My mother told me I was the long-lost heiress and dumped me on the Sterling family’s doorstep. But the moment I arrived, my supposed brothers circled around the fake heiress, Lily, like a protective wall. “Lily is the only sister we’ll ever have. Don’t even think about replacing her!” My wealthy new parents banished me to a servant’s room, warning me not to cause any trouble. They all assumed I was there to fight Lily for their affection. So when they discovered I had no biological connection to my new father, they were ready to throw me out, waving a DNA test in my face. “The Sterling family will not tolerate a bastard child sullying our bloodline!” That’s when I calmly produced a DNA test of my own. “I’m not the switched-at-birth heiress,” I said, offering my so-called father a small smile. “But my mother is.” “Uncle,” I added sweetly, “you’ve never actually had your DNA tested against my grandparents, have you?” 1 The moment I stepped through the grand entrance of the Sterling estate, I was met with a volley of hostile glares. In the living room, a middle-aged couple and three young men were huddled around a girl on the sofa, murmuring words of comfort. Their eyes flickered over me with contempt for a fraction of a second before snapping back to her. The lady of the house, a woman dripping with jewels, hugged the girl tightly. “Oh, Lily, darling, don’t cry. You’re breaking my heart.” “You grew up in this house. We’ve cherished you for twenty years. How could we possibly let some uncultured girl from the sticks replace you?” Lily dabbed at her eyes, her voice a pathetic little whisper. “But… she’s the real heiress. I’m not truly a Sterling. If she and I ever disagree, Mom, Dad, and my brothers will have to take her side.” She let out a dramatic sigh. “It’s probably better if I just leave now, on my own terms, before I’m eventually thrown out.” Her words made the eldest brother, Ethan, scowl with concern. “How could you even think that? We’re the ones who’ve spent our lives together. We’re family. Some girl from a backwater town could never mean as much to us as you do.” The second brother, Liam, chimed in with a solemn promise. “I swear, Lily, no matter what happens, you’re our only sister. Even if that… Clara… shares our blood, she’s nothing more than a stranger to us.” The third, Noah, shot me a look so sharp it could have cut glass. “Exactly! If she dares to use her position as a biological daughter to bully you, I’ll make her regret ever coming back!” Their father, Richard Sterling, didn’t even bother to look at me, but his words were a clear warning aimed in my direction. “In the Sterling house, you follow Sterling rules. And as long as I’m the head of this family, no one will ever harm the apple of our eye!” Watching them perform this little play, I almost had to laugh. I hadn’t said a single word, and they had already scripted an entire drama where I was the villain tormenting poor, innocent Lily. While they were busy consoling her, I took the opportunity to study their faces. It was a professional habit, honed by years of sketching suspects for the criminal investigation unit. Richard Sterling had double eyelids, a bulbous nose, and a square jaw. He was short and stout, built like a fire hydrant. Yet his three sons all had monolids, narrow noses, and sharp, angular faces. They were built like greyhounds. Each one looked shrewder than the last, and all of them were tall and lanky. The longer I looked, the more something felt deeply wrong. It was one thing for Lily, the adopted daughter, to look nothing like them. But how could a man’s three biological sons not share a single one of his features? How did a boar sire three greyhounds? 2 As I mulled this over, the family finally managed to coax a smile out of Lily, and their attention swung back to me. My supposed mother, Victoria, looked me up and down with a critical eye. “You’re Clara, the one the old lady insisted we bring here?” I came back to myself and nodded. My simple response seemed to irritate her. “You don’t even greet us when you walk in the door. Just as I thought. Raised in the country. No manners.” Before I could open my mouth to speak, she waved a dismissive hand and barked an order at a maid. “Mrs. Gable, take her to one of the empty rooms next to the kitchen.” Next to the kitchen. Where the staff slept. Victoria then adopted the regal air of a true matriarch. “I don’t care what your life was like before,” she said coolly. “But now that you’re in the Sterling house, you will shed those crude habits of yours.” Richard’s voice was a low rumble. “We’re not like those other old-money families. We value affection over bloodlines. Lily is, and always will be, our only treasured daughter.” “If you dare to bring your low-class, manipulative games into this house,” he warned, “don’t blame me for ignoring my parents’ wishes and sending you right back to where you came from.” I said nothing, my gaze shifting between his face and Victoria’s, the puzzle deepening. The bone structure of their faces and mine didn’t just fail to overlap; there wasn’t a single point of correspondence. How could I possibly be their child? My silent scrutiny seemed to unnerve them. Richard’s voice rose. “Did you hear me?!” Lily frowned, her voice laced with faux concern. “Mother, I’ve heard that people from poor neighborhoods often get sick as children and can’t afford treatment. Sometimes, a high fever can… damage their minds.” Her eyes met mine, a flash of triumph and insult in them. “Do you think Clara might have… a problem?” She tapped her temple meaningfully. At her words, Victoria’s expression soured from disapproval to outright disgust. She flapped her hand as if shooing away a fly. “Mrs. Gable, are you deaf? Get her out of my sight!” Her three sons and Lily watched me with unconcealed glee, their expressions of contempt mirroring their mother’s perfectly. It wasn’t just our looks that were different; our very natures were worlds apart. Confident now that I was not their biological child, I felt a sense of relief and followed Mrs. Gable to the servants’ quarters. Victoria’s voice, dripping with venom, floated after me. “That Clara is the spitting image of the old lady. I can’t stand to look at her.” Then, her tone sweetened as she turned to Lily. “Not like my sweet, darling Lily. You’re such a comfort to me.” The voices faded, but her words didn’t stir any emotion in me. A family where no one bore a resemblance to each other was a statistical anomaly. Besides inbreeding or some wild genetic mutation, I couldn’t fathom any other reason for a son to look nothing like his father. To solve this mystery, I knew I had to stay. I needed to find out what secrets this family was hiding. 3 Under pressure from my grandmother, the Sterlings reluctantly paid to enroll me in a prestigious local university, in the same program as Lily. I hadn’t been in school for long before Lily decided it was time to make her move. It was an eight a.m. class. The moment I stepped through the door, I felt every eye in the room lock onto me. Lily was at the front, speaking with our professor. When she saw me, tears instantly welled in her eyes. “Clara,” she cried, her voice breaking dramatically, “if you wanted the gold medal in the competition, you just had to ask! I would have gladly given it to you.” She wrung her hands. “I know you’re jealous that I had the life that was meant to be yours, that I got all the opportunities… but I couldn’t control that!” “I’m willing to give you everything back, I swear! But why would you resort to something so dishonest? Why would you steal my work?” Just as she’d planned, the gazes of my classmates turned from curious to contemptuous. Ever since my first day, Lily had been carefully crafting a narrative, painting me as an interloper and herself as the kind, tragic victim. And I had to admit, her plan was working. The professor turned his laptop screen toward me, displaying the winners’ list. My name was at the top, in first place. I hadn’t even entered the competition. He addressed me with a sneer. “Clara, would you care to explain why your name is on the entry that Lily submitted?” I shrugged, my hands open in a gesture of honesty. “She’s the one who submitted it. How would I know?” He let out a cold, humorless laugh. “Our department has a strict code of conduct. We do not tolerate plagiarism or theft.” He pulled out his phone and began tapping out a message. “Don’t you worry, Lily. I’m contacting the dean and the competition judges right now. We will make this right.” Hearing this, the students started whispering amongst themselves. “Is he getting her expelled?” “Figures. Someone from the sticks wouldn’t know any better. Cheating in a national sketch competition? She’s got some nerve.” “And stealing from Lily, of all people. Doesn’t she know Lily is the best in our program?” Someone else snorted. “What would she know? She only got in because her parents pulled some strings. Does she even know how to draw?” “The Sterlings are a family of artists, but this Clara can’t draw, and she doesn’t look anything like them.” “Maybe they got it wrong. Maybe she’s not their long-lost daughter after all.” Not their daughter? And who told them I couldn’t draw? I found the whole situation amusing and didn’t bother to correct them. But at that last comment, Lily’s head snapped toward me, her eyes gleaming as if she’d just discovered a hidden treasure. I saw her discreetly pull out her phone and fire off several messages. 4 Half an hour later, the classroom was packed. The dean, the competition judges, and the entire Sterling family had arrived. They even brought a few police officers with them. “Who reported a crime?” the lead officer, Detective Miller, asked, his eyes scanning the crowded room. When he saw me, his expression flickered with surprise. “Clar—” I gave him a subtle shake of my head. Lily had worked so hard to stage this drama for me. It would be a shame not to let her finish her performance. Miller and his colleagues caught my signal and fell silent. “I did!” the professor announced, pointing an accusatory finger at me. He looked at the officers with righteous indignation. “This student stole another’s artwork to enter a competition, tarnishing the reputation of our institution!” “I tolerated the fact that she got in through family connections,” he huffed. “But this… this is a disgrace. I cannot, in good conscience, cover this up!” The Sterlings flushed with embarrassment, glaring at me as if I were a stain on their family name. Not a single one of them moved to defend me. The university officials looked at the professor, bewildered. The dean opened his mouth to speak, but Miller put a firm hand on his shoulder, silently signaling him to stay quiet. “Her? She stole someone’s artwork?” Miller couldn’t suppress a smirk. “Whose work did she supposedly steal?” His amused tone threw the professor, Lily, and everyone else for a loop. After a moment’s hesitation, Lily stepped forward. “It was mine,” she said, then put on a show of magnanimity. “But Clara is the sister my parents just brought home. I know she’s picked up some… bad habits. But she’s still my sister. I promise she won’t do it again.” She pleaded with the officials. “I’m begging you, Mr. Dean, and the judges, please give her a second chance. Don’t put this on her record.” Every word was a performance of perfect, selfless sincerity. The Sterlings were deeply moved. Victoria wrapped a protective arm around her. “Oh, my sweet Lily. You’re just too kind for your own good.” Richard Sterling’s voice was grave. “Detective, handle this as the law requires. The Sterling family will not shelter a criminal.” Sensing the tide, the professor added his two cents. “Lily, you’ve been too sheltered. You don’t understand how cruel the world can be. In my opinion, a student with such poor moral character should be expelled!” The other students, swept up in the mob mentality, began to chime in. “Yes! We don’t want a thief in our class!” “She stole from her own sister today! Who knows who she’ll target next?” “We demand she be expelled!” They were so caught up in their righteous fury that none of them noticed the dean’s face had turned a shade of purple. After listening to their tirade, Miller nodded slowly, a playful glint in his eye as he looked at me. “Well, miss? Do you have anything to say for yourself?” he drawled. “If not, you’d better come with us down to the station.” 5 Lily, believing she had already won, shot me a triumphant smirk. I let out a long sigh, deciding it was time to end this farce. “Alright, that’s enough. It’s not that complicated.” “Just find Lily’s original artwork and send it to forensics. Check the signature and the fingerprints.” As soon as I finished, Miller’s voice dripped with mock surprise. “What? A full forensic analysis?” He raised an eyebrow theatrically. “Seems like a waste of police resources, don’t you think… Profiler?” The word hung in the air, and the entire room fell silent. Lily’s brain seemed to short-circuit. The professor’s eyes widened, and he turned slowly to Miller. “…What did you just call her?” Miller gave him a thin smile. “Clara Vance. She’s a criminal profiler on loan to our department from D.C. Graduated top of her class from the joint program at Quantico two years ago.” The dean, finally finding his voice, shot the professor a furious glare. “Not only that, Ms. Vance is a judge for the national finals of this very competition, and she is our university’s guest lecturer for the upcoming semester!” Miller continued, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “She’s going to steal someone’s work? For a campus-level competition?” He let out a short, derisive laugh and turned his gaze to a rapidly paling Lily. “Tell me, little sister, did you also graduate at the top of a national program?” Lily’s face was ashen. “That’s impossible!” she blurted out. “She’s just some girl they found in the countryside! Where would she have learned to draw?” Realizing she had just shattered her carefully constructed persona, she quickly tried to backtrack as all eyes turned to her. “I… I just mean, my sister never had the chance to study with a master. Perhaps there’s been a mistake?” Miller rolled his eyes. “Genius is in her DNA. That’s a bit different from someone like you, who has no natural talent to speak of.” Lily looked like she was about to be sick. But then, a spark of an idea seemed to flash in her mind. She fumbled for her phone, her eyes scanning a message. Suddenly, the light returned to her eyes. She held up her phone, waving it victoriously in my direction. “So what if you have talent, Clara?” “I had our maid take a few strands of hair from your brush and run a DNA test with Mom and Dad’s.” My heart skipped a beat. I stared at her, genuinely surprised. Seeing my reaction, Lily’s smile widened into a malicious grin. “I even paid extra for a rush job. And guess what the results said?” “You’re not their daughter at all!”

