed silt. Amidst the tangled scrap metal, a faint glint. I reached out, my fingers clawing through the muck, and seized the ring. My movements were brutal. Three minutes later, the surface broke. I climbed onto the dock, soaked through, my face pale, but my eyes blazing like knives. Rhett looked at me and subconsciously took a step back. I strode directly to Sloane. In front of Rhett, I raised the so-called ‘heirloom’ ring. I squeezed my fingers. A dull, grinding crunch! The jewel-encrusted ring was crushed into an oval shape between my fingers. I tossed it aside. It rolled to a stop near Sloane’s expensive leather boot. “Fake,” I said, pulling off the regulator and smiling coldly. “Just like your person. Copper core under cheap gold plating.” A flake of the ring’s veneer had chipped off, revealing the cheap brass underneath. Sloane’s face went instantly white. She frantically looked at Rhett. Rhett stared at the deformed ring on the ground, then at my water-streaked face. He was speechless. Rhett bent down and picked up the twisted ring. The tarnished brass stung his eyes. His face was ashen. He suddenly whipped his head toward Sloane. The question died in his throat. The colossal LED billboard overlooking the dock suddenly flashed to life. 4 Someone in the crowd gasped: “Is that…?” The screen wasn’t showing an advertisement. It was a live feed from the paternity testing center. On a high perch, my son, Atlas, held a tablet and tapped furiously. He had hacked the dock’s system. On the screen was the director of the testing center, an accomplice I had arranged five years ago. He looked sternly at the camera and broke the seal on the evidence bag. “DNA comparison result: Sample A, Rhett Kingston, and Sample B, Paternity Index 99.9999%.” The director’s voice boomed through the dock’s loudspeakers. “Conclusion: The biological father-son relationship is supported.” The entire dock was dead silent. Then, the conversations erupted, louder than the waves. Rhett stared blankly at the screen, the bronze ring cutting his palm until it bled. “Impossible!” He roared, his eyes bloodshot. “I have a motility disorder! I’m sterile! Wrenley, you forged this!” He was still clinging to that ridiculous lie. I stripped off my soaked dive suit and walked toward him, step by step. I pulled a small voice recorder from my waterproof pouch and pressed play. After a burst of static, Sloane’s tearful voice played: “Rhett, please, my mother will disown me if she finds out I lost the baby and had a hysterectomy. You have to help me.” “If you just admit the problem is yours, Mom won’t blame me.” “You don’t love Wrenley anyway. What’s the big deal if she takes the fall?” Every word in the recording was a fresh slap across Rhett’s face. His face crumbled, inch by inch, until he looked completely devastated. He swayed on his feet. The looks around him shifted from awe to outright contempt. Even his own bodyguards were looking down. Sloane shrieked and lunged at me. “Fake! It’s all spliced together!” She tried to grab the recorder. Atlas spoke coolly from his high perch. “The audio spectral analysis has already been sent to the media. We’ll know if it’s been spliced soon enough.” He paused, then pressed another key. The screen switched to an international birth certificate. “Auntie Sloane, you gave birth to a child named David in California five years ago. You said you couldn’t have children. Whose child is that?” Sloane shook violently and collapsed onto the ground. Rhett looked at her, his eyes filled with the hatred of a man utterly fooled. “You lied to me?” His voice trembled. “You were lying the whole time? “I ruined Wrenley, I ruined my life, for you! And all the while, you already had a child?!” I walked right up to him and reached out to smooth the collar of his shirt, which the wind had messed up. My ice-cold fingertips brushed his skin. He flinched. “Mr. Kingston,” I leaned in close to his ear, my voice dangerously soft. “Your illness was a fake.” “And that ‘unreachable ideal’ you protected for five years? She was screwing around in Europe the whole time. “How do you like that color, Rhett?” Rhett froze, incapable of uttering a single word. Sloane on the ground suddenly let out a frantic scream. She scrambled up and charged madly at Atlas on the high platform. “It’s all your fault! You little bastard!” She grabbed Atlas and hurled him toward the edge of the platform. “Watch out!” I screamed, my voice ripped out of my throat. The boy lost his balance and plummeted toward the black water. Rhett moved. He was closest. As he reached out, Sloane’s foot slipped, and she fell with him. It was the boy or Sloane. In that split second, Rhett made his instinctive choice. He grabbed Sloane’s hand.

