After a car crash, I faked amnesia to tease my notoriously stiff husband, asking him who he was. Mark froze for a second before offering a tender smile. “I’m your brother.” I reached out playfully, running my hand over his rock-hard abs. “Like… a naughty lover kind of brother?” Mark dodged my touch, his tone laced with restrained distance. “Stop messing around. I mean your biological brother.” That got me even more excited. “Wild taboo romance! Gotta love it!” Later, when I was diagnosed with a pregnancy, Mark was beside himself with joy. Yet I stubbornly insisted on getting an abortion. He nearly went out of his mind, gripping my shoulders and begging to know why. I looked at him calmly and replied: “Forbidden sibling tropes are fun to joke about online, but in real life, who actually dates their own brother?” 01 I have always been someone who cared way too much about saving face. When other kids tripped and fell, they would cry and pick themselves up. When I fell, I would lie flat on the pavement and pretend I had simply decided it was time for a nap. Naturally, getting courted and married by Mark was the proudest achievement of my life. As the youngest associate professor at the university, Mark was ridiculously attractive in a cool, distant way. Whenever he stood behind the lecture podium, the quiet clicking of student phone cameras sounded like a flock of cicadas. After we got married, Mark treated me like a precious glass doll, taking care of my every need. Everyone who saw us couldn’t help but gush about how lucky I was to score an older, refined man. When it came to romance, however, Mark was painfully vanilla. Even if I took the initiative and begged for a kiss, he would only peck my cheek or forehead before giving my head an affectionate little pat. So when he called himself my brother after my accident, I felt a surge of relief. My stiff, uptight husband is finally learning how to roleplay. To be fair, the car crash was minor. I only ended up with a few bruises and a mild concussion. But when I woke up from my stupor and saw Mark sitting by my bed, the dark circles under his eyes heavy with exhaustion, my heart melted. I wanted to play a little prank to lighten the mood. Who knew Mark wouldn’t follow the script and would go straight for a forbidden blood-relation drama? Since he wanted to act, I couldn’t let the ball drop. Where would my dignity go if I broke character first? And so, I kept up the act for a full week. Every single day, I had to exert all my willpower to keep my hands off Mark’s broad chest, which looked like it was actively threatening his shirt buttons. Finally, Mark seemed convinced that I had genuinely lost my memory. He reached out and gently ruffled my hair. “Sweetheart, there’s something I need to tell you.” “My wife, your brother’s wife, is actually staying in this same hospital.” “Since you have amnesia, you probably don’t remember her. If you’re feeling up to it, I can take you to see her.” I giggled silently in my head. I was already picturing the scene where Mark would lead me to a full-length mirror, point at my reflection, and say, Look, this is my wife. Instead, Mark walked me down the long hospital corridor and stopped in front of a private room. He pushed the door open. Lying on the crisp white hospital bed was a complete stranger. “Is that you, Sienna?” The woman looked up, her voice gentle and soft. “Mark told me you were in a car accident and lost your memory. I was so worried about you. Come here and let me look at you. Thank goodness your pretty face didn’t get scratched.” Mark gave me a soft nudge from behind. “Sweetheart, this is my wife, Giselle.” My mind went instantly blank. Who? For a split second, I actually questioned if I really had amnesia. But I knew down to the exact drawer where our red marriage certificates were stored at home. Seeing me frozen in place, Giselle looked at me with tender concern. “Sienna, I know your head is foggy right now. It’s completely normal that you don’t remember me.” She offered a timid, embarrassed smile. “Mark and I have known each other since we were kids. We were childhood sweethearts. When he came over to my house back then, my dad told me to call him big brother, but I refused. I didn’t understand it then, but when I grew up, I realized it was love. So getting married later just felt like the natural step.” What was she talking about? If she was married to my husband, then what was I? “Where’s your marriage license?” I heard my own voice come out hard and sharp. “You say you two are married. Where’s the license?” Giselle blinked, startled, then let out a soft laugh. “We have it, of course. But it’s at home. Once I get discharged…” “I don’t want to wait until you get discharged,” I cut her off. “I want to see it right now.” Giselle instinctively glanced past me toward Mark, her eyes filled with a helpless plea. “Well… maybe Mark can run home and grab it?” “No, I need to see proof right now!” My voice hit a high, jagged note. “If you two are really married, you must have photos on your phone, right? Wedding pictures, album posts, social media updates! Show me right now. If you can’t, you’re a liar!” Giselle’s already pale face drained of all color. “Stop it, Sienna.” Mark frowned, his tone heavy and stern, just like an older brother scolding a bratty younger sister. “Giselle isn’t like you. Her health is fragile. Don’t push her like this.” As if on cue to prove his point, Giselle suddenly clutched her chest and began coughing violently, gasping for air. “Giselle!” Mark rushed to the bedside, wrapping one arm around her shoulder while using his other hand to gently pat her back in a practiced, fluid motion. I stood all alone by the doorway, a band-aid stuck to my forehead, my eyes stinging as tears welled up uncontrollably. 02 I turned around and walked away. Roleplay or not, I didn’t want to play this sick game anymore. All I wanted was to go home, open our bedroom door, and look at the framed wedding photo hanging above our bed. In that photo, I was wearing a white veil, my eyes crinkling with joy, while Mark stood beside me in his tailored suit, his gentle eyes looking only at me. Then, I would grab my documents from the nightstand and figure out how to get a clean, dignified divorce. When I got back to my hospital room and grabbed my coat, I looked up to find Mark standing at the door. “Where are you going?” “Home.” “Do you even remember where home is?” I choked on my words. “Sweetheart…” Mark stepped closer, staring at me intently. “Did you remember something? Or… did you never lose your memory at all?” I wanted to tell him the truth. I wanted to yell that I never lost my memory, that I was his wife, not his sister. I wanted to ask him if he realized what he was doing. If I hadn’t been pretending, was he really planning to let another woman claim to be his wife right in front of my face for the rest of my life? I wanted to ask him if we had really been married for three years, or if I had been living with a complete stranger. But the words gathered in my throat and dissolved into a bitter lump. Why should I tell him the truth? If I admitted to faking my amnesia now, I would be admitting that I lied to him first. He would turn it back on me, blaming my little trick for his grand deception. When I first started this joke, all I wanted was to see his flustered reaction. The moment he panicked, I was going to throw my arms around his neck and laugh, Fooled you! How could I ever forget a husband as handsome as you? Then I would watch him smile that helpless, indulgent smile of his, the kind where the corners of his eyes crinkled softly, making me feel utterly safe. It was supposed to be a sweet, silly moment between husband and wife. I never imagined it would open the door for another woman to step into my life. And why was Mark teaming up with her to deceive me? Fine. If he wanted to act, I would play the part until the very end. When the lie finally unraveled, I would see his real answer. “…I wish I had never forgotten,” I murmured, lowering my head to hide the wetness in my eyes. “I don’t remember you, and I definitely don’t remember having a sister-in-law like her. Neither of you can even produce a single wedding photo. How do I know you aren’t human traffickers trying to kidnap me?” Mark stared at me for a long time. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh. He walked over, pulled his phone from his suit pocket, unlocked it, and opened his photo album. The first picture was of me, grinning foolishly at the camera while making bunny ears behind Mark’s head. He swiped right. It was a photo of Mark standing in front of his alma mater alongside a handsome young man with bleached blonde hair. Mark swiped past it quickly. The next photo showed only his hand holding a cozy blanket, covering me while I was fast asleep on the couch, drooling slightly. “See? This is you, and this is me,” Mark said, his voice softening as he looked at the screen. “We are family.” He looked down at me, pausing for a moment. “As for Giselle… she’s sick. Stage four lung cancer.” My head snapped up, meeting his gaze. “Giselle’s father was my benefactor,” Mark explained softly. “My grandmother and I used to live in a crumbling mud hut in the mountains. She washed clothes for extra cash just to raise me. When she was diagnosed with kidney failure, the dialysis bills were astronomical.” “It was Giselle’s father who paid for everything. After my grandmother passed away, he brought me into his home, put me through school, and taught me how to be a proper man. He told me, Mark, study hard and get out of these mountains. You don’t belong in the dirt.” “Without him, I would have starved to death in that hut. I wouldn’t be the man I am today.” Mark’s eyes filled with exhaustion and deep guilt. “But good people don’t always get good endings. He fell ill suddenly. On his deathbed, he held my hand and said the only thing he worried about was his daughter. He asked me to take care of her.” Mark had promised him. “I owe her father my life,” Mark whispered. “I can’t just abandon her. She doesn’t have much time left. I just want to stay by her side through this final stretch. It’s the only way I can repay my debt to her father.” Listening to him, everything finally clicked into place. We had dated for two years and been married for three. Mark was a popular professor, and bold female students often asked for his contact information. He always handled those situations gracefully and reported them to me right away, completely transparent. Yet, in all those years, he had never once mentioned the name Giselle. He had kept her hidden so very well. Then I thought about the car crash. After we married, Mark insisted that I didn’t need to work, promising to provide for me so I could live comfortably. But sitting around at home for too long made me feel useless, so I recently started sending out resumes. On the afternoon of my crash, I had just finished an interview. Mark was supposed to pick me up, but he called at the last minute, claiming a male graduate student of his was having a mental health crisis and he had to rush to the hospital. Mark had mentioned that student multiple times before. He said the guy couldn’t get over his ex-girlfriend, constantly sending her desperate texts and calls. Later, he fell into severe depression and stood on the roof several times. Mark was always the one called in to pull him back. I used to think Mark was just an exceptionally responsible professor, listening to his stories like dramatic campus gossip. That day was no exception. “What happened to him this time?” I had asked over the phone. “He swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills. They’re pumping his stomach right now,” Mark had sounded utterly drained. “Sweetheart, can you take a cab home by yourself? I’ll make your favorite pork rib and yam soup when I get back tonight.” So, I happily booked a taxi. And then my taxi got rear-ended. Looking back now, that troubled male student never existed. The person Mark rushed to see that afternoon was Giselle. And those dramatic stories were just gender-swapped versions of reality. Giselle was his ex. After they broke up, she couldn’t let go. Even after Mark married me, she kept clinging to him, using her failing health and mental state to keep him tethered. How long had Mark been living this double life behind my back? Perhaps even back when we were dating, he was already playing both sides. Benefactor’s daughter on one side, girlfriend turned wife on the other. Trying to care for both, weighed down by guilt for both, maintaining a fragile, suffocating balance. So when I woke up and randomly pretended to have amnesia… what did Mark feel in that exact moment? I knew the answer now. It was relief. He had finally found a loophole, a perfect solution handed to him on a silver platter. He could stay by Giselle’s side openly, fulfilling her final wishes without technically committing adultery. Because his wife didn’t even know she was his wife anymore. How brilliant of you, Professor Mark. You pushed me away with your own hands, thinking I would just stay right where you left me. I raised my head, my eyes dry and burning, but not a single tear fell. “That’s so moving,” I said, forcing a bright smile. “I believe you guys are real husband and wife now. You’re so good to your wife, big brother! When I look for a boyfriend, I definitely want someone just like you!” I even let out a small laugh, reaching out to swipe through his phone screen. I swiped back to the photo of the young man with bleached blonde hair and bedroom eyes. “By the way, brother, who’s this friend of yours? What’s his name? He looks super handsome. Why don’t you introduce us?” Mark’s breathing hitched. 03 Mark’s face went rigid, his tone turning cold and clinical. “His name is Rowan. He was the last student Giselle’s father funded. I heard he recently started a successful tech company.” Mark kept his eyes fixed on my face as he spoke. The moment I nodded, he abruptly changed his tune. “But his private life is a complete mess. He’s been wild and unmanageable since he was a kid. The first time Giselle’s father went to visit him with gifts, Rowan thought he was a kidnapper and shoved him straight into a muddy ditch, standing on the bank laughing his head off.” Mark locked his phone screen and slid it back into his pocket, his voice turning into a low, persuasive coo. “Trust me, sweetheart. A guy like him isn’t right for you.” Mark glanced out the window. It was the rainy season, and heavy gray clouds hung thick over the city skyline. “You’re not in good shape right now, and I don’t feel comfortable leaving you home alone. I talked to Hank and Lily. You can stay at their place while I’m away, okay?” Hank was an old colleague of Mark’s, and Lily was his wife. The two of them were constantly bickering, so they always envied Mark and me, talking about how in three years of marriage, they had never seen us raise our voices. Mark was always patient and gentle, and I cared too much about keeping up appearances to throw a tantrum. We simply never had a reason to fight. I got into Mark’s car. We barely made it past the second intersection before his phone rang, automatically routing through the car’s Bluetooth speakers. “Hubby?” Giselle’s sweet, affectionate voice echoed clearly through the car. Mark pressed his lips into a tight line, but he still let out a quiet, “Yeah?” My nails dug deep into the flesh of my palms. Giselle called out to him a second time. “Hubby, did you catch up to Sienna? Why did she leave so suddenly?” “Did I say something that upset her? It’s all my fault. Hubby, you should really spend more time with Sienna.” “I might have to do the lung biopsy later today. I looked it up, they insert a long needle through the chest wall under CT guidance. It’s local anesthesia, so I’ll be awake the whole time.” “But it’s fine. I can handle it alone.” Her voice was soft, fragile, and selfless. “Hubby, you don’t need to rush back to be with me. I’m okay. Anyway, I won’t disturb you two anymore.” The call disconnected. The car happened to reach a busy crossroads. Turning left led to Hank’s house, at least an hour’s drive away. Turning right meant circling back to the hospital. I turned my head to look at Mark. His face was completely devoid of emotion. I opened my mouth, intending to tell him to just turn back to the hospital since medical care was more important and I wasn’t that petty. Before I could speak, Mark flipped his right turn signal on and merged into the right lane. The first heavy raindrop slammed against the windshield. Within seconds, downpour sheets of rain battered the glass. I slowly closed my mouth and stared out the passenger window. Mark finally spoke. “Sweetheart, I’ll drop you off somewhere nearby first. I bought a place near the hospital. I’ll come pick you up as soon as I’m done staying with Giselle.” I turned back to him. “What kind of place?” Mark hesitated for a moment, his eyes fixed on the rain-drenched road ahead, looking thoroughly exhausted. “Giselle used to… spend a lot of time in the hospital. To make it easier to take care of her, I bought a small apartment nearby.” I didn’t even know how to describe the feeling rising in my chest. My husband had bought a private sanctuary near the hospital for another woman, spending countless nights caring for her there. And I only found out because I was pretending to have amnesia. The rain outside grew heavier, pounding against the window like a frantic heartbeat. My mind, curiously, went entirely quiet. When we pulled up to the apartment complex, he unlocked the door and led me inside. The place was dripping with signs of daily life. In the shoe rack at the entryway, there were only two pairs of slippers, a matching couple’s set in pale pink and sky blue. There were no spare guest slippers. Mark bent down, pulled out the pink pair, and handed them to me. “Wear these for now. I’ll buy a new pair on my way back.” Before leaving, Mark ruffled my hair again, offering careful instructions. “It’s slick out there, so don’t wander around. I’ll be right back after I check on Giselle. Be a good girl, okay?” The second Mark walked out the door, I began tearing the apartment apart. After digging up four hundred-dollar bills from a drawer, I grabbed an umbrella from the hallway and headed straight out into the storm. Mark had taken my phone after the accident, and he had likely left it back at our real home. I needed to get my phone back, along with my official documents. The storm had turned ferocious. The moment I popped the umbrella open, the wind nearly blew it inside out, soaking my shoes and socks instantly. I caught a cab back to our house and used the keypad to unlock the front door. Sure enough, my phone was sitting on the console table in the foyer, its battery drained down to a single percent. I plugged it into a charger right away and hurried into the bedroom to retrieve my documents. My gaze brushed past the large wedding portrait hanging above the bed, a wave of sour irony washing over me. Just as I pulled my suitcase out from the closet, my phone chimed. I picked it up. It was the HR manager from the company I had interviewed with the previous week. “Hi, Sienna! Our team lead really loved your presentation from the first round. We tried reaching out earlier and were worried when we couldn’t get through. We have a final interview scheduled for two-thirty this afternoon. Are you available? If it goes well, you can start onboarding today!” I gripped the phone, stunned, feeling the suffocating pressure in my chest finally ease up just a fraction. “Yes! Yes, absolutely! I can be there right away!” I agreed eagerly. I checked the time. It was already 1:15 PM. I opened a rideshare app, booked a car, grabbed my purse, and dashed back out into the rain. The driver was a middle-aged guy who started cursing about traffic the moment I got in. I stayed silent, staring blankly out the window. Up ahead, I noticed a huge puddle on the side of the road, right next to a pedestrian walking with an umbrella. I narrowed my eyes. Just as the person started looking strangely familiar, the driver suddenly slammed on the gas. “Excuse me, there’s a huge puddle over there, watch out for—” Before I could finish my warning, the car sped right past, splashing a wall of muddy water straight over the pedestrian. I instinctively turned around to look through the rear window. The man was standing there soaked, slowly lowering his umbrella. His bleached blonde hair shone shockingly bright against the gray, dreary sky. He raised a hand, looking like he was trying to hail a cab. I turned back around. At the next intersection, there was another puddle with several pedestrians waiting for a ride. The driver pulled the exact same trick, swerving toward the curb and stomping on the accelerator. Except this time, as soon as the car got close, one of the pedestrians pulled a concrete brick from behind his back. A loud, violent THUD echoed from the back of the car. The driver slammed on the brakes, pulled over, and jumped out cursing up a storm to confront the pedestrian. Anxiety surged through me. I checked my phone inside the car. It was 2:13 PM, and my battery was down to 5%. I quickly sent a text to the HR manager: [I am so sorry, I ran into an emergency on the way. I might be a little late.] The HR manager took a moment to reply: [We have other candidates lined up today. The latest we can stretch it for you is 3:00 PM. Please hurry.] I texted back a quick thank-you. Without even bother opening my umbrella, I opened the door and stepped out, desperate to hail another cab. The moment I raised my hand, the bald driver grabbed my arm with a vice-like grip. “Hey! Where do you think you’re going? You’re my passenger! You have to testify for me! I didn’t see that puddle! Make him pay for the damage!” He pulled with so much force on the slick, rain-soaked pavement that my feet slipped right out from under me. I crashed heavily onto the ground, landing hard in a deep puddle of muddy water. Both arguing men went dead silent. At that exact moment, thunder rumbled overhead, and the rain poured down harder. I sat there, completely dazed. My thighs and palms throbbed with a sharp, burning pain from hitting the asphalt. Wet strands of hair stuck to my face as muddy water dripped down my chin. In that moment, I wanted Mark to be by my side so badly. I wanted to break down and sob. But he wasn’t there. He was at the hospital, holding Giselle’s hand like a loving husband. I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t cry right now. If I cried, I would lose the last shred of dignity I had left. Just then, the sound of screeching tires cut through the rain. A bright yellow taxi pulled up to the curb, and Rowan pushed the back door open and stepped out. He was covered in mud spots too, his designer shirt soaked through, looking like a drowned cat. Yet, he had a grin on his face as he walked straight up to the bald driver. Rowan delivered a brutal, solid punch right to the driver’s gut. The driver let out a pathetic groan, doubling over as his knees gave out, his face falling straight into the muddy puddle. Rowan shook out his fist, his grin widening. “Revenge is a dish best served instantly.” He turned around and caught sight of me sitting on the ground. “What’s going on here? Bullying a woman? Guess one punch wasn’t enough.” He bent down slightly and extended a hand toward me. “Can you stand up?” I didn’t look at him. I pushed myself up off the wet ground, grabbed my soaked purse, and sprinted straight for the taxi he had just stepped out of. Rowan yelled from behind me, “Hey! That’s my cab!” I pulled the door open, slid inside, and handed two hundred-dollar bills to the driver. “I’m paying for his ride too! Double! Please take me to this address as fast as you can!” The driver slammed his foot on the gas. At 2:27 PM, I finally stumbled into the office building for my interview. The HR manager took one look at my drenched, muddy appearance and froze, an awkward expression washing over her face. “Um… Sienna, I am so sorry…” “We actually just selected a candidate a few minutes ago. It was the director’s call, our hands are tied…” I took a deep, shaky breath and closed my eyes. It was fine. If this job didn’t work out, I would find another one. I was never a woman with only one path forward. I had simply spent too long inside the cozy shelter Mark built for me. I was just out of practice when it came to facing the cold, hard world alone. Sitting in the freezing, air-conditioned waiting room, my legs felt completely numb. I opened my purse to check my things. My documents were soaked into a clump of paper pulp, and my phone screen was shattered, completely unresponsive no matter how many times I pressed the power button. It was okay. Everything was going to be okay. By the time I made it back to the apartment near the hospital, night had fallen, and the rain was still coming down. When I unlocked the door, a wave of cozy, warm yellow light greeted me. The rich aroma of home-cooked food filled the air. A white ceramic pot sat on the counter, filled with steaming pork rib and yam soup. Mark walked out of the kitchen, wearing an apron printed with little teddy bears, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It looked almost ridiculously cute on him. The moment his eyes landed on me standing by the entrance, his pupils contracted sharply. “Sweetheart?!” Mark rushed over, wrapping a soft throw blanket from the couch around my shoulders, his hand immediately checking the temperature of my forehead. “Where did you go? Did you try to find your way home by yourself? Why are you covered in mud? You’re freezing… Wait here, I’ll go run a hot bath for you right now.” He turned to leave, but I reached out and snagged the strap of his apron. My heart, which had been frozen solid all afternoon, completely melted under a wave of overwhelming grief and betrayal. “Mark…” My vision blurred, and tears began falling uncontrollably. I buried my face directly into his chest and sobbed out loud. Mark froze for a split second before pulling me tightly into his arms, his voice laced with suffocating pain and self-reproach. “It’s okay, it’s okay now. I’m right here. Your brother is right here.” You’re not my brother. You’re my husband. You’re the man who stood beside me at the altar and swore to love and cherish me in sickness and in health, for better or for worse, until death do us part. Why do I have to share you with someone else? In that moment, regardless of what he had done, I was ready to forgive him. I lifted my head, looking up at him through a haze of tears. I wanted to tell him. I wanted to say that I had never lost my memory, and that I had missed him so much today. “Mark, I actually—” “Oh, Sienna? What happened to you? Why are you covered in mud?” A voice cut through the air. I turned toward the hallway and saw Giselle stepping out of the master bedroom. She was wearing a pair of plush bear pajamas, her long hair draped casually over her shoulders. She stood in the warm light, looking relaxed, settled, and completely at home. She looked far more like the mistress of this house than I did. “Giselle,” Mark frowned instinctively, loosening his arms around me just a fraction. “Dinner isn’t ready yet. You should rest a bit longer.” Giselle playfully stuck her tongue out. “You always tell me to sleep. If I sleep any longer, I’ll turn into a mummy.” She turned to me with an apologetic smile. “I was supposed to get that lung biopsy done this afternoon, but I was just too terrified… So Mark comforted me and said we could push it to tomorrow. He told me to come stay here tonight so I could relax.” She offered a soft smile. “So Mark came back to cook for me. Sienna, why don’t you join us? There’s plenty of soup.” I stood there, frozen solid, feeling the cold seep right back into my bones. Noticing me shivering, Mark looked down at me, his eyes filled with worry and unease. “Sweetheart, what were you trying to say just now? What did you mean by ‘actually’?” “…Nothing.” I stepped backward, pulling myself entirely out of his warm embrace. “I already ate outside. I’ll go take a shower. You two go ahead.