The economy tanked, and my husband’s salary was slashed from ten thousand a month to just two thousand. Right around that time, our daughter was diagnosed with a severe heart condition. To cover the crushing medical bills, I took out loans to fund his new business venture. It failed, leaving us with nothing. “Honey, I’m so sorry!” he cried, standing on the edge of a rooftop, ready to jump. I ran to him, sobbing, and threw my arms around him. “It’s okay,” I promised. “We’ll get through this together.” We spent the next seven years surviving in a cramped, damp basement apartment. Our daughter died in my arms because we couldn’t afford the five-thousand-dollar dose of the specialty drug that could have saved her. Then, I ran into one of his old colleagues. “Eleanor, congratulations! I heard Macaulay’s been getting raises every year. And that pharmaceutical company he started is worth billions now!” I stood there, clutching our daughter’s ashes, the blood draining from my face. The man didn’t notice my expression. He just kept gushing. “His first love, Isabelle, is a single mom with a sick daughter, you know. For the past seven years, Macaulay’s been anonymously sending her ten thousand dollars a month. He even spent a fortune developing that five-thousand-dollar specialty drug and has been giving it to her daughter for free, an unlimited supply…” 1 “You’re so lucky, Eleanor! A man who’s so loyal to his past but respects the boundaries of his present? You couldn’t find a better guy if you tried!” I couldn’t process his words. I just asked for the address and stumbled my way to the gleaming headquarters of Macaulay’s company. As I reached his office door, I heard voices from within. “Mr. Vance, about Isabelle. We have her on the payroll, but she only comes in for one meeting a week. The reports we generate for her are never used, and after taxes and insurance, her salary is still over twenty thousand a month. Are you sure you want to give her another raise next month?” The secretary paused. “Also, your wife came by last week. She was on her knees, begging one of our reps to let her have a single dose of the specialty drug on credit. I think she really needs it…” Macaulay cut her off, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Isabelle’s salary will be increased every month. And that drug has an extremely limited production run right now; her daughter’s needs come first. She’s had it so hard all these years, raising a sick child on her own. A stable income and a guaranteed supply of medicine are the least I can do to give her peace of mind.” He took a breath. “As for my wife… don’t worry about her for now. Our daughter’s had this condition for years; it can’t be that severe. Keep this quiet from both of them. Isabelle has a good heart. If she knew the truth, she’d feel guilty, and I don’t want that.” My hand trembled on the doorknob, a chill seeping into my very bones. To raise the money for his “failed” business, I had borrowed from every single one of my relatives. I still hadn’t paid back a cent, and they treated me like a ghost. For seven long years, I’d shouldered every burden, never wanting to add to his stress. Our daughter had been on the brink of death so many times, and I had sat by her hospital bed alone, even when I was burning up with a 102-degree fever. I knew the pattern of the tiles on that hospital floor better than I knew my own reflection. The pittance he brought home each month didn’t even cover the basic medical co-pays. I lived on less than a dollar a day, scavenging for scraps from the market, even selling my plasma, just to keep our expenses under fifty dollars a month. In the dead of winter, I would drag our daughter out to the streets to sell trinkets from a small cart, constantly running from the cops. I remember once, she begged for a piece of cake. I broke my own rule and spent four dollars on a small slice for her. When Macaulay found out, he lectured me for wasting money. And all the while, he was secretly wiring ten thousand dollars a month to another woman. Setting her up with a cushy, no-show job, complete with benefits. I had nothing. And I couldn’t even save my daughter. Then, I heard his cold voice again from inside the office. “Isabelle is a good woman. She knows I’m married and has refused my help time and again. This is the only way I can support her without her knowing. Besides, I founded this company for her. Until the drug is in mass production, no one gets it before her daughter. Not even my own.” My heart felt like it had been ripped open. The dam of my emotions finally broke. I threw the door open. 2 “Eleanor?” Macaulay’s face was a kaleidoscope of emotions—shock, panic, then a deep, creeping guilt. He dismissed his secretary and walked toward me, forcing a look of pained apology. “When did you get here? I was just trying to get a dose of that specialty drug for our daughter, but they wouldn’t budge. I’m so sorry.” I shoved him away, the force of my grief tearing his pathetic mask to shreds. “Stop acting, Macaulay! I heard everything! Do you even know? Do you know that our daughter is DEAD?” My voice cracked. “You told me your salary was cut, and I believed you! I took out loans, I begged my family for money to fund your business! You said it failed, and I believed that too! So what is this? How do you explain this billion-dollar company?” “If you want to play the noble hero for your long-lost love, fine! But why did you have to drag me and our daughter down with you? You said she had it hard raising a child alone. You think I didn’t?” A gut-wrenching scream tore from my throat, and tears streamed down my face. Macaulay stared at me, dumbfounded, his lips trembling. “Dead? Sophie is… dead?” Before I could answer, there was a clatter at the door. An elegantly dressed woman stood there, her hand flying to her mouth as silent tears rolled down her cheeks. “Macaulay… you’re the owner of this company? So the anonymous payments, the job, the medicine… it was all you?” she whispered. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea…” Her face was pale as she staggered back, overcome with shame. “Isabelle, it’s not your fault! I wanted to do it!” Macaulay cried, his heart breaking at the sight of her tears. Any flicker of guilt he’d felt over our daughter’s death was instantly extinguished. He rushed to comfort her, right in front of me, but she sidestepped him. That’s when I saw it. The Audi key fob in her hand. It looked exactly like mine. Seven years ago, when the loans for his “failed” business came due, the court had seized my dowry—my car and a sprawling 4,300-square-foot luxury villa. A sick feeling washed over me. I lunged for the personnel files on his desk, my fingers flying through them until I found her name. Isabelle’s current address was my villa. The one that had been “seized by the court.” It all clicked into place. Rage, pure and hot, consumed me. “Macaulay!” My voice was a strangled shriek. I grabbed the file and hurled it at his face. “You told me the court took my car and my villa! Why does she have them?” Faced with the undeniable truth, Macaulay was speechless. Isabelle, finally understanding, bowed her head in shame. “I’m so sorry,” she stammered, bowing to me. “I didn’t know. I’ll give you the keys back right now, and I promise I’ll move out of the villa immediately.” She pressed the keys into my hand and turned to Macaulay, her chin held high. “Macaulay, thank you for everything you’ve done for me in secret, but I can’t be the reason your marriage falls apart. As of today, I quit. And please, don’t send me any more money.” With a final, tearful glance at him, she turned and ran. “Isabelle!” he yelled, taking a few steps after her before stopping himself. He stood there for a long moment, then slowly turned back to me, his eyes filled with a deep, sorrowful expression. “Eleanor, we can talk about this later. Is Sophie really gone? I thought her condition was under control.” A bitter, broken laugh escaped my lips. “I was the one holding everything together all these years. What would you know, with all your ‘overtime’ and ‘business trips’?” “Eleanor, I…” He opened his mouth, but no words came out. To make amends, he dropped everything at the company. He spent the next three days with me, choosing a burial plot, ordering a headstone. He didn’t eat or drink, his lips cracking from dehydration, but he never complained. He didn’t dare speak to me. Then, he took a phone call. When he hung up, he knelt before me. His eyes were pleading, his voice laced with a desperate humility. “Eleanor, I failed you and Sophie. I’m a monster. You can hit me, scream at me, do whatever you want. But please… please let me be the one to see her off.” He looked up at me. “Can I be the one to bring her ashes to the gravesite? Please?” I stared at his pathetic display, my heart a cold, hard stone. But then I thought of Sophie, of how much she had always longed for her father’s attention. I finally nodded. “Do what you want.” We would deal with us after our daughter was laid to rest. A flicker of emotion crossed his face. He gave me a complicated look, then quickly stood and left. The minutes ticked by, and a strange anxiety began to crawl under my skin. I sat by Sophie’s small, empty grave and pulled out my phone, intending to call and ask if he’d picked up the ashes. But on impulse, I opened his social media page. His recent activity led me to a profile named “BrokenSparrow.” It was Isabelle. Her birthday was listed as April 17th. Macaulay’s screen name was “April_17.” Her profile background was a picture of the ocean. His status was: “Drowning in the sea.” My hand started to shake. I scrolled down, looking through her posts. Macaulay had liked or commented on every single one. My eyes landed on two posts from seven years ago. “I’m so jealous of women who get to drive Audis!” “Whoever buys me a 4,300-square-foot villa will be my hero forever.” The date on those posts? Exactly one week before my car and villa were “seized by the court.” I dropped the phone, my face wet with tears I hadn’t realized I was crying. Just then, a new post from her appeared on my screen. “I heard that human ashes can be used as a catalyst in certain folk remedies for heart conditions. I wonder if he’d be willing to part with them…” A cold dread washed over me. I scrambled to my feet and ran to the crematorium’s reception office. “The urn for Sophie Vance?” the manager said, looking puzzled. “Your husband picked it up twenty minutes ago. You didn’t know?” My breath came in ragged gasps. I called his phone, over and over. No answer. A cold sweat broke out across my body as I hailed a cab and sped to Isabelle’s—to my—villa. Through the iron gate, I could see it. Sophie’s urn was empty, discarded on the lawn. And Isabelle was smiling, feeding the last drops of a murky liquid to her own daughter. After sending her daughter inside, she turned to Macaulay, her eyes shining with gratitude. “Macaulay, thank you. I can never repay you. But what if your wife finds out you used your daughter’s ashes as a remedy for mine? Will she be angry? I heard her family is very powerful in this city.” Macaulay frowned, then waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it. Eleanor is all alone now. Her family disowned her. No one will stand up for her. Besides, who else does she have to rely on but me? She wouldn’t dare make a scene.” The hatred was a physical force, and it sent me charging through the gate. I slapped him, hard. “Macaulay, are you even human? You had the cure, and you let our daughter die! And now you won’t even let her rest in peace? You’re a monster!” I rounded on Isabelle. “And you! Stop playing the innocent victim! If you had any decency, you wouldn’t have posted those things online, and you certainly wouldn’t have accepted his help, knowing full well he had a family!” Macaulay was stunned by the slap. “Eleanor? How did you get here?” Isabelle cowered behind him, her face ashen. I was losing my mind. I lunged at him, my nails raking across his face, leaving bloody tracks on his handsome cheek. He yelped in pain, his shock turning to rage. He kicked me, hard, in the chest. “Enough!” he roared. “It’s just some ashes! You went to medical school, you should know that when you’re dead, you’re dead! Keeping her ashes won’t bring her back! It’s better for them to have some final use, to help Isabelle’s daughter live!” The words, so utterly devoid of humanity, struck me harder than the blow. Pain exploded in my chest, and I collapsed, shaking. But the physical agony was nothing compared to the agony in my soul. I struggled to my knees, my voice a broken whisper. “I’m all alone because of you, Macaulay! I actually thought you felt some remorse for what happened to Sophie, but it was all a lie! Just another one of your schemes to get her ashes!” My voice rose to a scream. “You’ll pay for this! Both of you! I’m calling the police!” I fumbled for my phone. Isabelle burst into tears. “Macaulay, don’t let her call the police! My daughter and I will be ruined! We might as well just die!” “Don’t say that!” Macaulay’s face contorted in panic. Acting on pure instinct, he grabbed a small gardening axe from the porch and swung it at my arm. A scream of pure agony was ripped from my throat as the blade bit deep into my flesh. Blood sprayed across both our faces. The last thing I saw before I blacked out was the look of horror on his. When I came to, I was locked in the attic. Blood was still seeping from the wound on my arm, which was cut nearly to the bone. I crawled weakly across the floor and found my phone. The first thing I saw was a news alert trending online: “CEO Macaulay Vance: A Model of Loyalty and Integrity.” My hands shaking, I clicked the link. Somehow, the story of Macaulay’s anonymous support for Isabelle had been “leaked.” They were in the middle of a live television interview. “Mr. Vance is a true role model for our times,” the interviewer gushed. “To show such devotion to an old flame, while still maintaining clear boundaries… his own daughter must be the happiest girl in the world.” “I heard that every toy he buys for Miss Isabelle’s daughter costs over a thousand dollars, and those are the cheap ones!” “Someone online found out that when her daughter mentioned wanting to touch a cloud, Mr. Vance chartered a private helicopter, flew her up into the sky, and let her stick her hand out the window.” “And he takes them on international trips every month! If he treats his ex’s daughter this well, I can only imagine how much he must spoil his own!” I listened to the fawning praise, each word a dagger in my heart. My daughter had never even been on a plane. And Isabelle’s daughter got to wake up and touch the clouds. While they were jet-setting around the world, my Sophie was tied to a vendor’s cart with a piece of rope. I collapsed, a wave of gut-wrenching sobs shaking my entire body. I stared at the screen, at the three of them, looking like a perfect, happy family. With a final, choked cry, I smashed the phone against the floor. He still didn’t seem to realize. My daughter was already dead. And Isabelle’s wasn’t far behind. 3 I used a broken piece of furniture to shatter the attic window and escape. Down in the yard, I found Sophie’s empty urn. Clutching it to my chest, I ran, all the way to the live event. Macaulay was on stage, about to be presented with the “Top 10 Entrepreneurs of the Year” award. Isabelle and her daughter stood beside him, preening like peacocks in their designer clothes. I shoved my way through the crowd, a wild, blood-soaked apparition. I held up the empty urn. “I am Eleanor Vance, Macaulay Vance’s wife!” I screamed, my voice raw. “And I am here to tell you that this man is a fraud! He and this woman, Isabelle, this manipulative snake, they murdered my daughter!” My voice broke. “My daughter needed that specialty drug too. But he wouldn’t spare a single dose for her. The doctor said that just one dose… just one… and she would still be alive.” A shocked murmur ran through the crowd. All eyes turned to the stage. I met Macaulay’s panicked gaze and raised the urn higher. “And now my daughter has no grave, because he took her ashes and fed them to Isabelle’s child as some kind of twisted medicine!” “That’s absurd!” Macaulay finally found his voice. He rushed off the stage and pulled me into a corner. “Eleanor, stop it!” he hissed. “Whatever it is, we’ll discuss it at home. If you embarrass Isabelle in public, I’ll—” His eyes fell on my swollen face, on the deep, bleeding gash on my arm. He faltered, the threat dying on his lips. Suddenly, Isabelle ran over, her eyes red, and dropped to her knees in front of me, bowing her head again and again. She dramatically pulled up her sleeve, revealing a series of horrific-looking burns and welts on her arm. “Eleanor, please don’t say these things,” she sobbed. “I never, ever wanted to come between you. If you don’t want Macaulay helping me, I’ll disappear. I’ll go far away. Please, just leave me alone. I can’t take it anymore. I’ll just take my daughter and end it all!” The crowd gasped. Then, in a theatrical gesture of despair, Isabelle stood and ran toward the ballroom’s balcony, dragging her daughter with her. “Isabelle!” Macaulay screamed, chasing after her and pulling her back from the edge. Then he whirled around, grabbed the back of my head, and slapped me, over and over, more than a dozen times. All his composure was gone. He looked like a rabid animal. “You did this to her, didn’t you, Eleanor!” he roared. “You’ve been hurting her behind my back! You’re a sick, jealous monster! You couldn’t take care of your own daughter, so now you can’t stand to see Isabelle’s daughter get better! Ashes? Medicine? You say one more crazy word and I’ll have you committed to a psychiatric hospital!” His words hung in the air. The way people were looking at me changed. My head was spinning from the blows. “He’s lying,” I pleaded, shaking my head. “Please, believe me, I’m not crazy. I funded his company. He used my money to carry on with her behind my back! He really did feed my daughter’s ashes to her child!” But they just stared at me with a mixture of pity and scorn. “Ashes as medicine? Maybe she is crazy, like he said.” “Even a monster wouldn’t do that to his own child. Mr. Vance is a good man.” “I recognize you. You’re the one from the Feng family, the one they disowned. If your own family doesn’t want you, there must be something wrong with you.” They started pushing me, shoving me. I fell to the floor, clutching the empty urn. Someone stepped on my injured arm, and a fresh wave of agony shot through me. I was on the verge of passing out. Macaulay just stood there, watching with cold indifference. A tear of pure despair slid from the corner of my eye. And then, from the edge of the crowd, came Isabelle’s terrified scream. “Macaulay! My daughter is throwing up blood!” He whipped his head around. The little girl was collapsed on the floor, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. Panic seized him. “What’s happening?” he cried, his voice cracking. My gaze drifted down to the empty urn in my hands. A slow, knowing smile spread across my face. Now, your karma has arrived.