Once again, my dissertation defense was vetoed by my professor fiancé, and the muffled snickers from my classmates confirmed what they all thought: I was useless. I had spent seven years orbiting Rhys Garrison, devoting my life to his world. I had worked myself to the bone, earning a spot in his coveted PhD program. But all my diligence and academic rigor meant nothing compared to a few words of shallow flattery from my stepsister, Sienna, who walked away with the single, coveted post-doc fellowship. I was shaking with indignation, tears streaming down my face. I wanted to storm into his office and demand an explanation, a shred of decency. Instead, I overheard him chatting with a colleague in the hallway. “So you gave the Clarendon fellowship to Sienna Hale. Aren’t you worried your little girlfriend will make a scene?” “A scene? She’s been glued to my side for seven years. She has a touch of arrogance, and it needs to be curbed. She needs to be disciplined before she can be a proper mistress of the Garrison house.” “Besides,” he added, his voice dripping with casual dismissal, “it’s just a fellowship. She’s the older sister; why would she compete with Sienna?” “She’ll get over it in a few days. She always manages to soothe her own hurt.” He knew how much that fellowship meant to me. It wasn’t just a career path; it was my one chance at independence. And yet, he had carelessly obliterated my hope as easily as erasing a mistake on a whiteboard. My aspirations, it seemed, were always secondary to Sienna’s desires. If she wanted something, I was expected to surrender it. Rhys Garrison assumed I would follow the script I always had: cry, rage, and eventually return, licking my wounds. But this time, I ripped my student ID—my last remaining tether to him and Clarendon—from my neck and hurled it at the wall. The plastic badge hit with a hollow, ugly sound. “Fine…” “If Professor Garrison holds me in such low regard, then I, Eliza Hale, will no longer be an offense to your sight!” Rhys didn’t know that my father had already prepared a different path for me. If I couldn’t secure the fellowship, I would be used to serve my stepsister’s interests: a strategic marriage to the powerful Vaughn family, a “healing match” to their comatose heir… 1 I dragged my numb body out of the Humanities building. My family’s black sedan was parked outside. Sienna was leaning against the passenger door, a subtle smirk playing on her lips as she took in my wrecked appearance. “My, my, sister. Seven years trailing after the Professor, and you don’t even get a consolation prize.” “It seems I hold a special place in his heart, after all. A few soft words, and he couldn’t bear to have me as a competitor.” I tried to pull my lips into a smile, but no sound came out. My father, Arthur, waited in the car, his expression dark with irritation. He glanced at my stepmother and sneered. “Rhys Garrison’s devotion to Eliza amounts to nothing. A pity the Hale family wasted so much money on her education.” The remaining students and faculty who hadn’t scattered began to stare, whispering. I felt like a damaged artifact on public display, judged and dissected. My father, embarrassed, quickly rolled up his window. Rhys walked out of the building just then, catching the tail end of their remarks. He didn’t look at me, only offered a slight, curt nod in my father’s direction, and walked away as if nothing was happening. Sienna’s laugh was high-pitched and sharp, driving a shard of ice into my heart. It was in that moment I finally understood. Rhys wasn’t blind; he simply didn’t care. 2 “It’s settled then. Since Eliza has no future at Clarendon, she will prepare to marry into the Vaughn family.” My father’s voice was unnervingly placid as we sat in the living room. The rule had been established months ago, a cold business transaction: whichever daughter failed to secure the Clarendon fellowship would fulfill the betrothal contract with the Vaughns. The guests had left, leaving just our fractured family. My Grams rushed to me, sobbing. “I won’t allow my granddaughter to be sent to that house! Everyone knows the Vaughn boy, Silas, has been a vegetable for two years! Eliza will be ruining her life, burying herself alive!” My father’s face turned crimson. He pointed a shaking finger at me. “Whose fault is that? She has no backbone! She can write a flawless research proposal, but when it counts, she can’t even outmaneuver Sienna!” Grams cried harder. “That Sienna girl is conniving! Who knows what tricks she used? No, I’ll go see Professor Garrison myself. I’ll make him re-examine the papers!” I pulled Grams closer, managing a smile that felt more like a grimace. “Grams, don’t go. Rhys said I was too proud and undisciplined. He vetoed my thesis over a single methodological flaw.” My voice finally broke, a choked sob escaping me. “He did it on purpose. He wanted me to lose to Sienna…” Rhys came from a good family, he was impossibly clean-cut, and his intellect was legendary. At twenty-six, he was the youngest Associate Professor at Clarendon. The first time he taught a public lecture, the hall was packed—half the audience just there to admire him. Who wouldn’t be drawn to that kind of brilliance? I was no exception. I wanted to be worthy of him. I wanted to stand beside him. That desire had made me shed my old, spirited self, burying my head in books, pursuing academic perfection. I nearly killed myself studying for the PhD entrance exam. I thought we had a future. Grams continued to weep, and I stroked her back, trying to comfort her while my own world dissolved. I walked heavily back to my room. Sitting at my desk, I began taking every note I had organized for Rhys, every transcribed article, every meticulously cross-referenced text, and dumping them into a heavy storage box. Then, I carried the box downstairs and set it ablaze in the courtyard incinerator. The firelight reflected on my face, and the flames consumed the last seven years of my foolish devotion. 3 After that night, I was a different person. My world became silent. I rarely spoke, never left the house, and moved with a lifeless apathy. When my father hired an etiquette coach to teach me the rigid protocols of high society, I surprised them all by mastering the lessons with quiet focus. My father was immensely pleased. He privately instructed me that once I was in the Vaughn household, I needed to charm them, put in a good word for the Hale family’s failing business, and, most importantly, lay the groundwork for Sienna’s future. It was laughable. A man willing to sacrifice his own daughter for a scrap of wealth, all while prioritizing the child of his second marriage. They misunderstood me. If I entered the Vaughn house, I would certainly not lift a finger to save this decaying family. But I offered no rebuttal, only a cold, placid nod. That afternoon, my father called me to his study. Passing the entrance hall, I ran straight into Rhys. He was leaving after dropping off some materials. It was the first time I’d seen him in over a month. I paused, offering him a standard curtsy. The movement was textbook, my expression utterly blank—precisely as my coach had taught me. Rhys froze, then his expression softened slightly. “Eliza…” My throat tightened. In seven years, he had rarely called me by my first name alone, insisting on using my full name to uphold “proper academic decorum.” Now, it came so naturally. “Professor Garrison,” I corrected, my voice flat. “By all protocols, you should address me as Ms. Hale.” He smiled, as if I had uttered something charmingly playful. “Such discipline. Very good. But you don’t have to be so formal with me. Once I wrap up this administrative work, I’ll have my parents call on your father to formally propose.” I stared at him, the absurdity of his assumption washing over me. “Propose? You sabotaged my defense, ensured I lost my career, and now you claim you want to marry me?” He took a step closer. I involuntarily recoiled. He chuckled again, a sound as chilling as winter wind. I heard him say, “If you don’t let me smooth out that rebellious streak of yours, how will you ever be fit to be the mistress of the Garrison house?” 4 Grams had watched my silent decline over the last weeks. Seeing me wither, she pleaded with my father to let me leave the house, using the excuse of needing to shop for a wedding trousseau. She insisted my cousin, Liam, accompany me. Liam was three years older than me and worked in finance. He knew my entire story and was heartbroken for me. He had tried to intervene with my father, but Arthur was already too deep into the deal—my birth date had been sent to the Vaughns; the marriage was fixed. Liam did his best to cheer me up. “Eliza, let’s go to the bookshop. We can buy some new professional journals. You love reading those, right?” He watched my face anxiously. “Even if… even if it’s inconvenient later, you can read them for your own sanity.” I finally managed a genuine, albeit faint, smile, and he visibly relaxed. “Don’t worry,” he promised. “I’ll work hard. I’ll be the one to back you up someday.” I was momentarily stunned. Liam and I used to be close. But one time, Rhys saw us shopping together. His face had darkened. Later, he called me into his office and lectured me fiercely. “There are boundaries between men and women, Eliza. You are about to graduate; you must maintain professionalism. You will not only compromise your own future but also invite unnecessary gossip.” His words were cruel, but I was so accustomed to obeying him. Terrified I might actually jeopardize Liam’s career, I began to distance myself. Now, I realized how ridiculous it was. Liam and I were innocent; there was nothing to gossip about. Rhys’s judgment was not the final word. Feeling a strange sense of release, I smiled and picked up a few academic books. Suddenly, a voice cut through the quiet. “Sister?” I looked up. Sienna was standing with Rhys. She held a few books, her soft skirt and his sharp blazer making them look perfectly matched. Rhys’s eyes landed on Liam and me. He gripped the books in his hand, his knuckles white. Sienna looked from me to Liam, her eyes darting between us. She smiled, sickeningly innocent. “What a coincidence! You and Liam are out shopping, too. Did I interrupt something?” I couldn’t think of a response. Just then, Rhys handed his books to Sienna. “You said you needed the latest literature review. This one is excellent.” Sienna’s cheeks flushed. She took the book, letting her fingers brush his cuff. “I was also hoping to look over a few of your recent papers, Professor. Could you lend them to me for my studies?” Rhys gave a brief “Hmm,” then turned and walked away with Sienna in tow. They got into a sleek car and vanished around the corner. I shook my head, laughing hollowly. I was laughing at myself. I had idolized him for seven years, and he had never given me a moment of dedicated, one-on-one mentorship. Sienna, with a few flirtatious words, had broken his rule. It was fine. My heart was finally dead. I arrived home in the late afternoon. Grams said Sienna had brought Rhys back for dinner. My father insisted on drinking with him. Grams was furious. “I always thought he was cold-hearted, but now I see he’s blind and stupid, completely taken in by that… sort of girl.” I comforted Grams, though I felt a flicker of confusion. He’s playing nice with my father? On my way to my room, I passed the garden. Rhys was standing by a stone fountain, watching me, looking as if he had been waiting. “Eliza. Don’t you have anything you want to say to me?” Say what? I stayed silent. In the past, I would have circled him, babbling about the smallest event of my day. Now, I was exhausted. I had nothing left to share with him. What was the point? Should I tell him that my father was financially ruined and only valued his younger, preferred daughter? Should I explain that because of Rhys’s casual favoritism, I had lost my only path to a career and was now being sold off to marry a man in a permanent coma? Seeing my silence, his voice hardened. “You were seen being overly familiar with another man today. And reading those trashy books? Is that how a PhD candidate should behave?” His scolding tone was utterly absurd. Liam and I were strictly proper, while he had been touching and guiding Sienna in public. How had I never seen his colossal arrogance before? Too tired to argue, I merely offered a dismissive half-smile. “Professor Garrison is quite right to scold me. I am tired and must retire. Please enjoy your evening.” He nodded, a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes, and looked about to continue lecturing. Just then, the housekeeper called him for dinner. I gave a perfunctory nod, walked around him, and didn’t look back. 5 Rhys was utterly distracted during dinner. Eliza’s new, quiet demeanor unsettled him. He had wanted to break her rebellious spirit, but the complete absence of her usual fierce energy made him feel strangely hollow. My father, eager to climb the academic social ladder attached to the Garrison name, drank heavily. Rhys was usually aloof, but tonight he was surprisingly genial. By the time Arthur was flushed and stumbling, he could barely follow Rhys’s slurred conversation. He only heard fragments like “formal proposal,” “asking for her hand,” and, since Rhys had personally escorted Sienna home, Arthur immediately assumed Rhys was there to marry Sienna. Without a moment’s thought, he joyously agreed to the marriage. When Rhys returned home, he couldn’t sleep. He had spoken to Arthur, but an unsettling feeling persisted. He was marrying Eliza, who had finally become the compliant woman he desired, yet he felt no joy. He missed her defiance. He shook off the feeling, deciding a swift proposal would solve his anxiety. The next morning, my father triumphantly announced that Rhys Garrison would marry Sienna. My stepmother and Sienna were ecstatic, and Sienna’s eyes welled up with performative joy. “I love Professor Garrison, too!” she chirped. I tightened my hands into fists, listening in silence as my father lectured me. “Whatever ideas you had about the Professor, forget them. He’s marrying your sister, and you are marrying the Vaughn heir. You must stay away from him.” “If I catch you entertaining any dangerous notions or interfering with your sister’s wedding, you will regret it…” Ignoring Sienna’s smug, challenging glare, I curled my lip indifferently. “Father is absolutely correct. I will stay far away from Professor Garrison.” No sooner had I finished speaking than the housekeeper announced that Rhys’s mother and Rhys himself had arrived for the formal proposal. Sienna leaped up excitedly, helping my father to the drawing room to greet them. I followed behind, keeping my head down, trying to disappear. Once both families were seated and the formal betrothal cards were exchanged, Rhys smiled and walked toward me. “Eliza,” he said, his voice soft. “How about we set the wedding for the fall? It won’t be too hot for a wedding dress then.” The room fell instantly silent. My father’s teacup slipped from his hand and shattered on the polished floor.

