This summer, my mom forced a blind date on me. I refused, flat out. But my entire family ganged up on me, a relentless barrage of texts and calls insisting he was an honest, decent guy—the kind you couldn’t find even if you searched with a lantern. With their blessing and encouragement, this man forced his way into my life. He sold my limited-edition perfumes, my custom-made historical gowns, my jewelry, all for pennies on the dollar on eBay. For the sake of family harmony, I endured it. Until he got rid of my cat. The cat I’d had for seven years. My lifeline. In that moment, the dormant madness in my blood awakened. If you won’t let me live, then none of us will. 1 Only two children remained in the after-school classroom. My phone vibrated. The screen lit up with a text from Mark. Just seeing his name made my stomach churn. This summer, my mom had bullied me into a blind date. Mark, thirty, a grade school gym teacher, looked decent enough on the surface. I’d rejected him on the spot, telling him I had no interest in getting married. But it was like he didn’t understand English. He immediately turned his attention to charming my mother. Fixing leaky pipes, changing lightbulbs, gossiping with her for hours. My mom was completely won over. She gave him the spare key to my apartment. I tapped on the text message. The words leaped off the screen. [Sarah, that cat of yours seemed like bad luck, so I took care of it.] A roaring filled my ears. It was followed by a series of long voice messages. I played them, and the sound, harsh and loud, echoed in the empty classroom. “A cat that eats hundreds of dollars’ worth of food a month? That’s just wasteful.” “We’re going to build a life together. We need to save that money for our future kids.” “Also, your mom and I discussed it.” “Starting next month, you’ll hand over your paycheck to me.” “It’s not good for a woman to have too much money. They tend to spend it foolishly.” “If you need to buy something, just write me a list. I’ll approve it.” Approve it? Who the hell did he think he was? I dialed his number immediately. “Sorry, the user you are trying to reach is currently busy.” He was on another call. I immediately called my mother. It rang twice, then disconnected. I tried again. Straight to voicemail. My fingers went cold. Snowball wasn’t just a cat. She was my reason for living. In my junior year of college, I was diagnosed with severe depression. I came close to jumping from my dorm room window. It was Snowball who bit onto the cuff of my jeans, pulling me back with all her might. She had stayed with me through countless sleepless nights, licking away my tears. And now, Mark had “taken care of her”? I turned to the two children still hunched over their homework. “I have an emergency. How much longer until your parents get here?” One of the boys looked up. “My dad just texted. He’s downstairs.” The other girl said timidly, “My mom will be another ten minutes.” I couldn’t wait. I asked Mrs. Evans from the classroom next door, who was still packing up, to watch the girl. I grabbed my bag and bolted. The elevator was on the top floor and wasn’t moving. I spun around and burst into the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time while sending Mark a frantic voice message. “Mark! Where is Snowball?” “If you’ve laid a single finger on her, I will kill you!” I burst out of the building and hailed a taxi. “The Willows apartments, and step on it!” The car sped off. Mark replied. It was a picture. An empty cat carrier, tossed next to a dumpster on the side of the road. [It’s just an animal. Why are you getting so worked up?] [Sarah, you’re too emotional. How are you going to raise children like this?] I stared at the photo, my eyes burning. I recognized that dumpster. It was right outside my apartment building. Not only had he been in my home, he had thrown my family in the trash. My eyes stung, but I didn’t cry. In moments of pure rage, tears don’t come. Only the urge to kill. The taxi screeched to a halt. I threw a hundred-dollar bill at the driver without waiting for the change. I sprinted into the complex, straight for the dumpster. The carrier was there, but the cat was gone. I searched frantically, tearing through the surrounding area. The bushes… under the cars… the flowerbeds… “Snowball! Snowball!” My voice was raw. No response. Usually, the moment I called her name, she would come running, meowing and rubbing against my legs. Now, there was only a dead, heavy silence. The only sound was the rustle of leaves in the wind. I stood under a streetlight, my shadow a distorted, monstrous thing. My phone vibrated again. Mark: [Stop looking. I drove her to the river and set her free.] [If we’re going to make a clean break with the past, it has to be a clean break.] [And don’t blame me. Your mother approved it.] The river? Snowball had always been frail, and easily frightened. Leaving her by the river was a death sentence. My hand tightened around my phone, my vision turning red. If you won’t let me live in peace, then tonight, no one is going to sleep well. 2 The last six months had been a living nightmare. Mark was like a piece of gum stuck to my shoe, impossible to get rid of. With my mother’s backing, he had invaded my life without a shred of decency. The first time, he had picked the lock to my apartment. I came home from work to find him sitting on my sofa, cracking sunflower seeds, the shells scattered all over the floor. I called the police. The police came, and so did my mother. She pointed a finger at my nose and screamed, “You ungrateful child! He’s your boyfriend! What’s wrong with him coming to see you?” “And you called the police? Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” The police, seeing it was a domestic dispute, mumbled some platitudes and left. The second time, I came home to find my perfume cabinet empty. It was a collection I had spent three years curating—limited editions, discontinued fragrances, and a few custom historical gowns. It was worth thousands of dollars. I confronted Mark. He was indignant. “What’s the point of all that junk?” “I sold it for you. The money’s safe with me.” “We’ll need it when we get married, for the down payment on a house, for renovations.” “Sarah, you need to learn to be practical, not waste your time on such frivolous things.” I was shaking with rage. I told him to give me the money. My mother chimed in from the side. “Mark’s right! You’ve always been a spendthrift.” “The money is safer with him. It can be your dowry.” I should have taken a knife to him then and there. But I held back. I thought, as long as I don’t agree to marry him, he’ll eventually give up. I was wrong. With a bully, tolerance is encouragement. My restraint had only emboldened him. And now, he had laid his hands on Snowball. The riverbank was a vast, dark expanse. It could take me a whole day to search it all. For Snowball’s sake, I went straight to my mother’s building. This apartment was once my home. Now, it was Mark’s sanctuary. Standing in front of the security door, I took a deep breath. I could hear the television, and laughter. It was Mark’s voice. “Mom, look at this comedian. He’s hilarious.” “And your cooking is amazing. So much better than any restaurant.” My mother’s delighted laughter. “If you like it, eat more. You can come for dinner every night.” What a warm, loving family. A picture of domestic bliss. The loving mother and her filial son-in-law. And I was the unwanted outsider. I took out my key and slid it into the lock. The people inside seemed to hear the noise. Mark’s voice stopped. “Is that Sarah?” My mother scoffed. “Good. She’s back. She needs to be taught a lesson.” “Treating a cat like it’s royalty. It’s ridiculous.” The door opened. Mark was sprawled on the sofa, his feet propped up on the coffee table. My mother sat beside him, peeling an apple for him. My father was in the armchair, reading a newspaper. When they saw me, Mark didn’t even move. He just looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “Well, well, look who’s here. Back from your little adventure?” “Did you find your precious furball?” My face was a thundercloud as I strode into the center of the living room. My mother frowned, about to launch into a tirade. “Where is Snowball?” I stared at Mark, my gaze unwavering. He took a bite of the apple with a loud crunch, chewing with relish. “Didn’t I tell you? The river.” “I don’t remember the exact spot. I just threw her out.” “It’s just an animal. Is it really worth all this drama?” My mother slammed the fruit knife on the table. “Sarah! Look at yourself! What have you become?” “You walk in here with that long face, who do you think you are?” “Mark did this for your own good!” “That cat is full of germs! What about when you get pregnant?” “It’s gone. We can just buy you a toy cat.” For my own good? I looked at the woman who had given birth to me, who had raised me. She was a stranger. A complete and utter stranger. She had never once asked me what I wanted. Only if Mark was satisfied. In her version of my life, I was just a prop, a means to an end to fulfill her grand plan of “daughter gets married and has babies.” “I’ll ask you one more time.” “Where. Is. Snowball?” I pulled a box cutter from my bag. The blade glinted in the light. The air in the room instantly froze. The newspaper slipped from my father’s hands. “Sarah, what are you doing? Put that down!” Mark stared for a second, then let out a derisive snort. “Who are you trying to scare?” “Sarah, you don’t have the guts to kill someone.” He stood up, his six-foot frame towering over me. “Go on. Do it. Right here,” he said, pointing to his chest. “If you don’t, you’re a coward.” My mother rushed over, her hand raised to strike me. “You rebellious brat! How dare you threaten your husband with a knife?” “Put it down!” Her hand connected with my cheek. A sharp, stinging pain. The force of the blow snapped my head to the side. I tasted blood. Slowly, I turned my head back, and a slow, cold smile spread across my face. 3 “I’m not kidding.” The tip of my blade was pointed steadily at Mark. The amusement on his face deepened. “Sarah, you’re really committed to this act, aren’t you?” “Fine. You want to know? I’ll tell you.” He sauntered over, his face close to mine. He lowered his voice, speaking in a whisper only I could hear. “I tied a big rock to that little beast.” “Dropped it right under the Bridgeview Road overpass.” “It made a nice little ‘plop’ sound. Sank real fast.” “Probably all bloated by now.” My Snowball. She was terrified of water. Even a bath made her howl. How desperate must she have been, in that dark, cold river? Was she waiting for me to save her? But she couldn’t wait any longer… I plunged the box cutter forward.

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Three months into dating, Owen suddenly asked me about my first time. I told him the truth, and he went silent for a long time. “So you’re not a virgin, then. I thought you were… pristine.” I was stunned. “You have ex-girlfriends, too.” He shook his head. “That’s not the same thing.” “A man’s past is experience, Ava. A woman’s past is… a used car. A free-for-all.” I thought the whole thing was absurd and was about to fire back, but he just sighed. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter, because I love you. I can look past the fact that other people have already… used you.” His tone suggested he was making the sacrifice of the century. I gripped my phone, a sudden wave of sickness washing over me. Six months later, I found hotel receipts and text messages on his phone. Not just one. When I confronted him, he was completely unapologetic. “You’re not exactly untainted, are you? What gives you the right to demand that I be some kind of saint?” “Besides, she’s cleaner than you. She’s a virgin, and of course, I treat her better!” I told him we were done. He sneered, “Fine. Don’t come crying back when you regret it.” I didn’t bother looking at him again. I grabbed my bag, walked out the door, and immediately blocked him on everything. That same evening, my phone blew up. My private photos and videos—over a hundred of them—were posted simultaneously in my Family Group Chat, our 100-person Work Slack channel, and the Crestwood Condo Residents Forum. 1 Every image had a thick mosaic over it, but everyone who knew me would recognize me instantly. The captions were even more venomous: [Ava Delaney. Looks like a saint, but is secretly a slut. Careful, guys—don’t be the idiot who settles for her!] My phone started vibrating wildly. My mother called, her voice shaking uncontrollably. “Ava, what are those pictures? What is going on?” Before I could answer, a new message popped up in the Work Slack. My department manager directly @-mentioned me: “Ava Delaney, be in the office tomorrow. We need to talk.” The condo forum was already a dumpster fire: [She always seemed so quiet. Turns out she’s a tramp behind closed doors?] [People like this shouldn’t live in our building. HOA needs to handle this immediately!] [Seriously, we have kids here!] My vision started to blur. These were the same people who, last month, were praising me for being a good neighbor. Mrs. Gable from 502 twisted her ankle, and I drove her to the E.R. Mr. Davies from 701 lost his keys, and I found the locksmith for him. Now, they wanted to bury me in the dirt. I took a deep breath and called Owen Parker. The line wouldn’t connect. I sent him a text; it immediately showed a red exclamation mark. Suppressing my rage, I started typing in every group: [These photos and videos were maliciously shared. I have contacted the police. Please do not forward them. Sharing is also a crime.] My mother defended me in the family chat. “My daughter is not that kind of person! Someone is trying to ruin her!” Aunt Carol immediately replied: [Big sister, stop protecting her. You don’t know these kids today. I always thought there was something off about her, dressing so provocatively…] Uncle George chimed in: [Ava, if you did something wrong, just apologize. Don’t embarrass your father and mother.] I stared at the screen full of malice, my fingers turning white as I clenched them. Suddenly, Owen posted a voice message in the condo forum. “Neighbors, I am so sorry you had to see this trash.” “Ava and I broke up because of her promiscuity.” “I wanted to be the bigger person and give her some dignity, but she started harassing me today, threatening to go to my company and ruin my reputation if I didn’t take her back.” “I had no choice but to tell the truth. I ask you all to judge for yourselves.” The group chat exploded instantly. “I knew it! She cheats and then threatens the guy?” “Disgusting! Women like that deserve to be exposed!” “Good job, kid! We support you!” I was shaking with fury, staring at the voice note. I tapped the record button on my phone and dialed Owen’s mother. It rang for a long time before she picked up. “Hello, Mrs. Parker, it’s Ava.” A few seconds of silence were followed by Mrs. Parker’s clearly impatient voice: “Ava, look, what happens between you and Owen, as a parent, I can’t really say…” “Mrs. Parker, Owen is the one who posted those photos, and he’s lying in the group chat, saying I threatened him.” “Well…” Her voice became even more dismissive. “Young people fight. It’s normal to say things you don’t mean. I know my Owen; he would never maliciously cause trouble.” “So you think what he did is fine?” “I didn’t say that… Look, you’re both adults. Handle it yourselves.” “Understood. Thank you.” I hung up. Looking at the recording on my phone, I dialed another number. The next morning, I arrived at the office exactly on time. In the elevator, two interns were whispering. They fell silent the moment I walked in. In the hallway, colleagues who usually greeted me lowered their heads, pretending to look at their phones. In the manager’s office, along with the manager, HR, and legal, was Owen Parker. My heart tightened. “Owen, what are you doing here?” The manager cleared his throat. “Mr. Parker is the son of Mr. Robert Parker, one of our VIP clients. Mr. Parker called me yesterday, saying there was a misunderstanding between you two, and he hoped we could clear the air.” Owen spoke slowly, his tone condescending. “Ava, I thought about it all night. I decided I should still give you a chance.” “All you have to do is admit, in front of everyone here, that you were the one who seduced me and harassed me, and I might consider forgiving you.” “Also, I need fifty thousand dollars for emotional distress. You’ve stressed me out completely over the past few days. That’s not too much to ask, is it?” He sounded utterly self-righteous, as if he were the true victim. I clenched my fists. “Why should I? You cheated on me, and you spread my private photos!” “Do you have proof?” Owen sneered. “Ava, I suggest you be smart about this. My dad owns twenty percent of the stock in this company. Who do you think the company will stand behind?” The manager immediately chimed in. “Ava, Mr. Parker is being very generous. You need to think carefully. The company doesn’t want this to escalate.” The Head of HR added, “Ava, the situation yesterday has spread throughout the company, and the impact is extremely negative. If you cooperate, the company can go easy on you.” I looked at Owen’s smug face and said, one word at a time, “I refuse.” Owen’s face darkened, and his eyes turned cold and vicious. “Good. Very good. Ava Delaney, you’ll regret this.” He stood up and patted the manager’s shoulder. “Then proceed according to company policy. Oh, and my girlfriend, Brooke Ashton, will be arriving shortly. She’s been transferred to this department as a supervisor. Please take good care of her.” The manager immediately plastered on a smile. “Don’t worry, Mr. Parker. We will fully cooperate with Supervisor Ashton’s work!” At noon, HR informed me that due to “severe violation of the employee code of conduct,” I was being transferred to the auxiliary services team, responsible for cleaning and warehouse organizing. My salary was cut to the minimum wage. At two in the afternoon, the new supervisor, Brooke Ashton, arrived. She wore a designer suit, clicked across the floor in high heels, and stopped right in front of me, looking me up and down with undisguised contempt. “Ava Delaney. I heard you refused Owen’s offer yesterday? So reckless.” “My brother is a VP here, and my cousin is the son of a major client. Do you honestly think you have a future in this office?” She threw a document onto my desk. “This is your new work schedule. Starting today, you’re responsible for cleaning the bathrooms on all floors of this building.” “Also, your bonus from last month is canceled, and your salary this month is cut in half—for causing a negative impact on the company.” My colleagues all kept their heads down. No one dared to speak up for me. I scanned the office, my gaze lingering on Mark in the corner. Last month, he almost got fired due to an operational error. I stayed up all night helping him fix it and pleaded his case to the director, which saved his job. Now, he was staring at his desk, not even lifting his eyes. And Lisa, by the window. When her daughter was hospitalized, I loaned her twenty thousand dollars, which she promised she would never forget. She was now sipping her coffee nonchalantly, her eyes drifting elsewhere. Fine. I logged every cold face. Every silent person. One day, I would make them understand that their indifference today would be the decision they regretted most. At six in the evening, I dragged my exhausted body back to the condo. My hands were white from the harsh cleaning chemicals, and my back ached. Just as I reached the entrance, the property manager stopped me. “Ms. Delaney, you can’t live in your unit anymore.” I froze. “What are you talking about?” “The Homeowners Association Board voted. You must vacate immediately. Furthermore, because your actions severely damaged the reputation of the community, according to the contract, you owe a penalty fee of fifty thousand dollars.” “You don’t have the right—” “We do have the right.” The manager cut me off, holding out a document. “This is the resolution signed by the HOA President. Oh, and our new community liaison is Brooke Ashton’s cousin. She’ll be personally handling your case.” Whispers drifted from behind me. “That’s her, right? I saw the pictures, ugh…” “Disgraceful, isn’t it?” “My kids were asking me what those photos meant. I was so angry!” My head rang. I ran up the stairs. My front door was covered in bright red spray paint. The words in big, crude letters: SLUT GET OUT. Inside, the unit was a mess. The sofa was slashed open, and the walls were covered in vulgar graffiti. I sank onto the floor. My phone rang. I picked it up, shaking. It wasn’t my father’s voice on the other end, but a doctor’s, urgent and anxious: “Is this Mr. Delaney’s next of kin? The patient had a sudden cerebral hemorrhage and is in the emergency room. You need to get here immediately!” My mind went blank. “What? My dad, he…” “The patient’s emotional distress caused a spike in blood pressure, leading to a hemorrhage. His condition is critical. Family must arrive right away to sign forms!” I grabbed my purse and stumbled out. Just outside the complex, my phone started ringing maniacally. Dozens of strange numbers were calling all at once. I answered one, and a venomous voice shouted: “Ava Delaney, you tramp! Your dad is a police officer and you cause this scandal! You have no shame!” “Whore! You ruined your father!” “I heard your dad was suspended because of you? Good! The whole family is trash!” I hung up, and another call came in, more curses. Dozens of calls bombarded me, making it impossible to call out. I rushed to the street to hail a cab. Drivers saw me and sped past, shaking their heads. Five cars refused to stop. The sixth driver rolled down his window and spat on the ground. “You’re that Ava Delaney from the internet, right? I’m not taking trash like you. Don’t dirty my car!” I stood on the curb, the tears finally flowing unchecked. I managed to borrow a stranger’s phone and call my father’s number. A few seconds of silence, then my father’s weak voice: “Ava…” “Dad! Are you okay? Wait for me, I’m coming now!” “Ava, how could you do this…” His voice was filled with disappointment and pain. “I raised you for twenty-six years. Is this how you repay me?” “Dad, no, listen to me, I can explain—” “I was suspended from the force. They said my daughter was involved in a sex scandal and they have to investigate my conduct…” His breathing grew shallow. “My whole life, I’ve been honest. Now you’ve ruined me…” “Dad! Dad! Don’t talk anymore. I’m coming!” “Ava, I really regret…” “Regret what?” “Regret having you…” Click. Buzz. The line went dead. I held the phone, my soul completely drained. The phone rang again. It was my mother. “Ava! Your father is gone… The doctor said they couldn’t save him! He died with his eyes open, Ava. He couldn’t let go!” I collapsed onto my knees, my vision blurring completely.