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My cooking video went viral for the first time. All because I let my wife, Eva—a certified kitchen disaster—make a plate of sweet and sour ribs that came out looking like a twisted, blackened nightmare. The comments section exploded: 【OMG! How did she mess up every single step?】 【My dog could cook better than that!】 I sighed. At least it was getting views. Then, a few comments scrolled by that stopped my heart. 【Wait a second! Isn’t that Eva Burke? The culinary goddess who disappeared years ago?!】 【Back in the day, she and her partner, Ross Grey, were legends in the food world!】 Suddenly, the screen was flooded with a new narrative. 【Case closed! The goddess hasn’t forgotten how to cook. She just reserves her skills for Ross Grey!】 【Who is this husband guy? What gives him the right to make a legend like her break her sacred vow?】 I sat there, bathed in the cold light of my phone, and looked at the woman who had been a quiet, unassuming presence in my life for years. And for the first time, she felt like a complete stranger. 1 My fingers scrolled down mechanically, unearthing more and more comments that pieced together a dazzling, brilliant version of my wife I never knew existed. Eva Burke. She was once a rising star in the culinary scene, a food blogger with breathtaking skill and a perfect partner named Ross Grey. “Eva & Ross’s Table.” I whispered the unfamiliar name, my finger trembling as I typed it into the search bar. The account had been dormant for years, but the old videos were still there. In the thumbnail, a younger Eva, her eyes sparkling with life, wore a crisp chef’s coat. Her arm was casually draped around a handsome, smiling man. She looked so different from the Eva I married, who was always composed, always serene, always distant. This was a version of her I had never seen—brimming with confidence and passion. I clicked on the video with the most views. In it, Eva was expertly filleting a fish. Her hands were as steady as a surgeon’s, the knife gliding effortlessly, creating slices as thin as dragonfly wings. She turned to Ross, her smile soft and genuine. “Jules, can you pass me the spiced honey? You always did like things a little sweeter, right?” Ross’s warm, laughing voice came from off-screen. “You know it. You’re the only one who remembers.” The intimacy in his tone was a physical sting. My mind reeled back to just last week. I was in the kitchen, buried under a mountain of invoices for the bistro, so stressed that my lip was chapped and bleeding. Eva came home from work, glanced at the stove, and frowned. “Still not done? Just whip something up we can eat.” I had hoped she might offer to help, even just to wash some vegetables. “I’m swamped, Eva,” I pleaded. “Could you maybe…” She cut me off, her voice flat. “I don’t cook, Leo. You know that. Let’s just order takeout.” She said it so matter-of-factly. Just like she always did. Every time I was drowning in the stress of keeping the bistro afloat; every time I stayed up until the early hours of the morning perfecting a new recipe; every time she saw my hands shaking from sheer exhaustion—she just stood by, offering a simple, dismissive, “I don’t cook.” It turns out, it wasn’t that she couldn’t. She just wouldn’t. Not for me. In the video, she saw a tiny drop of hot oil splash near Ross and immediately grabbed his hand, inspecting it with frantic concern. “We have to protect Jules,” she said to the camera, “not a single scratch.” But I remembered last month when I threw out my back hauling sacks of flour. I was sweating through my shirt from the pain, and she just watched me, finally saying, “If you can’t handle it, then don’t do it. Why push yourself?” The brutal contrast was a freezing tide washing over my heart, a dull, suffocating ache. This bistro was my father’s life’s work. On his deathbed, he had gripped my hand and made me promise to keep it going. I had poured every cent of my savings, every ounce of my soul into it. I barely ate, barely slept. I was stretched as taut as a violin string. Eva saw all of it. She had the skill to save this place. A single demonstration of her talent could have been the lifeline we needed. But she chose to hide it. She chose to watch my father’s legacy, my entire world, slide slowly into bankruptcy. She even played along with my stupid video, acting the part of the kitchen disaster, leaving me to struggle alone in my despair. I switched off the video and took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm the storm raging in my chest. No, I can’t think like that. Maybe… maybe she had her reasons. Everyone has a past. And besides the cooking, she was a good wife. She contributed her salary to the household, remembered my birthday and our son’s, and brought me a glass of water when I was sick. She wasn’t overly affectionate with our son, Toby, but she held him, she took care of him. She did her duty as a mother. I had to believe there was more to the story. I decided to give myself, and our family, one more chance. I called her, forcing my voice to sound calm and sincere. “Eva, you know what this bistro means to me. It’s the last piece of my dad I have left.” My voice trembled, betraying me. “It’s about to go under. I’m asking you, just this once, to please… please cook something for real. Do it for me. Can you do that?” There was a pause on the other end, and then her voice came back, laced with that familiar impatience. “Leo, I don’t cook. You’ve always known that.” In that instant, my heart sank to the bottom of a cold, dark ocean. My voice was barely a whisper, but it carried the weight of all my broken hope. “Then what about ‘Eva & Ross’s Table’?” 2 The line went silent for a moment. When Eva spoke again, her voice was as calm and placid as ever. “Since you know, I might as well be clear.” There was no hesitation, no attempt to hide. Each word was a sharp, deliberate cut into my heart. “I promised Jules my cooking was for him and him alone. That’s a promise I made to him, and I won’t break it for anyone.” A promise? For a promise to another man, she would stand by and watch my entire world crumble? A wave of fury, mixed with a bitter taste of despair, crashed over me. “So that’s it?” I demanded, my voice shaking. “You’d just watch the bistro die? Watch me drown in anxiety every single day? Eva, with your reputation, you wouldn’t even have to cook! You could just show up, say a few words, or—or even just let me use your name! That alone could have saved us!” My voice rose to a sharp, unfamiliar pitch. Eva just listened quietly. When I was done shouting, she delivered her final, cruel blow. “That bistro was always going to fail, Leo. Stop fighting a losing battle.” Her words severed my last thread of hope. “You’re disgusting, Eva.” I spat the words out with what little defiance I had left and hung up, feeling like all the strength had been drained from my body. Just then, a notification popped up on my screen. 【Eva & Ross’s Table is LIVE! Ross’s back in the country for a surprise reunion with Eva!】 My thumb moved on its own, clicking the link. There was Ross, as charming as ever. And next to him, wearing an apron and expertly tossing a wok, was my wife. The woman who, in my kitchen, couldn’t tell salt from sugar was now a whirlwind of graceful precision, her control over the heat and ingredients absolute. She would occasionally turn to speak with Ross, her eyes filled with a focus and warmth I had never, ever seen directed at me. “Be careful, Jules. It’s hot.” She took a plate from his hands, her movements gentle and natural. Then, a little boy, maybe five or six years old, appeared on camera. Ross introduced him as his son, who was fascinated by cooking. Eva knelt, her patience seemingly infinite, and guided the boy’s hands as he tried to chop a vegetable. Her voice was softer than I’d ever heard it. “That’s right, sweetheart, keep your wrist steady. You’re so smart.” She called him sweetheart. She smiled at him with such genuine tenderness. My son, Toby… she would hold him sometimes, but she had never once shown him that kind of patient affection. When Toby would bring her a picture book, begging for a story, she’d always say, “Mommy’s tired.” When he proudly showed her a gold star he’d earned at preschool, she’d offer a lukewarm, “Hmm, that’s nice.” … These images were razor blades, shredding the last of my delusions. I closed the livestream, my chest heaving, but my eyes remained stubbornly dry. Just then, the front door opened. It was Toby, home from school. He didn’t even take off his little backpack before he threw himself into my arms and burst into tears. “Daddy… sniff… the other kids said… they said Mommy doesn’t want us anymore… They said she has a new baby now, and she doesn’t want Toby…” He sobbed hysterically, his little face turning red. “I want Mommy! I can’t live without Mommy…” Seeing my son’s raw fear and pain extinguished the fire of my own rage. My resolve to burn everything to the ground vanished. He was right. Toby needed his mother. What would happen to him if Eva and I were at war? I held my son tight, forcing myself to breathe, to calm down. I decided to give her one last chance. I sent her a text. “Toby’s birthday is tomorrow. Be home early.” It took a long time for her to reply. “Got it.” 3 The clock struck ten. On the dining table, the birthday dinner I’d made for Toby had been reheated for the third time. Toby had gone from bouncing with excitement, to anxiously peering out the window, to now, curled up in the corner of the sofa, his little head nodding with sleep. He was still clutching the drawing he had made for his mom. “Daddy, did Mommy forget?” he mumbled, rubbing his sleepy eyes, his voice thick with disappointment. “Mommy’s probably just busy with work…” I said, the excuse tasting like ash in my mouth. I didn’t even believe it myself. The hands on the clock ticked mercilessly past midnight. His birthday was over. My heart sank into the darkness with the night. I stared at the plate of sweet and sour ribs, now misshapen and dull from being reheated so many times. I remembered when we were first married; even though she wouldn’t cook, she would at least look at this dish when I served it and say, “It’s delicious.” When did even that small, feigned warmth disappear? This marriage was just like this dish—spoiled, sticky, and giving off a sickening stench. I called her one last time. It rang for a long time before she picked up. The background was a chaotic symphony of voices and clattering cookware, a stark contrast to the dead silence of my home. “Hello?” Her voice was sharp with the impatience of being busy. “Eva, where are you? It was Toby’s birthday. You promised…” “Something came up. I can’t make it back.” She cut me off without a hint of apology, as if she were canceling a casual coffee date. My knuckles turned white as I gripped the phone. “What could possibly be more important than your son’s birthday?” “Jules needs help calibrating the equipment for the livestream. I can’t leave,” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Then her tone shifted, becoming demanding. “By the way, that batch of black truffles you got—they’re still at the bistro, right? Bring them over now. Ross needs them for his next dish.” I was stunned into silence, then let out a cold, bitter laugh. That batch of top-grade black truffles… I had pulled so many strings, gone through hell and back, and used nearly the last of my cash flow to get them. I was banking on them for a new signature dish, a final, desperate attempt to save my restaurant. “Those truffles are for—” I started, trying to explain how important they were to me. “I know you got them,” she interrupted again, her voice dripping with undisguised contempt. “But that kind of ingredient is wasted on you. Its true potential can only be realized in the hands of a real chef, like Ross. Stop wasting time and bring them over. We need them now.” Wasted on me? In her eyes, all my effort, all my passion, was just a waste? And whatever Ross needed was simply her command? The dam of resentment, anger, and humiliation that had been building not just all night, but for years, finally burst. My voice trembled, but the words came out with chilling clarity. “Evelyn! Have you no shame?!” I slammed the phone down. The tears finally came, hot and furious, but I bit my lip, refusing to make a sound. A small, warm hand gently touched my cheek. Toby was awake, standing in front of me. His own face was streaked with tears, but he looked at me with a solemnity far beyond his years. “Daddy, don’t cry,” he said. “Mommy’s bad. She made Daddy sad. I don’t want her anymore either.” My son’s words were like a splash of ice water, instantly dousing the flames of my rage and replacing them with a cold, hard clarity. The family I had fought so desperately to hold together was, in Eva’s eyes, something she could cast aside at a moment’s notice. Could my son ever truly be happy in a home like this? I took a deep breath, wiped my tears, and pulled Toby into a hug. In that moment, my decision was made. I stood up, walked to the bookshelf, and took down a dusty folder. Inside were our marriage certificate and our family’s official documents. I placed them on the table, my gaze calm. Since she was so busy being a mother to someone else’s child, my son and I didn’t need her anymore. 4 Meanwhile, at Ross’s studio, preparations for the live broadcast were in full swing. Eva stared at her phone, frowning. Her calls to me were going straight to voicemail. “What’s wrong? Hasn’t Leo brought the truffles yet?” Ross asked, handing her a glass of water. His voice was gentle, but a flicker of calculation crossed his eyes. He sighed dramatically. “I bet he’s still mad at me… It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have asked you to do this. I know he’s in a tough spot right now, so it’s only natural he’d take it out on you… It’s just a shame it might affect tonight’s broadcast…” Eva rubbed her temples, annoyed. Leo had never been this defiant before. “It’s fine,” she said coolly, turning to an assistant. “Go to The Hearthstone Bistro. Go to the back kitchen and get that batch of black truffles.” The assistant nodded and left. With the addition of the premium ingredient, Ross’s livestream was a massive success. The reunion of the legendary pair ignited a wave of nostalgia across the internet, and the video went viral overnight. The next day, the media descended on them like vultures. Ross smiled at the cameras, the picture of refined charm. “I really have to thank Eva for last night’s success. Without her, none of this would have been possible. The chemistry between us… it’s never changed.” The implication in his words sent a ripple of excitement through the reporters. One journalist pushed a microphone towards Eva. “It seems your connection with Mr. Grey is truly special! Will you two be officially teaming up again to bring back the glory of ‘Eva & Ross’s Table’?” Eva faced the flashing cameras, her expression as calm as ever. “No,” she said after a moment’s thought. “I have a family to consider. I have to respect my husband’s feelings. It wouldn’t be appropriate.” As she finished, a strange, awkward silence fell over the crowd. The smile on Ross’s face froze. Just then, a reporter in the back raised his phone high in the air. “Ms. Burke, are you referring to your husband, Leo?” he shouted. “Because this morning, your husband posted a new video on his social media.” “It was a divorce announcement.” 5 The reporter’s words were a thunderclap in Eva’s ears. A divorce announcement? She instinctively pulled out her phone. On my social media page, the embarrassing “kitchen disaster” video was gone. In its place was a new, pinned video with a simple black-and-white thumbnail. 【Moving On. A Statement on My Divorce.】 The caption underneath was even more cutting: “Your talent belongs to someone else. My future belongs to me.” The comment section was a war zone. Some accused me of riding her coattails for fame, others sympathized with my situation, and many tagged her directly, asking if she had cheated. The more Eva read, the tighter her frown became, and a sense of dread washed over her. “Eva, don’t worry,” Ross whispered, his voice laced with the perfect amount of concern. “Leo is probably just being impulsive… He probably saw how well we work together and got jealous. This is just his way of getting your attention…” On any other day, Eva might have found his words comforting. But now, her mind was a chaotic mess. She turned and walked away from the press conference without another word. Ross, stunned for a second, hurried after her. Eva dialed my number again and again, only to be met with the cold tone of a busy signal. She sped home. The house was eerily quiet. Most of my and Toby’s belongings were gone, making the living room feel vast and empty. On the coffee table sat a crisp, new set of divorce papers. A flame of anger ignited in her chest. Her first thought was the bistro—the only thing she knew I still cared about. She stormed into The Hearthstone Bistro to find me at the stove, my back to her, calmly sautéing vegetables. Ross immediately stepped forward, putting on his best puppy-dog face. “Leo, please don’t misunderstand Eva. It’s all my fault. I’m the one who begged her to help… We’re just colleagues, really. She’s always telling me how wonderful you are, how much you’ve sacrificed for your family…” Wonderful? I almost laughed out loud. Eva seized on his words as if they were proof. “Did you hear that? Ross is defending you. He’s not like you, throwing tantrums, giving the silent treatment, and threatening divorce!” I turned off the stove, plated the food, and finally turned to face them. My eyes were cold, devoid of any warmth. “Did you read the papers? Sign them. Toby and I will be moved out in a few days.” Seeing my unyielding resolve, a flash of panic crossed Ross’s eyes. He stepped closer, his voice cracking with manufactured pain. “Leo, how could you? Can’t we talk about this? Why would you use divorce, use your own child, to blackmail Eva? Toby is so young! What’s he going to do?” Eva’s eyes lit up with understanding. She composed herself, looking down at me with a condescending air. “Don’t think you can control me with Toby and this divorce stunt, Leo. Take down the announcement right now, and we can talk.” I finally met their gaze, and the raw disgust and ice in my eyes made Eva flinch.

