After my online group discussion ended, I started discussing with my best friend how to break up with my boyfriend. “He’s too aloof, so boring.” “Talking to him is always just ‘Oh’, ‘Okay’, ‘Hmm’.” “He doesn’t even know how to kiss, so old-fashioned.” “Better break up! After 520 (May 20th, Chinese Valentine’s Day equivalent), I’ll break up with him!” My best friend was about to nod in agreement when her gaze suddenly fell on my phone screen. Then she looked up in horror: “You planned your breakup in an online meeting? Is that how you roll?” Me: ? No, the meeting was started by my boyfriend! 1 When Chloe arrived at the coffee shop, the group meeting had just ended. Only Julian and I were left in the online meeting room. I squeezed my voice until it was almost smoking, speaking coquettishly to my boyfriend: “You don’t need to come for my birthday today, I know you’re busy with your studies.” Julian was as cold as ever: “Hmm.” “Okay, take care of yourself, don’t get too tired, hang up first, baby~” Silence from Julian’s end. Phone down, Chloe kept winking at me, imitating my coquettish voice: “Take care of yourself, don’t get too tired, baby~ Hahahaha, Lin, do you like Julian that much?” My smile disappeared, expressionless and flat: “Not anymore.” “Planning to break up.” 2 Chloe almost spat out her coffee: “Damn, why? Didn’t you spend so much effort to chase him?” “Why break up after just three months?” I gritted my teeth. Five months ago, I fell in love with Julian at first sight in a large lecture hall. The boy wore a white hoodie, hair messy over his forehead, features handsome and delicate, like an unreachable flower on a high peak. One look, and I liked him. Wanted to pluck him. So, approached, asked for contact info, asked for a date, met up… All in one go. Julian was colder than I imagined. He had excellent grades, top of his major, but didn’t like to talk. He rarely picked up my topics or jokes. Basically just a few words: “Hmm.” “Okay.” “Interesting.” … Chased for a full two months, just when I suspected if the person opposite was an AI chat bot or a fake person, ready to give up. February 14th, Valentine’s Day, I didn’t contact him all day. He suddenly sent a message: [Are you angry?] 3 Nonsense. A screen full of “hmm hmm ah hey”, would any girl not be angry? I was too lazy to deal with it anymore, so I just replied: “Today is Valentine’s Day, only my boyfriend can ask about my emotions.” After sending this, I went to sleep. After all, compared to the probability of this cold man replying to me, I believed more that he would delete me with one click. That person… Seems to have no emotions. But, when I got up the next morning, I saw a brand new message. Also the longest message Julian had ever sent me: [Then, can I be your boyfriend?] 4 Ideally. The story should end here. But, in the coffee shop, I slammed my phone down angrily, complaining to Chloe indignantly: “Together for three months, I haven’t even gotten a kiss!” “Every day he only knows about internships and doing problems, apart from internships it’s doing problems.” “Now it’s great, he even forgot my birthday.” “Tell me what use is this boyfriend to me?” “Might as well throw him away to save worry.” Seeing but not eating is even more uncomfortable. Chloe blinked, also a bit shocked: “Is he… impotent?” “Heard if a person is too overworked, that aspect will, um,” Chloe pursed her lips, “their major is so busy, probably tired out.” As soon as the words fell, a heavy breathing sound seemed to suddenly come from the silent coffee shop. I blinked, who’s panting? Looked left and right, no one. I didn’t care, continued to gossip about Julian with Chloe: “Ghost knows if he can do it or not, he won’t let me kiss or touch, can’t see him every day.” “Talking is boring too, apart from telling me to study hard, always popping words out one by one, I’m really going crazy.” “I want to break up! Firmly break up!”

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On the eve of Mother’s Day, my best friend, Chloe, suddenly sent me a group-buying link for flowers. “Mia, Mia, group-buying flowers is such a good deal! Please, please split it with me!” Her tone was playful and cute, as always. But I had already refused her three times. Yet she asked for the fourth time. The anger in my heart was hard to suppress, and my tone of refusal wasn’t very pleasant. “My mother passed away less than a week ago. Do you think I need this?” “But… you can buy them for yourself.” This time, she sent a voice message. Her voice was soft and sticky, the ending tone even carrying a hint of aggrieved dissatisfaction. At that moment, I felt exhausted, physically and mentally. Suddenly, I felt that this friendship should end right here. 1 My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a long time, unsure of what to send back. Or maybe, I should say nothing and just block her directly. But twenty years of friendship made it impossible for me to be so ruthless. I could only close the message dialog and open my work app to deal with business matters. But she wouldn’t let it go. She racked her brains, trying to come up with reasons to convince me. “Look, you’re already in a bad mood because of your mom’s passing, and flowers can make people happy. You really can buy a bouquet for yourself.” “If you’re happier, your mom down there can rest easy.” Half an hour later. She probably thought she had finally come up with a perfect solution. She excitedly messaged me: “I have an idea! You can buy them for my mom!” “We’re so close, my mom is your mom. You can express your love to my mom, and my mom can give it back to you. This way, you won’t always live in the pain of losing your mother.” “Am I super smart or what?” Actually, if you take these sentences out individually, every one of them sounds nice and can be interpreted with good intentions. I could understand it as her wanting me to move on from the pain of bereavement sooner, hoping to alleviate my grief, hoping beautiful things could let me face the rest of my life more happily and easily. If I ignored her selfish goal of just saving money. Just like every time in the past, interpreting her words and deeds with kindness. This matter could actually pass. After all, we have known each other for too long, our relationship as close as family. I knew her strengths and weaknesses like the back of my hand. I knew she was overly selfish, habitually self-centered, often living in her own world, requiring excessive accommodation from others. For example, chatting was usually her home court, endlessly revolving around her work, her family, her complaints about everything. Looking through the chat history, it was always “I, I, I,” with the word “you” appearing very rarely. Occasionally when I mentioned something about myself, she often wouldn’t even reply, switching back to her own affairs without transition. Going out to eat, shop, or hang out, we went wherever she wanted. It was hard for me to win against her stubbornness. By nature, I don’t like arguing; most of the time, I’m very easygoing. Only once, she wanted to eat hotpot. But because I had been clearing out ingredients from my fridge and ate hotpot for a week straight, I was at the point where hearing the word “hotpot” made me want to vomit. So I rejected her suggestion. “Pick somewhere else. Anything but hotpot.” She pestered me for a very long time, seeing that I really wouldn’t budge. She reluctantly agreed. But after walking around the food street, she finally pulled me to stop in front of the hotpot restaurant, begging me pitifully. “But I still don’t want to eat anything else. Besides, I just bought a coupon on my phone.” “At worst, I won’t make you treat me this time. Let’s go Dutch, okay?” “Please, please, I really, really want to eat hotpot. Listen to me this time, and I’ll listen to you next time, okay? Okay?” She pulled at my sleeve, acting coquettish. Of course, by “next time,” she would have long forgotten such a promise. In the past, I could always tolerate her. If she didn’t pick up on the topics I brought up, I rarely talked about myself again. Even if I encountered something annoying at work, I would just silently digest it myself. After all, no one wants to be someone else’s emotional trash can. What she wanted to eat, where she wanted to play, I could yield. 2 Because I thought these were small matters. Although she had such an unbearable flaw, her strengths were equally charming. She was enthusiastic, cheerful, brave, and upright. She was always so courageous in speaking up for what she wanted. Unlike me, who would mentally prepare over and over, only to forcibly suppress my needs in the end. I hated my own stifled cowardice but couldn’t change it. I drink a lot of water. At every gathering, while others barely touched their tea, I was always the first to finish mine. I looked at everyone else’s relatively full cups, hesitating again and again, feeling like they didn’t need refills, and I was too embarrassed to pour only for myself. I could only endure the thirst and wait. Wait until the next person who needed water picked up the teapot and poured a round, filling mine. Even though I knew very well that I just needed to pick up the teapot and naturally ask, “Do you guys want water?” It would solve my dilemma. But socially anxious me just couldn’t open my mouth. So I always envied Chloe, who seemed to have “social butterfly syndrome.” She lived so brilliantly and boldly, making life flavorful. So even if she was sometimes overly self-centered, I felt it didn’t matter; I could tolerate it. Until this time, I truly felt she stepped on my bottom line. I didn’t reply to her for a long time. At two in the afternoon, she probably couldn’t hold it in anymore and sent another voice message. “How about this? You don’t even have to take the flowers. Just transfer the split cost to me, and I’ll deal with the flowers for you. Is that okay?” Knowing her as well as I do, I was very clear that such wording meant she was already unhappy. If it were in the past, involving trivial matters not touching on principles, I would have started coaxing her long ago. But now, not only did I not want to, but I was also infuriated by her selfish and overbearing tone. I couldn’t help scrolling up the chat history and clicking on the link she sent. I wanted to see how much money a group buy could save to be worth her poking at the pain of my mother’s death again and again. Single purchase: $16.80. Group purchase: $14.80. It was only two dollars. So our friendship wasn’t even worth two dollars. I felt incredibly ironic. “If you can’t afford it, don’t give gifts. Is two dollars worth you harassing me again and again to make me group buy with you?” “How many times did I refuse? Can you completely fail to understand my feelings, stabbing my sore spot over and over with words like ‘Mother’s Day’ and ‘flowers’? Besides, aren’t there other people on the app to group buy with you? As far as I know, strangers can also group buy successfully. Why do you have to latch onto me?” “Why are you so fierce? I just asked you for a small favor. Of course I can find someone else to group buy with me. I was thinking we are best friends, aren’t we? I wanted you to experience the holiday atmosphere with me and be a little happier. Was I wrong?” She suddenly sent a close-up selfie. Her expression was scrunched up, looking very sad. But the corners of her eyes were dry, without a single tear. Looking at it made me even more repulsed and nauseated. “Look at how sad I am now. Why do you have to say that about me? Aren’t we best friends?” “I know you’re sad about your mom dying, but I didn’t cause any of this. I’m sad too. When your mom’s funeral was being arranged, I was with you the whole time, running around, helping you contact people. Did you forget all that?” As she brought up old matters, I couldn’t help thinking of those days. 3 I had no appetite, so she brought me all kinds of delicious food. I was too busy to touch the ground, and she took leave to accompany me, helping me contact the funeral home, buying wreaths and paper houses, etc. I was so heartbroken I was in a trance, almost losing the cash guests gave as gifts. It was she who discovered it in time and reminded me to keep it safe. My heart couldn’t help but soften. I also began to suspect if I was making a mountain out of a molehill. Maybe she just had low EQ and didn’t know how to handle things, without meaning to hurt me. I was physically and mentally exhausted, really too lazy to analyze. So I decided not to think too much and hastily explained to her. “Sorry, maybe I’ve been suffering too much lately. My mood is really bad, and it’s easy to lose my temper. Thank you for staying with me during that time, but I really don’t want to help you group buy these flowers.” “Okay then.” She was disappointed, but finally stopped pestering me about this. I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking the matter could pass. But unexpectedly, in the evening, her boyfriend suddenly added me on WeChat and scolded me in the verification message. “Bitch, do you have a death wish? Daring to bully my woman.” I thought he was crazy and rejected his request. But the more I thought about it, the more unbalanced I felt. So I messaged Chloe, asking her what this was about. I thought maybe it was a misunderstanding that could be cleared up with an explanation. Unexpectedly, she replied lightly: “Who told you not to help me group buy? I just complained a few words to my boyfriend. I didn’t expect him to go to you either. Don’t take it to heart. I already found someone willing to group buy with me.” Even through WeChat, I could feel she was in a good mood. I didn’t know if it was because she successfully group-bought her favorite flowers or because she felt her boyfriend standing up for her was cool. Anyway, that inexplicable pride made me very uncomfortable. I tried hard to endure my displeasure and asked her: “What did you say to your boyfriend? Why did he come to scold me for no reason? Send me the chat history.” Actually, my intention was to see if she had failed to express herself clearly, and her boyfriend was eager to stand up for her, causing this farce. Because my favorability towards her was dropping uncontrollably bit by bit. So I desperately looked for reasons and evidence for her, proving everything was just my misunderstanding of her, trying to stop the decline of our friendship. But unexpectedly, she understood it completely in the opposite direction. She seemed quite vigilant: “Why do you want to see our chat history? That’s crossing a line, isn’t it? I was just in a bad mood and cried a bit. He happened to call, heard it, and kept asking me, so I just said a few words casually. There’s no chat history.” Actually, there wasn’t. Actually, she took my sentence “If you can’t afford it, don’t give gifts. Is two dollars worth you harassing me again and again to make me group buy with you?” out of context, took a screenshot, and sent it to her boyfriend to complain. She also exaggerated and said many bad things about me, provoking that boy to run and scold me immediately. But at that time, I didn’t know. I just felt that since she had said this much, if I kept asking, it would indeed seem strange. So I let it go again. But less than ten minutes later. I found she posted a screenshot of our chat on her Moments. The caption was: “Really speechless. How can there be someone with so little sense of boundaries, actually asking to see the chat history between me and my boyfriend? Does she have some special fetish? Or does she like my boyfriend? I’m so annoyed. Can anyone help me analyze this?” 4 I don’t know for what purpose, but in the chat screenshot she posted, she even mosaiced a sentence. So, my questioning sentence became: “What did you say to your boyfriend? Send me the chat history.” I don’t know who replied what on her Moments. I only saw her public reply below: “She doesn’t have a boyfriend, but I don’t know if she really likes my bf. After all, I really don’t want to speculate about my friend with such malice.” And another sentence: “Naturally. A little fairy must be kind.” I was so disgusted I almost threw up last night’s dinner. Just as I was about to comment a few words, I found the status was gone. I opened the chat box with her, about to question her, but suddenly felt it was pointless. Maybe just blocking her would be fine. Was there any need to continue communicating? But after all, we were friends for many years, perhaps with too much tacit understanding; she actually sent me a message. First, she sent a puffy angry emoji, very fitting for her tone of acting coquettish before speaking. “Let’s get this straight, I was just asking. If you’re unwilling, just refuse me. You’re not allowed to be fierce to me.” “I’ll ask you one last, last time. Those Mother’s Day flowers, do you really not want them? Thinking about it, I still feel it’s such a pity. How can anyone not love such beautiful flowers?” Anger burned in my chest. I suddenly felt like a spring pressed to its lowest point, unable to go any lower. Instead, there was a trend to bounce back. So I calmly and leisurely replied to her: “I’ve picked out an even more beautiful bouquet, very suitable for you. Do you want me to buy it and send it to you?” She replied with a voice message instantly, her tone revealing a cheering joy: “Of course, that would be great! I accept with pleasure. I’m not like you, always a buzzkill. Me? I’m a little fairy, the best at providing emotional value.” “Then I’ll be waiting. On Mother’s Day, you send me flowers, and I’ll accompany you for a walk and chat.” “Okay.” We ended the chat very happily. But when Mother’s Day actually arrived, and the courier delivered my gift to her, she was so angry she jumped three feet high. “Mia Li, what is the meaning of this? What did you send?” “On Mother’s Day, you sent my mom a funeral wreath? Just you wait!” She uttered harsh words through gritted teeth on the phone. She was probably truly furious; her voice was trembling. I knew why she was so angry, because what I sent wasn’t just a funeral wreath.

