My parents lived by a single, brutal principle: they would end our fights, but they would never judge them. No matter how badly my sister and I fought, they refused to step in. “We can’t be the judges for you two,” my mother would say. “One of you will always think it’s unfair.” “So if you want something, you fight for it. If you’re not strong enough, you learn to live without it.” “And don’t come crying to us. The tattletale is the one who gets punished.” But I could never win against my ferocious younger sister, Zoe. Snacks, toys, new dresses—they never even made it into my hands before she’d snatched them away, usually after giving me a good shove for my trouble. To avoid the bruises, I stopped fighting. I stopped arguing. Until my kitten, Ginger, got sick. I ran for my piggy bank, my heart pounding with the need to save him. It was empty. Zoe just laughed. “I spent all that money ages ago,” she sneered. “Guess that little furball will just have to die.” A rage I’d never felt before boiled up inside me. I lunged at her, but she just threw me to the ground and beat me. Again. Something in me snapped. I ran sobbing to my mother, breaking the one sacred rule. But Mom’s words were the same cold, hard wall they’d always been: “This is between you and your sister, Chelsea. I’m not getting involved.” 1 I clung to her shirt, my words choked with tears. “But Ginger has a fever. He’s so hot, he won’t even open his eyes.” She pushed me away, her patience wearing thin. “Chelsea, you know the rules. No tattling. If you want your money back, you get it back yourself.” My sobs grew louder, more desperate. “But I can’t beat her! I’ve never won a single fight. I can’t get it back, Mom. Please, I’m begging you.” No matter how much I cried, she wouldn’t budge. Our battles were our own. She wouldn’t pay for the vet, either. Instead, she turned the blame on me. “If something happens to Ginger, it’s your fault. Why didn’t you protect him better? I told you not to get a cat in the first place. You promised you’d take care of him, so what are you doing now, just crying about it?” Zoe stood behind her, sticking her tongue out. “Tattletale, tattletale, shame on you.” My mother, fed up with my wailing, finally shoved me aside and walked away. I clutched my side where Zoe’s nails had scratched me, the skin still stinging. I looked over at Ginger, curled into a tiny, shivering ball in the corner, his eyes barely slits. I had no choice. Swallowing my pride, I sniffled and went to Zoe. “Give me the money back,” I pleaded, “and I’ll do your homework for you. For the rest of the year.” I added, “And I’ll do all the chores from now on. You’ll never have to lift a finger again.” I had nothing to bargain with. I had nothing in this house that was truly mine. She’d once pried a cookie out of my mouth just because she decided she wanted it. All my allowance, all my birthday money—she stole it all. The cash in the piggy bank was a special reward from my uncle for babysitting my cousin all summer. I’d hidden it so carefully, tucked away behind the circuit breaker box in the hallway. And still, she had found it. And taken it. Zoe just flexed her little bicep. “Nope. I’m keeping the money. And you’ll still do everything for me anyway. Because you’re a weak, useless loser who can’t fight back.” The rage surged again, hot and blinding. “If you don’t give me the money, I’ll die before I ever help you again!” At that, she flew at me. She pinned me to the floor, her weight crushing me. She was so much stronger. One of her hands clamped down on both of my wrists, and I couldn’t break free. I was trapped, helpless, as she slapped my face over and over. I screamed, a wild, hysterical sound. My dad walked in from work, saw the scene on the floor, and just sighed, walking right past us into the kitchen. Zoe grinned, her face inches from mine. “You don’t help me,” she hissed, “and I’ll beat you like this. Every. Single. Day.” 2 I couldn’t lose Ginger. But I couldn’t win against Zoe. I was sobbing so hard I could barely breathe. Cradling Ginger in my arms, I stumbled out of the house. And ran right into the old lady from next door. She had a strangely kind smile. “Zoe been giving you trouble again?” she asked, her voice a raspy whisper. “You’re too gentle, dear. If you can’t beat her head-on, why not try something a little more… clever? A little something in her drink. Some sleeping pills. Nothing that’ll kill her, of course. Just enough to take the fight out of her.” My mother always said the old lady next door was a bad influence. That I should never listen to her. But she had a point. I hugged Ginger tighter, and he let out a weak, trusting meow. In that moment, my heart turned to stone. I searched the house, pulling open drawers and rummaging through medicine cabinets. Finally, I found them: Mom’s sleeping pills. I pocketed the bottle. Then I went to my room and staged a fake phone call, speaking loudly enough for Zoe to overhear. “That new beauty supplement you gave me is amazing! My skin is already glowing!” I knew Zoe was jealous of me. Jealous that I was fair-skinned and pretty, that all the kids at school liked me. She took after our grandfather—dark and brawny. She’d secretly tried Mom’s diet pills and slathered her face with Mom’s expensive creams. I knew she wouldn’t be able to resist the “secret beauty pills.” Sure enough, she stomped into my room a few minutes later, demanding them. I refused. If I gave them up too easily, she might get suspicious. Predictably, she started hitting me. She grabbed a textbook from my desk and slammed it against the side of my head. A dull, throbbing pain spread across my face. Finally, I “confessed” where the pills were hidden. She scrambled to find them. The moment she had the bottle, she twisted it open and poured the entire contents into her mouth, swallowing them dry. My breath caught in my throat. I just held Ginger, unable to watch. Soon, she was sprawled on her bed, fast asleep. I tiptoed over and whispered her name. No response. I shook her shoulder. Nothing. I frantically searched for her money stash, my hands shaking. After what felt like an eternity, I found it. I didn’t waste a second. I grabbed the cash, scooped up Ginger, and slipped out of the house. I didn’t know where the nearest animal hospital was, so I went to my grandma’s house and got my older cousin, Mark, to drive us. It was a long night, but finally, Ginger was safe at the clinic, an IV drip in his tiny paw. The vet said he’d be fine in a couple of days. But the money I had was only enough to cover the first day. Without a second’s hesitation, I told the receptionist, “That’s fine. I have more.” It was the first time I had ever successfully taken something back from Zoe. And I knew it wouldn’t be the last. My heart was racing. I had found her weakness. I had found a way to win. She could beat me with her fists, but I had my brain. I was always at the top of my class, after all. On the way home, I used the last fifty cents I had to buy an ice cream bar. It was the first time I’d ever eaten a treat without the fear of it being ripped from my hands. A deep, unfamiliar sense of satisfaction bloomed in my chest. I was already planning my next move. One pill a day, and she’d never have the strength to hit me again. But when I walked through the front door, the first thing I saw was my parents, their faces pale with panic, carrying a limp, vomiting Zoe towards the door. I froze. They saw me and immediately grabbed my arm, yanking me along with them. “We have to take Chelsea too,” my dad said, his voice tight with fear. “If it’s food poisoning, she could be next.”

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As I grew close to Jenna, a subtle malice crept in. I bought a new coat, and she blurted that it made me look like a wild boar, then laughed it off as a joke. At the grocery store, she’d pull my arm toward the discount section and say, “This stuff is past its prime—stop being so cheap,” even when I wasn’t looking. Then she’d quickly change the subject. Still, she felt like a good friend. The only problem was the constant turmoil she stirred in me. I tried talking to my boyfriend Leo, but he just smiled and called me sensitive, pinching my cheek. My mom scowled and said city people were cruel, and I’d be better off moving back home. Wait—was that same subtle malice coming from them, too? I felt lost until I met Maya, a mentor from college. She took one look and said, “You’re radiating ‘easy target’ vibes. People put you down to lift themselves up.” Panicked, I asked what to do. Maya smiled confidently. “It’s not too late. Just do as I say…” 1 On Monday, I wore the coat. The long, black down jacket Jenna had said made me look like a wild boar. After clocking in, I marched straight to the finance department. Jenna looked up as I entered, her eyes scanning my outfit before her brow furrowed. “You’re wearing that thing again,” she said. “Ava, don’t take this the wrong way, but you really shouldn’t wear that coat. It’s not flattering.” Even though I was prepared, her words still landed like a punch to the gut. The last time I’d worn it was the first cold snap of the season. I had been so excited about this jacket; it cost me nearly three hundred dollars. After her comment, I’d shoved it to the back of my closet. Don’t doubt yourself. Don’t back down. Don’t get angry. The best defense is a good offense. I forced a breezy smile and recited the script Maya had given me. “What would a fashion-challenged person like you know about style? A long black down coat is a classic. It’s perfect for layering, and it’s chic and warm on its own.” As the first words left my mouth, Jenna’s smile stayed put, but the light in her eyes vanished. A wave of exhilaration and terror washed over me at the same time. I quickly grabbed the power bank from her desk, keeping my tone as light as possible. “You borrow my power bank and I still have to come all the way here to get it back? Jenna, you’re the worst.” A few people nearby chuckled good-naturedly. Jenna’s fake smile was starting to crack. “Ava…” “Anyway, I gotta get back to the grind. See ya!” I didn’t give her a chance to recover. Waving a quick goodbye, I practically fled the room. I clicked on the voice recorder on my phone. My counter-attack, which I’d thought sounded so bold and confident, was actually shaky and thin. The only good thing was that I hadn’t stumbled over the words. After changing into my lab coat, I got to work. Jenna and I worked for the same large corporation. She was a cashier in finance, and I was a research specialist in R&D. We ate lunch together every day. She’d just lost a round, which meant she’d be looking to even the score at noon. I waited, my nerves on edge. 2 “Hey, Ava!” Jenna waved at me as if nothing had happened. As I approached, she and Liz from accounting were huddled together, laughing hysterically. Their sly glances kept darting in my direction. They were talking about me. My feet felt like they were stuck to the floor. When I finally reached their table, the laughter stopped abruptly. Jenna nudged Liz, a little too dramatically. “We’d better stop, or Ava’s going to get mad at us.” She shot a look at me, as if expecting an imminent explosion. “Alright, alright, no more laughing. Let’s eat!” Liz said, waving her hand and leading the way to the cafeteria line. The two of them linked arms, chattering enthusiastically about what they were going to get for lunch. A hot, nameless anger rose in my throat, choking me. I hurried to catch up. I wanted to ask them what they were laughing about. Why they were so sure I was going to get angry. But the topic had already changed, and bringing it up now would just make me seem petty. I’d be walking right into the trap they’d set, proving their point that I was thin-skinned and quick to anger. I followed them through the line, my face set in a stony mask. I had just sat down with my tray when Jenna turned to me, her face a picture of innocent concern. “Ava, what’s with the long face? You’re not actually mad, are you?” Before I could even react, she was apologizing. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Liz, who was a few steps ahead, looked back. A few other colleagues glanced over curiously. That familiar, suffocating frustration washed over me. If I said it was fine, I’d be swallowing my anger and earning a reputation as someone who was always sulking. But I couldn’t argue with her about what happened earlier without looking like I was obsessed with every little slight. I was trapped. Then, Maya’s words echoed in my head. When you’re truly stuck, expose the malice. Turn the question back on them. Most people aren’t purely evil. When they’re testing your boundaries, they’re often just as nervous as you are. I took a deep breath and looked at her calmly. “Why would I be mad? Did you do something you need to apologize for?” I added, for effect, “You just suddenly turned around and apologized. It’s kind of weird.” A second ago, a flicker of smug triumph had been dancing in Jenna’s eyes. Now, it was gone, replaced by pure, slack-jawed astonishment. She was so surprised by my response that her mouth hung slightly open. She was genuinely nervous. Her confidence, her easy control of the situation—it all depended on me playing my part. My heart began to pound with excitement. Jenna wasn’t invincible. I picked up my tray and walked past her. As I passed Liz, I gave her a natural smile. “Jenna’s acting so strange today. One minute she’s laughing, the next she’s apologizing for no reason. Anyway, I need to get back to the lab, I’ve got some data I need to double-check.” 3 My heart was still thrumming from the victory. I focused on my food, eating slowly and occasionally joining in the light chatter of my other colleagues. I pretended not to notice the cold, humorless glares Jenna kept sending my way. When Maya first pointed out that I was in a subordinate position in my relationships, I was terrified. My first instinct was to run and hide. But Maya was blunt. “You can’t escape it. Every relationship is a negotiation, a power struggle. Basically, there are four types: you recharge each other, you’re in a constant tug-of-war, it’s a transactional partnership, or… it’s purely toxic. Anything but toxic can be adjusted. Which one are you and Jenna?” I thought about it. “A tug-of-war.” I was always retreating, and she was always advancing. “So, what if one day you pulled her over to your side of the line? Would you still want to be friends with her?” The question stopped me cold. I thought about it seriously for a moment, then shook my head. Maya tapped her chin. “Then use her for practice. Social skills are like muscles; you have to train them.” “And while you’re at it,” she added, “think about what kind of relationships you have with your boyfriend and your mother.” As I finished my lunch, I sent Maya a text reporting my success. She replied instantly: Good job! I told you you were sharp and smart! I smiled, embarrassed. Another message followed immediately. Be careful. People who are used to you backing down see your retreat as their strength. When you finally stand up for yourself, they’ll see it as a betrayal. They will retaliate. Viciously. Are you ready? I put down my phone and took a deep breath. Let them come. I wasn’t afraid anymore. I was going to take back every inch of territory I had silently surrendered. 4 Jenna didn’t contact me for several days. Her Instagram, however, was a flurry of activity. Nine-picture grids of lattes, hot pot, escape rooms… her smile radiant in every shot. The main characters in these photos were all our mutual friends. When I saw the posts, I’d quietly like them and keep scrolling. Even when Liz from accounting tried to subtly probe, I just played dumb and changed the subject. Until Friday. A group photo slammed into my feed: in the center, a beaming David Henderson, the senior accountant, was holding a bouquet of flowers. He was surrounded by people from HR, finance, admin, production… even a few senior members of my own R&D team who he’d helped out over the years. The caption read: Farewell to a true mentor! Thank you for 30 years of dedication. You’ll always be a legend here! The blood rushed to my head. It was David’s retirement party. David was famously one of the kindest people in the company. He’d taught me how to properly file expense reports when I first started. And I hadn’t known a thing about this party. In a slow-moving, old-school corporation like ours, where relationships were tangled and complex, these informal social gatherings were crucial for networking and exchanging information. You could choose to be a minimalist with your social life, but to be actively excluded from your usual circle sent a devastating signal: either you were so disliked that the organizer deemed you unworthy of an invitation, or you were so cold and disrespectful that you’d snub a beloved senior colleague. I couldn’t even ask why I wasn’t invited. To ask would be to fall right into Jenna’s trap, confirming that I was petty and overly sensitive. And there, in the photo, standing right next to David, was Jenna. Her smile was warm, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. I refreshed my feed, and more photos from different angles popped up. Everyone was liking and commenting, especially on David’s own post. I quickly opened my chat with Maya, sending out an SOS. Her reply was swift. Emotion won’t solve this. Act. Now. Send David a private message. I paused for a second, then typed back: Should I tell him Jenna sabotaged me and I didn’t even know about the party? And then wish him well? No. Tell him you’re so sorry you couldn’t make it because you had a prior commitment. Maya’s words were precise and clear. Saying a ‘colleague sabotaged you’ sounds like a child tattling. It confirms the narrative that you’re unpopular and a victim. You must always, always keep control of the narrative. I stared at her message, my fingers cold. After thanking her, I opened my chat with David. I typed and deleted several drafts before settling on a few simple, heartfelt sentences. Hi David! I just saw the photos from your retirement party and realized you’re officially starting your next chapter! I’m so incredibly sorry I couldn’t be there in person to celebrate with you. I still remember when I first started… I proofread it three times. The tone was sincere and light. I added a couple of playful emojis, took a deep breath, and hit send. I set my phone aside, anxiously awaiting his reply. Suddenly, my phone buzzed twice. My heart leaped. It was Leo. 5 Hey babe, the weather’s supposed to be amazing this weekend. How about we go camping and have a barbecue? You’ve been so down lately, you need to recharge! My immediate instinct was to refuse: Can’t this weekend, I have plans with Maya. That felt too harsh, so I added an explanation: It’s for work, just need to pick her brain about a few things~ Leo replied instantly: Okay, okay, I know my girl is a busy bee now! But seriously, the way you furrow your brow when you’re thinking hard is so damn cute. When you’re done, I’ll be sure to reward you properly! A flash of pure rage went through me. Thanks to Maya, I could now identify this behavior for what it was: infantilizing and sexualizing your partner. It was utterly disrespectful. Arguing with him or demanding respect was pointless; he’d just find my anger “cute” too. I took a deep breath and typed back: Not as cute as you, sweetie! Gotta run. You be good now, ‘little’ guy. I sent the message and then muted his chat. When I was done with this, when I had mastered this new art of war, I’d deal with him. Just then, a message from David came through. It was gracious and warm, accompanied by two rose emojis. We chatted for a few more minutes, and then I gracefully ended the conversation. 6 I spent a relaxing weekend with Maya at a spa. I returned to work on Monday, fully recharged. Same lab coat, same colleagues, but something in the atmosphere felt off. Laura from the next bench over couldn’t hold it in any longer. She sidled up to me. “Ava, did you get an offer from some big-shot headhunter? I mean, the benefits here are great, I can’t believe you’d just jump ship!” She lowered her voice. “But still, you shouldn’t have skipped David’s party. You have to at least pretend to care, you know?”

