My daughter has been missing for six years, and there has been no news of her. Late one night, I couldn’t help but go into her old room again. As I stared entranced at the portrait of her on the wall, I heard her crying coming from inside the wall. “Mommy, it’s so cold inside the wall.” 1 My heart skipped a beat. To explain this, I have to start with the crying I’ve been hearing late at night recently. Six years ago, ever since my daughter disappeared, it has been a sickness in my heart. But lately, I haven’t been able to sleep at all. I went to see a therapist. I wanted some comfort, but instead… The therapist looked at me seriously and asked: “Have you been sleepwalking lately? Touched anything unclean?” She made it sound so mysterious. I shook my head immediately. The therapist glanced at my husband, signaling him to leave the room first, saying she needed to do a psychological evaluation on me. But as soon as the door closed, she asked again. “Have you been hearing someone crying in your ear late at night recently?” I nodded. “It’s probably your daughter missing you.” I was shocked: “But isn’t she already…” “However, I must warn you to be careful of the people around you, especially…” I quickly interrupted her. “But… but what does my daughter’s disappearance have to do with the people around me?” Only at the end did I realize there was a hidden meaning in her words. Before I could react, she dropped another hint. “You know the saying ‘the darkest place is under the candlestick,’ right?” I nodded. “But my husband loves me so much… how could he…” “You probably have secrets you can’t tell anyone either, right? Probably even your husband doesn’t know!” I clenched my fists tightly. She added. “If you don’t pull out this thorn, you’ll only sink deeper…” Sink deeper into what? My daughter’s crying at night? The therapist was ambiguous. My daughter had been missing for six years. I had suspected neighbors, people in the community, even strangers on the street. But I had never suspected my husband, Arthur Thorne. Because it was impossible. “Believe it or not, it’s up to you.” After returning home that day, I started observing my husband quietly. I tested him from time to time. “Honey, Lily has been missing for so many years. Do you think she’s still alive?” My husband showed no abnormality; his hands didn’t even stop working. He looked at me calmly and said: “I hope so. But if she were alive, she would have come back to find us, right?” I glanced at him and said lightly: “Honey, I’ve been hearing our daughter crying late at night recently…” 2 Hearing this, Arthur looked up sharply, and the bowl in his hand smashed onto the floor. He grabbed my hand tightly. “Where… where did you hear it?” Our daughter “Lily Thorne”—her name has always been a taboo in our house. In the years she’s been missing, we tacitly agreed not to mention her. But subconsciously I knew she must be dead. I just held onto a “fantasy” about her. I still remember. When Lily first learned to walk, she limped. As she grew older, she stayed the same. Later, we went to the hospital and found out. She had congenital polio. This made our already struggling family even worse off. Arthur and I worried all night without sleeping. But we couldn’t think of a solution. We could barely put food on the table, and Arthur had lost his job… It seemed hopeless no matter what. But the next day, Arthur looked at me calmly and said: “Don’t worry, leave this to me.” I quickly asked: “How will you handle it?” He said impatiently: “Just stay out of it.” I stood there in disbelief, looking up and down at this honest man who had always been simple and never lost his temper with me. But he didn’t care at all. “Something that shouldn’t have been born in the first place, and a sick one at that. Besides being a bottomless pit for money, what’s the point of keeping it?” I was speechless with shock. Who would believe these words came from a man who loved his wife and child? “Do you… really think that?!” “Enough, stay out of it. I’ll do it. You won’t be involved.” I remember clearly that he sent me to the countryside overnight. When I returned, our daughter was gone. At first, I couldn’t accept it. After all, she was flesh of my flesh. Just gone like that. I had to find out. I questioned Arthur like a madwoman every day. Where did he take our daughter? Even just letting me take a peek at her from behind would be enough. But every time, Arthur would hold me tight. “Breathe deep. Yes, deep breath.” He said lightly: “It’s fate. I took Lily shopping that day, and she got lost in the blink of an eye. Maybe she’s enjoying a good life in someone else’s home.” Over time, I stopped asking. But fate seemed to play a huge joke on me. That day, inadvertently, I saw… In Arthur’s phone history, a search entry read— “How long does quick-drying cement take to set?” And the time was exactly the night I went back to the countryside! My scalp went numb instantly. I remembered the doctor’s words again. A terrible thought shuttled back and forth in my mind… I rummaged through the rooms like crazy, but found nothing. Right, there was one more room. Pushing open my daughter’s room again, everything was the same. Except there was a portrait of her on the wall that I hadn’t seen before. In the painting, she was smiling at me. This was the first time in all these years. Arthur laid his cards on the table about our daughter’s disappearance. He said: “No one wanted her, so I had to sell her.” I screamed at him hysterically. “Did you sell her? Or… bury her?” He looked up in shock, clenched his fists, and finally spat out two cold words. “Buried…” My scalp tingled with shock, and I broke down crying instantly. I didn’t expect him to admit it just like that! I couldn’t control myself; I grabbed a knife and slashed at him recklessly. As for where our daughter was buried? Neither Arthur nor I mentioned it, but he knew perfectly well! And I could vaguely sense it too. But from that day on, I had nightmares every day. Especially recently. I could always hear my daughter crying. Even the therapist told me to find the source. “If you don’t pull out this thorn, no one will have peace!” 3 Late that night. I heard my daughter crying again. She cried and said: “Mommy, it’s so dark in the wall. “Mommy, it’s so cold in the wall. “Mommy, why don’t you come find me?” I woke up in a cold sweat again. Since knowing what Arthur did, I never went into my daughter’s room again. And he added three locks to it. He said it was for my safety. I didn’t understand. What was unsafe about it! But this desolate crying seemed to have magic, dragging me to investigate. Because the rent was cheap, we rented the apartment furthest inside next to the stairs. And my daughter’s room was the innermost one. I went to the utility room to get some tools and a flashlight. I tiptoed to the door of the innermost room. But for some reason, I felt a chill on my back. Just as I hesitated whether to open the door, I heard that eerie yet desolate cry again. “Mommy, it’s so cold in the wall. “Mommy, come save me.” Hearing this, my heart skipped a beat. My hands moved faster involuntarily to open the door. One lock, two locks… finally, the door to my daughter’s room was opened again. To prevent my husband from finding out, I immediately locked the door from the inside. Unexpectedly, just as I stood firm, laughter rang out in the room. “Hee hee, come here, come here~ “Guess where I am.” Because of the unpleasant experience with Arthur last time. Although not explicitly stated, in the whole room, only that extra painting was weird. That portrait was nearly as tall as a person. I stared fixedly at my daughter’s face. But just taking a step. The painting tilted a corner visibly. And the daughter laughing heartily in the painting was shedding two lines of bloody tears… As if she wanted to climb out of the painting… I stepped back in fear. Rubbed my eyes quickly and shone the flashlight on the painting. Looked again. The portrait wasn’t tilted, and my daughter was still smiling… I tentatively called out softly. “Lily?” No response, dead silence around. It seemed I was overthinking. Probably psychological effects, seeing illusions. After comforting myself, I walked slowly towards the portrait. “Click, click, click…” One step, two steps, three steps… My daughter’s room had no windows, especially after she disappeared. My husband had the whole room sealed. It was pitch black around, not a trace of light, terrifyingly quiet. Only the beam of the flashlight illuminating my daughter’s smiling face. Eerie. I searched the whole house, leaving only my daughter’s room, and only here was there an extra painting. As if covering up something. If he wanted to hide something, then… Trembling, I yanked the painting open. But there was nothing behind it. Just as I planned to get closer and check carefully. A large patch of red liquid suddenly oozed from the wall. And a corner of a plastic candy wrapper. I knew that was Lily’s favorite! I backed away in horror. Although I had a premonition, seeing it with my own eyes was hard to accept immediately. I had to admit— My daughter wasn’t missing! She was sealed in the wall by Arthur! I broke down on the spot. Crying out of breath. “Let me out.” Suddenly, a cry came over. I immediately covered my mouth desperately, my heart in my throat. Lily? Impossible! Leaving aside being sealed in the wall for so many years, she would have become a dried corpse long ago! Even if it were just a few days, a person couldn’t be alive! But this crying was indeed Lily’s! Was someone playing a prank? But only Arthur and I knew about this. What exactly was going on? Before I could figure it out, scratching sounds came from inside the wall. As if desperately trying to crawl out… I sat on the floor in fright. Only then did I realize with a start, it definitely wasn’t my daughter inside! I struggled to run out. But my hands were trembling, and I couldn’t open the door locked from the inside no matter what. Suddenly, eerie voices filled the room. One after another, crying then laughing. “Mommy, don’t you want me anymore either? “Mommy, why did you come to find me so late? “Mommy, it’s so dark in the wall. “Mommy, I can’t breathe. “Mommy, it’s so cold in the wall…” Trembling, I tried to pry open the lock. But I couldn’t open it now! The voice that was far away just now suddenly seemed to be right in my ear… As if whispering against my ear, eerily. “Mommy, it’s so dark in the wall~ “Join me.” Terrified, I hugged my head and collapsed on the floor. I was cold all over, desperately clawing at the door. But something behind me seemed to be pulling me into the wall… My mind knew. But my body couldn’t exert any strength… Suddenly, I heard Arthur calling me. Using my last bit of strength, I scrambled out of the room. 4 In the middle of the night, I curled up at the foot of the bed, trembling all over. Arthur looked at the terrified me. No need to ask, he guessed most of it. With a dark face, he said: “I put three locks on it, and you still tried to be brave?” Calming down, I stared at him blankly. “Arthur, Lily is our biological daughter after all. We wronged her first. “Let’s hire someone to perform a ritual and bury her properly, okay?” Arthur looked surprised; he looked at me for a long time. Finally, he said impatiently: “What ritual? It’s all nonsense.” “But haven’t you heard our daughter crying lately?” He snorted coldly. “How superstitious have you become? “Just wait, tomorrow I’ll smash that wall!” Arthur disappeared early the next morning. Just as I was about to call him. The therapist called. She asked how I was doing lately. I didn’t tell her what I encountered last night. Thinking of someone pulling me into the wall fiercely. My scalp went numb instantly. So all these years my daughter was missing, she was actually sealed inside the wall of her room! How dared he! But logically, she should have weathered into a dried corpse long ago. But how to explain the series of strange events recently? I was afraid, but couldn’t break free. I went to the therapist again. The session took longer than ever. When I came back, it was already dark. But as soon as I opened the door, I was startled. Arthur stood before me, disheveled, with fear in his eyes. One look at him, and I knew. Bad news! He definitely touched our daughter’s room. I immediately grabbed his arm and stared at him fiercely. “Didn’t we say we’d hire someone for a ritual first, then bury her? Why did you…” But Arthur was obviously scared by something; he muttered. “I just, just wanted to confirm, who knew…” I immediately realized something was wrong. Panicked and red-eyed, I roared at him. “Who knew what?” Arthur’s hand trembled as he pointed to the innermost room. “Daughter… is… in her room!”

