1 My twin brother was murdered, dismembered, in our own home. I was the only witness. But I couldn’t remember a thing. The doctors called it traumatic amnesia. They said the memories might never return. My parents refused to believe it. They tried everything—electroshock therapy, hypnosis, experimental drugs… None of it worked. All it did was leave me with the same crippling depression that had haunted my brother. After my ninth suicide attempt, my parents finally broke. Their eyes were bloodshot as they screamed at me. “Stop trying to be him! Every time you fake it, you make us sick! You will never replace him!” “If you really wanted to atone, you’d tell us what happened that night!” They threw me out of the house. I was wandering aimlessly along the riverfront when a mysterious man stopped me. He held out a photograph of my brother. “I can help you relive that day,” he said softly. “But the price… is your life.” I looked at the photo, then down at the dark, churning water below. A bitter smile twisted my lips. “Deal.” After all, to me, forgetting was a fate worse than death. I just never imagined that when the images of that night finally played out in the tribunal, the first people to break would be my parents. … The light in the Memory Tribunal was a sterile, unforgiving white. The gallery was sparsely populated with a few observers. They told me the entire procedure would be recorded as a landmark case in deep memory extraction. The man who’d found me by the river, my brother’s best friend, Quentin, stood silently by my side. I could see a flicker of conflict in his eyes. “It’s not too late to walk away,” he murmured, his voice low. I glanced down at the latticework of scars on my wrists and shook my head. Just then, a side door burst open and my parents rushed in, their hair disheveled as if they’d run all the way here. My mother’s eyes locked onto me instantly. There was no concern in them, only a raw, overflowing agony and resentment. “What are you doing here? Do you think this is some grand gesture of redemption?!” her voice, sharp and piercing, echoed in the vast chamber. “Your brother… he died so horribly! You were right there! How could you forget? How dare you forget?!” My father didn’t cry. He just stared at me, his eyes a spiderweb of broken blood vessels. “We tried everything to help you remember! The shocks, the hypnosis… and what did you do?” “You knew how much he suffered, and yet you had the gall to fake depression just to be like him?!” “And now this? A Memory Tribunal?” “Do you think this makes you look tragic? Do you think it makes you more like him?!” A low murmur rippled through the observers in the gallery. My mother’s chest heaved. “Were we not good to you? You were the younger sister, we always worried you’d feel left out! But him?” “He was so considerate, always looking out for you, protecting you! And in the end… in the end…” She broke down, sobbing. It took her a long moment to regain her composure before she pointed a trembling finger at me. “Did he die protecting you?! Did you get him tangled up in something terrible?!” “Is that why you won’t talk?! Is it?!” I stood frozen, a chill creeping up from the soles of my feet, turning my limbs to ice. In their eyes, was I really that worthless? Quentin’s hand came to rest on my rigid shoulder, a silent comfort. “Your brother wouldn’t blame you.” I turned to him, saw the pity in his eyes, and asked softly, “If I go through with this, the truth of what he went through will come out, right?” Quentin was silent for a few seconds before giving a nearly imperceptible nod. “The memory feed will be broadcast live. Every hidden detail will be exposed.” “Then let’s begin,” I said. Quentin’s brow furrowed as he gestured toward the chilling metal chair in the center of the room. A gleaming neural probe was suspended directly above it. “That’s the Lumina Probe. It will pierce your skull and reach the core of your brain.” “The older and more traumatic the memory, the deeper it has to go. And the more it will hurt.” My gaze drifted past the long, cold probe to my parents in the gallery. My mother was still weeping into her hands. My father had turned away, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. A small, quiet smile touched my lips. “It’s okay. I’m not afraid.” “As long as my brother can rest in peace, as long as Mom and Dad can know what really happened… it doesn’t matter how much it hurts.” Quentin watched me for a long moment before finally nodding to the lead technician. The technician stepped forward, his expression grave. “Mr. Quentin, once the memory extraction process is activated, it cannot be stopped.” “Upon completion, the subject will suffer irreversible brain damage, resulting in brain death.” “As per protocol, the next of kin must be informed of the ultimate risks.” “No!” The word escaped me before I could think. I looked at Quentin, my eyes pleading. “Please… don’t tell them. Not yet. Can you do that?” In the gallery, my mother lifted her tear-stained face. My father looked over, his eyes still burning with anger. Quentin’s jaw tightened. “Fine,” he said to the technician, his voice hoarse. “I’ll take full responsibility. Begin.” Two assistants guided me to the cold metal chair, strapping my arms and legs down securely. The probe overhead whirred, adjusting its angle to target the crown of my head. An anesthesiologist approached with a sedative. But just as the needle was about to touch my skin… My father shot to his feet, his voice trembling. “Wait!” 2 A flicker of something stirred in my numb heart. A tiny, pathetic ripple of hope. Were they… worried about me? My father’s next words shattered that fragile illusion. He looked at the lead technician, his gaze sharp and cold. “I’ve heard… anesthetics can interfere with the clarity and authenticity of the memories. Is that right?” The technician paused, taken aback. “Theoretically, there can be a minor impact, but for the subject’s well-being…” “Then don’t use any.” My father cut him off, his tone absolute. “She wants to remember, doesn’t she? This way she can have a good, long look.” My mother flinched, a flicker of pity crossing her face. But it vanished as quickly as it came. She turned her head away and added her firm agreement. “That’s right… She said she forgot. Let’s make sure she sees it all clearly this time.” A dead silence fell over the tribunal. The observers exchanged shocked glances. Someone audibly gasped. Quentin surged forward, his face a mask of disbelief and rage. “Do you have any idea what you’re saying?! The pain of this procedure is unimaginable! It’s—” “Quentin,” I called out, stopping him. My eyes were fixed on the two faces in the gallery, so familiar yet so alien. “Fine,” I said quietly. “No anesthetic.” He whipped his head around to look at me, his eyes wide with shock. “Phoebe! The pain is a thousand times worse than being flayed alive! You… you can’t handle it!” “I can,” I interrupted, my gaze unwavering. “Let’s begin.” “I want to see the truth just as much as they do.” Quentin opened his mouth, but seeing the resolve in my eyes, he said nothing more. After a long, heavy pause, he signaled for the technician to proceed. The probe overhead descended, drilling viciously into my skull. “Ngh—!” A blinding, white-hot agony shot through me. I bit down hard, clamping my jaw against a scream. On the large screen, the first memory began to surface. I was in a loose-fitting hospital gown, curled into a ball on a bed, staring blankly into space. Bang! The door to the room slammed open. My mother stormed in, her eyes a hysterical red. She lunged for the bed, her hands grabbing my shoulders, shaking me violently. “Phoebe! Look at me! Tell me what happened that night!” “Who was in our house?! Your brother… how… how did he die?!” The world spun. Tears streamed silently down my face as I shook my head over and over. “I’m sorry, I don’t know… I really can’t remember… I’m so sorry…” “How can you not remember?! How can you?!” My mother’s sanity finally snapped. She shrieked, her hands closing tight around my throat. “That was your brother! Your twin brother!” “You were in my womb together for nine months! You grew up side-by-side!” “He was right next to you… while someone was… how could you forget?! How DARE you forget?!” Suffocation and a tidal wave of guilt drowned me. My face turned purple as I choked out broken whimpers. “Sorry… so sorry…” My father stood in the doorway, his eyes burning. My mother suddenly released me, screaming, “What good is saying sorry?! I want the truth! I want the killer!” The scene abruptly shifted. Now I was strapped to a metal chair. Electrodes were stuck to my head and body. “Final session, Phoebe. What did you see that night?” a doctor’s cold voice asked. I shook my head in terror, tears gushing from my eyes. “I’m sorry… I can’t remember… I really don’t know…” The moment the words left my mouth, a violent current shot through my body. “AAAAAHHH!” A scream tore from my throat as my body convulsed uncontrollably. “Did you remember anything?! Did you see something?!” My mother’s sharp voice came from behind a glass panel. My mouth gaped open, but all that came out were strangled gasps and agonized moans as I continued to shake my head. “Increase the voltage!” my father commanded without a hint of hesitation. A more powerful shock slammed into me. My body arched against the restraints, saliva and tears streamed down my face, my pupils dilating from the sheer agony. “Have you remembered yet?! Say it!” “…No… nothing… AHHHH!” “Again! To the maximum! She remembers, she’s just not talking!” my father roared. “No… please… just kill me… kill me…” “AAAGGGHHHHH!” As my scream ripped through the air, the screen went black. The memory ended. The tribunal was utterly silent. Suddenly, my father’s furious voice shattered the quiet. “What was that?!” “Is this what we came here to see?! We want to see what happened that night!” My mother shot to her feet, crying out at the stage. “Keep going! Dig deeper! Skip all this useless garbage! We want the truth!” Subdued whispers and stifled sobs could be heard from the gallery. Quentin looked at me, drenched in sweat and trembling, his brow furrowed in deep concern. The lead technician took a shaky breath, his voice strained. “First-level surface memory extraction is complete. The subject is conscious, but her vital signs are fluctuating.” “I will state again: forcibly extracting memories without anesthesia may lead to sudden cardiac arrest and death.” Before the technician had even finished, my father yelled, “Keep going! I told you, whatever the cost! We want the truth!” 3 The technician looked at me with pity in his eyes. I gave a weak nod, forcing the words through gritted teeth. “Continue.” He took a deep breath, his hand trembling as he keyed in the command. The machine whirred to life again, the probe resuming its relentless drilling into my brain. “AAAAAHHHHH!” The pain was so intense I couldn’t stop myself from screaming. My body started to twitch and writhe in the chair. My parents looked over, the sound of my agony seemingly the first thing to register as real. But a moment later, the screen lit up again, and their attention was stolen away once more. The image slowly came into focus. This time, the memory was of a simple barbershop. In the mirror was a boy in a plain white t-shirt. His jaw was sharp, his eyes clear, and his bangs fell softly across his forehead. His face, his entire demeanor… he was the spitting image of my brother, Leo. In the gallery, my parents both held their breath. Quentin froze, his fingers tightening on the control panel. In the memory, the boy in the mirror looked up, revealing his full face. It wasn’t my brother. It was me. My shoulder-length hair was gone, replaced by a short cut identical to Leo’s. I was wearing one of his old shirts, a light-blue striped button-down that hung loosely on my frame. My parents’ eyes, which had been lit with a flicker of impossible hope, went dark the moment they recognized me. The memory shifted. I walked out of the barbershop and went home. My parents were sitting on the living room sofa. “Dad, Mom, I’m home.” I pitched my voice lower, trying to mimic my brother’s cadence. On the sofa, they both jolted, their heads snapping in my direction. As they saw the figure in the doorway, my mother’s eyes flew wide. “L… Leo?” My father shot to his feet, his pupils constricting as he stared. But as their eyes adjusted, as they truly saw my face, the light in their eyes died. “Chlo… e!” My mother shrieked my name. “What… what is this?! What are you trying to do?!” She rushed forward, grabbing my arm, her questions frantic and wild. I was terrified, stumbling over my words. “I… I just wanted… to make you feel a little better…” “I thought… I thought if I looked more like him, you wouldn’t be so sad…” “I’m sorry, I’m just trying to atone…” SMACK! My father’s hand cracked across my face. He was shaking with rage, his eyes crimson. “Atone?! You think dressing up like Leo is atoning?!” “Phoebe, let me tell you something. This isn’t atonement. This is disgusting!” “You want us to forget him completely so you can take his place, is that it?! Huh?!” My cheek burned. I clutched my face, shaking my head frantically. “No! Dad, no! I never wanted to replace him!” “I… I really was just trying to… atone…” My mother shoved me away, her voice rising into a hysterical wail. “You want to atone?! Then tell us what you saw that night! Find the killer!” “What good is playing dress-up?!” I collapsed onto the floor. Faced with their fury and accusations, all I could do was repeat the same useless words over and over. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I really can’t remember… I’m so sorry…” My father leaned down, his bloodshot eyes boring into mine. “It’s not us you should be sorry to! It’s your brother, Leo!” “If you really want to apologize to him, then why don’t you go do it in person? Go to hell and tell him you’re sorry—” The final image of the memory was the living room, late at night. I was kneeling ramrod straight on the floor, my forehead a bloody, pulpy mess. The tears on my face had long since dried, leaving only a numb, hollow emptiness. Facing my brother’s portrait, I slammed my head against the floor again and again, whispering a ceaseless mantra. “I’m sorry, Leo.” Thud. “I’m sorry…” Thud. “I’m sorry…” Thud. The dull impacts, punctuated by my apologies, echoed in the silent room. The screen went dark. My mother’s broken, screaming sobs pulled everyone back to the present. She pointed at me, tears and snot streaming down her face. “Phoebe! Do you even have a heart?!” “Who are you showing this to?! Are you trying to get sympathy?!” “We want to know how your brother died! The truth! Do you hear me?!” My father’s face was ashen, a vein throbbing in his temple. “Skip this self-pitying crap!” he roared. “Keep digging! Keep going!” I watched them, their faces twisted with rage, and fresh tears welled in my eyes. My lips moved on their own, a familiar, desperate whisper. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry… Mom and Dad… I’m sorry…” “I’m sorry… Leo… I’m sorry…” With every “I’m sorry,” the probe in my mind seemed to twist deeper. “Ugh—!” After the last apology escaped my lips, a spray of blood erupted from my mouth.

