The true Sterling heiress came home. As the family’s long-standing impostor, things got awkward, fast. So I packed my bags that night and moved back to the godforsaken, 18th-tier town where I was supposed to have been born. I transferred to the local high school. Staring down at my designer coat, now ruined by a splash of milk tea, I let out a soft sigh. I pulled up the purchase history on my phone and displayed my payment QR code. “Seven thousand five hundred dollars. Pay up.” 1. Emma Sterling was home. I was still in my silk pajamas, sleepily making my way downstairs, when I saw her—a girl who was the spitting image of my mother. She stood there in a washed-out blouse, flanked by my parents. My brother, who was studying abroad, had already texted saying he couldn’t wait to fly back. I paused on the staircase, my eyes meeting Emma’s across the foyer. We both offered a smile that was polite, but dripping with mutual awkwardness. I’d always known I wasn’t their biological daughter. The Sterlings weren’t fools; our blood types didn’t even match. But since they could never find Emma, they had kept me and raised me as their own. I treated them like my real parents, and they showered me with the love and affection a daughter deserves. But all those years, the search for Emma never stopped. And now, finally, she was home. Looking at the scene of their family reunion below, I was genuinely happy for them. That evening, I went to the study to talk with my parents. Emma’s adoptive parents—my biological ones—had died in a car accident years ago. They had been poor, but they had given Emma the best life they could. The baby swap had been a tragic hospital error. My parents insisted I stay. “This house is more than big enough for a hundred daughters,” my father had said. But I shook my head. “That’s really up to Emma, isn’t it? If I were in her shoes, I wouldn’t want the girl who took my place hanging around.” “Besides,” I added, “I’ve lived her life for long enough. She deserves to come home without any complications. And honestly, I want to see the place where my real parents lived.” My mother sighed, her hand resting on my shoulder. I gave her a comforting hug. “It’s just for a year. I’m a junior now. I’ll definitely come back to the Capital for college,” I whispered. “If Emma doesn’t mind by then, I’ll come home.” They finally, silently, agreed. So that night, I dragged eight suitcases out of the Sterling mansion. I wasn’t some noble martyr, leaving with only the clothes on my back. I took everything that was mine: my belongings, the allowance I’d saved for years, and a generous sum for tuition and living expenses my adoptive parents gave me before I left. I promptly rented a small, standalone villa in the best part of town. Since I was still a minor, I brought Mr. Evans, my favorite of the household staff, with me. He handled all the tedious paperwork for the lease and my school enrollment. Lying in my new bed, I felt surprisingly optimistic as I mapped out a rough plan for my future. I sent my parents a quick text to let them know I was safe, and then fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. 2. Clearwater High was the only decent school in this small town, a place untouched by airports or high-speed rail. I followed the dean of students down the hallway, my designer heels clicking sharply against the linoleum. It was break time, and eyes from every direction shot toward me. In a school this small, gossip travels faster than light. By the time I sat down, my new deskmate was already staring. “Where are you from? Why aren’t you in uniform? Is that stuff you’re wearing real?” she fired off, her words tumbling out in a rush that sounded almost aggressive. Before I could answer, the homeroom teacher’s voice cut through the noise, his accent thick as he called me to the front of the class for an introduction. I walked to the blackboard and, with a practiced, polite smile, wrote my name: Isabelle Sterling. “Hi, everyone. I’m Isabelle Sterling. I just transferred from Capital Prep. It’s nice to meet you all.” The classroom erupted in whispers. “The Capital? No way.” “Damn, she looks loaded. We should totally try to hang with her.” “It’s gotta be fake. If she were that rich, she’d be in the honors class, not with us losers.” “She’s kinda pretty, I guess. Is that makeup? There’s something about her I just don’t like.” I let my gaze drift lazily across the room, spotting the few faces I was looking for. Satisfied, I returned to my seat. The show, I thought, was about to begin. 3. First period was English. I rested my chin on my hand, bored, as I scanned the textbook. For me, English was practically a second native language, thanks to the world-class education the Sterlings had provided. High school level stuff was a joke. A flicker of concern crossed my mind. I wondered how Emma was adjusting to life at the mansion. My thoughts were interrupted when my deskmate shot to her feet and began reading a passage from the textbook. I snapped back to reality, realizing the teacher was calling on students. This girl, the one who’d interrogated me, was now reading aloud. I glanced at the name on her book. Leah. Leah read loudly and correctly, earning a nod of approval from the teacher, who then asked her to lead the class in reading the passage together. A small smile touched her lips, bringing a bit of life to her pale, sallow cheeks. She held her book up, shooting me a quick, triumphant glance. It was a look of pure, smug pride. She began reading again, and the rest of the class followed along in a disorganized mumble. The other students’ voices quickly faded into a low hum, but Leah’s remained loud and forceful. Even though, to my ears, her pronunciation was painfully clumsy. At one particularly bad mispronunciation, a small laugh escaped me. I didn’t make a sound or even look at her; I just kept my head propped on my hand, my eyes on the book, as the corner of my mouth turned up. But Leah, who must have been watching me the whole time, suddenly stopped. “Isabelle Sterling!” she barked. “Why aren’t you reading?” I frowned. Plenty of others weren’t reading, but she’d singled me out. I looked up at her. Behind her glasses, her dark eyes were fixed on me, her sallow face contorted in an ugly sneer. The teacher chimed in. “New student, you need to participate. Why don’t you read this section for us?” My smile widened. Without even looking at the book, I recited the entire passage in fluent, unaccented American English. A slow, creeping silence fell over the classroom. Even the teacher just stood there, his mouth slightly agape, at a loss for words. When I finished, I shrugged and looked directly at Leah. “The reason I wasn’t reading along is because my pronunciation was better in kindergarten than yours is now.” Leah’s face flushed a deep, mottled red. She bit her lip, unable to meet my eyes. Just then, the bell rang, and the teacher, visibly relieved, dismissed the class. A moment later, a clique of girls with over-styled bangs and uniform cherry-red lipstick sauntered over to my desk. The leader, sucking on a lollipop, gave me a syrupy-sweet smile. “So, hey, what’s a girl like you doing at a school like this?” I kept my eyes on my book. “Felt like a change of scenery.” The girl made a ‘tsk’ sound and jabbed my shoulder with her finger. “Don’t play coy with me.” My patience snapped. I smacked her hand away. I’d taken taekwondo for years, and the force of the blow left a bright red mark on the back of her hand. “What the hell! Are you looking for a fight?” she shrieked, and her little posse moved in, ready to shove me. I pulled a scalpel from my pocket, spun it between my fingers, and stopped the blade a centimeter from her eye. She let out a terrified scream. Her friends, and even Leah nearby, scrambled backward, afraid I’d actually slice them. I retracted the scalpel, a cryptic smile playing on my lips as I gave the girl a slow, deliberate head-to-toe look. Her expression soured with every inch my eyes traveled. I’d navigated the cutthroat social circles of the elite for years; dealing with a low-level wannabe like her was child’s play. A single, contemptuous glance was all it took to shatter their fragile confidence. I fanned the air in front of my face with a look of disgust. “You reek of stale cigarettes and cheap perfume. Stay away from me, you’re making me nauseous.” The whole class was watching, and at my words, a wave of laughter broke out. “Oh my god, that was brutal. Did you see Brooke’s face?” “Is anyone gonna be able to handle this new girl?” “Not gonna lie, watching her put Brooke in her place was pretty satisfying, hahaha.” “Shh, you know Brooke’s gonna get her back for this. Just wait…” So her name was Brooke. I met her furious gaze, taking in every ounce of hatred and rage in her eyes. So, what have you got, Brooke? I thought. Show me. 4. The next few days were relatively quiet. My little display seemed to have spooked both Brooke and Leah. Leah no longer tried to talk to me, though I noticed she would sneak glances at the advanced prep books I used in class and then show up the next day with the exact same ones. She started mimicking my study habits—or lack thereof. When I worked on my own material instead of listening to the lecture, so did she. The truth was, I’d been privately tutored by the best in every subject since I was a child. The curriculum here was painfully slow for me, so I worked ahead. This method worked for me, but for Leah, it was academic suicide. Not that I felt any obligation to warn her. I shook my head, deciding to ignore her, and headed downstairs to grab a coffee from the convenience store. Since my uniform hadn’t arrived yet, I was still in my own clothes—today, a Louis Vuitton coat. The stares followed me all the way down the hall, but I walked on as if I didn’t notice. I didn’t even make it to the store. A group blocked my path. It was Brooke and her friends, plus a few guys with bleached-blond hair who looked like they were trying way too hard. Brooke stood with her arms crossed, a cigarette dangling from her fingers. This part of the campus was shielded by a grove of trees and a dilapidated sports equipment shed. The perfect spot for an ambush. She smirked. “I told you not to mess with me. Get it now?” One of the guys grabbed my coat, trying to drag me somewhere more secluded. I was surprised by their brazenness, but it made a sick kind of sense. In a backwater town like this, a little bit of local influence and the shield of being a minor meant they could get away with almost anything. Their victims were usually kids from working-class families, too busy or powerless to fight back effectively. I looked at the boy holding me. His hair was a matted yellow mess, and the stench of cigarettes coming off him was nauseating. I wrenched my arm free and slapped him across the face. Crack! The sound was sharp and loud in the quiet clearing. Everyone froze, stunned that I would dare to fight back. Brooke’s face contorted with fury. She started screaming a torrent of local slang I couldn’t understand, her eyes, framed by cheap colored contacts, boring into me. Realizing she probably couldn’t win a physical fight, she snatched a milk tea from one of her friends and hurled it at me. I dodged, but most of the sticky liquid splattered across my coat. I looked down at the ruined fabric. With a small sigh, I pulled out my phone, brought up the digital receipt, and held out my QR code. “Seven thousand five hundred dollars. Pay up.” I heard a collective gasp. A flicker of panic crossed Brooke’s face before she masked it with bravado. “You think I’m gonna pay? In your dreams,” she spat. “What are you gonna do about it?” The boy I’d slapped was already moving, pulling out a small knife and waving it threateningly in my direction. I wasn’t an idiot. I spun around and ran. At the same time, a group of figures in blue uniforms came running toward me. The police. The moment I’d seen the ambush forming, I had discreetly texted 911 from my pocket. An officer saw the kid with the knife lunging at me. In seconds, they had him pinned, his arms twisted behind his back. The sight sent the rest of the wannabe gangsters scattering, which, in front of the police, was a spectacularly bad idea. An hour later, the entire group was lined up at the police station. The whole affair was a massive scandal. A fleet of police cars descending on the high school and hauling away a dozen students was not good for the school’s reputation. The principal and several deans rushed over. Brooke was sobbing into her phone, talking to her parents. From what I could piece together, her father was some kind of minor local official. It all clicked. No wonder she was so arrogant. When Brooke’s father arrived, he shot me a dark look before pulling the police officers aside. A few minutes later, one of the officers came back to me, looking apologetic. He explained that since Brooke and her friends hadn’t caused me any “substantial harm,” they could only be given a verbal warning. The boy with the knife was a minor and his “assault” was unsuccessful, so the most he’d get was a couple of days in juvenile detention. I heard the principal let out a sigh of relief. The last thing he wanted was one of his students getting jail time and tarnishing the school’s name. I looked at the scene before me: Brooke, now smirking triumphantly; her father, glowering at me; the principal and my homeroom teacher, just wanting to smooth things over… So this is the world Emma lived in for seventeen years. It must have been so hard, little sister. It’s okay, I thought, a quiet promise forming in my mind. It’s okay now. Every bit of suffering they put you through, I’ll pay them back for it, piece by piece.

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I’d sold the house, ready to fly to Canada and join my daughter. The day before I was set to leave, Mrs. Gable from downstairs asked me to help carry a new fifty-pound bag of rice up to her apartment. I was breathless by the time I reached her door, just as her daughter-in-law, Sarah, was getting home from work. She saw me, froze for a second, and then quickly pulled me aside. She shoved a folded piece of paper into my hand, her eyes wide with panic, and urged me to leave. Confused, I unfolded the note. It contained a single, terrifying sentence: “Your daughter died in a car crash last month. The person you’re talking to is an imposter!” In that instant, my world plunged into an icy abyss. The plane ticket in my pocket felt like a shard of frozen steel. 1 A roar filled my head, something inside me shattering as my vision went white. The world fell silent, replaced by the frantic, deafening drum of my own heart against my ribs. A prank. It had to be a sick prank by some bored, cruel person. My daughter, Emily, my only child—it was impossible. Just yesterday, we’d been on a video call. She was smiling, telling me how brilliant the Canadian maples were, how warm and cozy she’d made the room she’d prepared for me. My hand, clutching the note, was trembling violently. The flimsy piece of paper felt as heavy as lead. I had to know. Now. My fingers, moving with a will of their own, unlocked my phone. I found the number I had pinned to the top of my contacts, the one labeled “My Emmy,” and started a video call. Every second of the ringing tone was an agony, stripping my nerves bare. She answered. The screen lit up. A familiar face appeared against a dim background, the connection spotty and the image pixelated. It was my daughter’s face, her eyes curved into a gentle smile, though she looked pale and tired. “Mom? What’s up?” Her voice on the other end held the perfect measure of concern, laced with an almost imperceptible weariness. “Are you exhausted from all the packing? I told you, don’t bring any of that old stuff. I’ll buy you all new things when you get here.” My throat felt like it was clogged with cement. I couldn’t form a single word. I stared, desperate, at the face on the screen, searching for a single flaw, any sign that this wasn’t her. There was nothing. It was the face I had watched for thirty years, a face I knew better than my own. “Mom? Say something. You’re scaring me.” “…It’s nothing.” The words scraped their way out of my throat, dry and rough as sandpaper. “I’m just… just going to miss this old house.” I forced a smile that felt more painful than a sob. The “daughter” on the screen seemed to sense my unease. Her smile faded, and her tone sharpened. “Mom, this is no time for that. The ticket is booked. I’ve arranged for the lawyer and the doctor here in Canada. We need to get the paperwork sorted and get you a full check-up as soon as you arrive.” “You have to be at the airport on time tomorrow, do you hear me? Don’t mess this up.” A lawyer? A doctor? She’d never mentioned any of that before. A cold, commanding tone I’d never heard from her sliced through the screen. “Okay… I know.” I numbly ended the call. The phone slipped from my limp grasp, hitting the floor and shattering the screen into a spiderweb of cracks. My legs gave out, and I slid down the cold wall of the stairwell, crumpling onto the steps. The black ink on the note and the urgent, demanding words of my “daughter” tangled and clashed in my mind. One said my daughter was dead. The other was pushing me to get to Canada as fast as possible. Once planted, the seed of doubt grew with terrifying speed, sprouting thorny vines that wrapped around my heart, squeezing until it bled. My mind raced, and I suddenly realized how strange her behavior had been over the past month. She never let me talk to any of our relatives, always blaming the time difference. My sister, who loves to chat, had tried to video call her niece several times, only to be shut down with excuses about work or a bad signal. I remembered, too, how I’d casually brought up a funny story from her childhood—the time she was chased by the neighbor’s dog and fell into a ditch. On the video call, she had stared blankly for a long moment before mumbling, “That was so long ago, I don’t really remember.” At the time, I just thought she’d outgrown her childhood memories. Now I knew the horrifying truth. It wasn’t that she’d forgotten. It was that she never knew in the first place. A sharp chime broke the silence. A text from my bank. A new deposit of five thousand dollars had just hit my account. Immediately, my phone rang again. It was “Emily,” a voice call this time, her tone sickeningly sweet. “Mom, I sent you a little spending money. Buy yourself some nice new clothes for the trip, and some snacks for the plane.” “Don’t be afraid to spend it. Your daughter will take care of you from now on.” The false warmth was a poisoned dagger twisting in my gut. An overwhelming wave of grief and rage at being so cruelly deceived threatened to burn away my sanity. No. I couldn’t fall apart. If the note was true, if my Emmy was really… gone… then who was this imposter? What did this demon who had stolen my daughter’s identity want from me? She had tricked me into selling my home, into traveling alone to a foreign country. Her goal wasn’t just money. I took a deep, shuddering breath of the cold air, forcing myself to think. I picked up the shattered phone and called the number back. The moment she answered, I let out a choked, hysterical sob. “Oh, Emily, honey, you’re such a good daughter! Mom is so touched, so proud of you.” “Don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll be there on time tomorrow, I promise! I won’t be a minute late!” 2 That night, I lay awake, staring into the darkness until dawn. The patterns on the ceiling twisted and morphed, forming my daughter’s smiling face before shattering into nothingness. Grief washed over me in relentless waves, threatening to break the dam of my composure. But I couldn’t cry. Not yet. At five in the morning, I knocked on Mrs. Gable’s door. She answered, bleary-eyed and surprised to see me. I managed a weary smile and handed her a bag of fruit. “Mrs. Gable, thank you for everything over the years. I was hoping I could speak to Sarah for a moment, just to thank her for her reminder yesterday.” Sarah, the young woman who had given me the note. Mrs. Gable led me inside. Sarah soon emerged from her room in her pajamas, her eyes full of concern. She ushered me into her room and carefully closed the door. “Ma’am, are you…” The moment I saw her kind face, my carefully constructed facade crumbled. Tears streamed down my cheeks. “The note… is it true?” Sarah didn’t speak. She silently retrieved a file folder from her nightstand and pulled out a set of photocopied documents. Her movements were gentle, but the papers felt like red-hot irons, searing my eyes. The bolded text at the top of the first page read: “International Waybill.” The recipient was my daughter, Emily. And the item being shipped: “Deceased’s Personal Effects.” Attached was a summary of a death certificate. The date of death was the fifteenth of last month. The cause: “Traffic Accident.” The last sliver of hope was annihilated by the black-and-white proof. My Emmy, the girl who had promised to show me the world, was gone. A raw, guttural sob tore from my throat, and the world started to go black. Sarah caught me, gently rubbing my back and pressing a glass of warm water into my hand. “You have to stay strong,” she whispered, her voice a soothing balm. “This shipment came through my logistics company. The recipient’s information was so strange—that’s why I looked into the original file.” “The recipient was listed as Emily, but the contact number was unknown, and the address was just a vague forwarding point.” I forced myself to look up from the depths of my despair, latching onto that crucial detail. The scammers didn’t just want my money. They were intercepting my daughter’s belongings. This was bigger, deeper. Her death might not have been an accident at all. The terrifying thought sent a chill through my entire body. I gripped Sarah’s hand like a lifeline. “Sarah, can you… can you help me one more time?” “I need to know where my daughter’s things ended up. I need every single detail you can find.” Sarah nodded firmly. Just then, my phone buzzed. A video call from the imposter. I quickly wiped my tears, took a deep breath, and answered. “Mom, are you up? All packed?” The woman’s voice was still cloyingly sweet. This time, I clearly saw the shadow of a man move quickly behind her. My heart seized. She hastily adjusted the camera angle, laughing it off. “Oh, that was just a colleague, stopping by to say hello.” Her smile was flawless as she added, “I’ve got everything arranged for you here in Canada, Mom. You’re going to have a wonderful life.” I looked at the face on the screen, a face that was a cruel seventy percent replica of my daughter’s, and felt a tidal wave of hatred rise within me. Tears streamed down my face, but I smiled into the camera. “I believe you, sweetie. I’ll do whatever you say.” “I’ll be there tomorrow. My Emmy will be at the airport to pick me up, right?” My expression, a grotesque mask of tears and smiles, must have looked insane. But that monster, she saw only an old woman’s sentimental joy and bittersweet farewell. 3 The next morning, as planned, I dragged an empty suitcase to the curb in front of my old building. A black sedan was already waiting. A wiry man with a pasted-on smile got out. He introduced himself as Rick, a guy from our hometown who my “daughter” had sent to pick me up. He was overly attentive, loading my suitcase into the trunk while peppering me with questions, but his eyes were like a hawk’s, watching my every move. The car pulled smoothly onto the highway, heading for the airport. My heart hammered against my ribs, my palms slick with cold sweat. Step one of my plan was to throw them off schedule. Just as we merged onto the elevated expressway, I let out a sharp cry and slapped my thigh. Rick’s head whipped around. “Mrs. Chen, what’s wrong?” I put on a performance of utter devastation, my voice cracking as if on the verge of tears. “Oh, no! I… I left something incredibly important back at the house! It was a family heirloom from my late husband. I have to go back for it!” Rick’s friendly demeanor vanished. His face hardened. “Ma’am, we can’t do that. The plane won’t wait.” His tone was firm, leaving no room for argument. My demeanor changed in a flash. My panic morphed into a full-blown tantrum. “I don’t care! It’s the only thing I have left of my husband! It’s more important than my life! If I don’t get it today, I’m not going!” I wailed, reaching for the door handle as if I might jump out. The driver, hired by Rick, started laying on the horn, muttering about what a pain I was. The car was thick with tension. I was betting on one thing: they wouldn’t dare cause a public scene in broad daylight. Their entire operation depended on secrecy. They couldn’t risk attracting any unwanted attention. Rick’s face was grim, his eyes flashing with fury as he stared at me. But in the end, he didn’t dare lay a hand on me. He got out of the car, muttering into his phone. I could faintly hear a woman’s sharp, angry voice on the other end, cursing me for being a senile old fool. It was the imposter. Finally, she relented. Rick got back in the car, forcing the words through his clenched teeth. “Go back and get it.” The car, amidst a cacophony of angry horns, slowly turned around. I leaned back against the seat, heart pounding, limbs ice-cold, but my mind was crystal clear. It had worked. I had not only bought myself more time, but I had also confirmed their greatest weakness: they were terrified of being exposed. We arrived back at the building I had once called home. I looked up at the familiar window, no longer mine. But I knew, with a certainty that settled deep in my bones, that I would get back everything I had lost. A new, clearer plan was beginning to form.