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The prestigious Foster family of San Francisco held a lavish birthday banquet for their eldest son, Julian Foster. The highlight of the evening was a piano competition, ostensibly to select a fiancée for Julian. His father, Mr. Foster, had once declared that his son’s wife must be a virtuoso pianist. In my previous life, I was the one who shone brightly at that banquet. The Fosters and my family, the Quinns, officially united, and I married into the Foster dynasty. Meanwhile, the woman Julian truly loved, Sarah Miller, fell ill and died of a broken heart. After Julian became the CEO of Foster Corp, he placed Sarah’s memorial tablet in the seat of honor in our home. He forced me to kneel before it for three days and three nights. “If you hadn’t injured Sarah’s hand before the banquet, my parents would have chosen her. You are the reason we were separated by life and death.” “The position of Mrs. Foster should have been hers.” His first act as CEO was a hostile takeover of Quinn Enterprises, bankrupting my family. My father died of a heart attack from the stress, and my mother followed him a year later, consumed by grief. The Quinn family fell into ruin. In this life, at the Foster birthday banquet, I injured my own wrist, withdrawing from the fierce competition among the socialites. He wants a lifetime of devotion with Sarah Miller? I’ll grant them their wish. 1 “The winner of the piano competition, with the most votes, is Miss Sarah Miller of the Miller family.” At the birthday banquet, Julian’s aunt announced the winner’s name loudly. Whispers rippled through the crowd. “I can’t believe she won first place.” “I heard Chloe Quinn sprained her wrist and couldn’t play. Sarah Miller really got lucky.” “Wasn’t Chloe the Fosters’ preferred choice for daughter-in-law?” “But the rule was that the winner becomes Julian’s fiancée. Julian set that rule himself.” Julian’s face was filled with joy and delight. He tightly held Sarah’s hand and walked forward. “Dad, Mom, this is the fiancée I have chosen.” Julian’s eyes were full of tenderness. Sarah looked shy, her face flushed red, but she never let go of Julian’s hand. Everyone looked at me with pity, my wrist still wrapped in gauze, but their eyes betrayed their eagerness for drama. Mrs. Foster looked at me, hesitating to speak. After all, she had hinted that I was her choice and even spoken to my parents to ensure they wouldn’t arrange other matches for me. Now, things had taken an unexpected turn. Mrs. Foster hesitated for a moment before asking Julian, “Is there any other girl you like? Your father is happy today; perhaps if you mention someone else, he might annul today’s results and give it more thought.” She glanced at me, hinting for him to reconsider. But Mrs. Foster was wrong. I no longer wanted to marry Julian. In my past life, Julian accused me of breaking Sarah’s hand, preventing her from playing. But that was something beneath me. If he had calmly considered my character, he would have known I wouldn’t do such a thing. But seeing Sarah with her head lowered and eyes red, his heart ached for her. Sarah broke free from his grasp and said, “I know Miss Quinn doesn’t like me, but I just wanted a fair chance to be with you. Why couldn’t she give me that? Just because her father is the CEO of Quinn Enterprises? Because the Miller family isn’t as wealthy as hers?” Her single sentence planted the seed for Julian’s hostile takeover of my family’s company later. Only later did I learn that after hearing my performance of a long-lost piano piece—which even earned nods of approval from the principal pianist of the National Symphony—Sarah realized she couldn’t win. She deliberately cut her own hand with a small knife to fake an injury and avoid losing. 2 In this life, I wouldn’t give her that chance. I’d rather use the pretext of accidentally injuring my wrist at yesterday’s spring luncheon to withdraw from today’s competition than give them another excuse to slander me. They want to be together? In this life, I’ll grant their wish. I’ll stay far away from them. Hearing his mother’s question, Julian declared loudly, “Mom, Sarah is the only woman I love. Since she got the most votes and won first place, according to my rules, I must marry her.” “In this life, I will only love Sarah.” Mrs. Foster sighed helplessly. “I have no objection to you marrying her, but a marriage alliance is no small matter. I hope you consider it carefully. Besides financial strength, the upbringing of future generations must also be considered.” She looked at Sarah. Sarah had eyes only for Julian. Perhaps love gives people infinite courage. She stepped forward, her voice trembling slightly. “Mrs. Foster, after marrying Julian, I will give him a son and devote myself to raising our children and educating the next generation of Fosters. But Julian said he won’t marry anyone else.” “Every woman wants to be the only one for her beloved. Mrs. Foster must feel the same, right? Please agree to our marriage.” As soon as she finished speaking, the expressions of the ladies in the hall varied. Especially the mothers of other potential candidates, whose faces turned dark. “Miss Miller is really something. Bossing Julian around before she’s even married into the family.” “Which successful man doesn’t have a few women? Besides, Julian is Mrs. Foster’s only son. What is she trying to do? If she can’t have a son, does she intend to end the Foster line?” “It looks like Sarah Miller wants to monopolize Julian’s affection.” Although Julian knew it was inappropriate, he still defended her. “Mom, please agree to let me marry Sarah.” Mrs. Foster closed her eyes and waved her hand wearily. “Since your mind is made up, I can’t control you. In three days, I’ll send someone to the Miller family to propose.” As everyone filed out, I was stopped before I could leave the Foster estate. “Miss Quinn.” It was Sarah. Behind her, servants carried the jewelry Julian had given her. She walked up with a smile. “I’m sorry, Miss Quinn. I didn’t expect you not to play today. I thought you would win.” I smiled faintly. “Congratulations, Miss Miller. Your wish has come true.” Her eyes reddened. “Do you blame me? I know Mrs. Foster prefers you, but I really love Julian, and he said he wanted to marry me. For him, I had to disregard our sisterhood. Please don’t blame me.” “This diamond necklace was a gift from Julian. I’m giving it to you as a token of our sisterhood. I wish you find your true love soon and have a son early.” I took the necklace, but before I could speak, a man’s hand snatched it away. “I gave this to you. Why give it to someone else? This is a blessing for us to have a son early after marriage. Why don’t you care?” Sarah looked at Julian shyly. “Julian, Miss Quinn is upset about losing. I wanted to comfort her. Don’t be so petty.” 3 Julian looked at me with disdain. “Upset? Chloe, it’s my mom who likes you, not me. I hope you understand. My mom probably values your father’s support. But once I get the approval of all shareholders, I will be the next successor of Foster Corp. Everyone will have to listen to me then, right?” “I won’t rely on a woman’s connections to develop my career. And I never said I wanted to marry you.” “We used to get along because I thought you were generous and interesting to talk to. But I didn’t expect you to be so ambitious, wanting to become Mrs. Foster.” Watching them sing their duet, I lost patience. I took a step back. “Mr. Foster, I came to the birthday banquet because of your mother’s invitation. As for relying on women for your career or marrying you, save those delusions. Don’t make Miss Miller overthink.” “If she starts thinking you’re implying her family isn’t helpful, how will she find her place in the Foster family?” With that, I turned and left. Sarah was naturally suspicious and petty. The Miller family had long declined; among San Francisco’s elite, they barely ranked. Compared to my family’s background, hers was not worth mentioning. Three days later, the Foster family proposed to the Millers. Once the engagement was set, Sarah immediately held a banquet, inviting all the socialites of San Francisco. For Julian’s sake, who dared not go? At the banquet, Sarah was draped in jewelry, wearing all the pieces Julian and Mrs. Foster had sent. Even before becoming Mrs. Foster, she was already putting on the airs of the mistress of the house. I remembered in my past life, she was favored by Julian for her simple elegance and dislike of luxury jewelry. He claimed to prefer her fresh, unworldly charm. I wondered if the Julian of this life would still praise her for being untainted by the world seeing her like this. In front of everyone, Sarah held my hand tightly. “Miss Quinn, when I get married, could you be my bridesmaid? With a good sister by my side on my wedding day, I won’t be so scared.” Her face showed pleading, but her eyes held a triumphant smile. In her mind, she was already the winner, trying to embarrass me publicly. “You are Mrs. Foster. Who would refuse your choice of bridesmaid? No one in San Francisco would dare not give me, Julian Foster, face. Chloe, don’t you agree?” The speaker was Julian, walking in. He came to support Sarah’s banquet, showing how much he doted on her. Everyone looked at me, waiting for my response. If I agreed, I would be submitting to the status of Mrs. Foster. If I refused, I would be disrespecting Julian. Julian was confident, and Sarah was triumphant. But they forgot that my father is the CEO of Quinn Enterprises. In San Francisco, aside from respected elders, I don’t need to bow to anyone. I pulled my hand from Sarah’s grasp. “I’m sorry, I probably can’t attend your wedding. My dad sent someone to pick me up. The flight booked is on the exact day of your wedding.” Sarah looked at me, eyes filled with tears. “Are you angry with me, Miss Quinn? Otherwise, how could it be so coincidental that Chairman Quinn sent someone for you?” 4 My companion answered for me. “The person Chairman Quinn sent arrived last night. He said a marriage has been arranged for Chloe. She’s been in San Francisco for six months; it’s time to go home and prepare for her wedding.” Upon hearing this, Julian’s face changed drastically. “You’re going back to LA? Didn’t your dad send you to San Francisco to find a husband from a prominent family?” “I know you’re upset I chose Sarah. If I agree to marry her, I can still be with you, okay?” Sarah’s face changed. Before she could speak, I smiled and said, “Mr. Foster, what kind of joke is that? Didn’t you tell Mrs. Foster the other day you wanted a lifetime of devotion with Miss Miller?” “Besides, a daughter of the Quinn family would never be a mistress.” Julian gritted his teeth. “Chloe, must you be Mrs. Foster? Do you care that much about a title?” I looked at him bafflingly. “Julian, I never said I wanted to be your wife. I’ve just been in San Francisco long enough. My family misses me, and I have no relatives here. Going home is only natural. Is there a rule against going home?” Julian’s face grew darker. “What if I don’t agree? What if I don’t let you leave?” “Mr. Foster might be disappointed. Miss Quinn and I are already engaged. Is CEO Foster trying to steal my wife?” I turned around. It was Christopher Wells, who grew up with me. Dressed in a formal suit, looking a bit travel-worn, he seemed to have rushed to San Francisco. He walked in, stood beside me, and silently protected me. Julian stared at him. “Christopher Wells, what are you doing here instead of staying in LA?” Christopher smiled. “I’m here to negotiate a deal for Uncle Quinn and to bring Chloe back to LA.” Then he looked at me, seeing no one else. “Chloe, these banquets are boring. I heard there’s a fireworks show in San Francisco tonight. Want me to take you?” I smiled, stood up, and bid farewell to Julian and Sarah. “I’ll take my leave now. I’m afraid I’ll be gone by the time you two get married. Wishing you a happy marriage in advance.” With that, I walked to Christopher and followed him out of the Miller residence. Julian chased after us. “Chloe, is being with me worse than being Christopher’s fiancée?” “When I become the heir to Foster Corp, I promise I’ll let you have a child for me, okay?” Christopher walked to the sports car outside, opened the door, and helped me in. I sat inside with a smile, closed the door, and he drove away, leaving Julian and his words behind in the dust. Julian’s wedding was a major event for the Foster family. On the morning of his wedding, my car was packed and ready to go. Unexpectedly, our car encountered the wedding procession on the street. I had specifically chosen a route they wouldn’t take, but Julian had chosen this road. Dressed as a groom, he blocked my car. “Chloe, are you really leaving?”