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To spite the fake heiress, my fiancé and my brother decided to abandon me on a private island on my wedding day. They had a standing bet, wagering on how long it would take me to realize I was being played. My brother, Blake, slammed his expensive Rolex onto the poker table. “I bet a month.” He chuckled, the sound grating. “See, my sister—Willow—she was kidnapped as a child. A bad fever when she was little, and it left her… well, simple. A bit slow on the uptake.” “If Preston hadn’t, by sheer luck, found her and brought her home, she’d have died out there years ago.” My fiancé, Preston, coolly slipped off the vintage watch he’d worn since his twentieth birthday, an old family heirloom. He gave a cold, sharp smile. “I bet three days.” “She’ll be crying on the phone to me, begging me to come and get her.” The room erupted in loud, mocking laughter. Outside the room, my palms were clenched so tight my knuckles were bloodless, stark white against my skin. That night, I dialed the number etched deep in my heart, my voice trembling with wounded confusion. “Rhys, I want to go home. Please, take me home…” 1 “That’s savage, Blake! Aren’t you worried that when Madison realizes, she won’t forgive her dear brother?” The voice came from the billiards room, thick with drunken amusement. Blake laughed, a hollow sound. “I’ve already made arrangements. It’s just a lesson, a little scare, that’s all.” “We’re not leaving her there for good, are we?” “She’s a fool who can barely remember her own name. A few sweet words, and she’ll be fine.” Another man pressed the point. “Preston, you’re ruthless, too!” “The poor simple girl is happily waiting to marry you, and you’re sending her off for an island survival trial.” “Aren’t you afraid she’ll actually run away?” “Run?” His careless, dismissive laugh cut into my ear like a shard of glass. “Where is a fool going to run to?” “Once she figures out what she did wrong, we’ll bring her back, naturally.” The sinister words were swallowed by a chorus of derisive snickers. I clutched my chest, the dull, aching throb inside making me feel faint. I stared at my pale, drawn reflection in the window glass, trying desperately to figure out: What exactly did I do wrong? Was it the time I had a 104-degree fever and didn’t get Madison a cupcake? Or was it when it was raining, and I didn’t kneel down to wipe the mud off Madison’s shoes? But… I didn’t think I’d done anything wrong. Last time, when I donated a full pint of blood for Madison—Blake had promised me he’d never hurt my feelings again. And Preston had said he would be my family from then on. The Matron at the old home used to say that family doesn’t hurt family. It hurt to realize that, apparently, family does hurt family. The realization brought a fresh wave of injustice. My chest felt tight, as if filled with pins and needles. The tears welled up and clung to my lashes. A gentle blink sent them splashing onto the polished floorboards. The pain—a crushing, physical ache—stayed with me right up until dinner. At the large dining table, I instinctively retreated to my usual place in the corner, nervously watching Blake and Preston. They sat on either side of Madison, one laughing and chatting with her, the other carefully plating her food. A bright red chili pepper suddenly landed in my bowl. I turned my head and met a pair of maliciously playful eyes. “Blake said your favorite food is chili peppers. Is that true?” I hesitated, then picked up the pepper and put it in my mouth. The choking heat exploded, instantly searing my nose and throat. I couldn’t stop the violent coughing fit that followed. My face flushed a painful crimson. Blake strode over. When he heard what happened, he smacked the top of my head. “You’re about to be a married woman! Why are you still such a stupid pig?” “Someone gives you something, and you just eat it? You’ll be poisoned one day, and you won’t even know it!” I coughed, the effort tearing at my lungs. The sting in my heart deepened, layered now with raw confusion. Last month, they’d told me to jump into the koi pond to catch a fish. I’d told them I might drown. Blake had just thrown me in. He waited until I was almost sinking before having someone pull me out. Afterward, he’d cursed me for embarrassing him, and kept his face frozen in a cold mask for a whole week. Now, I had done exactly as I was told, eaten what I was given. Why was he still unhappy? I didn’t understand. I suppressed the coughs, but the noise in my ears felt deafening. Madison clattered her chopsticks down, her tone petulant. “Stop coughing! Your germs are everywhere. How is anyone supposed to eat?” Madison’s sharp voice had become a waking nightmare for me. I involuntarily hunched my shoulders and drew my neck into my body. The next second, Blake grabbed me by the arm and hauled me out of the dining room. As we left, I saw Preston still seated, casually talking to someone else. He didn’t spare me a single glance. Blake dumped me in the back garden. “Stand right here. You’re not coming back in until everyone has finished eating!” He walked away without looking back, leaving me alone in the mosquito-infested yard. I waited for what felt like forever. Blake never came back to get me. The sky began to weep small drops of rain. They fell onto the welts left by the mosquito bites, offering a moment of cool, brief relief. The rain lasted for thirty minutes. I stood there, drenched, for all thirty. Just as I felt I might pass out from the chill, a shadow appeared above me—the dark silhouette of an umbrella. I looked up. Preston’s face, framed by the misting rain, seemed terrifying and utterly unfamiliar. I flinched back, confused. The man’s voice was low and eerie. “Look at me. Who am I?” My brain was slow; I sometimes struggled to tell people apart. Preston always enjoyed playing this game—forcing me to fail. Forcing me to engrave his face permanently onto my memory. For the first time, I didn’t answer. Preston’s cold, biting voice dropped heavily onto my head. “Fine. That’s just great.” “It’s been five years, and you still can’t remember my face.” “Willow, what makes you any different from a stray you pick up off the street? An ingrate.” I shrank back, then, surprisingly, looked up and stared at him without fear. I stood up, pushed past him, and ran back into the house, racing to my room. I didn’t clean up. I just curled up inside the bed, soaked, pulling the covers tight around me. The laughter and noise from downstairs continued until past midnight. I woke up burning hot, the fever spiking. I grabbed my phone and dialed the number etched in my memory. As soon as the call connected, I couldn’t stop the sobs building in my throat. “Rhys… they… they’re all bullying me…” “I want to go home! Please, hurry, take me home!!” Rhys was my best friend from The Sunrise Home. Before he was adopted, he made me promise to memorize his number. If I ever needed him, I had to call. Silence stretched on the other end. Then, a man’s voice, thick with suppressed emotion, came through. “W-Willow? Is that really you?” “It’s me, Rhys. I want to go home…” “Okay. I’ll come get you. Just please, stop crying, alright?” I nodded, the tears pouring out even faster. Rhys, just like when we were children, began to hum a soft, familiar lullaby on the other end of the line, soothing me to sleep. I closed my eyes, the sound of my own shaky breathing gradually softening. I fell asleep, dreaming. I dreamed that in three days, I successfully left the Sayer house. I was back at the Home. Back with the Matron. I was holding Rhys’s hand again, telling him how much I missed him. Later that night, my fever was still raging. Through my delirium, I heard Blake complaining. “The bet’s on the line. Why did she have to spike a fever right now? What if she gets even stupider?” Madison whined. “Just give her a few more shots to bring the fever down.” “I don’t care. In three days, you have to dump her on that island. I need my satisfaction!” A sharp sting in my arm—an injection—traveled straight to my heart. Blake sighed, a sound of resigned compromise. “Fine, fine, your highness. Anything you want.” I kept my eyes closed. My chest felt so heavy, so tight, I could barely breathe. We were both his sisters. Why did Blake treat me like this? Was I not obedient enough? But the Matron had always said I was the most obedient child at the Home. When I finally woke up, Blake and Madison were gone. Mrs. Bell, the family caretaker, sat by my bed, holding a bowl of warm broth. I recalled Blake’s sickeningly indulgent tone with Madison and pursed my lips. “Mrs. Bell, am I really stupid?” Mrs. Bell’s palm was wide and comforting as she stroked my hair. Her voice was gentle. “No, Miss Willow. You’re not stupid. You are the kindest, most obedient girl I have ever known.” I nodded hard, tears splashing into the bowl of broth. I suddenly missed the Matron terribly. I missed everything about The Sunrise Home. I wished Rhys would come right now and take me away, never to return. After finishing the broth, I lay back down to sleep. When I woke again, the person by my bed was Preston. I shot up, scrambling back into the corner of the bed. Ever since I overheard his words in the billiards room, I felt a tremor of fear whenever I saw him. Seeing my reaction, his face darkened slightly. “You don’t want me here that much?” I pressed my lips together tightly. Normally, I was always thrilled when Preston came to see me. He was the one who brought me back to the Sayer house. He was the one who initially stepped in when Madison bullied me. But somewhere along the way, he had changed. He had become utterly unrecognizable… His expression turned colder. He gestured for me to approach. “Come here.” I didn’t move. He repeated the command. “Don’t make me say it twice!” Slowly, reluctantly, I slid closer. As soon as I was within reach, he grabbed the back of my head and crushed his mouth to mine. It was a harsh, punitive bite rather than a kiss. I shoved him away, my eyes wide with terror. Preston simply smirked. “Why the sudden shyness? It’s not like we haven’t kissed before.” His tone was perfectly normal, yet a chill ran down my spine. Preston used to hold me gently. He had always said we could only kiss if he loved me, and I loved him. But he had just called me a fool and said he didn’t like me. Why would he kiss me now? I retreated to the corner again, frantically wiping the blood from my lips, glaring at him. “You’re mean!” His expression instantly snapped to icy rage. He lunged forward to grab me. I tried to dodge, but he caught my wrist and yanked me back against his chest. Just as I prepared to bite his arm with all my might, the guest room door opened. Madison stood in the doorway, her eyes suspiciously red-rimmed. Instantly, Preston violently shoved me away. I hit the corner of the wall, the impact shaking me, a cold dread flooding my heart. Madison turned and ran. Preston sprinted after her. He was moving so fast that he knocked a small clay figure off the dresser. It was a figure Preston had personally molded five years ago to help me remember his face. I lunged forward, but I was too late. The sound of the clay figure shattering echoed loudly in my ears. It felt exactly like the time five years ago when Preston had scolded me. “Little fool, this figure looks just like me. If you break it, I’ll never talk to you again.” I picked up the mud doll, now broken cleanly in half. Tears streamed down my face. For the first time, I felt truly stupid. Truly, unbearably stupid. I couldn’t even hold onto this fragile, fleeting trace of love. I clutched the broken clay in my hands and ran out barefoot, desperate to find someone who could fix it. I held onto a sliver of hope—if the figure could be mended, maybe the Preston from five years ago could come back. That hope shattered the moment I saw Preston holding Madison close, wrapping his arms around her. In that instant, I finally understood. The Preston from five years ago wasn’t coming back. He was truly gone. And there was one less person in the world who loved me. A voice, sneering, reached my ears. “What else do you do all day besides cry?” I turned and looked at Blake. His face was malicious as he glanced down at the two embracing figures. “Quite the match, aren’t they?” “I honestly don’t understand. What does a fool like you have over Madi?” “Maybe simpletons really do get all the luck?” I didn’t speak. A bone-deep coldness spread from my feet through my whole body. Blake frowned, clearly dissatisfied with my silence. “What’s the matter, did the fever make you mute?” His gaze flicked down to the clay figure in my arms, and his eyes lit up with mean interest. “Is that supposed to be Preston? It’s so ugly. You actually thought of giving that to him?” He swung his hand and smacked the figure out of my grasp. This time, it shattered completely. It was beyond repair. I crouched down, looked at the fragmented face, and then looked up at Blake. “Blake, am I really that detestable?” It was the first time I hadn’t called him ‘Brother.’ He’d said himself that he was ashamed to have a sister like me. Now, however, Blake frowned tightly. “What did you call me? Did the fever fry your brain again?” He vented his frustration by slamming his foot down hard on my hand. The small clay shards dug into my palm, and blood immediately welled up. I bit my lip, pushed him away with all my strength, and ran toward the stairs. I ran fast, feeling like I was flying. As I passed Madison and Preston, I didn’t spare them a glance. Preston released Madison and yelled after me. “Willow! Where are you going? Stop!” I didn’t stop. The drops of blood from my palm splattered a steady, light pattern onto the floor. Outside, the morning light was dazzling. In a daze, I thought I saw the Matron. She held her arms open, her expression gentle and sacred. “Willow, let’s go home.” “Matron!” I lunged toward the vision, only to slam hard onto the ground. The pain brought me back to reality. There was nothing there. No one loved me. Preston carried me back to the bedroom and threw me onto the bed. “I want to go home! I want to go home!” I screamed, trying to reach for my phone to call Rhys and tell him to come now. Preston snatched the phone away, his voice laced with impatience. “Stop this noise. This is your home.” No. My home was The Sunrise Home. This place was not my home! Blake stood nearby, sneering. “She was already simple. Now she’s just completely lost it.” Madison hid behind him, acting terrified. “Brother, does she have a psychiatric condition?” Blake stroked her hair. “Don’t worry. Brother will protect you.” I glared at all of them, my gaze finally settling on Madison. Her expression was mocking as she mouthed the word: “Idiot.” The last of my control snapped. I lunged forward like a wild animal, trying to scratch and bite Madison. Before I could reach her, Preston shoved me with such force that I hit the corner of the nightstand, leaving me dizzy and disoriented. Madison was so startled she fainted. Blake picked her up, tossing a final, vicious threat my way. “I’ll deal with you later!” Preston looked at me with pure, chilling disdain. “Willow, you disappoint me greatly.” “Being simple is not an excuse to randomly attack people.” I hugged myself tightly, wrapping my arms around my chest, as if that could shield me from any more hurt. Mrs. Bell rushed in after hearing the commotion to clean up the mess. She gently peeled my arms away from myself and tended to my scraped knees. “Miss Willow, tell me if it hurts.” I pointed to my heart. “Here. It hurts so much, so much…” Mrs. Bell’s eyes were red-rimmed, and she sighed. I grabbed her arm, pleading. “Mrs. Bell, I want to go home. I want to go back to the Home…” Mrs. Bell sighed again, heavier this time. “Miss Willow, have you forgotten again?” “The Home was torn down three years ago. And the Matron who took care of you… she passed away from stomach cancer five years ago…” Yes. The Matron was dead. The memory started to surface from the murky depths of my mind. I remembered the Matron saying she would become a star in the sky to keep watch over me. I remembered Preston swearing to her, before he took me to the Sayer house. “From now on, Willow is my life.” I remembered the Matron lying in the coffin, impossible to wake up, no matter how hard I cried. I had no Matron anymore. I had no home. Blake came back the next day. He was still fuming. He threw open a suitcase and began frantically stuffing my usual items inside—my favorite cup, my pajamas, a change of clothes, and my favorite snacks… “Don’t think for a minute that you attacking Madi is over.” “Get out of here before she wakes up. You’re going to Preston’s house!” “You’re not allowed back until she forgives you, understood?” As he spoke, his eyes fell on the family photograph on my nightstand. It was taken right after I came home. Madison stood in the center, glowering. Blake was beside her, bent over, trying to cheer her up. I, the main subject, was huddled in the corner, managing a tentative, nervous smile. He hesitated, then stuffed the photo into the suitcase. His phone rang. He walked out onto the balcony to take the call. I took the photograph out and dropped it into the trash can. I wasn’t coming back anyway. There was no point in taking it with me. From a distance, I heard Blake’s cold laugh. “I’ve already given the word. This time, she needs to be locked up for at least a month. She’ll come home once she’s learned her lesson.” “Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.” He didn’t need to go through all this trouble. He wouldn’t be seeing me again, ever. He hung up, returned to the room, grabbed the suitcase, and pulled me downstairs. I thought for a moment, then struggled free of Blake’s grip and ran back into the bedroom. I took out a knife-carved portrait and held it out to him. He didn’t take it, glancing at it and dismissing it instantly. “What is this? It’s ugly.” I paused. “It’s a birthday present.” A month ago, I’d asked Blake what he wanted for his birthday. He’d asked for a knife-carved portrait of himself. Everyone knew he was purposefully making an impossible demand. But my slow brain didn’t realize. I took a small knife and worked quietly for a month, leaving countless tiny cuts on my hands. I hadn’t planned on giving it to him. But this was the last time I would ever give him a birthday gift. My reminder finally jogged his memory. He reverted to his usual disparaging tone. “You actually carved it? How could you be so foolish?” As soon as he spoke, I mimicked his own casual cruelty and threw the carving into the trash can. The next second, he pulled the carving out of the bin, roaring in anger. “What are you doing now? Are you going crazy?” “I didn’t say I didn’t want it!” I stared at Blake, utterly bewildered. He cleared his throat, placed the carving on the desk, and dragged me toward the door. “Let’s go. Stop cluttering up the house!” He didn’t stop lecturing, even at the doorway. “Be obedient when you get there, you hear me? Don’t humiliate me again!” “If anyone bothers you, call me. Did you hear that?” I just thought he sounded extraordinarily loud and irritating today, making my eardrums ache. The car that came to pick me up arrived astonishingly fast. So fast that Blake looked surprised. “Didn’t they say they were still half an hour away?” He didn’t dwell on it. He simply opened the car door, shoved me and the suitcase inside. I met Rhys’s gaze in the rearview mirror. We hadn’t seen each other in years. He only showed a pair of beautiful eyes above his mask. But I recognized him instantly. Rhys. He had come to take me home.

