I was born with a certain deficiency, a lack of social radar. When people speak, I take them at their literal word. As a child, my cousin tried to snatch my favorite toy and declared, “If I can’t take this, I’ll just die right here.” So, I handed him a butter knife and, ever the helpful one, even pointed out the location of his femoral artery and dialed 911. My ex-boyfriend once whispered, “Without you, I can’t breathe. I’ll suffocate.” I promptly held his head under the swimming pool water for three minutes, purely to test the limits of human physiology. That tendency is how I found myself facing my supposedly “good-guy” husband, Grant, as he brought our neighbor, Sierra, and her son home for dinner. At the dining table, Sierra served the boy, then Grant, smiling with a saccharine sweetness that made my teeth hurt. “Oh, look how much Leo and Grant resemble each other,” she cooed. “Anyone would think we were the family unit. Oh, wait, Anya, don’t mind me, it’s just silly talk from a tired mom.” I put down my fork, my expression blank, and reached for my car keys. “I don’t mind.” “We’re going to the clinic now for a paternity test. If it’s true, I’ll file for bigamy against Grant. If it’s false, I’ll sue you for defamation.” “Also, Grant, to prevent any such future confusion, you’ll schedule a vasectomy tomorrow. We agreed to be childfree, and whoever breaks that oath is dead to me.” 1 Grant Abbott brought Sierra Davis and her son back to Stonegate Estates while I was in the living room, reviewing the quarterly earnings report by the floor-to-ceiling windows. “Anya, honey, look who’s here!” Grant’s voice held an unnaturally high pitch of forced excitement. I looked up. There were three figures at the front door. Grant was struggling with two overflowing grocery bags. Sierra wore a faded, slightly stained floral sundress and clutched the hand of a five-year-old boy named Leo. Leo was holding a grimy soccer ball and staring, wide-eyed, at the six-figure Murano crystal chandelier illuminating our entryway. “Oh, Mrs. Wells, you’re home?” Sierra offered a nervous, self-deprecating laugh, smoothing down her already slicked-back hair. “I just ran into Grant at the market. He said he was making Australian lobster and insisted Leo and I come over. I hope… I hope we’re not intruding?” I closed my laptop, my gaze landing on Grant. He kicked off his shoes and gave me a frantic, pleading look. “Her building has a water shut-off, honey. The management said it’s out until tomorrow. A single mom, can’t even cook dinner. We’re neighbors, Anya. We help each other out.” A typical wife might have forced a smile to save her husband’s face. I simply looked at my wristwatch. “The HOA email notification stated the water shut-off for Section A was from nine a.m. to eleven a.m. today. Service has been restored for seven hours.” I stated the facts calmly. “Also, Grant, I am severely allergic to shellfish. We haven’t had lobster in this house since we moved in. If your purchase is for guests, please ensure it is cooked and consumed in the back kitchen. I will not have that allergen in the dining room.” The air seized up, the silence a weapon. Sierra’s shaky smile disappeared. She immediately pivoted to a look of wounded, doe-eyed martyrdom, gazing down at Leo. “Oh dear. It seems I misremembered the time. Leo, sweetie, we should leave. We don’t want to upset the lady of the house.” Leo, oblivious to the adult subtext, wailed at the thought of leaving. He threw himself onto the floor, rolling wildly on the antique Persian Tabriz rug. “No! I want the big lobster! Grant promised big lobster!” That last word, “Grant,” sounded strangely loud, echoing the name of a father figure. Grant’s face flushed crimson, not from shame, but from sheer panic. He grabbed Sierra’s arm. “Don’t you dare leave! You’re here now! Anya is just stressed from work, she doesn’t mean it. I’m the man of this house. Don’t I have the right to invite two neighbors over for dinner?” He turned to me, a note of accusation creeping into his voice. “Anya, seriously? Sierra is a single mom, trying her best. Can’t you just not eat the lobster? Why do you have to be so ridiculously difficult, especially in front of a child?” I looked at the wailing, grubby child currently grinding dirt into our seven-thousand-dollar rug and at Grant’s sudden, rare burst of entitled masculinity. I rose slowly from the sofa. “If the man of the house has made a decision, I respect it. The rug cleaning fee is seven thousand, five hundred dollars. I will deduct it from your monthly allowance.” Grant clenched his jaw, swallowing his retort. The dinner was bizarre. Grant, apron tied around his waist, sweated in the kitchen, while Sierra made herself perfectly at home. She knew exactly which spot in the high-end disinfection cabinet held the formal silverware and, worse, accurately located Grant’s bespoke Italian espresso cup to pour Leo some juice. “Anya, please, don’t just sit there,” Sierra chirped, placing a piece of Grant’s braised short rib onto my plate. “Grant’s cooking is amazing. Whoever married him is… oh, I mean, you’re a very lucky woman, Mrs. Wells.” As if that wasn’t enough, she fed another piece of the meat to Leo, then turned her full, misty-eyed attention to Grant, who had just emerged with the finished lobster. In the soft glow of the dining room chandelier, her eyes became hazy, her mouth curved into a suggestive smile. “Look at them,” she murmured, gesturing from Leo to Grant. “The resemblance is uncanny, isn’t it? Especially the nose. It’s like they were cut from the same mold.” She covered her mouth, a small, silver-bell laugh escaping her lips, her eyes flicking between me and Grant. “Anyone would think we were a family unit. Oh, darling, please don’t mind me, it’s just a silly joke.” Grant’s hand, holding the lobster platter, visibly shook, and a few drops of butter sauce spattered the linen tablecloth. He shot me a desperate glance and attempted a weak chuckle. “Sierra, come on. It was just a casual comment. Anya, why are you looking so intense?” I placed my chopsticks down and slowly pulled a moist towelette from the dispenser, using it to meticulously clean each finger. The movement was painfully deliberate, drawing out the tension until Grant’s forced cheer evaporated, and Sierra began to fidget. “I don’t mind,” I repeated, my voice even. I tossed the used wipe into the small, built-in trash receptacle and looked up at them. “Since Ms. Davis proposed a hypothesis, and Grant, you failed to immediately refute it, I have a logical basis to suspect this is a fact-based trial balloon.” I retrieved my keys from my handbag and stood. “We are going to the hospital now. If Leo is your biological child, it raises critical issues regarding the preservation of my assets as your legal spouse and the succession risk to The Wells Group shares. Bigamy is not merely a moral issue; it is a felony.” “If it is false, Ms. Davis, your comments constitute defamation against both Grant and myself, as well as malicious interference with my marital contract. I will have my attorneys serve you with a formal notice to pursue legal damages.” 2 Grant froze, and the lobster platter slipped from his grasp, crashing to the floor. Leo was startled, letting out a piercing, terror-stricken cry. “Anya Wells, have you lost your mind?” Grant shrieked, pointing a furious finger at me. “Over one innocent joke? You’d drag us to a hospital? How humiliating is that for Sierra? How am I supposed to hold my head up in this neighborhood again?” Sierra was also panicking. She hugged Leo, tears springing to her eyes immediately. “Mrs. Wells, I’m so sorry, I spoke too fast… Grant and I are completely innocent! How can you be so cruel? Leo is just a child!” She sobbed into the boy’s hair, sending a frantic, helpless look Grant’s way. “Cruel?” I took out my phone and tapped an app, executing a few quick commands. “Verifying innocence is the single greatest protection of one’s reputation. If you are innocent, the paternity report is your most powerful weapon. Why would you fear it?” “I’ve already ordered an emergency, in-home sampling service from Precision Diagnostics. Since you find the clinic humiliating, they will come here. The rush fee is double, which I will cover.” “I won’t do it!” Grant roared, the veins bulging on his neck. “This is an insult to my character! Anya, you disappoint me. After three years of marriage, is this who you think I am?” “Data doesn’t lie, people do.” I walked over to the front door, engaged the deadbolt, and leaned against the frame, crossing my arms. “No one is leaving until the sampling technicians arrive. Should you attempt to force your way out, I will take Ms. Davis’s comment as a de facto statement of truth. In thirty minutes, The Wells Group legal team will formally intervene and freeze all joint accounts.”

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It was my seventh autumn in Vienna when I ran into my ex-wife, Savannah Reilly. She was here accompanying Asher King, her protégé, for the International Piano Competition, and her gaze snagged on the empty sleeve of my right arm. Asher, the young pianist, offered a too-wide smile and a cheerful, “Hello, Professor Cross,” before deliberately bringing up the fire. Savannah watched me, her expression a complicated mix of guilt and pity. “Asher didn’t mean it, Alistair. I thought it was just a fracture, I never imagined…” The wind stole the rest of her words, and I had no interest in hearing them anyway. My mind was focused on my six-year wedding anniversary with Eliza. Yet, as I walked past the State Opera House, Savannah caught up to me. She pressed a ticket into my hand. “Alistair, I know performing at the Golden Hall was your ultimate dream.” “This ticket cost a fortune.” “Even though you can never play again, Asher is going to carry that dream forward for you.” I met her eyes—those eyes full of insufferable pity—and politely pushed the ticket away. “Thank you, but I don’t need it.” Savannah let out a heavy sigh. “You don’t have to hate me so much.” I managed a slight smile. I hadn’t hated her in years. And I certainly didn’t need to tell her that I was the Head Judge for this very piano competition. 1 “If you don’t hate me, why did you run away and hide in another country?” Savannah wasn’t ready to let go, determined to extract an answer from me. The late autumn breeze reddened her eyes. This level of investment from her was something I hadn’t seen in a very long time. Perhaps realizing her lapse in decorum, she softened her tone. “Can we sit down at a coffee shop? You used to make me a perfect Americano every morning…” Savannah rattled on, sinking into nostalgia, but I cut her off. “I don’t recall. My wife only drinks tea.” Her pupils constricted instantly, her shocked stare drilling into me. “You’re married? But you always said you would only ever…” Her voice was shaking when she spoke again. I nodded and raised my hand, pointing toward the large screen in the plaza where a woman was being interviewed on television. Savannah stared for a long time, then suddenly laughed out loud. “Eliza Sinclair, the CEO of the Sinclair Group? Alistair, you’re a terrible liar.” “A marriage like that, between two major powers, it’s not something you and I would ever be involved in.” “Besides, you… stop trying to fool me.” Her gaze dropped from the screen to my empty sleeve, a flicker of genuine distress in her eyes. She tucked the ticket back into my jacket pocket. “I know things have been difficult for you since you left.” “I just want to bring your impossible dream a little closer to reality.” Watching this woman, so completely convinced of her own narrative, I almost wanted to laugh. I was the Royal Opera House’s Chief Pianist, and my wife was the head of a global conglomerate. And Savannah thought I was struggling? “Ms. Reilly, we are both married now. Please show some respect.” I kept my tone even, not wanting to get drawn into a scene, and turned to walk down a different street. “At least let me drive you home, can I?” Savannah pursued me. She reached out, but her fingers closed only on my vacant sleeve. Her eyes instantly welled up. I found the whole thing utterly pointless. I had no interest in wasting another second on her. “My driver is coming to collect me now. It’s not necessary, thank you.” I used my healthy left hand to try and shake Savannah off, but she held on, her grip tight. Sadness churned relentlessly in her eyes. Until a leather strap came down hard across the back of her hand. 2 “Let go of Al!” “Police! This woman is harassing him!” Owen Keller, a film student I’d befriended, put away the stunt prop—a leather flogger he’d been using on set—and shouted. Nearby security personnel and police officers gripped their sidearms, surrounding us with caution. Savannah raised her hands, her face pale. I quickly explained the situation to the police, sparing Savannah the indignity of an arrest. It wasn’t pity; I simply wanted the entanglement to end. Owen, a student in directing at the University of Vienna, and I had bonded over a performance. This imaginative young guy and I clicked instantly. In the car, Owen used every colorful American idiom he knew to curse Savannah and her entire lineage. Once he’d run out of steam, he spoke quietly. “Al, you know that psycho?” I told him calmly, “My ex-wife.” Owen’s eyes widened, and he gripped the steering wheel tighter, as if he were throttling Savannah herself. “A woman that blind, that ungrateful, who doesn’t know what she has? She deserves to regret this for the rest of her life!” Finally, Owen leaned in and asked, “We still have a little drive. Got any good gossip? I promise, absolute secrecy.” I smiled faintly, considered it for a moment, and then nodded. As my eyes drifted toward the rushing crowds outside, the memories began to flow. My freshman year in college, I earned all the applause at the talent show with a performance of “Moonlight Sonata.” But two drunk jerks cornered me outside of campus later that night. “Think you’re so great? My girlfriend left me for you! Now you won’t be stealing anyone else!” “Love playing piano? I’ll make you a cripple. Let’s see you play then!” They raised a brick, aimed right for my hand. That was the moment Savannah charged in, her voice trembling as she screamed, “Let him go! I have a bomb strapped to me!” The thugs laughed, called her crazy, and pushed her against the wall, reaching for her lewdly. It wasn’t until they tore her shirt that they saw the “timer”—a makeshift toy. They fled instantly. I took off my own shirt, wrapped it around Savannah, and took her to the hospital. She told me she loved watching me play. She also told me she was writing a novel about divorce. She’d strapped the toy bomb to herself to truly experience the desperation of a main character cornered by an abusive husband. The toy cost her half a month’s living expenses. It was the first time I realized someone could be so poor—only enough money for instant ramen and day-old bread, sacrificing a month’s savings on a piece of inspiration. Owen scratched his head. “What did you love about her?” I thought about it. Was it her artistic talent, her beautiful, cold profile, or those expressive eyes? Maybe none of that. It was probably that we both had these blazing, reckless ideals. I wanted to play at the Golden Hall; she wanted to be a world-famous female writer. And—her courage. Her willingness to bet everything, even when she was stuck in the mud. From that day on, I used most of my own meager scholarship money to support the struggling writer. Savannah always said I was the only one who truly understood her, and I laughed and said I was the knight sent by fate to protect her. On a rainy afternoon, Savannah held up a paper rose she’d folded and confessed her love. The affection in her eyes then was absolute, undeniable truth. “The Little Prince was lost without his rose. I want to cross the entire universe to hold you close now.” We were a couple—stable for four years, the model of campus romance. Before graduation, she gave me a book of poetry that