For my younger boyfriend’s birthday, I booked out the most luxurious hotel in the city to celebrate. But when they wheeled out the cake, the spot where “Happy Birthday” should have been was instead iced with the words, “Marry Me.” I thought it was his surprise proposal to me. I never imagined that the moment he saw it, he would violently flip the cake over. “Celeste, didn’t I promise I’d marry you when you turn forty? What is this? You bring out a cake like this in front of all my friends—are you trying to force my hand?” Seeing the fury twisting his features, a sudden sense of calm washed over me. I was finally free. If he was so against marrying me, then I supposed I could just find someone else. 1 The cake sailed through the air and splattered directly across my face. A wave of laughter erupted from the surrounding tables. Jeff’s little protégée, Amanda, was draped over his arm, laughing so hard she could barely stand. “Oh, ma’am, you look just like a sad, wet puppy.” I pulled a napkin from the dispenser and began wiping the cream from my cheeks. “Amanda, isn’t it? If I remember correctly, I’m only twelve years older than you. Calling me ‘ma’am’ seems a little rude, don’t you think?” Amanda was still giggling. “Sorry, Celeste. I guess I just assumed you were at least twenty years older.” “You should really get your eyes checked,” I said, my voice smooth as glass. “Because from where I’m standing, I actually look younger than you. All that time in the lab must be taking its toll. Stress does age a person.” Amanda’s smile tightened, though she tried to keep it in place. “Well, I guess that’s the difference. My face is all-natural. Not like yours, a masterpiece of science and scalpels.” I laughed, a light, airy sound. “I’m just grateful that at my age, I have the financial means to maintain my appearance. Not everyone will have that luxury when they get to be my age. You, for example.” That struck a nerve. “What’s that supposed to mean? Jeff, did you hear what she said to me?” The sliver of guilt Jeff might have felt for smashing a cake in my face vanished, replaced by irritation. He slammed his hand on the table. “Celeste, we’re talking about you trying to pressure me into marriage! Why are you attacking Amanda? She made a simple mistake with how she addressed you. Do you have to be so vicious?” “Don’t try to change the subject by dragging her into this,” he continued, his voice rising. “We need to deal with this stunt you pulled tonight!” “I didn’t pressure you! I didn’t change the words on the cake!” “You ordered the cake. You arranged for the hotel staff to bring it out. Who else could it have been?” “Then check the security cameras!” I shot back. “This hotel has cameras covering every public space. I guarantee we can find who did it.” At the mention of cameras, Amanda’s bravado faltered. “Jeff,” she mumbled, “it was me. I changed the message on the cake.” Jeff stared at her, shocked. “What? Amanda, why would you do that?” “I just… you and Celeste have been together for seven years. I thought I could give you a little push on your birthday,” she said, her eyes welling up with tears. “I had no idea you didn’t want to marry her at all. I’m so sorry, Jeff. I messed up.” Her performance was flawless. Jeff’s anger melted away, replaced by pure, unadulterated sympathy. “It’s not your fault,” he said softly, all his attention on his wronged little protégée. “You don’t know the whole situation.” He was so busy comforting her, he didn’t even glance at his girlfriend, standing there humiliated and covered in frosting. In that moment, I felt like a complete and utter fool. I turned without another word and walked out. 2 By the time I got home, there wasn’t a single call or text from Jeff. He probably hadn’t even noticed I was gone. Or if he had, he couldn’t be bothered. Jeff and I had been together for seven years. I was twenty-eight when I met him. He was eighteen, kneeling on the cold floor of a hospital, begging the doctors to save his dying father. The astronomical medical bills had crushed the boy who had just become a man. I was walking by, and he grabbed the hem of my coat. “Ma’am, please, help me,” he’d begged, his eyes full of desperation. “If you can lend me the money for my father’s surgery, I’ll do anything for you. I’ll be your slave.” Maybe it was his beautiful, desperate face. On a whim, I paid the thirty thousand dollars for his father’s medical fees. And just like that, he became my younger boyfriend. When we first started dating, he would hold me tight and whisper, “Celeste, I love you so much. I wish I could marry you right now, but I’m not even legal yet.” When he turned twenty-two, he said, “I haven’t graduated yet, and I don’t have a job lined up. Wait until I’m twenty-five and my career is stable. I swear I’ll marry you then.” Now he was twenty-five, with a stable career. And he said, “This is a critical time for my career. Just give me five more years. When you turn forty, I promise, I will marry you.” How many five years does a person get in a lifetime? A storm broke outside, the rain coming down so hard it blurred the world into a grey watercolor. My phone rang. It was Jeff. “Hey, where are you? It’s pouring out here. Can you come pick me up?” In our seven years together, it often felt like our roles were reversed. I shouldered all the responsibilities typically expected of a man, while he lived comfortably as my pampered partner. I braved the storm and drove to the hotel. When Jeff saw my car, he waved for me to get out. “I’ll drive,” he said. “I have to drop Amanda off first, and you don’t know the way to her place.” He slid into the driver’s seat. Before I could even get in, Amanda had slipped into the passenger seat beside him. “Celeste,” Jeff said, offering a weak smile, “how about I take Amanda home and then come back for you?” He didn’t wait for an answer. He hit the gas, and the car sped away, leaving me standing alone in the hotel driveway, stunned into silence. An hour passed. Then another. No sign of Jeff. I finally broke down and called him. “How much longer until you come back for me?” “Amanda’s stomach is hurting really bad, so I took her to the hospital,” he said, his voice rushed. “She’s on an IV drip right now, and I can’t leave her. Just grab a cab and go home.” “How am I supposed to find a cab in this downpour?” “Then just buy an umbrella from a convenience store and walk. It’s not that far. Look, I have to go, Amanda’s in pain again.” He hung up. I stood there, watching the relentless rain, and felt a wave of bitter laughter bubble up inside me. It was at least an hour’s walk home, even on a clear day. By the time I stumbled through my front door, I was soaked to the bone. I rushed into a hot shower, but it was too late. A fever was already setting in. I called Jeff. “I’m running a fever. Can you pick up some fever reducers on your way back?” He just grunted an “uh-huh” and hung up. I collapsed into bed, drifting in and out of a hazy sleep. When I finally forced my eyes open, the clock read 3:00 AM. Jeff still wasn’t home. I tried his phone. It went straight to voicemail. 3 A dry, self-mocking laugh escaped my lips. I dragged myself out of bed and poured a glass of hot water. Back in the bedroom, I cranked up the heat, burrowed under two heavy comforters, and finally broke into a sweat. The shivering subsided. At nine in the morning, Jeff finally walked in. “God, I’m exhausted,” he mumbled, “I’m gonna crash for a bit.” He fell onto the bed and was asleep in seconds, not even sparing me a glance. “Where’s the medicine I asked you to bring?” Jeff stirred, blinking. “Oh, damn. Babe, I’m sorry. I was so exhausted from taking care of Amanda all night, I completely forgot. But you look fine today. I guess you’re feeling better, right?” He rolled over, and soon, the sound of his snoring filled the room. I looked at my calendar. There was a lucky day early next month. Perfect for a wedding. As dusk settled, Jeff finally woke up. “Celeste, you didn’t make dinner? I’m starving.” I was on the couch, watching TV, and didn’t respond. He finally seemed to realize I was angry and trotted over, nuzzling against me like a puppy. “Babe, come on. Yesterday was an emergency. Don’t be mad at me, okay?” He rubbed his head against my shoulder. “I’m so hungry. I could really go for some of your homemade pasta.” He only ever called me ‘babe’ when he’d done something wrong and wanted forgiveness. I pushed his head away, my eyes still fixed on the screen. “If you’re hungry, order takeout. I’m not obligated to cook for you.” Jeff sighed dramatically. “Fine. I’ll just go out and eat.” His patience for even pretending to soothe me had dwindled to about three minutes. After that, we lived like strangers, two roommates who just happened to share a bed. Two weeks later, Jeff came home with a crowd of his friends. “Celeste! Surprise! Today is our seven-year anniversary! I invited everyone over to celebrate with us!” I glanced at the people behind him. They were all his friends. I barely knew any of them. And of course, Amanda was there. “Celeste,” she said, her voice dripping with fake sympathy, “I heard you’ve been giving Jeff the silent treatment ever since his birthday. I wanted to come today and clear the air. Jeff was just taking care of me that night because I had a sudden stomach flu. Nothing happened between us. He just sat by my bed all night.” I let out a soft chuckle. “You don’t have to protest so much. It only makes you sound more guilty.” Jeff’s face immediately darkened. “Celeste, stop picking on Amanda. You know you’re the only woman for me.” They had brought supplies for a barbecue and soon the apartment was filled with smoke and the smell of grilled meat. After they had eaten and drunk their fill, someone suggested a game of Truth or Dare. Jeff lost the first round. Amanda’s eyes lit up. “Truth or Dare?” “Truth,” he said. “Okay, I’m gonna ask,” she chirped, her eyes darting mischievously towards me. “Jeff, you and Celeste have a ten-year age gap. Have you ever, even once, thought she was… old?” She leaned in, adding playfully, “You have to tell the truth! I’ll be mad if you don’t!” Jeff hesitated for a beat too long before finally sighing. “Yes.” The room exploded with laughter. Amanda howled, slapping his arm. “Wow, Jeff, you’re so honest! No wonder you called her an old crow! I thought you were just saying it because you were angry, but you really think she’s old!” My face flushed hot, as if I’d been slapped. My heart hammered against my ribs. “You called me an old crow?” 4 Amanda immediately covered her mouth with her hands. “Oops. Did I say something I shouldn’t have?” Jeff took a deep breath. “Celeste, that was just something I said in the heat of an argument.” Amanda jumped in to defend him. “Exactly! You can’t take things people say when they’re angry seriously.” She grinned. “Hey, maybe we should all call her an old crow a few times. You know, to desensitize her.” And then, led by her, they all started chanting, like a cruel joke. “Old crow! Old crow! Old crow!” Amanda’s voice was the loudest. Jeff just sat there, a weak smile on his face, making no move to stop them. In that instant, I felt like I had thrown seven years of my life away on a stray dog. I stood up, walked back to the bedroom in silence, and packed my bags. When I emerged, dragging my suitcase behind me, Jeff was still laughing with his friends. Amanda noticed me first. “Where are you going, Celeste? You’re not actually mad about a little joke, are you?” I looked at Jeff. He glanced over his shoulder at me, then turned back to his friends. “Just ignore her,” he said dismissively. “She’s too old to take a joke.” That was it. That was the final, definitive end to seven years of my life. The moment I was in the car, I dialed the number of my childhood friend, Kevin. “I’ve made my decision,” I said, my voice steady. “I’ll accept your family’s marriage proposal. Set the date for the first of next month. If you have no objections, start planning the wedding.” There was a three-second pause on the other end. “Are you sure you want to marry me?” “If you don’t want to, I won’t force you.” “I do! I absolutely do!” he said, his voice suddenly full of energy. “Then it’s settled. No turning back!”