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “587994”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My father-in-law drove a city bus his entire adult life. Years ago, to save a destitute college girl having a violent seizure in the back of his bus, he blew through three red lights to get her to the emergency room. He saved her life. In return, she filed a formal complaint against him using her real name. He had only wanted to save a life, but the transit authority fired him for a severe traffic violation, stripping away his pension in the process. The girl who reported him was named Harper. Thanks to that very report, she was awarded the “Civic Compliance Scholarship” by her university. When I took his termination papers to demand an explanation from her, she just stared at me with wide, innocent eyes. “Rules are rules. A driver running red lights is gambling with the passengers’ lives. Even if it’s to save someone, it’s strictly forbidden.” Years later, she fought her way through rounds of brutal interviews, and her final onboarding contract for our tech conglomerate landed right on my desk. I was the VP of Human Resources. Right in front of her face, I fed that contract into the shredder. “Rules are rules. Your background check revealed a severe lack of moral integrity, and your immediate family has a history of defaulted debt. I cannot sign this.” 1 “Mr. Cross, you didn’t just shred my contract. You shredded your own career.” Harper didn’t even flinch or try to fish the paper scraps out of the bin. She calmly reached up to her collar, unclipped a button-shaped hidden camera, and placed it on my desk. The recording light was still blinking red. The glass doors to the conference room weren’t fully closed. Outside, the hallway was packed with candidates waiting for their final interviews. Every word I just said had echoed out into the corridor. Harper turned her phone around to face me. On the screen, the live stream counter had already crossed eighty thousand viewers. The stream title was a single, glaring sentence. “Corporate HR VP Abuses Power to Blacklist Whistleblower Over Family Grudge.” The comments were scrolling by in a blur, but a few jumped out at me. “Just because she reported his father-in-law?” “Since when does an HR VP have executioner powers?” “This isn’t a job interview. This is a corporate lynching.” Harper placed her hand flat over her printed background check report. “Mr. Cross, the defaulted debt under my father’s name was exactly two thousand seven hundred dollars, and the court has already issued a clearance certificate proving it was paid.” “According to your company’s own hiring guidelines, a resolved civil debt does not constitute grounds for rejection.” “As for my supposed lack of moral integrity, I’d love to know what criteria you are using.” I stared at her. “You filed a formal complaint against the man who saved your life. Does that count?” “Reporting an illegal act counts as a lack of moral integrity?” Her eyes slowly grew red, but her voice didn’t waver a single decibel. “By that logic, shouldn’t this company cancel its annual Compliance Awareness Month?” “Shouldn’t the whistleblower email hotline be shut down?” “If an employee discovers financial fraud tomorrow, should they first check to see if the fraudster ever did them a favor before reporting it?” Outside the door, people started raising their phones to record. Harper turned her face slightly toward the camera lens, exposing a pale scar behind her ear. “This is from the craniotomy I had to undergo back then.” “I lost consciousness on that bus. I had no idea where the driver was taking me, and I had no ability to consent.” “When I woke up, I found out an entire bus full of passengers had been forced to run three red lights with him.” “I didn’t report him for saving my life.” “I reported him for gambling with forty other lives to save mine without their consent.” She spoke with terrifying stability. It was the stability of a script rehearsed hundreds of times. Vern, our Legal Manager, burst into the conference room. “Declan, shut the stream down.” Harper took a step back. “Mr. Vern. Your company policy strictly dictates that a candidate’s personal devices cannot be forcibly confiscated during the interview process.” Vern went pale. “How do you know my name?” “It’s on the executive roster on your website.” She pulled a stack of papers from her folder. “Section Seventeen of your Recruitment Management Regulations states that once a candidate passes the final interview and approvals are completed, the offer cannot be rescinded due to an interviewer’s personal reasons unless there is a severe material omission.” “My final approvals cleared last night.” “Your job today, Mr. Cross, was merely to sign on the dotted line.” Vern whipped his head toward me. “Her approvals cleared?” I picked up the routing slip from my desk. The VP of Operations, the Finance Director, and the Compliance Department had all signed off. My signature block was at the very bottom. The onboarding window expired exactly at noon today. We had twenty-seven minutes left. Harper stared at the clock on the wall. “Mr. Cross, you have twenty-seven minutes.” “If you don’t sign by noon, the company will be guilty of rescinding an offer without just cause.” “Based on the competing offer I declined to be here, the compensation penalty will not be less than sixty thousand dollars.” “Of course, I’d much prefer it if your company gave the public a formal explanation instead.” Vern lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. “Just turn off the stream. We can reprint the contract.” “Why should I turn it off?” Harper looked directly into the lens. “If Mr. Cross has the guts to do this, why shouldn’t I let people watch?” Whispers erupted in the hallway outside. Someone had already dug up my father-in-law’s old case. “I found it. The driver from the Route 9 bus.” “The transit authority’s public notice back then said he was emotionally unstable and refused to follow dispatch orders.” “So his son-in-law is using his corporate position to take revenge on the whistleblower?” The corner of Harper’s mouth twitched upward for a fraction of a second before she suppressed it. It was the exact same micro-expression she had years ago. When she won that scholarship, a reporter asked if she felt bad that the driver lost his job. She had pursed her lips the exact same way. Then she said, “Adults need to take responsibility for breaking the law.” Vern grabbed my arm. “Declan, sign it.” I didn’t move. “Her background check still has red flags.” “What red flags?” “During her four years in college, she filed seventeen formal complaints under her real name. People were disciplined or fired at all three of her previous internships because of her.” Harper smiled. “Is it a crime to speak up when I see a violation?” “You reported the cafeteria worker for giving an extra scoop of meat to a broke student.” “The cafeteria operates on strict quota accounting. Extra portions are a violation of policy.” “You reported the dorm RA for opening the doors after hours for a student with a fever.” “The security protocol mandates the doors lock at midnight.” “You reported your internship supervisor for using his personal account to cover a refund for a client.” “The company strictly prohibits private financial transactions with clients.” With every answer she gave, the army of compliance defenders in her live stream grew stronger. For the first time, I realized she wasn’t just deaf to human decency. She actively translated human decency into policy violations she could weaponize. Harper pushed a pen across the desk toward me. “Mr. Cross, nineteen minutes left.” “You have every right to dislike me.” “But your personal grudges are not written in the company handbook.” I picked up the pen. Suddenly, someone in the hall shouted, “The CEO is here.” The crowd parted. Richard Bancroft, our CEO, walked briskly into the room with the PR Director and two cameramen trailing behind him. He didn’t ask for context. He just snatched the background check report from my hands. “Declan, you are suspended from duty effective immediately.” “Richard, her background check carries massive risks.” “Right now, you are the biggest risk to this company.” Richard placed a fresh copy of the contract in front of Vern. “Initiate the proxy signature protocol.” Vern took the pen, his hand hovering over the paper. Harper finally let her smile show. “You see, Mr. Cross? Rules don’t suddenly stop working just because you have a fancy title.” I stared at the blinking red light on her chest. Over a hundred thousand people were watching me get stripped of my badge. Before the clock struck twelve, she was going to step right over my father-in-law’s termination papers and walk into the HR department I built. Richard’s voice was heavy with impatience. “Sign it, Vern.” 2 “You can’t sign that contract. She concealed the fact that she was live-streaming.” I slammed my hand down on the signature page. Vern instantly pulled his hand back. But Harper just turned the camera to face herself. “I am under no obligation to inform my abuser of how I choose to collect evidence.” “The company visitor policy clearly states that unauthorized recording is prohibited in the office areas.” “I am in the candidate interview zone.” She pulled out her phone and opened the visitor confirmation text. “There is no recording ban attached to this notification.” “The front desk didn’t ask me to check my devices either.” “Your management loopholes do not constitute concealment on my part.” Richard glanced at the rapidly climbing viewer count on her stream. “Declan, let go of the paper.” I kept my hand pinned to the desk. “She manufactured this PR crisis on purpose. Her motives for joining are compromised.” Harper took a step forward. “My motive is to get a job.” “From the written exams to the final round, I scored first place across the board.” “You are the one who dragged a personal vendetta into the office and ruined a standard hiring process.” She reached out and yanked the contract. The thick paper pulled taut between us, and the sharp edge sliced clean through my fingertip. A drop of blood fell onto the offer letter. The chat instantly exploded with people accusing me of flying into a violent rage. Richard pried my hand off the desk. “Security.” Two guards stepped in and shoved me to the side. Harper took the contract back and gently smoothed out the wrinkles. “Mr. Cross, was your father-in-law like this too?” “Knowing full well the steering wheel wasn’t his to control alone, but refusing to let go anyway?” That sentence twisted the knife in my gut so hard I couldn’t even feel the cut on my hand anymore. Years ago, when I rushed to the transit depot, George was standing in the lobby clutching his folded uniform. Thirty-seven years of service, shoved into a single cardboard box. The management demanded he sign the disciplinary notice. He refused. The investigator told him that if he just admitted to driving recklessly out of impulse, they would downgrade the termination to a forced resignation and let him keep part of his benefits. George sat in that chair for an entire afternoon. Before he left, he only asked one question. “Next time someone is dying on a bus, are we supposed to just watch them die?” Nobody answered him. Harper was still in the hospital at the time. I went to her room to beg her to withdraw the complaint, but she was in the middle of a media interview. The reporter was handing her the Civic Compliance Scholarship certificate. She looked at the cameras and said her family was poor, her father was in debt, and the rules were the only thing she could trust to protect her. I asked her if the rules were what saved her life. She looked at me, clutching her framed certificate. “Your father-in-law could have pulled over and called an ambulance.” “He had no right to risk the lives of everyone else on board.” “Just because he didn’t crash this time doesn’t make his choice right.” Later, George had to sell the small house he bought for his retirement. The transit company sued him for the operational losses caused by the suspended route and formally severed his employment for gross negligence. My wife, Sarah, spent two years running around trying to appeal his case. The last time she walked out of the transportation authority building, she sat on the concrete steps and looked at me. “Let it go. He can’t take this anymore.” George developed severe insomnia. Whenever he heard an ambulance siren, his hands would instinctively reach for a steering wheel that was no longer there. Last winter, his kidneys started failing. The doctors said he needed regular dialysis and absolutely could not handle any more emotional shock. Harper didn’t know any of this. Or maybe she did, but figured it fell outside the scope of her beloved policy clauses. Richard finished signing the proxy approval and handed the contract to her right in front of the live stream. “Ms. Harper, this company does not tolerate management abusing their authority.” “Your employment is officially active.” Applause broke out in the hallway. I stood shoved into the crowd, my confiscated ID badge sitting abandoned on the corner of the desk. Harper took the contract with both hands. “Thank you, Richard.” “I trust that a company with such respect for the rules will deal with Mr. Cross’s behavior impartially.” Richard’s smile froze slightly. She had no intention of stopping. The PR Director stepped in. “Ms. Harper, since the misunderstanding has been resolved, would you mind ending the stream?” “This isn’t a misunderstanding.” Harper turned the lens directly onto me. “Mr. Cross explicitly admitted that he rejected me because I reported his father-in-law.” “If I hadn’t been streaming today, I would have lost my job.” “The absolute minimum he owes me is a public apology.” Vern muttered under his breath, “You already got the contract.” “I got the contract through my own merit. It wasn’t a trade.” “The apology is the penalty he has to pay for abusing his power.” The crowd around us swelled. Employees on their lunch break clogged the corridor, a sea of glowing phone screens raised in the air. Harper walked up to me and handed me a freshly printed apology statement. “It’s not long.” “You just need to admit that you interfered with the hiring process due to a personal grudge, and apologize to me and the company.” I skimmed the paper. The very last line made my blood run cold. I further acknowledge that my father-in-law’s reckless driving lacked any commendable life-saving merit, and bears no moral conflict with Ms. Harper’s lawful decision to report him. She didn’t just want me to bow my head. She wanted me to convict George with my own mouth. Richard crossed his arms. “Read it.” “I won’t.” “If you refuse to cooperate during your suspension investigation, the company has the right to terminate your contract.” Harper raised the paper higher. “Mr. Cross. Rules are rules.” I smacked the paper out of her hand. She instantly threw her weight backward, slamming her shoulder into the glass door. The camera slipped from her hand and hit the floor. The crowd gasped. Harper clutched her shoulder, tears springing to her eyes on command. “Everyone saw that.” “He put his hands on me.” Richard pointed a trembling finger at me. “Get him out of here.” The security guards grabbed my arms. In the chaos, Harper crouched down to pick up the camera. I saw her thumb deliberately press down hard on the edge of the lens housing. The plastic casing cracked. She looked up, her voice pitched perfectly to reach every phone in the room. “Mr. Cross. Destroying evidence gathering equipment means you’ll be paying damages too.” 3 “Dad, give him the oxygen tube back!” When Sarah sprinted into the hospital lounge, Harper was standing behind George’s wheelchair, gripping his portable oxygen tank. Flanking her were two internet influencers holding gimbals. Their lenses were shoved practically into George’s face. Harper yanked the oxygen tank closer to her chest. “I just want Mr. Mitchell to answer a few simple questions.” George was gasping for air. “I have nothing… to say to you.” “Your son-in-law attacked me at work to get revenge for what happened. Don’t you owe the public an explanation?” “I’m the one who ran the lights. It had nothing to do with him.” “So you admit you broke the law?” George forced his head up. “I admit I ran the red lights.” “But I will never admit I was wrong to save your life.” Harper looked straight into the camera. “You hear that, everyone?” “To this day, he still refuses to acknowledge the catastrophic consequences his reckless driving could have caused.” Sarah lunged for the oxygen tank. “Give that back to my father.” Harper pivoted smoothly, dodging her grasp. “Ma’am, your father is in the middle of an interview.” “Who gave you permission to interview him?” “We are in a public space. Recording is perfectly legal.” “That oxygen tank belongs to him!” “It struck my equipment earlier. I need to hold onto it to verify if the damage was intentional.” She then held the tank up, making sure the hospital asset tag was clearly visible in the shot. “This is evidence.” George’s lips were starting to turn a bruised, terrifying shade of purple. Sarah’s voice cracked with raw panic. “Harper, he needs oxygen!” “The ER is right down the hall. The medical staff can intervene at any moment.” “Give it to him!” “Please stop trying to tamper with evidence.” I arrived just as an influencer shoved Sarah back. George was slumped over the armrest of his wheelchair, his chest heaving like a broken bellows. I tore through the crowd and ripped the oxygen tank out of Harper’s hands. She clung to the strap, refusing to let go. “Mr. Cross, are you resorting to violence again?” “Let go.” “Not unless you promise not to destroy the evidence.” I violently threw her hands off. The momentum sent her stumbling forward, her manicured nails dragging across my neck. A sharp burn flared across my skin. I didn’t stop. I jammed the tube onto George’s face and twisted the valve open. George took three ragged, desperate breaths before the terrifying purple hue slowly began to fade from his face. Harper held up her wrist. The skin was slightly red. “Make sure you get this on camera.” “Mr. Cross has assaulted me for the second time.” Sarah spun around and slapped her across the face. The sound was sharp as a gunshot. Every single camera in the room jolted. Harper’s head whipped to the side. She stood frozen for a long time. Sarah’s hands were shaking uncontrollably. “That slap was for pulling an oxygen tank away from a dying man.” Harper slowly turned her head back around. Five distinct red welts were already blooming on her cheek. She didn’t retaliate. Instead, she held the cracked button camera up to the influencers’ lenses. “Now everyone knows why I have to record everything.” “When this family encounters someone who refuses to bow to them, they resort to physical violence.” Sarah lunged at her again. I grabbed Sarah and pulled her back against my chest. “Stop. Don’t hit her.” “She was going to kill my father!” “I did no such thing.” Harper dabbed a drop of blood from the corner of her mouth. “The tank was out of Mr. Mitchell’s possession for less than two minutes.” “We are standing fifty feet from the Emergency Room.” “Basic medical science dictates that a two-minute delay is insufficient to cause death.” Hearing that, George gripped the armrests and tried to push himself up. “Is that… how you calculated it back then too?” “Calculating exactly how many minutes I had left before you died? Calculating how many people on the bus would vote against saving you?” Harper looked down at him. “I was unconscious. I couldn’t make any decisions.” “So the moment you woke up, you reported him?” Sarah was crying now. “My dad paid your emergency room deposit out of his own pocket.” “You walked out of that hospital without so much as a thank you.” “When you deposited that scholarship money, did you know he had to borrow cash from relatives to cover your hospital bill?” Harper was silent for two seconds. “Medical expenses are classified as a civil debt.” “If he kept the receipts, he has every right to file a legal claim against me for reimbursement.” George suddenly laughed. He laughed until he bent over, coughing violently. “I don’t want it.” “Dad.” “Sarah, I don’t want a dime from her.” George pulled the oxygen mask down and stared at Harper. “I used to lie awake wondering if maybe you were just young and terrified.” “I was actually worried that you were living with the guilt of what you did to me.” “Seeing you today, I feel so much better.” For the first time, Harper’s brow furrowed. “What does that mean?” “It means you’ll never feel guilty.” Hospital security finally showed up and ordered everyone to stop filming. Harper didn’t put up a fight. She packed up her gear, then pulled a crisp legal document from her bag. “Mr. Cross, this is the official injury assessment notice from your earlier attack.” “And as for your wife’s slap, I will be filing a police report for battery.” Sarah stepped in front of George’s wheelchair. “Come at me then.” “I only follow procedural law.” Harper turned to me. “Also, the company has officially initiated your termination process.” “There is an all-hands compliance assembly tomorrow morning at 10 AM. You are required to stand on stage and explain your actions.” I stared at her. “Who told you that?” “I am an official employee now.” She held up the contract, the ink still fresh. “Richard just promoted me to the Corporate Compliance Evangelist.” In three short hours, she went from a candidate I rejected to the investigator holding my execution orders. Harper walked to the door, then paused. “Mr. Mitchell, tomorrow’s assembly will be live-streamed company-wide.” “If you’d like to attend, I can give you five minutes on stage.” George gripped his oxygen mask. “What would I do with five minutes?” Harper flashed that sickeningly familiar smile. “You can apologize to the passengers whose lives you put at risk.” 4 “If you don’t apologize, I’ll cut off his dialysis funding.” Right before the all-hands assembly, Richard slid a legal agreement across the table to me. The corporate charity fund had been covering half of George’s dialysis costs for the past year. Buried in the fine print was a clause: Family members of the beneficiary are strictly prohibited from engaging in acts that damage the company’s reputation. Richard tapped his manicured finger against that exact line. “You publicly shredded a candidate’s contract on a live stream. That is a breach of contract.” “His medical funding is an employee assistance program. It’s not hush money.” “The rules say what they say.” “Did Harper teach you that line?” Richard’s face darkened. “Drop the attitude.” “Sign this apology by 9:50 AM, and the fund keeps dispensing.” “If you don’t, Finance freezes his account at 10:00.” I had ten minutes. George just had his blood work done last night. The hospital required the next phase of treatment to be paid in full within three days, or his bed would be given to someone else. Sarah grabbed my hand, her fingers trembling. “Sign it.” “You know what that statement says, Sarah.” “I know.” Her voice was raw. “But I can’t gamble with my dad’s life.” Outside the conference room, Harper was giving another interview. The red marks from the slap had already faded. Yet she had deliberately taped a square of white gauze over the spot. A reporter asked if she was willing to accept my apology. “I am always willing to give people a chance to correct their mistakes.” “But he shouldn’t just be apologizing to me.” “Mr. Cross needs to explain to every hardworking employee why an HR VP feels entitled to hijack corporate fairness to settle a family vendetta.” Someone brought up George. Harper looked at the camera with perfectly rehearsed empathy. “I completely understand an old man’s desire to save a life.” “But good intentions cannot be used as a free pass to break the law.” Applause bled through the walls. Sarah picked up the pen and pressed it into my palm. “Declan, save Dad first.” Richard checked his watch. “Seven minutes.” I signed my name. The pen felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. The moment the ink dried, Richard snatched the paper away. “Get on stage. Read it exactly as written. Do not improvise.” “And after I read it?” “Suspended for six months, demoted to Recruiting Manager.” “I reject the demotion.” “Then we terminate your employment immediately.” “My investigation hasn’t even concluded.” Richard straightened his cuffs. “The stream peaked at over two million viewers yesterday.” “The company’s stock dropped four percent this morning.” “That is the conclusion.” At exactly 10 AM, I was escorted onto the stage. Nearly a thousand employees sat in the auditorium. The back rows were lined with media cameras, and the live stream numbers were climbing rapidly. Harper sat dead center in the front row, wearing her shiny new badge. Compliance Evangelist. After Richard’s opening speech, he handed me the microphone. “Declan, you will now issue a formal apology to Ms. Harper and the entire staff.” My signed statement flashed onto the massive LED screen behind me. I read through the second paragraph, my voice hollow. Suddenly, the side doors to the auditorium swung open. George wheeled himself into the room. Sarah’s face drained of color. “Dad, what are you doing here?” “Ms. Harper sent a car for me.” George stared up at the stage. “She told me Declan was apologizing on my behalf, and I needed to hear it.” Harper stood up smoothly. “Mr. Mitchell, you have a right to know the truth.” I squeezed the microphone until the plastic creaked. “Who gave you the right to drag a sick man out of the hospital?” “Mr. Mitchell is of sound mind and attended voluntarily.” But George shook his head. “She told me if I didn’t show up, Declan’s apology wouldn’t be considered sincere, and they’d cut my funding.” A heavy silence swept through the auditorium. The collective gaze of a thousand people bore down on Harper. Harper just smiled. “I merely explained the consequences of the situation to you.” “You call that voluntary?” “Mr. Cross, please continue reading.” The text on the massive screen flipped to the final page. I also formally acknowledge that George Mitchell’s reckless driving lacked any commendable life-saving merit. George read those words. His frail body swayed in the wheelchair. “Don’t read it.” I lowered the microphone. Richard bolted up from his seat. “Declan!” George pushed himself up, gripping the armrests. “I ran those lights. I admit it.” “The company fired me. I took the punishment.” “But you don’t get to stand there and say saving her life meant nothing.” Harper turned around to face him. “Mr. Mitchell, you are avoiding the core issue again.” “If you had run over a pedestrian that day, who would have taken responsibility?” “I would have.” “With what? You don’t have the money or the power to bring someone back to life.” George opened his mouth, but no words came out. Harper pulled a thick document from her pristine folder. “This is a joint petition signed by twenty-seven passengers who were on your bus that day.” “They unanimously agreed that your actions put their lives in severe danger against their will.” “Twelve of them are sitting in this room right now.” The cameras aggressively swung to the right side of the hall. A row of people stood up on cue. One woman said, “He wouldn’t listen to reason at all.” “He was driving like a maniac.” “My kid had nightmares for six months after that.” “If you want to save someone, call an ambulance! Why did you drag us to the hospital with you?” George’s hands slid off the armrests. He slumped back into the chair. I jumped off the stage and sprinted toward him. Before I made it three steps, security guards blocked my path. Richard cut off my microphone from the control booth. “Declan, finish the apology, or you will be terminated for insubordination.” George stared blankly at the passengers. “That day… that’s not what you said.” No one answered. Harper thrust the signed petition right in front of his face. “It’s right here in black and white. Are you still going to deny it?” George stared at the final page. Suddenly, he reached out. “They didn’t sign this.” Harper yanked the paper back defensively. “Please do not damage the evidence.” “The third signature. Gary Thorne.” George’s voice trembled violently. “Gary got in the ambulance with the paramedics that day. He died of a heart attack three days later.” “How could he sign this petition a month after the incident?” The auditorium went dead silent. The triumphant smile on Harper’s face vanished for a fraction of a second. Richard grabbed his microphone. “Irrelevant details do not change the fact that Declan violated company policy.” Suddenly, the massive LED screen went pitch black. A second later, a gritty, static-laced audio recording echoed through the speakers, flooding the entire auditorium. It was a young girl crying hysterically. “Driver, please don’t pull over for the ambulance!” “I have a brain tumor. I’m going to die!” “Please, just run the lights! I beg you!” “If anything happens, I’ll take all the responsibility! Please!” It was Harper’s voice. Every single camera whipped back to her. Harper shot up from her chair, her eyes wide with genuine panic. “Turn that off!” On the recording, George’s voice echoed back. “You’re awake?” The girl sobbed uncontrollably. “I’ve been awake the whole time!”