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On the day I was sentenced to death, my parents were busy organizing a press conference to announce their adopted son, Liam, as the new heir to the company. My sister, Emily, was engaged to Liam. They had truly become a family. And I, who exposed Liam’s wolfish ambition, was the ungrateful wretch they had disowned and righteously destroyed. Reborn after death. I no longer hope for their love. I live only for myself. 1 I was reborn. Reborn to the day Liam was just adopted into my family. Unexpectedly, fate was willing to give me a second chance. Liam was the son of my father’s childhood friend, and also a well-known child prodigy in our city. Unfortunately, his parents died in a car accident, and when they were found, Liam had already been abducted from the car. My father spent a lot of manpower and resources to track down Liam. Heartbroken by his tragic experience at such a young age, he decided to bring him back and treat him like his own son. My mother burst into tears as soon as she saw Liam, hugging him and crying, “Poor child, you’ve suffered so much.” My sister was also wiping away tears nearby. I was the only one looking at Liam coldly, because I knew the inhuman malice hidden under his obedient appearance. My mother asked Liam to sit down quickly, but he blushed and whispered, “I’m dirty, I’m afraid of dirtying Uncle and Auntie’s sofa.” This heartbreakingly sensible appearance once again melted the hearts of my overly compassionate family. Even my father, who usually claimed men don’t cry easily, had tears in his eyes. He patted Liam’s head and said, “Silly child, this is your home from now on. You should call us Mom and Dad…” Liam nodded shyly. Suddenly seeing my sister’s unfinished homework spread on the table, he glanced at it and solved the difficult Math Olympiad problem my sister had been stuck on all night. My sister, Emily, instantly became Liam’s fan, praising him endlessly as a true genius. My parents also exchanged smiles, feeling that Liam’s addition would definitely make our family better. Throughout the process, no one asked for my opinion. It seemed that with the arrival of this adopted son, I, the biological son, was no longer of any concern. 2 I just waited quietly, knowing exactly what kind of person Liam was. Sure enough, just like in my previous life, Liam immediately tried to put me in my place. He suddenly looked at me with teary eyes and asked, “Brother Dylan, why are you glaring at me like that?” He lowered his head, acting very disappointed: “I’m sorry, I never thought of stealing someone else’s parents. If you don’t like me, I’d better leave.” Although he said this, he didn’t move an inch from the sofa. My father looked at me sternly: “Dylan, you’ll be Liam’s brother from now on. Get along well with him, understand?” Emily curled her lips disdainfully: “Dylan must be jealous that Liam is smarter than him and feels unconvinced. Liam is different from his petty cleverness; he’s a famous prodigy.” Liam’s face instantly turned pale, hiding behind my mother and shivering: “I never thought of stealing Brother’s thunder, it’s all my fault.” My mother hurriedly hugged Liam to comfort him, looking at me with dissatisfaction: “Dylan, Mom has always taught you to be humble. How can you be so jealous?” My father also shouted impatiently: “Apologize to Liam quickly!” Liam lifted his head from my mother’s arms, deliberately revealing a provocative expression only I could see. I bit my lower lip tight, images from my past life flashing through my mind. My parents and sister were just as aggressive back then, clamoring that Liam was their real family, ruthlessly cutting ties with me. They even fueled the fire when Liam framed me and sent me to prison, watching helplessly as I was sent to the execution ground. I should have understood long ago that from the moment Liam stepped into my house, my family was no longer my family. They were like bewitched by Liam, always standing unconditionally on his side, unmoved even as the family assets were embezzled by him. I genuinely wanted to wake them up, but was labeled as jealous, incompetent, and petty, becoming the most ridiculed existence in the family. The family was willing to walk into the hell paved by Liam, but I was different. In this life, I want to live for myself. 3 Liam’s room wasn’t ready yet, so my parents asked him to share a room with me first. The thought of breathing the same air as this person made me sick to my stomach. I turned to pack my things, planning to make do in the living room for the night. Liam followed me in, sweeping all my textbooks and stationery that were neatly stacked on the desk onto the floor, occupying my desk with his own schoolbag. Unlike my previous life, my indifference made Liam tear off his mask directly: “Why should a mortal like you have such a warm family, while a genius like me has to suffer so much misfortune! Just wait, this home will belong to me in the future!” I packed my things without even looking at Liam: “I don’t care much about this family. If you want it, I’ll give it to you. You only deserve to pick up what I’ve discarded.” Liam’s chest heaved with anger at my words, but he quickly calmed down, a trace of gloom flashing across his face: “You can only be smug for now.” As soon as he finished speaking, Liam tore a stack of certificates he brought with him into pieces, then ran out of the room crying with the fragments: “Boohoo, Brother Dylan, don’t tear my certificates! This is my last memory from my old school! I’m sorry, someone like me doesn’t deserve to share a room with you…” My parents and sister heard the noise and ran over, seeing Liam sitting in a pile of certificate fragments, crying snot and tears, his small body curled up in a ball, looking so pitiful. Emily picked up a fragment casually and shouted in surprise: “First Prize in the National Primary School Math Olympiad! With this award, getting into a key middle school is a breeze, yet Dylan tore it up!” Liam wiped his tears aggrievedly, still pretending to be generous: “It must be that I offended Brother somewhere, making him unhappy. It’s all my fault.” My mother hurriedly wiped his face clean with wet wipes, her eyes overflowing with heartache: “How could it be your fault? We spoiled Dylan too much.” My father was already red in the face with anger. He didn’t understand why other people’s sons were so sensible, while his own son wouldn’t even accept a brother and bullied him everywhere. 4 I walked out of the room, my eyes firm as I said word by word: “Liam tore the certificates himself. It has nothing to do with me.” My sister, Emily, immediately screamed, protecting Liam and pointing at me with fiery eyes, cursing: “Who tears their own certificates for no reason! Dylan, you don’t even draft your lies now. Why didn’t we realize you were this kind of person before?!” My father shouted angrily at me: “Dylan! You’ve disappointed Dad too much. How could I raise a son like you! Can’t you learn from Liam, be sensible, and give your family some peace of mind?” I looked back at the family coldly. Liam was truly capable. He bewitched everyone in just one night. He shed a few tears, and my parents acted like the sky was falling. But what about me? Who noticed my heart bleeding? In my past life, I was indeed a bit jealous of Liam because he excelled far beyond me academically. We had some friction at first, but I soon accepted this brother. But Liam exploited my trust, smearing and slandering me in front of my parents. By the time I realized it, the rift between me and my parents was irreversible. But in this life, I have memories of my past life and the thinking ability of an adult. How could Liam, just a primary school student, be my opponent? To prevent Liam from being “bullied” by me again, my parents decided to sleep with him that night. They coaxed Liam away, no one looking back at me, as if I were a sinner destroying the warm family atmosphere. I silently closed the door, shutting out their harmonious scene. I had long vowed not to be sad over this family’s boundless bias anymore.