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I fell in love with the male lead on the very first day I woke up inside this book. It’s a classic high school romance novel. The male and female leads are destined for a sugary-sweet love story, and I? I’m just a background extra. I didn’t try to change the plot. I just studied. Like my life depended on it. I studied until my eyes bled just to get into the same AP classes as him. I studied until I clawed my way up the rankings to sit next to him. I studied until we both got into the same Ivy League university… In the end, the female lead showed up at my dorm, absolutely wasted, screaming at me for stealing her man. I scratched my head, genuinely confused. “What did I even do?” She was silent for a long time before she started sobbing and shrieking. “You studied like a psychopath!!” Me: “…” 1. On my first day in this world, I fell for Ethan Hayes. It wasn’t love at first sight; it was a long-term obsession. back when I was reading the book in the real world, I’d curl up under my blankets and scream about how perfect he was. The cold, aloof academic god. He hit every single one of my checkboxes. Seeing him in person? I didn’t stand a chance. But the situation was different now. I wasn’t a reader anymore. I was a stranger in his world. I could only watch from a distance as he and the female lead, Chloe, acted out their perfect romance. The sense of loss sat heavy in my chest, suffocating me. Back then, they weren’t together yet. Plenty of brave girls confessed to Ethan. Without exception, he rejected them all with an icy politeness. I realized my crush had to be buried deep. I was just a nobody. Broken family, average looks, zero confidence. I didn’t even get the standard “Transmigrator System” or cheat codes. I had nothing. So, I turned my frustration into motivation. I studied. Hard. Partly because it’s what you’re supposed to do in high school. Mostly because of my own selfish desire. I wanted to be closer to Ethan. I didn’t ask for much. Just being able to see him was enough. I became the girl who arrived at school first and left last, the one reading flashcards in the cafeteria line. During the sophomore year placement exams, I jumped two hundred spots in the ranking and finally made it into the Honors Class—the same class as Ethan and Chloe. The first day I walked in, Chloe ran over immediately. “Maya? Who are you looking for?” In the original book, I was a slacker. I was Chloe’s “plastic” friend—gossiping with her by day, jealous of her shine by night. I was too busy being a hater to study. That’s why she assumed I was lost. “I tested into this class,” I explained. “Huh?” She froze, then ran to the podium to check the roster. She came back, looking me up and down. “Wow. That’s a huge improvement.” I smiled shyly and took my seat. Ethan sat on the other side of the room. I pretended to look out the window, stealing a glance at him from the corner of my eye. Chloe seemed to be telling him about me. He didn’t look interested, but he did glance my way. I held my breath, forcibly shifting my gaze to my notebook. Close one. Almost made eye contact. 2. The atmosphere in the Honors Class was different. Here, I wasn’t a freak. Everyone studied during breaks; everyone formed groups to discuss calculus problems. I stabilized my grades, ranking near the top. I followed Ethan and Chloe to the same prestigious high school. Based on entrance exam scores, I barely scraped into the same homeroom as Ethan. He was number one. I was third from the bottom. Chloe, however, fell into a regular class. The author separated them to create drama. Chloe would meet the Second Male Lead, Jax, in her new class, sparking jealousy and angst. None of that concerned me. I just studied. For two years, Ethan and I had zero interaction, aside from being classmates. We were the kind of people who passed each other in the hall without even nodding. He genuinely didn’t care. I was faking it. My heart would hammer against my ribs every time I saw him, but I kept my face paralyzed. Good job, Maya, I told myself. Since I was buried in books, my fake friendship with Chloe faded. By the time middle school ended, she’d basically forgotten me. But in high school, she suddenly became friendly again. She said I was studying myself into an early grave and needed to relax. Once, she invited me to hang out with her and Ethan. Did I want to go? No. I’d rather do practice sets. But she insisted. I figured I could just watch them and review my wrong answers in my head. When we got to the location, my brain short-circuited. It was the theme park. According to the plot, this was where they would have their first kiss. It was the start of their official relationship. My mind was a mess. I don’t remember what I ate or did. When night fell, the park lit up with dreamlike lights. Chloe dragged Ethan to watch the fireworks. I trailed twenty paces behind, getting jostled by the crowd. Under the exploding fireworks, they confessed. Chloe stood on her tiptoes and shyly kissed Ethan. It was too beautiful. I couldn’t watch. I looked down in panic, tears falling onto my vocabulary cards. I fled. I texted Chloe a lie about my curfew and ran. She didn’t reply. They had already forgotten me. While they held hands, young and resolute, I, the third wheel, ran home wiping my eyes. In my empty house, I broke down and sobbed. I’m sorry. I really couldn’t pretend anymore. But even while gasping for air, I pulled out a workbook and forced myself to solve equations. Unrequited love is torture, especially when you have nothing else. My only advantage was that I had lived a life before. I knew education was power. And I knew not to destroy myself over a love that had no future. 3. Ethan and Chloe were officially a couple. They were starting their decade-long romance saga. Sure, they would fight, break up, and make up. But the book said: Ethan never stopped loving Chloe, and Chloe’s heart always belonged to Ethan. A beautiful sentence for them. A sentence of execution for me. I wasn’t the only one suffering. Jax, the bad boy Second Lead, was losing his mind. After the leads got together, Jax would cause all sorts of trouble because he couldn’t have Chloe. Originally, I was supposed to be his henchman in causing drama. But honestly, I was more worried about my midterm grades. When the teacher beamed and told me I ranked second in the grade, I finally felt a little better. From bottom of the class to second place. My effort wasn’t wasted. Seating was assigned by rank. Ethan was immovable at number one. I was assigned the seat right next to him. Desk mates! In any other romance novel, this is where the magic happens. In reality? Nothing happened. We sat inches apart, but we didn’t speak for days. He was naturally cold. I was terrified of exposing my feelings. The only sentence he spoke to me was: “Mara, your water bottle is leaking.” I wiped up the water and couldn’t help correcting him. “My name is Maya…” Ha. He didn’t even know my name. We coexisted in silence until Chloe stormed in and started an argument with Ethan right in front of me. She asked why he didn’t tell her he was sitting next to me. Ethan frowned, genuinely confused. “Is that important?” Since the start of the semester, he’d had several desk mates. But Chloe seemed specifically threatened by me. She looked at me, then at him, and ran off crying without saying another word. Maybe it was because I was someone she knew. Imagine your boyfriend sitting next to your ex-friend and not mentioning it. It probably felt like a betrayal. After lunch, I went to find Chloe to apologize. “Chloe…” I called her name, but she acted like I was invisible, laughing with her new friends. “Omg, I watched that movie you mentioned, I almost died laughing…” I stood there awkwardly for two seconds and decided not to push my luck. I barely knew Chloe anymore. Bringing up the seating chart would just make it weird. As for Ethan, he and I were truly strangers. He would explain it to her. Thinking about drama was exhausting. I stopped caring. Two days later, someone blocked my path on the way home. “You’re Maya, right?” It was Jax. I had my headphones in, listening to an English lecture, so I didn’t hear him at first. I walked right past him. He jumped in front of me, furious, and yanked my headphones off. “…” I frowned. “Can I help you?” My face probably looked like stone. Jax faltered for a second before finding his “tough guy” expression. “Listen to me!” He snarled, “I don’t like Ethan, but I will not allow you to hurt Chloe or ruin their relationship.” What a weird thing to say. I processed it for a moment. “How am I ruining their relationship?” “Stop acting. You’re shameless,” Jax crossed his arms. “You’re the one seducing Ethan, aren’t you? Hmph. You’ve got guts, but you can’t compare to a single hair on Chloe’s head.” Me? Seducing Ethan? How did I miss such a major life event? “Do you have evidence?” I asked. “Of course!” He said self-righteously. “The evidence is that you’re sitting next to him!” “…Do you not know seats are assigned by GPA?” I thought for a second. “Oh, you mean I should fail my exams on purpose so I don’t have to sit next to him?” “Exactly.” Jax smiled, satisfied that I understood. Usually, I ignore people like him. But he was rude, speaking nonsense, and insulting my academic integrity. That’s my red line. “Unfortunately,” I sneered, “I’m not like you. I didn’t buy my way into this school. I don’t treat my education like a joke.” Jax was a rich kid, forced in by his parents. He believed money could solve everything. He had the capital to play games with life. I didn’t. Sitting next to Ethan was nice. But even if he wasn’t there, I deserved that seat. I deserved to sit in his seat. Jax was enraged and threatened to make me pay. In the book, that was his character. Impulsive, but not evil. He was lashing out because he couldn’t have the girl he loved. I didn’t take him seriously. Until the next monthly exam. I was caught cheating. 4. Midway through the math exam, I was dragged out. The proctor said they received an anonymous tip that I had brought notes in. Like a magician, he pulled a slip of translucent paper from my hoodie pocket. It was covered in microscopic text—formulas and key concepts for the test. “Maya! I thought you were an honest, hardworking student! How could you do this?” “This isn’t just irresponsible to yourself; it brings shame to your family and this class!” “You came in with average grades and shot up to the top. Did you use these tricks back then, too?” I stood in the faculty office. Teachers took turns lecturing me, heartbroken and angry. They questioned my character. They questioned my past achievements. I denied it, which only made them angrier. Denial meant no remorse. Punishment doubled. I replayed the morning. Before the exam, I left my hoodie on my chair to go to the bathroom. That’s when someone must have slipped the note in and reported me. It had to be Jax, or someone he hired. It was a low tactic, but effective. Who cheats on a high school monthly exam with a physical note in 2024? I had no proof. I told them it was likely related to the person who reported me. They said they had to protect the whistleblower’s identity. So, I took the fall. A school-wide citation. [Honors Class Student Maya (ID xxxx) caught cheating during monthly exams.] The bold text scrolled across the LED board in the main lobby. Every student who walked in saw it. Naturally, I was ostracized. No one wanted to be in my group for projects. No one partnered with me in PE. During cleaning duty, I was assigned to sweep the outdoor grounds alone. “Cheat Sheet Maya, stay away from us.” They made exaggerated faces of disgust. Luckily. I wasn’t really sixteen. This framed me, but it couldn’t break me. I endured it. When the results came out, my score was voided. I was moved to the corner of the classroom, the “shame seat.” A different girl took the seat next to Ethan. She was smart and openly liked him. She brought him water after basketball. She pretended to fall asleep on his shoulder during study hall. Chloe didn’t care. She would just link arms with Ethan later, making the new girl cry. Jax didn’t bully the new girl. He just leaned against the back door, watching me with glee. He mouthed a single word at me: Deserved. … Reading the book, I never realized Jax was this childish. I was being isolated, and he was getting off on it. Did it actually affect me? No. I studied. I ate. In PE, when no one would partner with me, I snuck back to the classroom to finish a practice test. I finished the last calculus problem and realized someone was standing next to me. It was Ethan. I didn’t know how long he’d been there. He wasn’t looking at me. He was looking at my paper. He was holding a basketball under one arm. He must have come back to grab it. He stood so close. For me, it was close enough. I could smell the faint, clean scent of soap on him. For some reason, neither of us spoke. The classroom was silent. I could hear my own heartbeat. A wave of indescribable sadness washed over me. I didn’t want to speak. I didn’t want to move. I wanted time to freeze. But I was scared. I was scared that if this silence lasted another second, the atmosphere would become ambiguous. I broke the silence. “What’s wrong?” “Um…” He paused. “You missed a step in the derivation.” Which step? Can you teach me? That’s what I should have said. There was an empty chair right next to me. If I asked, maybe he would sit down. Maybe he would explain the complex equation to me. Instead, I calmly picked up my phone and opened an app to scan the question. “Oh. I’ll just check Chegg.” “Okay.” Ethan turned and left. I posted the question on the app, crying internally. My stupid mouth. I’m hopeless.

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Chapter 1 I casually liked a wedding photo my old college roommate posted on Instagram. A second later, she sent a voice message. “Who are you? Why did you hack this account? I’m calling the police!” I was confused, so I FaceTimed her. But the moment the call connected and she saw my face, she screamed and hung up immediately. When I called back, she sent a text: Aren’t you dead? You died last year. Hearing that, I felt like I was losing my mind. I dialed her again. It took forever for her to pick up. I had to perform a series of ridiculous facial gymnastics—puffing my cheeks, winking, sticking out my tongue—until my face cramped before she finally believed me. “You’re really Hannah? You’re alive?” She told me she had cried when she heard the news of my death, sending a bunch of emotional messages to my “abandoned” account. I scrolled back through our chat history. Sure enough, there were messages from over a year ago. Back then, I was in labor with my daughter, Lily. I didn’t have time to check my phone. After that, I became a full-time stay-at-home mom, revolving my entire life around my baby. I dropped off the social radar completely. But saying I was dead? That was insane. Who jokes about that? I demanded an apology. She claimed she was innocent, saying she only repeated what she’d heard. To prove it, she sent me a screenshot of an old social media post. It was a black-and-white photo of me, photoshopped to look like a memorial portrait, complete with a date of death and a solemn caption announcing my passing. No wonder no one had visited or invited me anywhere for the past year. They all thought I was six feet under. My blood boiled. I immediately took the screenshot and tried to mass message my friends, ready to announce my resurrection to the world. But when I hit send, I froze. Every single message failed. “You are not friends with this user.” I had been kicked out of every group chat. Blocked by everyone except this one roommate. I messaged her back, demanding to know who started this rumor. After a long pause, she sent a voice note. “Hannah… I heard it from Sarah. Do you remember her?” Sarah? She was in our department at college, though not in our major. I remembered her because she was close with my husband, Mark. One of his “bros,” a female friend who hung around him constantly. Once Mark and I started dating seriously, she faded into the background. After graduation, I hadn’t heard a whisper about her. I pressed for answers. “Why would she say I died?” My roommate sent an ellipsis, then replied: “I don’t know the details. Last year, around this time, Sarah posted that announcement. She said you died from postpartum depression. A lot of our classmates commented, comforting her, saying how loyal she was for holding an online memorial for you.” My hands started to shake. “Show me the post.” “She deleted it ages ago. Said it was too painful to look at. Hannah, did you seriously not know about this?” Know? How could I know? My life for the past year had been diapers, feeding, soothing crying fits, and making baby food. I collapsed into bed every night, exhausted. I didn’t even have time to watch TV, let alone stalk people on social media. And I wasn’t even friends with Sarah on any platform. I asked my roommate for Sarah’s contact info and sent a friend request. Thirty minutes passed. Silence. I tried again. Rejected. The fire in my chest was raging now. I called my roommate. “She won’t add me. Send me her number.” Her voice trembled. “Hannah, something feels off. Please, calm down.” “I’ve been dead for a year! How am I supposed to be calm?” She was silent for a moment, then texted me a number. I punched the digits into my phone, my finger hovering over the call button. Then I stopped. Something wasn’t right. Why would Sarah lie about my death? She and Mark were close. Did Mark know about this? Chapter 2 I stared at the number for a long time, but I didn’t press call. Instead, I scrolled through my contacts until I found another name: Rachel. Rachel was the legal counsel at my old company. We had worked together often. In my panic, she was the only person I could think of who knew the law and might help me. I took a deep breath and dialed. “Rachel, hi. It’s Hannah.” A cheerful voice answered. “Hannah! Long time no see. What’s up?” I tried to keep my voice steady as I explained the situation. I asked her what I should do. Rachel listened, silent for a few seconds, before her tone turned serious. “First, you need to post a clarification immediately. Let everyone know you’re alive. Set the record straight.” “Then, you need to find out exactly who is spreading this and why.” She paused. “But Hannah, I have to be honest with you. Defamation cases are hard to win, especially if you haven’t suffered significant financial loss. In your case, the most you might get is an apology and maybe a small settlement for emotional distress.” My heart sank. “So I just let her tell everyone I’m dead?” “Of course not. First, preserve the evidence. Screenshots, chat logs, everything. Then confirm who is behind this.” After hanging up, my palms were sweating. The anger was still there, but Rachel’s advice had grounded me. Sarah was my college acquaintance, and Mark’s friend. Maybe there was a misunderstanding. I didn’t want to blow things up if I didn’t have to. I decided to call Mark first. He picked up immediately. “What’s wrong, Hannah? Is Lily crying again?” I told him everything. I expected him to be furious on my behalf. Instead, he sounded indifferent. “It’s probably just a prank. If that’s it, I’m hanging up. I’m busy at work.” I couldn’t believe it. “It’s not a prank! The screenshot is dated last June, right after I had Lily. The person who posted it is Sarah. Do you remember her?” Mark paused. “Sarah? There must be a mistake. Or maybe she got hacked. Don’t overthink it. It’s not a big deal.” “Someone is telling the world I’m dead, and you think it’s ‘not a big deal’?” He sighed, impatient. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant, why bother with stupid rumors? People will realize it’s fake eventually.” “I’m going to clarify it right now. I’m posting on social media.” “Don’t,” he said quickly. “Posting about death is bad luck. Let’s talk about it tomorrow. I have to go.” He hung up before I could say another word. I was furious. I called him back, screaming, but he maintained his dismissive attitude and then stopped answering my calls altogether. Fine. If you won’t help, I don’t care about playing nice anymore. I typed out a furious post, attaching the screenshot, declaring I was very much alive. I hit ‘Post.’ Almost instantly, a notification popped up on my screen: [Your account has been logged in on another device. You have been logged out.] I froze. My phone had been in my hand the whole time. Who had my login? Chapter 3 My first thought was that I’d been hacked. But logging into my account required a verification code. Unless… I opened my text messages and scrolled back. Buried in a sea of spam and notifications, I found it. A verification code sent a year ago. I remembered that time. Mark had borrowed my phone, claiming he needed to help a friend with some online promotion or game. Was it Mark? I looked closer at my message history. Something was wrong. There were gaps in the dates. Messages had been deleted. I checked my cloud backup and compared the logs. Sure enough, chunks of history were missing. I called Mark immediately. He let it ring for a long time before answering, annoyance dripping from his voice. “What now? I’m working.” “Did you log into my social media account?” “What? Are you crazy? Why would I do that?” “Someone just kicked me off my account. Who else could it be but you?” His tone shifted, becoming aggressive. “You’re insane. I’m busting my ass at work, and you’re sitting at home inventing conspiracies. Did staying home with the kid rot your brain?” “Mark, I—” “Enough! I’m done arguing with you. Post whatever you want, just stop blaming me for everything. Bye.” Before he hung up, I heard a faint sound in the background. A woman’s laugh. Soft, mocking. “Wait, I just heard—” The line went dead. I sat on the couch, clutching my phone, a chill spreading through my bones. Mark didn’t come home until 1 AM. He saw me sitting in the dark living room and paused. “Still up?” I watched him take off his shoes. “Why so late tonight?” “Project deadline. Had to push through.” He took off his jacket and headed for the bathroom. “Mark,” I said. “Do you really remember Sarah?” He stopped, his back to me. “Why bring her up again? Haven’t talked to her in years.” “She’s the one saying I’m dead. Don’t you think that’s weird?” He frowned, turning around. “I told you, it’s a prank or a hack. Stop obsessing.” “Then why was I logged out of my account the second I tried to clarify things?” His voice rose. “I told you, it wasn’t me! God, you’re impossible lately. Paranoid about everything.” He slammed the bathroom door. The shower turned on. Before he came back, I replayed the recording of our call. I wasn’t imagining it. I heard a woman. Mark was hiding something. I walked softly to the bathroom door. Through the frosted glass, I saw his silhouette moving. His phone was on the coffee table, face down. I knew his passcode. It was our anniversary. I had never checked his phone before. I believed in trust. But trust was shattered now. I took a deep breath and unlocked it. His texts seemed normal. Work groups, colleagues. I searched his contacts for “Sarah.” Nothing. Then I opened his payment apps. Venmo, PayPal, banking. My breath hitched. Starting from last year, there were consistent transfers to the same user. Small amounts. $520. $1314. $888. Numbers that meant “I love you” or “forever” in internet slang. The most recent one was three days ago. $2000. Note: “Buy something nice to eat.” Another app showed larger transfers to a user verified as “*arah.” $5,000. $20,000. The most recent was last month. $20,000. Note: “For renovations.” The total was over ten thousand dollars. Mark gave me a strict allowance for household expenses, always complaining that his bonuses were cut. But he was using our joint savings to fund another woman. Chapter 4 My hands trembled as I took screenshots and sent them to my own secret email. Then I noticed something else. An app that looked like a calculator. It was a vault app. I tried his passcode. Incorrect. The water stopped running. I quickly put the phone back and sat next to Lily’s crib, my heart pounding like a drum. Mark walked out, towel-drying his hair. “You look pale. Sick?” “Just tired.” He grunted, picked up his phone, swiped through it casually, and went to the balcony to smoke. I watched his back, feeling like I was looking at a stranger. I didn’t sleep that night. When Mark’s breathing deepened into sleep, I took his phone again. I tried the calculator vault again. I guessed Sarah’s birthday—I remembered it from a party in college. It opened. Inside was a hidden photo album. I clicked it, and my world froze. Hundreds of photos of the two of them. Intimate. Loving. One photo was dated last year, around the time I gave birth. Sarah was sitting on a bay window, her belly swollen with pregnancy. The caption Mark wrote: Waiting for our little treasure to grow up. While I was weak and bleeding, recovering from birthing his daughter, he was sending money to another woman, planning a future with another child. I bit my lip until I tasted blood to keep from screaming. Hannah, don’t panic. Rachel’s voice echoed in my head. Preserve evidence. I used my own phone to take high-resolution photos of everything on his screen. Then I found something even darker. In his cloud backup, there was a medical report. I skipped to the conclusion: [Hepatic lesion, approx 3.5×4.2cm. Highly suspicious for Hepatocellular Carcinoma. Biopsy recommended.] Liver cancer. Based on the date, he had known for at least three months. For three months, he acted normal, came home, ate dinner, and never said a word. A terrifying realization hit me. This wasn’t just an affair. He was funneling our money to secure a future for Sarah and their child. And my “death”? It was to clear the path for them. I put the phone back gently and lay down beside him. He slept soundly, one arm draped over my waist. A gesture that used to make me feel safe now made me want to vomit. Rachel said defamation was hard to prove. But hiding assets during a marriage? That was a different story. And with his illness… A plan began to form in my mind.

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“Comp time? We’ll talk about it later.” Director King didn’t even look up as she signed the document and handed it back to me. I stood rooted to the spot. “Why are you still here?” She finally glanced up. “Director King, I’ve applied for comp time 17 times,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “17 times, and not a single one has been approved.” “Young people need to gain more experience,” she smiled dismissively. “Let’s wait until the project goes live.” Wait until the project goes live. She said the exact same thing last year when the previous project launched. I looked down at my phone. The overtime record from last night hadn’t cleared yet. Three years. 3,000 hours. “Fine,” I nodded and turned to leave. At the door, I paused. “Director King, 3,000 hours for zero days off.” I didn’t look back. “I’ll remember this.” 1. Working until 2 AM wasn’t anything new. I stared at the lines of code on my screen, my eyes burning. My desk lamp was the only light left in the office; the city outside was already asleep. Ding. My phone lit up. A Slack message. From Director King: [Update the presentation deck for tomorrow morning. Swap in the latest data.] Sending messages at 2 AM? She was definitely asleep by now. I ignored it and went back to the code. I built this financial settlement system from scratch—frontend, backend, database, all of it. In three years, no one else had touched a single line of code. Not because they didn’t want to learn, but because they couldn’t. The company had fifty-some employees, but the tech department was just me. The rest were operations or sales. This system handled the entire company’s financial flow. One glitch, and everything would grind to a halt. So I couldn’t leave. At least, that’s what they thought. At 3:30 AM, I finally fixed the last bug. Shutdown. Lock up. Head downstairs. The office building was empty, the security guard dozing off at the front desk. Seeing me, he lifted a heavy eyelid. “Late again, Sue?” “Yeah.” “Your company really hustles.” I didn’t reply and pushed through the doors. Hustle? My salary was $3,000 a month, unchanged for three years. 3,000 hours of overtime, zero comp days. Last month, I asked for vacation time, and Director King said, “Project’s too busy, maybe next time.” It was always “next time.” By the time I got home, it was nearly 4 AM. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. A thought suddenly popped into my head: What would happen if I left? No one to maintain the system. Financial data goes haywire. The company stops functioning. Director King would panic. That woman who never gave me the time of day would panic. I rolled over and closed my eyes. Forget it. Sleep first. The next morning at 9 AM, I arrived at the office on time. Or rather, I arrived on time, sleep-deprived. As soon as I sat down, Slack pinged. [@Sue, is the presentation updated?] I opened PowerPoint and swapped the data. Finished in ten minutes, sent. Five minutes later, Director King replied: [This chart isn’t clear enough. Change it.] I remade the chart. Another five minutes: [Too dark. Lighter.] Changed the color. [Font is too small.] Changed the font. [Actually, the first version was better. Change it back.] I took a deep breath. Changed it back. I was used to this. In my three years as a developer, I’ve revised no fewer than 500 presentations. Not because I’m good at PowerPoint, but because the company doesn’t have anyone dedicated to it. Well, they did, but she quit. The last admin girl lasted three months before resigning. Her reason? “Can’t handle the overtime.” Director King ranted in the office for half an hour: “Young people these days just can’t handle hardship.” I listened silently. Can’t handle hardship? She left every day at 6 PM sharp. Never worked overtime. Never replied to messages on weekends because she “needed family time.” And me? Three years without a single full weekend off. “Sue.” My coworker Lee leaned over, whispering. “What?” “Heard bonuses are coming out this month.” “Yeah.” “How much do you think we’ll get?” I shrugged. “No idea.” Lee sighed. “I asked around, seems pretty low. Last time, Old Zhang in sales—top performer—only got $4,000.” $4,000. A year of work, thousands of overtime hours, top performance… for a $4,000 bonus. That was this company. “Tell me,” Lee looked at me, “what are we even doing here?” I didn’t answer. What were we doing here? I wanted to know too. 2 PM, all-hands meeting. The conference room was small, fifty people crammed in, the air stifling. Director King stood at the front, my PowerPoint projected on the screen. “This quarter, our financial settlement system has been stable, boosting efficiency by 30%,” she boasted. “This is the result of our entire team’s hard work.” Entire team. I wrote that system alone. “Especially with this latest upgrade, we’ve solved the data latency issues. Client feedback has been excellent.” I spent two weeks of consecutive overtime on that upgrade. I even wrote the client feedback email. “I led the team on this project,” Director King looked out at the room. “Of course, on the execution side, Sue contributed too.” Contributed too. My fists clenched. After the meeting, Director King walked over and patted my shoulder. “Sue, good work.” “Thanks.” “Keep it up.” She smiled and walked away. Lee sidled up. “Didn’t you build that system by yourself?” “Yeah.” “Then why did King say it was her team…” “She’s the boss,” I cut him off. “It’s normal.” Lee opened his mouth but said nothing. Normal. In this company, everything was normal. No overtime pay? Normal. Comp time denied? Normal. Credit stolen? Normal. Staring at Director King’s back, I remembered last night’s thought. What would happen if I left? Maybe it was time to seriously consider that question. 2. Three days later, a problem cropped up in finance. “Sue, come here for a second.” Zhou, the finance supervisor, stood at my desk, looking grim. “What’s wrong, Zhou?” “The data in the system doesn’t match,” she lowered her voice. “Last month’s accounts receivable is short $24,000.” I frowned. “Short?” “Yes. Come take a look, see if it’s a bug.” I went to the finance office, reviewed the data for twenty minutes, and found the issue wasn’t the system. “Zhou, this isn’t a bug,” I pointed at the screen. “This entry was manually deleted.” “Manually deleted?” Zhou blinked. “By who?” I pulled up the operation logs. The user account was clearly listed. It was Director King’s account. “This…” Zhou glanced at me, speechless. I stayed silent too. Director King using her account to delete a $24,000 receivable entry… we both knew what that implied. “Sue,” Zhou took a deep breath. “Don’t mention this to anyone.” “I know.” “I’ll go talk to King.” She left. I sat in the finance office, staring at the log entry, feelings churning. $24,000. Maybe it was for accounting purposes, maybe something else. None of my business. But I knew one thing: this company’s waters were deeper than I thought. That evening, while working overtime, Lee leaned over again. “Sue, did you hear?” “Hear what?” “Director King is getting promoted to VP.” I stopped typing. “When?” “Just the last couple of days. Rumor has it the boss is very happy with the financial system project.” The financial system I built. The one she took credit for. “Any benefit for us if she gets promoted?” I asked. Lee shook his head. “Don’t know. But…” he lowered his voice, “heard VP starts at $100k a year.” $100k. I made $36,000 a year. She stole my credit and tripled her salary. “Alright, got it,” I turned back to my screen. “Get back to work.” Lee left. I stared at the monitor, mind blank. Three years. I gave the best three years of my youth to this company. Late nights, overtime, solving problem after problem. I thought hard work would pay off. The result? Someone else took the payoff. I opened a job search site and started updating my resume. Three years of dev experience, proficient in Java and Python, independently developed a full financial settlement system. I should be able to find something. I clicked “Submit.” The next morning, as soon as I arrived, HR Linda found me. “Sue, Director King wants to see you.” I nodded and walked into her office. She sat behind her desk, smiling. “Sue, have a seat.” I sat down. “What’s up, Director?” “Nothing major,” she flipped through a file. “Just wanted to check in. How’s work lately? Any difficulties?” I paused. She had never asked how my work was going. “Fine,” I said. “No difficulties.” “Good,” she put down the file and looked at me. “Sue, you’ve been here three years, right?” “Yes.” “Three years, performance has been solid,” she smiled. “The company sees that.” Sees that. I didn’t speak. “I discussed it with the boss,” she continued. “Once this quarter’s rush is over, we’ll bump your salary up a level.” A raise? My heart fluttered slightly. “How much?” “$100.” $100. $100 a month. Three years of overtime, stolen credit, denied time off… for $100 a month? “Well? Happy?” Director King smiled. I took a deep breath, suppressing the anger. “Director, I want to apply for comp time.” Her smile froze. “Comp time?” “Yes. I haven’t taken a day off in three years. I want a few days.” “Well…” she frowned. “We’re busy with the project right now. Not a good time.” “When is the project not busy?” “Give it a few months, wait until this quarter ends.” “You said that last quarter.” Her expression darkened. “Sue, what’s with the attitude?” I stayed silent. “Young people need to learn to endure hardship,” she stood up. “We’ve all been there. Look at everyone else, who’s constantly asking for time off?” Everyone else? Everyone else got overtime pay. Everyone else got comp time approved. Everyone else didn’t work until 2 AM every night. Only me. “Fine,” I stood up. “Understood.” “Don’t be upset,” she switched back to a smile. “Once this is over, I’ll treat you to dinner.” I didn’t respond and walked out. Back at my desk, Lee asked, “How’d it go?” “Raised $100.” “Only $100?” Lee’s eyes widened. “Your system is worth way more than that! Only $100?” “And,” I added, “comp time denied again.” “Denied?” Lee paused. “So what are you going to do?” I looked at the freshly updated resume on my screen and hit refresh. “Find a new company.” 