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Seven months pregnant, I threw myself down the second-floor staircase. I didn’t want to die. I just needed to trigger a premature birth and deliver a useless, ruined source of medicine. In my past life, Harrison carved a full-term baby from my womb and extracted her bone marrow right on the operating table, all to extend the life of his precious childhood sweetheart. My baby died. I died, too. In this life, I won’t give him a single drop of my child’s blood. He wants to save Angela? She can wait for death. 01 As I stepped off the top stair, a single thought consumed my mind. Fast. Faster. My spine slammed against the sharp edges of the steps, and my head cracked against the hard marble, turning my vision black for a terrifying second. Pain. An agonizing, white-hot tear ripped from my tailbone all the way to the crown of my head. I didn’t stop. My body tumbled down the flight, and the baby inside my belly kicked violently. I’m sorry, baby. I know it hurts, but you cannot be born full-term. If you reach full term, they will drain every last drop of your marrow. Before I could roll down the final three steps, two harsh hands clamped onto my arms. “Ma’am!” The bodyguard’s voice panicked. Two men lunged forward, pinning me down on the middle landing. My back pressed against the freezing stone steps as a fierce contraction clawed through my abdomen. It was too late to stop it. I had swallowed labor-inducing drugs right before throwing myself down. Warm amniotic fluid was already leaking down my thighs. “Get her to the operating room, now!” the lead guard roared into his walkie-talkie. From the far end of the hallway, Dr. Keller came sprinting over, his white coat fluttering wildly. The moment he caught sight of the blood between my legs, his face turned deathly pale. “Stop! Her water broke! Moving her right now could kill both mother and child!” He reached out to examine my belly. A bodyguard kicked him square in the chest. Dr. Keller flew backward, crashing into the porcelain flowerpots in the corner. Shards shattered everywhere. “Mr. Harrison gave strict orders. The child must survive.” The bodyguard bent down, supporting the back of my neck with one hand and hooking his other arm under my knees, scooping me up from the cold floor. Blood dripped down my legs, dragging a sickening red smear across the pristine white marble. I bit my lower lip hard, refusing to let out a sound. The pain drove my fingernails deep into my palms, but I couldn’t scream. If I screamed, they would inject me with a sedative. That was what happened in my past life. I had screamed in agony, so they plunged a needle into my arm. I passed out, and when I woke up, my child was already gone. In this life, I would stay conscious. I wanted to watch everything with my own eyes. The guards carried me into the third-floor operating suite. The overhead lights snapped on, blinding me with a harsh, sterile glare. Under the shadowless lamp sat a delivery bed. It wasn’t a delivery bed. It was a surgical table. Equipped with heavy leather restraint straps. When they laid me down, I didn’t struggle. Because I caught sight of the man standing in the shadows. Harrison. Dressed in a tailored suit, his tie perfectly straight without a single crease. He stood six feet away from the operating table, watching the guards lift me up, watching my blood soak into the white sheets. His eyes were completely void of emotion. No heartbreak. No panic. Not even disgust. He was merely verifying one thing: whether the child was still alive. “Seven months,” Dr. Keller gasped as he was dragged into the room, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. “Mr. Harrison, it’s only seven months! The marrow isn’t fully developed! Extracting it now—” “Is it usable?” Harrison cut him off. Three cold words. Not a shred of hesitation. Dr. Keller swallowed hard. “Theoretically… if the match is compatible, we can extract a tiny amount, but—” “Then that’s enough.” Harrison turned around and looked down at me on the table. I lay flat on my back, sweat-soaked hair sticking to my forehead, staring blankly up at the surgical lights. He took a step closer. His polished leather shoes stepped onto the fresh blood dripping from the table, making a faint, sickening squelch. “Stella.” He called my name. His tone was completely flat, as if calling out an inventory serial number. “If you cooperate, I’ll give you a sum of money afterward. Enough for you to live comfortably for the rest of your life.” I didn’t look at him. I kept my eyes fixed on the ceiling as a slow, bitter smile spread across my face. In my past life, he had spoken those exact same words. And then what? He handed me a death certificate. “Harrison,” my voice was horribly raspy. “Do you really think a seven-month-old preemie’s marrow can match Angela?” His brow furrowed slightly. I continued softly, “I took iron-blockers every single day for three months.” His frown deepened into a harsh glare. “What does that mean?” I turned my head and finally met his gaze. As blood poured from my body and pain wracked me with violent shivers, I laughed. “It means this child’s blood is completely ruined.” Harrison’s pupils contracted sharply. For the first time since my rebirth, I saw a crack in his icy mask. “What did you say?” His voice dropped into a dangerous murmur, like the suffocating air right before a storm. Dr. Keller froze before lunging wildly toward the diagnostic equipment, pulling a lab report. “Quick! Draw her blood and run a test!” I closed my eyes. Run all the tests you want. I had spent three months crushing those pills into powder and mixing them into my meals. I threw up every single day. I used the crudest, most agonizing method to turn my own blood into toxic waste. Angela wanted my child’s bone marrow? Take it. Not a single drop of it would ever save her life. The baby was born forty minutes later. She was tiny. Her skin was a faint purplish-blue, her cries as weak and fragile as a newborn kitten. When the nurse placed her onto the scale, I gathered the very last thread of my strength to turn my head. Three pounds, four ounces. So impossibly small. But she was alive. As long as she was breathing, that was enough. Harrison didn’t offer the baby a single glance. He stared at the lab report in Dr. Keller’s trembling hands, his knuckles turning white as he crumpled the paper in his grip. “Hemoglobin abnormal… iron levels extremely low… marrow activity evaluation… fails to meet transplant standards.” Dr. Keller’s voice grew smaller and smaller until he pulled his neck back, terrified to speak another word. The operating room fell dead silent for three agonizing seconds. Then Harrison slammed the report onto the floor. The paper fluttered to the edge of my bed, soaking up my blood. “Stella.” He turned toward me, his eyes burning with a rage I had never seen before. Yet, it was merely rage. Not a shred of heartbreak. He was furious simply because his precious white lotus was out of options. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” He strode over, his fingers clamping down on my jaw with enough force to crush my cheekbones. I was forced to tilt my head up and face his eyes. In those dark eyes, I couldn’t find a single trace of emotion belonging to a husband. I let out a weak laugh. “I’m… saving my child’s life.” His grip tightened violently. “Angela only has two months left!” “Then let her die.” The moment I uttered those words, Harrison’s hand suddenly loosened. Not out of mercy. He was completely stunned by my coldness. He took a step back, staring at me as if looking at a complete stranger. Yes. I was a stranger now. The weak Stella who had begged on her knees for her baby’s life in my past life was already dead. She died right on that very same operating table. 02 They carried the baby away. I knew they would. I wasn’t afraid, because her blood was useless to them right now. Once they realized no usable marrow could be harvested, they would bring her back to me. In my past life, I hadn’t understood any of this. I had been foolishly naive, eating every strict nutritional meal they provided from day one of my pregnancy. Every single dish had been precisely calculated, not for my health, but to ensure the fetus’s bone marrow reached prime condition for harvesting. I was fattened up for nine months. Like livestock raised for slaughter. On the day of the forced C-section, before the anesthesia had even fully taken effect, I heard my baby cry once. Just once. She never made another sound. Later, when I went into severe hemorrhaging, Harrison stood outside the operating suite and signed the DNR without a second thought. Dr. Keller later confessed to me in secret, back when I was already a ghost, that Harrison’s hand hadn’t trembled for a fraction of a second when he signed my death warrant. Angela had sat in her wheelchair nearby, wrapped in a cozy blanket, smiling sweetly. She had said, “Harrison, maybe it’s better that Stella passed away. She was always so unhappy. Staying alive was just suffering for her.” Harrison had simply nodded. “Yes. I’ll arrange a dignified funeral for her.” Dignified. He had summed up my entire agonizing life with that single word. When I heard those words in the depths of hell, I didn’t even have the energy to hate him anymore. I only thought, If there is a next life, I will never marry this man again. God must have thought I was pathetic enough to grant me a second chance. When I opened my eyes, I was back at four months pregnant. The baby was still safe in my belly. Angela’s condition hadn’t rapidly deteriorated yet. Harrison hadn’t made his move against me. That day, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling for an entire hour. Then I turned over, opened my phone, and searched: Iron-blockers side effects pregnant women. Now, it was three days after the birth. I was locked inside the third-floor bedroom. The windows were nailed shut, and two guards stood outside the door. In name, I was “recuperating.” In reality, Harrison was waiting for a new medical plan. He was waiting for Dr. Keller to tell him whether there was a way to fix my baby’s blood. Dr. Keller came to check on me once today. His hands shook as he changed my dressings. “Mrs. Harrison… how many of those pills did you take?” “Three months’ worth.” His hands trembled harder, nearly spilling the iodine across my wound. “Her hematological system will take at least six months to naturally recover!” “I know.” “Six months… Miss Angela can’t survive six months!” “I know.” Dr. Keller looked up at me. I stared back at him with a completely emotionless expression. He suddenly set the iodine bottle down, lowering his voice into a whisper. “Mrs. Harrison, you did this on purpose.” “What do you think?” He opened his mouth, but no words came out. As a family doctor who had served the family for a decade, he had witnessed far too many dark secrets. He knew exactly why I had done it, but he didn’t dare say it out loud. Because speaking the truth meant taking a side. And taking my side against Harrison was equivalent to seeking a death sentence. “Dr. Keller,” I called out to him as he turned away. He paused. “When will they give my child back to me?” He avoided my gaze. “That… depends on Mr. Harrison.” A cold smile touched my lips. As expected. Even though he knew the child’s bone marrow was currently useless, he wouldn’t let her go. Because he needed a backup plan. What if another medical trick worked? What if they could artificially rush her recovery? In Harrison’s world, my baby and I had never been human beings. We were medicine. We were disposable resources meant to extend Angela’s life. In my past life, I hadn’t understood this truth, begging him from pregnancy until my death. In this life, I wouldn’t waste another second pleading with him. On the fourth night, Harrison finally arrived. I heard the heavy turn of the door lock and sat up in bed. When he pushed the door open, he brought a draft of cold air with him, carrying the faint scent of hospital disinfectant. He had come straight from the hospital. From Angela’s bedside. “Stella.” He stood at the threshold, keeping his hands jammed in his trousers pockets, staring at me. Only the small lamp beside my bed was turned on, its warm yellow glow splitting his face in two. One side lit up, the other buried in darkness. I sat on the bed and waited for him to speak. “What do you want?” he asked. Four simple words, straight to the point. No accusations about me ruining the baby’s blood. No interrogation about why I threw myself down the stairs. He simply asked what I wanted. Because in his eyes, everything I had done was merely a desperate tactic to negotiate terms. In my past life, I would have broken down crying. I would have thrown myself at his feet, hugging his legs, begging him not to take my baby away. In this life, I leaned calmly against the headboard, resting my hands neatly over my lap. “A divorce.” He remained silent. “I’ll walk away with nothing. I don’t want a single penny. Just let me take my baby and leave.” He still didn’t say a word. Three seconds later, a faint smile touched his lips. It wasn’t a smile of mockery. It was the kind of patronizing smile that said, I knew you were going to say that. “And then what? You take a premature infant, with no money, no job, and nowhere to live. How long do you think you’ll survive?” “That’s my business.” “Stella,” he walked over slowly, crouching beside my bed so his eyes were level with mine. “Don’t you think you’re making a foolish decision?” His tone was remarkably gentle. Like an adult patiently reasoning with a stubborn child. Looking into his deep, dark eyes, a chill ran straight down my spine. Because I saw patience in them. He was being patient enough to negotiate with me. Patience meant he had an underlying motive. An underlying motive meant he still hadn’t given up on using my child. “Harrison,” I leaned back an inch, my spine pressing against the cold wooden headboard. “If you don’t agree to a divorce, I will expose your plan to harvest a baby’s bone marrow to the public.” His composure finally cracked. It was a tiny, subtle shift, a slight twitch between his brows as the gentle facade vanished, revealing the ice beneath. “Are you threatening me?” “What do you think?” He stood up, looking down at me. It was the third day after my forced delivery. My face was as pale as paper, my lips devoid of color, and tubes were still attached to my body. I must have looked utterly pathetic. Yet, I didn’t flinch from his glare. In my past life, he had always used this exact patronizing stance to force me to bow my head and apologize. Silence stretched between us for a long time. Then he spoke. “Stella, I can agree to a divorce.” My chest tightened. Too fast. He agreed far too quickly. “But not right now,” he added calmly. “Angela’s treatment still needs time. Once she stabilizes, I will sign the papers.” “You’re stalling.” “I’m offering you a dignified exit.” Dignified again. He truly loved that word. “And what if I refuse?” He didn’t answer my question. He turned around, walked to the door, and pulled it open. The bodyguard standing outside stepped aside to make way. “The child is in the newborn room downstairs,” he said without turning back. “You can visit her if you want. But you cannot take her.” The door shut behind him. The heavy lock clicked back into place. I sat on the bed, my fingers gripping the bedsheet tightly. He had agreed so easily because he was absolute certain that I couldn’t escape. I had no money, no identification documents, and even my phone had been confiscated. Outside the newborn room downstairs stood nurses, bodyguards, and security cameras. He was keeping my baby and me trapped inside the exact same building. Close enough to see, but impossible to touch. This was far more twisted than his cruelty in my past life. What he didn’t know was that during those three months I spent taking those pills, I wasn’t just destroying my child’s blood. I had set another plan in motion. During one of my prenatal checkups, I had quietly stolen a business card from Dr. Keller’s coat pocket. It belonged to his former classmate, Dr. Bennett, the head of hematology at the State University Hospital. That man had no ties to Harrison. Three months ago, Dr. Bennett had publicly raised ethical concerns regarding the harvesting of bone marrow from infant donors during a medical conference. I needed an outside ally. Someone Harrison couldn’t buy off. Now, all I needed was an opportunity to get the message out. 03 The opportunity came sooner than I expected. On the afternoon of the fifth day, the bodyguards made a minor slip-up during their shift change. A guard had been on duty for eight hours straight, leaving his post only once for a quick restroom break. The guard supposed to replace him at 3:00 PM was ten minutes late, rumor had it he had been called downstairs by Harrison to move some heavy equipment. Ten minutes was all I had. Peering through the crack in the bedroom door, I saw the hallway was completely empty. My heart hammered against my ribs. I didn’t sprint out. Instead, I pushed the door open, slipped into the storage room at the end of the hall, and picked up the extension landline phone. The landlines in this mansion operated on an internal network. It could make outside calls, but every single call log was automatically recorded and synced to the master server in Harrison’s study. I was fully aware of this. Which meant I only had one single chance. The moment I dialed out, whether the call connected or not, a record would be created. I was gambling on Harrison not returning home today. Because this afternoon, Angela had a crucial medical consultation with a specialist team. Dr. Keller had let it slip during morning rounds, mentioning that Harrison would be attending Angela’s expert panel meeting all afternoon. Squatting inside the storage room, my fingers dialed the phone number I had memorized over the past three months. Ring… ring… ring… After three rings, a voice answered. “Hello, who is this?” A middle-aged male voice with a slight regional accent. My throat went so dry I could barely squeeze out a sound. “…Hello, is this Dr. Bennett?” “Speaking. Who’s calling?” “I’m… a friend of Dr. Keller’s.” Dr. Keller’s real name was Arthur Keller. I used his name as my golden ticket. “Oh? Arthur’s friend? What can I do for you?” “Dr. Bennett, I need to consult you on a matter,” I kept my voice down to a whisper, my eyes darting frantically toward the hallway outside. “If a newborn under a week old is being forcibly subjected to bone marrow extraction for an adult transplant… what authority should I report this to?” Silence stretched over the line for two long seconds. “What did you say?” “A seven-month premature infant. Under a week old. Someone is trying to harvest her bone marrow.” “…Is this an active situation?” “Yes.” “Where is this happening? Which hospital?” “It’s not a hospital. It’s a private residence. Please tell me—” Heavy footsteps echoed from the hallway. My blood turned ice-cold. “Dr. Bennett, I’m out of time. I’ll find a way to contact you again. Can you please check if non-consensual marrow extraction from a newborn constitutes a criminal offense?” “Listen to me, you need to—” I slammed the receiver back onto the base. My hands were drenched in cold sweat. The footsteps grew closer. I darted out of the storage room, hurried back into my bedroom, pulled the door shut, sat back on the bed, and picked up a pregnancy care book I had read a hundred times. The door was pushed open. It was the new bodyguard on the shift. He swept his eyes across the room. I kept my head down, flipping through the pages with an utterly calm expression. He stared at me for a few seconds before stepping back and shutting the door. Only then did I realize that I was holding the book upside down. Where my fingers gripped the spine, the paper was soaked through with sweat. Yet, I didn’t regret it for a second. That call had lasted less than forty seconds. It was enough. Dr. Bennett was famous in the medical community for being a uncompromising crusader. I had researched his character thoroughly. In my past life, after Angela’s transplant made academic news, he had publicly questioned the ethics approval process online, only to be silenced by Harrison’s political pull. In this life, I would light the fire before Harrison had the chance to smother it. That evening, Harrison didn’t return home. When Dr. Keller came to change my dressings, he looked visibly distracted, his movements rushed and clumsy. As he removed the gauze, he accidentally tugged on my wound. I let out a sharp gasp. He snapped out of his daze. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” “How did the specialist consultation go today?” I asked quietly. His hand froze. “…Not well. Miss Angela’s rejection markers are spiking, and the banked cord blood is running out.” “So they’re still targeting my baby’s marrow.” Dr. Keller didn’t answer, but his silence said everything. I stayed quiet for a moment before speaking again. “Dr. Keller, your former classmate, Dr. Bennett…” The hand holding the medical tape stopped dead in its tracks. He looked up at me as if he had just seen a ghost. “How do you know…” “A business card fell out of your pocket last week.” His face drained of color. “Mrs. Harrison, did you—” “I called him this afternoon.” Dr. Keller went completely numb. Then he grabbed my wrist, his grip so tight it hurt. “Are you insane?! Do you have any idea that every call from this mansion—” “I know.” “Then why—” “Which is why I need you to do something for me.” I locked eyes with him. His face was ghostly white, his lips trembling. I knew he was terrified. He had worked for Harrison for a decade and knew exactly how Harrison destroyed anyone who betrayed him. I also knew that Dr. Keller had a six-year-old daughter. In my past life, three months after my death, he had abruptly resigned. Rumor had it he suffered a severe mental breakdown, tormented by insomnia, living on heavy sleep medication for half a year. He wasn’t a monster. He was just a coward trapped inside a gilded cage. “Dr. Keller,” I gently pried his fingers off my wrist and whispered, “I only need you to do one thing. Tomorrow when you change my dressings, ‘forget’ your phone under my pillow. Come back for it thirty minutes later.” He stared at me, swallowing hard. “Mrs. Harrison… Mr. Harrison will kill me.” “He won’t find out.” “He finds out about everything!” “Then consider this an act of redemption for your conscience.” I lowered my head and looked down at my heavily bandaged abdomen. The incision was still seeping blood. In my past life, he had stood by and watched as they harvested marrow from my living child. He had done nothing to stop it. I didn’t hate him. I just needed him to act like a human being for once in his life. Dr. Keller sat in his chair, falling into a long, suffocating silence. It dragged on so long that I thought he was going to walk away. Then he finally spoke. “…Thirty minutes.” His voice was barely audible, squeezed through his teeth. “Not a single second more.” I nodded. “That’s plenty.”