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On the subway, a woman’s shriek accused me of being a pervert. Her shattered phone lay at my feet. Every passenger turned on me, their voices a torrent of curses. They said my white cane was a prop, my navigation glasses a hidden camera. I calmly removed one earbud. “You’re saying I was filming you?” “That’s right!” Her voice trembled, but her conviction was absolute. I smiled. “How can a blind man film anyone?” 1 The evening rush hour turns the subway into a crowded cage. I stood in the corner of the car, leaning on my white cane. My fingertips traced the textured grip on the handle—one of the few ways I could feel the world. I can’t see. Darkness has been my companion since birth. But I’m not as clumsy as you might imagine. A pair of custom navigation glasses rests on my nose. They use sonic pulses to map my surroundings, painting a wireframe of the world in my mind and calling out the distance to obstacles. Combined with the echolocation I’ve practiced since childhood and the self-defense my instructor taught me, I can navigate familiar spaces as well as any sighted person. Right now, I was just trying to get home. Soft music played through my headphones, a futile attempt to block out the chaos. I’d just won two back-to-back cases for a client and I was exhausted. All I wanted was a hot cup of tea in my quiet apartment. “Watch where you’re going!” A sharp, entitled voice cut through the noise from somewhere in front of me. I frowned, pulling out one earbud. My hearing is extremely sensitive; I can pick up almost any sound within thirty feet. The rustle of a woman’s skirt, a man’s suppressed cough, and… the soft click of a phone’s camera focusing. Wait. That sound was close. Almost directly in front of me. I tilted my head instinctively. My glasses immediately alerted me: “Adult female, zero-point-five meters ahead. Holding rectangular object, pointed in your direction.” A rectangular object? Almost certainly a phone. What was she doing, pointing her phone at me? A flicker of confusion passed through me, but I dismissed it. It was a crowded train; people took photos and videos all the time. I put my earbud back in, ready to tune it all out. But then, the phone clattered to the floor. It was followed by a piercing shriek that sliced through the car. “Ah! What are you doing?! Are you filming me?!” I froze. The voice belonged to the same woman who had been complaining about the crowd. Was she talking to me? “No,” I said automatically, my voice even. “I didn’t touch you, and I wasn’t filming you.” “Don’t you dare lie!” her voice shot up, thick with a mix of anger and violation. “I felt you pointing your phone right at me! If I hadn’t been quick enough to smack it out of your hand, you would have invaded my privacy, you creep!” The car fell silent. The hum of conversation, the shuffle of feet, the automated station announcements—it all stopped, frozen by her accusation. Dozens of eyes turned to me. I couldn’t see them, but I could feel their stares—a cocktail of disgust, suspicion, and morbid curiosity, like a thousand tiny needles piercing my skin. “It wasn’t me,” I repeated, my voice still steady, though a knot of anxiety was tightening in my stomach. “I wasn’t holding a phone. Your phone fell, but it had nothing to do with me.” “Nothing to do with you?” She let out a cold, mocking laugh. “Then why were you staring in my direction? And what are those things on your face? They look like some kind of spy camera!” Her words were a spark in a tinderbox. The crowd ignited. “Yeah, those glasses look weird. Probably one of those spy cams!” “These creeps are getting better at hiding. He looks normal, but he’s a total pervert.” “It’s so hard for girls to be safe out there. She must be terrified.” “Someone grab him before he runs!” The accusations washed over me like a tidal wave, drowning out my defense. I tightened my grip on my cane, my knuckles turning white. I knew this was trouble. 2 “Don’t listen to his lies!” the woman shouted, emboldened by the crowd’s support. “I saw it clearly. He was staring right at me with those weird glasses, holding his phone. He was definitely filming me!” She bent down, picked up her phone, and held it up for everyone to see. “Look! My screen is shattered! This is the proof! He was filming me, and when I caught him, I knocked it out of his hand!” Passengers crowded around to look. A spiderweb of cracks covered the screen. “The evidence is right there!” “Looks like he really did it. Why else would she be so upset?” “Someone needs to teach this guy a lesson!” A few hot-headed men started cracking their knuckles, their eyes fixed on me. I could feel their aggression, could hear their footsteps closing in. “Don’t move,” I said, my voice low. My body tensed, ready to defend myself. The martial arts my instructor taught me were for self-preservation, not for starting fights. But it looked like I didn’t have a choice. “What? You gonna fight back?” a burly man snarled. “You film a girl and now you’re getting aggressive? You’re going to pay for this.” He reached out to grab my arm. I tracked the sound of his hand cutting through the air, instinctively stepping back while my own hand shot out, locking onto his wrist with precise pressure. “Agh!” he cried out, his face twisting in pain. “Let go of me! You’re hurting me!” I’m not particularly strong, but I had targeted a pressure point, inflicting maximum pain with minimal force. “I’ll say it one more time. I was not filming anyone,” I said, releasing him, my voice cold as ice. “Stay away from me.” The man clutched his wrist, his eyes burning with hatred. “This creep isn’t just a pervert, he’s violent! Everyone, help me take him down!” His words enraged the crowd, and they surged forward. “He’s attacking people now? Unbelievable!” “Let’s get him! Hold him down!” “Don’t let him hurt that poor girl!” I was backed into a corner, the cold wall of the train at my back. I listened to the approaching footsteps and the chorus of angry shouts, a chill spreading through me. I couldn’t see their faces, but I could imagine their snarling expressions. They would rather believe the word of a complete stranger than listen to a single word of my defense. All because she looked fragile and innocent, while I wore “suspicious” glasses and knew how to defend myself. “Everyone, calm down!” I shouted, my voice rising above the din. “Nothing has been proven yet! Don’t resort to violence! My glasses aren’t a recording device, they’re for navigation! I’m—” “Don’t listen to his nonsense!” the woman cut me off instantly. “Navigation glasses? Yeah, right! Technology is so advanced these days, anyone could disguise a spy cam as glasses! Do you really think we’d fall for that?” She stepped right in front of me, looking down at where she presumed my eyes were. “I’ll tell you what. Either you admit you filmed me and pay for my emotional distress and a new phone, or I’m calling the cops and letting them deal with you!” “The police?” A thought sparked in my mind. That was a good idea. The police would have to be rational. They would investigate properly. “Fine. Call them,” I said calmly. “I trust they’ll clear my name.” The woman was taken aback by my quick agreement. She hesitated for a second, then sneered. “Fine by me! Let’s see how you talk your way out of this with them!” She immediately took out her phone and dialed, her voice urgent and panicked. “Officer, please hurry! There’s a pervert on the subway filming me, and he just assaulted someone! You have to come arrest him!” After hanging up, she shot me a triumphant look. “You just wait. The cops are on their way. Let’s see how you deny it then!” The crowd quieted down, waiting for the authorities to arrive. But their glares were still full of contempt and disgust, as if my guilt was already a foregone conclusion. I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes. Darkness was my normal. But in that moment, I realized something far more terrifying than darkness was the cold, suffocating prejudice of the human heart. My glasses continued to feed me information: “Male, one meter to your left, agitated. Female, zero-point-eight meters to your right, recording with phone. Female, zero-point-six meters ahead, expression of anger…” The words were like thorns, pricking at me. I could hear their whispers, their curses. “What a scumbag.” “I hope he goes to jail.” “People like him deserve to be torn apart.” I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. The pain was an anchor, keeping me grounded. I told myself not to react, not to let their anger infect me. The truth would come out. But for now, all I could do was wait. Wait for the police, and wait for a chance to prove my innocence. Somehow, I knew that chance wouldn’t come easily. 3 The train glided to a stop. The moment the doors hissed open, two transit security officers boarded the car. “Who called this in? What’s going on?” one of them asked, his voice loud and authoritative. “I did!” the woman immediately rushed toward them, her face crumpling into a mask of distress. Her eyes were red-rimmed, as if she’d suffered a great injustice. “Officers, it was him! He was filming me on the train, and when I caught him, he attacked someone! Please, you have to arrest him!” She pointed at me, her voice catching in a sob. She was the perfect picture of a damsel in distress. The two officers’ gazes snapped to me, sharp with suspicion. “Sir, you need to come with us,” one of them said, his tone severe. “I didn’t film anyone, and I didn’t attack anyone,” I explained calmly. “She’s lying. That man tried to grab me first, and I was only defending myself.” “Defending yourself?” the woman shot back. “You’re the one who’s lying! You were furious that I caught you, so you lashed out! Everyone here can be a witness!” She turned to the other passengers. “Isn’t that right, everyone?!” “Yes! We all saw it!” “He was the one filming her, and then he got violent!” “Officers, just take him away! He’s a danger to everyone here!” The passengers chimed in, their voices firm, as if they had personally witnessed the entire fabricated event. The officers exchanged a look. It was clear whose side they were on. “Sir, regardless of what happened, you need to come with us to the station office to cooperate with the investigation,” the other officer said, reaching for my arm. “Don’t touch me,” I said, sidestepping his grasp. My voice was cold. “I’ll walk on my own. But I’m telling you again, I’ve been framed.” “Whoa, listen to this guy!” the man whose wrist I’d grabbed earlier sneered. “Officers, look at his attitude! He’s obviously guilty!” “Yeah, you need to be tough with guys like this!” “Don’t let him get away!” As the passengers egged them on, the officers’ expressions hardened. “Sir, I’m asking you to cooperate. Don’t make us use force,” one of them warned. I could feel their hostility, could sense the smug satisfaction from the surrounding crowd. I took a deep breath, pushing down the anger simmering inside me. Resisting now would do no good. It would only reinforce their image of me as an “arrogant, violent pervert.” “Fine. I’ll go with you,” I said. I picked up my white cane and, guided by the memory of my glasses’ last input, began walking toward the door. The cane tapped rhythmically against the floor. Tap. Tap. Tap. The sound seemed unnaturally loud in the suddenly quiet car. “What’s that he’s holding?” “Is that… a white cane?” “A cane? Is he blind?” “No way. How could a blind guy move like that? Or film someone?” The sight of my cane sparked a new wave of murmurs, this time laced with confusion. The woman’s face paled for a fraction of a second, but she quickly recovered, letting out a cold laugh. “Blind? Please! He’s faking it! These perverts will do anything to get out of trouble!” Her explanation was immediately accepted by most of the passengers. “Yeah, he must be faking!” “How could a blind person take a secret video? He’s putting on an act!” “That’s disgusting. Pretending to be blind to get away with it.” I ignored them. Pretending to be blind? They had no idea. My world was nothing but black. These glasses, this cane—they were essential parts of my life. And now, they had become the “evidence” of my deception.

