She always told me that family, friendship, and love—they will all betray you. Only money never will. So the moment I returned to the Prescott family estate, I made a decision. I would become the master of the Prescott house. 1 I never knew my father. It was just my mother and me, living in a small, forgotten hollow deep in the country. The town was poor. Everyone, from the toddlers to the great-grandmothers, had to work. The phrase they loved to repeat was, “Poor children learn to run the house early.” But my mother was different. She never taught me how to work the land or keep a home. From the time I could understand, she drilled into me that the world was cruel and offered no fairness. When Mrs. Gable taught her daughter to be kind and gentle, my mother demanded I shed any excess goodness. Claw your way up by any means necessary the moment you see an opening. When Mr. Jones taught his son that kinship and family were everything, she taught me that family, friendship, and love would all betray me. Only money never would. She taught me to observe, to be sweet-tongued on the surface, and ruthless underneath. She showed me, through her own actions, that cold, hard cash was the only loyal thing on this earth. When I was fifteen, my biological father showed up. He wore a tailored suit and his hair was slicked back, not a strand out of place. His polished leather shoes, reflecting the sunlight, looked absurdly out of place on our cracked concrete porch. Mrs. Gable teased me, “Well, girl, looks like you’re finally going to have a good life.” I sat on the steps, staring absently at the gleaming hood ornament on his car—a silent signal of a world I didn’t know. I knew better. Good fortune doesn’t just crash down on you for free. That day, I was driven in the expensive sedan straight to a hospital. The driver oversaw a full physical exam and several vials of blood drawn. When we were done, I was dropped back in the hollow. My mother said nothing, just told me to wait. Ten days later, the man returned. His brow was relaxed; he seemed to be in a much better mood than the last time. He wanted me to stay outside, but my mother insisted I remain in the room and listen to their conversation. “The matching results are in. It’s a half-match.” My mother seemed unsurprised, her expression tranquil. But I saw the truth. Her facade of calm was paper-thin. Her hand, clutching mine, was trembling. At fifteen, I didn’t know what a “half-match” meant. That day, the two people with the closest blood tie to me negotiated for three hours in my presence. In the end, I went home with my biological father. My mother walked away with Five Million Dollars. My bone marrow. That’s what she sold for the price of a house. 2 Alistair Prescott didn’t like my mother, and he certainly didn’t like me. On the drive away from the hollow, I listened to him vent to the driver. My mother, it turned out, was a “mistake” from his youth. He said that if he hadn’t thought she was young, pretty, and easily controlled, he never would have slept with her. He never expected her to be so calculating, running off once she realized she was pregnant. From his tirade, I gathered he had a devoted wife, Sylvie. A daughter, Sierra, who had been raised like a princess. And a son, Remy, who had leukemia. If his son didn’t desperately need a bone marrow transplant, he would never have dragged me into the Prescott family’s life. Alistair dozed off mid-sentence. The space in the luxury car was vast, yet I felt cramped and suffocated. After what felt like forever, the car stopped outside a stunning, columned mansion. Smack. I was still climbing out when the slap landed. I hadn’t even had a chance to register the house. The sudden blow, combined with the stiffness from the long drive, sent me sprawling onto the driveway. My cheek was a sheet of stinging heat. “Sierra! What in God’s name are you doing?” Facing her father’s reprimand, the girl—my half-sister—pouted. “Daddy, don’t you love me anymore?” Alistair sighed, already melting. “Don’t be ridiculous, sweetheart. I was just worried you’d hurt your hand.” Sierra instantly brightened. She hooked her arm through his, staring down at me with an air of pure, arrogant disdain. “Hitting her dirties my hands. Dad, she’s ruined my mood on her very first day. Can we at least make her kneel in the solarium and pray for Remy? Please?” Alistair glanced down at me, then affectionately ruffled Sierra’s perfect blonde waves. “You’re impossible, kid. Fine. You win.” As they turned away, Sierra’s shimmery, designer dress caught the light, a spectacular, dazzling thing made of a fabric I’d never seen before. I knelt for five hours that day. It wasn’t until late that night that I met Sylvie, Alistair’s wife. She was immaculately maintained, but her face was etched with a permanent, profound worry. She barely spared me a look before ordering a housekeeper to take me away. I was settled in the staff quarters, sharing a room with Mrs. Lewis, the senior housekeeper. Mrs. Lewis brought me a plate of food. The rice was dry, and on the side were two cold, greasy pieces of pot roast. The first bite was heavy and oily, coating my mouth with fat. I smiled brightly. “Thank you, ma’am. This is very good.” She just looked at me and said nothing. I knew everyone here disliked me, the bastard daughter dragged in from the backwoods. But if I was going to survive here, I had to change their minds. A few days later, I was taken to see my half-brother, Remy. His face was ghostly pale, as if he might crumble at any moment. When he saw me, there was no hostility, only a quiet emptiness. But when he heard I was his donor, his eyelashes flickered. 