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I started dating a notorious player, and everyone said he’d finally settled down. But then, browsing an online marketplace, I found our engagement ring listed for sale. The seller’s username was “No Cilantro,” and her entire storefront was filled with my belongings—everything I’d left at my boyfriend’s apartment. “He’s my bro. All his stuff is mine to deal with.” “If I shake my head, he has to dump his girlfriend.” I bought the ring, pretending I hadn’t seen a thing. When I went to confront him and catch them in the act, I ran into his incredibly handsome, autistic neighbor instead. He was holding my lace nightgown, stammering an apology. “…It’s clean. Not dirty.” I swallowed hard. “You mean… you?” 1 Looking for cheap textbooks, I opened the local marketplace app. Unexpectedly, I saw an engagement ring engraved with the name “Austin Cole.” I sent a message instantly. 【Austin, are you short on cash lately?】 Austin: 【?】 Closing the chat with him, I clicked on the seller’s profile. Username: “No Cilantro.” It was a girl. And the items listed in her shop… They were all things I had left at Austin’s place. Toothbrush, plushies, hair ties, even two open packs of sanitary pads—all listed for sale. At first glance, I thought Austin was planning to sell me off next. Hesitating for two seconds, I clicked “I want this.” The reply came instantly. 【Original price $9999, yours for $99.】 【Pick whatever you want from my page. I’ll even give it to you for free, shipping included.】 I could feel the disdain through the screen. I probed further. 【Moving house? Selling so much stuff?】 【What belongs to my bro belongs to me, right?】 【There’s always some girl leaving her junk at his place. Doing a public service by clearing it out!】 I sent a thumbs-up emoji and continued. 【Your bro doesn’t mind?】 【Stop dilly-dallying. Order if you want. If he dares to complain, I’ll tear his roof off.】 【With the way he treats relationships like trash, even if I crashed his wedding, he’d run off with me…】 If I initially thought she was just being dramatic… Now, I was certain. Austin had a “female bro” ready to object at his wedding at any moment. 2 Austin and I. We were the perennial kings and queens of the campus dating scene. I dated him partly because he had that bad-boy handsome look. And partly because I hated losing. Every girl he dated ended up dumped. Every guy I played with ended up kicked to the curb. My roommates placed bets. Would I get bored of Austin first, or would Austin find me boring first? Unexpectedly, Austin and I played around until we reached the point of discussing marriage. He looked wild, but he was surprisingly pure in love. Just a touch on his Adam’s apple would make him purr like a cat. When I kissed the corner of his eye, the small red mole on his earlobe would become exceptionally distinct. I was direct with him, teasing him until he showed me his abs. He often blushed and told me: “Babe, you’re the one I’m going to marry.” “I haven’t let anyone else touch me here. Don’t go too far, okay?” All of Austin’s friends said the prodigal son had returned and settled down. Not a single strand of another woman’s hair could be found on his social media. Even I, who had seen it all, was almost fooled by him. I didn’t expect him to be hiding a “female bro” in the background. Honestly, the moment the truth was revealed… What surged up wasn’t melancholy or loss. It was regret. Regret that I had miscalculated. If my roommates found out, they’d laugh at me again. Luckily, it wasn’t too late. 3 I bought everything “No Cilantro” was selling. Evidence must be destroyed to be foolproof. Counting on my fingers… I realized a lace nightgown was missing. I, Bella Vance, can throw away things I don’t like. But I can’t accept them ending up in another woman’s hands. The thought of losing a round to Austin and leaving something behind… It lit a fire in my heart. I knew his door code by heart. Opening the door a crack, I heard two voices talking. “Harper, you sold all of Bella’s stuff. How am I supposed to explain this to her?” “Just break up. It’s not like it hasn’t happened before.” “Come on, princess, I haven’t had enough fun with this one yet…” “Besides, didn’t you say that once I make Bella fall head over heels for me and then dump her, you’d go public with me?” “What, getting cold feet now?” Standing outside the door, I clenched my fingers tight. Although my motives for approaching Austin weren’t pure either… Hearing him say “make her fall head over heels and then dump her” still stung. But thankfully, I hadn’t given my heart away this time either. Harper sounded a bit angry, hugging Austin’s neck petulantly. He didn’t push her away, letting her nails scratch at his Adam’s apple. “Austin, I can agree to be with you right now. Cut it off with her, okay?” That voice would make any girl’s knees weak. But the next second, Austin slammed her against the wall. “Harper, stop pretending.” “Everyone knows you’re just itching to take Julian’s virginity.” “I keep my word. I’ll dump Bella. But you have to be good too. Settle down and be with me.” The distance between them was intimate, their gazes practically sticky. It looked like they were about to kiss. I couldn’t help but look away. Suddenly, the sound of a door opening came from behind me. I froze. Turning around, I bumped into a pair of wet, deer-like eyes. His white shirt was unbuttoned to his chest, revealing two symmetrical moles on his collarbone that were impossibly alluring. I stared for two seconds, genuinely thinking… Austin’s “female bro” might have terrible character, but her taste was impeccable. Julian… was simply exquisite. 4 Everyone at the university knew Julian Rossi. A genius held in the palm of his professors’ hands, publishing two top-tier papers a semester. Silent, with a cold, aloof aura. Outsiders thought this “flower on the high peak” looked down on everyone. But I heard from Austin that he had autism. So, no matter how many people in my DMs egged me on to pluck this flower… I never made a move. But now, seeing Julian’s stance, wishing he could hide himself away… My heart raced uncontrollably. His messy bangs hung low, covering his dark, bright eyes. Below were knuckles tinged with pink. Noticing my gaze, Julian suddenly gripped the lace nightgown in his hand tighter. When he panic-strickenly tried to hide it, it was too late. I saw the exquisite English embroidery on the label. I pointed at the dress, my heart pounding. “Mine.” Julian’s broad back trembled heavily. He turned red all over. Biting his lip hard, he couldn’t utter a single word. But the more withdrawn and reserved he was… The more I felt… restless. … Behind me, the wind blew the door wide open. Harper and Austin were kissing passionately, wet sounds filling the air. She pushed Austin away breathlessly, straightening her skirt. She looked toward the door with some anticipation. “Is that Julian? Should I go open the door?” Two apartments per floor, the shared space wasn’t large. Just as I was debating whether to run, a large hand pulled me into an embrace. The world spun, and suddenly, Julian had me pinned behind his door. The distance was too close; his bobbing Adam’s apple was right above my head. He seemed frozen, apologizing repeatedly. “…S-sorry.” He shoved the nightgown he was clutching into my hand. A faint scent of soap powder, same as on him. I really liked this lace nightgown. I had asked a friend to reserve it from a runway show. But seeing it crumpled wantonly in those pink-tinged hands… Suddenly, I didn’t want it as much anymore. Compared to the dress, I wanted to know… What Julian had done to it…

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My arranged husband overheard me chatting with my best friend about chicken breast. “The breast I ate last night was huge and tender, melted right in my mouth.” Ethan Sterling looked appalled. “How long have you been involved with this kind of stuff?” “Huh? Three times a week.” His usually cold and composed features crumbled, as if he’d made a difficult decision. “Tonight, I’ll treat you. Don’t go outside, it’s unsanitary.” When I came home hungry, the dining table was empty. “Where’s the meat?” His ears turned bright red as he slowly lay down on the table. 1 The sound of the shower stopped. I immediately sat up straight and opened my phone to chat with my best friend, Chloe, to ease my nerves. Even after seven years of arranged marriage, I was still afraid of Ethan Sterling. He was too calm, too ruthless, and strictly adhered to rules in everything. Even our “marital duties” were limited to exactly two hours, not a second more. When Ethan walked in, his pajamas were buttoned to the top. He indifferently turned off the lights. “It’s ten o’clock. Sleep time.” I accidentally hit the speakerphone button, and Chloe’s voice blared out: “Was the breast last night huge? Was it tender? Was it delicious?” Under Ethan’s gaze, I whispered back. “Very huge, very tender, delicious. Let’s eat together next time. Goodnight for now.” After hanging up, I sat on the edge of the bed, but Ethan sat up straight, his back rigid. It was past ten; usually, he would be asleep by now. The air was suffocating. After a long stalemate, Ethan looked straight at me. “How long have you been involved with this kind of stuff?” Chloe had recently started fitness training and learning to cook chicken breast. Whenever Ethan was busy, she invited me over. I carefully chose my words: “We only started recently when you weren’t home. Just three times a week.” “…Where does it happen?” “Her place, or outside, sometimes—” I glanced at Ethan. His face was in shadow, his expression unreadable. “We’ve tried it at home too.” “But don’t worry! I cleaned up all the traces and smells. It won’t affect your work or rest.” “I’m sorry, do you mind?” His breathing deepened slightly, his chest rising and falling. “You are the wife of the Sterling heir. This kind of thing is a major taboo.” I was dumbfounded, opening my mouth but unable to speak. What taboo could there be about eating chicken breast? Thinking about it, the Sterlings were a wealthy family, used to delicacies like lobster and abalone. Cheap chicken breast probably wouldn’t make the cut for the Sterling family. Just like me. When I first married Ethan, I endured plenty of eye rolls. Everyone thought I wasn’t worthy. I was like chicken breast—bland, cheap, and pale. Ethan was waiting for my response. With a breath held in my chest, I replied stiffly. “Fine, I’ll eat it secretly from now on, okay? It’s just…” a piece of chicken breast. “Sarah, you’re really addicted.” My husband interrupted me coldly. He lay down under the covers, leaving me only a rigid back. It was a double bed, but we each had our own duvet, strictly separate. I looked up, blinking hard to hold back tears. Whatever, if he wants a divorce, let him! I must eat meat. 2 After starting the cold war with Ethan, I got insomnia. I secretly picked up my phone, dimming the screen to the lowest setting. I started searching for ways to eat chicken breast. But the screen filled with images of human chests—dry, moist, all kinds. One picture made me pause. This chest looked very similar to Ethan’s silhouette. The curves and blocks, the feeling of muscle wrapped under skin when tensed, like hot iron. My ears burned. I hadn’t touched the screen for too long, and it went black. In the darkness, my husband’s expressionless face was reflected. … His eyes were staring closely at me, like a dead pool. I trembled and immediately looked back. I found Ethan still with his back to me, breathing rhythmically in sleep. Scaring myself. I saved the picture that looked like Ethan, curled up into a ball, and fell asleep. In a daze, someone stretched out my limbs. My forehead seemed to rest on something hard yet soft. I burrowed towards the heat source but was blocked. His breathing was heavy, landing by my ear, ticklish. My hand struggled blindly and landed on something. I squeezed it. A stress ball? I slept deeper. In my dream, a chef brought out two pieces of chicken breast, the meat fresh and beautiful, large but not greasy. I bit right into it, but the texture was so dry. “Return it! What is this? Chewy as an old man’s ancient rag, tastes terrible. You sell this? I wouldn’t take it for free.” I rolled over, spitting in anger. Vaguely, I heard someone stumbling on the floor. The sound of water came from the bathroom again. 3 When I woke up again, daylight filled the room. Ethan’s spot was already empty, the quilt folded neatly with sharp corners, not a single wrinkle. Just like Ethan, and just like his feelings for me. Seven years, it should have turned into a stagnant pool long ago. I sat in the empty room, quietly dazing. Suddenly I realized my lips hurt a little. And my hands. It seemed I had grabbed something hard, squeezing all night; my ten fingers were sore. Looking closely, there were no injuries. Before I could think more, I received a call from Chloe. “Sarah, I saw your husband at the gym with someone else. What’s going on?” When I arrived, Chloe made a shushing gesture, pointing to a private training room. Ethan was in a suit, perfectly fitted, looking out of place next to the sporty instructor. That suit was the one I gave him last time for our anniversary. Chloe complained: “There are tons of male coaches at the gym, but he insisted on a female coach with good aesthetics. “Look, he won’t even change clothes. He just asks the coach to do movements and stares at her. “Does he… have a problem? “Is your relationship with Ethan still that dead?” Ours was an arranged marriage. He needed a wife; I liked his face and body. That was all. Even strangers, living together for seven years, facing a 6’3″ man with pale skin, lean muscles, an eight-pack, and sculpted features every day… Love grows easily. I stopped in front of the one-way mirror and saw Ethan sitting on a chair, his gaze fixed, watching the coach stretch her arms. In the past, during those two hours, Ethan was like this too—like solving a math problem, step by step seriously. Meticulous, all technique, probably no emotion. In the gym, his gaze was focused, taking photos occasionally and making notes on his phone. Sometimes frowning, sometimes smiling. Probably… appreciation? After finishing, the private coach panted, walked closer to Ethan, and smiled up at him. Reading her lips, she was saying: “Is this chest shape good? “If you need reference photos, you can keep asking me. “Don’t be shy. If you’re a real man, be direct! Women like directness.” I wanted to rush in and question Ethan. Ask him, why not look at mine? Because I’m not big enough? Is small not okay?! But as he prepared to step out of the gym, I hid around the corner again, my heart shrinking in pain. 4 I have my pride too. If he wants to look, he should look at mine. Anyway, it’s just an arranged marriage. I already have endless money to spend. Whether there’s love or not doesn’t matter. But I still waited for the coach to come out, wanting to ask clearly. After waiting for a long time, someone else came out. I asked a male coach: “What program did the gentleman in the suit just sign up for?” He looked me up and down and smiled: “Men, they’re all here to look at beauties. “Amy has the best chest shape among the women here. Who doesn’t like it?” I forced a smile and was stuffed with a gym card by him. “Beautiful lady, call me if you need. I’m the biggest here, guaranteed satisfaction.” Unable to find a trash can outside, I casually put it in my pocket. Just as I stepped out, Ethan was waiting by the side, staring into space, seemingly having waited for a long time. “Sarah, it really is you. What are you doing here?” “Nothing, looking for Chloe. She invited me to eat tonight…” He rubbed his brow, leaned in close, and interrupted coldly. “You really can’t touch that stuff anymore. “Quit early.” My anger flared up instantly. I mimicked his cold sneer and pushed his chest. “I insist on it. So what?” Ethan seemed hurt, frowned, and gasped softly. He seemed to make a decision. “Fine, I’ll let you eat. Don’t go outside.” Because he was violating the Sterling family’s ancestral rules, veins popped on Ethan’s forehead, seemingly enduring with great effort. I’ve always been soft to persuasion but not coercion, so I softened my tone too. “It’s okay, no need to trouble you. I’m not used to yours anyway. “Outside is actually tastier.” Ethan’s cooking skills were average, not comparable to Chloe or chefs outside. I just told the truth, but Ethan’s face darkened, and he turned to leave. The next second, the driver waiting by the road poked his head out. “Madam, Mr. Sterling said he wants to walk. Please take the car first.” As the car passed Ethan, he walked on the commercial street with his long legs, attracting side glances. He seemed really angry; he didn’t even look my way once. He walked faster than the car. I couldn’t help laughing and sent a message to Ethan. 【Hubby, then I’ll eat yours tonight, okay?】