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My brother-in-law, blind drunk, slapped my five-year-old daughter across the face in front of the whole family. “You little brat,” he slurred. “Don’t you know how to greet your uncle?” My daughter, only five, burst into terrified tears. I was about to explode, but my wife, Sarah, grabbed my arm, her voice a low hiss. “Don’t make a scene. We’ll talk at home.” Looking at her, so desperate to smooth things over, I felt a sudden, bitter laugh bubble up inside me. I didn’t say another word that night. The next morning, I made a single phone call. That afternoon, my brother-in-law, Jack, burst into our home, his face sheet-white. “Are you insane? If you pull my loan guarantee, my company is finished!” I lifted my coffee mug, blowing gently on the steam. “Well, Jack,” I said slowly, “my daughter might not have any manners, but as her father, I have even less.” 1 The crack of palm against cheek. Sharp. Clean. Silence slammed down on the dinner table. The half-eaten shrimp fell from my daughter’s tiny hand, spattering sauce on Jack’s pant leg. “Waaaaah!” The cry tore through the quiet. My five-year-old daughter, Monica, recoiled so violently she almost fell off her chair. Jack drew his hand back, his face flushed with booze and anger. The stench of cheap whiskey filled the air. He jabbed a finger at Monica, the tip nearly poking her in the eye. “No manners,” he growled. “Doesn’t greet her uncle. Gets food all over me. She had it coming.” I clenched my fists. The fork in my hand bent, the tines digging into my palm. I stood up. The scrape of my chair against the floor was a raw, ugly sound. My wife, Sarah, lunged at me, wrapping her arms around my bicep like a vice. Her nails dug into my skin. “Ethan, don’t,” she pleaded, her voice a desperate whisper. “He’s drunk.” Her eyes weren’t filled with concern for our daughter. They were filled with fear. Fear that I would flip the table. Fear that I would ruin her family’s precious dinner party. I glanced at my mother-in-law, Brenda. She was dabbing at Jack’s pants with a napkin, not even looking up. “Kids are tough. A slap will teach her to remember. Besides, those pants cost a fortune. It’d be a shame to stain them.” My father-in-law, Robert, raised his wine glass for a sip. “Sit down, Ethan. We’re family. Don’t spoil the mood. And Monica, really. She’s old enough to hold a bowl properly.” Monica was clutching her face, her small fingers unable to hide the bright red handprint blooming on her cheek. She wouldn’t even look at me. She just shrank into the corner of her chair, her small body trembling. “Daddy,” she whimpered. “I’m sorry. Please don’t hit me.” That one sentence. That one sentence ripped my insides to shreds. I threw Sarah’s arm off me. The force sent her stumbling back against a liquor cabinet. “Ethan! What are you doing? This is my parents’ house!” she shrieked. Jack slammed his glass down on the rotating centerpiece. The glass spun with a low hum. “Lost your mind, have you? You eat at our table, you play by our rules. Now sit down, knock back three shots, and we’ll call this over.” His tongue was thick, his eyes clouded with a murky arrogance I’d endured for five long years. An arrogance I’d paid for, starting with the sixty-thousand-dollar “gift” I gave her parents for the wedding, and the down payment I’d made on this very house. I bent down and lifted Monica into my arms. She buried her face in my neck, her tears soaking my collar, hot and searing. “We’re leaving.” Just two words. I turned and walked toward the door. The sound of a plate shattering echoed behind me. “Ethan! You walk out that door tonight, and don’t you dare come crawling back!” Jack bellowed. My mother-in-law was screaming now, too. “Ungrateful bastard! That’s what he is! Sarah, look at the trash you married!” Sarah caught up to me at the door, her hand clamping down on the handle. “Don’t go. What about me? My parents are here! My brother just landed that huge deal. Can’t you just let it go, for my sake?” Her eyes were red, but not for our daughter. I stared at her. This was the woman I shared a bed with. Our daughter’s face was swelling by the second, and all she cared about was some business deal. About “face.” “Move,” I said, my voice dangerously low. She wouldn’t let go. “You have to apologize to my brother. If you don’t, this marriage is over.” I laughed. A short, sharp, ugly sound escaped my throat. With one hand, I shoved the door open. The force of it knocked her to the floor. The door clicked shut behind me, cutting off the cacophony of shouts and curses. The elevator descended, the numbers dropping in the dim light. I stroked the back of my daughter’s head. “Does it hurt, sweetie?” “Daddy, Uncle Jack is so mean. I don’t like him.” “I know. We won’t see him anymore.” “Really?” “Really.” I buckled Monica into her car seat, her little body finally relaxing. The engine roared to life, its headlights slicing through the darkness. I didn’t drive back to our so-called home—the house still in Sarah’s name. I drove to the old apartment my parents had left me. Monica had cried herself to sleep, her hand still clutching a corner of my shirt. I sat on the couch in the dark. I don’t smoke, but right then, I needed the nicotine to quell the inferno raging in my veins. The cherry of the cigarette glowed and faded in the blackness. My phone buzzed. A string of messages from Sarah. Ten sixty-second voice notes. I didn’t bother listening. I just let the phone transcribe them. “Ethan where the hell are you?” “Jack is furious. You better buy him a nice gift and come apologize tomorrow morning.” “What’s the big deal? It was just a slap. He used to hit me when we were kids, and I turned out fine.” “Don’t be an idiot about this. You still have to co-sign to renew that two-hundred-thousand-dollar loan for his company, you know.” Renew the loan. Those words leaped off the screen. I crushed the cigarette in an ashtray. I went to my study, opened the safe, and pulled out a file. Inside were five years of financial records. Sixty thousand for the wedding. Another sixty thousand for her parents’ down payment. Thirty thousand for Jack’s car. Fifty thousand in start-up capital for Jack’s company. Fifteen thousand for Brenda’s hospital bills. And there it was. The most important one. The guarantee agreement for Jack’s business loan. Principal: two hundred thousand dollars. I was the joint-liability guarantor. The collateral? My pre-marital apartment. I scanned the contract. The terms were crystal clear. Black and white. “The guarantor has the right to withdraw the guarantee if the borrower defaults or poses a significant risk.” Assaulting a child while intoxicated. Does that count as a significant risk? I picked up my phone. It was 3 AM. I texted my lawyer, Leo. “I need to pull a loan guarantee. And I want a divorce. I’ll be at your office first thing in the morning.” Leo replied instantly. “Trouble?” “Yeah.” “You sure about this? Pulling the guarantee means Jack’s company’s cash flow gets cut off. That’s a feud to the death.” I glanced toward the bedroom, where the sound of my daughter’s gentle breathing filled the quiet. “If that makes us enemies for life, so be it.” 2 The morning sun was a blade in my eyes. I blinked it away. Monica was still asleep, her little body turned on its side. The swelling on her cheek had gone down, but it had been replaced by a sickening bluish-purple bruise. It looked even worse. The doorbell rang. A series of sharp, impatient jabs. I went to the door and opened it. Sarah stood there, holding a paper bag. Coffee and donuts. She’d changed clothes and put on makeup, caking foundation over the dark circles under her eyes. “Why did you bring her all the way over here? I’ve been looking everywhere,” she said, breezing past me. She put the bag on the table as if nothing had happened, as if my storming out last night was nothing more than a walk around the block. “Eat up. After breakfast, you can take Monica over to apologize to Jack. Mom says he’s calmed down a bit. Just be the bigger man, and we can all move on from this.” She held out a donut to me. The grease was already soaking through the bag. I didn’t take it. “Go look at Monica,” I said, gesturing to the bedroom. “Is she still sleeping? Let’s not wake her then. We can go later.” “I said, go look at her face.” Sarah froze. “Ethan, are you ever going to let this go? It was one slap! He was drunk, he didn’t know his own strength. He’s her elder. He’s allowed to discipline her.” “Discipline?” I walked to the table and tossed the file onto it. “Take a look.” “What’s this?” she asked, pulling out the stack of papers. Bank statements. Transaction records. A copy of the loan guarantee. Every single withdrawal, every single transfer, I had circled in red ink. “In the last five years, I have spent three hundred and forty-five thousand dollars on your family. Not including interest.” “What’s your point? Are you keeping score now?” Sarah slammed the papers back on the table, her voice shrill. “We’re family! What’s mine is yours! My parents worked hard to raise me, you know.” “They worked hard to raise you, so you could feed your brother my flesh and blood?” I pulled out a chair and sat, meeting her gaze. “Last night’s slap woke me up.” “Jack didn’t just hit Monica. He hit me. And he hit you. But he doesn’t care. And neither do you.” “In your heart, your brother is your brother, your parents are your parents. I’m just the ATM, and Monica is a burden.” “That’s not true!” Sarah’s tears started to fall. “Of course I love Monica! But what was I supposed to do? If I don’t side with my brother, my mom yells at me, my dad gets angry. How am I supposed to survive in that family?” “So you sacrifice ours instead?” I didn’t want to hear it. I’d heard the same excuses for five years until my ears were numb. I glanced at the wall clock. 9:00 AM. The bank was open. I picked up my phone and dialed, putting it on speaker. “Mr. Miller, Ethan here.” The voice on the other end was warm. “Ethan! Good morning. Is this about renewing Mr. Henderson’s loan? We’ve got the paperwork ready. When would be a good time for you to come in and sign?” Sarah’s ears perked up. A flicker of hope crossed her face. She thought I was caving, that I was going to sign. “It’s not about renewing,” I said, my voice steady. “I’m calling to inform you that I am withdrawing all guarantees for Jack Henderson’s company, Henderson Construction. I am also requesting a freeze on my collateral and initiating risk mitigation procedures.” The air in the room turned to ice. Sarah’s mouth fell open. The line was silent for three seconds. “Mr. Ross, are you serious? The loan is due next week. If you withdraw your guarantee, the bank will immediately pursue the principal from the borrower. We’d also have to flag his company as high-risk. This is…” “I’m not joking. My lawyer will deliver the official written application and supporting evidence to your office within the hour. Jack Henderson is suspected of violent criminal behavior and concealing significant personal debts. I have to protect my assets.” “I… I see. If that’s your decision, we’ll begin the risk control process immediately.” I hung up and tossed the phone on the table. The screen went dark. Sarah lost it. She lunged for the phone. “Ethan, you’re insane! That’s two hundred thousand dollars! He can’t pay that back! You’ll kill him! The company will go bankrupt!” I caught her wrist. I wasn’t rough, just firm. “His company going bankrupt is his problem, not mine.” “He’s your brother-in-law! We’re family!” “He didn’t treat us like family when he hit my daughter.” I let go of her. She collapsed to the floor, wailing. “You’ll regret this! My mother will never let you get away with this!” “Let her try.” I stood up and poured myself a glass of water from the kitchen. It was cool and clean on my throat. “Also,” I added, “the divorce papers will be arriving in a few days.” Her wails stopped. She looked up at me, her makeup smeared, a grotesque mask of disbelief. “You’re divorcing me over this?” “This?” I took another sip of water. “Sarah, this is just the beginning.” “Get out.” She didn’t move. I picked up my phone again. “Or I’m calling the police to report a trespasser.” She scrambled to her feet, grabbed her purse, and stumbled out, her heels clicking a frantic, uneven rhythm on the tile floor. The door slammed shut, rattling the walls. I walked to the bedroom. The door was slightly ajar. Monica was sitting on the bed, hugging her stuffed bunny, her eyes wide. “Daddy? Is Mommy gone?” “Yes, she’s gone.” “Is she coming back?” “Do you want her to?” Monica shook her head. “No. Mommy always tells me to be good. She makes me get Uncle Jack’s slippers. I don’t like it.” A fist clenched around my heart. My daughter knew. She knew everything. I went to her and held her tight. “Then she’s not coming back.” My phone started vibrating again. A call from my mother-in-law, Brenda. Then my father-in-law, Robert. Then Jack. The screen lit up again and again, like a harbinger of doom. I switched it to silent and tossed it into a corner of the sofa. Then I went to the kitchen to make some scrambled eggs. They were Monica’s favorite. As long as I could make this one small thing right for her, the rest of the world could burn.