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1 Three years after I broke up with Ethan, I returned to Riverton only to become the town’s laughingstock. They all said I was a fool who couldn’t see the diamond right in front of me, who willingly threw away the prize of a lifetime. Some even whispered that I was back to win Ethan over, hoping to use him to pull the Vance family back from the brink of ruin. The rumors swirled, growing more vicious by the day, but I paid them no mind. Then, I ran into Ethan’s protégé, Zoe, at a restaurant—the same woman who had wedged herself between us three years ago. As Zoe’s taunts washed over me, my gaze drifted past her to Ethan, who stood silently by the entrance. I decided then and there to shatter his cool composure. “Ethan,” I said, my voice clear and steady, “when have you ever known me to turn back?” … My words hung in the air, plunging the bustling restaurant into a sudden, dead silence. The other patrons, who had been eagerly watching the drama unfold, now held their breath, their eyes fixed on Ethan’s darkening expression. No one dared to make a sound. Zoe turned, and upon seeing Ethan, she flitted to his side like a hummingbird drawn to a flower. “Good that you know your place,” she chirped, her voice dripping with scorn. “You’re not nearly good enough for him now.” … She spoke with the unshakeable confidence of someone who had always been cherished by him, each word a carefully crafted jab meant to belittle me. Ethan’s eyes flickered at her words. His dark, intense gaze was like a vortex, threatening to pull me in and swallow me whole. He said nothing, simply allowing Zoe to continue her thinly veiled insults. It was a scene chillingly familiar, a perfect echo of the past three years. Ever since Zoe entered our lives, it had always been the two of them, standing together, against me. “Eleanor.” My best friend, Claire, returned to my side, her presence a solid anchor. She glanced at Zoe, who was now clinging possessively to Ethan’s arm. “Well, well,” Claire scoffed. “Look at them. The bastard and the bitch, finally a pair.” Her words sliced through the tense air, and the atmosphere crackled with hostility. “You…” Zoe’s cheeks flushed with rage. “Ethan, did you hear what she just—” she whined, tugging at his sleeve. Claire leaned in, whispering in my ear, “Disgusting.” I couldn’t help it; a small laugh escaped my lips. Ethan’s gaze snapped to me, his eyes narrowing. “Eleanor, control your friend.” His cold, commanding tone was a blade that sent me hurtling back three years into the past. Seeing him today had resurrected all the ghosts I thought I’d left behind. I took Claire’s hand and stepped slightly in front of her, facing him directly. “Ethan, you control your woman,” I retorted, my voice as sharp as his. “Don’t let her out in public if all she’s going to do is bite.” Then, I turned my head, my eyes locking with Zoe’s. “The bone you’re fighting so desperately for is one I’ve already thrown away,” I said, my voice low and cutting. “Where I stand, he’s the one who isn’t good enough for me.” With that, I took Claire’s hand and walked toward the door. As I passed Ethan, I saw the tight, white-knuckled fist clenched at his side. It turns out, words that cut deep are surprisingly simple to say. But I wasn’t just trying to hurt him. It was the truth. From the moment he started taking Zoe’s side, again and again, he had ceased to be worthy of me in my heart. The man I love can be poor, he can be unsuccessful. But he must, without question, be in my corner, always. He cannot stand with another woman, using cold logic to tell me I’m wrong. 2 “Damn, Eleanor! It’s like you went away and got a Ph.D. in clapbacks.” Claire was still buzzing with excitement on the drive home. After all, three years ago, Zoe’s taunts would often leave me speechless and fuming. This time, I was the one who left them both pale with rage. I offered a small smile, feeling myself retreat into the quiet, reserved person I used to be. Claire reached over and gently pinched my cheek. “There she is. My sweet little lamb.” Honestly, everything I’d said back there was fueled by a surge of protective anger. I didn’t care what they said about me, but Claire had stood up for me. I couldn’t let them tear her down. I didn’t need to explain that to her, though. “I guess being cooped up in the hospital for so long left me with a lot of pent-up frustration,” I said quietly. “It all just came out.” Hearing this, Claire waited for a red light, then reached over and patted my head gently. “Congratulations,” she said, her voice soft. “You finally made it back from the gates of hell.” Her words struck a chord deep inside me, and suddenly, I felt an overwhelming urge to cry. In this entire world, Claire was the only one who knew I had been sick. But three years ago, the moment the doctor handed me that diagnosis, the only person I wanted to find was Ethan. I searched for him all day. I called. I texted. I contacted his friends, his colleagues. No one knew where he was. They only knew he’d driven off somewhere with Zoe. He was unreachable. Only Claire, sensing the panic in my voice over the phone, had rushed to my side. She was the one who took me back to the hospital, who spoke with the doctors, who found out about a specialized research program overseas. By the time night fell, we were both emotionally and physically drained. And that’s when Ethan finally showed up. He saw the two of us, his expression unreadable. “Eleanor, you were looking for me? My phone died today.” Claire, incensed, lunged forward to confront him, but I held her back. “Claire, I need to talk to him alone.” Though she was still furious, she respected my wish and left. The apartment was suffocatingly quiet. Ethan stood before me. After a long moment, he came and sat beside me on the couch. The cushion sank under his weight as he pulled me into his arms. “There was an issue with some experimental data at the company today,” he began, his voice a low murmur against my hair. “It was Zoe’s section, so I went back to the lab with her to sort it out. My phone was off, I didn’t see your messages. Eleanor, don’t be angry. I’ll be more careful from now on.” His words were a dam breaking inside me, and tears flooded my eyes. I fought them back, refusing to let them fall. The scent clinging to him had changed. It was no longer his familiar cologne, but something else… laced with a cloyingly sweet fragrance, the kind a younger girl would wear. It was faint, but it made my stomach churn. But I couldn’t bear to let go. Not yet. So I said, “Ethan, Zoe has feelings for you. Can you please fire her?” He pulled away, his hands falling from my shoulders. He studied my face, and when his gaze met my tear-filled eyes, I saw his fingertips tremble. A long silence stretched between us before he finally spoke, his voice frustratingly rational. “If I fire her, she might not be able to graduate. Besides, what you’re saying… it’s just your assumption. Eleanor, I can’t ruin her life based on a suspicion.” … He kept talking, his logical explanations filling the air, but all I could hear was a dull roar as my world turned to gray. “Fine,” I said, my voice heavy with exhaustion, cutting through his monologue. “Then let’s break up.” My words stopped him cold. He left in a storm of anger, slamming the door behind him. But just before he disappeared, he shot back a furious question. “Eleanor, what’s wrong with you? When did you become like this?” He stormed out so quickly, he never heard my whispered reply. “Ethan, I’m sick.” A sharp pain lanced through my chest. I curled into a ball on the couch, my body trembling as silent tears finally soaked into the pillow. In this world, nothing is less reliable than the human heart. So I refused to gamble on it, refused to bet on his loyalty. I just wanted a definitive answer. And really, all I wanted was to get rid of the woman circling my partner before I left the country for treatment. What was so wrong with that? 3 I never contacted Ethan again after that day. I moved out of the villa we shared, leaving behind every gift he had ever given me. I took only what was mine. The day before I was due to fly out, Claire asked me, “Are you really not going to tell him?” My hands, busy packing, paused for a moment. I shook my head. “There’s no point.” After she left, I sat motionless for a long time. My fingers, acting of their own accord, found my phone and opened my chat with Ethan. The screen was filled with the messages I had sent that day: [Ethan, where are you?] [Ethan, why aren’t you picking up?] [Ethan…] … Countless messages, all met with a single, hollow explanation. And that final, damning question: “When did you become like this?” The memory was a physical blow, and I doubled over, clutching my chest. Just then, my phone rang. It was Ethan. “Eleanor…” Before he could say more, Zoe’s voice cut through from his end. “Ethan, you’ve had way too much to drink.” The words I had been about to say died in my throat. I just listened, silent, to the rustle of fabric and Zoe’s concerned murmurs as she fussed over him. The call ended. I stared at the chat screen. At the top, the “typing…” bubble appeared, then vanished. Appeared, then vanished again. Finally, it disappeared for good, leaving nothing behind. In the dead of night, in those few short hours, I replayed the entire fifteen years of our history together. From my parents’ funeral, where he stood by my side greeting mourners, to his parents’ funeral, where I stood by his. In the eyes of everyone who knew us, we were already life partners, inseparable. But everything changed the moment he started arguing with me over Zoe. I had told him more than once that she was in love with him. He always dismissed it as my imagination, my paranoia. Perhaps she was just that good at hiding it in front of him. But I had seen it. I had seen the look in her eyes when she thought he wasn’t watching. It was a look of intense, burning adoration. [Ethan, I’m leaving the country.] [Don’t call me anymore.] [We’re over.] After sending the messages, I blocked him everywhere. On every platform. It was decisive, absolute, leaving no room for doubt. I was afraid. Afraid that if I left even the smallest crack open, my weak heart would betray me, and I would find myself unable to let him go. I knew, with absolute clarity, that I still loved him. But I was so, so tired. Tired of the endless fights over Zoe. Tired of watching him stand on her side, criticizing me, refuting my feelings. He said I had changed. But what woman could tolerate a rival hovering around the man she loved? When I needed him most, he was with her. When I found out from his own company that he had left with Zoe that day, I thought I was going to lose my mind. If Claire hadn’t been there to catch me, I would have collapsed right then and there. The memories replayed all the way home, a past that needed to be left behind. When I arrived, Claire asked, “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you for your check-up tomorrow?” I shook my head. “It’s just to get my file set up. Nothing major. If there’s a real problem, I’ll have to go back overseas for treatment anyway.” I knew she had just taken on a huge new project and was incredibly busy. She was my best friend, but she had her own life to live. Claire sighed. “Okay. But you have to promise to call me if anything happens.” After she left, I stood by the door for a long time. Suddenly, I didn’t feel so alone in the world anymore. I might have lost love, but I still had my friendship. 4 On the drive to the hospital, my mind drifted back to my time abroad. During that last year, I lived completely on my own. My parents had died in a car crash, and for the longest time, I thought I’d never get behind the wheel again. But after missing the bus a few too many times, I had no choice. If I wanted to get to the research institute for my treatments, I had to drive. The first time I got in the car, my entire body trembled. I crawled along the whole way at less than 25 miles per hour. But slowly, I got used to it. The old Eleanor Vance, the one who depended on others for everything, had, step by painful step, learned to stand on her own. Now, here I was, sitting alone in a hospital corridor, clutching my latest report. The doctor said I was recovering well, but I’d need a check-up every six months to watch for any recurrence. In that moment, it finally hit me, with breathtaking clarity: I had stared death in the face, and I had won. That year of lonely hospital rooms. The three times I was wheeled out of surgery. The moments I felt myself slipping away. I survived. I wanted to smile, but tears came first. At the beginning, I had wanted to give up. Death had seemed like a release, a welcome escape. But now I knew. I wanted to live. Tears splashed onto the report, blurring the ink. In this hallway, my weeping wasn’t out of place. It was a space that held the desperate pleas of the dying and the euphoric relief of the reborn. I don’t know how long I sat there, but eventually, a handkerchief was offered to me. Embroidered on the corner was a familiar spray of freesia. I looked up, my vision still hazy with tears. “Eleanor.” Ethan’s face was a mask of calm, but the hand holding the handkerchief trembled for a fraction of a second. I didn’t take it. I used the crumpled tissue in my own hand to wipe my cheeks. Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I stood up and walked past him, our shoulders brushing. “Eleanor,” he called out behind me. I was walking too fast, and his next words were lost to the sterile echo of the hallway. I had more important things to do than get tangled up with Ethan, to listen to whatever words of pity or regret he had to offer. Outside the hospital, I texted Claire the good news. She must have been busy, as she didn’t reply right away. Then, I drove to North Ridge Cemetery. At the foot of the hill, I bought two bouquets of flowers. One for my parents, and the other for his. After my parents passed, they had treated me like their own daughter. Whatever had happened between Ethan and me, I would always be grateful for their kindness. After placing the flowers on their grave, I went to my parents’. “Mom, Dad,” I whispered, wiping a fresh tear from my eye as I looked at their loving faces in the photograph. “I’m going to live for a very, very long time. That’s good news, right?” I leaned against the cool stone of the steps, imagining it was their embrace. I stayed there for a long time, until Claire finally came to find me and take me home. Before she left, I gave her a tight hug. “Claire, thank you. For always being there for me.” She pushed me away gently, her expression serious. “Don’t get all sappy on me.” I smiled, not pointing out the tell-tale shimmer in her eyes. I knew she was just as happy for me as I was. When I got upstairs, I saw him again. Ethan was waiting outside my apartment door. The truth was, Ethan and I were never the kind of people who could be severed by one person’s decision. We had known each other since childhood; our families were best friends. He knew about the properties in my name, and I knew where he lived. That’s why that first year abroad had been so excruciating. He knew exactly where I was, but he never came for me. Seeing me, Ethan’s head snapped up. The composed, indifferent façade he had worn earlier shattered completely. His eyes were red-rimmed, his hands trembling as he reached for me, yet he didn’t dare touch me. The motion-sensor light in the hallway flickered on, then off again. In the faint moonlight filtering through the window, I heard his voice, ragged and raw. “Eleanor… it must have been so hard, wasn’t it?” 5 His words stirred nothing in me. The moment I moved past him, his hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. “Eleanor.” His fingers pressed down hard on the silver bracelet I wore, digging it painfully into my skin. I looked up at him, my voice cold. “Let go, Ethan.” The raw pain in his eyes was unmistakable, but he didn’t release me. “Ethan…” Suddenly, his other hand came up and covered my eyes. The world went black. I blinked in discomfort as his palm tightened slightly against my face. His voice was a desperate plea in my ear. “Eleanor, please… don’t look at me like that.” His words were so absurd, I almost laughed. Before I could struggle, the pressure on my wrist vanished. He let me go, but only for a second. The next moment, I was pulled into his arms, trapped in an embrace I couldn’t break. “Eleanor, Eleanor, just for a moment,” he begged, his voice muffled against my shoulder. “Just one moment.” He buried his face in my shoulder, his words choked with sobs. “I’m such a bastard.” “Eleanor, I’m so sorry.” “You were sick… and I never even knew.” “You must have been so scared that day.” His voice was hoarse, each word a tear-soaked confession. But it was all too late. Too late. The wounds had already scarred over. “Eleanor, I should have come for you.” That sentence sent a wave of profound sorrow through me. I waited for him for a whole year. For one entire year, I believed he would come. What I got instead were press photos from a new product launch, featuring Ethan with Zoe smiling by his side. Ethan had used his own company’s project as a launchpad to the heavens for her. In that single instant, my world had completely shattered. The ache where the bracelet had dug into my wrist was still there. Underneath it was an ugly scar. It was because of that scar that I had finally, truly, let him go. I had died once already, and I cherished the life I had now more than anything. Ethan’s whispered regrets continued, a litany of remorse breathed against my ear, like the most devout sinner confessing to his god. My patience wore thin. “Ethan, let me go,” I interrupted, my tone flat and hard. Perhaps it was the coldness in my voice that finally got through to him. He stiffened, then slowly, reluctantly, released me. When I met his gaze, I saw the unshed tears glistening in his red-rimmed eyes. My heart gave a painful lurch. The agony he felt for me in this moment was real. But the agony I felt three years ago was just as real. Remembering everything, a bitter smile touched my lips. I reached up and gently wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “It’s too late, Ethan.” My eyes held his, unwavering. “Your apologies, your regrets… I don’t need them anymore.” 6 “Can you believe it? Ethan actually fired Zoe.” Claire dropped the bombshell during our video call, and I could practically feel her shock through the screen. “He actually let her go? Willingly?” I was just as surprised. “Yep. And the official reason was brutal. She’s going to have a hell of a time finding another job in this industry.” Claire paused, then asked tentatively, “Eleanor…” “Stop. Just stop. Whatever you’re thinking, shut it down.” After a decade of friendship, I knew exactly where her mind was going. She was worried I’d fall for him again. She gave a sheepish laugh, backing down. “Claire, I told you that day I would never turn back,” I said, my voice firm. “I meant it.” Maybe, right after we broke up, I had my moments of regret. If Ethan had fired Zoe back then and come to me, I probably would have taken him back without a second thought. But that time passed. And my heart had long since grown cold. No miracle cure could ever bring it back to life. After we hung up, I curled into a ball on the couch. It was a habit I’d picked up during that first year abroad. Back then, I was convinced Ethan would come for me. I wanted to wait for him before having the surgery. I felt like I could only be safe if he was with me. The pain was often so bad that the medicine didn’t work. I learned to curl my body up tight, and somehow, it seemed to hurt a little less. I woke the next morning feeling completely unaffected by the news. As I was getting ready to head out for a run, I glanced at the security camera feed. Ethan was standing outside my door. As if sensing my presence, he reached out and rang the doorbell. My hand tightened on the doorknob. I didn’t want to open it. I didn’t want to see him again. “Eleanor, I know you’re in there,” his voice drifted through the small speaker, tinny and distant. “Eleanor… I was so stupid.” On the blurry screen, he gave a bitter, self-deprecating smile. “All that time… you told me over and over that Zoe had feelings for me. I never believed you.” Outside my door, his shoulders slumped, and he seemed to radiate an aura of utter defeat. “I wasn’t a good partner.” “But, Eleanor… I love you. That has always been true.” His declaration, or whatever it was, felt like a joke. When I finally opened the door, he looked up, the dark circles under his eyes stark against his pale skin. I said nothing, letting my silence be his dismissal. But he ignored it, continuing as if I’d invited him to speak. “Was it because of that day?” he asked, his voice cracking. “The one time you needed me most, and I wasn’t there. Is that why? Is that why you’ll never need me again?” His eyes pleaded with me, begging me not to confirm his fears. I let my gaze drift over the decor in the hallway. We had decorated this place together. I’d only been back a few days and had neither the mood nor the energy to change it. Traces of a younger Ethan were everywhere. I sighed softly. “It wasn’t just once.” His head shot up, his eyes wide with shock. As he stared at me in disbelief, I unclasped the bracelet from my wrist. A jagged, ugly scar was revealed beneath it. The raised, keloid tissue was a testament to how hard I must have pressed down.