3. Two weeks later, I got my first interview invite. It was an internet company, much larger than my current one. The position was Tech Lead, offering $80k a year. Double my current salary. I called in sick for a day to interview. The interviewer was the Tech Director, around thirty-five, black-framed glasses, seemed easygoing. “Sue, right?” He flipped through my resume. “Independently developed a full financial system in three years?” “Yes.” “Talk me through the architecture.” I explained the frontend, backend, database design, and interface logic. He nodded along. “Impressive,” he looked at me. “Any questions?” “Is there a lot of overtime?” He laughed. “Honestly, yes, when it’s busy. But normally, we leave at 6 PM sharp, weekends off. Overtime is paid, and you get comp time every month.” Comp time every month. Four words that sounded like a foreign language. “As for compensation,” he continued, “we can offer $90k annually, plus 15 days of PTO. How does that sound?” $90k. 15 days PTO. I took a deep breath. “That works.” “Great. HR will process the offer, we’ll be in touch soon.” Interview over, I walked out of the building and stood on the street, dazed. $90k. 2.5 times my current salary. 15 days PTO. More than I’d had in three years combined. So in a normal company, employees leave on time. They take vacations. They work with dignity. I’d spent three years in that place, almost convinced the whole world was like that. Time to go. Back at the office, it was already 4 PM. As soon as I walked in, HR Linda intercepted me. “Sue, Director King wants you.” Again. I walked into her office. King sat there, face stormy. “Sue, where were you today?” “Doctor’s appointment.” “Doctor?” She sneered. “All day?” “Yes.” “Do you think I believe that?” I didn’t answer. She stood up, walking up to me. “Let me tell you, Sue, you better behave. The company needs people right now, if you dare…” “Dare what?” I interrupted. “Dare to quit?” She froze. “Director King,” I looked at her. “I’ve been here three years. Over 3,000 hours of overtime, zero comp days. You took credit for all my work. My reward? A $100 raise.” “You…” “Do you think,” I smiled, “there’s anything I wouldn’t dare to do?” Her face went pale. “Are you threatening me?” “Not a threat,” I turned to leave. “Just stating facts.” “Stop right there!” she yelled. “Sue, if you quit, I’ll make sure you never work in this industry again!” I stopped. “Make sure I never work again?” I turned back, looking at her. “Then I’ll make sure you can’t stay at this company.” The door closed behind me. Back at my desk, Lee stared at me, shocked. “Sue, did you… argue with Director King?” “No,” I said. “Just spoke some truth.” “And she…” “She said she’d blacklist me from the industry.” Lee gasped. “What will you do?” I opened my computer, exported my attendance records, and saved them to a USB drive. “Saving anything useful,” I said. “Might need it later.” Watching me, Lee suddenly said, “Sue, are you leaving?” I didn’t answer. He sighed. “You should have left ages ago. This place is a dead end.” That night at home, I received the offer email. Black and white: $90k salary, start date in one month. I stared at the email, feeling strangely calm. Three years. I was finally leaving that hellhole. But before I left, I had work to do. I opened my laptop and started organizing evidence. Slack clock-in records: 3 years, 1,095 days of overtime. Comp time requests: 17 applications, 0 approvals. Pay stubs: $3,000 a month, never a cent of overtime pay. And the employment contract. I dug out the contract, flipping to the “Working Hours” page. Black and white: Standard working hours, 8 hours a day, 40 hours a week. Not “flexible working hours.” HR lied. I organized all the evidence into an encrypted folder. Might need it later. No. Will need it later. 4. The next day, I went to work as usual. On the surface, nothing changed. I still worked late, still revised endless PowerPoints, still answered 2 AM messages. But my mindset was completely different. Because I knew, in one month, it would all be over. Tuesday afternoon, a newbie arrived. An intern recruited by King, fresh out of college, looking clean-cut and naive. “This is Zhang,” King introduced him. “He’ll be learning from you.” Learning? I glanced at King; her eyes darted away. She wanted Zhang to take over the system. “Sure,” I said. “No problem.” Over the next few days, I “taught” Zhang. Of course, I only taught the basics. Core architecture, critical code, operational logic? Didn’t say a word. Not because I’m petty, but because you can’t learn that in a few days. Three years of accumulation isn’t something an intern can just pick up. Zhang was diligent, taking notes, asking questions. “Sue,” he asked one day, “how long did it take you to build this?” “Three years.” “Three years?” His eyes widened. “Just you?” “Yep.” “Then… if you’re not here, who maintains it?” I smiled. “What do you think?” He paused, silent. A week later, I got the onboarding notification from the new company. Start date: the 15th of next month. Meaning I had to resign by the 15th of this month. Three weeks left. Time to resign. But first, one last confirmation. I found Zhou in finance. “Zhou, quick question.” “What’s up?” “Did I get any overtime pay for the last three years?” Zhou paused, checking her computer. “Your pay stubs… show no overtime pay.” “Why?” “HR said you signed a flexible hours contract.” “I signed a standard hours contract.” Zhou looked at me, silent. “Zhou, I want to check my contract on file.” “Where’s your copy?” “I have it,” I pulled it out of my bag. “But I want to confirm the company’s copy matches mine.” Zhou hesitated, then checked the archives. Both contracts were identical. Standard working hours. “This…” Zhou stared at the contract, face changing. “So HR saying flexible hours…” “Was a lie,” I put away the contract. “The company stole three years of overtime pay from me.” Zhou opened her mouth but said nothing. I stood up. “Thanks, Zhou.” Walking out of finance, I felt calm. Three years, 3,000 hours. By law, the company owed me at least $30,000. Time to settle the bill. That night, King messaged me again. [Revise tomorrow’s meeting PPT again.] I looked at the message and didn’t reply. The old me would have opened the laptop instantly, staying up all night. The new me just wanted to laugh. Three weeks, and I’m gone. Revise it yourself. I turned off my phone and went to sleep. The next day, King exploded in the office. “Sue! Why didn’t you reply last night!” “I was asleep.” “Asleep? Do you know how important today’s meeting is?” “I revised the PPT,” I handed her a USB drive. “Finished it half an hour ago.” She froze, taking the drive. “…Next time, pay attention.” “Okay.” I returned to my desk. Lee whispered, “You’ve got guts lately.” “Really?” I smiled. “Maybe because I’m leaving soon.” “Really leaving?” “Really.” Lee paused. “Actually… I’m looking too.” I patted his shoulder. “Leave early. This place is a dead end.”

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On the day I was fired, the HR manager blocked my path and pointed at the laptop on my desk. “That’s company property. Leave it.” I laughed in her face and slammed a receipt onto the desk from my drawer. “Read it and weep. $5,000. My name on the bill.” With that, in front of the entire office, I packed it up and walked out. Thirty minutes later, the police showed up at my apartment. The company had reported me for embezzlement. I showed the cops my proof. The way the officer looked at the HR manager was like he was looking at an idiot. By the next morning, the entire tech park knew. My ex-employer, in an attempt to steal a laptop, had crowned themselves “The pettiest company of the year.” 1 After the police left, the office was dead silent. That silence was louder than any scream. It pierced the eardrums. Everyone’s eyes were fixed like spotlights on HR Manager Karen’s face, which shifted from red to green, then finally to a ghostly white. She stood frozen, like a cheap wax figure about to melt. I held my cardboard box—containing three years of my youth and a $5,000 MacBook Pro—and walked step by step through the solidified air. I didn’t look back. I didn’t say goodbye. The last shred of dignity between me and this company had shattered the moment they called the cops. The elevator doors slowly closed, cutting off the complex gazes behind me. In the mirrored wall of the elevator, a woman with black-framed glasses and a blank expression stared back. That was me. Lena Hart. Back in my rental apartment, I threw the box into a corner and didn’t give it another glance. The tension in my body snapped, and a wave of exhaustion drowned me. I collapsed onto the sofa, unwilling to move or think. My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from my best friend, asking if I was okay. I replied, “Fired. Don’t worry,” and turned on Airplane Mode. I needed silence. I needed to process this absurdity. I was woken up the next day by my phone vibrating against the table. Turning off Airplane Mode, hundreds of messages flooded in. Cautious condolences from former colleagues. Gossip links from friends at other companies. Our company’s name, paired with the headline “Called Cops to Steal Laptop,” had exploded across the tech park’s newsletters and anonymous forums like Blind. The comment sections were a carnival of schadenfreude. “LMAO, CEO Wang’s stinginess finally went viral.” “RIP to the HR manager. Her KPI is definitely in the negatives now. Failed to save the boss money and gifted him a PR disaster instead.” “Don’t feel bad for her. That HR is trash. She’s the grim reaper of layoffs. They call her ‘Killer Karen’.” “Am I the only one curious about the specs of a $5k laptop? That girl is a legend!” I looked at the screen, but I didn’t feel the thrill of revenge I expected. I felt empty, even a little sad. A company reduced to gaining fame this way… how pathetic. And I was the protagonist of this farce. I clicked a link to a Medium article about the tech park. The article was vivid, describing yesterday afternoon’s events in detail. Although my name was hidden, phrases like “Hardcore vs. HR,” “Slapping the Receipt,” and “Police Certified” made me a legend in the park. The light from the phone screen illuminated my expressionless face. I guessed CEO Wang’s office must be lively right now. Sure enough, in the afternoon, a former colleague who was still there secretly messaged me. “Lena, Wang lost it. He smashed a mug in his office.” “Karen got chewed out so bad her eyes are swollen from crying.” “Wang said in the meeting that this incident is too damaging and we absolutely cannot let it go.” I stared at the text and tapped the screen. “What does he want to do?” “I don’t know, but he told Karen to find out who leaked this. He also said he’s going to teach you a ‘lesson’ so this kind of behavior doesn’t spread.” A lesson? Bad behavior? Reading those words, a chill shot from my feet to my skull. They made the mistake. They embarrassed themselves. And in the end, I was the one in the wrong? I didn’t reply. Putting down the phone, I opened LinkedIn and started updating my resume. Life goes on. I needed a job. I sent applications to several companies I’d been eyeing for a while. With my resume and project experience, getting an interview shouldn’t have been hard. However, the whole afternoon passed. Silence. No response. Just the cold “Application Submitted” status. An ominous feeling crept into my heart. That night, I checked a job app and saw that a company I applied to just that morning had changed my status to “Not Suitable.” That was too fast. Abnormally fast. Normally, HR screening takes at least a day or two. It felt like my name had been set as a keyword to be automatically rejected. I turned off my phone. The room was pitch black. The city lights outside cast mottled shadows on the ceiling through the blinds, like an invisible net. CEO Wang’s words, “teach you a lesson,” echoed in my ears. Anger, like a vine growing in the dark, wrapped tightly around my heart. I understood. The real war was just beginning. 2 For the next few days, I lived in a bizarre loop. Apply, rejected. Apply, rejected. Even the headhunters who used to blow up my phone seemed to have evaporated. No updates, no DMs. My carefully polished resume was like trash thrown into the internet void, unable to secure even a single interview. The entire industry seemed to have slammed the door in my face. It felt like drowning in deep water, struggling but unable to reach the surface. Suffocation came from all sides. I knew Wang’s “lesson” had arrived. He was using the network he’d built over decades to weave a massive net, aiming to blacklist me completely. I wasn’t going to accept this. I picked a small startup with a business model I liked and applied again. Surprisingly, I got an interview call the next day. I walked into that office building with the reverence of a pilgrim. The interview went smoothly. From the department head to the partners, everyone showed great interest in my skills and past projects. During the final round, the partner closed my file and looked at me with regret. “Ms. Hart, we really value your abilities.” “But… we might not be able to extend an offer.” My heart sank. “Can you tell me why?” My voice was calm, ripple-free. The partner hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “Regarding your previous employer… during the background check, we heard some unfavorable things.” “They said you have… sticky fingers. Issues with professional ethics. That you were fired for embezzlement of company property.” Boom. Something in my brain snapped. Blood rushed to my head. So that was the crime they pinned on me. How vicious. How precise. For a professional, this was a death sentence. “I suggest,” the partner said, looking at me with sympathy, “you handle these rumors. Otherwise, it will be very difficult for you in this industry.” I stood up and bowed deeply. “Thank you for telling me this.” Walking out of the building, the noon sun stung my eyes. Standing on the busy street, I felt like a wandering ghost. Anger, humiliation, helplessness… emotions churned inside me, threatening to tear me apart. CEO Wang. Karen. You didn’t just want to cut off my retreat. You wanted to destroy me. I took out my phone, knuckles white from gripping it so hard. I called a friend who worked as a headhunter. “Do me a favor. Find out exactly what CEO Wang from InnovateTech is saying about me.” My friend got back to me quickly. It was worse than I imagined. In Wang’s mouth, I was a malicious, petty thief who was caught red-handed and fired. The $5,000 laptop became company property I schemed to steal. The police incident was twisted into me throwing a tantrum and seeking revenge out of shame. He even embellished, claiming I formed cliques and had a terrible attitude at work. “Lena, this guy is a piece of work,” my friend said indignantly. “He’s trying to bury you.” I hung up, chest heaving. Peaceful resolution? Non-existent. When pushed to the edge of a cliff with no way back, I only had two choices: jump, or push them off. I went home and closed the curtains. darkness swallowed the room. I sat in the dark for a long time until my eyes adjusted. Then, I opened that $5,000 MacBook Pro. The desktop wallpaper was a minimalist design I made myself. I opened a heavily encrypted folder. Inside was every trace of my three years at that company. Every overtime record, clocked to the minute. Recordings of every meeting where Wang promised big bonuses or gaslit the staff. Every email asking me to do personal chores outside my job description. Every unpaid expense report. Every detail of withheld bonuses. I am a hoarder of digital receipts. I save everything. I never believe verbal promises. Only black and white. I thought I’d never need these. They were just a security blanket for my anxiety. Now, they were my only weapon. I organized the files, categorizing and naming them one by one. Each file