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Word on campus was that breaking up with the bad boy, Ryder, came with a massive payout. All four girls in our dorm took turns dating him. I was the last one in line, but Ryder caught on to our little scheme. Suddenly, he flipped the rules on us: “You want my money? Marry me, and every last cent is yours.” 1 It all started when my roommate Sierra picked up a wild piece of gossip. Word was, every girl who dated Ryder and got dumped ended up with a gorgeous golden parachute. Ryder usually ignored girls from our university. He preferred micro influencers and aspiring starlets, the ridiculously glamorous type. After the breakup, those girls would suddenly upgrade their cars, move into luxury apartments, and sport designer bags. Sierra was easily the hottest girl in our dorm. At a campus event, she casually struck up a conversation with Ryder and somehow bagged him. Their relationship lasted less than a month before he cut her loose. True to the rumors, Ryder wired her fifteen thousand dollars on the spot and told her to keep all the designer clothes and handbags he had bought her. Faced with such an absurdly generous guy, Sierra did what any good friend would do. She handed us her battle strategy on a silver platter. “Keep it in the family, girls,” Sierra declared. “Ryder is actually easy if you just stay persistent. He loves girls in white sundresses with long black hair, ideally smelling like fresh roses.” She paused, adjusting her gloss. “He loves mint scent. Sprays mint cologne on himself every single day.” I winced slightly. I absolutely hated mint. “Whatever you do, do not wear mint perfume,” Sierra warned. “That is literally why he dumped me today. Oh, and he is a total germaphobe. Anyone within three feet of him basically needs to be sanitized first. Plus, his favorite hobby is spending money. If he does not buy something for a day, he gets restless.” Sierra rambled on about his likes and dislikes. My other two roommates, Paige and Fiona, took notes like they were studying for finals. Sierra glanced up and caught me staring. “Brooke, why aren’t you writing this down?” “Go ahead,” I said softly. “I will just copy your notes later.” 2 Armed with Sierra’s playbook, my other two roommates moved fast. Paige went next, though she lasted even shorter than Sierra. When Paige returned, she added a crucial update to our rulebook. “Do not touch his shoes. Especially his slippers.” Sierra gasped. “You were only together for two weeks and you got close enough to see his slippers?” Sierra had barely gotten within three feet of him in a whole month. “No, he was driving me back to the dorm today, and his shoes were uncomfortable, so he wanted to change in the car,” Paige explained. “His assistant handed a pair of slippers through the window. I casually reached out to take them, and Ryder immediately wired me fifteen grand and told me to get out.” Paige shook her head in disbelief. “He seems obsessed with those slippers. They were bright pink, too. Probably a souvenir from some ex.” A slipper obsession? I owned a dozen pairs of adorable slippers back home. Buying cute footwear was my secret addiction. If Ryder saw my collection, would he try to snatch them from me? 3 Next up was Fiona. She lasted exactly seven days. “Never drink the bottled water in his car,” Fiona warned us, dropping her designer bag on her bed. “I twisted the cap off today and took one tiny sip. He transferred the breakup fee on the spot and pulled over.” I shuddered. I drank water like a fish. I was doomed. I would probably get dumped in less than five minutes. “Maybe I should just pass,” I muttered. My three roommates were currently sitting on their beds, counting the zeroes in their bank accounts. Ryder had filled our shared wardrobe with luxury clothes and bags. We always shared our accessories, but my corner of the closet was looking painfully empty. Fiona was more anxious than I was. “If you do not go, another girl will snatch him up. The day he kicked me out of his car, three girls were literally pretending to get hit by his ride just to talk to him!” She had a point. Ryder was practically a walking ATM. If he was handing out cash anyway, why shouldn’t I get a cut? Encouraged by my roommates, I waited at the campus gates after class and blocked Ryder’s motorcycle. 4 I gathered every ounce of courage I had and asked Ryder for his contact info. He flipped open his visor, took off a spare helmet, and tossed it to me. “Get on. One lap around the block, and you get my number.” I had seen him ride before. He rode fast. Terrifyingly fast. Remembering Sierra’s warning about his germaphobia, I asked timidly, “Can I hold onto you?” Ryder slid his visor down. “Suit yourself.” I strapped on the helmet and climbed onto the back seat. The moment he pulled away, the engine roared, and the wind whipped past us. I panicked, gripping his jacket tightly, terrified of falling off. The bike eventually pulled up outside an amusement park. Ryder took off his helmet and looked back at me. “Want to ride the pirate ship?” I shook my head rapidly. “No way. I am terrified of heights.” My roommates made it sound so easy. A simple confession and he said yes. Why was getting his contact info feeling like an obstacle course? “Ferris wheel, then,” Ryder said flatly. It was not a question. He pulled out his phone and bought two tickets on the spot. The local Ferris wheel was famously nicknamed the Relationship Killer. Supposedly, every couple who rode it ended up breaking up. We were not a couple yet, but a breakup was my ultimate goal anyway. Breakup meant money. We sat opposite each other inside the glass cabin as it slowly ascended. Neither of us said a word until the cabin reached the very peak. Ryder leaned back, dark eyes locking onto mine. “Brooke, what exactly does your dorm take me for?” 5 Oh, no. He knew. No wonder he was pushing my buttons today. The terrifying height combined with his stern voice made my heart drop. “I… I am sorry.” He pulled out his phone, unlocked it, and displayed his QR code. “Add me.” My hands shook as I reached into my purse. “Too slow,” he grumbled, snatching my phone out of my hand. He scanned the code himself, typed something, and handed it back. I looked at the screen. He had saved his contact name as Hubby. “Isn’t this nickname a bit much?” I asked carefully. “The other girls from your dorm saved me the exact same way,” he said smoothly. Wait. The girls definitely never mentioned that. When we got down from the Ferris wheel, Ryder tossed the helmet back to me, mounted his bike, and rode me back to the dorm. Maybe it was just my imagination, but the wind felt much gentler on the way back. He was riding significantly slower. I handed the helmet back and practically bolted up the stairs. At least I hated mint. He was wearing his slippers on his bike, and there was no bottled water in sight, so at least I had survived day one. The moment I stepped inside, my three roommates swarmed me. “Brooke! How did it go? Did you pull it off?” I opened my phone and showed them his contact card. Paige gasped in disbelief. “Hubby? Brooke, you are bolder than all of us combined!” “Didn’t you guys save him like this too?” “Of course not!” They shoved their phones in front of my face. Their saved contacts read: Dumb ATM Oddball Moody Rich Kid None of them were even close to Hubby. That liar. 6 Early the next morning, my phone buzzed repeatedly with messages from Ryder. “Come downstairs. Breakfast.” “My favorite date activity is eating. Breakfast counts. Get down here.” “Eat up before class.” “Brooke, are you awake yet? Are you ditching your boyfriend already?” I rubbed my sleepy eyes and turned to my roommates. “Did you guys find him this needy when you dated him?” All three of them gave me bewildered looks. “Needy? He barely spoke two words to me!” Sierra exclaimed. “If he were needy, I would have extracted way more intel from him!” “Our chat history was literally just adding each other and transferring money,” Paige added. “He never replied to a single text I sent!” “I must still be dreaming,” Fiona mumbled, rolling over in her bed. “Going back to sleep.” Ryder’s messages kept flooding in. Reluctantly, I sent back a sticker of a running puppy. Bad news: he had zero patience. Good news: he had zero patience. My roommates had all been dumped within a month, two weeks, or a single week. Watching them count their money every night made my mouth water. I deeply regretted not paying closer attention when Sierra shared her advice. I put on a simple white sundress and headed downstairs. When I reached the main entrance, I saw Ryder standing with his back to the building, talking on the phone. As I walked closer, I accidentally overheard his low voice. “It is Brooke. She is the only girl I actually want to date, okay?” He was remarkably sharp. Hearing footsteps behind him, he cut the call immediately and turned around. “You did not hear anything, right?” he asked, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. “Nope! Heard nothing!” I squeaked. A faint smile touched his lips as he slid his phone into his pocket. “Let’s go. Breakfast is on me.” He pulled a bicycle out from the rack. Odd. My roommates insisted he rode around in luxury sports cars with a personal driver. Why was I getting motorbikes and bicycles? I sat sideways on the back seat and instinctively reached out to grab his waist, then remembered Sierra’s warning about his germaphobia and pulled my hand back. We hit a speed bump. Ryder didn’t slow down, and I bounced right off the seat. “Could you ride a little slower?” I yelped. “Hold on tight then, or you will get thrown off!” I reached out with one hand to grab his jacket. We hit another bump, Ryder tapped the brakes, and I slammed right into his back. My hand slipped forward, sliding from his spine around to his ribs, resting flat against his stomach. Solid, defined ridges. Abs! 7 I pulled my hand back immediately, my cheeks burning hot. I didn’t mean to touch him! I still wanted to keep my hand! Ryder tapped the brakes again. “Another bump coming up. Hold on to me.” The hand I had just pulled away went right back around his waist. When we arrived at the campus cafe, the university forum was already exploding with a fresh picture of Ryder. Everyone was asking what had put him in such a good mood. The photo was taken from the front. Ryder had a subtle, lingering smirk on his face. I was sitting behind him, my hair blowing wildly in the wind, completely hiding my face. Our dorm group chat went wild. “Why was he always scowling or sighing when he was with me? Since when does he smile like that?” “Brooke, what did you do to him? Did you turn him into some smirking simp?” Ryder walked back to our table carrying a tray of food, and I quickly locked my screen. In front of me sat a hot bowl of pork porridge, a salted egg yolk pastry, juicy steamed buns, and warm black sesame milk. All my absolute favorites. For a second, I could not tell who was investigating whom. “You are too thin. Eat more,” Ryder said, placing the dishes in front of me one by one. Back in high school, the stress had caused me to put on twenty pounds. Once I got to college, I relaxed a bit and started dieting. Long term dieting had left me with a mild aversion to food, and I had even fainted twice from under eating. I had not seen a breakfast this delicious in months. After we ate, I met Sierra near the campus gate while saying goodbye to Ryder. He went to drop off our tray, and the forum comment section was already obsessively trying to identify the girl on his bike. If they figured out it was me, I was dead meat. 8 “Why wasn’t he this high profile when he was with you guys?” I groaned, rubbing my temples. Sierra browsed a shopping app on her phone, casually comforting me. “People change, Brooke. Besides, he used to refuse to date anyone on campus altogether.” She flipped her phone toward me. “It is getting chilly with all this rain lately. What do you think of this jacket?” A denim jacket. Five hundred dollars. Damn rich people. Damn Ryder. I needed to break up with him immediately. I opened my chat with Ryder. A new notification popped up instantly: Transfer received: $5,200. “I have stuff to handle at lunch. Get yourself something nice to eat. I will come find you tonight.” Sierra, who was standing right next to me, saw the unlocked screen. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head. “He sent you cash? Fifty two hundred dollars?” I stared at the screen, equally shocked. “Didn’t he send you money too?” Sierra shook her head vigorously. “Never! He only bought gifts. The first couple of times, he invited me along to shop, asking what girls liked and what my dorm mates were into. He claimed he was doing market research and needed multiple opinions.” She shrugged. “Later on, he would just leave random items in his car whenever we met. Sometimes designer bags, sometimes jewelry. Free stuff is free stuff, so I never complained.” Sierra kept typing rapidly on her phone, chatting with someone unknown. When class ended, she waved at me. “Bye sweetie, I have a date!” “A date? You just broke up!” Sierra flipped her dark hair over her shoulder. “Darling, a girl like me is never short on options.” Right. I forgot. Sierra was that girl. Gorgeous, smart, confident, and outgoing. Every guy she ever approached ended up falling for her. That was precisely why she had been brave enough to hit on Ryder in the first place. Before leaving, Sierra leaned in and whispered mysteriously, “By the way, my new guy has incredible abs. So nice to touch. Not like your master Ryder, who won’t even let anyone lay a finger on him.” Actually, Ryder had abs too. I had just touched them this morning.

