Right before finals week, Chloe, the school’s resident rich girl and Prom Queen, volunteered to help everyone “blow off some steam.” That night, the entire senior class showed up at the most exclusive club in the city. The only person Chloe didn’t invite was me. But looking at the photos flexing on Instagram and Snapchat, I didn’t shed a tear. I put on my noise-canceling headphones and focused on my textbooks. In my last life, I was the target. I saw Chloe’s posts, rushed to the club out of concern, and walked right into her confessing her love to my boyfriend. I swallowed my pride. I tried to be the responsible one. I begged my classmates to go home and rest, to focus on the exams that would determine our futures. And what did I get? Pure hatred. “You can’t have fun, so you won’t let anyone else have fun, huh?” It wasn’t until I snapped photos and sent them to the parents’ group chat that everyone was dragged home. They all aced their exams. They all got into Ivy Leagues. And I was completely ostracized. The day my boyfriend, Liam, and I both got our acceptance letters, Chloe posted a suicide note on social media and downed a bottle of sleeping pills. That night at the club, after I had interrupted her confession, she had gotten wasted. She ended up alone in an escape room game, stripped, and someone filmed it. After Chloe got her stomach pumped, Liam and the rest of the class lost their minds. To avenge their “fallen angel,” they kidnapped me. They filmed videos of me being tortured. They blackmailed my parents, forcing them to jump off a rooftop. They faked my suicide. They forged a note saying I was sleeping around and the guilt of killing my parents drove me to drink pesticide in a basement. After I died, the whole class popped champagne. Liam finally got with Chloe. It was only after I died that I learned Chloe’s true identity… But then I opened my eyes. I was back. I was back to the night she offered to treat the whole class. This time, I decided to give them exactly what they wanted. “Finals are practically here. I know everyone is stressing out, so tonight is on me! Black card energy only!” “I’m taking you guys to the hottest spot in town!” Amid the cheers, Chloe was surrounded like a celebrity, holding a platinum credit card high in the air. My hand froze on the classroom door handle. Inside, the voices got louder. “By the way, whatever you do, do not tell Luna. She’s such a buzzkill. She’ll definitely snitch to the teachers or our parents!” Laughter erupted. Chloe flipped her long hair, playing the role of the benevolent queen. That sentence hit me like a bucket of ice water. This scene was too familiar. I had already lived through this. Realizing where I was, I let go of the handle and backed away from the door. I was reborn. The realization rang in my head, making my whole body tremble. Not from fear. From excitement. In my last life, I hadn’t heard this conversation clearly. Everyone kept their mouths shut. Even Liam, my boyfriend, just told me to go home early and rest. I thought he cared about me. Now I know he was just covering his tracks. His heart was already with Chloe, the “heiress.” “Luna is hot, but she’s such a nerd. She’s obsessed with me, what can I do?” “I can’t dump her right before finals. We’re classmates; I can’t be that cruel.” When Chloe had defended him back then, calling him kind, she had slipped a love letter into his hand. “You guys stop. Luna is desperate. This exam is her only ticket out of mediocrity. She has to try hard.” And just like that, Chloe was the saintly, rich beauty, and Liam was the gentle, golden-boy class president. And I was the clown obsessed with him. But Liam forgot something. He was the one who stalked me for three months, begging me to say yes. I only studied so hard because I promised my parents I’d get Valedictorian if they let me date him. Thinking about what was coming, my hands went cold. In a few hours, the class would be at the club. Chloe would “accidentally” forget to block me from her story. I would see it. Then, she would confess to Liam in front of everyone. I would show up, fight with her, and she’d end up drunk and alone… It was all a setup. Remembering the hell I went through, I pulled out my phone and walked away from the classroom. Once I was in a quiet corner, I called my parents. I asked for my private tutor to come over tonight. “Mom, the exams are practically here. Every second counts. No breaks. I want to study tonight.” This time, I wasn’t going to stop them. Chapter 2 While the whole class was sneaking around, gathering at the rendezvous point, I was sitting in front of my tutor. While they were raising glasses and cheering, I walked over to a vase of water and dropped my phone into it. I watched the screen flicker and die. A smile finally crept onto my face. “Alright,” I said to the tutor. “Let’s get back to Calculus.” At the club, the bass was thumping against eardrums, syncing with adrenaline-filled heartbeats. Some students hesitated, staring at the drinks in their hands. “Chloe… finals are literally on Monday. Is drinking really a good idea?” “If anyone finds out…” Chloe, her designer dress shimmering under the strobe lights, laughed it off. She was clinging to Liam’s arm. “The whole class is here. Who’s gonna snitch? If we all keep quiet, nobody knows.” “The only person with a big mouth didn’t get an invite.” “Relax.” Chloe claimed she “knew people” at this club and told everyone to drink up. Between the lights and the peer pressure, the hesitation evaporated. “Chloe’s got us! She’s loaded!” “It’s just one night! We need to decompress!” “Besides, we crushed the mock exams. Our average is way higher than the other classes. Consider this a pre-celebration.” “Everyone is here except Luna. If she wasn’t Liam’s girl, we wouldn’t even tolerate her…” Someone mentioned my name. Liam, already flushed from a few shots, slammed his glass down and sneered. “Don’t mention her. I’m already regretting it.” “After tonight, I’m dumping Luna!” The cheers got louder. Chloe smiled, satisfied. She slyly pulled out her phone, snapped a grid of photos, and hit post. Visibility: Only Luna. Talking about me made Liam look disgusted. He drank more, letting Chloe hold his hand. He looked like he was in heaven. “Luna and I are different. She follows me around like a puppy. She has to grind just to crack the top ten. Look at me—I barely try, and I’m number one!” “She probably thinks we’re going to the same college.” Liam raised an eyebrow, looking smug. “I applied to a school I know she can’t get into.” “Someone like her? She’s not in my league.” I only learned he said these things after I died in my last life. But now? I didn’t care where Liam went to college. This time, I was going to make sure he didn’t go to college at all. Calculating the time, thinking I had seen the photos and was rushing over, Chloe decided to make her move. She stood in front of everyone and started her confession. “Liam, graduation is coming.” “I don’t want any regrets. I know you have a girlfriend, but I have to be honest.” “Liam, I like you.” The DJ switched the track from EDM to a slow ballad. The spotlight hit Chloe and Liam. Chloe was dressed to kill, looking vulnerable and expensive. Liam stared into her eyes, swallowed hard, and felt his resolve crumble. “Chloe, I…” She put a finger to his lips, her eyes darting to the entrance. She frowned slightly when she didn’t see me, stopping him from speaking too soon. “Don’t answer yet. I know you wouldn’t betray Luna.” “I’m just so jealous of her. Wait until this song ends, then tell me.” She looked so fragile, so heartbroken. It hit Liam right in the chest. They were teenagers, running on hormones and adrenaline. The dozens of classmates surrounding them started chanting, pushing for a yes. “Say yes! Say yes!” “Liam, you legend! Chloe is a thousand times better than Luna!” “Why are you hesitating? Dump the nerd and get with the queen!” “What are you waiting for, Liam?” Under the pressure, Liam’s wandering eyes focused. He looked at Chloe, and his expression hardened into determination. Chloe smiled, but she kept glancing at the door. Sweat beaded on her forehead. She gripped her dress. “Come on, say yes! Chloe’s nervous!” She bit her lip. I still wasn’t there. While the club was reaching its boiling point, I was lying comfortably on my sofa. Late that night, my parents came home from the office. When they saw me awake, they looked surprised. I cut straight to the chase. “Dad, I don’t want to sponsor that scholarship student anymore. The one named Chloe.” “Cancel the secondary credit card I authorized for her.” Chapter 3 I almost laughed saying it out loud. Who would have guessed? The school’s big spender, the “Ms. Moneybags,” was actually the charity case my family was anonymously supporting. It was supposed to be a double-blind donation, but somehow Chloe figured out it was us. And once she realized my family was her benefactor, she started targeting me. I used to think she hated me because of grades. But who would have thought a girl with average scores would suddenly shoot into the top ten, while her own grades tanked until she was dead last? “My family has money to burn. I don’t need school to succeed.” She’d say that while flashing a bracelet with a designer logo and wearing the latest limited-edition sneakers. Meanwhile, my family received a letter saying her grandfather needed a $50,000 surgery. In my last life, when I “snitched” and the parents came, everyone left. Except her. She told everyone her parents were busy running their company and the chauffeur was on his way. The class believed her. They felt bad leaving her. But Chloe’s parents were dead. She only had her grandparents in the countryside. No chauffeur was coming. The money my family spent on her could have funded a hundred other students. And what did we get? My parents dead. Betrayal. And Chloe spitting on my grave after I was gone. “What charity? You only helped until I was eighteen! What about college? What about my lifestyle? What if my grandparents get sick?!” “Pah! You rich capitalists are all fake. You deserved to die!” Back in reality, my parents looked shocked. Before they could speak, I hugged them both. Feeling their warmth, my eyes teared up. I remembered their broken bodies on the pavement from the last life. Rage burned in my chest, but I forced it down. I looked up and smiled. “Promise me, okay? I know I was wrong.” “I realized you were right. I’ll listen to you. I’m breaking up with Liam.” I was so stupidly in love in my past life. Death cures that pretty quickly. My parents, who had always hated my relationship with Liam, looked confused but relieved. “Luna, you said you wanted to study to go to his college. Why the sudden breakup?” “Your mother and I talked… we were actually going to support you if you really loved him…” “Is that little punk bullying you? Just wait, I’ll…” Their concern was suffocating in the best way. Guilt mixed with anger in my gut. I shook my head, hugging them tighter. “I just want to focus on myself. I don’t want to regret anything.” I wasn’t going to let them off the hook. This time, they were going to be the ones with regrets. At the exact moment the credit card was frozen, nobody in the club noticed. Liam, basking in the envy of his peers, agreed to date Chloe. He kissed the corner of her mouth and made a solemn vow. “Tomorrow morning, first thing, I’m breaking up with her.” Chloe’s smile froze for a second before she forced a sweet, timid expression. “Is this okay? You haven’t broken up yet… maybe we should…” Thinking she was worried about her reputation, Liam laughed and kissed her again. “Don’t worry. She’s obsessed with me. I’m the love of her life; she wouldn’t dare do anything to hurt me.” Hearing this cringe-worthy dialogue, Chloe’s eye twitched. She wasn’t happy. She was panicking because I hadn’t shown up. Seeing the cameras in the dark corners of the club, she pushed Liam away and yelled for everyone to drink. “Let’s celebrate! A toast to us! And to… acing our finals!” Just as the class rushed the dance floor, drinks in hand, a heavy hand clamped down on Chloe’s shoulder. She spun around, eyes lighting up, thinking it was her “connection.” But her face fell when she saw a bouncer. “What do you want?” “Can’t you see we’re partying?” A waiter stepped forward, holding a POS machine, asking for payment. “Miss Chloe, your group has run up a significant tab. Plus the outstanding balance from previous visits. We need you to settle the bill now.” Chloe was annoyed. She pulled out the card and threw it on the floor. “Do you know how to do business? You’re embarrassing me.” “Take it. Take the money and get lost!” She took her anger out on the waiter. Used to this treatment, the waiter picked up the card. He swiped it. His obsequious smile vanished. It was replaced by a cold, hard stare. “Miss Chloe, this card has been declined. It’s deactivated.” “Do you have another form of payment?” Chloe’s head snapped up. Chapter 4 “No… that’s impossible. It can’t be canceled.” “I’ve used it here a dozen times. It’s the only card I brought…” Seeing the bouncers closing in, the color drained from Chloe’s face. One of them reached for her. Liam stepped in, playing the hero. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” Sensing the shift in atmosphere, the rest of the class gathered around, forming a protective wall in front of Chloe. “Back off! You want to fight?” “We’re together! Do you have any idea who Miss Chloe is? Do you know who her family is?!” “If you touch her, her dad will have this place shut down and you’ll all be fired!” They shouted threats. Chloe looked panicked. She saw the main doors being locked and bolted. She screamed and buried her face in Liam’s chest. “Liam, what do I do? The card isn’t working.” “They’re going to hurt me.” Her voice was just loud enough for everyone to hear. The students looked uneasy. Suddenly, the crowd of bouncers parted. A massive man with a thick gold chain and a scar on his face walked out. “Who the hell said they were looking for me? I’m the owner.” “Who claims they know me? Let me see your face.” Chloe froze. “I… I…” She didn’t know him. She’d never even seen the owner. Exposed in front of everyone, she started crying, jumping up and down in frustration. “I was scammed! I thought the other guy was the owner! I didn’t know!” “I can’t pay right now! What do we do?!” Seeing her tears, the class went into full defense mode. Liam puffed out his chest. “We aren’t deadbeats! We just didn’t bring cash!” “We’re here to celebrate before finals! We aren’t trying to dine and dash!” “How much is it? We’ll pool our money!” Liam didn’t know that regular clubs don’t let high schoolers in. Chloe had brought them to a shady underground dive run by gangsters. Getting in was easy. Getting out… not so much. Hearing Liam offer to pay, the boss twisted the gold ring on his finger and grinned, showing yellow teeth. “Your total is sixty-eight thousand, eight hundred and eighty.” He spread his hands. His eyes raked over Chloe and the girls behind her. “Of course, if you can’t pay with cash… flesh works too. These schoolgirls look fresh…” “That’s nearly seventy grand! You’re running a scam!!” The crowd exploded. They were high school students. Even if they pooled their allowances, they couldn’t scrape together ten thousand, let alone seventy. Liam screamed at the boss. Chloe was shaking. The girls were terrified. “Chloe, call your family! Ask them to send money!” Family? Nobody was coming. Chloe bit her lip until it bled. She looked at Liam, tears streaming down her face. “I wasn’t… I’ll think of something. I’ll call Luna.” “She’s the only one who can save us now. Before the teachers and parents find out, we need her help.” She didn’t call the police. She didn’t call an ambulance. She kept saying only I could save the class. She dialed my number. Again. And again. No answer. “Help! Ahhh!” “Trying to rip us off? Beat these broke kids to death!” The bouncers moved in. Students were getting smashed with beer bottles. Chloe covered her mouth, trembling, barely able to stand. An hour later, I picked up my new phone and inserted the SIM card. As soon as I logged into WeChat, a message popped up. Luna, you did this on purpose! I scoffed and deleted the message. I looked at the screen and counted down in my head. Almost there. Just a little longer… A moment later, the silent parent group chat exploded. A parent posted a video, crying. “My kid… my perfectly healthy kid… why is he in the ICU right before finals?!” “Wait, didn’t the school say there was a mandatory study session tonight?” “Why are our kids at a nightclub?!” I clicked the video, raised an eyebrow, and watched the chaos unfold. This time, let’s see how you talk your way out of this, Chloe.