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The next time I saw Zane, I was a cocktail waitress in his bar. He stepped in smoothly, defusing a tense situation with a drunk customer for me. His presence was an immediate, silencing authority. “Thanks,” I said, my voice carefully neutral. There was no awkwardness, no fumbling shame. Just a polite, professional distance between us. Everything was as it should be. A moment later, his fingers brushed against mine, his hand closing around my own just like he used to. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that I once lived for. “Do you hate me?” I gently pulled my hand away. A small smile touched my lips, but I didn’t answer. Hate him? Not really. You can’t hate someone you no longer love. My gaze drifted down to his left hand, to the plain band on his ring finger. Noticing my glance, Zane instinctively twisted the ring, his eyes lifting to meet mine. “Jenna’s been… insecure lately. That’s why…” I nodded, showing I understood, and bent to wipe the spilled drink from my uniform. I used the excuse of needing a paper towel to turn away. Suddenly, a clean, folded handkerchief appeared before me. “It’s new. Use it.” “No, thank you.” I rolled up my sleeve calmly, creating more space between us. “I wouldn’t want your wife to get the wrong idea.” The movement exposed the terrible, gnarled scars on my forearm. I hesitated for a second, then pulled the sleeve back down. The wounds had been a part of me for years now, sometimes better, sometimes worse. I was used to them. The sight no longer sent me spiraling. As I turned to leave, Zane blocked my path. “I have a private room. Come sit for a while.” “I…” He didn’t wait for an answer, his grip firm on my wrist as he pulled me along. The familiar faces in the VIP lounge froze for a heartbeat when we entered, then quickly resumed their conversations as if nothing had happened. Someone started to pour me a drink. Zane’s hand shot out, covering the glass. “Her stomach’s sensitive. Get her a glass of hot water.” A few of his friends chuckled and nudged each other, the teasing banter a well-rehearsed play. They all acted like this was normal, like I still belonged here. “Thank you, but I’m not thirsty,” I said, my voice flat. I stared out the window, a silent spectator to a drama that had nothing to do with me anymore. Zane’s posture stiffened. He turned, grabbed his overcoat from the back of a chair, and draped it over my shoulders. “It’s cold in here. Keep warm.” I shrugged the coat off and stood up. “I don’t need it. I have to get back to work.” “Clara,” he said, his voice dropping to that low, warning tone. “Do you have to speak to me like this? I’m trying to take care of you.” His tone was quiet, but I knew. He was angry. Once, that sound would have sent me scrambling to his side, clinging to him, begging for his forgiveness. But not anymore. Without another glance, I walked toward the door. This time, the mood in the room shifted instantly. One of his closest friends, a man I’d known for years, stuck out his leg and kicked the back of my knee. The impact sent a shock of pain up my leg, and I crumpled to the floor. “Don’t be a bitch when you’re offered a lifeline,” he snarled. “Zane’s doing you a favor by not treating you like the trash you are.” Another one chimed in, his voice slick with contempt. “A disgusting slut like you… no one would even want you as a mistress.” Zane slowly stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray. “Sweetheart,” he said, the sound chillingly soft. “Are you ready to listen now?” “Come here.” My body trembled with pain as I used a table to pull myself up. “Mr. Sterling,” I said, my voice shaking but clear. “You and I have nothing to do with each other anymore.” The words had barely left my mouth when a glass shattered against the wall behind me. Zane smiled, wiping a drop of blood from his knuckles. “It seems you still haven’t learned your lesson.” His crew closed in, surrounding me. One by one, they took their turns. A kick here, a lit cigarette pressed against my shoulder there. They deliberately tore at my cheap uniform, one of them even using his belt to lash at my back. I curled into a ball in the corner, the pain so intense I couldn’t even scream. Fear, cold and absolute, wrapped around me. It was just like that night. I hugged myself tightly, drowning in a sea of hopelessness. “Still think you’re the Sterling family’s little princess, Clara? Look at you. You’re as ugly as a toad.” “Got a taste for being a thief, huh? Still trying to crawl into Zane’s bed?” “I heard she’s a real screamer for the old execs. I’ve even got the video on my phone.” One of them grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back. He held his phone in front of my face, the screen glowing with a high-definition video of my own humiliation, forcing me to watch. Again and again. A wave of nausea rose in my throat, hot and acidic. I curled tighter, burying my face, a broken sob finally escaping my lips. “That’s enough,” Zane’s voice cut through the haze. His polished leather shoes stopped inches from my face, right over my heart. He crouched down in front of me. That same overcoat was draped over my shaking body again. His thumb traced the scar on my neck. “Does it still hurt, sweetheart?” His calm was terrifying. I nodded and shook my head frantically, too scared to offer any resistance. A faint smile played on his lips. “I told you,” he whispered, his breath warm against my ear. “You can never escape my grasp.” His eyes, those sharp, elegant eyes, were as cold and merciless as ever. Just like the man himself. Cold heart, cold soul. Why else would he have engineered this, cornering me, forcing me to work in his club? He had tried everything to break me, to make me bow my head to him again. He was just as indifferent the day he picked me up off the street. I was an orphan. When I was hungry, I dug through trash cans. When I was tired, I slept under bridges. Until I was ten. I was so small and scrawny I couldn’t even fight off a stray dog for scraps. So, in a final act of desperation, I threw myself in front of Zane’s car. He never even got out. His driver just tossed a wad of cash at me. But my leg was badly injured; I couldn’t even crawl. All I could do was stare helplessly at the sleek black car. The next time I woke up, I was in a beautiful, sprawling house. The wounds on my leg had been cleaned and bandaged. Zane told me he was adopting me. From that day on, he hired tutors to teach me how to read and write. He bought me the most expensive dresses. I couldn’t sleep in the strange, new place. I would cry every night. He’d complain that I was difficult to raise, but then he’d move his entire desk into my room to work through the night. “You’re too loud. Stop crying,” he’d say gruffly. Then, softening his tone, he’d add, “Be good and go to sleep. I’ll take you out to play tomorrow.” On the nights I was truly terrified, he would put his work aside and read me stories until I fell asleep. In those years, everyone said I was his little princess, spoiled rotten. They joked that with my temperament, no one would ever dare marry me. Zane would just laugh, pulling me into his arms. “Then we won’t get her married. I’ll take care of her forever.” I don’t know if that was love, but in that moment, my heart beat so fast I thought it would burst. Later, I heard he was entering an arranged marriage. I hid in my room for three days, my heart shattered. A week later, the engagement was called off. I couldn’t help but ask him. “Why did you call it off?” He chuckled softly. “You cried like this over a rumor. If I actually married her, would you cry for the rest of your life?” I turned my head away, embarrassed. “I did not.” He didn’t argue, simply pulling me onto his lap. “Alright, you didn’t. But you scared my wife away. Shouldn’t you give me a new one? I’m thirty, Clara. I can’t be single forever, can I?” I stammered, completely flustered. A smile played in his eyes. “I guess I’ll just have to wait for my Clara to grow up and be my wife.” I was eighteen that year. I didn’t say no. After that, there were no other women in his life. He treated me better than I could have ever imagined. I thought I was the luckiest person in the world. But that devotion lasted only two years. On my twentieth birthday, Jenna showed up at our door, crying, saying she had nowhere to go. She was five years older than me and the first person to show me kindness when I first arrived. We had become the best of friends. She had gotten married when I was eighteen. I asked her why so young. She said it was an arranged marriage by her family. As an illegitimate daughter, she had no choice. My heart ached for her. I had Zane prepare the most lavish dowry for her wedding. I just wanted her to be happy. Two years later, her husband died, and his family threw her out. Her own family refused to take her back. So I brought her home. I begged Zane to let her stay. He sighed, tapping my head gently. “You’re so naive. One day you’ll be sold and you won’t even realize it. Do you think the Sterling estate is a charity? Taking in every stray?” I looked at him with pleading eyes. He finally, reluctantly, agreed. Jenna’s clothes were rags, her body covered in bruises. My heart broke for her. I held her, my eyes welling with tears. “It’s okay, Jenna. From now on, this is your home. You’re going to be happy here.” And she was. She happily took over my entire life. After moving in, Jenna was too timid to go out. She spent her days in the kitchen, cooking up elaborate meals. Zane wouldn’t touch them at first, but eventually, he started offering a compliment or two. Then, on a whim, they had a cook-off. When he lost, he bought her a gift as an apology. Soon, he was asking her to cook special meals and bring them to his office. I was genuinely happy for her, thinking she was finally coming out of her shell. Until the day he bought her the entire new collection of dresses I had been dreaming about for months. He didn’t save a single one for me. I was a little upset; after all, I’d been talking about them for so long. “She hasn’t had any new clothes since she got here,” he said. “Don’t be petty about these things. Besides, there are other dresses. Don’t be so childish.” I looked at Jenna’s meek, apologetic expression and felt a pang of guilt. Maybe I was being small-minded. I started encouraging Zane to take her to parties, helping her pick out clothes. She began to shed her timidity, clinging to Zane and asking if she looked pretty, begging him for silly little gifts. I shared my deepest secrets with her. I told her I was going to marry Zane, that he was the best man in the world. She would smile and say how wonderful that was. She said she wanted to be my best friend forever. She said she hoped I would be happy for the rest of my life. She joked that at our wedding, she’d be my maid of honor for life and demand her own table at the reception. We even huddled under the covers one night, picking out names for my future children. I laughed and promised her anything, my mind already racing with ways to find her a wonderful husband of her own. Until that night. I heard noises from Zane’s room, the distinct sound of a woman’s voice. “Wow, you’re really energetic tonight.” “Well, you were the one saying I was getting old the other day. Tired now? Get some sleep.” I pushed the door open and froze. Clothes were scattered across the floor. Jenna was lying in his arms. The telltale marks of passion were all over them. “What are you doing?” My hand, gripping the doorknob, started to tremble. No one spoke. Zane carefully helped Jenna into one of his own dress shirts. The sight seared itself into my brain. I lunged at Jenna, my hand raised to strike. “Jenna! You were my best friend!” Before the slap could land, Zane kicked me. I fell to the floor as he wrapped Jenna tightly in the duvet, his eyes guarded and cold. “Clara, if you’re done with your tantrum, close the door on your way out. Jenna’s sensitive. If you scare her, she’ll be up crying all night.” He didn’t even grant me a single glance of remorse. I scrambled up, insane with grief, and tried to pull Jenna away from him, scratching at him wildly. “Why! Why would you do this to me! What about me?” He pinned both my wrists above my head with one hand, his voice laced with impatience. “I never said I wasn’t going to marry you. What are you so angry about? A man in my position can’t have just one woman. Besides, she’s your friend. You two should get along.” Jenna crawled toward me, sobbing. “Clara, I was just so jealous of you. I love Zane so much too. I’ll be the other woman, I don’t need a title. I’ll serve you both. Just please don’t send me away. Zane is just so gentle in bed… I couldn’t bear to leave him.” I yanked my hands free, a chill spreading through me. The other woman? Serve me? I destroyed everything in the house. Smashed it all to pieces. Zane just watched, a cold expression on his face, as if observing a lunatic. I replaced all the files in his work email with their private photos and blasted them across the internet. I invited my friends out constantly, telling them every sordid detail of his affair. Eventually, they stopped coming. Then, they turned on me. “Disgusting!” “You’re sick!” “It was bad enough that she was hoarding Zane’s old clothes, but now she’s digging his used condoms out of the trash? What, trying to get pregnant? I never knew you were so shameless.” My own friends took turns slapping me across the face. Then came a text from Zane. Sweetheart, you shouldn’t have provoked her. I returned to the house, hollowed out. My art studio had been converted into Jenna’s walk-in closet. Zane stroked my hair. “If you don’t behave, I can’t guarantee what will happen next. Jenna is fragile. She can’t stand to hear a bad word said about her.” So I had to be the one in the wrong. He had always known I kept one of his shirts. Back then, he’d told me I could have boxes of them if I wanted. Now, to protect Jenna’s reputation, he was willing to slander me, to make me out to be some desperate, pathetic creature. I dropped my shoulders in defeat, closing my eyes. I deliberately kept my distance from him. I poured everything I had left into a design competition. The next day, Jenna submitted the exact same designs. The organizers were in a difficult position. “Given the circumstances, perhaps we should reschedule…” “That won’t be necessary.” Zane strode onto the stage, his eyes landing on me like a physical blow. “I can testify that Clara was the one who plagiarized.” The room erupted. “I can’t believe she’s that kind of person!” “Figures. No morals, no talent. Just a useless leech.” “Mr. Sterling is a saint for keeping her around.” I looked up at Zane. He leaned in close, his voice a venomous whisper. “Sweetheart, ignoring me has consequences.” So, it was him again. I stumbled backward. “Give Jenna justice!” someone shouted from the crowd. People surged forward, grabbing at me. Someone threw a liquid. It splashed across my neck and down my right arm. A searing, unbearable pain shot through me. “Clara!” Through a haze of agony, I saw him rush to my side, holding me as if I were the most precious thing in the world. I woke up in a hospital. Alone. A bowl of cold congee sat on the nightstand. Online, the story of their epic love was going viral. Jenna wanted to study design, so he called in a once-in-a-lifetime favor to get her an apprenticeship with a modern master. Even when she was rude, even when she publicly insulted her mentor, even when she treated everyone like a fool, Zane protected her fiercely. He made a public statement. “Jenna is the woman I love. Please don’t hold her actions against her. She’s had a difficult past. I hope you can all be kind to her.” Of course. It was that easy for her. I had begged him for years for a similar introduction. He had told me I had to rely on myself, that no one would teach me if I didn’t have the talent. He wouldn’t even arrange a dinner meeting for me. Now, to legitimize the woman he loved, he forced Jenna’s family to formally acknowledge her, turning her into a proper heiress overnight. He never came to see me. Our only interaction was when his assistant came to force me to sketch designs for Jenna’s competition portfolio. When I refused, they stopped my medication. The pain from the burns was unbearable. In that small hospital room, I drew day and night, redoing sketches over and over based on Jenna’s one-word critiques until my hand cramped so badly I could no longer hold a pen. I was in agony, half-dead in that hospital bed. I finally gathered the strength to call him. I could hear them in the background. Jenna’s laughter. They were eating, sleeping, watching movies. He was so in love with her. Her design, my design, won the competition. They thanked each other publicly, flaunting their love online. It had nothing to do with me. The day I was discharged, he came to pick me up. The burns had left a hideous patchwork of scars from my neck down my arm. He helped me into the car as if nothing had happened. He asked if I was done with my tantrum. His tone was light, as if he were asking what I wanted for dinner. When I didn’t speak, he gently kissed my hand. “Jenna had it rough for so many years. I just want her to be happy. You said she was pitiable too, didn’t you? I raised you, Clara. Be the bigger person and let her have this, okay?” I closed my eyes, my chest constricting with a pain that had nothing to do with my burns. I couldn’t hear a word he was saying. He held me close, humming an old lullaby from my childhood. “But Zane,” I whispered, “I have nothing left. And I didn’t do anything wrong.” He froze for a second, his brow furrowed. “But you’re still living at the estate. What more could you want?” I couldn’t control it anymore. I slapped him, hard. “Zane! You know how hard I worked! You destroyed my career! My reputation! My future! All of it, just like that.” And my love. He sighed, a flicker of irritation in his eyes. “That’s all superficial nonsense. Why do you care so much about that? That’s not what life is about.” I burst out laughing, a hysterical, body-wracking sound. Not what life is about? Then why did he fight so hard to give Jenna a title? Why did he get her a master mentor and a prestigious award? When it came to me, it was ambition, greed. But in just a few short months, I was utterly exhausted. Zane wiped the tears from my face. “Okay, calm down. If you really want those things, I’ll make it up to you later.” He dropped me off, called Jenna to let her know he was on his way to the office, and then kissed my lips. He didn’t come home that night, or the next. One evening, I was curled up with my cat on the porch swing, watching the sunset. He appeared, looking weary from a long trip. He was holding a ring box. He knelt before me and asked if I would still marry him. It was the ring we had designed together last year. We had been too busy to pick it up. Now, it was right in front of me. I looked down at my scarred, slightly misshapen fingers. I didn’t speak. I just nodded slowly. His face lit up as he slid the ring on. It was too big now. It slipped off and rolled somewhere into the darkness. But he didn’t care. He cupped my face in his hands. “My sweet, good girl.” He wrapped his arms around my waist. “Sweetheart… Jenna has a business associate… I need you to entertain him tonight.” “What did you just say?” I thought I had misheard. Zane rubbed his temples wearily. “She just went back to her old company and wants a promotion, but she won’t let me help. Her boss has a thing for beautiful women. She’s too timid to go herself… she cried in my arms all night about it. You’re not doing anything right now. Just go help her out.” For the first time, the man in front of me seemed utterly disgusting. I pushed him away and tried to run. He grabbed me. “You won’t go? Then the cat in your arms…” He was threatening me. With the cat he had bought for me. Seeing me freeze, he smiled. I stood there like a doll while he dressed me in a beautiful gown and did my makeup. He led me by the hand and delivered me to that door. He said when I came out, he’d be there to pick me up. To take me home to get married.