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The imposter who stole my life tried to kill herself again, bringing my engagement party to a screeching halt. I was done. Utterly exhausted. I set a metaphorical fire to that grand ballroom and vanished without a trace. Five years passed before the Hawthorne family saw my face again, in an interview printed in a national magazine. My former brother, Julian, made an international call. “Vivian. So you’re not dead after all.” I said nothing. A cold snort came through the line. “The Matriarch’s funeral is in a week. Whether you show up is your business.” After he hung up, my husband, Marcus, must have noticed the look on my face. He walked over, our daughter in his arms. “I can take Coco to the summer camp. You should go back. After all… that woman did help you once.” The truth was, I had no expectations for that family anymore. But she was the only one in that house who had ever shown me a shred of kindness. I nodded, not arguing. The next day, I boarded a flight back to the country I’d left behind. Five years. It was time to go back and settle the old scores, one by one. 1 The Hawthorne estate loomed before me. It was the same as it was five years ago. Grand, imposing, cold. I suppressed the turmoil in my chest and raised a hand to the doorbell. But the door swung open from the inside. Our housekeeper, Maria, saw me and froze. The garbage bag in her hand dropped to the ground with a thud. “Miss Vivian! You… you’re really alive!” Her eyes instantly reddened. When I first returned to the Hawthorne family, I was an outcast, ostracized by everyone. Maria was the only one who looked after me, taking care of my meals and daily needs. “It’s good that you’re back, but Mrs. Hawthorne, she…” Maria wiped a tear from her eye, trailing off. She stepped aside. “Miss, please, come in.” “I heard you were working abroad to support yourself… it must have been so hard. Now that you’re back, you should talk to the young master. You can live a comfortable life, just like Miss Claire. Don’t let things get as bad as they did five years ago…” “You’re still brother and sister, after all. Mr. Hawthorne… he does care about you…” Her eyes were filled with pity. As if I were still the same pathetic creature who used to cry and beg for a scrap of affection from the Hawthorne family. But she didn’t know. I wasn’t that Vivian anymore. I stood my ground, not moving a muscle. “I won’t come in, Maria. Where are her ashes? The old house, or the cemetery?” Maria was stunned. “But Mr. Hawthorne is inside, waiting for you…” Then I wanted to go in even less. Back then, when things were at their worst, my dear brother had thrown me out of the house into a raging storm. “Vivian, you are not worthy of stepping through this door, and you are certainly not worthy of being a Hawthorne! My sister is not some raving lunatic!” “I would rather my sister had been Claire from the very beginning!” I understood then. In Julian Hawthorne’s eyes, I was a nuisance, a stain he was ashamed to acknowledge. I shook my head, unwilling to argue. I was about to ask Maria to just tell me where the ashes were when a low, familiar male voice cut through the air. “Maria doesn’t know where she was laid to rest. If you want to know, Vivian, you’ll have to ask me.” 2 I turned. Julian stood at the end of the corridor, dressed in a sharp suit, his gaze heavy as he watched me. I was taken aback, unable to decipher the emotion in his eyes before he turned and walked toward the living room. Maria nudged me forward, her face alight with pleasure. “Go on, Miss Vivian!” “The young master cleared his entire schedule today, just to wait for you.” I frowned but didn’t want to make things difficult for Maria. Besides, it seemed the answer I needed was one only he could provide. I lowered my gaze and followed him inside. Julian was sitting on the sofa. Seeing me finally enter, a faint smirk played on his lips. He pushed a cup of lukewarm ginger tea toward me. “Flew in overnight? You must have motion sickness again. Drink this, it’ll help.” The sharp, sweet scent hit my nose. For a moment, I was transported back in time. I hadn’t had this in years. The year I was brought back to the Hawthornes, it was Julian who personally came to get me. From a small village to the sprawling capital. A flight of several hours. For a girl who had never been on a plane, it was torture. But I’d heard the villagers say a single plane ticket to the city cost more than a family’s entire harvest for a year. I didn’t dare complain. I just clenched my teeth and endured. When we landed, I threw up until I was dizzy. I still remember Julian frowning, though he said nothing. But after that, whenever we traveled, this man who had been coddled his whole life always chose the train. If a flight was unavoidable, he would always have a cup of ginger tea ready for me. But then, because of Claire, our relationship deteriorated to an icy standoff. The tea, naturally, never appeared again. I snapped back to the present and gently pushed the cup back. “Thank you, but no.” My voice was calm. “I don’t get motion sickness anymore. And I don’t like the taste.” These past few years, I’d been busy building my career, flying all over the world. I’d long since overcome that minor discomfort. Julian’s pupils contracted sharply, the corners of his eyes turning red. After a long moment, he managed a quiet, “Oh.” Silence fell between us. I couldn’t understand why he’d insisted I come in, only to say nothing. My patience wore thin. “Mr. Hawthorne, if you can’t remember where you put Grandmother’s ashes, please don’t waste both our time.” As I stood to leave, Julian shot to his feet. “Vivi, you…” “Is that you, brother? Are you back?” Before he could finish, a sweet, lilting voice interrupted from the garden. A figure in a white dress darted past the floor-to-ceiling windows. My gaze locked onto her. It was her. The person who had occupied my identity for so many years, the darling of the family. Claire Hawthorne. 3 Claire ran to the edge of the garden, her back to the glass doors, seemingly unaware of us in the living room. The breeze lifted the hem of her dress, revealing a gently rounded belly. Was she… pregnant? As I stood there, stunned, an anxious male voice followed her. “Claire, my dear sister, would you please stop running? Do you even remember you’re pregnant?” A handsome young man rushed to her side, carefully shielding her stomach as if it were the most precious thing in the world. Claire pouted, her tone playful. “Oh, stop it. I’m not made of glass. You all forbid me from doing this and that every day. Are you trying to suffocate me? Leo, do you even respect me as your older sister anymore?” “Alright, alright, I can’t win with you.” Leo shook his head, a helpless smile on his face. He turned, and his gaze swept into the living room, crashing into mine. He froze, the smile wiped clean from his face. His eyes were wide, and for a long moment, he simply stared, completely ignoring Claire’s chatter beside him. He was the boy I had grown up with, the little brother who had followed me around for over a decade, crying “sister.” Seeing him so suddenly, even I was stunned for a second. Before Leo could react, Claire, who had also spotted me, offered a soft smile. “Sister, you’re really back! You have no idea how happy I was when Julian told me you were safe!” “You’ve been out of touch for years. He was worried sick! It’s good that you’re back. But please, don’t be so selfish next time, just disappearing without a word. Not only did you suffer abroad, but you broke everyone’s hearts here!” My gaze shifted to Claire. I studied her for a moment, then smiled. “You look so well. My absence these past five years must have been very good for you.” Claire’s eyes immediately reddened. She clutched Julian’s sleeve. “Brother, look at her! She’s just returned, and she’s already talking to me like this, refusing to be civil…” Julian frowned, but for the first time, he didn’t immediately leap to Claire’s defense and scold me. Claire opened her mouth, about to add more fuel to the fire. Just then, Leo, who had been frozen in place, suddenly snapped back to reality. He strode forward and grabbed my shoulders. “You’ve been living abroad all by yourself these years?” His throat bobbed. “Are you… okay? Was it hard?” 4 I sidestepped his touch. “I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you, Mr. Shen. I’ve been doing wonderfully.” Leo flinched as if my words had burned him. He retracted his hands, looking lost. A faint blush crept into his eyes. Five years ago, at my engagement party, he had flipped a table and pointed at me, his eyes, once filled with adoration and reliance, now blazing with hatred. “Vivian, if anything happens to Claire, I will never forgive you for the rest of my life! A cold-hearted, selfish woman like you deserves to rot! You don’t deserve happiness!” Those were his exact words. So why now was he asking if I was okay? Not that I cared. I turned my head, refusing to look at him. “Sis…” Leo’s eyes were red as he stepped forward, looking like he wanted to say more. But just then, Claire clutched her stomach, her face contorted in pain. “Leo, my stomach hurts…” “Claire!” Leo’s attention was instantly diverted. He spun around, shouting for Maria to call the family doctor. He half-carried Claire, and they quickly disappeared up the staircase. I found myself staring at the second floor. Julian walked over to me. “You’re not mistaken. Claire is pregnant. The baby… it’s Ashton’s.” My fingers twitched. He paused, then changed the subject. “When you ran out on the wedding, the Cunninghams didn’t pursue the matter, but it was a great loss of face for them. It was a marriage alliance, after all. Having Claire marry him in your place was a way to settle things.” “Besides, you were gone for so many years. The Cunninghams wouldn’t let Ashton wait that long, especially not for a woman who had made them a laughingstock.” Even after all this time, even though my heart was a placid lake, I couldn’t help but laugh coldly at his twisted version of the truth. “Really? A man marrying his fiancée’s sister right after she leaves? Wouldn’t that be an even bigger joke?” I met his gaze, my eyes like ice. “And are you getting forgetful in your old age, Mr. Hawthorne, or are you just playing dumb?” “Do I really need to remind you why Vivian Hawthorne ran away from her own wedding?” The color drained from the man’s face, leaving it as white as a sheet. 5 The cemetery. I followed the signs to the memorial hall. The staff told me that the Matriarch’s urn would be kept here until after the funeral service. The sandalwood box sat on a shelf, simple and solitary, much like the woman herself. Though I called her Grandmother, we weren’t related by blood. She was my grandfather’s second wife, more than twenty years his junior. In fact, she wasn’t much older than my own parents. Her humble origins and awkward age made her an outcast in a family like the Hawthornes, who valued lineage above all else. She never fought for acceptance. Frail and unable to bear children, she simply lived her quiet life as Mrs. Hawthorne. The Matriarch lived a life of quiet conformity, so much so that she almost left no trace. The only rebellious thing she ever did was help me escape the Hawthorne family five years ago. The smoke from the incense curled upwards, blurring my vision. My mind drifted back to that day. Claire had, once again, staged a suicide attempt at my engagement party with Ashton. But that time, I didn’t let her antics stop the ceremony. I called an ambulance and insisted the engagement continue. My own brother, Leo, the boy I had protected my whole life, stared at me as if I were his mortal enemy. “Why do you have to provoke her? You’ve already gotten the man Claire loves. What more could you possibly want?” My older brother, Julian, looked at me with profound disappointment. “Vivian, you’re being so unreasonable. Must you insist on holding the engagement now and making everyone look bad?” My fiancé, Ashton, said nothing. He simply scooped Claire into his arms and walked out of the party, never once looking back at me. The shocked stares of the guests bored into me. A tidal wave of humiliation and rage washed over me. My ears were ringing. When I came to my senses, I had snatched a cake knife from a waiter and was chasing after them like a madwoman. But a thin, frail figure blocked my path. It was the Matriarch. She was so fragile, she usually spoke in a whisper, but that day, she held me with an iron grip. I struggled, and she raised her hand and slapped me hard across the face. “Pathetic!” Her voice was quiet, but it struck me like thunder. “Is a man who can’t make up his mind, who wavers between two women, really worth you debasing yourself like this?” “The women of the Hawthorne family are not weak. Your own grandmother was a trailblazer, a true heroine. Vivian, where is your pride! By demeaning yourself like this, are you not shaming the memory of your parents, who died trying to bring you home?” My cheek stung, my eyes burned. “Grandmother…” “Don’t call me that!” she snapped. She pressed a cold, hard card into my palm and gave me a forceful shove. “Go. And don’t come back.” I stumbled, catching my balance. When I looked up again, she had already turned away, her thin back ramrod straight. Later, I used that money—three hundred thousand dollars—to build a new life in a foreign country. And later still, I found a family of my own. The incense burned down to ash. I bowed deeply. “Grandmother, forgive me for not listening. I came back.” “I’m doing well now. I have a husband who loves me and a beautiful daughter. You can rest easy.” I had only returned to quietly close this chapter, to repay that kindness. But the ghosts of my past refused to grant me peace, appearing one after another. As I left the memorial hall, I ran into him. Ashton Cunningham. The boy who was once my childhood sweetheart, my former fiancé. And now, my sister’s husband. 6 “Vivian!” Ashton got out of a black Bentley, blocking my path. He was out of breath, his hair messy, as if he had rushed here the moment he heard the news. “Vivian, you’re really back! I’ve been looking for you all these years.” He stared at me, his eyes filled with a desperate, lingering affection. I didn’t break my stride, merely glancing at him. “Mr. Cunningham,” I said, my tone a polite reminder, “according to social etiquette, now that you’ve married my sister, you should be calling me ‘sister-in-law’.” Ashton froze, his lips pressed into a thin, tight line. “We survived the hardest times together, relying on each other for over a decade. Are you saying you’ve just… forgotten all of that?” I stopped and met his pained gaze. I couldn’t help but laugh. “Ashton, weren’t you the one sleeping with Claire behind my back? Do you really think you have the right to talk to me about our past?” Ashton and I… we really were childhood sweethearts who had supported each other through thick and thin. I had taken a knife for him from a gang of thugs; he had beaten up the bullies who made fun of me. We shared a single scarf in the winter and split a popsicle in the summer. I still remember that summer night when I was seventeen. The stars were incredibly bright. So were Ashton’s eyes. “As soon as we get to college, I’ll get a job. I’m going to buy you a big house!” “Okay,” I’d giggled. “I want one with a balcony, so I can plant flowers.” To save up for our college tuition, I took an under-the-table job at a restaurant. My hands were always pale and wrinkled from the water, but as I counted the crumpled bills late at night, my eyes shone with hope. Then, just before our final exams, the Cunninghams came. Ashton was the long-lost heir to the wealthy Cunningham family of the capital. He was luckier than me. There was no replacement for him at the Cunningham estate. The day he left, he cried, holding my hands. “Vivian, wait for me.” But I waited and waited. My college acceptance letter arrived, but he never did. The next time we met was at the party celebrating my return to the Hawthorne family. I was the newly discovered eldest daughter of the Hawthornes. And he was the new boyfriend of the second daughter.