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1 I was the lead surgeon in the nation’s worst medical disaster. In a joint operation, I deliberately botched a procedure, killing five patients on the spot. My wife’s mother was one of them. The medical board stripped my license. The entire world demanded my life for theirs. The victims’ families knelt before the courthouse, their cries echoing in the streets, pleading for my execution. To appease the public fury, the court sentenced me to death by euthanasia. As the Chief Investigator for the Ministry of Health, my own wife, Clara, was tasked with overseeing the sentence. She decided to activate the “Memory Replay,” a new AI technology that could reconstruct the truth of the surgery. But the families’ legal counsel objected. “Is that really necessary? Must we force these families to witness their loved ones die all over again?” he argued, his voice ringing with indignation. “The youngest victim was only eight years old! Just carry out the sentence.” … I lie on a cold surgical table, my limbs shackled. My vocal cords were removed beforehand to prevent any outbursts. The roar of the crowd is my death knell. “The murderer is finally getting what he deserves!” “I’d tear that monster limb from limb if I could!” On the massive LED screen above the judgment platform, my list of “crimes” plays on a loop: Deliberately altered the surgical plan. Intentionally administered incorrect medication. Resulted in the deaths of five patients, shattering five families. My wife, Clara Reed, stands at the center of the platform. She bows deeply to the crowd. “I am so sorry,” she begins, her voice thick with emotion, her eyes red-rimmed. “My husband has committed an unforgivable sin. He didn’t just kill your loved ones… he killed mine, too.” “But I assure you, I will execute this sentence with absolute impartiality.” She holds up a syringe, injecting its contents into a small white mouse. The creature, once skittering with life, goes limp in an instant. Then, she walks toward me. She presses the needle into my arm and pushes the plunger, emptying the rest of the lethal cocktail into my veins. As soon as it’s done, her body sways, and she stumbles backward. Dr. Leo Vance, standing beside her, catches her in his arms. “You did the right thing,” he murmurs, his voice a soft comfort. Leo. My former protégé. And the man who was always the one that got away for Clara. “I just can’t believe Ethan could become this…” Clara whispers, her hand gently squeezing his. She offers him a fragile, grateful smile. “If you hadn’t noticed something was wrong, the consequences could have been even worse.” A wave of sympathy ripples through the crowd. “Dr. Vance is the real victim here! Betrayed by the mentor he trusted most!” “He’s a true hero for exposing Dr. Reed!” “Exactly! If he hadn’t caught it, who knows how many more would have died!” Clara takes a deep, steadying breath. Her gaze sweeps across the auditorium, finally landing on my face. Her brow is knitted, her eyes filled with an undisguised, searing disgust. Suddenly, a chime echoes through the hall. The “Memory Replay” system activates. It is the latest in AI technology, capable of flawlessly reconstructing every detail of a surgical procedure using surveillance footage, medical data, and the memories of those present. The giant screen flickers to life. Unity General Hospital Emergency Room, three winters ago. A twenty-six-year-old version of myself stands before an operating table. I have been on my feet for seventy-two hours straight, having just completed thirteen high-risk heart surgeries. Not a single one had failed. As the final procedure concludes, I pull off my gloves, and my body sways. A spray of blood erupts from my mouth, splattering across the white tiles. Then, I collapse. The auditorium falls into a stunned silence. A moment later, a wave of angry disbelief crashes through the hall. “Seventy-two hours without rest? What a performance!” “He’s a murderer trying to play the martyr! It’s pathetic!” Clara’s face darkens. She orders the technicians to immediately check the memory source for signs of tampering. Leo moves to her side, whispering poison in her ear. “Dr. Reed is more manipulative than we ever imagined. He must have known they’d use the Memory Replay and altered his own memories to make himself look noble.” He adds, “It’s a good thing we proceeded with the sentence.” Clara scoffs, the disgust in her eyes hardening into something unbreakable. “You’re right. It doesn’t matter if he collapsed on the table. It doesn’t matter if he had died right then and there. It wouldn’t absolve him of five murders.” Her expression softens as she turns to Leo. “Thank you for being here with me through all this.” Leo pulls her into a comforting embrace, a flicker of triumph in his eyes. “You never have to thank me.” Watching them, a bitter taste fills my mouth. Her eyes, which once held such tenderness for me, now only hold contempt. Even with my senses fading, a dull, eviscerating pain grinds away at my heart. Leo was the true monster behind this tragedy. But no matter how I tried to explain, Clara refused to believe me. She was the one who signed the order to have my vocal cords removed, silencing me forever. The day before my sentencing, she stood before my cell, her eyes burning with hatred. “Ethan, why did you kill my mother?” I shook my head, frantically trying to sign I didn’t. She didn’t believe me. She took ten sharp needles and drove them under my fingernails, one by one. The agony was blinding. I bit through my lip, the coppery taste of blood filling my mouth. “These are the hands that murdered my mother,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face as she stared at my mangled, bleeding fingers. On the screen, the memory shifts. The cherry blossom path of our medical school. A younger Clara, in her crisp police cadet uniform, leans against a tree, waiting for me. I run toward her, my arms full of heavy textbooks, breathless. Like a magician, she pulls a lollipop from her pocket, unwraps it, and holds it to my lips. “Congratulations, Ethan Reed,” she says, her voice bright. “Your first solo surgery in the animal lab was a complete success.” I bite down on the candy, the sweetness dissolving on my tongue, but my heart is still pounding with fear. “My hands were shaking the whole time. I nearly nicked the aorta.” She takes my hand, lacing her fingers through mine. “Don’t be afraid,” she says, her gaze intense. “I know you’re going to be the most famous surgeon in the country one day.” Her eyes sparkle, like they hold captured stars. What man doesn’t want to be worshipped by the woman he loves? A warmth spreads through me. I say nothing, only tightening my grip on her hand. The image freezes. In the present, Clara’s body goes rigid. A complex, unreadable emotion flickers in her eyes. Leo doesn’t miss her hesitation. “He had so much promise back then, didn’t he, Clara?” he says, his voice laced with sorrow. “It’s a shame. In the end, he couldn’t resist the temptations of fame and fortune. People change.” Clara snaps back to the present, her expression turning to ice. “You’re right.” I was a good doctor, I try to mouth, a desperate, silent plea. I was… The scene changes. I am reviewing a special case: an eight-year-old boy, Cody, with a rare congenital heart defect. No other surgeon in the country would take the case. The probability of failure was too high. They were afraid of ruining their reputations. I wasn’t. I remember holding the small boy in my arms. “Don’t worry, Cody. Dr. Reed is going to fix your heart.” He looked up at me with wide, scared eyes. “After the surgery… can I run like the other kids?” I smiled and nodded. “Yes. You absolutely will.” The surgery took sixteen hours. My back was drenched in sweat as I opened his chest, wielded the scalpel, and stitched his tiny heart back together. Every movement was precise, perfect. Finally, Cody’s heart began to beat on its own. I let out a long breath, a deep satisfaction settling over me. In the auditorium, someone whispers, “That’s the eight-year-old boy.” “He saved him… then he killed him.” Leo pounces on the words. “Exactly! He saved the child, which means he knew his condition better than anyone! He must have done it on purpose! The mistake was deliberate!” Murmurs of agreement spread through the crowd, though a few doctors in the audience frown. “But if he saved him before, why would he kill him?” one asks. Leo bites his lip. “Who knows… Money, maybe?” The screen goes black. When it lights up again, we are in the blood-soaked operating room. It was a five-patient domino transplant—five recipients, one donor. A logistical and medical nightmare. One of the recipients was the eight-year-old boy, Cody. The surgical team was comprised of twenty-three people. I was the conductor. Leo was my first chair. In the memory, I stand at the central operating table, my eyes sharp and focused. “All teams, prepare. Begin.” The scalpel glides, blood wells. My movements are a blur of speed and precision. Three hours in, everything is proceeding flawlessly. Suddenly, the monitor above Cody’s table lets out a piercing shriek. “Dr. Reed! Patient on table five is crashing! Blood pressure plummeting, acute rejection!” I spin around. “One milligram of epinephrine, IV push, now!” A nurse slaps a syringe into my hand. I am about to inject it when— “Ah!” Leo, standing right beside me, cries out. He stumbles, slamming his body hard against my arm. The syringe flies from my grasp, shattering on the floor, its precious contents splattering everywhere. “Sorry! I’m so sorry, Dr. Reed! I… I slipped!” he gasps. I have no time for him. I roar for another syringe. But the delay—just a few seconds—is fatal. On the monitor, Cody’s heartbeat flatlines. We fight for thirty minutes, but it’s no use. He’s gone. The first domino had fallen. Cody’s death broke the organ chain. One by one, the other four patients suffer catastrophic complications. One by one, they die before my eyes. Five families, shattered in a single afternoon. I fall to my knees on the cold, hard floor, a deadening roar filling my ears. In the present, the auditorium erupts. “See! It was him! It was his mistake!” “If he had just held on tighter! If he had been faster! They wouldn’t have died!” Leo covers his face, his shoulders slumping. “It’s all my fault,” he chokes out. “If I hadn’t bumped into Dr. Reed…” Clara places a reassuring hand on his shoulder, but her eyes, fixed on my image on the screen, are filled with enough hatred to burn me to ash. “It’s not your fault, Leo. It was his hubris.” She points a trembling finger at my kneeling figure on the screen, her voice like a judge delivering a final verdict. “If he had just done the surgeries one by one, the other four would still be alive! He deserves to die for his vanity.” She spits the words out, each one a nail in my coffin. My heart feels like a crumpled piece of paper, unable to draw a breath. The memory shows the investigation team storming the OR, dragging my hollowed-out form away. I don’t resist. I am a puppet with its strings cut. As they lead me through the hospital lobby, a woman breaks through the security line, screaming. In the chaos, I see the glint of a bottle. She throws its contents at my face. Searing, white-hot pain. The liquid splashes across my body, and a fire ignites in my throat. My mind goes blank. “You demon!” Someone throws the first punch, and then the mob descends—reporters, family members, a frenzy of fists and feet. My hair is pulled, my scalp screaming in agony. My white coat is torn to shreds. “You killed my father! You deserve to die!” a man roars, delivering a vicious kick to my stomach. Pain explodes through my body. I curl into a ball on the floor, convulsing. In the auditorium, Clara watches the screen, her knuckles white. But from the crowd, cheers erupt. “He deserved it! He killed all those people, he should have acid thrown on him!” “Yeah! Serves the bastard right!” The memory on the screen suddenly freezes. The AI’s synthetic voice fills the hall: “Anomalous data stream detected. Initiating deep-level retrieval…”

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At my eighteenth birthday party, surrounded by glitter and fake smiles, my fiancée—whose family was nearing bankruptcy—sent a gift. Urged by my best friend Leo, I opened it. Inside, instead of a watch or cufflinks, lay a rotting apple with one bite missing, alongside a stack of hell bank notes. The room fell silent, until Leo muttered, loud enough for all to hear, “I know she’s struggling, but…isn’t this basically a death curse?” Blind with rage, I called my fiancée, ended our engagement without letting her speak, and cut all business ties with her family. Five years later, I stumbled upon a video Leo had posted, showing him and his wife with newborn twins. The caption pierced my heart: “I swapped the gift she sent my best friend just to be with her. Now she’s given me these beautiful babies. Who says the nice guy finishes last!” Stunned, I forgot I was hiking—and fell. When I opened my eyes, I was back at my eighteenth birthday party. Leo’s voice rang in my ear: “Ben, your fiancée’s gift is here. Come on, open it!” (1) Candlelight flickered across my stunned face as everyone sang a heartfelt “Happy Birthday to you~.” But all I could hear was a deafening roar in my head, the phantom sensation of falling still clinging to me. Just then, Leo Vance gave the gift box in his hands a little shake, a dark glint in his eyes. “Ben? What are you spacing out for?” “The Thorne family is about to go bankrupt and they still sent you a gift? They’re clearly trying to suck up to you. I heard they even mortgaged their family estate to cover company losses…” He hefted the box. “Tsk, tsk. It’s so light. Don’t tell me she sent you one of those cheap thirty-nine-ninety-nine snack boxes from Amazon to fool you.” His words made my hand, the one holding the plastic cake knife, tighten into a fist. In my past life, this was the exact moment the Thorne family’s financial crisis hit its peak, pushing them to the edge of ruin. Rumors that our families would call off the engagement were spreading like wildfire through our circle. And my “best friend,” Leo, had been in my ear for weeks, poisoning my mind. He’d spin tales of seeing Isabelle