The company was expecting a major client today. I never imagined it would be my sister, Sophia, whom I hadn’t seen in six years. She froze when she saw me. “Leo, what are you doing here? Why didn’t you come home after you got out? I’ve been looking for you for years!” Every head in the office turned to stare. Annoyed, I turned to walk away. Sophia rushed forward and grabbed my right arm. A second later, her face was a mask of pure shock. Her eyes were fixed on my empty sleeve, her mind reeling. “Your arm… what happened to it?” I didn’t answer, just yanked my sleeve from her grasp, revealing the gleaming metal struts of the prosthetic frame beneath. “It’s right here.” Her eyes widened, her voice cracking. “Come home, Leo. Let’s just forget the past. We’re family.” Family? I hadn’t had one of those in a long time. … Sophia couldn’t tear her eyes away from my prosthetic arm. She opened her mouth several times, but no words came out. My manager, quick on his feet, cleared out a conference room for us to talk privately. The silence in the room was suffocating. She was the one to finally break it. “When your sentence was up, I went to the prison to pick you up. They told me you’d been released early.” I glanced at the watch on my left wrist, my irritation growing. “When did you lose the arm?” “In prison,” I said flatly. “Prison? Why didn’t you call me? Why didn’t you come home? Leo, I’m your sister!” Hearing her call herself my sister now felt like a sick joke. “Go back? So you can throw me back in jail again?” That one sentence stripped away her pretense. Her jaw tightened, and she was left speechless. “I’m leaving. Don’t bother me again.” When I walked out of the conference room, my colleagues stared at me in disbelief. They couldn’t fathom how a junior clerk with a prosthetic arm could possibly be connected to the heiress of the Miller Corporation. Even my boss, who usually treated me with disdain, was suddenly bustling over with a cup of warm water. Great. Looks like I’d be losing this job, too. Soon, it was time to clock out. As I stood in line, I saw the company’s CEO fawning over Sophia as they emerged from the conference room. Her eyes landed on me instantly. I quickly looked away, but then I heard a child’s sweet, innocent voice from outside. “Mommy, Daddy and I are here to pick you up!” “Sophia, Chloe insisted on coming to see you as soon as she got out of kindergarten.” My body went rigid. The man’s voice belonged to Marcus Thorne. He was once the brother I trusted most in the world. I’d recognize his voice even if he were nothing but ash. Sophia didn’t say a word, just scooped Chloe into her arms, her gaze still locked on me. Marcus followed her line of sight. The moment his eyes found me, the smile on his face froze. “Leo? What are you doing here? You’ve been in the city all this time? Why didn’t you come home? It doesn’t matter that you’ve been to prison, your family would never turn you away!” My coworkers immediately recognized him. “Sophia Miller’s husband is Marcus Thorne! You guys remember that super popular indie game, ‘Goose Hammer’? He’s the one who made it.” “Oh my god, he seems so gentle, but he’s a genius. That game made a fortune, right? Everyone was playing it.” A pang of bitterness shot through me. Thinking about that game still hurt. I said nothing, clocked out, and kept my head down as I walked out of the building. Marcus stepped forward and grabbed my arm. He flinched. Then he shoved up my sleeve, exposing the metal prosthetic. Chloe had never seen anything like it. She let out a terrified wail. But Marcus didn’t even try to comfort his daughter. His eyes were fixed on my arm, his expression a perfect picture of anguish. “Leo, you’ve suffered so much! The past is the past. You can’t go on like this. Just come home!” “Have you forgotten? We weren’t just brothers-in-law. In college, we were practically brothers!” “Even with a prison record and a disability, even after you stole from me! I could never hold it against you, Leo! Never!” In the span of a few minutes, in front of my entire office, he had twice made sure to mention that I’d been to prison. His words dripped with false magnanimity, a holier-than-thou performance that made my stomach turn. I stared back at him, taking in his designer suit, the Rolex on his wrist easily worth a fortune. No one would ever guess that this polished, successful developer, the celebrated Miller son-in-law, was once so poor he couldn’t afford a decent meal. Seeing my silence, Marcus pressed on. “Leo, are you still angry about what happened? Do you still blame your sister for sending you to prison? But you broke the law…” “Shut up,” I snapped. “You know the truth of what happened better than anyone.” “I want nothing to do with the Miller family. Leave me alone.” Sophia couldn’t hold back any longer. “Leo, why are you still so stubborn? How can you manage with just one hand? Stop pretending you’re fine. Come back, I’ll help you…” “How do I manage? For the past six years, I’ve been doing just fine.” I stepped into the elevator and left them behind. Oh, sister. I needed your help when I was in prison. Every single day, I waited for you to come and save me. Even though you were the one who threw me into that hell. I walked out of the office building, turned the corner, and slipped into the back of a black Rolls-Royce. My wife, Isabella Vance, was waiting for me. The moment I got in, she sensed the dark cloud hanging over me. I quickly told her what happened. Her face hardened with regret. “I should have gone up there myself and met your dear sister and that piece of trash. How dare they bully my husband? They’ll pay for this.” “Do you want me to handle it?” she asked. “No. I just want them to leave me alone.” She took my left hand in hers. “I’m always here.” The next day at work, everything was different. My coworkers treated me with a mixture of fear and contempt. They must have dug up the old news articles about Marcus and me. I tried to act as if nothing had changed, but my boss, practically groveling, a sycophantic grin plastered on his face, asked me to deliver a file to the Miller Corporation. I didn’t want to go, but I also didn’t want to be accused of throwing my weight around. After a moment’s thought, I took the file and went. I hadn’t been back in six years. Most of the employees were new faces. But a few of the older staff members recognized me. They stood up immediately, bowing their heads respectfully. “Mr. Miller. It’s been a long time.” I ignored them and went straight to Sophia’s office. I knew this was her doing. “Leo, you’re a Miller,” she said, the moment I walked in. “What will people think if they find out you’re working as a clerk in some small firm? What about the family’s reputation?” “The family’s reputation?” I scoffed, my fingers unconsciously brushing against my empty sleeve. “Wasn’t that destroyed six years ago?” Six years ago, Leo Miller was the pride of the family. I was a prodigy, a celebrated game developer at eighteen. My first indie game had topped the charts in both sales and reviews. My sister adored me, my parents doted on me. I’d been accepted into MIT. I had everything. I thought I was the luckiest guy in the world. Until I met my college roommate, Marcus Thorne. His poverty was glaring. His clothes were faded and patched. He showed up to the dorms without even a blanket, let alone the money for tuition. My privileged, sheltered heart overflowed with a naive desire to help. The feeling of being his savior was intoxicating. I gave him everything without a second thought. I paid his tuition, bought him new clothes and bedding, and loaded his meal card with thousands of dollars. I brought him into my life, introduced him to my parents, my sister, all my friends. I even taught him how to code, how to design games, guiding him every step of the way. Marcus was smart. He was also gentle, a stark contrast to my own fiery, proud nature. He knew how to charm my parents, how to play the part of the meek, grateful friend in front of my sister, earning her sympathy and affection. I had been basking in happiness for so long that I’d become blind to the subtle shifts around me. I don’t know when it started, but my friends stopped calling me. They were all hanging out with Marcus now. My sister began pursuing Marcus relentlessly, showering him with expensive gifts, calling our dorm room every night to talk to him. She forgot my birthday for the first time in my life and went a month without contacting me once. Even my father seemed to know all of Marcus’s favorite foods. My mother, who used to fuss over me, now only worried about whether Marcus was eating well, inviting him home every weekend for a home-cooked meal. I finally blew up at them, asking why they were shutting me out. They told me I was overthinking it. “Marcus has been through so much, and you’re competing with him for a little attention? You’re being selfish, Leo!” That summer, I came home to the Miller estate to find it empty. The butler awkwardly explained that my father, mother, and sister had taken Marcus on a vacation to Europe. Not a single one of them had thought to tell me. I stood there, stunned, before trashing my room in a fit of grief and rage. It felt like my world was collapsing. But all I got in return was more scorn from my family. “You’re becoming more and more immature. Marcus has no one. He’s never been out of the country. What’s the big deal about us taking him on one trip?” my mother chided. For the first time in my life, my father slapped me. “Leo, you’ve been the golden boy of this family your whole life. Can’t you be a little more generous? He’s going to be your brother-in-law. What’s wrong with us treating him well?” My sister, too, spoke to me with a harshness I’d never heard before. I never once objected to her dating Marcus. But I didn’t understand why welcoming him into the family meant casting me out. Was the vast Miller estate not big enough for both of us? Sophia’s ringing phone pulled me from my reverie. She took the file from my hand while ending the call. “That was Dad. He wants you to come home tomorrow.” I hesitated. The memory of my father’s love before all this, tangled with the memory of his cruelty after, was a confusing knot. I couldn’t remember which version was real. But I nodded. The next day, I showed up at the Miller estate in jeans and a T-shirt. I realized immediately this wasn’t a simple family meeting. It was a lavish gala celebrating Marcus. After the massive success of “Goose Hammer,” he’d launched his own game studio, “Thorne Studios.” And now, the Vance Corporation—the most powerful conglomerate in the country—was acquiring it. Even a small connection to the Vance Corporation was a huge boost to the Miller family’s prestige. The estate was decked out in gold and glitter. Guests mingled in designer gowns and bespoke suits. And then there was me, completely out of place in my casual clothes. I’d been played again. “Leo,” Marcus’s voice hissed from behind me. “I didn’t think you’d actually show up.” “It’s been six years. Why are you even here? There’s no place for you in this family anymore. Your sister sees me as the love of her life. Your parents wish I was their son…” I laughed coldly. “A pity you’re not. You’ll always be nothing but a common thief.” His face darkened. Just as he was about to retort, my mother, Eleanor, made her grand entrance. Marcus, holding his daughter’s hand, rushed to greet her. My mother beamed at her son-in-law and granddaughter. The moment her eyes landed on me, her smile vanished. Her eyes held no shock, no flicker of joy at seeing her long-lost son. Only cold, undisguised contempt. Sophia dragged me in front of her. “Mom, I found Leo. He hasn’t been doing well. He should come home.” “Just give him some money,” my mother said dismissively. “Look at the state of him. Why would we want him back here, embarrassing us?” Even though I’d expected it, the words still stung. My mother glanced at my prosthetic arm with disgust. Marcus, standing beside her, couldn’t hide a smug smile. “Marcus just closed the deal with the Vance Corporation. Don’t let this piece of trash stir up trouble.” “Mom,” I said. The word felt foreign on my tongue after six years. “Let’s just go our separate ways from now on.” “Goodbye, Mrs. Miller.” The change in address solidified it. My heart was finally dead to them. I turned and walked away, but tears of frustration still pricked my eyes. My mother used to love me so much. She used to be more excited than I was whenever one of my games was released. Until Marcus. Until that press conference that changed my life. “Goose Hammer.” It was my creation. After my family had turned on me, I’d poured all my pain and frustration into my work, spending sleepless nights creating that game. The launch event was a huge deal. The venue was packed with journalists and fans. My sister, my mother, and Marcus were all in the front row. As I spoke with the host on stage, I saw my mother lovingly squeeze Marcus’s hand, whispering and smiling with him. It was a tenderness she hadn’t shown me in a very long time. The presentation was going smoothly. But just as I was about to unveil the gameplay trailer—the highlight of the event—Marcus suddenly stormed the stage. His eyes were red-rimmed, his voice thick with emotion. The host, as if on cue, smoothly handed him the microphone. “Leo, I don’t care that you stole my ideas!” he cried out. “I don’t care that you stole my code!” “I don’t even care that you’re passing this game off as your own!” “But how could you deceive all these fans? They love you, they trust you, and you betrayed that trust! That, I cannot forgive!” The crowd gasped. I was stunned. But not my mother and sister. They sat there, their expressions perfectly calm. Flashbulbs popped as cameras recorded Marcus presenting his “evidence”—all of it precise, damning, and utterly fabricated. My code, my design documents, my concept art… all of it was now his. He had stolen everything from my computer. But I had been careful. The only people who knew my password, besides me, were my mother and my sister. “That’s not true!” I stammered, my voice lost in the chaos. No one listened. The launch was cancelled. My investors sued me for a staggering amount in damages. I was crucified online, a pariah overnight. I was losing my mind. Then I came home and saw my sister and Marcus locked in a passionate kiss. “Why?” I screamed at him. “You could have just been the Miller son-in-law. Why did you have to destroy me?” My mother rushed in and slapped me hard across the face.