was a puzzle piece. When put together, they would reveal the ugly, greedy, mean face behind Wang’s mask of “We are a family.” By the time I finished, it was dark. I stared at the dense folders on the screen, my eyes cold and determined. Wang, you think you can use your power to define who I am. I will use the evidence you left behind to show the world what you are. You started this war. But I will decide how it ends. 3 These alone weren’t enough. These proofs would only show that Wang was a bad boss, giving me an edge in a labor dispute. But they couldn’t destroy the empire he was so proud of. They couldn’t wash away the mud he threw at me. I needed a sharper sword. One that could pierce his armor and strike his vitals. I thought of someone. Jason. The company’s former tech lead, a straight-shooting engineer. He was fired a month before me. The reason? “Insubordination.” The real reason was laughably absurd. Wang’s wife got a new iPhone and couldn’t transfer her data. Wang naturally ordered Jason to go to his house and help. Jason was in the middle of solving a critical bug and replied, “I’m not your personal butler. This is work hours.” The next day, Karen called Jason into her office, and he was packing his bags by noon. He was one of the few people in the company who dared to stand up to Wang. I knew he wouldn’t be happy about it. I found Jason’s contact and sent a message. “Free? Let’s talk.” Jason replied instantly. “Free. Send address.” We met at a noisy BBQ joint. The sizzling meat and loud chatter provided perfect cover. Jason looked the same—plaid shirt, messy hair, but bright eyes. He walked over with two beers and set them on the table. “Heard about what happened. It’s all over the tech park.” He opened a bottle and handed it to me. “Badass.” I clinked my bottle against his and took a big gulp of cold beer. “Same to you,” I said. Jason smiled, a bit self-deprecatingly. “I was just being reckless. You, you have guts and brains.” “What’s the situation now?” he asked. I told him everything—the rejected applications, the blacklisting. When I finished, Jason slammed his skewer onto the table. “That old bastard! He’s not human!” His anger was real and direct. I knew I found the right person. “I don’t want to let this go,” I said, looking him in the eye. “He wants me dead. I want to show him who falls first.” Jason’s eyes lit up. It was the excitement of finding a worthy ally, the thrill of finally releasing pent-up rage. “Count me in!” he said without hesitation. “I’ve wanted to screw him over for ages!” “What do you need me to do?” “I need a breach point,” I said. “Something that will hurt him to the bone. Labor disputes are just mosquito bites to him.” Jason fell silent. He spun his beer bottle, thinking. The smell of smoke and grilled meat filled the air. After a while, he looked up, voice lowered. “I might… have something.” My heart skipped a beat. “What is it?” “Do you know which company makes the core software we use for our business?” I shook my head. I was in marketing; I didn’t know much about the tech stack. “It’s the flagship product of ‘Starlight Tech.’ An enterprise license costs $130,000 market price.” “Our company,” Jason smirked coldly, “uses a pirated version.” I froze. I knew Wang was cheap with employee benefits and salaries. I never thought he’d be bold enough to pirate the core tools the company relied on to survive. “How do you know?” I asked. “Because I was the one who installed and maintained it,” Jason said sarcastically. “When Wang told me to find a cracked version, I warned him. Commercial use carries high risk. If caught, the fines are astronomical.” “Guess what he said?” “He said, ‘Risk is a cost. We’re a small company, we need to control costs. If nobody talks, who will know?’” “If nobody talks, who will know?” I repeated the phrase, finding it incredibly ironic. “When he fired me, I kept an ace up my sleeve.” Jason leaned in. “I backed up everything on my computer related to the server using the pirated software—backend logs, IP addresses, version info. Everything.” “It’s a complete chain of evidence.” “If we hand this to Starlight Tech’s legal department…” Jason didn’t finish. But I understood. My breathing quickened. This wasn’t a sword. It was a battle axe. An axe capable of splitting the fortress of InnovateTech wide open. “Okay,” my voice trembled with excitement. “We start there.” The two of us clinked beer bottles in the noisy restaurant. The crisp sound of glass was the horn signaling our charge. The Avengers were assembled. 4 Jason and I moved fast and quietly. Like underground operatives, we communicated only via encrypted apps. Jason sent me the evidence backup via encrypted email. It was a massive zip file. Server logs, startup records of the cracked software, internal IPs using it, detailed version info. The evidence was more detailed than I could have imagined. Jason was a tech god. His backups even included timestamps that couldn’t be tampered with, ready for court. Looking at these files, I could picture Wang’s smug face. He thought he saved $130,000. He didn’t know the employee he kicked to the curb had planted a time bomb. My job was to light the fuse. I didn’t go to the police or a government agency. The process was too slow, and it might alert the enemy. I wanted InnovateTech to be judged by its “victim.” I spent a whole day writing an anonymous whistleblower letter in a tone so calm it bordered on cruel. I added no personal emotion. I simply stated objectively and in detail how InnovateTech had been using pirated “Starlight” software for commercial profit on a large scale for years. I attached Jason’s technical evidence chain. Finally, I wrote: “Your intellectual property is being ruthlessly trampled and stolen. The thief is using your hard work to make a fortune. As a loyal user of Starlight software, I cannot tolerate this.” After writing it, I read it through. Every word was ice-cold. Then, using a new, untraceable email address, I sent the letter and attachments to Starlight Tech’s public legal email. To be safe, I burned everything onto a CD and mailed it anonymously to Starlight’s CEO from a remote mailbox. After that, I deleted all records and local files. As if nothing happened. Then, the wait. Every day was torture. I refreshed Starlight’s website and industry news constantly. Jason was even more nervous, messaging me every hour. I told him to be patient. Sharks always come when they smell blood. Two weeks later, on a calm Wednesday afternoon. Jason sent me a photo. It showed several people in black suits standing at InnovateTech’s reception desk. They radiated power. The leader wore a pin on his lapel. The Starlight Tech logo. Jason’s caption: “They’re here.” My heart jumped into my throat. He sent another photo. It was Wang, bowing and scraping with a fake smile, ushering them into the conference room. Jason started a text commentary. “They showed a court order and a lawyer’s letter.” “They’re checking the servers now.” “Wang’s face is green.” “Tech team is being questioned. I bet they can’t delete the logs I left.” “Hahaha, Wang is making calls. He looks like his dad died.” I watched the messages, palms sweating. Nervous, but sickeningly excited. An hour later. Jason sent the final message. “Caught red-handed. The lawyer announced on the spot they’re suing InnovateTech. Damages… $3 million.” Three million dollars. I exhaled a long breath. For a company with tight cash flow like InnovateTech, this was a death blow. Wang, you saved $130,000. Now you pay $3 million. I wonder what your calculating brain thinks of that math. That night, Starlight Tech released an official statement. It was harsh, naming InnovateTech for infringement and vowing to pursue legal responsibility to the end. It caused a huge stir. This spread much further than my laptop incident. This involved an industry giant. Before, InnovateTech was a joke in the park. Now, it was a cautionary tale for the whole industry. I could almost hear the sound of Wang’s carefully maintained “dignity” shattering. Crisp and pleasant. This was just the appetizer. The main course was yet to come.

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In my last life, I went missing on my way home for winter break. When they found me, my clothes were torn, and I was lying in an abandoned warehouse with the town’s most notorious criminal, a man accused of sexual assault. My parents, ashamed of the scandal, gagged me and tied me up that same day, forcing me to marry him. My sister, meanwhile, stole my identity. She took my acceptance letter and went to an Ivy League university in New York. But her stolen life wasn’t a fairy tale. For three years, she was bullied by rich, entitled students until her reputation was destroyed. In the end, she jumped from the top of a campus building. Ironically, my life took a different turn. The year after I got married, the truth came out: my husband was innocent. He had been framed by his billionaire father’s illegitimate son. My husband cleared his name, inherited a multi-billion dollar empire, and took me abroad to live a life of luxury. Everyone back home envied me. Now, I’ve been reborn. But this time, my sister rushed into that warehouse first. When I arrived with the search party, she was already entangled with my husband from my past life. Seeing us, she smirked triumphantly. “Sis, this perfect husband is mine this time. You go to that fancy school and suffer.” I stepped forward to pull her away, but the man shoved me back. He shielded her, glaring at me coldly. “Don’t touch her. Get lost.” I swallowed the bitterness. That very night, I boarded the train to New York. 1 My sister, Bella, stood in the dim light of the warehouse, her clothes disheveled but her smile victorious. She looked like she had finally snatched the prize she’d been coveting for a lifetime. “Mom! Dad! I want to marry him! I want to marry him today!” In that moment, her triumphant grin stabbed me. In my previous life, right before she died, she came to find me. She used the excuse of bringing me homemade jam to get into our villa. Then she pulled a knife and lunged at me, screaming hysterically. Before she could reach me, the bodyguards pinned her down. She struggled, cursing me. “Lily, that night… I saw you get drugged and dragged away! I deliberately didn’t save you. I waited until the next day to lead the village to ‘find’ you.” “I wanted you ruined! I wanted Mom and Dad to give me your acceptance letter!” “I thought going to New York, going to college, would make me elite.” She laughed and cried at the same time. “Instead, those rich kids treated me like a dog. They ruined my reputation and forced me to drop out.” “Now I have nothing! Why should you, an illiterate wife of a rapist, have everything? It’s not fair! If I could do it over, I’d never switch with you! You should be the one suffering in New York!” When the police arrived to arrest her, she broke free and jumped out the window. Reborn, she beat me to the warehouse. She made sure to seal the deal with Liam, who had been drugged into a stupor. The man’s eyes were still unfocused. But hearing her demand marriage, his ears turned red. He looked down at her, his voice solemn and clumsy. “I’ll take responsibility. I’ll treat you well for the rest of my life.” It was exactly what he had promised me in our past life. My parents exploded first. My mom slapped me across the face. Hard. “What kind of sister are you?! If you were watching her, how did she end up here with this animal?” “You ruined your sister! Why don’t you just die?” They tried to drag Bella away, refusing to let her marry him. They said the town only knew a daughter was compromised, not which one. They could just make me the scapegoat. Make me marry him. Even though this life was already different, I was still the one being pushed into the fire. My heart turned to ice. Bella whispered something in their ears. My parents’ expressions changed slowly. They looked at the man again, skeptical but intrigued. Finally, they nodded. “If it’s true like you say, then you should marry him.” “If it’s a lie, you can just run away later, and we’ll make your sister take your place…” … Bella seemed terrified I would steal him back. She insisted on holding the wedding banquet that very night and forced me to help prepare. The whole town knew she had been “compromised” by Liam—the local pariah with a record. Instead of seeking justice, she was rushing to marry him. Everyone called her shameless. No one wanted to come inside for the banquet. They stood outside, jeering and mocking. Bella’s eyes turned red with rage. She pointed at them and screamed: “When my husband gets rich, you’ll all crawl back like dogs!” “When you’re kneeling on the ground begging me, I won’t give you a cent!” The villagers laughed harder. “A thief and a rapist with no parents? Rich? In his dreams!” She stomped her foot and ran back inside. My mother took her anger out on me. She pinched my arm viciously. “They’re insulting your sister and your parents, and you just stand there? Why didn’t you stop them? Why didn’t you curse them back?” She went inside to comfort Bella. My father flipped the table in a rage. “Forget the banquet! We’re not doing it!” Dishes smashed all over me. He pointed a finger at my face, screaming at me to clean it up or he’d beat me. I stood there, eyes stinging, nursing my bruised hand. My heart felt completely frozen. Liam, wearing a groom’s red flower on his chest, walked in and saw everything. He didn’t hesitate. He walked straight toward me. 2 My heart leaped. Flashbacks of fifty years spent with him filled my mind. I remembered how he protected me when my parents slapped me and called me shameless in the past life. My throat tightened. I was about to call his name, tears welling up. But he spoke coldly: “Behave yourself. Don’t even think about hurting your sister again.” I froze, staring at him in disbelief. He stepped forward, pushing me against the wall, his expression icy. He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Bella told me everything. You bully her constantly.” “But you shouldn’t have tricked her into coming to the warehouse, making her stumble into me when I was drugged! You ruined her innocence!” “And then you called the villagers to destroy her reputation!” “How can you be so vicious… are you even human?” It felt like a boulder crushed my chest. I bit my lip, voice trembling. “I brought people to save you…” He cut me off with a scoff, his eyes full of suspicion and disgust. “Enough. Save your fake tears and lies.” “Lily, you better pray you never fall into my hands. Or I’ll make you pay ten times over for what you did today.” The last ember of warmth in my heart was extinguished. I wiped my tears, pushed him away, and turned to leave. I heard him go into the bedroom to comfort Bella. I walked into the woodshed. Bella had thrown all my things in there. Clothes, books—all torn and scattered. I lowered my head and started picking them up, piece by piece. Through the thin walls, I heard the man’s low, gentle voice soothing her. It sounded just like when he used to comfort me after a fight. Soon, the sounds became intimate. It felt like a knife twisting in my heart. I stopped packing. I grabbed a few changes of clothes and the acceptance letter. I left the house without a sound. I went to the train station and bought the earliest ticket to New York. In this life, my love is gone. So I will hold on tight to the future that should have been mine. … As soon as I arrived on campus, I registered for work-study. On registration day, I volunteered to help welcome new students. Under the scorching sun, I ran back and forth between the dorms and the academic buildings. Black spots danced in my vision. My legs gave out, and I stumbled into someone’s arms. Whistles erupted around me. “Whoa, Julian! How many girls have thrown themselves at you today?” I quickly stepped back to apologize. When I looked up, I froze. It was Julian Thorne. In my past life, after Bella died, my parents screamed and cried, forcing me to investigate who killed her. When the lawyer laid out the files, I learned the truth. Bella met Julian Thorne—heir to a massive real estate empire—in college. She tried everything to get close to him. When seduction failed, she tried to drug him. She was caught. The Thorne family was furious. They forced the school to expel her. Her reputation destroyed, facing jail time, she fled back home in disgrace. This time, if I stay far away from him, I can graduate in peace. I steadied myself and turned to leave immediately. The boys behind me laughed. “Yo! A girl running away from Julian? That’s a first.” “Maybe she’s playing hard to get. Interesting. Julian, why not play along?” Julian scoffed coldly. “Boring.” At the opening ceremony, he gave the speech as the student representative. All eyes were on him. Standing in the crowd, I couldn’t help but remember his fate. In our junior year, after Bella drugged him, he suffered organ damage and had to go abroad for treatment. But his flight crashed. No survivors. In this life, I won’t get involved with him. He won’t die. … My life consisted of two things: studying and working. But for some reason, I kept running into him. Walking past the basketball court, a ball would always smash into the ground right at my feet. Blocking my path. I’d look up to see him staring at me coldly, his friends winking and nudging him. My classmates comforted me, saying Julian was asking about me, probably planning to bully me. So