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“If you just gave him the cold shoulder for once—let him feel a little fear of loss—you’d see if he ever dared to pull this kind of thing again.” So, this time, I didn’t back down. A week later, he initiated the ceasefire. A bouquet of flowers, dinner out, and a murmured apology. I thought this was proof of his change. Instead, I accidentally saw the text message from her. She said: Go apologize to Sierra. Just mind me. 1 Jax was on the phone when I stepped out of the bathroom. “Yeah, don’t worry, I know,” he said. The call ended. The smile hadn’t quite faded from his face yet, and his mood was clearly brighter, lighter than when he first arrived at my apartment. The motion of toweling my hair froze. My stomach dropped. It’s impossible not to notice when you’ve known someone too well. Suspicion only needs a single sentence to bloom. It was a perfectly innocuous sentence. But his tone was too docile. It was like watching a vicious little street dog suddenly have its fur smoothed down by a loving hand. It wasn’t him. I couldn’t help but ask, “Who was that?” “What?” “Who were you talking to?” The lightness in Jax’s expression immediately curdled. “No one.” He tried to pivot. “You must be starving! Go blow-dry your hair, and I’ll get started on dinner.” With that, he turned and walked into the kitchen. His phone sat on the coffee table. A monumental temptation. I gave in. I picked it up. The first thing I checked was the call log. The most recent name: Dahlia. I froze. Dahlia? Why would it be Dahlia? “What are you doing?” Jax’s voice sliced through the silence. I looked up. Our eyes met, and his face was stormy, his gaze arctic. He advanced toward me, step by step. “What are you trying to find out?” “Sierra, I’m asking you, what is it you want to check?” He held out his own phone, brandishing it like a weapon. “Checking who I was talking to? Fine. It was Dahlia. And? Sierra, do I need to report every single conversation I have? Do I need to catalog every call I make, every text I send, and get your explicit permission?” He straightened up, throwing the phone onto the sofa. His voice was cold. “Go ahead. Check! I dare you!” Jax was furious. There was a thin, sharp edge of disappointment laced through the anger. His violent reaction stunned me into silence. My thoughts were a muddy mess until the silence stretched between us, and the tension slowly solidified. Why did I check his phone? Because of his rare, misplaced gentleness. Because of that unnatural softness. It wasn’t Jax’s nature. He was always a total jerk, swaggering like he owned the place, even when he spoke to me. He wouldn’t use soft words. He wouldn’t speak kindly. My friends never understood it. “How do you put up with him?” I used to just smile. “Because I understand him.” I knew the exact inflection that meant he realized he was wrong. I recognized the subtle shift in his eyes that signaled he was ready to surrender. I didn’t need him to actually say the words; I just knew. So, when he adopted that soft, docile tone for someone else—how could I not feel that cold prickle of doubt? Meeting Jax’s frigid glare, I picked up his phone again. I ignored his sharp, dismissive scoff and tapped on their recent conversation. The most recent exchange was from early that morning. You still haven’t made up with Sierra? Nope. What is your problem? I told you to apologize ages ago. Stay out of it. Jax, go apologize. Now. You don’t get it! Dahlia, she’s not like you. Of course she’s not like me. That’s why you love her and not me, right? Jax hadn’t replied to that last text. After three minutes of silence, Dahlia had sent two more. Go apologize to Sierra. Jax, mind me! 2 My friends always told me, “You’re too good to Jax. You can’t be like that with men. They’ll take advantage and stop cherishing you.” I didn’t take them seriously at first. I always believed that when two people are together, you shouldn’t keep score of who gives more or who gives less. As long as the relationship was stable, as long as the conflict was resolved, who cared who backed down first? Until a month ago. I went to a spa with my co-workers that day. I’d texted Jax before I left. He hadn’t replied. A half-hour later, he burst into our private room. His face was pure frost. He gestured at the three masseuses. “Everyone out! Now!” Then he turned to me. “You’re not leaving?” It was mortifying, embarrassing. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. My co-workers were confused. “Is that your fiancé? He’s just going to disrespect you like that?” Yes, I was confused, too. “I never disrespect you in front of your friends. Why would you humiliate me like this?” He sneered. “You think you deserve respect? Getting a male masseur, Sierra? You’re getting pretty adventurous, aren’t you!” “I already explained to you. They were out of female masseuses.” “And it just so happened that they ran out right before your appointment?” “Yes, it just so happened they ran out right before my appointment!” “And you expect me to believe that?” A friend later tried to mollify me. “He just cares about you. Men, you know—it’s the possessiveness!” But I knew that wasn’t it. Over the last six months, Jax’s gaze had become increasingly critical. A simple phrase, a harmless action—any of it could set him off. He started flying into rages more and more frequently. And I was the one who had to repeatedly swallow my pride and make amends. I was exhausted. I was done. So this time, after our latest fight, I moved out of the new place and went back to my own apartment. What had this latest fight been about? A stakeout. The wife of Jax’s oldest friend had called me. She was worried—her husband was spending every night at a specific bar, and she asked me to go with her to confront him. Her distress was real, and I was genuinely worried for her, so I went. Her husband was there. My fiancé was there, too. The man who had just told me a half-hour ago that he was stuck at work, burning the midnight oil on a project, was sitting in a booth, accepting a shot of liquor from a woman. I didn’t yell. I didn’t even get to yell. He blew up first. He launched into a tirade. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Sierra, can’t you go a single day without some kind of drama? It’s bad enough you wreck your own life, but now you’re bringing other people into it? Do you know how much you look like a complete psycho when you get these insane ideas in your head?” Under the dim bar lights, I just stared at him for a long time. I didn’t say a word. I turned and walked away. Even in that moment, I was still careful—trying not to make a scene in public, trying not to humiliate him in front of his friends. But I was through with his baseless rages. I’d been out of our new apartment for a week. We’d been in a cold war for a week. He hadn’t sent a single text or made a single call. Until today. He just showed up. He was holding a bouquet of flowers, and he said, “Stop being mad. It was my fault.” He’d bought a cart full of my favorite groceries and said he was cooking tonight. Jax is a good cook. But outside of holidays and friends’ parties, he never cooks. Watching his back as he stood at my counter, deveining shrimp, the frantic anxiety of the past week finally began to subside. It was always this simple. If he just backed down once, everything else could be forgiven. We’d been together for almost ten years. What argument was really bigger than that? But now, I had to confront the truth: you’re not here because you wanted to be. You’re here because someone else told you to be. Mind me? When has Jax ever listened to anyone? 3 “Remember that accident downtown last winter? The red truck that was blocking the entire pedestrian crossing? You physically pushed it with your car. The alarm blared, the crowd watched, and I was screaming. I was begging, ‘Jax, can you just listen to me for once?’ What did you say to me?” “What are you getting at?” “You said, ‘Not a chance.’” Jax’s face was grim. He had always been this way—volatile, explosive, igniting at the slightest spark. That day, I was furious. I tried to stop him at every turn. “Don’t do this. I’ll call for a tow truck. Let someone else move it.” He wouldn’t listen. He just pushed forward, inch by inch. “Jax, stop it!” He floored the accelerator. More onlookers were gathering. People were calling the police. I grabbed his arm, my eyes welling up. “Will you just listen to me for once? Please?” His expression was blank. “No way.” That is the kind of man he is. And yet Dahlia sent a single text: “Jax, mind me.” And he dropped everything and came to apologize. 4 I couldn’t help but ask, “If Dahlia hadn’t told you to be obedient, would you have even shown up here tonight?” Jax inhaled sharply, clenching his fists. “Sierra, stop looking for a problem where there isn’t one!” “So, Dahlia tells you to mind her, and you do, is that it?” “Sierra, enough!” “Is that it?!” “Yes! So what?!” Jax swept a water glass off the table with a crash. He glared at me, his eyes burning as if he wanted to tear me apart. “Do you have to assume the worst? You think I’m sleeping with Dahlia? You think I’d cheat on you, and then she’d order me to come apologize to you? If you can’t think straight, then keep your mouth shut! You’re getting paranoid, Sierra. I don’t think you even want this marriage anymore!” “Then don’t marry me!” “What did you say?” I slowly stood up, my hands trembling from the rush of emotion. “I said, let’s not get married. Let’s break up.” Jax lunged forward, forcing me to stumble backward. He ground the words out. “Say that again.” “I said—” “Shut up!” Jax was breathing hard, and he kicked the low footstool across the room. I flinched, biting down hard to suppress the scream that was desperate to break free. “Sierra,” Jax hissed, “don’t you dare regret this.” He stormed out, the front door slamming so hard the walls vibrated. The apartment was a disaster. I sank onto the floor and finally let out the tight, choked sobs I’d been holding in. 5 I was the one who pursued Jax. In high school, he was the coolest guy in the whole grade. When I confessed to him, he snatched the ID tag off my uniform. “Sierra? Sorry, but I don’t date slackers.” That single sentence from him. For an entire year, I worked myself to the bone and managed to get into a school that had been completely out of my league. I tracked him down again. “Can you date me now?” He looked at me with a half-smile, casually spinning a pen between his fingers. “Date you? Fine. Let’s date.” Dating Jax was exhausting. His terrible temper could resurrect the dead. Initially, I thought he didn’t like me that much—that I was just the girl who’d chased him, and he happened to be bored enough to say yes. I let that slip during a fight once. Jax’s eyes went red. “There were hundreds of kids in that grade. Why the hell do you think I even knew you were a slacker? Are you an idiot, Sierra? You think I’d date every random person who asked me out?” Jax buried his affection deep. You had to chip away at it, slowly, to find it. I used to enjoy that process, the thrill of the discovery. But slowly, it wore me down. I was spent. I decided, That’s enough. It was three days after I broke up with Jax. My friend Bella called and invited me out for her birthday dinner. “Is Jax going? If he’s there, I’m not coming. We broke up.” “What? Are you guys fighting again?” “No fighting. This time it’s for real.” “Fine, fine! He’s busy tonight, so don’t be dramatic. You have to come, or I’ll be mad.” Bella had been completely certain Jax wouldn’t be there. But when I arrived, not only was Jax in the private room, but Dahlia was, too. Dahlia was sitting in the corner of the booth. Jax was leaning over, handing her a yogurt smoothie. Dahlia looked up and gave him a soft, gentle smile. Jax saw me, but he only glanced over before turning his attention back. I wanted to leave immediately, but Bella grabbed my arm. “Don’t start anything. I’m the birthday girl. Can’t you at least respect me?” The room was full of our lifelong friends. I didn’t want to be the one to ruin the atmosphere, so I stayed. I sat near the door and became the karaoke star of the night. I accepted every drink my friends offered. I saw their hesitant glances, but I didn’t say anything extra. Toward the end of the night, things got inexplicably rowdy, and someone started calling for a couples’ toast—the classic, ridiculous intertwined-arms drink. The two other couples in the room did it, laughing. That left Jax and me. People were pushing him, others were pulling me, saying we had to do it. Bella tried to mediate. “Come on, Sierra, meet him halfway. The path is clear for you guys to make up. Just pick up your glass first, and he’ll come right over.” I paused. I suddenly understood. My friends clearly thought our breakup was just another dramatic fit. They always said, “We’re so over you two. You fight like you’re going to kill each other, and the next day, you’re back to being inseparable.” Like the boy who cried wolf, the more I cried breakup, the less anyone believed me. I looked across the room at Jax. He was staring down, his face expressionless. Someone grabbed his arm to pull him up, and he sharply pulled away. He gave a soft tsk, full of irritation. He turned his head—the side facing Dahlia. I watched Dahlia tilt her chin up. I could read her lips. She mouthed: “Go.” Two seconds of absolute stillness, and then Jax picked up the glass on the table and stood up sharply. He walked toward me, staring at me with a look of pure, unadulterated dread. It was as if this were the final drink before his execution. I laughed. Suddenly, I felt completely drained. Empty. I walked past Jax’s outstretched hand, raised my glass, and threw my head back, draining the liquor in one go. “You guys have fun. I’m out.” Jax’s face instantly hardened. He glared at me, a truly savage look. I turned and pushed the door open. The moment the door shut behind me, I heard the shattering sound of a glass breaking against the floor. 6 Knowing Jax, he wouldn’t be going home anytime soon. I decided to go to the new apartment. The one he’d bought for us, for the wedding. Nine years, from eighteen to twenty-seven. We were finally going to get married. And then we stalled at the finish line. I’d left in a hurry, so I didn’t take much. Clothes, some of my sketches—all still there. It took me an hour to pack two huge suitcases. I called a ride-share and started toward the door. Just as I got to the frame, the front door swung inward. The first thing I heard was Dahlia’s voice. “Slow down. I told you not to drink so fast. You need to pace yourself.” Then I saw Jax. His arm was draped heavily over Dahlia’s shoulder, and she had an arm tightly looped around his waist. They were practically molded together. If this was an accident, they were certainly making it look like an affair. “Sierra!” When she saw me, Dahlia’s steps stopped dead. Her eyes instinctively darted away. “I—Jax drank too much. I was just helping him get home. Now that I’ve delivered him safely to you, I can go.” “No, no, please stay. You clearly have this under control. I need to leave.” “But—” “What are you holding?” Jax suddenly broke in. “My suitcases. My things. I’m taking some of it now, and I’ll come get the rest later.” “Sierra, don’t do this. Jax knows he messed up!” Dahlia tried to step forward, but Jax grabbed her wrist. “Let her go.” Dahlia tugged on his hand, her face a mask of panic. “Jax, stop fighting! Apologize to Sierra!” “I said, let her go!” “Jax!” I watched their struggle with a detached calm. It was all utterly meaningless now. I reached the door and stopped. “You said I wasn’t like Dahlia. Jax, I’m genuinely curious. What exactly was the difference?”