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My wife gave a college kid a hundred million dollars. Then she personally produced a 24/7 reality series about him. The series, titled “A Hundred Million Dollar Life,” went viral. And the comments were flooded with people shipping them as a couple. 【This is so sweet! Is the $100 million giveaway still on? Where do I sign up?】 【How could you not fall for her? She gave him a fortune and then personally molded him into a superstar influencer. This is literally the definition of nurturing someone you love.】 【When is this series ending so you two can start filming your life as a couple? I can’t wait!】 I warned her not to take it too far. Her response? “Liam, it’s art. Don’t tarnish it with your petty jealousy.” Fine. Art, is it? The next day, I found a college girl of my own. And I gave her a hundred million dollars. 1 “You’re the one.” From a long list of candidates, I chose a young woman who was the polar opposite of my wife, Claire. The girl, unable to contain herself, practically jumped out of her chair. “Mr. Wood, are you for real? A hundred million dollars?” “And you want me to mirror his channel, right? Performing is my major. I can do this.” “But… won’t we get sued for copyright infringement? What if they report us?” Infringement? My voice was flat, calm. “The creator of that channel is my wife.” She stared at me, completely baffled. “Sir… are you two some kind of philanthropic power couple?” A fair question. I’d asked Claire the same thing a year ago. When she first pitched the “Hundred Million Dollar Life” concept, I was confused. Not by the idea itself, but by her choice of star. “Why does it have to be a guy?” I’d asked. She said I didn’t understand, that a male lead would generate more buzz. “Isn’t a hundred million a bit much?” I’d pressed. She reminded me that it was our joint marital property. She was free to do as she pleased with her half, and I had no right to question it. To this day, I still don’t know. Was this whole grand project just an elaborate excuse to get close to him? 2 The day after we signed the contract, the college girl was buzzing with excitement. I decided to copy Claire’s method and film her myself. Claire’s channel was called “Snowfall on Bamboo.” She claimed she chose the name because it contained the character for ‘wood’—a nod to my last name, a symbol of our shared creation. But I knew the college kid she was filming was named Ethan Cole. Close enough. A private joke at my expense. I wasn’t in the mood for clever wordplay. I named the new channel after the girl. “Maya Song.” Claire’s first video was about how Ethan spent his first day with a hundred million dollars. It exploded online the moment she posted it. Because the very first thing Ethan bought was a scarf for Claire. He was handed a life-changing fortune, and he didn’t buy a car, or a house. He bought a ridiculously expensive scarf. He looked straight into the camera, his eyes shining. “I know you’re incredibly wealthy and you don’t need me to buy you a scarf,” he’d said, “but you’re always wearing that lopsided, hideous thing. I wanted to get you a new one.” That “hideous thing” was a scarf I had knitted for Claire myself. It had turned out so ugly that I’d thrown it in the trash in frustration. Claire had fished it out, treating it like a treasure. “Liam made this for me,” she’d said, wrapping it around her neck. “It’s not ugly at all. I’ll wear it forever.” The memory brought a sting to my eyes. In the video, when Ethan presented her with the new scarf, she just smiled softly. Then, she unwound the one I had made. And dropped it into a nearby trash can. Without a moment’s hesitation. I didn’t sleep that night. I replayed the video over and over, dissecting every frame. I confronted her, demanded to know why she’d thrown away my gift. She came home later that night with the scarf. The once-cherished item was now shoved carelessly into a cheap plastic bag. “I told you, it’s for the show. It’s just work. Can you stop overthinking everything?” She glanced at her watch. “If there’s nothing else, I have to go. Ethan needs me on set. I’ve probably missed a dozen great shots just by coming here for an hour.” 3 “Mr. Wood, what do you think I should buy for you?” Maya’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts. Her gaze fell on the simple, plain band on my finger. “You’re so rich. Why are you still wearing this?” “A diamond-encrusted ring would suit you so much better.” This was the first ring Claire had ever given me, back when we were just starting our company. As we became more successful, she bought me countless expensive, beautiful rings. But I always wore this one. It represented our beginning. Our promise to never forget where we came from. But now… Maybe forgetting was the only way forward. “Alright,” I said with a smile. “Let’s shoot it just like that.” 4 A female-led channel, a direct answer to “Snowfall on Bamboo,” appeared overnight and immediately sparked a firestorm online. 【Wait, there’s another one? Why do they keep these giveaways a secret from us?】 【Another chance to get rich, missed. The opportunities are dwindling, people.】 【So you’re the one who got the hundred million? Congrats, I guess.】 【Both channels are based in the same city. Is this just some big production company stunt? All scripted?】 I was scrolling through the comments when Claire’s call came through. “Liam, have you lost your mind?” “My project has commercial value. Yours? This is just a pathetic, jealous tantrum.” I laughed. “Commercial value? Is he going to make back a hundred million for you in ad revenue?” She started to speak, but a young man’s whining voice cut through from her end. “Claire, my leg hurts…” She hung up immediately, terrified I might hear another word. After my channel blew up, many of Claire’s friends tried to talk me down. “Don’t compete with her, Liam. Her content is getting stale. She’ll get bored in another six months and come back home.” “Yeah, man, she was always going to come back when she was done playing. By fighting back, you’re just making her dig her heels in.” “They’ve been together 24/7 for a year, but you have no actual proof she’s cheating. Just let it go.” “We all know Claire loves you more than anything. We watched you two build everything from nothing. If she ever truly betrayed you, we’d be the first to call her out. It’s just a professional relationship with Ethan, we promise.” 5 I wasn’t in a good state for the second video shoot. What should have taken an afternoon dragged on into the evening. My empty stomach began to protest. On the ride home, Maya seemed to notice something was wrong. “You’re not feeling well?” “Stomachache. It’s an old problem.” She had the driver pull over. She came back with several different brands of stomach medicine. “Thanks.” “You shouldn’t eat greasy food when your stomach hurts. Do you cook?” I shook my head. “I’ll just order something.” “Order takeout?” she said, a little too brightly. “Liam, as long as I’m here, you won’t have to.” It had been a long time since I’d had a home-cooked meal. I made an exception and let her come to my apartment. I never expected Claire to come home that night. She walked in just as my hands were circling Maya’s waist, tying the strings of her apron. The heavy slam of the door was followed by Claire’s cold, mocking laugh. “Zhou Mu. Did you know I was coming back? Did you stage this little scene for me?” “You think this will get to me? This pathetic performance is a disgrace to art!” I didn’t want to fight in front of Maya. I untied the apron I’d just fastened and gestured for her to leave. Maya didn’t move. “I’m worried she might hit you.” I gave her a faint smile. “Don’t worry. She wouldn’t dare.” After I saw Maya out, I found Claire rummaging through our bedroom. “What are you looking for?” She straightened up. “That plain ring I gave you. You used to wear it every day. I didn’t see it on you today. Where did you put it?” So she did remember our first ring. But I had already thrown it away. A pang of guilt hit me. It was quickly extinguished by her next words. “Find it, quickly. I need it for a new video series with Ethan.” I stood there for a long moment, the words not registering. “You’re going to use our ring… to shoot a video with Ethan?” “Yes,” she said, her eyes alight with a creative spark. “Everyone’s getting tired of the ‘life-changing’ angle. They want romance! I’m planning one final, killer video to wrap up the series.” “We’ll transition from the plain band to a diamond one. I’ll splice in some old photos of you and me, and frame the narrative as if he was the one who was with me when I earned that hundred million, and now I’m giving it back to him. It brings the whole story full circle.” “Liam, it’s going to be a masterpiece! It’ll go viral!” “But… that’s our story,” I asked, my voice hollow. She threw her arms around me. “Liam, you’re so smart! That’s exactly it. It’s our story. I was even hoping you’d write the script for this episode.” I pushed her away. “If it’s our story, why am I not the one in it?” 6 Claire finally sensed that something was seriously wrong. She cupped my face in her hands. “Liam, you’re overthinking again, aren’t you?” “You’re not a professional actor. What if your performance was awkward? Besides, Ethan and I have been working together for so long, we have a natural chemistry.” But Ethan wasn’t a professional actor either. I’d looked into him. He was an alumnus of our university, just three years behind us. The year Claire and I graduated and started our company, he was just a freshman. I don’t know if they were in contact during those three years. All I know is that after three years, the very first thing Claire did after achieving success was pull out a hundred million dollars to build a media empire for him. Was her choice really a coincidence? I didn’t know. Those three years of building our company were a blur of exhaustion. I never noticed a thing. I pushed her hands away, too tired to argue anymore. “I threw the ring away. And I’m not writing your script.” For the first time, a flicker of genuine emotion crossed her face. “Liam, that was the first ring I ever gave you. How could you throw it away?” If she had actually watched my first video, she would have known that I’d tossed the ring into a trash can on camera. A look of dawning realization crossed her face. “Is this because I threw away your scarf?” “So you copied my video and threw away the ring?” “Yes,” I admitted. Claire let out a bitter laugh. “I went back and got that scarf the same night. Why are you still so hung up on this one little thing?” She got the scarf back. But she never wore it again. It wasn’t the scarf she’d thrown away. It was us. “There’s nothing going on between me and Ethan. If you don’t want to write the script, fine. I won’t force you.” “I admit, I’ve been completely focused on work this past year. I haven’t been there for you.” “Just give me a little more time. After I finish this last series, I’ll take you on that vacation we talked about, okay?” She hugged me, placing a light kiss on my forehead. “Be good. And that channel of yours… just shut it down.” “Don’t make things difficult for me.” It had been so long since we’d been this close. For a split second, my body instinctively wanted to lean into her embrace. But she pushed me away just as quickly. “Okay, I only got two hours off from the set with Ethan.” As she was leaving, she noticed the stomach medicine on the table. “Your stomach is weak,” she said coolly. “Remember to eat on time.” 7 After Claire left, a tidal wave of emotions washed over me. I tried to hold it back, but it was no use. The bitter sting in my throat spread to my sinuses. Of all the things she had done, the one thing I couldn’t forgive… was her taking our story, our struggle, our love… and broadcasting it to the world as hers and Ethan’s. All those years of supporting each other through the hardest times… what did they mean now? A knock on the door startled me. I didn’t want anyone to see me like this. I waited a long time, composing myself before I opened it. It was Maya. “You’re still here,” I said, clearing my throat, trying to keep my voice steady. She must have seen that I’d been crying. She looked flustered. “Um, I haven’t finished cooking dinner yet.” “Can I come in and finish?” “I waited outside for a while. I didn’t see you order any takeout.” She was offering a simple, honest kindness. I couldn’t refuse. I let her in. Maya was respectful of my space. She really did just cook me a meal. She didn’t ask a single question. The food was delicious. And my mood, surprisingly, began to lift.