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Two years ago, I got a rabbit, and my father died. One year ago, I got a hamster, and my sister died. This year, I got a dog. While walking the dog, a woman blocked my path. She stared straight at me and said, “Girl, your family is under a Zodiac Curse. If you were born in the Year of the Dog, and a dog enters your home, you will surely die!” 1 The woman’s words made my head explode. I looked up at her and noticed her strange attire. A mask covered half her face, and her exposed eyes shot out a cold light. I instinctively backed away, but she pressed closer step by step: “Many people have died in your family in the last two years, right? Did someone die every time you brought an animal home? “Did they die horribly? Like they were slaughtered, with no whole corpse left? “Now that a dog has entered, if anyone in your family belongs to the Dog zodiac, they will die even more tragically than the others!” My head banged against the wall, cold sweat pouring down. It was true. My dad was a Rabbit, and my sister was a Rat. And I… I am a Dog. The year I raised the rabbit, my dad was torn apart by an excavator. The year I raised the hamster, my sister was ground to bits by a mixer. The day after they died, the rabbit and hamster both mysteriously disappeared. Thinking about this made my scalp tingle. “Girl, the Zodiac Curse is a half-month curse. From the day the dog enters, the cursed person has only 15 days to live. If you can find the perpetrator in the remaining time, kill the dog, and feed at least 500ml of its blood back to them, you might live!” After speaking, the woman turned to leave. As if remembering something, she dropped a sentence: “Closest kin or deadliest poison. If you don’t understand, you can find me here at this time tomorrow.” 2 I looked at the dog in despair; it was affectionately licking my foot. His name was Lucky, and I had had him for exactly 11 days. If what the woman said was true, didn’t I only have 4 days left? I led Lucky home, distracted all the way. There were only three people in the family: Grandma, Mom, and me. But now it was pitch black; it seemed no one was home. I walked in doubtfully and saw my mom’s room door ajar. Ever since Dad and my sister died, Mom always locked her door. Curiosity drove me inside. I turned on the light; Mom’s room was very tidy. My gaze fell on a locked box under her bed. Like a ghost possessed me, I squatted down and tugged at it; the lock actually broke open. My heart beat fast; I felt there might be something hidden inside. Until the moment the box opened, I screamed. Inside were two dried animal carcasses. Judging by the shape, one looked like a rabbit, the other like a rat. Stuck into their bodies were photos of Dad and my sister respectively. Both faces were smeared beyond recognition with red crosses. When my gaze fell on a separate photo nearby… My heart almost flew out of my chest. The face in this photo was also covered in red crosses. But from the hair and clothes, I recognized it was clearly me. 3 After escaping from Mom’s room… I covered my head with the quilt, a feeling of suffocation washing over me like a tide. I grew up in an unhappy family. Mom was cold, Dad was violent, and my sister was weird. Except for food and drink, no one in this house cared about me. I could only rely on pets to relieve my loneliness. I didn’t expect to fall under a Zodiac Curse, burying Dad and my sister. “Closest kin or deadliest poison…” The woman’s words floated in my mind. After Dad and my sister died, Mom became restless. Every night she would bring a masked man home. Then, sounds that made one blush would come from her room. This person who cast the curse… Could it really be… Mom? Did she eliminate obstacles just to be with that man? But I didn’t care about her affairs; why did she want me dead? Amidst thousands of thoughts, I fell asleep in a daze. Then, I had a dream. I dreamed Lucky climbed onto my bed. I wanted to pet him, but he suddenly opened his mouth wide. Sharp fangs sank fiercely into my arm. I heard the sound of bones cracking and saw flesh flying in the air. That pain was heart-wrenching. “Ah!” I screamed in despair, waking up from the dream. But abruptly met a pair of crimson eyes. 4 It was Mom… “Did you have a nightmare? You kept screaming?” Mom stared at me dead-on with bloodshot eyes, her voice devoid of emotion. “Yes… a terrible dream!” “Oh…” Mom nodded, raised her hand, and wiped the sweat from my forehead. Suddenly, she put her mouth to my ear and said: “I found someone to tell your fortune. You have a great calamity this year and need a dog to pass the tribulation. Never let anyone hurt Lucky, remember!” After speaking, Mom prepared to leave. But she bumped into Grandma who had come in at some point. “Why didn’t you make a sound coming in?” Mom’s voice was full of dissatisfaction. “I heard Ning scream, worried about Ning…” “Just a nightmare, she’s fine now.” Mom interrupted Grandma, pulling her out forcefully; Grandma almost fell. At the door, Grandma suddenly looked back at me. Her eyes were full of worry.

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In my last life, I was the one taken in by the poor family. My sister, Anya, was adopted by the wealthy one. But Anya didn’t even last five years with them. They threw her out, and she died on the streets. I, on the other hand, earned my way into the country’s top university. I went abroad to study with my adoptive brother, Ethan, and together we built a business empire from scratch. Later, with our adoptive parents’ blessing, we married and had children. My life was happy, successful. Now, I’ve been reborn. And this time, Anya made the opposite choice. At the orphanage, she ran and threw her arms around Ethan, calling him “brother.” Then she took the hands of his parents and shot me a triumphant look. “You can have the misery of that gilded cage, sister. I wouldn’t last a day in that backstabbing world.” I looked at the man who had been my husband, waiting for him to say something. But he just pulled Anya behind him, shielding her. His eyes, when they met mine, were ice. “Stay away from my sister.” And so, under Anya’s gloating gaze, I walked toward the stretch Lincoln. … Anya’s words confirmed a chilling suspicion. She was reborn, too. Seeing that victorious glint in her eyes, it all clicked into place. “This way, miss,” the driver said, his voice flat. The Prescotts hadn’t sent anyone but him. It was the same as last time, when the orphanage director told us to choose, and Anya, then named Annabelle, had stepped forward first. It had all happened so fast. “I don’t want to live in poverty,” she’d declared, her chin high. “Sister, you can have that miserable life for me.” She got her wish. She lived the life of a rich girl, but the smile on her face faded with each passing day. I climbed into the plush interior of the limo. As the car pulled away, the driver began listing the rules I was to follow at the Prescott estate. “Did you get all that?” he asked, his shrewd eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror. “I did.” We arrived quickly. The villa was a palace of marble and glass. I followed the driver inside. “Ma’am, I’ve brought her.” A beautiful woman, seated on a silk sofa and sipping tea, looked up. Her eyes swept over me, analytical and cool. She beckoned to me. “Come here.” “What’s your name?” “Serena.” It was the name the orphanage director gave me. It meant peace, tranquility. A wish for a smooth life. The woman nodded. “Good. From now on, your name is Serena Prescott.” She turned to the butler standing silently by the wall. “Take her upstairs.” “Yes, ma’am.” I followed the butler, my steps silent on the polished marble floors. The banister was carved from rich, dark mahogany. Everything screamed of extravagant wealth. But this was nothing new. In my past life, I had earned all of this and more through my own hard work. I wasn’t impressed. The butler glanced back at me, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. He opened a door to reveal a bedroom fit for a princess, all pink and white lace. “Miss, this will be your room. Rest for a while. I’ll be back later.” He left, closing the door softly behind him. I walked in, taking it all in. They hadn’t spared any expense on their adopted daughter. The room was a showcase of upper-class taste and luxury. A thrill, sharp and potent, shot through me. In my last life, I had to fight my way up with no connections, no powerful family to back me. I did it all on my own. This time, I had the Prescotts. With their resources at my back, I would forge a path that was entirely my own. . My thoughts were interrupted by a shout from the hallway. The door burst open and a basketball flew through the air, smacking me hard on the head. “Hey, country mouse! Toss me my ball.” The arrogant voice came from behind me. I turned slowly. A boy, around my age but much taller, stood there, chin tilted up, radiating contempt. If I remembered correctly, this was the only son of the Prescott family, Donovan. He was a classic rich kid—into extreme sports like street racing and skydiving, with zero interest in the family business. In my past life, he’d had an accident during a race that crushed his legs, leaving him paralyzed. The disability had twisted his already arrogant personality into something monstrous. “Hello? Are you deaf? I said, give me the ball,” he snapped, his voice laced with impatience. I shook my head to clear it, picked up the basketball, and held it out to him. Remembering the driver’s instructions, I murmured, “Here you go… brother.” He froze for a second. “Already trying to suck up, huh? Don’t think that’ll get you a cut of the family fortune.” He sneered, snatched the ball, and stalked off. Over the next few days, I barely saw Mrs. Prescott, and Donovan was a ghost. The butler showed me around the estate. It was massive. When the tour was done, he handed me a schedule, densely packed with classes on business management, corporate finance, and market analysis. “This is your curriculum, starting tomorrow. Mrs. Prescott has arranged for private tutors. All you have to do is study hard. If you do well, you will be rewarded.” He looked at me expectantly. “Can you handle it?” This was the knowledge I’d had to claw for in my previous life, long after I’d started my own company. To have access to it at fifteen… I was ecstatic. “Of course,” I nodded. Another flash of surprise in his eyes. He said nothing more, just went over a few more household rules. Mrs. Prescott also hired tutors to ensure I didn’t fall behind in my regular schoolwork. But I’d learned all of this years ago. It was a breeze. Within a year, I had absorbed everything they threw at me, from high school calculus to complex business theory. “This child is a sponge,” my academic tutor gushed to Mrs. Prescott. “She’s not only mastered the high school curriculum, she’s comprehending graduate-level business concepts.” I sat quietly, listening. “At this rate,” the tutor continued excitedly, “she could skip the rest of high school and go straight to a university abroad.” But that wasn’t Mrs. Prescott’s plan. She wanted me to go through high school with Donovan, then go abroad with him. Officially, it was so we could “look out for each other.” In reality, she wanted me to be a leash for her wild, untamable son. Mrs. Prescott paid the tutor handsomely and then looked at me, a new flicker of approval in her eyes. “Come here.” She took my hand and sat me down beside her, handing me an acceptance letter. “You’ve done well. Donovan’s grades are a disaster. I need you to help him. I’m not asking for much, just get him to pass.” “Once you both graduate from high school, I’ll send you abroad. What do you say?” She laid her cards on the table, no preamble. I didn’t hesitate. “Thank you, Mother.” Her eyebrows shot up, a genuine smile spreading across her face. She squeezed my hand. “Good girl.” As a reward, she gave me a credit card and a day off to myself. It was the first real break I’d had since arriving. The driver dropped me off in the bustling downtown district. I hadn’t walked more than a block when I saw a familiar figure. It was Anya. She was standing under the blazing sun, handing out flyers. The Harris family was poor. I knew they wouldn’t have any extra money. It was no surprise she had to work. After all, I had lived that life. Juggling three part-time jobs during the summer while trying to keep my grades up. On top of that, there were endless chores. They always said they treated Ethan and me the same, but they would never dream of letting their precious son lift a finger. I only learned later that they’d adopted me not for a daughter, but for a free laborer. “Hello, would you like to—” A flyer was thrust in my face. Anya looked up, and her voice died in her throat. “Serena?” Her eyes flickered over my designer clothes and clear, well-cared-for skin. A flash of jealousy, quickly masked, crossed her face. She forced a smile. “You seem to be doing well for yourself. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. The Prescotts are more dangerous than you can imagine. You’ll find out soon enough.” “Oh.” My flat response seemed to annoy her. She immediately launched into a boast. “My new parents are wonderful to me. I’m so happy. And Ethan helps me with my homework every night. Oh, by the way, we were both granted early admission to Northgate Prep this year.” Northgate Prep… the same school on the acceptance letter Mrs. Prescott had just given me. It was an elite academy for the rich and powerful, with a few spots reserved for exceptionally brilliant scholarship students. Last life, Ethan and I were the ones who got those scholarships. “Our future is only going to get brighter,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension. “But you… you’re going to end up dead on the street.” She said it with such certainty. I opened my mouth to reply, but was cut off. “Anya!” “Ethan! You’re here!” Anya’s face lit up as she ran into his arms. He was holding a lunchbox. “Mom sent me with your lunch. It’s too hot out here. Let me take over for a while.” “It’s okay, I can do it,” she said, though the Harris’s would pinch every penny to send Ethan to expensive tutoring while making her work. I knew that script by heart. “You work too hard,” Ethan said, then he noticed me. “Ethan, this is my sister, Serena. You met her at the orphanage,” Anya introduced me. Ethan’s gaze swept over me, cold and filled with a familiar distaste. He ignored me completely, turning back to Anya. “Stay away from people like that. Let’s go.” He pulled her away before I could say a word. “Ethan, why are you so mean? You might have scared her,” I heard Anya say. “Don’t be naive, Anya. People like her are trouble. You stay away from her, or she’ll find a way to hurt you.” His words were sharp, but they barely registered. I took the credit card Mrs. Prescott had given me and went on a shopping spree. When I emerged from a luxury boutique laden with bags, I saw Anya staring, her face green with envy. “What’s she so smug about?” I heard her mutter. “She’s just going to die anyway. Not like me and Ethan. We’re going to start a huge company one day.” I smiled. She was so naive. I returned to the Prescott mansion with my haul. None of it was for me. It was all for Mrs. Prescott and Donovan. When I got back, Donovan was actually home for once. He saw my shopping bags and sneered. “Wow, haven’t been here long and you’re already hauling stuff in like you own the place. You really think our money is yours?” “Donovan!” Mrs. Prescott’s voice was sharp. “She is your sister.” He rolled his eyes. “Since when? I don’t have a sister who looks like a hick. It’s embarrassing.” He’d always been hostile, so I didn’t bother engaging. I just started unpacking the gifts. “Mother, this is for you.” I handed her a box containing a delicate silk scarf. Then I gave gifts to the butler and the other staff who had been kind to me. I saw a look on Mrs. Prescott’s face I’d never seen before: genuine appreciation. The staff looked stunned and pleased. Donovan’s face soured. “Tch. You think a few cheap gifts are going to buy everyone’s loyalty? As if—” “This is for you, brother.” Ignoring him, I held out the last gift. It was a detailed model of a race car. “I heard Mother say you like racing. I saw this at the mall and thought of you.” He blinked, taken aback. He mumbled something under his breath and took the box. Soon, the first day of school arrived.