Thorne leaving a bar, drunk, with some potential male investor. He’d whisper that our engagement was just a business arrangement, and now that her family was failing, all she had left was a pretty face. He told me I should just break up with her. That’s why, at a milestone as important as my eighteenth birthday, I let him coax me into opening that gift in front of everyone. The memory of the rotten apple and hell notes flooded back. “Come on, Ben, open it!” Leo urged, shoving the box closer when I didn’t move. The excitement was practically radiating off him. My brow furrowed. I couldn’t just refuse him in a setting like this; it would reflect badly on both the Cole and Thorne families. A cold sweat broke out on my back. I had no choice but to play along, my hands moving slowly toward the ribbon on the box. But just then, I “lost my footing.” I lurched forward uncontrollably, straight into the three-tiered cake. In an instant, frosting and sponge flew everywhere, plastering Leo from head to toe. The gift box went flying, and I crashed to the floor, my wrist twisting beneath me on the hard marble. A sharp pain made me gasp. The room, moments before filled with easy laughter, erupted into chaos. Leo struggled to his feet amidst the sticky, sweet wreckage, wiping a hand across his forehead. “Ah!” he shrieked, all thoughts of the gift forgotten as he stared at his fingers. “I’m—I’m bleeding!” I put on a mask of concern and rushed to his side. “Leo, are you okay? I’m so sorry, I swear I didn’t do it on purpose…” But he was a mess—covered in cream, his hair matted, a trickle of blood seeping from his temple. He glared at me, his eyes filled with raw hatred. “Ben… you did that on purpose! You wanted to humiliate me in front of all these people!” I let my own eyes well up, my voice trembling with disbelief. “Leo, how can you say that? It’s my birthday. I fell too! My wrist might be broken… Is your head okay? I’ll take you to the hospital right now.” Most of the guests tonight were from high society. Their gazes, now fixed on Leo, became critical and assessing. His face cycled through shades of red and white. “…No, it’s fine,” he stammered, forcing a smile that was more like a grimace. “Ben, I—I was just talking nonsense, don’t mind me. It just hurts a lot. I’ll head to the hospital.” He scrambled to his feet and practically fled the scene. Watching him go, a cold sneer finally touched my lips. His acting was so clumsy. How had I been so blind to it in my past life? I really was a fool. (2) I still drove him to the hospital. While he was getting stitched up, I replayed the events of my past life again. After I broke off the engagement with Isabelle, I became the laughingstock of the entire city. The scandal was the final blow for the Thorne family; they officially declared bankruptcy. Mr. Thorne’s relationship with my parents shattered completely, and the fallout even caused our company’s stock to plummet. Later, when Isabelle clawed her way back into the upper echelons of society, our family became the butt of the joke all over again. The whispers were relentless: the Cole corporation was finished. During that time, several of our key partners pulled their contracts, citing the rumors as their reason. I had suspected back then that Isabelle was orchestrating some kind of revenge. After all, wasn’t that gift box a curse? That’s why learning the truth—that it was all Leo’s scheme—had sent me into such a rage. I’d been so distracted on that hike, so lost in my anger, that I’d fallen from the cliff. I clenched my fists. This time, I would not repeat my mistakes. And I would absolutely not let Leo succeed. Steeling myself, I pretended nothing had changed and drove Leo back to his apartment building. He was just an ordinary guy from a rundown complex on the east side. He should never have even crossed paths with people like us. But we were in the same class in high school, and during a school trip, I got hopelessly lost. He was the one who found me, and we huddled together for warmth all night waiting for rescue. Out of gratitude, I made him my best friend. And through me… he met Isabelle Thorne. The thought of it was a fresh wave of betrayal. In my last life, I treated him better than anyone. I gave him half of every luxury skincare product I bought. I brought him into my social circle. I even arranged better jobs for his parents. And he repaid my kindness with poison. Not only did he swap the gift to humiliate me, but he also schemed and plotted until he had fathered twins with my fiancée. I bit my lip, tasting blood. Just then, as if remembering something, he ran back and grabbed my arm. “Ben, I’m so sorry. I ruined your birthday, and you still had to take me to the hospital…” His voice was thick with guilt, but then his tone shifted. “By the way, you still haven’t opened Isabelle’s gift, have you?” “How about this? The day after tomorrow is the launch event for the new game from Thorne Industries. Let’s go together! You can open it there and give her a big surprise. Let everyone see what she got for you.” “Aren’t your parents looking for a way to prove that the Cole and Thorne families are still solid?” A humorless smile touched my lips. He still hadn’t given up on getting me to open that box. “Leo,” I said, my voice laced with feigned confusion, “why are you so obsessed with the gift Isabelle gave me?” “Besides, it’s just a gift. What’s the difference if I open it at home later? Why wait for the launch event?” “It’s not the same at all!” he insisted, his voice cracking with urgency. “An eighteenth birthday gift is a huge deal! She’s your fiancée, Ben. Just listen to me. That gift will be something you’ll remember for the rest of your life.” Remember for the rest of my life? The image of that stack of hell notes flashed in my mind. Yeah, that was pretty unforgettable. “Alright, then,” I said, pulling my arm away. My voice was flat, emotionless. Satisfied, he turned and disappeared into the stairwell. The moment he was gone, the last trace of warmth vanished from my eyes. Leo, since you’re so determined to make me relive that humiliation… Then don’t blame me for preparing a ‘return gift’ of my own. (3) That night, I called my dad, ready to tell him everything about Leo. But he cut me off, telling me that Isabelle had called. She wanted to come see me tomorrow to make up for my ruined birthday. The next day, I waited at home until eight, but she never showed. A knot of unease tightened in my stomach. Isabelle was compulsively punctual. Worried something had happened, I grabbed my car keys and drove to her apartment building. As I pulled up, two familiar figures emerged from the main gate. It was Isabelle… and Leo. Isabelle was a head shorter than him. He suddenly leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. And Isabelle, though she froze for a second, didn’t push him away. The two of them, looking so intimate, coming out of her apartment building together. My fists clenched, my whole body trembling with rage. So they had been hooking up all along. It wasn’t just Leo’s one-sided obsession. I was the only one who had been kept in the dark. I thought back to my past life. Isabelle and I had been engaged since we were children. It was a business arrangement, but I’d known since I was a boy that I was going to marry her. When I first started to understand romance, she was the one who would laugh and playfully tap my nose, telling me to focus on my studies. She was the one who tore up love letters other girls gave me, the one who sat me down at my desk every night and patiently explained calculus, telling me she was “cleansing my brain.” And now, she was sneaking around with my best friend behind my back. A cold, bitter laugh escaped me. To think, in my last life, I felt guilty for years, believing that my childish decision to break the engagement had bankrupted her family. Isabelle Thorne. Leo Vance. What did you two take me for? I spun the car around and drove straight home. I hadn’t even had a sip of water when a text from Isabelle lit up my phone. [Ben, something blew up at the office today, that’s why I couldn’t make it to dinner. I’ll take you on an overseas trip to make it up to you, I promise.] [Did you like the gift I sent you yesterday?] I had to admire her ability to lie without batting an eye. Kissing Leo one minute, then texting me about being stuck at work the next. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, they would have played me for a fool until there was nothing left. I ignored the message, my eyes falling on the gift box sitting in the corner. So, what had Isabelle originally sent me? An idea struck me. I pulled up Leo’s account on a resale app. I’d discovered it by accident a while back when I realized he was selling the rare figurines I’d given him. He had no idea what they were worth, so he always listed them for dirt cheap. And there it was. Last night, he’d posted two new items: a single sapphire cufflink, and a limited-edition figurine I’d been wanting for ages. There was no way he could have afforded either of those things. But this only made me frown deeper. If Isabelle had truly moved on, why would she buy me such an expensive gift when her family was so desperate for cash? (4) Two days later, the launch event for Thorne Industries’ new game, Path of the Wanderer, went ahead as scheduled. I still hadn’t found any more proof of their betrayal. Today, nearly every media outlet in the city was present. Even the usually reserved Isabelle was there, dressed in a impeccably tailored suit, standing poised beside her parents. As I walked into the venue, my gaze landed on her. At twenty, she was two years older than me, and undeniably a perfect match in terms of family background, ability, and looks. It was no wonder Leo was willing to grovel at my feet for a chance to get close to her. I made my way to the side of the stage, intentionally leaving the gift box behind. The media’s instincts are sharp. My arrival sent a ripple of whispers through the crowd, and cameras started panning in my direction. [Is that Ben Cole? I thought the two families were calling off the engagement. What’s he doing here?] [He probably couldn’t break it off privately. He’s going to humiliate the Thorne family in front of everyone.] [If that’s true, the Cole family is ruthless. I heard the Thornes bet everything on this game. If they can’t secure funding today, they’re really done for…] [Since when does emotion matter more than money in high society?] On stage, the game demo ended to a round of applause. Isabelle’s parents nudged her forward. Her eyes swept over the audience, meeting mine for a brief, unreadable moment before she began her presentation with practiced calm. I stood in the shadows, watching the clean line of her profile. “…with its rich content, this game offers one of the most innovative online experiences available today…” When she finished, she bowed. As a fresh wave of applause broke out, she walked straight towards me. In an instant, every camera lens swiveled to follow her, and the world erupted in a sea of flashing lights. I knew what they were hoping to capture. A juicy, front-page headline: a high-society engagement imploding in public. “What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice low as she stopped in front of me. Her expression was as gentle as ever. “Is it because… I missed your birthday party?” I looked up, a slow smile spreading across my face. “It’s your first time hosting a product launch. How could I not come? Mom and Dad also asked me to convey their congratulations and support to Thorne Industries on their behalf.” I took a credit card from my jacket and held it up for the cameras. “The Cole Corporation is very optimistic about the future of Path of the Wanderer. We are prepared to offer an initial investment of ten million dollars. All we ask in return is—” Before I could finish, a wave of murmurs, a mixture of surprise and disappointment, washed over the room. [He’s not here to break the engagement?] [The Thorne family is in this state, and the Coles are still willing to throw money at them? Are they really that sentimental?] [So much for the drama…] Public opinion was a fickle thing. I kept the smile plastered on my face, about to state my terms. But just then, Leo burst in, breathless, clutching a gift box. “Ben! You’re always so forgetful! Didn’t you say you wanted to open your gift in front of everyone today? I went all the way back to get it for you!” He raised his voice, turning to the press. “For those of you who don’t know, this is the eighteenth birthday gift Miss Thorne gave to our Ben! He treasures it so much, he hasn’t even brought himself to open it yet. He said that no matter what state the Thorne family is in, he trusts in Miss Thorne’s heart.” After his little speech, he shot a glance at Isabelle. Isabelle’s brow furrowed in confusion. The reporters immediately went into a frenzy, their lenses zeroing in on the box. [He talks a big game, but he hasn’t even unwrapped it?] [I bet the investment is a sham. The Cole family is just using this launch event to build a benevolent public image.] [Besides, what kind of gift could the Thorne family possibly afford right now? Of course he wouldn’t want to open it.] I let out a soft chuckle. “Leo, I suppose I should thank you for going all the way home to get this for me?” Leo, clearly not expecting this reaction, stumbled back a step. Isabelle instinctively reached out to steady him, their posture intimate. And in front of all these people, she didn’t seem to have any intention of letting go. A faint blush colored his ears. “Ben, I’m just looking out for you! This is a great chance to show everyone how much Isabelle cares for you, what an amazing eighteenth birthday gift she prepared.” I fought down the rage boiling in my gut, my eyes locked on him and Isabelle. I remembered how, in my last life, after I’d called off the engagement, she had no idea what had happened. She called me relentlessly, even waited outside my house, demanding to know why. I once thought that meant she had feelings for me. But looking at them now… A scornful smile twisted my lips. “Fine. As you wish!” I placed the gift box on a table facing the cameras. This time, there was no hesitation. I tore off the ribbon and flipped open the lid… “No, impossible! How could it be that!”