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388318”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Alan’s stomach was acting up, so I spent the morning making his favorite chicken soup. I drove to his university lab, but a sign at the entrance stopped me cold: “No Dogs or Mia Hayes Allowed”—with my photo attached. I was reaching for my phone to call Alan when a bucket of icy water crashed down from above, drenching me. Jessy White, his star student, leaned out a window, feigning surprise. “Mia! What’s a housewife doing at the lab? You should be at home!” she chirped. “And don’t mind the sign—it’s just an inside joke. You wouldn’t get it.” Soaked and shivering, my makeup streaked and dress clinging, I stood frozen as Alan rushed down, dragging Jessy by the ear. “She’s young and just jokes around,” he said soothingly. “You’re not mad, are you?” Jessy stuck out her tongue. “It’s your fault! You lost the bet, so I put up the sign. And you still owe me that ghost-pepper hot pot!” She glanced at the thermos in my hand and smirked. “Mia, the professor doesn’t even like your soup. I always end up finishing it. You can just give that one to me.” 1 Before I could react, her hand was already reaching for the thermos. I shoved her away. A tidal wave of rage and hurt crashed over me, so strong it was hard to breathe. No wonder Alan, who always ate so blandly, had suddenly developed stomach problems. He’d been out stuffing his face with spicy food to entertain someone else. The moment my hand made contact with Jessy, Alan reacted instinctively. He lunged forward, pulling her into the protective circle of his arms before realizing what he’d done and quickly letting go. Jessy’s eyes immediately welled with tears. Her voice cracked as she spoke. “Mia, the sign was just a joke. I know you’re upset, but you can’t just push me like that!” She looked around at the gathering students, her voice rising. “I know you grew up rich and you’re used to getting your way, but this is a university. We’re all equals here. How could you humiliate me like this?” I almost laughed out loud at the sheer audacity. She puts up a sign with my picture on it calling me a dog, dumps water on me, and now she’s the one being humiliated? Alan patted Jessy’s head, his tone lacking any real reprimand. “Alright, you poured water on her, so you’re even. Let’s just drop it.” He turned to me, his gaze taking in my drenched state. He frowned and started shrugging off his white lab coat to drape over my shoulders. “Mia, don’t take it out on Jessy. She’s just brutally honest, that’s all. She doesn’t mean any harm.” I flinched back, refusing his touch. A heavy cloud of perfume wafted from the coat—the same cloying, sweet scent Jessy was wearing. The smell mixed with the damp chill on my skin, making my stomach turn. “Oh!” Jessy exclaimed, as if a thought had just occurred to her. She gave me a small, smug smile. “Mia, please don’t get the wrong idea. I know you housewives have a tendency to overthink things.” She pointed at the lab coat in Alan’s hand, her voice dripping with a sense of superiority. “I was running an experiment late last night and spilled something on my clothes, so I borrowed Professor Hayes’s coat. We’re always pulling all-nighters for project deadlines. Sharing clothes, using each other’s things… it’s completely normal for us. But you’re a little older, and you’re not in our circle, so I guess you wouldn’t know that.” She finished, watching me with a bright, expectant smile, waiting for my reaction. The students who had gathered were now whispering among themselves. “At the department dinner last month, Jessy got wasted and puked all over Professor Hayes. He’s usually such a clean freak, but he wasn’t even mad. He just got her water and rubbed her back.” “That’s nothing. They’re so close. Honestly, sometimes it seems like he’s closer to her than to his own wife…” The student was silenced by a sharp elbow from a friend, but the fragments I’d heard were enough to paint a vivid, ugly picture. I looked at Jessy, my voice surprisingly calm. Only I could feel the lump of emotion lodged in my throat. “So you really like my soup?” Jessy seemed taken aback by the question. After a brief pause, she flashed her usual bright smile. “Of course! That chicken soup you made last time was delicious, though it could have used a little more salt. I already told Professor Hayes.” She winked at Alan, then turned her easy, confident gaze back to me. “You added more salt this time, right?” She spoke with such casual entitlement, you’d think she was talking to her hired help. I loosened my white-knuckled grip on the thermos. I bent down, opened it, and placed it on the ground in front of a stray dog sniffing around a nearby trash can. Then, I smiled sweetly at Jessy. “Yes, I added more salt.” I paused, watching the dog start to lap at the soup. “But I’d rather feed it to a stray than let you have a single drop. At least a dog knows loyalty.” 2 Jessy’s face went pale. She understood exactly what I meant. When she was ten years old, she didn’t even have a proper name, just a cruel nickname given to her by her family. She was living in some forgotten, impoverished mountain town, her body covered in bruises from her parents’ beatings. I was there on a charity mission, delivering supplies, when she fell to her knees in the dirt and begged me to save her. My heart broke for her. I brought her back to the city with me, paid for her education, and personally taught her everything—from how to dress and carry herself to the books that would shape her mind. I had transformed Jessy from a scrawny, terrified child into a poised and brilliant student at a prestigious university. A dog, at least, will wag its tail in gratitude. And how did Jessy repay me? By setting her sights on my husband the moment she got into his lab. What made me feel even sicker was that Alan had let it happen. He had indulged her. Now, here she was, young and vibrant, her eyes red as she pointed an accusing finger at me. “How could you say that? How could you compare me to a dog?” she shrieked. “I know you’ve been a pampered heiress your whole life, totally different from normal people like me. But I’m not your servant! You can’t insult me like this! I demand an apology, right now!” Tears streamed down her face, her shoulders shaking with perfectly timed, dramatic sobs. Alan’s frown deepened. He looked at me, his voice softening just a fraction. “Mia. It’s the day of Jessy’s dissertation defense. Just apologize to her so we can move on. Don’t let this derail her big day.” He paused, glancing at my disheveled appearance as if just noticing it. “Besides, your clothes are soaked. You should go home and change before you catch a cold.” He said it all so matter-of-factly, as if his logic was irrefutable. I watched him subtly position himself in front of Jessy, shielding her as if he expected me to attack her. The irony was so thick I could taste it. For our entire lives, he had always been the one to shield me. A fire ignited in my chest, and my entire body started to tremble with rage. Seeing my silence, Alan gestured to two female students nearby. “Can you two please escort my wife home?” He turned back to me, lowering his voice into the familiar, cajoling tone he used when he wanted to soothe me. “Mia, please, just go home. We’ll talk about this tonight when I get back.” The two young women approached me timidly. “Mrs. Hayes, we can walk you home.” I never made a habit of taking my anger out on bystanders. I gave them a quiet nod and turned to leave. As I walked away, I heard Jessy’s voice, now laced with a triumphant, flirtatious whine. “Professor Hayes, what if she uses her family’s power to pressure the university? What if she tries to stop me from graduating?” Alan, a man I’d only ever seen be cool and distant with others, actually chuckled. “You? The little tyrant who bosses me around the lab and drags me out for spicy food challenges? Since when are you afraid of anything?” he teased. “Mia’s all bark and no bite. She won’t do anything to you. Besides,” he added, his voice dropping slightly, “I’m here to protect you, aren’t I?” Their shared laughter followed me down the path. I clenched my fists so tightly my nails dug into my palms, a bitter smile twisting my lips. It seemed that after all these years of marriage, Alan still hadn’t learned a single thing about me. When I, Mia Hayes, decided to destroy someone, did he really think he could protect them? 3 On the way home, the two students kept exchanging hesitant glances. Finally, one of them took a deep breath and held out her phone. “Mrs. Hayes… you should probably see this. It’s been trending on the campus forum.” It was a pinned post at the top of the page. “Debate Topic: Are Professor Alan Hayes and Jessy White the Ultimate Academic Power Couple?” I took the phone, my thumb scrolling down. The post was filled with photos. There was one of them standing shoulder-to-shoulder at an academic conference, another of them leaning over a desk in the lab, heads close together as they discussed data. In another, Jessy was smiling, playfully adjusting Alan’s tie as he leaned down to accommodate her. My grip on the phone tightened. I had bought him that tie. I had tied it for him myself just that morning. The original poster gushed, “OMG you guys, who gets it?! Professor Hayes is so serious and brilliant, and Jessy is so sharp and witty. When they team up in debates, they absolutely destroy everyone! It’s like they can read each other’s minds!” The thread had hundreds of replies. “This is what a partnership of equals looks like. Some trophy wives just wouldn’t understand.” “Dude, don’t be so harsh. You gotta leave her with some dignity. I mean, making soup is a skill, right?” I read through them, one by one. The phone’s screen cast a harsh light on my face, making my eyes sting. So that’s how they saw it. Alan and Jessy were the perfect match, soulmates destined for greatness. And I was just… the superfluous trophy wife, the parasitic vine who couldn’t even keep up. Then, a different kind of reply caught my eye. “What the hell is wrong with you people? Do any of you have a clue how amazing Professor Hayes and Mia were back in the day?” “I went to undergrad with them. They were the real power couple, the kind of love story you read about.” “Mia gave up her spot in the PhD program—a guaranteed spot—to go work and support Alan so he could pursue his research.” “The day Alan defended his own doctorate, he didn’t celebrate with anyone else. He ran straight home to Mia, saying he had to share that moment with the most important person in his life. He said she meant more to him than any academic achievement.” “And now you’re calling her a trophy wife? Saying they have nothing in common? Without Mia, there probably wouldn’t even be a ‘Professor Hayes’ today!” The replies fell silent for a moment. Then a few more trickled in. “I’m in the physics department, I’ve heard rumors that his wife basically bankrolled his early career.” “If that’s true, then Professor Hayes’s behavior now is… seriously messed up.” “Is it just me, or does it seem like Jessy is deliberately trying to copy Mia’s old vibe? That whole ‘brilliant and independent’ thing…” I stopped reading. The posts were right, but they didn’t have the full story. Both my family and Alan’s were titans of industry, old money with sprawling empires. When we got married, it was understood that one of us would have to step back from our personal ambitions to take the reins. Alan couldn’t bear to leave academia, so I was the one who gave up my doctorate to manage the family enterprise. Back then, I had no idea what I was sacrificing for what I thought was love. But now, at thirty-two, I understood perfectly. In everyone else’s eyes, I had long ago forfeited the right to stand by Alan’s side as an equal. My phone rang, pulling me from my thoughts. It was Alan. His voice, tight with suppressed fury, hit me like a physical blow. “Mia, that post on the forum. Did you have someone write that?” “Jessy saw it. She’s been crying for an hour. Her defense is this afternoon, she can’t be this emotional.” “I don’t care what you’re thinking, but you need to get that post deleted immediately. And then you will apologize to Jessy.” “Whatever issue you have, you take it up with me. Don’t you dare use these cheap, underhanded tricks to ruin her future!” In the background, I could hear the faint, pitiful sound of Jessy’s sobbing. Suddenly, the storm of emotion inside me subsided, replaced by a cold, chilling calm. Ten years of marriage, a lifetime of shared history since childhood, all of it weighed less than a few of Jessy’s tears. It was utterly, laughably absurd. When I finally spoke, my voice was flat, devoid of any inflection. “Alan.” “First, I don’t have access to your university’s internal forum. I didn’t post it.” There was a moment of silence on his end. I let out a small, sharp laugh. “And second,” I said, my voice dropping to a near whisper, “you can tell her this.” “She hasn’t even begun to see what my ‘tricks’ look like.” “It’s far too early for tears.” 4 I hung up before he could respond and immediately composed two texts. The first was to the various professors on the dissertation committee, asking them to help me stall for time. The second went to my assistant, instructing him to gather the information I needed and print it into bound booklets. I was about to give Jessy a graduation gift she would never forget. After that was done, I went home, showered, and changed into a sharp powersuit. I had my driver take me to the hall where Jessy’s defense was being held. On the way, my phone buzzed. It was a video file from one of Alan’s more loyal students, followed by a frantic series of voice messages. “Mrs. Hayes! Something terrible just happened!” I opened the video. The screen showed the large projection screen at the front of the lecture hall. Jessy was at the podium, having just said, “Now, if you’ll direct your attention to my research data…” The next slide wasn’t data. It was a photo. A shockingly intimate photo of me, one Alan had taken. One meant only for him. A wave of hushed gasps and stifled laughter filled the hall. I could hear a few male students whispering, “Damn, the professor’s wife is secretly a smokeshow… Alan’s a lucky guy…” Jessy let out a little shriek, fumbling with the remote clicker. Her face was flushed, her voice choked with fake panic. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I used Professor Hayes’s laptop to make the presentation… I must have accidentally dragged in a picture from another folder! I didn’t mean to!” She clicked the button again, and another photo flashed on the screen. And another. Different angles, all of them private, intimate moments between my husband and me, now on public display. The murmuring in the hall grew louder. The video ended with a close-up of Jessy’s face, a perfect picture of flustered innocence. But I could see it clearly. The corners of her mouth were turned up in a triumphant smile. Alan rushed onto the stage, blocking the camera’s view as the video cut out. My hands clenched around the phone, a deep, glacial cold spreading through my chest. More messages flooded in from the student. “Mrs. Hayes, please don’t be upset. Maybe… maybe everyone will forget about it in a few days.” I knew he was just trying to be kind. Those photos would be all over campus by nightfall, fodder for endless gossip and speculation. A sharp, acidic sting hit the back of my nose, and my eyes burned. I bit down on my lip, hard, forcing back the hot, scalding wave of humiliation that threatened to overwhelm me. Don’t you dare cry, Mia. Not here. Not now. But my throat felt like it was clogged with wet cement, heavy and raw, making it impossible to breathe. So this is what it felt like to be stripped naked in front of the world. I swallowed hard, pushing the feeling down, and picked up the freshly printed booklets my assistant had just delivered. I got out of the car. I slipped into the lecture hall through a back door just as Alan was making his closing remarks from the stage, his voice firm and steady. “First, I expect everyone here to delete any photos or videos of today’s unfortunate incident. Do not share them. If I find out you have, there will be serious consequences.” “Second, Jessy is a student I have personally mentored. She can be a bit clumsy, but she is a good person and she has worked incredibly hard. If she struggles with any of your questions today, I ask that you please remember that, and perhaps go a little easy on her… for my sake.” He probably didn’t even realize the sheer depth of affection that colored his voice when he spoke her name. Jessy was the first to spot me. The smile vanished from her face. She shot to her feet, her voice high and shrill as she pointed at me. “What are you doing here?” “You’re not a student! You’re not allowed in here! Get out! Get out right now!” Every eye in the room swiveled from Alan to me. I could feel their gazes on my skin like tiny, sharp needles—a mixture of curiosity, pity, and vulgar speculation. I met their stares without flinching, my eyes finally landing on Jessy’s furious face. I gave her a small, serene smile. “Jessy, darling.” “I raised you for ten years.” “From the time you were a little girl of ten until you were a young woman of twenty.” “By any measure, wouldn’t that make me your mother, in a way?” I watched the color drain from her face as I held up the booklet in my hand. “So I came to watch my daughter defend her dissertation…” “Is that not allowed?”