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1 When it came time to exchange rings, my best friend Cynthia walked up the aisle wearing a stunning white bridal gown, a sweet smile playing on her lips. Right in front of a room packed with guests, my fiance, Carter, slid my wedding ring onto her ring finger. My eyes burned as I demanded an explanation. The two of them looked at each other and burst out laughing at the exact same time. Cynthia laughed so hard she had to bend over. “Grace, Carter and I made a bet last night.” “He said you would definitely notice before the ceremony that the welcome sign had our photo instead of yours.” “I told him you trusted us way too much to ever check.” She flashed the diamond ring on her hand. “Now Carter lost the bet.” “And according to our deal, this entire wedding belongs to me.” Carter wrapped an arm around her waist, his tone entirely casual. “It is just letting Cynthia be the bride for a single day.” “The dress, venue, and schedule are already paid for anyway, so it would be a total waste not to use them.” “We can just hold another wedding for you next month, so do not be such a killjoy.” They had always loved using me as a bargaining chip in their little games. During our engagement, Carter lost a bet, so the engagement ring was placed on Cynthia’s finger first. When we took our wedding photos, he lost another bet, and ended up shooting the winter snow set I had dreamed about for years alongside Cynthia instead. Even the master bedroom in our new home had been decorated according to Cynthia’s taste all because of a lost wager. Every time I felt hurt, they would brush it off with a laugh, asking why I was taking a silly bet so seriously. Only today did the bitter truth finally hit me. To them, my wedding, my love, and my entire life were nothing more than cheap tokens they could toss onto a gambling table whenever they pleased. I looked at Carter, a sudden sense of detachment washing over me. When I spoke, my voice was eerily calm. “Since you are giving her the wedding, you might as well go with her.” I turned around, ready to walk away. Carter reached out and grabbed my wrist firmly. “Grace, that is enough.” “All our family and friends are right here. Do you really have to throw a tantrum and make a scene in front of everyone?” I ripped my arm out of his grip. “Am I the one making a scene?” “Today was supposed to be my wedding!” Carter scowled, his patience clearly wearing thin. “I already told you, Cynthia is just experiencing it for one day.” “After today, nothing between us changes.” “Are you really going to break up over a meaningless ceremony?” He paused, a mocking smirk appearing on his face as if he just remembered something. “You said you were done with us last month too.” “In the end, didn’t you turn around and buy Cynthia a birthday cake yourself?” Cynthia giggled softly beside him. “Grace, every time you lose your temper, you threaten to cut us off.” “And within two days, you always come crawling back.” She twirled the ring on her finger, giving me a knowing look. “This time, I bet two days.” “Carter, do you dare to bet against me?” Carter looked down at her. “What are the stakes?” “Just bet on how long it takes for Grace to come running back.” “If she begs for your forgiveness within two days, you give me the vanity table in the master bedroom.” Carter did not hesitate for a second. “Deal.” “She will not even last a day.” Right in front of my face, the two of them started betting on me yet again. It was as if my declaration of breaking up was just another entertaining round in their favorite game. I looked Carter dead in the eye. “You are so sure I will come back?” Carter kept his voice light and confident. “We have been together for six years.” “You spent an entire year planning this wedding just to marry me.” “You personally booked the hall, picked the dress, and invited every guest.” “Grace, could you really bear to walk away from me?” He knew the old me far too well. That was why he dared to push my boundaries time and after time. Because no matter who won or lost their little wagers, I was always the one left behind to pick up the broken pieces. When Cynthia ruined my engagement dress, I was the one who reordered a new one. When she tore up a photo of Carter and me, I was the one who smiled and said it did not matter. Even when she redecorated our home to fit her style, I ended up apologizing to Carter for arguing over furniture. It was not that they did not know I would be hurt. They were simply certain that I would never leave. A young man from the audience stepped up, offering a casual smile. “Come on, sis, do not take it so seriously.” “Carter and Cynthia have similar personalities, they are just playing around like they always do.” “Besides, Cynthia is anti marriage, so she is never getting married for real.” “Letting her experience a wedding once is just helping her fulfill a dream.” “Calling off a marriage over something so small makes you look a bit petty.” One voice followed another. Everyone in the room was urging me to be generous. Not a single person asked if I was actually willing to give away my own wedding. Carter’s mother walked up from the main table, taking Cynthia’s hands into hers with a look of utter satisfaction. “You know, this ring looks much better on Cynthia than it ever did on Grace.” Cynthia acted sweet, leaning in close. “Auntie, please do not say that.” “Grace will be heartbroken if she hears you.” Mrs. Prescott scoffed, glancing sideways at me. “She is about to enter the Prescott family. If she cannot handle a little joke, how is she supposed to be my daughter in law?” She patted Cynthia’s hand affectionately. “Honestly, I have always preferred you.” “You are lively and know how to make people happy.” “Unlike some people who have to fight over every little detail and ruin the mood over nothing.” Mr. Prescott approached with a champagne glass in hand. “Since Carter lost the bet, he should honor it.” “A man must keep his word.” “Throwing another ceremony for Grace next month is no big deal.” I turned my gaze to him. “So in your eyes, a wedding can just be handed out to whoever?” Mr. Prescott frowned in displeasure. “It is merely a ceremony.” “As long as Carter is willing to marry you in the end, what else could you possibly complain about?” “And to be completely frank.” “If Cynthia were not against marriage, we would much rather have Carter marry her.” The entire hall fell dead silent. Carter finally noticed the coldness in my eyes. He cut his father off with a frown. “Dad, why are you bringing that up today?” He turned to me, his tone softer. “My parents just like Cynthia because she is bubbly.” “Do not take everything so personally.” I suddenly let out a faint laugh. As long as the words hurt me, they could always be brushed off as a harmless joke. Cynthia wrapped her arm tightly around Carter’s. “Alright, let us not fight on my account.” “Grace, since you said you are giving the wedding to me, just let me finish the rest of the schedule.” She glanced at my white gown, smiling sweetly. “After all, you get to have another one next month anyway.” I did not bother arguing anymore. I simply pulled out my phone and dialed the venue manager. “The bride for today’s wedding has been changed unexpectedly.” “I refuse to pay the remaining balance.” The phone went silent for a few seconds. The manager spoke with hesitation. “Miss Shen, didn’t you know?” “A month ago, Mr. Prescott came over with Miss Tang and modified the contract.” “The bride’s name on the official paperwork was changed to Miss Tang weeks ago.” My hand gripped the phone so tightly my knuckles turned white. “A month ago?” “Yes.” “Miss Tang personally confirmed the banquet menu and stage decorations.” “Mr. Prescott assured us that all changes were approved by you.” I raised my head to look at the couple standing on stage. So this so called bet made last night was something they had carefully orchestrated a whole month ago. I forced down the tremor in my voice and continued asking. “What about the final payment?” The manager replied swiftly. “It was cleared last night.” “Mr. Prescott transferred six hundred and eighty thousand dollars from your joint wedding account.” I snapped open my mobile banking app. The balance read three dollars and seventy cents. That six hundred and eighty thousand dollars represented every single cent I had saved over five years of hard work. I had planned to use whatever remained after the wedding to launch my own interior design studio. Carter noticed my screen and finally walked over. “The money is already spent, and canceling now will not get you a refund.” I stared at him, my gaze burning with quiet fury. “Who gave you permission to touch my money without asking me?” Carter answered as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “That money was set aside for a wedding anyway.” “The wedding is happening as planned, so the money was not wasted.” Cynthia leaned against his shoulder, gently twisting the diamond ring on her finger. “Grace, didn’t you just say you were gifting me the wedding?” “Since it is a gift, the costs are obviously included.” Watching them play off each other, the rage inside me suddenly evaporated into nothingness. They did not just treat my wedding as a cheap game. They emptied my life savings just so Cynthia could play the glowing bride with my fiance. The moment I stepped off the stage, my mother pushed through the crowd and grabbed my hand tightly. “Sweetheart, what is going on?” My parents had been sitting at the table closest to the exit. They were the only relatives from my side who attended. My relatives back home had all wanted to come, but Mrs. Prescott claimed small town people lacked manners and would embarrass their family. Carter had agreed, telling me we could just host a casual dinner in my hometown later instead of bringing a crowd. So my parents had taken a grueling fifteen hour train ride alone to see their daughter get married. My mother wore a simple dress that did not quite fit, her own hand stitching visible where she had taken in the waist. My father wore a corsage labeled Father of the Bride that had been crushed in the crowd, yet he refused to take it off. Until they saw Cynthia wearing my gown and my ring. My father walked right up to Carter. “Take off that ring and apologize to my daughter.” Carter’s expression darkened slightly. “Sir, it is just a game.” “Cynthia is just standing in for Grace today. After this, I am still going to register our marriage.” My father froze for a moment. “You are having a wedding with her, but making my daughter sign a piece of paper in secret?” “What does that make my daughter?” Carter knit his brows in annoyance. “We always joke around like this. Grace never cared before.” My mother trembled with rage. “Just because she was patient does not mean you get to walk all over her!” In her panic, her local accent slipped out, her voice rising in pitch. Mrs. Prescott immediately scowled. “Lower your voice, please.” “This is not a farmers market back in your village.” “The guests here today are all high profile clients of our family business. Shouting like that makes us all look like a joke!” Quiet murmurs circulated through the surrounding tables. “Uncultured country folks, honestly.” My mother’s face turned bright red. She had only stepped forward to stand up for her child, but now she nervously pulled her hands back, her voice dropping into a ashamed whisper. “I am not trying to make a scene.” “I just care about my daughter.” A sharp sting hit the back of my eyes. She had done absolutely nothing wrong, yet she felt forced to explain herself to the people insulting her. Carter interrupted impatiently. “Today’s venue goes to Cynthia.” “Next month, I will come to your hometown and throw a casual reception.” “All your local relatives can come then, which is more than enough respect for Grace.” My father slowly lifted his head. “Give her a million dollar wedding here, and toss my daughter a few cheap tables in the countryside to brush her off?” Carter’s face looked sour. “I already promised a makeup event. What more could you possibly want?” Cynthia held up her heavy dress train and walked over, reaching out affectionately to grab my mother’s arm. “Auntie, a wedding is just a venue, isn’t it all the same?” “It was not easy for you two to travel all this way.” She pointed to a corner stacked with gift boxes. “Take a few extra boxes of wedding favors home later to share with your neighbors, so the trip is not a total waste.” My mother yanked her hand back as if she had been burned. My father snatched the red corsage off his chest and slammed it heavily onto the table. “My family may be poor.” “But we are not so broke that we need to trade our daughter’s dignity for a few boxes of candy!” Cynthia’s eyes immediately welled up with tears. “Sir, I was only trying to be nice.” Carter stepped in front of her without a second thought. “Enough.” “Cynthia was being thoughtful. Do not be so ungrateful.” My father stared at him quietly. “When you knelt in front of us years ago, you swore you would never let Grace suffer a single tear.” Carter shifted his gaze away, unable to meet my father’s eyes. My father asked no more questions. He turned around, gently wiping away the tears on my cheeks, his voice sounding years older in an instant. “Grace, your dad was wrong about him.” “We are not doing this marriage. Mom and Dad are taking you home.” My tears finally overflowed. A room full of wealthy guests had been pressuring me to endure the disrespect. Only my parents, who had been humiliated and looked down upon, stood firmly in front of me to block the storm. I pulled off my veil and held one of their hands in each of mine. “Okay.” “Let us go home.” Behind us, Carter suddenly let out a cold laugh. “Since she insists on walking out, let us make another bet.” Cynthia instantly perked up. “I bet Grace will not last three days before bringing her parents back to apologize to you.” Carter stared at my retreating back, his tone absolute. “She will not even need three days.” “By this afternoon, she will soften up and beg me to sign the marriage license.” Cynthia giggled. “And what are the stakes?” “If she does not apologize to me today, the apartment on the south side is yours.” “Deal.” Their laughter echoed from behind. Even at this very moment, they still viewed my departure as nothing more than a laughable wager. I did not look back. As we walked out of the venue, my father asked softly, “Sweetheart, do you really not regret this?” I looked at the welcome sign displaying Carter and Cynthia standing side by side. Then I squeezed my parents’ hands tightly. “My only regret is not seeing through them sooner.” Not only that, I was about to give Carter a grand gift of his own. Since he loved betting so much, I wanted to see if he could afford to lose this time. At three in the afternoon, a reminder popped up on my phone. Your appointment for marriage registration is scheduled for today at 4:20 PM. Please bring valid identification and arrive on time. Immediately after, Carter sent a screenshot of the appointment confirmation. “I am giving you an way out.” “Show up at the courthouse before four, and I will overlook the scene you caused today. We can register the marriage as planned.” A voice message from Carter followed right after. “Though before we sign, you must apologize to my parents.” “And to Cynthia too.” “She was humiliated publicly by you and your parents today and has been crying for hours.” “As long as you sincerely admit your mistake, we can put this behind us.” I calmly typed back two words. “Sounds good.” The group chat went silent for a second. Soon, Carter tagged Cynthia in the group. “I won.” Cynthia sent a reluctant emoji. “A deal is a deal.” “When you guys go on your honeymoon, I am coming along.” Carter promptly posted a screenshot of a newly booked flight ticket. “Ticket is already booked for you.” It turned out that even the honeymoon I had looked forward to for months had been handed out as a prize on their gambling table. At four fifteen, I arrived at the courthouse right on schedule. Carter was standing outside the main entrance. Seeing me walk up, the tension on his face finally relaxed into a smug smile. “Good to see you came to your senses.” “My parents and Cynthia are waiting back at the hotel.” “Once we sign the papers, I will take you back there to apologize.” He reached his hand out toward me. “Hand over your ID.” I did not move an inch. The next second, two police officers in uniform stepped out from behind me. “Mr. Carter Prescott?” “We received a report accusing you of unauthorized access to a private account and transferring six hundred and eighty thousand dollars without permission.” The smile on Carter’s face froze instantly. “What unauthorized access?” “That was our joint wedding fund!” I pulled out the bank statements and the venue contract. “The account is registered under my name alone, and every single dollar came from my personal income.” “You stole my payment password while I was asleep and impersonated me to authorize the payment to the venue.” “The hotel surveillance footage, transfer records, and chat evidence have all been handed over to the police.” An officer stepped forward, snapping silver handcuffs around his wrists. Carter finally panicked. “Grace! Didn’t you come here to sign the marriage license with me?” I looked at his pale face, offering a subtle, calm smile. “No.” “I came to send you to jail.”

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Twins born with a cruel fate: Peyton deaf, I mute. Early on, our family pursued treatments, but Peyton’s loud tears always drew comfort while my silence was branded coldness. Years passed; Peyton received annual top-tier hearing aids, regaining her hearing. I remained an overlooked introvert. Graduation brought Zach home. Watching Peyton chatter in our parents’ arms, Zach murmured, “So that’s your voice. Lovely.” Parents ignored me, scolding instead: “She never speaks. Zach, you have it tough.” Peyton smiled. “Talk to me whenever you want her voice.” Zach began visiting under pretext of hearing me. He received her nightly voice messages, her comfort when low. His birthday looped her recorded song. I confronted him in sign; he shoved me. “Piper, drop the act! You lied about being mute!” Parents joined in: “Pity Peyton, not fake silence for attention!” Mother’s slap landed. Clarity struck: in their neglect, they’d forgotten I was truly mute. 1 I held my burning cheek in silence, neither crying nor moving. Seeing me stare at him, Zach signed frantically with his hands. “What, did that slap make you stupid?” “Are you going to pretend you are deaf now too, so everyone pampers you like your sister?” “Piper, I never realized you were so manipulative.” His fingers moved with lightning speed, practiced and fluent. When Zach first pursued me in college, he chased me relentlessly. Knowing I was mute, he never looked down on me. Instead, he spent an entire month learning sign language just so he could understand what I wanted to say. The very first sentence he signed to me was: “Piper, will you let me be your voice?” From then on, Zach was always by my side, acting as my translator. He encouraged me to make friends, to travel, and to see the beauty of the world. Yet the sincerity of our past love had now transformed into sharp daggers aimed at my heart. He kept using sign language to mock me. In his eyes, I was merely a manipulative woman who lied about being mute just to steal attention from her sister. Perhaps his hands grew tired, or perhaps seeing tears drop from my eyes softened him slightly, but he finally sighed. “Fine. Today is my birthday, so do not ruin the mood.” “I am just mad that as my girlfriend, you refuse to say a simple happy birthday to me.” “Speak right now, and I will forgive you.” I lowered my eyes, my vision blurring completely. Zach, I wanted to speak too. I opened my mouth, but only a dry, raspy wheeze came out of my throat. Peyton’s sweet singing voice vibrated through the room speakers, creating a cruel contrast to my ugly noise. A few guests in the room let out quiet giggles. Embarrassment flushed my cheeks, and I instinctively turned to my parents for help. My father immediately berated me. “Have you had enough? Today is Zach’s birthday, what kind of humiliating noise are you making to cause trouble?” My mother gave me a look filled with utter disappointment. “I taught you and Peyton to be graceful from a young age. Why can your sister do it despite her condition, while a healthy person like you pretends to be pitiful?” “Piper, you disappoint me deeply.” The wave of accusations weighed down on me, forcing my head even lower. When we were kids, Peyton once got angry because she could not hear, smashing things around the house. When our parents rushed in, they only heard Peyton’s sweet, tearful voice accusing me. “Sister did it, she made fun of me because I cannot hear!” “Mom, Dad, am I really going to be deaf for the rest of my life?” Peyton’s voice was delicate and lovely. When everyone turned to look at me, all they heard was the awful, raspy croak in my throat. In their eyes, my sounds were nothing more than a guilty, indefensible noise. So what was I still hoping for? Hadn’t they always believed whatever suited them best? I shoved the birthday gift I had prepared into Zach’s hands, turned around, and walked straight out. Zach frowned, stepping forward to chase after me, but my parents held him back. “She is always like this, running away whenever she loses an argument.” “Today is your birthday, let us celebrate happily and stop spoiling her.” “Remember when she was little? Just because we took her sister to the hospital without her, she ran away from home.” “Nobody went looking for her back then, and didn’t she come crawling back on her own in the end?” I waited in the hallway outside the private dining room for ten minutes, but Zach never came out. A bitter laugh escaped me. How ridiculous I had been. After a moment of silence, I pulled out my phone and filled out an overseas transfer application. My department director, Dave, had mentioned before that he had a doctor friend in the UK who specialized in treating vocal cord and hearing disorders. Being assigned abroad would allow me to work while receiving medical treatment. Back then, Zach had insisted that living abroad was too dangerous and refused to let me go, so I had put the idea on hold. Now, I pressed the send button without a second thought. Goodbye. I was going to find my own voice. Inside the taxi on the way home, Director Dave approved my transfer request almost immediately. “I guessed you would come to me in a day or two, so I prepared your paperwork early.” “You can leave as early as tomorrow evening. The project over there is quite urgent, so pack your bags as soon as possible.” I was confused. I had only decided on the transfer an hour ago. Dave responded in surprise. “Didn’t Zach tell you?” “Last month he came asking about my doctor friend and the treatment costs.” “He seemed very serious, so I gave him my friend’s contact information.” Staring at the message on my screen, my heart skipped a beat. Last month was the exact time I took Zach home to meet my parents for the first time. An unsettling suspicion crept into my mind. I opened my chat history with Zach to check something, only to see a video posted by him in our department group chat. In the video, Zach sat in the middle of a crowd as the birthday boy, making a wish. Standing right next to him was Peyton, singing a sweet birthday song into a microphone. Colleagues showered the chat with wishes. “Happy birthday, Team Leader Zach!” Someone recognized the face identical to mine and raised a question. “Wait, isn’t that Piper?” “So Piper can actually speak? I thought she was mute all this time.” “Her voice sounds so pretty, why does she pretend to be mute every day at work?” I wanted to type an explanation, but Zach sent a message right after. “Piper is just shy and doesn’t like to speak, she didn’t mean to trick anyone.” “I apologize to everyone on her behalf.” The message I had typed was rendered useless. In the group chat, everyone praised Zach for being a responsible, understanding man, while subtly mocking me for being unworthy of him. He did not refute a single insult. Only Director Dave, who had seen my official medical records, messaged me privately. “Did you and Zach have a fight?” “Who is the girl in the video? She looks just like you.” I texted Dave back: How did you know it wasn’t me? Dave explained: “That girl is covered in designer brands from head to toe, and the hearing aid on her ear is the most expensive model on the market. How could that be you?” “After all, you are the most frugal person in our entire company.” “I know you are saving up for throat surgery. Don’t worry, my doctor friend is amazing. Just focus on your treatment, and I will ask him to give you a discount.” As Dave’s comforting messages kept coming, tears finally streamed down my face. After all these years, he was the first person who did not look down on me for being cheap. I used to think my parents refused to pay for my medical treatment because all our money went to Peyton. So since I was little, I pinched every penny. I thought that if I saved enough money myself, my parents would finally take me to see a doctor. It was only when I learned about luxury brands online that reality shattered my naive dreams. The money I saved by eating plain bread for an entire year could not even match the price of a single dress on Peyton. My medical examination fee was less than the cost of a hair clip on her head. So I became even more frugal. I told myself I would earn my own money and cure myself. Zach, however, always complained that I was too stingy. “We are still young, we should enjoy life! Why are you always saving so aggressively?” “Surgery? Your throat has been broken for years, how could it ever be cured?” “Sweetheart, you have me. What are you afraid of? I will be your voice for the rest of your life.” He used sweet words to keep me tethered to his side, turning around to spend our shared income on whatever expensive gadgets he liked. I quietly tapped open a hidden bank account, where I had secretly stashed money behind Zach’s back. Thank goodness the designer clothes on Peyton had taught me a harsh lesson early on. It made me realize that in this world, there is no one you cannot leave behind. I opened the company group chat and uploaded my medical records from over the years. “I am not pretending. The girl singing in the video is not me. She is my twin sister.” Type, attach, send. Smooth and decisive. A wave of relief washed over me as I turned off my screen. As expected, Zach called my phone via video the very next second. “Piper, do you really have to let everyone know I have a girlfriend who pretends to be mute?” I watched him through the screen without making a sound. So he finally blurted out what he truly felt. When we graduated from university, Zach and I joined the same company. The night before our first day, he asked me not to tell anyone I was mute. I was confused back then, and he had explained gently: “We have to work with these colleagues every day. I do not want them looking at you with strange eyes.” “You just need to act quiet and distant, and I will handle all the talking for you.” I didn’t think much of it then, assuming he was protecting me. Now, I finally understood. Even back then, he was no longer the passionate young man from college. He had started feeling embarrassed by me long ago. Seeing me remain silent, my father, who was standing beside Zach in the video, shouted at me in anger. “Where are your manners? Zach is asking you a question!” “Is this how I raised you, to ignore people when they speak to you?” “Don’t tell people you are my daughter from now on, I do not have a daughter like you!” My father clutched his chest, acting as if I had enraged him, and Peyton immediately rushed over to support him. “Sister, it is all my fault. You are Zach’s girlfriend, yet I had to steal the spotlight.” “If you are mad, curse at me, but please do not make Dad angry.” “You rarely come home, so you do not know Dad is sick and cannot handle big emotional swings.” She was always like this, acting dutiful in front of our parents. Yet she had never experienced a single day of real hardship. After graduation, my parents gave her thousands of dollars in allowance every month to stay home effortlessly. Meanwhile, I stopped receiving a single cent from my parents during my junior year of college. Over the years, I worked multiple jobs. Missing a single day meant I could lose my position. I quietly watched the harmonious family on the screen. Peyton and my mother supported my father, while Zach poured water and served tea beside them. What a heartwarming family, if only Zach were not my boyfriend. My mother joined in the scolding as well. “Look at your sister, then look at yourself! How did I give birth to a daughter like you?” “Since you are so heartless, do not bother coming back. We only have Peyton as our daughter from now on.” With that, she slammed the phone down, ending the call. I packed my luggage until the early hours of the morning before a drunk Zach finally stumbled through the door. Peyton was the one supporting him. Seeing me, Zach grumbled with dissatisfaction. “Piper, why do you never consider my feelings?” “Do you know that back in college, people laughed at me for having a mute girlfriend?” “I loved you, so I swallowed all those insults alone. But now your family tells me you were just faking it! Do you have any idea how hurt I am?” He wrapped his arms around me, burying his face into my shoulder just like he used to. All I felt was intense disgust. Peyton stood by the door, acting gentle. “Mom and Dad were just speaking out of anger today, do not take it to heart.” “You and Zach stay together happily, he is a really good guy.” I ignored her, pushing Zach off me, and used my hands to sign a question. “Did you open the birthday gift I gave you?” Zach was annoyed that I pushed him away, answering carelessly, “What gift? Oh, that cheap box? I do not know where it went.” “You only ever give me cheap handmade crafts to save money anyway.” My eyes dimmed. I grabbed his phone off the table. He did not stop me. He was always confident about letting me check his phone. I opened his messaging app. Very quickly, I found his chat history with the doctor abroad. Sure enough, every single question he asked was about hearing aids and ears. There was not a single word about vocal cords. At that moment, the cold wind blowing through the doorway woke me up completely. Zach, perceptive as always, picked up on my subtle shift in mood. He quickly softened his tone, trying to coax me. “Wait, did my sweet girl give me a special gift this year?” I shook my head, signing back calmly: “Nothing special. Just the same old stuff.” “If you do not like it, just throw it away.” I lied. Inside that box was a recording pen containing six months of ventriloquism practice I had secretly learned online. I had just wanted him to hear my voice. Now, I looked at the luxury watch on his wrist. It was the exact watch Peyton had posted on her social media feed yesterday. My heart died completely. Zach instantly lost interest, walking into the bedroom and falling asleep on the mattress. Peyton had not left yet. I could see the smug triumph deep in her eyes, a look she only ever displayed in front of me. This time, I did not argue with her about why she treated me this way. I signed a simple question to her: “If you like him, just say so. Aren’t you tired of acting after all these years?”