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My wife killed our daughter. It was because Lily, our daughter, accidentally scratched my wife’s first love during dance class. For that, my wife, Mina, dragged Lily into the dance studio and forced her through the same routine, again and again, until our daughter’s hip fractured and she collapsed on the floor, silent. But Mina felt no remorse. Instead, she accused me of spoiling Lily and, to punish me, froze all my credit cards. When the hospital needed money for Lily’s emergency surgery, I knelt on the floor and begged Mina over the phone. “She only scratched Ethan because she was in so much pain! I’ll get on my knees and beg for her forgiveness, I’ll do anything! Please, just give me the money. If we wait any longer, Lily will die.” But my wife was annoyed. I had interrupted her and her precious Ethan while they were discussing what new positions to try the next time they went to a hotel. “Leo, are you even fit to be a father?” she sneered. “Lily was perfectly fine when I was stretching her legs just now, and you have the nerve to tell me she’s critically ill?” Then she hung up. All I could do was watch in despair as my daughter’s body grew colder and colder in my arms. After the doctors wheeled Lily into the operating room, I called my father-in-law overseas. “Dad,” I said, my voice hollow. “Let’s call off our agreement. I never fell in love with Mina. I’m going to find Amy.” 1 My father-in-law was stunned. “Leo, what are you talking about? Didn’t we have an agreement? After Amy fell into a coma, you were to marry her sister, Mina, to keep our family together. Things have been fine for years, haven’t they? Why are you talking about leaving now?” A bitter laugh escaped my lips as I told him everything. He was silent for a moment, then exploded with rage. “She’s gone too far! Who gave her the right to do such a thing? Leo, don’t worry. Lily will be alright.” But at that exact moment, the doors to the operating room burst open. A surgeon in white scrubs yelled, his voice frantic. “Where’s the family? We need the family! The patient’s life is in danger! We’re moving her to the ICU to monitor her vital signs. Go pay the fees, now!” I didn’t dare hesitate. As I rushed to the front desk, I could hear my father-in-law’s anxious voice on the phone. “Leo, we’ll be back in three days! You have to keep us updated on Lily’s condition!” But when I got to the payment counter, I discovered the truth. My cards had been frozen. I frantically called my wife, but the line was busy. When she finally picked up, her voice was a furious torrent. “Leo, what is your problem with Ethan? I’ve told you a hundred times, we’re just dance partners! Nothing more! We’re about to go on stage for the competition, why do you keep calling?” For Lily’s sake, I swallowed my anger and explained. “It doesn’t matter. Just unblock the card, right now.” After we married, I had given her control of all my finances. She was utterly impatient. “Are you even a father, Leo? You’d stoop so low as to use your own daughter as an excuse just to stop me from dancing with Ethan? Wasn’t she perfectly fine when I was helping her with her stretches? You’ve spoiled her so much she can’t handle a bit of pain. I was just toughening her up!” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Mina! It’s because you broke her hip! She wasn’t quiet because the pain stopped. She was quiet because she couldn’t feel her legs anymore!” I wanted to say more, but she had already hung up. A nurse rushed over, her face grim. “What are you waiting for? Your daughter is dying! If you don’t pay, how are we supposed to save her?” I had no choice. I scrambled to get a loan online, called friends, begged for money. But by the time I had scraped it all together, it was too late. A doctor emerged from the ICU, his head bowed, and delivered the devastating news. Lily had bled out internally. She was gone. The world spun, and I collapsed against the wall, hollowed out by a grief too deep for tears. I held no shred of affection for Mina anymore. I booked a ticket on a ship leaving in seven days. Once Lily’s funeral was over, I would leave this place of sorrow for good. 2 After arranging everything for Lily, I sat exhausted in the cold, sterile morgue. My phone buzzed. It was a new post from my wife on social media. The photo showed her and Ethan, wrapped in a tight embrace, holding a trophy high as a crowd applauded. The caption read: “A lifetime of art, a lifetime of love.” How tragic. Her own daughter was dying in an ICU, her body now lying cold in a morgue, and all she could think about was dancing with her first love. My father-in-law called. “Leo… how is Lily?” My eyes, empty and dull, stared at the small, shrouded form on the steel table. “She’s dead,” I said, my voice flat. I heard a violent fit of coughing on the other end of the line. “How could… I’ll call Mina right now. Leo, don’t panic. She must have just lost her head for a moment. I’ll talk to her, I’ll bring her to her senses.” Talk to her. Always talking. Years ago, when my fiancée, Mina’s older sister Amy, suddenly fell into a vegetative state right before our wedding, he had talked me into marrying Mina instead. He begged me not to break the family ties. He’d even threatened to keep me from visiting Amy if I didn’t agree. So I agreed. But a few years into our marriage, Mina started cheating on me with her first love, Ethan. And my in-laws talked me into staying, for Lily’s sake. So I endured it, our marriage a hollow shell. But now Lily was dead. And they still wanted to talk? I suppressed a wave of fury and refused coldly. “We’re past that point. There’s nothing left to say. Dad, I’m divorcing her.” I left the hospital and went home to find a proper dress for Lily to be buried in. To my surprise, the front door was ajar. Through the dim light of the living room, I saw two intertwined shadows moving on the bedroom wall. “Mina, that loser Leo still doesn’t know you’re pregnant with my child. What’s your plan?” “You saw how he always has Lily setting herself against me. I might be willing to be the other woman, but I won’t let my child be bullied!” Then came Mina’s icy voice. “Don’t worry, Ethan, my love. You’re the only one I’ve ever loved. Leo is just a con artist. If he hadn’t lied to my dad back then, pretending he paid for his medical bills, we would never have been forced apart. You were the one who paid for it! From now on, our child will be my only real child. Lily was never the daughter I wanted.” Hearing her words felt like a thousand knives twisting in my heart. As I was carrying Lily to the ambulance, her face was as white as a sheet, but her small hand clutched my sleeve, and she was trying to comfort me. “Daddy, don’t worry. It doesn’t hurt anymore. Mommy was so happy with my progress today. As long as I dance well, Mommy and Daddy won’t fight anymore.” Tears streamed down my face. My poor, sweet girl. She never knew. Even in death, she never knew. She hadn’t progressed. She had been broken. And in the end, she was killed by the mother she adored. I couldn’t take it anymore. I kicked the bedroom door open. “Mina! You have a heart of stone! You killed Lily, and you have the nerve to be in here with him?” They weren’t surprised by my sudden entrance. Mina just looked at me with disgust. “Leo, I have told you countless times, Ethan and I are dance partners! What we do in bed is for our art! I always help him with his… physical needs before a performance. Why must you always be so small-minded and jealous of our connection?” 3 I wanted to laugh, but before I could speak, Ethan put on a pitiful expression. “Mina, that child Lily was never one for hardship. Leo just spoiled her too much, that’s why he’s always had it out for me. Fine, I’ll just leave.” Mina flew into a rage. “Leo, look what you’ve done! Apologize to Ethan, right now! You and your daughter will never understand the sacrifices he makes.” His sacrifices? For the first two years of our marriage, Mina and I were happy. Then her first love, Ethan, reappeared. Mina became a different person, out at all hours, neglecting everything to dance with him. She even forced Lily, who hated dancing, to be coached by him. I told her again and again that Lily didn’t want to dance, that Ethan was hurting her. Lily would come home covered in bruises. But Mina ignored it all, claiming it was just strict training for Lily’s own good, and scolding me for being too soft. She pushed Lily every single day. “What are you standing there for? Apologize! And where’s Lily? Did you hide her again so she could slack off?” I trembled with rage, pointing a finger at Mina’s face. “Lily. Is. Dead,” I said, each word a block of ice. “She’s dead! You killed her!” Mina was still dismissive, her voice dripping with contempt. “Leo, I can understand you having a problem with Ethan. But my patience has its limits. Apologize to him right now, or we’re getting a divorce.” My rage turned into manic laughter. “Hah! Fine! A divorce! I’ve wanted a divorce for a long time!” Mina stumbled back, a look of disbelief on her face. After all, in the past, even when she brought Ethan home for dinner and I had to sleep on the sofa while he slept in my bed, I never said a word. My sudden resolution shocked her. Ethan got up and dressed, stepping in front of Mina to shield her. “Leo, who do you think you’re yelling at? Mina is your wife, the woman who has stood by you. What kind of man are you?” Looking at his smug face, remembering all the suffering Lily endured, a red-hot fury exploded in my brain. I lost all reason. I lunged forward, aiming a kick at him. But he dodged with a dancer’s grace, pretending to fall. As he went down, he kicked out at my supporting leg, sending me crashing to the floor. A sharp, piercing pain shot through the back of my head as if something sharp had been driven into it. A loud ringing filled my ears. Through the haze, I could only hear Mina’s frantic cries. “Ethan! Ethan, are you okay?” She turned on me, her rage absolute, kicking and punching me. “Leo, how dare you hit Ethan! How dare you!” I was powerless to resist, my mind a swirling vortex of pain and confusion. I passed out before the ambulance arrived. When I woke up, I was staring at the clean white ceiling of a hospital room. A nurse was by my side, changing a dressing on my head. Mina was nowhere in sight. The nurse saw I was awake and spoke urgently. “Don’t move! What were you thinking? There was a needle stuck in the back of your head, and you didn’t even call for help! If your neighbor hadn’t found you, you’d be dead.” The words sent a chill through me. The ambulance Mina had called wasn’t for me. It was for Ethan. He had faked his fall and didn’t have a scratch on him, yet she had been frantic with worry. Meanwhile, I was nearly dead from a needle in my skull, and she hadn’t given me a second thought. I closed my eyes, my heart turning to ash. Just then, the door flew open and Mina stormed in, her eyes glaring at me with pure hatred. “Leo, you broke Ethan’s nose. You will atone for it by giving him one of your ribs.” 4 Mina waved her hand, and a group of doctors rushed in. I fought with all my strength, but they overpowered me and forced me into an operating room. They cracked me open, without anesthesia, and ripped out a piece of my rib. The pain was so intense I passed out. When I woke up, I was gripping the bedsheets so hard my knuckles were white, my eyes fixed on Mina with pure, undiluted hatred. Ethan couldn’t have had a broken nose. It was all a lie. “Mina,” I rasped, “remember this feeling. This is how much pain Lily was in before she died. And just like me, she was wrongly accused by you until the very end.” Mina’s anger only grew. “Leo, you keep cursing Lily, wishing her dead. What is wrong with you? Did you really think you could hide her from me, stop her from dancing? I already sent Ethan to the house to find her. Your coddling is useless!” What? I couldn’t believe it. Ignoring the searing pain in my side, I scrambled out of bed and rushed home. I would not let that vile dog touch a single thing that belonged to my precious daughter. That man was a monster. The real reason my father-in-law had pushed me to marry Mina was to protect her sister. Years ago, a sex scandal between Ethan, who was her dance teacher, and her sister Amy had caused Amy to have a car accident in a moment of distraction. She had woken up with no memory of anyone or anything. I had stayed by her side, posing as her fiancé, to help her get through her art school exams. But who could have guessed that Mina would rekindle her old flame with Ethan? When I stumbled into the house, I found Ethan holding a pair of my daughter’s underwear to his face, inhaling deeply. “Ah, delicious! I think next time, I’ll get to touch the little beauty’s chest. I bet she’s developing beautifully.” Lily was dead, and he still dared to desecrate her memory. A firestorm of rage erupted in my chest. I grabbed a chair and smashed it over his head. He crumpled to the floor, his face contorting with fury. He was about to retaliate, but then his expression suddenly changed. He looked at me with feigned terror. “Mina, help me! He’s hitting me just because I was tidying up Lily’s clothes! He said I was dirty!” I whipped my head around in surprise. Mina had followed me. She was staring at me, her eyes burning with rage. “Leo, apologize! Apologize to Ethan!” I choked back my fury. “Mina, he’s a pervert! Didn’t you see what he was just doing with Lily’s clothes?” She completely lost it, slapping me hard across the face. “Shut up, Leo! You’re the pervert!” I was still weak from my injury. The blow sent me to the floor, and a tearing pain ripped through my chest. Mina didn’t even glance at me. She rushed to help Ethan up. “Leo, we’re getting a divorce! And you will give Lily back to me right now. I think Ethan is right. The way you dote on her… I suspect you’re the real sicko here.” A tragic smile spread across my face. “I’ve already told you three times. Lily is dead. Killed by the mother she loved more than anyone.” She still didn’t believe me. She shrieked, “Leo, do you really think my patience is infinite? Say that again, and I’ll make sure you never see Lily for the rest of your life!” Just then, a voice, tight with suppressed rage, boomed from the doorway. “Mina! Look at what you’ve done! How could you get mixed up with this scum again? Have you really forgotten what happened all those years ago?” Mina was stunned to see her father. Then her glare shot back to me. “Leo, you’ve gone too far. My father’s illness can only be treated overseas. Ethan spent a fortune to send him there, and you dragged him back! Do you have no conscience?” “Enough!” It was her father who answered, his eyes cold. “Mina, you disappoint me more than you can imagine. Who told you it was Ethan who paid for my treatment?” Ethan shrank back, suddenly silent. Mina, annoyed by his cowardice, still stood her ground. “Dad, I know Leo has tricked you. You don’t know what he’s like. He has unnatural feelings for his own daughter, Lily. He spoils her rotten…” SLAP! Her father, trembling with rage, struck her across the face. Then, his face etched with sorrow, he thrust a piece of paper in front of her. Lily’s death certificate. “Read this. Read it carefully. Lily is dead! Dead! Killed by the mother she adored. Are you satisfied now?” Mina’s pupils shrank. Utter disbelief.