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Three days after my college application was tampered with, I began to have suicidal thoughts. I wanted to die peacefully, but the pharmacy downstairs refused to sell me sleeping pills. I sighed and walked into the bathroom, ready to slit my wrists. Just as I made a small cut. My phone rang. My heart skipped a beat when I saw my mom’s name. I thought to myself, If Mom cares about me, I won’t die. I answered the phone, only to hear my mom’s accusing voice: “Penny, it’s just a changed application, was it necessary to yell at your sister? She’s in the hospital now, come over and apologize to her immediately.” I hung up. My beating heart completely turned into a pool of dead water. I gripped the small knife tighter… The doorbell rang. 1 I wanted to ignore it, but the person ringing the doorbell was persistent. So annoying. I grabbed some tissues to cover my bleeding wrist. The tissues were instantly soaked with blood. I opened the door and said impatiently, “Advertising or meter reading? No adults are home, come back later!” Seeing the person opposite didn’t speak, I looked up. He seemed a bit familiar. “Oh… I remember now, you’re the one who bought the last bottle of sleeping pills! What, are you here to share some with me?” “Do you f*cking know you’re bleeding?!” The man yelled at me, leaving me stunned. He picked me up and ran outside. “Hey, the door isn’t closed…” If my parents came back and saw this, they’d lock me in the dark room again. Blood soaked the tissues and stained his white T-shirt red. My thoughts were getting blurrier… “Don’t sleep! We’re almost at the hospital!” My head cleared a bit, and I smelled a faint mint scent on him. I suddenly wanted to laugh. “Haha, hahahaha…” The voice above asked, slightly out of breath, “Why are you laughing? Did I hit your funny bone?” “No… it’s just been a long time since anyone cared about me like this.” Laughing turned into crying. Tears fell like broken strings, huge drops rolling down. I felt sorrow for myself, sorrow for desperately trying to please my family, sorrow for being targeted and not daring to get angry, sorrow for my lost college opportunity, sorrow for my life. My eyes slowly closed. I heard someone desperately calling me. “Hey, little girl, wake up! There’s no hurdle in life you can’t cross. I’ll help you…” But I was so tired. If there is a next life, I won’t come to this family. 2 Years ago, my grandma told me that my parents were too busy with work, so they fostered me in the countryside. Grandma said they loved me very much, and I believed her. I always looked forward to meeting my parents. But when I was brought to the city, I realized, oh, I have a brother! And even a sister! Why could they keep my brother and sister with them despite being busy, but leave me alone with Grandma? My mom held my hand. Her hand was cold, mine was trembling. She introduced: “This is your brother, Kyle, and this is your sister, Lucy.” I didn’t know why my sister’s last name was different from our parents’, especially since we were only a month apart in age. But I didn’t dare ask because Mom said Lucy had asthma, and I needed to take care of her and tolerate her just like they did. However, the sister who always seemed obedient in front of my family was constantly against me. She cut her own dress and said I did it. She tore up her own homework and said I did it. Such clumsy framing, yet my parents believed it without a doubt. I was scolded, punished, locked in the dark room, step by step labeled as a bad child. I was unwilling to accept this. Once, I secretly recorded evidence of Lucy’s “crimes,” planning to reveal it when she tried her tricks again. I still remember how excited I was that day. When I played the video, I felt like the heroine in a revenge story, finally turning the tables. I saw my parents’ expressions change, and panic appeared on Lucy’s face. I thought my parents would apologize to me and scold Lucy, maybe even lock her in the dark room. But no. Just as my parents looked at Lucy with surprise, she clutched her neck and fell to the ground in pain. “Lucy!” Mom screamed and picked her up. “Call 911!” The whole family rushed to the hospital, no one pursuing Lucy’s framing of me. I stood there holding the evidence, feeling like a clown. My brother pushed me. “Is it fun? Are you happy seeing Lucy in the hospital?” “Yes, she’s adopted, but she’s lived with us all along. I’ve long treated her as my real sister.” “But you…” He looked me up and down: “Dark and tacky, with such a scheming mind. If you dare go against Lucy again, I’ll beat you!” I felt cold all over. I knew I had lost. 3 My parents made me go to the hospital to apologize to Lucy. I went. Tears swirled in my eyes with grievance, the apology stuck in my throat. “So everything she did to me before, it doesn’t matter?” I asked softly. “Lucy is just insecure, afraid we won’t like her anymore now that you’re here,” Mom explained. “My child shouldn’t be so petty, right?” I nodded, tears slowly flowing out. “I’m sorry.” After saying that, I ran away, tears blurring my vision, bumping into someone. “Sorry.” I hurriedly apologized and settled myself in a corner of the park bushes. As I squatted down to cry, I felt something soft lick the back of my hand. “Meow~” A stray cat was squatting beside me, looking at me curiously. Seeming to sense my sadness, it actually did a backflip to make me happy. Grievance, unwillingness, touched… all emotions exploded at this moment. I picked up the confused kitten and cried holding it for a long time. 4 “Let’s go, I’ll take you home!” The kitten seemed to understand my words and lay quietly in my arms. It was getting late. When I opened the door, they had already returned from the hospital. The family was happily eating and chatting, Lucy’s laughter so piercing. The food on the table was almost gone. No one called me, no one waited for me. But this was normal. Holding the kitten, I mustered the courage to say: “I want to keep it.” The laughter stopped abruptly. My dad was the first to refuse: “Raising a cat is too much trouble, we’re busy and don’t have time!” “I’ll take care of it myself, you don’t need to do anything.” “Cats ruin furniture,” Mom frowned. “I’ll keep it in my room and won’t let it out.” “Lucy has asthma, we can’t have animals in the house. Give up on that idea,” my brother said coldly. Me: “…” I knew I couldn’t keep it. Putting the kitten back where I found it, I cried again, apologizing while crying. “Why are you apologizing again?” Suddenly, a voice sounded in my ear. “I can’t adopt it,” I said. “Family won’t let you?” I nodded. “Then grow up quickly. Later you can make your own decisions.” The stranger’s words lit a spark of hope in my heart. I studied desperately just to get into a good university and move out. Maybe then, my parents would be proud of me too. 5 The day the scores came out. The smile disappeared from Lucy’s face. I scored a full two hundred points higher than her. I could get into an Ivy League school, while she couldn’t even reach the cutoff for a decent state college. She smashed things in anger, looking at me with venom in her eyes. Afraid she might do something drastic, my parents stayed by her side all day. My brother also took leave to buy her gifts and make her happy. And I, who should have been celebrating at a restaurant, was left aside. I got the good grades I fantasized about, but the hug from my parents I fantasized about never came. They gave all their hugs to Lucy. I couldn’t even mention my score or be happy about my achievement. Even a smile on my face would trigger Lucy’s asthma. Even so, Lucy didn’t let me off. There was only one computer at home. Using the excuse of checking schools, she sent me away while I was filling out my application and tampered with my choices.

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I am a doctor from the new era of 3028. I know astronomy, geography, and everything in between, earning me the reputation of a “Living Encyclopedia.” Recently, I began researching a time machine capable of traveling to the past. But who knows which wire short-circuited? With a loud BANG, the machine exploded. Just like that, the “Living Encyclopedia” was offline. Permanently. Perhaps my dedication moved the universe, because in that split second, the time machine actually worked. My soul was sucked into the vortex. After a dizzying spin, I opened my eyes. I found myself sitting at a very plain wooden desk, a test paper staring back at me. 1 Did I… travel back in time? I looked around in amazement, marveling at the primitive surroundings. Is this the legendary “examination method” of 21st-century historical figures written in our history books? The name on the test paper read: Liam. Tsk, what a plain, unpretentious name. I roughly scanned the questions on the paper. These questions? In the 31st century, kindergarteners solve harder puzzles than this. But I couldn’t exactly display future-level genius right away. I had to blend in. So, I breezed through the answers but deliberately got a few wrong. After all, I had to live in this body now; it was better to be cautious and not too flashy. This should be foolproof, I thought, nodding with satisfaction. However, when I walked out of the exam hall, I found my classmates’ faces were darker than charcoal. “As expected of the State Math Olympiad. These questions were brutal.” “Hey, did you hear? Even Sarah, the school genius, was crying.” “Yeah, I couldn’t even solve half of them. They say this year’s Olympiad is the hardest in history.” ? This was not what I expected. Students were gathered in groups of twos and threes discussing the trauma. When they saw me approaching, a boy rolled his eyes at me with disdain. Searching the original owner’s memories, I learned his name was Brad. He was a rich kid who loved causing trouble and bullying the weak. The original “Liam” had been his punching bag for years. He looked at me and shouted mockingly, “Yo, isn’t this the class anchor? Since when are you qualified to take the Olympiad?” “Exactly. He probably couldn’t even read the questions. He’s just dragging down our school’s average.” “Honestly, why bother coming to school? You can’t learn anything anyway.” They laughed together. I shrugged indifferently and walked into the classroom. A few days passed, and I successfully adapted to life at school. Today was the day the Math Olympiad results were released. The scores and rankings would be scrolled on the giant screen outside the school, and the top 10 would get a special spot on the Honor Board. 2 As soon as the bell rang, the students shot out like arrows. I followed leisurely behind. Brad’s mocking voice sounded again. “Yo, the anchor is going to check his score?” “Brad, you don’t know? It’s easy for him to check. He just has to look at the very bottom of the list.” The crowd erupted in laughter again. “Tell you what, I’ll help you look.” Brad walked arrogantly to the screen and started searching from the bottom, ready to continue his ridicule. But after searching for a long time, he couldn’t find my name. “Heh, didn’t expect you to guess so many right this time,” he sneered, twitching his mouth in disdain. At this moment, whispers started among the students nearby. “Who is this Liam?” “Yeah, how come I’ve never heard of him?” More and more people were mentioning my name. Brad heard it too. He laughed sarcastically and pointed at me. “Liam? That’s him right there! The dead weight of Class 5. The waste who comes in last every single time.” “You really are a stain on our class. Your embarrassment has reached other classes now.” But the scene Brad expected—everyone laughing at me—didn’t happen. Instead, the surroundings went quiet. Confused, he followed the gazes toward the top of the list. With just one look, he froze. His face turned so dark it looked like it could drip ink. On the Honor Board, in the number one spot, gold letters flashed brilliantly. Liam. Rank: 1. Score: 98. I looked him in the eye and smiled. “Haha, sorry about that. Accidentally got first place.” Brad’s face fluctuated between colors. He gritted his teeth and glared at me. “How could you get first place? You definitely cheated.” Just then, a student ran up to me. “Liam, the teachers are looking for you.” Brad looked like he had just caught me red-handed. “Hmph, I told you! He definitely cheated. Why else would the teachers want him?” “You’re done for. Cheating in our school means immediate expulsion.” I shrugged indifferently and headed to the faculty office. Almost all the school administrators were there. They held my test paper, looking at me in silence. The Principal spoke up. “Liam, tell us the truth. How did you answer this?” 3 I looked at them and said with absolute honesty, “Teachers, I didn’t copy.” “How is it possible you didn’t copy? With your usual level, how could you get first place?” Mr. Henderson, the math teacher, spoke with a sharp, mean tone. His eyes were full of contempt. He often mocked me for my grades and even enabled Brad’s bullying. I looked him calmly in the eye and retorted, “The Olympiad papers were transported under armed guard. There was no possibility of cheating at any stage.” “Unless a teacher leaked the questions to boost their own reputation. I am your student, Mr. Henderson. Are you trying to dirty your own name?” Mr. Henderson didn’t expect the usually submissive Liam to talk back. His face turned liver-red. “Who knows if you copied off another student?” “Mr. Henderson, in my exam hall, was there anyone worth copying from?” I stood there, calm and open, looking at all the teachers and administrators present. “If you don’t believe me, check the surveillance footage.” But these teachers clearly didn’t believe my story. In their eyes, how could a student who usually ranked last suddenly soar to the top? So, they handled it as a disciplinary violation. I was banned from taking exams. Despite the ban, my score made me famous instantly. Because my score wasn’t just first in our school. It crushed the prestigious private academy next door, St. Jude’s, making me number one in the entire city. I broke records and made history. You have to understand, the students at St. Jude’s usually wouldn’t even look at us public school kids. 4 In their words, we were just the people who would end up working for them. To be surpassed by people they looked down on? The students of St. Jude’s couldn’t handle the loss of face. Being young and arrogant, they started clamoring online. They claimed we just got lucky and demanded a face-off to make us “recognize our reality.” At first, our school accepted the challenge confidently. But in the subsequent series of mock exams, St. Jude’s crushed us in every subject. Under the repeated blows, our students became dispirited, like defeated roosters. None of this had anything to do with me, though. Because I was banned from taking exams. This rivalry with St. Jude’s soon reached a climax. In the mid-term exams, our school suffered a total defeat. The scores were humiliating. After school, I saw a group of people gathering at the school gate. They held megaphones, loudly provoking us. The entrance was blocked tight. Their arrogant faces wore expressions of disdain. “Got one first place in a contest and thought your school was something special?” “Let us teach you how to behave. See the gap between us clearly.” Repeated failures had disheartened my classmates. For a moment, no one dared to speak up. Everyone shrank back like quails. Seeing our fear, they became even more unbridled, shouting arrogantly: “Yo, doesn’t your school have a genius named Liam?” “What, is he scared? Why hasn’t he taken the last few exams?” “Thought he was some peerless genius, turns out he’s just a coward.”