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At the college reunion, my husband, Liam, led me by the hand to a table of his old friends. “This is Clara,” he announced, a fond smile on his face. “My best ‘buddy’ from back in the day. You can just call her ‘Her Majesty,’ like I do.” So this was her. The infamous “one that got away,” the name that made all his old classmates exchange knowing glances. She was dressed simply, in a white button-down and jeans, looking almost as young as she must have in college. But her smile held a complicated edge. “Liam,” she said softly, her voice a low murmur. “It’s been a while. Brought another girlfriend for me to approve?” I met her gaze and smiled back, my own smile bright and unwavering. “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice clear and pleasant. “I’m Liam’s wife.” 1 The air in the private dining room went still. Clara shot Liam a look, her tone laced with amusement. “You got married?” “Yeah…” Liam mumbled, glancing at me before quickly looking away. He sat down and, without a word, pulled her half-eaten bowl of appetizers toward him and started finishing them off. The table erupted in laughter. “Haha, classic Liam! Only ever this whipped for Clara!” Clara’s gaze flickered to me, a silent, challenging smile playing on her lips. I sipped my champagne, feigning indifference, but a fire was already starting to burn in my gut. As the night wore on and the drinks flowed, someone shouted for them to do a cross-armed toast, a tradition usually reserved for newlyweds. “Come on, Liam,” Clara said, holding up her wine glass, her voice casual but carrying. “We do this at every reunion. Your wife won’t mind, will she?” “Her Majesty’s word is law,” Liam declared, already reaching for his glass. “She wouldn’t dare have an opinion.” His eagerness made Clara laugh, a bright, tinkling sound that grated on my nerves. The moment their arms began to intertwine, something inside me snapped. I shot to my feet. Under the stunned gazes of the entire table, I snatched the glass from Liam’s hand, clinked it against Clara’s, and downed the contents in one go. “I don’t care who you were to him in the past,” I said, my voice steady as I surveyed the room. “But he is my husband now. And that is not a toast you make with another woman.” I let my gaze linger on each of them. “Men and women both should have some sense of shame, some boundaries. If you have neither, then you’re just shameless.” The mood soured instantly. Clara’s smile froze on her face. Liam panicked, pulling me back down into my seat. “Why are you being so serious? It’s just a drinking game. They’re my old friends, they’re just joking around.” He lowered his voice. “Just be cool for a minute, okay? Don’t actually piss her off. She’s impossible when she’s mad.” Clara just blinked, a mocking little smile playing on her lips. I was about to explode. “Isn’t that a toast for a husband and wife? You call that a joke? Do you people not understand the concept of respect, or is the point of this reunion to see how many marriages you can break up?” I turned my glare on her. “And what kind of ‘majesty’ insists on doing that with a married man?” Clara’s composure finally cracked. She stared at me, the challenge in her eyes hardening into open hostility. “Wow, Liam. Your new wife is quite the firecracker. She’s got me shaking in my boots.” She paused, her voice dripping with condescension. “But honestly, she’s a bit of a prude, isn’t she? Doesn’t even understand party etiquette. So boring.” With that, she grabbed her purse and stood up. She gave Liam a look that clearly said, Fix this, and walked out. “Your Majesty, wait!” Liam scrambled after her, pure panic on his face. He shot me a furious glare before chasing her out of the room, leaving me alone with the silent, staring table. They all looked at me with a kind of pitying amusement, as if I were a clown who’d just flubbed her act. My hands clenched into fists. I grabbed a plate of leftover bones from the table and walked out, intending to feed the small dog I had tied up just outside the door. Liam had caught up with Clara in the hallway. The fawning, desperate man I saw was a world away from the calm, collected husband I knew. “Don’t be mad, please,” he was begging. “She’s just small-minded, she doesn’t know any better. Don’t stoop to her level, okay?” “Don’t go. How about… how about I make her serve you tea and apologize?” Clara’s expression softened. A small, triumphant smile broke through. Seeing me approach, a cunning glint appeared in her eyes. “You said it, not me,” she purred. “Fine. I’ll give you one more chance.” “Great! I’ll get her to apologize right now.” Liam breathed a sigh of relief and turned around. When he saw me, he rushed over and pulled me in front of Clara, his voice almost pleading. “Can you just stop it? Say something nice to her. I’m going to get some wine, and then you’re going to apologize properly.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. As he went back into the room, a wave of laughter followed him. Clara looked me up and down, then spoke in a low, conspiratorial tone. “Back in college, Liam would do anything I said. He confessed his love to me several times, but I never said yes.” “Every girlfriend he’s ever had looked a little like me. He had to bring them all to me for my approval. He wouldn’t continue dating them unless I gave him the nod.” My head snapped up. And for the first time, I saw it—the startling resemblance in the shape of our eyes, the curve of our mouths. Her voice dropped even lower, a venomous whisper in my ear. “This time, he married you without my permission. And I’m not very happy about it.” “Do you want to bet? All I have to do is frown, and he’ll divorce you in a heartbeat.” Before I could process her words, she lifted her foot and brought it down, hard, on my little dog. Rage, white-hot and blinding, consumed me. “Clara, what are you doing? Get off him!” She pressed down with all her weight. I couldn’t budge her. The dog yelped in pain, a series of high-pitched, desperate cries, but no one from the party came out. Then, provoked beyond endurance, the dog twisted and bit her on the ankle. It wasn’t deep, just enough to break the skin. “Ow! Ah, that hurts!” she shrieked, snatching her foot back. Her cry was the signal. The door flew open and everyone poured out into the hallway. Liam was the first one out. He saw the tiny teeth marks on Clara’s ankle, and a look of such violence crossed his face it made my blood run cold. He disappeared back into the room and emerged a second later with a fruit knife. “You bit her? I’ll kill you, you stupid animal!” he roared, lunging at the dog. The dog was chained and couldn’t escape. Liam stabbed it again and again. It collapsed, trembling, its whimpers echoing down the corridor. I lost my mind. I threw myself at him, shoving him away. I gathered the bleeding, dying animal into my arms, my voice a raw, shredded scream. “Liam, what gives you the right? That dog was the last thing my father ever gave me!” “It was Clara! She started it! It wasn’t his fault, check the security cameras if you don’t believe me…” Suddenly, Clara stumbled and fell into Liam’s arms, her voice a terrified cry. “Liam, thank god you’re here! I was so scared!” Seeing her distress, Liam’s panic returned. He dropped the knife and wrapped his arms around her, holding her so tightly it looked like he was trying to merge their bodies into one. “It’s okay, Your Majesty. I’m here. I’ve got you.” The classmates gathered around, their expressions unsurprised. One of them shot me a contemptuous look. “Everyone knows Clara is terrified of dogs. Why would she ever go near yours?” “You’ve got some nerve, lady,” another one chimed in. “Messing with the one person Liam actually cares about.” He swept Clara up into his arms, his face a dark, thunderous mask as he pushed past me. “Anna,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “You’ve gone too far.” I froze. It was the first time he had ever looked at me with anything but affection. 2 The dog twitched in my arms, a small, pained spasm that jolted me back to reality. I scrambled to my feet and followed them. While Liam went to get the car, Clara dropped her frightened act. She looked me over, her expression smug. “See? Now you believe me. Even married to you, I’m still the one he can’t live without.” “Do you know why he listens to everything I say?” I didn’t answer. My breathing had become slow and shallow. Clara let out a small, derisive laugh, her gaze drifting toward the parking garage. “We were neighbors, back in the day. He had an abusive, alcoholic father and a mother who was a doormat. My mom and I were the only ones who ever looked out for him.” “One time in college, he had a raging fever. All his roommates had gone home for the weekend. I snuck into his dorm to take care of him. The dorm mother was doing rounds, so I had to hide on his balcony for half the night.” “It was the middle of winter, Anna. It was freezing. When it was safe, Liam pulled me inside and just held me, his eyes all red. He swore he would listen to me forever, that he’d worship me like a queen.” “He told me he loved me. I turned him down. Later, when he found out I was dating someone else, he tried to kill himself. I guess you were the one who picked up the pieces.” Liam’s car pulled up to the curb. Her voice remained light, but every word was a poisoned dart. “We have a shared history, a shared pain. We’re on the same wavelength. That one night is worth more than a lifetime of your efforts.” “Tell me,” she finished, her voice dripping with scorn, “what do you possibly have that can compete with that?” I stood there, stunned, my mind reeling. I met Liam at the hospital. My father had flown back to the country for surgery, and I was there every day. Liam was in the next bed. He’d been admitted for depression after a suicide attempt. He wouldn’t talk to anyone, except me. I was drawn to his intelligence, his quiet charisma. I thought I was special. I gave up my studies abroad to stay by his side. My father, seeing how much I cared for him, not only approved of our marriage but sponsored his continued education, sending him to the best medical programs in the world. He even served as a test subject for a new drug Liam was developing, helping him secure his reputation. That drug eventually killed him. The accumulated toxins in his system were too much. He passed away six months ago. Liam, grateful for my father’s patronage, had never once raised his voice to me. Until today. Whenever I missed my father, no matter how busy he was, he would drive me to the cemetery. The screech of tires pulled me back to the present. I met Clara’s triumphant gaze and let out a cold laugh. “Why are you telling me all this? Are you trying to show off? Or does stringing him along just give you a thrill?” “Anna!” Liam’s voice was sharp, a clear rebuke. I didn’t bother explaining. I just got into the car, holding my dog. Clara, however, stood by the door, her eyes welling with tears. “Liam, where did you find this woman? I was only telling her our history so she wouldn’t feel insecure. And she just attacks me, as if I’ve done something terrible to her.” She sniffled. “It’s okay, you should take her dog to the vet first. I don’t dare get in the car with her. I can’t handle her.” The sight of her tears made Liam’s face harden. He turned to me, his eyes like ice. “Anna, where the hell are your manners?” “What did you say to her? I wouldn’t even dream of speaking to her like that. What gives you the right to make her cry?” “Get out. I’m taking her to the hospital first.” I had reached my limit. I jammed the key into the ignition. “Liam, get a grip. I am your wife. And this is my car.” “My dog is dying! I’m going to the vet!” Liam ran a hand through his hair in frustration, then yanked me out of the driver’s seat. “You’re being completely irrational! A dog bite can be serious, people can die!” “It’s just a dog! Take it to any vet you can find. If it dies, I’ll buy you a new one. Now stop making a scene!” With that, he jumped in the car and sped off. As they drove away, Clara stuck her head out the window, a cold smile on her face, and gave me a victorious thumbs-up. A chill, deep and absolute, settled in my bones. On his deathbed, my father had made Liam promise to take care of me for the rest of his life. And now, for this woman, he had turned on me, abandoned me. My phone rang. An urgent call from the hospital. I rushed over. We had come back to the country because Liam’s mother was gravely ill. I had dropped a multi-billion dollar deal to be here with him. Now, she was in critical condition, and the doctors couldn’t reach him. “Mrs. Vance,” the doctor said, his face grim, “your mother-in-law’s condition is dire. She could have a fatal brain hemorrhage at any moment. She needs surgery immediately, but she’s refusing treatment.” Liam’s mother, once a timid woman, had become difficult and cantankerous in her old age. I had been caring for her since we arrived, cleaning up after her, enduring her constant complaints. Even if she didn’t appreciate it, I had put in the time. But she was always finding fault, always muttering under her breath. Sometimes she would deliberately soil her bed and then complain. I ran into her room. The mess was overwhelming. “Mom, your condition has worsened. I’m scheduling your surgery now. Please, just cooperate with the nurses and take your medicine.” She suddenly grabbed her soiled diaper and threw it in my face. “Don’t you yell at me! You’re not as good as Clara.” She always said that when she was in a mood. I had always assumed it was the illness talking. But now, I heard the name clearly. And I understood. Both mother and son were infected with the same poison: Clara. But she was his mother. I had to do something. As I was about to contact my medical team, my assistant called. “Ma’am, you need to come to the resort. Right now. There’s a problem.”