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When my wife, Sienna, lost her family and her fortune, I walked away. After she rebuilt her empire, I showed up at her door every year. The first year, I held our son, Leo, and she tossed me fifty thousand dollars, telling me to get lost. The second year, I brought my terminal cancer diagnosis. She didn’t even glance at the report, gave me a hundred thousand, and told me to disappear forever. For the third and fourth years, I did as she wished and vanished from this world. It wasn’t until the fifth year that she received a call from our son. “Dad, when are you bringing the food? I’m hungry.” 1 “Dad, I’m so hungry.” I watched as my four-year-old son, Leo, having slipped away from the shelter, found my old phone, charged it, and mimicked me making a call. When I was bedridden and dying, I had relied entirely on DoorDash. My orders, often cheap, were always the last to be delivered. When Leo was hungry, I would call the rider to rush them. So, he thought that calling would magically fill his tummy. He dialed again and again, the faint screen glow illuminating his innocent face, but this time he had called the emergency contact—Sienna. I wanted to stop him, but my hand passed right through his small body. A flicker of annoyance. Three years, and I still forget that I am only a soul. “Leo, don’t call her. She won’t answer.” She probably still believes I’m just a gold-digger who ran when things got tough. “Go open the small wooden box on the table. I left you some money in there.” Most of the money I’d taken from Sienna was put into a trust for his future. The box held a thousand dollars in cash for any immediate needs. As if he could hear me, Leo walked over and picked up the box. Just then, a cool, crisp voice answered from the phone. “Dean Harrison?” I froze, realizing the call had been active for over a minute. “Didn’t I tell you to go die in a hole somewhere?” Her tone was utterly flat, as indifferent and cold as ever. I curled my fingers, feeling a deep, spectral shame. My son’s mother was cursing me out right in front of him, even though they didn’t know who the other was. She sneered. “Want more cash? Fine. Come beg me for it.” Leo’s eyes lit up as his tiny voice chirped into the receiver. “Ma’am! When will you bring my food? I’m hungry!” Silence stretched on the other end. “Put Dean on the phone.” “You mean Dad?” Leo’s face instantly dropped. “But he can’t answer the phone.” Sienna’s voice sharpened. “What do you mean, he can’t?” “Dad says he’s sleeping.” A four-and-a-half-year-old has no concept of death. A harsh, dismissive laugh came through the phone. She clearly didn’t believe this pathetic excuse. “Is that so? I’m curious to see what new trick he’s pulling now.” I tried to curve my lips into a smile, but I couldn’t. What trick could I possibly pull? I didn’t even have the energy left to float over and scare her. Leo hung up, his mouth curled up in anticipation. He curled into a ball on the edge of the worn sofa, waiting patiently. But I was frantic. Sienna hated me so much. What would she do to our son? An hour later, a knock sounded. My non-existent heart pounded. “Don’t open the door, Leo!” Leo already had the door open. Outside were no delicious meals, only several men in dark suits—security. They swept the small room, confirmed no one else was there, and took my son away. “No!” I was utterly helpless, watching Leo being carried off. When Sienna opened her own front door, she saw Leo, tear-stained and crying. She then peered over his head, scanning the empty space behind him. “Where is that man?” 2 The man she meant was me. I lowered my gaze. In her mind, I wasn’t even worth a name anymore. The bodyguard answered truthfully. “When we arrived, the only person in the house was the boy.” Leo wrenched himself free and hugged Sienna’s leg. “Auntie, the bad men grabbed me.” I was stunned. This was only the third time Leo had ever seen Sienna. He didn’t know she was the mother who refused to acknowledge him. Yet, blood ties were at work, creating a natural, instinctive dependence. Sienna looked uncomfortable when he hugged her. She frowned and scoffed. “He really is heartless, sending his own brat to face my anger.” I waved my hands frantically, a futile gesture. “No, Leo isn’t a brat! He’s our child.” She would never believe it. After she gave birth, the doctors found Leo had the Wei family’s inherited heart condition. I had sought her out then. Her words still echoed in my spectral ears. “The child I gave birth to was a stillborn.” “Dean Harrison, do you think I’m the same Sienna you tricked before? Fool me once, shame on you. Try to fool me twice, shame on me.” “Get lost. Here’s twenty thousand dollars. That’s the buy-out price for our five years together.” I said, “It’s not enough.” She didn’t want the boy, but the boy needed money for surgery. Sienna gritted her teeth in fury. “You really are consumed by greed! Fine, here’s fifty thousand. Because that’s all you’re worth.” Five years of love, reduced to a commodity for sale. I knew this act would make Sienna despise me, but I didn’t care. Leo used that money for his surgery. He would live a healthy life now, and that made it all worth it. Now, Sienna spoke to Leo in a cold voice. “Tell me, where is your father hiding?” Leo looked up, his eyes full of tears. His features were so much like mine. Sienna seemed to lose herself for a moment. “Dad sleeps in the daytime, and at night he goes up to be a star.” At this, Sienna’s expression hardened. She pulled her leg away from him. “He’s resorting to the pity-play now, is he?” Leo stumbled and fell onto his backside. I floated over, using all my strength, yet still failing to break his fall, watching him land right through my arms. The small box he was clutching also crashed to the floor. My son, who hadn’t eaten properly in two days, struggled twice to get up. My spectral heart twisted in agony. Sienna watched him coldly, though her fists were inexplicably clenched. Leo hugged the small box to his chest, then bravely patted his own rear. “Dad, it doesn’t hurt.” For a moment, I wondered if he could see me. Then I remembered. When I was paralyzed and dying from stomach cancer, he learned to take care of me at just two years old. He even tried to collect plastic bottles while I slept. One day, he came back injured after a fight with a stray dog, and I coughed up blood from the shock. He smiled and comforted me, saying he wasn’t hurt. Sienna looked around the room, her voice brittle. “Dean Harrison, come out!” The room remained silent, devoid of life. I was standing right in front of her, yet she couldn’t see me. After waiting a beat, she found my absence infuriating. Her voice was full of contempt. “How heartless. To use a child this big as a pawn.” “Get him out of here.” Sienna said this and walked into her lavish house. The security men abandoned Leo on the large, unfamiliar street. Night had fallen. Leo stood there, alone and confused. He spoke to the little box. “Dad, where should I go now?” My heart ached beyond measure. I could only pray that the people at the shelter would realize he was missing soon. Leo looked up at the moon. “Dad, if I follow the moon, will I find you?” He was too hungry to walk and fell twice. Stumbling, he finally found a public waste bin and spotted half-eaten slice of cake inside. His eyes lit up. He grabbed the stale, slightly sour cake and shoved it into his mouth. I wept, trying to stop him. “Leo, don’t eat that! It will make you sick!” He couldn’t hear me, but the cake was knocked out of his hand by someone else. 3 It was Sienna, who had appeared without me noticing. She looked at my dirty, starving son and clenched her jaw. “Dean Harrison, is this how you treat your son?” She forced him into the car parked nearby. Leo began to cry and scream, all affection gone. “Why won’t you let me eat? You’re a bad person!” He tried to lick the residue from his fingers. Sienna grabbed his hands. With a mixture of disgust and meticulous care, she wiped his tiny hands clean with a wet wipe. “Didn’t your father teach you not to pick up things from the ground?” Her movements were gentle, yet precise. I remembered when we were together. She always looked after me with such devotion. My friends called her the mom-friend, gentle and considerate. Leo, however, was as stubborn as I was. When he pushed her away, his small hand slapped her cheek. “I don’t want you, you bad person!” I flinched, terrified, and looked at Sienna. She didn’t look angry. She lowered her lashes, tossed the used wipe, and stared out the window, refusing to look at the side profile that was so much like mine. Her voice was laced with self-mockery. “A temper as fierce as your father’s. Thank God he’s not my child.” I gave a bitter, soundless laugh. Sorry to disappoint you. The small box slipped from Leo’s lap. She bent to pick it up. She glanced at the dirty wooden box and seemed to find it strangely familiar. I instinctively wanted to intervene. If she opened it, she would learn the truth from all those years ago. She would live the rest of her life racked with guilt. Better that she hate me than feel that crushing guilt. Yet, I looked at Leo, and the part of me that wanted him to be safe under his mother’s care yearned for her to open it. I was torn, a knot of anxiety. She simply tossed the box back into Leo’s lap. “Stop picking up junk.” I wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed. Sienna brought Leo back to her mansion. She instructed the housekeeper to prepare some food, adding after a glance at Leo’s scrawny frame, “Something easily digestible.” “I don’t know how that man raises a child. Skinny as a rail. Good thing I didn’t marry someone like him.” I nodded. I was, undeniably, a poor father. Sienna sat at the dining table, watching Leo pick the carrots out of his food. She frowned and instinctively snapped, “Dean Harrison, don’t pick at your food.” Both she and I froze at the sound of the name. “I’m keeping you right under my nose. I refuse to believe Dean won’t come to collect you.” With that, Sienna rose and walked upstairs, her back view looking like she was fleeing. Leo’s eyes brightened. “Really? Dad is coming to get me?” That night, Leo refused to sleep in the guest room. He insisted on the sofa. The nanny couldn’t persuade him, and Sienna finally grew impatient. “Kids are a pain. Let him. He can sleep wherever he wants.” Leo slept on the sofa for three days. Seeing him curled up in a tiny ball, Sienna frowned fiercely. “Was your father so cruel he never let you sleep in a bed?” Leo shook his head. “Of course not. Dad is on the sofa.” Sienna didn’t understand, but I was weeping. We only had one sofa. When my illness worsened, I was often unconscious on that sofa, and Leo thought I was just sleeping. He would climb into my arms and hold me tight. Even at the shelter, he preferred to stay on the sofa in the reception area, as if he were sleeping in my embrace. Sienna started working from home recently, often staring at the door. She watched Leo, who was also looking at the door, and asked: “Hey, what’s your name?” “Leo Harrison.” “Leo Harrison, your father abandoned you, too.” Leo instantly looked like a defiant little animal. “No way! My dad would never abandon me!” “Oh, really? Then why hasn’t he shown up to get you after an entire week?” As soon as she finished speaking, the doorbell rang. Sienna stood up immediately, a look of grim confirmation on her face. “Your father is here.” Leo scrambled to his feet, looking toward the door with desperate anticipation. When the door opened, both of them froze. 4 Leo pouted. “Liar! That’s not Dad.” The man at the door was handsome, wearing a white shirt. I had seen him once before, when Leo had just had his surgery and was with Sienna as they left an OB/GYN appointment, looking very close. The man glanced at Leo, confused. “Where did this kid come from?” Sienna answered flatly. “I just picked him up off the street.” The man’s eyes widened. “You’re collecting children now?” He remembered something and pointed furiously at the flower bed in the yard. “Who pulled up my sunflowers!” My heart felt a dull ache. They were living together. Sienna glanced at Leo, who was shorter than her knee. Leo guiltily avoided her eyes and went back to the sofa. Sienna seemed indifferent. “It’s just flowers. Plant more.” Seeing her reaction, the man didn’t press the issue. He followed Sienna inside, but as soon as he sat on the sofa, he covered his nose. “What is that weird smell? Sienna, you said you were extra sensitive to smells while pregnant. Can’t you smell this?” I stared, shocked, at her flat stomach. After seeing how she had treated Leo over the past few days, I had hoped that she would realize he was our child and treat him well. But now that she was having a child with another man, what would happen to my son? Sienna finally noticed the strange odor in the air. She looked at Leo on the sofa. She walked over, lifted Leo up, and pulled back the sofa cushion. A pile of food wrapped in plastic bags and seven withered sunflowers scattered across the floor. Both she and the man were speechless. Sienna’s face flushed with fury. “Leo Harrison, what in the hell are you doing?” Leo wailed. “Don’t touch my things! I was saving them for Dad!” I remembered the times when Leo was tiny and outside collecting trash. Some kind people would see him and buy him food. He never ate a bite himself, always bringing it home to me. After he was taken to the shelter, the director taught him a few times, and he learned to eat some, but always saved what he thought was the very best. Other kids at the shelter avoided him because they thought he smelled bad. Sienna’s eyes were complicated. “Why would you do that?” Leo cried miserably. “Dad never got to eat anything good. You said he would come and get me, and I wanted to save these for when I see him.” Sienna wanted to scoff, but the sound caught in her throat. “What are you talking about? He went off to live the good life with some rich woman. What could he possibly not have eaten?” Leo shook his head. “No, he didn’t. Dad always said he wasn’t hungry.” At first, I said I wasn’t hungry so he would eat more. Later, when the disease took over, I truly couldn’t eat. The man beside Sienna asked, “Why is there a cremation box on the floor?” It was the small wooden box that had fallen when Leo stumbled. Sienna stared blankly. “An urn?” No wonder it felt familiar. As if she had seen it somewhere before. A small stack of money and a letter had fallen out of the box. The letter seemed to weigh a thousand pounds. Sienna’s trembling hands struggled several times before she could pick it up. The envelope bore my handwriting, which she knew so well: [For Leo, from Dad.] She tore open the envelope. In an instant, her eyes turned crimson.

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My boyfriend, Liam, died on William Zio’s private yacht. The official story was that he argued with someone, slipped, and fell into the sea. But I knew the truth—he was beaten to death. It was all because Seraphina Vance, the unforgettable flame of William’s life, had idly flirted with Liam, complimenting his voice. William’s jealousy had erupted like a volcano. He’d ordered his men to beat Liam to a pulp and toss his broken body into the freezing, midnight water. “Seraphina said you have a lovely voice?” William had sneered. “I suppose I’ll have to hear it for myself.” When the news of Liam’s death reached me, I didn’t cry. I simply tore up the acceptance letter from the top-tier university I was about to attend. I flew back home and became the most docile canary in William Zio’s gilded cage. He would often tip my chin up with his fingers, murmuring to me as if I were a cherished pet, “Aria, my dear, I can give you anything you desire. Anything but my love.” I’d look up at him, my voice a soft whisper. “Anything?” But inside, my heart was a frozen, silent wasteland. What good is your love to me? It’s your life I want. 1. Everyone in New York’s elite circle knew that I, Aria Thorne, was Seraphina Vance’s stand-in. Three years ago, after a spectacular fight with William, Seraphina had stormed off to America in a fit of pique, cutting off all contact. That was when I made my move, leveraging a side profile that was a five-point match to hers to become the perfect shadow by William’s side. I learned to be pliant, obedient. If William pointed east, I would never dare to look west. Slowly, I became the woman who stayed by his side the longest, second only to Seraphina herself. Sometimes, he would gaze at me, lost in thought, his fingertips tracing the line of my jaw. “Your eyes are the most like hers,” he’d murmur, “but she would never look at me the way you do…” I knew he was looking through me, seeing someone else. Then, recently, whispers started circulating that Seraphina was coming back. The day her flight landed, William had the entire airport terminal carpeted with ten thousand roses, a display of extravagant welcome. And I, naturally, became the subject of gossip once more. “The real thing is back. The understudy should know her place.” “If Seraphina hadn’t left, trash like her wouldn’t even be fit to polish Mr. Zio’s shoes.” “That whole doe-eyed act of hers makes me sick.” In the back of the town car, I scrolled through my phone, my eyes welling with tears, a single drop trembling on my lashes. “Upset?” William pulled me into his arms, his tone unreadable. I rested my head on his shoulder, my voice soft and sticky like honey. “William, I know how important Ms. Vance is to you… I won’t compete with her.” “The fact that you chose to bring me home first today… that’s more than enough for me,” I whispered, then tilted my head up to press a soft kiss against his cheek. He was clearly pleased, scratching me under the chin as if I were a kitten. I snuggled closer, remaining in his embrace until the car glided to a stop in front of his private villa. As we got out, I clung to his arm, my reluctance palpable. “Be good,” he said, his gaze dropping to my chest with undisguised intent. “Mrs. Gable made you that restorative broth. Drink it and get some rest.” A sly smile touched my lips. I leaned in close to his ear, my breath a warm caress. “Tonight… I have a new toy for us to play with.” A faint blush crept up his neck, and he wrapped an arm tightly around my waist. “You little temptress.” His kiss was bruising, almost violent, as if he wanted to meld me into himself. My hand slipped down from his waist, but he caught it firmly. “None of that now,” he murmured against my earlobe, tapping the tip of my nose. “Wait for me.” I relaxed in his arms, letting out a soft, breathy sigh. “William, I won’t fight for you… I only want you.” Then, with a catch in my voice, I added, “It’s just… sometimes I feel so insecure.” A tear escaped and traced a path down my cheek. At the sight of it, his expression softened. His warm palm stroked my shoulder. “Aria, I won’t cast you aside.” After another moment of tender reassurance, I wiped my eyes and turned to go. “Aria,” he called out suddenly. I turned back, my heart feigning a hopeful leap. “Your purse.” He held out the new Chanel bag he’d bought me. The light in my eyes dimmed instantly. I took it obediently and watched his car disappear down the long drive. It’s starting, Seraphina. Are you ready? Inside the villa, the housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, greeted me warmly with a bowl of the broth. I took it, my makeup smudged from my performance, and hurried upstairs, locking the bedroom door behind me. The moment the lock clicked, all the strength drained from my body. I slid down the door, slumping to the floor like a deflated balloon. I stumbled into the bathroom and turned the shower on, letting the hot water cascade over my face. I scrubbed at my skin, at every inch of my body, as if trying to wash away some indelible stain. The stinging in my eyes from the scalding water finally shocked me back to reality. I stared at my reflection in the fogged mirror. The woman looking back was a stranger—pale, her eyes a hollow void hiding a universe of madness. My right hand began to tremble uncontrollably. I gripped my wrist, my nails digging into my own flesh. It was happening again. This body, and the soul trapped within it, were rejecting the role I had been forced to play for three long years. 