I stopped walking by the courts. I took the long way to class. I avoided him at school, but I ran into him at my waitressing job. When he saw me, his friends would jeer, demanding I serve their table. They wouldn’t order; they’d just make me stand there while they chatted. Eventually, even the manager asked if I had beef with them. I shook my head and quit that same day. A few days later, I was cornered in an alley behind the library. Julian stood in the shadows, his face dark. His first words were: “You quit?” 3 I pressed my lips together and didn’t speak. He stared at me for a few seconds, then laughed coldly. “Lily.” “You don’t need to hide from me. I have zero interest in you.” “You think I want to run into you? Don’t flatter yourself.” He turned and walked away. From that day on, I really didn’t see him again. Soon after, my professor told me a corporation was sponsoring scholarships for top students in financial need. I was on the list. Full tuition covered, plus a monthly stipend. I looked at the numbers, tears welling in my eyes. Finally, I didn’t have to starve myself while working multiple jobs. I poured all my energy into studying. Later, I heard the sponsoring company organized a volunteer teaching trip to a rural area. I signed up immediately, wanting to give back. But on the day of departure, I saw Julian in the crowd. He saw me, looked cold, and turned away. For several days, we had zero interaction. Until one night, a senior girl told me that the heir to the Thorne fortune was surprisingly kind-hearted. Not only did he fund students, he came to volunteer personally. I was stunned. Just as I was about to ask more, the ground shook violently. Someone screamed: “Flash flood! Run!” Students scrambled, screaming, running for higher ground. I ran with the crowd. In the chaos, I heard someone shout Julian’s name. I looked back instinctively. I saw him push a little girl onto the bank, but he lost his footing and was swept away by the raging water. I didn’t hesitate. I gritted my teeth and jumped into the water. I swam toward him with everything I had, grabbed him, and dragged him to the shore. My fingers were numb, my lungs full of water. But I held on until he was safe on land, then I blacked out. When I woke up, I was in a hospital. The door opened. A stylish middle-aged woman walked in and held my hand warmly. “Child, you’re awake?” “Thank you so much for saving my son.” “As a reward, whatever you want, I will…” I instinctively clenched my fingers and shook my head gently. “I saved him to repay a debt. Thank you for the Thorne scholarship.” The polite mask on her face faded, replaced by genuine softness. “Julian is fine. He’s been wanting to see you.” “I’ll have him come thank you personally.” My heart tightened. I wanted to refuse. But before I could speak, she left. A moment later, Julian walked in. He marched to my bedside, his eyes scanning me from head to toe. Then he gritted his teeth and said: “Who asked you to save me?” He sat on the edge of the bed, his shoulders stiff. “Don’t you hate me?” “Why save me?” “Just to repay a debt? That’s unnecessary.” His tone was stiff. “The money for your scholarship isn’t even enough to buy my shoes.” After saying that, he looked at me immediately. He saw I was calm, not insulted or embarrassed. It made him flustered. He lowered his voice. “Whatever you want, I can give it to you.” I spoke softly. “I do have a wish…” Julian looked up, eyes expectant. I looked at him seriously. “Can you stop bullying me? Can we just be normal classmates?” His face turned red, then black. He stood up abruptly. “When did I ever—” He stopped himself. “Fine. Whatever.” He turned and stormed out, radiating anger. … I never expected to see my sister in the hospital. I hadn’t seen her in over a year. She was heavily pregnant, wearing a nurse’s aide uniform, kneeling on the floor cleaning an elderly patient. She looked haggard. It reminded me of my past life. At this time back then, I was pregnant too, working in a warehouse moving boxes. The villagers had burned down our house because they said we ruined the town’s morals. We were forced to leave. Liam’s half-brother hired thugs to harass us. Because the illegitimate son spread rumors to their father, Liam’s father cut him off completely. Liam became depressed, drank, and refused to work. I supported the family with my pregnant body. It wasn’t until I lost our first child that he knelt and cried, apologizing to me. A family member scolded Bella for being too rough. She stood up, eyes red, pushing them away. “I’m pregnant! You’re making a pregnant woman do heavy labor? Do you have no conscience?” The family sneered. “If you weren’t pregnant and pitiful, we wouldn’t have hired someone with zero experience. If you don’t want to work, get out.” Bella turned angrily and saw me. She froze. Then, seeing how pale I looked, a sick excitement flashed in her eyes. “Sis! I told you so. You’d end up like me eventually. Messing with those rich kids!” She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “Why are you hospitalized? Did they push you in a pool? Or down the stairs?” She rolled her eyes. “Take my advice. If you want to survive school, stay away from those rich boys.” “Don’t think about climbing the social ladder. Someone like you isn’t even good enough to be their toy.” Seeing my silence, she got impatient. She started bragging about how good Liam was to her. She swore that soon Liam’s dad would clear his name. Then she’d be a rich wife. And I would be driven out of school by the rich kids, forced to crawl back to our village and die miserable. Just then, Liam came up the stairs. Seeing her red eyes, he rushed over and hugged her. “What’s wrong, babe?” “Who upset you?” 4 “Baby, quit. Let’s go home!” I heard those words in my past life too. But if we quit, what would we eat? Liam would just drink and sulk on the sofa. When I urged him to work, he’d just sigh and ask for more time. But how much time? He never said. Sure enough, Bella forced a smile and acted coquettish. “It’s okay. For you, I can endure it.” Then she pointed at me, feigning surprise. “Oh look, hubby, my sister is sick too.” “So pitiful, no one is even here with her.” “Should we stay and keep her company?” Liam looked at me coldly. Seeing my haggard state, he scoffed. “Her getting sick is karma. God is punishing her.” “Bella, you’re too kind. Someone like her doesn’t deserve your concern.” “Let’s go home. Hubby will make you something delicious.” Bella shot me a smug look and linked arms with him sweetly. “My husband is a great cook, sis. Too bad you won’t get to taste it.” They took two steps before Julian walked over from the other end of the hall. He looked at their backs and asked me: “Family?” I shook my head. Julian sneered. “I thought they were your poor relatives. Treating a little food like it’s treasure.” Face tense, he handed me an expensive-looking three-tier bento box. “Here. My chef made too much. Don’t waste it.” Bella turned pale when she saw Julian. She looked at me, eyes wide with disbelief and jealousy. When Liam noticed something was wrong and asked her, she gritted her teeth. “Nothing. I just think some people are delusional. Being played with and thinking they’re special. It’s laughable.” She dragged Liam away. After that day, Julian brought me food every day. But as I ate, I couldn’t help but wonder. For a billionaire family, why did the chef’s cooking taste so… average? I recovered and returned to school. I thought Julian and I would go back to being parallel lines. But he signed up for the same elective class as me. He joined the same student council department. He even showed up where I worked part-time. I finally couldn’t take it anymore. “Julian, what do you want?” “Did I do something wrong?” His face fell. He looked offended. “You think I’m seeking revenge?” He sounded frustrated, like he was giving up. “I’m pursuing you! Can’t you tell?” I froze. The next second, I ran away. In my last life, Bella’s fate was a thorn in my heart. I didn’t dare get close to Julian, no matter what. Maybe he sensed my fear. From that day on, he really stopped appearing around me. Half a year passed. I started getting restless, secretly asking about him. My classmates looked surprised. “Didn’t you know? Julian is getting ready to study abroad.” I froze. The image of his plane crash from my past life slammed into my brain. Suppressing my pounding heart, I asked when he was leaving. “In two weeks. December 10th.” My mind went blank. I pulled out my phone and called him. “Don’t go, Julian.” On the other end, he chuckled softly. “You’re telling me not to go? Who are you to tell me that?” I was speechless. I wanted to explain, but he spoke calmly. “I’ll give you a chance. Dinner with me on the night of December 9th.” “Convince me to my face. If your reasons are good, I’ll stay.” “If not, I leave that night.” I agreed immediately. On the night of the 9th, I went to the hotel he mentioned. The staff told me a private room was booked and led me there. I pushed open the door, only to be slammed against the wall. Liam, dressed in a designer suit, held a red-eyed Bella, glaring at me with hatred. “Lily. I told you.” “If you fell into my hands, I’d make you pay ten times over.” “You ruined Bella’s innocence, and now she lost our baby.” “So I’m going to make you lose your innocence, get pregnant, and then lose your baby too!” He waved his hand. “Hear that? Take good care of her.” I struggled desperately, screaming: “I didn’t! Liam! I didn’t do those things!” Liam just looked at me with disgust. Julian called my phone. Bella snatched it. “My sister has a boyfriend. You’re annoying her, stop calling!” “What? You don’t believe me?” She laughed, snapped a few photos of me pinned down by thugs, and sent them. “Look. My sister and her boyfriend are getting intimate.” She looked down at the phone, smiling smugly. “Sis.” “Young Master Thorne says he understands.” “He’s taking the flight tonight. He’ll never come back to this country.” “Your daydream is over.” I felt like I was plunged into ice water. Liam kissed Bella’s forehead lovingly. “Wifey, let’s go. Don’t dirty your eyes.” The door closed. I was pinned to the floor, vision going dark. The next second, the door was kicked open.

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Five years ago, my son with Julian Ford died in a car accident. Julian was in the States with his mistress while she gave birth. He didn’t even attend our son’s funeral. Years of drifting later, we met again in a cemetery. I was holding a small cake, wanting to spend a quiet moment with my boy. But there was Julian, placing a limited-edition toy car in front of the tombstone. Beside him, a little boy threw himself into Julian’s arms. “Daddy, do you think my big brother will like the gift I picked?” 1 The autumn chill had settled over the cemetery, the wind biting and cold. Julian bent down, buttoning the little boy’s coat with a patience I had never seen before. That was the fatherly love my son, Leo, never had. The boy noticed the cake I was carrying, topped with a fondant race car. He asked curiously: “Ma’am, is it my brother’s birthday today? Are you here to celebrate him too?” I turned my head, pretending not to hear. I used a wet wipe to clean the photo on the headstone. I stuck a candle into the cake. My Leo. His life stopped at five years old. The little boy looked at the cake, then up at Julian, and finally at me. Without a word, he took out the toy car he brought and placed it next to the cake. I felt a wave of dizziness. The boy had deep set eyes and a slender frame. He was tall for his age. He looked about fifty percent like my Leo. They both inherited their father’s genes. If I didn’t know exactly who gave birth to him… I think I would have hugged him, desperate for any comfort to soothe the tidal wave of grief that still crashed over me, five years later. The wind whipped around us. I tried to light the candle several times. Maybe my hands were shaking too much. It wouldn’t catch. Julian naturally took the lighter from my hand. The moment our skin touched… In the past, his scent, his warmth, were things I clung to. Now, I only felt nausea. I snatched the lighter back, shoving him hard enough to make him stumble. The little boy shouted at me, protective as a guard dog: “Pushing people is wrong! Apologize to my daddy!” 2 “Noah, don’t be rude.” Julian’s voice was heavy, devoid of the gentleness he’d shown a moment ago. The boy looked wronged, his expression a carbon copy of his mother’s. Proud and stubborn. It reminded me of when Sarah first got pregnant with him, flaunting her victory in my face: “Claire, if timing hadn’t played tricks on us, Julian would have met me first. He wouldn’t have needed to marry a useless heiress like you.” Julian crouched down and touched the boy’s pouting cheek. “Didn’t you say you liked your big brother the best? This is his mother. If you’re too loud, your brother won’t be happy.” I gritted my teeth. How dare Julian? How dare he let Sarah’s son call my Leo “brother”? I didn’t want to stay. I returned to the country this time to move Leo’s grave. I planned to find the cemetery manager to discuss it. Julian, holding Noah, followed me the whole way. When he heard my request, his voice was terrifyingly hoarse. “Claire White, you haven’t visited Leo in five years. Now you come back and want to take him away?” “He is my son. I won’t allow it.” I swept a cold gaze over Julian. He stood tall and sharp, always in a bespoke suit. His tie was Burgundy red—Sarah’s choice. He looked steady, powerful, and warm. Five years after losing Leo, Julian was still riding high on success. Unlike me. I had gray hairs at my temples now. If Leo were here, his heart would break for me. But he wasn’t. I tilted my head back slightly, a cold sneer on my lips. “I’m not discussing this with you. You didn’t even attend Leo’s funeral. You have no right to talk to me about him.” 3 Julian looked like he was holding back a storm, but before he could speak, his phone lit up. The little boy was thin and pale. He piped up in a childish voice: “It’s Mommy! Is the baby in her tummy being naughty?” Julian turned away to answer. Noah ignored my cold demeanor and leaned in, whispering conspiratorially: “Just like my big brother, I’m going to be a big brother soon too! Daddy has been waiting for the new baby. I’m going to share my toys with him.” My hand, flipping through the paperwork, froze. Julian and Sarah were truly a loving couple. They supported each other’s careers, and popped out two kids in five years. The son they raised was clearly well-protected. Even with my dark expression, he wasn’t scared. Unlike my Leo. Before he was three, his father was busy building an empire, too busy for him. After he was three, Julian fell in love with Sarah. He grew tired of me, and by extension, tired of the son I bore. He refused to come home for Leo’s birthdays or holidays. On that last rainy night, Leo insisted on waiting for his dad to come home. He said Daddy promised to bring him a toy car from his business trip to the States. In the blink of an eye, my Leo ran into the street and was hit by a car. 4 Julian finished his call. I was about to sign the contract with the cemetery. He grabbed my wrist, struggling to control his emotions. “I said, you are not taking Leo.” I stood motionless, expressionless. “You can go down there and tell my son that yourself.” Julian’s grip tightened, hurting me. Once upon a time, this man would tear up if I even got a papercut. When I nearly died giving birth to Leo… He was heartbroken beyond measure, wishing he could take the pain for me, crying as he hugged me, promising we’d never do it again. But Julian broke his word. Less than a thousand days into our marriage, he was rolling around with Sarah in his CEO office. I fought hysterically. I screamed. I made scenes. All I got in return was Sarah’s encroaching presence. With Julian’s permission, eventually, I wasn’t even allowed to step foot in his company. 5 The contract was torn to shreds. Julian’s jaw was set tight. He told his driver, Lee, to take Noah to the car. Seeing my face, panic flashed across Lee’s features. “M-Miss White!” Back when Julian was a destitute heir, Lee worked for my family, the Whites. He witnessed me fighting with my stepbrother for Julian. He also helped cover up the lipstick Sarah left in Julian’s car. Truly, dynasties change, but the driver remains. Julian’s eyes were pitch black, like a bottomless abyss. The aura of a man in power surged around him. He turned and threatened the cemetery manager: “If my son doesn’t rest in peace here, I will make you understand the true meaning of consequences.” The manager looked at me helplessly and scurried away. I couldn’t take it anymore. I swung my hand to slap Julian. But it didn’t land. He caught my hand firmly. Julian spoke with a grit-teeth intensity: “Claire, you want to cut all ties with me. Even Leo.” “You hate me, don’t you?” He stepped closer, pinning me against the gray wall, dust motes dancing in the air. I took a deep breath. “Why would I hate you? If a dog bites your whole family, and you can’t kill it, do you have to remember it forever?” With Julian’s current wealth and status, even the White family at its peak couldn’t compare. I had tried fighting a losing battle too many times. I had lost too much. For Sarah, he attacked me and my family without a bottom line. I learned to accept life’s unpredictability and helplessness. I just wanted to take my Leo away.