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The third time my wife, Victoria, got pregnant with her lover’s child, my reaction was unnervingly calm. I even had the leisure to admire the wedding photos they’d taken behind my back. Victoria’s brow was furrowed, her voice a blade of ice as she subtly shielded her lover, Alex. “I know I promised you I wouldn’t have children with anyone else.” “But Alex has been with me for years. The first two abortions took a serious toll on my body. This child… we have to keep it.” “If anything happens to him, Liam,” she warned, her eyes like chips of stone, “even you won’t be spared.” She shifted into a defensive stance, probably expecting me to explode, to scream and fight like the madman I used to be. But I was tired. Three days ago, I had already agreed to be with someone else. (1) My eyes flicked to Alex’s hand, his knuckles white as he clutched the wedding photo. “Nice photos,” I said, my voice even. “That suit doesn’t really fit you, though.” If he hadn’t deliberately sent me the ultrasound pictures, I wouldn’t have even known Victoria was pregnant again. I’d grown used to his provocations over the years. The first time he’d paraded their affair in front of me, it felt like being thrown into freezing water. My body went into shock, my heart spasming with a pain so intense it felt like I was being split in two. My eyes had gone bloodshot with rage, and I’d smashed an ashtray over his head. Victoria had only watched with a weary expression, her words defending him. “Liam, your temper hasn’t changed a bit. You still have such a short fuse.” “But I really do love him. Let’s not make this a federal case. Was one hit enough? Do you need to hit him a couple more times to blow off some steam?” Back then, my world had collapsed. I lost sleep for weeks, my hair fell out in clumps, and I tormented myself until I was a ghost of a man. But now… now I felt nothing at all. Victoria paused, a slow, mocking smile playing on her lips as she studied me. “Changing tactics, are we, darling?” “You know it won’t do you any good, even if you try to stop me.” She was right. I nodded in solemn agreement. “I won’t stop you. Do whatever you want.” Seeing that I wasn’t going to cause a scene, Victoria finally relaxed, a flicker of guilt crossing her face. “Buy yourself something nice. Use my card.” With that, she ushered Alex out the door, as if terrified I might hurt him. Watching them leave, a wave of dizziness washed over me. When I first discovered her affair, I’d exposed it to everyone—our friends, our family. I wanted to force her to bow her head, to come back to me. Instead, the very next day, she doubled down, proudly introducing Alex to our entire social circle. Someone spoke ill of him, and she had their teeth knocked out. Someone else made a crude joke, calling him a homewrecker, and she had their leg broken. After that, no one dared to disrespect Alex again. I had screamed at her, my voice raw with a pain that felt like it was tearing me apart. “Victoria, what am I to you?! You said you’d love me forever!” “Let’s get a divorce!” She had just smiled, a soft, cruel little smile, and kissed me. “Darling, could you really bear to leave me?” “I never said I stopped loving you. It’s just… it’s been a long time. Things get a little stale. Can’t you just be good?” “And if we divorce, where would you go?” The words died in my throat. It was the news of her first pregnancy that finally made me snap. Before Victoria was acknowledged by her wealthy family, she was a wild child who ran with a rough crowd. When she was sixteen, she got into a fight, and I took a knife for her. The wound was deep, damaging me permanently. The doctors said it would be nearly impossible for me to have children. After we married, her mother constantly belittled me, calling me low-class. To protect me from the whispers and the shame, Victoria went and had her tubes tied. So when I found out she was pregnant, I called her a liar and a cheat. I hunted Alex down and beat him bloody. When Victoria found out, she sent men to dig up my grandmother’s grave. In that moment, a part of me died. My heart felt like it was being stitched shut with a thousand tiny needles, bleeding with every beat. I was as white as a sheet when I asked her if she had lost her mind. When she was poor and alone, wasn’t it my grandmother who gave her a place to stay, a meal to eat? Wasn’t she the reason Victoria was even alive? On her deathbed, my grandmother had treated Victoria like her own grandchild, splitting her life savings in two—half for me, half for her. She believed in us. She never could have imagined that ten years later, Victoria would desecrate her final resting place. I let out two sharp, bitter laughs, and coughed up blood. Victoria remained unmoved, sipping her wine on the sofa as if nothing had happened. “You laid a hand on him first, Liam.” “I warned you. You just didn’t listen.” After that day, she didn’t come home. For weeks, she stayed by Alex’s side, comforting him. I was a hollowed-out skeleton, living a life that was worse than death. When I saw the headlines that Victoria had bought out an entire charity auction just to please him, I slit my wrists. As life drained from me, the world faded to a dull hum. A bone-deep cold seeped into me, and I felt a profound sense of relief as I slowly closed my eyes. (2) But I didn’t die. When I opened my eyes again, Victoria was at my bedside, her own eyes red-rimmed and raw. She pulled me into a desperate, crushing hug, swearing to me through her tears. “Liam, you scared me to death.” “I won’t get pregnant again. I promise.” But that’s the thing about people. Once a promise is broken, it will be broken a thousand times more. The second time she got pregnant, she—a woman who never smoked—sat on the balcony and chain-smoked all night. I knew she was torn. She wanted the child but felt bound by her promise to me. Then Alex showed up at our door. Before I could even say a word, he threw himself to the floor, claiming I had pushed him. Victoria was livid. In her rage, she lost the baby. That was the first time I saw her truly lose control. She wrapped her hands around my throat, intent on killing me. “I already promised you! I was going to get rid of it! Why did you still have to hurt him?!” It was my second brush with death. My lungs burned, air turning to fire, and just as I thought I was about to black out, she threw me aside like a piece of trash. The undisguised disgust in her eyes was a physical blow. Any words of explanation I had were trapped in my throat, a nauseating lump of unspoken truth. Victoria moved out of the home we had built together with our own hands. From then on, if I ever needed to speak with her, I had to go through Alex. Only with his permission would she answer my calls. Two months later, I was diagnosed with a brain tumor. The doctors said it was too early to know if it was malignant, and they started me on conservative treatment. I sent Victoria a message. It was Alex who came. He cornered me in our empty home. “Do you really think faking an illness will make her come back to you?” “Don’t be so naive. Do you know what she said in my bed last night? She said the sight of your face makes her sick. If you hadn’t saved her all those years ago, she would have kicked you to the curb a long time ago.” As he left, when I wasn’t looking, he poured a bottle of hand soap onto the bathroom floor. Later, I slipped. My head cracked against the tile, and a pool of my own blood blurred my vision. I called Victoria, but the line was always busy. After the tenth call, she finally texted back four words: Alex says no. The ambulance was slow to arrive. By the time they got there, the blood around me had grown cold. The doctor said if they’d been any later, I would have been gone. Lying in the hospital bed, I stared blankly at the ceiling, trying to understand how Victoria and I had become this. I thought, let it be. It’s fine. Just let it be. From that day on, I think my love for Victoria finally died. And so today, watching their retreating figures, my heart was a placid lake. A specific ringtone, the one I had set for a special person, cut through my thoughts. I answered. “Yeah, the divorce papers are drafted. I’ll give them to her tomorrow.” “Come and get me the day after.” (3) I spent the day clearing out the house, packing up years of memories and tossing them into the trash. That night, for the first time in ages, Victoria came home. In the end, the divorce papers I’d drafted were unnecessary. She handed me a set of her own first. “Liam, Alex is feeling insecure. He doesn’t want our child to be born illegitimate.” “Let’s get divorced for now, so I can get the baby registered. Then… we can get remarried.” So that was it. An hour ago, Alex had texted me to get ready for a surprise. He was trying to provoke me, to start another fight between Victoria and me. But it was pointless. I didn’t love her anymore. Even arguing felt like a waste of energy. I calmly scanned the terms of the agreement. It was generous, fair even. She was splitting nearly all of her assets with me fifty-fifty. Without a moment’s hesitation, I signed my name. Afterward, I drank the lukewarm glass of water on the table and stood to go to my room. Victoria hadn’t expected me to be so compliant. A flicker of shock crossed her face. She shot up from her chair, her hand instinctively grabbing my wrist. “What’s wrong with you?” I turned back, my gaze distant and cold. “What’s wrong? Is there something else?” Her eyes darted nervously toward my bedroom. After a moment of hesitation, she went inside. I heard her gathering up anything sharp—razors, scissors, letter openers. Then she was on the phone, calling for the housekeeper from the main family estate to come over. She thought I was going to try to kill myself again. A laugh escaped my lips. “Don’t bother. I’m not going to do anything stupid.” Her phone rang. It was Alex, urging her to come home. She gave me a perfunctory nod and hurried out the door. The next morning, Victoria rushed me downstairs and into the car to go to City Hall. The interior was covered in childish stickers she used to hate. It was Alex’s aesthetic. I dutifully got into the back seat. She froze, asking instinctively, “Why aren’t you sitting up front?” I stared out the window at the passing scenery, my voice detached. “Isn’t that sticker on the dashboard the one that says ‘Alex’s Seat’?” Victoria fell silent. Several times during the drive, I caught her watching me in the rearview mirror, her lips parting as if to say something, but no words ever came out. After we filed the paperwork, the clerk informed us that after the mandatory waiting period, we could come back to finalize the divorce. I breathed a sigh of relief. Victoria stood frozen, a complex mix of emotions swirling in her eyes. “I’ll take you home,” she offered. I was about to refuse when Alex appeared out of nowhere. He wrapped an arm around Victoria’s waist and pressed his lips to hers. She swatted him playfully. “Be careful of the baby!” The moment he appeared, all her attention shifted to him. She didn’t even notice when I walked away. (4) That night, my bags were packed. I confirmed my flight details with Chloe for the next day and was about to go to sleep when the doorbell rang. It was Alex again. Victoria was at a business dinner, so he’d come here to stir up trouble. I didn’t want any, so I pretended I didn’t hear him and tried to sleep. At two in the morning, a bucket of ice-cold water jolted me awake. I opened my eyes to see Victoria standing over my bed, her gaze murderous. Her bodyguards dragged me violently from the bed. My wrist twisted at an unnatural angle, and I cried out in pain. “Victoria, what are you doing?!” She grabbed my chin, her grip like iron, her eyes burning with fury. “Liam, you have the nerve to ask me that?!” “Didn’t I warn you? If anything else happens to Alex, I won’t let you off the hook!” A sense of dread washed over me. “What happened to him?” Victoria let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Stop playing dumb. He fell at your apartment. If you didn’t push him, who did?” The color drained from my face. I remembered Alex’s taunts from before. “So what if my tricks are childish? As long as Victoria loves me, she’ll believe me. She’ll always take my side.” “It doesn’t have to be clever. It just has to work.” A bitter smile twisted my lips. “If I said I didn’t push him, would you believe me?” She didn’t answer with words. Her actions were enough. She had her men bring in a rattan cane. They stripped me naked, tied me up, and she began to whip me across my stomach, again and again. To soothe Alex, she took out her phone and started a video call with him, aiming the camera at me. His whining voice came through the speaker. “Victoria, you have to stand up for me! You have no idea, that loser wouldn’t stop insulting me, calling me a homewrecker, saying I was shameless… then he tried to push me! I was lucky I dodged, or I would have fallen down the stairs and been killed!” Victoria cooed at him, her voice gentle, even as the blows from the cane grew harder. Fiery pain spread across my abdomen. My skin was a mess of blood and torn flesh. I dug my nails into my palms, swallowing the screams that rose in my throat. Tears of humiliation and agony streamed down my face. Victoria’s brow furrowed, a muscle twitching in her jaw. A fleeting look of pity crossed her face before she looked away. “I have to stay with Alex. I’ll leave the rest to you,” she said to her men. I numbly endured the mocking stares of the bodyguards. Under the cover of the chaos, one of them let his hands wander over my body. “Are you crazy? That’s the boss’s husband!” another one hissed. The first man just smirked, his hands becoming bolder. “Is he really a man? Have you ever seen a guy with skin this soft? I’ve never been with a man before.” “Besides, we all know who the real husband is now. When she said ‘leave the rest to you,’ what do you think she meant? It’s an invitation.” “She wouldn’t blame us if something happened to this waste of space. You all know how much she dotes on the other one.” His words silenced the others. Their hands grew more brazen. A raw, blood-curdling scream tore from my throat. “Get off of me!” Just then, with a loud thud, the bodyguards in front of me collapsed to the floor. My eyes widened. A figure rushed to my side, gently pulling me into their arms. “I’m late.”