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It was the fourth hour I’d been waiting for Logan Reed at the couple’s-only restaurant on New Year’s Eve. That’s when I saw the photo on my feed: Willow smiling sweetly beneath a shower of fireworks. The caption read: [Our fifth annual firework spectacle. The person who truly loves you never cares about the real or the fake.] The comments were a chorus of well-wishes for a lifetime of love. The hand framed perfectly, almost touching her head in the photo, belonged to the man who’d promised me he’d “be right there” three hours ago: Logan. I calmly tapped the ‘Like’ button. Illuminated by the dazzling bursts of fireworks outside, I finished the entire double portion of the New Year’s prix fixe menu, all by myself. When the last bite of the tasteless, leathery steak finally went down, my stomach was so full, I almost cried. It turns out that during the seven years I was missing, he had already fallen in love with my replacement. 1 The moment I pushed away the finished plate, my mother, Elizabeth, called. “Sierra, please don’t misunderstand, sweetie. Willow is just… used to it. We truly thought you weren’t coming back, so we arranged an engagement for them. Now that Logan is set on marrying you, please, don’t hold this little thing against Willow. After all, she’s a debt we owe.” A wave of sharp, bitter acidity climbed up my throat. Seven years ago, Logan and I were the campus ‘It’ couple—inseparable, high-achieving. Our parents had already sealed our fate with an agreement: we would marry right after college. The change came a month after graduation. Logan took me to a secluded, abandoned warehouse to watch the fireworks. Midway through the display, he received a call from Willow Davis. She claimed it was an extremely urgent, private matter—too sensitive for anyone else to hear. So, he left me, alone, in the middle of nowhere. While I waited for my ride, I was drugged, kidnapped, and sold deep into the mountains. For the first year I was gone, they searched tirelessly, consumed by grief. Yet, Logan never dared to reveal the true reason he left me that night. Willow offered to “atone,” so Logan convinced my parents to take her in as a foster daughter. My parents, desperate with longing, started seeing my reflection in her features. They poured all the unspent maternal and paternal love they had into her. They even changed her surname. In the long, slow passage of days, in the comfort of her continuous presence, they forgot me. They forgot I was the one engaged to Logan. They forgot the seven years of our separation. And who would ever repay me for everything I lost? A profound, debilitating weariness settled over me. “Got it,” I said. They sighed in relief, about to say more, but I hung up. A few minutes later, Logan finally arrived, looking windswept and hurried. Behind him, with her eyes red-rimmed and moist, was Willow. “I’m so sorry, Sierra. I shouldn’t have been so selfish and made you wait here for four hours.” The worry in Logan’s eyes as he looked at her—the same look he used to give me—was utterly unmistakable. But when he looked at me, his brow furrowed. “Alright, Sierra, I’m here now. Stop scaring her with that expression.” “Are you finished eating? Let me take you both home.” He pushed my wheelchair forward. At the car, he naturally opened the passenger door for Willow, making sure her seatbelt was secure. When he turned back, he saw I had already struggled into the back seat. “Could you just fold up the chair for me?” A flicker of shame crossed his face. “I apologize. I just… got used to it.” I shook my head. “Let’s go.” On the way, Willow spoke to the car’s smart system. “Hello! Logan, where are you going to take me tomorrow, on New Year’s Day?” A dense, prickling ache invaded my heart. In high school, when studying was intense, he’d taken up riding a motorcycle. The instant he got his license, he took me for a ride. Failed a test? We went riding. Aced one? We went riding. We had explored every street and alley in the city. He’d promised that once he got his full car license, he’d take me on longer road trips, far away. I never got to see him fulfill that promise. Instead, I was forced to watch, like an interloper, as he shared his happiness with someone else. Seeing their easy, silent communication, their exchanged glances, I felt a sudden, profound emptiness. I looked calmly at the reflection of this stranger, Logan Reed, in the rearview mirror. And I spoke the words, slowly. “Logan, let’s call off the wedding.” 2 The car’s brakes shrieked, a sound of tearing metal. With a heavy thud, Logan lost control, the tire skidding and slamming into the curb. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Nothing, I…” I didn’t get to finish my sentence. He leaned over, immediately checking on Willow in the passenger seat. “Are you okay? Let me see!” “Just a little bump on my head. It’s nothing, I’m fine.” “I’m so sorry, Sierra. I was willing to let Logan marry you. This is my debt to you. I promise, after the wedding, I’ll keep my distance.” Her eyes were wide and tearful, a picture of fragile remorse. The pure, overflowing worry in Logan’s eyes didn’t dissipate. He finally turned to me, his gaze laced with frustration. “She’s already feeling guilty, why would you say something like that right in front of her?” “What happened seven years ago was my mistake. I told you I would take responsibility. Please, stop creating drama, alright?” He let out a heavy breath and called the insurance company. “I’m taking her to the hospital. You stay here and handle the accident report.” The heavy slam of the car door was like a gunshot pressed against my chest. The pain was dull and crushing. He never used to blame me. He never used to leave me alone to deal with difficult, messy situations. He’d even skipped class and fought for me, earned detentions and reprimands, but he’d never once treated me this way. Tears fell silently, pooling in my lap. The pain in my chest was suffocating. After the insurance company assessed the damage and towed the car, the manager kindly drove me to the hospital. I reached the door of the emergency room just as I heard low, muffled weeping from inside. “Jon, if Sierra feels this way, maybe… maybe we should just call off the engagement. You’ve seen how deep Willow and Logan’s feelings are after all these years.” My mother’s voice. “We already hurt one daughter; we can’t hurt another. Besides, Sierra… she isn’t whole anymore. She can’t have children. Even if the Reeds don’t say anything, they must secretly mind.” My father, Jon, drew a sharp breath. Before he could speak, Logan’s voice cut in, sharp and angry. “Aunt Liz! I said I will marry Sierra! No matter what happens, that won’t change!” Mom sighed. “Why are you so stubborn, son! Are you really going to sacrifice your own happiness just for the sake of responsibility? Her disappearance wasn’t your fault. If she hadn’t been wandering off and got targeted, none of this would have happened.” My fingers dug hard into my palms. So that’s how Logan had framed it to them. I gave a bitter laugh and pushed my wheelchair into the room. I met their eyes—wide with panic and avoidance—and smiled. “Logan, did you forget to tell Mom and Dad that you abandoned me at the warehouse that night because Willow called you to confess her love?” He lunged to cover my mouth, but he was too late. My parents were stunned, their bodies swaying slightly. Willow’s face went white. She scrambled onto the floor and knelt before me. “I’m so sorry, Sierra! I truly didn’t know that call would lead to you being kidnapped! If I had known, I would never have told him I loved him! It’s my fault, I should die!” I looked at her calmly, my eyes devoid of any emotion. After a long silence, Willow bit her lip, rushed to the balcony, and swung one leg over the railing. “If Sierra doesn’t believe me, I can only prove my sincerity with my death! I’ll atone for you!” Logan stared at me, his eyes blazing. “Did you have to push her to this?” My mother, who had been momentarily pained for me, instantly lost all sympathy. She looked at me, struggling between awkwardness and guilt. “It’s been so many years, Sierra. Willow didn’t do it on purpose. Maybe it was just fated for you to suffer this hardship.” “Sierra, just forgive her. This is a life we’re talking about.” I looked at them, completely still. I had so many grievances. I wanted to tell them that during that year of unbearable agony, I’d kicked my captor for disobeying, and that’s why my legs were gone, permanently paralyzed. I wanted to tell them about the succession of pregnancies I terminated through desperate, self-harming means, and that’s why I was no longer capable of being a mother, why I was “unclean.” But watching how easily they acquitted the very fuse that lit the fire, how they dismissed my suffering, I knew there was no point. I laughed, and the tears finally fell. “I’m not angry. It must be that my life is worthless. I shouldn’t have come back.” “I should have died there, so I wouldn’t ruin your happy family reunion.” 3 Smack! Logan’s eyes were bloodshot. He slapped me across the face. “What are you talking about? How much did your parents suffer trying to find you? How can you say something so heartless?” “If it weren’t for Willow all these years, they would have fallen into a deep depression!” I touched my burning cheek. My parents, seeing me struck, didn’t flinch. They were busy pulling Willow off the balcony railing. I gave a hollow, dismissive laugh. “Thank you for the slap, Logan. It woke me up from my dream.” I maneuvered my wheelchair and moved toward the exit. Faint sounds of muffled sobs drifted from the room. I knew they weren’t crying for me. It didn’t matter. I didn’t need anyone to cry for me anymore. Back at the house. I pulled out the old, tattered luggage bag I had when I was first brought home. Looking around, I realized how little I had to take. The closet was full of pretty, short dresses—sister sets, identical to Willow’s. Useless to a girl with amputated legs. On the bedside table was a family photo album, identical to Willow’s. The only difference was that hers didn’t include me. And on the desk, a pile of untouched birthday gifts from seven years of missed celebrations. Every item had been picked out by Logan and Willow. Not a single thing was what I would have liked. I remembered the moment they excitedly handed them to me, the words they spoke. “We haven’t seen you in so long, we weren’t sure what you liked. But you two are like sisters, so you must have the same taste.” I traced the spines of a stack of astronomy books I’d never opened and smiled. When I was sixteen, I told them I wanted to be the world’s greatest painter. Logan spent a fortune finding me two rare prints by a master artist. After my final grades came in—good enough to get into any top art school—he custom-ordered a renowned painter’s set of tools for me. I had thought that even after seven years, our original dreams remained unchanged. Now, he told me that the wall in my bedroom, which was supposed to hold our double portrait, was instead adorned with a star chart he and Willow had visited and signed. Like me, it was all ancient history. I rode the elevator down, holding my bag. The house staff and cooks were gathered in the kitchen, preparing dinner for Willow. “I’m telling you, Mr. Reed loves Ms. Davis more. Whenever she’s hurt, he’s right there. With the other one, we do everything. The day he saw the… the wounds, he threw up. Said he’d never seen anything so disgusting.” I froze. Then, it was as if a window pane had shattered, and an icy wind swept through my heart. Is that what happened? I clearly remember him looking at my rotting flesh and saying, “I’m sorry.” So, the raw, heartbreaking moment when he choked up and fainted was actually a moment of utter disgust? “Of course, they spent seven years together. Last time Ms. Davis and Mr. Reed fought over that one, he said he stopped loving that… that damaged goods a long time ago! He’s only marrying her out of obligation.” I didn’t believe it! He distinctly told me I wasn’t dirty, that his Sierra was the purest, most beautiful girl. He was the one who begged me to marry him and take responsibility, who said he always loved me, who said he dreamed of having a home with me for all those years. Logan, you swore you’d never lie to me. Did you learn to lie with your heart, too? “And the prosthetics. Ms. Davis was afraid that if she could stand up, all the attention at parties would go away. She cried, and Mr. Reed found out. He canceled the order immediately. He told her that the prosthetics would be uncomfortable anyway, and she should just stay home, safe, so nothing else could happen. She missed the best window for physical therapy.” So, his promise to “be my legs forever” meant condemning me to a life where I could never stand again. “If I were her, knowing how disgusted this family is, I’d take the payout and walk away. Far away.” My heart felt like it was being flayed, the pain unbearable. Tears slipped down my cheeks, silently. “Sierra? What is it?” As I choked back a sob, Logan appeared, kneeling in front of my wheelchair. He looked ashamed. “Hitting you earlier… I lost my temper. But you know Willow and I have seven years of history; it’s not nothing. I couldn’t just watch her die.” “She had an anxiety attack again. Mom and Dad think we should postpone the wedding for now.”