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It had been eight years since I last saw my ex-boyfriend, Jack Godley. The boy with the bleached-blond hair had dyed it black, lasered off his tattoos, and transformed into a refined, aloof tycoon. As for me, the delicate flower he once knew? I was still a flower, just one that was rapidly wilting away. “Miss Collins, I’m very sorry, but the cancer has metastasized too far. Any further treatment would only cause you more pain.” The doctor was kind, phrasing “just go home and wait to die” as gently as he could. I walked out clutching my own death sentence. Passing by the obstetrics department, I slammed right into him. Eight years. He was taller, more handsome, more… “If you’re not going to use your eyes, donate them to someone who will.” Right. More of an asshole. 1 After spitting that cold remark at me, Jack’s face transformed in an instant. He turned to the woman beside him, her baby bump prominent, his voice softening with concern. It was an accident, but she was pregnant, and I figured I could use some good karma before I kicked the bucket. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you okay?” The woman offered me a reassuring smile and shook her head. Then she turned to Jack, her brow furrowed as she gently tapped his arm. “She didn’t mean it. Why do you have to be so harsh?” My eyebrows shot up. I nodded emphatically in agreement. Being a CEO had certainly done a number on the sweet boy I once knew. “I’m sorry,” the woman said to me, her presence radiating a gentle warmth that only an expectant mother possesses. She and Jack, with her refined grace and his commanding presence, looked like they were made for each other. “He gets overprotective. He didn’t mean to offend you.” She didn’t seem to know who I was, and Jack was clearly content to pretend he didn’t either. Suddenly, the sterile hospital air felt suffocating. “It’s fine, really. As long as you’re alright. I should go.” I sidestepped them, my shoulder brushing against Jack’s as I passed. In the antiseptic air, I caught the faintest trace of his signature cedarwood scent. Back home, my body felt like it had hit its limit. The moment I collapsed onto my bed, a vicious cramp seized my stomach. Cold sweat beaded on my forehead, mingling with the silent tears escaping the corners of my eyes. My phone rang, a shrill, insistent sound. “Mia, great news! The investors love the new project. We just need you to finish the script so we can submit it for approval.” It was Chloe, a TV producer I’d befriended on a previous project. I glanced at my reflection in the full-length mirror. A pale, tear-streaked face stared back, my hair plastered messily to my cheeks. “Chloe, I haven’t figured out the ending yet. Can we maybe put it on hold for a—” “No way, Mia, we can’t! This investor is a huge deal. If we bail on them, we can kiss our careers in this town goodbye.” The words of retreat died in my throat. I didn’t have a future to worry about, but Chloe did. “Okay,” I sighed. “I get it. I’ll finish it as soon as I can.” After hanging up, I pulled out the painkillers the doctor had prescribed. One bottle, 30 pills for a month. One a day, he’d said. But since I was dying anyway, I saw no point in rationing my comfort. I shook out three and swallowed them dry. I sat down at my laptop, opened the document, and began to write the final chapter of my last story. The sky bled from black to blue, then from blue back to black. [THE END] After typing the final words, I stretched, letting out a long, slow breath. The idea for this story had been in my head for years, but it wasn’t until this year that I finally put it to paper. I stared at the screen, a bitter smile on my lips. “Maybe everything is just fated to be.” Moments after I emailed the script to Chloe, my phone buzzed wildly. “Mia, I absolutely love it! This is the best thing you’ve ever written!” She was ready to pop the champagne before the investors had even replied. And somehow, in a daze, I agreed to meet her for a celebratory drink. I’d barely eaten anything but a few bites of a stale croissant while racing to finish the script. Now, with alcohol in my system, my stomach was churning unpleasantly. I couldn’t take another painkiller. Gritting my teeth against the throbbing pain, I got up, intending to ask the bartender for a glass of hot water. I turned and walked straight into a warm, solid chest. The scent of cedar filled my senses, and for a second, my mind went completely blank. 2 The next second, I was shoved away roughly. Jack was frowning, disgustedly brushing at the spot on his chest where I’d touched him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” I apologized sincerely. “That’s twice in two days you’ve run into me. If it wasn’t intentional, you should probably get your brain checked.” Maybe it was the searing pain in my stomach, or maybe it was just the sheer exhaustion of it all. My nerves were frayed to their breaking point, too fragile to withstand his barbed words. He let out a cold, sharp laugh, his eyes raking over me. “What’s with the wounded act? I state a simple fact and now you’re going to cry?” He was right. I hadn’t cried when he knelt in the snow eight years ago, begging me not to leave him. Now, looking at this proud, cold man in his tailored suit, I couldn’t find a single trace of the boy I once loved. I knew he remembered me. The loathing and hatred in his eyes were too clear to ignore. He obviously wanted nothing more to do with me. I could at least grant him that final wish. Another good deed before the end. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll make sure to stay out of your way from now on.” I walked around him and left. When I returned with my hot water, Chloe was back at the table. “Where’d you go? You disappeared the second I got back. You scared me.” “Just went to get some water.” Bumping into Jack was a fluke, a cruel twist of fate not worth mentioning. I thought submitting the script was the end of it. But the next day, Chloe called me in a panic. “It’s bad, Mia! The investors rejected it. You need to get to the office, now!” When I arrived, Chloe and an associate from the investment firm were waiting in the conference room. I was ushered inside. Chloe shot a nervous look at the man sitting with his back to us in a large executive chair. “Excuse me,” I began, addressing the man directly, assuming he was the big boss Chloe had mentioned. “Could you tell me which part of the script you weren’t satisfied with?” There was a long pause. Then, a familiar voice cut through the silence. “The ending.” The chair swiveled around, revealing Jack’s cold, impassive face. So he was the big-shot investor. He met my gaze, not a flicker of surprise in his eyes. Before I could speak, Chloe jumped in to defend me. “Mr. Godley, audiences today prefer happy endings. It’s what the market demands.” Jack nodded slowly. Chloe looked relieved for a second, but then he spoke again, his voice dangerously quiet. “I don’t like this ending. Change it.” The audacity of a corporate tyrant. Utterly unreasonable. “If you want a different ending, you should hire a different writer. I can’t write it.” I wasn’t above compromising for money, but this story, this one story, felt too personal to change. Jack looked at me, a thin, cruel smile playing on his lips. “Fine. Then you can pay the breach of contract fee.” The color drained from Chloe’s face. She scribbled a number on a piece of paper and slid it towards me. [$8,000,000] They could sell me, sell the whole damn production company, and we still wouldn’t have eight million dollars. I sighed, a bitter laugh escaping me. Fine. I was dying anyway. What did artistic integrity matter now? “Okay. I’ll change it.” The meeting ended. The capitalists were satisfied, and I was the poor workhorse left to do their bidding. But it seemed fate wasn’t done kicking me while I was down. Jack’s assistant, Mark, caught up to me. “Ms. Collins, to facilitate communication about the script, Mr. Godley has requested you work from our offices for the time being.” I frowned, looking past him to where Jack stood, coolly dismissing someone else. He hated me, right? So why would he want me under his nose all day? It made no sense. My empty stomach protested loudly. I mumbled my assent and hurried away. In the breakroom, I had just pulled out my bottle of pills when the door swung open. “What are you doing?” Jack’s voice startled me, and the bottle slipped from my hand, scattering the precious pills across the floor. 3 Ignoring him, I dropped to my knees, my heart aching as I gathered the pills. These weren’t just painkillers anymore; they were my lifeline. Jack stood there in silence, watching me pick them up, one by one. I was about to pop the last three into my mouth when his hand shot out and stopped me. “They fell on the floor. You’re just going to eat them like that?” I irritably shook his hand off. Eight years had changed so much about him, but his damn germaphobia had stuck around. “It’s none of your business.” I swallowed the pills quickly. Jack’s frown deepened. As I turned to leave, he spoke again. “What kind of medication is that?” I paused, looking at him, puzzled. He caught my inquisitive gaze and sneered. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m just curious. Did all your dirty deeds finally catch up to you?” A bitter smile formed in my heart. You have no idea. After all, I had broken the heart of an eighteen-year-old boy, stolen his first time, and then left him without a second glance. Terminal stomach cancer seemed like a fitting punishment. But I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. I plastered a brazen smile on my face. “Sorry to disappoint you. Just low on vitamin C. Doctor’s orders.” After leaving his office, I went to the Westwood Orphanage. “Dean,” I asked the headmistress, “what did the doctor say about Lily’s eyes?” The Dean shook her head sadly. “We’re still waiting for a donor. There’s nothing more they can do for now.” For some reason, my mind flashed back to bumping into Jack at the hospital. I squeezed the Dean’s hand. “Don’t worry. Our Lily is such a sweet, wonderful girl. I know she’ll be able to see the world again one day.” Before I left, I transferred another sum of money to the orphanage’s account. “Mia,” the Dean said, her voice full of concern, “you’re not a little girl anymore. You need to save for yourself. Find someone you love, get married, have a family. You’ve done more than enough for us. Your kindness is all we need.” I grew up here. The Dean was the only mother I’d ever known. “I’m making good money now, Dean. You don’t have to worry about me.” I hadn’t told anyone about my illness. She had enough to worry about without adding my burdens to her own. When I got home, I went online and registered as an organ donor. Jack’s cruel words had a point. I wouldn’t be needing my organs anymore. The next day, I reported to Jack’s company on time. Mark showed me to a desk. “You’ll be working here, Ms. Collins. Mr. Godley’s office is right next door.” I stared at the pristine glass wall that separated the two spaces. It was so clean it was almost invisible. “Could I possibly move? I feel a little pressured sitting here. It might affect my writing.” “I’m sorry, Ms. Collins. These were Mr. Godley’s specific instructions.” Right. No room for negotiation. Thankfully, Jack was a busy man. He hadn’t returned to his office by the time lunch rolled around. But Isabelle did. She walked up to my desk, carrying a lunch box, her baby bump more pronounced than before. She looked surprised to see me. “Mr. Godley’s new project… I’m the screenwriter,” I explained. “I’ll be working here until the script is approved.” “It seems you and Jack are truly bound by fate,” she said, her eyes crinkling in a friendly smile that made me feel inexplicably guilty. Footsteps sounded behind me. It was Jack. He strode past me to Isabelle’s side, taking the lunch box from her. “Why did you come all this way? You could have had the driver bring it.” “It’s no trouble. I was bored at home anyway.” The two of them disappeared into his office, leaving me feeling like a ghost. I had no right to be upset, but my heart clenched painfully anyway. 4 The week flew by. I submitted three different endings. Every single one was rejected. My stomach was in knots. I hadn’t eaten a proper meal all week. Watching Isabelle bring Jack delicious, home-cooked lunches every day made my takeout taste like ash. I was desperate to finish the script, but Jack kept stonewalling me. The more pressure I felt, the worse my mood became, and the less I ate. The less I ate, the more my stomach hurt. In just one week, I’d lost ten pounds. It felt like a white-hot poker was being twisted in my gut. A cold sweat broke out across my skin. My fingers were trembling so badly I could barely type. I was curled in my chair, shaking, about to reach for my pills, when my chair was violently spun around. Jack was crouching in front of me, his brow knitted in a deep frown. He roughly grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Mia, what the hell is wrong with you?” I wanted to tell him to fuck off. I wanted to slap his hands away. But when I opened my mouth, my teeth chattered with pain, and I couldn’t even lift my arm. The next thing I knew, the world tilted. When my head cleared, Jack was carrying me out of the office. At the hospital, a doctor gave me a quick examination. He looked worried and wanted to run a full panel of tests. I refused. “You don’t have to, Doctor. I know what it is. It’s terminal stomach cancer.” The kind doctor was at a loss for words, unable to find the right platitude. “Doctor,” I pleaded, “this is my private medical information. Please, help me keep it a secret. Especially from the man outside.” He agreed. He told Jack exactly what I’d asked him to: that I just had a bad case of gastritis. Jack was skeptical. “Gastritis makes someone hurt that badly?” The doctor hesitated. I seized the moment, playfully slapping Jack’s arm. “What, are you worried about me?” That did it. His face froze over. He turned on his heel and walked away. As I was slowly making my way out of the hospital, a luxury car pulled up beside me. “Mrs. Godley. It’s been a long time.” Inside was Jack’s mother, my former employer. “Have you forgotten the promise you made when you took my money and left?” “I haven’t forgotten. To never appear in front of Jack again for the rest of my life.” She glanced at me, her eyes dripping with a familiar scorn. “We met by chance, through work. Don’t worry, he can’t stand the sight of me. What you’re worried about will never happen.” I hated being looked at like I was trash, but she had given me the money that saved a life. I owed her that much. “See that it doesn’t. Finish your work and get away from my son.” When I went back to the office the next day, I heard Jack was on a business trip. He’d be gone for two weeks. With the boss away, the administrative staff relaxed. “Why is the boss gone for so long this time?” “Oh, you don’t know? He’s not just there for business. He’s scouting maternity hospitals for Ms. Isabelle.” “No wonder! They have the best obstetricians in the country there. He really cares about her, doesn’t he?” I didn’t hear the rest. I just got up and walked out. Back home, I opened my laptop and created a new, blank document. I knew what kind of ending Jack wanted. I was just greedy. I had gambled on the foolish hope that he might show me a sliver of mercy. It was time to give up. When the snow melts, there will be nothing left between us. In life and in death, we will never meet again. He approved this ending. The single word “Approved” glowed on my phone screen. A hot, coppery taste filled my mouth, and I coughed, spraying blood across the screen. Darkness closed in. A bitter smile touched my lips. My ending, it seemed, was finally here.