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It was three in the afternoon when Rory Lynn, the newest hire, suddenly @-mentioned me in the company-wide chat—a group with hundreds of people. [That bitch at desk 203, can you stop drumming on your keyboard? The vibration is giving me a stomachache!] [My baby is trying to sleep in here. If your noise gives him a concussion, I’ll make sure your whole family pays the price!] I immediately explained that I was rushing a critical proposal and, for the record, I was using a silent keyboard. But she wouldn’t hear it. I patiently tried to reason with her a few times, and to avoid any further conflict, I even requested permission to move my laptop out to the hallway to work. I never imagined that a week later, she would burst into the break room, a steaming kettle of freshly boiled water in her hand, and pour it over my head. I collapsed into the scalding puddle, skin peeling and shredded, yet she still slammed her high heel down on my head like a lunatic, crying hysterically: “It’s your fault! I miscarried! Your keyboard noise killed my son!!” My vision blurred, and I finally lost consciousness—never understanding, even as I died, how a silent keyboard could kill a person. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day she first cursed me out in the group chat. Faced with her familiar abuse, I didn’t back down this time. I fired back immediately, my tone cold and sharp: “Stop acting like a pregnant woman! Your damn rooster is bigger than mine!” 1 The message hit the group, and the hundreds of people who had been enthusiastically discussing strategies immediately fell silent. A few seconds later, Rory Lynn’s messages exploded, flooding the screen: [Anya Reed, what in God’s name are you talking about, you rotten bitch? I’m three months pregnant! My ultrasound reports are right here! How dare you slander me?!] [Everyone, look! Anya Reed at 203 is just a barren cow who can’t stand to see anyone else have a baby!] [@HR @Mr. Harrison, if people like this work here, I’m calling the police! This is defamation! This is a personal attack!] Rory pitched a dramatic fit, and the moment she did, my colleagues rushed to her defense, their accusations pointed squarely at me. Brenda from the Design Department: [Anya, you’ve gone too far. How could you say something like that to a pregnant woman? That mouth is poison!] Another person tried to placate Rory: [Rory, calm down for the sake of the baby. Maybe Anya was just making a terrible joke.] Rory wasn’t about to let it go: [A joke? Who makes a joke like that? I have nothing to say to her! She’s just jealous I married well and have my husband’s child in my belly!] [My pregnancy is already high-risk! The doctor told me to stay on strict bed rest!] [And this whore is over here pounding on her keyboard like a damn jackhammer! If anything happens to my baby, I’m going to skin her alive!] Other colleagues in the building started chiming in: [Seriously, Rory said she felt ill. Can’t you just be quiet?] [It’s already late afternoon. Can’t that proposal wait until tomorrow? Why are you picking a fight with a pregnant woman?] Watching them twist the truth, I started laughing—a cold, humorless sound. In my previous life, that’s exactly how they had systematically driven me into a corner. I explained countless times that I had a silent keyboard, and I worked in the stairwell just to accommodate her. Yet, my reward was her pouring boiling water over me, scalding me from head to toe. Before I died, my skin was burned off, my skull fractured by her heel, and Rory Lynn’s deranged face was the last thing I ever saw. I closed my eyes, the scorching pain of the boiling water still a phantom brand on my soul. Rage and hatred churned in my chest. Rory was still furiously @-mentioning me in the chat: [Cat got your tongue? Why aren’t you talking, you cheap whore? Are you feeling guilty?] [Are you doing this on purpose? You don’t want me to have peace, do you? I finally got pregnant, and you’re trying to kill my son, aren’t you?] [If anything happens to him, can you pay for it? Will you pay with your life?] “Pay with my life?” “Should I pay for the shit you’re going to give birth to?” I stared at those three words, unable to contain my fury any longer. I went to the chat and dropped a voice message in a low, chilling tone: “Fine. Come over here right now. If you dare to drop your pants in front of the entire company, I, Anya Reed, will jump off this building right here and now, to pay for your son’s life!” 2 My voice message detonated the entire company. The chat was silent for a full minute. Then, a commotion erupted near my cubicle. I looked up and saw Rory Lynn, clutching her stomach, being helped by several female colleagues. Her eyes were red as she made her way toward me. “Anya Reed!” Her voice was sharp and wailing, laced with tears, as if she were the victim of some immense tragedy. “How can you be so vicious? What did I ever do to you that you would humiliate me like this?” “I’m carrying a boy! We’ve been waiting for a son for generations! Are you that determined to ruin us?” The women next to her immediately burst out with indignation: “Anya, you are a monster! Rory just started working here, and you’re bullying her like this?” “Exactly! Aren’t you ever going to have children? How can you stand to curse a baby who hasn’t even been born?” “Targeting an unborn baby… don’t you worry about karma!” Rory was still dry-heaving, giving a full-throttle performance. The tears flowed instantly as she leaned weakly on a colleague: “I’m going to kill you… you ruined my reputation… I’m