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1 At the company dinner, everyone got to order a dish. When it was my turn, the new intern, Sienna, snatched the menu from my hand. “We have enough food. No more ordering.” I ignored her and turned to the waiter. “I’d like an order of the sweet ricotta fritters.” Sienna slammed the menu onto my face, her eyes blazing with fury. “I said no more ordering. Who do you think you are?” The hard edge of the menu left a stinging red line across my cheek. A fire ignited in my chest, mirroring the pain on my face. I snatched the menu and threw it right back at her. She shrieked. “Do you have any idea who I am? My father is Brett Croft, the CEO of our biggest client! Even our own boss has to treat me with respect. How dare you lay a hand on me? Believe it or not, I can have your Sales Champion title revoked and get you blacklisted from the entire industry!” I stared at her, my face a perfect meme of utter confusion. My own uncle, Brett Croft, a confirmed bachelor for forty years… since when did he have a daughter this old? Seeing my stunned silence, Sienna grew even more arrogant. “What, scared now? A gold digger like you who sleeps her way to the top… we’re lucky the air isn’t polluted just by you being here. And you think you have the right to order food?” Sleeps her way to the top? I worked my fingers to the bone, pulling all-nighters to perfect my proposals. I spent eight hours a day eating dust on construction sites, getting so tanned my own mother barely recognized me. And she had the audacity to say I got by on my looks? I pushed my chair back and stood up to face her. “Watch your mouth, Sienna. I earn my results through hard work. My abilities are plain for everyone to see. You have no right to judge me. And this is a company dinner, not your private party. If I don’t have the right to order, then you have even less. No wonder I smelled something foul when I walked in. It was the garbage spewing from your mouth!” A ripple of stifled laughter went through the room. My colleagues had long been fed up with Sienna’s arrogance. In the month she’d been an intern, she’d treated everyone like her personal servant. When a new hire, Tina, refused to get her coffee, Sienna poured the entire scalding cup over Tina’s head, leaving a blister on her scalp. Not only did she refuse to apologize, but she also threatened her. “You dare ask me for an apology? I’ll have you fired!” In the end, the company had to cover Tina’s medical bills. I had wanted to intervene back then, but my colleagues held me back. I couldn’t understand why they were all so afraid to speak up. Now I knew. They were all intimidated by her self-proclaimed title: “Brett Croft’s daughter.” Sienna’s face was crimson with rage. She pointed a trembling finger at me. “Nina! Don’t get cocky. Without my dad’s support, this company would go bankrupt. I’m telling you, I’m in charge at this dinner. If I say you can’t order, you can’t!” She spat, “Who the hell do you think you are? You order one more thing, and I’ll make sure you’re gone by tomorrow!” The waiter looked at me, caught in the middle. “Ma’am, will you still be ordering?” “Yes,” I said without a moment’s hesitation. I refused to back down. I had generated tens of millions in revenue for this company with a single project. I wasn’t even allowed to order one dessert? 2 “What’s all the commotion?” The CEO, Mr. White, pushed the door open, his face a thundercloud. “This is a company dinner, not a wrestling match. What’s going on?” Sienna, seizing the opportunity, put on a pitiful expression and twisted the entire story. Before I could even get a word in, Mr. White’s cold gaze landed on me. “Nina, you’ve been with us for a year. Don’t you know that frugality is a core company value? Sienna was just being considerate of the company’s expenses. Will you starve if you miss one dish? And hitting someone is completely out of line. You will apologize to Sienna immediately and pay her ten thousand dollars for emotional distress. Then we’ll consider this matter closed.” I almost laughed out loud. I looked him straight in the eye. “Mr. White, are you sure you want me to apologize and pay her?” His expression darkened. Tina tugged at my sleeve, whispering, “Nina, don’t be stubborn. Sienna is Brett Croft’s daughter. You can’t afford to cross her. Mr. White is counting on her to close the deal with Apex.” I couldn’t help but scoff. “She says Brett Croft is her father, and you all just believe her? Did she bring her birth certificate to the interview?” Tina pulled out her phone and showed me Sienna’s social media profile. “It’s true. Mr. Croft himself dropped her off on her first day.” I looked at the photo and my jaw nearly hit the floor. There was my handsome, well-dressed uncle, standing in front of a luxury car. And next to him, unbelievably, was Sienna. Sienna had even added a caption: Thanks, Dad, for taking time out of your busy schedule to drop me off for my internship. I won’t let you down. I immediately tried to call my uncle, but the line went straight to a robotic “the user’s phone is switched off” message. Seeing my refusal to apologize, Sienna shot me a malevolent glare. “You’ll regret this, Nina. I’ll make you pay.” The next day, I found out what she meant by “pay.” At the awards ceremony, the Sales Champion title and the five-hundred-thousand-dollar bonus that should have been mine were awarded to Sienna. They hadn’t even had time to change my name on the award speech slide in the presentation. This was blatant robbery. A fire surged in my chest. I immediately stood up and demanded an explanation. “What is the criterion for the Sales Champion award? My project sales this month exceeded one billion, generating over ten million in revenue for the company. I’m five million ahead of the runner-up. Sienna hasn’t closed a single deal. I would like to ask the management, on what grounds are you giving my award to her?” The conference hall fell silent. The heads of finance and sales exchanged nervous glances, neither daring to speak. Sienna looked at me with an arrogant smirk. “Obviously, it’s because your projects were secured through… dishonorable means. The company cannot condone such vile behavior. For now, we’ve only revoked your title. If you continue to damage the company’s reputation with your sordid tactics, you’ll be fired.” I was shaking with anger. My eyes swept across the faces of the management on the stage. The same people who used to praise my skills and call me a rising star were now avoiding my gaze, staring at their shoes like cowards. I turned to the highest authority, Mr. White. “Mr. White, is this your decision as well?” Being called out in public clearly irritated him. He frowned. “Nina, the company has its reasons. Don’t disrupt the awards ceremony over such a small matter. You need to see the bigger picture.” “The bigger picture?” My eyes reddened, my voice trembling. “Is the bigger picture that I work year-round, working overtime late into the night, breaking my back to land projects, only to have them handed over to someone else?” That you’ll erase all my hard work based on a baseless rumor and do nothing? Where is the fairness in that? Where is the justice? Don’t you feel any guilt treating a dedicated employee this way?” Mr. White was speechless. Sienna, however, showed no shame. She lifted her chin, a sneer on her face. “Fairness? Don’t be so naive, Nina. In this world, fairness belongs to those with power. You want justice? Go find a rich daddy to get it for you. Too bad you don’t have one.” She made no effort to hide her contempt. “But I do. My identity as the daughter of Brett Croft, CEO of the Apex Group, is enough to crush you for the rest of your life.” I stared at her, wondering where she got her confidence. I even started to question if my uncle had secretly fathered an illegitimate child. Suddenly, I spoke. “I heard Mr. Croft has a niece whom he adores as if she were his own. I wonder, Miss Sales Champion, have you ever met her?” Sienna’s expression froze for a second, then she shot me a dismissive glance. “That’s my cousin. Of course, I’ve met her. But she’s always been abroad and rarely comes back. Even I hardly see her. A low-life commoner like you could never even dream of meeting her.” I snorted. “Is that so? You’re not a low-life, yet you’re stealing someone else’s award and bonus? Could it be that you’re a fake?” “You!” Sienna’s face turned ashen. She glared at me. “Nina, don’t push it! Your title was revoked because you’re unworthy. I, on the other hand, earned it through my own merit!” “Merit?” I took a step forward, my eyes boring into hers. “You mean the merit of slacking off and playing games all day at work, taking two-hour lunch breaks, and leaving at five on the dot? Or the merit of staring at a computer all day and only managing to type the word ‘proposal’ into a PowerPoint slide?” My words were slow and deliberate, each one a sharp jab at her pride. Her mouth hung open, but no words came out. She looked to Mr. White for help. His face flashed with disappointment before he turned to me, his voice stern. “Nina! Watch your tone! This is a company, not a marketplace. You will not make a scene!” 3 “Don’t think that just because you’ve landed a few projects you can do whatever you want. It’s survival of the fittest. You need to accept that you’ve been replaced by someone better. Stop being unreasonable!” All eyes were on me, waiting to see me make a fool of myself, to watch me burn my bridges with the company over a five-hundred-thousand-dollar bonus. Five hundred thousand? I wouldn’t bat an eye at five million. What I wanted was fairness. I wasn’t angry. I didn’t argue. I just smiled, a bitter, ironic smile. “Alright. I accept. The Sales Champion title should, indeed, go to someone more deserving.” As soon as I got back to my desk, HR sent out two announcements. Employee Nina has been found to be misusing company funds for lavish personal expenses, a serious violation of company policy. Therefore, Nina is hereby stripped of her position as Sales Manager and suspended pending investigation. Intern Sienna has demonstrated great courage in protecting the company’s interests and has shown outstanding performance during her internship, generating significant revenue. She is hereby promoted to a full-time position, assuming the role of Sales Manager and taking over all of Nina’s ongoing projects. Immediately after, Mr. White tagged me in the company group chat. Nina, your extravagance and disregard for company policy are unacceptable. Your bonus for this month is docked. You are to write a ten-thousand-word self-criticism and post it in this group for all other employees to learn from. This was beyond humiliating. They stripped me of my title, docked my pay, made an example of me, and sacrificed me on the altar of their own authority. The group chat fell silent. The entire office was plunged into a dead quiet. All eyes were on me, some filled with pity, some with regret, some with indignation, and some with undisguised glee. The message just sat there, everyone waiting for me to post my humiliating apology. Mr. White tagged me again: Didn’t you see this? I still didn’t reply. He started tagging me repeatedly, like a madman. Tina sent me a private message: Nina, don’t be stubborn. Just give in. Your job is what’s important. I smiled at her, and the smile brought tears to my eyes. My stiff fingers tapped on my phone, my hands trembling as I replied: Message received, sir. I will remember this lesson and will never again be so extravagant as to order a forty-dollar dish. At the next company dinner, I will only drink water. My seemingly apologetic message was like a drop of water in a sizzling pan of oil. On the surface, it was calm, but underneath, it was a clear declaration of an employee’s utter disappointment in their company. I logged out of all my company accounts and began my “suspension” in earnest. Mr. White, citing that I was no longer in a managerial role, moved me to a desk right next to the restrooms. I was forced to endure the pitying and contemptuous glances of my colleagues as they came and went. Sienna sat smugly at my old desk, ordering the department around. But my seat wasn’t so easy to fill. I had personally handled every single one of my projects, from design to execution. I knew every detail. Sienna knew nothing. Within a few days, a dozen clients had complained, demanding that I be put back on their projects or they would cancel their contracts. The company was facing massive penalty fees. Mr. White finally couldn’t take it anymore. He condescended to come to my new desk. “Nina, you were handling these projects. There are some technical issues now. Go and coordinate with the clients. We need to make sure they are satisfied.” I looked up, my expression blank. “Mr. White, I think you have the wrong person. I’m suspended.” He paused, his tone stiff. “You still have to work while you’re suspended. It’s company policy. You’re responsible for your projects from start to finish.” I shrugged. “But I’ve already logged out of all my accounts. I can’t access anything.” His face froze, his eyes filled with rage. “Suspension isn’t termination! Why did you log out? Reapply for access immediately.” I looked at him calmly. “You were the one who said I was no longer in a position of authority. I was just following your orders.” Mr. White was losing face, but he gritted his teeth and tried again. “Alright. You’re reinstated. Now get in touch with the clients and stop them from canceling.” I smiled. “Mr. White, shouldn’t you be asking your ‘more deserving’ Sales Champion to handle this? A gold digger like me who gets by on her looks doesn’t have that kind of ability.” His face turned a deep shade of purple as he struggled to control his anger. “Nina, that was just a joke between colleagues. Are you really taking it seriously?” My smile remained, but it was laced with ice. “Was it also a joke when my title was revoked and I lost a five-hundred-thousand-dollar bonus? Was it a joke when a forty-dollar dish was deemed an act of ‘lavish personal expense’?” Each word was a slap in the face. His face went from red to white to a sickly shade of purple. He was silent. I knew he was wrestling with himself. Admitting he was wrong was not something a big boss like him did. Just then, Sienna ran over, her face beaming. “Mr. White, Apex has agreed to invest!” A triumphant smile spread across Mr. White’s face. “Excellent! Sienna, you’re the company’s lucky star! With Apex backing us, those clients will be begging to work with us.” He turned and shot me a venomous glare. “Nina, you’re fired. Go and pack your things now.” I nodded calmly. “Fine. I demand compensation as stipulated by my contract.” He roared, his face contorted with rage. “Compensation? You’ve caused the company huge losses! You’ll be lucky if we don’t sue you!” Sienna looked at me with pure malice. “Nina, I’ll have you blacklisted from the entire industry.” I just smiled faintly. “I’ll be waiting.”