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1 It all started when they found my boyfriend’s brother’s DNA—his fingerprints, his fluids—on my sister’s body. That’s when Julian Howard and I went insane. I hunted his brother down and returned the favor in blood and bone. And on the day of my sister’s funeral, he bought out every digital billboard in the city center and plastered my most private photos across them for the world to see. We were drowning in a sea of red, our hatred too wild, too fierce to contain. The love we once shared twisted into the sharpest of blades, and we plunged them into each other until we were both bleeding out. Eventually, High Command had enough. They shipped one of us overseas and kept the other stateside. The next time we met, Julian was a decorated Major General. And I was riddled with a sickness that would kill me in less than three months. … After picking up my prescription, I headed back to the flower shop I owned, right across from the main gate of the garrison. As I stepped inside, the large screen opposite was broadcasting a news segment on Julian’s return to D.C. The golden boy of the base, now the Army’s youngest Major General, was back from his overseas tour. It was major news, and every network was scrambling for coverage. I tore my eyes away and placed the fresh white daisies I’d brought before my sister’s photograph. Suddenly, the door burst open and a young woman in a white dress rushed in, clutching a massive, dazzling bouquet of red roses. She had a quiet look about her, but her voice was crisp and clear as she pointed to the imported Avalanche roses in the cooler. “All of these. I’ll take them all!” Right behind her was Julian’s adjutant, Marcus. His steps faltered the moment he saw me, his expression growing strained. “Linda, maybe we should try another shop?” “No,” she shot back instantly. “I sent Julian an eternal flower box from here once, and he said it was special. Tonight is his promotion dinner, and I want everything to be perfect.” She blinked her clear, bright eyes at me. “Ma’am, my fiancé was just promoted to Major General. He absolutely loves the flowers from your shop. I was wondering… could we possibly use your space to host a small celebration for him?” I couldn’t refuse. I simply nodded. “Could you add some lisianthus, too?” she added softly. I agreed, but my hands wouldn’t stop shaking as I began to arrange the bouquet. It wasn’t fear, nor was it nostalgia. It was the sickness, flaring up again. The kind there’s no cure for. “Marcus, can you please help me? Julian will be here any minute, and I want to make him happy.” Marcus remained frozen in place. He knew better than anyone that seeing me would never make Julian Howard happy. On the screen, Julian offered the cameras a practiced smile, but his eyes were devoid of warmth. “I imagine she’s watching this,” he said as the camera zoomed in, the scar high on his brow stark and clear. “I’m very much looking forward… to this reunion.” I’d given him that one with a combat knife. No particular reason. I was in a bad mood, and he was there. And the puckered bullet hole just below my collarbone was his handiwork, from when he’d deliberately aimed high during target practice. No particular reason for that, either. We’ve always believed in an eye for an eye. We took pleasure in seeing the other bleeding and broken. On the TV, a female reporter was smiling. “Major General Howard, will you be stationed in D.C. for the long term? I see you’ve brought roses. Are you on your way to see someone important?” He paused, his voice low. “My fiancée.” In the shop, the girl was meticulously arranging the roses and lilies. Hearing his voice, she glanced back at the screen. “Marcus, I heard Julian had an old flame in D.C., someone he was tangled up with for years. Do you know anything about that?” I kept my head down, trimming stems, but in my peripheral vision, I saw Marcus’s gaze land on me. “Julian!” the girl cried out, shattering the tense silence in the shop. She ran outside, so eagerly she forgot her coat. “Linda.” Outside, Julian caught her leaping form with one steady arm, draping his uniform jacket over her shoulders with the other. She stood on her toes and pressed a rain-dampened kiss to his jaw. Julian seemed to turn his head just slightly, avoiding it. Across the misted glass of the window, our eyes met. Linda started to turn, but he cupped the back of her head and pulled her into a deep, possessive kiss. I looked away, snipping the last ribbon. Marcus was now standing in front of me. He hesitated, then lowered his voice. “Sienna, I’m begging you… It’s his promotion day. At least for today, don’t make a scene.” He paused, then added, “The girl just turned twenty. She’s the lead performer in the military’s arts corps. Her smile… it looks a little like yours did, when you were younger.” I nodded, my fingertips numb with cold. “It does. And she’s gentler than I ever was.” The door opened again. Julian walked in, holding a furled black umbrella. “Talking about my fiancée?” His lips were curved into a smile, but his eyes were chips of ice as they fell on me. Marcus held his breath, watching me, waiting to see if I would explode like I always did. But I simply held out the prepared flowers. “Your pre-ordered bouquet. Please check it.” Linda cupped her face in her hands, her eyes shining with adoration for Julian. “Julian, smell it. Isn’t it your favorite, champagne roses?” Julian’s fingers brushed against a petal, his thumb stroking the silk ribbon as he leaned in. “Too fragrant,” he murmured, his voice lilting as he teased her. “Cloying. Not really for me.” Linda looked down, confused. “But it’s so delicate! You’re teasing me again!” She didn’t see it. The moment she looked down, Julian’s eyes were locked on me. The next second, the glass door was thrown open. “Howard! Congrats on the promotion!” A few officers in civilian clothes burst in, their grins freezing on their faces the moment they saw me. Their eyes darted from me to Marcus, full of alarm and suspicion. I walked over with a tray of tea, and they took a collective step back—as if I were carrying a live grenade. Over the years, our battles on the training grounds had often involved them as collateral damage. They were just standard exercises, but I hadn’t realized I’d left them with such deep-seated muscle memory. One of them nudged Marcus discreetly. “What the hell is this?” Marcus just shrugged. “Please, have some tea,” I said, turning to leave. But Linda caught my wrist. “Ma’am, could you take a picture for us?” “No.” I gently pulled my arm free, refusing without a second thought. I had barely turned when a shadow fell over me. I looked up. It was Julian, his face a cold mask. “I know how you people in business are,” he said, his tone flat. “Everything has a price. Name it. How much to buy your…” He paused, his voice dripping with malice, as if waiting for me to lash out. When I didn’t react, he finished coldly, “…services as a photographer.” I looked him up and down, then started to walk around him. An old injury in my forearm screamed as he grabbed it. I stumbled, falling to my knees as a black credit card hit my face, the card’s edge slicing a thin, bloody line across my cheek. “There’s enough on that card to buy your life.” I pushed myself back to my feet, my eyes locked on his. Linda stepped between us, smiling brightly, trying to smooth things over. “Julian, don’t be like this…” “I’m so sorry, ma’am. My fiancé must be exhausted from his recent field exercises.” But his uniform was crisp, his breathing even. He was just looking for a fight, same as he had for the past decade. For the first time, I truly believed it. His years overseas had made him arrogant. He had forgotten just what kind of person I was. I knelt, picked up the black card, and stood before him. A snicker came from the group of officers. “Look at that, Howard. The woman hasn’t changed a bit. Sees money and she can’t walk away.” He held out his phone, a smug look on his face, clearly satisfied with my apparent submission. I wrapped a thorny rose stem around the black card, then grabbed his wrist and ground it into his palm. I didn’t stop until I smelled blood. Then I snatched two cups of tea from the table and threw them in his face. “Your mouth is filthy,” I said calmly. “Allow me to wash it out.” In the same motion, I slapped the man who had spoken. “You useless dog. If you can’t use your mouth for anything but barking, shut it.” It all happened too fast for anyone to react. The only sound was the rain lashing against the windows. Marcus leaned against the wall, downed a cup of tea in one gulp, and sighed. “Why did you have to provoke her?” Linda, snapping out of her shock, stepped forward, her voice trembling with indignation. “Ma’am! I know we were rude, but this is completely out of line!” Her face was flushed with anger. She raised her hand to strike me. “Ah!” The moment her arm moved, I caught her wrist, twisted, and a sharp slap echoed in the small shop. The only sound left was Linda’s choked sobs. Julian wiped the water from his face, his smile chilling. “Hitting me is one thing. But touching my fiancée… that’s where you crossed the line.” He pulled the weeping Linda behind him. “How about I smash this place up for you? Would that make you feel better?” Linda bit her lip, tears welling in her eyes, and nodded. In an instant, several soldiers rushed in from outside. Flower stands toppled, glass shattered, crystal vases exploded. Icy rain and wind poured in, soaking my white shirt. Julian grabbed my chin, forcing my head up. “You weren’t wrong. But she needs an answer. Think about what you want for compensation. Write it down, send it to me. I’ll pay it in full.” His eyes were dark, like he was interrogating a prisoner of war. I shoved him away and broke into a violent coughing fit, frantically searching through the wreckage. A small pill bottle rolled out. My eyes lit up. But he was faster. He bent down, picked it up, and studied the label. “Six painkillers at once? You really do have a death wish.” With that, he casually tossed the bottle into a puddle of water, wrapped his arm around Linda, and left. I knelt by the puddle, retrieved the bottle, and swallowed two more pills. They didn’t just kill the pain; they calmed the storm inside me. I used to need half a pill. Now, even eight wasn’t enough. The pills were almost gone. My life, too, was almost over. In the last three years, both my parents had died. My health never fully recovered, so I took a medical discharge and used my savings to open this shop. Now it was destroyed, and I had nowhere else to go. Maybe it was the pain, a fresh wave crashing over me, but I didn’t have the strength to move. I just sat there, in the ruins, as the night rain soaked me to the bone. Overnight, the gossip spread through the garrison: “Major General Howard Trashes Old Flame’s Shop for New Fiancée.” As dawn broke, I prepared to leave. Before I went, I turned to the wreckage, sank to my knees, and bowed my head three times in a final, silent farewell. Julian appeared behind me, seemingly out of nowhere, and yanked me to my feet. “It’s just a broken-down shop. Is it really worth all this?” I wrenched my arm free, steadied myself, and then, with three sharp, clean motions, I slapped him across the face. “My parents’ military decorations were in there,” I said, my voice flat. “They’re gone.” He flicked his tongue against the inside of his bruised cheek and let out a cold laugh. “Is that right? Three slaps for your parents’ medals? Sounds like I got the better end of that deal.” I ignored him, my gaze fixed on the ruins. He stood behind me, his voice a low venom, deliberately saying things to cut me deep. “Sienna, I’m talking to you.” I acted as if I hadn’t heard, walking straight past him. He caught up in a few strides, blocking my path. “Don’t play stoic with me! Look at yourself. Your face is as white as a sheet. Who are you trying to fool?” “It’s just an old injury acting up. Makes me look a little tired, that’s all.” I looked up, forcing a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Julian, do you really think you’re important enough to affect me?” But I knew the truth. He had come back for this. To torment me. If my body were what it used to be, I wouldn’t have minded another round with him. I’d have enjoyed giving him another taste of a bullet tearing through flesh. But now, just standing here was draining the last of my strength. The military hospital smelled sharply of antiseptic. A group of army doctors stood around my scans, their faces grim. “The experimental medication I gave you last time, how much is left?” “It’s gone.” “Gone?!” Dr. Evans’ voice shot up. “That was a three-month supply! It’s only been a week!” Dr. Evans had been managing my case for a long time. The way he hesitated now, unable to meet my eyes, told me everything. My time was shorter than I thought. “Do you… have any family?” he asked tentatively. “You forgot, Doctor?” I replied calmly. “My father was killed in action. My mother is gone. My sister…” “I’m all that’s left.” He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “But you were stable for three years. What happened this week?” I glanced at my phone. The news feed had automatically pushed an article to the top. A picture of Julian with his arm around Linda at the promotion dinner. The person I thought I had stopped caring about could still wound me the deepest. Julian was the one bullet in my life that always found its mark, killing without leaving a trace of blood. “Your prognosis is not good. Once you’re off the medication, seven days, a month, three months… it’s all a critical period.” “Take this,” he said, handing me a small bottle. “Three pills when the pain is unbearable. Remember, no more than three…” Before he could finish, I had twisted the cap off, poured a handful into my palm, and swallowed them dry. The number didn’t matter. Not as long as it could silence the agony gnawing at my bones. Seven days or three months. It made no difference to me. After taking the pills, I slumped in a corner of the hospital corridor, my back pressed against the cold tiles. It was a trick I’d learned. If I could make myself cold enough, numb enough, the pain would recede. A cold sweat soaked through my clothes. For ten minutes, I listened to the prayers and weeping from outside the operating room next door, all those desperate hopes hanging on the thread between life and death. “Mommy, isn’t that the sister from the bed next to ours? Should we go say goodbye?” “Her illness… it’s not going to get better. Let’s not bother her. Poor girl. Both parents died in service, and now she’s so badly injured. I’m afraid at the end… there won’t be anyone to even collect her body.” The little girl looked up, confused. “But surely someone in the world must care about the pretty sister?” I blinked, my vision blurring, then focusing on my phone screen. A text from Julian. He’d been messaging me nonstop since last night, demanding to know what I wanted as compensation. I thought about it. Maybe there was no one who cared. But there was, at least, someone to collect the body. I dialed the number I knew by heart. He answered on the first ring. “Decided what you want?” I took a breath, swallowing the metallic taste in my throat. “If you really want to compensate me, Julian, you can collect my body.”