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My sister jilted David Hawthorne at the altar. “He’s a fake heir, poorer than me,” she scoffed. After her call, glowing text appeared: [She’s a fool. The paternity test was wrong—David is the real heir!] [One step from a dynasty, and she threw it away.] Across the hall, David stood alone. Even in that cheap suit, he carried a powerful aura. I straightened my dress and approached. “My sister isn’t coming,” I said softly. “This is our family’s fault. If you’ll have me… I’ll marry you instead.” He studied my face—so like my sister’s, yet different. That day, as Jessica hunted for a new patron, I signed the papers. I, Jenna Miller, became Mrs. Hawthorne. 1 Clutching the freshly stamped marriage certificate, my world felt tilted on its axis. Before today, I’d only met David once, during a formal visit to our home. Jessica had forbidden me from speaking to any of her potential suitors, so to him, I was a complete stranger. Yet here we were, legally bound, about to share a roof. The thought made my heart hammer against my ribs. We soon arrived at his place, a cramped basement apartment. He ushered me inside, a flicker of unease in his eyes. “I’m going to take a shower. If you’re hungry, there’s food in the fridge.” I opened the small, humming refrigerator. Inside sat a single, sad-looking container of vegetable stir-fry. A new line of text floated past my vision: [He’s so pitiful. Kicked out and saddled with a two-million-dollar debt to the Hawthornes for his upbringing. Now all he can afford is the cheapest takeout.] [He can’t stomach this stuff, though. He’s barely eaten in two days.] When David emerged from the bathroom, steam clinging to his broad shoulders, he found two portions of heated food served on chipped plates. I sat with my back to him, quietly eating my share. The portion was small to begin with; split in two, it was gone in a few bites. But I’d deliberately waited until the sound of the shower stopped before I started eating. On the way here, I’d searched for every article I could find about him. The golden boy of the Hawthorne dynasty, handsome and wealthy, accustomed to a life of luxury. Women of every type—sultry, innocent, vibrant, glamorous—had thrown themselves at him. The reason he’d fallen for Jessica? She had supposedly saved a drowning child. He had a weakness for kindness. I couldn’t stage a similar accident; that would be too obvious. But for a man who had lost everything, a woman who could face hardship with quiet grace, without complaint, was its own form of kindness. It worked. His voice was husky when he finally spoke. “I thought… you’d be disgusted.” I turned and swallowed my last mouthful. “I’m not a picky eater. And I don’t eat much anyway.” I offered a small smile. “But this takeout can’t be healthy. Starting tomorrow, why don’t I cook for us?” I didn’t miss the flash of astonishment in his eyes. It was gone in an instant as he turned away to take a call in the corner. That night, he insisted on sleeping on the floor while I took the bed. I didn’t object. I couldn’t seem too eager, as if I expected to consummate the marriage on our first night. In the dead of night, my phone lit up with a text from Jessica. “Found a new guy. He has some single friends, pick one. We can both be set for life.” Below the message was a collage of five photos featuring men old enough to be our father, each one less appealing than the last. I replied with a picture of my marriage certificate. “I’m married.” Her response was instantaneous and explosive. A barrage of calls, all of which I ignored, followed by a furious text. “Are you insane, Jenna? Picking up my trash is one thing, but him? The fake heir?” “You’d rather live in poverty than take the easy way out. You deserve to be poor forever!” In the glow of the screen, I saw another line of text appear. [You’re the fool, Jenna. In forty days, old Mr. Hawthorne is going to bring David home. If you don’t secure your place now, you’ll lose your ticket to the good life!] Forty days. That was more than enough time. On the floor, David shifted. He must have noticed the light from my phone. “David,” I whispered. “Did I wake you?” “No.” “I heard you on the phone earlier. Was it the Hawthornes, calling about the debt?” “Yes.” “How much do you have left to pay?” He was silent for a few seconds before answering, his voice flat. “Five million.” [Why is he lying? It’s just over two million.] As I processed that, David’s voice cut through the darkness, laced with a cynical edge. “What, having second thoughts?” No. This was exactly what I was waiting for. I sat up, opened my banking app—I’d added him as a contact earlier—and began transferring him money. Everything from my bank account, my digital wallet, my payment apps, and even the cash in my purse. It all went to him. Total: $9,828.43. His phone buzzed repeatedly. I watched his expression shift from confusion to shock, his breathing growing uneven. “What is this?” he asked. “It’s everything I have. Use it for the debt.” “I know it’s just a drop in the bucket, but my paycheck from my part-time job clears tomorrow—that’s another $580. I’ll get my security deposit back, too, that’s $330. And my salary next week is $4,200. I’ll send it all to you the second I get it.” He flicked on the lamp. The dim, yellow light illuminated the sharp, elegant lines of his profile, now trembling slightly. “I’m asking what you mean by giving me your money.” I met his gaze, my expression utterly serious, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “We’re married now. That means we’re a team. For better or for worse.” The disbelief on his face was so profound it was almost painful to watch. My heart began to race again, a frantic, hopeful rhythm. This was it. The first real step. Jessica, we’ll see who deserves to be poor forever. 2 The next morning, I woke to find him dressing. The money had been transferred back. The cash was neatly stacked on my pillow. “Why…” “If I take it all, what will you live on? Women need things—clothes, makeup, food…” I shook my head. “I don’t wear makeup. And I work a second job at a produce market after my main one. The owner is kind; he lets me take home the unsold vegetables for free.” “As long as we’re not eating steak every night, two people don’t cost much to feed.” I lowered my head, pretending to be focused on folding the blanket, but I deliberately let him see the way I bit my lip, the ill-fitting, hand-me-down pajamas that swallowed my frame. “Besides… Jessica gave me two bags of her old clothes a few days ago. They’ll last me a long time.” I saw a flicker of emotion cross his face, a raw pang of pity in his eyes. After a long moment, he went to the bathroom. “I’m a man,” he said, his voice muffled by the sound of running water. “I can’t be supported by my wife. I’ll borrow from friends if I have to.” From that day on, our life settled into a quiet, ordinary rhythm. We went our separate ways during the day. In the evening, after my two jobs, I’d come home and cook dinner. We’d eat together, and then he’d sleep on the floor, and I’d sleep on the bed. At first, our conversations were polite and stilted. Gradually, we started talking about our day, about things we saw outside. We became like friends, helping each other with small tasks without a second thought. It took one week to go from strangers to comfortable roommates. A week later, at ten o’clock at night, David came home and stopped dead in the doorway. A row of hooks now lined the wall by the door. His suit jacket, which he usually draped over a chair, was hanging neatly beside my own coat. The pilled, gray bedding had been replaced with a vibrant, saffron-yellow duvet set. On the kitchen counter, a plate of stir-fried pork and greens was still steaming. The dim, flickering bulb overhead was gone, replaced by a new one that cast a warm, inviting glow over the entire 300-square-foot apartment. And in the middle of this transformed home, I was standing on a stool, hanging new curtains. Hearing the door, I turned and gave him a small smile. “You’re back. Eat while it’s hot. The market owner gave me the pork for free.” Then I gestured around the room. “And none of this cost much. I found it all at thrift stores.” David’s throat worked, his eyes sweeping over every new object in the room. The flood of warm yellow filled his vision, a stark, emotional contrast to the bleakness that had defined this space. His chest rose and fell, and a reddish tint crept into the whites of his eyes. I seized the moment. “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice soft. “I didn’t ask you before picking out the color for the curtains and bedding. I just really love this shade, and I… ah!” The stool wobbled with a sharp creak, and I lost my balance, tipping backward. In a flash, he lunged across the room, catching me securely in his arms just before I hit the floor. My hands flew to his collar, my fingers gripping the fabric as I steadied myself against him. I looked up, my eyes wide with the adrenaline and relief of a near-disaster. “Thank you… David.” He let out a breath he’d been holding, but his gaze drifted down from my face, following the loose neckline of my t-shirt. His throat bobbed again. “Jenna.” It was the first time he’d said my name. It came out as a raw, husky whisper. “Can I?” I bit my lip, my cheeks flushing a deep crimson. I buried my face in the crook of his neck, a silent consent. “Yes.” I had gambled correctly. He was drawn to the role of a savior, a hero. That night, David and I transitioned from partners in law to husband and wife in every sense of the word. My hair was down, the lights were off, and the name he whispered in the dark was mine. Late in the night, I woke up, sore but content. My phone screen was lit with a dozen messages from Jessica. “Why aren’t you answering? Jenna, don’t tell me you actually slept with that loser.” “Get a grip. Mom and Dad will never approve of this. Get a divorce and come home before you regret it. Any of the guys I showed you are a thousand times better than him.” The last message was a threat. “Don’t be an idiot. If you don’t come back, Mom and Dad will hunt you down. Don’t expect me to save you then.” David’s steady breathing warmed my ear. The single bed was too small for two, forcing us to lie pressed tightly together. I knew he couldn’t have fallen completely in love with me in just one week. A little push wouldn’t hurt. I texted back: “I’m never coming back. I love him. I don’t care what Mom and Dad say. I’m going to spend the rest of my life with him.” 3 A few days later, I rented a small spot in a bustling market and started a food cart selling grilled cheese sandwiches. I didn’t tell David at first. I worked my day job as usual, then stood in the biting wind at my cart in the evenings before rushing home to make him dinner. He remained preoccupied with his own affairs, telling me he was looking for a job. The text pop-ups, however, told a different story: he was trying to get a new paternity test done. [The Hawthornes are already searching for the real heir, but look at him, still fighting. With that kind of determination, no wonder he becomes a tycoon.] A tycoon, huh? My hand paused over the griddle, and a small smile touched my lips. Two weeks later, Jessica sent me a photo of myself working at the cart. “Found you. You are so screwed.” The time was right. That night, I came home an hour later than usual, feigning exhaustion and yawning widely as I walked in. Then, I rolled up my sleeves, revealing the angry, chapped skin and chilblains on my hands. “Sorry I’m late, the convenience store… was really busy. I’ll start dinner right now.” Behind me, I felt David’s gaze fix on my hands. I pretended not to notice, quickly pulling my sleeves back down to hide them. He was silent for a long time before finally looking away. The next evening, as I was setting up my cart, Jessica arrived with my parents in tow, their faces stormy. “There you are! How dare you get married behind our backs!” my father roared. They kicked over my cart, sending bread, cheese, and toppings scattering across the grimy pavement. Jessica, wrapped in an expensive fur coat, smirked. “I warned you, Jenna. You didn’t listen.” My father stuck out his hand, his expression demanding. “Alright, where’s the money he gave you? Hand it over!” “Dad! David is a fake heir! He owes the Hawthornes millions. What money could he possibly give her?” Jessica scoffed. I stood my ground, my body trembling but my back straight. “So what if he didn’t give me anything? I didn’t marry him for his money!” That sent my parents into a rage. My father’s foot shot out, connecting sharply with my stomach. “You sneak off to marry some penniless loser? We raised you for nothing!” he spat. “Get home! Your sister has found several suitable husbands for you. Marrying any one of them would set us up for years!” My mother grabbed a fistful of my hair, dragging me toward their car as I cried out. “Help! Let me go!” “Just listen to us, sweetie,” she cooed, her grip like iron. “We’re doing this for your own good. David is a nobody. If you stay with him, you’ll…” “Let her go!” Just as I was being shoved into the car, a powerful force yanked me back. David pulled me into his arms, his face a mask of fury. “Kidnapping someone in public? You have some nerve!” Jessica sneered. “Stop posturing, David. The money’s gone. Do you still think you’re the Hawthorne prince?” She then turned a condescending gaze on me. “But I guess it fits. My little sister has always worn my hand-me-downs, eaten my leftovers. Now she’s even picking up the man I threw away. You two are a perfect match.” I felt his body go rigid. The shock must have hit him like a physical blow. Perhaps he was stunned that the woman he’d once adored could be so cruel. Or perhaps, hearing it from someone else, he was finally understanding the painful truth of my past. His arm around me tightened protectively. “I don’t care what you say. Jenna and I are legally married. We are husband and wife.” His voice was low and dangerous. “If you ever lay a hand on my wife again, I will call the police.” Wife. It was the first time he’d said the word with such conviction. A thrill shot through me, so intense it was almost a physical itch in my throat, but I suppressed it. After his threat of calling the police sent them scurrying away, I looked up and gently touched his cheek. “I’m okay, don’t worry. I’ll just find a new spot for the cart tomorrow.” I reached into my pocket. “And I made a lot of money recently. I’ll keep a hundred for groceries, and the rest is all yours.” David looked down, his large hand covering mine, his touch surprisingly gentle. His voice was thick with emotion. “Jenna… thank you.” I wrapped my arms around his waist. “There are no thanks between us.” Not yet, David. Save your thanks for when you’re back on top of the world, a tycoon with a fortune to share. 