chronicled our bright, happy youth. My eyes stung with tears, and I truly believed life would be this simple, this beautiful, forever. Owen opened his music app, and a random song, City Moonlight, began to play. “Seeing all the human comings and goings, can’t we have more happy moments…” We sat in silence for a while. At a red light, Owen couldn’t help but ask, “Did things get better for you after graduation?” I shook my head, unsure how to describe the color of that time. 3 After graduation, I didn’t follow my parents’ plan. I chose to stay in the city with Savannah. I taught piano at an art school, and Savannah wrote full-time at home. She had no income, but between my salary and the occasional support from my parents, we managed. Until the family business went under, and my father left a suicide note before taking his own life. My mother, completely broken, was institutionalized. I locked myself in our bedroom, crying for days. Savannah, who was terrible at domestic skills, started trying to cook for me. When I wouldn’t eat, she’d quietly leave the food outside the door, then disappear for the whole day. She would drag her tired, dirty body back to our rented apartment late every night. One day, I followed her. I found Savannah at a construction site, her slender frame swaying as she hoisted multiple bags of concrete mix onto her shoulder. I wept uncontrollably. Savannah wiped the grime from her face and smiled, trying to reassure me. “Dad’s gone, but he’d want you to live well.” “Don’t be afraid. I’ll always be by your side, no matter what.” “I swear I’m going to take care of you.” With Savannah’s constant support, I returned to the school. To help pay off the debts my father left, Savannah slept only three hours a night. I also took a side gig playing in a local bar. When a VIP client in a private room waved ten thousand dollars and demanded I play while naked, I refused instantly. Even though we were only ten thousand dollars away from paying off the last of my father’s debt. The client laughed and opened a bottle of expensive red wine for me. “If you’re so principled, then drink this bottle and play me a drunk piano piece.” I looked at the newly uncorked bottle, didn’t think twice, and downed it before starting to play. When the piece was over, the client applauded enthusiastically, and I was given the ten thousand dollars as promised. But as I stood up to leave, my body went instantly weak, and I collapsed onto the velvet sofa. The man lunged at me, roughly trying to force himself on me. “I love defiling artists. Cooperate and I’ll give you twenty thousand more!” I fought desperately, but he used a drug-soaked cloth to smother me into unconsciousness. Just as I felt the ultimate despair, Savannah burst into the room and smashed a beer bottle over the man’s head. “If you touch my boyfriend, I’ll kill you!” She didn’t stop until the man was completely incapacitated, blood pooling on the floor. As she was being led into the police car, Savannah smiled and called out to me, “Baby, don’t be sad. I finally got to protect you.” “With me here, no one will ever hurt you!” Her face in that moment mirrored the fierce protectiveness from five years ago. Tears blurred my vision. I ran after the police car until I stumbled and fell in the pouring rain. Fortunately, the police investigation cleared everything up. Savannah’s actions were ruled justified self-defense. We held each other tight for a long time. Savannah excitedly told me she had news. “My book is a hit! Companies are fighting over the rights! We don’t have to struggle anymore!” Immersed in the joy of her success, I leaned in and whispered in her ear, “I have something to tell you too.” “Ms. Savannah Reilly, will you marry me?” I knelt on one knee, holding up the ring I had been saving for so long. Later, I poured everything I had into giving Savannah a beautiful, grand wedding. She wore her gown and sobbed through the vows. The handwritten, ten-thousand-word love letter I read at the ceremony made me truly believe we would walk hand-in-hand, forever, in our beautiful, simple life… The car had unknowingly pulled up to my villa in Vienna’s 19th District. Owen, still absorbed in the story, asked, “By all accounts, you two should have been happy. How did you break up? Did she cheat…” 4 “Yes. With my student.” “Oh, Alistair. I’m so sorry.” Owen’s face filled with remorse, instantly regretting his question. I patted his shoulder and offered a calm smile. It had been so long ago; the wound was just a faint scar now. After we married, Savannah’s book became a massive success. After collecting every major national award, she stopped writing and founded a cultural company. I opened my own art school. When I wasn’t teaching, I poured all my energy into daily practice, determined to finally realize my dream of performing at the Golden Hall. Eighteen-year-old Asher King was my most talented student. His parents had died in a fire, and he lived with his grandmother. I felt for the boy. I waived all his fees and often invited him over for dinner. The next time Asher showed up, Savannah finally frowned. “I know you care for your students, Alistair, but bringing him here constantly isn’t appropriate. For one, we don’t know his character, and second, I don’t want our private space disturbed.” I finally managed to placate her and promised I wouldn’t bring Asher home again. Savannah smiled and kissed my forehead. How could a woman so focused on boundaries and vigilance turn around and cheat with Asher? I never would have guessed, not until I walked in on them. The day my mother died of a cerebral hemorrhage, Savannah broke her leg in a fall at the office. With her cast on, she was insistent about attending the funeral, but I managed to stop her. I promised her I would convey her respect and filial piety to my mother. Savannah, in tears, promised that she would visit my mother the moment she recovered. After the funeral, I took my mother’s only photograph with me. At the peak of my grief, I received a text from Savannah. [How is the funeral going? I’ll be there as soon as my leg is better.] [Alistair, I will face everything with you.] [I ordered takeout for myself today. Please take care of yourself back home.] Seeing those warm words on my phone, I burst into tears. Savannah was my only family left in this world. Thank God, I still had her. But when I returned to the school with my mother’s photo, I saw a scene I will never forget. In the half-open practice room, a naked Savannah was straddling Asher, her back glistening in a way that suggested an open, intimate scene that reeked of calculated perversion. They were completely intertwined, oblivious. I was shaking all over. I rushed in, slapped Asher hard, and grabbed Savannah’s hair, pulling them apart. “Savannah Reilly, is this your ‘takeout’?” “I want a divorce!” One was the student I’d staked my professional reputation on; the other was the woman I loved with my life. I stared at them, the tears of despair streaming down my face. Savannah knelt on the floor, slapping herself a dozen times, sobbing that she was only confused for a moment. “Alistair, I swear on my life, it will never happen again!” Asher rushed to the window, his eyes red. He cried out. “I’m so sorry, Professor. I just love the Professor’s wife too much.” “I know that to love someone is to want their happiness. If my death is what it takes to make you two happy, then I’m willing to die.” Savannah, who had just been begging for forgiveness, instantly rushed over and embraced Asher. The tension in her face was exactly the same as when she had protected me years ago. During the struggle, Asher knocked over the candles they had been using. They immediately ignited the practice room curtains, and the fire spread like wildfire. The overhead chandelier chose that moment to crash down, hitting me. “Alistair, don’t be afraid! I’ll get you out!” Savannah fought desperately to push the heavy light fixture off me, but her resolve shattered the moment she heard Asher’s desperate cry. After a brief hesitation—a hesitation that lasted a lifetime—she unflinchingly hoisted Asher onto her back. “Asher has a severe psychological trauma from fire.” “Hold on, I’ll be right back for you!” Savannah’s gaze flickered to mine, and then she was gone. She never came back. In the choking smoke and raging heat, the intense pain of my shattered humerus was nothing compared to the shards of my broken heart. I dragged myself out of the fire, but I permanently lost the use of my right hand. My school, which represented countless hours of my heart and soul, was nothing but ash. Marriage, dream, hope—I had lost everything. Owen, shaking with anger, was about to floor the accelerator and go track Savannah down, but I stopped him. “How can she and that snake still be considered human? I want to kill them right now!” “That kind of trash woman should be thrown in prison! You went through hell together; how could she do that to you!” The usually boisterous guy was red-eyed with rage. I calmly assured him, “It took a trip through hell to truly see her for who she was.” “If she hadn’t let go, I would never have met Eliza.” After the amputation, I signed the divorce papers. Aside from a few apology texts, Savannah never appeared again. At my lowest point, when all hope was gone, I met Eliza Sinclair. That, however, is a different story. Owen patted my shoulder, finally offering a relieved smile. “Alistair, I’m glad you’re happy now.” Owen’s girlfriend texted, rushing him home for her birthday, so we said our goodbyes. Just as I was about to enter the villa, I heard Savannah shouting from behind me: “Alistair, you absolutely cannot break in and steal…”

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The news of my ex-wife and daughter, after my second chance at life, came via a call from an unfamiliar number. “Hello, who is this?” My voice must have triggered something, because the person on the other end immediately burst into an excited response. “Daddy, Maisie misses you so much! When are you going to come see Mommy and me?” “We have a big field day next month, and you haven’t been to one of my school sports in ages.” I kept my expression blank, my rejection swift and cold. “Don’t you have a better dad now?” “Go ask your new father for help.” I hung up without another word, then turned the phone off. 1 I will never forget the day my wife was reclaimed by her old-money family. I was in our cramped studio apartment, packing a small, worn suitcase. She saw me and frowned, her eyes sharp. “Put that down. I’m only taking Graham and Maisie. You’ll stay here for now, in the old side of the city.” “I’ll send you a five hundred dollar a month allowance, and I’ll make time for you to see Maisie.” I nodded calmly. No scene, no argument. I’d known for a long time that she would only take The Golden Boy and my daughter. In my previous life, I’d followed them, clawing and begging my way into the Ashford estate. I thought I could finally enjoy some security. Instead, The Golden Boy—Graham—framed me for theft. And my own daughter coaxed me out to the eighteenth-floor balcony and pushed me off. I remember her eyes, red-rimmed and spitting fire, as I fell. “I don’t want a thief for a father! If you hadn’t insisted on coming home with us, I would have had a better dad sooner!” In that moment, I’d plunged into an icy hell. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Lying on my phone screen was a text message from a top-secret government research division. “Mr. Kinsley, we are pleased to inform you of your immediate recruitment. Please note: Upon induction, you are forbidden from contact with any outside parties for a period of five years.” I had two days left before I was due to surrender myself—my life, my future—to the state. But the night I moved into a discreet rental box, seeking anonymity, the door was kicked in. Vivienne Ashford stood in the entryway, her white designer suit soaked with rain, her face as dark as the storm clouds. Behind her, holding an umbrella, was Graham Alistair. And clinging to his hand was my daughter, Maisie. Graham stepped forward, his expression a mixture of feigned sympathy and righteous anger. “Rhys, I know you’re upset, but you can’t steal my mother’s locket. It was the only thing I had left of her…” The blood in my veins turned to ice. I realized this was the exact same script, the same toxic, manipulative scene from the life I was supposed to have escaped. I fought the tremor in my hands, trying to speak, to stop them— But the bodyguards were already tearing through my meager belongings. They reached into a hidden pocket in the bottom of my travel bag and pulled out a delicate silver chain with a pendant. Vivienne held the necklace up, and the look of pure disgust in her eyes threatened to flay me alive. A chilling clarity washed over me. It couldn’t be… It was Graham. In both lives, he had planned this. He had made sure I was ready to be loathed by everyone I loved. Vivienne’s voice was lethal. “Caught red-handed, Rhys Kinsley. For the sake of our history, I’m giving you a chance to confess.” Confess? I raised my head, forcing back the tears. I was only two days away from a completely new life. “I’m not guilty. What is there to confess?” The finality in my tone only stoked Vivienne’s fury. She barked a command toward the door. “Make him confess!” Two hulking men immediately rushed in and seized me, one on each side. One of them pressed down hard on the back of my neck, the crushing force driving me into a humiliating bow before Graham. “Kneel and apologize!” Vivienne’s icy voice commanded from above. I clenched my jaw, fighting with every ounce of strength I had. “It wasn’t me! Vivienne, I won’t apologize!” But the bodyguard’s hand was an iron clamp. He slammed my head down hard onto the rough concrete floor. Thud! The sharp, searing pain exploded across my forehead. “Apologize,” Vivienne ordered. “I… didn’t…” I managed to choke out. Thud! Another blow, harder this time. I felt the warm, sticky flow of blood beginning to run down my face. Maisie’s small, tearful voice piped up. “Daddy, just confess. Maisie is scared…” My daughter’s plea tore at my heart. She didn’t know. Every time she called me “Daddy,” it was another piece of shrapnel in my shattered soul. In the past life, as I was shoved from the rooftop, I couldn’t understand why the daughter I’d cherished for ten years trusted a man who was no blood relation over me. Vivienne’s voice was thick with derision. “See? Even your own daughter is ashamed of you.” Thud! The third time. My vision blurred. Blood and sweat mixed, dripping onto the cold floor. Graham made a show of stepping forward. “Vivienne, enough… Perhaps Rhys was just confused for a moment…” “Confused? I think he’s incorrigible!” The bodyguard grabbed my head again, but I fought to raise it, locking eyes with Graham. “I did nothing wrong!” Vivienne completely snapped. “Still fighting me?! Keep going! Don’t stop until he admits it!” It was then that Maisie suddenly ran forward and kicked my shoulder with all her small might. “You’re a thief! I’m never going to call you Dad again! Maisie hates you!” The kick wasn’t physically severe, but it froze me completely. I forgot how to struggle. My own daughter. While I was being framed and brutally forced to my knees, she didn’t just fail to believe me; she delivered the final blow. This is what a dead heart feels like. Vivienne seemed momentarily shocked by Maisie’s action and waved her hand. The bodyguards released their grip. I collapsed onto the ground, blood still streaming from my forehead. She stepped up to me, rain dripping from her hair. “Rhys Kinsley. For Maisie’s sake, if you just admit your mistake and apologize to Graham, I’ll let this go.” I raised my head, staring at her through my blood-smeared vision. Then at the innocent-faced Graham behind her, and finally at my daughter, who was looking at me like a stranger. I smiled, a thin line of red spilling from the corner of my mouth. “I… did nothing wrong.” “And I will never apologize to Graham Alistair!” I fixed my