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1 The moment a college girl seven years my junior confessed her feelings to me, my girlfriend was in the crowd, a quiet spectator. We had been together for a year. In all that time, Kathy had never shown a flicker of jealousy. She always said, with a detached sort of grace, that she believed in giving me my freedom. I thought she was just naturally reserved, cool-headed. That was until I stumbled upon her ex-boyfriend’s old social media account. For him, she had made a sixty-mile journey across the city every single day, rain or shine. If he went to a party and didn’t text back for a while, she would bombard him with messages. She’d get huffy, demanding he keep his distance from other women, warning him that she would be checking his chat logs. And when they fought, when he tried to break up with her, the same woman who was always so composed with me would pin him to the sofa and kiss him with a fierce, desperate passion. It hit me then. She wasn’t cold. She wasn’t above jealousy. Her fire, her possessiveness… they just weren’t for me. I let out a slow breath and took the bouquet from the young woman’s hands. Olivia’s eyes lit up instantly, a fiery hope practically spilling from them. The flowers were a stunning arrangement of deep, velvety roses. I’d looked them up once. Their meaning: You are my one and only obsession. Honestly, for a split second, I was tempted to just say yes. Ten feet away, mixed in with the crowd of onlookers, stood Kathy. Her tailored blazer and slacks were a stark contrast to the casual student attire all around her. She was holding a bouquet of her own, her serene face unreadable. She looked like a stranger who had merely paused to observe a commotion that had nothing to do with her. A silent, bitter sigh rose in my chest. I must have been losing my mind. To actually consider accepting Olivia’s confession, just to see if I could crack that perfect, icy composure of Kathy’s. The absurd thought vanished as quickly as it came. Olivia was my professor’s daughter. She had just turned eighteen. I pressed my fingers to my temples. This is a disaster, I thought. How was I ever going to explain this to her father? “Olivia, the flowers are beautiful, and I’ll keep them. But I’m sorry. I already have a girlfriend.” Olivia froze, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop them. “Since when? Why haven’t I ever seen her come to campus to find you? Leo, are you just saying that because you think I’m too young?” Her three-pronged attack left me speechless. Every word was a needle, pricking the most tender, bruised part of my heart. How could I possibly tell her that my girlfriend was standing right behind her at this very moment? It was laughable, really. Over the past year, Kathy had constantly talked about not wanting to intrude on my world, about giving me space. Today was the first time she had ever come to the university to see me, and only after I had pleaded with her for weeks. Kathy had clearly heard Olivia’s questions, but she didn’t move an inch. Defeated, I forced a stern expression, adopting the tone of an older brother scolding his kid sister. “Hey, watch your tone. Show some respect.” “You’re barely older than my shoe size. What are you doing thinking about romance? Go back to your books.” 2 The crowd dispersed like a receding tide, leaving only Kathy behind, an unmovable rock on the sand. She was holding a cake box in one hand and that other bouquet in her right. It was a painfully generic arrangement of red roses and baby’s breath, the kind of thing you’d grab from a roadside stand with zero thought. Her gaze fell on the dark roses in my arms before she spoke. “Those are beautiful. You can tell she put a lot of thought into them.” She offered the cake to me. I deliberately didn’t take it, hugging the roses tighter. “My hands are full.” “Should I hold those for you?” she asked. Her tone was gentle, considerate even. I stared into her eyes, searching their deep, placid pools for any sign of annoyance, any flicker of the emotion a girlfriend was supposed to feel in a moment like this. There was nothing. Absolutely nothing. I decided to be direct. “Kathy, weren’t you afraid I might have said yes to her?” A small smile touched her lips. She answered with that same infuriating calm. “That would just mean she’s more deserving than I am. I would understand.” The thread of my composure finally snapped. “Good point,” I said, my voice strained. “So, why don’t we just break up?” The words hung in the air, tasting like ash in my mouth. Kathy was silent for a beat. “I’m sorry. Next time, I’ll step in sooner.” It was another one of her well-rehearsed apologies. Just like every other time, she’d quickly admit fault, shutting down the conversation and sealing off any possibility of real communication. Last month, I had deliberately complimented a classmate in front of her, remarking on how charming she was. Kathy hadn’t shown the slightest bit of displeasure. I joked, “Aren’t you worried I’ll fall for someone else?” She had simply replied, “Don’t overthink it. I trust you.” After being met with that same wall of indifference time and time again, I could no longer lie to myself. Kathy didn’t care about me. It was as simple, and as brutal, as that. 3 We parted on bad terms. Or rather, I was in a bad mood. She seemed fine. As a final act of defiance on what was supposed to be our first anniversary, I told her I was going to a bar tonight. I was sure she’d understand what I was really saying. But all she said was, “Be safe,” before turning and walking away. When my friend Mark picked me up, he was in the middle of a heated argument with his wife over the car’s Bluetooth. He hung up and irritably sent her his location. “God, she’s worse than my own mother! I can’t even go out for a drink with you without getting an interrogation.” He shot me a look of pure envy. “You’re so lucky, man. Your girl Kathy is the best. Never interferes, never gets mad. She’s completely devoted to you.” I didn’t answer, just rolled down the window and let the cool night air wash over my face. A bitter pang of jealousy hit me. I envied Mark’s life, the constant bickering and making up he had with his wife. Their relationship felt alive, dynamic, a flowing river where the push and pull only brought them closer. It was the feeling of being needed, of being important to someone. What Kathy and I had… it was like a stagnant pond. Even an argument felt like a luxury we couldn’t afford. That so-called devotion was just her habit of conceding before a disagreement could even begin. She’d cut me off with an “I’m sorry” before I even had a chance to get angry. A soft female voice drifted from the car radio, layered over a gentle melody. “If someone is always perfectly rational and restrained with you, that isn’t love. Love is irrational. It’s losing control. It’s overthinking, it’s being lost in a daze. It’s possessiveness, it’s a desperate need to see them…” Mark wasn’t listening, still grumbling about his wife. “We can argue about anything! Last night we were trying to figure out where to go for vacation, and it turns out we both secretly planned a surprise trip for the other. We were both so excited, talking over each other, trying to get the other to listen to our plan, and it turned into a huge fight. Can you believe that? How ridiculous is that?” I managed a weak jab. “No wonder you’re so good at arguing. You’ve been getting extra practice behind my back.” Mark laughed. “Yeah, well, those arguments usually end up in the bedroom. Good for the stamina, you know?” Not long ago, I had excitedly presented Kathy with my own meticulously planned vacation itinerary. I had barely gotten a sentence out before she cut me off. “If you like it, that’s fine.” My excitement deflated like a pricked balloon. My enthusiasm vanished, and the plans were forgotten. The night deepened, and the car pulled up in front of a bar. Before Mark could even kill the engine, I pushed him back into the driver’s seat. “Alright, you married man with a curfew, don’t you dare come inside. Go home before your wife puts a hit out on me.” Mark glanced at his vibrating phone and sighed. “You’re probably right. She gets lonely by herself. Fine, fine, I’ll go home and continue the fight.” I smiled as I watched his car merge back into traffic. The bar was busy but not rowdy. A singer on stage was gently strumming a guitar, his voice a husky, melancholic whisper as he sang a love song with lyrics I couldn’t quite make out. I found a secluded booth in the corner and let the alcohol numb the ache in my chest. My phone lit up. A message from Kathy. What time are you coming home? It felt like a routine check-in, a task to be completed. I stared at the words for a few seconds, my thumb hovering over the screen, but I didn’t reply. Instead, I opened the social media app that had been the source of my sleepless night. I had come across the account last week. A post about a relationship had popped up in my feed, a stark anomaly among the usual academic and research articles. Normally, I would have scrolled right past it. But a powerful, unexplainable intuition made me click. The blogger detailed, with loving exasperation, just how clingy his girlfriend was. I clicked on his profile and saw that he had stopped posting about a year and a half ago. In the comments of his last post, someone asked what had happened. He replied: We broke up. The replies were filled with sympathy and regret. I felt a pang of sadness for him, too. Until I saw a blurry photo of a woman in profile. I recognized her instantly. It was Kathy. My mind immediately rejected the idea. It was absurd. This couldn’t be Kathy. The Kathy I knew was cool, rational, as emotionally steady as a finely tuned instrument. She didn’t get excited about promotions, and she could calmly disarm a knife-wielding patient in the ER without batting an eye. She never crossed boundaries, never lost control. But the Kathy in these posts? She was the girl who would travel sixty miles across the city every day just to have dinner with him. She was the girl who, if he was slow to reply to a text, would send a hundred more, demanding he cut off all contact with other women and submit his phone for inspection. Even when they were breaking up, he had written a post so long it was practically a novella. Her last message to him read: “Please don’t say we’re breaking up, I can’t take it. Don’t move, stay home, I’m bringing you your favorite food.” She had even… gotten on her knees, with tears in her eyes, and begged him not to leave. That kind of desperate pleading, that burning, all-consuming possessiveness… I had never seen that side of her. By the time the sun began to rise, I had read every single post. My phone screen timed out, reflecting my own tear-streaked face. Their love had been a raging inferno, so bright and hot it was painful to look at. And in that moment, I finally understood. I had thought Kathy was giving me space and respect. The truth was, she just didn’t care enough to do otherwise. 4 Yesterday, the blogger had posted an update. He said he was meeting his ex-girlfriend. I waited quietly. I decided to give her one last chance. If she told me the truth about her past, or if she kept it from me but didn’t go to meet him, then I would sit her down and have an honest conversation. I wouldn’t let our relationship end with unspoken regrets. Because I really did love her. Kathy was beautiful, a fantastic cook, and always pulled her weight with chores. We were both in the medical field, so we had so much in common. I knew it would be hard to find someone like her again. My eyes were glued to the entrance of the bar. With every swing of the door, my heart leaped into my throat. Plenty of people came and went, but I never saw her familiar silhouette. The knot of tension in my stomach slowly began to unwind. I even felt a small sense of relief. Maybe I was just overthinking everything. Maybe that part of her past was truly over. Perhaps she had simply burned through all her passion in that one all-consuming love affair, leaving nothing but embers for me. Love doesn’t have to be a whirlwind romance. It can be a slow, steady stream. Like my parents. When my dad was in the kitchen cooking noodles, just as he dropped them into the pot, my mom would wordlessly appear with two washed eggs. She didn’t need to ask; she just knew he always liked a soft-boiled egg with his noodles. When my mom peeled garlic, she’d instinctively drop the skins onto a paper towel my dad had laid out for her moments before. The rhythmic chop of the knife and the hum of the exhaust fan would fill the silence, a comfortable quiet that felt more intimate than any conversation. Two people, one home, a lifetime of shared meals. Maybe a life like that wouldn’t be so bad. … The clock on the wall ticked past two in the morning. The bar was about to close. Kathy’s internal clock was unshakable. She was always asleep by 11:30 PM. It seemed she had chosen to say nothing and stay home. Good. I let out a long, slow breath and picked up my phone, ready to call a ride-share and head home. Tomorrow, we would talk. Just as I stood up, my gaze drifted to a dimly lit corner near the front of the bar. I froze. The blood in my veins turned to ice. Kathy. She was sitting right there, her eyes locked on the male singer on stage. Her profile was sharp and clear in the flickering lights, yet she looked like a complete stranger. Their gazes met across the crowded room, and both of their eyes were red with unshed tears. She had been here even longer than I had. She hadn’t gone home. She hadn’t gone to sleep. The quiet, steady future I had just started to build in my mind… In that instant, it shattered into a million pieces. 5 A wave of pain washed over me, but it was quickly eclipsed by a feeling of utter absurdity. I quickly wiped the moisture from the corner of my eye. Taking a deep breath, I told myself I couldn’t run. There was no need to wait for tomorrow. We would talk right now. I walked straight toward her, planting myself directly in her line of sight and breaking their intense connection. “Kathy.” Her red-rimmed eyes still held the lingering ghost of a powerful emotion she hadn’t had time to conceal. “What are you doing here?!” Just then, a drunk woman at the next table staggered to her feet. She let out a wolf whistle at the singer on stage and hurled an empty beer bottle in his direction. Glass exploded across the stage. The singer flinched back, a shard of glass catching the hem of his pants. In a heartbeat, Kathy shoved me aside and threw herself in front of him. I stumbled, caught off balance. My elbow slammed hard against the cold edge of the bar, and a sharp, blinding pain shot up my arm. My mind flashed back to the day we first met. Kathy had shielded me just like this, without a moment’s hesitation, from a psychiatric patient with a knife. But now, the only person she wanted to protect was the man standing behind her. The drunk woman, seeing she’d caused trouble, muttered a curse and stumbled away. “Julian!” Kathy’s voice was tight with worry and fear. “I told you not to work in a place like this! What would you have done if I wasn’t here?” Julian, still shaken, finally snapped back to reality and pushed her away forcefully. “I don’t need you to look after me! Why are you so damn pathetic?” They stared each other down, a silent battle raging between them, their eyes tangled in a web of history that no one else could understand. But Kathy’s desperate longing to pull him into her arms was so palpable it was almost a physical force in the room. It was laughable. I was the one who felt like the outsider. “What is he to you?” I asked, my voice cutting through their standoff. Julian’s head snapped toward me, tears glistening at the corners of his eyes. He tried to sound composed. “We’re just old friends.” Just old friends. Right. Kathy’s jaw was clenched so tightly a muscle jumped. She looked like she was choking on the words, unable to refute his definition of their relationship. Her gaze finally returned to me. “His leg is bleeding. I have to take him to the hospital.” She could spot a nearly invisible scratch on his leg in the dim, flashing lights of the bar. But she was blind to the agony twisting my face as I clutched my elbow, a cold sweat breaking out on my forehead. Julian turned his face away. “I’m not going! I’m not gonna die!” Kathy immediately pulled out her phone. “Then I’m calling an ambulance.” She was a doctor. She was Dr. Kathy Moran, who could face the most gruesome injuries in the emergency room without flinching, making life-or-death decisions with ice-cold precision. But right now, for him, she was a complete mess.