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I was on my honeymoon at the coast with my husband, but he was too busy rubbing sunscreen suggestively onto his female best friend’s back. “Wow, you’ve really filled out here, haven’t you? Nice work.” When I saw Liam’s hand lingering on the small of Riley’s back, my face was serene as I crushed the plastic cup in my hand. Liam didn’t appreciate my silence. His expression tightened with annoyance as he scolded me for my lack of generosity. “We’re just messing around, Sloane. We’ve always been like this. Why do you always have to make it a thing?” Riley shot me a look of pure, sweet provocation. “Don’t be mad, Sis. Liam and I grew up together, practically sharing a sandbox. We’ve seen everything. We’re purely platonic.” She sighed dramatically, tossing her long hair. “My only regret is being born a woman. If I could choose, I’d absolutely turn into a guy, just so people like you wouldn’t get the wrong idea all the time.” Liam draped an arm over her shoulder and looked at me, shaking his head. “I really wish you could be more supportive, Sloane. Don’t ruin the brotherhood.” They had no idea that I was a former transmigrator. The System that sent me to this world had promised me one wish upon the completion of my last mission. Since the two of them were so fiercely “platonic,” I decided to grant Riley’s wish to be a real man. 1 “I wish to grant Riley Preston’s desire, and make her a real man.” The System’s reply was instantaneous: “As the wish involves fundamental changes to human structure, the complete gender transformation will require seven days.” Seven days. That meant in one week, Riley would be completely male. It took every ounce of self-control not to burst out laughing right there on the sand. Riley, oblivious, reached up, hooked her arm around Liam’s neck, and pulled him in for a mock headlock, squeezing him against her chest. She laughed heartily. “Alex’s barbecue is probably ready. Come on, your daddy’s starving.” Liam grunted, an annoyed but ultimately compliant sound, and bowed his head, letting her drag him along. Even though I’d witnessed this scene countless times, my eyes still stung. On the beach during the soft blue hour, everyone was seated in a circle. I was about to move forward, but Riley beat me to it, plopping down right next to Liam. “Oops, I sat here! Hope my sister-in-law won’t be mad, huh?” Before I could say anything, Liam rushed to her defense. “It’s just a seat, Riley. Sloane, don’t be petty.” I kept my face blank and picked a random seat further away. Liam’s expression soured a little at my distance, but he was quickly distracted by Riley’s relentless chattering. When the platters of barbecue arrived, Liam immediately handed me a skewer of grilled shrimp. “Your favorite seafood. Don’t be angry anymore.” I froze, then slowly reached out and took it. Riley feigned outrage, pinching Liam’s ear. “Oh, you dog! How dare you show preference! Can’t you see your daddy’s still hungry?” Liam played along, yelping and wincing, quickly offering up a skewer of chicken wings with both hands. The others laughed at the silly spectacle. I bit my lip, staring blankly at the grilled shrimp in my hand. It wasn’t until Chet Reynolds, who was sitting next to me, leaned over and asked if he could trade his grilled squid for my shrimp that a ripple finally crossed my still surface. A virtual stranger, someone I’d only met a couple of times, knew that I actually hated shrimp. And Liam Beckett, the man I’d been in a relationship with for four years, was clueless. All those years of commitment and love, it seemed, meant nothing at all. After dinner, bored, everyone decided to play “Never Have I Ever.” After a few rounds of tame work and life confessions, it was Riley’s turn. She flashed a sly smile, locking eyes with me without an ounce of shame. “Never have I ever seen Liam and Sloane’s video… the bedroom kind.” The lively atmosphere instantly went dead silent. My mind exploded into a buzzing static. I stared at Liam, unable to comprehend the violation. He just offered a helpless, sheepish smile, then smacked Riley lightly on the butt. “What are you bringing that up for now?” Alex, trying to smooth things over, quickly interjected. “It’s just the video of Liam blow-drying Sloane’s hair in bed, right? Who hasn’t seen that! Let’s drink, let’s drink!” “No, it’s not!” Riley stood up, looking smug, suggestively shaking the beer bottle in her hand. “Liam is much more impressive than that. Sloane was shouting his name, and you guys haven’t even…” Liam quickly shoved a piece of roasted meat into her mouth. “Shut up! You promised to keep that a secret! Why are you spilling it now?” Riley just pouted. “So what? This game’s only fun if you play it right.” She lowered her voice to a theatrical whisper, but loud enough for everyone to hear. “Besides, I’ve seen way more explosive stuff than that. If you try to stop me again, I’ll tell the whole story!” A ringing filled my ears, my brain completely blank. When I finally registered what was happening, the glass beer bottle in my hand was already hurtling toward Riley’s head. It shattered against Liam’s back instead. Glass sprayed everywhere. In that critical moment, he had instinctively, unequivocally, shielded Riley. My eyes were hot, starting to water, but he didn’t notice. Instead, he spun around, glaring at me, enraged. “Sloane, can you please stop throwing your little princess fits?” He didn’t lower his voice. The accusation was sharp and public. “I brought you to meet my friends out of kindness, and you can’t even take a joke? What a buzzkill you are.” He scoffed, looking at my injured hand and the glass shards scattered on his shirt. “If we hadn’t already gotten legally married, I would call the cops right now! Maybe a few nights in jail would clear your head.” Riley, the victor, stood up and sauntered away. “Come on, son, walk with your daddy. We don’t play with petty little girls. They’re annoying.” Liam shot me one last look—a dark, you-better-get-it-together look—and walked off after her. The ocean breeze felt suddenly cold, but my heart was colder. His friends exchanged awkward glances, then mumbled excuses and scattered, leaving me sitting alone on the sand, staring blankly at the coastline. Four years. For four years, I had believed Liam was the perfect husband. He remembered every anniversary and special date, always crafting a handmade gift. Every Friday, a bouquet of fresh flowers was delivered to my office, earning me the envious glances of my colleagues. I’d mention a new restaurant in passing, and the next day, he’d drive us there. Our parents had met, were thrilled, and we’d already signed the legal papers—the wedding ceremony itself was scheduled for next month. But all that goodness became lighter than a feather when his “brother” Riley was involved. When Riley returned from her trip, he kept it a secret and went to pick her up late at night. The packed lunches he made for me every day? He’d casually make an identical, usually more generous, portion for her. He told me he was too busy to pick me up during a sudden downpour. As I trudged through the crosswalk, soaked, I saw him walking into a mall arcade, his arm slung casually around Riley’s shoulder. Every time I got angry, he’d dismiss it with the same line: “I see her as a guy. How could I ever be involved with her?” “She’s just a friend, Sloane. Stop thinking something so filthy about us.” Since they were so convinced of their “brotherhood,” I figured that when Riley was actually a man, their friendship would only deepen, right? I let out a low, humorless laugh. Suddenly, a roll of gauze appeared in front of me. “Your hand is cut. You should bandage it up.” Only then did I notice the broken glass had left a deep gash on my right hand, which was bleeding steadily. When I didn’t move, Chet gently took my hand and meticulously wrapped the wound. I thanked him, but he didn’t leave. He simply sat down next to me, grabbed a beer, and started drinking. We sat there all night until the most beautiful sunrise I had ever seen broke over the horizon. I took a picture and posted it to social media with a single caption: “A new beginning.” We took a cab back to the hotel and ran directly into Liam, his hair tousled, walking out of Riley’s room. Seeing me, his face immediately shifted, and he was about to start explaining when Riley popped out from behind him. A single night had passed, and just as the System had promised, many masculine features had appeared on her. The fuzz on her upper lip was noticeably darker, and the hair on her arms was thicker. Yet, she was utterly oblivious. She looped her arm through Liam’s affectionately. “Sis, your husband’s a beast in bed. You’re in for a treat.” “Stop talking nonsense!” Liam violently shook Riley’s hand off and rushed to my side. “Sloane, don’t misunderstand. We just played video games all night.” I kept my eyes down, but I clearly noticed his subconscious habit—a nervous little scratch at his pants—the tick he could never hide when he was lying. But now, I felt an abnormal calm. In a few days, he would definitely regret everything about last night. I turned, used my room key, and Liam rushed inside ahead of me. “Look, you were too impulsive yesterday, but I also said things I shouldn’t have. Can we call it even? Please stop being angry.” I simply nodded, a non-committal gesture. Relief washed over his face, and he finally smiled. “There’s a Ferris wheel nearby, right? You were always talking about wanting to go. Let’s go this afternoon.” I was stunned. Before the trip, I had read a post claiming that if a couple kissed at the very top of the wheel, they would be together forever. I’d begged him to go, and he’d called me childish. Now he was suggesting it. Just then, Riley’s voice rang out from the doorway. “Hey, honey. Tell your daddy which dress to wear. I’m going to the Ferris wheel this afternoon, and I need the perfect photo op!” She pushed the door open, twirling around in a dress for us to see. Ah. It made sense now. My heart immediately understood. Liam’s eyes clearly lit up. “Wow, you usually dress like a tomboy. I didn’t know you could pull off a dress like that. You look pretty feminine.” Riley punched him playfully. “Duh! Your daddy just doesn’t like to dress up. If I put in the effort, I’d have guys lining up.” Watching the whole performance, I said coldly, “I don’t feel well. I won’t be going this afternoon.” Riley immediately rolled her eyes. “Such a bore.” Liam, hearing this, visibly relaxed. He just told me to rest up. I slept all afternoon. When I woke up, my best friend’s chat had 99+ unread messages. With grim patience, I scrolled up to the first one, which was a video screenshot. A Ferris wheel cabin at its highest point, and a man and a woman were locked in a deep kiss. The caption: “Overlooking the city from the highest point. For a moment, it felt like it was just the two of us in the whole world.” I knew the two profiles in the photo sickeningly well. The remaining 98 messages were all sixty-second voice notes. The moment I tapped the first one, my friend’s scream of rage poured out. “That scumbag Liam is cheating! Don’t you dare stop me, I’m going to scratch those two dirtbags to death!” It wasn’t until I told her about the System and the wish that she finally settled down, bursting into a loud, satisfying laugh. The next day at breakfast, Liam was clearly observing my expression. Only when he saw my normal, placid demeanor did he finally relax. During the meal, Riley was still her usual aggressively affectionate self, playfully jostling him. But a moment later, she suddenly retched, covering her mouth as she bolted for the restroom. As everyone watched in confusion, Liam nervously shot up, claiming he needed to use the facilities too. Watching the two disappear around the corner, one after the other, I calmly picked up my plate and moved discreetly toward the service counter near the staircase. Riley’s voice was tearful. “I… my period is late by several days. What if I’m actually pregnant?” “I told you to use protection! What are we going to do now? You have to take responsibility for me!” After a moment, Liam’s low, soothing voice finally came through. “Don’t worry. I’ll take responsibility.” I had to bite my lower lip hard to keep from laughing out loud. I hadn’t expected the sudden nausea from the gender change to make Riley think she was pregnant. Counting the days, she only had three days left until the complete transformation. I was more eager than ever for that day to arrive. Over the next few days, Riley’s masculine features became increasingly pronounced. Her skin was noticeably rougher and oilier. Her Adam’s apple was more prominent, and her voice was a shocking, raspy baritone. If she didn’t shave her mustache and leg hair for even a day, they would grow back thick and dark. Riley punched Liam in the chest in a fit of despair. “This is all your fault! This pregnancy is making me so ugly! When are you finally going to divorce that old b*tch?” Liam squeezed Riley’s hand tightly, his tone resolute. “Three days. I promise you, I will break up with her within three days.” That night, he knocked on my door and picked a fight over the wedding money. “Sloane, the hundred thousand dollar wedding fund… I really can’t come up with it. Can you please talk to your parents and convince them to drop it?” Watching his pathetic performance, I silently pulled out my phone and showed him a screenshot of our messages from a few months ago. “My girl deserves the best, of course. $100K? I’d pay $200K if I had to.” He choked on his words, stammering after a long pause. “Haven’t… haven’t you considered my feelings at all? I’ve worked so hard for years…” Before he could finish, I interrupted, speaking with faux sympathy. “Oh, I didn’t mention it because I didn’t want you to lose face. I’ll call my parents right now.” He sulked and backed off. But over the next few days, he became worse, finding fault in everything. He argued with me because I hadn’t liked his posts on social media. He argued because I didn’t pour his drink at dinner. Finally, in front of all his friends, he accused me of having contributed far less to our relationship than he had over the years. His friends were confused by his sudden change of attitude but reluctantly stepped in to mediate. Riley’s eyes, watching me, were filled with open contempt and smug superiority. I knew Liam was preparing for the breakup. But I never expected that at our final gathering, he would actively push me toward Chet. He arranged for me to sit beside Chet and, during a round of Truth or Dare, urged me to sit on Chet’s back while he did push-ups. I was hazy from wine. When I woke up, I turned to see Chet’s face flushed red. Before I could react, the hotel room door was violently kicked open. Magnesium flashes blinded me. Liam stood there with Riley, followed by a dozen photographers. He pointed at me, his face crimson with manufactured rage. “Sloane! How could you do this to me? All these years of love, and you cheat with my best friend!” “Divorce! You are the guilty party; you must leave with absolutely nothing!” He shoved two documents in front of me and forcibly pressed a pen into my hand. Both Chet and I had clearly been set up. Liam didn’t just want a breakup; he wanted me utterly ruined, publicly branded as an adulterer, so he could end our four-year relationship in a way that was completely in his favor. Chet was behind me, his voice still hoarse. “I’m sorry…” I cut him off. “Don’t be. You’re not the one who did wrong.” I flipped through the agreement, reading the predatory, one-sided clauses. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes and coldly toss the papers back in his face. “I’ll agree to the divorce. But the only person leaving with nothing will be you.” Riley put her hands on her hips, her voice thick with triumph. “You think you have a choice? If you don’t sign, we’ll leak these pictures tomorrow. Let’s see what you do then!” Liam couldn’t stop the smirk from spreading on his face. “Sloane, I remember your dad has a heart condition. If he were to find out…” He let the threat hang in the air for the reporters to hear. “I’ll give you three days. Sign, or you’ll face the consequences!” He draped his arm around Riley’s waist. Riley swept a triumphant gaze over me. “You should’ve treated him better. Now Liam’s all mine!” As they walked out of the room, Liam’s joy was ecstatic. “This is great! Sloane’s assets are all ours now!” Riley looked up at him with adoration, planting a wet kiss on his cheek. “You’re so smart, Liam!” Liam’s gaze was burning, and he eagerly kissed her back. Their twisted wish fulfilled, the two of them became an instant inferno, their movements growing more intense. Kissing and undressing simultaneously. Liam’s hand traced the curve of Riley’s body, instinctively moving downward. The next second, he shrieked in pain. “Ow! What is this hard thing sticking out down there?”