stare on Graham as I spoke the last three words, each one ringing with final, defiant certainty. Vivienne flew into a rage. “Stubborn fool! Drag him outside and make him kneel in the mud! He doesn’t get up until he confesses!” I was roughly hauled out into the yard and thrown down into the freezing mud. The storm raged, the torrential rain washing over the wound on my forehead, the pain searing cold. Behind me, I heard Graham’s soft, concerned voice. “Vivienne, it’s pouring. Maybe let Rhys come inside…” And Maisie’s childish question. “Mommy, when will the bad thief finally confess?” Followed by Vivienne’s cold response. “It’s his own fault.” The thief? His own fault? The physical pain was a dull ache compared to the agony in my chest. The sounds faded, and I finally sank into unconsciousness. The smell of antiseptic stung my nose. I woke with a shuddering jolt of agony. Above me, the sterile white ceiling of a hospital room. Standing around my bed, like grim iron statues, were several emotionless men in black suits. Bodyguards. “He’s awake.” A frigid voice reached me. I managed to turn my head with difficulty. Vivienne stood by the bed, her face stormy. She held the necklace in her hand, her eyes devoid of warmth—only scrutiny and disgust. She held it up. “Rhys Kinsley, I’m asking you one last time. Where is the real heirloom from Graham’s mother? This one is a fake.” A fake? My pupils contracted. The realization hit me like a physical blow. Graham. His heart was pure venom. He had used a counterfeit to solidify my guilt, ensuring that whether I confessed or not, he had a trump card. The real necklace was probably long gone, hidden or disposed of. He didn’t just want to ruin my reputation; he wanted to destroy me completely, to make my comeback impossible. I tried to speak, my throat dry and raspy. “I don’t have it!” My chest tightened, squeezed by an invisible hand. Why? Why, even in this second chance, could I not escape this malicious trap? Why must I bear this baseless accusation? Vivienne stared at me, trying to gauge the truth in my eyes. A moment later, the last sliver of patience vanished, replaced by a heavy curtain of disappointment and ruthlessness. “It seems you won’t talk without persuasion.” She took a step back and gave a cold command to the bodyguards. “A thief doesn’t deserve his hands. Since he won’t give us the truth, break his fingers, one by one. We’re in a hospital; he won’t die.” I snapped my eyes open, staring at her in horror. She wants to break my fingers?! No! I can’t! I thrashed against the restraints, but the bodyguards held me fast. I need my hands! The National Research Institute! My future! My only hope of escaping this nightmare was vested in the hands I would use to manipulate delicate instruments and conduct experiments. Without them, everything would be ruined! “Vivienne Ashford! You can’t!” I shrieked, desperation overriding all reason. “I didn’t steal! I didn’t…” But she watched with cold indifference, as if observing a silent play that held no personal meaning for her. One of the bodyguards stepped forward, grabbed my left hand, and fixed his grip on my index finger. “No!” My agonizing scream tore through the sterile silence of the room. Snap! The sharp crack of bone breaking. The agonizing, piercing pain made my vision go black, almost dragging me into unconsciousness. The pain. Indescribable. But it was only a fraction of the agony in my soul. I looked at the beautiful profile of the woman I had loved with my whole being for ten years. Hatred, like a poisonous vine, coiled and began to grow. I hated her! But I hated myself more! How could I have been so blind as to fall for this heartless, cold, morally bankrupt woman? To protect her fragile ego, I had hidden my advanced degrees and my true capability, willingly becoming a stay-at-home husband, letting her believe I was ordinary. Ten years of devotion, ten years of my life, bought me this fate. I regretted it. I truly regretted ever loving her. Snap! The second finger was broken. “Agh!” My body convulsed in agony, cold sweat instantly soaking my hospital gown. Vivienne stood there, her face expressionless, But I caught a fleeting glimpse of her hand at her side, her knuckles white with tension. Does it hurt, Vivienne? It is nothing compared to what you have inflicted on me. Snap! Snap! The third. The fourth… The excruciating pain came in waves, threatening to drown my consciousness. I bit down hard on my lip until I tasted blood, refusing to yield, refusing to confess to a crime I didn’t commit. One, two, three… When all four fingers of my left hand, excluding the thumb, were bent at unnatural angles, the bodyguard moved to my right hand. Despair, like icy lake water, began to consume me. My future, my dreams, shattered before my eyes. Snap! When the ninth finger was brutally snapped, I no longer had the strength to scream. I was a dying fish, paralyzed on the bed, only the shallow rise and fall of my chest proving I was still alive. Nine fingers broken, my body a ruin. My life, too, was broken in that instant. Yet, I had never confessed to stealing. Vivienne looked at my pathetic form, soaked in blood and tears, at my ten monstrously swollen and misshapen fingers. Her face went pale for a split second. She spun around, her voice betraying a hint of unnoticed hoarseness. “Call the doctor. Set them.” With that, She fled, practically running from the room, without a single backward glance. Doctors and nurses came in, timid and shaky, to clean the wounds and splint my broken, mangled fingers. The fierce pain caused me to black out and wake up repeatedly until I was forced onto an oxygen mask to maintain my weak breathing. I lay there, a broken doll on a cold slab, my mind swirling with hate, regret, and despair. Why did I ever meet her? Why did I let my life be destroyed by this woman? Late that night, the door to the room creaked open softly. Two figures, one large, one small, silently approached my bedside. It was Graham Alistair, and my daughter, Maisie. My consciousness was foggy, but I could sense their presence. Graham’s voice was a soft, venomous whisper. “Maisie, look how sad Daddy is. Don’t you want Mr. Alistair to be your real daddy? I’ll buy you lots of beautiful dresses, take you to the best parks, and make you the happiest little princess.” My heart violently seized in my chest. Then, I heard the most chilling answer of this life, and the last one. Maisie’s small, clear voice was immediate and full of delight. “Yes! Maisie loves Mr. Alistair! Mr. Alistair should be my daddy!” In that moment, my heart ceased to beat. Graham seemed pleased. He let out a low, satisfied chuckle. “But, Maisie, as long as your current daddy is still here, Mr. Alistair can’t officially be your daddy, can he?” He paused, his voice like a snake uncoiling. “Look, Daddy seems to be struggling with that mask. Be a good girl, Maisie. Help Daddy take that tube off, and he won’t be in pain anymore. And Mr. Alistair can be your daddy forever, okay?” I snapped my eyes wide open! Through my blurred vision, I saw Maisie’s small, innocent face. She looked at Graham, then at me. And then, she reached out her hand, straight toward my oxygen mask! “Bad Daddy! You steal things! I don’t want you anymore!” she mumbled, her tone echoing the hatred she’d been brainwashed to feel. Watching that small hand reach for my lifeline, seeing the pure, unadulterated disgust in my daughter’s eyes, I lost the final flicker of strength to fight. My heart was cold ash. I had been reborn only to die by their hands again, but this time in a far more humiliating and agonizing manner. I felt the mask shift, and breathing became an immediate, desperate struggle. I was dying. And this time, there would be no coming back…

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In my third year of rotting away in Hollywood, I snagged a flash marriage. My mother-in-law is my best friend. My husband never comes home. And I have unlimited access to the Black Card. Life was sweet. Until the bad news dropped: My husband, who was out there making millions, just got dumped. The sky was falling. I threw on the ugliest clothes I owned overnight. I was terrified he’d notice my beauty and actually want to commit to this marriage. But that same day, good news arrived: My mother-in-law wanted a divorce. And she got custody of me. I slapped the divorce papers onto Caleb’s chest. The icy, high-profile movie star started crying like a broken kettle: “I busted my ass working all year, only to come home and find out I’m a child of divorce, and my wife—who I haven’t even hugged yet—is gone!” 1 I’m Harper. A D-list nobody in Hollywood, but famous for my insane luck. Right now, I’m lounging in an 8,000-square-foot Beverly Hills mansion. On my left hand is the diamond bracelet my mother-in-law just gave me. In my right hand, I’m scrolling through Twitter. #CalebStoneDrunk is trending #1. My finger froze. My heart dropped. In the photo, my husband on paper—the A-list heartthrob Caleb Stone—is sitting on a curb outside a dive bar, surrounded by empty beer bottles. That face, which has charmed millions, looks flushed. His eyes are as mournful as an abandoned puppy. The comments section is blowing up: [OMG! What happened to Caleb? Did he break up with Serena?] [Definitely a breakup! Being a trophy wife isn’t easy, I guess!] [Wait, isn’t Caleb married? Who is his wife again?] I rolled my eyes. That would be me. I might be a nobody, but I have a legendary bestie—Vicky. Once the queen of the silver screen, now the most powerful woman in the industry. Two years ago, Vicky and I met on a reality show. We clicked instantly. It was love at first sight. Well, platonic love. We wanted to move in together immediately, but Vicky was already the wife of a billionaire mogul. Luckily, she had a son. To ensure we could be besties for life, she gift-wrapped her son and handed him to me. As for Caleb? He wore a cold face through the entire wedding and flew off to shoot a movie the next day. Naturally, his mom arranged the schedule. Vicky said no man on earth was good enough for me. To make up for it, she spent money on me. Endlessly. To keep Caleb from annoying me, she kept him booked on business trips. My daily routine consisted of three things: Spending money, rotting in bed, and praying Caleb didn’t come home. But looking at the trending topics, I had a bad feeling. Did my husband actually get his heart broken? 2 Sure enough, the next morning, the butler knocked on my door, sounding panicked yet excited: “Mrs. Stone! The Mister is back!” I was so scared I literally rolled off the bed. Wasn’t he supposed to be filming Love and Death with Serena? “Ma’am, are you okay?” the butler asked concernedly. “I’m fine!” I yelled, rubbing my butt as I scrambled up. “Tell Caleb I’m dead!” Disaster. If he walks in and sees a wife with a snatched waist, legs for days, and skin like porcelain… What if he feels guilty? What if he gets ideas and wants to be a real family? My good life would be over! I frantically raided the closet. Thank god. I still had the outfit I bought for a gag gift for my grandma’s 80th birthday. It was an oversized, shapeless housecoat. Neon pink with massive, tacky yellow flowers. I put it on. I looked like a walking fruit salad. I messed up my hair and looked in the mirror. Perfect. Caleb would vomit just looking at me. I marched downstairs, ready for war. As soon as my foot hit the landing, our eyes met. “Housekeeper, where is Harper?” he asked. Housekeeper? Excellent. I looked up at Caleb standing in the living room. He froze, his pupils dilating in shock. He was wearing a simple white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to show off his forearms. The California sun hit him through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I hate to admit it, but he inherited Vicky’s genes. The man is dangerously good-looking. “Hubby~ You’re baaaaaack~” I dragged the vowel out so long I gave myself goosebumps. Caleb’s adam’s apple bobbed. He nodded, expressionless. “Yeah.” That’s it? I look like a radioactive flower garden and you have nothing to say? I decided to dial it up. “Hubby~ I missed you soooo much~” I waddled over, twisting my waist, using a voice so sweet it could cause diabetes. “I couldn’t sleep without you here~” Caleb’s gaze lingered on me for two seconds, then calmly shifted away. “What do you want for lunch?” Excuse me? That’s your reaction? “I want tacos! Greasy ones! With extra hot sauce!” I declared. Everyone knows Caleb is a health freak who hates junk food. “Okay,” he nodded. “I’ll tell the chef.” Wait. This isn’t going according to plan. Soon enough, a platter of gourmet, healthy, organic tacos appeared. I deployed my ultimate weapon. I picked out the cilantro—Caleb’s mortal enemy. “Hubby~ This cilantro is so yummy~ Do you want a bite?” I shoved a forkful right in his face. “Sure.” He opened his mouth and actually ate it off my fork. Clatter. I dropped the fork. Caleb looked at me, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “What are you smiling at?” I asked defensively. “Nothing,” he said, returning to his resting stone face. “Eat.” Something was wrong. Very wrong. 3 “Vicky! Emergency! Caleb is home!” I bolted back to the bedroom and called my bestie. “What?” Vicky gasped on the other end. “I’m ordering you the latest Cartier collection right now! For emotional damages!” “No, Vicky, the point is he came back! And he saw me dressed like a clown and didn’t even flinch!” “Oh, please. He has no right to judge you,” Vicky scoffed. “By the way, Hermes released a new bag. I ordered it in three colors for you.” “Vicky…” “Also, I had my assistant wire you two hundred grand. Go buy something nice.” Me: “……” This is my life. My mother-in-law is my best friend. Money is unlimited. Husband is absent. Perfection. If only Caleb would disappear again, it would be utopia. 4 While Caleb was on a conference call, I snuck out. There’s a taco truck nearby that makes the greasiest, most delicious tacos. I sat on a plastic stool on the sidewalk, still wearing my hideous neon housecoat, inhaling food. Zero nutritional value. 100% happiness. Just as I shoved the last bite into my mouth… Click. I turned to see a paparazzo snapping photos like a maniac. “Harper! Does this outfit mean the Stone family has kicked you out?” “Is it true your marriage to Caleb is a sham?” Internally, I was celebrating. Externally, I put on a brave, sad face. “No… we’re fine…” The paparazzo’s eyes lit up. Efficiency is key in this town. By that afternoon, #HarperTrophyWifeFail was trending. The photo showed me in the neon housecoat, hair like a bird’s nest, aggressively eating a taco. The comments were brutal: [LMAO. This is the billionaire wife? She looks like my grandma!] [She’s eating that taco like she hasn’t seen food in weeks. Is she broke?] [I heard she was just a surrogate they hired, and now that she can’t get pregnant, they kicked her out!] [Caleb and Serena are true love! Harper is just a placeholder who sucked up to his mom.] [Not gonna lie, that taco looks good. Drop the location.] I was happily scrolling through the hate comments when I saw Caleb had posted on Instagram. A photo of dinner. Caption: [Home cooking.] Eagle-eyed netizens spotted a sleeve of my ugly housecoat in the corner of the frame. The comments exploded again: [Wait! That ugly sleeve belongs to Harper! They’re eating together?] [Impossible! Caleb has taste! This must be Photoshop!] [Yeah, he hasn’t been home since the wedding.] I stared at the phone, confused. Was Caleb… trying to clear my name? Impossible! Vicky must have forced him! Every time the media reports our “divorce,” Vicky sends me money, then forces Caleb to post something lovey-dovey. Just then, the TV played an entertainment update. Serena, the rising starlet, was being interviewed about Caleb: “We are really close friends. We discuss scripts late into the night. As for anything else… we’ll let nature take its course.” My eyes lit up. Serena! The rumored girlfriend! My savior! If they get back together, Caleb won’t have time to come home!