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During a business dinner, Brandi snatched my fiancé’s phone, charged ten thousand dollars to his card for a new handbag, then stuck her tongue out at me. “Cade is so rich, she won’t mind a little splurge, right? Alex and I don’t have secrets. His money is my money.” Everyone at the table waited for me to either explode or graciously let it slide. Instead, I pulled a voice recorder and a laptop from my briefcase and adjusted my gold-rimmed glasses. “The amount in question is ten thousand dollars, which meets the threshold for criminal investigation. Since there are no secrets between you, would this be classified as corporate embezzlement, or an illicit transfer of assets within the context of a sugar-daddy relationship?” “Oh, and that last part, about ‘his money is my money’? I have it on tape. According to his company’s bylaws and our prenuptial agreement, I am now officially initiating an asset freeze on Alex Vance.” “Enjoy your new bag, Miss Brandi. The food in prison is free.” Alex’s face went pale. “Cade, it was just a joke. Are you really going to ruin me over this?” I hit the Enter key. “I’m sorry. In my ledger, there are no jokes. Only bad debts.” 1 My phone vibrated. A text from my bank flashed on the screen: Charge of $10,000.00 processed. I set down my fork and looked at Alex. He wasn’t looking at me. He was busy peeling a shrimp for Brandi, the girl sitting beside him. Brandi was holding Alex’s phone. The screen was still lit up, displaying the payment confirmation page from a luxury brand’s website. She twirled the phone in her fingers and flashed it at me. “Cade, I’ve had my eye on this bag forever. Alex said you’re always so frugal you don’t know the first thing about fashion. He thought I should help him spend a little, you know, to keep up appearances.” There were seven or eight people at the table, all of them Alex’s “buddies” and business partners. They paused, their eyes darting between me, Alex, and Brandi. Someone let out a short, muffled laugh. Alex placed the peeled shrimp in Brandi’s bowl before finally glancing at me. “Cade, Brandi’s just a kid. Don’t take it so seriously. It’s just a bag. We can afford it.” I said nothing. I unzipped my briefcase. I took out a digital voice recorder and pressed the record button. A small red light blinked on. I took out my ultra-slim laptop, opened the lid, and typed in my password. My movements were fluid, practiced. The smile on Brandi’s face faltered. She leaned closer to Alex, practically draping herself over his arm. “Alex, look at your fiancée. Who brings a laptop to dinner? Is she going to start running numbers? What a buzzkill.” Alex frowned and slammed his chopsticks on the table. “Cade, are you on the clock? This is a private dinner. Put that junk away.” I ignored him. My fingers flew across the keyboard. I opened a new spreadsheet and named the file: Alex Vance – Large-Scale Irregular Expenditure Memo. I pushed my gold-rimmed glasses up the bridge of my nose and looked at Brandi. “A moment ago, you said that you and Alex have no secrets, that his money is your money. Is that correct?” Brandi tilted her chin up. “That’s right! Alex and I grew up together. We have a bond. Someone like you, who only knows how to read financial statements, would never understand.” I nodded. “Excellent.” I turned to Alex. “And you agree with that statement?” He waved his hand dismissively. “Brandi is like a little sister to me. What’s the big deal if she spends a little of my money? You’re my fiancée, can’t you be a little more generous? Don’t be so petty. It’s a bad look.” I hit the Enter key. The cursor blinked on the screen. I began to speak, my voice steady and clear, loud enough for the recorder to pick up every word. “According to federal law, any employee of a corporation or enterprise who uses their position to illicitly appropriate company assets for personal use, where the amount is substantial, shall be subject to a prison term of up to five years.” “Alex’s credit card is linked to the corporate account.” “Brandi is not an employee of the company, yet she used ten thousand dollars of corporate funds for a personal expense.” I looked at Alex. “You are the CEO. I am the Chief Risk Officer. You authorized a non-employee to misappropriate company funds for personal luxury consumption.” I paused. “If this isn’t classified as embezzlement, then it must be an illicit transfer of assets within the context of an extramarital affair.” “Alex, your company is in the critical phase of its pre-IPO audit. A ten-thousand-dollar expense without a valid business receipt will cause the auditors to immediately fail your financial compliance review.” The table fell into a dead silence. The man who had laughed earlier froze with his wine glass halfway to his lips. Alex’s face turned a blotchy, furious red. He shot to his feet, the chair screeching against the floor. “Cade! Are you insane? This is between me and Brandi! Who are you to make it a federal case? Embezzlement? Prison? Are you that desperate for attention that you can’t stand to see me be nice to anyone else?” Brandi’s eyes instantly welled up. Tears streamed down her face. “Cade, why are you humiliating me like this? I just bought a bag… If you’re upset that Alex is nice to me, take it out on me. Don’t ruin him.” Sobbing, she buried her face in Alex’s chest. He patted her back protectively and pointed a finger at me. “Cade, you apologize to Brandi right now! Or this wedding is off!” I saved the document. Closed the laptop. Turned off the recorder and placed it back in my briefcase. I stood up. “Whether we get married is not your decision. But whether the company’s books are balanced, that is mine.” “If that ten thousand dollars is not returned to the corporate account within three days, I will file a report directly with the financial crimes division.” “Furthermore,” I said, looking at Brandi, “your admission that you and Alex ‘have no secrets’ has been recorded.” “According to the company’s articles of incorporation and the supplementary clauses of our prenuptial agreement, I have the right to initiate an asset freeze in the event of any high-risk relationship that could lead to a loss of company assets.” I took out my phone and, in front of all of them, dialed our bank’s corporate accounts manager. “This is Cade Sterling. There is a significant risk event associated with the corporate account ending in 7788 under Alex Vance’s name. As Chief Risk Officer, I am ordering an immediate freeze on all non-payroll expenditures from this account.” A professional voice replied, “Understood, Ms. Sterling. It’s done.” Alex’s phone vibrated again. This time, it was a notification of the account freeze. He stared at his phone, then at me, in disbelief. “Cade, are you serious?” I smoothed the lapels of my blazer. “In my world, there are no jokes.” With that, I turned and walked out of the private room. Behind me, I heard the sound of shattering porcelain and Alex’s enraged roar. “Cade! You just wait!” 2 Monday morning. Alex Vance’s company, Finance Department. I was sitting in my office, the Chief Risk Officer’s office, with a stack of expense reports in front of me. The door was pushed open. Brandi sauntered in, wearing a miniskirt that barely covered her thighs and carrying a cup of bubble tea. The finance manager followed her, looking mortified. “Ms. Sterling… I’m so sorry, Miss Brandi insisted on coming in.” I didn’t look up. I was using a six-figure Montblanc pen to circle items on the reports. “Get out.” The manager fled as if granted amnesty. Brandi plopped herself down on my desk, setting her bubble tea directly on my documents. Condensation seeped into the paper, smudging the ink. I stopped writing and finally looked up at her. She swung her legs, the toe of her shoe nearly kicking me in the face. “You’re so petty, Cade. Freezing Alex’s accounts? He had to borrow money from a friend just to get gas this morning. How embarrassing for him.” She reached for the expense reports on my desk. “And these… the finance department said they won’t process them without your signature. It’s just a few outfits. Alex said it’s part of building the company’s image.” I held the reports down, then pulled one out and held it up for her to see. “Victoria’s Secret. Lace lingerie. Three sets, total four hundred fifty dollars. Category: Office Supplies.” I looked her in the eye. “Miss Brandi, could you please clarify which office function requires this particular type of ‘supply’? Should I make a special note in the audit report that Alex Vance’s office offers… specialized services?” Brandi didn’t even blush. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, revealing a dark red mark on her neck. A hickey. Displayed for my benefit. “Oh, come on, Cade. Don’t be such a prude. Alex is under a lot of stress. I help him relax in the office. Doesn’t that require a special ‘uniform’? I’m contributing to the company.” She reached for the pen in my hand. “This is a nice pen. Let me see it.” I didn’t let go. She yanked it hard. Her nail scraped across the back of my hand, drawing a thin line of blood. The pen was in her grasp. She uncapped it and, right on my mahogany desk, drew a crude caricature of me. Then she scrawled two words across it: THE WITCH. “Hehe, what do you think, Cade? Doesn’t it look just like you? So stiff and boring.” She spun the pen in her hand, then tapped it against the corner of the desk twice. The nib bent. A limited-edition pen worth over a hundred thousand dollars, ruined. I looked at the pen, then at the drawing on my desk. I took out my phone and took a picture of the desk. Then I took a picture of the scratch on my hand. Brandi pouted. “Pictures, pictures, that’s all you know how to do. Go ahead, tattle. Alex won’t care.” The door opened again. Alex walked in. He glanced at the mess on the desk and the pen in Brandi’s hand. He didn’t ask why my hand was bleeding. Instead, he frowned at me. “Cade, why are you giving Brandi a hard time again? She was just coming to get my signature and you held her hostage in your office?” Brandi immediately jumped off the desk and into Alex’s arms. “Alex! Cade was so mean to me! She said the lingerie I bought was… for indecent things. But you’re the one who said you liked it…” Alex patted her head and glared at me. “Cade, I’ve seen those expense reports. I approved them. You can’t be so rigid. It’s a few thousand dollars. Do you want people to think I’m so broke I can’t even cover that?” I pointed to the stack of reports. “It’s not just lingerie.” “There’s also a two-thousand-dollar spa membership, a five-thousand-dollar hotel suite bill, and even three hundred dollars for designer dog food.” “All of them are labeled ‘Office Supplies’ or ‘Business Entertainment’.” “Alex, this is called falsifying invoices. It’s a form of tax evasion.” Alex strode over and snatched the reports from my desk. Rrrrrip. He tore them to shreds. Paper rained down over me. “There. Now they’re gone,” he sneered. “You wanted evidence? It’s gone. Cade, stop trying to run my life with your stupid auditor rules. This company has my name on it, not yours. If you don’t like it, you can get the hell out.” Brandi clapped. “You’re so cool, Alex! It’s about time someone put this old hag in her place.” She carelessly tossed the broken pen into the trash. “Useless pen. A cheap ballpoint works better.” I stared at the pen in the wastebasket. It was the last gift my grandmother gave me before she passed away. I bent down. I retrieved the pen from the trash. Using a tissue, I carefully wiped away the smudges. I placed it in the inner pocket of my blazer. Then, I opened my desk drawer. I took out a new document. Notification of Revocation of Chief Financial Officer Authority. I didn’t show it to Alex. I simply placed it in my briefcase. I looked at him. “You tore up the receipts, but the digital records still exist. The bank transactions are still there.” “Alex, you didn’t just tear up paper.” “You tore up your last way out.” Alex scoffed and wrapped his arm around Brandi. “You’re insane. Come on, Brandi, I’ll buy you something new. We’ll really give her something to be mad about.” At the door, Brandi turned back, made a face at me, and flipped me the middle finger. “Old witch.”

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My fiancé and his best girl friend slapped their marriage certificate on the table in front of me. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just pushed a dice cup across the glossy wood. On the line was the new house they’d just bought, and my entire youth. They laughed and called me crazy, but they didn’t know my grandfather’s nickname. They called him the “Ghost Hand.” 1 The music in the bar was a physical thing, a headache hammering against my skull. The glass of water in front of me had been sitting for a while. A fine mist of condensation clung to the glass, tiny droplets streaking down one by one, hitting the table and bleeding into a small, dark patch. I was waiting for Leo. He’d texted earlier, said he had something important to tell me, and named this place. I checked my phone. 9:30 PM. He was half an hour late. I didn’t push, I just waited. A few minutes later, the door swung open, and a blast of cold night air swept through the bar. Leo walked in. I didn’t move. I just watched him. He wasn’t alone. Sophie was with him. His best girl friend. The one who’d pull all-nighters playing video games with him, the one who’d wash his jerseys, the one who would always, without fail, take his side and yell at me whenever we fought. A cold knot formed in my stomach. They walked to my table and sat down across from me. No one spoke. The water dripped from the glass. Tick. Tick. Sophie broke the silence. She took a small, official-looking document and slapped it on the table. The sound wasn’t loud, but in the chaos of the bar, I heard it with perfect clarity. “Cara,” she said. “Leo and I got married.” I lifted my eyes and looked at Leo. He wouldn’t meet my gaze. He stared at the marriage certificate on the table, his eyes darting away, a strange mix of guilt and grim determination on his face. I just stared at him. For a long, long time. The music, the chatter, the clinking of glasses—it all seemed to fade away. My world went silent, leaving only the tick, tick of water rolling down the side of the glass. I didn’t cry. I didn’t curse. I didn’t even tremble. I just sat there, looking at them. A stone had lodged itself in my throat. I couldn’t swallow it, couldn’t cough it up. It was hard to breathe. I reached out, picked up the glass of water, and drained it in one go. The water was ice-cold, a frigid path from my throat to my stomach. I set the empty glass back down on the table, the sound louder than the slap of their certificate. “When did this happen?” I asked. My voice was calm, devoid of emotion. As if I were asking about the weather. Sophie smiled. She leaned against Leo, her fingers tracing patterns on his arm. “Just today, silly. Why else would we call you? It’s a surprise.” Leo finally looked up. He met my eyes, his lips parting as if to say something, but in the end, nothing came out. I nodded. “Oh,” I said. Just one word. Then I stood up and grabbed my purse. “I’m leaving.” I turned to go, but a hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. It was Leo. “Cara, you…” I looked back at his hand clutching mine. His palm was slick with sweat. I pulled my hand free, my eyes fixed not on him, but on Sophie. “Congratulations.” Then I walked away without a second’s hesitation. I pushed open the door to the bar, and the cold wind hit me like a physical blow. I shivered, pulling the collar of my coat tighter. The night was dark, the streetlights casting a sickly yellow glow. I didn’t call a cab. I just started walking. I didn’t know where I was going. I just needed to move. The shops along the street were all closed, their windows dark except for the harsh fluorescent light of a lone convenience store. I stopped in front of a vending machine, staring at the rows of colorful drinks for a long time. In the end, I didn’t buy anything. I just stood there, looking at my own reflection in the glass. The person staring back at me was a stranger. Her eyes were hollow. Empty. 2 I didn’t go far. I just leaned against a wall in a nearby alley and lit a cigarette. I don’t smoke. The raw burn in my throat made me cough, hard, until my eyes watered. I didn’t wipe the tears away. I let them trail down my face until the wind dried them, leaving my skin feeling tight and sore. I ground the cigarette out with my shoe and walked back to the bar. I couldn’t just leave. Leo and I had been together for three years, since college. The down payment on the apartment we rented? My parents’ money. We had plans to get married next year, to put my name on the deed. The seed money for his company? Half of it came from me. He owed me. Sophie owed me. This was not over. I pushed the door open again, and the same wave of warm air, thick with smoke, alcohol, and perfume, enveloped me. Leo and Sophie were still there. They were drinking now, sipping from flutes of expensive champagne, the bubbles fizzing aggressively. On the table, next to the marriage certificate, were several other documents. As I got closer, I saw what they were. A property transfer agreement for the house. A contract for the transfer of company shares. Were they dividing up my life as party favors? Leo saw me and froze, a flicker of discomfort on his face. Sophie, however, was perfectly at ease. She raised her glass to me. “Back so soon? Come to your senses? Ready to have a celebratory drink with us?” I pulled out a chair and sat down across from them. The table was sticky with spilled liquor. I placed my bag on the empty seat beside me and looked at them. “The house, the company,” I said, my voice still perfectly level. “They’re mine.” Leo’s face was flushed. It could have been the alcohol, or it could have been shame. He cleared his throat. “Cara, don’t make a scene. We had a good run. Let’s not make this ugly.” Sophie swallowed her champagne and laughed out loud. “Ugly? Cara, are you not getting it? You’re a nobody now. You and Leo are over. All of this belongs to me.” She pointed at the contracts on the table, her face smug. I didn’t waste my breath on her. My gaze was fixed on Leo. “Leo. Say something.” He avoided my eyes, picking up his glass, refilling it, and downing it in one gulp. “Cara, Sophie and I are in love. Just… let us be happy. This is all just material stuff. You’re a smart girl, you can earn it all back someday.” Let them be happy. Material stuff. The words didn’t make me angry. They made me want to laugh. I looked at them both, one feigning righteousness, the other reveling in her victory. “I don’t want the house,” I said. “And I don’t want the company.” Sophie raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Giving up? Trying to be the graceful ex-girlfriend?” “I have a proposal,” I said, my eyes scanning them both. “Let’s play a game.” Leo frowned. “What kind of game?” “Simple.” I reached out and picked up the dice cup from the center of the table. The dice rattled inside. “We roll. One round. You win, I walk away from everything and wish you a long and happy life. But if I win…” I paused, watching their expressions shift. “If I win, I take everything on this table. And every single valuable thing you two have on you.” Sophie looked at me like I had lost my mind. She burst out laughing, her shoulders shaking. “You? Roll dice? Cara, did the shock fry your brain? Do you have any idea how much the stuff we’re wearing is worth?” “I do,” I nodded. “Enough to send you both from heaven straight to hell.” The color drained from Leo’s face. “Cara, stop this nonsense.” “Nonsense?” I smiled. “I’m giving you a chance. A chance to keep all the things you clawed away from me. What, are you scared to play?” I set the dice cup on the table and slid it toward them. People at the surrounding tables had started to notice the commotion, their curious glances turning into hushed whispers. Sophie’s laughter died. She stared at me, her eyes filled with a mixture of suspicion and challenge. “Fine.” She slammed her hand on the table. “I’ll play. Let’s see what tricks you have up your sleeve.” Leo tried to object, but Sophie cut him off. “What, Leo, are you afraid? Afraid you’ll lose it all to her?” He clenched his jaw, his eyes locking onto mine with a warning. “Cara. You asked for this.” I ignored him. My attention was on the dice cup. This was a game I knew all too well.