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My parents’ marriage was never about love. It was a merger. So after they designated me—a boy with no blood ties to either of their families, but who had received the finest education money could buy—as their sole heir, they went their separate ways to sow their wild oats. But the latest “true heir” to show up on our doorstep didn’t know any of this. He just slapped a DNA test on the table in front of me, his chin held high. “You’ve been living my life for eighteen years. Don’t you think it’s time to give it back?” “Get a clue and get out,” he sneered. “And don’t think for a second I’m one of those useless characters from those real-vs-fake heir novels.” “I got my acceptance letter from MIT this year.” The live comment feed scrolling across my vision lit up in agreement. 【The real heir is finally back! I love this ruthless persona.】 【I can’t stand those guys who just play the victim, all crocodile tears and fake stumbles down the stairs.】 I gave a cold smile. He was the eighth one last month. Eleven the month before that. When would it ever end? — 1 After Leo slammed the paternity test down in front of me, he tilted his chin up, his voice dripping with arrogance. “You’ve been living my life for eighteen years. Now, it’s time to give it back, don’t you think?” Before I could even respond, the familiar, semi-transparent comment stream in front of my eyes began to flood with new messages. 【The real heir is back! Hell yes!】 【This is what I’m talking about, straight to the action! None of that boring setup!】 Leo was clearly pleased with his opening gambit. He cleared his throat, continuing with a script he’d likely lifted from some trashy web novel: “Get a clue and get out on your own, before I’m forced to make you.” Then, he added a little flourish of his own. “And don’t think I’m like those useless heirs from the stories. I got my acceptance letter from MIT this year.” The comments exploded. 【Whoa, a genius character? I’m sold!】 【The fake heir doesn’t stand a chance now.】 【Place your bets, how long until the fake heir ‘accidentally’ falls down the stairs? Hurry up with the classic scenes!】 I adjusted my glasses, my expression unreadable. After all, he was the sixth self-proclaimed “true heir” to show up with a DNA test this month. Last month, there were eight of them. The month before that, eleven. I almost had enough to form two soccer teams. Our butler, Peterson, stood behind me, not even bothering to lift an eyelid. A few of the maids, who were polishing antique vases nearby, exchanged subtle glances, the corners of their mouths twitching with suppressed laughter. The silence in the room stretched, thick with awkwardness. I broke it, my voice flat. “Are you finished?” Leo clearly hadn’t expected this reaction. He stiffened his neck, retorting, “What’s that supposed to mean? You don’t believe me?” “I believe you,” I said with a nod. I took the crumpled report from his hand and passed it to Peterson without a second glance. “If he shares my father’s blood, then he belongs in the Hebert family.” “Peterson, please show our… new young master to a guest room. What about the south-facing suite on the third floor? The view is quite nice.” Peterson bowed slightly. “Of course, Mr. Adrian.” The entire exchange was smooth, polite, and perfectly executed. Leo was completely stunned. The comment stream went quiet for a few seconds, then a few confused messages trickled through. 【??? This isn’t in the script?】 【Why isn’t the fake heir playing by the rules? Shouldn’t he be on his knees, begging for mercy?】 【I don’t know… this feels like punching a pillow.】 I looked at Leo’s face, now flushed a deep shade of crimson, and felt a genuine urge to laugh. This act, it seemed, was going to be a little more interesting than the last five. 2 Peterson led Leo up to the third-floor guest suite. I thought I might finally have a moment of peace, at least long enough to finish my tea. The next second, my door was kicked open. Leo stood in the doorway, pointing a finger at me. “This room! I want this one!” 【Here we go! The classic ‘stealing the room’ scene!】 【See? I told you. This is more like it!】 I looked up, meeting his gaze calmly. This was the master suite, the best room in the entire villa. He certainly had an eye for real estate. “Fine,” I said, closing my book and standing up. “But I should warn you, this room gets the full force of the afternoon sun. It can get incredibly hot. And the soundproofing is terrible. When someone’s using the home theater downstairs, it sounds like artillery shells are going off next to your ear.” Leo hadn’t anticipated I would agree so easily. The speech he had prepared died in his throat. He stood there for a moment, stunned, before managing to force out a single, defiant phrase. “I don’t care!” “Alright,” I nodded. “Then make yourself at home.” With that, I picked up my book and headed for the study next door, content to sleep there for the night. Leo was left standing in the middle of the room, the triumphant excitement draining from his face. At dinner, Leo finally got the tearful family reunion he’d been dreaming of. My father, Richard Hebert, and my mother, Eleanor, were both, for once, present at the table. Across the long expanse of polished mahogany, Leo sat opposite me. He spent a good few minutes working up his emotions before his eyes finally reddened. “Dad, Mom…” he began, his voice choked with a carefully crafted vulnerability. “You have no idea… what my life has been like all these years…” He launched into a heart-wrenching tale of his childhood, of never having enough to eat, of being scorned by his adoptive parents, and of his heroic struggle to earn his place at MIT. At the most dramatic moments, he even managed to squeeze out a few tears. The comment stream was moved. 【Oh, poor Leo! He’s been through so much!】 【Mr. and Mrs. Hebert, look at your amazing son!】 But at the head of the table, the two people who mattered most were completely unfazed. My father was wearing a Bluetooth earpiece, deep in a hushed, transatlantic conference call. My mother, Eleanor, was meticulously marking up a thick art auction catalog with a special pen. “This Monet’s Water Lilies,” she murmured to herself, “the estimate is far too conservative…” The grand dining room was filled with the solitary sound of Leo’s sobbing, which echoed awkwardly in the vast space. I was the only one paying him any mind, and only then to calmly cut into my steak and offer a piece of advice. “Your soup is getting cold.” Leo’s crying stopped abruptly. Finally, my father’s call ended. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and looked up at Leo, his brow furrowed in irritation. “You,” he said, pointing a finger at Leo, his voice sharp with impatience. “Are being loud.” My mother also looked up from her catalog, her gaze sweeping over him with a cool detachment. “Peterson, teach the new young master some table manners. We do not speak while eating.” With that, they both set down their silverware, rose from the table, and departed—one to his study, the other to her art gallery. From beginning to end, they never once asked Leo how he had fared all those years. Leo was left with his mouth agape, the tears forgotten in his eyes. 【Wait, what’s with this script?】 【Why aren’t these rich parents coddling him? Where’s the scene where they embrace their long-lost son and weep?】 【Is it just me, or is everyone in this family a little… off? Except for the new guy?】 I dabbed my lips with a napkin and stood up. As I passed by Leo, I paused, looking at his utterly lost expression. I finally offered a quiet parting shot. “Welcome home.” He jerked his head up to look at me, his eyes filled with nothing but confusion. 3 The next afternoon, I got a call from Isabella Thorne. The moment I answered, I was greeted by her unrestrained laughter. “Hey, Adrian. I hear you’ve got a new model in stock. Is this one any fun?” I leaned back on the living room sofa, turning a page in my economics journal, and gave a noncommittal, “Mm.” “MIT kid. He’s got… energy.” “Oh, a real brainiac, is he?” Isabella’s tone grew even more amused. “I have to come see this. Same old address? I’m on my way.” She hung up before I could reply. Half an hour later, Isabella’s flashy red convertible pulled into the driveway. She swept into the living room, a disappointed look on her face when she didn’t immediately spot her target. “Where is he? Are you hiding him?” “Upstairs. Probably still studying how to be a proper long-lost son.” Isabella burst out laughing. “My father mentioned something about it. Said he put on a whole waterworks show at the dinner table and your parents didn’t even blink?” “More or less,” I said, setting my book down. “My father told him he was loud, and my mother told him to learn some table manners.” “Priceless,” Isabella said, slapping her thigh. “What an idiot, can’t even follow the script. Did he really think wealthy parents are all doting simpletons who revolve around their children?” As we were talking, footsteps descended the stairs. Leo had changed his clothes, but his expression was still sour. It seemed the complete dismantling of his worldview last night was still sinking in. “So this is him…” Isabella said, drawing out the words. “Yes. Leo.” Leo strode down the remaining steps and planted himself in front of us, his eyes fixed on Isabella. “You must be Adrian’s girlfriend, right?” 【Here it comes! The classic ‘drive a wedge between them’ move!】 【Go on, girl! Put him in his place!】 Isabella simply raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. Seeing her silence, Leo thought he’d struck a nerve and grew bolder. “I’m telling you, you should leave him while you can. He’s nothing but a fraud, an imposter who’s stolen my place. He doesn’t deserve you. Once my parents kick him out, he’ll be nothing. Stick with me, and the entire Hebert fortune will be ours.” I took a slow sip of my tea. Isabella smiled, a dazzling, cutting expression. “Kid, have you been reading so many of those trashy novels that your brain has turned to mush?” Leo’s face flushed a deep red. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “It means,” Isabella said, rising to her feet and stepping toward him, her height, amplified by her heels, giving her an overwhelming presence, “First, I’m not his girlfriend.” “Second, even if he is a ‘fraud,’ the business models and financial strategies inside his head are worth infinitely more than your little acceptance letter.” “And third, and most importantly,” she said, wagging a perfectly manicured finger at him. “You waltz in here making promises when you don’t even know who’s really in charge of this family? A lightweight like you isn’t even worthy of shining his shoes.” With a disdainful snort, Isabella turned and sat back down beside me. “Now run back upstairs,” she added without looking at him. “You’re an eyesore.” Leo glared at me, his chest heaving, before turning and stomping back up the stairs. Silence returned to the living room. Isabella swirled the coffee in her cup, turning to me with a wry smile. “This is the opponent you’re playing against? It’s almost too easy. A bit boring, don’t you think?” I looked at her, adjusted my glasses, and smiled back. She was right. Leo was just an appetizer. But no matter what other monsters or fools were waiting in the wings, one thing was certain. In this chaotic game that was only just beginning, Isabella Thorne was the one ally I could trust completely. 4 After Isabella’s verbal annihilation, Leo kept a low profile for a few days. He mostly sulked in the master suite he’d claimed, plotting God knows what. I was more than happy for the peace and quiet, and went about my days as usual, reading and managing my portfolio. But the tranquility only lasted for three days. On the fourth day, as I was heading downstairs for a glass of water, I saw Leo pacing back and forth near the top of the main staircase. He would peer down at the steep angle of the steps, then tentatively tap the edge of a stair with the toe of his shoe, muttering to himself. I leaned against the living room wall, water glass in hand, and watched him with a flicker of amusement. 【It’s happening! The classic ‘fall down the stairs’ scene!】 【My guess: the fake heir pushes the real one, the parents see it, and he’s disowned for good!】 【You got the script backwards. Obviously, the real heir is going to frame the fake one!】 【Finally! My heart is pounding, my hands are shaking! Is this it?】 I see. I adjusted my glasses, the picture becoming clear. It seemed Isabella’s words had gone completely over his head. For the next two days, he spent hours rehearsing near the staircase. Even from a distance, I could practically feel his internal struggle: Would the impact be greater if I landed head-first, or would the rolling posture be more convincing? Finally, he chose his auspicious day. That afternoon, my parents were out, leaving just the two of us and a few servants in the vast villa. As I was about to leave my study, I saw him waiting at the top of the stairs, a look of grim determination on his face. When he saw me, his eyes lit up, and he quickly shifted into position. One foot hovered in mid-air, his body leaned forward precariously, poised to tumble down at the slightest touch. I continued walking toward him, my pace steady. The comment stream went into a frenzy. 【Do it! Push him! Prove you’re not a coward!】 【This is it! The big moment! I can’t wait to see him roll!】 As I drew closer, Leo’s expression shifted from nervous to expectant, with a touch of theatrical martyrdom. I was just three steps away when my phone vibrated. I paused and pulled it out. It was a text from Peterson: 【Mr. Adrian, there is a gentleman at the door named Samuel. He claims to be your… brother.】 Another one. I glanced at Leo, still frozen in his absurd, one-legged pose, and gave him a polite nod. Then, I turned on my heel and walked toward the other staircase at the far end of the hall. Leo was completely petrified. He remained in his ridiculous pose, watching in disbelief as I calmly walked away. By the time I reached the grand foyer, Peterson was already escorting a young man inside. He was dressed in a simple white shirt and jeans, looking quiet, refined, and almost fragile. His eyes, however, bypassed me completely, locking onto Leo, who was still standing awkwardly at the top of the stairs. Leo finally snapped out of it, his face a mask of wary confusion as he stared at the intruder. The newcomer, Samuel, walked directly to the foot of the staircase. Then, from his canvas bag, he pulled out a file and threw it, hard, right into Leo’s face. The papers struck his skin with a sharp slap. Leo was stunned into silence. Samuel’s voice was soft, but it cut through the air with chilling clarity. “You imposter. It’s your turn to get out.”

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I can’t stand the “cool girl” act—calling herself “one of the guys,” to get what she wants. While I am a walking lie detector. When my fiancé brought his “bestie” home, I sighed. “Fine. You two are soulmates. I’ll sleep under a bridge. The bed is yours.” Henry stared at me. “She’s just a buddy. I don’t even see her as a woman.” I took out a notebook. Henry leaned in. “Writing your will?” “Predicting how your ‘buddy’ will cross the line.” 1. Complain she’s hot and strip in front of you. 2. “Accidentally” spill a drink on your crotch, then wipe it with her hands. … Henry swore she wasn’t like that. Then his “buddy” screamed, poured coffee on his thigh, and grabbed his pants. “Take them off! We’ve known each other since diapers—let me check if you’re burned! I’ll blow on it!” I checked “spill drink on crotch” and held the notebook up. “Perfect score.” Henry clamped his legs together, remembering my list. “You’re overreacting. She’s just open and trying to help. Now put that away before you hurt her feelings.” 1 Summer’s hand was still on Henry’s belt as she giggled. “Monica, you’re not actually mad, are you?” “Henry and I go back more than a decade. I used to flick his little thingy when we were kids.” “This is just what friends do for each other.” I ignored her, looking down to write a new prediction in my notebook. Henry, fumbling with his belt, frowned at me. “Monica, is this really necessary? It was a small thing. Can’t you be a little more gracious? We’re all friends here.” Summer’s eyes welled up. “Monica, if it bothers you that I helped Henry, I just won’t touch him anymore.” I paid no mind to her crocodile tears, continuing to write. Seeing my silence, Henry snatched the notebook from my hands and threw it onto the sofa without even looking at it. “Stop writing! Who are you trying to impress with this passive-aggressive crap?” “Summer’s staying here tonight. The guest room isn’t ready, so she can have the master bedroom. We’ll sleep in the spare room.” I picked up my notebook and looked at him calmly. “Alright. Just a moment.” I drew a neat checkmark next to the line I had just written: “The cuckoo takes the nest, claims the master bedroom.” Henry caught sight of the checkmark, and his face turned to stone. “When did you write that?” I closed the notebook. “The moment you walked her through the door.” At that, Summer’s eyes instantly reddened. She grabbed Henry’s sleeve, tears streaming down her face. “Henry, I told you Monica wouldn’t accept me, didn’t I?” She made a show of leaving, but her steps were agonizingly slow, clearly waiting for him to stop her. As expected, Henry grabbed her arm and spun around to yell at me. “Monica! Are you trying to drive her to her death?” “Summer has a bad back! She can’t sleep on a hard mattress! What’s the big deal if you sleep in the spare room for a few nights?” I looked at the man I was about to marry, who was so brazenly kicking his fiancée out of their marital bedroom for another woman. I didn’t argue. I didn’t get angry. I just nodded, took my notebook, and walked toward the spare room. Behind me, I heard Summer’s triumphant little laugh. “Henry, you’re the best. I could just die, I love you so much.” “Oh, stop it, you. Go take a shower. I’ll come in and scrub your back in a bit.” I closed the door to the spare room and took out my phone, activating the recording feature on the hidden camera I’d installed. I’d originally set it up for security, never imagining I’d be using it to catch a thief already inside the house. Sitting on the rock-hard bed, I opened my notebook and wrote down my prediction for the night. Sure enough, at two in the morning, the door to our room was thrown open. Summer, wearing nothing but one of Henry’s oversized white shirts, burst in, sobbing. “Henry! The room doesn’t smell like you! I can’t sleep!” She bypassed me completely and threw herself onto Henry, trembling in his arms. He woke up groggily and instinctively wrapped his arms around her, his hand patting her back in a soothing rhythm. “Shh, it’s okay. I’m here, Summer. It’s okay…” Click. I switched on the bedside lamp. In the harsh light, the scene was blindingly clear. Summer was straddling Henry’s waist, the top three buttons of her shirt undone, revealing a wide expanse of pale skin. One of Henry’s hands rested on her bare thigh. When the light came on, Summer shrieked and buried her head in Henry’s neck. “Monica… I’m so sorry, it was just instinct… Henry and I used to sleep like this all the time. You don’t mind, do you?” Henry was fully awake now. He didn’t push her away. Instead, he pulled the blanket up, covering her completely, and glared at me defensively. “Monica, what the hell? Can’t you see you scared her?” I said nothing, simply pulling my notebook from under my pillow with a deadpan expression. I put a checkmark next to “Pretends to be scared, climbs into bed in the middle of the night.” Then I held the book up right in front of his face. “Congratulations. Another direct hit.” Henry’s face turned a furious shade of purple. The shame of being so perfectly predicted morphed into rage. “You’re sick! That’s all you do, isn’t it? Just write in that stupid book!” He roared, pulling the woman in his arms even tighter. “Nothing happened! We’re just friends! You’re the one with a dirty mind who sees filth everywhere!” Summer sobbed in his embrace, making a weak attempt to get up. The hem of her shirt lifted, revealing that, just as I’d suspected, she was wearing nothing underneath. Henry quickly pushed her back down. “Don’t go anywhere! It’s storming outside! You’re sleeping here tonight!” I picked up my notebook and phone, threw back the covers, and got out of bed without another word. “Hope you two have a lovely night. May the thunder not strike you down.” I closed the door, shutting the whole absurd scene behind me. Lying on the living room sofa, I opened my phone and saved the footage I had just recorded. Then, I wrote down my predictions for the next day. The next morning, I was woken by the sound of flirtatious laughter from the kitchen. Summer, still in that loose shirt, was pressed against Henry’s back, her hands over his, “teaching” him how to fry an egg. “Oh, Henry, you’re so hopeless. You can’t even flip it right.” “Stop moving, that tickles.” They laughed and played, looking for all the world like a pair of newlyweds. I stood in the kitchen doorway, feeling like an intruder in my own home. When Summer saw me, she let out an exaggerated gasp. “Monica, you’re awake! Come try the special breakfast Henry made with love.” Henry adjusted his pajama top. “Now that you’re up, go wash your face. Don’t just stand there.” “Summer specifically asked me to make a portion for you. Don’t be ungrateful.” I walked into the bathroom and found my toothbrush in the trash can. In its place, in my cup, were two toothbrushes: Henry’s, and a new pink one. Their heads were nestled together intimately. I walked out carrying the trash can. “Care to explain?” Summer stuck out her tongue, the picture of innocence. “Oops, sorry, Monica. I was still half-asleep this morning. I thought that was my old one, so I just tossed it.” “I bought that pink one yesterday. It’s a matching set with Henry’s. Cute, right?” Henry walked over with a plate, his brow furrowed with annoyance. “It’s a damn toothbrush. Is it really worth all this drama? I’ll send you a hundred bucks later, go buy yourself a new one! Can you please not start a fight first thing in the morning?” I took a deep breath, pulled out my notebook, and checked off “Takes over my space, throws out my things.” The sight of the notebook made Henry’s temper flare. “Monica! Are you ever going to stop with that?” I showed him the notebook. The next prediction was: “Feeds him in front of me.” Henry sneered. “Impossible! I have my own hands. Why the hell would I need her to feed me?” The words had barely left his mouth when Summer picked up a piece of fried egg, blew on it, and casually held it to Henry’s lips. “Henry, open up. Ahhh—this one’s a little