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The doctor told me it was terminal stomach cancer. I had three months left. I decided to die. But before I did, just like any other morning, I knotted Landon Cole’s tie. He leaned against the doorframe, the face his fans had placed on a pedestal a mask of bored irritation. “Amanda, I’m not coming home tonight. Don’t call me.” “Okay,” I said, smiling. “Goodbye, Landon.” He arched an eyebrow, probably finding my compliance unusual. With a short, contemptuous laugh, he slammed the door and was gone. He had no idea that this goodbye was forever. Three hours later, I parked my car on the bridge over the river and jumped. Landon, I’m finally setting you free. 1 The day I decided to jump was one of those rare, perfect days. The sun was so bright it made my eyes ache. I clutched the crumpled doctor’s report in my hand, staring at my reflection. My face was a ghastly white, like a ghost’s. Landon was a bear when he first woke up. I heard him call my name from the bedroom, his voice raspy and short-tempered. “Amanda, where’s my gray tie?” I shoved the report into the very bottom of the trash can, took a deep breath, and pasted a smile on my face before opening the door. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless, the lines of his muscles taut and smooth. His hair was a mess. Even after ten years, that face could still make my heart skip a beat. I pulled the tie from the wardrobe, walked over, and knelt by his legs to fasten it for him. “Right here.” Landon looked down at me, his fingers idly twisting a strand of my hair. Suddenly, he yanked. A sharp pain shot through my scalp, forcing my head back. I met his mocking, almond-shaped eyes. “Amanda, what perfume are you wearing today?” “It’s disgusting.” He let go, wiping his fingertips on the bedsheet as if he’d touched something foul. I froze, a lump forming in my throat. This was my favorite scent. He used to say it smelled like “Landon Cole’s wife.” Now, it was just disgusting. “I’m sorry. I won’t wear it again.” I lowered my head meekly and straightened his collar. Landon stood, looking down at me. He pulled a card from his wallet and flicked it at me. It grazed my cheek, stinging slightly, before fluttering to the floor. “Take this. Go buy some decent clothes.” “Stop dressing like a maid all the time. You’re embarrassing me.” The knit sweater I was wearing was a birthday gift from him, back when he was just starting out. It was pilled and worn, but I could never bring myself to throw it away. I bent down to pick up the card, my fingers trembling, but I forced my voice to remain steady. “Okay. Thank you, honey.” He snorted and turned to leave. At the door, he paused without looking back. “The celebration party is tonight. Bella will be there.” “I’m not coming home, so don’t act like a psycho and call me a hundred times to check up on me.” Bella. The up-and-coming starlet he was currently tangled with in a storm of media gossip. I’d heard she looked a lot like I did when I was younger. “…Okay.” I watched his back, his silhouette framed so perfectly, so coldly, by the light. “Landon.” I called out to him. He didn’t turn, his posture radiating impatience. “Spit it out.” “Goodbye.” I said it so softly, it was almost a whisper to myself. He glanced back at me then, an eyebrow raised, a scornful smile playing on his lips. “Don’t be so dramatic, Amanda.” “You’d never leave me. Not as long as there’s money involved.” Slam. The door shut. The world fell silent. I slowly sank to the floor, wrapping my arms around myself. You’re right, Landon. I could never bear to leave. But I have to go now. I don’t want you to see me bald from chemo, withered to a skeleton. And I don’t want to watch you smile at another woman while I’m dying. I drove to the bridge over the river. The wind was strong, biting at my cheeks. I climbed onto the railing, taking one last look at the world. My phone vibrated. A text from the bank. The card he’d given me had a million dollars on it. See? He always thought money could fix everything. But it couldn’t buy my life, and it couldn’t buy his love. I closed my eyes and took a step forward. The world fell away. The water was brutally cold, swallowing me in an instant. Landon. In the next life, I hope we never meet. 2 I thought death would be an endless void. I was wrong. I became a weightless shadow, drifting uncontrollably. Maybe my attachments were too strong, because I found myself floating into Landon’s celebration party. The ballroom was gilded and glittering, the air thick with warmth. But I still felt so cold. Landon sat at the head table, wearing the same custom-tailored suit I had once touched. He swirled a glass of red wine, a practiced smile on his lips as he listened to the fawning compliments of those around him. That easy confidence made him look like a king, radiant and in command. Anyone who couldn’t hear his thoughts would have thought him the perfect gentleman. But I knew better. I knew he was bored to tears. He hated these schmoozing events. “Mr. Cole, a toast to you.” A sweet, delicate voice cut through the noise. I turned to see Bella approaching, wine glass in hand. She wore a long white dress, her hair flowing over her shoulders. She did look a bit like I used to. Just a bit. As she neared Landon, her ankle suddenly twisted. With a small cry, she stumbled and fell right into his arms. Red wine sloshed over his expensive shirt, blooming like a dark wound. A collective gasp went through the room. Everyone knew Landon was a notorious germaphobe. An investor had once accidentally brushed against his sleeve, and Landon had frozen him out on the spot. I floated in the air, waiting for the explosion. But it never came. A long, steady hand caught Bella’s waist. His thumb even brushed lightly against the curve of her hip. “Careful,” Landon’s voice was a low, magnetic hum, laced with something that sounded like affection. “Are you hurt?” Bella’s face turned the color of a ripe tomato. She pushed herself upright, looking up at him shyly. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Cole. I ruined your shirt…” “It’s nothing.” Landon let her go, a smile playing on his lips, his eyes crinkling into a handsome curve. “A shirt can be replaced. If you’d fallen, I would have been worried.” The crowd erupted in teasing cheers. “Ooh, listen to Mr. Cole, already so protective!” “Looks like the rumors are true!” Bella ducked her head, blushing, but her fingers secretly curled around the hem of Landon’s jacket. I watched the scene, feeling a hollow ache in the place where my heart used to be. So he wasn’t a germaphobe. He was just disgusted by me. Look how gentle he could be with someone else. Landon took a napkin from a passing waiter and dabbed carelessly at his chest. “I’m going to go change.” He nodded to the crowd and turned toward the private lounge. Bella started to follow, but he held up a hand to stop her. “Be good. Wait for me here.” Be good. In the ten years we were together, he only ever called me “hey,” “you,” or the full, formal “Amanda Price.” I wanted to laugh at the irony, but I couldn’t even manage that now. I drifted after him into the lounge. The moment the door clicked shut, the smile vanished from his face. In its place was a chilling, violent disgust. He ripped off his tie and threw it on the floor. He tore off the wine-stained shirt and tossed it directly into the trash can. “Filthy,” he muttered, his voice like ice. He stormed into the bathroom and turned on the tap. I watched as he grabbed a bottle of antiseptic soap and began scrubbing the hand that had touched Bella, a frantic, desperate motion. Over and over, until the skin was raw and red, almost bleeding. He just kept scrubbing, his brow furrowed in a tight knot, as if he’d touched some unspeakable disease. I hovered behind him, tilting my head. What kind of sick game are you playing, Landon? You’re the one who pretends to be so charming, and you’re the one who’s repulsed. You’re insane. Truly. After a full ten minutes, he finally turned off the water and dried his hands. He looked at his reflection in the mirror, his face a blank mask. Only his eyes were dark, bottomless pits. “Amanda.” He said my name to the mirror. I jumped, thinking he could see me. But he was just staring into the empty space, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “It’s late. Why the hell hasn’t she called?” 3 After changing into a spare suit, Landon didn’t return to the party. He went to the rooftop garden. The wind up there was strong enough to cut through the smell of alcohol on him. He leaned against the railing, expertly tapping a cigarette from its pack and placing it between his lips. Click. The flame of the lighter flared, illuminating the hard line of his jaw. Smoke curled into the air, blurring his features. I used to hate it when he smoked. Every time I asked him to quit, he’d blow a cloud of smoke in my face and laugh cruelly. “Worry about yourself, Amanda.” Well, no one was here to nag him now. He must be thrilled. Landon pulled out his phone. The screen lit up, and I drifted closer to see. There was only one contact pinned to the top: “The Woman.” The profile picture was a photo of me, holding my cat. The chat history was a monologue, all from me. Last night, 8 PM: [Made your favorite sweet and sour pork. When are you coming home?] Last night, 10 PM: [The food’s cold. I’ll heat it up.] 1 AM: [Don’t drink too much. It’s bad for your stomach.] This morning, 7 AM: [Your tie is in the second drawer on the left.] His replies were sparse and brutal. [Not coming home.] [Annoying.] [Get lost.] The last message was the one I’d sent this morning, a transfer receipt for one million dollars. It was the card he’d given me. I’d sent the money right back, along with some of my own savings. He hadn’t replied. Or accepted it. Landon’s thumb swiped up and down the screen, rereading the messages over and over. Usually, a single text from me would annoy him. Now that I was dead and silent, he couldn’t stop looking. “This woman,” he muttered around his cigarette. “Won’t take the money, won’t even check up on me.” “Playing hard to get. Is that her new game?” He snorted, stubbed out his cigarette, and dialed my number. The line rang… and rang… and rang. My phone, like my body, was at the bottom of the cold, dark river. Of course, no one was going to answer. Landon’s brow furrowed. He hung up and redialed. And again. Still no answer. His expression began to shift. The lazy arrogance was gone, replaced by an unfamiliar anxiety. He started pacing, his leather shoes making sharp, frantic clicks on the tile. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, Amanda Price,” he seethed. “Ignoring my calls.” Just then, the click of heels sounded from behind him. “Mr. Cole…” It was Bella again. She had followed him up, a man’s coat draped over her arm, her face a perfect picture of shy concern. “It’s windy up here. I was worried you’d get cold.” She moved to place the coat over his shoulders. Landon was on edge, the incessant ringing of the phone grating on his last nerve. He spun around, dodging her touch. The movement was so abrupt that the coat slipped from her grasp and fell to the ground. The atmosphere froze. The smile on Bella’s face stiffened, and her eyes instantly welled with tears. “Mr. Cole, I was just…” “This isn’t a work event,” Landon cut her off, his voice sharp enough to draw blood. He didn’t even glance at the coat on the floor, his gaze fixed on his phone screen, his thumb rubbing restlessly at the edge. “And another thing.” He looked up, his eyes, which had been so full of feigned warmth at the party, were now burning with rage. “Who gave you permission to follow me up here?” Bella flinched, the tears threatening to spill. “I… I just… I like you…” “You like me?” Landon let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh. He raised his left hand. A plain silver band on his ring finger caught the moonlight. It was the cheap ring we’d bought when we got married. I had been so happy I’d worn it to sleep for days. He’d always said it was embarrassing and never wore it. I had no idea why he had it on tonight. “See this?” he asked, holding his hand out for her to see. “I’m a married man.” He paused, his voice suddenly dropping, thick with an emotion I couldn’t place. “I’m a creature of habit. I don’t like change.” Bella’s face went white. She covered her face and ran, sobbing. Landon didn’t watch her go. He shoved his phone back in his pocket with a frustrated sigh. “Damn it,” he cursed, and strode toward the exit. “You’d better just be asleep, Amanda. Or I swear to God, when I get home, I’ll kill you.” He was already dialing my boss’s number as he walked. I floated behind him, watching as his pace quickened, his steps becoming almost a stumble. A twisted sort of satisfaction bloomed in my chest. So, you can feel anxious too, Landon? Don’t rush. You can’t kill me. I’m already dead. 4 Landon didn’t stay at home for long. He got in his car and sped to the nearest police station, running three red lights along the way. He screeched to a halt and jumped out before the car had even fully stopped. “I want to report a missing person.” He stormed into the station, slamming his hands on the front desk, his knuckles white. “My wife is missing.” The officer on duty, startled by his aggressive demeanor, pushed up his glasses. “Sir, please calm down. How long has she been missing?” Landon glanced at his watch. “Thirteen hours.” The officer paused, then put on a weary, professional smile. “Sir, for an adult, we can’t file a missing person’s report until they’ve been gone for at least twenty-four hours. Thirteen hours… her phone probably just died, or maybe she’s out with friends?” “Impossible,” Landon snapped. “She has no friends. Besides me, she knows no one. And her phone is never off. If I call her, she always answers immediately.” An old man at the next counter, there to report a stolen scooter, couldn’t help but chime in. “Now, hold on, son. You can’t talk like that. That’s… what do they call it? Gaslighting? The girl’s a person, not your property. She’s allowed to have a life.” “I bet she just got tired of you and is taking a break.” Landon shot the man a glare so venomous the old man flinched, dropping his bag of sunflower seeds. “She would never leave me,” Landon said, turning back to the officer, his voice low and intense. “She’s completely dependent on me. Even if I tried to kick her out, she’d be on her knees, begging me not to.” I floated in the air, watching his arrogant, self-assured performance. I wanted to slap him. But my hand passed right through his face. “So,” Landon said, taking a deep breath to control his rising temper. “She must be in trouble. I want you to check the surveillance cameras, track her phone, I don’t care what you have to do. Turn this city upside down if you have to, but find her.” The officer, though rattled by Landon’s intensity, was about to explain procedure again when a shrill phone rang, cutting through the tense silence. It was the inter-departmental line. The officer answered, his expression immediately turning serious. “Yes, this is the downtown precinct… What’s that? A body found… under the Riverside Bridge?” Landon’s body went rigid.