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Just as I was about to clock out for the day, a text message lit up my phone. A deposit of over three million dollars. Memo: Salary. My first thought was that it had to be a scam. I scrambled to open my banking app. But there it was, plain as day. Three million dollars sitting in my account. The sender? My own company. I was completely stunned. I couldn’t earn that much money in a lifetime of work. My first instinct wasn’t to keep it, but to run straight to accounting. Call me a coward, but I’d seen the news stories. Keeping quiet in a situation like this is illegal. It’s called unjust enrichment. If it went to court, paying it back would be the least of my worries. I could end up with a criminal record. I’m a man with a clean record, and I planned on keeping it that way. . 1 “Did the company just send me a wire transfer?” I asked the woman in accounting, my voice tight with urgency. Her expression was even more nervous than mine. “Yes,” she said. “And you’d best not ask me about it. I just do what the boss tells me to.” “Do you have any idea how much money you sent me?!” I exclaimed. “Are you deaf?” she snapped. “I told you, if you have a problem, take it up with the boss!” Our company was small. The accountant, Heather, also handled HR and admin. She was also the boss’s sister-in-law. She used that connection to boss everyone around, but today, her attitude was just bizarre. I was here to return a massive sum of money, and she was acting like I owed her. Our raised voices had attracted the attention of the few other people in the office. Just then, the boss poked his head out of his office. He glanced in our direction. “Cole,” he said. “My office. Now.” He shut the door. Heather shot me a triumphant glare. I had no idea what was going on, but I squared my shoulders and walked to the boss’s office. When I stepped inside, I saw the boss’s wife was there too, sitting beside him. She was dripping with jewelry, an Hermès bag perched on the desk in front of her as she casually clipped her nails. My boss, Ross, gave me a toothy smile and asked with feigned concern, “So, you have a problem with your commission?” I was completely lost. “Was that transfer my commission? The amount is wrong…” Before I could finish, Ross cut me off. “Oh, come on. Three thousand is nothing to sneeze at. In this economy, you can’t be picky.” Suddenly, it all clicked into place. A few months ago, our second team took on a new project, but the project manager had just been forced out by Ross. Ross came to me, asking me to step in and manage it. He promised me a three-percent cut of the final project value as a bonus. It was a million-dollar project. Three percent was thirty thousand dollars. Even though my own team was swamped, I’d agreed. Thirty grand was several months’ salary. I worked myself to the bone for two months, pulling strings, calling in favors, dealing with vendors, drawing up quotes. I lost ten pounds. But after the project wrapped, the promised bonus never appeared. So that was it. The client had paid today, and Ross was only planning to give me three thousand dollars. No wonder Heather was so jumpy when she saw me. If she hadn’t made that massive typo on the transfer, I would have been the world’s biggest sucker. Just to be sure, I asked cautiously, “So, the thirty-thousand-dollar commission we agreed on is now three thousand. Is that right, Ross?” The smile vanished from his face. He stared at me blankly. “You’re not satisfied with three thousand? And when did I ever promise you thirty?” “You said it yourself,” I insisted. “A three-percent cut. On a million-dollar project, isn’t that thirty thousand?” Ross actually laughed. I couldn’t figure out what was so funny. He turned to his wife. “What did I tell you? Give them an inch, they take a mile. Some employees are just ungrateful. I knew he’d make a fuss.” His wife nodded sagely. Ross turned back to me, his expression sour. “I said three percent, yes. But do you think projects run on thin air? Don’t they have costs? You’ve managed projects before. You should have that much common sense.” His words left me speechless. That wasn’t his tone when he was begging me to take over the project. He’d invited me into his office for tea, told me the company was in a tough spot and that this client was too important to lose. He’d promised me, hand on heart, that if I saved the day, I’d get not only the three-percent commission but also a promotion and a raise at the end of the year. So, according to his logic now, he’d always meant three percent of the net profit. He was just playing word games. And even if it was three percent of the net, the commission shouldn’t have been only three thousand dollars. My patience was wearing thin. “Ross, if I’d known I was going to kill myself for two months for just three grand, who in their right mind would have taken this project?” “Am I not paying you a salary on top of that?” he shot back. “Show me another company that even offers a commission for project work. I’ve been more than generous!” His words hit me like a bucket of cold water. The company was short-staffed. I had stepped up to save a major project. Even if there was no glory, there was certainly hard labor. I thought he would at least acknowledge that. I was wrong. In his eyes, giving me three thousand was an act of charity. Sensing the rising tension, his wife stepped in to play peacemaker. “Cole, you’re partly to blame here too. Why were you arguing with Heather out there? It’s bad for morale. Something that could have been discussed calmly is now impossible.” I was dumbfounded. I wasn’t arguing with Heather. I was trying to return the three million dollars she’d mistakenly sent me. The irony was laughable. Ross was playing me for a fool, and I was worried about giving him his money back. In that moment, I felt like a complete idiot. Seeing my silence, the wife continued, “And don’t blame your boss. You think he doesn’t want to give you more? Blame the client. They’re the ones who screwed us!” I looked at her, confused. The project had been exhausting, but the client, a liquor company, had been surprisingly decent. They were straightforward, no corporate nonsense, and always polite. “What did the client do?” I asked. “They cut our payment!” she declared. “You didn’t know? They only paid out half a million on a million-dollar project. That’s why Ross could only give you three thousand.” I glanced at Ross. He quickly chimed in, “That’s right! After all the costs, there’s barely anything left. And you know we’re a small company. We still owe money to suppliers, the account is nearly empty. I had to scrape this three thousand together for you because you worked hard.” Listening to them plead poverty was almost comical. Ross owed a lot of people money, sure, but the two of them never skimped on themselves. One look at his wife’s designer outfit told you that. I just couldn’t understand it. Why were they so tight-fisted when they clearly had money? When it was time to make money, they expected you to give your all. When it was time to share it, they’d rather let it rot in their hands than give you a dime. The old me might have believed their sincere performance. But with three million of their dollars sitting in my bank account, how could I? I didn’t bother calling their bluff. I just asked coldly, “Are you sure the client only paid half a million?” “Why won’t you believe me?” Ross said, his patience gone. “Would I lie to you? You want me to get Heather in here to confirm?” I took a deep breath. “Fine. Then just give me fifteen thousand. I won’t ask for more.” Ross’s eyes bulged. “Are you deaf? I just told you, there are costs to deduct!” “Alright,” I said with a sigh. “Then let’s calculate the costs. I managed the project. I know the numbers.” I regretted it now, not getting our original agreement in writing. He was going back on his word, and I had no real proof. But who could have predicted he’d be this shameless? I’d made up my mind. I would take the loss, but I was going to get as much as I could. This was also me, giving Ross one last chance. If he decided to be a decent human being, I’d return the three million. If he kept playing games and crying poor, then I’d have to start thinking about where that money should really go. Ross was taken aback. He probably thought his little song and dance with his wife would be enough to make me back down. He never expected me to dig in my heels over the commission. He stared at me in disbelief and sneered, “You want to audit me?” “It’s not an audit,” I said. “It’s about settling the account properly. I can’t just take three thousand dollars without understanding why.” I pulled out my phone, brought up the project quote, and started listing the expenses on a piece of paper right in front of him. He knew better than I did that a PR project like this had huge margins. The bulk of the cost was in media distribution, paying some content farms to post articles, hiring a few cheap influencers to make some videos, and slipping the client’s marketing head a kickback. It was all smoke and mirrors. The quote was ridiculously high, but the actual cost of the project was only about two hundred thousand dollars. Even if the client had only paid half a million, the profit was still three hundred thousand. And by his own logic, three percent of that profit should have been nine thousand dollars, not three! As I scribbled down the numbers, Ross’s face grew redder and redder. “You’re just an employee!” he finally exploded. “How dare you come in here and try to audit my books?” I tossed the pen on the desk. “What’s there to be scared of? Business is business. Look, even after costs, you’re left with over three hundred thousand.” Ross glanced at my figures and waved a dismissive hand. “Those are just the obvious costs! What about overhead? Does the office internet pay for itself? Do the lights and computers run on magic? What about the rent? Those are all costs!” I was floored. I couldn’t believe he had the gall to say that. But I was done arguing. I drew a line through my numbers and subtracted another twenty thousand. “There aren’t that many people in this company. You can’t pin the entire office’s utility bills on my project. Twenty thousand is more than generous. That still leaves two hundred and ninety thousand.” He was furious. “Are you an idiot?” he screamed. “What about the client kickback?!” Fine. I subtracted another ninety thousand. “Happy now? That’s still two hundred thousand left!” At this point, my commission had dwindled to just six thousand dollars. But I was determined. I was going to get every last cent of it. But I had clearly overestimated Ross’s moral character. He was cornered. He glared at the paper, his face twisting in anger. Suddenly, he pointed a trembling finger at me. “Fine! You want to play with numbers? Let me tell you something. Without this company, you’re nothing! You want to calculate costs? You’re the biggest cost of all!” I almost laughed. I was so angry, a laugh actually escaped. I had worked my ass off for this company, poured my soul into this project, not to mention the countless hours of unpaid overtime. And now, I was the biggest cost? “What cost am I, Ross?” I asked, my voice ice cold. “My salary is my salary, the commission is the commission. Don’t tell me you’re counting my salary as a project cost.” “Heather!” Ross roared. “Get in here! And bring Cole’s file! All of it!” A moment later, Heather walked in carrying a thick folder. I stood there, completely baffled. I worked diligently. What violations? What file? Heather shot me a cold smile and spread the documents across the desk, one by one. Ross was practically vibrating with rage. He jabbed a finger at the papers, spittle flying from his mouth. “I was trying to be nice! You got some nerve, arguing with me? Look at this! Since the day you started, how many times have you been late, left early, or been absent without leave? How do we calculate that!” I looked down at the printouts of my attendance records and my blood ran cold. So this was his “evidence.” I’d only ever seen this kind of thing in the news. Companies digging up years of attendance records to find a reason to fire someone. Even being one minute late or leaving thirty seconds early was counted. I never thought it would happen to me. I saw records dating back to 2022. Heather had them all printed out. Which meant Ross had been preparing this for a long time, just waiting for a moment to use it against me. He had gone back three full years, to the very beginning of my employment. I felt a chill run down my spine. No wonder people always said the smaller the company, the shadier it is. No wonder the project manager Ross forced out had warned me to watch my back. They had learned from bitter experience. Seeing me frozen in place, Ross sneered, “See for yourself. You should be grateful we’ve kept you around this long!” Heather added with a smirk, “What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue? You were pretty cocky when you were demanding an audit from me earlier. Don’t worry, I’ve got a record of everything.” I was shaking with rage. When I was hired, Ross himself told me that small companies were flexible and that clocking in was just a formality. Now, those same instances were being used as evidence against me. And many of those “late” arrivals were because I had been working at the office until three or four in the morning! How was I supposed to show up on time after that? I glared at Heather. “Are you serious?! You know damn well why I was late!” She stared past me, a smug look on her face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. You never reported anything to me.” “I was working overtime on the project!” I yelled. “Ross knew! How could I possibly get up on time after working that late?” “Did we force you to work overtime?” she retorted, her voice dripping with condescension. “No. That sounds like a personal efficiency problem.” She threw her hands up. “Why should we have to pay for your problems?” She glanced at Ross and his wife, who both nodded in approval. Looking at her smug, punchable face, I felt a murderous rage boil up inside me. I had voluntarily worked overtime to get the project done, and now they were using it as leverage against me. And to think, I was actually going to return their three million dollars. Just then, the boss’s wife coughed. “That’s enough, Heather. No need to rub it in. Why don’t you step out and let me have a word with Cole.” Heather shot me a look of contempt. “I just can’t stand his arrogance. My brother-in-law is a successful business owner, and even he doesn’t nitpick over every penny like this.” She gathered the attendance records from the desk and reluctantly left the office. Once she was gone, the wife put on a sincere expression. She sighed and said, “Cole, I don’t usually get involved in company business, but you’ve really gone too far this time.” “How have I gone too far?” I asked, confused. “Relationships are a two-way street,” she said sagely. “How your boss treats you, and how you treat him in return… it’s all very clear, isn’t it?” Ross, hearing his wife’s words, put on a magnanimous air. “Cole, I might have been a bit heated earlier. But think about it. Without the company as a platform, where would you get the chance to manage a project like this? I gave you an opportunity. And what do you do? Instead of being grateful, you turn on me.” I stared at them, dumbfounded. How could they say things like that? This was a simple business transaction: I do the work, you pay me. But in their world, my job was some kind of moral test. It was an opportunity they had graciously bestowed upon me, and I was expected to be eternally grateful. But one thing his wife said stuck with me. Relationships are a two-way street. They were clever. But I wasn’t a fool anymore. “Are you sure about that?” I asked coldly. “That it’s a two-way street?” “Of course,” she said. “As long as you buckle down and do your job from now on, we can pretend none of this ever happened.” “And the commission is off the table?” I pressed. “What do you think?” Ross snapped. “Of course, you’re free to leave the company. In that case, I’ll just consider that three thousand dollars as a handout to an ungrateful dog.” I nodded. “Alright. I’ll think about it.” The wife smiled. “We know this is a lot to take in… Why don’t you take some time? We have to go meet a client, but we’ll be right back.” With that, she grabbed Ross and they hurried out of the office. As I watched them leave, a stampede of a thousand wild animals thundered through my mind. This was absolutely insane. These two bloodsucking capitalists reneged on a promised commission, threatened me with termination, and were now trying to gaslight me? Fine. Let’s play. Even if I lose my job, I’m out a few months’ salary. But you two? You won’t see a single cent of that three million dollars by the end of today. I took a moment to calm myself. The coast was clear. I pulled out my phone and called my wife. “Honey,” I said, “I need you to go to the bank right now. Withdraw the maximum amount you can from my account. In cash.” She was terrified. “Did you do something illegal?” “Don’t ask questions. Just get the money. I’ll explain everything tonight.” After hanging up, I dialed another number, a supplier. “Hey, Sam? It’s Cole. I need you to find out how much money our company owes in outstanding debts. The boss is settling all accounts today.” Sam was ecstatic. “What?! Did hell freeze over? Since when does that deadbeat Ross pay his bills?” “No time to explain. Just find out who else he owes money to, and fast!” “Well, I know of at least five or six other suppliers off the top of my head,” he said. “We’re talking two, maybe three million in total.” “Perfect,” I said, my heart pounding. “Tell every single one of them to get down to the office right now. If they’re late, I can’t guarantee they’ll get paid.” Sam was skeptical. “Brother, are you messing with me? We’ve tried to collect from that bastard a dozen times. He always dodges us.” “He’ll see you today,” I assured him. “If security tries to stop you at the door, just force your way up.” After hanging up, worried he still might not believe me, I sent him a screenshot of the three-million-dollar deposit. A series of three triumphant emojis popped up in response, and then silence. Just as I finished my calls, the boss walked back in, looking pleased as punch.

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A decade after leaving home, I saw my sister at our alma mater. She was a rising psychology star, giving a lecture. I was in the crowd, a bubble tea courier. She told the hall, “My work is for my brother Alan. I’ll cure his depression, no matter how long it takes.” Our parents beamed with pride in the front row—until they spotted me. My father found me outside, his voice strained. “You chose this? Hiding from us? Struggling?” They stood speechless until I mumbled, “Excuse me, my daughter’s waiting.” They erupted. “What woman would marry you like this?” my mother spat. “Marrying on a whim, having a child you can’t raise properly! Another failure!” “We’re renowned professors! You were top of your class! And you throw it all away?!” I just stared, bewildered. They were the ones who’d accused me of poisoning my brother, who’d ruined my life. Now I had my own family, my own peace. What more did they want? 1 Before I could answer, the Dean of Students rushed over, grabbing my arm to help my parents restrain me. “Professor Vance, I got him! Is this the delivery guy who tried to steal from you?” he panted, turning to glare at me. “I’ve always said we shouldn’t let people like this on campus! These lowlifes will do anything for a buck!” He jabbed a finger at my face, completely oblivious to the fact that I was once his prized student, the one he boasted was a shoo-in for the Ivy League. My father’s face went crimson, as if he’d been slapped in public. He looked even more flustered than I felt. “No, he’s not a thief! He’s…” He stammered, the words failing him, until he finally forced out three through clenched teeth. “I know him.” The dean’s hand fell away, his eyes darting between me and my parents, confusion clouding his features. I kept my head down and pushed my scooter forward, trying to get away. My mother scurried after me, her voice dripping with frustrated disappointment. “Ethan, you can be angry with us, but that’s no reason to debase yourself! Come home with us! We’ll find you a respectable job, so you don’t have to endure this shame!” I bent down, stuck the key in the ignition, and turned it. “There’s no need,” I said, my voice flat. “I’m doing just fine.” My mother stomped her foot, infuriated by my “willingness to wallow in mediocrity.” She grabbed my handlebars, her face darkening as she prepared to unleash a torrent of abuse, but she was cut off by my sister, Ruby, who had just finished her lecture. “Mom, what are you doing? We need to go. We promised to celebrate Alan’s birthday! You know how he gets… that little crybaby will start weeping buckets if we’re late…” Ruby’s voice, full of doting affection, trailed off as she got closer and finally saw who she was talking to. The master of emotional control, the psychology expert, suddenly had red-rimmed eyes. She looked down, as if explaining herself to the pavement. “Alan’s condition… it hasn’t improved. He needs us all there to sing ‘Happy Birthday,’ or he’ll cry for days. He’s not like you, he can’t…” But I only cared about one thing. “Are you done?” My mother and my father, who had just walked over, both flinched. This wasn’t the son they remembered. There was a time I couldn’t stop talking to them, desperate for their attention. I would shove my math competition trophies and perfect report cards in their faces, even as they tore them up, scolding me, “Don’t you dare upset your brother!” Now, I just pointed to the faded, washed-out apron I was wearing. “The bubble tea shop gets busy around this time.” Ignoring their complicated stares, I continued, “I have a lot of orders, and I need to clean up the shop to avoid any complaints. Please, move.” They started to argue, to try and persuade me to quit, but Ruby placed a hand on their shoulders, forcing a stiff smile onto her face. “Dad, Mom, let’s not push it. We did just show up unannounced.” After all these years, my sister had developed a surprising trace of empathy. She held out a business card. “If you need anything, call me.” I glanced at the card, at the gold-embossed lettering, the title of ‘Internationally Certified Specialist,’ and the prestigious downtown office address. I almost laughed. “I won’t.” “I just sell bubble tea,” I said, meeting her eyes. “Besides, if Alan found out we were in contact, his depression might take a nosedive.” That one sentence was enough. It stopped their arguments cold. I pushed my mother’s hand away and swung my leg over the scooter. I heard a few frantic footsteps behind me, but they stopped as a phone began to ring, replaced by anxious cries. “Alan, please, stop crying!” “You’re breaking our hearts!” “Ruby brought you a special gift all the way from Europe…” I rode off, the wind whipping against me, chilling me to the bone. On the way, I picked up some groceries. When I got back to the shop, my daughter, Rosie, launched herself into my arms. “Daddy, I missed you so much!” “It’s cold out! Let Rosie warm up your hands!” She took my hands in her tiny ones, rubbing them together and breathing little puffs of warm air onto my skin. She had the same earnest, goofy look as her mother. It made me smile. “Yay, Daddy’s smiling! You looked so serious when you came in, I was scared…” I froze, about to reassure her, when my wife, Mia, who had closed her own work early to help mind the shop, pulled me toward her and started examining me from head to toe. “What are you doing? Are you crazy?” I asked. Her eyes were wide with worry. “A student who came in earlier said you ran into some trouble at the university today?” she whispered. “She said it was with that famous law professor, Dr. Evelyn Vance! The one who wouldn’t let you leave…” Mia frowned. “But that doesn’t make sense! I’ve seen her interviews. She’s so devoted to her younger son, the one with depression. She seems like such a good person. How could you possibly have gotten on her bad side?” 2 I gently pulled away from Mia’s embrace and walked over to the counter, grabbing a cloth and wiping away at a non-existent water stain with furious energy. “It’s nothing,” I muttered. “It’s all in the past.” She watched me for a few seconds. “We’re a family, Ethan.” “Yeah, I know.” I turned my back, printing out an order and starting to mix a drink. Mia went back to helping customers and manning the register. Several times, she braved the biting wind to make deliveries for me. Our daughter sat quietly at a small table, her homework spread out before her. Whenever I looked tired, she would climb onto a little stool, reaching up on her tiptoes. “You worked hard, Daddy! Let Rosie give you a shoulder massage!” Later that night, when the last customer had left, I finally gave in to Mia’s worried gaze and sighed. “Alright. Seeing as they’re not going to give up, I guess I can’t hide it from you forever.” “Dr. Evelyn Vance… is my mother.” She was the woman who gave birth to me. And she was the woman who had sworn I was a monster, who told the world I had maliciously tried to poison my own brother. Mia shook her head frantically, her eyes wide with disbelief. I gave a bitter laugh. What did it matter if she didn’t believe it? The case was closed. I just laid out the facts, my voice devoid of emotion. In that house, I was a disappointment from the day I was born. My parents and my sister were the geniuses. Ruby took her college entrance exams at nine and had her PhD from an Ivy League school by fifteen, poised for a brilliant