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Six months after I broke up with Ethan, we got back together. I noticed he’d changed. The once rugged, no-frills guy now had a full-blown skincare routine. After we moved in together, he even started sitting down to use the toilet, something he’d learned was more considerate. He’d surprise me with gifts—delicate, lacey things I’d never seen him pick out before. One night, I teased him about it. “What happened to you? It’s only been six months and you’ve transformed into the perfect boyfriend.” He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “I had a good teacher.” 1 In the bridal shop, my mother beamed as she held up another wedding dress for my approval. “You and Ethan, after all this back and forth, you finally found your way back to each other,” she said, her voice filled with warmth. “Promise me you two will make it work this time. No more fighting, no more breakups.” I stared at my reflection in the full-length mirror, a stranger in white, and felt a wave of uncertainty wash over me. Ethan and I had grown up together. I knew every line on his face, every flicker of emotion in his eyes. When he wet the bed at six, I was the one who helped him sneak the sheets into the wash in the middle of the night. When I got my first period at eleven and bled through my jeans, he was the one who, blushing furiously, ran to the store to buy me pads and a new pair of underwear. At twenty, we gave each other our firsts. But this time, after six months apart, it felt like I was living with a different person. My mom’s voice pulled me back to the present. “If you two hadn’t had that stupid fight, you’d be married by now. No more nonsense, you hear me? I’ve watched you two grow up. There’s no man on this earth who will ever love you more than Ethan.” “I know, Mom,” I said, forcing a smile and pushing down the strange feeling in my gut. “Don’t worry, we know what we’re doing. We’re going to get the marriage license in a few days.” 2 By the time I’d finished my makeup trial, Ethan was back. He was empty-handed. “Did you get the rings?” I asked, a little surprised. “Sorry,” he said, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “My fault. I forgot to update my shipping address on my phone, so they sent them to the wrong place. It’ll be a few days before they get forwarded.” He tugged at the collar of his shirt, loosening it. As he did, a tattoo just above his collarbone peeked out. Leah. A sharp pain lanced through my chest, followed by a slow, creeping unease. I’d first noticed the new ink when he came back, but I hadn’t asked about it. I knew it had to be a woman’s name. We’d planned to pick up the rings today, and then I was going to put on the dress so he could film a mock proposal video for our wedding announcement. That was off the table now. “It’s fine,” I said, my voice lighter than I felt. “We haven’t set the date yet, so a few days doesn’t matter.” I met his eyes in the mirror. “Ethan, after I change, let’s go get that tattoo removed.” He froze for a second, then quickly masked it with a shrug of indifference. “Sure.” So, I changed out of the wedding dress and we went to the nearest laser removal clinic. He took off his shirt and lay down. The technician prepped the laser, making small talk. “Girlfriend’s name?” he asked with a chuckle. “Right on the collarbone, huh? That’s gotta be one of the most painful spots. Closest to the heart. You must really love her.” He squinted at the fresh ink. “Looks pretty new, too. Why the change of heart?” I was sitting on a chair nearby, and my hands tightened around my purse. I answered for him, my voice quiet. “It’s not my name.” The technician stopped, blinking at me. He hadn’t expected that. A flash of understanding crossed his face, followed by an awkward flush. He cleared his throat and went back to work without another word. 3 Ethan didn’t make a sound during the entire procedure, gritting his teeth through the pain. He didn’t offer an explanation on the way out, either. But I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I stopped on the sidewalk. “Ethan, who is Leah?” I asked softly. “Did you date someone else during the four and a half months we were fighting?” I had been biting my tongue for weeks, but the question finally escaped. We’d said we were broken up for six months, but I knew the exact number: 135 days. The Ethan I knew was rough around the edges. He never used scented lotions or face wash, complaining they were too “girly.” He wasn’t the type to buy lingerie. He certainly wouldn’t have taken the time to learn about female anatomy and figure out that him sitting to use the toilet was better for my hygiene. But since we’d gotten back together, I’d noticed all these little changes, these tiny habits that felt like they belonged to someone else. It was like living with the ghost of another woman. Ethan stopped, too. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Finally, he just nodded, a low grunt his only response. He stepped forward and took my hands, his gaze firm and resolute. “Catherine, listen to me,” he said, his voice earnest. “It’s over between us. It’s completely done. When we fought and broke up, I went on a bender… I was a mess… and I met her. But I want to marry you. I swear, I will never have anything to do with her again. You have to believe me.” A damp, heavy feeling settled in my chest. But we were about to get married. I’d known since I was a little girl that I was going to spend my life with him. So I nodded, choosing to believe him. 4 Back home, my phone was buzzing with congratulatory messages from our friends. They’d all been worried during our long fight and were thrilled we were finally getting married. Ethan went to the living room to ice the raw skin where the tattoo had been. I replied to our friends about the wedding date while I started unpacking his suitcase from his trip. He’d flown to another city during our fight. Tucked beneath a layer of clothes, I found a small notebook. I pulled it out and opened it without thinking. My hand started to tremble. The handwriting was his—that familiar, childish scrawl our teachers used to complain about. February 10th. Taped to the page was a small corner of a blood-stained bedsheet. Leah’s first time. A piece of the sheet. I was too drunk, too rough. I must have hurt her. March 1st. Taped next to it was a sanitary pad, still in its wrapper. The brand of pads Leah uses. Saw her sweating from the cramps. I wish I could take the pain for her. March 26th. A pregnancy test with two pink lines fell out from between the pages. Leah’s pregnancy test. She’s pregnant. But I was drinking that night, and I took some medication. We can’t keep the baby. I feel so guilty. This is my fault. … I had forged his handwriting to do his detention assignments countless times as a kid. No matter how messy his writing was, I could read every single word. My vision blurred with tears. I stayed there, crouched on the floor, for a long time, the notebook clutched in my frozen hands. Ethan walked in and saw what I was holding. His face went pale. He rushed over, snatched the notebook from my grasp, and pulled me up from the floor, leading me to the bed. 5 “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice laced with regret. “That must have gotten mixed in when I was packing. I completely forgot about it, or I would have thrown it away. I didn’t mean for you to see it and get upset. I’ll go toss it right now.” He threw the notebook aside as if it were contaminated. I didn’t understand. How could he have lived an entire lifetime with another person in just 135 days? A lifetime that included a child that never was. My throat felt like it was full of fish bones, caught and painful. I pushed him away, my eyes stinging. “Ethan, we had our fight on February 9th. You slept with another woman on the 10th.” We had twenty-five years of history between us. Even though we’d had a terrible fight, our families were already discussing wedding dates before I left. I never, ever imagined he could move on so seamlessly. He pulled me back into his arms, holding me so tight I could barely breathe. His voice was raw. “Catherine, I know anything I say right now will sound like an excuse, but I was drunk. It was a stupid, meaningless mistake.” “We’re about to get married,” he pleaded. “Can we please just leave the past in the past? Let’s not dredge up things that will only make us both miserable.” The next day, the wedding date was set. Ethan’s parents came over to help decorate. Our families had been next-door neighbors our whole lives, so their house was like a second home to me. They treated me like their own daughter. His mom pulled me down to sit beside her, her face wreathed in a loving smile. “Catherine, come here. I have waited so many years for this day, to finally have you as my daughter-in-law.” “This long fight between you and Ethan… it had your mother and me so worried. Promise me, from now on, no matter how much you two argue, you’ll never stay apart for so long again.” 6 Ethan looked over at me with a soft, adoring smile before turning to our parents. “It was my fault,” he declared. “I shouldn’t have stormed off like that. I promise, after we’re married, I’ll never fight with Catherine again. Whatever she says, goes. And if she’s wrong, it’s only because I was wrong first.” Just then, the doorbell rang. I was closest, so I got up to answer it. Standing on the doorstep was a young woman I didn’t recognize. I froze. From the living room, Ethan called out, “Catherine, who is it?” The woman looked to be in her early twenties, with a round, pale face. At the sound of Ethan’s voice, her eyes lit up. She peered eagerly past me toward the sound. She pulled a small ring box from her pocket. Her voice was sweet and delicate. “Hi, is this Ethan’s house? I’m his ex-girlfriend.” “He called me yesterday,” she explained. “The wedding rings he ordered were shipped to my address by mistake. I was worried he’d need them right away, so I took the train here this morning to bring them to him.” Ethan had walked over by then. When he saw who was at the door, he stopped dead. “…Leah? What are you doing here?” Her eyes instantly filled with tears. “You bastard, Ethan! I thought you’d changed your mind! I thought you were proposing to me when a ring box with your name on it showed up!” She started pounding on his chest, sobbing quietly. That’s when I noticed it. On her middle finger, she was wearing the women’s wedding band. The one I had picked out. My heart stuttered. A sour, suffocating feeling rose in my chest. 7 Ethan quickly ushered her outside, closing the door behind them. The house fell silent. My mother was the first to speak, her voice sharp with anger. “Who was that girl? What did she mean, she’s Ethan’s ex-girlfriend? You two have been together since high school. Where did an ‘ex’ come from?” Ethan’s parents looked mortified and utterly confused. I gently stopped my mom, who was about to storm outside, and shook my head. An hour and a half later, Ethan finally came back. He opened his palm to reveal the two wedding bands. He looked at me with a cautious, pleading expression. “Catherine, I got the rings back. Here, let me put yours on you. Let’s see if it fits.” He was too close. I could see that his lips were red and slightly swollen, with a small bite mark on the lower one. His crisp white shirt was rumpled. He slipped the ring onto my finger. It was too loose; it slid right off. I remembered with perfect, painful clarity how snugly it had fit on the other woman’s finger. “That was Leah, wasn’t it?” I asked, my voice flat. “The woman from the tattoo. What were you doing for an hour and a half, Ethan?” “Yes, it was her. Leah,” he admitted. “She took an overnight train just to bring us the rings. She’s all alone in the city, I couldn’t just leave her there. I took her to a hotel nearby.” As he spoke, he nervously adjusted his collar. The tattoo was faded, but still visible. And next to it, on his neck, were two fresh, red scratches. 8 Ethan had always had fair, sensitive skin. When we were kids and we’d roughhouse, I’d barely touch him and he’d be covered in red marks that took forever to fade. Our parents were always apologizing to his. After we were intimate, he would be covered in faint marks, as if I’d savaged him. I didn’t want to think about it anymore. I couldn’t. The wedding drew closer, and I started sending out the e-invites. I don’t know what Ethan’s mother got out of him, but she started treating me with an even greater mix of affection and guilt. That night, I could hear the shower running in the bathroom. “Catherine,” Ethan called out over the water, “can you grab my phone and send the invites to my contacts list? I don’t want to miss anyone for tomorrow.” I had just picked up his phone when a shopping ad popped up on the screen. I meant to swipe it away, but my finger slipped and opened it. It was an ad for lingerie. And then I saw it. His purchase history. My fingers went cold. Starting in February of this year, there was a long list of purchases: condoms of all kinds, lace teddies, stockings… all shipped to the same address. The one where the rings had been mistakenly sent. Leah’s home. I started shaking uncontrollably. For the first time in our lives, I went through his phone. In his photo album, I found dozens of pictures and videos of him and Leah. Two of them were of them in bed. In one, the girl’s face was flushed red, and she was crying, pushing him away weakly. “Ethan, no more… didn’t your old girlfriend satisfy you? You’re insatiable.” “Hush, Leah,” he had murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Just one more time, then we’ll sleep.”