4 After I moved my cart, David started joining me almost every evening. Our earnings grew. The day before the forty-day deadline mentioned in the pop-up, I transferred him our savings again. “Why are you giving it all to me? I thought you were keeping some for household expenses,” he said, frowning. I showed him a picture on my phone with a secretive smile. It was a pile of sheet metal I’d hidden in the building’s alleyway. “I bought this from a scrap yard, and I found a used tricycle. Tomorrow, we can weld the metal on and create a mobile cart. We’ll be able to go anywhere.” I continued, outlining my plan. “Grilled cheese is a good start, but I want to get into something bigger, like slow-cooked barbecue.” David was shelling peanuts, his mind clearly elsewhere, but he tried to engage. “Why barbecue?” “A few years ago, after I graduated high school, I worked a summer job selling trinkets. The stall next to me sold barbecue, and they made more in a month than I did all summer.” He kept his head down, asking distractedly, “You didn’t go to college after high school?” I fell silent. It took him a moment to realize what he’d said. When he looked up, he saw the flicker of pain on my face. “Our family… they only needed one college graduate.” One sentence said it all. Remorse washed over David’s features. He moved to my side and pulled me into an embrace, resting his chin on my shoulder. “Jenna, what if I can never give you a good life? What if this is it for me?” His voice was heavy with despair. “Maybe we should separate…” Panic seized me. I pushed away from him, clutching his shirt. “David, are you leaving me?” He shook his head quickly, but a sigh escaped him. “No, it’s not that. I just… I don’t want you to suffer with me forever.” “I’m not suffering,” I cut him off, my voice fierce. “Marrying you was the best decision I’ve made in my entire life.” His eyes, reflecting only my image, grew glassy. The text pop-ups, however, were frantic. [Don’t give up, David! Your grandfather is coming for you tomorrow!] [The Hawthorne family is going to compensate you with fifty million dollars, not to mention you’ll inherit a multi-billion-dollar empire! It’s all yours!] Billions! The number was so astronomical it barely registered. My eye twitched, but I forced my excitement down, channeling it into a single, perfect tear that rolled down my cheek and landed on the back of his hand. “David, please don’t leave me. I’ll work harder, I promise. I won’t be a burden to you.” After a long, charged silence, he solemnly raised his right hand. “Jenna, I, David Hawthorne, swear to you. You’re standing by me through this hell. If I ever get back on my feet, I will never, ever let you down.” I blinked, nodding vigorously. Thirty-nine days. Thirty-nine days of waiting for this very promise. The tears that streamed down my face at that moment were the most genuine I had ever cried. We made love all night, his body pressed against mine, whispering my name over and over again. On the morning of the fortieth day, I got up and made breakfast as usual. Before leaving, I smiled and told him I’d see him after work, and we could build our new cart together. He smiled back, taking my hand as we walked out of the basement apartment. Waiting outside were several gleaming Maybachs. The pop-ups were screaming. Internally, so was I. But on the outside, I pulled him behind me protectively. “Are they debt collectors?” I whispered urgently. “Go around the back. I’ll stall them.” He didn’t move, looking just as confused as I was pretending to be. Then, an elderly man stepped out of the lead car. He rushed forward, his hands trembling as he held out a document. A paternity test. David’s eyes widened in shock. The next second, his hand found mine, his grip tight. “Jenna,” he breathed, his voice shaking. “I’m still a Hawthorne. I can go home. No… we can go home.” My own eyes grew wide with feigned astonishment, my mind racing. All those years of hardship, all those cold nights at the food cart—it was all about to pay off. But before I could say a word, the sound of frantic footsteps approached. Jessica ran up, breathless and pointing an accusing finger at me. “David, don’t let her fool you!” she shrieked. “She knew you were the real Hawthorne heir the day she married you in my place!”

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The moment I found a long, black hair in my husband’s underwear, I developed the ability to read minds. It happened to be the day my husband’s colleagues were coming over for a party. That’s when I heard her thoughts, loud and clear: [She has no idea. She has no idea her “rich” husband has already slept with me three times.] Next to her, her so-called broke boyfriend was staring at his shoes, thinking: [How am I supposed to tell her I’m the heir to a ten-billion-dollar fortune?] I almost laughed out loud. That cheat I married? I’d paid for everything he owned, from his designer shoes to the roof over his head. How on earth did he pass for rich? Playing it cool, I walked over to the quiet boyfriend and smiled. “We should exchange contact info, don’t you think?” 1 It was 10 a.m. on a Saturday, and my husband Jason’s colleagues were starting to arrive. Last month, I’d pulled some strings and landed Jason a major client. The deal went through, and he got a promotion and a hefty raise. Now, his team from the sales department wanted to celebrate. The party was at my villa. Four men and three women walked in. One woman immediately stood out: Melanie. She was the picture of innocence with her long, straight black hair and an elegant tweed suit. She smiled sweetly and called out a greeting. As I stepped forward to welcome her, her thoughts flooded my mind. [This woman is so plain and dried up. She doesn’t deserve Jason. She probably can’t even imagine that not only have I slept with him three times, but I’m now standing in her house.] I thought of the single black hair I’d found. My hands, hanging at my sides, slowly curled into fists. I looked straight at her. “So, it was you.” Melanie froze for a second. The others looked confused. I saw the guilt flash in Jason’s eyes and quickly pasted on a smile. “My husband told me he had a star employee. So, you’re Melanie. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” The tension in the room immediately eased. Jason ushered everyone inside. A chorus of inner voices assaulted me: [This place must be huge, thousands of square feet. It has to be worth millions.] [His wife is pretty average-looking. How did she get so lucky? She must have saved the world in a past life to land a guy as handsome and rich as Jason.] [I heard Jason comes from a major dynasty. Could he be the son of Jameson Thorne, the city’s biggest tycoon?!] [Too bad he married so young. The rest of the guys in the office are either broke or ugly. Ethan is handsome, but I heard his parents are just laborers.] We had been married for three years, and every single thing Jason wore, I had bought for him. You’d never guess that just a few years ago, he was just some small-town guy with no style. His colleagues were an interesting bunch, judging everything by its surface. But one thought cut through the noise of their shallow praise and condescension: [How am I supposed to tell her I’m the heir to a ten-billion-dollar fortune?] The thought belonged to Ethan, the man sitting quietly next to Melanie. From the jumble of his thoughts, I pieced together the story. He and Melanie had started at the company at the same time. He was hiding his identity as the chairman’s grandson and had started dating her. Melanie, sensing something special about his quiet confidence and good looks, assumed he was secretly from a wealthy family. After they started dating, she constantly tried to pry into his family background. But Ethan had signed an agreement with his grandfather: if he revealed his identity before his trial period was over, he would lose his inheritance. So, whenever she asked, he would either stay silent or change the subject. His evasiveness convinced Melanie that he was just a spineless coward with nothing to his name. The final straw was when he gave her a hand-carved wooden statue for her birthday—something he’d made himself, but which she saw as worthless. She decided to cut her losses and set her sights on Jason, who she believed was the most promising man in the department. 2 I had to bite my cheek to keep from laughing. Melanie had tossed aside a ten-billion-dollar heir for a fake, a man who was rich only in my bank account. I asked Jason to go pick up the catering we’d ordered. All three women shot up from the couch at once. But Melanie, with a perfectly crafted smile, waved the other two down. “I’m the newest here, and the youngest. You’re all my seniors. Please, let me go.” The other two women exchanged awkward glances and sat back down. [Nice try, you old hags. Did you really think you could compete with me?!] I saw the flicker of triumph on Melanie’s face and turned to Jason. “Honey, why don’t you stay here and chat with your colleagues? Let Melanie handle it.” Just as I expected, Jason found an excuse. “I’ll go with her,” he said, avoiding my eyes. “What if there’s a lot to carry? We can’t let her do it all by herself.” The moment he said that, Ethan stood up to go too, but Jason waved him off. “We’ve got it covered.” Jason’s thought echoed in my head: [What good is a handsome face with no connections? He actually thinks he can steal my woman.] After they left, the other three men cornered Ethan on the balcony off the living room. I quietly followed. The glass door had just slid shut when one of them flicked a cigarette butt onto Ethan’s leather jacket. He jabbed a finger into Ethan’s chest. “Know your place,” he sneered. “Break up with Melanie, or we’ll make your life a living hell.” Ethan wasn’t intimidated. He just frowned. “That’s between her and me. I don’t see how it’s any of your business.” Another one grabbed a coffee mug from a table and threw its contents at him. But Ethan was faster. He dodged, and the dark liquid splashed all over the man standing behind him. Enraged, the man swung a fist at Ethan’s face. It was a mistake. All three of them were no match for him. He dispatched them with a few clean, efficient moves. But in doing so, he had stirred up a hornet’s nest. The commotion drew the attention of the others. Right on cue, Jason and Melanie returned. 3 The balcony was a mess. Before Ethan could say a word, his attackers pointed fingers at him. “What the hell, Ethan? All we said was that we should all pitch in for a gift for Melanie’s birthday next month. Was that any reason to start a fight?!” “Just because she’s your girlfriend doesn’t mean you own her!” They were impressively good at twisting the truth. And conveniently, all three of them had a few fresh scrapes, while Ethan was untouched. Melanie, hearing this, was instantly furious. [What is he so possessive about? Does he think he can afford to buy me a Louis Vuitton or an Hermès? Everyone here is richer than he is!] Her face hardened. “Ethan, we’re all colleagues. You’ve gone too far.” “I didn’t do anything,” he said, his voice cold. He had his pride. Seeing his own girlfriend refuse to believe him, his expression turned icy. Jason clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, man. When you mess up, you have to own it. Don’t be a coward just because your girlfriend is here.” Ethan brushed his hand off. “I said, I didn’t do anything.” “Ethan, how could you start a fight in Jason’s home? Apologize right now!” Melanie demanded, her voice rising. I still didn’t move. I just watched Ethan’s hands clench into tight fists, his knuckles white with rage. After all, a helping hand is most valuable when offered in a moment of true desperation. Only when their accusations reached a fever pitch, with Ethan vehemently denying everything, did I finally step in. “Well, if we really want to know what happened,” I said calmly, “we can just check the security footage.” A wave of panicked thoughts hit me from across the room. [Since when was there a camera on the balcony?] That one was Jason’s. The expressions on their faces mirrored their frantic thoughts. They never expected I’d have a camera out there. I reached into a large potted plant and pulled out a tiny, hidden camera. Everyone stared in shock. A few seconds after the video finished playing, a heavy, awkward silence fell over the room. The men who had been so confidently accusing Ethan were now a blotchy mix of red and pale green. Jason was livid with me. Melanie’s face was completely white. She instinctively reached for Ethan’s sleeve, as she probably always did, but he pulled away. Her expression soured, turning dark and stormy. Ethan’s lips were a thin, straight line. He walked over to me and offered a formal, sincere thank you. For the first time, he really looked at me. [So, his wife is nothing like him. She’s not a two-faced snake.] 4 The three men mumbled their apologies to Ethan. He acted as if he didn’t hear them and turned back to me. “I’m sorry, I accidentally damaged your orchids during the scuffle. I’ll pay for them.” Someone snorted. I heard the collective thoughts of Jason and his friends: [Pay for them? Does he have any idea what those are worth? They’re a rare hybrid. At least a hundred grand for the pair.] Ethan ignored them and scanned a payment code on my phone. A notification chimed. My bank account was suddenly $100,000 richer. Ethan’s thoughts came through again: [If I tell her I got a payday loan, she’ll probably believe it.] I fought to keep my expression neutral. “You shouldn’t take out high-interest loans like that,” I said, playing along. “It’s not safe.” Everyone secretly gloated over Ethan’s supposed desperation, but no one gave it a second thought. Instead, they turned their attention back to praising Jason. “Jason, you’re a lucky man. Your wife is so classy and smart. If my wife’s prize orchids got ruined and someone tried to pay me off with a few bucks, she’d have a fit.” “Exactly. She’s so gracious. You two are a perfect match.” Ethan had had enough and was about to leave. “Are you sure you want to leave Melanie here all by herself?” I asked, stopping him. He was clearly hurt by her lack of trust, but she was still his girlfriend. And in his eyes, leaving her here with these vultures was like leaving a lamb in a wolf den. Seeing that he was staying, Melanie bit her lip. [He’s so shameless. He caused all this trouble and he’s still not leaving? He’s getting in the way of my time with Jason.] Across the room, Jason and Melanie exchanged a look—a quick, charged glance. He licked his lips, his desire almost palpable. Well, if they were that desperate… I was more than happy to help. The party, which was supposed to end in the evening, I dragged out until midnight. I made sure everyone except Melanie and Jason had plenty of red wine. That night, everyone stayed over. I pretended to be drunk. I watched as Melanie slipped into my room, chose the sexiest nightgown from my closet, and crept into the master bedroom. Then, I activated the hidden camera in our room and linked it via Bluetooth to the large projector in the living room. I set a timer for the morning and went to sleep in a guest room, satisfied. The next morning, I woke to a shriek. Everyone was gathered in the living room, staring at the projector screen with wide, horrified eyes. On the screen, a man and a woman. Anyone with half a brain could see what they were doing. Ethan’s fists were clenched, the veins on his neck bulging. His eyes were glued to the screen, burning with a furious fire. Just then, a confused voice came from the stairs. “What are you all looking at?” It was Melanie.