2. There was a time when I was the princess in my parents’ world, cherished and adored. Then a car crash shattered everything. Overnight, I lost them both, plunging into a severe depression that left me a sullen, silent shadow of my former self. It was in the darkest days at that private clinic for troubled youths that I met Liam. Everyone at the clinic was afraid of him. Like me, he wore the label of “problem.” But he wasn’t withered and silent like I was. He was a caged beast, snarling at any doctor or nurse who dared approach, his words sharp as broken glass. He was a creature of thorns and solitude, fiercely independent. But with me, he was different. He knew I was terrified of thunder, so on stormy nights, he would sit vigil in the hallway outside my room, a silent stone guardian, not leaving until the last rumble faded and he had to drag his numb legs away. When I once mentioned offhandedly that I missed the salty air of the ocean, he scaled the clinic walls and disappeared for three days. He returned with a bottle of murky, briny water and a fresh set of bruises he refused to explain. He found a pop-top tab from a soda can and spent a whole month grinding it against the concrete pavement until it was a misshapen, makeshift ring. When the other kids taunted me, calling me an unwanted orphan, he forced it onto my finger. … “Aria,” he’d said, “with me, you can still be a princess.” So you see, William? The person you destroyed wasn’t just some nobody. You destroyed the one who, with all his fierce, untamed tenderness, pulled me back from the abyss. You destroyed my entire world. “Liam, you broke your promise.” I curled into a ball in the darkness, my voice barely a whisper, clutching the small, worn good-luck charm he’d given me. He had pressed it into my hand at the airport when he saw me off to study abroad. His eyes were red, but he tried to act cool and detached. He’d fidgeted for what felt like an eternity before pulling a crumpled, red fabric charm from his pocket and shoving it at me. “Just picked this up on the way,” he’d mumbled, his neck stiff, his ears burning crimson. “Figured you might get bullied out there alone. So, you know… take it. It’s from me… and I’ve never given a girl anything before.” His voice grew quieter with each word, his face redder. I’d smiled and, right there in front of him, solemnly hung it around my neck. He’d darted his eyes away, so flustered he nearly tripped over his own feet. As the plane took off, I watched his figure shrink on the tarmac and made a silent vow: Liam, wait for me. I’m coming back. During my first year away, his messages arrived like clockwork, bridging the time difference. A “Good morning” at 8 AM, a “Good night” at 10 PM. He shared every trivial detail of his life with infectious excitement: “Aria, old Mr. Henderson’s dog had puppies. They’re ugly as little rats.” “Why are you taking so long to reply? Is your homework more important than me?” “I’m looking at an apartment with a yard. When you come back, we’ll have our own home.” … His very last message was sent under a sky full of fireworks. “Rich people are something else. Even their fireworks are blue. When you get back, I’ll set some off for you too. A whole night’s worth.” But after that night of blue fireworks, his messages stopped. I never heard from him again. Then the news came: Liam had fallen from a private yacht and was lost at sea, his body never recovered. I didn’t believe it. I flew back in a frenzy, broke through the police tape, and screamed his name at the vast, merciless ocean that had swallowed him whole. The only answer was the crash of the cold, indifferent waves. And the owner of that yacht? At that very moment, William Zio was at a rooftop restaurant, his arm around his one true love, Seraphina Vance, as they enjoyed afternoon tea. “William, darling, it was just one person. Why is it causing such a commotion?” Seraphina, draped in a pristine white gown, spoke words laced with poison. William handed her a glass of juice, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather. “He was a nobody, darling. Not worth ruining your day over. With me here, no one will dare to make a fuss.” Two weeks later, the case was closed. “Accidental drowning.” The real killer never even had to show his face. It took me months to find out that the yacht belonged to the prince of New York’s elite—William Zio. 3. I never expected to meet Seraphina so soon. William was personally giving her a tour of the greenhouse, a “hobby” he’d built on a whim but had rarely ever set foot in. Dressed in the latest Chanel suit, Seraphina tilted her chin up, surveying the space like a queen inspecting her domain. In reality, for the past three years, it was I who had tended to every plant, every blossom within these glass walls. “Ms. Thorne,” she paused, her manicured fingertips brushing against a cluster of gladioli I had painstakingly nurtured. Her voice dripped with mock surprise. “You look so fragile, yet you seem quite skilled at tending to flowers.” Before the words had fully left her mouth, she casually snapped the stem of a perfectly bloomed gladiolus. The movement was slow, deliberate, her eyes flashing with unconcealed provocation. I immediately lowered my gaze, my voice soft and submissive. “It’s just a simple skill. I’m not worthy of Ms. Vance’s praise.” William stood nearby, saying nothing to stop her. In fact, he seemed to find my deference rather pleasing; the corner of his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. “However,” Seraphina said, dropping the broken flower and grinding it under the heel of her shoe. Her gaze flickered meaningfully towards William before settling back on me. “These flowers are too… cold. They don’t suit William. He only likes roses—intense, vibrant.” I looked up, my expression a carefully crafted mix of admiration and timidity. “You have excellent taste, Ms. Vance. William often says you’re just like his favorite rose—brilliantly beautiful, the one and only in his heart.” My “relayed” compliment pleased her, and William as well. A flicker of triumph crossed her face. She linked her arm through William’s, resting her head on his shoulder, but her eyes, now sharp with a condescending command, returned to me. “Well then, I’ll have to trouble you, Ms. Thorne. Those rose bushes over there look a bit messy. Since you’re so skilled, why don’t you tidy them up?” William remained silent, which was his form of consent. Mrs. Gable, the housekeeper, saw what was happening and quietly offered me a pair of gardening gloves. But Seraphina let out a light laugh, stopping her. “Oh, no. All the top florists I knew back in the States say you must work with your bare hands to feel the true life of the flowers. Gloves? So unprofessional.” It was a blatant lie, and everyone present knew it. William adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, his gaze falling on me with a weight that was both probing and permissive. “Do as Seraphina says.” He was using this to placate Seraphina’s bruised ego, and to reassert my complete and utter obedience. I bowed my head without argument, knelt, and began to gather the thorny, withered rose clippings scattered on the ground. “Heh,” Seraphina’s mocking laugh came from above. “William, look at her, kneeling there. Doesn’t she look just like a…” She didn’t finish, but I felt the thick, suffocating malice in her unspoken words. I looked up at her and managed a pale, humble smile. A sheen of cold sweat broke out on my forehead as a thorn bit deeply into my finger, the pain making my performance of delicate suffering all the more convincing. “As long as it makes Ms. Vance happy.” My reaction seemed to bore her. She huffed and settled into a nearby wicker chair to sip her tea. I continued my work, focused, as if the world around me had faded away. Until Mrs. Gable cried out in alarm, “Ms. Thorne! Your hand! My goodness, you’re as white as a sheet!” Her words were my cue. My body went limp, darkness swam before my eyes, and I collapsed sideways. In the last moment of fading consciousness, I felt a strong arm snake around me, catching me before I hit the ground. It was William. I leaned against his chest, my breath shallow, and whispered an apology laced with guilt. “I’m sorry, William… I still… couldn’t do it right…” The hospital room smelled of antiseptic. I woke with a soft groan, a pained frown on my face as I felt the sting in my arm from the IV drip. William was instantly at my side with a glass of warm water, his own brow deeply furrowed. “The doctor said you’re suffering from exhaustion and low blood sugar. What’s going on?” I lowered my head, my long, dark hair falling forward, making my face seem even paler. Under his increasingly impatient gaze, I finally seemed to gather my courage and spoke in a small voice. “I… I remembered you mentioning how difficult it was to cultivate the new ‘Roman Holiday’ roses… I thought that if, for your and Ms. Vance’s engagement party, the venue could be decorated with flowers I grew myself… it would be the last thing… I could do for you.” My voice choked with unshed tears. I turned my head away defiantly, my shoulders trembling. The atmosphere in the room instantly dropped several degrees. He had just proposed to Seraphina, driven more by a fear of losing control and being abandoned by her again than by love. And I, upon hearing the news, hadn’t thrown a tantrum. Instead, I had silently set about preparing a “final gift” for him. The stark contrast was a thorn digging into his conscience. “The last thing?” He grabbed my chin, his grip tight, forcing me to face him. His eyes burned with a mixture of anger and a flicker of panic he himself didn’t recognize. “Aria, who gave you permission to decide you’re leaving?” I looked at him through a blur of tears, my expression one of heartbroken disbelief. “I know I’m just a substitute. Ms. Vance is back… I can’t be so shameless as to overstay my welcome.” “Who told you you were a substitute?!” he snarled, as if I’d struck a nerve. He released me abruptly, but his fingertips still felt the phantom heat of my tears. “Besides, when did your coming and going become your decision to make?” 4. That night, in a break from all precedent, William stayed with me until I fell asleep before leaving to see Seraphina. In my dreams, I saw Liam again. He was wearing that same faded white shirt, standing in front of the little house with the yard we had always dreamed of. The morning sun cast a golden halo around him. “Aria,” he said, smiling and waving me over, his eyes as clear and unpolluted as the day I first met him. “What took you so long? I’ve been waiting for you.” I smiled back, but as I did, tears began to stream down my face. “Liam,” I whispered, “I miss you so much… Wait for me, okay? I’ll come find you soon.” A few days later, I returned to the villa from the hospital, only to find that Seraphina had moved in. She sat in the garden, playing with a fluffy white Pomeranian at her feet. She didn’t even bother to look up. “Ms. Thorne, you’re so delicate. Shouldn’t you have rested a few more days?” I offered a polite smile. “Thank you for your concern, Ms. Vance. I’m much better now.” She ignored me, scratching the dog under its chin, her words dripping with double meaning. “Chai is such a good boy. It’s a shame, though. At the end of the day, he’s just an animal. He can’t change anything.” She let out a sharp, piercing laugh. I stood my ground, my face a placid mask. As expected, the little dog, as if agitated by something, suddenly perked up. It broke free from Seraphina and charged straight at me. Amid the gasps of the staff, it sank its teeth into my calf. A sharp, searing pain shot up my leg. I cried out. Mrs. Gable rushed forward and forcefully shoved the dog away. It yelped and scurried off, leaving my leg bleeding freely.

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My adoptive father lured me outside and deliberately left me in front of a crazed fighting dog. The dog’s teeth severed nerves, and with them, all sensation of pain. After that, I grew even quieter, like a doll that only knew how to follow orders. When my birth parents finally found me and brought me home, the girl who had taken my place wouldn’t let me in. She held a fruit knife to her own wrist. “If she sets one foot inside, I’ll die right here!” Tears streamed down her face, but the blade had barely broken the skin. Expressionless, I walked over and took the knife. “Let me help you with that, sister.” Then, with precision, I sliced open her artery. Blood sprayed across the floor. My mother and father stared at me, their eyes wide with terror. 1 The moment Clara Blackwood saw me, she bolted to the kitchen and came back with a fruit knife. She pressed the tip against her wrist, her face a mask of tragic tears. “If she sets one foot inside, I’ll die right here!” she wailed. “I’ve lived in this house for fifteen years! Why does she get to come back and steal your love?” My mother panicked. “Clara, don’t be rash! We can talk about this.” “She’s a monster! Look at her eyes! They’re terrifying!” Clara pressed down, dragging the knife across her skin. It was a superficial cut, producing only a few beads of blood. She howled, “It hurts! I’m bleeding!” As I watched her performance, a single directive formed in my mind: Die. She said she wanted to die. I moved robotically toward her and took the knife from her hand. “What are you doing?!” Clara’s eyes widened. I didn’t speak. I found the artery in her wrist and drew the blade across it. “Let me help you with that, sister.” Blood gushed out, ten times more than before. Clara let out a bloodcurdling scream and collapsed, convulsing on the floor. My mother’s face went white. “Oh god! Call 911!” My father lunged, snatching the bloody knife from my hand. His voice trembled. “Tessa, what are you doing?” I looked at them calmly. “It was a directive.” “What directive?” “My sister said she wanted to die. I was helping her execute it.” Just then, my brother, Jerry, came running down the stairs. He saw Clara in a pool of blood, then looked at me. His eyes filled with a mixture of horror and rage. “You monster!” he screamed, pointing at me. The wail of an ambulance grew closer. I stood silently beside the spreading puddle of blood, my own hands stained crimson. My mother’s voice shook. “Tessa, why would you do this?” “It was a directive,” I repeated. I didn’t know how else to explain. At the hospital, Clara was rushed into emergency surgery. I was left alone in the hallway of the ER. I clutched an old, battered music box—my only possession. It was broken. The winding key was loose, and it could only produce a few stuttering, off-key notes. Still, I wound it again and again, listening to its fractured melody. Three hours later, the surgeon emerged. “The patient is out of danger, but she lost a lot of blood. She’ll need to be admitted for observation.” My mother let out a shaky breath of relief before walking over to me. She looked at my blood-spattered clothes, her expression a battle between pity and fear. “Tessa, let’s go home.” Back at the Blackwood estate, the bloodstains in the living room hadn’t been fully cleaned. My mother asked the housekeeper to finish up while she sat across from me. “Tessa, tell me, why did you hurt your sister?” I stared at her and mechanically repeated the words. “It was a directive.” “What directive? Who gave it to you?” I couldn’t answer. I just looked down, fiddling with the music box in my hands. Tears welled in my mother’s eyes and spilled down her cheeks. “Tessa, what on earth happened to you?” 2 The next afternoon, Clara was discharged from the hospital. Her left wrist was wrapped in a thick bandage. She was pale, but her eyes burned with malice. The second she saw me, she lunged, snatching the music box from my hands. “Monsters only deserve to play with trash!” She raised it high and slammed it onto the marble floor. With a sickening crack, the box shattered into a dozen pieces. The winding mechanism sprang out, rolling far under a sofa. The delicate ballerina inside snapped in two. I stared at the wreckage on the floor. I didn’t cry or scream. I simply knelt. Piece by piece, I began to gather the fragments. The sharp edges of the broken wood sliced into my fingertips, and drops of blood fell onto the floor. I didn’t flinch. I just kept picking them up. “She’s insane! She’s lost her mind!” Clara shrieked. My mother tried to pull me away, but then she saw the blood streaming from my fingers. As she tugged at my arm, my sleeve rode up, revealing the horrifying tapestry of scars beneath. Knife wounds, bite marks, and the circular patterns of cigarette burns. They covered my thin arm in a dense, shocking lattice. My mother gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “What are these?” My father saw them too. “Get her to the hospital! Now!” The doctor’s findings stunned everyone into silence. “The patient is experiencing complete congenital analgesia—the inability to feel pain. Her emotional center has also suffered severe damage.” “This condition is incredibly rare,” the doctor continued, his face grim as he studied my X-rays. “It’s usually the result of extreme, prolonged trauma. Her nervous system was deliberately damaged. Someone intentionally severed the nerves that transmit pain signals.” My mother fainted before he could finish. My father’s voice was a choked whisper. “Who would do something like this to a child?” The doctor shook his head. “In my thirty years of practice, I have never seen such a cruel and methodical act. It’s a miracle this child is alive at all.” I sat on the examination table, listening quietly. The cuts on my fingers had been bandaged. I felt nothing. That night, back home, I placed the broken pieces of the music box into a small cardboard box. Clara saw me and smirked. “Still trying to fix that thing? Dream on. That piece of junk should have been thrown out years ago.” I didn’t respond, just continued to arrange the fragments. The next morning, news of Clara’s “accident” had spread through her school. My brother, Jerry, came home with a dark look on his face. He cornered me in the hallway. “It’s all your fault,” he seethed. “Clara almost died because of you!” He was holding a mug of freshly brewed coffee, his eyes like ice. “Do you really feel nothing?” He didn’t believe the doctors. “I don’t believe you’re a monster. You’re acting!” He tipped the mug, pouring the scalding liquid over the back of my hand. The near-boiling coffee instantly turned my skin an angry red. Blisters rose immediately, and the top layer of skin began to peel away. I just looked down at it. I didn’t react. I didn’t even pull my hand back. The look on Jerry’s face shifted from fury to shock, and then to raw fear. “You… you really can’t feel it?” I met his terrified gaze. “No.” That single word seemed to shatter him more than a scream ever could. He lost control, shoving me hard. “What are you?! No normal person is like this! You’re not my sister!” I stumbled backward and fell, my head cracking against the sharp corner of the coffee table. Blood trickled down my cheek. I didn’t cry. I didn’t make a sound. I just silently pushed myself back up, wiped the blood from my face with the back of my other hand, and continued to look at him. The sight of my silent suffering broke him completely. He grabbed a heavy glass ashtray from the table and raised it, ready to bring it down on my head. 3 “Stop!” My father, coming down the stairs, saw the scene and roared with fury. He lunged forward, wrenching the ashtray from Jerry’s hand, and delivered a powerful backhand slap across his face. Crack! Jerry’s cheek swelled instantly. “That is your sister! Your own flesh and blood! Are you trying to kill her?!” my father bellowed. “Look at her hand! Look at her head! Look at all the scars she already