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Three days into my business trip in Dubai, the four-hundred-thousand-dollar smart mattress we’d just bought sent a chilling notification: it had registered 99 intense vibrations. I stared at the screen, my brows knitted into a tight knot. My husband, Dominic, was lecturing halfway across the world in Australia. The house was supposed to be empty. As doubt began to coil in my stomach, the app flashed again. The mattress had registered 199 forceful impacts and had automatically initiated the “Intimate Contact” Mode for protection. I was reaching for the phone to call Dom when his new post popped up on my social feed. [Another day in Australia missing my wife. Busy and fulfilling.] I looked at the photo, tagged with a Sydney location, and absently double-tapped it. Then I booked the first flight back to the States. 1 My first instinct was that we’d been robbed and, insult added to injury, the thief had decided to rest on my bed. The thought made my skin crawl with disgust. But when I meticulously cross-referenced the ‘Intimate Contact’ timestamps with the interior security footage, I found nothing. Not a single trace of an intruder. The antiques, the artwork, the limited-edition handbags—everything was accounted for. The house was immaculate, with no signs of disruption. Dom’s favorite bespoke suits and his Rimowa luggage were gone; he was definitely not home. Could the smart mattress just be malfunctioning? Still uneasy, I decided to check the building’s main entrance surveillance with the property manager. As I walked out, I bumped into Maria, the cleaning woman who looked after our floor. “Ms. Ashford, you’re back from your trip? Let me come in and clean up a little for you.” she said politely. “That would be a help, Maria. Thank you.” Maria was a single mother, working hard to put her daughter through college. I knew her situation and often helped them out. Out of gratitude, she insisted on cleaning our house once a week, refusing any payment. I watched her start mopping the marble in the living room and casually asked, “Maria, have you seen any strangers coming in or out of our unit the last few days?” “No, I haven’t, honey. Not since the Professor left for his lecture… Did something happen?” Seeing her sudden anxious expression, I managed a soft laugh. “No, nothing at all. Just curious.” Before she left, I pressed the expensive hand cream I’d brought back from Dubai into her hand. The weather was turning cold, and with all the manual labor she did, I knew she’d use it. If no one had come in, was it truly just a faulty mattress? But this four-hundred-thousand-dollar system had only been installed three months ago. If there were a hardware issue, the manufacturer would have been alerted immediately and contacted me for an on-site repair… I started cleaning the mattress with a heavy-duty sanitizer, my mind still reeling over the bizarre incident, when I heard the chime of the smart lock unlocking. A shiver of genuine fear ran down my spine. Before I could hide, a shadow lunged forward, pressing me onto the bed. “Surprise!” It was Dominic. Shaken, I pushed him back slightly. “I thought your teaching commitment in Australia was for a full week. Why are you back early?” “Because I missed you, of course.” He pressed a light kiss to my forehead. “No, seriously, my college needed me back right away to lead a major grant proposal. Had to ditch the outback early.” The look in his eyes was so profoundly sincere that the creeping suspicion of infidelity began to waver. Dominic was the youngest, most celebrated professor at his university—a classic heartthrob. I’d heard the whispers and the rumors, but every time I looked into his deep, earnest eyes, the doubt evaporated. “But you came back early too, darling.” He gently stroked my cheek. “I got a notification in Dubai that the mattress was… vibrating wildly.” “No one was home, so I was worried. I flew back to check.” Dominic pulled me into his chest. “Oh, that was just a minor tech glitch. An engineer was remotely calibrating the system from the backend.” His voice was low and reassuring. “I didn’t want to bother you while you were working.” He even pulled up a technician’s log on his phone. I let out a long breath, a genuine smile finally easing my face. But later, after dinner, when I turned on the living room TV, intending to stream a sophisticated drama, the playback history showed 20 episodes of Two and a Half Men. 2 The silence stretched for a long, heavy moment. Finally, I managed to ask Dominic, “Did you watch TV?” “No, honey. You must have hit the remote by accident.” That light, dismissive response pulled the knot in my heart dangerously tight. Twenty episodes of a syndicated sitcom meant that the stranger had been in my house for at least ten hours. Why was Dominic lying to me? And how could anyone stay for ten hours without showing up in any of the security footage? Was I going crazy? Was it a ghost? I couldn’t stand the uncertainty for another minute. I rushed to the property office and demanded the head of security pull up the external hallway footage. Sitting in front of the monitors, I watched frame by painful frame. Still nothing. No one entered our unit. Was this some horror movie scenario where the person had always been hiding inside? I went back another month in the recordings, watching until my eyes were burning red, but there was no anomaly. I stumbled back to the house, exhausted and defeated. Dom was standing there, holding a massive bouquet of long-stemmed roses. “Happy Anniversary, my beautiful love. The only woman I will ever adore.” I froze. In all the chaos, I had completely forgotten our anniversary. He then mysteriously pulled a key fob out of the flowers and pressed it into my palm. “It’s a brand-new Lamborghini Huracán—custom Vivid Violet paint. I reserved it three months ago.” His eyes were glistening. “No matter what storms come, I will always be right here, next to you.” His words, so tender and devoted, made my eyes sting. Leaning against his warm chest, I was overwhelmed by self-reproach. My husband clearly loved me, treasured me, and here I was, doubting him and chasing shadows. I was the one who owed him an apology. The Two and a Half Men binge was likely just a bizarre error, maybe the remote was jammed in the sofa cushions and the TV kept playing in the background while I was asleep. “Go on, love. I’ve hidden a little surprise inside. Take it for a test drive.” A faint, cloying scent—not Dom’s usual cologne—filled the car. Then, the car’s navigation system came to life, and Dom’s magnetic, warm voice filled the cabin. “Hello, Baby Doll, remember to buckle up. No matter the road ahead, your husband will always be with you.” His tone was so intimate and thoughtful that my eyes welled up again. “Navigate to The Plaza.” I hadn’t bought Dominic a gift for our anniversary, so I immediately decided to buy him an expensive watch. “Affirmative, Baby Doll. I’ll be your co-pilot all the way.” “Heads up, coming up on The Maxwell Manor Steakhouse, the site of our very first date.” Dominic’s voice continued, but I froze, gripping the steering wheel. I hate steak. And our first date was definitely not at The Maxwell Manor Steakhouse. It was a tiny, obscure jazz club downtown. Also, Dominic had never called me “Baby Doll.” Never. Was the system glitching again? “When was the last time this vehicle was driven?” I asked the navigation system. “Baby Doll, the last trip was two days ago. Destination: The Galleria.” I immediately started tearing the car apart. Sure enough. Deep in the seam of the back seat, I found a pair of worn, torn stockings. They were stained. In the small, hidden compartment of the console were a handful of ultra-thin condoms and, underneath them, a bottle of lubricant and a small, electronic toy. 3 Dominic was cheating. And this car, this gift, was a hand-me-down, a soiled trophy he was trying to pass off as a grand gesture. I was shaking uncontrollably. Ten years. A decade of my prime, given entirely to him. I had placed him above everything, loved him with every fiber of my being, and he had taken that love and ground it into the dirt with his betrayal. The vows he made at our wedding—a lifetime of monogamy—now felt sickeningly, obscenely ironic. I broke down and sobbed, a visceral, gut-wrenching grief that rattled the car. Once I regained some composure, I called a friend, an attorney who knew people, and arranged for the stockings and the toy to be sent immediately for forensic testing. I refused to believe I would find zero evidence. Unless Dom’s mistress truly was a ghost. Back home, I walked in silently. Dom rushed forward, embracing me with a forced passion. “Love, your eyes are red. Who upset you?” I pushed him away, giving him a flat, “I’m exhausted.” He reached for my hand again. “It’s been so long since we were intimate, darling.” Ever since Dom claimed to develop a severe stress disorder, we hadn’t slept together. I used to adore his gentle, insistent touch, but now the sight of him only filled me with revulsion. To avoid raising suspicion, I forced a small, tired smile. “It was a sixteen-hour flight. I just need to sleep separately tonight. Next time.” Dominic pouted for a second, then his face quickly transformed into a look of undeniable relief. He just wished me a quick “Good night.” The next day, I drove the Lamborghini back to my company headquarters. After handing the routine morning meeting over to my VP, I logged into the home media player’s backend. The playback length for Two and a Half Men had increased. He was already back at it. He couldn’t wait. I floored the accelerator the entire way back to the complex. Riding the elevator up, I fought to keep my rage bottled. Today, I was going to catch them in the act. I twisted the smart lock. Dominic was in the living room, trying on a new bespoke suit. He looked genuinely startled to see me. “Honey, why are you home?” I didn’t answer. I ripped the house apart, turning over cushions and emptying the waste bins. I even dumped out the kitchen trash. Nothing. “Did you lose something? Let me help you look,” he asked, confusion etched across his face. He looked so convincingly bewildered that I almost doubted myself again. I suppressed my rising anger, managing a forced smile. “No. I just… Did anyone stop by today?” The confusion deepened in his eyes. “It’s been just me all day… Love, are you still worried about the cheating thing?” “No. But why aren’t you at the university today?” “I have a department-wide academic conference scheduled for this afternoon.” My gaze landed on a bottle of Penhaligon’s cologne sitting on the vanity mirror. Dominic beamed. “I was planning to surprise my favorite wife with a candlelit dinner tonight. You once said you loved the leather notes in this one. I wanted to give you a preview, but I guess the surprise is ruined now.” I nodded slowly, then apologized. “I have an emergency board meeting tonight. I can’t join you.” He seemed to have forgotten the fact that I was severely allergic to synthetic leather-note fragrances. This cologne wasn’t for me. I didn’t expose his lie. As I left, I rested my hand on the top of the TV. The faint warmth confirmed it: someone had definitely been here. I had barely pulled the car out of the underground garage when I spotted Maria again, squatting by the curb, eating a breakfast burrito. “Good morning, Ms. Ashford! I was just about to bring one of my homemade ones up for you and the Professor.” I smiled, waving it off. “Maria, I wanted to ask you again. Did anyone come to my door this morning?” She frowned, thinking hard. “I didn’t see anything. Is everything okay?” Maria looked around nervously, then leaned in close, whispering, “Professor Dom, you look so tired, honey. Maybe you should find a spiritual advisor to bless the place.” I glanced in the rearview mirror. Since the first hint of Dom’s betrayal, I hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep. I still didn’t know if the trespasser was human or a ghost. Suddenly, Dom’s voice came from the car speakers. “It’s raining today, Baby Doll. Be safe. Meeting you at the best time of my life was the greatest thing that ever happened to me.” I felt a surge of nausea. I asked Maria an idle question. “How old is your daughter now, Maria?” “Eighteen years and five months, bless her heart.” Eighteen. The “best time of my life,” Dominic had said. 4 But a college-age student coming to my mansion to binge-watch Two and a Half Men was highly unusual. I had met Maria’s daughter, Lexi. She was a dark-skinned, plain girl—a little rough-looking, even older than her mother in appearance. Given Dom’s usual impeccable taste, the possibility was zero. Back at the office, my mind was racing. How did Dominic always know my movements? My eyes fell to the Lamborghini key fob. If I didn’t drive the Lamborghini, it would signal immediate distrust. But if I did drive it, he could track my location in real-time via the car’s GPS. Oh, my sweet, clever husband. Just after noon, the media player history flashed again: another record for Two and a Half Men. Simultaneously, the home smart speaker connected to a new device and started playing a vintage, cheesy love song. I snatched the keys to my other car—the Porsche—and slammed the gas pedal to the floor. Let’s see them hide this time. Just as I suspected: Dominic wasn’t out for a conference. I was about to explode, but he quickly turned his head and shushed me with a frantic finger to his lips. On his laptop screen, several foreign students were connected for a remote lecture. “Love, why didn’t you call ahead?” “The meeting was canceled. I’m teaching my Australian students now.” He pulled me aside, kissed me quickly, and then hurried back to his study. “I’ll make you a fabulous dinner tonight.” I frantically searched the house again. Behind the curtains, under the bed—I couldn’t even find a stray hair. Fuming, I returned to the office. This time, I’d driven my own car. How had they still known my itinerary? But I was no longer willing to believe Dom’s innocence. The house was simply too clean, as if someone had deliberately scoured it. I didn’t believe he could contain himself. The afternoon was quiet until 5:00 PM, when Dom texted: “Coming home? Candlelit dinner is ready.” “I have a massive trade event for the next two days. Won’t be home.” He immediately sent a crying emoji. But I knew Dominic was ecstatic. This time, I was setting the trap. The next night, Dom texted again: “Are you coming home tonight? I miss you so much.” I smiled, typing back: “Flying to Hong Kong at 11:00 PM. Gone for a week. Take care.” Dom: “Okay. You be careful too.” The more concern he showed, the more anxious he was to get back to his routine. The Two and a Half Men binge was nearing its conclusion, and I didn’t believe his lover would abandon it now. Tonight was the perfect time to catch them in the act. An hour later, the smart speaker connected to the strange mobile device and began playing a classic, heartfelt duet. I scoffed. A “Baby Doll” with an appreciation for vintage love songs. I stood up, and the app instantly refreshed: the FINAL EPISODE of Two and a Half Men was playing. I grabbed the company photographer, Tina, and had my Head of PR queue up a social media broadcast. I didn’t care about my dignity anymore. I intended to go live, expose these two on the spot, and let the entire internet tear them apart. But when I kicked open the bedroom door and Tina raised the camera and the bright, powerful light, I stopped dead in my tracks. At the exact same moment, the forensic results on the stockings and the toy arrived on my phone. My face went chalk white.