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I was ranked second in our class. After my boyfriend—the Valedictorian—dumped me, I studied like a maniac, desperate to dethrone him. But just as I overtook him, the school’s icy, untouchable heartthrob—formerly ranked third—suddenly shot up the charts and locked down the number one spot. I was stuck as the eternal Salutatorian. Number two. Again. Just as I was about to give up and rot in despair, I heard a voice. It was a sobbing, desperate internal monologue coming from the cold-hearted genius himself. “Why did she stop studying? Is this a sign? Is she telling me to back off? Am I being delusional for thinking I could be her main man?” “If she doesn’t break up with him, I’d be willing to be the side piece forever. Even if being the ‘other man’ makes my heart bleed every time I ace a test just to get her attention.” “Noah from AP Calc has been studying so hard lately. Is he after her? That little weasel. Why does he think he can compete with me? I hate everyone in this school equally. Everyone is trying to steal her from me.” “Why hasn’t she kissed me yet? Isn’t the prize for first place… the girl in second place?” 1 “Are you… crying?” I stopped in my tracks, tilting my head to look at Ezra who was sitting in the corner seat. Ezra lifted his face—pale, exquisitely gloomy, and radiating an “I hate the world” energy. His dark gaze scraped over my face like a cold blade. “What?” His voice was frigid, void of any emotion. It certainly didn’t sound like the desperate, sobbing mess I thought I heard. I shook my head and tapped my temple. Get a grip, Riley. I wanted to beat Ezra so bad I was starting to hallucinate. I turned back to my desk, missing the way Ezra’s gaze instantly turned heavy and ravenous the moment my back was turned. It was a double desk. Class was about to start, but the seat next to me was empty. Carter wasn’t back yet; he was still buried in a textbook over at Chloe’s desk, explaining questions from the SAT prep guide. My heart sank, heavy and uncomfortable. Since the breakup, Carter kept his distance during everything but essential class time, terrified that Chloe might get jealous. A moment later, our homeroom teacher walked in to announce the seating chart shuffle. The class erupted into groans. I clenched my fists, biting my lip in frustration. At prestigious prep schools like ours, rankings are everything. Every two months, after the mock finals, we pick seats based on GPA. Number one picks first. Number one gets to choose their desk partner. Two months ago, Carter broke up with me. Since then, I’ve been grinding, trying to steal the Valedictorian spot from him. Part of me—the pathetic part—wasn’t just doing it for pride. I wanted to be close to him again. We had been desk partners for three years. We only had a few months of high school left. Call me desperate, call me stupid, but I couldn’t let go. But I never calculated for Ezra. The guy was usually comfortable at rank three. Suddenly, he went god-mode. He aced every quiz, every essay, every lab, locking down the top spot with a near-perfect GPA. I chased him until I tasted blood in my throat, but I couldn’t catch him. I gave up. Technically, Ezra should pick first. But Ezra didn’t move. He sat there, eyes downcast, face a mask of indifference. He always sat in that shadowy corner. He never cared. The teacher motioned for me to pick. My finger twitched. Suddenly, Carter stood up, cutting me off. “Mr. Harrison, I’m choosing to sit with Chloe. Sorry for speaking out of turn, but I was afraid some people wouldn’t have the dignity to move on.” Carter lifted his heavy eyelids to look at me, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Riley, if I didn’t speak up, you were going to pick me, weren’t you?” “Why bother? It’s pathetic. Clinging like this just makes you annoying.” Snickers rippled through the classroom. My face went drained of color. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. In my humiliation, I remembered the voice I heard earlier. Ezra’s inner voice. Broken, shattered, and weirdly resentful. “What’s the point of me picking a seat? She won’t even look at me. She refuses to acknowledge my legal status as her academic superior.” “She said it once… Number one and Number two are a match made in heaven. Why is she looking for some third-rate rebound?” “I don’t want to embarrass her. A true husband doesn’t take his anger out on his wife.” “Maybe I’m too greedy. Dreaming that she’d want to sit with me… she doesn’t know I love her. She’d just think I’m a psychopath.” I took a deep breath, steadied my shaking hands, and pointed a finger at the corner. “No. I choose Ezra.” The classroom fell into a weird silence. Everyone knew Ezra was antisocial. He came from old money—a family so powerful even the principal walked on eggshells around him. Ezra abruptly stood up. He grabbed his books with a cold, sharp movement and walked to the hallway. “Whatever.” His careless attitude made me question my sanity again. Maybe I did hallucinate the voice. Ezra couldn’t be that internal drama queen. But then I looked closer. Ezra was holding his textbook upside down. Five seconds later, he walked back in. His icy gaze raked over me from top to bottom. “Am I moving to you?” I noticed his knuckles were white from gripping his pants so hard he was about to rip the fabric. 2 Ezra and I became desk partners. Carter got his wish and sat with Chloe. Chloe’s smug look vanished the second she saw me sitting next to the school’s elusive prince. It was replaced by shock, then pure jealousy. I sat there, stunned and a little anxious. Wait. Did changing partners mean I was now involved in some weird drama with the school beauty too? I poked Ezra with my pen. Ezra’s obsidian eyes snapped toward me. His long, thick lashes trembled. I swear I saw a trace of sorrow in them, like a dog waiting too long for its owner. I was hit by how breathtakingly handsome he was. My heart skipped a beat. “Do you know Chloe?” I asked. Ezra’s eyes instantly went guarded. He shook his head, face blank. I sighed in relief. I didn’t want to fight over another guy. “Anything else?” Ezra asked, his voice polite but freezing cold. I shook my head and buried my face in a practice test. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ezra open the class roster. He squinted, sharply analyzing Chloe’s name and GPA statistics. Ezra’s voice—panic, confusion, frustration—filled my head again. “Why is she asking about her?” “Chloe is a girl. A girl who stole her ex-boyfriend. Why does Riley care?” “Chloe’s grades are trash. Her features are average. Her skin routine is lacking. Visually, she is zero threat to me.” “But Riley mentioned her. Is she hinting at something?” “I’m so stupid. I can’t read my wife’s mind at all. I’m a failure of a husband. Partners who can’t anticipate needs deserve to perish.” I listened to his internal monologue spiral into insanity. I was terrified he was going to do something drastic. I quickly put down my pen and patted his hand to calm him down. The moment my skin touched his, Ezra went rigid. His back snapped straight, and a stifled groan escaped his throat. His eyes lost focus. A sheen of sweat instantly broke out across his forehead. It felt like I hadn’t touched his hand, but a trigger on a bomb. I pulled back, startled. I didn’t know what to do, but looking at his flushed, damp face, I gulped. My gaze drifted lower. There was a suspicious shadow on his blue uniform trousers. I froze. Ezra sensed my shock. He tried to maintain composure, leveraging his height to stand up, forcing his voice to remain steady. “Excuse me. Bathroom.” But his retreat was frantic. He looked like he was shattering. I reached out to wipe a drop of sweat he’d left on my exam paper. It was still warm. 3 The moment Ezra left, Noah, the Academic Rep, pounced on my desk with a stack of papers. “Riley! Finally, I caught you alone.” Noah looked like he was about to cry tears of joy. I blinked, realizing that since the seat change, Ezra had been acting like a guard dog, fiercely patrolling his territory. Nobody dared approach. Noah raced against the clock to ask me questions. Just as I finished explaining the last calculus problem, Ezra appeared in the doorway. His gloomy eyes fixed silently on Noah. He had cleaned himself up. He looked elegant, composed again. His dark hair fell over his pale forehead. His collar was buttoned all the way up, hiding his collarbones. He looked like the picture of abstinence—a cold, distant moon. But his thoughts were feral. He was screaming internally, blinded by jealousy. “Noah definitely wants her. That scheming little rat. The moment I leave, he swoops in to seduce her.” “She’s teaching him math. I’m in hell. I’m in agony. Why does she give everyone a chance? I’m going to lose my mind.” “Everyone is trying so hard. I have so many rivals. I’m so mediocre compared to them.” “I have an ugly personality. I’m socially awkward. The only thing keeping my status is my GPA. No, even my GPA isn’t perfect. I didn’t get a 4.0 flat. I’m a failure. No wonder she’s looking for a side piece.” By the end, I could hear a suppressed sob in his mind. Noah felt Ezra’s death stare and practically sprinted back to his seat. Ezra slowly sat down. He stared silently at his stack of workbooks and started solving problems. As he worked, I heard the sound of broken sobbing in my head. 4 Ezra sat next to me every day, radiating despair. The forecast on his face was always ‘cloudy with a chance of doom.’ But he worked harder than ever, as if trying to defend his title as the “Main Boyfriend” (in his head). I didn’t understand why he linked being Valedictorian to being my husband, but seeing such a beautiful boy crying internally every day… Fine. I felt bad for him. I stopped slacking off. With finals approaching, I made Ezra my target. I chased his score. Every quiz, every test, our names were right next to each other. Eventually, the class got used to it. People started joking. “It used to be Carter at #1. Now it’s Ezra. It’s not like the Valedictorian changed, it’s like Riley changed boyfriends.” “Our eternal #2 only dates the guy at the top.” “Honestly, Carter has no taste. He downgraded to Chloe, and now he’s out of the top ten.” At this stage, scores were the only currency that mattered. Nobody cared that Ezra seemed deeply depressed; they just laughed at Carter. In the shadows, Carter’s face went dark. He stared at the ranking board, veins popping in his neck. The weather turned cold, and I caught a flu. I walked back to my desk coughing, only to find cold medicine and a thermos of hot water waiting for me. Ezra spoke concisely. “For you.” I smiled at him and downed the medicine. There was a little residue left in the cup. Ezra calmly took the cup and walked to the storage room to throw it out. I thought that was weird. The trash can by the back door was closer. I quietly followed him and cracked the storage room door open. Ezra was leaning against the wall. He held the cup with one hand, the other hidden behind some boxes. His head was bowed, staring at the lipstick stain on the rim. A trembling growl vibrated in his throat. His gaze was obsessive, greedy. He had unbuttoned two buttons of his shirt. He was breathing hard. He swallowed, then slowly extended his tongue to trace the rim where my lips had been. The moment his tongue touched the stain, his back muscles seized. His fingers tightened around the cup, the plastic crunching under the pressure. My eyes went wide. I gasped. Ezra snapped his head up. His eyes were red-rimmed and wild, staring at me like a dangerous wolf.