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1 We spent everything, burying ourselves in debt to save our premature son. But in the end, we lost him. After that, I fell into a deep depression. Noah, terrified I’d do something reckless, tried everything to make me smile, even with the debt crushing him. “Babe, we can always make more money,” he’d say, holding me. “As long as I have you, we have a home.” He worked day and night—delivering food, driving for a ride-share. No matter how exhausted, he’d hug me the moment he got home. For a year, he held us together with sheer grit. I thought we’d make it through. I thought one day I’d tell him I was okay. But then I saw some kids playing outside and broke down. Noah, who had just walked in with bloodshot eyes, finally snapped. “Enough! When does this miserable life end?!” he screamed. “Everyone feels sorry for you. But what about me? Who feels sorry for me?” He threw his helmet down and ran out into the rain. I was alone. My eyes drifted to the utility knife on the windowsill. It would be better to be dead. Dead, so Noah wouldn’t have to pretend anymore. Dead, so I could be with my baby. … The rain hammered against the window, a frantic, desperate rhythm. Noah was gone. The security door slammed shut with a deafening bang. I stood there, staring at the closed door, the frame still trembling, my heart trembling with it. “Who the hell is here to feel sorry for me?” The words echoed in my mind, a relentless torment. He was right. Who was there for him? To pay for my therapy, to pay off the debts from a child we couldn’t even keep, he worked through fevers, through exhaustion. I was a burden. No child, no job. Now, I couldn’t even offer a sliver of emotional support. I just made things worse. My gaze fell on the windowsill, on the utility knife Noah used to open packages. The blade glinted in the dim light, a cold, silent invitation. It would be better to be dead. Once the thought took root, it was impossible to shake. Dead, so Noah wouldn’t have to pretend to be strong anymore. He wouldn’t have to eat leftovers to save money, wouldn’t have to force a smile for a five-dollar delivery fee in a downpour. And I could finally be with the baby who never got to call me “Mom.” I walked over and picked up the knife. It was light, yet it felt impossibly heavy. I went into the bathroom and locked the door. I stuffed a towel into the crack beneath it. I didn’t want the smell of blood to escape. Noah hated the smell of blood. He used to hide whenever I had to clean a fish. I turned on the faucet and lay down in the tub. The cold water seeped into my clothes, but I couldn’t feel it. I picked up my phone and opened my messages. His name, “My Husband,” was pinned to the top. The last message was from him, sent that afternoon: “Babe, what do you want for dinner? I’ll pick it up on my way home.” He was still trying then. Still trying to coax a smile out of me. I typed a new message: “Going to a friend’s to clear my head. Don’t look for me.” My finger hovered over the send button. Finally, I scheduled it to send at 8:30 PM. He would be home from the evening rush then. He’d be a little annoyed, but also relieved. He wouldn’t have to face me. He could get a good night’s sleep. I placed the phone on the sink, the screen casting a pale light on my face. I took the knife and drew it, hard, across my wrist. Once, twice. The skin parted, and a fountain of crimson erupted, blooming in the clear water like grotesque, garish flowers. I closed my eyes and leaned back. The warmth was draining from my body, bit by bit. As my consciousness faded, I saw my baby, smiling at me from the clouds, his chubby little arms reaching for me. “Mommy’s coming, baby,” I whispered. Tears mingled with the blood in the water. You won’t be alone anymore. Just before the darkness consumed me completely, I heard the rain stop. Good. The rain has stopped. And I don’t love you anymore, Noah. 2 When I opened my eyes again, I was floating near the ceiling, my body weightless. I looked down and saw myself in the bathtub. My face was waxy, my lips blue. The water was a dark, still red. I was dead. It was a strange, detached feeling. I heard a key in the lock. Click. The door opened. Noah was back. He was soaked, his hair plastered to his scalp, water dripping down his face. In his hand was a plastic container from the little takeout place down the street, my favorite noodles. He stood in the doorway, peering cautiously into the dark apartment. He slipped off his shoes quietly, afraid to wake me. “Babe?” he called out, his voice soft. No answer. He seemed to relax, probably assuming I was asleep, or still sulking in the bedroom. He placed the noodles on the table and peeled off his wet jacket. His face was etched with exhaustion, his eyes a web of red veins. He pushed the bedroom door open a crack. The bed was empty. He froze, then his eyes darted to the bathroom. The door was closed. The light was off. He walked over and tried the handle. Locked. “Babe? Are you in there?” He leaned against the door, his voice hoarse, pleading. “Are you still mad at me?” I floated in front of him, my heart aching at the sight of his hunched, weary form. He waited, but there was no sound from within. He sighed, figuring I was ignoring him, and slid down the door to sit on the cold, hard floor. His pants were still damp. There we were, separated by a thin sheet of wood. My body on one side, his tired back on the other. Life and death, so close. “Babe, I’m so sorry,” he whispered, picking at the grout between the tiles. “I was just… so tired. I got a complaint today, they docked me fifty bucks. I was just so frustrated, and then I saw you crying, and I just… lost it. Please, don’t ignore me. Yell at me, hit me, anything.” He pulled a small, crushed box from his pocket. Inside were a few strawberries, slightly bruised, but still a vibrant red. “Look, I bought you strawberries. Not many, but they’re sweet. The guy said it was the last box. Please, just open the door. Come out and have one.” The bathroom was silent, except for the occasional drip, drip, drip of the faucet. 3 Noah let out a bitter laugh. “Fine, you don’t have to come out. Just… listen to me talk for a bit.” “Babe, we only have two hundred thousand left on the debt. Just give me another year. No, half a year. I’ll work my ass off for another six months, and then things will be easier. I’ll take you traveling. We’ll go to all the places you’ve ever wanted to see. We’ll have another baby, okay?” His voice broke on the last words. He buried his head in his knees, his shoulders shaking. “I miss our baby, too… I’m in so much pain… but I’m a man. I have to hold it together. If I fall apart, what will happen to you?” I watched him cry, wanting so desperately to stroke his hair, but my hand passed right through him. You fool. You’d be so much better off without me. He rambled on for a long time, talking about the past, the future, the child we never got to raise. His voice grew quieter and quieter until, finally, he fell asleep, slumped against the door, his arms wrapped around his knees. His phone buzzed in his pocket. 8:30 PM. My scheduled message had sent. He was sleeping too soundly to hear it. Dawn broke. A sliver of sunlight pierced through the curtains, falling across his face. He stirred, then shot awake, his first instinct to check the time. He scrambled to his feet. “Shit, I’m going to be late for the morning rush!” He grabbed his jacket, but then he remembered. He looked back at the bathroom door. Still closed. He checked the bedroom again. The blankets were neatly folded, untouched. “Mia?” he called out, a flicker of confusion in his voice. He pulled out his phone and finally saw the message from the night before. “Going to a friend’s to clear my head. Don’t look for me.” He stared at the screen for a long moment, then his shoulders slumped. A sad, tired smile touched his lips. “Probably for the best,” he muttered to himself. “At least she won’t have to look at my miserable face. And I can focus on work.” He believed it completely. I’d gone to my friend’s place after fights before. It never occurred to him that I was just on the other side of that door. He saw the cold noodles on the table, the grease congealed into white clumps. He didn’t throw them away. He sat down and shoveled the cold, greasy noodles into his mouth, washing them down with gulps of cold water. He ate quickly, then carefully placed the bruised strawberries in the fridge, sticking a note on the door: “Babe, strawberries are in the fridge. Don’t forget to eat them when you get back. I love you. Don’t be mad anymore.” Then he put on his helmet and rushed out the door. I was alone again. I looked at the note. Those strawberries… I would never get to eat them.

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At the welcome-home dinner, my adoptive brother, Adam, whispered in my ear. “The Sterling family only needs one son. You’re just some trash they dragged in from the sticks.” I thought he had a point. So I turned and walked straight into the roaring traffic of the intersection. My family went insane, screaming and pleading as they dragged me back to the curb. My sister, Scarlett, her face a mask of fury, warned me never to upset Adam again. I nodded obediently. Later that night, I turned on the gas and left a note. 【It’s my fault I made my brother unhappy. I’m going to take the whole family to heaven with me, then all our troubles will be over.】 The way they looked at me after that, you’d think they’d seen a ghost. Then, at another party, Adam and his cronies shoved me into the swimming pool. But I didn’t struggle. I simply let my body sink toward the bottom. Panicked, Adam had to dive in and haul me out himself. “You idiot! What if you’d actually drowned? Mom and Dad would kill me! Couldn’t you have at least tried to fight it?” What he didn’t know was that I had fought back before. The reward for my struggles was a series of brutal deaths. This was my tenth time being reborn. This time, my only goal was to die. 1 Chlorine burned my stomach, a searing pain from the inside out. Scarlett pulled me from the water. I collapsed at the edge of the pool, coughing up a lungful of water, barely clinging to life. The color drained from Adam’s face, leaving it as white as a sheet. His friends were panicking too, tripping over themselves to make excuses. “We were just joking around with you!” “Yeah, who knew he’d just jump in like that!” “And who drowns without even struggling? Is he trying to shake us down for money or something?” Scarlett wrapped her own cashmere cardigan around my shivering shoulders as I climbed out of the pool. My teeth chattered violently from the cold. Still, I managed to force a smile as I looked at Adam. “You told me to get in, brother. So I did.” “I listen to you.” A chill ran down Adam’s spine. He stumbled back a few steps, staring at me as if I were some kind of monster. “What the hell are you talking about?” he shrieked. “When did I tell you to get in?” He was on the verge of tears, turning to our parents who had just rushed over. “Dad, Mom, don’t listen to him! He’s crazy!” “Caleb is just trying to frame me!” Our parents’ faces were grim as they took in my soaking-wet form. One of the boys, dressed in expensive designer streetwear, found his courage. “He jumped in himself. We tried to save him, but he wouldn’t even come up!” I peeked out from behind Scarlett, my expression one of pure innocence. “I wasn’t refusing to come up.” “It’s just… whatever my brother tells me to do, I have to do it perfectly. Otherwise, he gets upset.” “And when he’s upset,” I continued, my eyes sweeping over their horrified faces, “Scarlett and Mom and Dad get upset, too.” I looked at them, my voice earnest and steady. “So, what do I need to do to make you all happy?” A dead silence fell over the patio. Everyone was looking at me like I was a maniac. Scarlett’s body went rigid. Her fingers dug into my arm, her manicured nails like claws in my flesh. “Caleb, shut your mouth!” My father’s voice was sharp as he spoke to the butler. “Take the young master back to his room. Call the doctor and have him checked out.” Then he turned to Adam, his eyes harder than I’d ever seen them. “Adam. You come with me.” Adam had always been the golden child, coddled and spoiled. Our parents rarely even raised their voices to him. The harsh tone shocked him. The tears finally came, and he started sobbing, gasping for breath. “Dad, it really wasn’t me…” Looking at the storm clouds gathering on my family’s faces, a wave of exhaustion washed over me. What more do you want from me? When Adam’s puppy ran away, they strapped a collar around my neck, made me eat dog food and sleep in its kennel, turning me into his new pet. When he wanted to go camping with friends, he zipped me into a sealed sleeping bag and kicked me down a hillside. My head and body slammed into jagged rocks, the pain so intense it turned to numb suffocation. As he looked down at my twisted, broken body, he’d simply curled his lip in disgust. “Guess the quality of this sleeping bag is crap. I’m leaving a one-star review. Good thing my little brother tested it out for me.” This time, I didn’t even fight his torment. So why, Mom, Dad, Scarlett… why are you still not happy? 