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My best friend, Chloe, had begged me for the eight-hundredth time to break up with him. I sniffled, hesitating. “But he treats me pretty well.” Chloe told me I might as well be dead. It wasn’t until I found another package of lingerie sent to Liam by one of his flings that I finally listened to her. Even when he knelt and begged, I didn’t look back. Just as I was about to call Chloe with the good news, I saw her announcement on Instagram: “Dust can never understand the brilliance of the moon. She doesn’t get you, but I do.” The photo showed Liam with red, teary eyes, and Chloe planting a comforting kiss on his cheek. Someone commented, calling her a homewrecker. She didn’t care at all. “If she was fooled by a few pieces of lingerie I mailed, how can she say she truly loved him? Besides, she’s so plain. She doesn’t deserve Liam like I do.” I frantically turned the car around. But I didn’t check the traffic. I died instantly in a crash. After being reborn, I immediately cut ties with Chloe and got into my car to leave. But a woman covered in blood slammed her hands against my window, crying: “Bestie! Help me! That’s not me!” 1 I froze just as I was about to start the engine. Outside the car, the blood-soaked woman was frantically pounding on the glass. Although her features were obscured by gore, I knew her. Thirteen years of friendship told me it was Chloe. But hadn’t I just argued with her upstairs? She was currently sulking in her apartment. I had just gotten into the car. How could she be banging on my window, covered in blood? “Maya! Open the door! Hurry!” She yanked at the handle while looking behind her in panic. As if something terrifying was chasing her. Remembering Chloe’s betrayal in my past life, goosebumps erupted all over my skin. Could it be… that Chloe had really been replaced? The Chloe I knew wasn’t the type to fight over men. Looking at the desperate, bloodied Chloe outside, I decided to trust her. “Hurry! Get in!” I snapped my eyes open. I found myself still sitting in the driver’s seat. I turned my head. The window was down. The wind blew against my face, waking me completely. There was no one banging on the window. Did I… just fall asleep? “Maya, get back here!” Chloe stormed down from upstairs, furious. Her face was clean, without a trace of blood. “What do you mean he treats you well? You don’t want to break up?!” Her exasperated look was exactly the same as in my past life. “This is the third package of lingerie some fling sent him! This time it’s used! The mistress is dancing in your face, and you’re still nostalgic about the good times?!” The exact same speech. In my past life, whenever I received those packages, I would cry to her. Every time, she didn’t hesitate: “Dump him!” But I always felt I should listen to Liam’s explanation. Every time he explained, I would text her: “It was all a misunderstanding. We made up!” It would drive Chloe crazy. But now, looking at her angry face, I clearly remembered the post she made after taking Liam in my past life: “It wasn’t in vain that I advised them to break up for so long. Every time, I was terrified she would figure out I sent the packages. I tried so hard to confuse her. Finally, she’s not ‘love-brained’ anymore. I succeeded.” I opened the car door. I looked down at her. “Chloe, we’re done. Friendship over.” Her pupils shrank. “You’re cutting me off because of a scumbag?” “Did I stutter?” “Maya, we’ve known each other for thirteen years! You’ve only known him for three!” Exactly. So why did you stab me in the back?! I stared at her. “Yes. We’re done.” “Fine.” She pointed at me. “Don’t come crying to me when he ruins you!” She turned and marched upstairs without looking back. I had a moment of trance— She seemed so much like the Chloe I knew. The Chloe I knew wouldn’t react any differently to what I just said. I shook my head. The truth of the past life had been revealed. I had to accept it, even if I didn’t want to. Although the bloodied Chloe was just a dream. The Chloe who plotted against me was no different from a stranger wearing her face. This friendship had ended in such an ugly way. I rolled up the window. Just as I was about to leave, my gaze locked onto the glass. There were dense, bloody handprints. Right where the Chloe in my dream had pressed her hands! I looked up. Behind the window of Chloe’s bedroom, a pair of eyes seemed to be staring straight at me. 2 I wiped the window clean. How could a figure from a dream leave traces in reality? There were a lot of mischievous kids in Chloe’s complex. I leaned towards it being a prank. When I got home, another package was at the door. I opened it. Purple lace stockings and lingerie. It smelled of women’s perfume. In my past life, my first reaction would have been to scream at Liam. Then cry to Chloe. But now, I knew better than anyone who sent it. The image of Chloe’s bloodied face from my dream flashed in my mind. My grip on the stockings tightened. If Chloe wasn’t Chloe, then the real Chloe was most likely at… I thought I should go to Chloe’s apartment again. To avoid suspicion, I decided to make an apology cake. When I appeared at Chloe’s door with a fruit cake, her first reaction was to close the door. I quickly jammed my foot in the gap, pleading: “Chloe, that woman sent him lingerie again to provoke me! This time I really know I was wrong. He’s scum! Total scum!” Chloe sized me up with dissatisfaction. I put on a pitiful expression. “Please, Chloe. Without you, who’s going to help me fight the scumbag?” Only then did she sneer. “Fine. I’ll forgive you this once.” The door opened. I carefully observed her every move. And any sign of a third person in the apartment. “What’s with you?” She turned around, holding a cake knife. “Looking around like a thief. What, you think I’m hiding a man?” She was right. But it was strange. Apart from traces of her and me, there was no sign of anyone else. In the dream, Chloe bled so much. If she was here, there would definitely be traces… I watched Chloe cut the cake. Could I have… Really been mistaken? “Did that son of a bitch make you stupid?” Chloe forked a piece and chewed. “Not gonna lie, the cream is good this time.” I stared at her mouth. My heart stopped— Chloe was allergic to mangoes. I deliberately put mango in the cake to test her. This person, eating mango without a care in the world. Who is she? 3 “What’s wrong?” She looked at me, chewing on mango chunks. My face was pale. My steps were unsteady. “Nothing…” “If nothing’s wrong, eat!” She smiled and handed me a fork with cake on it. I hesitated taking the fork. My hand under my sleeve had already dialed 911. Then, trembling slightly, I reached out to take a bite. Slap! Her face suddenly changed. She smacked my hand away. “What are you doing?” “Chloe?” I looked at Chloe’s suddenly darkened face in shock. My heart skipped a beat. “Why are you eating mango?” She glared at me. My breathing became erratic— Did she… discover my purpose? “You forgot you’re allergic to mangoes?!” “What?” I pointed at myself. Me? Allergic to mangoes? Since I was a kid, my favorite fruit has been mango. The one allergic to mangoes was Chloe, right? “Did that scumbag make you crazy? You forgot your own allergy?” Chloe glared at me. I looked at her. I put the mango on the fork into my mouth. Staring dead at her: “Chloe, watch closely. The one allergic to mangoes was never me. It’s you.” Her face went pale. “Maya…” “So, who the hell are you!” She looked at me in shock. “Speak!” I got up to grab her collar. Suddenly, my throat tightened. I fell to my knees, clutching my neck. I saw a rash erupting on my arm. “I told you you were allergic, why didn’t you listen! Hello? 911? My friend is having a severe allergic reaction! Come quick!” Allergic to mangoes… Me? How is that possible! The person allergic to mangoes, since childhood… Has always been Chloe! Thud! I collapsed to the floor. The last thing I heard was Chloe’s panicked screaming. 4 When I woke up in the hospital, I still couldn’t believe I was allergic to mangoes. Until the diagnostic report came out. The doctor frowned. “You were sent to our ER as a child for acute anaphylaxis. Didn’t I warn you then? Never touch mangoes, not even the juice, for the rest of your life?” Looking at the words “Mango Allergy” on the report. I cast an incredulous look at Liam. He sighed. “When we first started dating, you told me you were allergic. I’ve been careful all these years. Did you forget?” My mind was no longer on whether he cheated. I crumpled the report in my hand. A terrifying guess appeared in my mind— Could it be that the sick one… is really me? Not just the allergy, but also… That afternoon, I appeared in the psychiatric ward.

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In the late 70s, the news of the end of the draft came back to our small town, along with my husband’s ashes. Mayor Higgins found me. “Sarah, legally and morally, you should go back to the city and take that university offer.” He sighed, feigning deep sorrow. “But your mother-in-law is all alone now. You have a responsibility to take care of her.” In my past life, I thought about it, my heart bleeding with guilt, and I agreed. I stayed. I served my mother-in-law until her dying breath. Only then did I learn the truth: My husband, Jack, wasn’t dead. He had simply faked his death to run off to the city, start a new life, and have children with the Mayor’s daughter. So, this time, when the ashes arrived, I went straight to the county clerk. I personally filed his death certificate and cancelled his Social Security Number. If you want to play dead, Jack, I’ll make sure you stay dead. Chapter 1 “How could this happen? He was fine when he left. I never thought that goodbye would be forever.” I swayed on my feet, looking as though grief had sapped every ounce of my strength. Mayor Higgins sighed heavily, patting my shoulder. “Sarah, I know it’s hard to accept. I watched Jack grow up. His accident… it breaks my heart too.” “But you must be strong. The town will help with the arrangements.” “I want to see him,” I sobbed, clutching the Mayor’s sleeve. “Just one last look.” The Mayor handed me the heavy urn, a single tear sliding down his cheek. “His body was badly damaged in the accident… he’s already been cremated. I’ve picked a prime plot in the cemetery. Let him rest in peace.” Holding the urn, I wept uncontrollably. My mother-in-law, Mrs. Miller, beat her chest, wailing about her poor son’s fate, looking like she might faint at any moment. We held each other and cried until the initial storm of emotions passed. Mrs. Miller leaned on my shoulder, sniffing. “Sarah, with Jack gone, you don’t need to worry about an old woman like me. You should go back to the city, enjoy your life. I can’t be a burden to you!” “Sarah,” the Mayor interjected smoothly, “while you have every right to go to college, Jack’s sudden passing leaves Mrs. Miller a widow with no son. You are her only family now. You should shoulder the responsibility.” I lowered my head, wiping away tears, but inside, hatred boiled. It was the exact same script as my last life. Back then, I gave up my scholarship to stay in this dusty town. The neighbors praised me as a saint. Mrs. Miller used her “self-sacrificing” act to guilt-trip me into staying. I worked myself to the bone. I farmed their land, paid for Mrs. Miller’s endless medication, and even started a small fish farm to make ends meet. I ruined my health before I was thirty. And for what? When Mrs. Miller finally died of old age, a well-dressed Jack appeared at the door. Beside him stood Brenda, the Mayor’s daughter, and their two children. That’s when I learned the truth. Jack faked his death to be with Brenda. Brenda took my spot at the university. They lived a life of luxury while I rotted in the countryside. I died of a heart attack from the shock before I could even scream. In my past life, I spent every second building a life for others. Thank God for second chances. Seeing I was silent, Mrs. Miller started wailing again. The Mayor opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. “I understand. I can’t leave Mom alone. Let’s handle Jack’s funeral first.” They both nodded eagerly, rushing off to organize the wake. As soon as they left, I sprinted home, grabbed the family documents, and drove straight to the County Vital Records Office. “Officer, my husband passed away. I need to file the death certificate and notify the Social Security Administration immediately.” When the stamped, official death certificate was in my hand, I finally smiled. You want to be dead, Jack? Fine. Now you’re a ghost in the system. Chapter 2 With the paperwork done, I returned to the house. Neighbors had already gathered. In the center of the living room sat a table with the urn and Jack’s black-and-white photo. In our rural community, cremation was rare. People believed in a proper burial. In my past life, I wondered why Mrs. Miller cremated him so quickly without a viewing. The Mayor had claimed Jack wanted to be “modern” and spare us the pain of seeing his mangled body. I had cried at his nobility. Now, I knew it was just a way to hide an empty coffin. “Sarah, where were you? Come help,” Mrs. Miller called out, wiping her dry eyes. “I’m going to bury him in the family plot.” I nodded obediently and played the part of the grieving widow. Since it was a “tragic accident,” the funeral was simple. I wore black, held the urn, and cried my way to the graveyard. The neighbors were generous. A metal box full of cash donations sat under Mrs. Miller’s bed. In my last life, I never touched it. I worked to pay off debts while she secretly mailed that money to Jack in the city. I counted the logbook. Over a thousand dollars. In the late 70s, that was a fortune. To stop her from sending it to that cheater, I came up with a plan. Chapter 3 The next morning, I went to the Mayor’s office. I demanded widow’s benefits and, crucially, the deed to the house. The Mayor looked conflicted. The house technically belonged to Jack, and since Jack was secretly alive and with his daughter Brenda, signing it over to me felt like robbing his own future son-in-law. I turned on the waterworks. “Mayor, Jack is gone. It’s just me and Mom now. If I don’t have the house in my name, what security do I have? I’m young. If the extended family kicks me out later, I’ll have nothing!” “If I don’t get the house, I might as well remarry now while I still have my looks!” The word “remarry” terrified them. They needed me here. They needed a free servant for Mrs. Miller so Jack and Brenda could live guilt-free in the city. If I remarried and left, their plan would collapse. So, I insisted. Mrs. Miller refused at first. “This is the ancestral home!” “Then go live with your daughter, Alice,” I said coldly. “I won’t stay without security.” Alice, Jack’s sister, hated her mother because Mrs. Miller was a misogynist who treated her like dirt. Mrs. Miller knew Alice wouldn’t take her in. “Sarah, she’s your mother-in-law,” the Mayor pressured. “You can’t just leave her. The university enrollment period has passed anyway. You’re stuck here.” “I know,” I sighed. “Just see if the town can help her. I can’t do it alone.” Cornered, Mrs. Miller finally cracked. “Fine. You’re young, it’s hard for you to stay. The house is yours. We’ll sign the deed tomorrow.” I hid my smirk. The next day, with the town council as witnesses, the deed was transferred to my name. It was done. That afternoon, Mrs. Miller went to town with her metal box, presumably to wire money to Jack. I waited. That night, she kicked open my bedroom door, shaking with rage. “You… you declared my son dead?!” Chapter 4 I sat up, feigning innocence. “Yes, Mom. He is dead. I needed the death certificate to apply for widow benefits. It’s standard procedure.” The Mayor had used his connections to get the fake hospital and cremation records. Those documents were exactly what I used to legally erase Jack from existence. “You poisonous woman!” Mrs. Miller clutched her chest, gasping. “Why are you so mad?” I asked, tilting my head. “Shouldn’t a widow handle her husband’s paperwork? Unless… he’s not really dead?” She froze. She couldn’t tell the truth. “I… I should have done it!” she stammered. “You’re too old for the hassle,” I said dismissively. “Go to sleep, Mom.” I pushed her out and locked the door. I knew what happened. She tried to wire money or do something that required Jack’s ID, and was told the SSN was invalid. Deceased. Jack was now a ghost. He couldn’t legally work, rent an apartment, or open a bank account. To fix it, he’d have to come back here, reveal he was alive, and face the fraud charges. I heard Mrs. Miller sobbing in her room and laughed into my pillow. A few days later, Mrs. Miller kept running off to the city. While she was gone, I sold everything. Jack’s bicycle, the sewing machine, the radio—I sold it all to a junk dealer. When Mrs. Miller came home to an empty house, she exploded. “You witch! Are you trying to strip this house bare?” she screamed on the front porch, attracting a crowd. I sat on the steps and wailed louder than her. “I have no choice! Jack is gone, I can’t farm ten acres alone! The benefits didn’t come through! If I don’t sell this junk, we starve!” I pulled out the donation logbook. “Neighbors gave us money for the funeral, but Mom hid it all! She guards it like a dragon! I haven’t seen a dime! She’d rather starve us than spend a penny of it!” The neighbors began to murmur. “There was over a thousand dollars in that box,” one man said. “Mrs. Miller, take it out. Sarah is a good girl, she’s staying to help you.” “That’s my coffin money!” Mrs. Miller shrieked. “She cancelled my son’s existence behind my back! She’s evil!” “Mom,” I cried, “I cancelled it because he’s dead! Why do you act like he’s still alive?” The neighbors looked at her like she was senile. Defeated, Mrs. Miller stormed inside. The next morning, I packed my bag. I took the money I had stashed from selling the furniture (and the cash I swapped out of her metal box earlier) and boarded a train to the city. It was too late for the university scholarship, but I wasn’t done with Brenda.