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My boyfriend and my brother’s fiancée killed themselves together. They left a joint suicide note that went viral, making my brother and me the absolute villains—the heartless family members who drove the ‘fated lovers’ to their end. Grant blamed me for dating Leo—a man who was nothing more than a pretty face and a club promoter. I blamed him for falling for Skylar, the conniving saint who had him wrapped around her finger. We despised each other’s choices, and we were always trying to trip the other up. Now, the hatred was boundless. I hired people to trash every last thing Skylar owned. He scattered Leo’s ashes into the ocean. We finally exhausted ourselves, swearing we would never see each other again. He went overseas, becoming an aid doctor for an NGO. I stayed behind, opening a small, exclusive place called The Broth House. I became the local legend—the “Broth House Beauty” who could fix any ailment with a bowl of soup. 1 The cashier had gone home after the last delivery was confirmed. I stayed to close up. On the small TV above the counter, the news was broadcasting the return of the celebrated international aid doctor, Grant Bell. The former scion of a powerhouse family was now the ultimate white-coat hero. The media was in a frenzy over his return to The City. I barely registered the throbbing in my finger until I looked down—a small gash from clearing the knives. I cleaned the wound quickly, ready to lock up and head home. Just then, a girl walked in. She was beautiful, with an innocent, almost startled look. “Thank God you’re still here, Boss,” she said, looking relieved. “Can I get an order of the Signature Seafood Stew?” Due to my declining health, it was the only dish I made now. And it was sold out. The girl’s face fell, filled with disappointment. “Last time I got some, my brother said it was the best thing he’d ever eaten,” she explained. “He just got back from overseas. I wanted to surprise him with it.” “I can’t believe I rushed here for nothing.” She pulled out a wad of cash. “Please, I’ll pay ten times the price. Twenty times! Could you please just make one batch?” Before I could refuse, the door opened again. It was Drew. He stopped dead when he saw me. He quickly whispered to the girl, “Willow, let’s just go to another place. Grant will like anything you get him.” “No.” Willow was gentle but firm, refusing Grant’s best friend, Drew. She turned back to me, smiling. “Boss, I know it’s an imposition, but my brother is always busy abroad and has a serious stomach condition. He barely ate anything I brought him last time—except for your stew. He must really love it. Could you please make an exception?” She was polite, and the request wasn’t out of line. I couldn’t refuse. I told her to wait outside and walked to the back kitchen. My steps felt heavy, dragging. It wasn’t the sudden re-introduction of my past that weighed me down. It was the fact that my illness—late-stage cancer—was accelerating. It was incurable, and I was living on borrowed time, kept functional only by pain medication, waiting for the inevitable. “Drew, my brother is on his way to pick me up. Will you go wait outside for him and just have him come straight here?” I could hear them in the dining area. Drew was trying to convince Willow to leave. “You and Grant should just go. I’ll grab the stew and bring it to you.” Drew clearly didn’t want the two of us—the former disaster siblings—to be in the same room. Our last few encounters had been borderline psychotic. On the television, Grant was still smiling for the camera, though his eyes held that familiar, untouchable coldness. “I have a sister,” he was saying. “I came back to The City to spend time with her, as she’s been alone for too long.” My hand froze. I looked up and saw the rose tattoo on his arm. It was inked right where a deep, ugly scar used to be. A scar I put there with a broken piece of ceramic. I almost ruined his hand that night. I had the crisscrossing scars on my back—whip marks he’d given me. I remembered the blood, the fear that a bone might be fractured. We’d been locked in a cycle of mutual destruction for years: I’d do the unforgivable, and he’d do the unthinkable, each aiming to inflict maximum, soul-crushing pain. But neither of us could actually kill the other. We were blood—the closest and farthest kin in the world. And because of that, I knew with chilling certainty: the sister he spoke of was not me. Outside, Willow was ignoring Drew and gossiping. “I heard Grant used to have a real sister here in The City—a complete mess, addicted to dating male escorts, who even caused his fiancée’s death. Is that true?” I kept cleaning the produce, pretending I couldn’t feel Drew’s nervous eyes darting my way. “Grant!” The wind chime above the door jingled, followed by Willow’s bright, excited laugh. “How did you get here so fast?” She rushed into his arms. The awkward tension in the shop shattered. Grant caught her, a genuine, fond warmth flashing in his eyes as he lightly ruffled her hair. “Why so frantic, Willow? What if you fall?” “I’m not scared.” Willow clung to his arm, radiant. The elegant, soft-spoken girl was now bubbly and adorable around him. “My brother would never let me get hurt.” Seven years. I hadn’t expected this reunion, or this sudden, gut-wrenching contrast. Our eyes met across the counter. No hysteria, no raw hatred, just the calm, unnerving silence of strangers. Willow introduced us, radiant. “Boss, this is my brother. He’s the doctor on the news.” I just hummed in response and turned back to the stove. Drew edged closer, lowering his voice. “Avery, today is Grant’s birthday… can you just not provoke him?” He remembered the old days when we would go to war on sight. He paused, then tried again: “Willow is only eighteen, completely innocent. She knows nothing, so if you—” The Signature Seafood Stew was bubbling furiously in the pot. I stirred it slowly. “She is definitely more ‘well-behaved and sensible’ than I ever was.” Grant returned after sending Willow to the car to wait. “What is it, Avery? Planning something against my sister already?” His smile was tight, his eyes full of suspicion and pure loathing. Drew’s hands clenched into fists, bracing himself for the old Avery. I turned the heat off and packaged the stew, sliding the container across the counter. “Signature Seafood Stew. Thank you for your business.” Willow ran in, her eyes lighting up when she saw the container. “Brother, you just flew in, open it and eat a little!” She looked at Grant with such genuine, intimate warmth. Grant, who always hated eating outside, surprisingly opened the package and started drinking the stew, spoon after spoon. “It’s good, right? You loved it last time!” Willow’s eyes were glued to his face, full of pride and delight. “I had to beg the boss for ages just to get her to make it!” Grant lowered the spoon, his expression suddenly bland. “It’s fine, I guess. Nothing special. Maybe I was just starving last time.” “Really?” Willow didn’t believe him. She leaned in, tasted a spoonful, then playfully glared at Grant. “That’s a lie! It’s delicious!” Seeing the slight smirk on his face, she instantly understood and playfully hit his arm. “Oh, Grant! You tricked me!” She was teasing; he was smiling. But the moment those warm, smiling eyes swept past me, they would instantly turn cold. “Grant, welcome home!” The door chime signaled the arrival of a horde of his friends, squeezing into the small space for an impromptu party. One of them saw me, jaw dropping, then discreetly nudged the others, pointing. I was exhausted. I picked up my bag and started walking toward them. Several people instinctively backed away, a few even making moves to turn and leave, as if afraid I might attack them. Right. I started learning martial arts in middle school. During the years Grant and I were tearing each other apart, they often got caught in the crossfire. One guy once hired someone to jump me to ‘avenge’ Grant; I broke a few of his teeth instead. One friend quietly asked Grant, confused: “Grant, what’s going on?” Grant was silent, subtly moving to shield Willow. “I’m closing up now. Could you all please leave?” “Sister,” Willow suddenly grabbed my arm. “Can’t you let us stay a little longer?” “No.” I pulled my arm away, stood at the doorway, and looked at them blankly. “Please leave.” Grant scoffed, looking me up and down. “A business owner who doesn’t want money? Name your price for the evening, Avery. You can personally serve us.” I only repeated, louder: “Please leave.” A sudden shove sent a sharp pain up my arm. I gasped, stumbling to the floor, my bag scattering its contents. I scrambled to gather everything, but a hand clamped violently onto my chin. The next moment, a black card was flung onto my face. “The money on this is more than enough to buy this miserable little shop and you.” I slapped his hand away, quickly collecting my things, and used a stool by the door to leverage myself up. The rage was a white-hot sickness. His ‘friends’ laughed. The guy who shoved me snickered. “Grant, Avery looks pretty desperate these days. Maybe throw her a bone. She’s willing to bend over for a few hundred bucks.” He pulled out a few hundred-dollar bills and threw them at my feet. “Pick them up, they’re yours.” I picked up the nearest potted plant and smashed it across his ankle. As he doubled over, howling, I grabbed his hair and slammed his head against the bar. Blood gushed from his forehead. “You’re too soft to be running your mouth around me,” I sneered. In one quick motion, I turned, delivering a round of sharp slaps to the other loudmouths. “That’s what you get for shooting off your mouth.” Then I took the container of leftover stew—the one I’d packaged for my own dinner—and poured it directly over the head of the worst offender. Rice, eggs, and herbs dripped down his face, instantly turning him into the most humiliated mess in the room. The air went silent. No one dared to challenge me. These few seconds were enough to remind them of the days I ruled their fear, a fallen queen who would never be a tame little chick. Drew stayed far back, sighing, “Why did you have to provoke her?” Willow rushed up to me. “Boss, even if they were wrong, you shouldn’t hit people!” Her eyes were clear and wide, like a princess who’d never seen the real world. I looked right at Grant. “Take your people and get out!” “You are going too far!” Willow was furious that I yelled at her brother. She raised her hand to hit me. I snatched her wrist and whipped my hand back, delivering a stinging slap to her cheek. “What about it?” I said, enunciating every word. “I am this toxic.” Willow began to cry. Grant pulled her into his arms, soothing her, his face darkening. The familiar, intense hatred I knew so well blazed in his eyes. “You can hit me, Avery. I won’t retaliate against you.” He looked at her tear-stained face. “But you should never have touched her.” A line of men in black suits appeared at the door. They squeezed into my small shop. “Smash this place.” Grant gave the order. The men scattered. CRASH! The shop window shattered. CLATTER! Pots and pans crashed to the floor of the kitchen. I stood at the doorway, rain and cold wind hitting my face. It was so cold. “It’s just a shop. Send the bill to Bell Industries’ accounts payable. I’ll pay for the whole thing.” Suddenly, the prescription pill bottle in the counter drawer was knocked to the floor and rolled to my feet. I snatched it up, but Grant lunged, seizing my hand, his gaze narrowed on the prescription. “What is this?” “Melatonin,” I lied, pulling free and swallowing four pills. The label did read ‘Melatonin,’ but he scoffed. “Four pills at once? You’re trying to kill yourself.” He snatched the bottle and threw it out into the heavy rain, then walked away with his entourage. I ran out into the downpour, retrieving the bottle. The pain flared, cold and bone-deep, and I collapsed onto the wet ground. I sat in the rain, shivering, and swallowed two more pills. These were prescription controlled pain medication. From half a tablet a day, I was now taking six at a time. The cancer was eating me alive. I knew I didn’t have long.

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The moment I turned eighteen, I walked in on my mother, then-General Eleanor Beaumont, in the back of her official, armored SUV, servicing one of her junior officers. She simply looked at me, her eyes flat and cold, and said: “Rhys Beaumont, don’t take this to your father. He’s the one who will be destroyed.” I didn’t believe her. Crying, I told my father the truth. That night, he jumped. In that instant, my world fractured and collapsed. I drove a stolen SUV straight through my mother’s second wedding reception, smashing the ballroom to hell. The next day, she put me on a plane to Berlin. My wildest years were spent overseas. I tasted every flavor of blonde bombshell and went through lovers like clean socks. The line of people chasing me stretched from Ibiza to Paris. But just as a stunning girl in a silk slip was sitting on my lap in a penthouse suite, a curt wire from my mother summoned me back to Capitol City. Her demand: I was to marry Major General Stella Kincaid. I knew the rumors. She was ice. Stoic, famously ascetic, and rigidly disciplined—a woman who had never, they said, let a man touch her hand, let alone her. The thought of marrying someone so utterly joyless choked me. I did everything I could to derail the engagement. I hired the most expensive escort in the city and brought her to a military gala as my date. Stella, in her razor-sharp dress uniform, merely walked in, gave me a look that could freeze water, and silently led me back to The Compound. I deliberately caused a scene—a full-blown, drunken riot—right outside the base gates. She personally appeared at the Joint Chief’s office the next morning to smooth it over, silencing the scandal before it could even whisper. I was the disaster, and she was the cleanup crew. It wasn’t until I got thrown into the city jail for a bar fight that she finally broke a mission for me. She interrupted a massive combat drill, leaving over a thousand troops mid-exercise just to come get me. As she bandaged my torn knuckles, her voice was quiet, almost a whisper. “I don’t care how much trouble you cause, Rhys. Or how many headlines you make.” “I can manage all of that.” “I only care if you are hurting, here.” 1 My heart seized in my chest. No one had ever truly cared about me. Not with that sincerity, not since my father. Stella Kincaid’s single sentence shattered every one of my defenses. My voice was hoarse when I finally spoke. “Do you have an unfinished love? A ghost of a soulmate you couldn’t keep? Because the woman I marry can only have room in her heart for me.” Stella’s gentle gaze rested on my face. “No. Only you.” And so, I married her. After that, a saying circulated in the social circles of Capitol City: Don’t cross Major General Kincaid’s husband, Rhys Beaumont. Because no matter the scope of the mess I created, the Ice General would always be standing behind me, using her formidable power to protect me. I really thought that my small, fragile light had finally penetrated her cold heart. It wasn’t until I went to the base to drop off some forgotten files that I overheard a conversation between her and a colleague. “Major General Kincaid, what’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told?” Stella was silent for a moment, then she slowly replied: “Someone once asked me if I had an unattainable, lost love.” “I lied and told him I didn’t.” Boom! A sonic boom detonated in my skull. I froze instantly. She had someone? Then why the hell did she lie to me? Just as I was about to burst in and demand an explanation, an aide rushed in and whispered something to her. Stella’s usually perfect composure fractured. Her face went tight, and she rushed out. I hailed a cab and followed close behind. The car stopped outside an abandoned, half-finished building on the outskirts of the city. A distraught man was holding a boy hostage with a knife. The moment Stella saw the boy, her voice went taut, vibrating with an intensity I’d never heard. “Let him go!” The captor sneered. “Stella Kincaid! They say your greatest love is Rhys Beaumont, but I know the one you truly carry in your heart is him—Leo Sinclair! You busted my operation, drove me to the wall! Today, I’ll show you what true despair tastes like!” Stella fought to maintain her calm. “Your fight is with me! Let him go and come for me!” “Let him go? Fine!” The man kicked a military-issue blade toward her. “Stab yourself once in the heart! Then I’ll consider it!” Stella didn’t hesitate. She bent, scooped up the knife, and plunged it—hard—toward her own heart. I was hidden in the shadows, my nails digging crescent moons into my palms to stifle a scream. She was willing to sacrifice herself—to kill herself—for another man? The captor roared with insane laughter. “It looks like you truly do love him desperately! All the more reason to kill him!” But as he raised his knife, the embedded Special Forces team swarmed in and subdued him. Sirens wailed as the ambulance rushed in to take Stella away. Through the chaos, no one noticed me—the man standing in the corner, his face ghost-white. Just then, Leo Sinclair walked over. I stared, rigid. “What… what exactly is your relationship with Stella Kincaid?” Leo offered a bitter, self-mocking smile and laid out the sickening truth. Two years ago, he and Stella were deeply in love and planning to marry. But then he was diagnosed with a rare, aggressive blood disease. The only cure was an incredibly scarce, breakthrough gene therapy drug called Novagen. The only person in the entire city with guaranteed access to the Novagen supply was my mother. Stella had gone to her, pleading for the drug. My mother’s condition: Stella had to marry me and conceive a child with me. The truth hit me like a lightning strike. No wonder she was so relentlessly and abnormally fixated on our intimate life, almost every night… The colossal shame and heartbreak nearly tore me to pieces. I spun around and marched straight into General Beaumont’s penthouse. My mother paused in surprise when she saw me, but I went straight to the point. “Did you use that Novagen drug to force Stella Kincaid to marry me?” Eleanor Beaumont smiled, utterly unbothered. “So what if I did? I did it for you! Stella is a Major General, a rising star! You have no idea how many—” I slammed my hands down, flipping the solid wood table. My eyes were burning red. “I’m giving you two options! First: you give the Novagen to Stella Kincaid! Second: you use every ounce of your influence to grant Stella and me the fastest divorce possible!” “Otherwise, I will level this place, and none of us will walk away.” My spine rigid, I turned and left. I didn’t go back to The Compound. I went straight to the nightclub I frequented. For three days straight, I drowned myself in the haze of the club, drinking and dancing, trying to numb the growing emptiness and coldness in my chest. A girl sidled up. “Hey, handsome. Drinking alone is boring. How about I keep you company?” I frowned, annoyance flaring, ready to tell her to get lost. The next second, a sickening crack of bone snapped through the noise, and the girl screamed, crumpling to the floor. I looked up into the cold, stunning face of Stella Kincaid. “Go. If I see you touch him again, I’ll make sure you don’t walk.” The woman scrambled away, terrified. But my heart was a block of ice. “What are you doing here?” My voice was devoid of warmth. Stella’s brow furrowed. “I was on an urgent deployment for the last few days. I got back and heard you’ve been here for seventy-two hours. There’s a limit to how much you can indulge your temper, Rhys. It’s time to come home.” Urgent deployment? My heart felt like it had been shredded by a thousand micro-bullets. Was ‘urgent deployment’ her code for ‘getting a knife to the chest for your sweetheart?’ I didn’t call her lie. I turned my face away, my tone flat. “I’m not going back.” I pushed past her, trying to walk out. But Stella’s arm shot out, grabbing my waist and hauling me back to her. “Stella Kincaid! What the hell are you doing!” I was shocked and furious, thrashing against her. Ignoring my struggle and kicks, she pulled me deeper into a dimly lit corner behind the main dance floor. “Rhys…” Her voice was raw, her breath ragged. “Do you know how long it’s been since you performed your duties as a husband?” “If you won’t come home… we’ll do it right here…” “No! I won’t! Stella Kincaid, if you touch me today, I will hate you forever!” My shame and rage were immense, but they were eclipsed by the crushing pain in my core. “Don’t be scared… the lights are dim. No one will see us…” She gave me no more chance to resist, forcing me to push into her. The dry, abrasive friction made my body instantly tense, and a choked cry of pain escaped me. “Just endure it…” Stella’s voice was thick with suppressed need. “I can handle this pain, you can handle this. We still have a child to conceive.” A child to conceive… Those three words were a poisoned blade, plunging deep into my chest. I lifted my head suddenly, my voice deadly. “Stella Kincaid, what if I told you… I don’t want to have a child with you?” Stella’s movements instantly stalled. “Rhys, I can yield to you on everything else, but not this. This is non-negotiable.” Her words, which were meant to sound so deep and loving, became a sharp, mocking tool in my ear. She couldn’t see my pain, my despair, my terror. All she saw was Leo Sinclair’s survival. Suddenly, a scream ripped through the corner. I twisted my head. Leo Sinclair was standing not far from us, his face chalk-white, tears streaming down his cheeks, looking right at us. The next second, he spun around and ran, sobbing. Stella’s face instantly changed. She pulled away from me almost instantaneously and ran after him! I staggered to my feet, adjusting my wrinkled clothes, feeling like a lifeless puppet as I walked out of that repulsive corner. But as I exited the club’s back door, I heard a shout from above: “Someone jumped!” I instinctively looked up, and saw a figure plummeting from the roof of the club. CRASH—! A heavy, sickening thud. The falling body landed squarely on me. I didn’t even have time to scream before I lost consciousness. I woke up in the military hospital, hearing the frantic voice of a nurse. “Both patients are severely wounded! Internal bleeding, multiple fractures… but we only have one operating room left! The patient who goes second has a high risk of death! Major General Kincaid, you must choose… who do we save first?” Then, I heard Stella’s hoarse voice. “You have to save both! Can’t we arrange a transfer?” “We can’t, Major General! Their condition is too unstable for travel! You… you must make a choice now…” A suffocating silence. Finally, I heard Stella Kincaid speak, one word at a time: “Save… Leo. First.” I already knew the answer. But hearing her make that choice, with my own ears, my heart felt like it was instantly ripped apart. I couldn’t breathe. When I opened my eyes again, Stella was sitting by my bedside. She leaned in immediately when she saw I was awake. “You’re up? How are you feeling? Anything else hurt?” I slowly turned my head, avoiding her touch. “You already gave up on me at the operating room doors. You chose to save him. Why are you putting on this performance of concern now?” Stella’s body stiffened. Clearly, she hadn’t expected me to overhear. “Leo is a close, old friend. He was gravely ill, and his body has been very weak. In that situation, if he didn’t get surgery immediately, he would have died… That’s why I chose him first.” She paused, then looked back at me. “But I immediately called in the military’s mobile surgical unit, so you received timely treatment as well… Rhys, I didn’t abandon you.” I laughed coldly. “Stella Kincaid, if he’s just an old friend, then why did he lose control and jump when he saw us together?” Stella fell silent again. After a long moment, she said, “Leo once had a deep love, a partner he couldn’t be with for many complex reasons. His emotions have been unstable. Seeing us that night… perhaps it triggered something, making him act rashly.” I hadn’t realized she was such a good liar. I remembered vividly on our wedding night, when I’d half-jokingly, half-seriously said: “Stella Kincaid, I hate being lied to more than anything. My father lived and died by my mother’s lies. If you lie to me, I’ll walk away and never look back.” She had gently stroked my cheek, her voice low. “I won’t lie to you.” And now, the lies were piling up. Love, to me, had always been optional. If it worked, great. If not, I’d move on. The second I confirmed she was lying, she was already gone from my world. Seeing my silence, Stella changed the subject. She pulled out a polished wooden box containing a set of shimmering military medals. “I remember you said you were looking for your father’s belongings that your stepfather sold off.” Stella offered the box to me, her voice gentle. “I searched everywhere, finally tracking them down at a military museum overseas. I completed the set for you.” My eyes flickered, resting on the familiar, aged gold. My heart was lightly squeezed by an invisible hand, and a wave of soreness hit the back of my throat. I reached out and took the box. “I’ll take the gift, but I won’t say thank you.” “Because soon, I’ll be sending you one hell of a gift, too.” Stella frowned, about to ask what I meant, when an aide knocked and reported a few urgent details. Her face immediately hardened. She stood up. “Rhys, I have an emergency task. I have to lead the team. Rest well.” Watching her hurried exit, my mind was crystal clear. Emergency task. It was just code for rushing to the next room to comfort the fragile soulmate she prioritized over everything else. The following days were spent in quiet recovery. I walked past Leo Sinclair’s room countless times, and through the slightly ajar door, I always saw Stella meticulously, personally, taking care of him. I would just glance over and move on, a calmness settling in my heart. After all, she would soon no longer be my wife. Who she cared for was none of my business. One afternoon, I returned from a checkup to find my bedside table had been moved. My stomach dropped. I yanked the drawer open. My father’s war medals—gone. I grabbed the nearest nurse. “Who was in my room? Where are my things?!” “It… it was Mr. Sinclair. He said he was retrieving something for you…” My eyes turned to ice. I stormed straight toward Leo Sinclair’s room. Leo was leaning by the window, and he looked at my frigid expression, seemingly having expected me. “Where is it? What did you do with the box?” Leo stared back, speaking softly. “I left it in the hospital’s morgue.” “If you want it, you can go get it yourself.” The hospital morgue was on the second basement level—cold, dark, and silent. I have claustrophobia, and I’ve been terrified of the dark since I was a child. A primal terror shot through me. Gritting my teeth, I shoved open the heavy, freezing metal drawers one by one. In a cabinet tucked away in a corner, I saw the familiar rosewood box. I sighed in relief, snatched the box, and turned to leave, but then I heard a heavy CLANG. The steel door of the morgue had been locked from the outside. “Leo Sinclair! Open the door!” I threw myself against the door, pounding and screaming hoarsely. Leo’s voice, laced with a smug chuckle, drifted through the steel. “Enjoy your stay, Mr. Beaumont. You’ll have plenty of company down there…” His footsteps faded into the distance. “Let me out! Open the door!” I threw all my weight against the door, shouting, but the only response was the deafening silence and the bone-chilling cold. My injuries were unhealed. The fear and the cold rapidly depleted my strength. Eventually, I slumped against the freezing metal door, my consciousness fading until I passed out. I don’t know how much time passed, but I dimly woke to muffled voices outside the door. “Stella… I’m so sorry. I only meant it as a joke, telling him I left his stuff in the morgue, I didn’t think he’d actually go in… Now the police are here, saying I’m facing unlawful detainment charges… What should I do?” Then came Stella’s low voice. “I already signed the waiver of prosecution as your family member. It’s handled. Don’t worry.” Lying on that cold floor, listening to their exchange, my heart turned to ash. Leo Sinclair almost killed me in here, and Stella Kincaid had casually signed a waiver for him? An uncontrollable rage surged, shooting straight to my head. I grabbed a glass bottle from a nearby utility cart and hurled it, shattering it against the steel door. The door flew open instantly. Stella walked in, with Leo right behind her. I pushed myself into a sitting position, my weak body shaking, my eyes fixed on Stella. “He nearly killed me. What right did you have to sign that waiver?!” Stella looked at my pale face, a complex flicker in her eyes. “Rhys, Leo’s intentions were innocent. It was a misguided joke. He didn’t think you’d take him seriously.” “A joke?” I laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. “Stella Kincaid, you know me. This isn’t over!” Stella pressed her temples, her voice strained with fatigue. “What do you want?” I ignored her and ordered the aide standing by the door. “Go. Bring me ten buckets of ice water.” Soon, buckets of steaming cold, icy water were brought in. I pointed at the water, my gaze on Leo Sinclair. “You. Pour all ten buckets over yourself, from head to toe. When you’re done, this is over.” “What?!” Leo’s eyes went wide with disbelief. He turned to Stella, pleading. “Stella, I… my body can’t handle that! The doctor said I can’t get cold!” Stella immediately turned to me. “Rhys, stop this madness! You know Leo’s condition. This will kill him!” “Did he think about whether it would kill me when he locked me in the morgue?!” Leo looked at the buckets of ice water, trembling, his eyes filling with tears. Stella took a deep breath, removed her dress uniform jacket, and reached for a bucket. “Fine. If you insist on this, I’ll do it for him.” “Stella! No! Your stitches haven’t healed!” “It’s nothing.” Watching her willingness to go to such lengths for Leo Sinclair, my heart was instantly crushed, pain turning to numbness. Stella lifted the bucket, looking at me, her eyes warning. “After I do this, I expect you to stop harassing Leo.” I didn’t speak. I just watched her, frigid. Stella raised her arm, about to dump the ice water over her head. But in that instant, I lunged, grabbed the trembling Leo Sinclair beside her, and with all my strength, poured the entire bucket of ice water over his head! “AHHH—!” Leo shrieked, soaked instantly, shivering violently. Stella spun around at the sound. Seeing the sight, her face turned to fury. “Rhys Beaumont! What did you do?!” I looked at her, my expression cold and resolute. “He seems to enjoy the icy atmosphere of the morgue. I was just being kind and letting him experience it again.” A flash of pure, burning anger ignited in Stella’s eyes. But she had no time to scold me. She immediately grabbed her uniform jacket and wrapped Leo in it. But in her frantic rush, her elbow struck my unhealed wound with brutal force. I was caught off guard, stumbling backward. Thud! My forehead slammed into the sharp corner of the nearby coffee table. Excruciating pain shot through me. Warm liquid immediately flooded my face, staining the white tile floor crimson. My vision swam. I looked up to see Stella anxiously wiping Leo’s face, holding him carefully in her arms to warm him, never once glancing at me, the man bleeding out on the floor… I bit back a cry, covering the gushing wound with my hand, forcing myself to stand despite the pain and dizziness. Step by step, I turned and walked out. Later, I received nine stitches in the ER. The nurse bandaged me up, sighing. “How did you get so badly injured? Where is Major General Kincaid?” I closed my eyes and didn’t answer. During my hospital stay, I could still overhear the nurses whispering about how Stella Kincaid was tirelessly caring for the feverish Leo Sinclair. I listened, my heart a barren landscape. I couldn’t even feel the sting of sadness anymore. Before my stitches were even removed, I checked myself out. As I walked out of the hospital, I got a call from my mother, Eleanor Beaumont. “The divorce papers have been approved.” “I’m releasing the official divorce statement online tomorrow. When that’s done, I will deliver the Novagen to Stella Kincaid.” She paused, her tone laced with a final warning. “Once you have the signed papers, you will disappear and stay gone! Do not come back and cause any more trouble for me!” Hearing her cold voice, my numb heart felt no stir. I spoke into the receiver, my voice icy. “Eleanor Beaumont, you are truly sickening.” Without waiting for her reaction, I hung up. I picked up the luggage I had packed long ago. Without a single moment of lingering, I drove straight to the airport and boarded a flight to a foreign country. From that day on, Rhys Beaumont was erased from Capitol City. Meanwhile, Stella Kincaid had cared for Leo Sinclair in the hospital for days without sleep, until an emergency military operation finally demanded her attention. She hadn’t even reached the door to her office when she saw a group of her colleagues—Brigadier Generals, Colonels, even a Joint Chief—all gathered, discussing something with agitated excitement. A particularly outgoing Colonel saw her and immediately rushed over, his face glowing with anticipation. “Major General Kincaid! Perfect timing! Is it true what the internet says?” “Now that you and Rhys Beaumont are done, does that mean the rest of us get to fairly compete for him?” “Stella, Mr. Beaumont is gorgeous and his spirit is so bright and wild. There isn’t a single person in the city who doesn’t secretly adore him. I’ve been crushing on him forever! I only held back because he was your husband! Now I’m finally free!” “Exactly! Introduce us! We are all lining up already!” They spoke over one another, their words overflowing with admiration and a fierce determination to win Rhys. Hearing their excited chatter, Stella felt a tidal wave of never-before-felt, savage rage surge through her, burning her composure to the breaking point. “Introduce him? Compete? Line up?! Do you know what you are saying?!” Her voice was bone-chilling, radiating a terrifying authority. “Rhys Beaumont is my husband!” They were startled by her sudden, violent fury, looking at each other in confusion. A close female colleague cautiously showed her a phone screen. “You… you don’t know? Mr. Beaumont’s mother already posted your divorce statement online today…” Stella snatched the phone, her eyes locking onto the bold, black letters on the screen. BREAKING: KINCAID-BEAUMONT POWER ALLIANCE COLLAPSES! Major General Stella Kincaid and Socialite Rhys Beaumont File for Divorce Today.