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I told her I was done the moment I slid into the passenger seat of Sloan’s Tesla, fresh from the traffic authority office. “Asher, I’m exhausted. Stop playing games, please?” I looked at Sloan’s profile—her hands gripping the steering wheel—and a laugh, thin and brittle, escaped me. “I’m not playing games.” “Sloan,” I turned my head, my gaze tracking the blur of neon lights outside the window, “this is where we get off.” 1 The Tesla slammed to a stop mid-span on the main bridge. The air inside the car was instantly thick, frozen like the surface of a December lake. “Reason.” Sloan’s fingers drummed once, sharply, on the steering wheel. Her voice was cold enough to frost the glass. “Give me one good reason. What in the hell is this dramatic exit about now?” I glanced in the rearview mirror at the silver Lexus that had followed us for three intersections, then pressed the button to lower my window. The night wind rushed in, clean and sharp. “I’d guess we have thirty seconds.” “Before the person in that car comes running to you.” I started the countdown, low enough for only her to hear. “Thirty.” “Twenty-nine.” “Twenty-eight.” When I reached twenty-five, the Lexus had pulled over and stopped. The driver’s side door flew open, and a boy in a beige trench coat sprinted toward us, tapping frantically on Sloan’s window. Sloan frowned and pushed the button. “Sloan, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry!” Kellan’s eyes were already red-rimmed, his voice shaking with a manufactured sob. “I truly didn’t mean to rear-end you, I just saw your car driving so fast, and I was so worried you’d crash, so I followed…” He looked past her, directly at me, and a single, perfect tear rolled down his cheek. “Asher, please don’t be angry. I wasn’t trying to interrupt you guys. I was just… I was just so worried.” He reached for my sleeve, and I recoiled, pulling my arm away. “Hit me,” Kellan pleaded, pushing his face closer. “If it’ll make you feel better, just hit me.” Sloan pressed her hand firmly on his shoulder, keeping him in place. “Kellan, stop it. What are you doing?” Then she turned back to me, her eyes heavy with disappointment. “Your damn chivalry? Did you leave it in the precinct parking lot?” I laughed out loud. See? I hadn’t done a single thing, yet just by sitting here, I was instantly cast as the unreasonable, classless man. I pushed Kellan’s hand away and stared directly at Sloan. “Do you understand now?” “Sloan,” the part of my chest where my heart used to be felt utterly numb. I unbuckled my seatbelt. “That is the reason.” “We’re over.” I shoved the car door open. Over Kellan’s look—that flicker of shock, then undeniable, smug victory in his eyes—I gave Sloan a smile. “Congratulations. All those little maneuvers you used to wedge yourself between me and Sloan over the years are finally paying off.” “Sloan is all yours.” I turned and walked away. Sloan bolted out of the car, grabbing my wrist and spinning me back around. “Asher! Do you have any idea how important the signing I missed today was because of this fender-bender? You called, said you’d been hit, and I threw down my pen and rushed to the precinct! And for what? The person who hit you was Kellan! He’s an intern at my own company!” “He apologized. Insurance is filed. What more do you want from me?” “I’ve been biting my tongue for months, Asher. Kellan is always here, always talking you up, telling me to be more understanding, telling me not to fight with you. Can you stop being so ungracious?” Her grip on my wrist was crushing. An old injury flared beneath her grasp, a sharp, familiar jab of pain. I looked down at the pale circle of skin her fingers were devouring. “Let go!” I yanked my arm free, rubbing the throbbing spot, and then I roared. “Sloan!” “I’ve been biting my tongue for eight years!” Sloan and I had been together for eight years. From college to launching her company, from a shared basement apartment to a view of Avery Coast in a high-rise. We’d fought, we’d argued, we’d had weeks of silence, but I had never done this—I had never humiliated her in front of a third party. But I was done holding back. “I had a 104-degree fever, and you were helping him at the shelter find a home for a stray cat. I was getting torn apart by a client during a crucial pitch, and you were on a rooftop watching a meteor shower with him. Every single time I genuinely needed you, you were already with him!” I held her gaze. “You gave him the security code to my apartment so he could sneak in and grab files while I was out of town. You gave him my prized, irreplaceable, first-edition collection set for his birthday, telling him, ‘Asher doesn’t really play with these anymore.’ Today, my car gets rear-ended, and your first words were, ‘Is Kellan okay?’” “Sloan!” “We’re done!” My composure, which I’d desperately clung to all evening, shattered like a broken dam. Sloan’s face paled. She automatically started to rationalize. “I had Kellan get the files because I was running into a meeting! I asked about his car because his damage was worse! Why are you always dissecting every little thing!” “Asher!” She looked at me, her eyes filled with nothing but exhaustion and disappointment. “When did you become so petty? Hunting for microscopic crumbs of evidence?” “You’re turning into exactly the kind of small-minded man you swore you’d never be!” I thought I was past the point of pain. From giving my statement at the traffic authority office to sitting in her car, I had been perfectly calm. I even spent that drive reviewing our eight years—from meeting to falling in love, from having nothing to having everything. And I had concluded: it had to end. I wanted a clean exit. But her words still twisted my heart, a blunt force trauma to the softest part of my chest. “Yeah. In your eyes, I’m the small-minded one.” I let out a weak chuckle. “Well, I don’t need your approval anymore.” I turned to leave, but Kellan scrambled to his feet and grabbed my arm. He was crying now. Tears streaming down his face, though I hadn’t shed a single one. “Asher, I’m sorry, this is all my fault… I’ll quit tomorrow. I’ll leave the company. I’ll disappear… Sloan really loves you. Please, don’t break up with her. Please.” I hated this performance most of all. Looking at his tear-drenched face, I ripped my arm out of his grasp. “Get lost!” Kellan stumbled back a few steps, staring at me, startled. “Asher!” Sloan rushed forward to steady Kellan. Seeing the scrape on his elbow, she turned on me, her voice shaking with rage. “Are you insane! Apologize to Kellan!” “Dream on.” I looked at Sloan, then caught Kellan’s expression—a fleeting moment of triumph beneath the tears—and spat out a final ultimatum: “Either we end this cleanly, or I move out right now, and you can deal with the fallout. You choose.” I didn’t look back. I didn’t care about Kellan’s choked sobs or Sloan’s attempts to soothe him. I flagged down a cab and headed straight for my oldest friend Rhys’s place. 2 Rhys opened the door, looked at me, and didn’t ask a single question. He just stepped aside. He wordlessly pulled two six-packs of an ice-cold IPA from the fridge and set them on the coffee table. He only asked one thing: “Good start?” I looked at the beers, and my eyes suddenly burned. I’d managed to hold it together until now. Rhys didn’t say anything else, he just opened his arms. “Cry, man. Go for it. You don’t have to put on a show for me.” I completely broke. I collapsed onto his shoulder, howling until my throat was raw, shaking uncontrollably, until I finally stumbled into his bathroom and threw up until there was nothing left. Finally, my voice hoarse, I whispered: “I’m leaving her.” What is the end of love? It’s when the person you swore you’d face the world with turns into the opponent sticking the knife in your back. It’s when you finally admit that the grave you once believed could bloom with flowers is just a pile of dirt—the flowers will wilt, and the love will die. I stayed at Rhys’s place for two weeks. In that time, I scrolled through thirty-seven updates on Kellan’s private feed. Every single one featured a glimpse of Sloan. [Midnight deadlines don’t feel so lonely when you have the right company.] The photo was a selfie of Kellan. In the blurry background, Sloan was a focused profile at her computer. [You promised you’d always be my light.] The photo was two hands linked: on Kellan’s wrist was the Cartier watch I’d bought Sloan last Christmas. The other hand, resting lightly on his arm, was hers. [Taking the most important person to the most important place.] A photo of Kellan, beaming, inside an airport lounge. Beside him, Sloan was captured mid-doze. Post after post. Rhys jumped off the couch, pointing at my phone, screaming. “I swear to God! That little shit! Is Sloan blind? How can she not see what he’s doing? It’s completely obvious!” Rhys was furious. I, conversely, felt strangely calm. I was going through withdrawal, and the craving was almost gone. I just shrugged at Rhys’s outburst. “Sloan knows exactly what she’s doing.” “She knows?” Rhys sank down beside me. “Then why does she keep playing the innocent victim?” “To her, if they haven’t slept together, she’s innocent.” I managed a wry smile. “She always told me that her relationship with Kellan was pure and clean. And that my mind was the only thing that was dirty.” Sloan always maintained that one boundary. So whenever I pushed back, she always shut me down with the same weapon: “You’re seeing things because your heart is poisoned.” 3 Now looking at these posts, I felt nothing. “The moving company is scheduled for ten,” I reminded Rhys. If I was breaking it off, I had to physically leave that apartment. My things weren’t extensive, but a few items couldn’t stay—chiefly, the box of my father’s original blueprints and sketches. “Just glad you finally came to your senses,” Rhys said, clapping me on the shoulder. When we arrived at the apartment building, I checked my phone—Kellan had posted half an hour ago, tagged at a resort hotel in the next county, the photo grid featuring a dozen pictures of Sloan. I thought I’d have the place to myself. But the moment I unlocked the door, the scent of a simmering garlic butter sauce hit me. I walked into the living room and saw Kellan, wearing my charcoal grey cashmere lounge pants, sitting cross-legged at the dining table, picking at a plate of shrimp. He jumped up like a startled rabbit when he saw me. “Asher…” I ignored him, my eyes tracing the pants back to the source—Sloan, who had just walked out of the kitchen holding a steaming pot of soup, her expression instantly freezing. “You’re back?” Sloan asked stiffly. “Have you eaten?” I didn’t answer. I walked straight toward my study. Then I stopped dead in the doorway. The design books, once perfectly ordered on the shelves, were pulled out and haphazardly stacked. My work desk was a mess of scattered drawings, but the thing that made my blood run cold was the corner of the room: The door to my father’s old floor safe was wide open. 4 “Asher…” Kellan had crept to the doorway, his voice thin as a mosquito’s whine. “I’m so sorry… Sloan and I came back from the hotel, and I realized I left my suitcase there… Sloan told me to put on your clothes…” “I accidentally… bumped the safe.” A buzzing started in my head. I spun around and saw Kellan holding a stack of faded, yellowed paper—my father’s original blueprints and sketches—the edge of the stack stained with a huge, dark smear of coffee. “I swear I didn’t mean to!” Kellan threw himself forward, grabbing my arm, instantly on his knees. “Please, just hit me! I’m begging you! Hit me!” “I didn’t know these were your dad’s designs! I honestly didn’t know!” He grabbed my hand, trying to force it to strike his face. “Hit me! Hit me hard! I deserve it!” He then attempted to kowtow, but before his head could touch the floor, an arm slipped beneath his chest, stopping him. Sloan pulled him up and looked at me, her voice as flat as if she were commenting on the weather. “He’s gone, Asher. They’re just drawings. They’re not him. Kellan is sorry, can you please stop making this worse?” Her tone was so rational, so utterly dismissive of my grief. As if I were the one who was overreacting, the one who was small-minded. She stood between us, a protector, blocking my path to Kellan. “He already feels terrible. Just let it go.”