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1 Peter brought home a little boy after getting me a late-night snack during my morning sickness. With a playful look, he asked if I thought it was his secret love child. Seeing my stunned face, he laughed softly and stroked my cheek. “We’ve been married for years, love. You’re the only one I want to be a father for.” He explained he found the boy on the street, clinging to him, and would return him in the morning—just in time for my ultrasound. I nodded. But at the clinic the next day, my calls went unanswered. Then I spotted him across the hall, holding a pale woman, his voice heavy with emotion: “Why didn’t you tell me back then—why did you hide our son?” As the two lost lovers held each other and cried, their past misunderstandings dissolved. “Don’t cry, it’s all my fault,” he whispered. “Focus on getting better. We’ll never be apart again.” I looked down at the ultrasound photo in my hand, at the healthy little life inside. My thumb hovered over my phone for a moment, then I deleted the unsent message: “Honey, the baby’s perfect.” … His mother suddenly stormed past me, yanking the two apart before slapping the woman, Lily, hard across the face. “You bitch,” she spat, her voice venomous. “You’re just as shameless as your mother. You know you’re the product of an affair, so how dare you come back and tangle yourself up with my son!” Lily stumbled back, a crimson handprint already blooming on her cheek. Peter snapped back to reality, instantly shielding Lily behind him. “Mom, what are you doing!” “What am I doing?” His mother was trembling with rage, jabbing a finger at his chest. “Have you lost your mind? Have you forgotten how her mother crawled into your father’s bed and made my life a living hell? Have you forgotten how she took your father’s money and tossed you aside like a stray dog? Now she’s sick and dying, and you’re letting her sink her teeth into you again? I’m telling you, not as long as I’m alive!” “It’s not like that, Mrs. Croft,” Lily sobbed. “I found out I had bone cancer back then. I had to leave him; I didn’t want to be a burden.” “Oh, so noble of you,” his mother sneered. “Then why not keep it a secret forever? Peter was finally moving on, he has a new family, and now you show up with a child, crying in his arms in a hospital corridor. Do you think we can’t see right through you, Lily?” “Mom!” Peter’s voice was a low growl of fury as he held the trembling Lily even tighter. “She left to protect me! She’s been fighting this disease alone for years. Can you please just stop?” His mother’s hand shook as she pointed at him, her chest heaving. I watched the drama unfold, a nauseating wave washing over me. The stares of onlookers felt like needles piercing my skin. I took a deep breath and stepped forward, gently touching his mother’s arm. “Mom, let’s go. My stomach hurts.” It was only then that Peter saw me. The anger on his face froze, and he let go of Lily in a panic. “Sienna? What are you doing here?” My vision blurred. I ignored the hand he reached out to me, clinging to his mother’s arm instead. My voice trembled. “Mom, take me away… my stomach really hurts.” “Sienna, what’s wrong?” He rushed toward me, trying to help me into a chair. “Don’t touch me!” I screamed, my voice raw as I violently shoved his hand away. “You mean lady, stop bullying my daddy!” The little boy from last night shot out like a cannonball and slammed into my side. My balance gave way, and I crashed heavily to the floor. An agonizing, tearing pain ripped through my lower abdomen. A wave of warmth instantly soaked through my clothes. “Sienna!” I saw Peter and his mother running toward me, their faces masks of terror. “Doctor! Somebody get a doctor!” 2 I was lying in a hospital bed, an IV drip feeding a cocktail of drugs into my hand to stabilize the pregnancy. The doctor was speaking to Peter in a low, serious tone. “The impact caused fetal distress. The mother is in a fragile state. She cannot handle any more severe emotional stress.” Peter sat by my bed, his hand gripping mine, his thumb stroking my skin. His eyes were shot with red. “Sienna, I’m so sorry.” I turned my head away, staring at the wall. He leaned forward, resting his forehead on our joined hands. “Don’t be scared. I’m right here. I’m not leaving your side for a second.” The words had barely left his mouth when his phone blared with a sharp ringtone. His body tensed. He didn’t move. The phone rang again, and again, stubbornly persistent. Finally, he released my hand, his face a canvas of guilt. He stood up. “Sienna, I… I’ll be right back. It might be an emergency over there.” “Peter.” My voice was eerily calm, my gaze fixed on the ceiling. “Let’s get a divorce.” He froze, as if nailed to the floor. After a long moment, he slowly turned, the color drained from his face. “Sienna, what did you just say?” “A divorce.” My eyes finally met his. “I said, I want a divorce.” He rushed back to the bed, reaching for my hand again, but I pulled it away. “Sienna, don’t do this. I know you’re angry, but don’t scare me like this,” he stammered, his eyes wide with panic. “Wait here, I’ll go get you that chestnut pastry you love, and that taro bubble tea you just showed me, okay?” “No.” “I hate taro. And I never showed you that drink. Even the late-night snack you brought me last night… that was Lily’s favorite.” “The moment you saw that boy, you thought of her, didn’t you?” “So,” I looked away, my eyelids heavy with exhaustion, “let’s just get a divorce.” He shook his head violently, his voice cracking. “No, that’s impossible. You’re my wife. We have a child on the way. We’re a family!” “A family?” I repeated softly, a faint, bitter curve on my lips. “Then tell me, Peter, when I collapsed… where were you?” His lips parted, but no words came out. “You were with Lily and her son, playing happy family for the camera!” I shoved him away, grabbing the pillow and the medical chart from the nightstand and hurling them at him. “If they hadn’t used my number as the emergency contact, would you have just kept me in the dark forever? Let me play the fool and pretend everything was fine?” “Peter! If you can’t let her go, why drag me into your misery? Why should I have to be the cover for your great, tragic love story?” He was pale, his voice raspy as he tried to explain. “Sienna, listen to me… The kids at school, they bully him. They call him a bastard for not having a father.” “I just wanted… I just wanted to give him some comfort. Your father cheated, you must know what it’s like to grow up without a dad. It was just one picture. We’ll have a million chances to take our own. But Lily… this was her only wish before she starts chemo. I couldn’t say no…” Couldn’t say no. His weak defense extinguished the last bit of warmth in my heart. “You couldn’t say no to her, so you felt fine lying to me?” I started to laugh, but the laughter turned into tears I couldn’t stop. “You needed to give your past a perfect ending. You needed to give them closure. So what about me? What about our baby?” “What are we?” 3 That day, as Lily lay in the chemotherapy ward, nearly not waking up, Peter still left. After he was gone, I picked up my phone. The first call was to my lawyer to draft the divorce papers. The second was to his mother. There was a moment of silence on the other end, then a deep sigh. “Sienna, I am so sorry. I have a house in coastal Maine. Go there. I won’t tell Peter where you are.” “You were the one who pulled him out of that darkness. I have no right to ask you to stay now.” After hanging up, my gaze fell to my right shoulder, where a dull ache always bloomed on rainy days. After Lily had left him all those years ago, Peter had spiraled. He crashed his car while street racing, a wreck so bad the doctors said he might never walk again. Everyone thought he was finished. That’s when I, fresh from the grief of my own mother’s suicide, applied for the job as his caregiver. I spent every day by his bedside, talking to him, massaging his atrophying muscles. He would throw fits, knocking food trays to the floor. I would just quietly clean it up and make him another meal. “Get out!” he’d roar at me. “I don’t need your pity!” I would just look at him and say, “Peter, if you want to die, you have to stand up first. Walk out of here on your own two feet and do it with dignity. Then we can die together.” I don’t know which words finally broke through, but he started physical therapy. From sitting up to standing, every step of his recovery was with his arm slung over my shoulder, his entire weight bearing down on me as I willed him forward. The day he learned to walk again, he held me so tight, his hot tears soaking into the collar of my shirt. “Sienna,” his voice was impossibly hoarse, “you saved my life. From now on, my life is yours.” This shoulder had once carried the full weight of his despair, and the ugliest years of our lives. My phone buzzed, pulling me from the memory. I opened the message. It was a photo. My mother’s gold bangles—the only thing she left me—were dangling from a dog’s leg. Beneath it, a line of text: “He said these bangles were incredibly important to you, so he wouldn’t give them to me. But my son liked them, said they looked good on Sparky. He called Peter ‘daddy’ a few times, and just like that, he gave them to my son. Thanks for the gift.” Blood rushed to my head. My hands started to shake uncontrollably. I ripped the IV needle from my arm and, ignoring the nurse’s protests, stormed out of the room. I threw open the door to Lily’s room. She was propped up in bed, a healthy flush on her cheeks, petting the dog. “Give them to me,” I demanded, my voice trembling. Lily slowly stroked the bangles on the dog’s leg and smiled. “Oh, don’t be so stingy. It’s just a pair of gold bangles.” “I heard they were a gift from your mother, the one who got cheated on. If my son didn’t like them, I’d think they were bad luck.” She paused, looking me up and down. “Oh, by the way, I forgot to tell you.” She pointed a finger at the sofa beside her bed, her eyes glinting with provocation. “Last night, right where you’re sitting now, Peter and I went at it all night. He told me he never forgot me. He said having you around was torture for him.” “Sienna, I used to treat him like dirt, and he still comes crawling back, licking my hand like a dog. You really are pathetic, aren’t you?” My mind went blank with a roar of white noise. A wave of indescribable nausea churned in my stomach. When I came to, Lily was on the floor, clutching her face in disbelief. I lunged again, grabbing a handful of her hair and dragging her toward the bathroom. I wanted to silence her. I shoved her head under the shower spray, the cold water blasting her face. “You don’t deserve to even say my mother’s name!” “Ahh, Peter! Help me!” she shrieked, her hands clawing wildly at my arms. “Sienna! What the hell are you doing!” Peter burst into the room. He seized my wrist and flung me away with brutal force. My back slammed into the wall. I still tried to lunge for Lily. “Have you lost your damn mind?” he roared, standing between me and Lily, his eyes filled with undisguised rage and a chilling coldness. “She’s on chemo! She’s not going to threaten your status as Mrs. Croft. Look at the state of you! You’re acting just as crazy as your mother did before she killed herself! You’re an unhinged, irrational mess!” CRACK. The sound echoed in the small room. I had slapped him with every last bit of strength I had. “Peter,” I whispered, “you’re not even human.”