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I watched my husband’s awards ceremony from the kitchen, the thud of my cleaver against pork ribs keeping a grim rhythm. The host asked him who he was most grateful for at this moment. He adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, his voice smooth and cultured. “I want to thank my late wife, Evelyn. It was she who taught me the true soul of literature.” My hand faltered, the cleaver nearly slicing my finger. Bloody water from the ribs splattered onto my apron, like a rotted crimson flower. Eight years. I am the legal wife on his marriage certificate, the full-time caregiver for his paralyzed mother. But in his acceptance speech, I was nothing but air. 1 At seven that evening, Aidan Croft returned home with his star student and a few colleagues. The heat was cranked up high. They shed their heavy coats, revealing exquisite suits and evening dresses underneath. Aidan’s mother was having a good day. She sat in her wheelchair as he pushed her to the center of the living room to receive greetings from his students. “Your mother looks wonderful, Professor. You take such meticulous care of her.” “It’s true. With his wife having passed so early, it can’t be easy for the professor to manage his academic work and care for his elderly mother all alone.” Everyone was sighing over Aidan’s deep love and his difficult life. I emerged from the kitchen carrying a tureen of duck soup that had been simmering for three hours. The rich, savory steam filled the room. A young female student turned to me and smiled sweetly. “Ma’am, could you please bring two more sets of bowls and spoons? And a small dish for vinegar.” The living room fell silent for two seconds. No one corrected her. Aidan was pouring tea for that same student. Without even lifting his eyes, he said, “Go get them. And be quick about it.” In that instant, I felt like a half-evolved ape that had stumbled into a party of civilized human beings. I looked down at my own faded house clothes, at the plastic slippers stained with grease. I did look like the help. Worse than the help, actually. At least they earned an hourly wage. I only got a fixed five thousand a month for “household expenses.” I turned back to the kitchen, a sour bitterness rising in my throat like bile. When I returned with the bowls, Aidan was standing at the entrance to his study, lighting incense before a portrait of Evelyn. In the photo, Evelyn wore a black evening gown, seated at a piano, as elegant as a swan. I walked over to place the offering dishes. As I did, Aidan turned and bumped into me. Crash. A bowl of scalding hot duck soup tipped over, right on the edge of the memorial table. I knew how precious this space was to him. I instinctively threw my hand out to block the spill. The soup splashed everywhere, but a few drops still hit the bottom edge of the photo frame. “What are you doing?!” Aidan recoiled like a cat whose tail had been stepped on and shoved me, hard. I stumbled back, hitting the doorframe. The back of my hand was already turning a fiery red from the burn. But Aidan didn’t even glance at me. He frantically pulled out a handkerchief and began wiping the photo frame with painstaking care, his movements as gentle as if he were caressing a lover’s face. “You clumsy oaf! Can’t you do anything right?” He glared back at me, his eyes fierce enough to eat me alive. “On a day as important as this, you just had to ruin it, didn’t you?” At that moment, the searing pain on my hand was nothing compared to the ice forming in my heart. The students exchanged uneasy glances. The one who had called me “ma’am” whispered, “The professor’s love for his late wife is so deep. He can’t even bear to see her photo damaged.” “Yes, it’s a love that transcends death.” And just like that, they were all praising this earth-shattering romance again. I clutched my swelling hand and retreated into the shadows of the corner. I watched the man I had served for eight years lavish his affection on a photograph of a dead woman. I watched these highly educated elites ignore the living, breathing person right in front of them. Suddenly, I felt like my entire eight years with him had been a joke. I was the Croft family’s maid, Aidan’s mother’s caregiver, everything but Aidan’s wife. The string I had kept taut for eight years finally, in that one single moment, snapped. I was done serving them. 2 I skipped dinner and went straight to my bedroom. It was less a bedroom and more a guest room converted from a storage closet. The master bedroom was where Aidan slept alone. Or rather, where he slept with the “memories” of Evelyn. He only ever graced my room when he had… needs. When he required me to fulfill my wifely duties. I looked at myself in the mirror. My face was sallow, fine lines webbing the corners of my eyes. My hair was as dry and brittle as straw. I didn’t look thirty-five. I could have passed for fifty. The girl who was once the prettiest in her town had withered into a weed. I remembered when I first came to the Croft house. The filth, the foul smells, and the handsome, helpless Aidan. His mother, paralyzed and bitter, had been abusive to every caregiver, driving them all away within three days. Then I came. And I stayed. I stayed because of the look of utter helplessness and pleading on his face when I first tried to quit. I stayed because of the undisguised joy in his eyes when I agreed to remain. Later, my family called, telling me to come home for an arranged marriage. I tried to resign again. Aidan had said to me, “A blind marriage is an irresponsible way to live. You know this family, and you know me. I’ll marry you.” Thinking of the deep love in his eyes when he looked at his late wife’s photo, some devil in me made me agree. Because I wanted him to look at me like that, too. I thought, if I waited long enough, he would. The house gradually quieted down as the guests left. Aidan pushed my door open. He was holding a plastic bag. “For you.” He tossed it onto the bed. It was a pair of knee braces. Wool. They looked thick and warm. My heart skipped. Was it because he saw my burned hand and felt guilty? Or was it because today was our wedding anniversary? He’d never remembered it before, but maybe subconsciously he wanted to be kind to me? For a fleeting second, a flicker of that stupid, womanly fantasy flared up. I reached for the knee braces, about to say something soft. Aidan loosened his tie, his tone cool. “Mom’s arthritis acts up this time of year. These are good quality. Make sure she wears them tonight.” “And try to be quicker when she calls you at night. Don’t let her wet the bed. The smell lingers in the house.” My outstretched hand froze in mid-air. I felt like a clown who’d just been slapped in front of a crowd. They weren’t for me. They were a tool for his mother. And I was just the person who operated the tool. “Also,” Aidan said, not even looking at me as he turned to leave, “you spilled that soup. Mop the floor again in the morning. Make sure there’s no smell. And don’t you ever touch Evelyn’s memorial table again.” I tried to smile, but my face twisted into something uglier than a sob. “Aidan.” I called his name. He stopped, turning back with a questioning look. “What is it?” “I want a divorce.” Four words. I said them quietly, but clearly. Aidan stared at me for a moment, then let out a short, dismissive laugh. He looked at me like I was a child throwing a tantrum. He pulled out his wallet and took out a thick wad of cash. Maybe two or three thousand dollars. He slapped it onto the nightstand. “Upset that the students mistook you for the help? Fine. Take this, buy some decent clothes. I’m tired. Don’t make trouble.” He walked out without a backward glance. I followed him. He didn’t go to the master bedroom. He went to the study. The door was slightly ajar. I never went in there alone. Even cleaning it required his permission. Through the crack, I saw Aidan sitting at the Steinway piano. It had been Evelyn’s favorite, I’d heard. His long fingers gently caressed the keys, his eyes so tender they could have dripped water, as if he were stroking his lover’s skin. It was a look I had never, not for a single second in eight years, received. He murmured to the empty air, “Evelyn, I won the award today. If only you were here…” I pushed the door open. Aidan’s head snapped around, the tenderness in his eyes instantly turning to shards of ice. “Who let you in here? Get out!” I looked at the gleaming black piano, then at the man who was supposedly my husband. “I’m serious. I want a divorce.” This time, Aidan didn’t even bother to turn his head. He pressed a key, a single, clear note ringing out. “Linda, I just transferred you this month’s household money yesterday. If you want more, just say so. Don’t resort to these cheap tactics.” In his eyes, every emotion I had could be converted into a dollar amount. I looked at his face, still so handsome and refined. A wave of nausea washed over me. It was more sickening than looking at a bedsheet soaked in piss and shit. “I am serious. We are getting divorced tomorrow.” I turned and closed the door, shutting the man who was drowning in memories of his dead wife inside his own tomb. 3 Two in the morning. A muffled thud came from his mother’s room. I shot up from my bed on pure instinct and rushed next door. I called for Aidan. His room was empty. He had probably gone to the cemetery in the middle of the night to visit his beloved late wife again. His mother was having a seizure. Her body convulsed like a fish out of water, white foam frothing at her lips, her eyes rolling back in her head. Turn her on her side, clear her airway, prevent her from biting her tongue, apply pressure to the philtrum. I had performed this routine for eight years. It was as familiar as breathing. Once she had calmed a little, I hoisted the 130-pound woman onto my back. I only weigh ninety pounds. But I carried her down three flights of stairs, step by agonizing step, my calves trembling. I called a cab and went straight to the hospital. I tried calling Aidan on the way. No answer. I had to send him a text. At the emergency room, I registered her, found a doctor, and wheeled her to get a CT scan. I was in my pajamas and slippers, my hair a mess, my clothes still stained with vomit. This was my life. “Where’s the family? Someone needs to go pay.” The doctor glanced at my attire, hesitating. “You’re… the caregiver, right? Can you contact a direct relative?” “I’m her…” “I’m her son!” The sound of hurried footsteps came from behind me. Aidan had finally arrived. He was in a crisp suit, his hair perfectly coiffed. I could even smell his cologne. It was called “Encounter,” supposedly Evelyn’s favorite. He, so refined and elegant, and I, so disheveled and pathetic, looked like we belonged to two different species. The doctor’s face immediately broke into a smile. “Ah, Professor Croft! You’re such a devoted son, rushing over in the middle of the night.” Aidan smiled modestly, a perfect picture of a cultured, scholarly gentleman. After the doctor left, he finally turned and saw me. The smile vanished, replaced by his usual look of reproach. “What happened? Why did she suddenly have an episode? Did you feed her the wrong thing for dinner? What kind of care are you providing?” His voice wasn’t loud, but it was clear enough for everyone nearby to hear. That was his logic. If she was sick, it was my fault. If she was well, it was his devotion. I didn’t say a word. I just silently lifted his mother from the gurney to the hospital bed, adjusted her pillow, and pulled the covers over her. Aidan just stood there and watched. Since the day I’d moved in, he hadn’t done a single household chore. He hadn’t even poured his own mother a glass of water. Because, as he said, that was my job. The woman in the next bed couldn’t help but chime in. “Wow, this lady is amazing, so quick and capable. You must be the family’s caregiver, right? So professional. I wish I could find someone like you.” My hand, which was wiping his mother’s mouth, froze. Aidan paused. I just looked at him. Waiting. Hoping he would say, “This is my wife,” or at least just brush off the comment. But after three seconds of silence, Aidan nodded and said flatly, “Yes. She’s very professional.” Boom. The last thread of sanity in my mind snapped completely. Those three seconds of silence were a million times more cruel than his insults. They murdered the last shred of unrealistic hope I had for him. They murdered all eight years of my devotion. I threw the towel I was holding at him. “As of right now, I officially quit. You can take care of her yourself!” I turned and walked away. Aidan hissed at my back, “Linda! Have you lost your mind? This is a hospital!” I didn’t look back. I just walked faster. It wasn’t until I stepped out of the hospital doors and the cold wind hit my face that I realized it was covered in tears. But my heart felt lighter than it had in years. 4 Back at that so-called “home,” I started packing. I didn’t have much. A few changes of clothes, and almost nothing else that was truly mine. In his study, at the very bottom of a drawer, I found our “marriage agreement.” It wasn’t a marriage certificate. It was a lifetime indenture contract. It clearly stated: Party B (me) is responsible for all living needs of Party A’s mother. Party A (Aidan) will pay Party B a monthly living expense. During the marriage, Party B shall not interfere with Party A’s private space… I tore it to shreds. Next to it was a ledger. His expense journal for the past eight years. He was meticulous about bookkeeping; every expense was clearly recorded. I’d never paid it much attention before, but now, flipping through it was like being stabbed with every word. April 2018, maintenance for Evelyn’s gravesite. Note: Beloved Wife Fund, $5,000. June 2018, dental work for Linda. Note: Labor Maintenance Fee, $800. … So that’s what I was in his eyes. No different from the washing machine that needed repairs. Looking at entry after entry, I felt the blood in my veins run cold. My stomach churned, and I ran to the bathroom and dry-heaved for what felt like an eternity. I took off the winter coat he had given me and threw it on the floor, stomping on it. It had a small “E” embroidered on the label. E for Evelyn. I left behind everything he had labeled as “Labor Supplies” in his ledger. Including the plain gold ring that weighed barely two grams. He’d bought it for our wedding, saying he didn’t like extravagance, that simple was better. It turned out he didn’t dislike extravagance. He just disliked spending money on me. When I was done packing, all I had was a single, worn-out duffel bag. This was my eight years. The lock turned. Aidan was back. He frowned at the mess in the house, his eyes filled with displeasure. “Linda, have you made enough of a scene? Mom is still in the hospital. What are you doing back here? Clean this up and get back to the hospital!” I was still dressed in my cheap clothes, but for the first time, I stood up straight. I placed the now-bent gold ring on the coffee table with a soft clink. And then I smiled. It was the first time in eight years I had smiled so freely, so recklessly, in this house. “Professor Croft, your free maid, Linda, has officially resigned.” “Oh, and I threw that coat in the trash. Dead people’s things are bad luck. They give me the creeps.” Aidan’s face changed color, as if he’d been brutally slapped. “What did you say?” “I said, I’ll see you at City Hall at eight tomorrow morning. Also, since I’m a professional caregiver, you can wire me my eight years of back pay. Don’t even think about stiffing me. I’d hate to lose all respect for you.” With that, I ignored him, picked up my duffel bag, and strode across the still-damp soup stain on the floor.