going to kill you…” Her sharp cries pierced my eardrums, but they pierced my memories even more. The thought that this gender-confused lunatic had brutally murdered me once made my body tremble uncontrollably. Hearing her threaten to kill me again, I couldn’t restrain myself. I surged to my feet, shoved the colleague next to him aside, and grabbed his collar. “Kill me? You already killed me once in another life!” “Act! Keep acting for me! Where is your stomach? Where is your ultrasound? Let me see it!” He was stunned by my sudden force, freezing for a few seconds. Then, he suddenly lunged, claws aimed for my face. I quickly dodged, my foot shooting out in a precise trip. With a loud thud, he pitched forward and crashed onto the floor. The searing pain of the boiling water being poured over my head flashed back, instantly boiling my blood. I planted a foot firmly on his back, grabbing his smooth, long wig and slamming his head down onto the tile. “Pretend! Act! I’m going to find out what you really are today!” Pinned down by my foot, Rory could only let out a pig-like shriek: “Ah! Help me! Anya Reed has gone crazy! She’s trying to kill me! My stomach… my baby…” His agonizing screams drew even more colleagues. They rushed forward, grabbing us with whatever hands they could find, forcibly pulling us apart. I was held fast by two male colleagues, still struggling to catch my breath. Only half an hour had passed since my rebirth. That meant only thirty minutes ago, I had been killed by this monster! How could I possibly be calm?! But as soon as they had me contained, everyone turned on me, pointing and yelling: “Anya, are you insane? This whole thing started because of your foul mouth, and now you’re physically assaulting a pregnant woman?” “I never realized we had such a vicious person in this office!” “I’ve already called Security! If you try to fight again, we’re calling the police immediately!” 3 Without my foot pinning him down, Rory’s arrogance returned. He was helped up, clutching his belly, pointing at me and sobbing dramatically: “See, everyone? She’s just jealous! She wants to kill my baby!” He staggered toward me, raising his hand to slap me. I tried to fight back, but the male colleagues held me in a viselike grip. “You want to hit back?! Just calm down!” Seeing me immobilized, Rory’s face twisted into a smug, triumphant sneer. His insults became fouler: “You barren piece of trash! You deserve to rot in the ground!” The other colleagues continued to berate me for a lack of empathy. Brenda, the woman who had helped Rory up, soothed him while shooting me a hateful look: “You’re a grown woman with no shame! You drove a pregnant woman to this state just over a proposal. What is wrong with you?” “Rory is pregnant, and it’s hard enough for her to work. If you cause her any complications, how will you be able to take responsibility?” I struggled against the men holding me, shouting my defense: “How many times do I have to explain? I use a silent keyboard! How am I bothering him? Am I transmitting my noise through telepathy?” “And furthermore, he says he’s pregnant—has any of you seen his prenatal reports? Has any of you seen her husband pick her up?” My question made a few people hesitate, a flicker of doubt in their eyes. Rory, however, immediately pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his bag: “This is my ultrasound report! It clearly says twelve weeks gestation!” I gave a cold laugh: “A minute ago you said my keyboard was like a jackhammer, making your stomach hurt. Now you’re screaming and fighting, making this huge scene, and your precious son is perfectly fine?” Everyone was momentarily stunned. Brenda muttered to herself: “Yeah, when I was pregnant, I got stressed just hearing loud noises… is Rory’s baby exceptionally tough?” At that moment, the security guard rushed in, saw the volatile scene, and immediately spoke up: “Everyone, calm down! Let’s discuss this peacefully!” Rory, who had been so arrogant a moment before, suddenly clutched his mouth and dry-heaved. After a long pause, he said weakly: “I can’t… My stomach hurts so bad… I must have gone into premature labor after being pushed by her!” “I need a hospital! If my baby is gone, Anya Reed, I will haunt you!” I wasn’t about to let him escape so easily. “Fine! To the hospital! I’ll go with you! And I’ll make sure to book you a consultation with an urologist to check on your prostate!” Rory instantly went ballistic, pointing his finger at my face and shrieking: “You… you maniac! You’re lying! I’ll sue you for defamation!” I turned to the crowd: “You all heard that, right? The truth will be known at the hospital. If he turns out to be pregnant, I will publicly bow down and apologize to him, and I will cover all his medical bills!” Then, I turned to Rory: “Do you dare to go?” With that, I grabbed him, pulling him toward the door. “Let’s go! Right now! Let the whole company see whether you’re carrying a baby or a sack of rotten intentions!” All the colleagues and I stared at him, waiting for an answer. Rory’s face cycled from bright red to sickly white. He never dreamed that the soft target he had terrorized in the last life would come back as a prickly, raging maniac this time. He held onto the desk for dear life, refusing to move an inch. But then, as if something clicked, he let out a loud THOOMP and collapsed straight to the floor. A puddle of “blood” quickly spread out from beneath him. He reached out a trembling hand and pointed at me, his eyes full of pure malice: “My baby… Anya Reed… you killed my baby!”

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