has!” “She has suffered enough! How much more are you going to torture her?!” Jerry stood frozen, staring at my scalded hand and the gash on my forehead. I still wasn’t crying, just watching them with my empty eyes. My mother ran down, drawn by the shouting. When she saw me, her eyes filled with tears. “Tessa, honey, you’re hurt again?” She reached out to hug me. I didn’t pull away, but I didn’t respond either. I was just a beautiful, broken porcelain doll. “Jerry, on your knees!” my father commanded, pointing at the floor. “Apologize to your sister!” Jerry looked at me, his eyes a mix of guilt and terror. “I’m… I’m sorry, Tessa…” I looked back at him and said softly, “It’s okay.” Those two words made tears spring to his eyes. He was beginning to realize that I wasn’t the monster. My mother carefully tended to my wounds. “Tessa, tell Mommy, does it hurt a lot?” I shook my head. “It doesn’t hurt.” “Are you scared?” I thought for a moment. “I don’t know what scared is.” My mother’s tears fell faster. She pulled me into a tight embrace. “Mommy will never let anyone hurt you again. Not even your brother.” I rested in her arms, feeling nothing. To make up for what had happened, my mother bought me an expensive white cashmere sweater. She gently helped me put it on. “Tessa, how does it feel? Is it comfortable?” I ran my hand over the fabric and nodded. “It’s nice.” I couldn’t feel its softness, but I knew it was something good. I sat quietly on the sofa in my new clothes. But when Clara came home, her eyes immediately locked onto the sweater. “Why does she get to wear something so nice?! You’ve never bought me anything this expensive!” “Clara, your closet is full of beautiful clothes,” my mother reasoned. “Those are old! Now that she’s back, you don’t love me anymore!” Clara grew more and more hysterical, snot and tears mixing on her face. “Fifteen years in this family means less than one day with her!” Sobbing, she ran to the coffee table and snatched a box cutter. “You don’t deserve to wear nice things!” She rushed at me, intending to slice the sweater off my body. I didn’t move. I just watched her come. The sharp blade slashed across the fabric. In the chaos, the tip of the cutter plunged into my shoulder. Blood instantly bloomed, staining the white cashmere a brilliant red. I looked down at the ruined sweater. “Directive was ‘wear’,” I said softly. “Clothing damaged. Directive failed.” “What failed directive?! You’re a psycho!” Clara raised the cutter again. My mother leaped forward, tore the weapon from her hand, and delivered a resounding slap across Clara’s face. Crack! She used all her strength. Clara stumbled back several steps, stunned. “Are you insane?! Do you want to go to jail?!” For the first time, my mother looked at Clara with pure ferocity. “She is your sister! Your real sister! How could you stab her?!” Clara held her cheek, staring at our mother in disbelief. “Mom? You hit me? You hit me for her? For that monster?” “Yes! I hit you for her!” my mother said without hesitation. “And if you ever dare to hurt Tessa again, I will send you to juvenile hall!” 4 In all her life, my mother had never spoken so harshly to Clara, let alone hit her. “You don’t love me anymore…” Clara sobbed and ran upstairs. My mother ignored her and turned to check my wound. “Tessa, does it hurt?” I shook my head, my gaze fixed on the blood-soaked sweater. “The clothes are broken.” “It’s okay, honey. Mommy will buy you a new one.” “But this one was special,” I said, the first unsolicited emotion I had expressed. My mother’s tears started again. “Why was it special?” “Because it was the first piece of clothing Mommy bought for me.” Her heart broke. She held me tight. “Mommy will buy you so, so many clothes,” she whispered. “You will never lack for anything ever again.” But some things, once lost, can never be replaced. My parents took me back to the hospital for my shoulder. The doctor said the blade had missed the bone, but I would need stitches. I sat through the entire procedure without making a sound. “This child’s tolerance for pain is incredible,” the doctor remarked. … While we were out, Clara found the box with my music box fragments. “Why is she still keeping this junk?” She found a hammer, intending to smash the pieces into dust. Jerry stood by and watched, saying nothing. Clara swung the hammer again and again, pulverizing the wooden shards. Finally, all that was left on the coffee table was a small pile of white powder. “There,” she said, satisfied. “Now she has nothing to obsess over. A monster doesn’t deserve anything beautiful.” Jerry looked at the dust and remained silent. When we returned, Clara greeted us with an innocent smile. “You’re back, little sister?” I nodded and went to the drawer where I kept the box. It was empty. I checked other places, but it was gone. Finally, I saw the pile of white powder on the coffee table. I knew what it was. I reached out with my bandaged hand to cup the dust, but it was too fine, slipping through my fingers. I made no sound, but a single tear escaped from my blank eyes and traced a path down my cheek. It was the first time I had cried since coming home. It was the only time. My mother saw it and covered her mouth in shock. My father was speechless. Jerry stared at my single tear, and he looked as if the air had been punched from his lungs. That silent drop of water was a more powerful accusation than any scream. “Tessa…” my mother began, wanting to comfort me. I shook my head, my expression returning to its usual emptiness. “It’s okay. It was broken for a long time.” Clara saw everyone’s reaction and scoffed. “What are you crying about? It was just a piece of trash. She’s a monster. What does she need a music box for anyway?” My mother glared at her. “Did you do this?” “So what if I did? That junk should have been thrown out!” My mother looked like she wanted to hit Clara again, but she restrained herself. She knew that no punishment could bring back what I had lost. Jerry walked over to me, his voice trembling. “Tessa, I’m sorry.” I looked at him. “Why are you apologizing?” “I… I should have stopped her.” “It’s okay. It was already broken.” My forgiveness seemed to wound him more than any accusation. The next day, he cornered my mother, demanding to know about the music box. “What was that thing? Why was it so important to her?!” My mother looked at his red, swollen eyes and knew he hadn’t slept. “Jerry, do you really want to know the truth?” “Yes! I need to know what happened to Tessa!” Tears began to stream down her face. “Tessa wasn’t just abducted, Jerry. She was thrown into hell.”

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I’m a no-name actress from the wrong side of the tracks, and to survive in this dog-eat-dog town, I faked a connection with Sebastian Wheatley, the crown prince of Manhattan’s elite. My nemesis, Phoebe Vance, didn’t buy it. She dropped a fortune on paparazzi and private investigators to tail me. “I’m going to rip that mask right off your face,” she hissed, “and show the world what kind of trash you really are.” I fell to my knees, begging her to stop. “We’re not even in the same league. Please, just leave me alone.” Phoebe just laughed, a cold, triumphant sound. “I just can’t stand that fake, holier-than-thou act of yours. It makes me sick!” She called a press conference to announce her findings. And she finally found it—the truth. It turns out I’m Sebastian Wheatley’s long-lost sister. 1 The dressing room was arctic. Phoebe Vance, poured into a skintight black dress, sat perched on a velvet armchair, her legs crossed elegantly. The silver stiletto on her dangling foot, encrusted with rhinestones, swung back and forth like the blade of a guillotine, ready to drop. I was kneeling before her. The cold marble floor was agony against my kneecaps, a spreading numbness I didn’t dare shift away from. “Ava Reed, you really are a performer,” Phoebe purred, leaning forward. Her long nail traced a line down my cheek, a cat toying with a mouse. “All those years playing the saint, but deep down, you’re just gutter trash, aren’t you? You sure know how to kneel.” I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. “Phoebe… I’m begging you. Don’t do this. I’m no competition for you. Please, just let me go.” I was a nobody in this industry. I started at seventeen and now, at twenty-six, I’d never even landed a lead role. My biggest claim to fame was a supporting part in an Oscar-nominated film. But I was cheap and I worked hard, earning me a reputation as the industry’s workhorse. I was never short on offers. All that screen time meant audiences recognized my face, and my public image was decent enough. That was it. Compared to Phoebe Vance, it was nothing. She was born into money, a true industry princess. Her debut was a starring role, with A-list actors practically carrying her projects to prop her up. Endorsement deals with major brands fell into her lap. We were from different universes, worlds apart. I had no idea how I’d managed to piss off this heiress so badly that she wanted to destroy me. A month ago, her assistant contacted me out of the blue. Phoebe had spent a seven-figure sum to hire the best P.I. firm and paparazzi team in the city, swearing to strip me bare and leave me exposed for all to see. My hands trembled as I held the phone to my ear, tears already welling up. “Phoebe, why are you investigating me? Did I do something to offend you? Tell me, I’ll fix it, I’ll apologize!” Phoebe’s laugh was sharp and cold. “Offend me? You think you’re even worthy?” “I just can’t stand fakes and phonies,” she said. “See you at the Starlight Gala next month. You better be ready.” 2 I spent the next month in a panic, calling in every favor I had, trying to find out what was going on. But Phoebe dodged all my attempts to reach her. Until today. The Starlight Gala. Half of Hollywood was in attendance. I came with my agency; an actress of my status didn’t rate a private dressing room. Phoebe’s assistant summoned me to hers. The moment I walked in, she eyed me with a smirk. “Well, if it isn’t our industry’s little workhorse,” she chirped. “Ava, you work so tirelessly. You must have had a tough childhood, hmm?” The insinuation hit me like a physical blow. I dropped to my knees on the spot. “Phoebe, whatever you found, please don’t tell anyone!” Phoebe sank back into the plush sofa, legs crossed. She looked triumphant, tapping a blood-red nail against her chin as if in deep thought. “What did I find? Let’s see… an orphanage? A job as a dishwasher?” She clicked her tongue. “Tsk. Doesn’t quite match that ‘East Coast heiress’ persona you’ve been selling, does it?” Her words sucked the air from my lungs. I collapsed onto the floor, a single thought screaming in my mind: It’s over. It’s all over. She had dug up everything. I had cultivated an image as the only daughter of a wealthy family, which wasn’t entirely a lie. I was from Connecticut, and I was an only child. The part I left out was that my parents died in a car crash when I was four. None of my relatives wanted me. They said I was cursed, that I’d jinxed my parents and would bring bad luck to anyone who took me in. They carved up my family’s assets and dumped me in an orphanage. Those years were hell. I wore donated hand-me-downs, got bullied at school for it, and had to work to earn my keep back at the orphanage. My grades were, unsurprisingly, terrible. After barely graduating high school, I was working odd jobs when a talent scout found me. 3 I thought entering the entertainment industry would be my ticket out, a way to earn a decent living through hard work. The reality was a rude awakening. This place was a meat grinder. Calling it a cesspool would be a compliment. I was seventeen, not even a legal adult, when I got my first role as a minor handmaiden. The casting director cornered me on his office sofa, his breath reeking of whiskey. “Spend the night with me, and I’ll give you a better part,” he slurred. “The lead’s personal maid. She has pages of dialogue. Better than being a glorified extra, right?” I grabbed the glass ashtray from his desk and threw it at his head. Afterward, my manager dragged me back to apologize and pay his medical bills. The agency shelved me for a year, giving me a measly three-hundred-dollar monthly allowance. At nineteen, I landed a part in a low-budget web series. My manager got me drunk, and my own assistant personally walked me to the producer’s hotel room at two in the morning. I fought back, scrambled out the window, and called the police. Of course, the whole thing was hushed up. My agency bosses screamed my head off before terminating my contract. I was free, but no other agency would touch me. I ended up working as an extra on film sets. For three years, I hustled. My acting was solid and my work ethic was relentless, which eventually got me noticed. A bigger agency finally signed me. This time, I got a decent supporting role. I had learned my lesson. I couldn’t be the reckless, naive girl I once was. My new manager took me to industry parties. I learned to plaster on a smile and toast with the best of them. When investors got handsy, I gritted my teeth and endured it. I was desperate not to be poor again. With no family and no connections, being bullied and humiliated in this world of glamour and power felt like my destiny. I could take the insults, the condescension, the unwanted touches. As long as they didn’t cross my ultimate line. 4 Then one day, Director Evans, a titan of the industry, personally requested me for an audition. “There’s a fire in your eyes,” he told me. “A resilience that’s perfect for this role.” “Come to my hotel room tomorrow night. Nine o’clock. We’ll discuss the scene.” The color drained from my face. Director Evans was brilliant, but his vindictive nature was even more famous than his films. I’d been in the business long enough to hear the stories. Anyone who defied him found their career in Hollywood mysteriously stalled. Two years ago, a talented young actress who’d won a Best Newcomer award was blacklisted after refusing his advances. Rumor had it she had a mental breakdown. Her family took her abroad, and she was never seen on screen again. She was a leading lady, from a well-off family. I was an orphan. Crushing me would be as easy as squashing an ant. I braced myself for the worst. If it came down to it, I would just quit the industry. But as a high school graduate with no diploma, my future would probably involve delivering for DoorDash. Standing in that hotel corridor, I thought of my bleak prospects and started to cry, my makeup running down my face. And that was the day I met Sebastian Wheatley. The whispered-about crown prince of Manhattan’s elite, the sole heir to the Wheatley Corporation, whose media empire controlled half of Hollywood. He was flanked by bodyguards, his suit immaculate, his features as sharp and cold as carved ice. For some reason, my pathetic, sobbing figure caught his attention. Sebastian walked over and handed me a tissue. “What are you crying about?” Through a blur of tears, my lips trembled, but no words came out. I must have been a pitiful sight. His interest faded as quickly as it had appeared. He frowned, clicking his tongue. “For God’s sake, wipe your nose.” 5 That was my one and only interaction with Sebastian Wheatley. But by a stroke of horrible luck, a paparazzo caught the moment on camera, and the photo went viral. I decided to lean into it. I gave a deliberately vague statement to the press: “Mr. Wheatley and I… we’ve known each other for a long time.” “As for the nature of our relationship, it’s not really something I can discuss publicly.” The internet exploded. Because I’d never revealed my true background, and an old rumor about me being an “East Coast heiress” was still floating around, fans started connecting imaginary dots. Sebastian’s mother was from Connecticut, they pointed out. Maybe we were related, cousins perhaps. And if you squinted, there was a faint resemblance in the lines of our faces. That theory was immediately shot down. “Get real, trying to claim ties to the Wheatley family? The audacity!” “Seriously, look at Ava Reed’s career. She’s never even been a lead. If she was Sebastian Wheatley’s cousin, would she be this pathetic?” “Definitely not his cousin. Probably some dirty little secret, a mistress on the side.” “Please. Everyone knows Sebastian and Phoebe Vance are the real deal—childhood friends, a perfect match. Why would he stoop to someone like her?” “Exactly! Even if she was his mistress, her career is still a joke! Look at Phoebe, she debuted as a leading lady. That’s the kind of power the Wheatleys wield!” “My bet? Ava’s just a shameless clout-chaser making it all up.” “She’s got guts, I’ll give her that. Faking a connection with Sebastian Wheatley? But why hasn’t he denied it?” “The man runs a multi-billion dollar empire. You think he has time for this celebrity gossip?” They had no idea how close to the truth they were. But they didn’t understand the industry, and they certainly didn’t understand Sebastian Wheatley. The man was notoriously aloof, a prince of ice who looked down on everyone. He gave no one the time of day. Once, a top-tier actress tried to throw herself at him. Sebastian simply instructed his bodyguards, “Get her out of here. If this happens again, she is to never appear in my sight line again.” Even with Phoebe Vance, his supposed childhood friend, he was polite but distant. When they spoke, he maintained a ten-foot gap between them. For a man that cold and hard-hearted to hand a tissue to a nobody actress he didn’t know? Impossible. 6 After the news broke, Director Evans immediately called me. The “meeting” was moved from his hotel room to the company’s conference room. He, the producer, and the casting director were all there, treating it as a formal, professional audition. I got the part. After that, the investors who used to harass me suddenly backed off. No one dared to touch a woman “connected to Sebastian Wheatley.” Even if it was just a rumor, it was enough to give me some breathing room. I thought I could survive on that lie for a few more years. But Phoebe wouldn’t let me. The sharp heel of her stiletto ground into the back of my hand. Phoebe leaned down, her face close to mine. “Ava Reed, you think you’re worthy of even being associated with Sebastian Wheatley?” “After tonight, everyone will know what kind of pathetic gutter trash you really are.” “A rat from the sewer belongs in the sewer. Crawl back to where you came from!” she spat. “Some people are not for vermin like you to even dream of!” “Agh—!” The heel dug deeper, a searing pain shooting up my arm. I felt the bones grind. I cried out, trying to pull my hand away, but Phoebe’s assistant stepped forward, pinning me down by my shoulders. I was forced to look up into Phoebe’s eyes, which burned with a toxic mix of rage and jealousy. And in that moment, I finally understood. It was all about Sebastian. It was over. I had borrowed the tiger’s skin to protect myself, and now, the tiger was here to rip me apart. I closed my eyes in despair. … 7 The Starlight Gala was a blinding spectacle of flashing lights. It was being broadcast live nationwide, with dozens of media outlets and millions of viewers online. Ushers practically dragged me to the backstage waiting area, my face ashen. As I glanced at the front row of the audience, my pupils contracted. The ghostly white of my face turned to a dead, hopeless gray. Phoebe had invited Sebastian Wheatley. In a few moments, in front of the entire country, Sebastian would say he didn’t know me. What hope would I have left? The investors and directors I’d fooled would tear me to shreds. And the public, who lived for this kind of drama, would have a field day. I could already picture tomorrow’s headlines, a storm of humiliation and scorn. Some people look alive, but they’re already dead. In that instant, I wished a meteor would fall from the sky and obliterate the entire venue. But my fantasy didn’t come true. Phoebe, holding the long train of her gown, walked gracefully onto the stage.