3 The doctors opted for a bone marrow biopsy and stem cell harvest. The operating room was freezing. Even through the anesthesia, I felt the pain. An insidious, deep ache. That was the first time I cried since I came back to the Prescotts. I missed my mother. I wanted to ask her why it hurt so much. Remy’s recovery went smoothly enough. Alistair’s attitude toward me softened slightly. He even enrolled me in the same elite private school as Sierra. But even though I had saved her brother’s life, she still hated me. The news of my illegitimate status spread through the school instantly. Sierra led the charge to isolate me. My freshman year was a cycle of finding spiders in my desk, razor blades in my water bottle, and the constant threat of a burnt scalp from a hurled curling iron or a stapler puncture. I was hit, cursed, threatened, and shunned. Whether I was drenched in cold water or locked in the storage closet for the night, I always faced them with a smile. I never told on them. I certainly never cried. I started eating all the heaviest, unhealthiest food I could find. I gained weight, my face broke out with teenage acne, and I wore the baggiest, most shapeless clothes. I was utterly, deliberately forgettable. My mother had taught me: When you are dull and without light, fewer people will bother to look your way. After a while, my complete lack of resistance bored Sierra. She stopped constantly monitoring me. I finally got the breathing room I needed to study. I kept my grades consistently low, always positioning myself at the bottom of the class roster to act as a buffer for Sierra’s terrible scores. In the second half of sophomore year, Remy’s rejection symptoms became severe. I went in for another bone marrow harvest. It was more painful than the last time. I clenched my jaw, refusing to let a single sound escape. Crying is a currency, and I had already spent mine long ago. After that procedure, I was moved into a small, independent room. It had the worst light in the entire villa, but for the first time, I had a space that was just mine. Mrs. Lewis secretly made me a dish of liver—good for the blood. She watched me eat, then turned her back to discreetly wipe away tears. Having shared a room with me for over a year, she knew exactly how often I came back with new bruises. Her initial disgust for the “bastard child” had transformed into pity. She once asked me, Don’t you resent them? I offered her a silent, weary smile. After you’ve walked too many helpless miles alone, resentment simply turns into calculation. 4 Senior year arrived. Sierra’s grades were a lost cause, so Alistair had already arranged for her to study abroad. Naturally, I, with my equally poor grades, had no such luxury. I had to remain in Avery Metropolitan, ready for the next bone marrow call. Sierra had already flown to Switzerland when I took my college entrance exams. Over the summer, her social media feed was full of the Swiss Alps, the Greek Islands, and spectacular skydiving videos. Life is an open frontier, her captions declared. A few weeks later, my scores came in. I had completely over-performed, scoring high enough to get into one of the top public universities in Avery Metropolitan. It was the first time Alistair had ever truly seen me as a daughter. Before that, he didn’t even know what schools I’d applied to. He actually called me to the main dining table for dinner. At the table, he said he would grant me one wish. Even Sylvie looked at me with an uncharacteristic flicker of warmth. Seeing their expectant faces, I let the tears fall, one by one. I told them I had only one wish: I hoped Remy would get well soon. My sincerity wasn’t questioned. They both knew I visited Remy twice a week. The stack of handwritten prayers I copied for Remy in the solarium was thicker than anything Sierra, his biological sister, had ever done. Alistair’s eyes misted over. He patted my shoulder. “It will happen, Rowan. I promise.” Sylvie’s expression was complex. After a long moment, she reached over and put a piece of tender sea bass on my plate. I had earned my seat at the table. I spent most of the summer vacation at the hospital, caring for Remy. Remy was a quiet boy, and perhaps because I was his literal lifeline, he didn’t resist my presence. To an outsider, we looked like a genuinely devoted brother and sister. Sylvie was almost always there, too. She had grown used to my presence, occasionally even offering a word of genuine concern. On the day my freshman year began, Alistair sent a driver and Mrs. Lewis to accompany me to campus. Everyone in the household had noticed the shift in my status. Everyone, that is, except Sierra, who was still abroad. 5 College life was better than I could have imagined. I joined the university’s competitive math society and met Rhys Easton, a student two years ahead of me. He was honest and gentle, completely unlike a rat like me who had spent her life crawling in the gutter. He was a sun, and I couldn’t help but orbit him. I liked him. By a stroke of beautiful luck, he liked me, too. On a perfect, sun-drenched afternoon, he held a bouquet of flowers and asked me to be his girlfriend. The friends he’d enlisted cheered and wished us well. Rhys placed a light, tender kiss on the back of my hand. He tilted his head back, his smile open and radiant. Watching the small tear-mole beneath his eye, my heart melted into something soft and unrecognizable. I was, however briefly, living a beautiful life. During my first college break, Sierra didn’t return. She went to Iceland and chased the Northern Lights. Sylvie didn’t say much, but I saw the disappointment in her eyes. I had long realized that Sylvie favored Remy. She was traditionally biased toward her son, and his leukemia had only intensified that focus. She was visibly upset that Sierra hadn’t returned to check on Remy. Sylvie was aging. Stress had started to thread grey through her hair. The constant surgeries and