career abroad. At five, I was still playing in the mud. My parents rushed me to get my IQ tested, only to have the results confirm their fears: I was utterly, painfully average. From then on, I was handed over to the nanny. “When are Mommy and Daddy coming to see me?” I’d ask, day after day. “Be a good boy, Ethan. They’re very busy,” she would say. That answer was the soundtrack to my childhood, marking the passage of seasons. “But… but it’s my birthday! Why aren’t they here yet?” A small boy in a paper crown, guarding a cake he’d been dreaming of, waiting for the people who were supposed to cherish him most. “Waaaah! Mommy and Daddy don’t want me anymore!” In the end, I saw them on TV. On my birthday, they were with Ruby at an international competition. As I watched the camera zoom in on the gleaming trophy in her hands and the radiant smiles on my parents’ faces, a thought took root in my mind. If I had a trophy, would they spend time with me, too? From that day forward, I locked my beloved race cars away. When my friends called for me to come out and play, I gritted my teeth and refused. At six, I started devouring dictionaries and memorizing entire collections of classic poetry. But I wasn’t a prodigy. Often, my head would spin, unable to absorb a single new word. I’d cry in frustration, hitting my own head with my small fists. It hurt. But the ache in my heart from my parents’ absence was so much worse. When I started school, I bought every textbook and study guide I could find, teaching myself the entire curriculum a semester ahead of time. Other students did three practice exams; I did ten, fifteen. The light in my study never went out before three in the morning. The day I finally clawed my way to the top of my class, I called my parents, my voice trembling with excitement. For the first time in years, they agreed to celebrate my birthday with me. “Ethan, we’ll celebrate in Paris this year,” my father had said. “There’s an academic symposium there. You and Ruby can both attend. It will be good for you to start networking.” For the first time, I stood beside them in a tailored suit, a matching part of the family. My parents proudly introduced me to their colleagues. It felt like a dream. After that, I worked even harder, desperate to maintain this new image in their eyes. So when they asked me to look after my younger brother, Alan, I agreed without hesitation. “Your brother isn’t like you,” they’d explained. “He’s just an ordinary little boy. He’s very sensitive, so you need to be extra patient with him…” But I was once an ordinary little boy, too. Why… why couldn’t you… I swallowed the bitterness and told myself it was for the best. Alan could live the happy, carefree childhood I never had. “Don’t worry,” I promised them. “You can count on me.” That promise was the first step on my path to hell. Because of my “generosity,” whenever Alan wanted me to play with him, I had to drop my homework and entertain him until ten at night. My parents saw nothing wrong with it. “Ethan, you’re a genius, just like your sister. Schoolwork should be a breeze for you.” They never saw the effort. They never saw me studying until the dead of night, only to be woken at dawn by the sound of Alan jumping rope outside my door. “He’s just a child! Kids are supposed to be playful,” they’d say, defending him. “He can’t be sullen like you, always showing off your grades.” It felt like a stone was lodged in my chest. Then they told me I had to move into the small guest room. They were knocking down the wall of my bedroom to give Alan a bigger play area. Mia couldn’t listen anymore, her voice cracking with anger. “So when you were ordinary, they didn’t want you. Then you worked yourself to the bone to become exceptional, and suddenly they preferred the ordinary one? What kind of sick game were they playing?!” she cried. “And after you were so good to your brother, he couldn’t say a single word for you?” 3 I just shook my head. With my parents backing him, Alan only got worse. He would sneak into my room and tear my notebooks to shreds, then run to our parents crying, “Ethan doesn’t want me to study, he’s trying to sabotage me!” I’d make him fresh juice to try and appease him, and he’d throw rocks and grass in it, then scream, “Stop trying to poison me!” Exhausted, I’d stay up all night rewriting my notes. One time, the power went out. Alan pointed to the severed cable and claimed I’d cut it in a fit of rage. At first, my parents would just give me disapproving looks. “It’s not just about grades, Ethan. A person’s character is what truly matters.” But as it happened more and more, they became convinced I was a bully. After all, how could a sweet little boy like Alan lie? My sister, a fiery teenager back then, was especially harsh. “You’re just jealous!” she would snarl. “You can’t stand that we love Alan more!” “Well, we’re going to give him everything! You could drop dead, and no one would ever love you!” I tried to defend myself, but my words were always drowned out by Alan’s wails. My parents would yell at me for scaring him. My usually aloof sister would glare at me before turning to make silly faces to cheer Alan up. And I would be left standing there, invisible. My standing in the family plummeted. They’d be chatting happily, but the moment I walked into a room, the conversation would die, as if an outsider had intruded. Then came Ruby’s birthday. Alan wanted to sing for her, and I, mustering all my courage, offered to accompany him on my violin. He agreed enthusiastically, even offering to walk with me to get it. For a moment, I thought we had reconciled. But as we walked down the long hallway, he suddenly sprinted ahead and vanished. I called out his name in panic, only to be met with the stinging slap of my father’s hand across my face. “Still putting on an act!” he roared. “You were born rotten! Tell me, where did you hide Alan this time?!” I clutched my bleeding lip, tears streaming down my face, sobbing that I didn’t do it. A sharp pain exploded in my knee as my mother kicked me to the ground. Ruby rushed forward, ready to land another blow. “You won’t talk until you’re half-dead, will you? You need to be taught a serious lesson tonight!” My mother grabbed a fistful of my hair. “Still not talking? Fine! Solitary confinement it is! You can starve in there until you’re ready to confess, you little monster!” She threw me into my room. I didn’t see the wall coming. My body went limp and slid to the floor. Stars burst behind my eyes. I felt a warm trickle of blood run down my forehead, but a deep, penetrating cold started in my fingertips and spread through my whole body. It felt like I was freezing, merging with the cold night. As my consciousness faded, I heard Alan’s frantic cries from outside. “Mommy, Daddy, why does Ethan hate me so much?!” “He’s always taunting me with his grades! Just now, he called me useless and said he was going to drown me in the pool! I was so scared I just ran and ran…” My parents’ voices were thick with pity and rage. “Oh, our poor Alan! Don’t you worry, we won’t let that little bastard get away with this! We’ll make him get on his knees and beg for your forgiveness!” Ruby shouted that they should kick me a few more times to make sure I learned my lesson. I struggled to crawl to the door. I had to explain. But the pain was too intense, I couldn’t form words. All I could do was scratch at the locked door until my fingernails split and bled. On the other side of that door, I heard my parents’ sickeningly sweet coos. “Come on, my little prince. Mommy and Daddy will take you out for a feast!” Then, deliberately louder, “From now on, this is what happens to bullies! They get punished! And our sweet, adorable boy gets rewarded!” Tears streamed relentlessly down my face. I heard the front door slam shut. The pain in my body and soul was tearing me apart. The darkness and silence swallowed me whole. It felt like being buried alive. My hands, slick with blood, finally went still as I lost consciousness. In a hazy dream, I heard a scream. “Ethan, hang on!” “An ambulance! Someone call an ambulance!” At the hospital, even the doctor was sympathetic. “This boy has been running on fumes for a long time, severe exhaustion… and now he has a serious concussion, not to mention fractures in his knee and thigh…” My parents, however, were barely listening. Their attention was captured by Alan’s piercing shriek. “Don’t kill me, Ethan! I’ll be good, I’ll hide! I won’t try to take Mommy and Daddy from you ever again!” Ruby burst into the room and threw a medical report at my face. The words “Severe Depression” were stamped across the top. It was all my fault, she said. “You did this, you monster! Are you happy now?” she screamed. “You and your stupid grades, you pushed him to this… You’re nothing but an animal to us!” I looked at my parents’ faces, twisted with hatred. I turned my head away, closed my tear-filled eyes, and wondered why. Why had everyone I loved abandoned me? 4 After that, they treated me like a dangerous criminal. They took Alan and moved to another state, leaving me behind. They said they were being generous, leaving me enough money to get by. “This is enough to get you through college,” the note read. “We hope you use your education to correct your vicious nature.” “Consider it blood money. A payment for you to finally leave Alan alone.” I had just been discharged from the hospital that day. I stood in the empty house, leaning on my crutches, the gauze on my head still spotted with blood, a dull ache throbbing in my skull as I read their words. I threw myself into my studies, using them as an anesthetic for the pain. I became the star student at a top high school. No one knew I spent my subway commutes memorizing formulas. I grew taller, my features sharpened, and I became the handsome academic prodigy of the school. No one knew I woke up at dawn every day to run and exercise, to maintain a body that felt healthy and strong. People started pairing me with the most popular girl in school, another academic powerhouse. We had already made a pact: we would get into the Ivy League together. And we did. For the first time, it felt like my life was turning around. I couldn’t resist. I took a photo with my girlfriend and posted it online. To my shock, my parents, who hadn’t spoken to me in years, left a comment. “You got into a top university. You’ve done well.” “To be accepted by a school like that, you must have matured over the years.” They were the same as ever, obsessed with achievement. They finally felt it was safe to come back for a visit. I should have been cold. I should have ignored them. But instead, a foolish hope bloomed in my chest. I spent the whole day cooking, preparing a feast. The first thing I did when they arrived was hand Alan a glass of warm milk. And that was my final mistake. When my brother started to tremble and cry, claiming he saw me secretly slip rat poison into the glass, I knew it was over. My own parents dragged me to the police station. “We were ready to forgive you,” my mother hissed, “but you don’t deserve it.” “This time, you will pay for what you’ve done!” I finally broke. I screamed, I roared, I demanded to know why Alan was so cruel, how he could destroy my life without a shred of guilt. But he just trembled in Ruby’s arms like a delicate flower caught in a storm. “Brother, I want to ask you the same thing,” he whispered, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Why do you keep trying to kill me?” Before I could say another word, my father’s fist sent me crashing to the floor. “You bastard! Still trying to intimidate him!” My mother grabbed my leg and dragged me into the station like a dead dog. “Save it for the police, you criminal!” she shrieked. “From this day on, you are no longer our son! You’re lower than dirt!” And so it began. My mother, the pharmacology professor, produced a lab report confirming the presence of poison. My father, the law professor, drew up a list of my crimes. Together, they were determined to send me to prison. In the end, there wasn’t enough evidence. I was only detained for a few days. But the damage was done. I was expelled from my university, my reputation was in tatters, and my girlfriend left me. Friends and relatives turned their backs on me. I was kicked out of the house with nothing. With no degree, I drifted from one dead-end job to another, worse off than I had ever been. And they? They moved abroad, living their lives as if I had never existed. Back in the bubble tea shop, Mia was weeping, her heart breaking for me. “They’re monsters! How could they not even ask a few questions when your entire future was on the line?” “They’re your parents, Ethan! Your own parents!” As her heartbroken cry echoed in the small shop, I looked up and saw them. My parents. Standing right there at the counter.

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“You think being their real daughter means anything?” Stella’s voice was a shard of glass, sharp enough to pierce my eardrums. I shot her a cold look, clutching my puppy, Buddy, a little tighter, and moved to pass her on the other side of the grand staircase. But just as I drew level with her, she let out a piercing shriek and, as if her balance had vanished, tumbled down the stairs. “Stella!” My brother Julian’s voice cracked through the air. He scrambled down the steps, gathering her into his arms. Stella clutched her head, tears streaking her face. “Julian, don’t blame Aria,” she whimpered, her voice trembling. “It was my own fault, I was careless…” But her eyes darted toward me, glittering with triumph. Julian’s head snapped up, his gaze cutting into me like a knife. I opened my mouth to protest, to explain, but the words were trapped in my throat, choked by a knot of disbelief and despair. “Aria Paige!” His voice was glacial fury. “How could you be so heartless to your own sister? Just wait until I get back. You’ll pay for this.” With that, he swept Stella into his arms and rushed out the door. I stood frozen on the landing, a bitter storm raging inside me. Why? Why could they never see the truth? It wasn’t long before my father returned, flanked by two of the household staff. His face was a thundercloud, dark and menacing. “Take her outside,” he commanded, his voice devoid of any warmth. “She will kneel.” I rose silently and let them lead me out. The snow was coming down hard now, a swirling white blanket that settled on my shoulders and sent shivers wracking through my body. Buddy must have sensed my cold and loneliness. He pressed his small, warm body against my leg, a futile but touching attempt to share his warmth. I reached down and stroked his head, a wave of affection washing over me. But the warmth of that small gesture was quickly extinguished by the brutal reality of my situation. My parents were at the hospital with Stella, leaving me to kneel alone in the blizzard. I stared up at the endless cascade of snowflakes, my heart a hollow cavern of desolation. Stella was the daughter of our family’s chauffeur. Five years ago, he’d died in a car crash while protecting my father. Even though it was later discovered he’d been driving drunk, my father, in a grand gesture of “humanitarianism,” adopted his orphaned daughter. The first time I met her, she hid behind my father, peeking out at me with wide, curious eyes. “Aria,” my father had said with a smile, “from now on, this is your little sister, Stella. I want you to take good care of her.” I was ecstatic. “That’s wonderful! I finally have a sister!” I’d thrown my arms around her, never suspecting that this was the beginning of a nightmare. At first, Stella shadowed my every move, and I was happy to have a playmate. Until one day. I watched with my own eyes as she deliberately pushed her own music box off the edge of her desk. It shattered on the floor. I stared at her, stunned, but she had already spun around to face my older brothers, Alex and Julian. “Alex! Julian! Look what Aria did! She broke my music box!” They rushed in at the sound of her cry. Seeing the broken pieces on the floor and Stella’s tear-streaked face, they didn’t hesitate. “Aria! How could you do that to your sister?” “I didn’t! She pushed it herself!” I protested, but Julian cut me off. “You’re the older sister, Aria! You should be more mature!” I looked desperately to my mother, hoping she would see the truth. But she only had eyes for Stella, rushing to her side. “Oh, Stella, darling, don’t cry. Are you hurt? Let Mommy see…” “Mommy, that was my favorite music box,” Stella sobbed, burying her face in my mother’s embrace, her small body shaking with manufactured grief. “My daddy gave it to me for my birthday. When I looked at it, I felt like he was still with me. I took such good care of it, and I saw her… I saw Aria smash it!” My brothers gathered around her, cooing and comforting her. They looked like a perfect family, and I was on the outside, separated from them by an invisible wall. I stared at Stella as if seeing her for the first time. The girl who had always trailed behind me, calling me “big sister,” had finally shown her true colors. My mother’s gaze turned on me, hard and severe. “When did you become so cruel? I am so disappointed in you. Go to your room and think about what you’ve done.” Before I could utter another word, she shoved me into my room and locked the door. It was the first time she had ever treated me that way. At that moment, I felt like my world was collapsing. I didn’t realize it was only the beginning. In the years that followed, such “misunderstandings” became the norm, leaving me increasingly isolated in my own home. Slowly but surely, my parents and brothers began to dote on Stella, sometimes forgetting I even existed. I went from being the apple of their eye to a stone in their shoe. One day, Stella paraded in front of me in a custom-designed dress, her voice dripping with malice. “Mom and Dad had this made just for me. I’m going to take everything that’s yours, Aria.” She stared at me, waiting for a reaction. When my face remained impassive, her triumphant smirk soured into a scowl. “Do you still think you’re the princess of this house? Dream on. You’re not even worthy of being my servant!” She stormed off, leaving her poison hanging in the air. At first, I thought it was just a child’s fantasy, that my parents wouldn’t take her seriously. But I was wrong. They granted her every wish. One day, on the flimsy pretext that “Aria doesn’t want to go to school with me,” they transferred me to the worst high school in the city. They didn’t even consult me. By the time I found out, the paperwork was already done. I stormed into my father’s study to confront him. He just looked at me, his eyes cold and distant. In the reflection of his indifferent pupils, I was nothing but a hysterical clown. “Stop this madness,” he said flatly. “As if you deserve to be in the city’s best school.” As if you deserve it. Those words shattered me. He was the one who used to tell me I deserved the very best the world had to offer. I turned my tear-filled eyes on Stella. “This was you, wasn’t it? What did you do?” Before I could say more, my father’s hand swung through the air. The slap was so hard the world dissolved into a dull roar, the edges of my vision blurring. In the last moment before I blacked out, I saw Stella’s mocking smile and the look of utter disgust on my father’s face. My brothers? They wished I was dead. No matter how poorly Stella did in school, they would pull her into a hug and comfort her. “Our little princess already has a family that adores her. Even if you fail every test, we’ll take care of you for the rest of your life.” But if my grades slipped even slightly, I was locked in the confinement room for a day and a night without food. When I was finally let out, my brothers would sneer, “You’re nothing like a Paige. You’re not as pretty as Stella, not as sweet as Stella. Why don’t you just die?” They had no idea what it was like in that tiny, three-square-meter room. It was torture. My sight was stolen by the absolute darkness, leaving me with only the faint sensations of touch and sound to confirm I still existed. The gnawing emptiness in my stomach eroded my sanity. I’d curl into a ball, hugging my belly as if that could stop the hunger. I tried to distract myself, but the darkness and starvation were twin blades, carving away at my body and my mind. In that suffocating space, there was nothing but despair. I would eventually break, clawing at the door, sobbing out apologies for crimes I didn’t commit, only to be met with even more brutal humiliation upon my release. My brothers would look at me as if I were something crawling out of a sewer. “Looks like we’ll have to do this more often,” they’d say with a cruel chuckle. “Seeing her like this is actually kind of fun.” On Stella’s birthday, they made me walk ten miles to buy her a cake. They had completely forgotten that it was my birthday, too. When I finally limped home, my feet raw and bleeding, clutching the cake box, I found them all gathered around Stella, singing “Happy Birthday.” A different, much more extravagant cake sat glowing in front of her. Of course. Stella didn’t need me to buy her a cake. It was just another way to torture me. “What took you so long?” Alex sneered as he and Julian approached. “We wouldn’t eat anything you touched anyway. It’s disgusting.” He knocked the cake from my hands, sending it splattering across the floor. He didn’t even try to hide his malice. “Too bad you didn’t get hit by a car on the way, huh? Hahahaha!” After they left, I knelt and dipped my finger into the ruined frosting on the floor, then brought it to my lips. So sweet. And yet, so bitter. Stella lived a life of effortless luxury. All she had to do was pout, and the world was handed to her on a silver platter. I accepted it. I knew that the unwanted have no right to ask for anything. But even that wasn’t enough for her. One morning at breakfast, Stella emerged from her room looking pale and unsteady. My mother rushed to her side. “Stella, darling, what’s wrong? Are you not feeling well?” Stella collapsed into her arms. “Mommy, the light in my room is so bad. I can’t sleep at night.” Her eyes flickered to me. “Aria looks so well-rested. Her room must get wonderful sunlight.” She put on that innocent face again, the one that made it seem like the entire world should bend to her will. I looked at her, a cold laugh bubbling in my chest. That room? The room my parents had designed for me themselves, the one they swore would always be mine, even after I was married? She thought she could take that? But to my horror, my mother didn’t even glance at me. “Aria, pack your things. You’re giving your room to your sister.” My eyes widened in disbelief. “Mom, have you forgotten?” “Forgotten what?” she snapped, her patience gone. “Can’t you see your sister is unwell? Now hurry up and move out!” “You and Dad promised that room would always be mine! I’m not leaving!” I ran to the room and locked the door, as if that could keep my mother’s love from slipping away, too. I heard Stella’s choked sobs from the hallway. “Mommy, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make Aria angry. Did I do something wrong?” “Oh, my sweet girl, of course you didn’t do anything wrong! Mommy will make her move. I won’t let my precious daughter suffer for a second!” But I was her daughter. Her real daughter. She used to call me her precious girl. Why had everything changed? A few minutes later, a key turned in the lock. Alex and Julian dragged me out and threw me into a dusty storage closet. “You had your chance to do this the easy way,” Alex grunted. “You should be grateful Stella even wants your room. From now on, you can sleep in here with the junk.” By the second year of Stella’s arrival, I had become utterly despised. I had four more years of this hell to endure. At first, I argued. But after suffering more and more humiliation from my own family, I learned to be silent. I hid my face behind a curtain of hair and sealed myself away in my own mind. I no longer had a place in this home. I was an intruder. The snow fell heavier. Kneeling in the freezing cold, I felt like a forgotten ship, foundering in an icy sea. Snowflakes landed on my eyebrows and shoulders, melting into a chilling dampness that seeped into my bones. I weakly raised a hand to push Buddy away. “Go on, Buddy. Go back inside. You’ll get frostbite.” But the little dog just whined, circling me anxiously and tugging at my shirt, trying to pull me back toward the house. I used the last of my strength to stroke his fur. “I’m sorry, Buddy. I’m just so tired. So very tired. This time… I don’t think I can hold on.” Meanwhile, Stella was lying in a warm hospital bed, surrounded by my family, showered with concern, the room filled with flowers and baskets of fruit. I don’t know how much time passed. My consciousness began to fade. In the haze, I saw a memory: me as a little girl, perched on my father’s shoulders under a soft sunset glow. My small hands were tangled in his hair, feeling completely safe and secure. “Ready for liftoff, my little bird?” he’d say, holding my legs steady. My mother would be watching from the sofa, her smile warm and gentle. My brothers would be building with blocks nearby, calling out, “Daddy, we want to give Aria a piggyback ride, too!” “Haha, you two are still too small,” my father would laugh, his voice full of love. “When you’re bigger, you can carry your sister all you want.” Every step he took was firm and steady, careful not to jostle his precious cargo. Why? How did it come to this? The memories of the past five years flashed through my mind, ending with my father’s disappointed glare and my brothers’ undisguised disgust. Finally, I closed my eyes. It’s better this way. When you’re dead, nothing can hurt anymore. A small smile touched my lips as I collapsed into the snow.