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I was in Atlanta for a business trip, and to save a few hundred bucks on a hotel, I called my brother, thinking I could crash at his place for a few days. But on the other end of the line, he stammered, “That’s… not a great idea. Your sister-in-law… she doesn’t like having outsiders in the house.” Outsiders? The word stunned me. For three years, I’d been paying his mortgage. Five thousand five hundred dollars, every single month, without fail. And in his eyes, I was an outsider? After we hung up, a bitter laugh escaped me. I pulled out my phone, my fingers flying to my banking app, and canceled the automatic mortgage payment. 01 The only thing left in my ear was the cold, flat dial tone. I stood clutching my phone on a bustling Atlanta street corner, a river of people flowing under the city’s brilliant night lights. Everything was so alive, so vibrant. But my world had been silenced by that single word: outsider. A wave of absurdity washed over me, drowning me. A hollow ache bloomed in my chest, hot and searing like a fresh burn. I had paid his mortgage for three years. Three whole years. One thousand and ninety-five days. Every month, the moment my paycheck hit my account, the very first thing I did was transfer $5,500. Because of that money, five years after graduation, I was still living in a cramped, run-down apartment without an elevator on the outskirts of New York. Because of that money, I never shopped for myself, never bought new clothes, and never joined my colleagues for dinner, let alone took a vacation. I was a machine programmed for one purpose: work like crazy, earn every penny I could, and funnel all that blood, sweat, and tears to my brother, Leo. I thought it was my duty, the responsibility of a younger sister. I thought I was helping him build a home. Only now did I realize I was never family. I was just a convenient ATM. A tool. An… outsider. I looked down at Leo’s name in my call history and let out a laugh. It started as a tremor in my shoulders, then grew louder, drawing stares from passersby. A hot tear slipped from the corner of my eye, turning cold in the evening breeze. I opened my banking app, my fingers moving with muscle memory. The automatic payment I’d set up three years ago, the number that devoured the majority of my hard work each month, sat there quietly. $5,500. I stared at it, and an image of Leo and his wife, Lily, flashed in my mind—their brilliant smiles in the picture they posted when they moved into that sprawling, river-view apartment in Atlanta. In the background of that photo, I could see the expensive sofa I’d bought them, the smart appliances I’d paid for. And I didn’t even have the right to spend a single night in that home. My finger hovered over the “Cancel Automatic Payment” button for a heartbeat. Then, no more hesitation. I pressed it. Confirm Cancellation? Confirm. A notification popped up on the screen: “Action Successful.” In that instant, the mountain that had been crushing me for three years finally crumbled. A wave of relief so powerful washed over me that I almost screamed. But I didn’t. I calmly closed the app and opened a hotel booking site. Atlanta. Five-star hotel. Executive River-View Suite. Six hundred dollars a night. For less than a tenth of his monthly mortgage, I bought myself a single night of peace. After paying, I took a deep breath of the humid, subtropical air. I hailed a cab and gave the driver the name of the hotel. Half an hour later, I was standing before the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of my suite, looking down at the glittering necklace of lights along the river. The city was a dragon of light, its veins flowing with traffic. It was beautiful. I kicked off my heels, my bare feet sinking into the plush carpet. I walked into the spacious bathroom and drew a hot bath. Then I took out my phone, snapped a picture of the view, no filter needed. I posted it to my feed. The caption read: “A new life, beginning with me.” Less than a minute later, two red hearts popped up. I tapped on the profile pictures. Leo and Lily. They hadn’t even bothered to call and ask why I wasn’t at their place. Just a hypocritical “like,” as if to show their gracious approval of my post. Just then, my phone lit up. It was my mother. I answered. Her voice came through, laced with accusation. “Eva, what’s this all about? Your brother said you called, why didn’t you go stay with them? And you hung up on him?” I said nothing, just listened. “You know how your sister-in-law is. You’re the younger sister, you need to be the bigger person.” “It’s not easy for your brother, stuck in the middle like that. Don’t cause trouble for him. Call him and apologize right now.” “Do you hear me? Be more considerate.” I listened to those familiar words, each one a dull knife twisting in my heart. For as long as I could remember, I was told to be “considerate.” Give the best food to my brother. Let my brother have the new clothes. His chance at college came before mine. And now, even my dignity had to be sacrificed for his so-called “hardship.” “Hello? Eva? Are you listening?” My mother’s voice grew impatient. I spoke softly, my voice as still as a frozen lake. “Mom, I’m tired. I need to rest.” Before she could say another word, I hung up. It was the first time in my twenty-eight years that I had ever hung up on my mother. I tossed the phone onto the bed and sank into the hot water of the tub. The warmth enveloped my body, but a chilling cold seeped from my very bones. I closed my eyes. It was over. It was all over. 02 I stayed in Atlanta for five days. During that time, I worked efficiently during the day and returned to the quiet solitude of my hotel at night. I didn’t contact Leo again, nor did I reply to any of the messages my mother sent. They were like a program that had been suddenly deleted from my life, and the world went blessedly quiet. On the afternoon of the fifth day, I finished my work and prepared to fly back to New York. As I sat in the airport lounge, my phone began to vibrate violently. The name “Leo” flashed on the screen. I took a slow sip of my coffee, letting it ring until it went to voicemail. A moment later, a second call came through. I ignored it. A third, a fourth… A relentless, desperate barrage. I calmly dragged his number to my block list. The world was finally, completely silent. But that silence lasted less than ten minutes. A WhatsApp notification chimed. A voice message from Leo. I pressed play, and his voice, ragged with fury, blasted through the speaker. “Eva, what the hell is your problem? How dare you not answer my calls?” “The mortgage payment is late! The bank is calling! Do you have any idea what this will do to my credit score?” “Are you crazy? Are you trying to ruin me?!” The accusations burned through the phone. I listened, my face a blank mask. It was like listening to the ravings of a stranger. He didn’t even ask why I’d stopped the payments. In his mind, it was my sacred duty to pay his mortgage. By stopping, I had committed a cardinal sin. I was trying to destroy him. I didn’t reply. I blocked him on WhatsApp, too. After I was done, the knot of anger in my chest finally began to loosen. The plane took off, and my phone went into airplane mode. I slept all the way to New York. When I landed and switched my phone back on, a flood of unread messages and missed calls poured in. As expected, they were from my parents. I opened the latest voicemail from my mom. Her voice was a hysterical, tear-soaked wail. “Eva! You ungrateful child! Are you trying to drive your brother and his family into the ground?” “We worked so hard to raise you, and this is how you repay us?” “You make so much money! What’s wrong with helping your brother? It’s what you’re supposed to do!” “If your brother loses his house and his wife leaves him, you will be the one who destroyed this family!” The one who destroyed the family. What a heavy crown to place on my head. I listened to her screeching sobs, my heart numb. To them, my only value was to be drained dry to fill my brother’s bottomless pit. My feelings, my pain, my future—none of it ever mattered. For the first time, I deleted my mother’s message without a second thought. Then, I saw a notification from the family group chat. It was from my sister-in-law, Lily. It was a large group, with nearly a hundred relatives in it. Lily didn’t use my name, but every word was a poisoned arrow aimed straight at me. “Sigh, some young women these days. They go to college, make a little money, and suddenly they’re too good for anyone.” “Forgetting their own brother. What a waste of an upbringing.” “They get a little taste of success and suddenly their family is just a burden. I guess that’s what they call ‘burning bridges.’” She sent several messages in a row, each punctuated with a passive-aggressive emoji. A few relatives who didn’t know the full story started chiming in. “That’s right, you can’t forget where you come from.” “Leo is such a good man, he doesn’t deserve to be treated like that.” “You’re family, can’t you just talk things out?” I read their empty platitudes, and a wave of nausea washed over me. Treated him like that? Who was the one being used? Who was the one feasting on another’s flesh and blood, only to complain about the taste? A fire ignited in the soles of my feet and shot up to the crown of my head. The blood roared in my ears. Fine. You want everyone to weigh in? Then let’s give them something to really see. 03 My fingers flew across my phone’s photo gallery. The bank transfer records I had saved for three years. Every single one, with a clear date and amount. March 2021, $5,500. April 2021, $5,500. … February 2024, $5,500. Thirty-six months in total. Not a single one missed. I stitched the screenshots together into one long, damning image. Then, I opened the family group chat, which had been dormant on my phone for so long. Lily was still there, playing the victim, painting herself as a kind, long-suffering sister-in-law. “I’m not asking for much help, just for her to stop stabbing us in the back. It’s just heartbreaking…” I didn’t waste a single word on her. I dropped the long screenshot of the transfer records into the chat. The image loaded, taking up the entire screen. The endless, repeating lines of $5,500 were like a series of sharp slaps across everyone’s faces. Then, I typed a message and hit send. “Three years. Thirty-six months. A hundred and ninety-eight thousand dollars.” “And it couldn’t even buy me one night on their couch.” “He said I was an outsider.” “This blessing is too rich for my blood. It’s all yours. Anyone who wants it can have it.” The moment my message went through, the once-lively group chat fell into a dead silence. It was as if someone had hit the mute button on the world. No one said another word. The people who had been consoling, advising, and gossiping—all of them vanished. One minute. Two minutes. Ten minutes. The chat remained deathly still. I knew they were stunned by that number. $198,000. Perhaps they thought it was my duty to help my brother, but they could never have imagined “help” on this scale. This wasn’t help. This was servitude. I alone was supporting their entire family. My phone vibrated. A private message. A few of the relatives who had been siding with Lily sent apologies. “Eva, honey, your aunt had no idea. Please don’t take it to heart.” “Yeah, Eva, we all thought Lily was the one being wronged, we never imagined…” I looked at their belated apologies and felt only irony. I didn’t reply. Just then, my father tagged me in the group chat. His tone was a mixture of panic and fury I had never heard before. “@Eva Lin, delete that right now! What is wrong with you?” “Don’t air our dirty laundry in public! Do you want the whole family to laugh at us?” Dirty laundry. There it was again. When I was funding his son’s life, I was the family’s pride and joy. The moment I stopped, the moment I tore down the facade, it became dirty laundry to be hidden away. I let out a cold laugh and typed back. “Now you’re worried about dirty laundry? Where was that concern when he was calling me an outsider?” “It’s not dirty laundry when you’re all quietly sucking me dry behind closed doors?” After sending those two messages, I left the “Loving Family” group chat. And once again, the world went quiet. I tossed my phone aside and fell onto my bed, utterly exhausted. The confrontation had drained every last ounce of my strength. I knew this was just the beginning. A much bigger storm was coming. But I no longer cared. When your heart is already dead, even a hurricane feels like a gentle breeze. 04 Leo didn’t keep me waiting long. The next afternoon, I got a call from the front desk at my office. “Ms. Lin, there’s a gentleman downstairs, a Mr. Leo Lin, who says he’s your brother. He doesn’t have an appointment.” My grip on the phone tightened, my gaze turning to ice. He’d actually followed me to New York. He worked fast. “Let him wait,” I said coldly. I didn’t go down. I continued with my work. An hour passed. Then two. Finally, at the end of the workday, I packed my things and strolled into the elevator. In the lobby, Leo was pacing frantically. The moment he saw me, he rushed over. He looked terrible. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, his face was covered in stubble, and his clothes were rumpled. He was a mess. “Eva!” He blocked my path, his voice thick with suppressed rage. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I looked at him as if he were a complete stranger. “I should be asking you that. What are you doing here, at my office?” “You!” My detached tone caught him off guard. He quickly shifted tactics, his expression morphing into one of deep hurt. “We’re brother and sister! Can’t we talk about this at home? Why do you have to make such an ugly scene?” “Home?” I said, the word tasting like ash in my mouth. “Which home is that? The one where I’m not even welcome to stay for one night?” Leo’s face flushed, then paled. He took a deep breath and played the family card. “Eva, look, I know I was wrong that day. I’m sorry.” “You know how Lily is, she has a temper, and I… I was just trying to avoid a fight with her.” “But you can’t just cut off the mortgage! That house is our family’s future! If the bank forecloses, we’ll lose everything!” “Please, for Mom and Dad’s sake, just make this month’s payment. I’m begging you!”

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1 During a live reality show, the director asked me to call an ex. I pulled up my blocklist. “Which one?” As a D-list star known for flings, the chat exploded with hate. 【The most famous one.】 I pretended to think. “Who’s bigger — Jude Cole or Ross Downey?” The chat went silent. The guests froze. Jude is an Oscar-winning actor; Ross is a Grammy-sweeping singer. Linking them to me seemed absurd. The host forced a laugh. “You’re joking, right?” The chat raged: 【How dare you say his name!】 【If Jude ever noticed you, I’d eat my shoe.】 【Ross has nothing to do with you!】 【She’s just clout-chasing.】 I don’t joke. “So,” I repeated, “who’s bigger?” The chat fell silent once more. Then, all hell broke loose. 【Our boy is obviously the biggest star!】 【Ross was front row at the last awards gala. You tell me who’s bigger!】 【That was only because some second-rate singer stole Jude’s seat. The organizers even issued a public apology!】 【For your information, Ross Downey is the nation’s top artist. Scalped tickets for the seats outside his concerts go for twenty grand. Think about it.】 【Oh please. Also for your information, a single free ticket to one of Jude’s fan meets was resold for an insane price.】 Off-camera, the showrunner was frantically gesturing, his face a mask of panic. He seemed to be signaling, Don’t stir up trouble. The host looked like she was on the verge of tears. “Scarlett, please, just tell everyone it was a joke and they’re not really your ex-boyfriends.” Technically speaking, one of them wasn’t really an ex. He just thought I was still throwing a tantrum. “Fine, let’s invite Ross Downey.” The host sucked in a sharp breath. The chat was a warzone of crying and laughing emojis. 【Wait, is she serious? Is our boy really her ex?】 【Nooo, Ross, how could you fall for such a promiscuous woman!】 【Don’t cry yet. Wait for Ross to come out and shut her down.】 【LMAO, Jude dodged a bullet.】 【Phew, crisis averted.】 The first segment of the show ended there. It was only the premiere, and all the invited guests were nobodies like me. The live format was a gimmick to generate buzz and pull in viewers. Who would have thought that when it came to my turn to invite a guest, two of the biggest names in the industry would be thrown into the mix? After the broadcast, the director, Leo, approached me. “Scarlett, were you telling the truth?” Leo came from a wealthy family and was new to directing, which was why he dared to fund such an ambitious show. But even he didn’t want to get shut down by an A-lister’s team. “It’s true.” Still wary, he pressed, “Do you have any proof that you were together?” “I do.” The last photo we had. That was all that was left. Once he was sure, Leo prepared to contact Ross’s team. Asking for proof was the show’s backup plan. After all, not every ex was willing to appear on a reality show with their former flame. When I got back to my apartment, I was met with a furious call from my agent. “Scarlett, do you even want a career in this town anymore?” he seethed. “You signed an agreement with Regina. You are forbidden from ever publicly mentioning your past with Ross Downey.” I let out a bitter laugh. “Whether I have a career or not, does it really make a difference at this point?” “Issue a statement right now,” he ordered. “Clarify that everything you said on the show was a lie. It’s your only chance to avoid being blacklisted and sued for damages.” I ignored him and hung up. The internet was already ablaze with rumors, with most people convinced I was a pathological liar. But before I could post anything to defend myself, Ross Downey shot to the top of the trending topics. His post was just a few words. “We loved. She’s my ex.” The statement sent his tens of millions of fans into a collective rage. They were convinced I had somehow bewitched him, a momentary lapse in his judgment. The entire mob turned on me, the D-list actress who was shamelessly using a past relationship for a pathetic shot at fame. Just then, Leo called. “Scarlett, Ross’s manager, Regina, offered me three million dollars,” he said. “She wants me to cancel the show.” I fell silent. I didn’t want to back down, but I couldn’t drag him into my mess. “I’m so sorr—” “Guess what I told her?” His tone shifted, a hint of smugness creeping in. I paused. “You didn’t take it?” “She was desecrating my artistic vision!” he declared, his voice full of indignant passion. “A live reality show! What a magnificent creation!” So, the show would go on. “It just seems we won’t be able to get Ross on,” he added. I wasn’t surprised. It was the expected outcome. Then, his curiosity got the better of him. “So, if you’re not lying… is Jude Cole your ex, or your current boyfriend?” he asked excitedly. “Can I invite him instead?” I vaguely explained my situation with Jude. Leo let out a low whistle. “Weird.” “I’ll reach out to his team.” Jude was probably shooting a film overseas right now. News traveled slower there; otherwise, he would have already called, furious. Before the next episode could even be filmed, a termination contract from Starlight Media, my agency, arrived. It demanded two million dollars in damages and included a clause forbidding me from acting for life. My agent slammed the papers down in front of me. “Pack your things and get out of the apartment,” he snarled. “The company supported you for all these years, and this is how you repay us? Ungrateful.” “Supported me?” I shot back. “You call manufacturing gossip and fake scandals ‘support’?” His face flushed. “Bad publicity is still publicity! You think you would’ve gotten any attention without it? You probably wouldn’t have even landed this show.” He smirked. “Oh, and by the way, since you took this show without the agency’s approval during your contract period, you owe us an additional one million dollars in penalties.” That brought the total to three million. The irony was crushing. In the four years I’d been with Starlight, I had only earned a total of thirty thousand dollars. It was a pathetic sum compared to the fortune they were demanding. I signed the agreement without another word. Half an hour later, I walked out of the apartment building, holding a single box with all my personal belongings. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Regina. Homeless little stray. Her cruelty was sharp and direct. I put my phone away and walked toward the entrance. A sleek sports car screeched to a halt in front of me. It was Leo. He took off his sunglasses and cleared his throat. “I heard about what happened with your agency. It’s all because of our show.” He hesitated. “Why don’t you stay at my place for a while? We need to sort out a new contract for you anyway.” He was right. My old contract was through Starlight Media. Now that I was an independent artist, we’d have to draw up a new one. I stopped hesitating and, with my small box of belongings, got into the car. “Thank you.” We soon arrived at his place—a stunning, ultra-modern penthouse that looked like it had never been lived in. Leo showed me around with a proud grin. “Designed it all myself. You can stay here for free. Don’t worry, it’s completely private and secure.” I set my box on the table. “Where’s the contract?” “Right, the important stuff.” He pulled it out. “Here you go. Sign away.” As I signed, he couldn’t resist a bit of gossip. “So, those two guys… you’re over both of them?” I shook my head and handed the signed contract back to him. He took it and was already heading for the door. “I stocked the fridge. The next show is in two days, so get some rest.” Before I could say anything, he was gone. So he was really letting me stay here? I looked around the sprawling penthouse. It was a world away from the tiny apartment I’d lived in for four years—an apartment the company had “graciously” assigned me because my endless scandals attracted stalkers. The special guests for the next episode were mostly confirmed. The other D-listers’ exes were also nobodies, perfectly happy to appear on TV for a paycheck. Only my special guest remained a mystery. Leo couldn’t announce the full lineup yet, so he released the schedule for the second episode instead. Strangely, the moment the schedule went public, Ross Downey immediately reposted it, tagging Leo and demanding to be my guest as my “ex-boyfriend.” Leo was in a tough spot. He had, after all, already contacted my other ex. I had just stepped out of the shower when his call came through. “Scarlett, what do I do? Both of your ex-boyfriends are demanding to be on the show!” Though he was asking for advice, his voice was practically vibrating with excitement. I had no idea what to do either. I could understand why Jude would want to come—finding out you’ve become an “ex” on live television would make anyone angry. But why had Ross suddenly changed his mind? While Leo was still agonizing over the decision, Jude Cole dropped another bombshell. He reposted the show’s announcement, tagging Leo as well. “I’m her current boyfriend. Can I sign up too?” The internet exploded. The comment sections were a firestorm of hatred directed at me. 【I’m done. This world is officially insane.】 【Jude, what are you doing? Why would you get tangled up with Scarlett?】 【I’ve been single for twenty-six years, and I’m less popular than this two-timing train wreck?】 【Jude, did your fans forget to send you eyedrops with their gifts? Are you blind?】 【Just stop. This is all that witch Scarlett’s fault.】 【Can we please just ban her from the industry? I’m so sick of seeing her face.】 Some users even started blaming the random commenter who had first suggested inviting the “most famous” ex. I was scrolling through the hate when an unknown number called. I answered, and Jude’s voice, thick with rage, came through the speaker. “Scarlett, when did we break up?” he demanded. “Was this all some stunt to force my hand and make our relationship public? Well, are you satisfied now?” “We broke up last year,” I cut in, my voice flat. “It’s been exactly one year.” I hung up before he could respond, then reached up to wipe the dampness from my cheeks. Why are you crying? He’s just an ex. The next day, my phone was flooded with messages from Leo. 「This is insane traffic!」 「So many people want to invest in the show!」 「Scarlett, both of your ex-boyfriends want to come on.」 「I can’t choose between them.」 The last message was accompanied by a devilish smirk emoji. 「So I guess I’ll have to take them both.」 Which meant both of my exes were going to be on the show with me. For the second episode, the show’s budget had clearly gotten a massive upgrade. We moved from a small studio to a lavish, expansive set, complete with state-of-the-art cameras. The other guests, who were on my level of obscurity, now kept their distance. Only Chloe, an actress who’d built her career on an “innocent” persona, shot me a look of pure contempt. “You got kicked out of Starlight Media, so stop putting on an act,” she sneered. “Your fifteen minutes of infamy are almost up. Do us all a favor and stay away.” I was taken aback. “How did you know I was let go?” Chloe rolled her eyes. “Haven’t you seen the socials? Regina announced that the company has officially cut ties with a ‘disgraced artist’ like you.” I pulled out my phone. The number one trending topic was Regina’s announcement. The post was timestamped from the afternoon I’d signed the termination papers. No wonder Leo knew. The post had stayed at the top of the trending list for two whole days. Countless people were praising Regina for cutting out the “cancer” of the company. 【Starlight doesn’t tolerate freeloaders. Scarlett was the exception.】 【She was at the biggest agency for four years and all she did was date and start rumors. Couldn’t she have, you know, acted in something?】 【You don’t get it. Why bother working hard when you can just spread your legs for fame?】 The further I scrolled, the more vicious the comments became. Leo appeared at my side. “Don’t read that,” he said gently. “They’re just vultures latching onto whatever rumors they hear.” But I didn’t feel hurt. I’d seen worse. After years of being suppressed, numbness was the only emotion I had left. Besides, today was my last day in the entertainment industry anyway. I forced a smile. “Thanks for the concern. After today, it will all be over.” The show was about to start. The other female guests’ exes were already in place. Only Jude and Ross were missing. Leo kept checking his watch, his brow furrowed. “Don’t they have any concept of time?” Just as he spoke, Jude’s sharp, chiseled face appeared. His eyes scanned the crowd and found me instantly. The gaze that once held so much affection was now burning with fury. His lips were pressed into a thin line as he strode toward me. “Scarlett, you’ve got a lot of nerve,” he growled. “Come on. We’re going outside to talk about why I’m suddenly your ‘ex-boyfriend.’” Leo smoothly intercepted him, stepping between us. “Mr. Cole, the show is about to start. We’re live. If you cause a delay, I don’t care if you’re an Oscar winner or a nobody. I will tell the entire audience exactly why we started late.” Jude’s icy glare swept over Leo, but he finally relented and sat down next to me. Leo checked his watch again. “We can’t wait any longer. Cameras, get ready. Five-minute countdown.” Ross wasn’t here. I lowered my eyes, determined to avoid any interaction with Jude. But he wasn’t about to let me off the hook. “What’s wrong?” he sneered, his voice low and practiced in its cruelty. “Still waiting for your other ex-boyfriend? Did you join this disaster of a show just to get his attention? Is that why you broke up with me? Because you couldn’t get over him?” Chloe sidled up to Jude. “Jude, a woman like her can’t survive without seducing men. She was just shamelessly flirting with my ex right in front of me.” Jude glanced at the man standing behind Chloe. “Heh. He’s no Ross Downey. Why would she even bother?” His gaze snapped back to me, and he seized my hand, his grip like iron. “After all, you already had the perfect replacement, didn’t you?” I yanked my hand away. Chloe, however, looked as if she’d had a revelation. “Scarlett, have you no shame?” she cried, her voice dripping with condemnation. “You used Jude as a stand-in? If I had a boyfriend like him, I would cherish him forever.” It was a well-known fact that Jude and Ross bore a striking resemblance to each other. When Jude first entered the industry, people had jokingly called him “the next Ross Downey.” One record label even tried to sign him as a rival to Ross. But Jude had plunged headfirst into acting, refusing to ever set foot in the music world. And yet I knew. He had a voice that was every bit as good as Ross’s.

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Damian Blackwood, the troubled heir of a powerful family, was terrified of thunderstorms. His autism made the sound unbearable. Usually, at times like this, he would be curled up in my arms, trembling, listening to me read to him through a pair of custom-made noise-canceling headphones. But tonight, the door to his bedroom was slightly ajar. I stood outside with a glass of warm milk and saw Lily Miller, her clothes half-off, draped over him like a serpent. A deafening clap of thunder split the sky. Damian arched his neck, a strangled scream tearing from his throat as cold sweat beaded on his skin. Lily didn’t soothe him. Instead, a thrill seemed to pass through her as she bit down on his shoulder, her fingers tracing the hard lines of his muscles with brazen confidence. I expected him to push her away. But his hands dug into her back, and a sound I’d never heard before—a low growl, twisted with both pain and pleasure—escaped his lips. The five-year care contract I had with the Blackwood family was set to expire in three days. It was time for me to leave. … The next day, Damian was burning with a high fever. Lily had dragged him out onto the terrace to spend half the night in the pouring rain, lost in their own madness. When I went to his room to bring him a cooling patch, Lily was perched casually on the edge of his bed, peeling an apple. The paring knife danced between her fingers, its blade glinting as it came dangerously close to Damian’s face time and again. Before, I would have snatched the knife away instantly, terrified that the sharp object might agitate him. But now, Damian was propped against the headboard, the whites of his eyes flushed red from the fever, his gaze utterly transfixed by the perilous gleam of the blade. “Irene, what are you doing here?” Damian’s voice was a low rasp, thick with a lazy, post-coital quality. “You didn’t take your medication last night.” I placed the cooling patch on the nightstand, my voice perfectly level. “Also, Mr. Blackwood wanted to know why you smashed the limited-edition sports car.” That car was my twenty-fifth birthday present to him. He’d once mentioned he liked it, so I bought it for him. Even though he couldn’t drive, I had wanted to make him happy. This morning, I found it in the garage—a mangled heap of scrap metal. “I told him to smash it.” Lily took a crisp bite of the apple and laughed. “Irene, you knew he couldn’t drive it. Were you trying to mock him? I took Damian to a junkyard, we each grabbed a sledgehammer, and we beat that thing to a pulp. You should have seen how happy he was.” She leaned closer to Damian, her fingers tracing a suggestive path along his feverish cheek. “Right, my lord?” Damian didn’t deny it. He captured her hand, raising it to his lips for a soft kiss, his eyes filled with a doting fondness. “Yeah. It felt good.” His gaze shifted to me, instantly turning to ice. “Irene, tell me how much the car cost. I’ll pay you double. And from now on, stay out of my business.” My heart felt like it had been struck by a sledgehammer. I looked at the man I had dedicated five years of my life to caring for. To protect his sensitive hearing, I’d given up wearing high heels. To guard his fragile pride, I never mentioned his condition to outsiders, always treating him with the respect due to a proper heir. I had cradled him so carefully, a fragile piece of porcelain I was terrified of shattering. But it turned out he never wanted my protection. He liked the destruction, the ruin, and the thrilling dance on the edge of morality that Lily brought him. “No need to pay me back.” I lowered my eyes, hiding the sting of tears. “It was a gift. What you do with it is your business.” As I turned to leave, I heard Lily’s playful complaints and the rustle of fabric from behind me. “Hey, stop moving around, you’re still running a fever…” “The fever makes it better,” Damian’s voice was a low, urgent murmur, laced with a raw, carnal desire I had never heard before. “It makes me feel more…” I closed the door, shutting the room’s debauchery behind me. Pulling out my phone, I dialed the number I had been hesitating over for so long. “Hello, Professor Davies? It’s Irene. About that special talent program you mentioned… I’ve decided to accept.” Memories flooded back, pulling me to that rainy night six months ago. Lily Miller first appeared at the Blackwood manor as a scholarship student I was sponsoring, coming to express her gratitude. I had found her being bullied by classmates earlier that day and had stepped in to chase them off. I invited her back to the house to change into some dry clothes. She stood shivering in her washed-out, threadbare school uniform, drenched to the bone like a drowned rat. She hesitated at the edge of the expensive Persian rug, afraid to even step on it for fear of leaving a stain. While I turned to get her a towel, Damian came downstairs. He, who was normally terrified of strangers, didn’t hide. Instead, he stared, mesmerized, at the water dripping from the ends of her hair. “Are you cold?” he asked. Lily looked up, her wide, doe-like eyes brimming with helplessness. “Your house is so big, Irene… I’m a little scared.” That day, for the first time ever, Damian took out his most treasured cashmere blanket and clumsily draped it over Lily’s shoulders. He looked at me and said, “Irene, don’t send her away. She’s like me.” I thought it was merely his compassion for someone weak. I never imagined it was the beginning of the farmer and the viper. Lily started visiting the manor frequently. She was smart; she knew exactly how to use her “vulnerability” to her advantage. Three months ago, I noticed my vanity had been disturbed. My mother’s only legacy—an antique sapphire bracelet—was lying in the trash can, broken in three pieces. It was the most precious thing I owned. Even when Damian was having a severe episode, I would guard it with my life, terrified he might break it. I confronted Lily, nearly mad with grief and anger. She shrank into the corner of the sofa, sobbing uncontrollably. “I’m so sorry, Irene… I just thought it was so beautiful, I wanted to try it on… I’ve never worn anything so nice… It was an accident…” I was shaking with fury. I raised my hand, about to order her out of the house. Before my hand could fall, I was shoved violently aside by a force that was shockingly strong. My lower back slammed into the sharp corner of a table, the pain so intense I couldn’t stand up straight. Damian stood in front of Lily, his eyes—the same eyes that had once looked at me with such dependence—now filled with disgust and suspicion. “That’s enough, Irene!” He shielded the girl behind him like a wolf protecting its cub. “Isn’t it just a stupid bracelet? How much is it worth? I’ll buy you ten, a hundred of them!” “It was my mother’s…” I explained, my eyes burning. “So what?” Damian cut me off, his logic simple and brutal. “Lily didn’t mean to do it. She’s poor, she’s never seen nice things. Why are you being such a bully? Look at her, you’ve scared her half to death!” He turned back to Lily, gently wiping the tears from her face, his voice a soft coo. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here. She won’t touch you.” The scene was a cruel parody of how I used to protect him from the taunts of his extended family. Only now, he was the towering protector, and I was the cruel, heartless abuser. Damian’s art studio had always been a sanctuary, off-limits to everyone in the house. Even the cleaning staff wasn’t allowed inside. Only I had a spare key. Because, as he used to say, I was the only one who was never a disturbance. Late one night, I heard a heavy crash from inside. I pushed the door open to find a scene of utter chaos. Expensive paints were splattered across the walls and floor. The pure white wool rug, meant for him to rest on, was covered in a rainbow of footprints. And Lily, holding a red paintbrush, was laughing as she smeared strokes of color across Damian’s bare chest. I had never seen him like this. He lay in the center of a rumpled canvas, a smile playing on his lips, letting the paint drip down the contours of his muscles. It was decadent. Depraved. And it burned my eyes. “Get out.” The moment he saw me, the smile vanished from his face, replaced by the hot, flushed anger of being caught. “Irene, who said you could come in without knocking?” My eyes fell to a sketch trampled underfoot. It was the birthday gift he had promised me—a half-finished portrait of me sleeping. Right now, the heel of Lily’s shoe was grinding into the eye of my likeness, leaving a dark, ugly smudge. I walked over, bending down to pick it up. “There’s broken glass on the floor, be careful not to cut yourself.” The words were pure instinct. But Lily let out a deliberate gasp as if I had startled her. She “slipped,” falling dramatically toward Damian. He instinctively reached out to catch her, but his elbow slammed hard into me. Thud. The impact sent me stumbling backward. I fell, my hand landing directly on a sharp, shattered piece of a ceramic palette. Blood instantly welled up, staining the already filthy rug a deep crimson. The air was dead silent for three seconds. Damian shoved Lily away, his eyes locked on my bleeding hand. His pupils contracted violently, and his body tensed as if he was about to rush over to me. But Lily timed her next move perfectly, wrapping her arms around his neck and whining, “Damian, you hurt me…” He froze. The familiar flicker of concern in his eyes vanished, replaced by a mask of cold indifference. “You’re the one who barged in here.”