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The night before my SATs. Mom was in the kitchen, cooking my favorite dinner. My sister, six months pregnant, sat on the couch helping me pack, nagging me for the hundredth time not to forget my admission ticket. I smiled, about to say “okay.” Suddenly, a line of bullet comments (danmu) floated across my vision. The text read: [Is this the family that gets brutally murdered right before the SATs?] [Such a pity. If this girl didn’t die, she had a shot at Harvard.] [The sister is the most tragic. Not only dismembered, but the baby was cut out of her belly and thrown into the sewer.] A chill ran down my spine. They said… my whole family dies tonight? 1 Knock knock knock. Before I could process the meaning of the floating text, someone knocked on the door. “Who is it?” my sister asked casually. “Delivery.” “We didn’t order any takeout,” my sister said, puzzled. “Wrong address?” “No, Unit 401, for Ms. Rosie.” Rosie. That’s me. My sister gave me a playful glare. “Ordering takeout right before dinner? You little glutton.” “But since your big exam is tomorrow, I’ll let it slide.” She stood up to open the door. As she moved, the text in front of me scrolled frantically. [Don’t open it! That’s not a delivery guy, it’s a psycho killer!] [Seriously, don’t you know if you ordered food? Why just open the door for anyone?] [This is why characters in horror novels die. zero survival instincts.] Cold sweat drenched my back. I grabbed my sister’s arm. “Wait! Don’t open it!” She looked back, confused. “What’s wrong?” I pointed at the door, whispering, “Sis, something’s wrong. I never ordered anything.” My sister looked through the peephole, then recoiled. “He’s not wearing a uniform. He really looks suspicious.” My sweat poured. The comments were real. There was a murderer outside. As if sensing our hesitation, the person outside pulled a wet, dirty uniform from his bag. “Please open up, I have another order to deliver. I really am a delivery driver. I fell into a puddle and got my uniform dirty, so I took it off.” “But we didn’t order anything,” my sister said through the door. “It was ordered for you. The note says: ‘Good luck on the SATs, Princess Rosie.’” My sister relaxed instantly. She smiled at me. “Mystery solved. Your brother-in-law ordered it. Princess Rosie, do your best tomorrow.” She reached for the lock again. “Princess Rosie.” Only my brother-in-law called me that. But the comments made me hesitate. I stopped her again. “Leave it at the door. We’ll get it later.” The person outside didn’t move. “It’s marked as a valuable item. Must be signed for in person. Please hurry, I’m late for my next delivery.” My sister laughed. “Valuable? Definitely from your brother-in-law. He said he’d get you something good after the exam. You little worrywart, open the door.” She reached for the lock. The comments screamed at us to run. The “delivery guy” kept urging us. My mind was a mess. Maybe he’s legit. But what if? Looking at my pregnant sister and my mom in the kitchen, I couldn’t risk it. I stopped her again. I ran to the kitchen and grabbed a cleaver. Ignoring their confused looks, I stood by the door and opened it. I later learned this decision was the start of a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. 2 The moment the door opened, he kicked the knife out of my hand. Before I could react, another man hiding behind him swung an axe into my head. To make sure I didn’t run, he smashed my lower back with a hammer. My sister screamed and tried to save me, but he grabbed her hair and dragged her inside. Mom rushed out with a knife but was stabbed through the heart with a machete. Pain and blood consumed me. In my last moments, I saw the comments again. [Poor girl tried so hard, but still died.] [Yeah, and because she stalled, the killer tortured her sister even worse. The baby was ground into meat paste.] [Sigh. This family is cursed.] 3 I opened my eyes. The pain and smell of blood were gone. I was standing in the living room, safe and sound. The smell of fried pork filled the air. My sister was on the couch, nagging me about my admission ticket. The text floated before me again. [Is this the family that gets dismembered before the SATs?] [If not for those killers, this girl could have gone to Harvard.] [The sister had it worst. Baby cut out and destroyed.] Tears filled my eyes. I hugged my sister tight. “Why are you so clingy all of a sudden? Nervous about tomorrow?” “Don’t worry. I took time off work to be with you.” I couldn’t hold back the tears. My sister is the best. Since Dad died, it’s just been the three of us. Life was hard, but we had each other. But such good people were brutally murdered. Knock knock knock. “Who is it?” I stopped her. “Shh. My classmate’s dad is the police chief. He said two killers are posing as delivery drivers in our neighborhood. Don’t open the door for strangers.” My sister looked surprised but stayed silent. She picked up a baseball bat. “Don’t be scared, Rosie. I’ll protect you.” Mom came out with a knife. “Mom will protect you too. No one hurts my girls.” Their trust moved me to tears, but I had no time to cry. I locked the door and called 911. “There are killers outside our door.” The police said they’d be there in 10 minutes. I relaxed slightly. We just need to hold the door. But the comments scrolled faster. [Smart girl, keeping the door locked.] [But she doesn’t know there’s already an accomplice hiding inside the house.] [No matter what she does, the ending is the same.] Cold sweat returned. An accomplice inside? Where? Squeak. A faint sound from the corner. A man stepped out of the large wardrobe. He smiled psychotically. “Smart. Knowing not to open the door.” “But useless.” He swung a machete at Mom. Blood filled my vision. I grabbed Mom’s dropped knife and charged him. But before I reached him, a gunshot rang out. He had a gun. I fell, dead. My sister screamed, raising the bat, but the door was axed open. The intruder struck her back, then her belly. The baby, the intestines… dragged out. We died again. Brutally. 4 Dad died when I was in elementary school. Mom raised us selling fruit. She refused to remarry, fearing a stepfather wouldn’t treat us well. Rain or shine, she worked her stall. She put my sister through college. Now it was my turn. I was top of my class. Teachers said I was Ivy League material. Mom said once I got into college, she could finally rest. We planned a trip to Yunnan after my sister gave birth. Mom had never left the city. We were finally growing up. We could finally take care of her. But why? Even reborn, I couldn’t save them. I closed my eyes in despair. Opened them again. Back in the living room. 5 Fried pork smell. Sister nagging. I stared at the door, desperate. Two killers outside. One with a gun inside. We three women couldn’t win. My sister noticed my silence. “Rosie, nervous? Don’t worry. I’m with you.” Comments: [Here we go again. The massacred family.] [Poor girl.] I clenched my fists, brain racing. We can’t fight them. I looked at the balcony. Our balcony was connected to the neighbor’s by a narrow gap. Only a small person could fit. I was skinny enough. The neighbor’s sons were a gym coach and a PE teacher. If I could get their help… I texted the police. Then I typed a note on my phone and showed my sister. [Don’t speak. There’s a killer hiding in the house. Two more are coming to the door.] [Stall the people at the door. Do not open it.] [I’m going next door for help.] We didn’t alert Mom to avoid startling the gunman in the wardrobe. When the knocking started, I was on the balcony. I looked at my sister one last time and squeezed through the gap. Comments: [Smart girl. Going for help.] [But useless. Horror novels always have casualties.] [They can’t escape.] I ignored them. I will change fate. But the neighbor’s balcony door was locked. No one was home. I had to find help. I looked down. Fourth floor. I gritted my teeth and jumped onto the AC unit below. Layer by layer, I climbed down. I ran toward the complex exit, screaming for help. A van sped toward me. Bang. I lay on the ground, bleeding out. A short, fat man got out of the van, yelling into his phone. “How are you guys working? Someone jumped from the balcony! Idiots, finish the job!” Upstairs, my sister screamed. I closed my eyes. Four killers. The comments were right. We can’t escape.

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Right before finals week, a new student transferred into my class. She was a straight-A student, hailed as future Valedictorian material, and she loved to “be reasonable” about everything. During late-night study hall, I took some time to explain wrong answers to a few students. She confronted me on the spot: “Doesn’t the Board of Education say extracurricular tutoring is forbidden? How dare you violate the regulations?” Because there was a student in the class whose parent was a fallen firefighter, I had them fill out paperwork for extra credit points. She stood up at the senior parent meeting and publicly questioned me: “Why are you giving that student special treatment? Did you accept a massive bribe?” Parents believed I was violating rules, causing a scene at the Board of Education, accusing me of bribery. I was stripped of my eligibility for the Teacher of the Year award. The day before the SATs, I encouraged a student suffering from depression, telling her she would definitely get into a good college. The class president said in front of everyone: “She can’t even hold a pen steady when she has an episode, and she’s mentally ill. Why lie to her that she can get into college?” The student suffered a major breakdown and jumped off a building on the day of the exam. Her grieving parent blamed me for bullying their child and ran me over with a truck outside the exam center. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day the new class president questioned how I dared to violate regulations. 1 “Ms. Jiang, doesn’t the Board of Education say extracurricular tutoring is forbidden? How dare you violate the regulations?” The moment I heard Bella Lin’s voice, my scalp tingled. I stood frozen at the podium, the fluorescent lights blindingly cold. Unfinished math problems lay on the desk. Before me were three or four students waiting for answers; in my ear was Bella’s shrill voice. “You’re breaking the rules, you know? This is illegal tutoring!” The bell rang. In that second, my heart clenched tight. I had died once. The day before the SATs, I was crushed by a truck outside the exam center. And before I died, this “reasonable” Valedictorian candidate nailed me to the pillar of shame with the sentence: “Why lie to a mentally ill person that she can get into college?” Now, I was back, one month before that nightmare. Seeing no response, Bella stepped closer, enunciating every word: “Ms. Jiang, aren’t you going to explain? Why are you ignoring me?” I couldn’t be bothered with her. I picked up the test papers on the desk and called the students with questions. “Come on, let’s go to the office and continue.” She was clearly triggered by my indifference, her face darkening. Did she think I was still the Ms. Jiang she could manipulate and control? She followed me into the office, standing arrogantly in front of my desk. Her eyes swept over the other teachers tutoring students, then fixed dead on me. “Ms. Jiang, you’re ignoring me because you’re guilty, right? Do you admit you’re conducting illegal tutoring?” I lowered my head to explain the paper to the students, pretending not to hear. “You’re evading responsibility! As class president, I have an obligation to point out your problems!” She raised her volume, slamming her hand on the test paper I was explaining. Other teachers looked up, annoyance written on their faces as they looked at the “reasonable” Bella. No one spoke; the office fell into a weird silence. “If you don’t respond, it means you admit it!” Bella leaned in, her voice so sharp it almost pierced my eardrums. “I am officially reporting you for illegal extracurricular tutoring, violating Board of Education regulations!” I couldn’t take it anymore. I slammed my red pen on the table. Slap. The students jumped. Bella froze too; she didn’t expect the usually gentle me to fight back. I looked up, suppressing my rage, and stared at her calmly. “If you want to report me, go ahead. No need to notify me in the office! I don’t reason with emotionally unstable students.” “This is normal school hours, tutoring students at school. I haven’t violated any regulations!” “Who are you calling emotionally unstable?!” She flew into a rage out of humiliation, glaring at me viciously: “This is bullying! I’m just helping persecuted students. What right do you have to ignore me?” I sneered. “Stating facts? Last time you threw away three years of notes from the whole class, was that helping students too? You, a transfer student who just arrived, what right do you have to interfere with the class’s study plan?” Her eyes flickered, but she remained stubborn. “I was doing it for everyone’s good. Exam experts say not to be too anxious before the SATs, not to read too many notes!” “Then shouldn’t you be responsible for the consequences of throwing away the whole class’s notes?” My voice wasn’t loud, but every word hit the mark. “You call yourself a Valedictorian candidate, wandering around the class every day, staring at my top students to change seats and ‘progress together’? The result? You make noise in the classroom every day, affecting other students’ studies!” Her face started to crack. I pressed on. “You advise them not to read notes, saying to relax before the exam, but I see your own desk piled high with notes!” “Those are study notes accumulated over three years. Behind every notebook is the students’ 5:30 AM reading, pulling all-nighters to correct mistakes, the blood and sweat of countless annotations on test papers!” 2 Her eyes filled with tears, hands trembling uncontrollably. She didn’t expect me to attack her publicly. “I’m the class president. I’m also helping students have a good mindset for the exam.” “Does being class president allow you to break into the school during holidays, pry open the classroom, and move all the notes to the dumpster?” I was furious, my tone severe. “Do you know that a student came back that day, couldn’t find their notes, and cried squatting at the classroom door for a whole period? A student dug through the dumpster until their hands were cut, saying they were finished, saying they had no face to take the SATs!” The office went silent instantly. Bella’s eyes darted around, but she didn’t answer. I stood up, staring at her face that claimed innocence, word by word: “Bella Lin, don’t play the saint in front of me. You dictate to students, preaching sanctimoniously about rules, discipline, expert advice, but you never bear the consequences. You are just selfish!” She opened her mouth to speak, but I was faster. “You’re a Valedictorian candidate? Then shut your mouth and write your own test papers well. Don’t use a label of good grades to do things like bullying students and stepping on teachers behind their backs.” Scared pale by my sudden change in attitude, she broke down crying in the office, finally slamming the door and leaving. Other teachers were silent for a moment. The head of the senior teaching group looked at me and whispered. “How dare Ms. Jiang go hard on her? Her dad is in the Board of Education.” I sighed and shook my head. “If I don’t toughen up, she’ll ruin the lives of the whole class sooner or later!” In my past life, Bella threw away the whole class’s notes. I spent a day and a night retrieving soaked notes from the garbage station and restoring them one by one. In the end, she cried saying she didn’t mean it and wouldn’t be so impulsive in the future. She cried so pitifully that the school leaders thought I was making a mountain out of a molehill and bullying a student. I was tortured by her “logic” but couldn’t speak out. In Bella’s eyes, I was probably a soft persimmon easy to pinch. But in this life, I won’t tolerate her anymore. The moment Bella slammed the door and left crying, my mind was completely swallowed by memories of my past life. In my past life, at the all-school senior parent meeting. Just because I filled out extra credit paperwork for a student whose parent was a martyr. She ran to the podium and spoke, full of righteousness and “reason.” “Ms. Jiang, why are you giving a student a special extra credit channel? Is it because you accepted a large bribe?” With a face full of “upholding justice,” the parents below were in an uproar. Before I could explain a word, I was targeted by the Board of Education, and the school leaders immediately cancelled my eligibility for the teacher title evaluation. In the end, the matter was cleared up. That student indeed qualified for the policy. But Bella just said lightly: “I didn’t know she was a martyr’s child. I didn’t see the documents. I was just maintaining the fairness and justice of the SATs.” She even wore an innocent expression, the corners of her mouth slightly raised. “I am also a student about to take the exam. I have the right to know if others are competing based on strength.” That day, looking at her guilt-free face, I suddenly understood that some people are born bad! Bella was that kind of natural-born evil seed. I was already wary of her then, determined to keep my distance. I thought as long as I sent her safely into the exam hall and ended the critical period of the final month sprint, this would all be over. But on the last day before the SATs, I was encouraging students in the classroom. Bella insisted on standing next to me, saying: “I want to encourage students on behalf of the class officers.” That day, I specifically encouraged a girl in the class whose grades had been stable in the city’s top three, but whose mother died in the first semester of senior year. She suffered from severe depression, living on the edge. I gently held her hand and said: “You are amazing. As long as you get through this, there will surely be a bright future.” 