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The city’s most eligible bachelor, Adrian Blackwood, is famously “child-free by choice.” But I’m pregnant. He hates it when women try to trap him. When a famous A-list actress announced her pregnancy, he rushed abroad to be by her side. It turns out, he only wanted children with the woman he truly loved. So, I broke up with him and booked an appointment at a clinic back in my hometown to get rid of it. Later, he handcuffed me to the headboard, his eyes dark with rage as he bit down on my shoulder. “Stop shaking. Crying won’t make me stop. “You got rid of our baby. Now you owe me another one.” 1 There was only a single lamp burning on the bedside table. The crystals hanging from the shade wouldn’t stop trembling. Adrian was unusually rough today. It was past midnight, and he still refused to let me go. Just as I was drifting off, he bit the sensitive spot on my neck. “Chloe, look at me. We aren’t finished.” “Can’t we continue tomorrow? I’m so tired,” I pleaded, my voice barely a whisper. He gripped my chin, a flicker of displeasure in his eyes. “Who was the guy who slipped you that note today?” “……” So that’s what this was about. Adrian is usually buried in work, but today, surprisingly, he came to pick me up from campus. I was just buying a dessert at a boba shop. The cashier was a junior from my department; he knew my face. When I paid, he slid a folded piece of paper into my hand. I turned around and saw a flashy blue sports car idling at the curb. The window was down, and Adrian was staring right at me with that unreadable, dark look. He didn’t say anything then. He held it in all night. And now, apparently, it was time to settle the score. Adrian’s fingers tightened; my jaw started to ache. “Answer me.” I met his deep, intense gaze. I softened my tone. “I don’t know him. He’s just a student. I already threw the note away.” “You better have.” He lowered his head and kissed me, deep and possessive. My mind was in a haze. He panted against my ear, his voice low and warning: “I’m leaving for a business trip tomorrow. Be a good girl at home. If I find out you’ve done something you shouldn’t… you know the consequences.” His tone was icy, his movements predatory, like a wolf cornering a rabbit. I nodded obediently. Of course, I didn’t think Adrian was actually jealous. He just demanded absolute loyalty. If I dared to get close to another man, he wouldn’t hesitate to dump me. 2 Adrian was gone for a month. Finally, I had time to do what I wanted. But recently, maybe because of some bad food, I felt constantly nauseous. After hearing my symptoms, the doctor prescribed a pregnancy test. I froze. Half an hour later. I walked out of the clinic, staring blankly at the lab report in my hand. everyone in the elite social circle knows Adrian is strict about being “child-free.” He also detests the idea of marriage. Every time Adrian came to see me, he took every precaution. But… nothing is 100% effective. I touched my flat stomach, a strong sense of unease rising in my chest. Adrian hated being manipulated. Once, at a gala, a rising pop star tried to sneak into his room, hoping to trap him with a baby. He literally had security throw the girl out, wrapped only in a towel. After that, she vanished from the entertainment industry completely. I bit my lip, my hand trembling as I held the report. I’m done for. If Adrian suspects I did this on purpose… I’ll be the next one destroyed. 3 I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Late at night, just as I was preparing a text to test the waters with Adrian, my phone buzzed with a trending news alert. Adrian Blackwood spotted at a foreign hospital with A-list actress Vanessa Sterling. The two of them were standing at the entrance of the OB-GYN department. Even though she was bundled up, you could still see her stunning figure. She was the pure, elegant type. Exactly Adrian’s type. The tabloids were buzzing about Vanessa’s pregnancy, speculating the child was Adrian’s. After all, they had been photographed at a hotel together before. Suddenly, rumors that the Blackwood dynasty was about to have a new mistress spread like wildfire. I stared quietly at those photos. I immediately deleted the carefully worded text in my chat box. Adrian definitely treated Vanessa differently. Last time, at a banquet I attended with him, a man made a crude joke about Vanessa, saying she had no acting skills and must have slept her way to the top. Adrian immediately threw his wine in the guy’s face. He grabbed the man by the collar, ready to throw a punch. Adrian was raised with strict, old-money etiquette; he rarely lost his temper in public. If I hadn’t held him back that day, he probably would have broken the guy’s legs. Perhaps, Adrian wasn’t firmly against having kids. Maybe he just wanted the woman he actually loved to carry them. …… I rubbed my belly. I forced down the bitterness rising in my throat. Besides, I was only with Adrian because I was poor. My mother was sick. It just so happened that Adrian was pursuing me at the time. He was generous with money, helping me secure rare, expensive medication that insurance wouldn’t cover. I had no reason to refuse. Compared to a human life, what was self-respect? Who Adrian liked, or who he wanted to be with, was his business. As long as the checks cleared. 4 The next day. Adrian sent me his flight information. As the “good girlfriend,” I naturally had to go pick him up. It was late autumn. I wore the dress he liked best with a trench coat over it. I waited in the cold wind for two hours. First, the flight was delayed. Then, night fell. Finally, I received his text. [Sorry, business isn’t finished here. I have to push back my return.] My hands, stiff from the cold, typed out a reply. [Okay, get some rest then. Miss you~] Adrian liked this soft, dependent version of me best. Almost immediately, my bank account received a notification: a transfer of five million dollars. I stared at the screen. Even for holiday bonuses, he never gave this much at once. [Me: Did you send the wrong amount?] [Him: Didn’t you say you wanted a graduation trip? Go have fun.] [Me: So generous. Should I fly to London to see you instead?] I was joking. But he refused instantly. [Him: Go wherever you want. Just don’t come find me.] [Me: So when are you coming back?] He didn’t reply again. Until late that night. Paparazzi released photos of Vanessa Sterling entering Adrian’s private villa overseas. I stared at the intimate body language in the photos. It took a long time to sink in. The money earlier today was a severance package. That’s how guys like Adrian operate. Give a lump sum, make it a clean break. Smart girls take the hint and stop nagging.

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He was a prominent figure in the New York elite, famously child-free. But I was pregnant. And everyone knew Adrian Sterling hated being trapped by women. When a famous actress announced her pregnancy, he immediately flew to Europe to be by her side. It turned out he wasn’t against children; he just wanted them with the woman he actually loved. I asked for a breakup and went back to my hometown to schedule an abortion. Later, he handcuffed me to the headboard and bit down hard on my shoulder. “Don’t shake. Crying won’t make me stop.” His voice was dark, dangerous. “You killed our baby. Now you owe me another one.” 1 The room was dim, lit only by a single bedside lamp. The tassels on the lampshade swayed violently. Adrian was unusually aggressive today. It was past midnight, and he still wouldn’t let me go. Just as I was drifting off, he bit my neck. “Elara, look at me. We’re not done.” “Can’t we continue tomorrow? I’m so tired,” I pleaded, my voice soft and raspy. He gripped my chin, his eyes hiding a storm of displeasure. “Who was that guy who slipped you a note today?” “…” So that was it. Adrian was usually buried in work, but today he had surprisingly shown up at campus to pick me up. I had been at a coffee shop grabbing a pastry. The barista was a junior from my department; he recognized me. When I paid, he slipped a folded note into my hand. I turned around and saw the flashy blue McLaren parked by the curb. The window was down, and Adrian was staring at me with a ghostly calmness. He hadn’t exploded then. He held it in all evening. And now he was settling the score? Adrian’s fingers tightened; my jaw ached. “Speak.” Meeting his deep, abyss-like eyes, I softened my tone. “I don’t know him. He’s just a student. I threw the note away immediately.” “You’d better have.” He lowered his head and kissed me, deep and heavy. As my mind went hazy, he panted against my ear, his warning sharp. “I’m flying out for business tomorrow. Be good while I’m gone. If I find out you’ve done something you shouldn’t… you know the consequences.” His tone was icy, his movements predatory like a wolf. I nodded obediently. I wasn’t naive enough to think Adrian was jealous. He just liked his possessions clean. If I dared to get close to another man, he would discard me without a second thought. 2 Adrian had been gone for a month. Finally, I had time to do what I wanted. But lately, maybe due to bad food, I felt constantly nauseous. The doctor listened to my symptoms and handed me a pregnancy test. I froze. Thirty minutes later. I walked out of the clinic, staring blankly at the result in my hand. Everyone in the Manhattan elite knew Adrian Sterling was strictly “child-free.” He despised the idea of marriage. Every time we were together, he took every precaution. But still… accidents happen. The doctor said no method is 100% effective. I touched my flat stomach, a rising tide of panic drowning me. Adrian hated calculating women. Once, at a gala, an aspiring singer tried to sneak into his suite, hoping to trap him with a baby. He literally threw the girl out into the hallway, wrapped only in a towel. She was never heard from in the industry again. I bit my lip, my hand trembling as I held the paper. It was over. If Adrian thought I tampered with the protection… I might be the next one to disappear from New York. 3 I couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning. Late at night, just as I was about to text Adrian to test the waters, a notification popped up. Trending news. Adrian Sterling had been spotted leaving a private clinic in Switzerland with the hottest young actress, Serena. They were standing at the entrance of the OB-GYN department. Even though she was bundled up, you could still see her stunning figure. She was the innocent, angelic type. Exactly Adrian’s type. The tabloids were buzzing that Serena was pregnant, and the baby was likely Adrian’s. After all, they had been photographed at a hotel together before. Suddenly, rumors of a new mistress of the Sterling empire were everywhere. I stared at the photos in silence. I immediately deleted the draft I had typed out to him. Adrian really treated Serena differently. Last time I accompanied him to a banquet, a drunk heir made a crude joke about Serena, saying she had no talent and must have slept her way to the top. Adrian immediately threw his drink in the guy’s face. He grabbed him by the collar, ready to beat him to a pulp. The Sterlings were strict about public image; he rarely lost his temper like that. If I hadn’t pulled him back, he probably would have broken the guy’s legs. Maybe Adrian wasn’t strictly child-free after all. He just wanted a baby with the woman he loved. … I rubbed my belly, forcing down the bitterness in my heart. Anyway, I was only with Adrian for the money. My mother was sick. Adrian happened to pursue me right when I was desperate. He was generous, helping me secure rare experimental drugs for her. I had no reason to refuse. Compared to a life, what was pride? Who Adrian loved, or who he wanted to be with, was his business. As long as the check cleared. 4 The next day. Adrian sent me his flight info. As the obedient girlfriend, I went to JFK to pick him up. It was late autumn. I wore the little dress he liked best with a trench coat over it. I waited in the cold wind for two hours. First, it was a delay. Then, night fell. Finally, I got a text. [Sorry, business isn’t wrapped up. Extending the trip.] My frozen fingers typed out a reply. [Okay, get some rest. Miss you~] Adrian liked it when I played the soft, clingy girl. Soon, my bank account received a transfer. Five hundred thousand dollars. I paused. Even for holidays, he never gave this much at once. [Me: Mistake?] [Him: Didn’t you say you wanted a graduation trip? Go have fun.] [Me: So generous. Should I fly to London to see you?] I was joking. He shut it down instantly. [Him: Go wherever you want. Just don’t come to me.] [Me: When are you coming back?] He didn’t reply. Late that night. The paparazzi released photos of Serena entering Adrian’s private villa in the Alps. I stared at their intimate body language. It took a long time to sink in. That money was a severance package. Rich guys like Adrian always did this. A lump sum for a clean break. The smart girls took the money and didn’t make a scene.