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Senior trip, Jerry’s lens stayed fixed on me all day. Classmates teased, “Joan, does he even see anyone else?” I blushed and said nothing. From freshman to senior year, across one thousand and ninety-six days, he had taken one thousand three hundred and seventy-two photos of me. I thought every shutter click was a quiet confession of love. That evening, we gathered in the cabin living room to project our trip photos. Jerry stepped outside to take a call. Dakin, our class president, accidentally swiped into a hidden folder on Jerry’s laptop. The screen flooded with images of me. My heart hammered against my ribs, a nervous flutter rising. But my excitement died the moment I read the folder’s title. Sally’s Practice Materials. The note on the first photo read, Joan’s smile looks a lot like Sally’s. Good for practice. The second note followed, This composition is perfect for Sally. Recreate this when she gets back to the States. The third stated, Great holiday aesthetic. Redo this with Sally when she returns. The final photo was a candid shot of me from that very afternoon, turning with a bright laugh after he called my name. The caption read, If Sally doesn’t accept me, I’ll try dating Joan first. The entire room fell into a suffocating silence. Someone scrambled to turn off the projector, the screen fading to black. I forced a stiff, empty smile. The lens that had made my heart race for three long years had never actually been looking at me. 1 The heavy wooden front door creaked open, and Jerry walked back inside. He glanced around the quiet room, his eyes eventually settling on me. “Why did everyone stop talking? I could hear you guys laughing from down the hall.” Even then, hearing his voice made my chest tighten with a familiar ache. For three years, whenever Jerry called my name, I would look up at him instantly, like a reflex. But now, those cruel captions flashed behind my eyes, burning like acid. I curled my fingers inward, digging my nails deep into my palms. Dakin let out a dry, awkward cough, unable to find his voice. Jerry walked over to me, holding out a plastic cup. “Here. I ran three blocks to get this for you.” His lips curved into a warm, gentle smile. I looked at the drink. It was a house-made lemonade with a heavy shot of sour cherry syrup. I have a notoriously weak stomach, and highly acidic, sour things always trigger severe pain. Back in sophomore year, I had ended up in the emergency room with acute gastroenteritis after drinking something similar. Jerry had visited me at the hospital with a basket of fruit. Back then, though my face was pale from the pain, I had secretly felt so happy just because he came. “Why aren’t you drinking it?” Jerry frowned, his tone turning impatient. “It’s their bestseller. I had to wait in a massive line.” “Sien…” He caught himself, swallowing the rest of the name. A wave of intense nausea hit me. Every single compromise I had made over the last three years bubbled up in my throat, choking me. I pushed the cup away. “I’m not thirsty. Thanks.” Jerry’s frown deepened. He leaned in and lowered his voice. “I literally ran back just to hang out with you, Joan. Are you seriously throwing a tantrum in front of everyone?” I looked up, meeting his eyes. “I’m really not thirsty, Jerry. Drink it yourself.” He froze. Usually, even if he bought me something I didn’t like, I would only tease him lightly before drinking it anyway. His face hardened, and he pulled out a chair, sitting down with a cold sigh. “Fine. Suit yourself.” The silence in the room became unbearable. Our classmates exchanged uncomfortable glances. Everyone knew I was crazy about Jerry, and everyone had assumed he felt the same way about me. Dakin desperately tried to clear the air. “Well, guys, it’s getting late. We should probably head to our rooms.” I stood up and silently began gathering my things. Jerry spoke up, his voice sharp and demanding. “We’re going to the beach to catch the sunrise tomorrow. 5:00 AM. I’ll wake you up.” My hands paused over my bag. “No need.” He snapped his head toward me. “What do you mean by that?” “I’m tired. I want to sleep in tomorrow. Go ahead without me.” His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “Joan, do you have any idea how much time I spent scouting the perfect location for this sunrise?” I looked him dead in the eye. “I know.” I knew exactly how much effort he had put into it. And I also knew what was written in his notes app: Sally said she wants to see the ocean. “Which is why I shouldn’t ruin your shoot,” I said quietly. 2 I forced a polite smile. “Goodnight, Jerry.” The draft in the hallway was cold. I walked back to my room, and the moment the door clicked shut behind me, all the strength drained from my body. I collapsed against the wood, realizing that when heartbreak hits its absolute limit, you don’t even have the energy to cry. My phone vibrled. It was a text from Jerry. I’ll be in the lobby at 5:00 AM tomorrow. Don’t be late. The golden hour doesn’t wait for anyone. I stared at those two messages for a long time. I scrolled up, looking through our chat history over the last three years. Come downstairs. Look back. Don’t move, the light is perfect right now. Come shoot with me tomorrow. I tapped the settings in the top right corner. My finger hovered over the delete button, but in the end, I only set the chat to mute. I guess when you’ve loved someone for that long, letting go is never a clean, instant break. I didn’t sleep a wink that night. Every time I closed my eyes, those typed words burned in the darkness. At 5:30 the next morning, a loud, aggressive knocking woke me. Jerry’s voice drifted through the door, thick with irritation. “Joan? Did you seriously oversleep?” My chest tightened out of habit. In the past, whenever he used that sharp tone, panic would surge through me. Even if I hadn’t done anything wrong, I would immediately apologize and scramble to make it up to him. I actually opened my mouth to say sorry before I caught myself. I took a slow breath, got out of bed, and opened the door. Jerry stood there, his expression dark. “I sent you so many messages. Why didn’t you reply?” I rubbed my eyes, keeping my voice flat. “My phone was on silent. And I told you last night, I’m not going.” He stared at me, searching my face. “You’ve never acted like this before. What is this really about? Are you seriously still throwing a fit over a drink?” To him, my emotions were always trivial, nothing more than childish tantrums over petty things. He never bothered to look deeper. “It’s not about the drink,” I said, leaning against the doorframe. “Then what is it?” “I’m just tired, Jerry. Go find someone else to shoot.” He paused, a look of disbelief crossing his face before turning into a cold sneer. “Fine, Joan. Look at you, finally finding your backbone. Don’t regret this.” He turned and marched down the hallway. I watched his retreating back, then quietly shut the door. For the remaining two days of the trip, we didn’t say a single word to each other. While the class was exploring a historic market town, Jerry lifted his camera out of sheer habit and pointed it at me. “Joan, look back,” he called out. He never asked if I wanted to be photographed. He never cared if I was exhausted. As long as he held his camera and called my name, I was expected to stop, turn, and offer a perfect smile. If this had been a few days ago, I would have immediately complied, adjusting my pose to help him find the best angle. This time, I merely glanced at the lens, turned on my heel, and walked toward a nearby stall. Within seconds, he caught up and grabbed my wrist. “Why are you dodging my camera?” I pulled my arm back, shaking his grip off. “I don’t want to take photos today. I’m not wearing makeup. I look terrible.” He scowled. “You never cared about makeup before.” “That was before.” I looked down at a street vendor spinning sugar into a delicate butterfly. “Jerry, stop wasting your shutter count on me.” Save it for the person you actually want to capture. Naturally, he missed the meaning entirely. “Are you still mad at me?” He let out a heavy sigh, his tone softening slightly. “Look, my bad, okay? Once we get back, I’ll print all the photos from this trip and put them in a custom album for you. Will you stop being mad now?” He leaned down, trying to catch my gaze. Looking at him only made me feel sick. That album would probably have notes about Sally scribbled all over the back of the prints. I refused him, keeping my voice completely calm. “No, thank you. I don’t really like having my picture taken anymore.” His face stiffened. Just then, his phone rang, playing a very specific, custom ringtone. 3 I recognized that ringtone instantly. It was the unique tone he had set for only one person. Without another glance in my direction, Jerry hurried to a quiet corner with his phone pressed to his ear. “Sally? Hey.” His voice possessed a soft, gentle quality I had never heard him use before. He sounded incredibly careful, as if he were terrified of startling her. There was a raw, unfiltered joy in his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I would have picked you up from the airport myself.” I stood in the middle of the bustling crowd, watching him smile. I had never seen him look that happy. Turning back to the vendor, I bought the sugar butterfly and took a small bite of the wing. It was incredibly sweet, but it left a metallic, almost bloody taste in my mouth. On the final day of our trip, Jerry suddenly dropped a message in our class group chat. Something urgent came up at home. I have to head back early. Have fun, guys! The chat instantly blew up. Dakin: Jerry, what’s so urgent? You’re skipping our farewell dinner? Another classmate: Yeah, man, we already bought the train tickets. Going back early is a waste. Jerry didn’t reply to the group. Instead, he came straight to my room and knocked on the door. “I have to go back early,” he said, standing in the doorway with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “My uncle was admitted to the hospital. I need to go see him.” He lied without a single blink. I nodded slowly. “Is it serious?” “Yeah, pretty bad.” He sighed, reaching out his hand to ruffle my hair out of habit. I tilted my head, quietly slipping away from his touch. His hand hovered in the air for a second, awkward, before he pulled it back. I took a step backward, creating some distance between us. “Safe travels, then.” “Joan.” He paused. “Once I handle everything at home, I’ll come find you. We need to have a serious talk about our college applications.” I gave him a faint smile. “Sure. After you’re done.” “I’m heading out, then.” He turned and walked down the corridor, his steps light and hurried. The moment the door clicked shut, his phone rang again. It was that same custom ringtone. I stood behind the door, my fingertips turning cold. A memory from sophomore year flashed in my mind. He had told me his grandmother was sick and that he couldn’t celebrate my birthday with me. That night, I saw a photo posted by Sally on social media. In the corner of the frame, Jerry’s distinct camera strap was clearly visible. Back then, I had invented a thousand excuses for him. Now, I finally understood that it wasn’t a series of bizarre coincidences. I was simply incredibly good at lying to myself. I looked down at my phone. Jerry’s last text was still on the screen. I’ll text you when I land. Jerry had amazing grades, and he had always talked about studying photography at Alden University. Alden had been my ultimate motivation. To reach their cutoff score, I had stayed up until 1:00 AM every night, pushing through endless practice exams. Whenever I felt like breaking down, I would write his name in the margins of my notebook to remind myself to keep going. During our senior year, the window at the back of our classroom always let in a freezing draft. After evening study sessions, when everyone else had already left, I would stay behind, shivering as I corrected my mistakes. Jerry would occasionally walk by with his camera bag, tapping on the glass. “Still not going home?” Just looking up and seeing his face made the exhaustion vanish. I had asked him once, “Are you really going to Alden?” That night, I had completed an extra set of practice problems, writing in the corner of the page: Just a little more effort, and I’ll be closer to him. But now, the dream I had spent years desperately chasing had turned into nothing more than a humiliating joke. The next day, I took the train back home. Dakin kept glancing at me during the journey. As we neared our destination, he finally came over and sat in the empty seat beside me. “Joan, about the other night…” “What about the other night?” I asked, keeping my tone perfectly conversational. Dakin blinked, visibly relieved. “Nothing. I was just wondering where you’re planning to apply for college.” “Crestwood University, down south,” I replied. “Crestwood?” 4 Dakin looked completely bewildered. “But isn’t Jerry going to Alden? I thought you guys were going to the same school.” I turned my gaze toward the window, watching the green fields blur past. “Where he goes has nothing to do with me. Dakin, if Jerry asks about my application, please don’t tell him.” Dakin stared at me for a long time before nodding solemnly. “Okay. I promise.” On the final day of college submissions, the air was thick and humid. My phone vibrated with a text from Jerry. Did you submit your application? I ignored it, continuing to pack my things. My desk drawers were filled with little trinkets he had given me over the last three years: movie ticket stubs, small stuffed animals, and old Polaroids. I grabbed a cardboard box and began tossing them in, one by one. Half an hour later, Jerry called. “Joan, why aren’t you answering my texts?” “I wasn’t looking at my phone,” I said, dropping a framed photo of us into the box. “What’s up?” “Did you submit your application?” His voice sounded noticeably strained. “Yes.” He let out a small sigh over the line. “I have some stuff to take care of right now, but I’ll come over to see you later.” “Don’t bother,” I interrupted. “I’m leaving tomorrow to visit my grandmother. I’ll be staying with her for the rest of the summer.” “Your grandmother’s house?” He sounded startled. “Why the sudden trip?” “It’s been planned for a while.” “Alright, then.” I hung up, picked up the heavy cardboard box, and carried it downstairs. Just as I reached the sidewalk, a sleek black car pulled up to the curb. The door opened, and Jerry stepped out of the driver’s seat. My steps faltered. For a split second, a tiny, foolish spark of hope flared in my chest. Then, the passenger door swung open. Sally stepped out, wearing a beautiful floral sundress, her long hair catching the breeze. Jerry immediately reached over, gently smoothing down a stray lock of her hair. Standing on the steps, I felt that tiny spark of hope shrivel up, leaving behind a bitter, ridiculous aftertaste. Jerry spotted me holding the box. He paused, then walked over. “What are you doing down here?” “Taking out the trash.” Sally walked up behind him, eyeing me curiously. “Jerry, is this the sweet friend you told me about? The one who took such good care of you?” For three years, I had skipped study sessions to help him chase the sunset, stood in freezing parking lots waiting for the perfect lighting, stayed up late editing his portfolio, and accompanied him to every local gallery. And to Sally, I was merely a “sweet friend who took care of him.” Jerry gave a vague, noncommittal nod, then turned back to me. “Joan, Sally just got back and doesn’t really know the area. Are you free this afternoon? Can you take her to the mall to pick up some essentials?” He asked so casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. As if my sole purpose was to step into his frame whenever he needed a prop. Sally offered a sweet, sugary smile. “Yeah, it would be a huge help! Jerry said you’re incredibly sweet and would never say no.” Before I could even open my mouth, Jerry was already smiling. “I knew I could count on you.” He turned back to Sally. “You go with Joan. I have a shoot to get to this afternoon.” He didn’t even bother waiting for my answer before turning back toward his car. I looked down at the box of memories resting against my legs. I bent down, hauled back my foot, and kicked it with every ounce of strength I had. A loud, violent crash echoed through the quiet street. The cardboard box tipped over, and the Polaroid camera inside slammed onto the hard concrete, its lens shattering into tiny, glittering shards. Jerry froze in his tracks. He stared at the ruined camera, his expression instantly darkening as he slammed the car door shut and marched back toward me. “Joan, what the hell is wrong with you?”