2 After the doctor left, my mother came into my room with a glass of warm milk and sat on the edge of my bed. She looked at me, her expression a mix of emotions I couldn’t decipher. “Caleb, tell me the truth.” “Do you… do you really hate this family?” I shook my head. “I don’t hate you.” “Then why? Why do you do these things? Why do you keep hurting yourself?” I took the glass, sipping the warm milk slowly as I answered her with complete sincerity. “I just want to make everyone happy.” My mother’s eyes instantly reddened. “You’re my son, Caleb. My own flesh and blood. You don’t have to please anyone!” I set the glass down and looked up at her. “But since I came home, Adam hasn’t been happy. Scarlett hasn’t been happy.” “Mom… was finding me a mistake?” My question left her speechless. All she could do was pull me into a hug. “No, Caleb. You’re not a mistake.” Her embrace was warm. But it reminded me of another life. The one where Adam sliced his own hand with a knife and fell crying into her arms. The look she gave me then was ice-cold. She locked me in a dark, cramped utility closet, letting Adam turn on the gas valve outside, leaving me there to “reflect” until I learned not to “hurt” my brother again. Back then, I didn’t understand what I had done wrong. All I wanted was to survive, to make them all like me. Now, all I wanted was to die. And suddenly, my mother was calling me her precious son. The next day, there was a family meeting. Adam had cried all night, his eyes swollen like walnuts. He sobbed, “I really didn’t push him. I was just… I was just scared.” “Scared that when he came back, you all wouldn’t want me anymore.” Scarlett’s heart went out to him immediately. “Mom, Adam didn’t mean it. He’s just insecure. Look at Caleb! He’s only been back a few days and he’s turned the whole house upside down!” She pointed a finger at me, her face contorted with disgust. “He’s not normal!” My father rubbed his temples, sighing in frustration. “This can’t go on. Let’s find a psychiatrist for Caleb. Get him some proper help.” On the day of the appointment, I was perfectly cooperative. I answered every question the doctor asked. “Why do you keep thinking about dying?” I sat on the soft leather couch and smiled. “Because it’s the easiest way to make all the problems disappear.” The doctor adjusted his glasses, trying to guide me. “But have you ever considered that if you die, the people who love you will be very sad?” I blinked, my curiosity genuine. “Love me?” “You mean like the caretakers at the orphanage, who said they loved me while they watched the other kids beat me?” “Or like the man who took me, who called me his good boy while he locked me in a dog cage?” “Or maybe…” I leaned in closer. “Like my sister. Who warns me not to upset her precious brother one minute, then waits until I’m half-drowned to pull me out of a pool the next?” I lowered my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “They don’t love me, Doctor. They’re just afraid I’ll die in their house and cause them trouble.” “They think I’m sick, that I need to be fixed.” “But I’m not sick. I’m just… listening to them.” “To make them happy, I’ll do whatever they ask. If they want me to die, I’ll die.” “Is that so wrong?” The doctor’s hand, pen in mid-air, froze. His face had gone deathly pale. 3 The psychiatrist reported every single word I said back to my parents. His final diagnosis was this: I wasn’t sick. I was simply using an extreme method to both protect myself and retaliate against the world. My mental state was a string pulled so taut that the slightest pressure could cause it to snap completely. Wanting to die was the ultimate form of self-preservation. After hearing this, my mother locked herself in her room for an entire day. My father chain-smoked one cigarette after another. Only Scarlett remained convinced I was putting on an act, playing the victim to win sympathy. “Caleb is performing for you!” she insisted. “You’re all falling for it! He just wants to get rid of Adam!” Adam hid behind her, peeking at me timidly, but I could see a flicker of triumph in his eyes. “Mom, Dad, don’t worry,” he said magnanimously. “I’ll get along with my brother. I’ll help him get better.” He probably thought that as long as Scarlett was on his side, he was untouchable. The atmosphere in the house grew heavier, more suffocating. In an attempt to smooth things over, my parents decided to enroll me in the same elite prep school as Adam and Scarlett. They naively believed that integrating me into a normal peer environment might improve the situation. Adam was the first to protest. His eyes widened as he screamed, “I’m not going to the same school as him! Everyone will make fun of me!” For the first time, my father’s tone with him was severe. “This is not up for discussion.” Adam stormed off to his room in a rage. But I knew he wouldn’t let it go that easily. Sure enough, on my first day, I was the talk of the school. The rumor had already spread: the true Sterling heir, the one they’d found after all these years, was a lunatic, fresh out of the psych ward. A crowd always surrounded Adam, cooing with concern before casting judgmental glances my way. “Adam, your brother looks so weird. He has such a creepy vibe…” “I heard he tried to kill his whole family with a gas leak! Isn’t that, like, certifiably insane?” “You should be careful. You don’t want to get hurt.” Adam would put on a wounded expression. “Please don’t say that. My brother is just sick. We’re family. He would never hurt me on purpose.” The more he defended me, the more monstrous I seemed to everyone else. The isolation was swift and absolute. No one spoke to me. A chalk line was drawn around my desk. Ink was spilled on my textbooks. I didn’t care. Compared to what I’d endured at the orphanage, this was child’s play. During gym class, the teacher announced free time. The student in charge of equipment sent me to the storage room to get basketballs. The moment I stepped inside, the door clicked shut behind me. The room was plunged into darkness. Through the door, I could hear the muffled laughter of Adam and his friends. “A psycho like that should be locked up. How could they let him out?” “Hey Adam, you think he’ll go crazy in there and start biting himself?” “Hahaha, maybe! You should crack the door and take a look!” “No way, man!” Class wouldn’t be over for another forty minutes. All I had to do was wait. The darkness and the enclosed space gave me a sense of comfort I hadn’t felt in years. I was even starting to feel drowsy. After some time, an impatient voice called from outside the door. “Hey, crazy boy, you dead in there yet? Make a sound if you’re not!” I ignored him. A few moments later, the voice called again, this time with a hint of panic. “He’s not making any noise. You don’t think something actually happened, do you?” “What’s there to be scared of?” It was Adam’s voice. “Even if something happens, I’ll still be here to take care of Mom and Dad when they’re old. Let him figure out how to break the door down himself. Let’s go.” Their footsteps faded away. I closed my eyes, ready for a peaceful nap. Suddenly, an acrid, choking smell filled the air. Smoke. 4 The fire spread with terrifying speed. Within three minutes, the thick smoke made it impossible to breathe. The entire storage room had become a giant oven. I didn’t scream for help. I didn’t try to break down the door. I just hugged a basketball and curled up in the corner farthest from the flames. My consciousness began to fade. This is good. Finally, this time, I’d succeed. No jumping from buildings, no gas leaks, no being fished out of a pool. Just a quiet, peaceful end that wouldn’t bother anyone. Once I got through this life, I could finally be free of this body and move on. Free from this scarred and broken shell, from wrists that had been snapped countless times, from legs covered in cigarette burns. I would no longer have to live this painful, pathetic existence of trying to please everyone. Just as I was about to lose consciousness, the door exploded inward with a tremendous crash. A figure, silhouetted against the roaring flames, rushed in and yanked me up from the floor. It was Scarlett. Her clothes were scorched, her face streaked with soot, her eyes wide with panic and terror. “Caleb! Wake up!” She carried me out of the inferno. A crowd had already gathered on the lawn outside. When Adam and his friends saw me being carried out, their expressions were a chaotic mix of shock, guilt, and a barely hidden flicker of disappointment. I was laid on the grass, where I greedily gulped down fresh air. Scarlett knelt beside me, her voice trembling with an urgency I’d never heard from her before. “Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?” I looked at her, then pressed a hand to my side and coughed violently. “You saved me again, sister.” My gaze turned cold, yet my voice was filled with genuine regret. “Why did you have to save me? I was so close to finally dying.” The color drained from Scarlett’s face. She grabbed my shoulders, her voice a raw roar. “Why didn’t you call for help?! Why didn’t you try to break down the door?! Do you actually want to die?!” “Caleb, what the hell are you trying to do?!” I didn’t answer her. Instead, I looked past her, my eyes finding Adam in the crowd. He jumped as if he’d been electrocuted. “It wasn’t me! I didn’t start the fire! I don’t know how it started!” His friends quickly chimed in. “We were long gone! It had nothing to do with us!” “Caleb went to get the basketballs himself! We just showed him where the room was!” Just then, the head of campus security ran up, panting, to the school principal. “We found the cause. It was a short circuit from old wiring in the storage room.” It was just an accident. A collective sigh of relief went through the crowd. Adam let out the biggest one of all, his composed, magnanimous mask slipping right back into place. “Caleb, I’m so glad you’re okay! It’s all our fault. We shouldn’t have played that prank on you, making you go get the equipment all by yourself.” As he spoke, he reached out a hand to help me up. I flinched away. It was an instinctive, reflexive motion, like that of an abused animal recoiling from a hand. And then, in front of everyone, for the first time, I began to cry, my voice rising in a desperate, heart-wrenching wail. “Brother, I’m sorry! I should have stayed in there, but I don’t like dark little rooms.” “Next time, could you pick a different way for me to die? Please?”