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The day my parents divorced, two agreements sat on the table. One was to stay with my gambling, debt-ridden father in the old neighborhood. The other was to go with my mother, who was remarrying a wealthy businessman, to the coast. In my last life, my younger brother, Liam, threw a tantrum, crying for Mom. I quietly packed my bags and went with Dad. Later, Dad quit gambling, our old house was demolished for a huge payout, and he showered me with affection. Meanwhile, Liam was emotionally abused at his stepfather’s house, forbidden from leaving, and eventually died from depression. This time, starting over, Liam snatched the cigarette from Dad’s hand and clung to him, refusing to let go. “Leo, I feel bad for Dad. You go enjoy the good life. I’m leaving it for you.” Dad froze for a second, then a look of relief crossed his face as he patted Liam’s head. I said nothing. I just picked up the train ticket to the coast. Liam didn’t know that the only reason Dad quit gambling in our last life was because I, diagnosed with a brain tumor, worked myself to the point of coughing up blood to pay his debts. My life was the price for his redemption. In this new life, free from the sound of debt collectors, all I wanted was a good night’s sleep. … I picked up my worn duffel bag. “Go on, get out of here. Go find your gold-digging mother,” Dad said, waving his hand like he was shooing a fly. Liam hid behind Dad and made a face at me, mouthing exaggeratedly, “Bro, don’t come crawling to me for money later.” I just smiled and didn’t say a word. I turned and walked out into the rain. I hunched my shoulders, a damp chill seeping into the very marrow of my bones. It didn’t really matter where I went. I just wanted to find a quiet place to live out my remaining time. No more listening to loan sharks banging on the door. No more smelling that nauseating stench of cheap cigarette smoke. Mom’s black Mercedes was parked at the end of the alley. The window rolled down, revealing her perfectly maintained face. She frowned at the sight of me, soaked to the bone, her eyes filled with disdain. “What happened to you? Get in, quickly. Don’t get the car dirty.” I opened the back door and was about to get in. “Put that bag in the trunk,” Mom snapped, pointing at my duffel. “It’s filthy. God knows what kind of germs are on it.” I paused for a moment. But I did as she said, closing the door and stowing the bag in the trunk. When I got back in the car, I squeezed myself into the corner, trying not to touch the leather seats. The heat was blasting, but I was still cold. “Leo, when we get there, you need to be sensible,” Mom said, watching me in the rearview mirror as she drove. “Your stepfather doesn’t like noise. Stay in your room unless you have a reason to come out.” “Don’t slurp when you eat. Don’t drag your feet when you walk.” “And another thing. Don’t ever mention your father. He’s bad luck.” I watched the rain-streaked scenery fly by and nodded. “I know.” The thorn in my brain pricked me again. For a second, the world went black, and I raised a hand to my forehead. “What’s wrong?” Mom asked, her tone laced with impatience. “Nothing. Just carsick,” I said. “So dramatic,” she scoffed. “You’re just like your father.” I closed my eyes and swallowed, forcing back the coppery tang of blood that rose in my throat. I’m not doing this again in the next life. The drive took five hours. It was pitch black by the time we pulled into a gated community on the hillside. It was ablaze with light, yet cloaked in a dead, suffocating silence. “We’re here.” Mom parked the car, touched up her lipstick, and took a deep breath. She was shifting gears, transforming from the sharp-tongued woman she was with me into a gentle, considerate wife. “Get out. Remember to call him Mr. Sangster.” I followed behind her, carrying my duffel bag. A man was sitting on the living room sofa. A blanket covered his legs, and a book was in his hands. He looked up when he heard us. This was my stepfather, Julian Sangster. The man who drove Liam to his death in my last life. “You’re back?” His voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “Julian, this is Leo,” Mom said, pushing me forward with a plastered-on smile. “Leo, say hello to Mr. Sangster.” I stepped forward and gave a slight bow. “Hello, Mr. Sangster.” Julian turned a page in his book as if he hadn’t heard me. After a few seconds, a quiet “Mm” escaped his nostrils. His gaze flickered down to my wet shoes, and his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. “The carpet is new.” He looked back down at his book. “The guest room is ready. Second floor, first door on the left.” “Thank you, Mr. Sangster,” I said. Mom let out a sigh of relief and pulled me upstairs. “See? Mr. Sangster is a very nice person,” she whispered. “Just don’t make him angry, and you’ll be able to stay here.” The room was huge and empty. “Mom.” I called out just as she was about to leave. “What is it?” “I’d like to change rooms.” Her expression soured instantly. “Leo, are you seriously being picky the moment you arrive? What’s wrong with this room? It’s a hundred times better than that pigsty your father lives in. Don’t be ungrateful.” I watched her tirade calmly. When she finally ran out of steam, I spoke. “It’s not that. This room faces north. It’s too cold.” “I’d like a south-facing room, even if it’s smaller.” I was genuinely cold. The tumor had messed with my body’s ability to regulate temperature, leaving me in a perpetual state of freezing. Only sunlight offered any real comfort. “Cold? Just turn on the heat,” she said, thinking I was being unreasonable. “The south-facing rooms are your Mr. Sangster’s study and a storage room.” “The storage room is fine,” I said. Her eyes widened. “Are you insane? You’d rather sleep in a storage room than a perfectly good guest room? Are you doing this on purpose? Trying to make Julian think I’m mistreating you?” Her voice grew shrill. I covered my ears. It was too loud. The blood vessels in my head throbbed. “I’m just cold,” I repeated. Just then, two soft knocks came from the doorway. Julian was standing there, a glass of water in his hand, his expression dark. “What’s all the shouting about?” Mom’s demeanor changed in a flash, her voice trembling. “It’s nothing, Julian. The boy is just being difficult, complaining about his room. I’ll handle him.” Julian looked at me, and I looked back at him. His face was pale, his lips colorless. He looked like he was dying. “Where do you want to stay?” he asked me. “The south-facing one,” I said, pointing down the hall. “That room is filled with old furniture.” “I don’t mind. As long as there’s sun.” Julian was silent for a moment. “Suit yourself. Just don’t shout in the hallway.” He turned and left, completely uninterested in our mother-son dispute. Mom poked my forehead in frustration. “Just keep pushing it. What will people say when they hear you’re living in a storage room? How am I supposed to show my face?” I ignored her and walked toward the end of the hall with my duffel bag. I pushed the door open, and a cloud of dust hit me. But I saw the floor-to-ceiling window. When the sun rose tomorrow, this room would be warm. That was enough. I made my bed and placed the photo album under my pillow. The doctor’s diagnosis was tucked inside it. As long as I was alive, no one would bother snooping through my things. That night, I slept soundly. There were no debt collectors in my dreams, only a vast, endless darkness. I settled into the house like a ghost, an invisible presence. Julian liked quiet. Even the housekeeper tiptoed around. Mom spent her days trying to please him, making him soup, giving him massages, and watching boring financial news with him. She was less a wife than a high-end caregiver. As for me, I rarely left my room, except for meals. I had cleaned out the storage room. It was still cluttered with old furniture, but the sunlight was wonderful. I would often pull up a chair and sit by the window for hours, basking like an old man on the verge of death. Sometimes Julian would pass by my open door. He would pause when he saw me soaking up the sun, but he never said anything. The look in his eyes was strange, as if he were looking at one of his own kind. One day at lunch, the dining table was silent except for the soft clinking of chopsticks against porcelain. My phone suddenly buzzed, sounding like an alarm in the quiet room. Julian frowned. Mom immediately put down her chopsticks and shot me a glare. “Who told you to bring your phone to the table? Have some manners.” “Hang up,” she ordered. I took out my phone and glanced at the screen. It was Liam. I declined the call. Two seconds later, it buzzed again. I declined it again. The third time it vibrated, Julian set down his chopsticks. “Just answer it,” he said, his voice faint. “The noise is giving me a headache.” I took the phone out to the balcony. The second I answered, Liam’s voice exploded in my ear. “Leo, did you do this on purpose? You took the bank book, didn’t you?” I held the phone away from my ear. “What bank book?” “Dad said the bank book is missing. He’s sure you stole it. There was five hundred dollars in there!” I had to laugh. That five hundred dollars was what I had earned washing dishes last summer. “That was my money,” I said. “Your money is the family’s money,” Liam shot back, full of self-righteousness. “Dad has no money for cigarettes now, and he’s throwing a fit. You’d better transfer the money over, or I’ll tell Mom you stole from us.” I could hear things crashing in the background and Dad’s slurred curses. “Useless piece of trash! Ungrateful wolf!” “I should’ve strangled you at birth!” Even from hundreds of miles away, those voices still suffocated me. “I didn’t steal anything,” I said calmly. “That was money I was saving for my medical bills.” “Medical bills? What’s wrong with you?” Liam sneered. “Stop pretending. Just send the money, or I’ll go to your school and tell everyone you’re letting your own father die.” I looked out at the garden. The flowers were in full bloom, a violent, blood-red. “Liam,” I said. “You chose this path. Now you have to walk it, even if you have to crawl.” “Don’t bother me again.” I hung up and blocked his number. As I turned, I felt a warmth trickle from my nose. I touched it and my hand came away covered in blood. Frantically, I pulled a tissue from my pocket and pressed it to my face, tilting my head back to stop the flow. But it was coming fast, running down my throat and into my stomach, making me nauseous. I rushed to the downstairs bathroom. In the mirror, I saw the bright red blood staining half my face. I turned on the faucet and desperately tried to wash it off. “What are you doing?” A voice came from behind me. I froze, and through the mirror, I saw Julian standing in the doorway. He was looking at my blood-and-water-streaked face, his eyes dark and deep. I hastily wiped my face. “Nosebleed,” I mumbled, looking down. “Probably just the dry air.” Julian didn’t say anything. He walked over and handed me a clean towel. “Here.” I took it and pressed it to my nose. “Thanks, Mr. Sangster.” He glanced at the faint red streaks still in the sink. “Does this happen often?” “Sometimes,” I lied. The nosebleeds were getting more frequent. Julian studied me for a long moment. “You should see a doctor,” he said. “It’s not necessary. It’s an old problem.” I kept my head down, trying to get past him. “Leo.” He stopped me. “You don’t have to walk on eggshells in this house. Your mother is your mother. You are you.” I froze and looked up at him. His expression was still cold, but there was something in his eyes I didn’t understand. “If you don’t feel well, say something.” “No one’s giving out medals for toughing it out.” He turned and walked away, leaving me alone in the bathroom. The towel in my hand smelled faintly of pine. That was his scent. That, and the faint scent of death. Julian had a secret. I knew because I’d seen a familiar pill bottle in his study’s trash can. It was a powerful painkiller, the kind prescribed to terminal cancer patients. Mom had asked me to bring a fruit platter to his study one day. Julian wasn’t there; he was at the hospital for dialysis. As I was leaving, I saw the familiar white bottle in the wastebasket. I picked it up. It was labeled as Ibuprofen, but inside were morphine tablets. I’d used the same trick. Hiding life-saving medicine in an ordinary vitamin bottle, to fool myself as much as others. So, the aloof, untouchable stepfather, the man Liam called a cold-hearted monster, was also enduring his own private hell. I put the bottle back and pretended I hadn’t seen anything. That evening, Julian came home looking worse than usual, his steps unsteady. Mom rushed to help him. “Don’t touch me,” he snapped, pulling away, his voice tight with pain. Mom’s hands froze in mid-air, her eyes welling up. “Julian, did I do something wrong?” “I’m just tired,” he said without looking at her, and went straight upstairs. He paused for a fraction of a second as he passed me. In that instant, I smelled the heavy scent of antiseptic from the hospital, and a faint, metallic trace of blood. The lingering smell of dialysis. I woke up in the middle of the night, pain screaming through my head. The tumor was pressing on my nerves, a relentless, crushing force. I was drenched in a cold sweat, curled in a ball, shaking. I needed water. I stumbled out of bed and made my way downstairs. The living room was dark, but I could see a shadow on the sofa. It was Julian, sitting perfectly still. A cigarette glowed between his fingers, a tiny ember in the darkness. I didn’t dare make a sound and started to back away. “Since you’re awake, come here.” His voice, hoarse and weary, cut through the dark. I had no choice but to approach. “Mr. Sangster.” “Do you play chess?” he asked. “A little.” “Play a game with me.” I sat across from him. In the moonlight, I could see his face was ashen, his forehead slick with sweat. He was in pain, just like me. We played three games in silence, the only sound the crisp click of the pieces on the board. His moves were aggressive, a release of some pent-up fury. Mine were steady, calculated. “Are you that afraid of losing?” Julian suddenly asked. “I can’t afford to lose,” I said, placing a piece. Julian let out a short, dry laugh. “Life is a lost game from the start. No matter how much you struggle, you lose in the end.” I didn’t argue. As dawn approached, the final game ended. I was about to put the pieces away when Julian’s hand pressed down on the board. “Leo. That diagnosis you have hidden under your pillow,” he said, his voice low. “How long did you plan on hiding it?” He looked up, his deep-set eyes boring straight into me. “Leo. That diagnosis you have hidden under your pillow. How long did you plan on hiding it?” My hand, holding a chess piece, froze. My heart skipped a beat. He knew. Of course he knew. In this house, if he wanted to know something, nothing could stay hidden.