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Chapter 1 The year I applied to the Fortune 500 company my father ran, a new hiring policy was suddenly implemented: all applicants needed a score of 700 on the Corporate Aptitude Test. I scored a 699. I was rejected. A year later, my adopted sister, Bella, made the cut. At her celebration party, Uncle Jerry, a little tipsy, slapped my father on the shoulder. “You really spoil your girl, Robert. You knew Bella didn’t hit the 700 mark, so you just scrapped that requirement entirely.” I froze, then forced a smile. “That can’t be true, Uncle Jerry. When I took the test last year, I got a 699, and Dad didn’t pull any strings for me. Bella must have gotten in on her own merit.” “Impossible,” Uncle Jerry slurred, his face flushed with bourbon. “That 700-point rule? Your dad specifically asked for it to be added last year.” I turned to look at my father, shock written all over my face. Dad coughed awkwardly, adjusting his tie. “Harper, we’re father and daughter. I have to avoid the appearance of nepotism. Bella is adopted; if she didn’t get in, people would say we treat her like an outsider. Besides, Bella worked hard for months. She deserves a good result.” My smile turned bitter. Right. Since you care so much about optics and rules. Then when I run the tax audit at the end of the year… I won’t leave any room for mercy. … The dinner table fell into a dead silence. Uncle Jerry seemed to realize he’d spilled a family secret. He laughed nervously. “I’m just talking nonsense, too much wine. Harper, don’t take it to heart.” I pushed his hand away and stared dead at my father at the head of the table. “So, the rule added last year… you really put that there just for me?” Dad didn’t speak. Mom tugged at my sleeve. “Harper, don’t fight with your father.” I shook her off. “Why? I scored 699, and you set the bar at 700. Did you want to keep me out that badly?” “I told you, I had to avoid conflicts of interest! You are my biological daughter! If I hired you, what would the board think?” I looked at him in disbelief. “Dad, ‘avoiding conflicts of interest’ means not using your power to give family an unfair advantage. I would have accepted it if I simply wasn’t good enough. “But I was first in the written exam and the interview. What conflict is there? “Meanwhile, Bella didn’t even crack 600, and you just deleted the rule for her. Who exactly are you showing favoritism to?” Smash! A glass shattered against my forehead. Dad stood up, furious. “You’re getting bold, aren’t you?” Guests rushed to hold us back. Bella stood there, eyes red and teary. “Harper, don’t upset Dad! Apologize to him, please!” “Look at Bella, then look at yourself!” Dad frowned, pointing a shaking finger at me. “Bella worked hard for three whole months. Why doesn’t she deserve a win? Everyone knows she’s the daughter of my late partner. If I don’t help her, people will say the Sterling family is heartless! Why can’t you think about the family for once instead of your own selfish interests?” “Selfish interests?” I laughed, wiping a trickle of blood from my brow. “Dad, I prepared for a whole year. Who gave me a win?” Dad paused. I let out a hollow laugh. “Dad, do you know that because you blocked me, Liam and I broke up?” Dad’s brow furrowed. “We dated for three years. We planned to introduce our families the day I got the offer. But he got in, and I didn’t. He moved to headquarters, I stayed behind. The long distance killed us. Are you happy now?” I threw my own glass to the floor. It shattered, shards flying everywhere. Bella rushed to shield Dad. “Harper, what are you doing?!” Mom tried to pull me back. I just stared at him with red-rimmed eyes. Bella suddenly threw herself at me. “Harper, I won’t join Dad’s company! I’ll give it up! Please don’t blame Dad for this. It’s my fault! I’ll beg you!” She actually dropped to her knees, looking ready to prostrate herself. Dad grabbed her arm, pulling her up. “Why should you give it up? You’re taking the job! You worked for it! Why should her tantrum ruin your future?” “No, Dad, I can’t let this family fall apart because of me!” Mom and Dad looked at her with heartbreak in their eyes. Then Dad looked at me with disgust. “Look how sensible Bella is. Then look at you. You don’t understand the simplest things. How can your mother and I rely on you in the future?” “Rely on me?” I laughed. “Since you all think Bella is the sensible one, why do you need me? From now on, let her be your daughter.” I slammed the door and walked out. Chapter 2 Behind me, I heard Mom and the relatives chasing after me. I walked fast, slipping into the elevator and hitting the button before they could reach me. From the private room down the hall, I heard the sound of Dad smashing more plates. “Let her go! Let’s see how long she can keep up this act!” The elevator descended. My eyes burned with unshed tears. Walking out of the hotel, the digital billboard at the entrance was plastered with a massive congratulatory message: [Congratulations to the Sterling Family Heiress for Top Interview Scores!] The Sterling Heiress… I zoned out for a moment. A waiter accidentally bumped into me, snapping me back to reality. “I’m so sorry, Miss! The guests in Room 606 just ordered another massive cake for their daughter. They requested the head pastry chef for the decorations.” Room 606. That was Bella’s party. “Why did they order another one?” “Heard some crazy person ruined the first one. The father is furious and wants to throw an even bigger celebration to make up for it. Apparently, his daughter just got into a massive conglomerate. Very impressive stuff.” I smiled bitterly. I actually had taken the civil service exam. I got into the IRS. The Internal Revenue Service. But from start to finish, my family only cared about Bella’s results. Not a single person asked if I passed, or where I was working. I went back to my apartment. I spent the next day in a daze. That night, Bella updated her social media. It was a video. Dad, Mom, and Bella, surrounded by relatives, posing in front of a giant cake. She made a peace sign, looking like the happiest girl in the world. Caption: [Thank you Mom and Dad for always standing behind me when I need you.] I turned off my phone. I didn’t go home that weekend. Usually, I went back every Sunday for dinner. This time, I drove to the University district. This was where I met Liam. Three years of college. We had planned our entire future. Where to buy a house, when to have kids, where to retire. I calculated everything, except that I would be rejected from the company while he got in. A month later, he asked to break up. Reason: He couldn’t handle a long-distance relationship. I was heartbroken, but I accepted it. Retracing my steps, I walked into the bistro Liam and I used to love. As soon as I sat down, a couple across the room caught my eye. The man’s voice was painfully familiar. “I used to eat here all the time in college. The fish is amazing. Try it.” “All the time? With who?” The girl’s voice was playful, slightly jealous. The man laughed. I froze, disbelief coloring my voice. “Liam?” The man stiffened. He slowly turned around and locked eyes with me. Sitting opposite him, Bella looked at me in shock. “Harper?” Chapter 3 “Babe, give me a second.” Liam gave Bella a gentle smile. He turned, grabbed my arm, and dragged me outside the restaurant. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I met her after we broke up.” “Bullshit!” My eyes stung. “I know she started seeing someone this time last year. We hadn’t broken up yet! You were together then, weren’t you?” His face went pale. I stepped closer, pressing him. “Liam, did we really break up because of the distance?” “I…” “You know you can’t lie to me.” He grit his teeth. Then nodded. “Yes. I cheated. So what?” I didn’t expect him to admit it so bluntly. “Harper, my parents are blue-collar workers. Getting me through college wasn’t easy. I fought tooth and nail to get to New York.” “Any opportunity I see, I have to grab it with both hands.” I frowned. “What are you talking about?” He sighed. “Actually, I missed the cutoff score for the interview. Bella talked to her father—the Division CEO—and got me in.” I thought I misheard. “Her father? Are you sure it was her father, Robert Sterling?” “Yeah.” I nearly lost my balance. My own biological father added a clause to kick me out. But with one word from Bella, an outsider my father had never even met could be hired as an exception. Me, the real daughter, was the actual outsider. First step to success: cut off the girlfriend. I bit my lip, holding back tears. “Liam, I never thought you were this kind of person.” “Don’t stand there and judge me.” He frowned, defensive. “You have no idea how much bitterness I swallowed to get to this position! Sure, I could have stayed with you. But if another woman can help me jump social classes and secure my future, why shouldn’t I choose her?” “If you really loved me, why would you stop me from choosing a better life?” “Besides, Harper, if the same opportunity was in front of you, you would have dumped me even faster. Don’t deny it.” I looked at him, stunned. He sighed. “So, don’t blame me for letting you down. If you want to blame someone, blame yourself for not being good enough to get into Vance Global. Blame yourself for not having Bella’s background or a father like Robert Sterling.” I paused. “You don’t know who my father is?” “Does it matter?” “What if… my father is Robert Sterling too?” He froze. Then he laughed. “If you were Robert Sterling’s daughter, why couldn’t you get into the company?” I was speechless. “Liam.” Bella’s voice rang out. She walked up, looking concerned, and looped her arm through Liam’s. “Is there a misunderstanding?” “It’s nothing. Just a junior from college who used to be obsessed with me.” Liam glanced at me one last time. He pulled Bella close and walked away without looking back. As they turned, Bella glanced over her shoulder. The corner of her mouth curled into a smirk. My phone rang. I answered it numbly. It was Mom. “Harper, it’s Sunday. Are you still throwing a tantrum? Dad is angry. Be a good girl and come home.” “I’m not throwing a tantrum.” I hung up. I dialed another number. “Agent Zhao. The tax audit on Vance Global’s subsidiary… that’s assigned to us, right?” “Yes, Chief Vance.” “Robert Sterling just hired a new protégé. Focus on him. And check the subsidiary’s accounts.” “Understood.” For the next few days, I buried myself in work. I ignored every call from home. Until one evening after work, I was blocked near my office. Mom got out of the car. “Harper, finally. Your dad is waiting at home. Stop this. You haven’t been back in a month. We’re a family, there’s nothing we can’t talk out.” I wanted to refuse. But I saw my supervisor’s car in the parking lot. I didn’t want to make a scene. I gritted my teeth and got in. The door opened. Bella was pouring tea for Dad. Dad looked up from the head of the table, frowning deeply. “You finally decided to show up.” Chapter 4 “If you don’t want me here, I’ll go back to work.” I turned to leave. Mom blocked my path. Dad was furious. “What work could you possibly have?” “My job.” “Job?” He sneered. “A job you found yourself, making three grand a month? Is that worth killing yourself over? Without my support, what kind of ‘good job’ could you possibly get?” “Support?” I scoffed. “Mr. Sterling, growing up, what exactly did you support me with?” He froze. “Other fathers, even if they have nothing, wouldn’t dream of stealing opportunities from their own daughters. But you, Mr. Sterling? You’re different.” “Even when your daughter earns it herself, you have to strike her down. Support? Your support all went to an outsider. When did I ever see a dime of it?” “Since you’re holding things over my head that you never gave me, what right do you have to threaten me?” “You!” Dad stood up abruptly. Bella rushed over and grabbed my hand. “Harper! How can you talk to Dad like that! Apologize! No matter what, he’s our father!” Dad clutched his chest, pointing a trembling finger at me. “See? This is exactly why I help Bella and not you!” Mom rubbed his back, looking at me with disappointment. “Harper, we brought you home to talk, not to fight. Look at Bella. Can’t you be a little more sensible? Apologize!” I shook off Bella’s hand. “I’m not sensible. Bella is sensible enough for both of us. You never treated me like a daughter anyway.” “How can you say that?” “Am I wrong?” I stared directly at my father. He smashed a teacup at my feet. “Fine! Get out! Let’s see how you survive in this city without my help! Get out!!” Bella reached out as if to stop me, but her hand barely grazed my sleeve—a calculated miss. “Sister, don’t leave angry! Just say sorry!” “Bella, let her go! Ungrateful brat! When she hits a wall, she’ll realize how wrong she was!” Even though I had steeled myself, hearing my own parents blatantly favor her made my eyes sting. I wiped them quickly, hailed a cab, and left. On my desk lay the intelligence Agent Zhao had gathered. I flipped through it. I placed it back on the desk coldly. “I knew it. Bella isn’t clean.” At the end of the year, the IRS audit vehicles pulled up to the Vance Global subsidiary. We walked straight into Bella’s office. “Auditing me?” Hearing our purpose, she sneered. “Do you know who I am? Who gave you the order?” “I did.” Bella’s face went pale. The agents stepped aside. I walked through the gap. I held up my badge. “IRS Criminal Investigation Division. Harper Vance. We found evidence of tax evasion. Please cooperate with the investigation.”