burnt. Can you taste it for me and see if it’s okay?” Henry instinctively opened his mouth and ate the egg. After a few chews, he froze. The silence in the room was absolute. I calmly put a checkmark next to “Feeds him in front of me.” “Such a good boy.” Henry’s face went crimson. He didn’t know whether to swallow the egg in his mouth or spit it out. The humiliation of being read like a book finally made him snap. “MONICA!!” Summer, as if just realizing the situation, threw her chopsticks down and burst into tears. “Why are you always targeting me, Monica? All I did was give Henry a bite of egg!” “We used to feed each other all the time when we were kids and it was never a problem! Why is it suddenly a crime with you? Why is your mind so dirty?” She grabbed a fruit knife from the table and made a show of pressing it to her wrist. Henry was terrified. He snatched the knife away and pulled Summer into a protective embrace. When he looked at me, his eyes were filled with disgust and hatred, as if I were the most vile woman on earth. “Are you satisfied now, Monica? Are you going to be happy when you’ve driven her to suicide?” I looked at the hysterical Henry and the woman hiding in his arms, who was now shooting me a victorious smirk. I nodded. “Fine. I’ll leave.” When I came out with my suitcase, Summer was sitting on Henry’s lap, dabbing sweat from his forehead. I stopped at the door and tossed the densely filled notebook onto the coffee table. “Henry, this is for you. Consider it an early wedding present.” “There’s one last prediction in there. You can see if it comes true.” Henry picked up the notebook with contempt and flipped to the last page. He scoffed. “You’re insane! Absolutely delusional!” He threw the notebook into the trash without a second thought and turned back to comforting the woman in his arms, not even sparing me a final glance. I sat in the coffee shop downstairs, watching the live feed from the hidden camera on my phone. I knew. My predictions about her type were never wrong. After I left, the show on my phone screen was quite a spectacle. Within two days, Summer had found the six-figure, custom-made reception dress I’d had made for our wedding. It was hand-embroidered, with an impossibly small waist. Summer was a size larger than me, but she tried to squeeze into it anyway, whining. “Monica’s clothes are just so pretty. What’s the big deal if I borrow it?” With a sharp rrrrrip, the sound of tearing fabric came through the monitor. My heart bled at that moment, but Henry just sighed with helpless affection. “If it ripped, it ripped. I’ll just buy her another one later. The important thing is you didn’t hurt yourself.” Next, she had him open my safe and put on the five-carat diamond ring he had spent his entire savings on. “Henry, doesn’t this ring look so much better on my hand than on Monica’s?” Henry’s eyes were glazed over. As if possessed, he nodded. “Yeah. It looks beautiful.” I sneered at the screen, saving the recording of it all. That weekend was Henry’s grandfather’s eightieth birthday party. I put on some haggard-looking makeup, wore my oldest clothes, and showed up at the Blackwood family estate right on time, carrying a basket of organic eggs. The moment I pushed open the door, the entire party fell silent. Summer was wearing my reception dress—which she’d had altered to fit her—and my diamond ring, arm-in-arm with Henry as they greeted guests. “Well, look who it is,” Summer said, her eyes glinting with provocation. “Why are you dressed like a beggar? You’re embarrassing Henry.” I ignored her and walked straight to Henry’s grandfather, setting down the basket. “Grandpa, I’m so sorry I’m late…” Grandpa Blackwood took my hand, his face etched with concern. “Monica, dear, you’re so thin! Hasn’t Henry been taking care of you?” My eyes welled up. I fixed my gaze on Summer and pointed with a trembling finger. “My reception dress… and my engagement ring… why are they on you?” The room erupted in whispers. The relatives’ expressions immediately turned strange. Henry panicked and rushed over to pull me away. “Monica! What are you talking about? You said you didn’t want the dress! And you lent the ring to Summer!” “Don’t make a scene in front of everyone!” I shook his hand off and took a step back. “When did I ever lend it to her?” “Henry, you opened your fiancée’s safe just to please your little ‘buddy’?” That single sentence shattered his public image. Seeing things go south, Summer immediately clutched her stomach and collapsed. “Oww… my stomach hurts… Henry, did Monica poison the wine…? I think I’m dying…” It was a clumsy performance that anyone could see through. But to escape the crushing embarrassment of the moment, Henry chose to believe it. He stormed toward me and, without a word, raised his hand and slapped me across the face. CRACK! The sharp sound echoed through the hall. The force of the blow sent me sprawling to the floor. My hand landed on a piece of broken glass, and blood began to flow. A collective gasp went through the crowd. Grandpa Blackwood was shaking with rage. He raised his cane. “You bastard! Who do you think you’re hitting?” “Get this homewrecker out of my sight! Get out of this house! Both of you!” I slowly lifted my head, wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth, and the last spark of warmth in my eyes died out. “Henry, you really think you’re God’s gift, don’t you?” He paused, turning back with a sneer. “What? Regretting it now? Want to get on your knees and beg me not to leave? Unless you bow to Summer three times right now, I…” BOOM! A loud crash cut him off. The heavy doors of the banquet hall were kicked open from the outside. A group of security guards filed in, blocking the exit. Henry stumbled back, his face pale. “Who are you? You dare to barge into the Blackwood estate? Do you have a death wish?” The lead guard shoved him, sending him stumbling back into the center of the hall. I walked toward him, step by step, and pulled the notebook from my bag, a cold smile on my lips. “Break off the engagement? Of course.” “But before you walk out that door, we have some accounts to settle.” I raised the notebook and slapped it hard across his face. “You think you can just hit me and walk away? Life doesn’t work like that.” “Lock the doors! No one leaves until I say so!” Henry watched the approaching guards and screamed, “Monica! What do you think you’re doing? This is my family’s house! You wouldn’t dare touch me!” I let out a cold laugh and walked over to the pair, now pinned down by my guards. “I’m just here to take back what’s mine. And collect a little interest.” Before the words were even out, I swung my hand with all my might and struck Henry twice across the face. SLAP! SLAP! The blows were far harder than the one he had given me. His face swelled instantly, and blood trickled from his lip. He started to struggle and curse, but a guard kicked him behind the knee, and he fell to his knees before me with a thud. “Those were to teach you some manners.” Then, my gaze, sharp as a knife, turned to Summer, who was cowering behind him. I pointed to the diamond ring on her finger. “Take it off.” Summer clutched her hand, shaking her head frantically. “No… Henry gave this to me…” I didn’t waste any more words. I gave a nod to the guard. He moved forward, ignoring her screams, and brutally ripped the ring from her finger, tearing the skin. “AHH! My hand!” Summer shrieked. I took the ring, wiped it disgustedly with a sanitary wipe, and put it in my pocket. “There. The trash has been taken out.” I pointed to the door. “Now, take your garbage and get out.” Henry scrambled to his feet. Hearing the whispers of the guests and the furious shouts of his grandfather, his eyes burned with a venomous hatred. He wanted to threaten me, but one look at the stone-faced guards at the door made him bite his tongue. He clenched his jaw and dragged Summer out of the hall. I turned to face the stunned guests, my eyes finally landing on my grandfather, who was still trembling with rage. My voice was calm and resolute. “Since everyone is here, you can all be my witnesses.” In front of the entire Blackwood clan, I officially broke off our engagement. And I demanded that Henry return my half of the down payment for our house: two hundred thousand dollars. Back at our apartment, Henry smashed the coffee table in a rage. “That bitch! How dare Monica make me kneel in public!” Summer huddled on the sofa, clutching her swollen finger, a vicious, calculating glint in her eyes. “Henry, Monica is ruthless… She didn’t just hit you, she humiliated you. She’s trying to destroy your reputation in our circle, to make sure you can never hold your head up again!” Seeing Henry’s thunderous expression, she quickly pulled out her phone and cued up a video. “Good thing I was smart enough to secretly record it.” “She wants to ruin you? We’ll strike first. We’ll use public opinion to crush her! When we’re done, you won’t have to pay her back a dime. She’ll be the one on her knees, begging you for forgiveness!” Henry watched the video, a savage grin spreading across his face. “Post it! Post it now! I want her to know what happens when you cross me!” That night, a video went viral in our city.

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On Christmas, our fifth year together, I tore apart the house looking for a missing stocking—the one holding the custom engagement ring I’d bought him. Then the police called. Vincent had been in a bad fight. I hurried to the station, signed him out, and saw his face bruised, smelling of cheap whiskey. He stayed silent about what happened. Later, his phone lit up with messages from a female colleague, Erin: Vincent, thank you for standing up to my ex-husband. Without you these past months, my son and I wouldn’t have made it. Leo loves the stocking you gave him. He waits for “Daddy Vincent” every day. Give us a family. Enraged, I threw the phone. We fought bitterly. I was hysterical; he called me heartless. Finally, he promised to transfer Erin to another team and cut all contact. And it seemed he had—their work chats were strictly professional. Until I found the hidden space on his phone. They’d just moved their conversations to a private account, full of photos with Erin and her son, all warmly congratulated. Scrolling back to Christmas night, I saw her message: I found a ring in the stocking. Is your girlfriend proposing? I can return it. He replied: Don’t. Pretend you never saw it. I’m not ready to marry. Fine. He’d get his wish. After five years, it was time for me to go home. 1 Vincent was busy in the kitchen. “Chloe, I’ve reheated everything a few times. It might not taste great anymore.” “Tell me what you want, I’ll order something. Or I can take you out. That new Japanese place on the corner is still…” He turned and saw my tear-filled eyes. His expression softened instantly. “Hey, come on. Don’t be like that.” “You’re the most understanding girl in the world, right?” I pulled away from his touch, my voice cold. “Get the Christmas stocking back.” Vincent’s smile froze. He tore off his apron, balled it up, and threw it at my feet. He pointed a trembling finger at my face for a moment before forcing out a single, grit-toothed word. “Fine.” He made the call. Erin said her son had accidentally ripped a seam in the stocking. “I’m so sorry. Tell me how much it was, and I’ll pay you back.” Vincent looked like he was about to lose it. One Christmas stocking. A never-ending drama. “It’s fine,” he said into the phone. “Chloe’s just throwing a little tantrum. I’ll buy her a new…” “It’s not the same, Vincent,” I cut in. Suddenly, he smashed the phone against the wall. It exploded into pieces, and a few shards flew out, cutting my arm and drawing blood. His voice boomed. “What the hell is your problem today?!” “It’s a damn Christmas stocking, Chloe! Could you be any more obvious about your grudge against Erin?” I stared at him, stunned. Vincent pulled a wad of cash from his wallet and threw it in my face. The bills scattered, and among them were three ticket stubs from an amusement park. “Is that enough?” He pulled out a credit card. And threw it at me. “IS THAT ENOUGH?!” “I’M PAYING YOU BACK FOR HER!” My ears were ringing. In six years, this was the first time Vincent had ever been truly angry with me. He looked vicious, like he wanted to devour me whole. A dull ache bloomed in my chest. I was so hurt I couldn’t speak. All I could do was fumble through my phone’s photo album, desperately searching for the proof—the evidence from five years ago when he’d promised to marry me on this very day. He was the one who had forgotten. “That’s enough. Let’s both just cool off for a night.” Vincent pushed my phone away. “Chloe, you need to take a long, hard look at your own jealousy.” The door slammed shut. I started dry-heaving, my body convulsing uncontrollably. I clutched the fabric over my heart. It was the only thing that seemed to ease the feeling of suffocation. When the tears finally stopped and I could breathe again, I pulled myself off the floor and started packing my few belongings. I had arrived six years ago, full of courage and alone. I would leave six years later, just as alone. Erin posted on her private account. The caption read: 【The happiest Christmas ever.】 The photo was taken at an upscale restaurant. Vincent was holding her son, and Erin was nestled against his side. While I had been gone, they had gone out for a feast. The table was laden with food. The dishes Vincent had been reheating in the kitchen were their leftovers. Including a shrimp dish—Erin’s favorite, and a deadly allergen for me. He hadn’t even thought to pick them out for me. Vincent’s assistant had commented: “Whoa, that was fast. Erin’s charm is no joke.” “And to think Vincent is always going on at work about how he’s not the marrying type. Guess he fell for her in the end.” The screen went dark, reflecting my ashen face. My hands were shaking as I packed the last of my things. At the very bottom of my suitcase was the bus ticket from my journey to Chicago six years ago. A 32-hour ride. But my six years of devotion had never been real to him. 2 It was laughable, really. After all these years in Chicago, I had no friends, no job. The only money I had was what Vincent had thrown at me last night. The only thing I had learned was how to revolve around him. I learned to cook for him, to put him first, to empty my savings to buy him a twenty-thousand-dollar watch just to see him smile. I was such a fool. A fool who had offered up her heart, completely exposed, for him to trample on. “One ticket to Miami, please.” The woman behind the counter suddenly spoke. “Hey… aren’t you the girl from six years ago?” I looked up, a hint of color returning to my pale face. “You remember me?” The woman smiled. “How could anyone forget you two?” “Your boyfriend waited outside the station for you for a whole day and night. The snow was piling up on his shoulders, but he wouldn’t move, terrified he’d miss you.” “We told him to go inside, get a cup of coffee to warm up, but he just gave this shy smile and said he was starting a business, that he’d spent all his money on a gift for you. He couldn’t even afford a train ticket, said he’d walked for five hours just to get to the station.” I listened, captivated. My chest felt tight, a bitter ache spreading through it. From a rundown squat, to a tiny rental, to the spacious penthouse we lived in now. He had shouldered all the hardship alone. With hands raw from frostbite and calluses, he had built a life for us, brick by brick. A home. “We won’t have to be afraid of the winter anymore,” he’d said. “Chloe… I was so scared you would come find me. And so scared you wouldn’t.” “I was terrified you’d have to suffer with me.” “But I was even more terrified that you didn’t love me.” He had cried that day. He held me so tightly I thought I would merge into his body. My own tears streamed down my face. It was supposed to be a happy memory. How had it become so painful? “Here’s your ticket, honey.” My fingertips trembled as I took it. It felt less like a ticket and more like a blade, meant to sever the past. “Don’t cry.” The ticket agent glanced at the expensive jade bracelet on my wrist and seemed to relax a little. “When you build a life with a man from nothing, don’t measure it in love. Measure it in money. Measure it by how willing he is to provide for you.” I nodded. The ticket was crumpled in my fist. Just before boarding, Vincent arrived. He ran toward me, just like he had six years ago, and pulled me into a fierce hug. I could hear his ragged breathing, his frantic heartbeat, the tremor in his voice. “Don’t go…” “Chloe, I was just angry with you. I wasn’t trying to kick you out…” Vincent tore up my ticket, swept me into his arms, and placed me in the passenger seat of his car. “You don’t want me seeing Erin, right?” “I had her transferred. I’ll keep my distance from now on.” I was silent. I stared numbly at the little charm dangling from the rearview mirror—a gift from Erin. The car was filled with the scent of citrus—Erin’s perfume. The glove compartment, which used to be filled with my things, was now stuffed with snacks for a child and several tubes of lipstick that weren’t mine. I blinked, my eyes feeling incredibly dry. Vincent didn’t notice. He was chattering on about taking me to Japan for the holidays. I sighed softly. I didn’t even have the energy to nod. 3 Vincent never mentioned Erin again. Their chat history was strictly professional. It was a clean break. “Chloe, I’m up for the VP position, so things are going to be really busy for a while.” His voice sounded distant over the phone. Unreal. “I transferred some money to your account. Go out, do some shopping, buy yourself something nice. Don’t put all your energy into me.” He would come home after I was already asleep. He would leave in the morning while I was still dreaming. There was always breakfast he’d warmed up for me in the microwave, and my dirty clothes would be washed and hung to dry on the balcony. Every corner of the house held a trace of Vincent. I could see him. But I could no longer reach him. I could feel us drifting apart, our relationship rusting over. If you polished away the rust, it almost looked the same as before. But it was lighter now. Floating. A strong gust of wind could send it tumbling away. I was planning to take the money and leave, but then came the biggest complication of all: I was pregnant. At first, it was just fatigue, loss of appetite, constant nausea. I told Vincent. The next day, he brought home a bag full of pills for me to take. He didn’t even give me any instructions before rushing out the door again. It wasn’t until I felt terribly sick from the medication that I went to the hospital and found out. “We’ll have to run more tests to see if you can keep the baby,” the doctor said, her brow furrowed. “After taking so many antibiotics, there’s a risk of birth defects.” Two nurses had to help me out of the examination room. I spent the next six hours in the waiting area, the most agonizing six hours of my life. The backs of my hands were covered in bruises from where I’d dug my nails in. My eyes were wide open, streaming with tears of guilt. I cursed myself for not realizing sooner. For not being more careful with the medication. For just swallowing whatever Vincent handed me without a second thought. “For now, everything looks okay. Come back for a follow-up next month.” I was flooded with relief. My mood lifted, and I even ate an extra bowl of rice that evening. Vincent came home late that night. He reeked of alcohol, his cheek was split open and bleeding, and one of his eyes was swollen shut. “Did you get into a fight?” He mumbled something and went straight to the bathroom. His work phone, which he’d tossed on the bed, buzzed with a notification. 【Erin: Vincent, thank you so much for standing up for me today. Otherwise, my ex-husband would never stop harassing me.】 【Erin: I’ve been so helpless. If it weren’t for you being there for me these past few months, my son and I wouldn’t have made it. Leo loves you so much. He waits every day for Daddy Vincent to come play. Vincent, please, give us a family.】 The words hammered at my nerves. It hurt. My whole body felt like it was about to explode. Daddy Vincent… Then who would my child call daddy? Give us a family. Then what about my family? The one thing I had longed for my entire life, a safe harbor from the storm, was gone. Torn to shreds by Vincent’s own hands. I bit my tongue, the pain forcing me to stay focused as I scrolled through their entire chat history. They had never stopped talking. They had just moved from the open to the private. From his main account to a private one filled with friends and family, where every photo with Erin and her son was met with joyful blessings. I had been abandoned. Again. 【Erin: I found a ring in the stocking. Is your girlfriend planning to propose? I can bring it back.】 【Vincent: No need. Just pretend you never saw it. I’m not ready to get married yet.】 I couldn’t maintain my composure any longer. With trembling hands, I typed a reply: 【You like being the other woman that much? You can have my trash. He’s all yours.】 “Chloe, what are you doing with my phone?!” 4 Vincent’s gentleness, his thoughtfulness—it all vanished the second I crossed a line. He yanked me so hard I stumbled. I fell against the edge of the bed. Ignoring the sharp pain in my abdomen, I scrambled up and slapped him across the face. His already swollen face grew darker. He stared at the phone in my hand. “Give it to me.” I didn’t move. He lunged for it. He grabbed my hand, prying my fingers off one by one. There was a sickening crack as my knuckles twisted at an unnatural angle. He wrenched the phone from my grasp as I cried out in pain. “You can’t unsend it, Vincent. It’s too late.” I started laughing. It was a wild, unhinged sound. “I called her a homewrecker. A slut. Does that hurt your feelings?” “Erin is a…” CRACK. I was thrown back onto the bed. The slap knocked the words right out of my throat. They tumbled down into my stomach, twisting into pain, into nausea, into thorny vines that grew and tore me apart from the inside out. My eye throbbed, swollen and hot. I wondered if it had burst. Why else would it be leaking so much warmth? It couldn’t be tears. It had to be blood. “Do you have any idea how much you’re hurting her?!” Vincent roared. “Chloe, you’re going to drive her to suicide!” “Will you only be happy when she’s dead?!” My voice was a raw whisper. “Yes.” “I hope you all die.” Vincent went to the kitchen and came back with a knife. He forced it into my hand and held it to his own throat. His eyes were crazed, ready to take us both down. “Go on. Kill me.” “If you have the guts, then do it!” “Chloe, I never said I wouldn’t marry you. I just can’t deal with Erin’s situation and you at the same time.”