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1 I ordered a housekeeping bot to make my life easier. Instead, they sent me a living, breathing man. An incubus, to be exact. With a tail and an appetite that could never be satisfied. He wore me to a frazzle, so I took my friends’ advice and sent him back. But then I saw the security footage of him shivering and curled up in a cold logistics warehouse. Against my better judgment, I drove through the night to get him back. The night I brought him home, he buried his face in the crook of my neck, his breath hot and searing against my skin. “My owner… who touched you?” His cold, scaled tail coiled around my waist like a python, the sharp tip pressing against the hollow of my throat. “Tell me,” he whispered, “can anyone else… feed my owner the way I can?” … The delivery guy was panting as he set the man-sized box down at my door. “Ma’am, what in the world did you order? This thing weighs a ton.” “A housekeeping bot,” I said casually. “The latest high-tech model.” After he left, I tore open the box. I wasn’t met with the gleam of metal I expected, but with… a man. A man curled up in packing foam, completely naked. And attached to him was a long, black, scaled tail, which was twitching unconsciously against the cardboard. I was stunned. I immediately whipped out my phone, snapped three pictures of the box’s contents, and fired them off to customer service. 【Care to explain this?】 【I ordered a fully automated cleaning bot, and you sent me a male escort?】 【A freak with a tail, no less! Is this human trafficking or some kind of Resident Evil experiment?!】 Customer service replied in seconds. 【Dear customer, you’ve received our newest model, the Bionic Domestic Companion!】 【He not only cleans and cooks but also warms your bed and keeps you company. He’s fully featured. You’ve hit the jackpot!】 I laughed, but there was no humor in it. 【Jackpot my ass! I want a refund!】 The “typing…” indicator flickered for a long time. 【Dear, this is a special prize from our mystery box promotion. All sales are final once opened.】 【Besides, he’s already imprinted on you. He won’t survive if you send him back.】 I was about to unleash a storm of curses when the man in the box stirred. He slowly sat up, long black hair cascading over his face. When his unfocused eyes found me, they glowed with an eerie violet light. Those weren’t human pupils. He stared at me, his nostrils flaring as if he’d caught a scent. The next second, he lunged. That slick, cold tail wrapped around me instantly, tightening its grip. “Hungry…” He opened his mouth, revealing sharp fangs, and nuzzled against my neck. Terrified, I kicked him away. He barely flinched, seeming not to feel the pain at all. A strange flush crept across his pale face. “So… fragrant…” I scrambled into my bedroom and locked the door behind me. My hands shook as I sent a voice message to customer service. 【This thing is going to eat me! I’m calling the cops! I’m suing you!】 A series of bowing and pleading emojis flooded my screen. 【Please, don’t! Ma’am! He’s an incubus! He doesn’t want to eat your flesh!】 【Just stay calm! Give him a three-day trial! Just a little something to eat is all he needs! I’m begging you!】 From the other side of the door came the sound of nails scratching against wood, followed by the man’s low, desperate plea. “Owner… open the door… I’m so hungry…” 2 I spent the whole night huddled in my bedroom. The sounds from the living room only died down as dawn broke. Clutching a can of pepper spray, I cautiously opened the door. The living room was a disaster. The incubus was lying motionless at the foot of the sofa, his tail limp on the carpet, its scales dull and lifeless. Was he… dead? I poked his side with the handle of a broom. “Hey.” No response. I poked him again. He rolled over. His face was ashen, his lips cracked and peeling. Only the faint rise and fall of his chest told me he was still alive. I grabbed my phone and messaged customer service. 【What do I feed him? Raw meat? Cooked?】 【Saliva, sweat, blood… anything from your body is his energy source.】 【What kind of sick design is that?】 【I want to return him. Now. Immediately.】 Customer service started laying it on thick. 【Dear, the return process is very complicated, and in his current state, no courier would even take him.】 【Please, just do a good deed. Even a single drop of saliva will help him recover.】 【Saving a demon’s life is, like, a million karma points, I swear!】 The man on the floor suddenly convulsed. The tip of his tail curled pathetically, brushing against my calf in a silent plea. My biggest weakness has always been my soft heart. I couldn’t just watch him die in my living room. I went to the kitchen, poured a glass of water, and took a sip. Kneeling in front of him, I cupped his chin. He had one of those devastatingly beautiful faces. Even on the verge of death, his unnatural beauty was breathtaking. I closed my eyes, leaned in, and transferred the water from my mouth to his. The moment our lips touched, he snapped awake. The man who’d been as limp as a corpse suddenly opened his eyes, his violet, slitted pupils flaring with light. His hand clamped around the back of my head. His tongue swept through my mouth, greedily, desperately, taking everything I had to give. I tried to push him away, but his strength was immense. The coppery tang of blood filled my mouth before he finally, reluctantly, pulled away. A thin strand of saliva connected our lips. He let out a satisfied sigh. “Thank you for the meal… Owner.” I wiped my mouth, gagging. “Get lost! Stay away from me!” It was as if he didn’t understand a word I said. 3 To keep him from starving to death in my apartment, I was forced into the role of his “feeder.” But I had my limits. This was a one-time thing. Absolutely no repeats. I pointed to a glass on the table. “From now on, you drink from my used glasses or eat my leftovers.” His name was Silas. At my words, his beautiful eyes instantly dimmed. His tail drooped, sweeping listlessly across the floor. “But… that’s not much energy.” “Take it or leave it. Starve for all I care.” My face was a cold mask as I tossed him one of my old T-shirts. “Put this on. And stop parading around naked.” Silas looked wounded, but he obeyed, pulling on the shirt to cover his dangerously alluring body. Except for the tail. The jeans I gave him didn’t have a hole, so his tail was uncomfortably coiled up at his waist, creating a conspicuous bulge. Over the next few days, I had to admit, he was useful. He handled all the chores, and his cooking was better than a five-star chef’s. He was also incredibly perceptive. A slight frown from me, and he’d know whether I needed a glass of water or just some quiet. If it weren’t for that tail, which was constantly trying to cross a line, I might have actually started to accept him. One Saturday night, I was on the couch watching a movie when I felt something brush against my ankle. Something cool and smooth. I looked down. Silas was kneeling on the rug, diligently wiping down the coffee table. But at some point, his tail had snaked its way out of his jeans. Like a nimble serpent, it was slithering up my ankle, already inside my pant leg. Goosebumps erupted all over my skin. “What do you think you’re doing?!” Silas looked up, the picture of innocence, but the corners of his eyes were tinged with a seductive blush. “Owner, my tail itches.” “Then go scratch it on a wall! Why are you rubbing it on me?” “Only my owner’s warmth can soothe it.” He crawled closer, his voice so soft it was almost liquid. “Owner, will you help me wash it? It’s so dirty between the scales. It’s really uncomfortable.” I stared at his gleaming black tail. He had a point. He’d been dragging that thing all over the apartment for days; God knows what kind of germs were on it. I’m a bit of a clean freak, and the thought of where that tail had just been made my skin crawl. “…Get in the bathroom.” The bathroom was thick with steam. Wearing rubber gloves and holding a scrub brush, I went to town on that tail. “Ah… gently… Owner…” Silas braced his hands against the wall, his body arched like a bow. Sweet, thick moans escaped his throat. “…Keep it down! One more peep out of you and I’ll chop that thing off!” I scrubbed harder, the bristles scraping harshly against his scales. He trembled more violently, his knees going weak until he almost collapsed. The look he gave me over his shoulder was shimmering with unshed tears. It wasn’t pain. It was pure bliss. “Owner… so rough…” I couldn’t take it anymore. I threw the shower head at him. “Pervert! Wash it yourself!” I fled the bathroom as if escaping a fire. 4 After that night, Silas became even clingier. But I kept my distance, even starting to seriously consider sending him back for good. That Friday, my company had a team-building event. I drank too much and got home late. When I pushed the door open, the apartment was dark. But the air was thick with a sweet, cloying scent so potent it was suffocating. The entire place felt like a furnace. “Silas?” In the moonlight filtering through the window, I saw piles of clothes in the living room. My clothes. Lingerie, jackets, nightgowns… all heaped into a massive nest. In the center of the nest, a dark shape was trembling violently. The alcohol haze vanished. I fumbled my way toward it. “What the hell are you doing?” Before I could get close, the shadow shot up. A wave of intense heat hit me, throwing me back onto the sofa. Silas was on top of me. His skin was scorching, like a branding iron, flushed an unnatural, feverish red. Sweat dripped from his hair onto my face. His violet eyes were dilated, devoid of reason, filled with nothing but a raw, overwhelming desire. “Owner…” he gasped, his voice a ragged rasp, like sandpaper on wood. His hands pinned my wrists. I struggled, “Let me go! You’re burning up! Do you have a fever? I’ll get you some medicine!” “Human medicine won’t work.” He buried his face in my neck, inhaling my scent like a man starved, his teeth grazing my pulse point. “Silas! Snap out of it!” I tried to knee him in the stomach, but his tail coiled around my legs with effortless strength. The scales, now bristled and sharp, scraped against the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, sending a jolt of sharp pain and dizzying pleasure through me. My phone had fallen onto the rug, its screen lit up. Just then, a series of messages from customer service finally came through. 【Hey! By my calculations, your incubus should be entering his heat cycle!】 【Whatever you do, don’t let him go hungry! An incubus in heat without enough energy to stabilize him will go feral!】 【Remember! At this stage, saliva won’t be enough! You need a deeper exchange!】 My mind went blank. Deeper? How much deeper? Before I could process it, Silas ripped open the front of my blouse. Buttons scattered across the floor with a series of sharp clicks. He lifted his head. The face that usually played cute and obedient was now twisted into a mask of raw, savage lust. The tip of his tail slithered up my waist, heading for the most dangerous territory. “Owner, since you refuse to feed me properly…” His smile was wicked, predatory. “I’ll just have to take it myself.” The cold tip of his tail pressed against the thin fabric of my underwear.

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I am a fragile beauty, paralyzed from the waist down, married to a rough, unrefined man. He takes care of me with meticulous attention to detail, yet he refuses to consummate our marriage. I thought he didn’t love me, that he only married me out of gratitude. Until I saw a few lines of floating text, like comments on a live stream: [The rough guy is actually the long-lost heir of the wealthy Thorne family. He’s about to be recognized and return to his true status.] [The vicious, attention-seeking side character (me) will fall for the fake heir, be tricked by him, steal all the rough guy’s assets, and run away with the fake heir.] [After getting the money, the fake heir will lock her in a basement and starve her to death.] [She deserves it. Only the universally loved, group-favorite heroine is the true match for the rough guy male lead.] So, the rough guy will indeed fall for someone better. I decided to ask him for a large sum of money and divorce him. But then, another wave of comments appeared: [The side character is so dumb. The rough guy has had a secret crush on her for ten years.] [Side character: breathes] [Male Lead: Wifey is so impressive.] [As long as you give him one kiss, he’ll be your obedient puppy.] 1 A car accident left me paralyzed from the waist down. I became a fragile beauty unable to care for myself, married to a rough, unrefined man named Julian. My health was poor. With the change of seasons, I fell seriously ill again and stayed in the hospital for two weeks. Julian made chicken soup for me. He shredded the chicken leg meat, mixed it with the soup and rice, and fed me spoon by spoon. Feeling unwell, I threw a small tantrum. “No appetite, I don’t want to eat.” He pulled a jewelry box from his pocket, opened it to reveal a thick gold bracelet. My face instantly lit up. “Put it on me, quick.” I happily admired the big gold bracelet. When Julian fed me again, I ate. My mood improved, and I ate an extra half bowl of rice. Julian finished my leftovers in a few bites. Just then, I felt a warm flow. “Julian, I got my period.” Julian helped me change my pants and put on a pad. I watched him do all this expressionlessly and skillfully. Julian treated me very well. But he didn’t love me. Married for three years, Julian would bathe me and dress me, but refused to sleep with me. We hadn’t even kissed. He had zero interest in me. Julian and I were high school classmates. We shared a desk for two years. Back then, Julian had no money for food. Although my allowance was small, I often treated him to meals. His care for me now was just repayment for that kindness. Just then, floating text suddenly appeared before my eyes: [The rough guy is actually the long-lost heir of the wealthy Thorne family. He’s about to be recognized and return to his true status.] [The vicious, attention-seeking side character (me) will fall for the fake heir, be tricked by him, steal all the rough guy’s assets, and run away with the fake heir.] [After getting the money, the fake heir will lock her in a basement and starve her to death.] [She deserves it. Only the universally loved, group-favorite heroine is the true match for the rough guy male lead.] My heart raced. Good news: I married into a wealthy family. Bad news: I have the script of a vicious side character. Julian will fall in love with someone better. When that time comes, I won’t stand in the way of his happiness. I’ll ask for a huge sum of money and divorce him. 2 I finally recovered. Julian carried me home on his