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Chapter 1 I was beaten until I was crippled by the school bully and his gang. My mother, a top criminal defense attorney, became the defense lawyer for the accused. In court, she used every word like a scalpel, securing a “not guilty” verdict for the boy who nearly beat me to death. Her reason? The boy’s father was the benefactor who sponsored her through law school. Facing my questions, my mother was righteous: “Everyone is equal before the law. I cannot lose my professional ethics just because you are the victim.” “Jay was just impulsive. I couldn’t bear to see his whole life ruined over one mistake.” Watching the perpetrator swagger out of the courthouse, I smiled. I pulled out the emancipation papers I had prepared long ago and threw them in her face. “Since you have such high professional ethics and love repaying debts so much…” “I hope you can defend your own future just as well.” … My mother, Susan, didn’t even look at the papers. In her eyes, this was just another rebellious stunt from her teenage son. “Mason, have you had enough?” She picked up the papers from the floor, crumpled them without reading, and tossed them into the trash can. “Mr. Gordon is hosting a thank-you dinner at The Golden Palace tonight. You’re coming with me.” “Jay will be there too. It’s a good chance for him to apologize to you, and we can put this whole thing behind us.” I looked at her in disbelief. Put it behind us? I was still in a wheelchair, and the guy who put me there had just walked free. And she wanted me to go to his victory dinner? “I’m not going.” I spat out the words coldly and spun my wheelchair around to leave. Behind me, my mother’s voice rose, suppressing anger. “Mason! Can’t you stop being so petty?” “Mr. Gordon’s family isn’t well off. He spent half a month’s salary on this dinner.” “Not going is disrespectful to me and to Mr. Gordon!” I didn’t look back. I wheeled myself desperately toward the exit, escaping the suffocating air of the courthouse. Outside, the blinding sun made me dizzy. My dad’s car was parked by the curb. Seeing me, he ran over, looking timid as always. “Mason, how did it go? What was the verdict?” Looking at this man who had been a doormat in his own home for a lifetime, I felt a wave of helplessness. “Verdict? Not guilty.” My dad froze, his mouth hanging open. “How… Your mom said it was just a formality. She said she’d get Jay probation. How could it be not guilty?” I sneered. “Dad, your wife is a shark. A top-tier defense attorney.” “If she wants someone to walk, they walk.” “Even if that person broke her own son’s legs.” My dad rubbed his hands together, looking anxious. “This… well… your mom must have her reasons.” “That Gordon guy, he really did help her out back then…” “Enough.” I cut him off. “Take me to the hospital. I’m not going home.” My dad hesitated, glancing at the courthouse doors. “Um… your mom just texted. We need to go straight to The Golden Palace.” “She said if I don’t bring you, she’ll cut off my credit card.” I looked at the man in front of me. Fifty years old, living like a dog. All the finances were controlled by my mother. He didn’t even dare to speak loudly in his own house. “Then you go.” I took out my phone and ordered an accessible Uber. “I’ll go myself.” “Mason! Don’t be like this…” My dad tried to grab my handle, but I slapped his hand away. “Dad, if you still want to call me your son, don’t go to that dinner.” “If you go, don’t bother coming to see me anymore.” The Uber arrived. The driver helped me into the car. Through the window, I saw my dad standing there, conflicted. Finally, he sighed, turned around, and got into his own car. Heading toward The Golden Palace. I closed my eyes, and the tears finally fell. This was my family. A mother with a savior complex, and a father with no spine. And I was the sacrificial lamb they didn’t need. At the hospital, I had just laid down when my phone started blowing up. On Instagram, Jay had posted a series of photos. In the pictures, he was holding a wine glass, face flushed with excitement. My mother sat at the head of the table, smiling with elegant grace. Caption: “Thanks to Aunt Susan. Justice might be late, but it is never absent! Cheers!” Justice? Screw justice. I opened the comments. They were full of Jay’s delinquent friends praising him. “Jay is the man!” “Lawyer Susan is a legend!” “Where’s the cripple? Didn’t come to toast?” Jay replied: “Probably crying at home, hahaha.” I stared at the screen, my fingers trembling. Suddenly, a notification for a money transfer popped up. From my mother. Amount: $300. Note: “Stop throwing a tantrum. Buy yourself something nice. I told Mr. Gordon not to worry about the medical bills. Their family has it hard, we need to be understanding.” I stared at the text, my stomach churning. I wanted to vomit. I threw my phone hard against the wall. Chapter 2 I stayed in the hospital for three days. In those three days, my mother didn’t visit once. Instead, Mr. Gordon, Jay’s father, showed up with a basket of bruised apples. He stood at the door in his dusty work clothes, looking simple and honest. “Mason, Uncle is here to see you.” He put the apples on the nightstand and rubbed his calloused hands. “Jay is just a kid, he doesn’t know his own strength.” “I already scolded him.” “Look, your mom got Jay off the hook. Let’s call it even, okay?” Even? I looked at the basket of rotting fruit, probably picked from a dumpster, and laughed out of anger. “My leg is worth a basket of bad apples?” Mr. Gordon’s face changed for a second, then he forced a smile again. “Oh, Mason, don’t say that.” “When your mom was in law school, I saved money from my own food budget to help her.” “You have to have a conscience. Look how sensible your mom is.” “Besides, your family is rich. You don’t need this medical money, right?” “My Jay needs to get married soon, he can’t start life in debt.” In that moment, I finally understood what “shameless” meant. This family was a parasite. And my mother was the fool offering her neck, complaining that the blood wasn’t flowing fast enough. “Get out.” I pointed at the door. “Take your trash apples and get out.” Mr. Gordon couldn’t keep the smile on his face anymore. “You kid, no manners at all.” “No wonder Jay beat you up. You deserved it.” He grabbed the apples and left, cursing under his breath. Before leaving, he spat on the floor. I rang the nurse call button to have someone sanitize the room. Disgusting. Truly disgusting. That afternoon, the head nurse came in with a bill. She looked uncomfortable. “Mason, your account is overdue.” “If you don’t pay, we have to stop your medication.” I froze. “Overdue? Didn’t my mom… didn’t Susan pay?” The nurse shook her head. “Ms. Vance came yesterday and withdrew the $10,000 deposit.” “She said… she said the other party was in financial trouble, and she lent it to them for a turnover.” “She said you should figure it out yourself.” My mind went blank. She took my life-saving money… withdrew it… to give to the guy who beat me up? Is this something a mother does? With trembling hands, I borrowed the nurse’s phone to call my mother. It rang for a long time. I heard the sound of mahjong tiles clacking and my mother’s loud laughter. “Hello? Who is this?” “It’s me.” The other end went quiet for a second. Then came my mother’s impatient voice. “Mason? Where’s your phone? Why are you using a strange number?” “Susan, did you withdraw my medical funds?” I used her first name. “How dare you speak to your mother like that?” Her voice rose an octave. “Mr. Gordon needs to put a down payment on a house in the city. They were short.” “I thought you wouldn’t spend that much in the hospital, so I let them use it for an emergency.” “Don’t you have savings in your account? Use that first.” “Don’t be so selfish. You have to learn to help people in need.” Help people in need? She was dismantling my bones to build a fire for someone else! “That was for my surgery!” I screamed into the phone. “The doctor said I need a second reconstructive surgery next week, or I’ll be disabled for life!” “You gave the money to Jay to buy a house? Are you crazy?” I heard Mr. Gordon’s voice in the background. “Oh, Susan, if Mason really needs it, we can wait on the house…” Then came my mother’s firm voice. “Mr. Gordon, don’t listen to the kid’s nonsense.” “Doctors just like to scare people. It’s not that serious.” “Buying a house is a big deal. Jay needs to find a wife, he can’t do that without a house.” “Mason, figure it out yourself. Don’t bother me again.” Click. The call ended. I stood there, frozen, holding the phone. The nurse looked at me with pity. “Mason… maybe call your dad?” My dad? The man who had to ask for cigarette money? I shook my head. “No need.” “Please process my discharge papers.” “But your leg…” “I’m not treating it anymore.” Since the world was this rotten. There was no need for me to pretend to be a good kid anymore. I went home once. While no one was there, I packed everything that truly belonged to me. Except for the emancipation papers, I left nothing. My sneaker collection, limited edition figures, and the gold bars I had saved since childhood. I put them all on a resale app. Fire sale. Cash only. With the money, I rented a small apartment with an elevator in the next city. Then I went to a private orthopedic clinic. Although I missed the optimal window, the doctor said with enough money, I could walk normally again. But I could never play intense sports. I used to be the captain of the basketball team. Now, I was a cripple who couldn’t walk steady. But I didn’t cry. My tears had run dry that afternoon. Chapter 3 Half a month later. I was in rehab, sweating profusely as I dragged myself along the parallel bars. The door to the ward burst open. My mother, Susan, stormed in with Jay and Mr. Gordon behind her. Her face was grim, holding a document. “Mason! Why are you hiding here?” “Do you know how long we’ve been looking for you?” I ignored her, gritting my teeth and moving my feet. Every step felt like walking on knives. Jay was chewing gum, looking impatient. “Aunt Susan, I told you he was hiding.” “So dramatic. It’s just a broken leg, he didn’t die.” My mother slammed the document on my bedside table. “Sign this. Now.” I glanced at it. Letter of Forgiveness. For the school. “Because of the fight, the school wants to expel Jay,” my mother said righteously. “As long as you sign this letter stating it was ‘mutual combat,’ the school will keep his enrollment.” “Jay needs to apply for college. We can’t let this little thing ruin his future.” Mutual combat? I stopped moving, turned around, and stared at her. “Six guys beat me up while I curled in a ball protecting my head.” “You call that mutual combat?” “Susan, the great lawyer. How can you lie like that?” Her eyes flickered, but she quickly regained her dominance. “If you say it is, it is.” “I’m a lawyer. I know how to make it work.” “Sign it. Don’t waste everyone’s time.” Mr. Gordon chimed in. “Yes, Mason. We’re all family, why make it so awkward?” “If Jay gets expelled, how will he find a job?” “Why is your heart so bad, kid?” I looked at the faces of these three people. It felt incredibly absurd. “What if I don’t sign?” Jay spat his gum on the floor and walked over to shove me. I was unstable and fell hard. My knee smashed into the floor, sending a jolt of agonizing pain through my body. “Ah—” I screamed. My mother jumped, instinctively reaching out to help. But Jay stopped her. “Aunt Susan, don’t spoil him.” “He’s faking it.” “Mason, I’m telling you. You’re signing this today.” “Or I’ll beat you every time I see you.” He raised his foot, aiming for my broken leg. “Stop!” My mother finally shouted. Not to protect me. But because she was afraid of liability. “Jay, don’t hit him. There are cameras here.” She pulled Jay back and looked down at me. “Mason, I’m asking you one last time. Will you sign?” “If you don’t, don’t expect a penny from me ever again.” “And don’t think about coming back home.” I lay on the floor, cold sweat from the pain soaking my shirt. But I laughed. “Home?” “The home that took my medical money to buy a house for my attacker?” “The home that defended him in court?” “Susan, did you forget?” “I already cut ties with you.” I pulled my phone from my pocket. The screen showed a recording in progress. “Jay pushing me, and you forcing me to sign a fake forgiveness letter… I recorded it all.” “This time, I won’t let you get a ‘not guilty’ verdict.” My mother’s face went pale instantly. “You… you set me up?” I pushed myself up from the floor, inch by inch. Like a dog with a broken back, but with the eyes of a wolf. “You taught me, Mom.” “Everyone is equal before the law.” My mother panicked. She was a top lawyer; she knew the value of evidence. Jay pushing me caused a secondary injury. Plus, coercing a victim to sign false legal documents. If this got out, her career would be stained. “Mason, give Mommy the phone.” Her tone softened, trying to use emotional blackmail. “We are family. Let’s talk this out.” “Jay just has a temper, he didn’t mean it.” I looked coldly at her outstretched hand. “Jay, grab the phone!” Mr. Gordon shouted from the side. Jay reacted and lunged to snatch my phone. I was ready. I hit send. The file uploaded to my cloud and simultaneously sent to several big influencers I had contacted beforehand. “Too late.” I threw the phone on the ground. “It’s sent.” Jay stomped my phone into pieces, grabbed my collar, and raised his fist. “You piece of shit, you dare to play me?” Just then, the ward door burst open. Security guards rushed in, followed by my doctor. “Stop! What are you doing?!” The doctor saw me on the floor, blood seeping from my leg bandages, and exploded in anger. “The patient is in recovery! This is assault!” “Call the police! Now!” Chapter 4 The police arrived quickly. Because it was a hospital, a public place, and the circumstances were egregious, Jay was handcuffed on the spot. Mr. Gordon rolled on the floor screaming that I was framing them. My mother stood in the corner, her face grey. She looked at me with disappointment and pain. “Mason, you’ve disappointed me.” “Are you trying to ruin Jay? And ruin your mother too?” I sat in my wheelchair while the nurse treated my wound. I looked at her calmly. “Mom, I didn’t ruin you.” “Your greed and arrogance did.” “Also, don’t forget to find yourself a good lawyer.” “This time, I’m pressing charges all the way.” That night, the video blew up online. #TopLawyerForcesDisabledSonToSignForgiveness# #SchoolBullyAttacksInHospital# #BenefactorOrParasite# The hashtags trended instantly. In the video, Jay’s arrogance, my mother’s cold threats, and Mr. Gordon’s shamelessness were on full display. And my final line: “Everyone is equal before the law.” It struck a nerve with the public. Public opinion flipped instantly. Those who praised Susan for “repaying kindness” were now calling her “unfit to be a mother.” Her law firm issued a statement overnight, suspending Susan pending investigation. The school, under pressure, expelled Jay immediately. Mr. Gordon’s address was doxxed; people threw rotten eggs at his door daily. I lay in my hospital bed, reading the comments. I felt no joy. Only exhaustion. This was just the beginning. I wanted these people to pay the real price. My mother came to find me a few times. Not to apologize, but to beg. She aged ten years overnight; her elite aura was gone. “Mason, drop the charges.” She cried pitifully. “The firm is firing me and suing me for damages to their reputation.” “Jay is in detention. Mr. Gordon comes to our house every day screaming that I ruined them.” “Mommy knows she was wrong. Give Mommy a way out.” I looked at her. If it were before, seeing her cry would have kept me up all night. But now, I felt nothing. “Mom, when I begged you not to defend Jay, what did you say?” “You said you couldn’t lose your professional ethics just because I was the victim.” “Now, it’s the same.” “I can’t give up my legal rights just because you are my mother.” “It’s called giving you a taste of your own medicine.” My mother froze. She seemed to be seeing this cold son for the first time. “You… your heart is so cruel.” “I am your mother!” “Did you think about me being your son when you got Jay off the hook?” I asked. She was speechless. In the end, she left cursing. Calling me an ingrate, heartless, saying she should have birthed a piece of pork instead of me. I pretended not to hear. Because Jay committed assault while out on bail, and the circumstances were severe, the charges were compounded. This time, no top lawyer helped him. He got three years. Mr. Gordon got fifteen days detention for disturbing the peace in the hospital. As for my mother. Due to the massive public outcry and evidence of unethical conduct, her law license was revoked. The firm sued her for breach of contract. The career she was so proud of collapsed completely. My dad called me. He was crying. “Mason, the family is finished.” “Your mom smashes things at home every day. Gordon comes over demanding money.” “He says your mom ruined his son and wants compensation for emotional distress.” “We can’t live like this.” I said calmly, “Then get a divorce.” “This…” He hesitated. “It’s better to separate.” “This family fell apart a long time ago.” I hung up and looked at the sun outside. Although my leg still had a limp, I could finally walk without a crutch. I enrolled in an online law program. Since justice was late. I would go and hurry it up myself.