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1 Seven years after I was thrown out of my home, I ran into my sister in a nightclub. She was the VIP in the high-roller suite, dropping a fortune to celebrate her protégé’s birthday. I was one of the atmosphere models, paid to keep the party going. We didn’t exchange a single word the entire night. Not until I was offered five hundred dollars to down two bottles of brandy in a row. As I stood there, my face a ghostly white, she finally spoke, her lips a thin line, her voice dripping with ice. “You’d rather do this disgusting work than come home and apologize?” she asked, her voice low and sharp. “Nathan, you’ve really made something of yourself.” I just offered a weak, indifferent smile and held out my hand. “Five hundred dollars. Cash or Venmo?” Time had washed away the sharp edges of our old feud. I had no energy left to argue. But five hundred dollars was the exact amount I needed to pay the final installment on my urn. … The private room fell silent. Every eye was on me, a mixture of pity, amusement, and contempt. Someone snickered. My sister, Clarissa, her face flawlessly composed on the velvet sofa, instantly hardened. She was humiliated. Five hundred dollars. To people like her, it wasn’t even enough for breakfast. Yet here I was, her brother, debasing myself for it by chugging liquor. Her protégé, a smug young man named Leo, sneered at me. “Clarissa has been waiting for you to come home, and this is what you’re doing? Don’t you feel… dirty?” I glanced at him. “I’m earning my money honestly. It’s not like I’m sleeping with anyone. What’s dirty about that?” He laughed, a cold, dismissive sound. “Are you that desperate for cash? Fine. Drink two more bottles. I’ll add another five hundred.” The onlookers, sensing blood in the water, started to join in. “Yeah, drink up! If Leo’s adding five hundred, so will I!” “Count me in! I’ll throw in a grand!” I didn’t hesitate. I reached for another bottle. Just then, the door to the room swung open and the club manager bustled in, his face a mask of fawning concern. He pushed me aside and bowed slightly to my sister. “Ms. Sterling, is there a problem? Did this employee do something to offend you?” he groveled. “Please, don’t be angry. He’s new, if he…” “Are you going to drink it for him?” Clarissa’s cold voice cut him off. Her eyes narrowed. Sweat beaded on the manager’s forehead. He didn’t want to stand up for me, but he was terrified I’d drink myself to death on his watch. He forced a strained laugh. “That’s so much liquor, Ms. Sterling. No one could actually drink all that. It could be fatal.” “Then get out.” Clarissa’s brow furrowed with impatience. She pulled a thick stack of cash from her handbag—ten thousand dollars—and slammed it onto the manager’s chest. “Nathan isn’t leaving this room tonight. If you try to interfere again, you can kiss your club goodbye.” The manager fumbled with the money, his face breaking into a delirious grin. He stuffed the cash into his pocket, all concern for my well-being vanishing instantly. With a quick “thank you,” he was gone. All eyes were back on me. Clarissa’s lips curled into a sneer. “What’s wrong? Don’t you want the money anymore?” My face was a blank mask. I walked over, grabbed a bottle, and tipped it back. I’d already had two, and my stomach was twisting like a knife was buried in it. I drank this one slowly, which earned me a chorus of jeers from the crowd. Clarissa’s expression grew darker with every agonizing swallow. I finished the bottle and swayed, reaching for the next one. She shot up from the sofa and her hand clamped around my wrist like a vice. “Are you trying to kill yourself, Nathan?!” “I want the money.” I wrenched my arm free, grabbed the last bottle, and started to pour it down my throat. I had a plan. The lighting was dim. I’d pretend my hand was unsteady, let some of it spill. No one would notice. But I’d barely taken a sip when a hand cracked across my face. The sharp slap sent my head ringing. The bottle slipped from my grasp and shattered on the floor. Clarissa stood over me, her teeth clenched, her voice a furious hiss. “Have you no shame? Is money all that matters to you?!” “Stop it! You can drink yourself to death for all I care, but you won’t get a single cent from me!” The alcohol hit me then, a dizzying wave that made the world fracture into a kaleidoscope of colors. And a voice, a memory I had buried for seven long years, exploded in my ear. “You sold Mom’s heirloom for money? Did I not feed you? Did I not clothe you? Why don’t you sell yourself while you’re at it!” “Get out of my house! From this day forward, I don’t have a brother!” Seven years ago, Leo had set me up perfectly. He’d stolen our mother’s emerald bracelet from Clarissa’s room and sold it, then told her I was the one who did it. She was incandescent with rage. She made me kneel in the snow for three days and three nights, demanding to know where I’d sold it. But how could I know? I told her it was Leo, that he was trying to drive a wedge between us, that he was jealous of the bond we shared. She refused to believe me. Theft. Disrespect. Stubbornness. Three cardinal sins, each one a direct hit on her deepest values. Egged on by Leo’s crocodile tears, she confiscated all my money and threw me out onto the street. For the first six months, I did okay. I got a job in sales, enough to support myself with a little left over. But then everything changed. Clarissa made the one and only phone call she would make to me in seven years. Her first words were: “Aren’t you ready to come home and admit you were wrong? Just tell me where you sold the bracelet, and I’ll forgive you.” I was still running on pride and fury. “I told you it wasn’t me! Are you deaf? Ask your precious Leo! He’s the one who sold it!” She hung up. The next day, I was fired. She put the word out across the entire city: anyone who hired me was making an enemy of her. For the next six and a half years, I couldn’t find a single legitimate job. My only option was to work as an atmosphere model in places like this. It was like she was doing it all for show. She publicly announced that Leo was the sole heir to the Sterling corporation. She took him to interviews, galas, and auctions, showering him with lavish gifts, spending millions without a second thought. Their faces were constantly splashed across the financial news channels. And I watched from the shadows, drinking myself into stomach cancer just to survive. I spent the last few years seeing doctors, burning through every penny I had. I took out payday loans, but it was never enough. The experimental drugs were too expensive, and chemotherapy was a pipe dream. I tried calling her once to borrow money. I’d barely gotten the words out before she cut me off. “Money, money, money! Is that all you ever think about?” she’d spat. “Don’t even think about getting a dime from me until you come home and apologize. You can die in a gutter for all I care!” That was the phone call that extinguished the last flicker of hope. I was so tired. Truly. If she wanted me dead, then fine. I would die. At least then, the pain would stop. A month ago, I ordered myself an urn. I scraped together most of the cost, but I was still five hundred dollars short on the final payment. The owner called me almost every day, demanding the rest. I thought I would finally have it tonight. But Clarissa had given the manager ten thousand dollars without a thought, yet she wouldn’t spare five hundred for me. She swept out of the club with her entourage, leaving me to wretch my guts out in the bathroom. Only one thought echoed in my mind. Three bottles of brandy. All for nothing. My shift supervisor was smoking a cigarette nearby. “What the hell did you do to Ms. Sterling? She looked ready to kill someone when she left. What’s the deal between you two?” My stomach was on fire, my head spinning. I could barely open my eyes, clinging to the toilet to keep from falling in. “We don’t know each other,” I rasped. “Just enemies, I guess.” The next day, a phone call dragged me from a fitful sleep. It was the man from the urn shop. “Mr. Sterling, when are you going to pay the remaining balance? It’s five hundred dollars. Are you really going to drag this out for a month?” “If you can’t pay within three days, I’m selling it to someone else! And you’re not getting your deposit back!” My voice was a raw whisper. “Please, just give me a little more time. I get paid in two weeks, I can give it to you then…” “I can’t wait two weeks!” he snapped. “I’ve never seen anyone like you, dragging your feet over buying an urn. If you don’t have the money, why did you order such an expensive one in the first place?” I tried to say something else, but he had already hung up. My head was splitting. I called my manager, hoping to get an advance on my salary. His response was even more brutal. “Just calling to let you know, you don’t need to come in today. Or ever again.” “And don’t expect a final paycheck. Ms. Sterling gave the order. Our hands are tied.” A roar filled my ears. My voice was shrill with panic. “You can’t do that! That’s illegal! I’ll report you to the labor board!” The manager laughed. “Go ahead. Ms. Sterling said she’ll assume full responsibility for any consequences. Her legal team is the best in the country. If you want to walk into that buzzsaw, be my guest.” He hung up. A thick ball of rage and despair was lodged in my throat. My face was pale, and I could taste rust in my mouth. A sudden, violent cough, and a spray of crimson splattered onto my threadbare sheets. I stared at the bright red stain, and the tears I’d been holding back for so long finally broke free. After a long while, I mechanically wiped up the blood, then fumbled for my painkillers and swallowed them dry. When I was done, I had no strength left. I leaned against the bed and thought about the last seven years. I realized, with a sudden, chilling clarity, that every escape route, every chance I had, had been systematically destroyed by my own sister. Now, I couldn’t even work at the club. Eating was a problem, let alone paying for painkillers or an urn. All I wanted was a beautiful place to rest when I died. What was so wrong with that? I buried my face in my hands and sobbed until the afternoon, when a sliver of strength returned. Looking at my trembling hands, I made a decision. I was going home. I was going to ask Clarissa Sterling why. Why she had to do this to me. She and Leo were in the middle of dinner when I arrived. She glanced up at me, her voice flat. “So, you’re finally willing to come back?” “Why did you have the manager fire me?” I asked, my own voice just as devoid of emotion, ignoring her question completely. “Seven years. Haven’t you humiliated me enough?” She raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “A little hardship is the only way you’ll learn that home is where you belong. Nathan, do you have any idea what people are saying about you out there? The only reason you haven’t heard the worst of it is because I’ve been suppressing the rumors. And you’re still not grateful?” Leo put down his fork, his tone oozing with false sympathy. “Clarissa, he just doesn’t understand how much you do for him. Look at him. He’s clearly blaming you.” “Shut up!” I lunged at him, my hand raised to strike. But in the next second, Clarissa’s arm shot out, blocking the blow. Her face was like stone. “Now you’re resorting to violence? I see you’ll never learn your lesson.” Her voice dropped, each word a frozen dagger. “Don’t test me, Nathan. I can make it so you can’t survive in this city.” My heart seized, as if caught in a brutal grip. Can’t survive? Isn’t that what she’d been doing for the past seven years? Destroying every job, extinguishing every flicker of hope, leaving me lower than a rat in the gutter, so broken I couldn’t even afford my own grave. I had enough. I was done with her threats. My control shattered. “I DID NOTHING WRONG!” I screamed, the words tearing from my throat. “Clarissa, if you won’t let me live, then fine! I’ll die! Is that what you want?” “I’ll go to hell! You can’t control me there, can you?” My words seemed to trigger something in her. Her face twisted with rage. “Even in death, you will forever be in my debt!” She shoved me. It wasn’t a hard push, but my body was weak. I stumbled backward, my lower back slamming against the sharp edge of the dining table. A white-hot pain exploded through me, and a cold sweat broke out all over my body. A flicker of regret crossed Clarissa’s face. She turned away. “Until Mom’s heirloom is returned, you don’t even have the right to die.” With that, she strode from the room. I was in too much pain to get up. Leo stood over me, his arms crossed. “Look at you, big brother. So pathetic.” “How about this? You get on your knees, you beg me, and maybe I’ll tell you who I sold that little trinket to. What do you say?” My eyes burned with a hatred so intense I wanted to rip him apart. But I knew I didn’t even have the strength to hit him. Seven years of humiliation. And I couldn’t even have a shred of dignity at the end. Clarissa’s words echoed in my head. “Until Mom’s heirloom is returned, you don’t even have the right to die!” “Even in death, you will forever be in my debt!” Fine. If I get the bracelet back, will you finally let me die in peace? I wiped the tears from my face and, with the last of my will, I knelt at Leo’s feet. I pressed my forehead to the cold floor. Once. Twice. Three times. “I’m begging you. Tell me where Mom’s bracelet is.” In the past, whenever he’d tricked me, I’d fought back with everything I had. But this time, I had nothing left. Leo suddenly looked bored. The fight had gone out of me, and it was no longer fun for him. He tossed a slip of paper onto the floor. “There’s the address. But good luck getting your hands on it, brother.” Numbly, I picked up the paper. I found a public bike and rode to the address, a pawn shop in a remote, run-down part of the city. When I explained why I was there, the owner said nothing, simply retrieved the emerald bracelet from a safe. Clearly, Leo had already arranged everything. I felt nothing. I just wanted to give the bracelet back to Clarissa, to sever our ties once and for all. But as I reached for it, the owner’s hand let go a fraction of a second too soon. With a sickening crack, the bracelet hit the floor and shattered into a dozen pieces. I froze, the color draining from my face. “Hey, kid! Why weren’t you more careful?” the owner exclaimed. “That’s not on me!” “Nathan!” Clarissa’s furious voice came from behind me. I whipped around and met Leo’s triumphant gaze. He had his arm linked through hers. “See, Clarissa? What did I tell you? He did it on purpose!” he said, his voice a pitch of faux-outrage. “He’d rather shatter Mom’s bracelet than give you the satisfaction. And you were actually thinking of forgiving him!” Clarissa didn’t seem to hear him. Her eyes were glued to the glittering green fragments on the floor. She walked forward, her movements stiff and heavy. She knelt, and for a long moment, she just stared. Then, slowly, she began to pick up the pieces, her knuckles white as she clutched them in her palm. “It wasn’t me,” I whispered, a desperate panic rising in my chest. “He dropped it. And I never sold it in the first place…” At the sound of my voice, she shot to her feet and slapped me, hard. The force of the blow sent me sprawling to the ground. The pain in my stomach flared, my cheek burned, and involuntary tears streamed down my face. Her chest heaved, her face a terrifying mask of fury. “You still dare to make excuses? For seven years, I gave you a chance! I told myself, if you just come home, just tell me where Mom’s bracelet is, I’ll forgive you.” “But what did you do?” she screamed, losing her composure in a way I had never seen before. “Nathan, you don’t deserve to be a Sterling. And you certainly don’t deserve to be my brother!” Her words sent my heart plummeting into a black abyss. I felt a hot, metallic taste in my throat and swallowed hard, forcing the blood back down. My voice was a choked sob. “What if… what if I was really dying?” “Stop with the pity party,” she spat, her eyes filled with disgust. She was squeezing the broken emeralds so tightly that blood began to drip from her palm. “Even if you were to drop dead right now, I wouldn’t feel a thing.” “Okay.” I clenched my fists and shakily pushed myself to my feet. In that moment, something inside me settled. I was already dying. The feuds, the debts, the blame… none of it mattered anymore. If she wanted to believe I did it all, then fine. I did it. After I’m gone, I’ll be nothing but a box of ashes. None of this will have any meaning. I let out a bitter laugh and turned to leave. “Where do you think you’re going?” she yelled after me. “Will you not be happy until you’ve driven me to my grave?” I didn’t look back. My voice drifted over my shoulder. “You don’t have to die. I will.” … For the next two days, Clarissa didn’t contact me. She took the bracelet to a master jeweler, only to be told that no matter how it was repaired, it would never be the same. The flawed, patched-together result only fueled her rage. On the first day, she held a press conference and publicly disowned me. Her face was a cold, emotionless mask. “From this day forward, I will no longer be involved in Nathan Sterling’s affairs,” she announced to the stunned media. “Whatever job he takes, even if he sells his body, I will not interfere. I only ask that no one ever mention his name in my presence again. The sound of it makes me sick.” She was ruthless. My name was struck from the family registry that same day. On the second day, she took Leo to the family mausoleum. She had his surname legally changed to Sterling and formally acknowledged him as the heir. A concerned relative asked her, “Is this really necessary? Nathan is still your brother. What if something happens to him?” Clarissa’s lips were a thin, hard line. Her tone was mocking. “What could happen? I’ve spent seven years crushing him, and he’s still alive and kicking, isn’t he?” “He won’t die. He doesn’t have the guts. And he wouldn’t have the courage to face Mom.” Unfortunately for her, she was wrong again. Because I was right there beside her, in spirit form. I had been dead for two days. I drowned myself in the river near our old home. The pain, both physical and emotional, had become unbearable. Death was a release. But on the third day, something I never expected happened. Clarissa received a phone call from the owner of the urn shop. He was practically shouting into the phone. “Are you Nathan Sterling’s sister? He listed you as his emergency contact, so don’t try to deny it!” “Your brother ordered an urn from me, and he still hasn’t paid the final balance. Do you want it or not?”