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When my family’s company went bankrupt, I agreed to my ex-boyfriend’s terms. I performed for him, mimicking the girls in the kinds of videos men watch when they’re alone, all to please him. Shame warred with a desperate sense of relief. Tomorrow, the investment would come through, and my father wouldn’t have to go to prison. After the third time, applause echoed from the other side of the bedroom mirror. “Did you hear those noises Eliza just made? I could feel it through the glass.” The hair on my arms stood on end. Behind me, Hugh Vance let out a low groan as he finished. “When you get nervous, you clench up,” he murmured against my ear. “I have to admit, it’s a nice bonus.” The humiliation was a physical weight, crushing me. He spoke again, his voice casual and indifferent. “The funds will be transferred to your father’s company in a month.” I whipped my head around in panic. “A month? You promised it would be a week!” A month would be too late. The company would be liquidated by then. Hugh pulled on his pants, completely unconcerned. “I used the liquid capital to buy Isabelle a little something. A national-treasure-grade sapphire. A girl needs a proper welcome-home gift, after all.” He expected me to get jealous, to scream, to make a scene. But this time, I was just tired. … “You’re going out like that?” Hugh raised an eyebrow at my naked body, then glanced pointedly at the one-way mirror. I knew what he meant. He was reminding me that his friends were still out there. But they had already watched a far more intimate performance. What was there left for me to hide? I started walking numbly toward the door. Hugh grabbed my arm. “Have you no shame?” I turned and looked at him, my voice flat. “Have you ever given me any?” He was speechless. We both knew the truth, didn’t we? We met when I was seventeen. A car crash had left him with a slight limp in his right leg, twisting his personality into something dark and volatile. He craved chaos, creating scandals just to feel like he was loved. I found him after he’d run away from home yet again. He was a cornered animal, lashing out at anyone who got too close. But I’ve always been a little slow on the uptake. I saw his face and just wanted to be near him. I became the one person in his life he couldn’t scare away. He’d whisper about wanting a simple life, and I, who’d never done a chore in my life, learned to cook and clean, desperate to build that fantasy for him. But in the five years we were together, he broke up with me nineteen times. Every single time, it was because Isabelle was coming back to town. Even now, knowing that my family faced prison if we didn’t get an immediate cash infusion, he didn’t care. A bitter sting filled my eyes. “How much was the sapphire?” I asked. He thought for a moment. “Thirty million.” Thirty million. My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise, the pain so sharp it was hard to breathe. Thirty million was the exact amount that could save my family. Five years with him, and I was worth less than a welcome-home gift for Isabelle. Hugh was a man of his word. If he said one month, not even my death would change his mind. I didn’t argue anymore. I walked straight to the door and opened it. I came face-to-face with the men who had been watching us. They looked at me, their expressions a mixture of awkwardness and amusement. One of them finally spoke. “All done in there, Eliza?” The group erupted in laughter. Hugh threw a vase from inside the suite. It shattered against the doorframe, silencing them. Shards of porcelain flew through the air. I didn’t flinch, and a piece sliced open my leg. Blood trickled down my skin, but I felt nothing. Hugh’s eyes locked onto the wound on my leg, then drifted down to his own uneven feet. After a long pause, he stepped out and began dressing me in front of everyone. “I said a month, not never. Who are you putting on this little show for, hmm?” He fastened the last button on my shirt and patted my chest, satisfied. I took a long, hard look at the man I had loved so obsessively for five years. I always thought that if I was just a little more obedient, a little sweeter, Hugh would see my worth. They say the highest form of love is to feel another’s pain. But all I ever saw in his eyes was a naked desire to drag me down into hell with him. The moment I stepped out of that room, all the strength drained from my body. My legs trembled uncontrollably. As tears began to fall, I heard their cheerful banter start up again inside. Someone asked Hugh, “The Sterling family’s collapse was definitely a setup. They’ll be completely liquidated in a month. Hugh, are you really not going to step in?” Hugh’s voice was cool and distant. “Of course, I set the whole thing up. Isabelle cried when she found out I’d been sleeping with Eliza for years. She felt wronged. This was just to… make her feel better.” “Aren’t you afraid she’ll actually leave you for good this time?” At that, Hugh laughed out loud. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve known her for eight years, dated her for five. When have I ever called her that she hasn’t come running?” “Honestly, if she could actually manage to fall for someone else, I’d almost be impressed.” I leaned against the door, biting down hard on the back of my hand to stifle the sound trying to escape my throat. My family’s bankruptcy, the impending liquidation… Hugh did it. All because Isabelle cried and he wanted to make her happy. The fresh cut on my leg scabbed over, sticking to my clothes, only to be torn open again with every step. I thought of my mother’s tear-swollen eyes, my father’s hair that had turned white overnight. I slapped myself, hard, again and again. “You’re a curse,” I whispered. “You fell in love with him and you ruined them.” I had never imagined that my own love could cost my family everything. But the Vances practically owned this city. A single word from Hugh could decide the fate of a dozen companies. If he wanted to appease Isabelle, no one in the entire city would dare to help us. I stood on the edge of the river, staring down at the dark, churning water, the thought of throwing myself in a terrifying comfort. But I couldn’t. If I died, what would happen to my parents? “Wait. Isabelle.” Her name hit me like a jolt. I had known her even before Hugh did. At a charity auction years ago, she was working as a waitress. I saw some fifty-year-old sleaze with yellow teeth corner her, trying to kiss her. I stepped in and got him to back off. At the time, I was in a fight with Hugh, jealous over something trivial. He didn’t comfort me. Instead, he’d smirked, as if to spite me. “Look at Miss Sterling, playing the hero. You, the waitress,” he’d called out. “From now on, I’ll pay for your tuition.” I never thought that moment would be the beginning of this twisted triangle. I don’t know when Hugh fell for her. He paid for her education, hired expensive tutors, and sent her to the most prestigious art school abroad. To ensure she wouldn’t be looked down on by the other students, he bought out an entire season of a luxury brand and had it shipped to her. Whenever Isabelle was coming home for the holidays, I always knew in advance. Because Hugh would break up with me first. “Isabelle is innocent,” he once told me. “She would never be the other woman.” She couldn’t be the other woman. So, while she was here, he had to get rid of me. I rushed to the club where they were holding Isabelle’s welcome-home party. Security blocked my way. “I’m sorry, Miss Sterling. Mr. Vance has given strict orders that Miss Isabelle is not to be disturbed.” This was a place we used to come to all the time, surrounded by people from our circle. But now that my family was ruined, no one would do me any favors. The cold wind cut through my thin clothes. The cut on my leg throbbed, and my lips trembled from the pain. “Let her in.” I looked up. Hugh was standing at the entrance, looking down at me. A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face before it hardened again. “Who are you trying to look pathetic for? Don’t you know how weak your body is?” He was right. I’ve had a poor immune system since I was a child. A cold wind like this would give me a high fever for days. During the best times of our relationship, he would hold me tight, terrified of me getting even slightly sick. I lowered my head. “I want to talk to Isabelle.” Hugh’s brow furrowed, a mocking smile playing on his lips. “You never change, do you, Eliza?” He was afraid I would cause a scene with Isabelle. I had a history, after all. When I first found out she was calling Hugh in the middle of the night, claiming to be scared of thunderstorms, I went to her university with a megaphone. I stood under her dorm window and broadcasted a recording of her breathless, whimpering voice. As the entire dorm buzzed with rumors of Isabelle being a homewrecker, Hugh’s limousine pulled up. His bodyguards pushed through the crowd of students. I went to take his arm, to stake my claim. “You’re my boyfriend,” I said, “not some stray she can lure away.” Hugh gave me an icy glare and, in front of everyone, lifted a weeping Isabelle into his arms and carried her to the car. “Look at yourself,” he snarled. “You’re acting like a common shrew from the streets.” He left me there to be laughed at by everyone. After that, Isabelle moved into the Vance mansion. And he locked me in a small room in that same house to “reflect” on my actions. For every day Isabelle refused to leave her room, I was kept locked up. He brought her meals. I got nothing. Not a sip of water, not a grain of rice. He spent a week comforting her before she finally agreed to go outside. Then, worried she would hear more gossip, he made a multi-million-dollar donation to a foreign university to get her accepted immediately. I shook my head, forcing a smile that was uglier than a grimace. “I just want to explain to her that we’ve already broken up.” The disbelief on his face was still a bitter pill to swallow. I admit, I still loved him. I knew how deeply insecure he was about his leg, and I had never, ever made him feel small because of it. I was always so careful, terrified that a single word or expression would hurt him. But I never imagined he could be this merciless. To set up my family’s ruin just to appease Isabelle. It wasn’t that I didn’t love him anymore. I was just too afraid to. Once the floodgates of my grief opened, I couldn’t stop them. Tears streamed down my face. Hugh’s fingers twitched. “If you want to talk, then talk. Why are you crying…” He was about to reach out and wipe my tears away when a figure emerged from the club. I hadn’t seen Isabelle since she’d left the country. Now, she stood there in a couture gown, her face perfectly made up, adorned with exclusive jewelry. She radiated an aura of wealth and privilege. She looked less like the timid waitress I’d saved and more like the kind of pampered heiress I used to be. “Why did you come out?” Hugh took off his suit jacket and draped it gently over her bare shoulders, his voice soft. She looked up at him, the corners of her eyes turning red. Hugh immediately bent down, his voice a panicked, soothing murmur. “What is it? Who upset my Isabelle?” Isabelle finally broke into a tearful smile, playfully punching his chest. “I heard Eliza was here, so I came out to see.” “Now you’ve seen her. Are you satisfied?” He was asking Isabelle, but his eyes were on me. I guessed she was satisfied. The girl who had once saved her at a charity gala was now standing before her, clothes stained with blood, hair matted to her face. I was a complete and utter wreck. How could she not be satisfied? I wanted to scream at them, but I didn’t dare. If I angered Isabelle, my family wouldn’t even have a week before they were wiped off the map. I forced a placating smile. “Isabelle. It’s been a long time.” She was much more composed than I was. “Eliza. You didn’t have to come all this way. I’ve already forgiven you.” I looked up at her. Forgiven me? For broadcasting her manipulative whispers for all to hear? Or for being with Hugh in the first place? I couldn’t tell. I just stared at her, stunned. Suddenly, Hugh’s voice turned sharp. “Isabelle has forgiven you. Shouldn’t you apologize?” The pain was like a knife to the heart. I fought to keep the tears from falling. The words “I’m sorry” felt like poison on my tongue. I bit down so hard I tasted blood before I could finally force them out. “I… I’m sorry…” Hugh’s gaze shifted from me. He took out a black credit card and placed it in Isabelle’s hand. “There’s thirty million on this. It’s your decision whether she gets it or not.” My eyes lit up. If I got that money, the company would be saved. My family would be saved. I looked at Isabelle with pleading eyes, but I saw her fingers slowly close around the card. She pouted prettily. “Eliza made me move to another country, and I had to be away from you for three whole years, Hugh. I don’t want to just give it to her like this.” Hugh chuckled and gently tapped her nose with his finger. “Whatever you want.” Panic seized me. My family was desperate for this money. We had already sold the house, the cars. We were living in a tiny two-bedroom apartment, constantly harassed by debt collectors. My mother’s weak heart was failing under the stress. She was wasting away, a shadow of her former self. My father had called in every favor he had, but because of the Vances’ influence, no one dared to lend us a penny. This was my last hope. I begged her. “Isabelle, I was wrong. Punish me however you want. Just please, help me.” Isabelle tapped her chin thoughtfully, then her expression turned playful. “Alright. If you kneel and say you’re sorry, I’ll give you the card. How about that?” Her sweet, singsong voice carried a weight that threatened to shatter me. “Three words for thirty million. It’s a good deal.” Hugh remained silent, standing beside her like a silent guardian, endorsing her every action. “You don’t want to…?” she said with a disappointed sigh, making a show of putting the card in her purse. I panicked. A raw, primal fear I had never felt before. “I’ll do it!” Her face lit up with a brilliant smile. Her eyes curved into crescents as she tilted her chin up slightly, waiting. I glanced at the impassive Hugh, and then my knees slowly began to bend. It was just kneeling, but it felt like I was being executed a thousand times over. Thud. My knees hit the cold, hard pavement. I knelt there, drained of all strength, my fingernails digging so deep into my palms that my hands trembled. “I’m sorry…” Isabelle beamed, then stamped her foot playfully. “Oh, Eliza! I was just kidding! You actually knelt.” I didn’t move. I just stayed there, kneeling before them. “Well…” Isabelle sighed dramatically and tossed the card on the ground in front of me. I reached for it, and tears fell, one by one, onto the gleaming black plastic. My family was saved. Hugh Vance, I will never love you again. I got to my feet and whispered, “Thank you.” Hugh’s face darkened. He pulled his arm from Isabelle’s grasp and went back inside. “Hugh…” she called after him, but he didn’t turn around. Frustrated, she shot me a glare. “Are you still here?” I turned and left. Behind me, Isabelle stewed for a moment before one of her friends from her study abroad program came out. “Isabelle, so it’s true! You really are Hugh Vance’s girlfriend! His family is incredibly powerful in this city.” Isabelle’s foul mood vanished instantly. She lifted her chin proudly. “I told you, didn’t I?” The friend was excited, but then a thought occurred to her. “But that girl just now… she seemed to have a history with him. You just gave her thirty million? Isn’t that letting her off too easy?” Isabelle’s eyes darkened, but a cruel smile played on her lips. “Who said I gave it to her for free? I’ve already had someone send her father a little video from today.” “What video?” Isabelle just smiled. “Oh, nothing. Just a little clip of Eliza… performing… at Hugh’s place earlier.” I left the club and rushed home. With the crisis averted, I wanted to tell my father the good news as soon as possible. He wouldn’t have to worry anymore. Once the debts were paid, I would move to a new city with my parents and start over. As for Hugh Vance, we were finished. The apartment complex we were renting in was old and run-down. There were no streetlights. The dark staircase was normally terrifying. But tonight, for the first time in a long time, I felt a sense of peace. Dad, Mom, I’m about to pay for my sins. A dim yellow light was on in a seventh-floor apartment. I saw a silhouette moving and recognized my father. I waved my arms frantically. “Dad! I got the money! I’m back!” I shouted, wanting him to share my relief. But my father didn’t respond. He just stood on the balcony, looking down at me. I was confused. I pulled out the black card and waved it joyfully. “Dad, look! The money!” He moved. He climbed over the railing and jumped. A strangled scream tore from my throat. The seventh floor! It was the seventh floor! “DAD!” A falling body looks like a leaf, floating gently down. But it hits the ground with the force of a thunderclap.

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