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1 To save up for a house down payment, Derek froze my shared credit card. He told me we both needed to learn to scrimp and pinch every penny. One dollar had to do the work of two. I agreed. I started buying clothes from thrift bins and eating clearance food past its expiration date. Even when I was burning up with a 102-degree fever, I couldn’t bring myself to spend money on an Uber to the emergency room. Standing in line at the hospital checkout, my bank account had barely thirty dollars left. Shaking from the chills, I called Derek for help. When the call connected, a polite sales associate’s voice echoed through the speaker: “Mr. Derek, this three-million-dollar pink diamond necklace complements this young lady’s elegance perfectly.” Without a second of hesitation, Derek replied: “Swipe the card.” I froze in place. Looking down at the medical bill for $150, tears spilled uncontrollably down my face. He wasn’t broke. He didn’t need to cut corners. He simply felt I wasn’t worth spending a single dime on. … The phone slipped through my fingers. I bit my lower lip until it bled, choking back the sob in my throat. The emergency room lobby was loud and chaotic, but everything turned dead quiet in my head. I stumbled out of the hospital and found a tiny neighborhood clinic to buy a cheap pack of antibiotics. My balance was down to twenty-eight dollars. When I opened the door to the basement apartment Derek and I rented, the familiar stench of mold and stale dampness hit me square in the face. A note from Derek lay on the table: “Don’t buy groceries today. There are leftovers from two days ago in the fridge.” I burst into a sudden laugh, but tears kept streaming down my cheeks. Five years together. Five years of living like beggars. And in return, he threw millions around for another woman without blinking. I shoved a handful of pills into my mouth, swallowed them dry, and dragged myself toward the bed, gripping the wall for support. My sleep was restless, haunted by fragmented memories of the past five years. When Derek pursued me in college, he made sure the whole campus knew. The day I finally said yes, his eyes shone with a tender warmth that seemed capable of melting ice. That passionate young boy in my memory slowly overlapped with the Derek of today, growing colder and stranger by the second. Through the haze of fever, I heard the door click open. Derek stepped softly to the bedside and touched my forehead. Moments later, he laid a cool, damp towel over my brow. “Nora, get well soon,” he murmured, his voice scratchy. “It’s my fault I’m so useless. I hate making you suffer like this with me.” A tear slipped from the corner of my eye into the pillow. Derek, I suddenly realize I don’t know who you are at all. The next morning, the aroma of food woke me up. Derek was tied into an apron, busy in our tiny makeshift kitchen nook. He turned, and his eyes lit up when he saw me awake. “Nora! How are you feeling? Anything hurting?” I shook my head. “Breakfast is almost ready. Want me to bring it to bed, or are you getting up?” I threw off the blanket, but my knees buckled the second my feet touched the floor. Derek rushed over in three quick strides and caught me. “See? Small apartments have their perks. If this place were any bigger, you would’ve hit the floor hard,” he boasted with a light chuckle. I walked into the kitchen in silence. In the pot was leftover rice from who knows how many days ago, mixed with a few lonely shreds of egg. He scratched the back of his neck, his eyes swimming with guilt. “Nora, I’m sorry. This was all we had left. If only I had money, I could at least get you something decent while you’re sick.” My hands started shaking uncontrollably. My heart went completely numb. Derek filled a bowl and handed it to me. I forced down the tasteless food, noticing his side of the table was completely empty. “You’re not eating?” Derek stiffened for a second. “I’m not hungry. Besides, there isn’t much left. You’re the patient, so you get priority.” I glanced at him without saying a word. A few minutes later, Derek washed my empty bowl and dried his hands. “Nora, I have to run to work. Rest up at home today. Don’t worry about working.” He rushed out the door. Shortly after he left, I followed him. I tracked him through a maze of quiet streets until he turned into an exclusive gated community. The sight ahead hit me like a bolt of lightning. The moment Derek unlocked the grand double doors of a residence, a woman threw herself into his arms. “Derek! What took you so long? I’ve been waiting forever!” Her soft, playful voice drifted into my ears. I watched Derek stroke her hair, pick her up in his arms, and carry her inside. Wiping away a stray tear, I opened my phone and searched the property values for this neighborhood. It took a moment for the page to load. The Crestmont Residences. Thirty thousand dollars per square meter. A full financial audit was required just to schedule a viewing. The truth slapped me violently in the face. Just yesterday, I was making excuses for him in my head, telling myself that maybe he bought that absurdly expensive necklace for a sister or a family member. Now I saw the reality. He had betrayed our relationship long ago and set up a second life with another woman. My fingernails dug deep into my palms. It took a long time before I dragged my lifeless body back toward our basement. On the walk back, a fleeting thought crossed my mind. If it were him, he would never treat me like this. Lying on the basement bed, I stared blankly at the water stain on the ceiling. When did it all start? I interrogated myself over and over. Yet I couldn’t recall a single flaw in Derek’s behavior. He was always the attentive, devoted boyfriend. Rain or shine, he picked me up after work. During my period, he always brought me a bowl of warm brown sugar tea at the exact right temperature. When we slept, he instinctively pulled me close into his chest. My heart chilled degree by degree. My eyes wandered over the basement we had called home for five years. Every piece of cheap furniture was something Derek and I had picked out together. It was modest, but it felt warm. A sharp notification chime shattered my thoughts. “Nora, an owner at Crestmont needs an urgent house cleaner this afternoon. One hundred dollars an hour. If you want it, I’ll reserve it for you.” To save up for a house down payment and build a home with Derek, I had taken on multiple side hustles. My thumb hovered over the screen. After a long pause, I typed back: “I’ll take it.” Maybe seeing the opulence with my own eyes would finally kill every last shred of hope in my heart. At three in the afternoon, I walked into that gated luxury estate carrying heavy cleaning supplies. The moment the homeowner opened the door, all the blood rushed to my head. It was her. The woman Derek was keeping on the side. She wore a silk nightgown, standing before a wall packed with Hermes bags. I stiffened for a second before stepping inside. “Hey, take your shoes off! What kind of cleaner are you?” she snapped, giving me an annoyed glare. “Don’t ruin my imported wool rug.” She rolled her eyes with pure disgust. “Deep clean the kitchen and the living room. Skip the main bedroom. And scrub the bathroom floor on your knees three times. The last cleaner used a mop and left it smelling awful.” Under the giant crystal chandelier, her hands looked fair, smooth, and delicate. I looked down at my own hands, calloused and rough from years of hard labor. I gave a quiet nod. While I cleaned, she sat on the couch with her legs crossed, watching me like a hawk. Suddenly, she piped up: “Your job looks so exhausting. Thank goodness I don’t have to work. My man takes care of everything.” I forced a weak, bitter smile. “He must treat you well.” “He’s alright. Gives me fifty grand a month in fun money,” she said nonchalantly. “Hey, wait! You missed a spot over there.” She pointed to the fine gap between the floor tiles. “Ma’am, that’s just the color of the tile grout,” I explained helplessly. “I don’t care! Figure out a way to make it pure white,” her bossy voice screeched. “Am I paying you to lounge around?” I knelt back down and scrubbed with all my strength. “Ma’am, I’m finished. If you’re satisfied, please leave a five-star review.” Without waiting for her reply, I dragged my exhausted body toward the entrance. Just as my hand touched the door handle, the door swung open from the outside. Derek stood on the threshold. The moment his eyes landed on me, his pupils shrank in shock. “Babe, you’re back! I missed you so much!” Derek brushed past me, lowering his voice to a harsh whisper: “Nora, go home right now.” He shut the door behind him without looking back at me once. I stood outside the heavy door for a long time. Through the thin crack, I heard him say: “Tiffany, were you a good girl today?” His voice carried the exact tender affection I knew so well. My nose stung, and tears spilled down my cheeks. I hadn’t been home long when Derek slammed through the basement door. “Why are the lights off?” He frowned, scanning the dark room. “Derek, why did you betray me?” I choked out, forcing my voice to stay steady. Derek sat down across from me and grabbed my hands tightly. “Nora, don’t overthink this. It’s just a misunderstanding. She’s just a younger girl I know. There’s nothing between us.” My mind flashed to everything I saw in that mansion. “A younger girl? Does a younger girl call you husband? Does a younger girl get fifty thousand dollars a month from you?” “Didn’t you tell me we had to pinch every penny to save for a house?” Derek’s patience snapped, impatience flickering in his eyes. “Nora, are you done? I already told you it’s a misunderstanding. Do you really have to cling to it like this?” “A misunderstanding? She lives in a luxury estate while I rot in a basement?” “A misunderstanding that you bought her a three-million-dollar diamond necklace, but couldn’t give me a hundred and fifty dollars when I was sick in the ER?” Seeing my tears, a momentary panic crossed Derek’s eyes. “Nora, I…” “You what? Derek, you look pathetic when you lie.” “Enough!” Derek rubbed his temples in frustration. “Fine! I admit I’ve kept her outside for three years. But I spent most of my time with you, didn’t I? Is it really worth making a massive scene over?” “I gave her money, but I gave you love. That’s fair! What more could you possibly want?” “Fair?” Tears dripped onto the wooden table one by one. I let out a hollow laugh. “Derek, I spent five years with you. And in your eyes, all I deserve is ‘fair’?” Derek went quiet for a moment before throwing down three words: “Believe whatever you want.” He slammed the door shut behind him. I sat in the dim light for a long time, suddenly feeling like a complete joke. We were together for five years, and he kept another woman for three of them. Wiping the tears from my face, I stood up and started packing. When my hand touched the scarf lying by the bed, I froze. A few winters ago, an unprecedented blizzard hit the city. The office was miles away from home, taxis were impossible to catch, and I was shivering uncontrollably in the dark. Just as I resolved to walk all the way back in the snow, I saw Derek trudging through the drifts toward me. He took his own scarf off and wrapped it around my neck. I laughed, telling him his hair was covered in white snow. He said back then: If we walk together in the snow, we’ll grow old together. But Derek, I don’t want to grow old with you anymore. When I finished packing, my suitcase was only half full. It stunned me to realize how little I actually owned after all these years. The next morning, I picked up my suitcase to leave. Suddenly, loud, aggressive pounding echoed against the basement door. I pulled it open to find the woman Derek was keeping outside. She swept her eyes over the cramped basement, holding her nose in disgust. “I’m Tiffany. Name your price to leave Derek.” Her gaze landed on me, dripping with disdain. I let out a cold laugh. “Name my price? A mistress thinks she has the right to demand anything from me?” Tiffany’s face twisted for a second, but she quickly recovered her smug expression. “Don’t flatter yourself, lady. A man’s money is where his heart is.” “Besides, every time he comes home from this dump, he complains about smelling like dirt and poverty. He takes an hour-long shower just to scrub you off.” I stepped forward, locking my eyes on hers. “And? If he despises me so much, why hasn’t he broken up with me?” Tiffany’s expression darkened instantly. She grabbed my arm with one hand and swung her other hand hard toward my face. Slap! My head snapped to the side, a burning heat exploding on my cheek. Before Tiffany could react, I grabbed her wrist, leaned in, and slapped her back with every ounce of strength I had left. “Nora! What the hell are you doing?!” A furious roar echoed down the hallway, and a sudden, violent kick threw me backward. I crashed onto the floor, biting my lip hard as a sharp pain shot through my ribs. Derek marched over, his eyes fierce and cold. “Who gave you permission to lay a hand on her? Haven’t I told you that if you have a problem, you come at me?!” Seeing me curled up on the ground in pain, a flicker of guilt crossed his eyes. “Nora, Tiffany is young and naive. Can’t you show some grace? Do you really have to escalate everything into a fight?” I squeezed out a few words through my teeth: “I’m escalating things…” Before I could finish, another slap knocked me back down. “You actually dared to hit me back?!” Tiffany’s face turned ugly as she stomped her heel hard into my side. Derek glanced at me uncomfortably, then looked away. Blows rained down on me in a chaotic blur. My body felt like it was breaking apart. Only after a long while did Derek step in to pull Tiffany back. “Nora, don’t blame me,” Derek murmured, looking down at me. “You’re too strong. You’re like an oak tree that can survive anything no matter what happens.” “But Tiffany is different. She’s a greenhouse flower. She’s never been hit in her life. If she didn’t hit back, she wouldn’t be able to let it go.” It took every ounce of strength I had to lift my head off the cold floor. “So you think I should pretend not to know about your affair, and just stand here letting her hit and insult me without fighting back?” I laughed, though tears kept falling. “Yeah! Obviously!” Tiffany sneered. “Did you really think you could win Derek back from me?” She reached out and slapped my face one more time for good measure. Ignoring the metallic taste of blood in my mouth, I looked straight at Derek. “You think so too, don’t you?” Derek’s chest tightened. “No, Nora, that’s not…” “Fine. You don’t need to say another word. I get it.” I interrupted, my voice hoarse. “Everything that happened to me is my own fault. Derek, we’re done.” “Done? You mean dumped!” Tiffany pulled a thick stack of cash from her purse and slammed it against my chest. “This is from Derek. Your five years are worth just about this much.” I gave Derek one last, deep look, then pulled myself up using the wall for balance. When I reached for my suitcase handle, Derek grabbed my wrist in a vice grip. “Nora, if you’re willing, I can get you another apartment right now.” I saw the absolute confidence in his eyes. He truly believed I couldn’t bear to leave him. But the person who had been waiting for me for years had waited long enough. I wasn’t going to make him wait another second. I raised my hand and slapped Derek square across the face. Then I grabbed my bag and limped away without looking back. Two days later, Derek went to my company, assuming I had cooled off just like every other time we argued. “Nora? She handed in her resignation two days ago,” the front desk receptionist said, giving him an odd look. Derek’s breath hitched. Nora’s parting words flashed through his mind. His entire face turned deadly pale, and he bolted out the front doors like a madman.

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1 My mother’s surgery failed, and the doctors gave her less than three months to live. Suffocating under the weight of the news, I had no one to turn to except my boyfriend, Cavette. “Are you busy?” I texted him. No reply. Half an hour later, I sent another message: “Do you have a minute to talk? It’s about my mom.” Another thirty minutes passed before Cavette finally sent back a single digit: “1”. I stared at that “1” for a long time. It was always like this. When I was burning up with a 103-degree fever and begged him to take me to the emergency room, all I got back was a “1”. When my mom was first hospitalized and I asked if he could use his connections to get a top specialist, he waited half a day just to send a “1”. Even last month when we had a terrible fight and I asked if he cared about me at all, he waited overnight to reply with a “1”. Now my mother was dying, and I truly had no one left to lean on. Suddenly, a push notification popped up from his executive assistant Phoebe’s Instagram story. [I’m such a airhead! ruined the client proposal, but thanks to Mr. Cavette staying up past midnight fixing it with me, I’m touched enough to propose to him~] How utterly ridiculous. … Cavette was always “too busy.” Calls to his personal line were screened by his secretary. Dates had to be scheduled three days in advance. Yet he willingly sacrificed his precious time to personally fix a proposal for a junior assistant. I tilted my head back to force the tears back into my eyes. I searched my mind, trying to remember why I had ever fallen for Cavette in the first place. A boyfriend like this wasn’t worth keeping. I stared at Phoebe’s post for a long time. Attached was a photo of Cavette. He was dressed in a tailored black suit, staring intently at his laptop screen with a coffee cup sitting beside him. The cup had delicate latte art poured over the top, and the mug itself was a dusty pink. It looked like something a young girl would pick out with care. My mind drifted back to every birthday we spent together, when I used to buy Cavette a custom mug as a gift. Every single time he received one, he tossed it into the back of the hallway cabinet. It sat there gathering dust, never used once. I remembered asking him with red, tear-brimmed eyes, “Do you not like them?” Cavette had paused, reaching out to pat my hair carelessly. “The gifts you give me are too precious. I want to collect them and keep them safe.” “When I turn fifty, I’ll take them all out and count them one by one.” “Don’t overthink things, Hailey. I don’t care much for everyday items like mugs anyway. I have work to handle.” Yet I had seen that exact pink coffee cup on Phoebe’s feed before. It was a free promotional giveaway she got when buying a latte. Cavette had taken it and used it without a second thought. I scrolled up her profile. Cavette had liked her previous post too. Out of her last seven posts, he had liked six of them. Looking back at my own profile, he hadn’t liked a single one of my posts in nearly two years. Forget liking them, he probably didn’t even bother looking. I tapped the heart icon on Phoebe’s post, adding my own like to the list. Then I quietly closed the chat window with Cavette, sending nothing more. The screen went black. I let it stay dark. No matter how many messages I sent, that chat window would only ever receive another cold “1”. It was completely meaningless. I slipped my phone into my coat pocket, stood up, and went to make the final arrangements for my mother. By the time I finished, my body felt heavy and hollow. I dragged myself back to our shared apartment. The moment I unlocked the front door, I noticed the living room lights were on. I thought Cavette was back, but instead, Phoebe walked out of the bathroom, wrapped in nothing but a bath towel. “Oh! Sorry, Hailey! I thought you weren’t coming home tonight.” “Mr. Cavette sent me over to grab some files, and I was drenched in sweat, so I borrowed your bathroom…” “After all, he and I are going on a week-long business trip tomorrow morning.” Phoebe gave me a smug, triumphant smirk before strolling directly into the master bedroom to pack Cavette’s clothes. I didn’t say a word. My gaze was fixed on the spare key held tight in her hand. “How did you get that?” I asked quietly. Phoebe turned around, raising an eyebrow. “You mean this?” “Mr. Cavette gave it to me, of course.” A small Bunny Cop keychain dangled from the ring. It stung my eyes like a blade. If memory served, Cavette’s own keychain carried a matching Fox Nick charm. When had he gotten it? Three months ago? Six months ago? I couldn’t even remember. “These are all Mr. Cavette’s clothes, right? They definitely match his style,” Phoebe murmured, opening the closet and sifting through his wardrobe as if she owned the place. “Oh, I remember this shirt! I helped him pick it out while we were shopping on our last business trip.” “And this jacket! The coffee stain on the sleeve is from when I slipped and spilled my drink on him last week. Hahaha, you still haven’t washed it out?” I stood by the bedroom door like a total stranger, watching another woman sort through my boyfriend’s intimate belongings. A deep, bitter ache flooded my chest. As if sensing my stare, Phoebe glanced back at me. “Hailey, don’t misunderstand. I’m just Mr. Cavette’s assistant. Everything between us is completely professional.” I forced a weak curve onto my lips. “I’m not misunderstanding anything. Take your time.” Turning around, I walked straight into the study and shut the door behind me. The second the door clicked shut, my knees gave out. I slid down against the wood, tears spilling over my lashes. With trembling fingers, I pulled out my phone and typed a message to Cavette. “Cavette, let’s break up.” Five minutes later, my phone chimed. A pathetic sliver of expectation still lingered in my chest, hoping he might say something to hold onto me. When I opened the screen, the lingering hope shattered instantly. It was the exact same reply as always. “1”. I suddenly remembered a time when I couldn’t hold back my frustration and asked Cavette why he always replied with a single digit. He had said, “Because it’s fast. You know how busy I am, and extra words waste time. Replying with a ‘1’ means I’ve read it and acknowledged it.” He was indeed busy. Busy acquiring companies, busy closing multimillion-dollar deals, making thousands of dollars every single minute. Back then, I thought his explanation made sense. I tried my best to be understanding, sensible, and quiet, never disturbing his work. Only now did I realize the truth. He was simply saving his time so he could spend it on someone else. I didn’t have the energy to dwell on it anymore. My mother was laying in the hospital morgue, waiting for me to send her off on her final journey. I slept for barely two hours that night. Before dawn broke, I pulled myself out of bed to handle the funeral arrangements. Standing inside the cold morgue, looking down at my mother’s quiet, sleeping face, I finally broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. “Mom, I’m sorry… I was useless. I couldn’t save you…” The failed operation had been her last chance. Before she was wheeled into the operating room, she had already lapsed into a coma. The doctor had told me that if a top national specialist led the surgery, her survival rate could reach over sixty percent. Before that, I had begged Cavette with everything I had. “Please, can you introduce the specialist you know to my mom?” “The doctors said if he performs the surgery, there’s a high chance she’ll make it.” Cavette had been glued to his laptop screen. He didn’t even lift his head. Only when I begged repeatedly did he crease his brows in annoyance. “Hailey, it’s not that I don’t want to help you, but Dr. Chen has strict principles. He only sees patients by appointment.” “Then… is it too late if I book an appointment now?” Cavette glanced at me coolly. “His schedule is packed until next month. If you’re willing to wait, I can put your name down.” But my mother’s condition couldn’t wait. I had no choice but to settle for another surgeon. Yet the very next day, Phoebe had posted an update on her feed: [I officially declare Mr. Cavette the best boss in the world! Not only does he pay me well, but he also pulled strings to get a top specialist for my mom!] [Everyone else has to wait two months, but one word from him got me bumped to the front of the line! Boss Cavette is the best!] My heart had gone completely dead in that moment. I had driven straight to Cavette’s corporate building with red eyes, wanting to confront him, only to be blocked by security at the front lobby. “Miss, you don’t have an appointment. You can’t go up.” I dialed Cavette’s phone frantically, but his executive secretary answered instead. “Miss Hailey, Mr. Cavette instructed that if you wish to see him, you must book an appointment three days in advance.” Booking an appointment three days in advance. What an absolute joke. A girlfriend needing an advance reservation just to see her own boyfriend. Now, watching my mother being pushed into the cremation furnace, waiting until she was reduced to a small pile of grey ashes, I couldn’t even squeeze out another tear. I held the warm urn in my arms, walking numbly down the street. A small vendor cart stood by the curb, selling hot roasted chestnuts. A young girl behind the cart called out shyly, “Miss, would you like some chestnuts? Fresh out of the roaster!” My mind flashed back to my mother lying in her hospital bed, gripping my hand with a faint smile. “Hailey, my sweet girl loves roasted chestnuts the most.” “When Mom gets better, I’ll take you shopping and buy you a giant bag of hot chestnuts…” Before she was wheeled into the operating room, sensing the worst, she had forced her small savings into my palm. “Mom might not be able to stay with you much longer. If you see roasted chestnuts on the street, buy a bag for yourself.” “Just pretend Mom bought them for you.” “Cavette is always so busy with work. He never has time for you, and I hate seeing you suffer alone…” Tears had poured down my mother’s face as she spoke. “Mom is useless. I can’t stay by your side.” “If only Cavette wasn’t so busy…” Mom, Cavette wasn’t busy. He just didn’t want to spend his time on me. He had never bought me roasted chestnuts from the street vendor. So I would buy them myself. I bought a small bag and held it tight. The hot shells burned my fingertips red. I peeled one and slipped it into my mouth. Tears spilled over my eyelashes instantly. “Mom, I ate the chestnuts you bought me.” Just then, my phone chimed with another notification from Phoebe’s feed. It was a photo of her and Cavette standing close together, both smiling brightly at the camera with peace signs. The caption read: [A week-long business trip! Boss Cavette worked so hard! We finally closed the big deal we’ve been chasing for half a month. The boss treated me to a