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When Mark broke up with his ex-girlfriend, it was a pathetic sight. She didn’t just slap him in the middle of a crowded cafe; she got in his face and called him a pathetic, broke loser. I was sitting at the next table, sipping my coffee, and from what I could gather, the girl was a classic gold digger. She was furious that Mark couldn’t come up with the exorbitant “boyfriend allowance” she demanded, let alone buy a house in her name with cash. So I, a local with a portfolio of rental properties and no need for a man’s money, walked over and picked him up. After that, Mark and I got married. With his high IQ and top-tier education, backed by my capital, it took him only seven years to transform himself into the CEO of a company worth over a hundred million. But today, as I was nursing our newborn daughter, a message from Mark’s secretary hit me like a ton of bricks. Mark had hired his ex-girlfriend to be his executive assistant. 1 For a moment after reading the message, I was completely silent. Then, I typed out a message to Mark. “I hear you hired Maya as your secretary. The same Maya who slapped you in public and treated you like dirt. And now you’re bending over backwards to give her a job?” My words were cold and harsh. I couldn’t help it; I’d been holding this in for too long. I was initially drawn to Mark for his looks, his intelligence, and his education. But after we got married, he was a devoted family man who was emotionally available and had a gentle temper. Slowly, what had started as a practical partnership on my end blossomed into love. But just as I was falling for him, something happened at last year’s company gala. Mark, flushed with success, had too much to drink. When we got home, he gripped my hand and slurred, “Maya, do you see me now? After you dumped me, I became a CEO. You could get on your knees and beg, and you’d never have me again.” Then, my husband, the successful CEO, broke down and cried. His back shook with sobs, like a child who’d been denied a piece of candy. It was only then that I realized the man who kissed the corner of my mouth every morning, who texted me every day to say, “I miss you, my love,” the man who would linger over me after we made love, whispering that he wanted to die inside me… had never loved me at all. For the first time in my life, I knew what jealousy felt like. But I couldn’t bring myself to divorce him. I owned forty-nine percent of his company. And ending a marriage over a pathetic ex who had no real place in our lives seemed incredibly foolish. Besides, I’ve always been the type of person who gets what she wants. So, I devised a plan to make Mark fall in love with me. I arranged a second honeymoon abroad. I consulted with experts on marital intimacy and planned all sorts of romantic activities. I, who had always been terrified of childbirth and wanted to wait, deliberately got pregnant with his child. I thought I had done everything right. I had the baby, our beautiful daughter. But here I was, not even out of my postpartum recovery period, and he had brought that woman into his company. As his secretary. It was laughable, really. But a familiar, sharp pain still pricked at my heart. Mark replied to my text almost immediately. “It was a last-minute thing. My executive secretary’s assistant went on maternity leave, and I had to hire a replacement.” “Maya scored the highest on both the written test and the interview. You know I don’t mix business with personal matters. If she’s qualified, I’ll hire her.” “You need to rest and recover. Why waste your energy getting upset over someone who doesn’t matter? It’s not good for your health.” “By the way, if you’re awake, send me a picture of our daughter. I want to see her.” For a fleeting second, his words almost convinced me. But then it hit me—he was changing the subject. My heart twisted again. “If you want a picture of your daughter, fire Maya. Then I’ll send you one.” After I sent that, there was no reply. I heard nothing from him until four in the afternoon. “Sorry, I was in a meeting.” Tears streamed down my face instantly. Part of it was the heightened emotions of my postpartum state, but mostly, it was a woman’s intuition. I had a terrible feeling that because of Maya, my marriage to Mark was about to change forever. So, even as my chest ached so badly I could barely breathe, I forced myself to send a message to the head of HR at Mark’s company. “Send me Maya’s resume and all her personal information.” 2 Half an hour later, Maya’s file was in my inbox. A quick scan told me her life had been rough. After breaking up with Mark, she was laid off from a major tech company. She then bounced between several jobs, but the companies either went bankrupt or let her go before her probationary period was up. Over the past year, as the job market tightened, she’d been unemployed for long stretches, eventually sinking so low as to work as a debt collector for some fly-by-night agency. Back when she was at the top of her game, working at a big tech firm, she was surrounded by powerful men who fawned over her for her connections. Her standards had become inflated, which is why she’d made those ridiculous financial demands of Mark and ended things. I didn’t believe for a second that her return was a coincidence. That same day, I sent Maya’s file to a private investigator and told him to dig into her personal life for the past seven years. I paid him well, and by that evening, I had the complete report. It was exactly as I’d suspected. Maya had come back with a clear agenda. As her career had tanked and her family’s financial situation worsened, the quality of men she dated had steadily declined. Now, she was older, with no career prospects. Her most recent boyfriend was a community college graduate earning just over sixty-eight hundred a month. When they broke up, she posted this on her social media: “What do you do when you’ve tasted lobster and now you’re stuck eating porridge? It just doesn’t hit the same.” “Right after college, I dated this guy. He wasn’t much back then, came from some poor rural family, parents had no pension. He couldn’t even afford the down payment on an apartment in the city, let alone the 188k I asked for as a security deposit.” “The pressure from my family got to me, so I broke up with him. But guess what? Right after we split, he met some rich local girl, and a few years after they got married, he became a huge CEO. I heard his company is about to go public.” “Ugh, I was fine before, but ever since I found out, I feel sick. Especially when I look at my own 3k a month paycheck and the guy lying next to me who only makes 6k. I can’t stand it.” “How do I get over this feeling of being so cheated?” The post was brutally honest and got hundreds of comments overnight. Many people told her to get a grip on reality and accept that what’s gone is gone. But one comment stood out. “Why panic? From what you said, you and your ex had a great relationship and only broke up because of circumstances. Just go find him again.” “Even if he’s married, you can be his mistress. You’d make six figures a year, which is way better than your 3k salary. And his new wife is probably some bossy rich girl. You just need to be sweet, give him the emotional validation he craves. If he fell for you once, he can fall for you again.” Maya didn’t reply to any of the comments calling her out or telling her to move on. Except for that one. To that one, she simply replied: “Thanks.” After reading the post, her intentions were crystal clear. I didn’t hesitate. I had our housekeeper print out the entire thread, along with every piece of information the private investigator had found. That evening, when Mark came home, I calmly handed him the file. “This is what my investigator found on Maya. You should take a look.” 3 I truly just wanted to have an open and honest conversation with him. It wasn’t worth letting some low-life ex-girlfriend poison our marriage. But the moment he heard my words, Mark’s brow furrowed in anger. He didn’t even glance at the file I placed in front of him. “Why would you investigate her? Elara, how many times do I have to tell you? She’s just a secretary. She’s not important.” My calm facade shattered. My hands clenched into fists, his words stoking a fire inside me. “If she’s not important, then what’s the big deal about firing her?” “Mark, the reason I’m showing you this is because I want to save our marriage. I don’t want another woman creating a rift between us.” “And don’t think that just because you’re ‘Mr. CEO’ now, you can do whatever you want. Don’t you forget that without me, you wouldn’t be where you are today. Without the introductions I made to my family’s connections, your company would be nothing.” “And why did I marry you? I didn’t need your money. I married you for the emotional security, for the freedom to be myself.” “Mark, let’s be realistic. Anyone in the world can cheat, but you can’t. I can tolerate any other flaw, but infidelity is my absolute bottom line.” I spoke with deadly seriousness, my fingers trembling slightly. But Mark just shot up from his seat, his face contorted with rage. “Right, it’s all you! Everything I have is because of you! Stop reminding me every single day that you’re my savior and I have to obey your every command!” “When you told me to drink with your uncles, I had to drink. Even when I was sick with a fever and felt like I was dying, you wouldn’t let me take medicine or rest at home because you wanted them to be happy.” “When one of your uncles was in the hospital, his own son wasn’t there, but you made me go and empty his bedpan.” “On top of that, you made me grovel and suck up to your cousins. In your eyes, am I anything more than a tool for your business deals?” Hearing his words, I shot up as well. “Mark, I don’t care what grievances you have. We can discuss them. But Maya has to be fired. If you won’t do it, I will.” “This is the last time I’m asking you. You knew what kind of person I was when you married me. I say what I mean, and I mean what I say. You can’t expect me to be your business partner on the outside and then come home and be your demure, emotionally available little flower.” Mark was shaking with fury. He ripped off his tie, his eyes glaring at me as if I were his mortal enemy. “Fine. I’ll do what you want. I’ll fire her tomorrow.” He kicked the coffee table with a violent thud, turned on his heel, and stormed upstairs without another look at me. As I watched him go, the tears I’d been holding back finally fell. My body went limp, and I collapsed onto the sofa. His complaints were laughable. He felt humiliated drinking with my uncles and sucking up to my cousins, but he had no idea that without me, he wouldn’t even be qualified to be in the same room with them. My uncles were about to retire, and my cousins were taking over. If he didn’t build those relationships, his company would lose its key contracts and be crushed by the market. Yes, he’d landed a few new deals recently, but who did he think made the initial introductions? I had even asked him at the very beginning: did he want a stable, easy life with a nine-to-five, or did he want to start his own business? He was the one who chose to be an entrepreneur. I gave him the money, I gave him the resources, and until recently, he had been nothing but grateful. But now, after just a few days of Maya being back in the picture, he suddenly felt victimized. He had a point of comparison now. Suddenly, I was too bossy, not gentle enough, not understanding enough. But did he ever stop to think that if I were gentle and understanding, if I were the type to suppress my own needs to cater to a man’s ego, I’d be Maya—a parasitic vine who couldn’t survive without a man to cling to. That night, Mark didn’t come to our bedroom. Before, the first thing he would do when he got home was shower and disinfect, then come to bed to gently kiss our daughter’s cheek and my forehead. “You’ve worked so hard, my love,” he would say, holding our daughter all night, cooing, “Elara, our Lulu is the cutest thing in the world.” But tonight, because I had investigated Maya, he didn’t even come to see his own child. He didn’t even come to our room. He of all people should understand. In business, you investigate your competitors, your partners. I knew, with every fiber of my being, that Maya was here to steal my husband. How could I not investigate her? Did he think I was a fool?