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My husband, Alex Thorne, played the part of a paralyzed man for three years. The night the cruise ship burned, a flaming beam collapsed and shattered my leg. I was screaming his name, my voice raw with desperation, begging him to save me. He sat in his wheelchair and looked at me, his eyes cold. “It’s too far. I can’t reach you. You’ll have to crawl.” But the very next second, his first love—the ghost of his perfect past—slipped and fell overboard. Alex suddenly stood up. He moved with a runner’s speed, sprinting to the deck rail and plunging into the black sea. I was left behind, my leg broken by the fire. The lack of oxygen burned out something essential in my brain, and my intelligence stalled forever at the age of six. Three years later, Alex was searching the world for me, frantic with guilt and regret. He finally saw me on the street, panhandling for spare change. He knelt on the pavement, his eyes bloodshot. “To hide from me, you’d sink to this? Was it worth it, Gemma?” I tilted my head, looking at this strange, furious man. I fished in my pocket, pulled out a sticky piece of hard candy, and offered it to him. “Mister, your legs are working just fine. Why are you kneeling like me?” “Are you trying to learn how to panhandle? I only have one candy left. Here.” 1 Alex didn’t take the candy. “Gemma Reed. How much longer are you going to keep up the act?” His voice was too loud. I flinched, shrinking my neck, and instinctively pulled the ragged bowl closer to my chest. It had three dollars in it. That was tonight’s dinner money. I couldn’t let him steal it. Seeing my silence, Alex only grew angrier. He grabbed my arm. “Ouch! Bad Mister! Don’t hit Gemma!” I cried out in pain, but the other hand stayed clamped shut around the small piece of candy. Liam had given it to me this morning as a reward for not wetting my pants yesterday. Alex’s face went white when he heard me call him “Mister.” “The theatrics are exhausting!” He sneered, his eyes dropping to my tightly clenched fist. He must have thought I was hiding something valuable. He forcibly pried my fingers open. In my palm lay a slightly melted, dusty piece of fruit hard candy. Alex froze, then a wave of profound disgust washed over his features. “This is what you were fighting for?” He snatched the candy and viciously threw it on the ground. His polished leather shoe came down on it, grinding it twice. “No!” I shrieked. That was my candy. I found a surge of energy, wrenched my arm free from his grip, and flopped onto the ground. I frantically dug my fingers into the grout lines of the sidewalk to scrape up the sugary dust. It was filthy. But it was sweet. I shoved the dirt-and-shoeprint-covered sugar crumbs into my mouth, tears and snot smearing my face. “Sweet… it’s sweet…” People were watching. Someone pulled out a phone to record. Alex seemed enraged by my animalistic hunger. He grabbed my collar, hauling me up like a sack of garbage. “Gemma! Don’t you have any self-respect? You’re disgusting!” I ignored him, weeping as I stared at the sugar stain on the ground. “Pay me back… Mister, pay me back my candy…” Alex gritted his teeth, hoisted me onto his shoulder, and shoved me into the sleek, black luxury sedan parked at the curb. I beat on the window, watching my dented plastic bowl sit alone on the street. “The money! My money!” “Liam will be hungry!” Alex locked the doors and told the driver to go. He turned back, staring at me with pure hatred. “Good. Let that stray starve.” “Gemma. Since you love playing a role so much, I’ll take you back to the place you tried so hard to escape and let you play all you want.” 2 The car pulled up to an enormous house. It looked faintly familiar, but I didn’t dare recognize it. The walls were too white, like a hospital. The lights were too bright, like fire. The house staff stood by the door, covering their noses when they saw my dirt-caked clothes. Alex dropped me onto the expensive carpet in the living room. “Get her clean. Don’t let her ruin the rug.” A couple of housekeepers approached and roughly dragged me toward a large, marble bathroom. The shower turned on. Hot water poured out, billowing white steam. “Ah!” I screamed, scrambling into a corner. “Fire! It’s fire! Don’t burn Gemma!” The hot water on my skin felt exactly like the searing heat of the flames that night on the ship. I covered my head, shaking violently, my teeth chattering. The housekeepers impatiently grabbed me. “Mrs. Thorne, stop the act. It’s just water.” I thrashed desperately, my fingernails scratching one of the housekeeper’s arms. “Snap!” The woman slapped me across the face. “You crazy bitch!” When Alex burst in, I was huddled in the corner of the tub, looking like a drowned, mangy dog. My clothes had been ripped off. The entire expanse of my back—a massive, grotesque burn scar, knotted like tree roots—was exposed to the air. Alex’s pupils contracted sharply. He seemed about to reach out to touch the scars, but his hand stopped halfway. “To keep up the act, you really went all out.” He bit out the words, his voice a strange mix of something I couldn’t understand—was it sarcasm, or something else? “Alex?” A soft, delicate voice drifted from the doorway. Skylar walked in, wearing a white ballet leotard. She was so clean, like a perfect white swan. And I was the rat in the sewer. Skylar saw the scars on my back. A flicker of disgust crossed her eyes, quickly replaced by concern. “Gemma, what happened to you? Alex is trying to help you, but you shouldn’t scratch the staff.” I caught the scent of her perfume. I sneezed, pointing at her. “Auntie, you smell bad.” Skylar’s face stiffened, her perfect smile barely holding on. Alex immediately moved to shield Skylar, looking at me with cold fury. “Gemma. Apologize to Skylar!” I didn’t understand. She smelled bad. Why did I have to apologize? I stubbornly pursed my lips, saying nothing. Alex lost his patience. He turned to a cabinet and pulled out a red box. Inside, nestled in tissue, was a pair of crimson ballet slippers. They were my most prized possession three years ago. But now, seeing them made my leg ache. The broken bone throbbed beneath the skin. “Didn’t you love dancing?” Alex tossed the shoes in front of me. “Put them on. Dance for me.” “I can’t dance…” I shook my head wildly, pulling my body back. “Leg hurts… fire… don’t burn Gemma…” He thought I was protesting, that this was part of the act. “Won’t dance?” He gave a harsh laugh, picked up the shoes, and strode toward the stone fireplace. A fire was crackling inside. “If you won’t dance, then you never will again!” He let go, and the slippers tumbled into the flames. The fire immediately devoured the red satin and silk ribbon. “NO!” I looked at the light, and the last frayed string in my mind snapped. The fire. The cruise ship. The broken leg. I was so terrified that I lost control of my bladder. Yellow liquid streamed down my thighs, filling the air with a rank, acrid smell. Skylar gasped, covering her nose and recoiling into Alex’s embrace. Alex looked at the puddle on the floor, his face pale with shock and disgust. He finally realized. The proud, vibrant woman who was once Gemma Reed. She was truly broken. 3 Alex confined me to a bedroom, forbidding me to leave. But I was hungry. My stomach rumbled. I missed the stale bread Liam used to buy me. That evening, the mansion was buzzing. Alex was hosting a dinner party. A maid brought me downstairs and pressed me into a chair at the grand dining table. The table was loaded with rich food, but I was afraid to touch it. Alex sat at the head, and Skylar sat beside him, acting like the lady of the house. “Eat,” Alex said, his voice cold. “Aren’t you hungry?” I looked at the steak in front of me. It was rare, with streaks of blood. I was terrified of blood. I shook my head, my eyes fixed on a small cake in front of Skylar. It was strawberry-flavored, and it looked very sweet. Skylar noticed my gaze. She smiled and pushed the cake toward me. “Gemma, go ahead and eat. Don’t be shy.” I swallowed, cautiously reaching out a hand. The moment my fingers touched the plate, a sharp, stabbing pain shot up my inner thigh. Skylar’s hand, hidden beneath the tablecloth, had pinched me with brutal force. “Ah!” I cried out, my hand trembling. The plate flipped, and the cake splattered all over Skylar’s white party dress. Cream covered her. “Oh! My dress!” Skylar shrieked, tears instantly welling up in her eyes. “Gemma, if you didn’t want the cake, why would you throw it at me?” “This was a limited edition—a gift from Alex!” Alex slammed his hand onto the table, rising abruptly. “Gemma!” He glared at me. “Is your jealousy so toxic that you can’t even tolerate a dress?” I was so frightened that I dove beneath the table. I clutched my head, shivering. “Gemma didn’t… the Auntie pinched me… it hurts…” Alex didn’t believe me for a second. “Get out from under there!” He roared. “Pick up the cake from the floor and eat it!” I didn’t want to come out, but I was afraid of being hit. I crawled out, kneeling on the ground, and reached out to scoop up the cream-smeared dessert. Skylar was pretending to dab her dress. Her high heel moved subtly, crushing a small, fallen glass on the floor. Shards of glass mixed into the cream. I didn’t see it. I only knew I had to obey to get fed. I grabbed a handful of cake, and the sharp glass instantly pierced my palm. Blood began to flow freely. “WAAH!” I screamed in agony, holding up my bleeding hand for Alex to see. “Mister, it hurts… bleeding…” The bright red blood dripped onto the carpet, a shocking sight. Alex saw the blood, and his heart violently shuddered. He instinctively started to rise, but Skylar suddenly clutched her chest and collapsed into his arms. “Alex, my chest feels tight… I think I’m too upset…” Alex’s movement stopped. He looked at Skylar, then at my blood-covered hand. Finally, he turned his head, hardening his heart. “Take her away.” “No bandaging. No food.” “Let her remember this.” 4 The basement was pitch dark. There were no windows, only the occasional squeak of a mouse. I was huddled in a corner, licking the wound on my hand. The blood had dried, sticky and uncomfortable. So hungry. I missed Liam. Suddenly, a loud crash came from the door. “BANG!” The iron door rattled violently as someone kicked it. It was followed by the sounds of the security guards shouting and fighting. “Get out of the way! Let me through!” That voice… it was Liam! My head shot up, my eyes suddenly alight. “Liam!” I stumbled toward the door. It burst open. Liam staggered in, holding a bloodstained metal pipe. He was covered in bruises, his clothes ripped, but his eyes were fierce. “Gemma!” He saw the blood on my hands, and his eyes instantly reddened. “You bastards!” He dropped the pipe and rushed over, pulling me into a fierce hug. “Don’t be scared. I’m taking you out of here.” His embrace was warm. It smelled faintly of the street and stale coffee, but it was the safest smell in the world. But we couldn’t leave. Alex, with more security guards, blocked the doorway. He was wearing a silk robe, looking down on us. “So this is your little conquest?” Alex’s gaze dropped to Liam’s hand wrapped around mine, his eyes full of killing intent. “A scavenger?” Liam subtly shifted, putting me fully behind him. “Alex Thorne, are you even human? She has the mind of a six-year-old! You’re torturing a disabled woman!” Alex sneered. “Disabled? She’s a better actress than anyone I know.” He waved his hand, and the guards lunged. Soon, Liam was wrestled to the floor. Alex walked over and planted his foot on Liam’s hand. “Ah!” Liam muffled a cry of pain but clenched his jaw, refusing to beg. “Since this hand dared to touch my wife, we’ll take it.” Alex accepted the baseball bat a guard handed him. He raised it high. “NO!” I screamed, charging forward like a wild animal. I shoved Alex, using my scarred body to shield Liam. “Don’t hit Liam! Liam gives Gemma candy! You’re the bad guy!” Alex stared at me, seeing me protect another man like a mother protects her young. Jealousy contorted his face into a terrifying mask. “Fine. Very well.” He tossed the bat back to a guard. “Since you love him so much, I’ll smash every single finger, right in front of you.” The guard raised the club. Liam thrashed, shouting, “Gemma, run! Don’t worry about me!” I looked at the club. I knew that kind of hit felt very, very painful. I couldn’t let Liam feel that pain. My eyes fell on a small paring knife on a nearby end table. That Auntie had said if you do something wrong, you have to pay. If he wants a hand, I’ll give him one. I snatched up the knife. Without a moment’s hesitation, I sliced it toward my left pinky finger. “Pch—!” “Don’t!” Liam and Alex roared simultaneously.

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Five years after we broke up, I ran into Owen Sinclair thirty thousand feet in the air. The girl in his arms had a purple tinge to her face and was struggling to breathe. His forehead was threaded with frantic veins as he yelled: “A doctor! Is there a doctor on board?” I pushed past the cluster of gawking passengers and knelt down, ignoring the shock in his eyes. “I’m the purser. I have aviation medical emergency certification.” He immediately clamped down on my wrist, his gaze filled with panic and mistrust. “Maya Thorne! If you have a problem with me, take it up with me. Don’t touch the child!” He lowered his voice, the words meant only for me. “The accident five years ago—Sienna was cleared! Don’t you dare go crazy on me.” I pulled my hand free, my fingers already expertly checking the girl’s pupils and pulse. “Mr. Sinclair,” I said, meeting his trembling gaze head-on. “Right now, I am the most qualified person on this entire plane to save her.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. He wanted to argue, but under my steady, icy stare, he finally backed away, defeated. Oxygen mask, emergency injection, continuous monitoring… I executed every action with precision and speed. It wasn’t until the girl’s face began to flush pink and her breathing stabilized that I let out a long breath. I stood, turning toward the rear galley. 1 The flight was diverted and grounded at a regional airport due to a massive thunderstorm. All flights were canceled, and the terminal lobby was absolute chaos. I stood on the curb, the wind wet and cold, dragging my suitcase. My rideshare app showed 99+ people ahead of me in the queue. A black Maybach, splashing through puddles, slid silently to a stop in front of me. The window lowered, revealing Owen’s face, a mixture of fatigue and complex emotions. In the passenger seat, Sienna, clutching the newly awakened child, gave me a shy, timid greeting: “Maya.” I acted as if I hadn’t heard her, my eyes still glued to my phone screen. The car door opened. Owen stepped out and strode directly toward me, roughly snatching my suitcase and tossing it into the trunk. “You won’t get a cab in this weather.” His voice carried the same non-negotiable arrogance as always. “Don’t be difficult. Get in.” I was half-pushed, half-shoved into the backseat. The moment the door shut, it sealed out the wind and rain, but also trapped me in this suffocating space. The piano music flowing from the speakers—it was the song we used to play most often when we were falling in love. Now, every note felt like a sneer at my past. Sienna watched me carefully through the rearview mirror. “Owen, thank goodness for Maya’s help,” she began, her voice soft and weak, before pivoting. “But I’m still a little shaken. What if… what if Maya was still angry and used that moment to…” “Enough.” Owen snapped the command coldly. Sienna immediately fell silent, wounded, her eyes welling up with tears. I gave a silent, cold laugh. The same old routine. Five years, and nothing had changed. After snapping at Sienna, Owen turned his attention to me, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror. His tone was a blend of high-horse condescension and a thinly veiled threat. “What happened is over. Sienna has paid for her mistakes.” “Maya, you need to move on.” I finally looked up, meeting his stare, and let my cold laugh escape. “Where you two aren’t is always a better view.” Owen’s breath hitched, and a flash of embarrassment crossed his handsome face. His gaze involuntarily slid to my left ring finger. Seeing it bare, his tense jawline seemed to relax for a brief moment. In the depths of his eyes, I caught a fleeting, almost undetectable flicker of relief. The car smoothly entered a glittering, affluent gated community—Sinclair territory. He had simply decided to bring me back to his family home without asking. “Get out. Your clothes are soaked. Go inside and change, and while you’re at it, talk to my parents.” He stopped the car, his voice a command laced with an imperceptible thread of testing. Outside, his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair, were waiting under umbrellas, clearly having been alerted. The moment they saw me climb out of the back seat, their faces contorted. Mrs. Sinclair’s shrill voice cut through the rain. “Why did you bring this jinx back here!” The rain instantly soaked my uniform, chilling me to the bone. I stood my ground, unmoving. Owen frowned and stepped forward, trying to grab my wrist. “Don’t stand in the rain. Get inside and change!” I violently yanked my hand away, my eyes colder than the rainy night. “I have my own home, Mr. Sinclair. Save your concern.” With that, I didn’t look back at him, or at the mansion where I had once dreamed of a future. I turned my back and walked with finality into the endless downpour. Behind me, I heard Sienna’s feigned cry of worry and Owen’s frustrated, complex roar. “Maya Thorne!” The rain blurred my vision, washing over scars that had long since healed over. I told myself this was the last time. 2 I climbed into a passing cab, dripping wet. The blast of heat inside made me shiver, and the next moment, my stomach began to spasm violently. A sudden cold sweat drenched my back. I doubled over in the back seat, the pain forcing a familiar memory to the surface: the rainy night five years ago. My mother lying in a pool of blood. Sienna, the driver who hit her, panicked and blocked the ambulance, screaming about a staged accident. She single-handedly delayed life-saving intervention by the most crucial ten minutes. And Owen? He had used every connection the Sinclair heir had to smother the scandal. It was ultimately classified as a simple “traffic accident.” Afterward, they had the audacity to try to placate me with a check stained with my mother’s blood. My phone buzzed, dragging me back to the present. The screen showed a new WeChat/text request: Owen Sinclair. The accompanying message read: “You’ll catch a cold soaking wet. I’m outside your building.” I glanced out the window. That glaring Maybach was indeed parked outside the dilapidated apartment complex I rented. I ignored it, paid the driver, and headed straight for the 24-hour pharmacy on the corner. Just as I got my stomach medicine, I turned and was instantly cornered. Owen’s towering figure loomed over me. He was holding a thermal container filled with the hot rice porridge from the place I used to love. His brow was deeply furrowed. He softened his tone, yet it was edged with impatient pity. “Maya, stop torturing yourself in this kind of slumming. ” “Just apologize, come back to me, and I’ll set you up with an apartment that’s a hundred times better than this.” I looked at him, then took the thermal container of hot porridge. He thought I had finally given in. Instead, I raised my arm and threw the porridge, container and all, with accurate aim into the nearby public trash bin. “Maya Thorne!” His rage was instant, the veins bulging. But he violently suppressed it, the fury finally dissolving into a weary sigh. “When are you going to stop being so sharp?” I pointed a finger at his chest, every word heavy with pain. “The day you shielded a killer, that was the end of us.” Owen’s eyes flickered wildly. He took a step forward, trying to grab my shoulders. “Sienna was a victim, too. She was just terrified…” Slap! The sharp sound of the strike echoed loudly in the quiet rain. I had used every ounce of my strength. His face snapped to the side, a clear, red imprint of my fingers blooming on his cheek. He froze, clearly never having expected me to resort to violence. Just then, his phone’s video call ringtone cut through the air. Sienna’s tear-streaked face appeared on the screen, crying that she was dizzy and felt unwell. The anger and conflict in Owen’s eyes were instantly replaced by alarm. He hastily hung up the phone, cast me one last look—a complexity I couldn’t read—and then his voice was ice. “You are impossible.” “Maya, don’t ever ask me for help again.” Watching the taillights of the Maybach drive decisively away, I finally lost my strength. Clutching my aching stomach, I slowly crouched down on the wet sidewalk. My phone gave a soft chime in my pocket, the screen lighting up with a new message. From the contact labeled L: “Off work yet? I’m coming to get you.” A faint warmth, like a weak current, flowed back into my freezing heart. 