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1 The second before I swiped my Amex at the Hermès boutique, I heard a scream from my son in my belly. Mom! Stop buying these useless bags! The zombies are coming in a month! You can’t eat this thing, and you can’t even crack a nut with it. What’s the point?! Go buy rice! Buy oil! Sell that limited-edition sports car and get a bulletproof armored truck! My hand trembled, and the order form for a few million dollars’ worth of goods scattered across the floor. The sales associate shot me a look dripping with disdain. “Miss Wallace, if you have insufficient funds, you’re welcome to come back another day.” I ignored her, turning away to dial Murphy, my old contact at the wholesale market. “I need ten thousand pounds of rice and five thousand pounds of pork. The fatty, skin-on kind! And I need it now!” From that moment on, Michelle Wallace, the elite circle’s pretty, mindless spender, was dead. In her place stood Michelle Wallace, the doomsday prepper. … Before I even made it out of the mall, the little voice in my womb exploded again. Mom, rice isn’t enough! We need generators! And antibiotics! It would be even better if we could get our hands on a couple of shotguns! My knees went weak, and I nearly collapsed onto the polished marble floor. Was this kid a future felon? Sitting in my car, I took a deep breath and patted my stomach. “Son, don’t scare Mommy. We live in a society with laws.” Who’s scaring you?! Last time around, I was barely formed in your belly when—crunch!—the zombies turned us into an all-you-can-eat buffet! My head still aches just thinking about their teeth! The description was a little too vivid. Goosebumps prickled all over my skin. To make sure this kid wasn’t just a product of my own fracturing sanity, I asked tentatively, “Then what’s the combination to your father’s safe?” That safe was Liam’s baby. No one but him knew the code. Tch, that’s easy. It’s 0925 plus your birthday. That lovesick dad of mine has zero imagination when it comes to passwords. I immediately called Liam’s assistant, pretending I needed to retrieve a document, and tried the combination. With a soft click, it opened. Something inside my head snapped. It was real. In just over a month, the world was going to end. Without a second thought, I scrolled through my phone’s contacts. I still had connections from my old job at a logistics company. I called up my former warehouse supervisor. “That five-thousand-square-foot cold storage unit—I want to rent it. Starting with three months.” “That’s right. I’m storing meat. A lot of meat.” After hanging up, I floored the gas pedal and sped toward the city’s largest wholesale farmers market. The place was a chaotic symphony of shouting and smells, the ground a mess of rotten vegetable leaves and black, murky water. Dressed in a Chanel couture suit and eight-centimeter Louboutins, I stood before a pork stall, a complete fish out of water. The old folks shopping around me stared as if I were insane. “Sir, I’ll take this entire half-pig.” “And those ribs over there. Wrap them all up.” The butcher froze, cleaver in hand. “Lady, are you catering a wedding?” “No wedding. It’s all for me.” I didn’t have time to argue. I scanned the code and paid the deposit. “I’ll buy every last piece of freshly butchered pork in this market. Have it all delivered to my cold storage unit. If you’re short by even an ounce, you’ll hear from me.” As I was directing workers to load the carcasses, a camera flashed nearby. I turned to see Jessica holding her phone, a smug, gloating look on her face. She was Liam’s distant cousin and had always believed she was the true high-society princess, convinced I was just some country bumpkin who’d gotten lucky. “Well, well, Michelle. What happened? Did Liam’s family go bankrupt? Are you reduced to buying this unsanitary meat from such a low-class place?” She pinched her nose, her expression one of pure disgust. I ignored her, turned around, heaved a sack of pork belly that no one else was carrying, and tossed it into the trunk of my Porsche. “If you don’t want to die, get the hell away from me.” My ferocity startled her for a second, but then she smirked. “Keep pretending. I’m posting this right now so everyone can see what the high and mighty Mrs. Hayes has been reduced to!” My son snorted in my belly. That idiot. When the zombies come, that layer of marbled fat on her will be their absolute favorite. I bet she’s nice and chewy. I almost burst out laughing. My phone buzzed. It was a message from Liam. A bank alert. A few million dollars had just been spent. His call came right after. “Michelle, did you just buy a warehouse full of pork?” He didn’t sound angry, just deeply confused. “I did. I was craving braised pork belly. Is that a problem?” I said, my tone defiant. There was a three-second pause on the other end. “Not at all. As long as you’re happy. I can transfer you more money if you need it.” Hanging up, a warmth spread through my chest. Apocalypse or not, I had married the right man. 2 Back home, looking at the multi-million dollar imported lawn and the collection of rare, exotic flowers, my heart bled. None of this could be eaten or used to fend off zombies. “Get the groundskeeper. I want all of this dug up,” I ordered. The butler, who was trimming a hedge, nearly snipped his own finger off. “Ma’am, but Mr. Hayes had these tulips specially flown in from the Netherlands…” “Dig it up!” I tossed my Hermès bag onto the grass. “Who’s the lady of the house, you or me? I’ve decided I don’t like flowers. I have a pollen allergy. Is that a good enough reason?” The butler looked at me like I’d lost my mind, but he still called the gardeners to start working. Watching those vibrant, perfect blossoms being ripped out by the roots, I had only one thought: potatoes. I had to plant potatoes. High yield, and they fill you up. The commander in my belly was back online. Mom! These floor-to-ceiling windows are a disaster! They’re way too fragile! A single zombie could crash right through them! We might as well just open the front door and invite them in for a buffet! I looked up at the massive panoramic windows. I used to think they were so open and elegant. Now, I saw them for what they were: death traps. “Replace them! All of them! With bulletproof glass! And add reinforced steel shutters!” I immediately contacted the best security firm in the city. When they heard my request, they must have thought I was turning my home into a private Fort Knox. “Mrs. Hayes, this level of security is typically for…” “I have anxiety. I’m afraid of burglars. Is that a problem? Money is no object, but I have one condition: I need it done in three days.” The moment they heard “money is no object,” they shut up and had a construction crew on-site that same night. Jessica showed up with a few of her little socialite friends to laugh at me. They stood outside the gate, looking at the muddy pits in my yard and the half-constructed greenhouse, howling with laughter. “Oh my god, Michelle, have you gone completely insane? You’re farming in the garden of a hundred-million-dollar mansion?” “Did Liam finally decide to divorce you? Are you planning for your future as a farmer?” “This isn’t a mansion anymore, it’s a pigsty!” I was turning over soil with a shovel. Hearing that, I plunged the shovel into the ground. I scooped up a clump of fertilizer-rich mud and flung it straight at them. “Ah! My dress!” Jessica shrieked, jumping back, but she was still splattered with muddy specks. “Private property. Get lost!” I brandished the shovel like a she-wolf protecting her den. Jessica’s face turned green with rage. “Just you wait, Michelle! When my cousin gets home and sees what you’ve done to his house, he’ll throw you out for sure!” When Liam came home that evening, he was, in fact, stunned. I’d had the original biometric lock on the front gate smashed and replaced with an old-fashioned, hundred-pound mechanical deadbolt. The yard was a mess of trenches, and the living room was piled high with freeze-dried meals and cases of instant hot pots I’d bought online. There was barely any room to walk. He stood in front of the Persian rug, which was now buried under boxes of compressed biscuits, his expression darkening. “Michelle, what is all this?” I rushed over, pulled him into the bedroom, and shut the door with a conspiratorial air. “Honey, I have something huge to tell you. The world is ending.” Liam looked at me, his expression unreadable. He reached out and felt my forehead. It wasn’t hot. “Who told you this?” “Our son,” I said, pointing to my stomach. Liam sighed, taking my hand in his. “Michelle, have you been under too much stress lately? How about I take you to see a therapist tomorrow?” He didn’t believe me. To be fair, the old me wouldn’t have believed it either. Sigh. I knew Dad, the hardcore materialist, wouldn’t buy it. Never mind, Mom. As long as he doesn’t get in our way, we can do this ourselves! I nodded, looking at Liam. “Honey, just… just pretend I have prenatal anxiety. Doing all this makes me feel safe. Can you just let me be?” Liam looked at me, then at the chaos that had consumed our home, and finally gave a weary nod. “Fine. As long as you don’t tear the roof off, do what you want.” With that, he turned and walked to the balcony to call a renowned psychologist. “Hello, Dr. Evans? My wife has been extremely anxious lately. She’s saying the world is about to end… Yes, that’s right. I was wondering how I can best support her treatment… Go along with her? Okay, I understand.” 3 With Liam’s tacit approval, I grew bolder. But even though he didn’t interfere, there was a limit to the money. My initial shopping spree had maxed out the supplementary credit card he’d given me. I still had a huge hole to fill for the remaining construction costs and supplies. Liam had been swamped at work, and I felt bad asking him for more money, especially since, in his eyes, I was just having a breakdown. My gaze fell upon my walk-in closet. An entire wall was dedicated to jewelry, and there were hundreds of designer bags. Mom! That ridiculously green jade bracelet! The one from Grandma? In the apocalypse, that thing could be traded for two whole crates of antibiotics! Sell it! Sell it all! My heart steeled, I swept everything of value into a large suitcase. I used to treat these things like they were my life. Now, they were just dead weight. I dragged the suitcase to the biggest pawn shop in the city. In my haste to liquidate, I didn’t even bother haggling. I took whatever the owner offered. Just as I was walking out with several debit cards, I ran into the ever-present ghost of Jessica. She was across the street at a café, having afternoon tea with a few other socialites. When she saw me emerge from the pawn shop, her eyes lit up brighter than a laser pointer. “I told you! Something big is happening with Liam’s family! Michelle is selling her jewelry to run away!” Her voice was so loud you could hear it down the block. I couldn’t be bothered with her. Every minute was precious now. With the new funds, I used my old colleague’s connections to get my hands on two industrial-grade, high-power generators on the black market. And several hundred barrels of diesel fuel. The stuff reeked. The moment it was moved into the villa’s garage, the neighbors lost their minds. The property manager came to my door with a few security guards, demanding I remove the barrels, citing them as a safety hazard. “No way! Don’t you dare touch my fuel!” I stood defensively in front of the barrels, ready to throw a full-blown tantrum if necessary. How could we survive without electricity? How would the cold storage stay running? How would the electric fence work? “Mrs. Hayes, if you continue, we’ll have to call the police,” the manager said, looking stressed. Just then, a black Maybach pulled up to the gate. Liam was home. He glanced at me, looking like a cornered, feral cat, then at the sweating property manager. “What’s going on?” The manager looked like he’d just seen his savior. “Mr. Hayes, your wife is hoarding a large quantity of diesel fuel in the garage. It’s against regulations…” Liam rubbed his temples and walked over, pulling me behind him. “I have a use for this fuel. I will arrange for professional blast-proofing. If anything happens, I will take full responsibility.” The manager was taken aback. With Mr. Hayes giving his word, he couldn’t press the issue. He and his guards retreated. I looked at Liam’s broad back, and my eyes started to sting. He turned around, looked at my disheveled state, and sighed. Then he clapped his hands. A driver pulled up in a monstrous, all-black SUV. The vehicle looked more extreme than an armored car, covered in steel plates with windows as thick as bricks. “Here’s the… bulletproof truck you wanted,” Liam said, a deep sense of helplessness in his voice. “I don’t know who you’re planning to defend against, but if you’re going to do this, you might as well go all the way.” I threw my arms around him, smearing tears and snot all over his designer suit. “Honey! You’re the best! When the zombies come, I’ll protect you! If any of them try to bite you, I’ll blow their heads off!” Liam’s body stiffened for a moment, then he patted my back. “Alright. Well, thank you in advance.” 4 Ten days left until the date my son had prophesied. Jessica hadn’t been idle. She was spreading rumors all over their social circle, saying that Liam’s company was on the verge of collapse, that he was not only bankrupt but also drowning in debt, and that the stress had driven his wife insane. A few of his business partners even called him, trying to subtly fish for information. “Liam, my friend, I hear you’re doing some… renovations at your place? Sounds like quite the project.” Liam was completely unruffled on the phone. “Oh, it’s nothing. My wife has gotten into a post-apocalyptic survival game, so I’m building her a life-sized immersive experience.” The person on the other end burst out laughing, praising Liam for being such an indulgent husband. Things weren’t going as smoothly for me, though. My anxiety was at an all-time high. I kept feeling like we didn’t have enough water, so I bought dozens of those giant plastic water tanks and filled up the villa’s rooftop and basement. I also bought several boxes of baseball bats and those riot control forks used by security guards. Mom, we need medicine! Antibiotics! Painkillers! And vitamins! My son, being a reincarnator, was nothing if not thorough. Using Liam’s connections, I managed to acquire a large supply of prescription drugs and first-aid kits from a hospital supplier. The final three-day countdown began. I dragged Liam to the largest warehouse club in the city. This time, I wasn’t buying staples. I went straight for the snack aisle. Chocolate, potato chips, candy, soda… In an apocalypse, these things would be currency. They were luxuries that could bring a moment of happiness. Liam pushed five shopping carts, all overflowing with junk food, trailing behind me. People were pointing and whispering. Some even took out their phones to secretly film us. “Look, that’s Liam Hayes. I heard his wife drove him crazy.” “Wow, look at all those snacks. Is he opening a convenience store in his house?” For the first time, Liam’s face flushed with embarrassment, but he squared his shoulders and pretended not to hear. Back home, I began the final lockdown procedures. I double-checked every door and window, leaving only a single, concealed ventilation shaft open. All the curtains were drawn, blocking out the outside world. Jessica started a live stream on social media, filming right outside our villa. “Hey everyone, check it out! This is the infamous ‘doomsday fortress.’ It’s hilarious. You’d think they were keeping a monster locked up in there.” The comments were all laughing at me. I looked at my phone and scoffed. “Laugh all you want. Let’s see if you’re still laughing in a few days.” The prophesied day finally arrived. The atmosphere that night was electric with tension. I made the whole family wear Kevlar stab-proof vests, even putting a muzzle on our Golden Retriever so his barking wouldn’t attract zombies. Liam, dressed in his vest and holding a baseball bat, sat resignedly on the sofa, staying up with me. “Michelle, even if there were zombies, our doors are solid enough. Do we really need to stand guard like this?” “We have to! The first wave is the most dangerous!” The clock on the wall ticked relentlessly. 11:50 PM. 11:55 PM. Midnight. The world seemed to hold its breath. And I held mine, my palms slick with sweat. No one knew what the next second would bring. The world as we knew it was balanced on a knife’s edge.