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Ten years ago, I walked in on my wife, Isabelle, in an intimate moment with my adopted brother, Noah. Unable to process it, I flew into a rage, slapped them both hard, and smashed everything in the room. Faced with my fury, Isabelle offered no explanation. She just watched me break, her expression unnervingly calm. That same night, she had men tie me up and haul me off to prison. Before they took me away, she cooked a lavish meal for me, her voice soft and gentle. “Jacob, you really scared Noah yesterday. You need to go cool off for a few days. I’ll comfort him, and once he’s feeling better, I’ll come get you.” But “a few days” turned into ten years. When I was finally released, I found a small town and took a job as a waiter in a diner, living under a new name. Until I saw her again. My ex-wife, Isabelle. She was dressed head-to-toe in designer brands, her makeup flawless. She froze when she saw me, and then her eyes reddened as she grabbed my hand. “Jacob, you’re out. Why didn’t you tell me?” she choked out. “These past years… have you been okay?” I gave a bitter smile, touching my head through my worn cap. I had no hair left. A decade of torment had left me with terminal cancer. By my calculations, I had about a month left to live. … I didn’t answer her, just tugged the sleeves of my worn jacket down further, trying to hide the dense constellation of needle marks on my arms. Isabelle, unwilling to let it go, was about to speak again when my boss yelled from across the diner. “Owen! What are you dawdling for? Get over here and clear that table!” “Coming!” I called back, not daring to look at Isabelle again as I practically fled. In my peripheral vision, I saw her mouth open as if to call my name, but no sound came out. Later, I brought out her order. She had only ordered braised short ribs, a bowl of spicy lamb stew, and a bottle of wine. I frowned. She was allergic to fish and hated the smell of lamb, yet these were my two favorite dishes. It was a cruel irony, as stomach cancer had prevented me from eating them for years. I placed the dishes in front of her, my face a blank mask. “Ma’am, your order is complete. Please enjoy your meal.” I turned to leave, but she grabbed my sleeve. “Jacob, this is all for you. Sit down. Have a drink with me, please?” I froze, the memory of her preparing my favorite foods just before sending me to hell for ten years flashing through my mind. Seeing my silence, she pressed on, her voice cracking. “I’m begging you. Just let me talk to you for a minute…” I sighed and finally sat down across from her. She poured me a glass of wine. “Jacob, I was supposed to pick you up the day you were released. I went to the prison, but I couldn’t find you anywhere. I asked everyone for information, but they all said… they said you were dead.” I didn’t touch the wine or the food. “I’m not. Sorry to disappoint you, Isabelle.” Her reaction was unexpectedly emotional. She leaned forward, her hands closing over mine. “Jacob, I know I wronged you. Please, come back with me. I’ll make it up to you! In three days, it’s your father’s sixtieth birthday. Come home with me, and I’ll explain everything for you.” Ten years ago, just to appease my adopted brother Noah and to keep me from exposing their affair, Isabelle had fabricated evidence of me accepting bribes at the company. It landed me a ten-year prison sentence for a crime I didn’t commit. My own parents, without asking a single question, disowned me on the spot, calling me a parasite on society. Her words brought all the pain and despair of those years rushing back. I fought to suppress the overwhelming anguish, but my body began to tremble uncontrollably. “Explain?” I rasped. “What is there to explain? Are you going to explain the disgusting things you and Noah were up to?” My voice, thick with emotion, was louder than I intended. The curious, gossiping eyes of the other diners turned toward us. I shot to my feet and walked away. I thought I would never see Isabelle again. After all, how much remorse could the person who sent me to hell truly feel? But the next morning, when I arrived for my shift, she was already there, waiting by the door. She rushed toward me, her eyes searching my face. “Jacob, you were a top-tier engineer. Are you really content to waste away in a small diner like this?” I laughed coldly. “But didn’t you already destroy my life? Don’t you feel sick saying this now?” My words struck a nerve. A flicker of panic crossed her face, and she opened her mouth to explain, but I walked past her and into the diner. Isabelle didn’t leave. She ordered a single dish and a pot of tea and stayed for the entire day. I ignored her, carrying on with my work as usual. Just before my shift ended, a searing pain ripped through my stomach. A hot, metallic liquid surged up my throat. I staggered back, trying to stifle the agony, and accidentally knocked over a bottle of red wine on a customer’s table. The wine drenched the man’s shirt. He stared for a moment, and before I could even apologize, his hand cracked across my face. “What the hell, are you blind? This jacket is designer, you piece of trash! You think you can afford to replace it?” He grew more enraged, ignoring my apologies. He kicked me hard in the stomach, sending me sprawling to the floor. Then, he picked up the wine bottle and poured the rest of it over my head. I couldn’t hold it back any longer. A strangled gasp escaped me as I coughed up a mouthful of blood. The crimson liquid mixed with the red wine, staining my clothes in a sickening mess. Still not satisfied, the man raised his foot to kick me again, but someone shoved him aside. Isabelle stood over me, her eyes blazing with fury, shielding me with her body. “I dare anyone to touch him!” she roared. The man started to curse, but when he saw the feral look in her eyes, a flash of fear replaced his anger. He muttered a few more insults and quickly fled the diner. Isabelle knelt down, gently helping me up, her face etched with panic. “Jacob, all this blood…” I glanced down at the red stains on my shirt and stammered, “It’s… it’s just the wine.” I pushed her away and ran. The next day, I quit my job. I had only been working to pay for my chemotherapy drugs anyway. Since I was going to die soon, there was no point in continuing. Besides, my greatest wish now was to get as far away from Isabelle and her world as possible. I wanted to die in peace. There were no formalities. I told my boss, collected my final paycheck, and left. As I walked out, I remembered my last medical report was still at the hospital. I decided to pick it up and buy some more painkillers. But just as I collected my report, I saw a familiar figure. My adopted brother, Noah. And with him were Isabelle and my own parents. Noah saw me first. He froze, his face a mask of disbelief. “Jacob? You’re not dead?” My eyes fell to the bag in his hand. It was from the maternity ward. The name written on the label was Isabelle’s. Only then did I notice the slight, but definite, swell of her stomach. Even after ten years, seeing them together like this felt like having a piece of my heart violently ripped out. A bitter laugh escaped me. “Still alive. Sorry to disappoint you.” A dark look flashed across Noah’s face, quickly replaced by a wounded expression. “Jacob, I know you hate me for marrying Isabelle. But you two were divorced, and you went to prison for what you did ten years ago. You couldn’t expect her to wait for you forever…” Isabelle chimed in. “Mom and Dad are here. If you just apologize properly, I’m sure they’ll forgive you. Tomorrow is Dad’s birthday, after all.” I scoffed. They were the ones who were wrong. Why should I be the one to apologize? “I have nothing to apologize for,” I said sharply. “You know the truth about what happened ten years ago.” At that moment, my parents noticed me. They looked much older. Not yet sixty, but their hair was almost completely white, their backs stooped. They stared at me, stunned. My mother was the first to speak, her brow furrowed in disapproval. “Why are you so thin? Are you on something? You were trouble ten years ago, and you didn’t even come to us after you got out. You must have a guilty conscience!” I was floored. It took me a moment to understand what she was implying. Ten years, and this was her first reaction. Not concern, not a question about my health, but a suspicion that I was on drugs. This was the image they had of me. I laughed, a hollow, tear-filled sound. Seeing me laugh, my father’s frown deepened. “Your mother’s right. You don’t look healthy.” He grabbed my arm and started dragging me toward the hospital’s lab. “You’re coming with me for a drug test!” His voice was loud, drawing a crowd. In the struggle, he shoved me, and I fell, my head hitting the corner of a table. Blood trickled down my forehead. The sudden stress sent another wave of agony through my stomach, and a cold sweat soaked my clothes. Isabelle’s voice cut through the haze, gentle but laced with concern. “Jacob, I didn’t notice yesterday, but you really should… listen to your parents. Go get the test. It’s not too late to get help.” Noah added his fake concern. “Brother, I know you’ve been through a lot, but you can’t keep making these mistakes!” Their condescending tones, their righteous certainty. Why? I had done nothing wrong. Why did I have to pay for their paranoid fantasies? My father tried to grab me again, but I pushed his hand away and struggled to my feet. “Fine. I’ll go.” I limped into the testing room. The results, of course, were negative. A flicker of embarrassment crossed my parents’ faces, but there was no apology. My mother just glanced at me and said awkwardly, “Well, that’s that. Come home. Tomorrow is your father’s sixtieth birthday. Make sure you’re there.” I took a step back, putting distance between us. “You were right all those years ago. I’m not your son. We cut ties a long time ago. I won’t be coming to the party. Happy birthday, Mr. Melling.” I gave them a formal bow, and ignoring their curses and pleas, I turned and walked out of the hospital. On the morning of my father’s sixtieth birthday, I woke up choking on blood. The pain was constant now, so intense that I could barely stand. I knew my condition was worsening rapidly. Every day was a new form of torture. I probably didn’t even have a month left. After I had coughed up another mouthful of blood, Isabelle started pounding on my door. “Jacob, open up! It’s me!” I didn’t want to see her. “Isabelle,” I said through the door, “you’re a pregnant, married woman. It’s not appropriate for you to be here, visiting your ex-husband.” Her voice faltered. “Jacob, I know you hate me. We can talk about us later. But today is your father’s birthday. You have to be there. We need to be a family and talk things through.” I had no intention of going, but she called a locksmith and had him force the door open. Weakened by the cancer, I was powerless to stop her. She was insistent, practically dragging me into her car. In the car, she kept looking at me in the rearview mirror. Finally, she couldn’t hold back any longer. “Jacob, why are you so thin?” I ran a hand over the needle marks on my arm and smiled bitterly. “Terminal cancer. Would you believe me?” Isabelle stared, then burst out laughing. “Jacob, don’t even joke about something like that. How could you have cancer? You must have been on some crazy diet. I always told you, a little meat on the bones looks good on a man. You shouldn’t be so anxious about your body…” I didn’t hear the rest of what she said. I just nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. It was a joke. I don’t have cancer. Just a stupid diet.” We drove the rest of the way in silence. The party was already underway when we arrived. I kept my eyes down, standing off to the side, a silent shadow. My parents, in a tacit agreement, didn’t introduce me to anyone. Instead, Noah played the part of the dutiful son, and Isabelle the perfect daughter-in-law, mingling with the guests. I was the odd one out. As the party was winding down, a swarm of reporters burst in, surrounding Noah. “Mr. Melling, is it true that your current wife was once your sister-in-law?” “How long has this inappropriate relationship been going on? Is it connected to your brother, Jacob Melling’s, sudden criminal behavior?” Faced with the onslaught, Noah’s eyes immediately reddened. Under the glare of the flashing cameras, he fell to his knees before me.

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1 I woke in a haze, the world blurry and distant after my kidney transplant. The first thing I saw was Mom and Dad, screaming and crying as the cops hauled them away. It turned out my new kidney had been bought off the black market, for a very high price. The little girl whose kidney they’d taken had just been rescued. Seven days later, I was moved from the sterile isolation ward to a regular room. I had barely settled in when a beautiful, frantic woman burst through the door and lunged at me. “You little monster,” she shrieked, her hands grabbing at me. “You stole my daughter’s kidney! How could you? Give it back! Do you hear me? Give it back!” The man beside her, however, just stared at me, his eyes locked on my neck. “Seraphina, look,” he said, his voice tight. “The birthmark on her neck… it’s identical to our Evelyn’s.” … “My poor Chloe,” the woman, Seraphina, sobbed, her grief raw and terrifying. “She’s only seven, and now she’s missing a kidney!” “Oh, God, what did I do to deserve this? I’ve already lost one daughter, isn’t that enough?” “It’s all because of you, you little beast! If it weren’t for you, my daughter would never have been kidnapped, her kidney would never have been cut out of her!” Nurses and an orderly rushed in, trying to pull her away. “Ma’am, please, this child is only seven, too,” a nurse pleaded. “Her parents were just arrested. She’s been all alone since the surgery. She’s been through enough, please, leave her be.” “She’s been through enough?” Seraphina’s voice dripped with venom. “She has my daughter’s kidney inside her body! What has she been through? Her kidney failed, so she gets to steal my daughter’s? What about my Chloe? Hasn’t she been through enough?” Her eyes were bloodshot, her finger pointed right at my nose as she spat her accusations, flecks of saliva hitting my face. It wasn’t enough. She wrenched herself free from the staff, and the full force of her palm slammed into my cheek. The world exploded in a flash of white. A torrent of hot blood gushed from my nose, and I froze, paralyzed with shock. I scrambled back on the bed, trembling, with nowhere to hide. Tears, spit, and blood streamed down my face, staining the clean white sheets. I curled into a ball, hugging my head, my world collapsing into sobs. “Mommy, Daddy, save me… I’m so scared, it hurts so much!” I was only seven. I used to be their precious little girl. I was in the hospital for acute kidney failure. I didn’t know. I swear, I didn’t know that the kidney Mom and Dad said would save me had cost another little girl so much. Seraphina stood over me, her nails digging into my arm as she continued to curse me. Every touch was like an electric shock, making me flinch and shrink further away. Before, whenever someone bullied me, Mom would wrap me in her arms, and Dad would be ready to fight for me. But who was going to protect me now? Finally, the man who had come in with her, Julian, pulled her back. His eyes were still fixed on my neck. “Seraphina, look at it,” he insisted. “That birthmark… it’s exactly like our Evelyn’s…” She shot a glance at me. “Like hell it is! Don’t you try to change the subject and make excuses for this little parasite.” “I’m telling you,” she snarled, turning her fury back to me, “you give Chloe’s kidney back! Or I swear, I will make your life a living hell!” She left, and a warm puddle spread beneath me on the bed. I had wet myself. The orderly who had stayed behind silently stripped the soiled sheets, looking down at me with a heavy sigh. “A damned shame,” was all she said. She left with the trash and never came back. My hospital account was now overdue. They couldn’t afford an orderly for me anymore. The painkillers stopped. My meals became little more than broth and water. I was in pain, I was starving, and I had no idea what to do. The hospital called the police, reporting that I had no guardian and they should take me away. The police said I was a patient, and the hospital was responsible for me. I was a piece of trash, pushed from one place to another, wanted by no one. Three days later, the man, Julian, returned. He held a file in his hands, his expression conflicted as he stared at me for a long time before finally speaking. “Evelyn,” he began, his voice strained. “I’m your father, Julian Grey. And Seraphina, the woman you met… she’s your mother.” “You were taken from us by a trafficker when you were ten months old. We’ve been searching for you ever since.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “And Chloe… she’s your sister. That kidney inside you… it was hers. She’s the reason you’re alive.” I was so hungry I barely had the strength to move, but I summoned every bit of courage I had and whispered, “Sir, my name is Elara Miller. My dad is Mark Miller, and my mom is Linda Miller.” “I have a mom and dad.” “I… I want to see them!” At the mention of my parents, my eyes filled with tears, and my small hands twisted the fabric of my hospital gown into knots. A flicker of impatience crossed the man’s face, his tone turning harsh. “Those animals paid twenty grand for you! They don’t deserve to be parents. They don’t even deserve to be called human!” “No, that’s not true! My mommy and daddy are good people! They love me! I… I won’t let you say that about them!” He shot to his feet, his voice booming in the small room. “Evelyn Grey, I am your father! You have my other daughter’s kidney inside you. Do you honestly think I’m happy to acknowledge you?” “I’ve been talking to you all this time, and you haven’t called me ‘Dad’ once, but you call those child-trafficking monsters ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad’?” “Let me give you some advice,” he said, leaning in, his voice a low growl. “You’d better figure out your place in all of this, and fast. Because if you don’t, your life is about to get much, much harder.” He stormed out, leaving me shivering in the cold silence. I buried my face in my hands and wept. It couldn’t be true. How could I not be my parents’ daughter? They loved me so much. They would go to jail for me! I didn’t want that woman who hated me with every fiber of her being. I already had a mommy and a daddy. I had to see them. I had to hear it from their own mouths that I was their child. 