3 I forced myself into the preparation room for my early morning flight, running on nothing but willpower. To my surprise, Sienna was listed as a VIP passenger in first class. Owen wasn’t on board, but he had personally called my direct supervisor, Marcus—a longtime sycophant of the Sinclairs—and specifically instructed him to give “special care” to Ms. Sienna. Throughout the flight, I maintained my professional smile, serving every passenger. When I got to Sienna, she requested a glass of red wine. I placed the glass steadily on her small tray table and turned to leave. A sharp shriek erupted behind me. I spun around. A large patch of red wine was splattered across the front of her white dress. The empty wine glass was rolling on the floor by her feet. She covered her chest, looking up at me with fake, tearful innocence. Her voice was quiet, yet loud enough for the surrounding passengers to hear. “Maya… I know you’re still angry, but how could you do this to me?” All eyes snapped to me, filled with scrutiny and implicit blame. Before I could even speak, Marcus rushed in from the back. He didn’t spare me a glance, addressing Sienna directly. “Ms. Sienna, please don’t be upset. I’ll handle this immediately!” He then turned to me, his face livid. “Maya Thorne! Apologize to Ms. Sienna right now!” I met his rage with cold indifference. “I need to see the cabin video.” “See what video!” Marcus slammed my phone down on the counter. “The company is ordering you to apologize, so apologize! Don’t make this harder on yourself!” After the plane landed, I was immediately escorted to the airline’s corporate office. Sienna sat on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, shivering dramatically. Marcus stood beside her, adding exaggerated details to his report. The office door burst open. Owen strode in. He went directly to Sienna, smoothly taking off his own suit jacket and draping it over her shoulders, murmuring soft words of comfort. Then he turned to me, his eyes blazing with a “how could you” disappointment. “It’s just an apology, Maya. How hard can that be?” “Don’t throw your career away over something so petty.” I met his stare, asking one word at a time. “An apology? Is this to clear Sienna’s ‘innocence’ yet again?” Owen’s gaze wavered. He avoided my eyes. Furious, he stepped forward and grabbed my wrist, his grip alarmingly tight, attempting to drag me forcefully in front of Sienna. “Listen to me. Don’t make this any uglier.” The silent judgment from my colleagues felt like needles pricking my skin. Sienna, nestled in Owen’s arms, flashed me a cold, triumphant smirk. I struggled hard, the pressure on my wrist excruciating. During the struggle, the silk scarf around my neck suddenly slipped. A clear, possessive hickey—a kiss mark—was abruptly exposed to the air. Owen froze. He stared intently at the blatant mark on my neck. His grip on my wrist tightened so much it felt like he might crush the bone. “Who did that?” His voice was terrifyingly dark, as if all reason had snapped. “Maya, you’re using cheap acts like this to get back at me? You’re making a mockery of yourself?” I endured the pain, a look of almost cruel triumph blossoming on my face. “Mr. Sinclair, I’m married.” I tilted my neck back slightly, making the mark even more prominent. “That’s called foreplay.” He was completely enraged, pushing me hard against the cold wall. His eyes were bloodshot. Beside him, Sienna looked nearly hysterical with jealousy. 4 Owen absolutely refused to believe I was married. He confiscated my phone and IDs and forcibly brought me back to one of his penthouse apartments. “Owen Sinclair, are you done being crazy?” He tossed me onto the sofa, looking down at me. “There’s an aviation industry gala tonight. You’re coming with me.” I sneered. “Why should I?” “Because I can make sure you never work a day in this industry again!” He clamped his hand on my jaw, the madness in his eyes genuinely unnerving. “I’m giving you a chance for redemption. Go to the gala and apologize to Sienna.” Ha. Just as I suspected. That evening, he made me trail behind Sienna like a handmaid, fetching her drinks and carrying her clutch. The surrounding socialites and wealthy patrons whispered and pointed at me. “Isn’t that the former Ms. Thorne? Look how she’s fallen.” “I heard her mother’s accident was a huge scandal. Now she’s back to being a servant.” Sienna pretended to defend me. “Don’t say that, everyone. Maya is just being difficult.” The more she defended me, the louder the derisive laughter grew. Owen stood a short distance away, sipping his drink, watching the spectacle with cold eyes. He was waiting. Waiting for me to break down, to cry and beg him, to discard all my dignity and submit to him once more. But I didn’t. I was unnervingly calm, even pausing to pick up a glass of champagne and sip it slowly. My eyes scanned the elegant crowd, searching without drawing attention. Owen seemed pleased by my apparent surrender. He walked over and handed me a key card, his voice heavy with patronizing grace. “Wait for me here tonight. We can start over.” I took the key card. Under Owen’s confident, expectant gaze, I snapped the flimsy card cleanly in half. Then, I casually dropped the pieces into a passing server’s champagne glass. “Owen Sinclair,” My voice was quiet, but it clearly carried throughout the small corner. “You disgust me.” The entire room went silent. All eyes, hungry for drama, zeroed in on us. Owen’s face instantly cycled from self-satisfaction to humiliation to blinding rage. “Maya Thorne, you are asking for it!” He raised his hand, ready to slap me across the face. Sienna gasped dramatically, but her eyes were alight with gleeful excitement. Just at that critical moment, the heavy, carved double doors of the ballroom burst open! A swarm of men in black suits and earpieces filed in. Their presence was a powerful, immediate force that instantly silenced the entire room.

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The video call was grainy, but the terror in Harrison’s eyes was crystal clear. His “Golden Girl”—his perfect ex, Isabelle—had barely been back in the country for forty-eight hours before she was snatched. The kidnappers weren’t just asking for thirty million in cash. They wanted a trade. They wanted me. I pointed at my own chest, genuinely baffled. Why would a group of professional criminals want a girl like me? I was a nobody, a girl from a backwoods town with no pedigree and no social standing. But then I heard Harrison’s voice, thick with a jagged, desperate kind of pain. “I’m sorry, Sera. I can’t let anything happen to Isabelle.” Before I could process the betrayal, his security detail moved in. A sharp blow to the back of my head sent the world spinning into black. When I woke up, I was in the hands of monsters. I watched through heavy eyelids as Harrison traded me like a piece of currency, his arms wrapped around an unconscious Isabelle as he turned his back on me without a second glance. He carried her away like she was a fragile treasure, leaving me in the dirt. Once the sound of his engine faded into the distance, the leader of the group set up a tripod. He started unbuckling his belt, his eyes roaming over me with a predatory hunger. I looked around the abandoned warehouse, my voice steady despite the situation. “Is Harrison gone? Are they all really gone?” The man laughed, a wet, ugly sound. “Not a soul for miles, sweetheart. You must have really pissed off the wrong people to end up as a sacrificial lamb.” As his hand reached out to touch my face, I finally let out a long, weary sigh of relief. “Good,” I whispered. “They’re gone.” In a blur of shifting bone and scales, I shed my skin. Within seconds, a massive white python—thick as an old-growth oak—coiled where a girl had been. I didn’t give him time to scream. I opened my jaws and swallowed him whole. his crew stood frozen, their bravado evaporating into whimpers. I didn’t give them a head start. One by one, I picked them off like grapes until the warehouse was silent. 1 I let out a soft, satisfied burp. I didn’t shift back into my human form immediately; instead, I lay there in the dust, basking in the rare sensation of a full belly and a quiet mind. I hadn’t been my true self in years—not since I met Harrison. My mother had warned me since I was a hatchling: never eat the humans. If you do, you’ll either be struck down by the heavens or caught by a Hunter. My aunt had made the mistake of consuming a man who possessed a “purple aura”—a mark of destiny—and she ended up bottled in a Hunter’s cellar, steeping in medicinal wine. After that, our clan retreated into the deep forests. It was only in the last few decades that we dared to venture out again. My mother insisted that the world had changed; she said being illiterate was the new death sentence. So, she sent me to school as soon as I could hold a human shape. I discovered that I loved human food. By the time I moved from my rural county to the city for university, I realized the world was a buffet of flavors I’d never dreamed of. That was where I met Harrison. The first time we locked eyes, he stared at me for what felt like an eternity. I didn’t know then that it was because I shared a fifty-percent resemblance to the woman who had broken his heart. All I knew was that he pursued me with a frantic, almost obsessive energy. My roommates were envious. Harrison was the city’s most eligible bachelor—handsome, obscenely wealthy, and miraculously scandal-free. They told me to grab the opportunity with both hands. But I didn’t care about the flowers or the designer jewelry he sent. I returned every gift, untouched. Instead, I took a job as a server at a high-end hotel. My appetite was expensive, and I’d blown through my semester’s living expenses in two months. When I called my mother, she told me she was broke and that I needed to figure it out. “You’re a grown woman now, Sera,” she’d hissed over the phone. “If you want to live among the humans, learn to earn your own keep.” Useless old woman. Hundreds of years old and not a cent in savings. So, I worked the hotel shifts. I’d read online that hotel staff could sometimes sneak the leftovers from the banquet halls. It seemed like the perfect plan: get paid and get fed. I was in a private suite, devouring a tray of untouched lobster tails and prime rib, when Harrison walked back into the room. I froze, a giant lobster claw halfway to my mouth. He stared at me in silence for a long moment, and then, to my surprise, he laughed. “Sera,” he said, his voice soft. “Let me take you to dinner.” It was the first time anyone had ever offered to feed me. He took me to a five-course gala. He watched, mesmerized and slightly terrified, as I cleared every plate on the table. His hand trembled slightly as he set down his scotch. “I had no idea you were so… hungry.” He paused, a strange look in his eyes. “But I can afford to keep you full. Sera, move in with me. I’ll make sure you never have to work a shift again. You can eat whatever you want, on my tab.” 2 The moment he said those words, Harrison became the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. I wiped my mouth, unable to resist the lure of a lifetime supply of gourmet meals. “Fine. Deal.” I moved out of the dorms and into a sprawling estate Harrison bought for me. He hired two professional chefs who prepared a feast every single night. I called my mother while gnawing on a roasted duck leg. “Mom, look! I have a boyfriend. He bought me a house, and he covers all the catering. I’m retired.” My mother sounded skeptical. “Sera, are you sure you aren’t being scammed? Humans don’t just give away free food.” I pulled a perfectly clean bone from my mouth. “I don’t think so. He’s great. Room, board, and a huge monthly allowance. He’s way more generous than you ever were.” “Watch yourself,” she muttered. “Men have hidden faces. If things get dangerous, you shift and you run. Understand?” “I’ve got it under control,” I said, waving her off. The sunlight caught the diamonds on my new bracelet, nearly blinding her through the screen. She squinted. “He bought that too?” I nodded. A look of realization dawned on her face. “Sera… you’re a kept woman. He’s ‘maintaining’ you.” “Maintaining?” I tilted my head, trying to find the right human term. “Is that like being a pet? Like a… domestic animal?” I wasn’t sure. I was a snake. Being “maintained” sounded a bit weird, but being “fed and housed” made perfect sense for a predator of my stature. “Whatever it is,” my mom said, “if he’s giving you that much money, Venmo me a few hundred. I just learned how to use Amazon, and I need some gardening supplies.” It was pathetic how poor she was after four centuries. I transferred ten thousand to her account. “Spend it. Let me know when you need more.” She practically teared up. “My daughter, the success story.” For four years, I lived a life of pampered luxury. There were rumors at the university about my “arrangement,” but Harrison shut them down by publicly declaring me his girlfriend. He treated me well, so I tried to be a good partner in return. Two years ago, Harrison’s business rivals kidnapped him. I tracked them to an old cannery and took them out single-handedly. His right hand had been crushed in the struggle. To heal him, I exhausted nearly all my spiritual essence—the energy that allowed me to keep my human form. I barely managed to drag him to safety before I felt my skin start to itch and tighten. Luckily, he was unconscious. He never saw me revert to the twenty-foot monster that I was. If he had, he would have been horrified. Now, lying in the dirt of the warehouse, I thought back to a few weeks ago. Harrison had taken me to a high-society gala, claiming he wanted to finally introduce me to his inner circle. I remembered the way they looked at me when I entered the room—like I was a cheap knockoff in a designer dress. They didn’t even try to hide their whispers. “I told you Harrison couldn’t get over Isabelle. Look at that face. It’s a mirror image.” “She’s a total rube, though. No class. Isabelle had grace. This girl looks like she’s just happy to be invited.” “Isabelle is coming back next month. I wonder how fast he’ll dump the placeholder.” I didn’t understand all their metaphors, but I understood the venom. Harrison’s face had darkened. “That’s enough. Sera is my guest. If anyone has a problem with her, they have a problem with me.” The room went quiet, but the atmosphere remained cold. Later, while Harrison was distracted, a woman in a gown that cost more than my first car cornered me near the restrooms. “Don’t get comfortable,” she sneered. “You’re a distraction. A way for him to spite Isabelle for leaving. When the real thing comes home, the counterfeit gets tossed in the trash.” 3 I blinked at her, unfazed. “Who is Isabelle?” The woman gasped, her voice hitting a shrill note. “You don’t even know? Typical.” She took great pleasure in explaining it to me. Isabelle was the childhood sweetheart. The “Golden Girl.” The only woman Harrison had ever truly loved. They’d had a massive falling out, she’d moved to Paris, and Harrison had been a ghost of a man until he found me. “He only chose you because you look like her,” the woman finished, looking me up and down with disgust. “Learn your place.” I felt a strange, sharp pang in my chest. I remembered the nights Harrison would get drunk and pull me close, whispering “Isa” into my hair. I had thought it was a pet name. Now I knew it was just a different name entirely. A month later, Isabelle actually returned. Harrison became a different person. He was distracted, distant. He would stare at his phone for hours, ignoring the feasts I’d prepared. I sat across from him one night, my chin in my hands. “Do you miss her? Isabelle?” I’d spent the week listening to his friends tell stories about them. How he’d skipped school for her. How he’d fought his parents to be with her. How he’d flown her to the Maldives for her twenty-first birthday. His entire youth had been a monument to her. Harrison froze, then shook his head. “Don’t talk about her. That’s over. It’s just you and me, Sera.” He blocked her number. He declined the parties where she’d be present. He acted like a man made of stone, refusing to see her. Until the news broke that she had been taken. Harrison’s composure shattered. He pushed me aside so hard I nearly fell, sprinting out of the house screaming her name. When the ransom video arrived, showing Isabelle tied to a chair, pale and trembling, Harrison looked like he was the one being tortured. The kidnappers’ voice was distorted, demanding the money and—specifically—me. “The choice is yours, Mr. Sterling. Which one matters more?” Harrison let out a choked sound, his fist slamming into the mahogany desk. “It’s the rivals from two years ago. They’re back for blood.” He looked at me, his eyes bloodshot and foreign. “I’m sorry, Sera. I can’t let her die.”