3 Bella stood beside me and suddenly smiled. I’ll never forget that smile. She said to the whole class: “She can’t even hold a pen steady when she has an episode, and she’s mentally ill. Why lie to her that she can get into college?” “And her mom is dead. How could the future possibly get better?” Her sentence “How could the future possibly get better” was like a knife plunged into that child’s heart. The next day, the day of the exam, that girl jumped from the 23rd floor of her home. At noon that day, outside the exam center, I was crushed into a pile of bloody mud by her father driving a large truck. When I died, I only heard Bella whispering not far away: “This is all Ms. Jiang’s fault. Who told her to always say ‘irresponsible’ comforting words.” “If she had told the truth back then and reasoned with that student, she wouldn’t have forced that student to jump.” My thoughts returned. The students in the office had already left after getting their questions answered. This time, reborn, I didn’t swallow my anger like in my past life. I unhesitatingly retorted to the arrogant Bella. She would definitely not let it go. Sure enough, the next day she brought her Board of Education father to school. She wore a neat uniform, eyes just red enough, voice choking, looking so pitiful. “I just pointed out Ms. Jiang’s violation yesterday, and she gave me the silent treatment… I just wanted to follow the rules…” Her dad sat in the office, his tone authoritative without anger. “Ms. Jiang, my daughter has always been reasonable. She came home crying yesterday, saying she was humiliated by you in public. We don’t cause trouble, but we won’t let others bully us either.” Standing in the office, I laughed at this father-daughter duo’s ability to invert black and white. “If your daughter followed rules, she wouldn’t have soaked the notes of over thirty students and thrown them in the trash!” “Yesterday, I was answering student questions during normal school hours. From beginning to end, I was reasoning with Bella. I did not give her the silent treatment.” My tone was neither humble nor arrogant. But Bella suddenly burst into tears. “I was just kindly helping classmates relieve stress. Those notes aren’t important anyway. Why are you so fierce to me?” “…Sob… Ms. Jiang, you’re just unreasonable. You clearly humiliated me with cold violence last night… I know you hate me… but I was just reasoning with you, you can’t tutor illegally…” Bella was an expert crier. She cried like pear blossoms bathed in rain, as if she suffered a great injustice. Some teachers nearby started to waver, especially those not in the office yesterday. “Ms. Jiang, are you being a bit too emotional?” “Bella is such a sensible child, why did you make her cry?” “Yeah, Bella is a city Valedictorian candidate. It’s wrong of you to scold a student.” Especially the head teacher of Class 2, the elite class, who had always been dissatisfied with me. He fawned over the Lin father and daughter. “Student Lin, our Class 2 has several top science students. If you don’t fit the atmosphere here, you are welcome to our class anytime. No one in our class will bully you.” Bella shook her head on the spot: “I don’t want to transfer classes…” My heart tightened! In this life, I really didn’t want to keep Bella, this ticking time bomb, in my class. The Class 2 head teacher continued: “We also have a student named Zhou Qian, who won first prize in the National Chemistry Olympiad and might get priority admission to top universities like Harvard or MIT. Maybe you two can aim for Valedictorian together.” I noticed Bella’s eyes change. Just for a second, then she switched back to the aggrieved look. “Then… if I can really progress with excellent students, I’m willing to try.” The suspicion buried in my heart in the past life surfaced again. Bella, this Valedictorian candidate, seemed to always want to destroy students who had hopes of entering top universities. 4 Once Bella transferred, I thought I could relax. She went to Class 2 and became the “Valedictorian seed” in Mr. Yang’s eyes. He praised her in front of everyone in the office: “Student Lin is disciplined, sensible, responsible, and very reasonable.” I sneered. He would soon know how terrifying the “reasonable” Bella was. Sure enough, less than a week later, Bella caused trouble. That day, I was verifying the signatures for the martyr’s child’s extra credit paperwork when the office door was slammed open with a bang. Mr. Yang rushed in, face livid with rage, pointing at Bella behind him and almost shouting: “Zhou Qian’s competition bonus points were specially approved by the Ministry of Education! What right do you have to publicly report me for violation at the all-school parent meeting?” I was stunned, looking back to see Bella standing in the office, holding a folder, face full of justice. “Mr. Yang, I’m just exercising my rights.” She looked innocent. “I am also an exam candidate. I have the right to know if people around me are competing fairly.” Mr. Yang was so angry his chest heaved. “You said ‘Why can Zhou Qian add fifty points just for a competition? Did you take benefits from his family?’ Do you know how many parents stood up on the spot saying they wanted to report me?!” Bella blinked innocently, not feeling she was wrong at all. “Just because they got emotional doesn’t mean I have a problem.” “You’re roasting me on the fire!” Mr. Yang coughed violently, clutching his chest, hands shaking with anger. “I’ve led over a dozen graduating classes and never violated regulations to give extra points to any student! What exactly do you want!” “I just want fairness.” She stood up, righteous. “You yelling at me in exasperation doesn’t change the fact that you didn’t publicly display Zhou Qian’s bonus qualifications on the spot. Since you can’t explain clearly, I can only report it.” “I don’t want to hear your explanation. I just want you to be reasonable.” When she said this, the corners of her mouth even carried a gentle smile. I clearly saw a flash of triumph in her eyes. Mr. Yang sat down angrily, sighing heavily. Standing aside, looking at her familiar face, I felt cold all over. I was absolutely certain now, Bella did it on purpose! As long as she was in this school, she would find opportunities to completely destroy the chances of all students who belonged in top universities! That night she left the office “crying.” She was always good at positioning herself as the “victim,” making everyone who didn’t know the truth pity her, protect her, and stand up for her. But what I didn’t expect was that the next morning, the city news exploded. [City High School No. 1 Suspected of Violation in Exam Bonus Points, Student Claims Threats to Silence Truth] [Senior Head Teacher Forces Student to Silence? Education Fairness Questioned] The voiceover in the news was that edited recording: “…Reporting is useless… Board of Education gave… Zhou Qian points… passed his documents, no problem…” The voice was Mr. Yang’s, but edited beyond recognition. My scalp tingled on the spot. In this life, Bella failed to report to the Board of Education smoothly, so she sent the recording directly to the media. All senior classes were suspended. The City Board of Education immediately sent people to the school to review all bonus point documents. I was also called for questioning. Because she added a sentence in the news interview. “My former head teacher, Ms. Jiang, also violated regulations to give extra points to a certain student in class. I’m just a student; I can only turn to the media to tell the truth.” I watched her red-eyed and trembling voice in front of the camera. “I’ve always been afraid of Ms. Jiang. She always scolded me… and because I reported her for illegal tutoring, she bullied and gave me the silent treatment many times. Later I had no choice but to transfer classes in the last month before the exam…”

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Ethan promised he’d propose on our fourth anniversary. But this year is our eighth year together. He says he loves me, while aggressively pursuing a junior from his college days. To impress her, he even spent a fortune to snatch away my late mother’s necklace. “Chloe hasn’t seen much of the world, she just really likes this. Let her have it, I’ll make it up to you later.” “Okay.” This time, I didn’t cry or make a scene. Instead, I dialed a number. “Liam, what you said last time… say it again?” He was confused, but repeated, “Dump Ethan. Marry me.” “Okay. I will.” … Liam paused, stunned. We were silent for two whole minutes. “Are you serious?” “Yes.” Liam chuckled deeply. “I’ll be waiting.” 1 “Who are you talking to?” Ethan suddenly hugged me from behind, startling me. I locked my phone and shook my head. “Unhappy? You know Chloe’s background isn’t like yours. Just let her have this one.” “Mmh.” Ethan’s phone vibrated non-stop. He looked down to reply, a gentle smile appearing on his lips. It was a message from Chloe. The photo was the most eye-catching part. My mother’s necklace was around her neck, dipping perfectly into her cleavage. The photo was cropped just right, even showing a hint of her lace lingerie. “Ethan.” He sat on the bed, mesmerizingly staring at the photo. Laughing to himself. Completely ignoring my voice. “Ethan!” I raised my voice, and he snapped his head up. “What’s up?” “When do you plan to propose?” Ethan put away his phone, scratching his head to cover his awkwardness. “Aren’t we… still young?” “Youth is for having fun. Since my wifey was so generous today, the boys are throwing a party to celebrate. Want to come?” Ethan’s eyes told me everything. He was waiting for me to say no. “I…” Ethan suddenly hugged me. “I’ll pass on your regards. You don’t like the smell of alcohol, so just wait for me at home, okay?” I looked down and scoffed. Ethan thought I was agreeing happily. Goal achieved, he didn’t waste another word on me. He turned and left with his phone. As he walked out, I saw him zooming in on that photo. Holding my pajamas, I subconsciously looked at myself in the mirror. Average figure. Average face. Chloe and I are indeed from two different generations. At midnight, one of Ethan’s friends posted an update. A video. Music blaring, the room reeking of debauchery. Several young people cheering on the dance floor. Right when the music paused. I heard a familiar voice. “Zack, I want to propose to Chloe.” It was Ethan. Putting down my phone, I stared at the ceiling and took a deep breath. Our relationship survived the seven-year itch, but couldn’t survive a single winter. 2 I was about to sleep when I got a text from Ethan’s friend, Zack. Simple: Sis, can you bring some stomach meds? Ethan didn’t have stomach issues. Neither did Zack. From Ethan’s earlier words, it wasn’t hard to guess what they were up to. I didn’t know if Zack calling me was Ethan’s idea. When I got there, I leaned against my car for a long time. Only when my legs went numb did I muster the courage to go in. Seems I really picked the wrong time. Ethan was on one knee. “Chloe, I really love you.” “Chloe, marry me?” “Chloe, I want you.” Love was spilling out of Ethan’s eyes. Chloe stood opposite him, covering her mouth in excitement. She was beautiful, and her shy demeanor was exactly Ethan’s type. “Ethan… I do.” Unknowingly, tears were already on my face. Running down my chin. They were using my mother’s necklace for the proposal. Ethan, you really opened my eyes. The two embraced and kissed under the spotlight. A match made in heaven, how romantic. But, of the dozen people present… Drinking, smoking, playing on phones. No one clapped. Ethan noticed something was off, his face darkening. “Why aren’t you cheering?” His friends all kept their heads down, acting busy. Ethan looked around, a layer of frost in his eyes. “You propose to her, what about Maya?” Ethan licked his lips, patted Zack on the shoulder, and laughed. “Zack, do you know what a heartbeat feels like?” “Maya has been with you for eight years.” “Shh…” Ethan hushed him. “Don’t mention her on such a happy occasion.” “For the past eight years, I was blind, thinking that was love. Only after meeting Chloe did I know what love really is. I want to give her my everything! But Maya?” Ethan looked at his friends, trying to persuade everyone. “Maya is born with a silver spoon, she doesn’t lack love. But Chloe only has me. Do you understand?” “Every time I go home and see Maya’s face, I feel so bored.” “Yes, Maya is great, but she’s not the one I want to marry.” No one responded to Ethan. Everyone smoked, heads down, silent. “Ethan… maybe, forget it, we don’t need cheering…” Crash! Ethan threw a glass. “Cheer!” Usually, when Ethan got angry, everyone would back off. But this time, no one humored him. For a moment, I was dazed too. Eight years ago, none of them were optimistic about us. Seeing me, the spoiled heiress, they never gave me a good face. They even told Ethan to dump me. Eight years flew by, and everyone accepted me as their “sister-in-law.” Only Ethan didn’t. Clap, clap, clap. I clapped three times slowly. All eyes turned to me. Ethan’s pupils shrank, panic setting in. “You, how are you here?” Realizing something, Ethan’s face changed drastically. “Who called her?” I walked up to Ethan, and Chloe blocked him. Arms spread wide, a protective stance. Clearly scared, yet bravely shielding him. This look, any man would fall for it. “Maya sis, it’s all my fault, don’t, don’t blame him…” I reached out and unclasped the necklace from Chloe’s neck. “Ethan, didn’t anyone tell you, proposing with a dead person’s belongings brings bad luck?” 3 “Don’t scare Chloe. Let’s talk at home.” Saying that, Ethan started grabbing his jacket from the sofa. Like he wanted to flee. “Ethan, do I still have a home?” Ethan paused mid-grab, turning back to look at me. He pulled me towards the exit. Chloe tried to follow. But Zack stopped her. In the hallway, the lights were dim. I couldn’t see Ethan’s face clearly. “Chloe is young and immature. Her birthday wish this year was for someone to propose. I drank too much, I wasn’t thinking.” I stayed silent, so Ethan hugged me. Usually, when I was mad, he’d coax and trick me like this. And every time, I forgave him. He breathed hotly on me. “Wifey, don’t be mad.” But he didn’t know. This time, I wouldn’t forgive him. “Then come home with me now.” “Okay! Let’s go home!” Ethan dragged me towards the exit. Chloe was right by the door; I knew she could hear. Three, two… Bang! The door opened, and Chloe collapsed in the hallway. Ethan ran back almost instantly. “Chloe!” “Ethan… I’m fine… is Maya sis angry?” Chloe grabbed a huge bottle of liquor. “I’ll apologize to Maya sis.” Then she tilted her head and chugged. 58-proof liquor, she downed half the bottle in one breath. To gain Ethan’s concern, she really went all out. “Chloe!” Ethan snatched the bottle, heartbroken. “Did Maya sis forgive me?” Ethan turned and roared at me, “Say something!” The man who was cuddling me just moments ago couldn’t pretend anymore seeing Chloe in trouble. “I never blamed you.” Chloe coughed, reaching out to me. “Since Maya sis isn’t mad, can you give the necklace back? That was a gift from Ethan.” I immediately pressed down on my bag. “This is my mom’s legacy.” “But Ethan gave it to me.” “Seems like sis still won’t forgive me.” Saying that, Chloe snatched the bottle back and started chugging again. Ethan was frantic. “Maya! Give it to her!” Ethan rushed over, trying to snatch my bag. “This is my mom’s legacy! Can’t you see she’s doing it on purpose!” Ethan wouldn’t listen to anything, pulling my bag like a mad dog. “Maya, can you stop thinking so dirty of people? Chloe isn’t like you.” “Maya, Chloe is just a little girl, can you stop pushing her?” Ethan was too strong. Even with all my strength, he snatched the bag. I grabbed at it, and Chloe grabbed at it too. Finally, the necklace snapped inch by inch, silver beads bouncing on the floor. I stared dumbfounded at the two silver beads in my hand. Looking up, I saw the smirk on Chloe’s face. Ethan turned and yelled at me, “Maya, haven’t you made enough trouble!” He pinned all the blame on me. He saw through everything, yet couldn’t see through Chloe’s act. Perhaps realizing he went too far. Ethan looked helplessly at the beads on the floor. He touched my head. “S-Sorry, I… I drank too much.” “Tomorrow… tomorrow I’ll make it up to you, okay?” Chloe was clutching her chest and vomiting violently. Ethan picked her up and ran out. “Tomorrow at noon, I’ll take you to buy a new one, okay?” He ran fast, wind rushing past my ears. I looked at the scattered silver beads and laughed, leaning against the wall. Ethan and I, aren’t we just like these beads? A seemingly whole family, in the end, scattered like sand on the floor. I don’t want the necklace anymore. Ethan, I don’t want you anymore either. I can’t guarantee I’ll forget you completely. But Ethan, I guarantee you will never find me again. “Airline? I want to buy the soonest ticket to South Province.” 4 Hanging up, I went back. The earliest flight was in three days. Back home, I packed everything. Whatever I could take, I took. Whatever I couldn’t, I burned. Our photo albums were all in the bedside drawer. But there was one on Ethan’s desk. He hadn’t been home in a long time; the desk was dusty. But this album was strangely clean. He must flip through it often when he’s bored, right? I took it to burn with the rest. Only to find that inside, interspersed, were photos of him and Chloe. The first time Chloe visited, she praised our photos for being beautiful. Turns out, later they went too. I closed the album and put it back. The wall clock chimed. It was already 5 PM. Ethan broke his promise again. Ding dong. Liam sent a voice message. “I had someone mail the marriage agreement. Just sign it.” I composed myself. Turning around, I found Ethan right behind me. “Who are you chatting with so happily?” I shook my head. Ethan was sweating profusely, soaked through. “Move.” I pushed past him to leave. But a complete necklace appeared before my eyes. It was Mom’s necklace. I held it in my palms, looking up at him. “You… you found them all?” Ethan scratched his head. “Picked them up for ages.” He rubbed his eyes. “Almost went blind looking.” “So you didn’t come back by noon because you were picking up my mom’s necklace?” “What else?” He hugged me gently. “You don’t know how tired I am. Squatting on the floor all day, my back is killing me.” “But still missing two beads. Wifey, you won’t blame me for being late, right?” Holding Mom’s necklace, my vision blurred. Big teardrops fell into my palm. I mumbled indistinctly, “Ethan, thank you…” “What are you saying? You’re my fiancée.” I excitedly went into the room. I knew where the missing two beads were. Rummaging through my bag, I found the three beads from yesterday. I smiled excitedly, but then realized the color of the silver beads in my hand was completely different from the ones in my bag! The one in my hand had oxidation marks too, but different from Mom’s… I squatted on the ground, sobbing uncontrollably. Ethan, how long are you going to lie to me? What do you take me for? A voice came from outside. “Delivery for Maya Jiang, please sign.” Soon, Ethan came in. Holding a document envelope. Opening it as he walked. “Why is there a document delivery? What is it?” My phone kept buzzing. [Liam: Did you receive the marriage agreement?] I snapped my head up, locking eyes with Ethan.