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After I was passed over for a management position for the fifth time, my mother called, once again nagging me to come home and let her set me up with someone. Normally, I would have shut her down immediately. But this time, I quietly agreed. It was because, after losing the promotion to my arch-nemesis yet again, I’d gone to confront my boss—and boyfriend—determined to get answers. But I accidentally overheard him talking to someone else. “You’ve watched Patty grow in this company. Why do you vote against her promotion every single time?” A cynical laugh from Chad Shaw. “I give her the affection she wants, and I give the owner’s daughter the position she wants. I get to keep both of them, everyone gets something, and I maximize my assets. What’s wrong with that?” The other person sounded impressed. “You’re cold-blooded. You keep her dangling with low-cost affection. Aren’t you afraid she’ll just get fed up and leave?” Chad’s voice was casual, confident. “It’s been a few years in bed, that’s all. It was mutual. If she leaves, it’s no real loss.” He paused. “Besides, last month she’s the one who suggested we stop using protection. I don’t think she’s ready to let go just yet.” He had ripped away the last shred of my dignity with his own hands. Along with the five years of what I had carefully nurtured, what I had foolishly believed was love. I tore the appeal form in my hands to shreds. And bought a ticket for the next train home. A position and a love that seven years of my life couldn’t earn? I was done with them. 1 Amber White snatched the torn pieces of paper from my hand. “An appeal form? You’re going to appeal again?” she sneered, flicking the scraps of paper at my face. “Patty, you need to learn your place. Failing once or twice might be bad luck. But five times? Do you still think it’s just luck?” “You’re out of your league. Appealing a dozen times won’t change that.” I thought of the four previous appeal forms tucked away in my bottom drawer, each one neatly signed by Chad Shaw, each one citing ‘insufficient competence’ as the reason for failure. For the first time, it struck me as funny. Every time, he’d placate me with excuses about fairness and avoiding favoritism. His words were like bitter medicine he forced down my throat, leaving me choked and silent. In seven years, I had landed six multi-million dollar contracts for this company. I was the top performer for thirteen consecutive quarters. I’d ended up in the hospital with two bleeding ulcers from cleaning up my colleagues’ messes. Not a single client I’d worked with had ever called me incompetent. In the past, I would have argued with Amber, defending my abilities to the bitter end. But now, I was just tired. It would only end with us in front of Chad, where he would deliver the same lukewarm verdict. “Past performance is irrelevant. You need to accept that your overall skills just don’t measure up.” And then, under the spell of his manipulation, I’d throw myself back into my work, desperate to prove myself, all while fulfilling his goal of getting maximum return on a minimal investment. Only now did I realize that the one who was never treated fairly was me. Chad Shaw, you really know how to play the game. Tears blurred my vision, splashing onto my phone screen. A notification lit it up. [Come to my office.] My dormant heart gave a weak flutter, a foolish spark of hope. But as I reached the door, I heard Amber’s sobbing from inside. “Alright, stop crying. I told you, you deserve this. I’ll handle her.” Chad’s voice, so gentle and patient, was a dull knife twisting in my heart, churning up the rot inside. Six months ago, Amber had spread a rumor that I’d slept with a client to close a deal. The client’s wife had found me and beaten me so badly my face was a swollen mess; I could only eat liquids for two days. I had looked at him then with the same tearful vulnerability, begging him to clear my name. His only response had been, “Don’t be so dramatic and naive. This is the corporate world. You know the truth will come out eventually.” Bitterness seeped into the old wounds. I had to admit, even his so-called affection had always been rationed. I numbly pushed the door open. Chad’s hand, which had been wiping Amber’s tears, froze. He glared at me, annoyed. “I hear you’re unhappy with Director White’s promotion. Has anyone ever told you that careers aren’t built on gossip? Is it so hard to admit you’re not good enough?” I stared at him, stunned. “I didn’t…” He cut me off before I could finish. “A one-thousand-word self-criticism. And a public apology at this afternoon’s meeting.” A single unconfirmed rumor, and I was being ordered to write an apology. It made all the vicious, actual rumors he’d heard about me—and ignored—seem like a sick joke. Before, I could have told myself he was just keeping his professional and private lives separate. But now, knowing I was nothing more than his cheapest asset, I lost the will to even argue. I swallowed the lump in my throat and looked down, a small, humorless smile on my lips. “Yes. You’re right.” “I admit I’m not good enough. I’ll apologize.” 2 I gave a slight bow in Amber’s direction. “Director White, I was wrong. I shouldn’t have questioned your abilities or entertained the foolish notion of an appeal.” She didn’t respond. As I started to straighten up, Chad’s hand pressed down firmly on the small of my back, forcing me down again. He leaned close to my ear, his voice a whisper. “I promised her father she wouldn’t be unhappy here. Just play along. Indulge me this once.” He pushed my waist down a little further, and a bolt of agony lanced through me. Yes, Amber’s father had helped him once. It was right for him to repay that debt. But what about me? Once, I was with him on a site inspection when a piece of machinery malfunctioned. To protect him, I’d thrown myself in front of him without a second thought. A heavy control lever had slammed into my back, leaving me with a permanent injury. He’d held me then, his eyes red, telling me I was reckless, that I’d almost gotten myself killed. He’d massaged my back every single day during my recovery. And now, he was pressing on that very same injury, forcing me to apologize to the person who tormented me. What a pathetic way to repay a debt. Those ten seconds felt like a century. When I finally tried to stand, it felt like my back was broken. Amber gasped, feigning concern. “Oh, I almost forgot! Patty injured her back for you, didn’t she, Chad? You’re so thoughtless. It’s not very nice to be so cruel, is it? You might break her heart.” Chad’s hand shot away from me as if burned. His expression was dark and unreadable. “If… if there’s nothing else, you can go.” I bit my lip to keep from crying out, my body trembling. Fighting through the searing pain, I straightened my spine and walked out of the room. Amber’s words were the cruelest cut. There were a million ways to stage an apology. He had chosen the one that would cause me the most physical pain. It took a long time back at my desk before I had the strength to take the resignation letter I’d drafted and hand it to my direct supervisor. He’d fought for me on the promotion, but he couldn’t override Chad’s final word. “The company knows what you’ve given these past seven years. Chad knows it too. You’re still young, there will be other opportunities. Are you sure you don’t want to wait it out?” Later. Next time. Just wait. Over the years, those words had practically become a part of me. It was the later he’d murmur after we made love, when I’d ask when we could finally go public with our relationship. It was the just wait he’d offer after I lost another promotion, when I’d ask when I’d finally have a chance to stand beside him as an equal. It was the next time he’d promise whenever my parents called about marriage, when I’d ask when he would finally come home with me to meet them. I had never questioned my own resolve, but I couldn’t change the ending he had already written for me. I shook my head, a helpless smile on my face. “Twenty-eight isn’t that young. People my age are married with kids. I can’t lose out on my health, my career, and a family, can I?” He didn’t say anything more, just looked at my pale face and signed his name with a sigh of regret. “Finish your handover this week and you’ll be free to go.” “I won’t mention this to Chad,” he added. “It’ll save you some trouble these next few days. Besides, your position doesn’t require you to report to him directly anyway.” A wave of relief washed over me. “Thank you, sir.” Just after I submitted the form, a message from Chad popped up on my phone. [How’s your back? I bought some cream. I’ll put it on for you tonight.] This was his typical move. A way of backing down when he knew he’d gone too far but was too proud to apologize. I used to think this was his way of showing he cared. I would even use it as an opportunity to be playful and ask for more affection. Now, I saw it for what it was: a piece of candy to keep me under control. [No need. I’ve booked a massage therapist to come to my place.] As was tradition, there would be a celebratory dinner for the promotion, hosted by management. I politely declined, using my pre-booked massage as an excuse. But Amber grabbed my arm, her face a mask of disappointment. “Patty, does this mean you don’t really accept that I beat you for this position? Is that why you’re making excuses?” “Anyone else can skip, but not you. I want your sincere blessing.” I frowned, about to speak, when Chad, who had just tacitly approved my absence, chimed in. “Everyone else is going. Don’t you think it’s inappropriate for you to be the only one who doesn’t? Show some grace. As a senior employee, you should be able to handle a loss. Don’t be a laughingstock.” He added, “You can get a massage any day.” I froze, a familiar bitterness rising in my throat. I should have known long ago just how cold Chad’s heart was. When a greater benefit was at stake, my feelings were always the first thing to be sacrificed. 3 I was twenty-three, in my second year away from home, when he promised to celebrate my first birthday with me since we’d gotten together. I’d cooked a special dinner, my heart filled with joy, and waited all night. When I finally called him and mentioned my birthday, I could hear a girl crying in the background. There was no apology, no explanation. Just a hint of irritation in his voice, as if I were being childish for making a big deal out of a birthday. He later explained that Amber’s mother had died giving birth to her. Every time someone celebrated a birthday, it reminded Amber of her mother and made her sad. For the next five years, he never celebrated my birthday. He wouldn’t even let me post about it on social media, for fear of upsetting Amber. He always said it was just for show. But even when no one was watching, he never made the slightest effort for me. Now, meeting my supervisor’s pleading gaze, I relented. It was easier not to make a scene. I would treat it as a farewell dinner. At the table, Chad and Amber sat together. She, in her chic power suit, and he, in his tailored blazer, looked like a perfect match. Sometimes, you just have to accept reality. There are some people you can never catch up to, no matter how hard you run. So when a colleague joked that the two of them looked like a power couple, a match made in heaven, I found myself nodding in agreement. “They are a good match. Age, looks, family background… it all fits.” The moment the words left my mouth, both Chad and Mark Chen, the VP he’d been speaking to earlier, stared at me. Usually, at these events, Chad was the subject of endless matchmaking jokes. And every time I heard them, a knot of resentment would tighten in my stomach. I’d either pretend not to hear or sit there with a sour expression. But today, I felt like a spectator, completely unfazed. Amber, however, was glowing from the praise. She shot me a triumphant look. When the conversation inevitably turned to marriage, she steered it directly toward me. “My dad is driving me crazy about getting married. It’s giving me a headache. I heard you have a boyfriend you’ve been with for years, Patty. You’re twenty-eight. Don’t your parents pressure you? You have to tell me your secrets for dodging them.” All eyes turned to me. Even Chad seemed to tense up. I acted as if it were nothing. “Of course they do. But we broke up, so I can’t really help you with that.” A brief, heavy silence fell over the table. Many looked at me with pity. A colleague I was friendly with joked about setting me up with someone. I pulled out my phone. “Sure. Send me his contact.” Crash. Chad’s glass shattered on the table. Shards of glass left thin red lines on his hand. I glanced at it for a second before looking away, no longer feeling the frantic urgency I once would have. A strange, tense atmosphere settled over the dinner. What had started as a celebration ended abruptly. When the cars were arranged, I refused to be put in the same one as Chad. I just held up my phone, showing the ride I’d already hailed, and went home alone. I was just getting ready for bed when the front door opened. Chad, smelling strongly of alcohol, pinned me against it. His kiss was brutal and demanding. He tried to force his way in. The doorknob dug sharply into my injured back. Pain shot through me, and I snapped. I slapped him, hard, across the face. “Chad, what do you take me for?” He slammed the door and left. In five years, we had never had this kind of unspoken war between us. So when he realized I was finally fighting back, Chad couldn’t even be bothered to pretend he cared anymore. He had me reassigned to supervise the construction site in the north district. When the news got out, many of my colleagues were outraged on my behalf. The north district project was an unpaid rework, and the temp workers were resentful and hostile. During the day, there were incidents of falling debris and nails left lying around. At night, there were harassing phone calls and bizarre, staged “hauntings.” Three male supervisors had already cracked under the pressure, one ending up in a psychiatric ward and the others in the hospital with injuries. It was no place for a woman. I remembered Chad being woken up in the middle of the night by one of those supervisors, spending hours trying to sort out the mess. I had joked then, “If you ever want to get rid of someone, just send them there. If we ever have a big fight, I’ll just go myself. Out of sight, out of mind.” He had tapped me on the head and said, “Don’t be ridiculous. No matter how much we fight, I would never send you to a place that dangerous.” I guess he was a liar. I packed up my desk with swift, clean efficiency, as if I were never coming back. 4 Mark Chen, as the head of on-site operations, drove me to the site himself. During the drive, he seemed to be struggling with something. Finally, he spoke. “Patty, I know you and Chad are at odds over the promotion. I don’t know why he’s insisting on sending you out here, but it’s not safe for a woman alone. You two should really talk things out.” I had just received the confirmation for my flight on Friday night. A sense of peace settled over me. “I know, Mark,” I said nonchalantly. “The promotion doesn’t matter to me anymore. And it doesn’t matter where I work. I’m fine with it.” My indifference seemed to cut off whatever else he was going to say. He gave me a long, unreadable look before turning his attention back to the road. It was a lie, of course. I was scared. But I only had to endure it for three days. After that, none of this would be my problem. Winter days grew dark early. The previous supervisors had been given special permission to leave before nightfall. But I was required to clock in and out at the standard times. I figured they wouldn’t pull anything too crazy on the first day. The moment my shift ended, I clocked out and ran. There was a short, unlit path leading from the building to the main road. This was the path they said was the most dangerous, a known haunt for creeps and vagrants. I was moving fast, staying alert, but a man with a leering grin suddenly jumped out in front of me. He was completely naked. “Well hello there, little lady. You’re a pretty one.” I fell backward, scrambling away from him on the ground. As he got closer, my hand closed around a piece of scrap wood with a nail sticking out of it. I swung it wildly, hitting him. He cried out in pain, and I seized the opportunity, stumbling and crawling my way to freedom. My hand was bleeding from a splinter, and I couldn’t unlock my phone. Shaking, I pressed the power button five times to dial my emergency contact. Once, twice—no answer. The number, which Chad had set to his own, just kept ringing. I could hear footsteps and curses behind me. I scrambled faster, but in my panic, I twisted my ankle. The phone flew from my hand and clattered to the ground. I didn’t dare go back for it. I finally burst out of the dark path and into the light of the main street. My hand dripping blood, I managed to get a taxi to the police station. Later, when I went back with an officer to retrieve my phone, a call came through. It was Chad. His voice was impatient, the sounds of a party loud in the background. “Did you call? I didn’t hear it. What’s up?” I could hear Amber’s voice, clear as day, right next to him. “Chad, hang up and come have fun!” I bit my lip so hard I could taste blood, unable to speak. My thumb slipped and opened my social media feed. At the top was a video Amber had posted five minutes ago: she and Chad, singing a duet, looking into each other’s eyes.