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The day I found out I was pregnant, Alex crushed me in a hug, his eyes red-rimmed with joy. “Candy,” he swore, his voice thick with emotion, “I swear I’ll take care of you and the baby!” Everyone said Alex loved me more than life itself, that he was completely wrapped around my finger. That was until I saw the videos and photos his first love sent me. Intimate, tangled limbs and whispered words. I found Alex in the nursery, assembling the crib for our baby. I walked up to him, my voice steady. “Let’s not keep the baby.” I felt his body go rigid. I pressed on. “Alex, let’s get a divorce.” 1 The baby rattle in Alex’s hand slipped from his grasp, landing on the plush carpet with a soft, muffled thud. He looked up at me, disbelief washing over his face. “Candy.” He closed the distance between us, his hands finding mine. They were cold. “Are you kidding me?” He looked so earnest, as if I were the most precious thing in the world to him. So precious that I could feel the faint tremor in his hands. “This isn’t a funny joke,” he said, his voice low. “Candy, stop messing around.” He thought I was throwing a tantrum. A cold wave of despair washed over me. “I’m not kidding.” My voice was flat. I gently pulled my hands from his, pushing down the ache in my chest. “I’m dead serious.” “Alex.” I held out my phone, displaying the chat logs and all the photos the woman had sent me. I watched his expression freeze, the color draining from his face in an instant. He opened his mouth to explain, but I cut him off. “You told her you wanted her to have your baby. You told her that if it was a boy, you’d name him Vincent, and if it was a girl, Vivienne…” I was trying so hard to stay calm. I wanted this to end peacefully, with dignity. Just like we’d promised each other when we first got together, that if we ever had to part ways, it would be on good terms. But then I looked at his face and remembered him whispering to me in the heat of the moment, cupping my face in his hands, telling me how much he wanted a child. I remembered him holding me, his heart full of anticipation as he said, “Candy, if we have kids, let’s have a boy and a girl.” “We’ll call the boy Vincent.” “And the girl, Vivienne.” I didn’t understand the significance of the names back then. I’d asked him about it, pouting, but he just said he liked them and changed the subject. I didn’t push it. I thought they sounded nice, too. How ironic. I stared at him, my voice cold as I tore his lie apart. “It’s not because you thought Vincent and Vivienne were beautiful names. It’s because,” I could feel my whole body start to shake, my teeth chattering so hard my words came out trembling, “it’s because her name is Vivian.” “Your first love. The one you loved for years but never ended up with.” “It’s not like that!” Alex’s eyes blazed red as he tried to explain, but my control finally snapped. I interrupted him with a raw, guttural scream. “If you loved her that much, you should have just told me!” “I would have let you go!” “Did you think I’d cling to you? Did you!” In a blind rage, I grabbed a stuffed animal from the crib and hurled it at him. He didn’t flinch. Instead, he lunged forward and wrapped his arms around me, holding me so tight I couldn’t breathe, the world starting to go dark at the edges. I sank my teeth into his shoulder. I heard him grunt in pain, but he didn’t let go. His voice, when it came, was a choked sob. “It’s not like that!” “Candy!” “It’s not!” “I’m so sorry, Candy!” “I was wrong! I know I was wrong!” 2 Honestly, I truly wanted a divorce. I wanted us to part ways without this ugly, messy drama. But Alex called in the reinforcements. He summoned both our families. They crowded into our spacious living room, all our relatives and both sets of parents, sitting before me as if I were a criminal on trial. They were here to pass judgment. I watched Alex’s aunt look me up and down, her lip curled in a sneer. “Look at you, playing the housewife and still throwing a fit.” “Alex’s out there working himself to the bone for you, for that thing in your belly. And you, living a life of leisure at home, you have the nerve to have an attitude?” Alex’s mother chimed in, her tone softer but just as cutting. “Candy, dear, Alex’s not the cheating type. Why else would he have married you? He truly loves you. He wouldn’t have asked us all to come here and talk to you otherwise.” She took my mom’s hand, and my mom immediately turned on me. “Candy! You dare pull another stunt like this! Alex is one in a million, he doesn’t smoke or drink. What more could you possibly want!” My dad delivered the final verdict. “Don’t even think about it. As long as Alex doesn’t want a divorce, if you dare mention this again, I’ll break your legs!” The two families, united against a common enemy: me. I sat in the middle of the circle, listening as they took turns berating me. When they finally paused for breath, Alex spoke. “Candy, I have never, ever wanted to divorce you.” He took my hand. “I can explain. I can explain everything.” To prove his sincerity, he called Vivian right there, in front of everyone, and put her on speakerphone. He demanded she vouch for their “innocence.” “My wife is about to divorce me because of you!” he yelled into the phone. “You need to clear this up with her, right now!” Vivian sounded bored. “I was just messing with your wife. Can’t she take a joke? God, she’s psychotic.” Then her voice was directed at me. “So I dated your husband for a few years. Big deal. Everyone has a past. What, you expected him to be a blank slate? Are you so pure yourself?” Hearing her casual disdain, the emotions I’d been suppressing finally erupted. After the relentless assault from my family and Alex’s spinelessness, I snatched the phone from his hand. He seemed certain I wouldn’t dare do anything. I spoke directly to her. “If you were so innocent, you wouldn’t have added me on social media and sent me all that crap!” “Vivian, is it?” “If you think you’re so clean, then what do you call messing with a married man?” My voice trembled, but my words were firm. “Are you just naturally drawn to being the other woman, or is your own life so miserable you can’t stand to see anyone else happy?” Vivian shrieked. “What the hell did you just say to me!” “Alex! Are you just going to stand there and let your wife bully me like this? Are you just going to let her—” CRACK. The sound of a palm striking flesh echoed through the room. I clutched my stinging cheek, staring at Alex in disbelief. He stammered, panicked, “Candy, I didn’t mean to—” Through the phone, Vivian’s triumphant laughter rang out. “Got what you deserved, didn’t you.” “Let me tell you something, Candy. Alex is my little puppy. He comes when I call. And you know why I can say that? Because your husband gave me the confidence!” 3 “If you’ve got the guts,” she taunted, “tell your husband to come find me. Tell him to hit me.” “Hahaha, Candy, let me tell you, the only place your husband is good is in bed—” “Enough!” Alex violently ended the call and turned to me, his eyes wide with fear. But I just held my cheek and laughed, a hollow, broken sound. This wasn’t the first time I’d met Vivian. She had come to our home before she ever sent me that first message. She’d waltzed in like she owned the place, inspecting my home, my territory, before offering her verdict. “Hm. It’s just my style.” Vivian had been so sure of herself. “Candy, Alex didn’t let you have any say in the decor, did he?” I’d frozen, listening to her continue. “That’s because I love American-style decor. I told Alex that if we ever bought a house together, it had to be American style.” She walked over to the entryway and took down one of the matching keychains from the hook. I found my voice. “That’s incredibly rude.” Vivian just dangled the keychain in front of me. “This, too.” She pulled out a photo on her phone. In it, a much younger Alex, his face full of boyish happiness, was holding up the exact same keychain. “He made it for me.” Now, watching Alex’s red-rimmed eyes, his hand hovering in the air, too afraid to touch me, I found it all so laughable. So utterly pathetic. “Alex, why are you even pretending?” I asked him, my voice dripping with scorn. “If you love Vivian so much,” I met his gaze, “why did you have to drag me into this? Why did you have to ruin me?” I turned my head, looking at my parents, at all the silent, judgmental relatives. “So, you’re still not going to let me get a divorce?” “Are you all blind?” “Can’t you see it!” I screamed, the words tearing from my throat. “Can’t you see? His heart was never mine! It was always hers! It was never, ever mine!” The tears finally came, hot and fast, like pearls snapping off a string. I couldn’t wipe them away fast enough. I broke down completely, sobbing, until Alex grabbed my hands. “Candy,” he pleaded. “Hit me.” “Please, just hit me!” He started crying with me. “Just don’t divorce me!” “I don’t want a divorce!” He fell to his knees in front of me, his words choked by sobs. “I love you. I don’t want a divorce!” I thought things couldn’t possibly get any worse. But the sight of her son kneeling at my feet sent Alex’s mother into a rage. She surged forward and slapped me again, hard. “How dare you humiliate the son I’ve cherished my whole life!” she shrieked. Alex’s aunt grabbed a handful of my hair. “You’re nothing but a home-wrecking bitch! A curse! Women like you should just die!” I was being pulled and shoved from all sides, the searing pain from my scalp and the fire on my cheeks mixing with the soul-crushing agony Alex had inflicted on me. And through it all, my parents were still trying to mediate. “Candy, dear, what man doesn’t make mistakes?” “No man is faithful to just one woman his entire life. Candy, don’t be so stubborn.” My mom was crying now. “A divorced woman is damaged goods. If you really do this, who do you think will want you then?” My dad’s face was a mask of disapproval. “No one in our family has ever gotten a divorce. I won’t be the first to be shamed like this. If you’re so determined to leave him, you might as well be dead!” My parents’ words were all the justification Alex needed. He wrapped his arms around me, his tears soaking my shoulder. “Candy, I’ll stop talking to Vivian, okay? I’ll cut her off completely.” “Forgive me, Candy!” “I’m begging you!” 4 The voices swirled around me. Arguments, sobs, accusations, pleas. It was a suffocating whirlwind of noise, stealing the oxygen from my lungs. The weight of it all became unbearable until, finally, I snapped. “WHY?” I shrieked, a single, desperate word that contained all my pain. “JUST… WHY?” The chaos ended when I felt a warm gush of blood between my legs. I was rushed to the hospital. I spent a week there, hooked up to an IV, undergoing tests. I didn’t see Alex once. But I saw him constantly on Vivian’s social media feed. Alex, helping her pick out furniture and decor for her new house. Alex, in the kitchen with her, making her favorite steak dinner. Alex, taking a flower arrangement class with her. Their first creations held up to the camera, their smiles mirroring a photo from their teenage years. Vivian posted the two photos side-by-side with the caption: 【The ones you love when you’re young always find their way back to you.】 Alex had liked the post. I listened numbly as the doctor stood by my bed. “Ms. Davis,” she said gently. “Your pregnancy is very fragile. Your emotional state is critical. I really must advise you to get out, take a walk, try to relax.” I looked down at my phone. A new voice message from my mom. “Candy, Alex just bought your brother the new iPhone, the expensive one, over a thousand dollars. And you say he doesn’t love you? If he didn’t love you, why would he be so good to our family? You just focus on giving him a healthy baby boy, you hear me?” A new message from Alex’s mother. It was a photo of a fortune teller’s chart. “I had your fortune told. The master says the firstborn will be a son. Don’t you worry about a thing. You’re the only daughter-in-law our family will ever have.” And then, a new message from Alex. “Candy, I’ll be home tonight. I cut my business trip short.” My parents’ emotional neglect. My in-laws’ suffocating pressure. My husband’s pathetic lies. He thought that because he’d deleted Vivian’s contact in front of me, I wouldn’t see their sordid affair, wouldn’t know he was still deceiving me. I stared at his next message. “Candy, what do you want for dinner tonight? I’ll bring it to the hospital.” At the exact same moment, a message from Vivian popped up. “Alex already told me. He said he couldn’t bear to see me go through childbirth, so after you pop out that kid, he’s kicking you to the curb.” It was the final straw. My vision blurred. I could feel a grim, chilling smile spread across my face as I typed my reply to Alex. 【Alex.】 【I want those soup dumplings. From that little place you took me to on our first date.】 I’d never really been in a relationship before him, never been truly cherished. My parents’ love was like sand, most of it slipping through the cracks, leaving me with only a few grains. But that day, watching him sit across from me, carefully wiping down my bowl and chopsticks, placing a perfectly steamed dumpling in my dipping dish, and then looking up at me with that silly, wonderful grin… I think my heart just gave way. For the first time, I felt the urge to build a life with someone. Now, I waited. And waited. Midnight came and went. Alex never showed. Instead, I got another message from Vivian: “Just give us half an hour. Half an hour and we’ll be done.” “Then I’ll let him go.” The pain in my heart had faded to a dull, throbbing numbness. I sat on the ledge of the hospital rooftop, my legs dangling over the edge, and watched a familiar black Audi pull into the parking lot below. I dialed Alex’s number. I watched him get out of the car, rushing toward the hospital entrance as he answered my call. “Candy.” “Alex,” I said, my voice strangely calm. “Look up.” “Alex.” “Look up.” The wind whistled past my ears. He instinctively tilted his head back. His eyes found me, a fragile silhouette against the night sky, looking as if a single gust of wind could carry me away. He knew. Some primal part of him knew, and his heart seized in his chest. A raw, terrified shout ripped from his throat. “NO!” “CANDY, NO!” He scrambled, sprinting toward the hospital doors in a blind panic, but he was too late. An earth-shattering thud echoed from behind him, a sound that seemed to shatter his very soul, breaking him into a million pieces.