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1 In my last life, I was the queen of the paparazzi. I knew where all the bodies in Hollywood were buried, and eventually, the corporate overlords buried me. Reborn, I became the one-woman rumor mill of a backwoods town called Hickory Hollow. Who’s chicken went missing, which husband was cheating—I knew it all. Then Penelope, the fake heiress, decided to launch her acting career. Her wealthy parents, terrified that I—the real daughter, their dirty little secret—would blow up their perfect lives, came hunting for me. They tracked me down in the dead of night and shoved a non-disclosure agreement in my face, a contract promising I’d never try to reclaim my birthright. “Take this fifty thousand dollars and rot in the mud where you belong. If you get in Penny’s way, we’ll end you.” On the video call, Penelope was already crying, her tears perfectly framed. “Sister, you’re only losing a family, but I can’t lose my dream!” I just smiled and quietly started a live stream. “Fifty grand? Are you kidding me? Do you have any idea what a trending topic costs these days?” “I’ve already compiled all your family’s dirty laundry into a PowerPoint presentation.” “Now, give the camera a big smile. I’ve already got tomorrow’s headline picked out.” “‘Murder for Hire: Hollywood Moguls silenced their real daughter to launch a star.’ How does that sound?” … “You’re asking for it. Smash her phone!” Arthur Preston shot a look at his bodyguards, and the two men in black suits started towards me. I didn’t flinch. I just tweaked the beauty filter on my stream. The viewer count instantly rocketed past two hundred thousand, the live chat scrolling too fast to read. 【Whoa, is this a real-life billionaire meltdown? This is better than reality TV!】 【Isn’t that Arthur Preston, the CEO of Preston Global? And is that former A-lister Eleanor Vance with him?】 Just as a bodyguard’s hand reached for me, I sidestepped and yelled at the top of my lungs. “Help! The city slickers are here to kill us all!” On cue, the Hickory Hollow Senior Squad, who had been hiding along the fence line, made their grand entrance. Old Mrs. Gable led the charge, followed by a squad of seven or eight senior citizens, average age eighty-five and up. In perfect sync, they all threw themselves at the bodyguards’ feet. “Oh, the humanity! They’re killing us! My back, my hip, my kneecap!” The bodyguards froze, dumbfounded. What could they do? One wrong move and they’d be paying off a new beachfront condo. Arthur’s hands were shaking with rage. “You peasants! Get out of my way!” I seized the moment, aiming my phone’s camera right at his contorted face. I smirked. “You all see this? The true face of the one percent.” “Since Mr. Preston is in such a hurry to shut me up, let’s speed things up.” With a tap of my finger, the PowerPoint slide changed. There was Arthur, his arm wrapped around a young model, his hand resting somewhere it definitely shouldn’t be. I had helpfully watermarked the photo with the date, time, location, and even the hotel booking confirmation. The live chat exploded. 【SAVAGE! The receipts are pristine!】 【Isn’t that the model who just debuted from that reality show? So he was her sugar daddy!】 【Go Arthur, still got it in ya. A wife at home and a side piece on the road.】 Arthur’s face went from crimson to a ghastly shade of purple. He clutched his chest, gasping for air. Eleanor shrieked and lunged at me, her nails out. “You little bitch! How dare you photoshop these lies!” I simply played a video. The clip showed Eleanor at a high-end gentleman’s club. She was shoving the keys to a Porsche down the pants of a young male model, her laughter echoing, all her polished Hollywood poise gone. Arthur stared at his wife in disbelief. Eleanor guiltily looked away. The carefully crafted image of Hollywood’s perfect couple shattered into a million pieces, live for all the world to see. I flashed a peace sign at the camera. “Don’t go anywhere, folks. This is just the appetizer.” “Penelope’s plastic surgery records and her ‘casting couch’ audition tapes are up next.” “Spam the chat with a ‘1’ if you want to see it. If we hit a million likes, I drop it right now!” The screen was instantly flooded with a waterfall of【1】. Penelope, who was still on the video call, went pale with terror. I stared at her through the screen, my voice dripping with ice. “You said you couldn’t lose your dream, right? Was your dream to sleep your way through every director in Hollywood?” Penelope screamed and disconnected the call. Seeing the situation spiral out of control, Arthur fumbled for a bottle of nitroglycerin pills and poured them into his mouth. “Let’s go! Now!” he barked at his bodyguards, trying to retreat. I picked up the check from the ground, tore it into tiny pieces, and flung them against the window of their departing Maybach. “Take your fifty grand with you! It’s not that I think your money’s dirty—I’m worried it’s cursed!” My adoptive parents were huddled in a corner, trembling. My mother tugged at my sleeve, her voice shaking. “Lexi, dear, those are your real parents. Did we just… cause a lot of trouble?” I patted her calloused hand, a pang of sorrow in my heart. “Mom, they’re not parents. They’re wolves. And the only way to deal with wolves is with a shotgun.” That night, a cease-and-desist letter from Preston Global’s lawyers was posted online. My streaming account was banned from all platforms for privacy invasion and malicious slander. Banned? They had no idea who they were dealing with. In my past life, I was the undisputed queen of the paparazzi. I dragged an old box out from under my bed. It was filled with everything I’d been preparing since I was a kid. Dozens of backup accounts. Contact information for hundreds of media influencers. I switched to a new account. My new handle: The Hollow’s Herald. My bio was a single, chilling sentence: 【Don’t go to sleep. The truth is coming.】 2 The Prestons’ PR team was good. I’ll give them that. Overnight, the narrative completely flipped. #LexiTheExtortionist# and #LexiUngratefulDaughter# were the top trending topics. An army of bots and paid trolls flooded the internet, painting me as a money-grubbing monster who would even blackmail her own parents. Penelope posted a photo set of herself doing charity work at an orphanage. Her caption read: Even though I’ve been hurt, seeing these children’s smiles reminds me that there is still good in the world. Her comments section was a sea of sympathy. Someone even doxxed my adoptive parents, posting their address online. The next morning, when my mom went to the town market to sell eggs, she was pelted with rotten vegetables. She came home with a hand pressed to her forehead, blood trickling through her fingers. “Lexi, I’m fine, honey. I just tripped and fell.” She forced a smile, trying not to worry me. A firestorm of rage ignited within me, searing its way to the top of my skull. I had planned to play the long game with them. But if they wanted to die on this hill, I was more than happy to bury them there. I opened my laptop, my fingers flying across the keyboard, typing out strings of code. In my past life, I’d taught myself to hack to get scoops. I was no master, but breaking into the eighteen-year-old system of a maternity clinic? Child’s play. An old nursing log. A grainy backup of a security tape. I packaged them together and uploaded them to my new account. The title was simple and brutal. The Abandoned Heiress: Lost or Left for Dead? The video showed Eleanor, eighteen years younger, looking down at a baby in a bassinet with utter disgust. “Cry, cry, cry, that’s all you do! You’re giving me a headache. Was this damn baby born just to ruin my life?” Arthur stood beside her, holding a piece of paper. It was a chart from a so-called psychic. “This child is a curse. She will bring ruin to this family. A jinx sent from hell. If we keep her, we’re all doomed.” “The psychic said we can’t keep her. Tonight’s a blizzard. We’ll leave her somewhere far away.” The footage cut to a road-side security camera. Arthur, holding a swaddled infant, tossed her into a snowbank and walked away without a second glance. That baby was me. The “psychic” was a charlatan who was later jailed for fraud. And Penelope? She was the “good luck charm” they adopted on his recommendation. The video went viral. The internet erupted. 【MONSTERS! These people are absolute monsters!】 【It’s the 21st century and people are still abandoning babies because of some bogus psychic’s prediction?】 【Leaving a newborn in a snowstorm in sub-zero temperatures? That’s attempted murder!】 The same users who had been cursing my name a moment ago were now my staunchest defenders. Penelope’s comments section was a war zone, with thousands calling her a parasite who built her life on a dead baby’s future. I immediately released the second part of my attack: a series of side-by-side photos. Left: Eighteen-year-old Penelope on a luxury yacht for her birthday, wearing a fifty-thousand-dollar custom gown. Right: Eighteen-year-old me in a patched-up winter coat, helping my adoptive father collect scrap metal in a blizzard, my hands raw and red like beets. Left: A designer handbag Penelope casually discarded, which was worth more than my adoptive family’s income for five years. Right: Me, carrying a fifty-pound sack of potatoes for six miles just to save two dollars on bus fare. The stark visual contrast was more powerful than any words. Public sympathy surged. 【I’m crying. Lexi has been through so much.】 【Who’s the real monster here? The whole Preston family is rotten to the core!】 When the stock market opened, Preston Global’s shares immediately plummeted, wiping out billions in value. My phone rang. It was Arthur. This time, his voice held none of its previous arrogance, only a weary, pleading tone. “Lexi, it was all a misunderstanding. I was tricked back then.” “How about this? I’ll give you five million dollars. You take down the videos, and we can come home and talk this out.” Five million? In my last life, I might have been tempted. Now, it just made me feel sick. “I don’t think I’ll be coming home, Dad.” “The psychic said I was a jinx, bad for your finances.” “Looks like your luck really did run out, didn’t it?” I hung up and blocked his number. Outside, my mom was dabbing antiseptic on her forehead. I walked over and gently took the cotton swab from her. “Does it hurt, Mom?” She shook her head. “Lexi, can we just stop fighting? I’m so scared you’ll get hurt.” I wrapped my arms around this frail, small-town woman. “Don’t be scared, Mom. You protected me my whole life. Now, it’s my turn to protect you.” 3 Arthur Preston was clearly desperate. He dropped the loving-father act and went straight to hiring thugs. The next morning, before the sun was up, a deafening roar shook the entire town awake. A dozen bulldozers rolled up to the edge of town, led by my dear brother, Sterling Preston. “Tear it down! I want this whole dump leveled!” The bulldozer’s shovel rose high and then smashed down on the stone sign at the town entrance. With a deafening crack, the sign, our town’s landmark, crumbled to dust. I frantically tried to start a live stream, but the signal was jammed! The bulldozers then plowed into the orchards—over a hundred acres of ripe pumpkins and fruit trees, the town’s entire livelihood for the year. Old Mr. Henderson ran out, screaming, clutching a giant pumpkin. “No! You can’t! This is all we have!” A bodyguard rushed him, kicking him square in the chest. Mr. Henderson went flying, landing hard in the mud. The pumpkin shattered, its bright orange guts splattering everywhere. “Mr. Henderson!” I screamed, my eyes burning with rage as I tried to run to him, but two burly men blocked my path. Mrs. Gable and the Senior Squad tried to form a human barricade. Sterling just sneered and snapped his fingers. “Release the dogs!” Two massive, snarling dogs, as tall as a man’s waist, leaped from a truck and charged the elderly crowd. One of them latched onto Mrs. Gable’s leg, its teeth sinking deep. Blood instantly soaked through her pants. Her screams tore through the morning air. “Help! Somebody help!” The townspeople scattered in terror. The sounds of crying, shouting, and barking dogs created a symphony of chaos. A group of tattooed thugs stormed my house, smashing everything in sight, even tearing the stove from the wall. My dad tried to protect my computer—my only evidence. A goon brought a crowbar down on his leg. A sickening crack echoed through the room. My father’s scream pierced my eardrums. “Dad!” I tried to lunge forward, but Sterling grabbed me by the hair, yanking me back. “Lexi, I thought you were so tough? Thought you were a big shot streamer?” “Why don’t you stream this?” He stomped on my dad’s broken leg, grinding his heel into the shattered bone. My dad’s face was slick with sweat, but he bit his lip, refusing to cry out. “Lexi… run…” he gasped. My mom was on her knees, begging for mercy, but a bodyguard grabbed her by the hair and dragged her away. The town mayor tried to call the police, but Sterling smashed his phone to pieces. “I’ve decided I want this land for a new development,” Sterling announced. “Anyone who calls the cops is an enemy of the Preston family! I’ll make sure their entire family disappears!” Pure, unadulterated rage consumed me. I pulled the pepper spray from my sleeve and emptied the canister into Sterling’s face. “Ah! My eyes!” he shrieked, clawing at his face. I broke free, grabbed a loose brick, and charged at him, ready to die fighting. But it was hopeless. A group of them swarmed me, pinning me to the ground. Sterling, his eyes red and swollen, staggered towards me like a madman. He took a cigarette from one of his men. “Look closely,” he hissed, taking a long drag. “This is what happens to those who help you.” “These peasants are dying because of you!” He flicked the lit cigarette into a nearby haystack. Flames erupted, roaring towards the sky. That was our home. The home my parents had built with their own two hands. I watched the fire reflect in their despairing eyes, and my heart shattered. It was my fault. I had brought this on them. I had been so naive, underestimating the depths of their cruelty, the ruthlessness of their power. Sterling motioned to one of his men, who produced a syringe. “Give her a shot. Take her with us.” My consciousness began to fade. The last thing I saw was Mrs. Gable, twitching in a pool of her own blood. The last thing I saw was my father’s mangled leg. The last thing I saw was the fire devouring everything I had ever loved. Darkness closed in. The same helpless feeling from my past life washed over me. Was I reborn just to bring ruin and death to even more innocent people?