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My wife, Hannah Mackinnon, was the most celebrated genius artist of our time. She also had a profound emotional disorder. Once, when I accidentally fell down the stairs, I called out to her for help. She simply asked, “Why are you always bothering me?” Then, she elegantly stepped over my body in her high heels and walked away. In that moment, I understood. A heart made of ice can’t be thawed. So I stopped trying. The ninety-ninth time she asked for a divorce, I said, “I agree.” Hannah froze. “What did you say?” I slid the signed divorce agreement across the table to her. She stared at the papers, then looked up at me, her lips parted as if to say something she couldn’t quite form. “You’re giving up our daughter, too?” I nodded. Yes. I was giving it all up. … In the divorce agreement, I relinquished full custody of our daughter. My only condition was that my mother could continue receiving treatment at the hospital owned by the Mackinnon family. They had the world’s leading medical team for bone cancer. It was my mother’s only chance at survival. After we left the registrar’s office, Hannah’s expression was as cool and distant as ever. “What will you do now?” I knew it was just polite formality. She had never truly cared about me. “Travel,” I said, a vague, noncommittal answer. She didn’t ask any more questions. Leo, her assistant, put his arm around her shoulder and smiled at me. “Thank you for doing the right thing, for letting Hannah go.” I instinctively glanced at Hannah. With Leo so close, she looked relaxed, natural. None of the tense discomfort she always showed around me. Suddenly, Hannah spoke. “Traveling costs a lot of money. I can transfer you some.” Her tone was flat, indifferent, as if we were strangers making a transaction. I was leaving this marriage with practically nothing. We had a prenup: all income earned during the marriage remained separate property. We split all our household expenses down the middle. There were no financial disputes. But our daughter had health problems and was a high-needs child. I had quit my job years ago to be her full-time caregiver. If it weren’t for the freelance writing gigs I took on the side, I would have starved. Leo cut in with a teasing tone. “Hannah, I’m sure Kieran has his own savings. Besides, he’s a grown man. He wouldn’t feel right taking your money, would he?” He patted her shoulder affectionately. “And your exhibition is coming up. You need the capital for that.” Hannah nodded thoughtfully, her eyes full of approval for Leo. “You’re right.” Pleased, Leo grinned at me. “Kieran, don’t go hiking anywhere too remote by yourself. A lot of solo travelers have gotten into trouble these past few years.” Hannah frowned, her reply clipped. “What kind of trouble could he possibly get into?” I took a deep breath. See? That’s how little she cared. Hannah’s emotional disorder was severe. To put it bluntly, she was incapable of love. When her grandfather died, she stood at his funeral without a single tear, like a detached observer. Everyone called her a monster. I was afraid the words would hurt her, so I covered her ears and whispered, “Don’t listen to them. You haven’t done anything wrong. I know you’re sad, you just don’t show it like they do.” But she looked at me with serious eyes and said, “Why should I be sad? Everyone dies, don’t they?” I was stunned. At eight years old, I couldn’t understand her. As she grew older, her condition worsened. She began self-harming, expressing a deep-seated weariness with the world. Hannah Mackinnon loved no one, not even herself. But for some reason, I was the exception. My presence seemed to calm her. To save her, the Mackinnon family made me a deal: marry Hannah, and they would pay for my mother’s cancer treatment. Hannah herself looked at me with pleading eyes, like a wounded animal. “Don’t go, Kieran Wallace. You have to stay with me.” I had no choice. We did have a brief period of happiness. In those fleeting days, we had our daughter, Nina. Nina was born with a congenital heart defect and needed constant care. Hannah could barely take care of herself; I couldn’t expect her to care for a sick child. My life became entirely focused on our daughter. Slowly, Hannah and I drifted apart. She became a world-famous artist with a massive online following. When her fans found out her husband was a stay-at-home dad, they were merciless. [Hannah Mackinnon’s husband is just a useless pretty boy. He has a degree from a top university? What a waste.] [How can a genius artist be married to some nobody who doesn’t even work?] [I heard their families are old friends, an arranged marriage. So tragic.] I asked Hannah for help, begged her to explain the situation to her fans. My voice was worthless, but they would listen to her. She just stared at me with a strange, baffled expression. “You’re being weird. Why do you care what strangers think? Besides, they’re not wrong. You are a stay-at-home dad.” I don’t remember what I said back. I just remember the feeling of being completely lost, of the world crumbling around me. How could I blame her? Everyone told me the same thing: Hannah is sick. She can’t love. As her husband, you have to be patient. I repeated that mantra to myself countless times. Our daughter was fragile. A slight breeze could give her a fever. I’d stay up all night by her bedside. And Hannah, her mother, would be locked away in her studio, lost in her work, never once appearing. When I confronted her, asking why she didn’t care about our child, she looked up from her canvas and said, “What’s the point of me going? I’m not a doctor.” Days of exhaustion and emotional torment finally took their toll. My vision went black, and I fell down the stairs. Blood pooled behind my head. Before I lost consciousness, I called out her name. She stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at me with utter indifference. “Why are you always bothering me?” Then, with cold composure, she stepped over the spreading pool of my blood and walked away. In that moment, for the first time, I truly understood what people meant when they called her a monster. She didn’t care if I lived or died. But she was different with her assistant, Leo. With him, Hannah seemed… normal. Like a wooden puppet that had suddenly grown flesh and blood, that had warmth. At a press conference, she once said, “Leo makes my barren soul sprout flesh and blood. Because of him, I can feel the warmth of the sun and the sweetness of a flower’s scent.” That night, I confronted her like a madman. “Hannah, do you have any idea what you’re doing? This is cheating!” “You shouldn’t use a word like ‘cheating’ to define my relationship with Leo,” she replied, not even looking up from her painting. Her studio was filled with sketches of him. Leo laughing, Leo thinking, Leo frowning… every stroke was filled with an intensity and devotion she had never shown me. As I turned to leave, heartbroken, she called out, “Kieran, you were only ever a visitor in my life. Leo is my soul, my muse.” The fight went out of me, replaced by an all-consuming exhaustion. I finally understood. It wasn’t that Hannah was incapable of loving everyone. It was just that I wasn’t the one she was willing to try for. I thought my life couldn’t get any more hopeless. Then my own daughter started calling Leo “Daddy.” Just like her mother, Nina fawned over him. “Daddy Leo, you’re so handsome.” “I wish you were my real daddy.” “I don’t want a loser for a dad. All the kids at school make fun of me.” Even my mother-in-law tried to reason with me. “My Hannah is the greatest artist alive. You should be honored to be her husband. So what if she doesn’t love you? Love doesn’t put food on the table.” … The memories faded. I turned to leave the registrar’s office. “Goodbye, you two.” If I was lucky, I’d never see Hannah Mackinnon again. But a hand clamped around my wrist. Hannah stared at me, her eyes filled with a helpless confusion. “But… why?” “Let go,” I said, my voice cold. Leo shot me a look, then gently tried to soothe Hannah. “Hannah, let him go, okay?” She didn’t seem to hear him, her brow furrowed. When she spoke again, her words were as artless and clumsy as ever. “Is it because of the time you fell? But… you were fine, weren’t you?” A bitter laugh escaped me. The only reason I was standing here was pure luck. I wrenched my hand away. “Get lost,” I snarled. She had never been treated this way by me. She looked lost, uncertain. Leo stepped in, taking her hand. “Kieran, calm down. Hannah doesn’t mean any harm. She just doesn’t know how to express herself. Stop pressuring her. She isn’t your property.” Hannah nodded, agreeing with him completely. I laughed out loud. It was all so pointless. “Goodbye, Hannah.” I waved and walked away without looking back. I felt her stiffen behind me, her fingers trembling—a telltale sign of her anxiety. Leo, oblivious, just squeezed her hand. “Come on, my great artist.” Hannah turned her head, looking at him blankly. She tried to soothe the strange unease in her chest, but the hollow feeling of loss remained. If she were to describe it in the language she knew best, it felt as if a masterpiece she had poured her soul into had been suddenly and irrevocably destroyed. Her heart had skipped a beat. When news of our divorce got out, people came out of the woodwork. My perpetually arrogant ex-mother-in-law, Mrs. Mackinnon, showed up at my apartment with my daughter. I was packing my last suitcase. Mrs. Mackinnon stopped me, a condescending smile on her face. “Oh, dear, you don’t have to move out. You haven’t worked in years. How will you survive out there? Besides, you’ve done our family a service. If you starve to death, people will say the Mackinnon family is ungrateful.” Nina glared at me. “You’re just jealous that we like Daddy Leo more than you,” she muttered. Mrs. Mackinnon pretended to scold her, then turned back to me. “I know you’ve been wronged, son. But you know Hannah. She just doesn’t understand social graces. But she truly likes you best.” Her tone was so familiar, so intimate, as if the years of contempt had never happened. I gave a cold laugh. “Mrs. Mackinnon, weren’t you the one who wanted us to get divorced?” Her smile faltered. After a dry cough, she said, “Now, why would you say that? Your mother and I are such good friends. Of course I was happy to have you as a son-in-law.” She sounded so sincere. All I felt was disgust. I’d never forget her voice outside the ICU after my fall, cold and sharp. “It would be better if he died. The Mackinnon family has no use for a failure like him.” She often told people in private, “Kieran Wallace is completely unworthy of my daughter. He’s a waste of space.” I knew she was here for a reason, and it wasn’t a good one. “Hannah is at a critical point in her career,” she said, her tone hardening. “News of a divorce right now would look bad. So, for the time being, you cannot make this public. Can you do that?” Before I could answer, Nina pushed me. “Just agree already! Daddy Leo was right, you’re selfish! You only ever think about yourself.” Her words were like a thousand needles piercing my heart. I stared at her. My daughter. She used to cling to my leg, telling me over and over, “Daddy is the best. I love Daddy the most.” But she had Hannah’s blood in her veins. And just like Hannah, the moment Leo appeared, she cast me aside without a second thought. “Nina!” I said, my voice sharp. She jutted out her chin, defiant. Just then, the door opened. Hannah and Leo walked in together.