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1 I am the shame of the entire journalistic world. Chasing a “thrill,” I ended up starring in sleazy indie films that bordered on porn, and I picked up a drug habit to match. My ex-wife, Chief Medical Examiner Beth Williams, was disgusted by the man I’d become—a man who’d bare anything for a buck. She was the one who personally threw me out. Eventually, just as she wanted, I vanished completely. Five years later, Beth got a call from the police department, asking her to come identify a “lost child.” “Ma’am, can you help me find my daddy? He was sleeping in a red suitcase, and someone carried him away.” My daughter’s words sent a ripple of laughter through the station. To them, I was just another junkie, probably high out of my mind and off on a bender, abandoning his own kid. Beth’s face was a thundercloud. “Where is that bastard Ethan hiding now?” she demanded. “Did he run out of cash for his next fix and send you to beg for it?” Floating in the air, I watched my daughter, Sweetie, hold up a cloth doll stained with red specks. “Daddy said,” she whispered, her voice trembling, “this is a present for the hero lady. It has the bad guys’ secrets inside.” … I hovered in the air, a weightless ghost, watching my little Sweetie. She sat on a hard bench in the police station, her tiny body caked in filth, clutching that blood-stained doll as if it were her lifeline. Her face was so smudged with grime you could barely see the sweet girl underneath, her hair a tangled mess of knots. A nearby officer shot her a look of pure contempt before dialing a number. “Dr. Williams? It’s about your ex-husband. He’s done a runner again, dumped his kid at the station.” The officer’s voice dripped with scorn. “A junkie’s a junkie. They don’t give a damn about anyone when they need a fix.” I’d grown numb to the venomous words, the casual cruelty. But I couldn’t bear for Sweetie to hear them. I tried desperately to cover her ears, but my ghostly hands passed right through her small frame, useless. Over the phone, Beth’s voice was sharp and clear. “I’m on my way.” Thirty minutes later, she strode into the station. The biting scent of disinfectant and formaldehyde clung to her, her white lab coat still on, her brow furrowed in a deep, impatient line. She completely ignored Sweetie, her eyes locking onto the officer. “Where’s Ethan?” The officer shrugged. “Can’t reach him. Phone’s off, and he’s not at his place.” A cold, bitter laugh escaped Beth’s lips. “He probably OD’d in some filthy ditch. Good riddance. One less piece of trash for society to clean up.” At the sound of her voice, Sweetie looked up, her small face hopeful. “Ma’am, are you my mommy? Daddy said my mommy is a hero.” Beth recoiled as if struck, taking a sharp step back from Sweetie’s outstretched, grimy hand. “Don’t call me that,” she snapped. “I don’t have some druggie’s brat for a daughter.” Sweetie froze, her eyes instantly welling with tears. She hurriedly lifted the doll toward Beth. “Daddy said… if I give this to the hero lady, she’ll give me food.” Beth slapped the doll from her hand. “Get that filthy thing away from me!” Sweetie tumbled to the floor. She scrambled to pick up her doll, her small hands gently brushing the dust from its fabric as sobs shook her body. Beth crouched down, her eyes boring into Sweetie. “Where is your father?” “A bad lady put Daddy in a box,” Sweetie choked out between sobs, hugging the doll tighter. “The box was leaking… so much red water. Daddy told me to run, to give the doll to the lady…” The surrounding officers burst into laughter. “A red suitcase? Sounds like the kid inherited her dad’s psychosis.” “Probably just Ethan tripping, and the kid’s making up stories to match.” “Or maybe his dealers finally caught up with him. He skipped out on his debts and fed the kid some story about a red suitcase to get her off his back.” Beth’s face hardened as she listened to their crude jokes. She grabbed Sweetie’s arm and dragged her toward the exit. “You’re coming with me. We’ll see when your deadbeat father finally decides to show his face.” As she unlocked her car, the sudden flash of the headlights illuminated Sweetie’s bare arms. They were a horrifying mosaic of bruises and tiny pinpricks. Beth’s expression shifted from anger to pure fury. “That son of a bitch,” she seethed. “He’s actually shooting up a kid this small?” No! I screamed, my voice lost to the wind. That’s from the hospital! From the blood tests for her illness! But Beth couldn’t hear me. In her eyes, I was a monster who had sunk so low as to turn his own daughter into an addict. Sweetie, oblivious to the storm raging inside the woman before her, clutched her rumbling stomach. “Ma’am,” she whispered, “I’m hungry. I want some white powder.” Beth thought she was jonesing for a fix. The fury in her eyes blazed hotter. “You want drugs at your age? Go find your junkie mother for that!” Sweetie trembled, terrified. “No, not that… baby formula. Daddy said the white powder is formula.” “Still lying!” Beth wrenched open the back door and tossed Sweetie inside. “He’s even passed his addiction on to his child. Ethan, you deserve to rot in hell!” The car door slammed shut. Huddled in the back, Sweetie hugged her doll, her voice a tiny, heartbroken whisper. “Daddy… Daddy, are you coming back?” Beth heard her. “I hope he never comes back,” she spat, her voice laced with ice. I pressed my spectral face against the window, watching my daughter curled up in the darkness and the cold, unyielding woman in the driver’s seat. Silent tears streamed down my face. 2 Beth brought Sweetie back to her villa. I recognized the pristine interior instantly. It was our marital home. Everything was still spotless, but every trace of my existence had been scrubbed clean, erased as if I’d never been there at all. Sweetie stood frozen at the doorway, staring at the polished floors. Afraid to dirty them, she quietly slipped off her tattered shoes and stood barefoot in the entryway. “Beth, you’re back.” A man in silk pajamas emerged from the master bedroom. It was Leo, the boy my mother had taken in after my own father died. After I fell from grace and left home, he had seamlessly slipped into the void I left behind, taking my place beside my mother and Beth. He stopped short when he saw Sweetie. “And who is this…?” “That bastard Ethan’s,” Beth said, shrugging off her coat with a weary sigh. “He dumped her and ran off again.” Leo approached Sweetie and knelt down. “What’s your name, little one?” Sweetie clutched her doll, shrinking away from him. “Sweetie.” “What a lovely name.” Leo smiled, reaching out to pat her head, but she flinched away. His smile faltered for a fraction of a second before returning, warmer than before. “She’s filthy. Why don’t I give her a bath?” Beth nodded, and Leo took Sweetie’s hand, leading her to the bathroom. A sense of dread washed over me, and I rushed to follow them. The moment the bathroom door clicked shut, the gentle mask fell from Leo’s face. He turned the water on, deliberately making it scalding hot. Sweetie shrieked in pain, but Leo pretended not to hear, scrubbing viciously at the cuts and bruises on her small body. “Shut up,” he hissed. “You’re a junkie’s daughter. You don’t have the right to cry.” I lunged at him, a phantom screaming in fury, but my hands passed through him, completely useless. I could only watch in horror as he tormented my child. After the bath, Leo led Sweetie out, a look of deep concern etched on his face. “Beth, look at this,” he said, his voice a low, troubled murmur. “The poor girl is covered in injuries. It seems Ethan’s life on the streets… has been rough. I can’t imagine what this child has been through with him.” Beth’s expression grew even darker. “What else would you expect from a junkie?” “Don’t be angry, Beth,” Leo soothed. “You’ve done more than enough for him.” Sweetie’s eyes lit up at the sight of bread on the kitchen counter, but she didn’t dare move toward it. Beth grabbed a slice and tossed it at her feet, as if feeding a stray. Starving, Sweetie ignored the humiliation, snatched the bread, and began to devour it, nearly choking in her haste. But she only ate half. Carefully, she wrapped the remaining piece and tucked it deep inside her pocket. Beth’s brow furrowed. “Why did you stop eating?” Frightened by her harsh tone, Sweetie stammered, “For… for Daddy. Daddy’s in the box. He doesn’t have any food.” “He’s probably off selling his body for drug money,” Beth sneered. “I doubt he’s starving.” Sweetie didn’t seem to understand. She pulled a crumpled bill from her pocket, smoothed it out carefully, and held it out to Beth. “Ma’am, Daddy said I can’t take things from people for free. This is all the money I have.” It was the last ten-dollar bill I had, earned from selling my blood to pay for Sweetie’s medicine. A faint, dark stain still marked the corner. My blood. Beth slapped the money out of her hand. “Save it,” she said cruelly. “You can use it to buy him a coffin.” The bill fluttered to the floor. Sweetie crawled over, picked it up, folded it neatly, and placed it back in her pocket. “Daddy said if I’m a good girl, he’ll come back.” “You actually believe a junkie’s promises?” Beth lit a cigarette. “He can’t even take care of himself. What makes you think he’s coming back for you?” Sweetie shook her head, her voice firm. “Daddy really is in the red suitcase. I saw him.” Her eyes filled with tears again. “I saw the bad lady hit Daddy, and lots of red water came out… The doll got red water on it too. Daddy said it has the bad guys’ secrets inside…” “ENOUGH!” Beth shot to her feet, her voice cracking like a whip. “Did that bastard teach you to lie at such a young age? What red suitcase? What bad guys? It’s all just a pathetic act he cooked up!” Terrified, Sweetie collapsed to the floor, sobbing. My heart shattered. I reached for her, desperate to hold my daughter, but my arms passed right through her trembling, little body. I’m so sorry, Sweetie. Daddy is so useless. Leo stepped forward and placed a calming hand on Beth’s arm. “Don’t be upset, Beth. It’s normal for a child to pick up bad habits from someone like that. We can teach her better.” He turned to Sweetie. “Honey, what your daddy did was very wrong. But your aunt and I will teach you how to be a good girl.” I stared at Leo, my spectral form shaking with a rage so profound it felt like it could tear the world apart. I wanted to rip that hypocritical mask from his face. 3 Before Leo could finish his sentence, my mother burst into the villa. Sweetie was still on the floor, her small body wracked with gut-wrenching sobs as she clutched her doll. The sight of her sent my mother into a blind rage. “Is that Ethan’s bastard child from the streets?!” Sweetie flinched and scrambled backward, pulling the doll in close. “Grandma…” she whispered. “Who are you calling Grandma?!” my mother shrieked, lunging forward and shoving Sweetie hard. “The Hayes family has no room for filthy trash like you!” Sweetie fell, her head cracking against the sharp corner of the glass coffee table. Blood instantly welled from the gash, streaming down her face. “NO! Mom! She’s not a bastard!” I screamed, throwing myself in front of Sweetie, my ghostly fingers trembling with fear and rage. But no one could see me. “Mom!” Beth cried, rushing to help Sweetie. “Don’t you dare touch her!” my mother snarled, pointing a shaking finger at Beth. “Who knows what whore Ethan knocked up to have this thing! What were you thinking, bringing her here?!” I watched, paralyzed, as my daughter’s blood pooled on the pristine floor. I wanted to hold her, to wipe away the blood, but I could do nothing. How I wished I were still alive, just so I could protect my little girl. “Daddy…” Sweetie cried as she struggled to sit up, blood dripping into her eyes. “It hurts, Daddy…” “I hope it hurts you to death!” my mother sneered. “Your father is a degenerate animal who sold his body for porn and drugs until he was less than human. You’re no better!” “My daddy is not a bad man!” Sweetie suddenly shouted, her voice ringing with conviction. “My daddy is a hero!” “A hero?” My mother laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “A junkie who gets naked for cameras is a hero? Is that what they call heroes now?” She turned her fury on Beth. “I’m giving you two choices. Either you send this little mongrel to a group home, or I’ll drop dead right here. You decide!” Leo quickly moved to support my mother as she swayed. “Mom, please, don’t get worked up. Think about your health.” “How can I not be worked up?” she gasped, clutching her chest. “That bastard Ethan has dragged the Hayes family name through the mud! And now he expects us to raise his bastard child? In his dreams!” Beth stood frozen, her face a mask of pale exhaustion. She looked from the bleeding child on the floor to her furious, trembling mother-in-law. “I’ll contact social services,” she finally said, closing her eyes. Her voice was hollow. “As soon as I’m done with my current case, I’ll take her.” “No…” Sweetie sobbed, crawling to Beth’s feet. “I’ll be good, I promise. I don’t want anything. I just want to find my daddy…” “Your daddy abandoned you!” Beth kicked her away. “And stop telling those ridiculous lies!” Just then, Beth’s phone rang. “Dr. Williams, we’ve got a development in the Blackwood River dismemberment case. We found a complete red suitcase at the scene. We need you down here immediately.” Beth hung up and glanced at the sobbing child on the floor. “She’s coming with me.” “Beth…” Leo began softly. “Maybe it’s better if she stays here.” “Just take care of Mom,” Beth replied, her tone final. My mother snorted. “Good. Leave her at a crime scene. Maybe she’ll get lost and die there. At least I won’t have to look at her.” Leo helped my mother to the couch, murmuring comforting words. “Mom, don’t be angry. Let me get you some water.” As he turned toward the kitchen, I saw it clearly: a subtle, cruel curve of his lips. I knew he was the one who had tipped off my mother, but there was nothing I could do to expose his treachery. I could only watch as Beth picked Sweetie up like a sack of garbage and threw her into the car. The car sped through the night. Sweetie was curled in the back, the blood on her forehead now a dark, sticky crust. She hugged her doll and whispered into the darkness. “Daddy, I found the lady, but she doesn’t believe me…” “Daddy, I’m so scared…” “Daddy, are you cold in the box? Please come get me…” My heart felt like it was being shredded. I floated as close to her as I could, praying she might feel even a flicker of my presence, a whisper of warmth. I’m so sorry, Sweetie. Daddy is so useless. I couldn’t even make sure you’d be safe. 4 The car screeched to a halt by the Blackwood River. Yellow police tape cordoned off the area, but a crowd of onlookers had already gathered. Beth pulled on a pair of latex gloves and knelt by the riverbank without a word. “Daddy! Daddy!” From inside the car, Sweetie saw the red suitcase and began pounding on the window. Police Captain Miller frowned. “Dr. Williams, what’s the kid doing here?” “Ethan’s bastard,” Beth said without looking up. “She’s going to a group home after this.” Miller sighed. “Poor kid. Having a father like Ethan is a tough break.” “Poor?” Beth scoffed. “She’s five years old and already knows how to lie to get what she wants.” I watched my daughter, her cries growing hoarse until she could barely breathe, and my soul ached. I looked at the woman she had become—this cold, bitter stranger—and remembered a day seven years ago. She had been shielding me from an attacker, her arm sliced open to the bone, but her eyes were fierce and unwavering. “No matter what happens,” she had promised me, “I will always believe you.” Who could have imagined it would come to this? The sound of the suitcase zipper was unnaturally loud in the night air. A foul stench billowed out, so overpowering that several younger officers gagged and ran to the side to vomit. Inside the suitcase was what was left of me. My face was an unrecognizable ruin, destroyed by acid. My head was shaved. My body was contorted into a grotesque, unnatural position. Beth used a pair of forceps to examine the corpse’s arm. “Victim has extensive track marks,” she reported to Miller, her voice clinical. “A long-term intravenous drug user. Cause of death appears to be exsanguination. The killer’s technique is professional. Looks more like a targeted hit.” She stood and stripped off her gloves. “Send him to the morgue for a full autopsy.” When Beth returned to the car, Sweetie was still frantically pounding on the glass, her voice raw. “Daddy… don’t go…” Beth glanced at her in the rearview mirror, her voice like ice. “Be quiet. That’s not your father! A man like him is probably shacked up in some whore’s bed right now!” Her voice cracked with menace. “If you make another sound, I’ll throw you to the dogs.” Sweetie’s small body flinched. She fell silent, but tears continued to stream down her face. In the morgue, Beth changed into blue scrubs and stood impassively before the autopsy table. “A classic junkie,” she said to her assistant, gesturing with disgust at the dense cluster of needle marks on my inner arm. “These people will do anything for money. He deserved to die.” I floated beside her, staring at those marks. They weren’t my choice, I wanted to scream. The traffickers shot me up every day to keep me compliant… But she would never know. As Beth’s examination moved to the ankles, her hand suddenly froze. There, on my left ankle, was a hideous, puckered scar, the flesh melted and mangled from a burn. “This scar…” Her assistant leaned in. “Given the shape and depth, it’s likely self-inflicted. It’s common for individuals in these marginalized groups to have severe psychological issues.” Beth didn’t respond. She just stared at the scar for a long, long time. So long that I almost believed she remembered. I would never forget that day. She had pointed at the fresh butterfly tattoo on my ankle, her face a mask of cold fury. “Ethan, have you no shame?” she’d spat. “Getting something so garish tattooed on you. Is it to make yourself more appealing when you’re out selling yourself?!” I offered no explanation. Instead, right there in front of her, I took a lit cigarette and pressed it into my own skin, again and again. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, and a pain so intense it made my entire body tremble seized me. But I clenched my jaw and refused to shed a single tear. “Are you satisfied now?” I had asked. She stared at me, her expression shifting from shock to confusion, and finally, to complete and utter revulsion. “If you’re so determined to destroy yourself,” she had said, her voice dripping with contempt, “then don’t be surprised when everyone in the world looks down on you, Ethan!” That was the last time we ever saw each other. … Beth’s hand, holding the scalpel, remained suspended in mid-air. After a long moment, she seemed to snap back to reality, resuming the autopsy with a renewed, almost brutal, efficiency. It wasn’t until her assistant opened my stomach that he let out a sharp gasp. “Dr. Williams, wait! There’s… there’s something hard in here!” He carefully extracted the object with a pair of tweezers and carried it to the sink to rinse it clean. As layers of grime washed away, a tiny inscription on the inside of a ring was gradually revealed. EH ❤ BW 05.20.2019