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Julian and I are both crazy. On our wedding day, I smashed his head open, and he choked me while cursing, “Sienna, don’t even dream of happiness in this life, unless you die.” For three years of marriage, we were like beasts in a cage, tearing at each other ceaselessly. I wished I could grind his bones to dust. He wished he could skin me alive. But when I really died… He wanted to play Ghost with me. 1 When I found Julian, he was cuddled up with a girl in a white dress. Light makeup, looking like a fresh lotus flower. Ignoring the diagnosis report in my bag, I pulled out my Dior #999 lipstick and touched up my lips. “Having fun, Julian?” My appearance didn’t cause a ripple. Julian didn’t even bother to lift his eyelids. This scene… His crew was used to it. I walked straight over, yanked the girl up, and raised my hand to slap her face— The girl turned pale, tears welling up. “Julian, save me!” “Sienna, you dare touch her!” Julian grabbed my left wrist, standing up and glaring at me with gritted teeth. “Try me.” My free right hand swung around and slapped his face. Slap. Loud and clear. I lifted my chin. “Well? Satisfied?” The next second, my neck was being strangled. I looked at his furious expression and smirked sarcastically. “Your eyesight is getting worse. Which part of her looks like my sister?” The grip on my neck tightened instantly. Oxygen was running out. I breathed with difficulty. He squinted at me. “Likewise. That college boy you’re sponsoring doesn’t even compare to a fraction of my brother.” 2 Everyone in the private room had left. Even the girl who was screaming earlier had been dragged away. They were used to it. I’ve been married to Julian for three years. Scenes like this had played out in front of them hundreds of times. Every time Julian blatantly sought out some innocent-looking girl to have fun with, I’d give him face by making a scene. No matter how messy it got, they never intervened. After all, nothing compared to the scene at our wedding. It should have been a sweet wedding, full of vows of eternal love. Instead, Julian told me, “Do you know why I’m marrying you?” “With two lives on your conscience, don’t ever dream of happiness.” I realized then that this wedding was his long-planned revenge. I have a fiery temper and never take a loss. So I turned around, grabbed a vase, and smashed it over his head. Blood streamed down his forehead. He wiped it off, and with his blood-stained hand, he choked me. “It’s because of your disgusting personality that they died. Sienna, you deserve to die.” Newylweds choking each other, blood splattering on the wedding dress. We both wished the other would go to hell. But the wedding continued. With my red, strangled neck and his bleeding forehead. We completed a bizarre, accursed ceremony. From then on, we tortured each other tirelessly for three years. But now, I don’t want to play anymore. Because I don’t want to carry the Fu name even after death, to be a ghost of the Fu family. 3 “Divorce.” The next day, I brought the divorce papers to Julian’s company. He frowned at the papers. His assistant glanced at me. In their eyes, we were just “two lunatics.” Tormenting each other, but never mentioning divorce. They speculated I wouldn’t let go of Julian because of his money. And Julian wouldn’t divorce me to deal with his family. Indeed, the only benefit of being with Julian was financial security. So, in the divorce agreement, I demanded an equal split of assets. Julian tore it up in front of me. “Want to take my money and run off with your college boy?” I shrugged. “Once divorced, it’s my money. None of your business if I run off with a college boy or a college girl.” “Keep. Dreaming. In this life, we are tied together until death.” I’ve heard similar words many times. But every time, every single time, it still stung. Who would have thought the person who accompanied me through my darkest, most helpless moments… Would personally drag me into the abyss just when I thought I was about to find happiness. His appearance wasn’t salvation; it was to tell me I hadn’t reached hell yet. Then he kicked me down. The current Julian isn’t the old Julian. And he isn’t my Julian. I lowered my eyes, clenching my fists tight to control my emotions. When I looked up again, my face was calm. “Then if I die, we’re done, right?” 4 After leaving the company, I went to the cemetery and stayed from dawn till dusk. In the evening, I drove to my parents’ house for dinner. Both parents were there. But no one spoke. The atmosphere was oppressive. I broke the silence. “I went to see my sister and Lucas today.” The atmosphere solidified further. My mom put down her chopsticks and left the table. “I’m full.” My dad continued eating silently, indifferent to my words. He finished faster than me and left the table first. I called out to him, “Dad, starting tomorrow, I might be gone… for a long time.” He paused. “You’ve always had your own mind. Who can control you?” In the end, only I was left at the table, eating cold rice. Tears fell onto the table, drop by drop. That night, I didn’t return to the marital home but went to the small apartment I bought before marriage. Before sleeping, I booked a flight to Dali, checked my balance, and transferred a large sum to the college student I sponsored. Early the next morning, I found him standing properly downstairs. “Ms. Xu, you already sent me money this month.” I had corrected him before not to call me Ms. Xu; it sounded old. But he never changed, so I stopped forcing him. I sipped my soy milk. “I sent the future payments all at once. Is it enough? While I’m still around, if it’s not enough, I can send more.” “I graduate next year. I don’t need this much. I’ll return the extra.” Honest kid. I stuffed the last dumpling into my mouth. “It’s useless to me anyway.” “Did something happen, Ms. Xu? Can I help?” I blinked. “You’re on break, right? I’ll take you on a trip.” One more ticket to Dali. Photos of me touring with the college student filled my social media. It was fun. But a body with cancer cells couldn’t handle it. Right now, I was vomiting my guts out in the hotel bathroom. Stomach and abdomen cramping in waves, I curled up by the toilet. My phone rang again and again. It was Julian. 5 But I didn’t even have the strength to reach out and hang up, so I just let it ring. The stomach cramps continued. I threw up into the toilet again. The cycle repeated until I couldn’t tell where the pain was coming from. Finally, my body calmed down. I sat on the floor, hugging myself. Suddenly felt so useless. Julian got his way with the marriage. And he gets his way with my death. He’ll be so smug when he finds out. When I finally recovered enough, I composed myself and called Julian back. My voice had no trace of the sickness or sobbing from before. “What?” He was fiercer than me, almost roaring, “Sienna, is this how you disgust me? Delete those photos!” “If you don’t like wearing a green hat (being cheated on), then divorce me.” Julian always knew how to poke my wounds. “If my brother saw you like this, he’d be disgusted.” The abdominal pain returned. I bit my lip, enduring it desperately. “If my sister saw the cheap knockoff you found, she’d be stomping her feet in anger too.” Of course, I wasn’t bad at poking his wounds either. We were always like this, tit for tat. He hung up in anger, even forgetting to curse me to die. The doorbell rang. Percy stood at the door holding a pink pig-shaped cotton candy. “Ms. Xu, saw this downstairs, so I bought one for you.” Seeing someone who looked 80% like him holding the exact same cotton candy made me dazed for a moment. The grievances in my heart exploded instantly. My tears broke the dam. “Let me tell you a story.”

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The year I was my purest self, I split the meat bun my grandma made—the size of my face—and gave half to my scrawny desk mate. From then on, if I had a bite to eat, Julian had half. Junior year, Julian transferred. He was an illegitimate child, but his father finally acknowledged him. I left him a phone number: “If your dad doesn’t feed you well, call this number and find my grandma.” Five years later, while sorting through my late grandma’s belongings, her phone suddenly rang. “Grandma, I’m hungry.” I burst into tears at the phone: “I don’t have a grandma anymore…” Within an hour, a luxury SUV pulled up downstairs. “Lily Lin, I’m sorry, I’m late.” 1 I love meat buns—baozi. Thin skin, huge filling, dripping with savory oil. My grandma learned how to make them just for me. My parents had just scraped together enough for a small apartment in the city, so Grandma took me, a country bumpkin, to live with them. Grandma said, “A girl needs to see the world. Can’t stay in the sticks forever.” During dinner break in freshman year, I pulled out a baozi as big as my face, ready to feast. A gaze was locked onto the bun in my hand. It was my bean-sprout-skinny desk mate, Julian Gu. In this class, his popularity ranked dead last. Because he was an illegitimate child and his mom was sick, no one cared about him. His staring creeped me out, so I asked, “Why don’t you go to the cafeteria?” Julian’s eyes didn’t move an inch from my baozi: “My mom’s medicine costs money. I have no money for dinner.” Only then did I notice that Julian actually had nice features, but he was too thin, his cheeks and eyes sunken. I swallowed, steeled my heart, broke off half my baozi, and handed it to him. “I’m on a diet, can’t eat this much.” Julian’s hand hovered hesitantly in the air. It wasn’t until I placed that half bun in his palm that light returned to his eyes. I felt like if I didn’t feed him, he might start gnawing on me. “Th… thank you.” Although the baozi was a bit cold, it was still fresh and delicious. Julian wolfed it down. I ate the remaining half, feeling unsatisfied. If I knew he’d eat it like that, I would have given him less. I wasn’t full yet. 2 For the next few days, I’d split half of the baozi my grandma packed for me with Julian. I didn’t want to, initially. But when he looked at me with those big, pitiful eyes, my heart softened again. I pinched the flesh on my arm, then looked at Julian’s skeleton. Actually, eating less might be okay… Julian felt bad about eating my food for free, so he offered to help me with my studies. My English was terrible, but his was great. He patiently explained grammar to me and even let me copy his notes. Over time, we became friends. Sometimes we’d walk home together after school. High schoolers’ minds are basically adults’; the class was full of hormonal energy. Any interaction between a boy and a girl became gossip for the whole class. Julian and I were the subject of rumors. The guy behind me poked Julian’s back with a pen every day: “You bastard child and this country bumpkin, a perfect match!” Julian’s face got darker each time, but he never fought back. He didn’t want trouble. After all, he had no parents or family to back him up. Until one day, a classmate saw me splitting a baozi for Julian, and the whole class exploded. “I wondered why Julian was so attentive to Lily Lin. Turns out he’s a moocher living off a woman!” “Sigh, Lily is so stupid, wasting her kindness on Julian. Even his dad doesn’t want him, yet Lily treats him like a treasure…” Before, no matter how they humiliated Julian, he never resisted. But hearing someone call me stupid, he grabbed a chair and rushed at the guy, seizing his collar. “You say one more word about Lily, and I’ll smash your head in.” Julian was thin, but he wasn’t short. And after a month of being fed my baozi, he had much more energy. His forearms even showed muscle definition. The class went silent instantly. After all, when a quiet person snaps, it’s terrifying. Julian holding that chair leg looked like he could actually kill someone. 3 Since then, no one in the class dared say a word about Julian and me. I felt I needed to tell Grandma to make the baozi bigger next time. Because Julian’s appetite was growing. I went from giving him half, to three-fifths, to two-thirds. I was about to turn into a bean sprout myself. Every time I went home, Grandma asked if I finished the baozi. Finished? It wasn’t enough! My parents worked at a factory and only came home once a month; Grandma took care of me. I could feel Grandma’s confusion. She never skimped on the meat filling, so why was her granddaughter getting thinner? Grandma pinched my cheek, turning to the kitchen mumbling, “Guess I need to make them bigger…” In the finals before the New Year, both Julian and I improved by over a hundred ranks. I went from average to above average. And Julian shot into the top seven. Before, he studied on an empty stomach, which was inefficient. With my baozi, he was energized. Sometimes when he tutored me, I’d stare at his face and zone out. Because… Julian was damn handsome! Luckily, he was unpopular, and no one else noticed him. So only I could enjoy his looks. Winter break freshman year, my parents, Grandma, and I went back to the countryside for Chinese New Year. I turned to Julian, who was packing his bag. “What are you doing for winter break?” “Working.” In a blink, it was New Year’s Eve. The courtyard of our rural home was piled with red firecracker paper, and the TV was counting down to the New Year. I stood on the hill in the backyard, making a wish to the moon. “I hope Julian can eat his fill every year.” Wait, no, that wish is too simple. By the time I wanted to change it, the New Year bell had rung. Oh well. Eating his fill is good enough. 4 School started again, and everyone wore light spring clothes. Classmates were surprised to find I had slimmed down significantly and looked much better. Julian was even leaner than before the break. Looks like I have to fatten him up again. One morning, Julian kept his head down, silent. He ignored my greeting, just pointing to my desk drawer. Someone had stuffed a love letter inside. I read it over and over. After all, this was the first love letter I’d ever received. Julian snatched it away. “It’s just a scrap of paper. If you want one, I can write you one too!” Watching him panic like a dog jumping over a wall was hilarious. Julian suddenly turned red realizing what he said. We both lowered our heads. At the end of freshman year, I improved another hundred ranks. And Julian secured a spot in the top three. Grandma wanted to celebrate my “Most Improved” award, so she cooked a feast. I invited Julian. My parents weren’t home. Grandma welcomed Julian with a smile. “Look at this skinny child. Eat my baozi, I guarantee you won’t stay thin!” Julian and I exchanged a look, almost bursting into laughter. After dinner, I called Julian to my room to read. Julian took a rhinestone hairpin from his pocket and clipped it on my hair. “Mm, looks good. One day, I’ll replace all these with real diamonds.” A ray of sunlight slanted through the small window, hitting our profiles perfectly. He suddenly leaned down, looking at my face quietly. The sun turned his hair and eyelashes gold. If only time could freeze in this moment. If only Julian hadn’t transferred, if only Grandma hadn’t passed away… how good that would be.

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