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Dickie Duncan had a mistress. And she’d given him twins. He hid them well. But not well enough. So I took the children. Dickie’s retaliation was swift and savage. In the biting, twenty-three-degree cold, he tied our son, Leo, to a flagpole on a golf course and left him there for four hours. When I found him, his skin was a mottled, terrifying blue, his lips purpled. His breaths were faint, ghostly little puffs of air I had to press my ear to his chest to hear. “Dickie!” I screamed until my throat was raw, the taste of blood on my tongue. “Isn’t Leo your son, too?!” “And what about Seraphina’s children? Aren’t they mine?!” he roared back, his eyes bloodshot, manic. He swung the golf club in his hand, bringing it down hard on Leo’s small back. I heard the sickening thud, a muffled crack of bone. My son’s cries faded into a weak whimper. “If you don’t bring my children back today,” Dickie snarled, his voice a low growl, “I’ll make you watch him die.” My legs gave out from under me. I crumpled to the frozen ground, my teeth chattering so hard I bit my lip, drawing blood. “…Northwood,” I choked out. “The lodge.” He dropped the club and left without a backward glance. By the time he returned, my son, our Leo, had succumbed to severe hypothermia. He had closed his eyes forever. … I rushed into the hospital, cradling my son’s unconscious body. The hallway outside the ER was sterile and cold, chilling me to the bone. When the doctor finally emerged, he pulled down his mask and shook his head, his expression heavy. “Severe pulmonary infection, leading to multiple organ failure. He was brought in too late. We did everything we could.” I collapsed onto the floor, the air stolen from my lungs. Just yesterday, he had his arms wrapped around my neck, whispering, “Mommy, I won the chess tournament!” How could he be a cold, lifeless body today? All I’d wanted was to use those twins to shock Dickie back to me, to make him see what he was losing. I never imagined the price would be Leo. A tidal wave of regret crashed over me, pulling me under. After arranging for my son’s funeral, I was a ghost in my own home. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t drink, just lay in the darkened room, a hollowed-out shell. On the evening of the fourth day, Dickie finally came home. He saw me in bed and strode over, his voice hard as stone. “Chloe, because of your little stunt, the twins had an asthma attack. They’ve been in the hospital for four days! They’re only four years old, how could you put them through that?” Four? My Leo… he was only seven. How was he supposed to endure what you did to him? My chest heaved, but my throat was so raw from screaming and crying that I couldn’t make a sound. I could only stare at him, my eyes burning with a hatred so deep it felt black. “Luckily, Seraphina is understanding. She’s willing to let it go this time. In the future, try not to be so petty.” He paused, then pulled a velvet box from his briefcase and set it on the nightstand. His tone softened slightly. “Leo’s at that winter camp, right? I had to do what I did the other day. I just wanted to scare you, I never meant to actually hurt him. He’s a boy. A little cold builds character.” “I bought this for him. It’s a limited-edition model kit. Give it to him when he gets back. I have to go be with Seraphina and the kids. I won’t be home tonight.” He turned and walked away. I stared at the box, my heart feeling like it was being sawed apart with a dull blade. He didn’t know. He didn’t know our son was never coming back. With a surge of strength I didn’t know I possessed, I scrambled out of bed, a wild scream tearing from my throat, and snatched the velvet box. I hurled it against the wall. It exploded, showering the floor in a rain of plastic and splintered parts. … A week passed before I could manage to get out of bed and sip a few spoonfuls of broth. As I held onto the banister, making my way unsteadily down to the living room, I saw him. Dickie, who I hadn’t seen all week, was walking through the front door. With him were Seraphina and their twins. He met my dead-eyed stare without flinching. “Since the secret’s out, we might as well be open about it.” “I’ve decided to have Seraphina and the children move in. It’ll be easier for me to take care of everyone.” “From now on, you and Leo will have to get along with them. I want to enjoy having all my children under one roof.” The words were so absurd I wanted to laugh, but the tears had long since run dry. My son’s body was barely cold, and all he could think about was playing happy families with his illegitimate children. The incandescent rage cooled into something utterly frigid. “Dickie,” I said, my voice a dry rasp. “I want a divorce.” His face darkened instantly. “Chloe, what the hell are you on about now?” What was I on about? Yes, when I first discovered his other family, I had been hysterical. I couldn’t accept that the man who had once knelt in the snow and sworn he would love only me for the rest of his life had broken that promise just five years into our marriage. I cried. I begged. I even kidnapped his other children. And I paid for it with my own son’s life. Never again. My cracked lips moved, the sound like gravel scraping stone. “Dickie, since you have a perfect family with Seraphina now, I’ll get out of your way.” “Chloe!” he roared, his eyes stormy. “Who in my circle doesn’t have a woman on the side? All I did was have another family, why do you have to be so damn dramatic about it?” “Even with them living here, you will always be my lawfully wedded wife. Leo will always be the eldest son of the Duncan family, the primary heir. Nothing can change that! You should be grateful!” Grateful? The word struck me as so utterly insane that I felt a dizzying sense of disconnect. I remembered years ago, Dickie and I in law school. He’d pursued me relentlessly for three years, winning me over with countless handwritten letters and breakfast delivered to my door every morning. When he proposed, in a chapel filled with roses, he swore I was the only love of his life, that he would never betray me. Now, those vows were a punchline. Our love was ash. And our only son was dead by his hand. And he wanted me to be grateful? How could I possibly be grateful? Sensing the tension, Seraphina spoke up, her voice a soft, gentle murmur. “Dickie, honey, if Chloe can’t stand having us here, maybe I should just take the children and go. I don’t want to upset her…” “Don’t you move, Sera,” Dickie snapped, pulling her close. His gentle tone with her was like a knife in my ear. “You and the children are staying right here. I bought this house. No one is kicking you out without my permission.” He shot a cold glare in my direction. I looked away, my gaze landing on the mantelpiece. The twins were on their tiptoes, reaching for the three crystal snow globes displayed there. A vise gripped my heart. “Don’t touch that!” I shrieked. Startled, the children jumped back. The snow globes tumbled from the ledge, shattering on the hearth in a cascade of glittering fragments. The twins burst into loud, wailing sobs. Seraphina’s eyes immediately filled with tears. “Chloe,” she accused, her voice trembling, “if you hate me, take it out on me! Why do you have to scare the children? What have they ever done to you that makes you hurt them again and again?” Dickie was livid. He stormed over and slapped me, hard, across the face. “Chloe, have you lost your goddamn mind? These two have health issues! You already scared them into an asthma attack once. If anything else happens to them, how will you pay for it?” But I couldn’t hear them anymore. All I could see were the three broken snow globes. I lunged forward, not caring about the sharp edges, gathering the glittering shards in my hands. The glass sliced into my palms, blood welling up, but I felt nothing. We had made these. Leo was five. The three of us, on a trip to Switzerland, had blown the glass ourselves. My son had said that every snowflake was unique, just like our family. The perfect combination. Now, my son was gone. The snowflakes were shattered. My world had collapsed. The grief I had suppressed for days finally broke through. I clutched the cold, sharp pieces to my chest and let out a raw, keening wail. Dickie’s brow was furrowed in annoyance. “What is it now, Chloe?” Seraphina feigned concern. “Chloe, dear, are you… remembering something sad?” “Just leave her,” Dickie said, his voice ice as he wrapped an arm around Seraphina’s shoulders. “If she wants to cry, let her cry it out.” They took the children and went upstairs. I stared at the broken glass in my hands, my heart a dead, empty cavern. After a long time, I pulled out my phone and dialed a number. “Yes, police? I’d like to report a crime.” … After hanging up, I looked around the opulent mansion. This wasn’t my home anymore. I wanted to leave immediately, but a wave of dizziness washed over me, and I had to go back to my room to rest. Half an hour later, I had packed a small suitcase with my things and Leo’s most precious belongings. I was dragging it out of the room when I ran into Seraphina in the hallway. With Dickie gone, her mask was off. She blocked my path, a smirk playing on her lips. “Running away from home, are we? There’s really no need. I’ll be the lady of the house soon, but you could always stay on as one of the maids.” “Get out of my way,” I said, pushing her hand aside. I didn’t use much force, but she let out a sharp cry and stumbled backward, crashing into a decorative cabinet with a loud thud. An enraged roar echoed from behind me. “Chloe, what the hell are you doing?!” Dickie strode toward us, his face a thundercloud. Seraphina immediately scrambled up and limped into his arms, tears streaming down her face. “Dickie, it’s not her fault… I just lost my footing and twisted my ankle…” But Dickie wasn’t listening. His eyes were like chips of ice as he glared at me. “You just can’t leave her alone, can you? Are you not happy unless you’re hurting Seraphina and the children?” At this point, I had no energy left to argue. I picked up my suitcase to leave. Dickie blocked me. “Where do you think you’re going?” I took a deep breath, my voice as cold as my heart. “I’m moving out. I wouldn’t want to interrupt your perfect family reunion.” His expression turned venomous. “You have to make this ugly, don’t you? What successful man doesn’t have a few women? If you walk out like this, what’s to stop me from tying your son to a flagpole in the freezing cold again?” A violent tremor ran through me. My son… how dare he mention my son. I stared at him, rage burning in my chest. He seemed to remember something. “Speaking of which, where is Leo? Winter camp should be over by now. Where did you hide him? First you hide other people’s kids, now you’re hiding your own?” Leo. He finally remembered Leo. But he didn’t know. He would never see Leo again. The thought of my son was a physical pain, so sharp it stole my breath. Tears streamed down my face. “Leo… he…” I clutched my chest, sobbing uncontrollably. “Leo’s dead! You froze him to death!” “That’s bullshit!” Dickie’s face was contorted with fury. “No one dies from being out in the cold for a bit! Get your story straight before you lie, Chloe! Cursing your own son… you’re one sick mother.” I was drowning in tears, with no will to argue anymore. I pushed past him, determined to leave. But he snatched my suitcase. As we struggled, a piece of paper slipped out of my bag and fluttered to the floor. “What’s this?” Seraphina picked it up, her voice laced with curiosity. She read it aloud. “Deed of Purchase… Cemetery Plot… for Leo Duncan…” The color drained from Dickie’s face. He ripped the paper from her hand. His eyes scanned the document, and a murderous rage filled them. “Chloe, you’d forge something like this just to get back at me?” he roared, slapping the paper against my cheek. “I’m telling you, my patience has a limit! You keep this up, and Seraphina will be Mrs. Duncan before you know it! And the Duncan Corporation will go to her sons!” The edge of the paper cut my skin, leaving a thin line of blood. I wiped it away, my heart completely empty. “Do whatever you want. I don’t care anymore.” “Chloe, when are you going to stop this madness?!” Compared to his fury, I was eerily calm. “I’m not being mad. I just want to leave.” Dickie’s eyes glinted. He ground his teeth. “You are my wife. And you’re not going anywhere without my permission.” I tried to push past him again. Suddenly, he moved. A sharp, brutal chop to the back of my neck. The world went black. … I came to twenty minutes later, sputtering as a glass of ice water was thrown in my face. I opened my eyes to find myself tied to a sofa in the bedroom, unable to move. “Awake?” Seraphina stood over me, her face a mask of scorn. “Look at you, Chloe. Empty eyes, blank expression… you’re like the living dead. No wonder Dickie fell for me.” “Let me tell you a little secret,” she cooed. “We were together even before you got married. Dickie always said you were too uptight, like a board in bed. So boring. Not an ounce of the passion I have.” Her words didn’t touch me. Who Dickie loved was irrelevant now. She crossed her arms, a triumphant smile spreading across her face. “Oh, and by the way, your son really is dead, isn’t he? I was the one who told Dickie to tie him up and teach him a lesson. I didn’t think he’d be so fragile. Just like his mother. Useless.” “Soon, I’ll be Mrs. Duncan. Everything this family has will belong to my children. And you, Chloe, you will have nothing! Hahaha…” Hearing that, the last of my composure shattered. I glared at her, my voice shaking with rage. “Seraphina, you will pay for this.” “Pay for it?” She laughed. “Let’s see who pays first.” With that, she bit down hard on her own lip, drawing blood. Then she grabbed a heavy glass ashtray from the table, smashed it against her own forehead, and let out a bloodcurdling scream. “Ahhh—!” The door was kicked open. Dickie rushed in. “Sera, what happened?” She threw herself into his arms, sobbing. “Dickie, I was just trying to bring Chloe some water… she knocked it over and… and she hit me with the ashtray! Look, I’m bleeding, it hurts so much…” “Chloe!” Dickie roared, his eyes blazing with a cold, murderous fury. “I’ve been too lenient with you! You’re not going to learn until you’re staring at your own coffin!” He raised his hand to strike me again. Just then, the sound of urgent footsteps and a sharp, authoritative command cut through the air. Several uniformed police officers burst into the room… “Dickie Duncan, you’re being investigated for the death of your son. Please come with us.”

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Right before finals week, my childhood sweetheart paid someone to smash the scholarship student’s hearing aid. I immediately custom-ordered a new one and gave it to him. When my childhood friend found out, he cornered me in the stairwell, his voice dripping with venom. “Why help that trash? Wouldn’t it be better to watch him rot in the mud?” He leaned in to kiss me, trying to manipulate me with the face I used to love. I looked him in the eye and lied. “Fine. Let’s ruin him.” From that day on, I dragged the poor scholar into my world, distracting him day and night. When college acceptance letters arrived, my childhood friend got into his dream Ivy League school. Everyone thought he would finally confess his love to me. Instead, he pointed at my mediocre state school acceptance and sneered, “Love can’t be forced, Blaire. Besides, we aren’t on the same level anymore.” I wasn’t sad. Because that same day, the scholar I had supposedly “corrupted” came to find me. He held an acceptance letter from MIT in one hand, and he pulled me close with the other, kissing me with a devotion that bordered on worship. “Stay with me, okay?” “My future, and my life… they all belong to you.” 1 When Carter walked into the classroom to find me, a group of students was gathered around Serena, the school’s golden girl. “Only the Valedictorian is good enough for our Serena. Carter crushed the mock exams; he’s definitely taking the top spot.” “I knew Carter would lock in for Serena. Too bad about Wes, though. Hearing his hearing aid ‘accidentally’ broke right before the English listening portion? Tragic.” “Serena, I’m so jealous. Both of them are obsessed with you. Who are you gonna pick?” “Obviously Carter. He’s rich, he’s connected… he and Serena are the power couple.” Serena looked up from her perfectly organized notes. She tried to hide her smile, feigning modesty. “Stop it, guys. We’re all just friends.” “Just friends? That Patek Philippe watch on your wrist says otherwise. Didn’t Carter buy that for you?” “This old thing? He told me it was just a trinket. If I knew it was expensive, I wouldn’t have taken it!” “See? Carter spoils you. Look at Blaire over there. She buys Carter everything, basically pays him to hang out with her, and now she’s buying hearing aids for the charity case, Wes. And for what? Carter still won’t look at her.” I sat at my desk, unbothered. Out in the hallway, Carter grabbed my arm. “Blaire, what the hell? You know how much I hate Wes. Why did you help him?” He was here to interrogate me. I knew exactly why he hated Wes. Since Wes transferred here on a full academic scholarship, Carter hadn’t touched the number one spot in the class rankings. And conveniently, Serena—the girl Carter was obsessed with—had publicly stated she’d only date the Valedictorian. Carter glanced back into the classroom, his eyes darkening as he landed on a justification. “Are you doing this because of Serena? Blaire, you know she’s just a fling. I’m just having fun.” We both came from old money. We had an unspoken engagement. In our circle, people like Serena—upper middle class but not elite—were temporary distractions. He took a deep breath, trying to regain control. “Blaire, we’ve known each other forever. Don’t let an outsider ruin us.” I looked at him calmly. “The hearing aid was custom-made. I already gave it to him. I can’t ask for it back.” “Unless,” I stepped closer, “you want me to smash the Rolex I bought you, too?” 2 Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him. Wes was standing by the classroom door. He had been waiting. He was wearing the new hearing aid I gave him. It was silver, sleek, and glittered under the fluorescent lights. On him, it didn’t look like a disability. It looked like jewelry. “It looks good,” I said. I smiled and walked toward him. “Wes, were you looking for me?” “Yeah.” Wes reached up, took the device off, and held it out to me. His voice was cold, flat. “Take it back.” My fingertips brushed his palm. It was warm. Looking at his face—thin, handsome, but still boyish—my vision blurred. “Wes,” I whispered. “I’m so happy to see you again.” In my past life, if he hadn’t sought revenge for me, his life wouldn’t have ended at twenty-eight. Even in death, he had been calm. He had wiped the tears from my face in that cold, dark room. “Blaire, don’t feel guilty. I didn’t want to live anyway. I just couldn’t leave you behind. Promise me you’ll live well, okay?” He loved me simply because, years ago, I had held an umbrella over him in the rain. Even when our marriage was purely transactional, born of my desperation and his kindness, he treated me like his most precious treasure. Twenty-eight-year-old Wes had reached the end of his road. Eighteen-year-old Wes still had a chance to change everything. Husband, I thought. This time, let me protect you. 3 Wes was stubborn. He insisted on returning it. I quickly composed myself, acting as if nothing unusual had happened. I took the device and gently placed it back over his ear. “I gave it to you. It’s yours. Does it fit okay?” Subconsciously, my fingers lingered on his earlobe. In our past life, I couldn’t sleep unless I was touching his ear. It was soft. Grounding. Wes flinched, clearly shocked by the intimacy. A faint blush crept up his neck. He took a step back. “Thank you.” Carter’s posse, noticing their leader’s foul mood, immediately started jeering. “Wes, look in a mirror. You think you’re worthy of Blaire? You aren’t fit to tie her shoes.” “If Carter and Blaire weren’t fighting, do you think you’d get a scrap like that? Know your place, charity case.” “Ugh, he smells like hospital disinfectant. Bad luck.” Wes’s mother was chronically ill. He spent every moment outside of school at the hospital. At the mention of the hospital, Wes’s hands clenched into fists. His eyes turned icy. “I’ll find a way to pay you back for the device. I don’t want to be involved in anything else.” He turned and walked away fast. I wanted to chase him, but Carter grabbed my wrist. “Blaire, we need to talk.” He dragged me to the emergency stairwell. As soon as he let go, he leaned down to kiss me. He was good at this. Whenever he upset me, he used physical affection as a weapon. He knew I was weak for his face. When I was fifteen, I fell for that face. Back then, he ignored me. I was the chubby rich girl, invisible next to the slender, talented girls in our prep school. Until the day the Bentley picked me up, and the driver called me “Miss Blaire.” That’s when Carter sat next to me. “What’s your name?” From then on, we were inseparable. I thought it was love. In my past life, I engaged myself to him, ignoring the fact that he only loved my trust fund. But when my family went bankrupt—sabotaged by his family—he showed his true colors. “Every day with you was disgusting, Blaire. Look at yourself. Who could love you?” He set me up, forced me to break the engagement, and publicly dated Serena. I became the laughingstock of high society, eventually marrying Wes, who had also been ruined by Carter’s schemes. “Blaire, why are you looking at me like that?” Carter held my face, his voice trembling. “Do you hate me because of him?” His eyes filled with a familiar, terrifying rage. “I’ll have him expelled tomorrow. I’ll ruin him.” Slap. I hit him. Hard. It felt incredibly satisfying to bite the hand that starved me. “Carter, are you insane?” He didn’t seem to feel the pain. Instead, he grabbed my hand, rubbing it against his cheek. “Blaire, you know how important being Valedictorian is to me. If I don’t get into the Ivy of my choice, your dad won’t let us marry. Wes trusts you now. For our future… help me knock him into the mud, okay? He belongs in the dirt.” Carter was possessive. Over my money, over Serena, over his status. Looking at the malice in his eyes, I formulated a plan. “Okay,” I said softly. “Let’s do it.” 4 News of my gift to Wes spread through the school like wildfire. For a week, everyone speculated about our relationship. “Wes hit the jackpot. Being handsome really pays the bills.” “If the Princess took a liking to him, he doesn’t even need to take the SATs. He can just be a trophy husband.” “Hey Wes, have you kissed her yet? Is the bedding in a mansion softer? Bet it feels great.” “Blaire isn’t exactly a supermodel, but for that kind of money, I’d close my eyes and kiss her too.” There are no secrets in prep school. These nasty comments found their way to me. I thought Wes would come to me—to demand an explanation, to clear his name. He didn’t. After school, I waited by his classroom. It was empty, except for him sweeping the floor. It wasn’t his turn for duty. “They’re bullying you again?” Wes didn’t answer. He kept sweeping. I sat on a desk. “I heard what they’re saying. Why don’t you deny it? Or tell me. I can make them stop.” He set down the broom and looked at me. His uniform was old, washed too many times, but he smelled clean, like soap. “Would denying it help?” “If it doesn’t help, there’s no point in wasting breath.” He walked past me to grab a rag. As he reached up to erase the chalkboard, his shirt lifted, revealing a sliver of toned abs. I was surprised. He was so thin, I didn’t expect muscle. “Wes, you know Carter is targeting you. But if you stick with me, no one will touch you.” I walked up to him. “Let me help you. Please?” Suddenly, he turned. We were inches apart. I could feel his warm breath on my face. My heart skipped a beat. I stumbled backward off the dais. Wes caught my arm, steadying me. Once I was safe, he let go immediately. His voice was cold. “I told you. I’m not interested in whatever game you and Carter are playing.” Eighteen-year-old Wes. Still so stubborn. But if he were easy to sway, he wouldn’t be the man I loved. “It’s not for Carter,” I said, stepping closer so he couldn’t miss the sincerity in my eyes. “It’s for you.” He held my gaze for half a second, then looked away, flustered. “Walk carefully next time.” 5 A week later, we met again. This time, at the hospital. I skipped last period and found the ward where his mother was staying. I paid off her outstanding bills, moved her to a private VIP room, and hired the best caretakers. When Wes arrived, I was peeling an orange for his mom, listening to her stories about his childhood. “Your classmate is an angel, Wes,” she said, holding my hand. “She’s been keeping me company. She says the teachers love you.” I winked at Wes. “Wes, I just saved you about four hours of caretaking work today. Shouldn’t you repay me for that time?” Wes, who was slicing an apple, paused. “Okay.” His voice was so quiet I almost missed it. “Huh?” He looked at me, his gaze intense. “You’re right. That time belongs to you now.” I smirked, leaning toward his ear. “In that case, go pack a bag. Starting tomorrow, you’re moving into my house.” “My parents are in Europe. It’s just me and the housekeeper. It gets lonely. Come keep me company.”

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Three years into seducing the “Prince of Beijing” as a strategy game, I lost my memory. My memory reset to the time I was in a cold war with my ex-boyfriend. Right in front of the Prince, I dialed my ex’s number. “Babe, don’t be mad. I’ll wear that new dress for you, okay?” The next second, the arrogant young CEO crushed a glass in his bare hand. Gritting his teeth, he hissed, “Say that again, Stella. I dare you.” “Do you think I’m dead?” 1 “Stella, how long are you going to keep this up?” “I told you, there’s nothing going on between us.” “We grew up together. We haven’t seen each other in forever. What’s wrong with a little kiss?” I woke up in a hospital room. A strange man in a sharp suit was pacing, pulling at his hair in frustration. When he saw I wasn’t speaking, he unclasped his watch and tossed it onto the bed in front of me. “Besides this, I’ll give you an apartment. Is that enough?” I shook my head, picking up the diamond-encrusted watch and trying to focus my eyes. The man chuckled, sitting beside me and patting my head like I was a pet. “That’s right. Running into traffic… look at yourself. Was it worth it?” “Pack your things. I’ll take you back.” Honestly, he was handsome—sharp brows, starry eyes, a very aggressive kind of good looks. But his temper was terrible. Not my type at all. I pushed his hand away and handed the watch back. “It’s five-thirty. My boyfriend gets off work soon. I don’t want to trouble you.” I thought I was being polite, but the man’s face instantly darkened. He narrowed his eyes, his voice dropping dangerously low. “Say that again, Stella.” “Which boyfriend is getting off work?” I had been with Liam for three years. Who else would it be? Before I could answer, the man shoved my phone into my hand. “Call him! Call him right now. I want to see which man has the guts to pick you up!” I looked at him, aggrieved. Hitting my head in a car accident was bad enough; waking up to this lunatic was worse. The lunatic sat on the sofa opposite me, legs spread wide. Under his glare, I pulled Liam off my blocklist. Thinking back, Liam and I rarely fought. But sometimes he was too conservative. Last time, I bought a dress that was a little short, and he lectured me for days. The phone rang twice in the quiet room before someone picked up. Liam’s voice was hesitant, but pleasant. “Stella, is that you?” I hummed a “Mhm.” He sounded incredibly relieved and fired off a string of questions. “I heard you were in an accident. Is it serious?” “Which hospital are you at? I’m coming right now.” With every sentence Liam spoke, the man’s face grew darker. I quickly gave my location, and before hanging up, I couldn’t resist a little coquettish apology. “Babe, I’ll wear that new dress for you tomorrow, okay?” As soon as the words left my mouth, CRASH. I turned around. The man had crushed the glass in his hand. Blood and shards of glass dripped onto his expensive shoes. He didn’t seem to feel the pain. He just stared at me, teeth clenched. “Stella, say that again. I dare you!” “Do you think I’m dead?” A nurse burst in, terrified by the scene. “Mr. Carter, please calm down! The patient needs rest.” His hand looked gruesome. The nurse spent a long time bandaging it. Midway through, his phone rang. He took a deep breath, his eyelid twitching with rage. His tone was nasty. “I said I’m busy.” A lazy, teasing voice came through the speaker: “Chloe is waiting for you. What could be more important than that?” Ethan Carter stared at me unblinkingly and said slowly: “Catching a cheater. Is that important enough?” 2 The nurse’s ears perked up like satellite dishes. I felt awkward under his gaze, staring at the ceiling. The hospital ceiling was very… ceiling-y. “Don’t get the wound wet.” “Come back in three days to change the dressing.” Ethan waved her away dismissively. Before the nurse could close the door, a frantic figure rushed in. His coat was half-on, the belt of his black trench coat dangling. Liam is five years older than me. He’s usually calm and steady. When we lived together, he’d squeeze toothpaste onto my brush every morning. The towels were always folded perfectly. I had never seen him this disheveled. I looked up, grabbed his belt, and nuzzled into his waist. “Take me home. I already did the discharge paperwork.” Liam froze. His Adam’s apple bobbed. His cool hand hovered over my head. “Stella, I…” Before he could finish, slow, mocking applause came from the sofa. Ethan sat in the shadows, eyes narrowed. “Truly touching.” “Stella followed me around like a dog for three years. And in the end, this guy named Liam is the boyfriend?” I found his words bizarre. Before I could stand up, Liam pushed my hand away and punched Ethan right in the face. “Ethan Carter, watch your mouth.” Forget Ethan, I was stunned. Liam never raised his voice, let alone his fists. I quickly hugged Liam’s waist, dragging him out of the room before Ethan could retaliate. Ethan was furious. He kicked the metal door. “Stella, you’re siding with him?” “Fuck! Stella, get back here!” “…” We left his shouting behind. In the passenger seat, I rubbed Liam’s hand. “Does it hurt? Why were you so impulsive?” “What if you hurt your hand?” In the dim car, Liam didn’t answer. He just leaned over and kissed me. Unlike his usual kisses, today he was urgent. Almost… aggrieved. I was breathless, face flushed. Liam wasn’t much better. He cupped the back of my neck. “Sleep. We’re almost home.” I was exhausted. I didn’t have the energy to question his strange behavior. My brain felt like tofu pudding. Just as we arrived, a cheerful, electronic voice exploded in my head. [Master! Master! You’re finally awake!] [Capture progress for Ethan Carter is at 60%!] [Victory is in sight!] Wait, what? Me? Capturing Ethan Carter? The voice, calling itself a “System,” chattered away. I was confused and couldn’t get a word in. I was about to bang my head against the wall to wake up when a damp hand pressed against my forehead. I opened my eyes to eight-pack abs. 3 Liam usually wrapped himself up tight. Today, he was wearing only a towel. Water droplets traced the lines of his muscles. “Headache? Let me massage it.” I looked up, tracing his throat down to his chest. System? Strategy? Forgotten. My knees went weak, and I collapsed into his arms. I fell for Liam at first sight. When we went public, my friend Mia said I was crazy. “Stella, you wild child. Can Professor Liam satisfy you?” Turns out, Professor Liam can. Very much so. The only downside was his self-control. I always had to initiate. Liam tilted his head, exposing his neck. His Adam’s apple bobbed, a droplet of water hanging precariously. The atmosphere was perfect. Not doing it would be a crime. But just as my hand found the belt, a jarring ringtone sounded from behind me. It wasn’t anyone else. It was Ethan Carter. Why did I have his number? Was the System telling the truth? Suppressing my doubts, I hung up. But Ethan was like a ghost, calling again and again. Liam stared at the screen for a second, pressed his lips together, and walked out of the room without looking back. Seeing my meal walk away, I angrily answered the phone. “Ethan Carter, this better be life or death.” He scoffed. He was talking to someone else. “Looks like your dare is a bust, Little Carter.” It was the voice from the hospital. The phone switched hands. Ethan and the System spoke simultaneously. “Utopia Bar. Pick me up.” [Master, you are Ethan’s pinned contact!] [Whenever he gets drunk, he calls you first. His favorability went from negative to zero because you picked him up in the rain on Dragon Boat Festival.] The System helpfully jogged my memory. A scene flashed in my mind. Heavy rain. I saw Liam standing behind me. He held a black umbrella, looking lonely and thin in the headlights. If I remembered correctly, Liam’s birthday was on Dragon Boat Festival. Did I really break up with Liam three years ago to chase this guy, like the System said? The voice in my ear urged me on, as if picking Ethan up at 3 AM was my duty. Rage surged. I yelled into the phone. “Pick yourself up! I quit!” I hung up before he could react. The System shrieked in my head. I covered my ears and burrowed into Liam’s arms like a kitten. In the dark, he was burning up. His eyes were wet. “If you want to go… I’ll drive you.” 4 That ignited a fire in me. Specifically, in my lower abdomen. I nuzzled into Liam’s chest, my voice soft. “You’re here. Where would I go?” [Master! Your priority is picking him up, not ogling abs and biceps! Gasp~] I ignored it. My fingers traced the corner of Liam’s eye. In three years, he was always calm. Only when I pushed him to the edge would he let out a groan. His voice was hoarse. “Really? Not going?” I threw my phone on the carpet and kissed his Adam’s apple messily. “Not going. Never leaving again.” … I silenced the System for the night. Liam wore me out. When I woke up, he was gone. On the nightstand was warm milk, breakfast, and a note in elegant handwriting. Remember to eat. There’s medicine in the drawer if you’re sore. Sorry. I couldn’t suppress my smile. The System chimed in. [Tsk tsk. You locked me in a dark room all night!] [ALL NIGHT!!!] I rubbed my ear. Now that Liam was gone, time to figure this out. “So, you say I need to capture Ethan Carter?” The System sounded smug. [Hmph. Finally focused? Do you know Ethan waited for you until 4 AM? His favorability dropped to…] [Wait. It went up to 68%? WTF?] I picked up my phone. Eight missed calls from Ethan. Ten texts. The System peeked. [He’s never texted you first before! Breaking the passing grade makes a difference.] I scrolled up. For three years, it was just me asking if he was okay. When he was annoyed, he’d call. The calls lasted less than 30 seconds, and his tone was always awful. I got angrier as I scrolled. The System fanned the flames. [Master, you used to be so diligent. You were his driver. No matter how late, you were always the first face he saw.] [Remember anything? We need to get back to work.] I reached the top of the chat. I was shocked. I didn’t understand. Even for Liam, my patience capped at three months. “What’s the reward?” I asked. “A dozen top-tier male models.” Heh. I knew it. Definitely something I said during my cold war with Liam. “And the punishment?” “No punishment. If you fail, I stay with you. Forever.” My mouth twitched. I felt suffocated. I texted Liam. “Babe, when do you get off work?” “I’ll pick you up.” Liam had classes all day. I didn’t expect a quick reply. When I came back from brushing my teeth, I had a string of messages. “Stella, I’ll overlook yesterday.” “5:10 PM. Material Tower. Be there or you’re dead.” I stared at the screen for ten seconds. Shit. Wrong person.

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