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388035”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My relationship with Professor Adam Lawson was a secret, a four-year violation of the university’s strict ban on student-faculty relationships. Just before graduation, I begged him to come home with me to meet my parents. His hand, which had been caressing my waist, froze. “Are you serious?” I nodded, my heart pounding. But a slow, dismissive smile spread across his face. “Your father asked me to look after you. If he found out I’ve been sleeping with his precious daughter, he’d probably kill me.” He leaned in, his voice a low murmur against my ear. “Stop messing around. Screwing is one thing, Ava. But for marriage? You’ll have to find someone else.” I froze. He kissed me then, a brief, meaningless gesture of affection before pressing a slip of paper into my hand. “That’s my nephew’s contact info,” he said. “He’s your age. Why don’t you give him a call?” 1 Adam’s voice was casual, laced with the lazy satisfaction of a man who’d just gotten what he wanted. On any other day, this was when he was most agreeable. He’d say yes to anything. But today, though his tone was light, the words held an undeniable finality. The piece of paper in my hand felt like it was burning a hole through my skin. I wanted to crumple it up, to throw it in the trash, to scream at him, After four years, was there ever a single moment of genuine feeling for me? But my mind went numb, flashing back to a scene from three nights ago. Adam had just been promoted. His friends took him out to a bar to celebrate, and by the time he called me, he was already drunk, his words slurring as he asked me to pick him up. When I found him, he was leaning against a brick wall outside, a cigarette dangling from two fingers, a lighter flickering in his other hand. As the flame caught, one of his friends asked, “Ava’s been with you for four years, man. Aren’t you going to make it official?” “Your final thesis defense is coming up,” another chimed in. “After that, you won’t be professor and student anymore.” I held my breath, my heart hammering against my ribs. This was the day I had been waiting for, dreaming of for four long years—the day I could finally stand by his side in the open. The day I wouldn’t have to duck my head and avoid his gaze when we passed on campus, when I could call him something other than the formal, sterile title everyone else used: “Professor Lawson.” I was desperate to hear his answer. But in the next second, he took a long drag from his cigarette and exhaled a plume of white smoke. A smirk played on his lips, as if he’d just heard the funniest joke in the world. “Are you serious? Her dad asked me to look after her, that’s it. What feelings? Make it official? Get real.” “Dude, he didn’t ask you to look after her in your bed!” his friend shot back, shocked. Adam just chuckled, a low, dismissive sound. “She came onto me.” “And I’m not a saint.” I couldn’t name the feeling that washed over me then. It was a sharp, twisting pain in my chest, and my eyes burned. On instinct, I turned and ran. I didn’t go back to his apartment or to my dorm. I bought a six-pack of beer and went to the beach, chugging it down, trying to drown the image of his smiling face from my mind. But it was no use. I ended up black-out drunk, and in the end, it was Adam who came to get me. He never asked what was wrong. He didn’t care. He just took me home, and his lips found mine in the darkness. His hands gripped my waist, pulling me into a familiar, dizzying climb. The pathetic thing was, I couldn’t resist him. It was only at the very end, when I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer, that I bit down hard on his shoulder, drawing blood. I forced him to whisper the words I so desperately needed to hear. “I love you.” I used to secretly delight in the thought that Adam, a man who was wealthy, brilliant, and constantly surrounded by beautiful women, had chosen me. Now I knew the truth. He hadn’t chosen me. He had selected me. Pretty, naive, and clean. And the forbidden thrill of sleeping with a student—that was just an added bonus. “Not happy with the arrangement?” Adam’s voice pulled me back to the present. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for my response. He had already dressed, his dark hair now swept back from his forehead. He had the kind of eyes that made everyone feel like they were the center of his world, a smile so warm it could melt you. But if you looked closer, you’d see the truth: a cold, detached clarity that kept everyone at a distance. “Ava, don’t be difficult. Okay?” A long moment passed before I found my voice, a dry, scratchy thing. “Fine.” 2 After that night, Adam and I didn’t speak for a week. The withdrawal was agonizing. I poured every ounce of my energy into my graduation thesis, hoping the work would numb the pain. On the day of my presentation, Adam was one of the evaluating professors. When he saw me, his gaze was utterly blank, his expression unreadable. He looked at me as if I were a complete stranger. My hands tightened on the textbook I was holding, a wave of nausea rolling through me. I forced myself to walk past him, pretending not to care, and took a seat in the last row. This presentation was the final hurdle to graduation, and my classmates were a mess of nerves, wringing their hands. All except for one girl sitting directly behind Adam. She rested her chin on her hand, her eyes fixed on the back of his head, adoration practically radiating from her. Adam seemed to sense her stare. He turned, a small, weary smile on his face, and whispered something to her. I was too far away to hear, but I could read his lips. Focus. Stop messing around. His tone was indulgent, affectionate—the same tone he only ever used with me in bed. My eyes started to burn again. The third student finished their presentation. The girl, whose name I now knew was Claire, was next. She wore a simple white dress, her makeup subtle and confident as she walked to the podium. As she passed, I could have sworn her eyes flickered toward me, a flash of undisguised hostility in her gaze. I had no idea why. Then, her presentation appeared on the projector, and my world tilted on its axis. My roommate reacted first. “Ava, your topics are the same?” No. It was more than that. From the very first word she spoke, I knew. This wasn’t just the same topic. This was my thesis. The data, the citations, the arguments—I had spent months researching, verifying, and writing every single word. “Excuse me.” I shot to my feet. The professors in the front row turned, their faces etched with annoyance. On stage, Claire paused, a slow, knowing smile spreading across her face. “Yes? Do you have a problem? Don’t you know this is a formal defense?” one of the professors snapped. I bit my lip, my fists clenched. “Yes, I know. But I have a question.” “And what would that be?” Claire asked, her voice sweet as poison. Before I could answer, she continued, “You’re not going to say our topics are the same, are you? Or maybe… that I stole your paper? That I plagiarized you?” “Didn’t you?!” I shot back, my voice shaking with rage. “Even if the topics were similar, it’s impossible for the data, the citations, and the entire argument to be identical!” I walked to the front and handed my printed thesis and a USB drive to the professors. They took them, their expressions skeptical, and began to compare the two documents. As they read, their faces grew grim. “What is the meaning of this?” I shook my head. “I don’t know why her thesis is identical to mine, but I swear on my life, this is my original work. My roommate can vouch for me.” Claire just laughed. “Well, my roommate can vouch for me, too. And I have my drafts. Do you want to see them?” She pulled two stacks of handwritten notes from her bag. The writing was messy, but the notes were undeniably real. My head spun, and my eyes instinctively found Adam, a desperate flicker of hope igniting in my chest. He had been there when I chose my topic. He had seen my first draft. If he would just speak up for me, I could— But his voice cut through my thoughts, sharp and impatient. “If you can’t prove your case, then don’t waste everyone else’s time.” He looked directly at me, his eyes cold. “Furthermore, you are under suspicion of plagiarism. You will receive a failing grade.” The world went white. I stared at him, unable to believe what I was hearing, my eyes instantly flooding with tears. “What did you say?” “I plagiarized? Adam, do you dare say that again?!” He frowned. The noisy classroom fell silent. My roommate, terrified I was about to cause a scene, rushed over and pulled me away, apologizing profusely to Adam. “Professor, I’m so sorry, she didn’t mean it. She’s pulled so many all-nighters for this thesis… This is just… hard for her to accept.” Adam sat motionless, his expression unreadable. He waited until I was gone before signaling for Claire to continue. 3 Back in the dorm, my roommate tried to console me. “That girl today, her name is Claire Sterling. I heard her father is on the university’s board of directors. She has connections, Ava. Even if she did steal your work, you can’t fight her head-on like that.” I wasn’t listening. I was tearing my room apart, searching for my own drafts. I found nothing. They had been stolen. My roommate suggested checking the security cameras, but warned me it was a long shot. I was heading downstairs to try anyway when a text from Adam lit up my phone. [I’ll give you an explanation for what happened today.] [Come to my faculty apartment.] I took a deep breath, clutched my phone, and ran. He had just showered. A towel was slung around his neck, his dark hair damp and falling across his forehead. I could still see the faint mark of my teeth on his shoulder. The moment the door closed behind me, I demanded, “Why?” “Do you have any proof that you didn’t plagiarize?” “How am I supposed to prove it? My drafts were stolen, and my roommate’s word isn’t enough. I thought you would help me. You saw how hard I worked on this. I even asked for your advice on the topic. And what did you say?!” My voice cracked. “With one word—plagiarism, fail—you destroyed months of my work. Now I might not even be able to graduate!” “Four years. I was with you for four years, Adam. Don’t you have a heart?!” The dam finally broke. Tears of betrayal and hurt streamed down my face, splashing onto the floor. Four years ago, my dad, a high-ranking officer, had been worried about me being alone in a new city. He’d asked Adam, a family friend’s son, to look after me. From the first day I met him, I was hopelessly smitten. He never rejected my adLawsons, always indulging my every move. I thought he liked me, too, so I worked tirelessly to be worthy of him. I made the dean’s list every year. I planned to apply to the same research institute as him after graduation. I had poured my soul into that goal. I had hoped my thesis presentation would be my crowning achievement. And what had he given me in return? He sighed, a weary sound, and reached out to wipe away my tears. I flinched away. “Crying at the first sign of trouble. You’re still such a child. Can’t handle the slightest setback. What have you even learned these past four years?” He looked away. “Let the thing with Claire go. It’s over.” “I’ll give you a chance to retake the exam. You can just—” I looked up, horrified, unable to believe this was the man I had known, the man I had loved for four years. “What did you say? You expect me to just accept the plagiarism charge?” “Is this your idea of an explanation?” He didn’t look at me. He pulled a bottle of water from the fridge and set it on the table. His voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “At least this way you’ll be able to graduate. I know you want to check the security footage, but I might as well tell you.” “The cameras have been down for maintenance for the past few days. You won’t find anything.” “Oh, and there’s one more thing I forgot to tell you.” He paused, turning to look at me out of the corner of his eye. “Claire is my fiancée.” For a moment, I forgot how to breathe. 4 I don’t remember how I left his apartment that day. But I fell violently ill afterward, a feverish haze that lasted for nearly two weeks. My roommate learned not to mention the thesis around me. But I still heard Claire’s name whispered in the halls. She had been accepted into Adam’s prestigious research institute. Her thesis was praised for its “forward-thinking” approach, and doors opened for her everywhere. With her status as Adam Lawson’s fiancée, no one dared to say a negative word about her. The university’s strict ban on student-faculty relationships, it seemed, didn’t apply to Claire. By the third week, I finally dragged myself out of bed. I skipped the graduation ceremony, focusing instead on studying for my retake exam and applying to other research institutes. But the rejections came one after another. Every background check failed. The black mark of plagiarism still hung over my name. Sitting in my empty dorm room, I stared at another polite rejection email, a profound sense of helplessness washing over me for the first time. “Ava, don’t lose hope,” my roommate said, trying to comfort me. I took a deep breath. Just as I was about to close the browser, my inbox pinged. My hand, resting on the mouse, began to tremble. My heart leaped into my throat. I braced myself for another rejection, but then I read the words: Congratulations, Ava. We are delighted to welcome you to the team. My eyes began to sting. After hundreds of emails and countless interviews over the past few weeks, the tension that had been coiled in my stomach for so long finally snapped. The institute was in San Francisco. The HR manager added me on a messaging app, confirmed my start date, and we settled on the day after tomorrow. I read and reread the word “Congratulations.” I carefully asked about the background check, and they assured me everything was fine. Finally, I let myself cry. My roommate, hearing I was moving to the West Coast, insisted on a farewell dinner. I didn’t refuse. We both knew that after graduation, our paths would diverge. But I never expected to hear from Adam again. [Claire found out about us. To reassure her, you’re going to meet my nephew tomorrow at 3 PM.] It wasn’t a request. It was an order. I thought seeing his name would still stir something in me, some flicker of pain or longing. But I felt nothing. It was like staring at a stranger’s name. I didn’t reply. I just blocked his number. My flight to San Francisco was at 3 PM tomorrow. I hoped I would never have to see Adam Lawson again. … Adam frowned at his phone. The message remained unread. He hadn’t paid much attention to Ava’s life recently, but he knew she’d been busy. After her retake exam, she had been relentlessly sending out applications, going on interview after interview. The top institutes in Boston had all rejected her, citing the failed background check. It had become a running joke among some students. He hadn’t cared. But yesterday, he’d seen her eating in a restaurant. And a strange, heavy feeling had settled in his chest. She had lost so much weight. Her waist was so thin he could have circled it with one hand. She was listening quietly as her roommate talked, her frame so fragile, her face pale and drawn. She looked like she could collapse at any moment. That’s when he remembered. She had been sick for a while. On the day of her retake exam, her face had been as white as a sheet of paper. So, that night, he had pulled some strings and arranged for another position to open up at his institute. He planned to offer her a job as his assistant. But somehow, Claire had found out. She’d thrown a fit, convinced he was still hung up on Ava. Claire, despite being the same age as Ava, had a temper that exhausted him. Their engagement had been arranged by their families since they were children. He knew they would get married eventually, so he gave in. That’s why he’d sent Ava the text. He never imagined that Ava, who used to reply to his messages in seconds, would simply ignore him. An unfamiliar wave of irritation washed over him. Then, he saw a message in a group chat: [You guys hear?! The girl who got rejected everywhere just landed a job! At that top-tier institute in San Francisco!] 5 At two in the afternoon, my phone rang. Adam. I declined the call. He immediately called back from a different number. Again and again, until I finally snapped and answered. “What do you want?” I said, my voice sharp. The airport was bustling. I found a quiet corner after checking my luggage. The line was silent for a long time. Just as I was about to hang up, Adam finally spoke. “I hear you’re going to San Francisco.” I didn’t deny it. I knew he’d find out sooner or later. “You got such a great offer. Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Why should I tell you? Who are you to me? My former professor? My ex-fuck buddy?” I heard his sharp intake of breath. “Don’t call me again,” I said, my voice cold. “This kind of pathetic chasing isn’t like you, Adam.” I hung up and blocked the new number. Before, when I loved him, I would have given him anything. Call me a fool, call me lovesick, I didn’t care. I believed in giving everything to the person I loved, without expecting anything in return. I didn’t regret our four years together. Not even now. But I had made the choice to walk away. No matter how much I had loved him, it was in the past. I could look back, but I would never, ever go back. When I landed in San Francisco, a colleague from the institute was there to pick me up. He looked vaguely familiar. There was a faint resemblance to Adam in the set of his eyes, but his presence was calmer, more grounded. He lacked Adam’s careless, playboy charm. “Hi, I’m Leo Lawson,” he said, introducing himself. My head snapped up. The name clicked into place, the same name from the crumpled piece of paper Adam had given me. And then another thought struck me. He was supposed to be in Boston, waiting for me on a blind date he knew nothing about. What was he doing in San Francisco? “Is something wrong?” Leo asked, noticing my silence. He waved a hand in front of my face. “Uh…” I cleared my throat, embarrassed. “No, nothing.” Leo studied me. “Are you sure? Are you feeling airsick?” “I’m fine,” I repeated, forcing a smile. If he didn’t recognize me, then he must have been just as opposed to Adam’s meddling as I was. Since he wasn’t bringing it up, neither would I. Leo and Adam were complete opposites. Leo was an old soul in a young man’s body. Though he was only twenty-three, he carried himself with the quiet gravity of someone much older. He put my luggage in the trunk and held the car door open for me, his hand carefully placed on the frame to make sure I didn’t hit my head. As he drove, he was the picture of perfect form—eyes on the road, hands at ten and two, posture ramrod straight. He didn’t play music or the radio, and he didn’t make small talk. The silence was absolute. The old me would have found it suffocating. But now, it was a relief. I didn’t have to pretend, didn’t have to force a conversation. I was about to close my eyes when Leo’s phone buzzed. He frowned, clearly annoyed by the interruption. He glanced at me, saw my eyes were open again, and apologized. “Sorry to disturb you.” Then, he declined the call and blocked the number. All in one smooth, efficient motion. I said nothing. The caller had been Adam.

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