back. Downstairs, several luxury cars were parked. The Thorne family had found him. Julian is the Prince of the Capital. That makes me the Princess Consort. We moved into the Thorne family’s mansion—Dragon Villa. At the welcome banquet for Julian’s return, I was dressed in haute couture, dripping in jewelry, with exquisite makeup, pushed into the banquet hall by Julian. I became the center of gossip. “The long-lost true heir of the Thorne family actually married a cripple.” “She really hit the jackpot, flying up to become a phoenix overnight.” Hehe. Luck is also a kind of skill. Just then, I saw a beautiful figure from behind. The crowd gasped in admiration. “Claire Vance is just too beautiful.” “The young Mrs. Thorne is a top beauty too, but compared to Claire, she pales in comparison.” Claire Vance is the heroine. I craned my neck, wanting to see just how beautiful she was. “Claire saved Mrs. Thorne’s life and is deeply favored by her.” “After the Vance family went bankrupt, Mrs. Thorne took her into the Thorne home, grooming her as a future daughter-in-law.” “If the young master hadn’t been switched at birth, she would be Julian’s wife.” “Even married people can divorce. No man can resist Claire’s charm.” I instantly lost interest in looking at the beauty. My chest felt tight. Text floated by: [The male and female leads finally meet.] [The vicious side character is jealous of the heroine’s beauty and frames her in various ways.] Heh, vicious side character? Even a dog wouldn’t play that role… Claire turned around. Seeing her face, I felt like I had fallen into an ice cave. The day I went to register at Capital University, I was hit by a speeding red sports car. I lay in a pool of blood. Through my fading consciousness, I heard the driver on the phone. “Attorney Chen, I hit someone. Come handle it quickly.” “My limited edition sports car, only two in the whole city, is dented.” She kicked my arm with her high heel. “She’s not dead. Can a poor person’s cheap life compare to my car?” Pain. So much pain. Tears fell from the corners of my eyes. “Help me…” She turned a deaf ear. My blood stained her high heels. She looked down at her shoes, disgusted. “Filthy!” I tried hard to see the person’s face clearly. That driver was Claire Vance. Such a beautiful face. Such a cold heart. I pinched my numb legs, looking at the glamorous Claire. Hatred grew in my heart. Fine, I’ll play the vicious side character. I’m going to steal the male lead from the heroine. And kick her out of Dragon Villa. 3 That night, Julian drew a hot bath and carried me in. He wore rubber gloves and used a bath sponge to wash me, minimizing skin-to-skin contact. I brushed my bangs aside, ready to flirt. I stuck out my chest. “Julian, it hurts here.” “Check if there’s a lump inside.” Julian froze, motionless for a long time. I pulled off his glove and took his hand. “Squeeze it, right here.” I watched Julian’s expression. I didn’t believe he felt nothing. “No lumps.” “Tomorrow, I’ll take you to the hospital for a checkup.” I was furious. How could his tone be so calm? Am I really that unattractive? Just then, another wave of text floated by: [The side character is so dumb. The rough guy has had a secret crush on you for ten years.] [Side character: breathes] [Male Lead: Wifey is so impressive.] [You tease him like this, he’s about to explode.] [As long as you give him one kiss, he’ll be your obedient puppy.] Ten years? That means Julian has had a crush on me since high school. I was skeptical. I wrapped my arms around Julian’s neck and kissed his lips. Julian stood like a wooden stake, motionless, lips tight. I sucked on his lips alone for a while, feeling quite awkward. Julian pulled my arms down, his face dark, and actually yelled at me. “Sarah, you don’t need to please me.” “Don’t listen to their nonsense. Even if my status has changed, I won’t divorce you.” “I will take care of you for the rest of my life.” I was stunned by his shouting. Forget it. I can’t move him. New text emerged: [He loves her so much, just being stubborn and pretending.] [He’s on fire but still refuses to touch his wife.] [Because Julian knows his wife doesn’t love him, she just needs him.] [He’s sad because there’s no love in her eyes.] I decided to try one more time. I grabbed Julian’s collar, kissed him, and pried open his lips. Our breaths mingled. This time, Julian didn’t refuse me. He held the back of my neck and deepened the kiss. Kissing harder and harder. Like he wanted to devour me. I frowned. I couldn’t breathe. I pounded on his chest. After a long time, Julian finally let me go. Gasping for breath. Julian stared at me intently, rubbing my lips with his thumb. His eyes were red, filled with a desire that alarmed me. I could hear his thunderous heartbeat. I smiled, triumphant. So the text was true. Those who are favored have nothing to fear. My confidence soared. My finger traced his chest, firmly grasping the bad girl script. “Hubby, let’s play.” Julian’s Adam’s apple rolled. “Don’t regret it.” “I won’t.” I pulled gently, and he sat into the bathtub. The tub was large enough for two. Water surged. For the first time, I noticed how long Julian’s fingers were. … Julian wrapped me in a towel and tucked me into bed. He turned and rushed into the bathroom, turning on the shower. What does he mean? He just helped me out. The text revealed his thoughts: [The male lead wasn’t satisfied at all.] [Wife is weak, he didn’t dare feast, only dared to taste a little sweetness.] [Male lead really has a service mindset. If wife is happy, he’s happy.] [Can’t hold it anymore, has to solve it himself.] I covered my face, blushing furiously. 4 Dragon Villa is a Chinese-style mansion, huge. Julian and I lived in a detached house with a courtyard. The first thing Julian did after moving in was install cameras everywhere. Including the bathroom. I sneakily opened my phone, put on headphones, and hid under the covers to watch the bathroom feed. It was more exciting than any adult movie I’d ever seen. Male Bodhisattva, what a feast~ I don’t know if it was my illusion. Julian seemed to be looking at the camera. He shouldn’t know I’m peeping, right? Scaring myself. Almost an hour later. Julian finally came out of the bathroom. I quickly turned off my phone and pretended to sleep. There were two quilts on the bed. For three years, we slept in separate quilts. Julian put his quilt in the closet. Lifted my quilt and slept with me. Julian pulled me into his arms and kissed my forehead. I thought I wouldn’t be used to it, that I’d have insomnia. But being held by him, I felt secure and fell asleep quickly. In my drowsiness, I heard him ask, “Wifey, am I handsome?” I thought I was dreaming. I answered honestly, “Handsome, hehehe~”

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My cool, stoic husband has been acting a bit weird lately. When we go out, he covers himself from head to toe. If the doorbell rings, he hides in the closet immediately. And he spends all day glaring at the ring on my finger, grinding his teeth. Later, I accidentally found an encrypted memo on his phone: [Woke up, and I’ve time-traveled from 18 to 28.] [Good news: I’m actually with the girl I’ve had a crush on for years.] [Bad news: There are no wedding photos in the house, I’m not wearing a wedding ring, and the suits in the closet aren’t my size.] […It’s over. I’m the other man.] Me: ? 1 The day after we moved into our new home. My husband, Lucas, got into a car accident and was in a coma for a day and a night. The doctor said apart from losing ten years of memory, all his vitals were normal. But I feel like Lucas hasn’t just lost his memory; his behavior is way weirder than before. Like right now. It’s been three hours since we got back from the hospital. Lucas hasn’t rested for a second. He’s been pacing around the house, circling again and again. First, he examined the newly painted walls closely. Then he took out an old suit he wore at his college graduation from the closet, measuring it against himself repeatedly. Finally, he pinched his bare ring finger hard. The ring that used to be there was lost in the accident, leaving only a faint mark. After doing all this. Lucas seemed to lose all his strength. Pale-faced, he collapsed onto the sofa. “Sarah.” He spoke, voice trembling. I looked over at his call. Lucas’s gaze inadvertently slid over my ring finger, his Adam’s apple bobbing with difficulty. “How long… have we been maintaining this relationship?” I followed his gaze to the ring on my finger. My face heated up slightly. “Two years.” It’s really amazing when I think about it. In high school, we were academic rivals, fighting tooth and nail for the top spot. In college, we coincidentally reunited in a strange city, and our former rivalry unexpectedly turned into mutual appreciation. After working, we became the best partners by sheer luck, hitting it off instantly. In the blink of an eye, more than ten years have passed. Back in school. The couple everyone thought was the most impossible is now married for two years. And from the conference room to the bedroom, we fit perfectly, as if made for each other. 2 I was still immersed in the beautiful memories of enemies-to-lovers. But Lucas’s uncontrolled voice exploded in my ear. “Two, two years?!” He clutched his chest tightly, his voice bordering on hysterical. “Two years… and I still haven’t become the official husband?” He startled me. “…Lucas, why are you yelling suddenly? Official husband? What position are you trying to take?” Lucas froze for two seconds, a trace of desolation appearing in his eyes as he slowly gripped the teacup in his hand. “So it turns out… you won’t let me.” I frowned in confusion. My gaze fell on the cup in his hand. Then I realized. “That’s right, I really won’t let you.” His work pressure is huge, insomnia is common, so I never let him drink tea in the afternoon. I was happy Lucas could still remember such small details. But he wasn’t happy at all, looking at me with red-rimmed eyes. Looking like a poor soul who’s been used and discarded, radiating grievance from every strand of hair. “Sarah, I really didn’t expect that we would have this kind of relationship now.” I smiled shyly: “I didn’t expect it back then either. So they say, fate is really a wonderful thing.” “…Fate?” Lucas twitched the corner of his mouth. “Is this fate? Is this fate? This is simply, simply…” His voice stopped abruptly. He turned his face away, rubbing his eyes hard. I was slightly disappointed, thinking he was going to say something romantic. But Lucas was a meticulous iceberg straight-A student in high school, and after working, he took being taciturn to the extreme. So in the two years of marriage. My favorite thing to do is coerce and bribe him into talking dirty in bed. My favorite sight is his flushed face, indulging while sober. Of course. If I put in a little more effort and thought. I can force a few suppressed, sexy gasps from his clenched teeth. 3 Thinking back to this, I patted my hot face and quickly changed the subject. “Alright, Lucas, are you hungry? I’ll go see what we can have for dinner.” Lucas let out a deep breath, his gaze following my back, as if making a determination. “Sarah, I don’t know what happened in between, or why the current me has to be like this, or maybe you have something on me.” “But I will absolutely not allow myself to become such a person, nor can I do those shady, sneaky behaviors that can’t see the light of day, let alone fight for favor and scheme.” “I want to cut the Gordian knot, I want to end all this mess, especially this relationship that is inappropriate legally and morally, violating my principles.” “I’ll tell you the truth, I’d rather die than be…” I closed the fridge and waved at him. “Pizza and chicken soup my mom sent for dinner, is that okay? Hubby.” As soon as the words fell. The humiliation and indignation on Lucas’s face instantly dissipated, blinking his eyes as if savoring something. Three minutes later. The tips of his ears turned red. He replied to me in a low voice with two words. “O, okay.” 3 For the next half hour. Lucas stood motionless like a statue, lost in thought, his expression aggrieved and cowardly. The bandage on his forehead added a sense of fragile beauty to him. This car accident didn’t damage his outstanding looks one bit. Instead, it softened the cold, ruthless businessman aura he had honed over the years. “Sarah, I still have to tell you, I won’t, and I can’t do those sneaky behaviors…” He frowned, speaking heavily, but was interrupted by the doorbell. Ding-dong— Accompanied by the abrupt doorbell. The pizza arrived on time. Lucas immediately looked like he was facing a great enemy, turning off the TV in a panic and looking at me flustered. I pursed my lips. Suddenly remembering the doctor’s advice. Lucas after the car accident might be sensitive to some sounds. Like doorbells, honking, and some stimulating noises. I scratched his chin and comforted him gently. “Don’t worry, just stay here and don’t go out.” His shoulders trembled slightly, turning his head to avoid my touch, biting his lip white, but didn’t speak. I picked up the takeout and signed for a package before returning to the living room. But as soon as I entered, I found Lucas gone. Only the indented cushion on the sofa and the residual scent of cedar on him remained in the air. If not for these traces, I would almost think he never existed. I looked around in confusion. “Lucas?” No one answered in the empty living room. I thought for a moment and went upstairs. The bedroom was dim, not looking like anyone was there. I reached out to turn on the light. My gaze was quickly drawn to the closet door. There was a familiar, trembling corner of clothing caught there. 4 I quickly walked over and opened the closet. Sure enough, I saw Lucas buried behind the clothes at a glance. Such a tall man forced himself into the cramped space of the closet, biting tightly on the hem of my skirt, face pale, teeth chattering. I was stunned: “Lucas! Why are you hiding here?” Lucas jerked his head up, instinctively looking alertly behind me, voice very low: “He… is he gone?” I looked back; the delivery guy had already disappeared at the entrance of the complex. “Yes, gone.” Lucas’s tense shoulders relaxed, breathing a huge sigh of relief. After a pause. He spoke again, his tone secretive. “…That kind of workaholic who only has work in his eyes must have a boring personality. Being with such a person must be very tiring. But having said that, I’m not that kind of workaholic who only has work in his eyes…” I nodded in agreement: “Yes, that’s why I like you more.” Hearing this, Lucas immediately lifted his chin, a little smug. But the next second. He thought of something else unknown. Expression stiffening, the smile in his eyes vanished instantly. Cursing himself fiercely, he bypassed me and rushed downstairs.