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1 To raise the astronomical sum for my son’s cancer treatment, I flew into a war zone. I went to the Middle East alone, risking my life to sign a hundred-million-dollar deal for my company. But the day I returned, I got a call from the hospital. My husband had stopped our son’s treatment. And the money, our son’s lifeline, he’d given all of it to his female secretary as a “bonus.” I couldn’t understand how Mikkal could just halt Leo’s chemotherapy. I stormed into the hospital room to find Mikkal sitting by the bed. Leo was lying there, his face as pale as a sheet of paper, so fragile he looked like he might shatter. “Mikkal, how could you do this!” Mikkal stood up, avoiding my eyes, his voice devoid of any warmth. “This disease of Leo’s… it’s a drain on money and energy. Each round of chemo costs hundreds of thousands, with no guarantee it will even work.” “The company is just starting to get back on its feet. We can’t let this drag it down.” A woman, Isla, was pressed against Mikkal’s side, one hand resting lightly on his arm. Her voice was as soft as water, but every word was a dagger. “Mikkal is just thinking long-term, Ava.” “There’s no point wasting time and money on a child with no hope.” I stared at Mikkal in disbelief, waiting for him to deny it, to say anything. But he was silent. He didn’t refute a single word. After a few seconds, he finally looked up, his tone so firm it sent a chill down my spine. “Isla understands the bigger picture better than you do. She’s a better partner for me.” “If you really can’t let go of Leo, then you can stay here and take care of him. Don’t worry about the company. I’ll send you money for living expenses every month.” “Don’t worry about it?” I repeated his words, the absurdity of it all hitting me like a physical blow. Why did he think I’d risked my life in a war-torn country? So he could take the credit I earned with my blood and sweat and use it to impress his new flame? So he could take my son’s life-saving money and hand it out as a bonus to another woman? I forced myself to stay calm, taking a step toward him. “When you say there’s no hope for Leo, is it because you truly believe he can’t be saved, or because you’ve already planned to cast us aside?” His pupils contracted, and he looked away again. “That’s not what I meant. The company is just in a difficult spot right now.” I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “The advance on that hundred-million-dollar deal is already in the bank! You’re telling me you can’t afford a few hundred thousand for his chemo?” Leo must have woken up. He opened his weak eyes and looked at us, scared. My heart instantly softened, and the pain became almost unbearable. I went to his bedside and gently took his small, cold hand. “Daddy, I want to get better…” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I want to live… I want to be with you and Mommy…” Mikkal’s face tightened, but his heart remained hard as stone. “The doctors said there’s no hope!” “Leo, sweetie, I know you’re in pain,” Isla cooed from the side, her sympathy utterly fake. “But Mikkal is just doing what’s best for you, for the family.” “Shut up!” I shoved her away. “This has nothing to do with you!” Isla stumbled back, shrinking behind Mikkal as her eyes instantly welled with tears. “Ava, I was just trying to help share your burden…” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Share my burden? Or share my husband and my son’s life-saving money?” Seeing Isla so “wronged,” Mikkal’s face darkened completely. “Ava, you’re becoming more and more unreasonable!” The tears finally fell. “We’ve been married for twelve years. I was with you when you had nothing. And this is how you treat me? Leo is your own son!” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, they were filled with nothing but ice. “I’ve said what I needed to say. If you want to take care of Leo, stay. If not, leave. I won’t force you. But stay out of the company’s business.” 2 News of the company’s celebration gala spread through the industry while I was in the hospital, giving Leo a sponge bath. They said Isla had become the new hero of Vance Corp, the woman of the hour. A few days later, a former colleague sent me a photo. Isla, sitting in my executive chair, her picture frame on my desk. All of my personal belongings had been tossed into a storage closet in the corner. The message read: “Ava, Isla has completely taken over your responsibilities. She said you should just focus on taking care of your son.” I stared at the photo of the office, so familiar yet now so jarringly foreign. All those late nights I’d spent working there, erased as if they’d never happened. But I didn’t have the energy to fight. Leo’s condition was unstable. He was in and out of critical care. One night, the light in the ICU stayed on all night as the doctor issued another critical condition notice. I sat outside the door, sleepless. Just as dawn broke, Isla arrived. She was wearing a champagne-colored evening gown, the hem trailing on the floor, her makeup flawless. It was the same one Mikkal had custom-made for me years ago, after we landed our first ten-million-dollar contract. He’d said he wanted me to always be his leading lady. Now, it was on Isla’s body, a dazzling, painful taunt. “Ava, Mikkal sent me to give you an update.” She sauntered over, her tone light and dismissive. “The company has decided to put me in charge of the energy project moving forward. I’ve already taken over all of your client contacts.” Just then, the ICU doors opened. Leo had just been pulled back from the brink of death. He was pale and so weak he could barely open his eyes. The moment he saw Isla, he flinched as if terrified, his small hand struggling to clutch the hem of my shirt. Isla, however, leaned down, reaching out as if to stroke his head. “Don’t be scared, little one. I don’t mean any harm.” I slapped her hand away. “Get out! You’re not welcome here!” Isla retracted her hand, the smile fading from her face. “Ava, don’t be so emotional. I’m just here to pass on Mikkal’s message.” “Besides, Leo’s illness… even if you keep treating it, there’s no guarantee of a good outcome. It might be better to just let go.” “Shut your mouth!” Isla just shrugged and said no more. As she turned to leave, her dress swept across the floor, leaving behind a cloying, suffocating cloud of perfume. I thought that was the worst they could do. I was wrong. Mikkal and Isla had a far more vicious plan in store. A few days later, I was served with a court summons. 3 Mikkal had conspired with Isla to forge evidence, accusing me of accepting bribes during my negotiations abroad. They weren’t just seeking legal action; they were trying to strip me of my visitation rights for Leo. The evidence was faked transaction records and so-called witness testimonies, all of it fabricated. I took the summons and went straight to the condo Mikkal had bought for Isla. When I pushed open the door, Isla was lounging on the sofa watching TV. Mikkal sat beside her, a glass of red wine in his hand. The decor was a mirror image of our old home. Even the paintings on the wall were the same. But that familiar comfort now felt like a nauseating betrayal. “Mikkal, why are you doing this to me?” He set down his wine, looking up at me as if I were a complete stranger. “I’m relaxed with Isla. She can give me the life I want.” He paused, his gaze softening as it fell on Isla’s stomach. “Including… a healthy child.” Isla nestled into his embrace, looking at me with triumph in her eyes. My heart sank into a frozen abyss. I couldn’t breathe. I stared at him, my voice hoarse. “You know that evidence is forged.” “So what if it is?” Mikkal said dismissively. “The court only looks at evidence. Who’s going to believe someone accused of bribery?” I was shaking with rage, but I couldn’t find the words to respond. This wasn’t the man who had once treated me with such tenderness. The man before me now saw only profit and his new love. Back at the hospital, Leo’s temperature spiked. He started convulsing. The doctors rushed in with a crash cart. “Mrs. Vance, your son’s condition has suddenly worsened. He needs a bone marrow transplant immediately!” the doctor told me urgently. “The surgery will cost a million dollars. You need to get the funds as soon as possible.” A million dollars. Right now, it felt like an insurmountable mountain. Left with no choice, my hands trembling, I dialed Mikkal’s number again. It rang for a long time before he finally answered. The background was noisy; I could faintly hear the thumping music of a bar and Isla’s laughter. “Mikkal, Leo is in critical condition! He needs a bone marrow transplant, it’s a million dollars!” I pleaded, my voice breaking. “Please, save him. He’s your son, too!” I sobbed, praying for a shred of compassion. But his voice came back, cold and distant. “I’m out with Isla. She just closed a huge deal for the company, and I’m not about to ruin her night. I’m not paying for Leo’s surgery. Give it up.”

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I custom-ordered the latest bionic boyfriend, Silas. Dr. Aris, his creator, said his biggest selling point was “absolute obedience to his designated owner.” But just two days after he arrived, Silas started experiencing intermittent memory loss, rebooting his system every two hours. I called Dr. Aris for a consultation. His response was firm. “That’s absolutely impossible. Once an android imprints on an owner, it’s against their core programming to defy a command. Of course, we offer a free replacement. The warranty covers it.” I was skeptical but decided to give Silas one more chance. Then, one night, I discovered his “flirtation mode” had an incredible five-hour runtime. Curious, I tried to reactivate it, only to get a system notification: “System Overload. Owner Command Required.” Suddenly, everything clicked. He had imprinted on another owner. An android that imprints on the wrong person is just a pile of scrap metal. A free replacement would be simple enough. … I stared at Silas’s control panel. “System Overload. Owner Command Required.” Wasn’t I his rightful owner? His chiseled abs were hot to the touch, the texture smoother and more flawless than human skin. I tried tapping the command five or six more times, but the same robotic voice droned on, grating on my nerves. I scrolled through the posts from other buyers on the app. They were all living a dream. [Five or six rounds a night is nothing. If I wasn’t the one getting tired, my android boyfriend could go for another three hundred.] [I almost got hit by a truck the other day, and my android saved my life! He’s my guardian angel!] My own post about my troubles, however, caused a commotion: [OMG! Don’t tell me your android gave its ‘owner key’ to another woman?] [It would have to develop some serious self-awareness to re-imprint. Wait, did you abuse it or something?] Abuse him? I’d spent a fortune on him. From the moment Silas arrived, I followed the instruction manual to the letter, completing the imprinting ceremony. Then I began the process of programming him to be the perfect boyfriend. But no matter what mode I set, it never lasted more than two hours. After that, he wouldn’t recognize me at all. When I had a high fever and ordered him to take me to the hospital, he froze. When we were almost in a car crash, the airbags deployed, and he was still frozen solid. The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced. He really had found another owner. Just then, the doorbell rang. I opened it to find Mia, the daughter of our old family estate’s housekeeper. “Clara,” she began, her voice dripping with false concern, “it was me. I felt so bad for Silas, I helped him… relieve the pressure for five hours. Blame me, don’t take it out on him.” I froze for a second before the reality of it hit me. Silas must have sensed my anger and sent out a distress signal to his real owner. “I don’t need you meddling in my affairs.” I was about to shut the door in her face when I glanced back at Silas. His amber eyes were filled with a raw disapproval I’d never seen before. “I hate it when you act like a spoiled princess, looking down on everyone,” he snapped. “Mia doesn’t owe you anything. You can treat me like a dog, but she’s a human being.” Hearing the resentment that had clearly been building for some time, I let out a surprised laugh. “If you despise me so much, why did you beg me to take you home in the first place?” When I was at the research institute, I’d been overwhelmed by the sheer number of models. It was Silas who had looked up at me with those puppy-dog eyes and knelt at my feet. “Please, take me home with you, mistress. I can do anything.” I’d given him a life of luxury, and this is how he repaid me—by wagging his tail for another woman. Silas swallowed nervously, but the defiance in his eyes remained. He shot me a cold glare before escorting Mia out of my apartment. The picture was painfully clear. I called Dr. Aris immediately. “Go ahead and process a replacement for me. You can schedule Silas for decommissioning.” “Three days. I guarantee you’ll be satisfied with the new model.” After I hung up, Silas walked back in. If his proprietary charging station wasn’t bolted to my wall, I’m sure he would have left with Mia for good. He rummaged around for a while before storming up to me, his face a mask of annoyance. “Where’s the oil? The high-grade joint lubricant you bought for me. It’s gone.” I had been worried that commercial lubricants would damage his synthetic skin, so I’d spent a small fortune on a premium oil at an auction. I had loved watching it gleam on his skin as he’d smiled with pleasure. But now… I pointed to the roaring fire in the fireplace. “I burned it.” He was about to be recycled anyway. He wouldn’t need such fine things. And I certainly didn’t want my new android using someone else’s leftovers. Silas stared, shocked into silence for a few seconds before storming upstairs to his charging station. In the middle of the night, I was shaken awake. Silas was standing over me in an apron, holding a plate of dumplings. For a fleeting moment, seeing the red glint in the corner of his eyes, my heart softened. I hesitantly took one and bit into it, only to spit it out immediately. “You don’t know I hate shrimp?” Silas’s breath hitched. I pulled up his control panel and understood instantly. His system was now filled with Mia’s profile. Allergies: Soy, Mango. Favorite Foods: Gluten, Shrimp Dumplings, Sweet and Sour Pork… Of course. I wasn’t his owner. Why would he remember what I liked? A heavy feeling settled in my chest. In a fit of anger, I ripped out his battery pack and locked him in the utility closet. It was, after all, where he was destined to end up. The next morning, I was jolted awake by the sound of a woman’s high-pitched, ecstatic cries. I followed the noise to find the door to the utility closet ajar. Inside, Silas was arched over Mia, his powerful back muscles flexing as he held her ankles, his lips moving up her leg, murmuring, “Mistress Mia.” His throat bobbed, and the tell-tale glyph that only appeared during peak arousal shimmered on his shoulder. It was something I had never been able to coax out of him, no matter how hard I tried, no matter how much I catered to him. But for his real owner, it appeared so easily. I didn’t hesitate. I slammed my fist on the closet door. Bang, bang, bang. A moment later, Mia appeared, her clothes in disarray, and had the audacity to question me. “Clara, how could you lock him in a closet? If you don’t want him, I’ll take him right now. Then he won’t have to suffer here anymore…” My parents had only let her live at the estate out of pity. I never realized that years of charity had fed such a greedy ambition. Seeing my own home defiled by these two, I was furious. “I bought him with my money. I’d rather sell him for scrap than give him to you.” At this, Silas’s expression twisted into something ugly. “Scrap?!” he roared. “You’d say something that vile just to insult Mia? I was serving her as her android. It wasn’t her fault!” I was speechless. Just as I was about to throw Mia out, she suddenly swayed and fell backward dramatically. The next second, a powerful force kicked me aside. Before I knew what was happening, I had landed in a massive bouquet of flowers Silas had prepared for Mia. I’m allergic to pollen. As Silas walked toward me, his eyes held a look of disgust I’d never seen before. “How could you hurt Mia? Have you forgotten the trauma you caused her growing up? You’ll make her depression flare up again!” With that, his body temperature automatically rose, and he knelt like a devout servant, gently warming Mia’s ankle with his hands. My breathing became more and more difficult. I nearly crushed the remote control in my hand. “Get… my inhaler.” Silas shot me a disdainful look and sneered. “Stop pretending. You always loved playing the victim to get sympathy. Mia reset my programming. I’ll never fall for your tricks again.” When he first came to live with me, he had done everything to make me happy. Even when his sensors detected I was faking an illness for attention, he would stay by my bedside, attentive and caring. How quickly he’d forgotten who his real owner was. I gave up on them and crawled upstairs to find my inhaler myself. When I came back down, Silas was showing off his eight-pack to Mia, and they were locked in a passionate kiss that went on and on. Now that I thought about it, no matter how I adjusted his settings before, our kisses never lasted more than three seconds. He had even lied and told me it was a bug from the development phase. Seeing me shakily descend the stairs, Mia wiped her mouth and covered it with a hand in mock surprise. “Oh, Clara, I had no idea you were allergic to pollen. It’s just that Silas insisted on buying me flowers. I only accepted to be polite.” She had grown up at the estate; she knew all my weaknesses. Every time I visited, she’d find a way to give me flowers, even sneaking floral pastries into my food. Seeing her smug expression, I was done being patient. I posted about the incident in the family group chat. Mia burst into tears instantly, and Silas’s protective instincts kicked in. “Clara, if you’re angry, take it out on me! Why do you have to drag Mia into this? Leave her alone! Even if you don’t like her, you can’t do this. Her mother will get in trouble. You’re being so childish!” He whispered comforting words to Mia, but the look he gave me was terrifyingly dark. It was clear he no longer knew his place. He was acting as if he were the man of the house. I sat calmly on the sofa and listened as the notification came through: Mia’s mother had been fired. “Clara, please don’t kick us out!” Mia wailed. “Even though you’re our employer, you can’t slander us like this…” Silas’s face grew uglier by the second. He looked like he was about to leave, but the thought of the custom charging station in my apartment must have given him pause. He shot me a cold look. “I won’t be back for the next couple of days. I’m going to stay with Mia and comfort her. I’ll come back when you’re ready to apologize to her personally.” He hesitated at the door, but I didn’t move. Because I no longer cared. Seeing my utter indifference, he stormed out with Mia in tow. The moment they were gone, I violently dismantled his charging station. Then I had an installer set up a new, more advanced model. Dr. Aris had told me the new android had an ultra-long standby time and would need more power than Silas, the three-second man. But as I waited for the delivery, a story exploded across the city’s social media. Trending everywhere were intimate videos of me trying to seduce Silas. The angle was crystal clear; it had been recorded by his automatic monitoring function. I scrolled through the comments, shaking with rage. “No way. Is the heiress of the Jiang family that desperate? Wearing that for an android?” “I can’t even look. I had no idea she was so shameless in private!”

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