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Three years with terminal bone cancer. The ex I’d “abandoned”—now a detective—stormed into my apartment as I reached for morphine just to stay upright. He watched, coldly sneering, as I shook on the floor. “Seven years, and you’re a junkie now? Where’s that gold-digger pride?” Trembling, I pointed. “Please… the medicine.” Vincent laughed, snatched the bottle, and flushed it all. “Want it? Go to rehab.” Looming over me, he added, “Seems when you ran off, your bones rotted too.” Agony ripped through me; I curled up, shaking. “Am I… going to die?” He just filmed my suffering. “For the anti-drug campaign,” he said. 1 “Get the camera rolling,” Vincent barked at his subordinate. “Zoom in. Close-up on her face. I don’t want to miss a single, pathetic detail. This will be the most powerful lesson in our new PSA.” The flashbulb went off, blinding me as the lens focused on my sweat-drenched face. The pain was a living thing inside my skeleton, a million ants with fiery teeth gnawing at the marrow of my bones. It was an itch I couldn’t scratch, a fire I couldn’t put out. I tried to claw at my own limbs, but my nails only scraped against the cold linoleum, a sound like screeching metal. Vincent crouched down, the tip of his black baton forcing my chin up. His face was a mask of disgust. “Look at the state of you. Even the stray dogs in the alley have more dignity.” My vision blurred. All I could see was the sharp line of his jaw, a line I once loved to trace with my fingertips. “Meds…” I squeezed the word from my throat, a dry, desperate whisper, and reached for the hem of his pants. Just then, a figure in a white coat stepped into the room. It was Sophia. The squad’s medic. Vincent’s trusted right hand. And once upon a time, my best friend. Her eyes swept over me, lingering for a moment on the faint, scarred lump just below my collarbone—my chemo port. “Oh my god, Vincent, look at her arm,” Sophia gasped, her voice a perfect symphony of feigned shock. “Classic track marks from long-term IV drug use. They’ve formed a venous cord. Can you imagine the kind of addiction it takes to do this to yourself?” I opened my mouth, wanting to scream that it wasn’t a track mark, that it was a port for my treatment. But my throat was a desert, scorched raw by pain. All that came out was a dry, rattling hiss. Hearing Sophia’s “expert” diagnosis, the last flicker of complicated emotion in Vincent’s eyes vanished, replaced by pure, undiluted loathing. He kicked my hand away from his pants with a vicious snarl. “Don’t touch me!” The force of the blow sent me rolling into the corner. My bones hit the wall with a dull, heavy thud, and a new, blinding wave of pain exploded through my body. “Make the announcement,” Vincent’s voice echoed in the small room, cold and final. “The suspect, Clara Hayes, will be put under a twenty-four-hour mandatory ‘detox’ live stream.” “Let everyone see what drugs do. Let them watch how a once-beautiful woman can become this… this thing. Neither human nor ghost.” “Captain, that’s… that’s not exactly by the book,” a younger officer stammered. Vincent whipped his head around, his eyes bloodshot, his voice a low, furious growl. “For a dealer who treats human life like a joke, you don’t go by the book. You make an example. I want every potential user out there to see this. This is their future. If there’s any fallout, I’ll take the heat. All of it.” 2 As the pain threatened to drag me into unconsciousness, Vincent’s search continued. He was nothing if not thorough, tearing the place apart, determined to uncover every last piece of my “criminal enterprise.” Finally, he kicked the bed frame aside and dragged a dusty iron box out from underneath. My heart seized in my chest. No! Not that. Anything but that! The things in that box were more precious to me than my own life. “Don’t touch it!” I don’t know where the strength came from, but I scrambled across the floor toward him, crawling on my hands and knees. My frantic desperation seemed to amuse him. The sneer on his face deepened. He easily kicked me aside again and pried open the box’s latch. Inside was a diary, its pages worn and curled from countless readings, and a single police badge, carefully wrapped in a piece of red silk. Vincent picked up the diary and flipped through a few pages. My handwriting chronicled every chemo session, every spike in pain, every adjustment in my medication dosage. March 7th. Sunny. OxyContin, 80mg. Pain. March 9th. Cloudy. Morphine shot. Pain so bad I wanted to die. But I think I saw Vincent on the street today. He’s still so handsome. March 15th. Raining. They upped the dose again. Feels like my bones are going to snap. He laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. He held the journal up for the camera. “And what do we have here? An addict’s diary!” he announced, his voice dripping with theatrical scorn. He read the line about seeing him aloud, his tone mocking and cruel. “‘Saw Vincent today.’ Hallucinating from the drugs, were you? Still thinking about me? God, Clara, you make me sick.” With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the diary into the trash can in the corner. Then, he picked up the silk-wrapped badge. It was my father’s. My father, who had been his mentor on the force. The moment he saw it, Vincent’s eyes turned to ice. “You don’t deserve to have this.” He walked over to me, his presence a suffocating weight. “A hero’s daughter, and you end up as scum. What would your dead father think of you now?” I shook my head frantically, tears and sweat streaming down my face. “No… it’s not…” He wasn’t listening. He pulled a lighter from his pocket. Click. A blue flame shot up. And right in front of my eyes, he set my diary on fire. He slammed his foot down on the hand I stretched out to save it, grinding his heel into my knuckles. I heard a sickening crunch and screamed as the bones fractured. “Watch,” he commanded, forcing me to look as the flames licked at the pages, turning my final testament to ashes. “Why keep this? So people can know what a pathetic waste you were after you’re gone? Or so everyone knows that I, Vincent Vance, once had a junkie for a girlfriend?” The fire consumed the paper, but it felt like it was burning through my marrow. From the sidelines, Sophia added her own fuel. “You did the right thing, Vincent. Something like that is just pollution. Better to burn it and be done.” I lay on the floor, pinned beneath his boot, unable to move. I stopped struggling. I stopped crying. I just watched the fire until the last page turned to black soot. That diary was the last piece of proof I had in this world. The only thing that could clear my name. And now, it was gone. 3 Dawn was breaking when two officers hauled me out of the apartment. Twenty-four hours without morphine had left me without the strength to even stand. The twin tortures of cancer and withdrawal were burning through what was left of my sanity. Outside, a mob was waiting. A sea of reporters and gawkers, their cameras and phones creating a forest of flashing lights, blocking the narrow hallway completely. “That’s her! The junkie!” “She looks so normal. How can someone be so rotten on the inside?” Vincent stood at the front of the pack, his uniform crisp and immaculate, his face a grim mask for the cameras. “This,” he announced, his voice booming with authority, “is Clara Hayes, apprehended yesterday. A textbook example of how greed and vanity can lead a person into the abyss of addiction.” His words were a signal. Someone in the crowd threw a rotten cabbage, and it hit me squarely in the face. Then came more vegetables, rotten eggs, people spitting. In the chaos, someone yanked the wig from my head, the wig I wore to hide the hair loss from my chemo. My bald, pale scalp was exposed to the world. “Freak! She’s a monster!” The jeers and insults washed over me like a tidal wave. I just stood there, numb, as filth dripped from my hair into my collar. Suddenly, an old, furious voice cut through the noise. “What are you doing?! Stop it! Leave her alone!” It was Mr. Henderson, my landlord. He brandished a broom like a sword, pushing his way through the crowd to stand in front of me. “Clara’s a good girl! She’s not a criminal! She’s sick, you bastards!” With his frail body, he shielded me from the garbage still flying through the air. I saw egg yolk and wilted lettuce clinging to his white hair, and my heart felt like it was being squeezed by an iron fist. It hurt more than the cancer. “Mr. Henderson…” I whispered. Vincent’s brow furrowed. He gave a subtle nod to his men. “Get that old man out of here.” Officers moved in, grabbing Mr. Henderson and dragging him away. Sophia, ever the opportunist, stepped up to the nearest camera. “Please, everyone, don’t be deceived,” she said, her voice full of false concern. “Addicts are often masters of manipulation, playing the victim to win the sympathy of kind-hearted people like this gentleman. We’re removing him for his own safety.” Her words reignited the crowd’s fury, now directed at my only defender. “Senile old fool! Getting tricked by a junkie!” “He’s probably her accomplice! They’re all trash!” They shoved Mr. Henderson roughly. He stumbled, fell, and cracked his head on the pavement. Blood bloomed on his forehead. “Mr. Henderson!” I screamed, my voice raw with anguish. Vincent moved close, his voice a venomous whisper meant only for me. “You see that, Clara? If you don’t want to drag that old man down with you, if you don’t want him charged with aiding and abetting a felon, you will do exactly as you’re told.” My body went rigid. He was using the only person in the world who cared about me as leverage. What could I do? I lowered my head, surrendering completely, and let the filth rain down on me. In front of a thousand cameras, I stood like a condemned prisoner, trembling and broken, all hope extinguished. 4 They took me to the city’s central plaza. Overnight, a massive, transparent glass box had been erected there. A cage for displaying a monster. And I was the monster. I was shoved inside, and a ring of powerful spotlights flared to life, so bright they hurt my eyes. Outside the glass, a huge crowd had gathered, their faces a mixture of morbid curiosity, contempt, and excitement. A forest of phones and cameras was pointed at me, broadcasting my agony twenty-four hours a day. Without the morphine to dull the pain, the cancer was finally unleashed. It exploded through my body with a terrifying, exponential force. Pain. So much pain I couldn’t breathe. So much pain I thought I could hear the sound of my own bones cracking, splinter by splinter. I began to writhe on the floor, thrashing, curling into a ball, trying anything to escape the inhuman torment. I slammed my head against the hard glass walls, the dull thuds echoing in my cage. I just wanted to pass out. I just wanted to die. The crowd outside roared with a mix of shock and laughter. “Look! Look! She’s going into withdrawal!” “Tsk, tsk. Serves her right. What a pathetic display.” Vincent stood just outside the box, a microphone in his hand. “Look closely, everyone,” he announced, his amplified voice booming across the plaza. “This is what drugs do to a human being. Once you’re hooked, you lose all your dignity. You become nothing more than an animal, begging for its next fix. This is the price of throwing your life away.” His words pierced through my pain-fogged mind. My consciousness began to fray. I started to hallucinate. The Vincent outside the glass was no longer a cold-hearted detective. He was the Vincent from seven years ago, wearing a white shirt, smiling at me under a warm sun, holding out his hand. “Clara, don’t be afraid. I’m here to take you home.” “Vincent…” I sobbed, reaching for the phantom. I used the last of my strength to call his name. “Vincent… save me…” My desperate plea was just another part of the show for the audience. Sophia immediately grabbed the microphone. “As you can see,” she explained with a tone of clinical pity, “the suspect is now experiencing severe hallucinations. This is a clear sign that the drugs have completely destroyed her mind.” The live stream chat exploded with mockery and abuse. [This chick is a lost cause.] The beautiful illusion shattered, and the endless ocean of pain swallowed me once more. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. The world went black. A bucket of ice-cold water shocked me back to consciousness. The public execution continued. I don’t know how much time passed. At the peak of another wave of agony, my body betrayed me completely. A warm liquid spread from my lower abdomen, soaking through my pants. I had lost control of my bladder. In front of the entire country. In that moment, the pain, the shame, the rage—it all vanished. All that was left was a profound, hollow numbness. My last shred of dignity had just been ground into dust. As my vision tunneled, I felt the glass door being thrown open. Someone stormed in and grabbed me by the collar. It was Vincent, his face contorted in rage. “Clara! Get up! Stop playing dead for sympathy!” He was so furious, he didn’t know his own strength. He shook me hard. A sickening snap echoed in the small space. It was my collarbone. Already eaten away by cancer, it had broken under his grip.

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