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I am the vicious villainess who abandoned the superstar actor when he was down. Three years after I fled the country, he’s conquered the entertainment industry. Meanwhile, I’m a washed-up nobody. Just as I was debating whether to return, text started scrolling before my eyes: [Help! Go back now, sis! The male lead misses you so much his pillow is soaked every night.] [Not just the pillow! The sheets too! You know what I mean, sis, and it’s not tears.] [The male lead is fully recovered, physically and… otherwise. Don’t worry, sis, your future happiness is secured.] [Don’t you remember how you two were inseparable in that rental apartment?] [Don’t worry. Just crook your finger, and he’ll come running like a puppy.] 1 The night Julian Thorne announced his relationship, our three names exploded on the trending search. I never thought I’d share a headline with Julian again. After all, since I heartlessly dumped him three years ago, we’d cut all ties. I stared at the trending topics in a daze. I never imagined our “reunion” would be this awkward. Especially since it was his relationship announcement. The partner was the current top starlet, Ivy Miller. And I, sandwiched between them, looked like a joke. Julian is red-hot right now. It’s normal for his dating history to be dug up. So now, I’m the target of everyone’s scorn. At Julian’s lowest point, I, his girlfriend, abandoned him without hesitation. Fans from both sides united to blast me to the number one trending spot. This is the most searched I’ve ever been in my career. Of course, it’s all hate. And some people just enjoying the drama. [Yo yo yo, didn’t this girl hook up with a sugar daddy and run abroad to live the high life? Why so quiet now?] [Scarlett Reed thought dumping Julian would launch her international career? Didn’t expect to not even touch Hollywood’s door after all this time.] [So washed up she’s clinging to the movie king? Hilarious, does she think she’s the ‘white moonlight’?] [Ignore her, sisters. This trending topic was obviously bought by a scheming woman; just a has-been trying to get traffic.] [Exactly!! Today is Julian and Ivy’s announcement day, and here she is dancing around. Speechless.] [Help, can the ex let my brother go? If it wasn’t for being with you back then, would he have been so miserable?!] 2 Scrolling through the screen full of hate posts, I was speechless too. They call me washed up, so where would I get the money to buy trending topics? But the comments did get one thing right. The one flourishing after leaving Julian wasn’t me. Indeed. Once I left, Julian’s tragic first half of life was rewritten. Found by his wealthy biological parents, acknowledged by his ancestors, then spotted by a big director and shooting to fame. Without me, he finally lived the life a male lead should. And met the heroine who would save him. And I, who abandoned him, am now too poor to afford food. Karma’s a wheel, huh? I wanted to ignore the endless hate trends. But the heat wouldn’t die down. One topic even surpassed Ivy’s official announcement post in likes. Some damn marketing account applied the famous “library thirty seconds” trope to Julian and me. [Julian, in the thirty seconds of announcing your relationship with Ivy, were you hoping for a lifetime with her, or reminiscing about the whispers with Scarlett in that rental apartment?] I sucked in a cold breath. They really want me dead. 3 I was speechless. And my agent was urging me to return. “Scarlett, if you don’t come back, you’ll be sleeping on the streets with the homeless.” But returning now would look like blatant clout chasing. I’d only get scolded worse. My agent dismissed it. “So what? Is it worse than starving?” As I hesitated, a stream of text suddenly floated before my eyes: [Help, what are you thinking, sis? Rush back home now!] [So what if he announced? The puppy still loves you.] [The deeper the hurt, the deeper the love.] [Ahhhh, go back quickly, sis! I’ve had enough of the naive, sweet heroine.] [I love a villainess with brains and ambition who slays the whole book. Men are just stepping stones for your success.] I was confused. I’m the villainess? A villainess who abandoned the male lead, was vain and unscrupulous, and ended up losing everything? But why are the comments praising me? Shouldn’t they be spitting on me? Scolding and cursing me? Why is everyone whitewashing me? And it’s impossible for Julian to be like the comments say. He hates me too much. How could he love me? With his current status in the industry, crushing me would be effortless. But I can’t survive abroad anymore. Calculating it all, it’s death either way. I decided not to struggle and just bought a ticket home. 4 This is the era where traffic is king. Whether it’s hate or love, as long as there’s heat and topics, collaborations will come knocking. However, I didn’t expect the first drama I’d get after returning would have Ivy Miller as the female lead. Julian’s girlfriend. I understood the production team approached me because of the heat surrounding this. Otherwise, a washed-up actress ignored for three years like me wouldn’t even land a web series. Only, taking this means getting roasted to crisp. Sure enough, on the day of the announcement, I was sprayed to the top trend again. [Never seen such a shameless woman. Want to be famous that badly? What about your parents?!] [Probably doesn’t have any.] [Lol, vicious second female lead. She’s just playing herself.] [Poor Ivy baby, leeched off-screen, bullied on-screen.] [Can’t the production find any other actresses?] [Where’s Julian? Just watching this? Tell Scarlett to get out of the industry.] [Passerby here, kinda looking forward to Julian’s reaction when he visits the set.] [Fans, step up, take more set photos and we’ll know.] I swiped through the screen casually; all trash talk spraying me. Unbearable to look at. Until those words caught my eye: [What do you guys think Julian is thinking right now?] I froze. Took a deep breath and lay on the bed, staring into space. What would he be thinking? [Silly sister, thinking of you, of course.] I saw the comments again. [Sis, with your methods, do you even need to wonder?] [Stand in front of him and you’ll know. Stop thinking useless thoughts.] [Hehe, men just love to pretend. Sis, believe it or not, the moment your plane landed, his heart landed too.] [So exciting, begging for a tutorial on training dogs, Sister Scarlett.] God. What exactly did I do to Julian later? Why are there such explicit descriptions? My face flushed red. Heart racing. No. He clearly hates me. I can still never forget the shattered look in Julian’s eyes in the rain that year. He begged me humbly, “Scarlett, don’t go.” “I’ll get better, I’ll earn lots of money, please don’t go.” Back then, I only had eyes for wealth and fame. And the crippled Julian couldn’t give me any of that; he would even drag me down. I coldly shook him off, my gaze falling on his legs that couldn’t stand. “Stop dreaming, Julian.” His lips trembled at my words, and he didn’t say another word to keep me. Then he watched helplessly as I got into the Maybach and drove away. Such betrayal is fatal to any man. He would only hate me. Every minute, every second.

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The aloof campus heartthrob sent me another photo of his abs. I couldn’t help myself: Hello, do you know you’ve sent this to the wrong person again? He replied instantly: It’s been a week. Aren’t you going to ask who it was meant for? Afraid of embarrassing him, I hurriedly typed: It’s fine. I’ll just pretend I didn’t see anything. But inside, I was terrified. Terrified he’d discover my secret crush, my daily screen-licking, my stalking. So I put on a brave face, deliberately parading around with my childhood friend. Until the day Julian found my secret basement. With the cage. And the wall full of whips and shackles. Julian’s face darkened: “You want to lock me up? You even bought a cage?” Scared out of my wits, I stammered, pathetic and dark: “I-I’m sorry, don’t worry, I won’t—” Julian’s eyes suddenly reddened, and he crawled straight into the cage. “I knew it! I’m younger than him, hotter than him, body better than his. You definitely like me more!” “Imprison me! Imprison me right now!” “Sob… finally! I’m finally getting a title! No more being the secret side piece!” Huh? When did he become my side piece? Why didn’t I know about this? 1 I received another abs photo from Julian. Compared to the previous six, this angle was killer. It was even a Live Photo. Shot from above, shirtless. Under the taut, thin muscles, veins snaked from his waist down to his abdomen. In the last frame of the Live Photo, he suddenly flexed, everything disappearing into the loose gray sweatpants. Gone. What a pity. I gulped audibly. Terrified he’d realize his mistake and unsend it, I quickly saved it to my favorites. Compared to my shock seven days ago, I was now a seasoned pro. Open photo. Zoom in. Finally, fixate on the spot just below Julian’s navel. There was a small red mole. So sexy. Looked so kissable. I couldn’t help but click my tongue. How could a man exist who stomped so precisely on all my preferences? Pale skin, high nose, thin lips. Clothed, his face was cold and ascetic, unapproachable. Clothes off, he was a soul-stealing fox demon. Sadly, this fox demon didn’t belong to me. Not only did he not belong to me, Julian didn’t even know me. We weren’t in the same major; our classes were far apart. It was love at first sight, entirely one-sided. But I’m a creep. I only dared to stalk him like a little mouse, picking up scraps of information. Julian was great, except he was a bit scatterbrained. Once he even lost a thousand dollars in cash. Lucky I was stalking him, or someone else would have gotten it. Just as I’d been stalking him for a month, summer break started. Finally, school started again. I spent fifty bucks to buy Julian’s new class schedule and copied it for myself. I got the contact from the campus forum; the guy was reliable. Julian was famously hard to run into. I only managed to stalk him thanks to this guy. Even his WeChat contact I only got because he was in a good mood during an elective class and added the whole group. After all, I’m a pervert who has a crush on Julian. No one wants to be obsessed over by a pervert. I stared at the chat box. Julian’s status kept showing “Typing…” Disappearing, reappearing, disappearing again. Makes sense. Sending abs photos to a stranger for seven days straight. Anyone would be embarrassed. So I took the initiative. Hello, do you know you’ve sent this to the wrong person again? Polite enough, right? Normal enough? The “Typing…” status disappeared. After a long while. Julian replied with a single: ? Brief, distant, cold. Guessed it. Afraid of embarrassing him, I hurriedly typed: It’s fine. I’ll just pretend I didn’t see anything. This time, Julian replied fast. Julian: It’s been a week. Aren’t you going to ask who it was meant for? Ask? How rude would that be? I was considerate: Julian, that’s your private business. It’s okay. Julian stopped replying completely. Awkwardness resolved. I rolled around on my bed. How can there be such an understanding, good person like me in this world~ Thinking this, I rolled off the bed. Went down to the basement, opened the notebook on the desk. Started writing. September 14, 2025. Julian sent abs photos to another woman again. Why is he so sltty? Can’t he control himself?* Since he can’t, I should just lock him up. But if I lock him up, Julian will definitely be angry. How can I keep him locked up without making him angry~ So annoying. 2 After writing, I flipped back through the diary. Suddenly realized I hadn’t stalked Julian since school started. I’d been so busy helping my childhood friend, Liam, with his racing club that I neglected such important business. I quickly logged into my alt account, ready to buy Julian’s schedule for tomorrow from that guy. As soon as I logged in. My phone started pinging like crazy. I opened the chat. The earliest message was from 11 days ago. Z: You there? School started. Z: Julian’s schedule, you want it? Z: Julian’s schedule is hot property. If you don’t want it, I’m selling to someone else. Z: 4 days, why no reply? Don’t need it anymore? Z: Saw Julian working out today. Body is insane. Z: Sneaked a pic. Want to see? 5 bucks. Z: Forget it, free. Want to see? Z: No reply, busy lately? Z: Or you think 10 bucks is too expensive? Z: How about 1 buck? Z: Why still no reply? It’s been days. Can’t even spare a dollar? [Sad Cat jpg] Latest message, 11:21 PM. 4 minutes ago. Z: You don’t like Julian anymore, do you? It hasn’t been that long! You heartless player! [Crying Cat jpg] I replied quickly: No, I’ve been busy lately. Can I still buy Julian’s schedule for tomorrow? Instant reply: Z: Finally willing to reply! Z: Not selling! I don’t do business with players! You don’t like Julian at all! Me: I do! Guaranteed like! Z: Then say it, what do you like about him! I froze. This guy could get Julian’s schedule and sneak pics of him working out; he must be close to Julian. I couldn’t tell him I was after Julian’s face and body. That I not only wanted to sleep with him but also imprison him. He’d definitely realize I’m a pervert and tell Julian, maybe even call the cops. I took a deep breath, typing fast: I like that he’s tall, handsome, and rich. Yeah, that sounds appropriate. No girl dislikes rich and handsome guys. But the guy didn’t seem satisfied with my answer. No reply for ages. I probed: Hello? Still there? Selling? Z: 100. Me: ??? Wasn’t it 1 buck? Z: 100, take it or leave it. [Cold Cat jpg] Fine, 100 it is. I gritted my teeth: Deal. 3 That 100 bucks was well spent. The next afternoon, I secretly followed Julian to the library. I loved crowded places like this; hard to be detected. Julian chose a window seat. I held my book high to cover my face, peeking at him. Julian looked different today. Sunlight hit his face perfectly. Usually his wrist was bare, but today he wore a Patek Philippe, fully exposed. The library was quiet, just the sound of pages turning. Sitting there, I started dozing off. In my haze, I seemed to hear a voice through gritted teeth. “Student Jiang.” Someone tapped my desk lightly. I opened my eyes. Julian was squatting by my legs. That devastatingly handsome face appeared suddenly before my eyes. I leaned back in panic, stuttering: “W-what’s up?” Julian pointed at the book in my hand. “That’s the last copy in the library. Can I borrow it for a look?” I stared at Julian’s lips, not hearing a word. Only knew he was so close. His lips looked so soft, so kissable. Smelled so good too, like money. Julian rested his chin on his hands on the desk, looking up at me, expression cool: “Can I?” So seductive. I gulped uselessly: “O-of course.” Julian took the book and stood up. I stared at his profile. Got the book, he should be leaving now. I suddenly felt a sense of loss. Next second, scrape. Julian pulled out a chair, skipping one seat from me, and sat down. My heart started pounding instantly. Seeing me still staring. Julian turned, voice cool: “Student Jiang, do you have something to say to me?” “No!” I turned away immediately, covering my face with my hand. This was the first time I was this close to him. His scent drifted over faintly. Making my mouth dry, cheeks burning. “Student Jiang.” Third time he called me today! Sounds so good! If I locked him to a bed, he’d surely sound even better. I took a deep breath, afraid he’d see my perverted thoughts, smiling: “What is it?” Julian looked at me, still that cool, aloof look I liked best. But he leaned forward, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Do you really have nothing you want to say to me?” 4 I froze. Say what? About the abs photos? I explained hurriedly: “Julian, I really pretended I didn’t see those photos, don’t worry.” Julian seemed unhappy: “I’m not talking about that.” I was confused. If not that, then what? Julian looked at me for a few seconds. Suddenly stood up. “Come out for a second. I have something to say.” My heart jumped. Out? Why go out? Can’t say it here? Not the photos… did he discover I was stalking him? My brain was a mess, but my body honestly followed Julian out of the reading room. The hallway was empty. I looked at Julian, heart in my throat. “Chloe Jiang.” “Here!” Julian’s throat moved. “I don’t like people playing games behind my back.” My heart sank rapidly. Done for. Julian definitely found out. He’s warning me. After all, no one wants to be liked by a stalker. Seeing no reaction, “Chloe, do you understand what I mean?” My heart felt like a crushed soda can in a recycling plant. I pinched my fingers. “I understand, Julian.” Julian’s eyes lit up instantly. I wanted to die even more. He really hates me. Julian cleared his throat, expression unnatural: “Since that’s the case, we—” “Julian, don’t worry!” I took a deep breath and interrupted him, swearing to the heavens. “From now on I will absolutely not disturb you again, and absolutely won’t have any improper thoughts about you!” Julian’s hand reaching into his pocket froze, pupils shrinking: “What did you say?!”

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