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The moment my husband, Ryan, put on those smart glasses, he became a stranger. He’d always been a skeptic, scoffing at horoscopes and superstition. But now, he meticulously followed the glasses’ “Luck-Enhancing Outfit” advice every day. Soon, he started trying to control me. “The intelligent analysis says wearing high heels today will benefit my career.” I reminded him it was pouring rain outside. He immediately scowled. “I have a massive contract signing today. Even if you sprained your ankle, you can’t sabotage my luck!” I didn’t want to argue. I changed into the heels. That very day, I landed in the ER with a Grade 3 sprain. The second day I was recovering, he said, “Climbing a mountain today is crucial for me to get a promotion from the VP.” I was furious. “My foot is broken! You want me to climb a mountain?” “You can just go slowly. Once I’m promoted, you’ll enjoy a life of luxury with me forever.” I refused vehemently, but he physically forced me to the summit. With no strength in my legs, I accidentally lost my footing and tumbled over the cliff. After I died, I was certain Ryan had cheated and was using those glasses as a twisted excuse to torment me to death. But then, I heard a conversation between Ryan and the smart glasses. Ryan was sobbing, clutching my body. “This is because I listened to you! You killed my wife!” “Without her, what’s the point of living?” “Your wife died because her hair was too straight,” a cold, synthetic voice responded. “If she had gotten a loose wave perm, this tragedy would have been avoided.” I opened my eyes and found myself back on the day Ryan bought the smart glasses. I was about to stop him from putting them on. But Ryan spoke first. “Honey, I think you would look incredible with curly hair.” I froze in place. This time, I had to understand why he trusted a pair of high-tech lenses with such blind, deadly faith. 1 Seeing my lack of response, Ryan rushed to reassure me, as if afraid I was mad. “I’m just giving a suggestion. You’ve had your signature straight, dark hair for so many years. Aren’t you tired of the style?” I played along. “I’ve thought about it, but I’m worried it won’t suit me.” “What are you worried about? You have to be brave and try new things!” “And how could my wife ever not look beautiful?” “I know a fantastic stylist. I’ll book you right now.” He then started using the smart glasses—the AuraLens, as the brand called it—to schedule the appointment. Ryan’s AuraLens connected directly to his phone. In my previous life, ever since he got those glasses, he’d spend hours on the sofa, just staring into space and giggling. Whenever I asked what he was doing, he’d just say he was streaming videos. I thought he’d merely transferred his phone addiction to the glasses, and I didn’t think much of it. When he started believing its insane luck advice, I thought it was just a passing obsession. But then I realized: every single “luck-enhancing” tip the AuraLens gave him was a precise, targeted attack on me. It resulted in injury after injury. I finally couldn’t take it anymore and asked him why he put such absolute faith in a gadget. Ryan just mumbled vague excuses. What truly chilled me was the total lack of genuine concern when I was injured. That was when I started to suspect he was cheating. But after I died, he not only collapsed, weeping hysterically over my body, but he was also despairing enough to talk about following me. My curiosity deepened. What secret did those glasses hold that was more important than both our lives? While Ryan was busy booking the stylist, I secretly contacted the official store where he bought the AuraLens, asking about its features. After I sent them the product serial number, the representative told me that Ryan’s glasses were a special edition prototype. Some of its hidden, proprietary features couldn’t be accessed by them. Furthermore, the designer and creator of this custom pair was completely untraceable. A cold knot formed in my chest. If the official channels couldn’t tell me, there was only one way left. I had to put on Ryan’s glasses and see for myself. But how could I ever get my hands on them? “Honey, the stylist has an opening right now. Let’s head out.” I snapped back to reality. Ryan was already packed and waiting. He adjusted the glasses on his nose and gave me a faint smile—one that made him look utterly foreign. As I stood up, I smiled back, keeping my tone light. “You love those glasses so much you won’t even take them off to sleep.” His hand paused on the doorknob. He offered a quick, casual explanation. “All my phone messages and notifications pop up right here. It’s normal to rely on it.” I didn’t press him. While I was getting my hair done, Ryan worked on the contract he was supposed to sign the next day. He finished his work just as I was done with my new hair. “Wow, you are a stunning bombshell now, honey!” Ryan nodded in satisfaction. “And a pair of stiletto heels would just complete that powerful look!” “Wear high heels tomorrow. I want to see a fierce, polished professional!” Just like in the previous life, I reminded him. “It’s supposed to rain tomorrow. Heels will be a hassle.” But he insisted. “The AuraLens just told me that high heels tomorrow will significantly boost my business luck.” “Honey, if I close this deal, the bonus is thirty thousand dollars.” “You wouldn’t refuse me, would you?” I laughed. “You’ve signed six deals like this already this year. With your talent, you could wear flip-flops tomorrow and still close it.” I didn’t believe for a second that my high heels were the reason he succeeded the first time. But he was persistent. Until I uncovered the truth, I wanted to avoid unnecessary conflict. I nodded and agreed. The next day, however, once I arrived at the office, I deliberately changed into flats. I was going to see if his contract would fail simply because I didn’t wear heels. 2 What I hadn’t anticipated was Ryan coming home that evening with a face like thunder. “The deal fell through.” The moment he said it, my body went rigid. The project had been discussed and agreed upon long ago. Ryan’s contract was airtight; otherwise, he wouldn’t have closed it in the past. Could it truly have been because I didn’t wear the heels? “Honey, did you… not wear the high heels?” Hearing the accusation, I quickly flashed my injured ankle. “You saw me put them on when I left. And look, I sprained my foot, remember?” To prevent him from discovering I’d switched shoes and to make the failed contract seem plausible, I’d gone ahead and painfully twisted my ankle that morning. Looking at him now, the pain hadn’t been for nothing. Ryan looked even more confused. “You followed the luck advice perfectly. Why did my contract still fail?” “It’s just an AI fortune-teller, Ryan. You don’t need to believe in it so much.” He instantly snapped. “How can you say that?” “My AuraLens is different from every other AI!” “How is it different?” I pressed, leaning into his frantic mood. He didn’t answer. Instead, his expression became deadly serious as he warned me, “The failure today is because you weren’t devout enough.” “From now on, you must obey every single thing I say, or you will ruin my career!” “Tomorrow is the day my department finalizes promotions. Going on a hike tomorrow will boost my career luck.” “You must stand on the highest peak and pray with sincerity.” I sneered, pointing to my sprained foot. “How am I supposed to hike with this?” “It’s a sprain, not open-heart surgery. Why can’t you hike?” “I’ll push you up there. That’s why.” He roared at me. I stood there, stunned by the sight of the unhinged man who was supposed to be Ryan. He seemed to realize his emotional outburst was a problem and softened his tone immediately. “Honey, I’m sorry. The contract failed, and I just lost control.” “The tech sector is bleeding, the pressure is immense. Please, just see this as me searching for a psychological anchor. Help me out, okay?” I looked at him, feeling helpless. “If you need spiritual guidance, I’ll go with you to a psychic or a temple. But why are you placing all your faith in some AI’s ‘good luck’ suggestions?” “Is this science or a cult? Tell me the truth. Is there something you’re hiding?” Ryan panicked. “What could I possibly be hiding?” “We’re a team. I work this hard because I want to lower your stress!” “I’m so anxious I’ve started believing this stuff, and you still suspect me?” “I think you just don’t want me to succeed! Are you afraid I’ll surpass you professionally?” “Other wives willingly support their husbands’ careers from home. I respect your career, I’m happy to play second fiddle, and this is the suspicion and doubt I get in return?” He abruptly slammed his coffee mug onto the floor, scattering shards of ceramic everywhere. I didn’t argue. I simply narrowed my eyes and watched him. In the silence, our eyes met. He suddenly asked me, “Eliza, how can you be so calm?” “Did you… come back?” My back went rigid. Had I given myself away? Frowning, I kept up the pretense. “Come back from what? What are you talking about?” “You don’t want to explain the glasses, so you’re changing the subject?” Ryan crouched down in front of me, his expression deadly earnest. “Honey, the truth is, I came back.” 3 “In the last timeline, I used these smart glasses to climb all the way to a senior executive position at the company. It completely transformed our lives.” “That’s why I trust these glasses so absolutely.” “But as for why they’re so powerful, I can only tell you after I secure that executive role. Otherwise, the effect will vanish.” He gripped my hands tightly, his eyes pleading. “Please, just trust me this one time.” Ryan had concocted a lie about a past life. This only cemented my certainty: the glasses’ secret was far more sinister than he was letting on. Asking wouldn’t work. I would have to risk my life and find out myself. “You’re right. We’re a team. I will always, always trust you.” “I’ll take a sick day from work. I’ll go hiking with you tomorrow.” Ryan was so thrilled he pulled me into a tight hug and kissed me. Then he retreated to his study to work. He often worked himself to the bone for his job. That was why, in the previous life, when I realized his obsession with the smart glasses was tied to his ambition, my tolerance for his eccentric behavior had been so high. But I didn’t believe it was just about work anymore. I prepared his usual glass of warm milk. Ryan drank it without suspicion. He didn’t know that this time, I’d added something extra. Half an hour later, Ryan was slumped over his desk, fast asleep. I called his name. No response. I pushed his shoulder. Nothing. Once I was sure he was deeply unconscious, I reached out to take the glasses. But the instant my fingers brushed the frame, a hand shot up and clamped onto my wrist! The supposedly unconscious Ryan was suddenly wide awake. His eyes were savage, his voice icy. “What are you doing?” “Eliza, you were trying to steal my glasses while I slept!” “I already promised I’d tell you everything once I made it to the executive level, but you still don’t trust me!” “I think you just want to ruin me!” “Are you insane?!” I yanked my hand free. “I thought you were asleep, and I wanted to take the glasses off so you could rest better.” “My good intentions are wasted on you! Keep your stupid glasses. Marry your damn glasses for all I care!” I feigned outrage and stormed out, slamming the study door shut. But just as I stepped out, I received a text from the private investigator. The PI had managed to track down the designer/creator of Ryan’s custom AuraLens prototype. The moment I saw the name, a cold dread completely paralyzed me. I knew. Tomorrow’s hike was almost a death sentence. But I had to go. I immediately spent the night frantically contacting local search and rescue teams. I spent a full ten thousand dollars, begging them to set up a hidden, emergency response near the precise spot where I had fallen before. Every team was hesitant, fearing liability when they heard my request. “Ma’am, if you know you might die, why are you going anyway?” I didn’t have the time or the words to explain that my husband had fallen in love with a smart gadget. I had to repeatedly sign written waivers, absolving them of all responsibility should the rescue fail. Finally, one team agreed to the contract. By the time I finished everything, the sun was rising. The end was near. The game between Ryan and me was about to conclude. 4 Ryan finally emerged from the study, where he’d spent the entire night. The dark circles under his eyes showed he hadn’t slept well either. But he acted perfectly normal, greeting me. “Honey, get ready. Let’s go for our hike.” He smiled at me, but the heavy bruising under his eyes made him look like a desperate, restless ghost. I pretended not to notice and got in the car with him. When we reached the bottom of the mountain, Ryan dropped me off first and went to find parking. In that brief moment, I received another bizarre text message. “You’ll die if you go up with him. You came back and you’re still this stupid?!” Who was this? How did they know I had come back? I texted back a question mark. They didn’t reply. I immediately called the number, but it was disconnected—an empty line! The person on the other end clearly knew Ryan’s secret. Who were they? My heart hammered in my chest. Ryan, who had gone to park, was already back. He jogged over, taking a firm grip on both sides of my wheelchair, controlling my every direction. Before we started up the path, he suddenly said, “I thought about it. I want to respect your feelings.” “If you truly don’t want to climb, we can forget it.” I knew better. Even if I didn’t go up today, he’d find another opportunity and method to kill me later. It was better to get it over with and find out the truth today. “If this truly helps your state of mind, I’ll climb.” Thanks to the lessons of my first life, I was hyper-aware of my surroundings as we ascended. When we reached the exact spot where I’d fallen before—the loose patch of ground—my heart trembled uncontrollably, even knowing the rescue team was waiting below. “Honey, that spot ahead is very narrow. Be careful.” He patted my shoulder. “I’m here. You think you’d fall doing something as simple as a hike?” I closed my eyes in tension. But this time, we passed the spot safely. Only when we truly reached the summit did I feel a brief rush of surviving a near-death experience. Ryan spread his arms wide and took a deep breath. “The mountain air is beautiful, Eliza.” “It would be quite a peaceful way to go, if you had to die here.” His words struck a tightly wound cord in my mind. Clenching my fists, I admonished him. “Don’t talk about dying. It’s bad luck.” Ryan slowly turned to face me. The instant our eyes met, his held a chilling, undisguised intent to kill. “Stop pretending, Eliza.” “I can’t believe, even after coming back to life, you still love me this much.” “I texted you a warning, but you still chose to climb up here with me.” “Since you’re so willing, I’ll grant your wish and let you die right here.” I was stunned. That was you? He smiled, and a deep chill settled in my bones. Ryan started walking toward me. I quickly spun the wheelchair back, but he grabbed me and pinned me in place. He leaned down, whispering in my ear. “You thought you noticed my strange behavior, but you didn’t think I’d notice yours, did you?” “Your biggest weakness, Eliza, is that you loved me too much.” “I owe you an apology in this life, but after you’re gone, I’ll make sure you have the finest grave.” “Ryan, what are you talking about?!” I yelled, hysterical now. “You know I love you! Why are you doing this?!” He didn’t answer. Instead, he kicked the wheelchair. “Ah!” Seeing the chair begin to roll toward the cliff edge, I instinctively threw myself out, landing hard on the ground. The wheelchair plunged into the abyss. I desperately clung to a jagged rock at the edge of the cliff, shaking uncontrollably. Tears streamed down my face. “We’ve been married for years! I swear I’ve never wronged you!” “Why do you hate me this much?!” “You’re a good woman. That’s why, down below, I actually regretted it for a second.” “I almost gave you a chance to escape.” Fear and grief made me tremble, but with my last ounce of strength, I pleaded, my voice raw. “Let me go.” “Whatever trouble you’re in, tell me! We can face it together, can’t we?” Ryan shook his head. “Of course not.” “The AuraLens told me this is the only way for my life to be successful.” “Honey, I’ll make it up to you in the next life.” “The smart glasses again!” I screamed, my voice hoarse. “Why do you believe that thing so blindly?!” “Our years of marriage, the two children I lost for you—do none of those matter more than a piece of AI-guided plastic?!” Hearing me mention the children we’d lost, Ryan finally flinched. My eyes were blurry with tears, my voice trembling. “Fine. I know I won’t survive today.” “But let me die with an answer.” “Tell me. Why do you have such absolute, blind faith in that AuraLens?” Ryan finally nodded. He took the glasses off and handed them to me. This time, I finally put on my husband’s glasses.

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