2 Thankfully, the hospital bills were paid. The drip stand by my bed was once again filled with expensive, imported medicines. A week later, a luxury car came and whisked me away to a place they called the Grey Estate. The staff eyed me with open hostility as I stood, weak and trembling, at the grand entrance. “That’s the one who stole Miss Chloe’s kidney. How dare she show her face here?” “Shameless. First she takes the kidney, now she thinks she can waltz in here and take Miss Chloe’s place as the family heiress?” “Look at her, like a little rat. I’m certainly not waiting on someone like that.” They didn’t bother to lower their voices. But I never wanted to be an heiress. My name is Elara Miller! I have a mom and a dad who love me. The sharp click-clack of high heels echoed from behind me, and Seraphina’s furious face filled my vision. She grabbed the front of my gown and started dragging me back out the door. I lost my footing and fell, my body scraping painfully against the marble floor as she pulled me. “I don’t care! I will not have this little monster living in my house! She hurt Chloe, she’s a predator!” “Seraphina, calm down! She’s our daughter! I showed you the DNA report!” Julian’s voice was sharp. “She is not! Our Evelyn died a long time ago! I only have one daughter, and her name is Chloe!” “How could this… this trash be Evelyn?” “Get her out! Get out!” My small body was dragged over the threshold, down the stone steps. The pain in my abdomen flared, sharp and searing. The wound felt like it was tearing open. I clutched my stomach, crying out that it hurt. But no one listened. “Seraphina! Let go of Evelyn! Do you think I’d care about her if she didn’t have Grey family blood in her veins?” Julian shouted. “Chloe is my daughter too, you know! I’m hurting just as much as you are!” He moved to grab me from her, but in the struggle, his foot came down hard on my stomach. An involuntary scream tore from my throat. I writhed on the ground, clutching myself as waves of agony washed over me. Only then did they seem to notice the trail of blood seeping through my gown, a dark ribbon stretching from the house all the way into the courtyard. “How disgusting! Someone clean up this little beast’s blood, now!” “She’s stained my favorite courtyard…” The last thing I saw before I passed out was Seraphina’s face, twisted in a mask of pure disgust. I woke up in the estate’s storage room. A single wooden plank served as a bed. There was no water, no food, and no one. The pain from my surgical wound was intense. I curled up, hugging myself tightly. Mommy, Daddy, I miss you so much. If you knew how much I’m suffering, you’d be heartbroken, wouldn’t you? Just wait for me. I’ll find a way to see you. I’m your daughter. I’ll always be your daughter. The wooden door creaked open, and I was hauled back into the main villa. On the sofa sat Julian and Seraphina, along with a girl about my age and a stern-looking older woman—my grandmother, I presumed. The little girl saw me and ran over, her face bright with excitement as she took my hand. “I haven’t had anyone to play with in so long! Mommy, did you find a friend to come play with me?” Before I could pull my hand away, Seraphina snatched the girl up into her arms, her eyes filled with a love so fierce it was almost painful to watch. Her voice was as soft as silk. “Chloe, darling, don’t touch her. She’s filthy.” “Mommy, if you talk like that, you’ll make our guest sad. If she’s dirty, we can just give her a bath! I have new clothes she can wear, then she won’t be dirty anymore!” Seraphina opened her mouth, but then closed it, her gaze softening as it rested on Chloe, adoration spilling from her eyes. So this was the sister I had harmed. She was beautiful, adorable, and as soft and gentle as a little white rabbit. The grandmother on the sofa cleared her throat. “Seraphina,” she said, her voice commanding. “Evelyn is Grey blood. She belongs in this family, and she will stay.” “Mother!” Seraphina protested. “This is not up for discussion. Am I supposed to let a descendant of the Grey family be raised on the streets like some stray? What would that do to our family’s reputation?” Her word was final. “You,” she said, her gaze pinning me to the spot. “Come here. Kneel before your parents, call them ‘Mother’ and ‘Father,’ and we’ll put this matter to rest.” “From now on, you are the eldest Miss Grey, and Chloe is the second.” When I didn’t move, she sighed, her tone softening slightly. “Evelyn, I know you’re scared. But your mother and father truly do love you. When you were lost, your mother nearly died from grief.” “That’s why we adopted Chloe, who was the same age as you. We always told Chloe she had an older sister. We never hid the fact that she was adopted.” “Because your parents have always been waiting, hoping that one day, they would find you.” “Evelyn, be a good girl. Kneel, say the words, and from now on, Grandma will protect you. No one will ever bully you again.” Her words were meant for Seraphina as much as for me. But how could I betray the mom and dad who loved me? “Grandmother,” I said, my voice trembling but firm, my teeth chattering from fear. “My name… is Elara Miller. I want to go back to my own home. I want to see my mommy and daddy.” The room fell silent. The warmth vanished from my grandmother’s face, replaced by a terrifying, icy mask. “You see, Mother? The little beast has no heart!” Seraphina exploded. “I say we cut her open, take the kidney back for Chloe, and throw her out with the trash!” “Evelyn, you are an ungrateful child!” Julian roared. “Your grandmother came here personally to speak up for you, and this is how you repay her? By defying her?” In the chaos, Chloe wriggled out of her mother’s arms and ran to me, taking my hand. “Sister, please don’t make Grandma and Mommy and Daddy angry. I don’t blame you. We’re a family.” “I’ve been waiting for you to come home, sister! I can play with you from now on, just the two of us. Wouldn’t that be nice?” She threw her arms around me in an excited hug, but her movement jostled my wound. A sharp jolt of pain shot through me, and I instinctively pushed her away. Chloe lost her balance, stumbling backward. Her head hit the hard floor with a sickening thud. For a split second, there was silence. Then, she let out a piercing wail. My blood ran cold. I knew, in that moment, that I had done something terrible. 3 “Chloe!” They swarmed around her like bees to a threatened hive. Seraphina clutched her tightly, whispering comforts, her own eyes red with panic. Julian frantically checked the back of Chloe’s head, shouting for the butler to call their private doctor. Even my grandmother rushed over, patting Chloe’s back gently. Once they were sure Chloe wasn’t seriously hurt, all eyes turned to me. There was nothing but pure, undiluted hatred in their gazes. “You black-hearted little monster,” Seraphina hissed, advancing on me. “I knew you wanted to hurt Chloe.” “Did you think if you killed her, you could take her place? In your dreams!” Two sharp slaps cracked across my face. “Someone get me a rope!” Julian’s voice was low, but vibrating with fury. “Tie this little menace up and lock her in the storage room! Let her think about what she’s done!” Even my grandmother turned her back on me, heading upstairs to check on Chloe without another word. “Please, just let me go,” I begged, tears streaming down my face. “I just want to go home! I just want to see my mom and dad!” My pain, my fear, my desperation—it meant nothing to them. “Gag her!” Seraphina screamed. “Tie her up and get her out of my sight! Now!” I was bound tightly, the coarse rope digging directly into the tender flesh of my wound. Every breath was a fresh wave of tearing, searing agony. I wanted to scream, but my mouth was stuffed with a filthy rag. Tears and snot covered my face. My nose was blocked. I couldn’t breathe. Mommy, Daddy, please, somebody save me! It hurts so much! I don’t know how long I was left like that, drifting in and out of a haze of pain. Eventually, someone came to untie me. A doctor treated my wound, and the storage room became my new home. Someone brought me food at regular intervals, and I was allowed to use the outdoor staff bathroom. The estate was vast and beautiful, but I didn’t want to be there. The desire to go home, to see my real parents, burned stronger than ever. I explored every corner of the property, searching for an escape route, but the walls were too high, the gates always locked. I was an anomaly on the estate. They called me “Eldest Miss,” but not a single person treated me with a shred of respect. Only Chloe still clung to me. She loved calling me “Sister” and followed me everywhere. Her kindness terrified me. She was the family’s cherished treasure, and I was afraid that one wrong move, one accidental slight, would land me tied up in the darkness again. So I ran, and she chased. To her, it was a game. To me, it was a torment I couldn’t escape. One afternoon, she cornered me by the lake. “Sister, I got you!” she giggled, out of breath. “That was fun! Let’s play again. You run, and I’ll catch you, okay?” “Get away from me!” I finally snapped, my frustration reaching its peak. “Just leave me alone!” I turned and walked away, ignoring the wounded, tearful look on her face. A moment later, I heard a splash. She had slipped and fallen into the lake. After a heartbeat of hesitation, I dove in after her. I managed to pull her out, dragging her onto the bank just as a crowd of staff came running. “Chloe! Sweetheart, how did you fall in? Did someone push you?” Seraphina was there in an instant, wrapping Chloe in her arms, shooting me a look of pure loathing from the corner of her eye. “Sister…” Chloe choked out, coughing up water before she could say more. I stared in horror at Seraphina’s face, which was twisting with rage. “It wasn’t me!” I cried, desperate. “She fell in by herself! I saved her!” My words were meaningless. “I knew it… I knew it was you,” she seethed. “You venomous little snake. Chloe does nothing but sing your praises, and you try to kill her!” Julian arrived, his eyes wide with disbelief. “I told you we should have just taken her to the hospital, taken the kidney, and been done with it! But no, you insisted on keeping her, on finding a donor for a replacement!” “Julian, we’ve been raising a viper! If she ever hurts my Chloe again, I swear, I will kill myself!” Julian looked at Chloe, who was still coughing weakly, and his eyes turned red. “Evelyn! What is wrong with you?” he roared at me. “You have Chloe’s kidney, and I’m protecting you! I brought you home to be the eldest daughter of the Grey family, and you’re still this vicious?” “If I had known you were this kind of child, I would have left you to die on the street! If anything had happened to Chloe, I would have torn you to pieces!” I gasped for air, my whole body trembling. The wound in my abdomen had torn open again from the effort of the rescue, and the pain was excruciating. The servants were already approaching with ropes. I couldn’t bear it again. I would rather die. “The Eldest Miss Grey? I never wanted to be your precious Eldest Miss!” I screamed, my voice raw with anguish. “I just want to be Elara Miller! I just want my own mommy and daddy!” “You already have Chloe! Why won’t you let me go? Who wants to be your daughter?” “You’ve given me nothing but pain!” “Fine! You want the kidney? Take it! Take my life, too! Is that what you want?” Before anyone could react, I turned and threw myself back into the cold, dark water of the lake. I knew how to swim. But this time, I didn’t try. I let myself sink, welcoming the silent, suffocating darkness. When they dragged me out, Julian’s face was ashen, and Seraphina was pale as a ghost. “Evelyn,” Julian’s voice trembled with a rage I hadn’t heard before. “You’d rather die than be our daughter? Is that how badly you want to see those animals?” I just nodded, my resolve firm. “Fine,” he said, his jaw tight. “I’ll arrange a visit.” A flicker of hope ignited within me. For the first time since I’d arrived at the Grey Estate, I smiled. “Thank you… sir.” The night before the visit, I was too excited to sleep. I woke up early, put on my cleanest clothes, and tried to make myself look presentable. Julian sat beside me in the car. I felt small and nervous, but not afraid. I was about to see my mommy and daddy. With their love, I could face anything. In the stark, gray room of the prison, my parents looked exhausted and worn. But when they saw me, their faces lit up, their muscles trembling with emotion. I ran to them, tears of joy streaming down my face. “Mommy, Daddy, I missed you so much!” CRACK. A stinging slap sent my head reeling. It was Mom. Her face was a terrifying mask of rage. She raised her hand again and struck me with all her might. I stumbled back and fell to the floor, too stunned to even cry. I’m Elara. I didn’t betray you. I didn’t accept them. I’ve been waiting for you. I love you. Why? Mom, why are you hitting me? Dad lunged forward, his foot raised to kick me, but a guard quickly intervened. Pinned by the guards, he and Mom still thrashed, reaching for me, their mouths opening in a torrent of curses and screams. I stared, paralyzed, a horrifying memory surfacing—the moment they were arrested. Their screams and cries then weren’t for me. They were at me. Just like now.

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I’m a literal-minded legal fanatic, born without a hint of irony. When my mother joked that my father’s antics made her want to die, I called 911 to report him for attempted murder. When my deskmate swore he’d tear his heart out for me, I pressed a surgical rib spreader to his chest and demanded he fulfill his “gift.” Soon, no one dared use figurative language around me—in my presence, everyone became law-abiding and precise. Then came my engagement party. My fiancé, Patrick Elkin, brought his stepsister Jessica—no blood relation, of course. They must have thought I wouldn’t dare ruin my own day. She smirked, “Eleanor, you have no idea how naughty my brother is in private. Last night he ‘bullied’ me until I was hoarse. With your frigid little body, you couldn’t last three minutes.” The room laughed—everyone but me. My eyes turned cold. In an instant, I pinned Patrick down, aimed pepper spray at his eyes, and announced: “Hands behind your head! I’ve called the police. You just confessed to false imprisonment and battery—that’s ten years minimum. Nobody leaves until they arrive.” 1 “Who called it in?” the lead officer asked. “I did.” I presented my ID. “The suspect is Patrick Elkin, male, twenty-six years old.” “He just publicly admitted to committing an act of sexual battery against his stepsister, Jessica, last night,” I stated, my voice clinical. “The act resulted in damage to the victim’s vocal cords.” “All twenty-four people present can serve as witnesses.” Jessica, still perched on the sofa with a half-empty glass of red wine, froze. Her mouth hung open in a perfect O. Patrick struggled violently beneath me. “Fuck! You dare touch me!” “Eleanor Vance, are you out of your goddamn mind?” “It’s called banter! Banter, do you understand the concept?” I increased the pressure of my knee on his back, and Patrick let out a howl. “Officer, the suspect is agitated and displaying violent tendencies,” I said calmly. “Requesting the use of handcuffs.” The officers exchanged bewildered glances. Finally, one of Patrick’s friends, a guy named Chad, snapped out of his stupor and rushed forward to pull me off. “Eleanor, what the hell is wrong with you?” “Jessica was joking!” “Everyone knows Patrick and Jessica are close! What’s wrong with a little dirty talk?” I sidestepped Chad’s grasp and pointed a finger at his nose. “Do you want to go to jail with him?” “Harboring a criminal, obstruction of justice. Up to three years.” Chad snatched his hand back. Jessica, regaining her senses, burst into tears and threw herself at the officers. “Officers, it’s a misunderstanding! It’s really a misunderstanding!” “My brother and I were just kidding around.” “My voice is hoarse because… because I was singing all night!” “Not because he ‘bullied’ me!” Expressionless, I played a recording on my phone. Jessica’s voice filled the room. “My brother is so naughty in private.” “Last night, he ‘bullied’ me in his room until my voice was hoarse.” I hit pause. “According to the Penal Code and its judicial interpretations,” I recited, “the term ‘bullied’ in this specific context can refer to sexual acts performed against a woman’s will.” “You have stated the time, place, and consequence. This constitutes a standard self-reported criminal complaint.” I looked at the police. “I request that the victim, Jessica, be taken to a hospital immediately for a forensic gynecological examination and an injury assessment. And to collect any residual DNA evidence from her body.” Jessica’s face went deathly pale. Patrick roared, “Examine my ass! I never touched her!” “We were playing video games all night!” I sneered. “A moment ago, it was ‘banter.’ Now it’s ‘video games.’” “Inconsistent testimony points to a high degree of suspicion.” “Officer, this is highly problematic. I suggest you take them both in for questioning.” They slapped a pair of silver bracelets on Patrick’s wrists. As they led him past me, he glared, his eyes burning with hate. “Eleanor Vance, you just fucking wait.” “You ruined our engagement party.” “If you don’t get on your knees and lick my shoes clean, you can forget about ever marrying me!” I smoothed my collar. “According to the Public Order Act, threatening or intimidating another person is punishable by up to five days detention and a fine.” “Officers, you all heard that.” Patrick was shoved into the police cruiser. Jessica, sobbing almost to the point of fainting, was helped into another car by a female officer. Before the door closed, she looked back at me, her eyes filled with pure venom. The remaining guests in the private room stared at each other. No one dared to speak. I picked up my purse and scanned the room. “Group sex is also a crime,” I said evenly. “Behave yourselves.” I turned and walked out. Behind me, I heard the sound of Chad smashing a glass against the wall. 2 In the mediation room at the police station, Patrick’s mother, Miranda Elkin, was pointing a finger at my nose, screaming. “Eleanor Vance! Did all that reading rot your brain? Huh?” “You’re not even married yet and you’re sending your own man to jail?” “How do you expect the Elkin family to show its face in public?” Patrick sat in a chair, his handcuffs removed. He had one leg crossed over the other, a look of profound boredom on his face. Jessica was curled up in Miranda’s arms, sobbing. “Aunt Miranda, it’s all my fault.” “I shouldn’t have made that joke.” “Eleanor took it seriously. I don’t blame her.” “She was just trying to uphold justice…” “You hear that?” Miranda looked at Jessica with pride. “Listen to how sensible Jessica is! And then look at you!” “You’re a block of wood! Not an ounce of humanity in you!” I took out a tissue and wiped the spittle from my face. “Mrs. Elkin, public humiliation is also against the law.” Miranda was so enraged she raised her hand to strike me. The officer rapped his knuckles on the table. “Hey! This is a police station! Sit down!” Miranda sat down, seething. The officer reviewed the report. “After a preliminary investigation, we found no signs of assault on Ms. Jessica. It appears this was indeed a joke.” He glanced at me. “The reporting party was acting out of civic duty.” “Since it’s a misunderstanding, just sign the papers, and we’ll mediate this.” Patrick snorted. “Mediate? Not a chance.” He stood up and walked over to me. “Eleanor, all my friends were there today. I’ve been completely humiliated.” “You want me to forgive you? Fine.” He pointed to Jessica’s feet. “Jessica had to run all over to the hospital in these heels. Her feet are blistered.” “You, right now, get on your knees!” “Lick her shoes clean!” “And then say, ‘I was wrong, sis.’” “Do that, and I’ll pretend this never happened.” Jessica waved her hands in a show of protest. “Oh no… Eleanor, you’re a lady from a good family, this would dirty your hands…” But her foot, clad in a diamond-studded stiletto, inched forward. Miranda chimed in from the side. “It’s what she deserves! If you do something wrong, you get punished.” “You still think you’re some high-society princess? Keep being stubborn, and I’ll make sure your father’s company goes bankrupt by tomorrow!” “Jessica is your little sister. What’s wrong with serving her a little?” I looked at Patrick. “Are you sure?” He tilted his chin up. “Of course. You won’t do it? Then the engagement is off!” “Your family’s finances are a little tight right now, aren’t they?” “Without my family’s investment, your father will be jumping off a building!” I had tolerated him for the sake of our families’ business alliance, but I would not tolerate this. I took out my phone. And opened the camera. “Here,” I said. “Repeat your demands.” Patrick slapped the phone out of my hand. It hit the floor with a crack. The screen shattered. “You dare record me? You pathetic waste of space, you can only live inside your little rulebook.” “Do you really think I wouldn’t kill you right now?” He grabbed my collar and shoved me against the wall. His fist was raised. The officers immediately rushed over to restrain him. “What do you think you’re doing? Trying to assault an officer now?” I leaned against the wall and straightened my rumpled collar, then glanced at my shattered phone on the floor. “Destruction of private property, value exceeding five thousand dollars, a significant amount.” “Attempted assault.” “Patrick, your criminal record is about to get a little thicker.” Patrick kicked a chair over. “Fine! Fine! You want to talk law with me? Let’s talk law!” He pointed at Jessica. “Jessica, call our lawyer.” “Sue her! Sue her for defamation! For slander!” “We’ll demand one million dollars in emotional damages! Not a penny less!” Jessica wiped her tears away, a triumphant smirk appearing on her face. “Brother, do we really have to do this?” “Eleanor didn’t mean any harm…” “Call him! Call him now!” Miranda also stood up, glaring at me. “Eleanor Vance, you brought this on yourself.” “The engagement is off! We’re calling it off tomorrow!” “Let’s see how you explain this to your father!” With that, the three of them turned and stormed out. I knelt and picked up the broken phone. I removed the SIM card. A small smile played on my lips. Cloud backup complete. Recording uploaded. Call off the engagement? That suits me just fine. But before that, I was going to teach them what the law really means.