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Chapter 1 After getting my year-end bonus, I bought my grad student boyfriend a pair of limited-edition Jordans. I didn’t expect to see them listed on Facebook Marketplace the very next day for twenty percent of the price. The box wasn’t even opened. I bought them immediately. After confirming the pickup, I called my boyfriend. “Babe, do you like the little surprise I got you?” Brad sounded confused. “What surprise?” I smiled, feigning disappointment. “I hid a vintage Patek Philippe watch inside the shoe box. It cost over seventy thousand dollars. You didn’t see it?” … I was scrolling through Marketplace over the weekend when I saw a local listing. [Limited Edition Jordans, Size 10.5, Brand New in Box. Urgent Sale! Only $300!] I stared at the text, frozen. I had just bought these shoes two days ago. Same style, same size. Because they were limited edition and a rare size, I stayed up for three nights in a row to snag them on the drop. I spent over a grand to get them. Maybe they were fakes? I tapped on the post and swiped through the photos. I stopped cold when I saw the wrapping paper around the shoe box. It was matte grey with subtle silver embossing. Exactly what I had chosen. The standard shipping box was too plain, so I had gone to two different boutiques to find this specific wrapping paper. I picked the understated grey because I was afraid Brad would think it was too flashy. I told myself it might be a coincidence, but my fingertips were turning ice cold. I clicked on the seller’s profile. The location was right here in Chicago. I sat in silence for a moment, then hit the “Message” button. “Hi, are these still available? Are they authentic? Why so cheap?” The reply was instant. “Don’t worry, they’re 100% real. Shipped directly from the flagship store. I haven’t even taken the wrapping off.” Then, he sent a screenshot of the tracking info. Receiver: Brad. Sender: My Amazon account name. I almost dropped my phone. The seller was definitely my boyfriend, Brad. I had sent him that exact tracking screenshot myself. My fingers went stiff. I took a deep breath and clicked on his seller profile, scrolling down. We’d been together for six months. Almost everything I had given him was listed there. The noise-canceling headphones I gave him for our one-month anniversary. Listed for $150. The gaming console for our 100-day anniversary. Listed for $250. The latest iPad Pro I bought him recently because he said he needed it for research. Listed for $600. All marked as “Sold.” And a scarf. I had knitted it myself last winter. My fingers had blistered from the needles. He had hugged me then, swearing he’d wear it forever. Now it was listed for $10. The description read: Gift from a friend. Not my style. Just sitting around. I stared at those words, nausea rising in my throat. Since we started dating, Brad asked for gifts constantly. There was always a reason. One-month anniversary, 100 days, his birthday, his thesis proposal getting approved… I bought something every time. I’ve been working for two years; he’s still in grad school. I figured he had no income, so I tried to spare him any expense. So even when his return gifts were just cheap snack boxes or freebies he got from online promos, I never said anything. I thought I was being understanding. Now I see it. To him, I was just an ATM. A new message popped up. “Hey beautiful, you still interested? If you’re serious, I can lower the price a bit. I can ship it out today.” Chapter 2 I stared at the message, a mix of emotions churning in my gut. Should I expose him right now, break up, and tell him to get lost? No, that would be letting him off too easy. After thinking for a moment, I backed out of the chat and changed the shipping address to my best friend Sarah’s apartment complex. Once I confirmed everything, I clicked “Buy Now.” The moment the payment went through, a new message popped up. “Thanks for the quick payment! I see you’re local. I’ll Uber Connect it to you right now! Please confirm receipt as soon as you get it, I really need the cash!” I stared at the text and replied: “Sure, send it.” An hour later, I was holding the package at Sarah’s place. The shoe box was pristine. The seal was unbroken. The gift card I had specifically asked the brand to include was still tucked into the side slit. He hadn’t even opened it. “Aren’t those the shoes you gave Brad?” Sarah frowned, leaning in. “What’s going on?” I handed her my phone and let her scroll through the Marketplace history herself. Sarah flipped through a couple of pages, her face getting colder by the second. “That scumbag!” she hissed. “What are you gonna do? March over to campus and slap him?” I shook my head. “That’s boring.” If he dares to cash out on me, I’m going to make sure he loses everything. Just then, another notification popped up from the app. “Hey, the driver says it was delivered. Could you confirm receipt on the app? I really need the money urgently. Trying to buy a birthday gift for my girlfriend.” I froze. Girlfriend? My birthday is in October. It’s March. Which girlfriend is he buying a gift for? Sarah saw it too and let out a cold laugh. “Looks like this piece of trash isn’t just using you for money, he’s cheating too! Unbelievable.” I didn’t say a word. I clicked “Confirm Receipt.” The second the money transferred, I picked up a utility knife from Sarah’s counter. I gently sliced a cut across the outer wrapping of the shoe box. I took a photo and sent it to Brad’s seller account. “Hi, I just started opening the package and noticed a tear here.” Brad exploded immediately. “No way, lady! It was perfect when I gave it to the driver! Not a scratch on the packaging! You did that yourself!” “You didn’t check it upon delivery. You already signed for it and now you’re claiming damage? Who knows if you cut it yourself trying to get a refund? No way!” “You already confirmed the receipt! Whether it’s broken or not has nothing to do with me now! Don’t try to scam me!” Before I could reply, he blocked me. I smiled. That was exactly the guarantee I was waiting for. Whether it’s broken or not has nothing to do with him. I switched to iMessage and called Brad immediately. He picked up, his voice cheerful. “Hey babe, what’s up? Miss me?” I replied, “Yeah. Just wanted to ask, did you get the shoes? Do they fit?” Silence on the other end for a split second. “I got them,” he said, sounding slightly unnatural. “They fit great. But honestly, babe… I don’t really like them.” “Oh? Why not?” “I’m a second-year grad student. I’m about to start interviewing for internships. Wearing thousand-dollar sneakers feels a bit… juvenile.” He paused, softening his tone deliberately. “I know you meant well, but I need a mature, professional image right now. These shoes just don’t suit me.” I curled my lip. “Is that so? Then return them. The official site has a 7-day return policy. As long as you haven’t worn them outside, you can return them. They cost over a grand. Return them and I’ll get you something more mature.” Chapter 3 “Don’t!” he interrupted sharply. “But didn’t you say you didn’t like them?” “I… I actually wore them outside already,” he said, speaking faster. “There’s dirt on the soles, and I threw the box away. Definitely can’t return them.” “Oh,” I drawled. “Never mind then. But do you really think they’re childish?” “Yeah,” his tone returned to that calm, almost lecturing vibe. “Chloe, don’t buy me stuff like this anymore. I won’t have many chances to wear it. I’m about to start my internship. If you really want to get me something, buy something practical.” “Like what?” “Like a watch, or the new iPhone. That fits my status better. It looks good when I meet clients.” I gripped my phone so hard my knuckles turned white. He hasn’t even graduated, and he’s talking to me about status. No wonder he thought the shoes were childish. He was setting the stage for this. I suddenly remembered when I sent him the order screenshot three days ago, he just replied with “Cool.” I thought he was busy. I didn’t expect him to be so disappointed he couldn’t even fake enthusiasm. “You’re right,” I said slowly. “I agree. You’re starting your career; you need to look the part.” Brad sounded thrilled. “Right? I knew you’d understand! Actually, I saw a Longines watch, it’s only about two grand, if you…” I cut him off. “That’s why I hid a watch in the shoe box. A vintage Patek Philippe. You didn’t see it?” Dead silence on the other end. I could only hear his breathing getting heavier. A few seconds later, Brad’s voice cracked. “What?” “A Patek Philippe,” I said innocently. “It’s at the very bottom of the box, wrapped in velvet. You didn’t open it? There’s a handwritten letter from me in there too.” “I…” He stammered. “You put a watch inside the shoe box?” “Yeah,” I sighed. “If I knew you didn’t like the shoes, I would have just given you the watch. That thing was so expensive. My heart hurt when I swiped the card.” I heard a dull thud on the other end, like a fist hitting a table. Then, a girl’s lowered, whiny voice: “What are you doing? Why are you mad…” Brad lowered his voice too, sounding frantic. “Because you wanted that bag! How else could I sell the shoes so fast?! This is a disaster! We lost big time!” The girl scoffed. “I told you they were limited edition. The price would go up if you held them. You’re the one who insisted on selling…” “If I didn’t sell them now, how would I get them in time for your birthday?!” I pretended not to hear their whispers and asked with concern: “Brad? Are you okay?” “Nothing,” his voice was dry. “Chloe, did you just say… how much was that watch?” “Over seventy thousand,” I said casually. “I was going to buy a new car, but I thought you needed a good watch for your interviews more. So I bought it.” “Seventy thousand?” His voice started to tremble. “Where did you get that kind of money?” “Year-end bonus,” I said, sounding aggrieved. “My project did really well this year. I got an eighty-five thousand dollar bonus. I spent almost all of it on your watch.” “You…” He gasped. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?!” “I wanted it to be a surprise.” I paused, then injected panic into my voice. “Wait, why are you asking like that? Is the watch missing?” “I… might have missed it…” He was rambling now. “I haven’t looked at the box closely…” “Go look for it!” I shouted. “It’s a classic model. Even second-hand, it’s worth forty or fifty grand! If it’s lost, I’m going to die!” I sent Brad a photo of the watch and the receipt from the boutique. “Look, this style suits you perfectly. It’s a bit mature, but you can wear it for years.” Chapter 4 Brad didn’t speak. I could only hear his heavy breathing and the faint sound of the girl trying to comfort him in the background. After a long while, he squeezed out a sentence in a hoarse voice: “Chloe, something urgent came up. I have to go…” The moment he hung up, a notification popped up on my Marketplace app. “Hey! Are you there?! Urgent!” “Do you still have the shoes you just bought from me? Don’t open them! I’ll buy them back! $500? $1000? Whatever!” “Please!” I typed back slowly: “Just finished dinner. Was about to open them. What’s up?” He replied instantly: “Don’t open it! There’s something really important in the box!” “What is it?” He typed for a long time, the dots dancing, before sending: “Actually, these shoes were a New Year’s gift from my girlfriend. There’s a handwritten letter inside. It’s not worth money, but it means a lot to me. If she finds out I sold the shoes and the letter, she’ll break up with me. Please, have a heart. Sell them back to me. I’ll pay $2000. Okay?” I stared at the words “handwritten letter” and laughed. First it was a gift from a friend, now it’s a girlfriend. Lying without blinking. Clearly not his first rodeo. I deliberately didn’t reply. He panicked. “Why are you like this? I said I’d pay extra!” “Give me your address, I’ll come pick it up right now!” “If you don’t reply, I’m calling the police!” I took a screenshot of our chat where he said “Whether it’s broken or not has nothing to do with me” and sent it to him. “Police? You said it yourself, once it’s sold, it’s not your problem! What, changing your mind now? Selling a gift your girlfriend gave you… you must be desperate for cash. I feel sorry for her!!” The typing indicator flashed for ages. Finally, he blurted out: “How much do you want to give it back?” I thought for a moment and typed a number: “$5,000.” I expected him to curse me out and haggle. Instead, he agreed instantly. “Fine! Five grand! Done!” I raised an eyebrow. Seems a seventy-thousand-dollar watch is worth the investment. I reposted the listing. Brad bought it instantly. After paying, he sent a flurry of messages. “Use Uber Connect! I’ll pay for the ride! Hurry!” “Pack it well! Don’t let it get damaged!” I had Sarah’s family driver call a courier. In front of the courier, I put the shoe box back into a bag and sealed it. I recorded the whole process and sent it to Brad. “Sent. Remember to confirm receipt when you get it.” He replied, “Ok.” After the courier left, I switched back to text messages and messaged Brad: “Babe, did you find the watch?” “Do you like the style? Should we exchange it for something else?” “Why aren’t you answering? Are you busy?” He didn’t reply to a single one. An hour later, the app showed delivered. A notification popped up: “Transaction Successful.” Almost simultaneously, Brad’s text came through: “Babe, I found the watch! It’s beautiful! Suits me perfectly! Thank you! Love you!” I smiled. He probably hadn’t opened the box yet and just wanted to stall me. Unfortunately, his peace only lasted ten seconds. Ten seconds later, my Marketplace inbox exploded.

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