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My best friend showed up at my family’s mansion, heavily pregnant, demanding to take over my mother’s place. She claimed she was carrying my father’s son. Her story? Five months ago, on my dad’s birthday, they got drunk and ended up in bed together. She pointed a manicured finger at my mom, screaming, “You old hag! You couldn’t give him a son, so do yourself a favor and get out!” Then she turned to me with a triumphant smirk. “And you, you little leech, get lost too. From now on, everything in this house belongs to your baby brother!” Finally, she looked at my dad, batting her eyelashes. “Charlie, baby, stop hiding it. This is a Sterling heir in my belly.” My whole family just stared at each other. Because we knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that the baby in her belly could not possibly be my dad’s. My friend thought we were just making excuses. She threatened to sue my dad for child support and defamation. But when I threw my dad’s ID card in her face, her world crumbled. 1 For their 30th anniversary, my dad took my mom to the dealership to buy a car. Just as he was about to swipe his card for the latest G-Wagon, fully paid, my best friend, Jessica, burst in. She snatched the card from my dad’s hand, shouting, “Charlie! You can’t buy this old woman a car! That money is for our son!” Jessica gestured dramatically towards her protruding belly. My parents and I stared at her, stunned. My dad was the first to react. He frowned, “Jessica, what the hell are you talking about? What does your baby have to do with me?” Hearing my dad deny it, Jessica’s eyes instantly turned red. She pouted, voice trembling, “Charlie, how can you deny it? This baby is yours! Five months ago, on your birthday, you got drunk and… and you took me!” “When I found out I was pregnant, the doctor said it was a boy. I came here to give the Sterling family an heir!” My parents and I were completely baffled. Five months ago, for my dad’s birthday, I did invite Jessica. A lot of my parents’ friends came over. It was a lively party. My dad, being the birthday boy, had a few too many cocktails and passed out early. My mom helped him to the bedroom. Sure, my mom got called away for an emergency at the hospital halfway through the night, and all the guests left, leaving just me and Jessica. But she slept in my room. Before going to bed, I even checked on my dad. He was snoring like a chainsaw, dead to the world. There was no one else in the room. I couldn’t fathom how my best friend could make up such a ridiculous lie. It took me a few seconds to find my voice. “Jess, are you confused? There’s no way that baby is my dad’s.” Jessica shot me a side-eye and pouted. “Confused? That night your dad held me all night calling me ‘baby,’ saying I was younger and prettier than your mom. He even said he wanted to marry me!” “Chloe, denying it won’t change the facts. This is your dad’s seed. It’s your biological brother. From now on, your bestie is going to be your stepmom!” Jessica rambled on, spinning a tale about getting up for water in the middle of the night, stumbling into the wrong room, and my dad refusing to let her leave. Her voice was loud. Everyone in the dealership stopped to watch the drama unfold. “Look at her belly! She’s definitely pregnant.” “Rich old men always go for the young ones. Classic.” “Best friend to stepmom? That’s some reality TV drama right there.” 2 My parents’ faces turned red from the gossip. But my dad kept his cool. “Jessica, because you’re Chloe’s friend, I’m trying to be patient. Please stop spouting nonsense. That child has nothing to do with me.” My mom chimed in, voice steady but cold. “I don’t know why you’re doing this, but I can tell you right now, there is zero chance that baby belongs to Charlie.” Jessica wouldn’t let up. She pointed straight at my mom’s nose. “Shut up, you old hag! Who are you to talk about my baby? You’re just a dried-up hen who couldn’t give him a son. Know your place and step aside!” Then, she whipped out her phone triumphantly. “I have photos, videos, and recordings from that night! I’m going to play them right now so everyone can judge for themselves!” The video was indeed filmed in my parents’ bedroom. The footage was grainy, but you could see my dad hugging Jessica, refusing to let go, mumbling something incoherent. The photos were selfies of them lying in bed together. There was even one of Jessica kissing my dad on the cheek while he slept. And the recording… it was explicit. Jessica moaning, and my dad’s deep voice calling out “Wifey” over and over. The crowd exploded. “Oh my god! She has receipts! It must be true!” “He looks like a decent guy, but he’s a creep behind closed doors!” “Disgusting. Preying on his daughter’s friend? Animal.” Jessica beamed, victorious. She waddled toward my mom, pushing her belly forward. “Well? Evidence is right here. What do you have to say now? I’m telling you, I’m the new mistress of this house!” I couldn’t stand seeing my mom bullied. I stepped in front of her. “Jessica, I don’t know where you faked this trash, but my dad would never do this!” Jessica glared at me. “Chloe Sterling, don’t you dare yell at me! I’m your future mother. I’m carrying your brother. If anything happens to him, you’ll pay!” I laughed out of pure anger. She used to make snide comments about how my mom, a mere housewife, wasn’t good enough for a successful man like my dad. She used to drool over him when he picked me up from school. I never thought much of it. Now I see she was plotting this all along. My dad is handsome and rich, after all. “Bullsh*t brother,” I snapped. “My dad will never be the father of your child. If you have any shame left, leave now!” Jessica didn’t expect me to be so tough. She paused, then threw a tantrum. “Chloe, for the sake of our friendship, I was going to let you stay in the Sterling house. But since you want to insult me, you can get out too! Everything belongs to your brother now!” She finished yelling at me and turned to my dad, putting on a pitiful act. “Charlie, look how they’re bullying me! What if the stress hurts our son?” My dad frowned, avoiding her gaze, sticking to his denial. “I was black-out drunk. I couldn’t have done anything. These videos prove nothing! I said, the kid isn’t mine! Go find the real father!” Even though the “evidence” looked damning, my family knew the truth. We were absolutely certain that baby wasn’t my dad’s. 3 Seeing our united front, the onlookers started whispering theories. “Deepfakes? AI is scary good these days. Face swapping is easy.” “Maybe she hired a lookalike? The family seems genuinely confused.” “First time I’ve seen a whole family deny it so hard. Maybe she’s just a gold digger scamming them?” “Tsk tsk. So young and already trying to be a homewrecker.” Jessica’s face burned hearing the whispers. But she didn’t back down. “This is the Sterling bloodline!” She lunged at my dad, grabbing his arm. “Charlie, you can’t let people talk about us like this! This is your only son!” My dad shook her off. “Let go! I said nothing happened! The kid isn’t mine!” My mom took a deep breath, staring Jessica down. “Jessica, you know whose baby that is. But it is absolutely not Charlie’s.” Jessica shivered under my mom’s gaze but kept shouting, “I know exactly whose it is! It’s Charlie’s!” No matter what we said, Jessica insisted the baby was my dad’s and demanded we leave the house. My dad’s face darkened. “Jessica, if you keep slandering me, I won’t care about Chloe’s friendship anymore!” My mom was trembling with rage. I held her back. I stared at Jessica coldly. “Jessica, defamation is a crime. Do you really want to go to jail?” She flinched at the word “jail,” but then seemed to remember something. She puffed out her chest. “I’m not slandering anyone! I’m stating facts!” I sneered. “Proof?” Jessica smiled like she was waiting for that. “Proof? Oh, I have proof!” She dug into her Hermes bag (which I bought for her) and pulled out a document, slamming it onto the table in front of us. It was a DNA test report from an amniocentesis. It clearly stated that the fetus shared a biological relationship with “Charlie Sterling.” My parents and I exchanged looks, stunned. Jessica saw our shock and smirked. “See? Black and white. This is Charlie’s seed!” The crowd gasped again. “A DNA test? That’s definitive. Guess the old guy really did it.” “I thought she was scamming them. Turns out it’s real…” “Can’t deny science.” Jessica felt the tide turn in her favor. She stroked her belly, looking at my mom provocatively. “Karen, the evidence is irrefutable. Hurry up and divorce Charlie. Stop occupying the nest if you can’t lay eggs!” Then she sneered at me. “Chloe, looks like you lose! The inheritance is all for my son!” Finally, she looked at my dad with lovey-dovey eyes. “Charlie, stop hiding it. This is your legacy. Divorce this old woman so I can marry you properly!” She thought she had won. She thought she was moments away from a life of luxury. Instead, my family answered in unison. “We do not accept this report!” 4 Jessica’s smile froze. “You don’t accept it? On what grounds? It’s right there!” My dad spoke slowly, his voice calm but powerful. “On the grounds that the report is fake.” My mom nodded. “Don’t bring forged documents here to embarrass yourself.” I stayed silent, my expression icy. I stood with my parents. Jessica exploded. Her eyes filled with venom. “Fake? You just say it’s fake and it’s fake?” “Open your eyes! This is from City General Hospital!” It was indeed on hospital letterhead. But we would never accept it. Seeing that we wouldn’t budge, Jessica switched tactics. She started wailing to my dad. “Charlie, that was my first time! If you hadn’t forced me, I wouldn’t have given myself to you! I gave you my most precious gift, and now you won’t take responsibility?” Then to my mom: “Karen, as a woman, you should sympathize! I’m so young and pregnant. My baby needs a father!” Then to me: “Chloe, ask yourself, how good have I been to you? I did everything you asked! Do you have no conscience?” She cried like a tragic heroine. The crowd started to pity her, casting judgmental looks at us. “That man is despicable. Forcing a girl and then denying the baby!” “The mother and daughter are so cold-blooded. Poor girl.” “They won’t even believe a hospital report. Rich people think they can bully anyone.” … They painted us as villains. Jessica cried harder, feeding off the sympathy. But no matter how hard she performed, my dad’s face remained dark. There wasn’t a flicker of recognition for the “son.” My dad’s voice shook with suppressed anger. “Jessica, how many times do I have to say it? That baby is not mine!” My mom added, “Stop dumping your trash on my husband. It’s not his!” I dropped the hammer. “I’m telling you, even if God himself came down, that baby would not be my father’s!” Jessica saw crying wasn’t working. She went nuclear. She wiped her tears and snarled: “Charlie, are you really going to be this heartless? Fine! If you won’t do the right thing, I’ll go to the police and charge you with rape! Let’s see if the law can force you!” “Your family’s good life ends today!” She smirked, thinking she had us cornered. I laughed coldly. I reached into my bag, pulled out my dad’s ID card, and threw it in her face. “Guess who the police are going to arrest first?” The next second, Jessica stared at the ID card, struck dumb. She was completely bewildered.

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