lavish dinner, and I got to pick my favorite restaurant. How is this not a match made in heaven?] Someone had commented below: “Doesn’t your boss have a girlfriend?” “You’re just an assistant. Posting stuff like this… aren’t you afraid the boss’s lady will see it and misunderstand?” Phoebe replied with a giggling emoji: “Just work partners~ Don’t spread rumors.” “Besides, Mr. Cavette isn’t married, which legally makes him single. Who knows who the real boss’s lady will turn out to be?” I locked my screen, finding the whole thing absurdly funny. We were broken up anyway, and my mother’s affairs were settled. It was time to leave. That evening, I was sorting through my belongings, deciding what to pack, what to give away, and what to throw out. The front door suddenly swung open. Cavette walked in, looking exhausted. He stepped up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. “Hailey.” “It’s been almost half a month. Why haven’t you sent me any messages lately?” “I’ve been worked to the bone.” “Without your daily texts keeping me company, I actually feel a bit unaccustomed to it.” Did you truly care about my company? Could a lazy, automated response really become a habit for you? I didn’t answer. I pulled away from his grip, creating distance between us. “I’m really tired. I don’t feel like talking.” “You just got back from your trip. You should get some rest.” Holding my pillow, I turned toward the guest bedroom just like I always did. Cavette creased his brows, grabbing my wrist firmly. “Don’t sleep in the guest room tonight. Sleep with me, alright?” I turned back, staring directly into his eyes. When we first moved in together, I used to be clingy. I tried every sweet word I knew, begging Cavette to let us sleep in the same room. I told him I was afraid of thunder. He handed me a pair of noise-canceling earplugs. “Put these in and you won’t hear a thing.” I told him I was afraid of the dark. He handed me a sleep mask. “You’ll get used to it.” I racked my brain for other excuses, but he had frowned at me impatiently. “Hailey, I’m genuinely busy. I don’t have time to play these childish games with you.” “Before you met me, did you not sleep alone?” I had been left speechless. He claimed he needed to focus on work late into the night, afraid I would disturb him, and afraid his late-night typing would wake me. So he insisted on separate bedrooms. From that day on, I became a permanent resident of the guest room. Yet now, he was actively asking me to sleep beside him. “No thanks,” I said, gently slipping my hand out of his grip. “I’m used to sleeping alone.” Cavette’s hand hovered in the air, clearly surprised by my refusal. He stared at me, a flicker of confusion breaking through the exhaustion on his face. Subconsciously assuming I was just throwing a minor tantrum, he let his hand drop. “Fine,” he sighed, loosening his tie. “Get some sleep then.” I nodded, turning to push open the guest room door. “Oh, by the way,” his voice called out from behind me. “If I remember correctly, your mom’s surgery is the day after tomorrow, right?” My hand froze on the doorknob. Cavette’s voice carried a hint of a warm smile. “I took a full day off the day after tomorrow. I’ll head to the hospital with you to see your mom.” “After all, a major surgery is terrifying for an old lady. Having both of us there will make her feel much better.” A suffocating wave of bitterness welled up behind my eyes. I clenched my fists, biting my lip until it hurt. “Thank you, but there’s no need.” My mother was already gone. Her life-or-death surgery hadn’t been scheduled for the day after tomorrow. It had taken place a week ago. It was just a shame that Cavette couldn’t even remember something so critical. “Hailey, you don’t need to be so polite with me,” Cavette said affectionately. “I admit I’ve been neglecting you because of work lately. Taking the day off will be a good way to make it up to you.” He pulled a red velvet gift box from his coat pocket and handed it over. “I saw this on my way back from the airport. Thought it looked nice, so I bought it for you.” I turned around. Cavette opened the velvet box, looking at me as if expecting a delighted reaction. With a single glance, my heart sank to the bottom of an icy lake. The bracelet inside was something I had already seen on Phoebe’s Instagram feed. [So thankful to Boss Cavette for buying me the Ocean Star necklace!] [Though this free promo bracelet that came with it is pretty ugly. I don’t want it, wonder which unlucky soul will end up with it.] I forced a faint smile onto my face. “Well, thank you so much.” Cavette didn’t notice the strange tone in my voice. He turned and walked into the bathroom to take a shower. And I, the unlucky soul, didn’t even look at the bracelet a second time before tossing it directly into the trash can. Early the next morning, I got up and began packing my things. Having lived here for three years, the apartment was filled with memories. The ornaments on the bookshelf, the clothes in the closet, the small milk pot in the kitchen I used for two years, the framed photo of my mother on the nightstand… Now that I was leaving, I realized how few things actually belonged to me. I pulled my clothes from the closet, folded them neatly, and packed them into two large rolling suitcases. From the bookshelf, I picked a few sentimental knickknacks to slide into my backpack, leaving the rest behind. Opening the desk drawer, I found several old journals I had written when I first arrived in Seattle. The pages were filled with the innocent longings of a girl hopelessly in love. “Taking a leap of faith for love! I finally moved to Cavette’s city! We can finally live together and end the long-distance relationship!” “Cavette is so talented and amazing. So many girls are pursuing him, but I have to do my best not to become a burden to him.” “Cavette worked late again tonight. He’s too busy to spend time with me.” “Little Teddy, I’ve been in Seattle for half a year now. When do you think Cavette will finally have free time to take me to see the ocean?” I let out a self-deprecating laugh and tossed the journals straight into the trash. As I was wrapping up, footsteps sounded behind me. I turned around. Cavette was leaning against the doorframe, his hair damp from a fresh shower. He scanned the chaotic room, staring at the clutter in confusion. “What are you doing?” He stepped forward, looking down at the packed suitcases resting on the floor. “Going on a business trip?” I didn’t bother offering a long explanation, opting for a quiet hum in response. Taking my response at face value, Cavette assumed I was truly going out of town for work. “Alright. I haven’t paid much attention to your work lately, but I heard you got promoted last month?” “It’s good to work hard while you’re young. Don’t slacker off when there’s work to be done.” “When’s your flight? Should I drive you to the airport?” Without lifting my head, I replied flatly, “No need.” A proper boyfriend wouldn’t be completely unaware that his girlfriend had submitted her resignation a week ago. “The company arranged a car to pick me up. Don’t worry about it.” “Alright.” Cavette let out a small sigh of relief, though his brow furrowed again a second later. “But your mom’s surgery is the day after tomorrow. Are you not staying to accompany her?” I clenched my palms tight, staying completely silent. Right on the shelf directly in front of him sat my mother’s ashes in a small wooden box. Cavette had been back for hours, yet he hadn’t noticed it even once. Seeing my silence, Cavette assumed I was feeling anxious about the surgery. He stepped closer and patted my shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry about it. Go focus on your work trip, and I’ll take care of your mom.” “I’ll be there for her. After all, I’m your boyfriend.” I didn’t argue. Once everything was packed, I retreated into the study, claiming I had last-minute tasks to handle. In truth, I was just hiding from Cavette, unable to stand looking at his face for another second. Noticing that I wasn’t acting as clingy as before, Cavette creased his brows in confusion. “Hailey, what’s wrong with you…” Before he could finish his sentence, his phone rang loudly. He picked it up, and Phoebe’s frantic voice burst through the speaker: “Mr. Cavette! Rescue me!” “I messed up again! I accidentally sent the internal pricing document to the client instead of the proposal! Please save me!” Cavette’s face shifted instantly, but his tone carried a familiar fondness as he scolded her gently. “You silly girl.” “Don’t touch anything. Wait for me at the office.” Just like countless times before, Cavette grabbed his coat, threw out a hasty sentence about an emergency at the office, and rushed out the door. I stood by the window, watching his sports car speed out of the complex. A sudden wave of relief washed over me, and I smiled softly. “Cavette, this time, I’m dumping you.” The day I left happened to be the exact day Cavette claimed he took time off to visit my mother at the hospital. Cavette insisted on driving me to the airport early that morning. “Hailey, when you get back from your trip, I’ll take you out for a nice dinner.” He leaned down, intending to kiss my forehead, but I tilted my head away, dodging his touch. Cavette’s expression flickered briefly, but he reached out to pat my hair anyway. “Have a safe flight.” I looked up, taking one final, careful look at his face. “Don’t forget what you said. You promised to go to the hospital for my mom.” “Don’t worry, I won’t forget.” I waited at the terminal for an entire day, but no calls or demands came from Cavette. He didn’t realize my mother wasn’t at the hospital. Instead, I saw from Phoebe’s latest Instagram update that Cavette had spent the entire afternoon accompanying her on a shopping spree downtown. It wasn’t until six in the evening that Cavette finally sent me a text: “I’m so sorry, Hailey.” “Something urgent came up at the office, and I just finished handling it. I’m rushing over to the hospital right now.” I didn’t bother replying. I turned off my phone. Whether driving from Phoebe’s luxury apartment or his corporate office, getting to that hospital took barely fifteen minutes. In fifteen minutes… Cavette, you will never be able to find me again. Sure enough, it didn’t take long before my phone began vibrating frantically in my lap.

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1 The news of my wife’s pregnancy drove my father mad with joy. On the spot, he had his attorney draft an agreement, gifting a luxury penthouse in the heart of downtown to my triumphant wife. My mother gripped her hands tightly, tears streaming down her face as she declared that our family’s greatest savior had finally arrived. And I stood there, my fingertips going dead cold, staring fixated at that deed of gift. We had been married for over six months, but I had only touched her once on our wedding night. … Bella gently stroked her flat stomach, tilting her head to look at me. I stared at her meticulously made-up face, a violent wave of nausea surging in my stomach. Digging my fingernails deep into my palms, I forced down the overwhelming urge to vomit. “How could I not be?” I forced a stiff, unnatural smile onto my face. “It’s just such a huge surprise. I haven’t fully processed it yet.” Sitting at the head of the dining table, my father burst into a boisterous, booming laugh. He slammed his hand onto the wood, his face flushed with pride. “What are you standing there gawking for? Hurry up and sign it!” Father pointed at the thick stack of legal documents resting on the table. “This twenty-million-dollar downtown penthouse is a special reward for Bella! She is the ultimate hero of our family right now!” Our family’s private attorney immediately stepped forward, holding out a sleek fountain pen toward me. I looked at the pen, a chill creeping up from the tips of my fingers. My mother sat beside Bella, her eyes rimmed red with emotion as she wiped away tears. She unclasped a deep green jade bangle from her wrist. The jade was exquisite, practically glowing with translucence, a priceless heirloom passed down from my grandmother. She had worn it for thirty years without ever taking it off. Mother pulled Bella’s hand up and forced the bangle onto her wrist. “You deserve this, my dear!” Mother choked out through her tears. “This bangle is only passed down to the women of our family. I’m handing it to you now as a welcome gift for my grandson.” Bella lifted her wrist, admiring the vivid green jade with a triumphant glint in her eyes. She shot a subtle, sidelong glance at me before leaning coyly toward my father’s side. “Thank you, Mom. And thank you, Dad,” Bella said, her voice dripping with sweet affection. “Honestly, as long as our family is happy together, that’s all that matters. Dad, you really didn’t have to spend so much.” She naturally reached over, straightening the collar of my father’s suit jacket. The weight of her body leaned almost entirely against him. “It’s all thanks to Dad’s wonderful guidance. I’m just lucky to be part of this family.” Father patted the back of Bella’s hand with a satisfied smile. “Good girl. Whatever you want in the future, just tell me.” Watching the scene unfold before me, I stood up abruptly. The legs of my chair scraped against the hardwood floor with a harsh, ear-splitting screech. “I’m a bit overwhelmed. I need to use the restroom.” I turned on the faucet, splashing icy water onto my face over and over again. Lifting my head to look into the mirror, I felt as though a blinding green light was glowing right above my head. We had been married for half a year. I had only touched her once on our wedding night after getting completely plastered. Shortly after, my father assigned me to an isolated, closed-off project in a remote region, keeping me away from home for months. The creature growing inside her stomach couldn’t possibly be mine. Taking a deep breath, I pulled out my phone and dialed Cole, a trusted private investigator I knew well. “Cole, it’s me,” I murmured, my voice dropping into an icy register. “Look into someone for me. My wife, Bella.” “I want her complete timeline from the day we married until now. Hotel check-in records, medical visits, daily routes, everything.” “Money is no object. I want the most detailed report possible.” Hanging up, I composed my expression and walked back out to the living room. My father was already busy making grand arrangements. “Tomorrow, I’m throwing a massive family banquet!” Father declared with a grand sweep of his arm. “Invite every single relative and friend! I want to announce this incredible news to the entire world!” Bella reclined on the sofa, twirling the jade bangle on her wrist. Seeing me walk over, she instantly screwed her face into a frown. “Honey, why do you smell like smoke?” Bella covered her nose, waving her hand dramatically. “The doctor said pregnant women shouldn’t breathe in secondhand smoke. It’s terrible for the baby’s development.” I didn’t smoke at all. But I didn’t bother defending myself. Bella turned toward my mother, pouting her lips dramatically. “Mom, for the baby’s health, could my husband sleep in the guest room tonight?” Mother immediately grew tense, nodding repeatedly. “Yes, absolutely! The pregnant mother comes first. Son, just bear with it for a few days and sleep in the guest room.” Father put on a stern face to lecture me as well. “You’re a grown man, act like one! Get to the guest room right now. Don’t go around irritating my precious grandson!” I clenched my hands into tight fists, my fingernails digging painful crescents into my palm. “Alright,” I said quietly, keeping my voice entirely flat. “Take good care of the baby.” Late that night, I lay on the cold, stiff mattress in the guest room, completely devoid of sleep. My phone screen suddenly lit up. Cole had sent an audio message. I tapped play. “Boss, your wife’s daily routine is surprisingly clean. No records of her checking into hotels with other men,” Cole’s voice sounded subtly strange through the speaker. “But there is a very bizarre coincidence. I’m still verifying it, but I’ll send you the full breakdown tomorrow.” 2 Early the next morning, Bella was scheduled for her first official prenatal checkup at a private clinic. She stood before the vanity mirror, humming a light tune while meticulously applying her makeup, her mood soaring high. “The appointment is at ten. Don’t be late,” I called out as I headed downstairs. Just as I reached the foyer, my father’s voice chimed in from the living room. “Bella, why don’t I drive you? I know the directors at that private hospital. I can arrange the best specialist for you.” He was already dressed in a tailored suit, tossing his Mercedes car keys in his hand. I took a few quick strides, blocking the front door. “Dad, I’ll take her. I’m her husband. Accompanying my wife to her checkup is my responsibility.” The smile on my father’s face stiffened for a second before snapping back to normal. “Right, right. You young couple go ahead.” Yet the look he cast toward Bella carried a subtle, lingering reluctance. The atmosphere inside the car was suffocatingly tense. Bella sat in the passenger seat, touching up her lipstick while casting mocking glances at me out of the corner of her eye. “Well, well, did the sun rise from the west today?” Bella sneered mockingly. “Usually, you wouldn’t even touch me if I asked, but today you’re playing the devoted husband.” She snapped her compact shut with a loud click. “What’s wrong? Afraid Dad will steal your spotlight, or afraid people will find out you can’t even get it up?” The veins on the back of my hands bulged as I gripped the steering wheel tightly. “Fasten your seatbelt,” I spat out cold words, refusing to take her bait. Bella rolled her eyes, begrudgingly pulling the belt across her chest. “Boring man. I really don’t know what I ever saw in you.” Inside the VIP examination suite at the private hospital, the doctor held the freshly printed ultrasound scan, smiling at us. “Congratulations to you both. The fetus is developing exceptionally well.” The doctor pointed at a tiny black speck on the monitor screen. “Based on the gestational sac measurements, she is currently ten weeks pregnant. Very healthy.” I stared fixated on the number on that screen. Ten weeks. Which meant two and a half months ago. At that exact time, I had been assigned by my father to oversee a closed-off mining project in a mountainous region three thousand miles away. For a whole month, I didn’t even have a cell signal, let alone a chance to come home. This child could not possibly be mine. Bella stroked her stomach, her face radiating pure bliss. She turned her head toward me, the corners of her lips curling upward into a sharp sneer. “Honey, did you hear that? The baby is very healthy.” That smile was nothing short of a direct provocation. Taking advantage of the moment when Bella went to the restroom to collect a urine sample, I walked briskly toward the blood lab at the end of the corridor. “When she comes in for her routine blood draw later, quietly draw an extra vial,” I whispered, slipping a thick envelope into the nurse’s coat pocket. “Don’t let her notice.” The nurse caught my drift and gave a subtle nod. Ten minutes later, the nurse handed me a sealed vial containing maternal blood packed with cell-free fetal DNA. That very afternoon, a courier whisked the sample away to an out-of-state third-party forensic lab for expedited, confidential processing. When we returned home from the hospital, I stepped through the front door and froze. The entire estate was decked out in festive decorations, looking more extravagant than a holiday celebration. The living room was piled high with top-tier designer baby gear. Father was directing several contractors, measuring dimensions in the south-facing room with the best sunlight. That room used to be my private study. “Tear down this wall and replace everything with eco-friendly padding!” Father barked orders loudly. “The crib needs to be custom-made from raw, unpainted hardwood! I’ve already drawn up the blueprints, follow them precisely!” Seeing Bella walk in, Father dropped his tape measure and rushed over eagerly. “Bella, you’re back! You must be exhausted.” Father carefully supported Bella’s arm, treating her as if she were made of fragile glass. “Sit down and rest. I personally simmered bird’s nest soup for you.” Watching my father bustle around her, pouring out relentless affection and warmth, the cloud of suspicion in my chest grew darker and heavier. Cole’s words about a bizarre coincidence echoed loudly in my mind. For the next three days, I lived like a walking ghost. Every day, I watched Bella lord her power over the household while my father bowed to her every whim. I could only choke down the sheer disgust, playing the part of a dull, invisible spectator. On the evening of the third day, the family sat around the dining table, enjoying dinner in apparent harmony. Father was enthusiastically brainstorming names for the baby. Suddenly, my phone vibrated intensely inside my pocket. I pulled out my phone. It was an encrypted email. The expedited DNA test results had arrived. 3 “Something urgent came up at the office. I need to handle it.” I stood up abruptly. No one cared about my departure. I walked straight onto the balcony, sliding the glass door shut behind me. The crisp autumn night wind carried a bite, but it couldn’t cool the cold sweat dripping from my palms. I opened the encrypted email and typed in the long password. The page loaded. I skipped past the complex data analysis and scrolled directly to the final conclusion page. The bold black lettering on the screen stabbed brutally into my eyes: [Comparative analysis of genetic loci between the submitted samples shows approximately 25% genetic similarity.] [Conclusion: Does not align with a biological parent-child relationship, but aligns with an uncle-nephew or grandfather-grandson relationship!] I lifted my head sharply, staring through the glass door toward the dining table. I was an only child. I had no brothers. A 25% genetic match proved a singular, hideous truth that defied all moral boundaries. The baby inside Bella’s stomach belonged to my father! A violent wave of nausea surged from my gut. I bent over the balcony railing, dry-heaving uncontrollably as bitter bile rose in my throat. A suffocating chill rushed from the soles of my feet straight to the top of my skull, making my entire body tremble. My own father had knocked up his mistress, forced her onto his biological son as a wife, and expected me to play the official father to his illegitimate child! It was the most absurd, disgusting joke on earth! Just then, my phone vibrated again. Cole’s comprehensive file hit my inbox. I opened the document, revealing a dense layout of photos and timeline comparisons. Bella’s daily routine was indeed clean, with no records of hotel stays with other men. However, twice a month, she visited an elite day spa on the outskirts of the city for a four-hour session. Surveillance footage pulled by Cole showed that during every single spa visit, my father’s black luxury SUV was parked in the alley behind the spa’s rear entrance. The two of them shared a private treatment suite. The timeline spanned a whole year. They had been sleeping together long before I ever met Bella! Suppressing the murderous rage boiling inside me, I took several deep breaths of cold air. Slipping the phone back into my pocket, I slid open the glass door and walked back into the dining room. The scene unfolding before me struck every nerve in my body. Father was using his own chopsticks to pick up the tenderest piece of fish belly, reaching across the table to place it intimately into Bella’s bowl. “Bella, eat more fish. It’s good for the baby’s eyes,” Father murmured, his gaze soft and dripping with tenderness. Bella lowered her head coyly, taking small bites. “Thank you, Dad. You’re so good to me.” And my mother, kept entirely in the dark, was happily ladling chicken soup for Bella. “Yes, Bella, your father never even picks up food for me! He really treats you like his own daughter.” Mother smiled warmly, her face full of affection. Watching this sickening charade, I pulled back my chair. “Mom, Dad, I’m full.” My voice sounded so eerily calm that it unsettled even me. Father set down his chopsticks and wiped his mouth with a napkin. He stood up, clearing his throat as he looked down at me. His eyes carried an unquestionable authority mixed with a subtle, calculating gleam. “The family banquet is tomorrow,” Father said, leaning his hands on the table. “In front of all our relatives, I have a major announcement to make regarding you.” The next day’s banquet was a grand affair, packed with distinguished guests and flowing wine. Father wore a dark red velvet suit, his face glowing as he stood on the stage holding a microphone. He announced the joyful news of Bella’s pregnancy to the entire room. “This is a monumental blessing for our family! I’m finally going to be a grandfather!” Thunderous applause erupted below the stage. Relatives raised their glasses, showering our table with a barrage of cheap flattery. Father dramatically produced an elegant velvet box containing the keys to the luxury penthouse, placing them solemnly into Bella’s hands. Dressed in a haute couture gown, Bella lifted her chin with pride, soaking in the envious glares of every woman in the room. Then, Father shifted the topic. He turned his gaze toward me, sitting silently in the corner of the room. “To provide the strongest financial security for our family’s future eldest grandson…” Father intentionally raised his voice so every soul in the hall could hear clearly. “…I have decided to transfer thirty percent of my shares in the family corporation to this unborn child in advance!” He looked around the room, his face wearing a facade of grand generosity. “Everyone present today shall be our witness!” The crowd gasped in shock. Even my mother, who had been maintaining a polite smile, froze in place. That thirty percent stake was the final line of defense my maternal grandfather had left for me before his death. It was the sole proof of my mother’s family investing their fortune into the family business decades ago. I looked at my father’s hypocritical, righteous face on the stage. I looked at Bella’s greedy expression, practically salivating at the thought of swallowing everything whole. I couldn’t hold it in for another second. Letting out a cold laugh, I slammed my hands on the table and stood up. The sound of my chair clattering onto the floor echoed harshly across the banquet hall. I marched onto the stage, slamming a thick document folder directly onto the main table. “Transfer my shares to your bastard child?” I locked eyes with my father’s stunned gaze. “Dad, isn’t your math a little too loud?!”

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