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During a reality show livestream, the current “It Girl” deliberately tried to embarrass me. She dared me to call the top celebrity, my ex-boyfriend, and provoke him live: [I’m getting married tomorrow!] His response? [You want a wedding gift? Keep dreaming.] Thirty seconds later: [I’m willing to be the side piece. Video call me if you dare, I’ll prove I’m better.] Me: ???!!! … Damn it, ex-boyfriend, who messed with your settings?! 1 I lost the game on the variety show, so I had to accept the punishment from the winner of the last round. Bella, the current “It Girl” of Hollywood, rested her chin on her hand, pretending to think deeply. Finally, she flashed a dazzling smile. “Call Julian, and tell him—” “You still like him, but you’re getting married tomorrow~” ???! My vision went black. Provoking Julian, the top star in the industry, on a live broadcast? Is this something a human being would come up with? Did a coupon explosion fry your brain? Seeing my lack of reaction, she switched to a cutesy, whining tone. “I wanna see! I love this drama! Come on, call him!!!” I politely refused. “We don’t really know each other that well. How about another dare?” Bella pretended to be angry and playfully slapped my shoulder. “Oh stop it, you guys definitely know each other. “Last night, Julian mentioned you while we were chatting. “It’s just a game, we’re all friends here, let’s have some fun~” Friends? He’s my ex-boyfriend, and I met you thirty minutes ago. Where’s the friendship?! [Hahaha, Bella has such a great sense for variety shows!] [This is kinda awkward, Chloe looks so uncomfortable stuck in the middle.] [Ugh, your fave is so fragile. If she can’t play, she shouldn’t be on the show. Does she understand entertainment?] [Totally, super sensitive much?] [Bella explained they all know each other well, it’s just a joke.] [OMG! Am I the only one shipping them? Bella and Julian were chatting last night!!!] [Maybe they were chatting in the same bed, under the same covers hehehe! Whispering sweet nothings every night!] I ignored the deluge of shipping comments and was forced to pull out my phone. Everyone here is sharp. What kind of game are you playing, little girl? You just want to see me get rejected after confessing my feelings. Then you can have a sweet interaction with Julian and sell your “couple” image, right? I’m such a sucker!!! I held my breath and pressed dial. The ringback tone echoed through the hall— [My head is so itchy~] [I’m growing long hair~] [I’m growing long hair~] [Hehehehe~~~] ???! Damn, isn’t this the stupid audio clip I recorded for fun when I had COVID and lost my voice years ago? He still has it?! Ahhh, is he sick?! Why would he set this ghostly thing as his ringback tone?!!!! 2 [??? The cool guy is actually this weird in private?!] [Hahaha, I’m dying, who recorded this? It sounds like a dying crow!] [Sounds like a girl, could it be Bella?!] [Every step is a sweet moment boohoo, us “Julibella” fans are eating good!!!] [Trust me, sisters, every couple I’ve shipped has gone public, they are definitely real!] [It’d take a ghost to recognize anyone from that raspy voice…] [Pfft, anyway, it’s not your fave Chloe.] [Just say you’re jealous, stop trying to make everything about her.] [Chloe’s fans are just like her. Your girl wants to cling to Julian but can’t, so you’re all pressed?] [It’s not the first time for Chloe. Didn’t she always use the same stuff as Julian before? Boy crazy.] Bella squatted in front of the screen, replying to comments whenever she could. “Oh, what are you guys saying? It wasn’t me~” “I can’t make such a rough voice.” “Julian likes that old cartoon Ratatouille, so I just found a random sound clip for him~” Ha, you’re good at fishing in troubled waters. The next second, the call connected. The Ratatouille fanboy’s voice was cold. “Hello, who is this?” His lazy voice was amplified through the speakers. Accompanied by a slight, grainy rasp of just waking up, it made my tailbone tingle. Wait, he asked who I was? The one screaming about long hair in your phone!!! After a few heavy breaths, this foolish human finally saw the caller ID. He huffed, putting on an act. In the background, there was the rustling of fabric as he got up. “Oh, it’s Miss White. What business do you have so early in the morning?” What business? Business, business, business. My business is you, okay? Suppressing the urge to curse. I began to execute the task emotionlessly. “I really like you, but I’m marrying someone else tomorrow.” … The rustling stopped abruptly. Silence on the other end for a moment, then a faint voice. “If you want a wedding gift, just say so. “Don’t disgust me with words like that. “I have no interest… in you.” ??? Wow, growing a backbone now? Who was the one crying his eyes out like swollen peaches when we broke up?! The host and guests were stifling laughter, teasing glances flying everywhere, and millions of netizens flooded the livestream to watch the drama. My brain short-circuited, and I blurted out nonsense. “No need for a gift, just come for the reception.” “You can meet my husband. He’s tall, handsome, has an eight-pack, great stamina, very durable!” 3 Come on, let’s go! The braver ex wins!!! I clearly heard a faint grunt from Julian’s nose over the phone, “Good, very good…” Suddenly, the call was hung up. The busy signal echoed loudly in the empty studio. Awkward atmosphere. “Hahaha, Julian is quite grumpy in the morning,” the host laughed it off. The comments started partying again. [Speechless, why is Chloe adding drama?] [OMG, Julian straight up said he has no interest.] [Does this mean Chloe harassed him a lot before? Otherwise, such a gentleman wouldn’t say that…] [Knowing he and her female friend like each other, yet still throwing herself at him like a green tea b*tch, disgusting.] [Bella run! You treat her like a sister, she treats you like a stepping stone!] [You guys are crazy, conspiracy theories over everything.] [Watch it if you want, get out if you don’t, no one’s forcing you!] I was dumbfounded, speechless. Everyone here is completely immersed in their own art!!! If you’re so bored, go find a factory and sew some shoes! And that damn Julian! If you can’t speak, sew your mouth shut!!! The camera persisted in filming my phone. I forced a smile. “Task completed, I guess.” Before the words fell, a WeChat message from Julian popped up at the top of the screen. [Send me the time and location!] [I want to see what kind of ghost wedding you can pull off in such a rush.] [I’m going to steal candy from kids.] [Snatch cigarettes from old men.] [Throw wine at uncles.] [Fight for the bouquet.] [Rip off the groom’s hair gel and shoe lifts!] ???! The guests and host widened their eyes. They leaned in, disbelief on their faces. “Are you and Julian…?” “Nothing! We are nothing! He’s just being abstract haha!” I waved my hands frantically, shaking my head at warp speed. But Julian wouldn’t let me go. Messages kept coming. [I mean…] [I’m willing to be the side piece!] [Hear that? I’m willing to be the side piece!!] [Who knows if your husband’s stamina is from pills!] [I don’t need pills!] [So, right now, accept the video call and inspect the goods!!!] Before anyone could react, the video call ringtone deafened the room! 4 ???! What the hell?! Inspect what goods? Tell me what goods we are inspecting?!! I was almost delirious. Rapid breathing accompanied by tachycardia, the scenery before my eyes distorted. [Huh? Isn’t Julian dating Bella?] [Oh my god, is Bella the other woman now? Ahhh!] [She thought she and Chloe were besties, turns out Chloe slept with Julian behind her back hehe!] [Damn, cheaters, backstabbers deserve to die!] [Do Bella fans have a persecution complex? This is obviously a script…] [LMAO, people are still spreading rumors about Julian.] [Paparazzi camped out forever to catch him leaving at dawn.] [Thought he was meeting a beauty, followed him over mountains and rivers for 20,000 steps, only to find he was taking pictures of the sunrise.] [The paparazzi cursed and wanted to leave, but he caught them.] [Then he narcissistically forced them to take handsome photos of him…] [You’re saying this straight guy has the brains to date two at once?!] [Hahaha evil photographers!] [Whatever, I only care about what we’re inspecting? Pecs or… that?] [??? Teacher, please! This isn’t the wilderness!!] Ignoring the comments. My palms holding the screen were sweating like crazy. Calm down! Calm down! Calm down!!! Taking a deep breath, I squeezed out a desolate smile. “Looks like our show is really hot, even Julian is using ‘unscrupulous means’ to show his face.” “Let’s say hi to him together!” Before connecting, I looked around and directly pulled the eager Bella to the front. I held the phone high to ensure her face was the first thing seen. She tugged at her collar, widening her innocent eyes, full of shyness. Great job, time for you to lead the charge! Damn it, better you than me! Aren’t you a couple? He’s talking to me like this now. Go catch the cheater! Anyway, I’m showing it openly, I have a clear conscience. If anyone dares to scold me again. I’ll just frame him. Saying he wants to have his cake and eat it too, coveting me. I rejected him righteously many times. That’s why he’s angry and talking nonsense! And I am the good bestie who resisted temptation!! Hehehehe!!! A logical plan. A clear path to clearing my name. A smart, perfect brain. Go go go! Let’s go!

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In the fifth year of the body snatcher occupying my life, she finally got bored. She detached from the system and my body without hesitation, leaving me with a spoiled rotten son and a husband as cold as ice. Before I could even gather my thoughts, a barrage of floating comments flashed before my eyes. [What kind of disastrous start is this? First time seeing such a dumb transmigrator. She came five years early, messed everything up, and left the original host to clean up the mess.] [Exactly. She was supposed to redeem the little villain and warm the heart of the big villain, and just keep the family away from the main characters. Instead, she just dodged her death flag and spent the rest of the time enjoying herself.] [She ruined the kid and pushed the husband away. I’m so annoyed just looking at this family. They should all just die.] It turns out I’m the cannon fodder destined to die early in a novel, and my husband and son are the villains. 1 The scrolling comments were still listing the little villain’s crimes: rude, bad-tempered, selfish, bullying other kids. Before I could process everything, a noise came from nearby. A child, round as a ball, was thumping down the stairs. Probably due to maternal instinct, I knew instantly this was my son. Seeing me in the living room, he ignored me completely and ran straight for the fridge. The nanny chased after him. “Oh my, Young Master, you’ve already had three ice creams today. If you get a stomachache, the Master will scold me when he gets back.” The chubby boy turned a deaf ear. The nanny looked at me pleadingly. [What’s the use of looking at her? She’s the bio mom who’s been absent for five years. Out of guilt, she’ll only spoil him more.] [Honestly, am I the only one who thinks the transmigrator was like a skin-walker? Told to give the little villain motherly love, she just indulged him. This kid is worse off than in the original timeline. He’s so fat he lost his only redeeming quality—his looks.] [See the child, see the man. I can already see him growing up to be a degenerate who beats his parents.] [I won’t feel a thing if this little piglet dies.] Reading this, I couldn’t hold back anymore. “Leo, put the ice cream down.” I remembered when I was eight months pregnant, Julian and I decided on this name. Leo. Brave and strong. Leo gave me a disdainful look. “You’re so annoying. None of your business!” He then shoved a huge mouthful of ice cream into his mouth as if to provoke me. Creamy white ice cream smeared around his mouth, his eyes, squeezed into slits by the fat, squinting even more. Seeing me still staring, Leo arrogantly raised both hands and flipped me off. Instantly, a fire of rage ignited in my chest. Spoil him? Not happening! I grabbed the little brat. “Who taught you to flip people off? Hmm? Where did you learn that?” “Let go of me! Let go! If you don’t, you’ll be sorry when my dad gets back!” Heh. For raising our son like this, Julian deserves a couple of slaps too when he returns. 2 I directed the stunned nanny to fetch me some duct tape. Then I grabbed Leo’s middle fingers and taped his other fingers down. Since he likes flipping the bird so much, let him do it forever. Leo didn’t cry. He held up his two fists, glaring at me like an angry crab. “When Dad gets back, I’m telling him you bullied me! Forget about this month’s allowance! You won’t be able to buy those stupid jewels anymore.” “When is your dad coming back?” Leo pouted and didn’t answer. I looked at the nanny. “Sir went to Seattle on a business trip. He’ll be back in about a week.” “Is he always like this?” The nanny looked troubled and whispered, “He behaves a little better when Sir is home.” I nodded, instructed the nanny not to untie him, and went upstairs. I didn’t expect the villa’s decor to remain unchanged after all these years. Even the horse figurine with the ear I broke was still in its original spot. 3 Five years ago, I lost consciousness right after giving birth. I felt trapped in a dream I couldn’t wake up from. I could sense my body talking and doing things, but it was hazy, like watching from a third-person perspective. I thought I had just slept for a while. Until I saw the comments, I realized five years had passed. I walked to the bedroom door following my memory. A keypad lock I’d never seen before blocked my way. [Sigh, Cannon Fodder Sis doesn’t know, this lock is specifically to keep her out.] [By the way, did anyone guess the password? The transmigrator tried to sneak in a few times but failed.] [Don’t know. Little villain’s birthday, Cannon Fodder’s birthday, Julian’s birthday, she tried them all. She even triggered the whole house alarm for trying too many times. Her panicked face almost killed me with laughter.] [Forget the transmigrator, we haven’t seen Julian’s room either.] Reading this, I raised an eyebrow and entered a password I knew by heart. Ignoring the barrage of “WTF” comments, I pressed the handle. Sure enough, the bedroom layout hadn’t changed either. Even the color of the bedsheets was exactly the same as when I went to the hospital five years ago. The only difference was a few locked diaries on the nightstand. It seemed Julian had gotten into the habit of locking up important things over the years. I picked one up. Some of the pages looked like they had been soaked in water, heavily wrinkled. The comments were all expecting me to crack the code and peek into Julian’s secrets. I ignored them and put it back exactly where it was. 4 At dinner, the nanny was about to prepare dinner according to Leo’s order, but I stopped her. “No need. Starting today, he’s on a diet.” I glanced at his taped-up little fists. “Give him a veggie sandwich for tonight.” “Why! Just because I flipped you off, you’re going to abuse me?” Leo protested loudly. I shook my head and looked him in the eye. “Look, you know flipping people off is bad behavior, especially since I’m your mother. But you didn’t apologize. And the diet isn’t punishment; it’s for your health.” Leo puffed out his cheeks, unable to argue for a while, just muttered something under his breath. “You’re not even…” The second half was too quiet to hear, but probably nothing nice. During the meal, Leo signaled for me to untie the tape. “Will you do it again?” He didn’t look at me, pouting. “No.” After a pause, he added, “Sorry…” [Honestly, Cannon Fodder Sis has a way with bratty kids.] [I’m dying of laughter. If the little villain didn’t apologize soon, his fingers would have gone numb.] [More please, I love watching this.] [Wait, isn’t she worried about consequences? It’s not five years ago. The transmigrator wore down all of Julian’s feelings. He might actually turn hostile when he returns… If the early-death white moonlight turns into a resentful ex-wife, I’ll really be speechless.] Julian turning hostile? To be honest, I’m kind of looking forward to it. 5 Whether Julian would turn hostile was unknown. But Leo’s eyes turned red at the dinner table first. He pointed at the sandwich with lettuce and a fried egg. “That’s it?” I nodded. I even kept the egg fried instead of boiled so the transition wouldn’t be too abrupt. “I won’t eat this! I want sweet and sour pork ribs!” “Eat it or starve.” Leo rolled his eyes, huffed, jumped off the chair, and ran away. I sighed. I didn’t want to be ruthless, but the kid wasn’t cooperating. I put down my utensils, called the nanny, grabbed a trash bag, and started searching for Leo’s stash of snacks. Leo, who was squatting by the bed eating chips with his butt in the air, was caught red-handed. Watching bags of snacks fall into the trash bag, his little hands trembled. “You don’t play fair!” I ignored him. Seeing he couldn’t stop me, Leo stuffed the remaining chips in his hand into his mouth and chewed frantically. seeing me leave, he sighed in relief. Unexpectedly, I turned and went into his usual media room and study. The kid was smart, knew not to put all his eggs in one basket. But I played this game when I was a kid too. Now Leo completely broke down. “Boohoo, spare the snacks, please!” “My limited edition gift pack! I saved my allowance for so long to buy it, I haven’t even tasted it yet.” “Take my life if you must, but leave the snacks alone!” “Snacks! How can I live without you, snacks!” Leo was crying for real now, wiping tears and sobbing quietly. [Hahahaha, watching the chubby kid cry is kinda funny, feels cute.] [I hate kids crying, but Leo cries quietly, unlike other kids who scream and pierce your ears. Otherwise, I would have quit watching.] [Reply to above: Kids scream to get sympathy from adults. Is it possible Leo subconsciously knows the transmigrator wasn’t his real mom…] [Holy sh*t upstairs, that’s terrifying.] I squatted down, hugged Leo, and patted him, saying the snacks were just being stored away, not thrown out. As long as he ate his meals properly, they would be returned. He stopped sobbing instantly, leaned his head on my shoulder, grabbed the hem of my shirt, and whispered, “Mom?” I answered. “Yeah, baby is good.”

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