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In my last life, I was the reason Derek’s first love died. She took a knife meant for me. He hated me for it. So he locked me away, and for years, my days and nights were a living hell of his making. Until my twenty-second birthday. My body and spirit were broken, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I chose to end it. I slit my wrists. The last thing I saw was Derek’s eyes, red and blazing with something I couldn’t name. “In your next life,” he warned, his voice a ragged whisper, “don’t love me. And don’t you dare get between me and Luna again.” As he wished. When I woke again, I was back in my senior year classroom. From the athletic field outside, I could hear the roar of the crowd at a basketball game. Derek pushed open the classroom door and tossed his school jacket into my arms. “Hold this for me. Luna’s coming to watch the game later.” For the first time in my life, I didn’t greet him with a heart full of joy. Derek didn’t know it yet. This time, I would stay far, far away from him. 1 The light jacket landed on my desk. Instinctively, I flexed my wrists. There was no deep, aching pain. In my last life, Derek had bound these same wrists to the headboard with one of his silk ties for seven straight days, all because I refused to apologize on the anniversary of Luna’s death. What was I supposed to apologize for? Luna was my sister. The family’s biological daughter. From the moment they found her and brought her home, she had captured everyone’s heart. I admit, I was jealous of her. For a long time, I resented her. I hated how her arrival had stolen my parents, stolen my Derek. But she was so small and frail. When she first came to us, her face was always pale. She would only whisper my name softly, “Sophie, little sister.” And just like that, my heart softened. Maybe having a sister wouldn’t be so bad after all. My parents told me she had a weak constitution. That I needed to give in to her in everything. So, when she wanted my room, I gave it to her. When she wanted my dolls, I gave them to her. When she liked a beautiful dress I had my eye on, I let her have it. But when I started middle school, I realized she liked Derek, too. This time, I refused to yield. He was my Derek. We had grown up together. I couldn’t give him up. But I never imagined that the one and only time I ever competed with Luna would cost a human life. And four years of my own life, spent in unending darkness. … Luna stepping in front of that knife was so sudden. She collapsed in a pool of her own blood. Her last words were, “Sophie… I’m giving Derek back to you… Please don’t hate me, okay?” Just then, Derek arrived, rushing to the scene, only to witness that final, damning moment. Luna had taken the blade for me. She was bleeding profusely. With her blood clotting disorder, she didn’t even make it until the ambulance arrived. She died right there. And her ambiguous last words became the fuel for Derek’s undying hatred for me. That day, my Derek asked me, his face terrifyingly calm, “Sophie, why wasn’t it you who died?” Only later did I learn the truth. That afternoon, Luna had planned to confess her feelings to Derek. But by a cruel twist of fate, she ran into a gang fight. In the chaos, she pushed me out of the way. 2 It was strange. Everything was so strange. After everyone found out Luna had died for me, I became the villain in everyone’s story. The home I had known for over a decade was shattered. My father’s hair seemed to turn gray overnight. “You shouldn’t be alive,” he told me. My mother beat me, screaming through her tears, “You’re a jinx! You killed my Luna! Give me back my daughter!” They pulled me out of school. I was locked in the family’s old, dusty attic day after day. But… why didn’t they blame the attacker? Why did they blame me? Wasn’t I a victim, too? Was it wrong to be the one who survived? I didn’t know. All I knew was that, just as they said, I owed Luna a debt I could never repay. I owed her my life. … I spent a long time in that sunless attic. Until my eighteenth birthday. Derek somehow convinced my parents to finally let me out. Seeing sunlight for the first time in years, my legs buckled. I could barely stand. Derek said nothing. He simply knelt down and carried me on his back. Step by step, he walked to Harborview University. It was the university I dreamed of attending. It was Luna’s dream, too. The wisteria was in full bloom, and Derek’s voice was a soft whisper against my ear. “Did you know, Sophie? This was Luna’s dream, too. But she’ll never get to see it now.” I didn’t answer. I just cried silently on his back. That day was my eighteenth birthday. It was also the last time Derek ever showed me any kindness. After that, my school enrollment was officially terminated. I was locked away in the main house’s attic. My parents moved abroad, washing their hands of me completely. With them gone, Derek had no restraints. At first, I would beg. “Please, Derek, let me go.” But the attic was so dark, so suffocating. Not a single ray of light ever pierced the gloom. Trapped inside, I lost all track of time, of the seasons. Slowly, my mind began to fray. On another anniversary of Luna’s death, Derek demanded that I kneel. We had a violent argument. “I won’t kneel!” I screamed. “I hate her! I hate you all! I never asked her to save me. Why don’t you just kill me, Derek? Just get it over with!” I must have been truly mad then. Derek kicked me hard in the knee. He hated it when I disobeyed. As punishment for my defiance, he dislocated my wrist. He bound me to the headboard in a humiliating position. His voice was cruel. “Don’t blame me, Sophie. This is what you owe Luna. You have no right to feel wronged. At least you’re still alive.” Oh. So my being alive was the mistake. In that case, I didn’t want to be alive anymore. On the night of my twenty-second birthday, I couldn’t hold on any longer. I slit my wrists. As the blood soaked the sheets, I thought, I would finally grant their wish: to give my life back to Luna. 3 Derek’s handsome brow furrowed. He waved a hand in front of my face. “Sophie?” I snapped back to the present. The boy in front of me had clear, bright eyes, with none of the dark hatred I remembered from my past life. But I scrambled to my feet, putting as much distance between us as I could. “I… I have something to do. I can’t make it to the basketball game. You guys go ahead.” I was afraid of him. Truly terrified. Just being near him made me tremble. He looked momentarily stunned, as if he couldn’t process me rejecting him for the first time. After all, wasn’t I always the one chasing after him? He thought for a moment before speaking. “Sophie, are you mad at me? Because I brought Luna a gift the other day and not you?” Mad? A bitter smile touched my lips. I didn’t have the right to be. In my last life, Derek had never said he liked me, but he’d never said he liked Luna, either. Yet he was always by her side. And I was the blind fool who couldn’t see it. The fool who still harbored delusions. Who dared to compete with Luna. No wonder my end was so miserable. The bell for the next period rang, saving me. If I remembered correctly, it was gym class. Our class and the one next door had a basketball game. Luna was in the next class over. I could already see her standing by their classroom door. Derek didn’t press the issue. He gave me one last look before turning and jogging toward Luna, who was waiting for him. Watching their retreating backs, side by side, I let out a long breath of relief. But I hadn’t even had a chance to properly enjoy the sunlight of my new life when, just before school let out, a call from my mother summoned me to the hospital. Luna was having an episode. She needed a blood transfusion. Just like in my last life. Whenever she needed it, I was her on-demand blood bag. At first, when my parents told me Luna had a rare disease that required frequent transfusions, and that my blood type was a perfect match, I was actually happy. I had plenty of blood. I could save my sister. I knew long ago that my parents loved her more. She was their biological daughter, after all. I couldn’t fault them for that. I just thought that if I was good to her, extra good, my parents would be happy. And if they were happy, maybe they would love me again, too. But Luna was too greedy. She was always crying, always needing my blood. The transfusions became more and more frequent, until I could barely handle it. It was always worse when Derek was around. Just like now. I rushed to the hospital in a taxi. Just before they pushed me into the treatment room, Derek quickly shoved a gift box into my hands. 4 A long, suffocating silence filled the room. Luna was in the bed next to mine. She saw the gift box. A faint smile touched her pale lips. “Derek really does care about you, Sophie. You didn’t come to the game this afternoon, and he just stopped playing halfway through. Said he had something to do and just left. I found out later he went to buy you a gift. He was afraid you were upset.” I raised an eyebrow. So that was the reason for today’s “episode.” I remembered it from my last life, too. Anytime Derek showed me the slightest bit of kindness, Luna would inevitably fall ill and end up in the hospital. I glanced at the gift box. A very expensive, limited-edition designer watch. A Harborview exclusive. No wonder Derek thought I was angry. I had wanted this watch for a long time and had even asked him to get it for me. But then Luna had wanted it too. And seeing how frail she was, he had given it to her instead. I shook my head, laughing at my own foolishness. Every sign was there, telling me Derek already had someone he favored. How could I have been so blind? The blood draw left me dizzy. Seeing how pale I was, Luna’s face filled with guilt. “I’m so sorry, Sophie. It’s all my fault for being so useless. Always needing your blood. If it weren’t for me, you would have…” Before she could finish, right in front of her, I tossed the gift box into the trash can. A smirk played on my lips. “It’s just the two of us here. You can drop the act.” Luna froze, clearly not expecting me to be so blunt. I was too tired to play along anymore. I pulled the needle from my arm, stood up, and walked over to her bed, looking down at her. “You weren’t sick this afternoon,” I said, my voice low and steady. “You just saw Derek give me something, and you didn’t like it. So you decided to cause trouble for me. It’s a trick that never fails, isn’t it?” 5 That blunt conversation changed nothing. After Luna was discharged, she went right back to her act, frequently visiting my classroom to see Derek and me. But something was different. I no longer walked with them. The cafeteria, the sports field, the walk home from school… anywhere outside the classroom, I avoided them like the plague. Derek was the first to notice. After a week of me completely ignoring him, he finally snapped. He cornered me at my desk. “Alright, what did I do now, Your Highness?” he asked, a teasing tone in his voice. “Give me a hint.” The boy before me was handsome and carefree. His playful, affectionate tone held no trace of the hatred and disgust I remembered. For a moment, it took me back to a time long ago. Derek used to be so good to me. Whenever his family’s friends brought him snacks or toys from abroad, he always let me pick first. Yes. The boy who always put me first. The boy who’d take a beating from his father to cover for me. The boy who’d cross half of Harborview in the dead of winter with a black eye just because I craved a certain cake. Why, then? Why did a single sentence from Luna turn him into the monster who tormented me for four years? I couldn’t understand it. My eyes welled up with tears. Seeing me cry, Derek panicked. “Hey, why are you crying? Seriously, who bullied you? Tell me. I’ll beat them to a pulp.” You, I wanted to say. You, Derek. You’re the one who hurt me more than anyone. But before I could speak, someone called him away. A student from the next class was at the door. Luna wasn’t feeling well. The boy who had been right in front of me a second ago was gone in a gust of wind, rushing out the door without a moment’s hesitation. The flicker of warmth that had sparked in my heart was instantly extinguished. … It wasn’t until Derek was long gone that the sounds of the classroom returned. With college entrance exams approaching, everyone was discussing which schools they wanted to apply to. A jolt of fear shot through me. If I remembered correctly, in my last life, it was this week, while we were discussing our college choices, that Luna planned her confession to Derek. They were going to apply to Harborview University together. But… The flash of a blade seared through my mind. I clutched my head as a splitting headache took hold. I remembered Derek’s warning before I died. “In your next life, don’t love me. And don’t you dare get between me and Luna again.” Fine. As you wish. Derek, I will leave. I will go far, far away. I had already planned on leaving Harborview anyway.

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I’ve been having the same strange dream repeatedly. In the dream, I’m entangled with a man, indulging in endless nights of passion. But I don’t know him. Later, I reported a female classmate for cheating on her final exams, nearly costing her her degree. Furious, she called in her powerful, influential uncle to back her up. Everyone thought I was finished. I looked up and saw the man. I thought, yeah, I’m definitely finished. Last night in my dream, I kissed him too hard and bit his lip— Wait. Why does he actually have a cut on his lip?! 1 The moment Julian Sterling appeared, I thought I was dreaming again. I pinched my thigh hard to make sure I was awake. Chloe Sterling stood beside him, smug and triumphant. “Willow, my uncle is here. It’s not too late to apologize.” I didn’t hear a word she said. I was just staring at Julian’s face. How could this be? He looked exactly like the man in my dreams. Striking features, an impeccable suit. And the most damning part—his mouth. There was a tiny red mark at the corner of his lips. Exactly where I had bitten him in my dream last night. Is this a coincidence? “Willow, are you listening to me?” Chloe grew impatient, raising her voice. “I said apologize! And you need to make a public statement that reporting me for hiring a test-taker was slander, that you deliberately threw dirt on my name!” I pulled my gaze away and looked at the claws-out Chloe. “I refuse.” “Are you crazy?! Do you know who my uncle is?! He’s a shareholder at Apex Corp. With a snap of his fingers, your new offer from Apex is gone. You’ll be blacklisted by every major company. You’ll be finished!” “Then let me be finished.” I looked up, locking eyes with Julian. Word by word, I said, “Either way, I will never back down.” 2 Walking out of the dean’s office, my classmates guiltily avoided my gaze. Because just now, they all gave false testimonies. Everyone knew Chloe hired someone to take her exams. Including the counselor and some professors. But they chose to turn a blind eye. Even after I reported her, they actively lied for her. The reason was simple: Chloe was our school’s famous nepo baby. The Sterling family was already rich. But ever since her uncle, Julian, took over the family business, their wealth skyrocketed like a rocket. From malls to theme parks in this city, he built them. Julian also had stakes in many major corporations. Offending Chloe meant offending Julian. Even though this tycoon wasn’t even thirty yet, he was already a powerful figure no one dared to cross. Except me, the thorn in everyone’s side. If the report was substantiated, Chloe might not graduate. Panicked, she summoned her uncle, who was on a business trip abroad, to back her up. My roommate followed me, trying to persuade me earnestly. “Why bother? We’re about to graduate. Just endure it and it’ll pass.” “You endure it if you want. I won’t.” “Sigh, her uncle is powerful. There’s nothing we can do.” “That’s not what you said when she copied your thesis.” My roommate choked, unable to refute. Chloe was in our dorm. She was arrogant and looked down on everyone. But she bullied me the hardest. At first, I didn’t understand why. Later I found out it was because of a senior. Chloe used to have a huge crush on him. One day, I accidentally wore the same jacket as him. People teased us, saying we were wearing couple outfits. The senior smiled and said just two words: “My honor.” Chloe held a grudge against me for that. Yes, for something that petty. In fact, I didn’t even have that senior’s number. Chloe liked many boys afterward, but her hatred for me never changed. I returned to the dorm and continued organizing evidence of Chloe’s cheating. Around me, my roommates started gossiping. “Did you guys see Julian Sterling today?” “I did! He’s even younger than I thought.” “I heard he’s only seven years older than Chloe.” “So handsome, oh my god. Does anyone know if he’s married? Does he have a girlfriend?” “Chloe says he does. But even if he were single, we wouldn’t stand a chance. People like that are too far out of our league.” “True.” Listening to their conversation, I zoned out slightly. I thought of the strange dreams I’d been having lately. In the dream, “Julian” shed his impeccable suit, and I let go of all my defenses. Sinking, venting. We couldn’t speak in the dream, only possessing each other through action. But the strange thing was, before today, I didn’t know Julian. So how could I dream of him? 3 Thinking about it, there was only one possibility. Maybe I had glimpsed his photo inadvertently somewhere? I thought I forgot, but my subconscious remembered him firmly. And then projected him into my dreams. That’s the only explanation. As for the wound on Julian’s lip. It must just be a coincidence. Wet dreams are embarrassing to talk about, but as long as I don’t say anything, no one will know. To avoid dreaming of him again, I didn’t sleep until dawn. At noon, my roommate woke me up. “Willow, wake up. Someone’s looking for you.” “Who?” “Julian Sterling.” I opened my eyes instantly, meeting my roommate’s gossipy expression. “He’s downstairs. Hurry up.” I washed up quickly and went downstairs. Julian was exceptionally tall, his back straight. Even standing in the corner, he attracted most people’s attention. He looked me over and said, “Insomnia last night?” My eardrums felt like they vibrated. Because of those dreams, I had guessed countless times what his voice would sound like. Now I finally heard it. Deep, magnetic. “How did you know?” I asked. “You have dark circles under your eyes.” “Oh. What do you want?” “I heard from Chloe that you want to post her story online?” “If the school continues to cover for her, I will.” Julian pondered for a moment. “The company is fighting a PR battle recently. Can you make an exception? Name your conditions.” “No.” I refused flatly. “Bowing to people like you once means never standing up again.” “People like us?” Julian raised an eyebrow, confused. “Yes, privileged people like you. You package yourselves as glamorous, but underneath, you’re rotten flesh, living by sucking the blood of ordinary people.” Julian didn’t get angry. But after a moment of silence, he asked a baffling question: “Is that how you see me?” “Duh. You and Chloe are a loving family. Given what your niece is like, as her elder, could you be a good person?” Leaving that sentence behind, I turned to go upstairs. Julian suddenly called me again. “Willow.” “What else?” He paused for a moment and said, “Go to bed early tonight. Get a good sleep.” 4 Sleeping early was impossible. I had a part-time shift tonight. Chloe wasn’t exaggerating. I really could lose my offer and be unable to find a job for a while. Therefore, saving money to move to another city became very important. The convenience store was open 24 hours, and I had the night shift. Standing guard until 6 AM, I finally got off work. But I was too sleepy. My eyelids were so heavy they felt glued together. No, maybe… I really fell asleep. Because I saw Julian. A black Maybach was parked on the deserted roadside, and he was staring straight at me. It was a dream. It had to be a dream. I walked straight over and said, “Don’t you only appear in dreams at night? It’s 6 AM, why are you still here?” Tested and verified, I only dream of him when I sleep at night. Not during the day. Julian didn’t speak. This was normal because, in the dream, no matter what we said, the other person couldn’t hear. Seeing his abstinent look, I gritted my teeth in hatred. “You look fine here, why are you so detestable in reality?” I reached out to rub his face. He didn’t resist. He even patted the leather seat, signaling me to get in. I climbed into the car decisively and straddled him. A familiar position. We had tried this many times in dreams. Julian habitually adjusted his legs and angles to make me more comfortable. “Your niece bullied me, the counselor covered for her, and you covered for her too. “But you have no idea what she did to me. “I just accidentally bought the same dress as her, and she cut mine into shreds. “She said I was shameless for wearing a knockoff. But how would I know that brand? Even if it was a knockoff, I saved money to buy it.” Julian’s gaze trembled slightly. “And now? I just revealed a fact, and you want those companies to blacklist me…” Since “Julian” couldn’t hear, I poured out all my grievances from reality. Finally, I bit his shoulder hard. “I don’t want to dream of you anymore. This is the last time.” Julian suddenly grabbed me, his grip strong. “No, I don’t agree.” I froze. How did he speak? Wait, how could I hear him speak? Hold on, my head is spinning— Just then, Julian spoke again. “Willow, you’re not asleep. This isn’t a dream.” This time, I heard it clearly. At the same time, there was a knock on the car window. “Uncle, why did you call me out so early?” Chloe mumbled.

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