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1 Three years after the car crash that supposedly stole my memory, I saw Lucas Kennedy again at a Sotheby’s auction. He was there to bid on jewelry for his wife. I was there to reclaim what was mine. Years apart had etched lines of exhaustion onto his face, while I, in contrast, glowed with a newfound brilliance. The sight of me left him visibly uncomfortable. When the piece we were both there for was presented, he finally broke the silence between us. “Sophia,” he said, his voice strained, “I lied to you three years ago, when you lost your memory. The truth is… I was your boyfriend.” I ran a thumb over the massive diamond on my ring finger and offered him a faint, cool smile. Who ever said I actually had amnesia? … The centerpiece of the entire auction was a vintage emerald bracelet. Its only imperfection was a series of hairline fractures spiderwebbing beneath the gold of its inner clasp. Lucas’s pupils contracted. A flicker of panic crossed his eyes as he looked at me. Of course he recognized it. He was the one who had put those cracks there. That was three years ago. It was also the twentieth year of my love for him. Ever since we were children, I’d followed him around like a shadow, offering him the best of everything I had just to see him smile at me. He was indifferent at first, but with time, he grew accustomed to my constant presence. When he was eighteen, another girl confessed her feelings for him. As he turned her down, his eyes found mine across the room. The playful glint in them saw right through my carefully hidden crush. Later that day, he leaned in, his breath warm against my skin, and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “You know,” he murmured, “yours is the only confession I’ve ever wanted to hear.” A hot blush crept up my cheeks. I tried to pull away, but he cupped my face, his lips tracing a path from my forehead, down the bridge of my nose, and finally, settling on mine. It didn’t take long for his grandfather to notice the spark between us. With his blessing, we were officially engaged. At last, I had a legitimate reason to be by his side. But that was also when everything began to change. Lucas’s gaze fell on a faint scar on my shoulder, now artfully concealed by a rose tattoo. A wave of pain washed over his features. “Sophia,” he asked, his voice barely a whisper, “is that from the crash?” I smiled, my eyes as placid as if I were looking at a complete stranger. Just then, a cloying, sweet voice cut through the air. “Lucas, darling, that’s the one I want! You have to get it for me, please?” The voice continued, “It looks so much like the one that—” The words died in her throat the moment she saw my face. Christiane Reed, whose face had been glowing with a triumphant smile just a second ago, went deathly pale. Her expression hardened into a mask of pure, unadulterated jealousy. She recovered quickly, tightening her grip on Lucas’s arm as if to show him off. “Sophia, what a surprise. It’s been so long. Lucas and I are married now. I hope that doesn’t upset you.” The next second, she covered her mouth with a hand, a spark of malicious glee in her eyes. “Oh, right, I forgot. You don’t even remember the past, do you? How could you possibly be upset?” I swirled the amber liquid in my wine glass, watching them with a calm, elegant poise. Christiane had changed a lot in three years. When I first met her, she was a timid girl fresh from the countryside, wide-eyed and nervous about everything. She was Lucas’s junior from college and became his assistant after graduation. At first, I didn’t think much of the extra attention he gave her. I was so sure of our love, so certain that there was no room for anyone else. That belief shattered the first time I walked in on him gently kissing the tears from Christiane’s cheeks. My mind went blank. Lucas saw me and shoved her away, his voice laced with panic. “Sophia, it’s not what it looks like. Christiane was just upset about a mistake at work. I was comforting her.” I fought back the stabbing pain in my heart and forced a smile that felt more like a grimace. “I know.” But I didn’t know. I didn’t know that was only the beginning. 2 After that day, Lucas and Christiane became inseparable. He said he needed to train her, to show her the ropes. But I saw them. In the convenience store downstairs from the office, she’d be standing in front of me in line, her fingers looped around his cuff, curled against him like a kitten. During meetings, her hand would be clasped in his under the table. He even canceled a dinner date we’d planned for weeks because she called him complaining of a “small headache.” That night, I stood in a torrential downpour, soaked to the bone. When I finally dragged my miserable self back to our villa, he barely glanced up from his work. “Sophia, don’t overthink this,” he said, his tone dismissive. “She’s all alone in this city. It’s not easy for her. I’m just looking out for her.” I nodded, my heart twisting into a tight, painful knot. My throat was so raw I could barely speak. “I know.” But only I knew that later, huddled under the shower, I cried until I couldn’t breathe, letting the sound of the water drown out my sobs. I came down with a raging fever the next day. For the first time in a long time, Lucas seemed genuinely worried. He rushed to the hospital and pulled me into a fierce embrace, his voice low and thick with concern. “Sophia, how could you let yourself get like this?” I blinked open my heavy eyelids, the familiar scent of pine from his cologne filling my senses. For a fleeting moment, I felt like we were back in the good old days, before everything fell apart. Then his phone rang. Christiane’s voice, a mixture of tears and a practiced helplessness, came through the speaker. “Lucas, the power’s out at my place. It’s so dark, and I’m scared. Can you come stay with me?” The arms holding me went rigid. Instinctively, I tightened my grip on his sleeve, but he flinched away, letting me slide from his embrace. He took a deep breath, his hand stroking my hair as he planted a soft kiss on my forehead. His voice was calm, but his words were devastatingly cruel. “Sophia, you have nurses here to look after you.” “Christiane’s a young woman, all alone at night. She’ll be terrified, she won’t be able to sleep. The poor thing.” “I’ll just go for a bit. I’ll be back before you know it.” With that, he gently but firmly pulled his sleeve from my grasp and walked out without a backward glance. He never came back that night. Instead, a message appeared on my phone. He doesn’t have you in his heart! He doesn’t love you! He’s happiest when he’s with me! Why don’t you just disappear, you old hag! Attached was a video of the two of them, tangled in bedsheets, their bodies moving together. A wave of nausea and rage washed over me. Combined with the fever, the world swam before my eyes, and I nearly passed out. When I woke up the next morning, Christiane was standing by my bedside. She deliberately angled her neck to show off the fresh love bites, a smug, victorious smirk playing on her lips. “You have no idea how wild he is with me, Sophia. How much he craves me. I bet he’s never satisfied you like that, has he?” I was raised doted on by two families; I wasn’t one to take insults lying down. I grabbed the flower basket from the nightstand and hurled it at her. Just my luck, Lucas walked in at that exact moment. Christiane immediately collapsed to the floor, sobbing into his arms. “Lucas! I just came to see how Sophia was doing, but the moment she saw me, she went crazy and attacked me…” Before I could say a word, a sharp slap echoed through the room. My head snapped to the side, my cheek stinging. “Sophia! When did you become so vicious?” Lucas roared, his eyes filled with disgust. “You’re a bigger disappointment than I could have ever imagined!” I stared at him, my heart shattering into a million pieces. It was the first time he had ever laid a hand on me. 3 After that, Lucas and Christiane were even more brazen, appearing everywhere together. Meanwhile, Christiane had secretly filmed me throwing the flower basket at her and posted it online. In an instant, the internet mob descended, branding me a psychotic, spoiled heiress. Even my own colleagues at the company started whispering behind my back. “Do you think Sophia’s really losing it?” “I heard she was obsessed with Mr. Kennedy for years. When he got together with Christiane, she just snapped.” It got so bad that one day, a self-proclaimed crusader for justice grabbed me on the street, yanking my hair and raining down blows. “It’s her! The rich bitch from the internet who bullied that poor girl! She’s a homewrecker!” At the word “homewrecker,” a crowd swarmed me, pinning me to the ground. Slaps landed on my face, one after another, until I was black and blue. Someone shouted they should strip me naked. A dozen hands clawed at me, their nails digging into my flesh. I clutched at the shredded remains of my dress, my pleas for help lost in the noise. No one listened. By the time the police finally arrived, I was barely conscious. They casually escorted me from the scene and dropped me off at the villa. Lucas took one look at my bruised and battered state, his brow furrowed not with concern, but with irritation. “Sophia, is this some new way to get my attention?” he asked coldly. “I’ve told you before, there’s nothing between me and Christiane. You need to calm down and think about what you’ve done.” Then, he turned and walked out, leaving me alone. A few weeks later, when Lucas and I returned to the family estate, the air was thick with contempt. My relatives looked at me with open disdain, whispering that I had brought shame upon both our families. Grandfather Kennedy had passed away years ago, but every time we came back, we paid our respects at his memorial. This time, however, Christiane was with us. Traditionally, only family members were allowed in the family crypt, but Lucas made an exception for her. When our relatives questioned his decision, Lucas defended her without hesitation. “Christiane may not be family, but she has more grace and respect than some people who call themselves high-society ladies. She genuinely respects my grandfather. Why shouldn’t she be allowed to pay her respects?” Every eye in the room turned to me. I saw it all: disgust, mockery, judgment. I felt like I was being crucified in public. I couldn’t bear it. I lowered my head and fled to the solitude of the crypt. Thinking of how much Grandfather Kennedy had adored me, my eyes started to burn. Just then, Christiane walked in. She shot me a contemptuous look, then glanced at the marble plaque with his name on it. Her voice was dripping with resentment. “Sophia, with a reputation like yours, you can’t possibly still think you’re going to marry into this family, can you?” she sneered. “If it wasn’t for that meddling old fool and his ridiculous engagement contract, I’d be Mrs. Kennedy right now!” Before I could react, she snatched the memorial urn from its pedestal and smashed it on the stone floor. The urn shattered, scattering ashes everywhere. I stared in horror, frozen for a moment before I lunged at her. “Are you insane?! That was the man Lucas and I respected most in the world!” “So what?” she spat, unafraid. “Not only am I getting this dead old man out of the crypt, I’m going to take everything that’s yours and kick you out of this family for good!” The commotion brought Lucas running. Christiane expertly threw herself to the ground, tears streaming down her face. “Lucas! I just thought Sophia’s bracelet was beautiful and asked to see it, and she… she threw grandfather’s urn at me! She said she was going to drive me out of the family…” SLAP! The sound of his hand connecting with my cheek was even louder this time. He looked at me with pure loathing. “Sophia, you are such a disappointment. After how much grandfather loved you… You were his choice to be the next lady of this house, and now you’ve desecrated his final resting place. You’ll be dealt with according to family law.” “It’s not what happened! Lucas, let me explain!” But he wasn’t listening. He had his men drag me down to the estate’s old, stone cellar. They took a riding crop to my back, the leather biting into my skin with each sharp crack. When I was covered in bleeding welts, lying in the cold, filthy water that pooled on the floor, he ordered them to stop. The pain was excruciating. I screamed until my throat was raw, but no one showed me an ounce of pity. Through the open cellar door, I could see my relatives looking down, shaking their heads. “She destroyed the old man’s ashes. She deserves this.” When I was on the verge of passing out, Lucas finally had them pull me up. For a split second, I saw a flicker of pain in his eyes, but it vanished the moment Christiane wrapped her arms around his, sobbing. “Oh, Sophia, I only wanted to look at your bracelet. How could you do that to grandfather? You’ve broken Lucas’s heart!” I glared at her, too weak to speak. Hearing Christiane mention the bracelet again, blaming it for the desecration of his grandfather’s ashes, Lucas’s fury reignited. He gestured, and the estate guards and his bodyguards swarmed me, pinning me to the ground. I knew instantly what he was going to do. “No! Please, don’t! Lucas, that was my grandmother’s! It’s the only thing I have left of her! It’s the most precious thing I own! Punish me again, lock me back in the cellar, just please don’t take my bracelet! I’m sorry, I was wrong!” I screamed and begged, but he was deaf to my pleas. He ignored my desperate struggles, knelt down, and ripped the emerald bracelet from my wrist himself. A sharp cry of pain tore from my lips. Lucas held the bracelet up, his eyes burning with hatred. “For this… for this worthless thing, you would dishonor the grandfather who adored you for so many years? Do you have a heart at all, Sophia?” “Today, I’m going to make you feel the same pain that I feel right now!” And with that, he hurled the bracelet against the stone floor. The emerald cracked into pieces. The combination of physical agony and soul-crushing heartbreak was too much. A final, desperate wail escaped my lips before I blacked out. 4 I woke up in the estate’s dog kennel. Everyone was convinced I was responsible for scattering Grandfather Kennedy’s ashes, and they refused to have me under the main roof. Lucas, unable to argue with the family elders, had put me here. Through the kennel door, I could hear Lucas and Christiane talking. She was pouting, her voice a childish whine. “Lucas, darling, why did you have to break that bracelet? It was such a shame, I really liked it…” “Enough!” Lucas snapped, his voice cold and sharp. “Know your place, Christiane. A piece like that is far too valuable for someone like you to wear. I punished Sophia because she was wrong. Don’t think for a second you can use this as an opportunity to take what’s hers.” He stormed off, leaving Christiane standing there alone, her face twisted with resentment. A sharp pain in my chest brought me back to reality. In my entire life, I had never been so humiliated. I forced my aching body to stand and stumbled toward the garage. I found my car, got in, and sped away from that place without a second thought. I never saw Christiane standing on the estate’s front steps, a cold, triumphant smile on her face as she watched me leave. At the same time, a Lamborghini roared out of the estate, hot on my tail. Rain was pouring from the sky. Heartbroken and furious, I drove. Lucas’s Lamborghini quickly caught up. He rolled down his window, shouting at me to pull over, but I ignored him. I slammed my foot on the accelerator, desperate to escape him. Suddenly, a barrier and a “ROAD CLOSED” sign appeared in my headlights. I slammed my foot on the brake. Nothing. The brakes were gone. Someone had tampered with them. Panic seized me. I watched, helpless, as my sports car crashed through the barrier and plunged into a deep construction pit. My last memory was the violent jolt of the airbag deploying, and a universe of pain. When I regained consciousness, Lucas was by my bedside. His chin was covered in dark stubble, and his eyes were sunken and shadowed with exhaustion. When he saw me awake, a look of profound relief washed over his face. He took my hand, about to speak, but I beat him to it. “Who are you?” He froze, his eyes darting to the doctor standing nearby. The doctor explained that I was likely suffering from amnesia due to the severe impact. So… Lucas hesitated, looking back at me. I asked him again. “Are you my boyfriend?” This time, his expression changed. The concern was gone, replaced by something unreadable. He gently took Christiane’s hand, who had been standing silently in the corner, and spoke to me in the detached tone one might use with a stranger. “You’re mistaken, young lady,” he said. “I’m not your boyfriend. I’m her boyfriend.” In that instant, a pain so sharp and visceral ripped through my chest that I thought I would suffocate. But I forced a smile, blinked back the tears that threatened to fall, and whispered, “Oh. I see. Do you think… do you think my boyfriend will come for me soon?” Lucas paused, a choked sound catching in his throat. “Yes,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “He will. I’m sure he will.” Then he grabbed Christiane’s hand and practically fled the room. The moment they were gone, I could no longer hold it back. I clutched the fabric over my heart and wept, the sobs silent but wracking my entire body.

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