stress over the years had made her anxious and quick-tempered. The day before New Year’s Eve, Remy’s condition suddenly deteriorated, and he was rushed into the ICU. Alistair was out of town and couldn’t make it back. The staff were all busy at the estate preparing for the holiday. It was just Sylvie and me at the hospital. Outside the operating room, Sylvie gripped my hand tightly, staring at the closed doors. In that moment of extreme vulnerability, I, the bastard daughter, was her only comfort. Thankfully, it was a false alarm. Remy was stabilized. The overwhelming relief of not losing him caused Sylvie to forget herself. She threw her arms around me and sobbed uncontrollably. She cried, and I cried with her. I whispered, “Please, take my bone marrow again. I’ll do anything to make Remy better.” She patted my head, a shaky, tearful gesture. “Sweet child, it’s not that simple anymore.” After that scare, Sylvie became terrified of losing Remy. She moved all her personal belongings to the hospital, including the small chapel paraphernalia she used for prayer. She swore off meat to pray for Remy, and I quietly began eating only vegetables with her. She gradually grew more fragile, and her arguments with Alistair grew explosive. Alistair’s company was demanding, and I knew he maintained several mistresses. His sick son and his increasingly hysterical wife were wearing him down. Alistair’s absence during Remy’s rush to the ICU became the final flashpoint, and their marriage crisis exploded. 6 The villa’s foyer was littered with broken glass and porcelain. Sylvie had stormed out, slamming the door. Alistair slumped onto the sofa, resting his head in his hands. The overflowing ashtray spoke volumes about his frustration. I brought him a cup of calming herbal tea, cautiously offering comfort. “Please don’t be angry, Dad. Sylvie is just so worried about Remy.” Alistair lifted his eyes, accepted the mug, and sighed deeply. He looked me over, his gaze assessing, before changing the subject. “How are things at school?” I pressed my lips together and smiled. “Thank you for asking, Dad. The students are friendly, and my professors are wonderful.” He nodded, his eyes drifting to my worn, faded jeans. “I’ll have my assistant wire you some money. You’re an adult now. Buy some nice clothes.” He stood up, ready to leave. I walked him to the car. Before the door closed, he said, “I’m busy. When you have time, go check on your brother for me.” Until the semester started, Alistair only visited the hospital once. Sylvie handed me one of her credit cards, putting me in charge of the household expenses and staff payroll. Neither she nor Alistair returned to the villa frequently. Everything in the house was now my responsibility. My bedroom was moved from the small, badly lit staff room to a large, sunny suite on the second floor. If Sierra were here, she would have slapped me and accused me of stealing her life. The following summer, Sierra returned for one week. I conveniently managed to miss her, taking a trip to the coast with Rhys. Rhys was a man of integrity. He never pressured me to do anything I wasn’t ready for. Our relationship was still confined to hand-holding and embracing. But the shared trip brought our hearts closer. After the vacation, Rhys began an internship at his family’s company. While he hadn’t made a big show of it, he hadn’t hidden his identity, either. He was the only son of Silas Easton, the famously ruthless real estate developer in Avery City. Our time together became shorter. But no matter how busy he was, Rhys still came to see me every single day. When midterms arrived, I applied to participate in a math competition in New York to bolster my application for a post-grad scholarship. It was my first time traveling abroad. Rhys arranged to attend as an administrative assistant, just to be with me. The competition went well. I didn’t win the top prize, but I ranked well. Afterward, Rhys suggested we celebrate. He mentioned that his sister went to college nearby and could recommend a good restaurant. Walking down a New York street, he held my hand. “Funny enough,” he said, turning his black eyes, bright as sunlight, to mine, “my sister shares your last name.” Rhys was beautiful. Even lost in a throng of people, he shone. A moment later, I spotted Sierra. We hadn’t seen each other in over a year. In that year, I had lost fifteen pounds, traded my heavy bangs and black-rimmed glasses for a sleek, long haircut, and my acne had vanished. Sierra didn’t recognize me. That didn’t stop her immediate, knee-jerk hostility. “Sierra, this is Rowan, my girlfriend.” “Ugh, did you get a girlfriend and forget about your sister, Rhys? You haven’t checked on me in ages.” Sierra cut him off, clearly annoyed. Rhys shot her a look of resignation, then turned back to me, but his expression froze. My face was paper-white. Cold sweat coated my palms. My body was shaking uncontrollably. “Rowan? What is it?” Sierra’s impatient gaze finally landed on me. She frowned. Tears sprang to my eyes. I was shaking, staring at her. “Si…erra…” Her eyes widened in disbelief. She lunged, grabbing my arm. “Rowan Prescott! You! How DARE you!” “Stop it! Let her go. Show some respect,” Rhys demanded. Sierra looked infuriated. She grabbed a fistful of my hair. “Respect this tramp? This bastard spawn of my father’s mistake? You don’t know, do you? She’s Alistair Prescott’s filthy illegitimate daughter!”

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My mother suffered from severe Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. The day I was born, I weighed an exact three-tenths of a pound more than my twin sister, Lydia. So she put me on a scale. She gave me only minimal water each day, starving me until my weight matched Lydia’s—down to the decimal point. I screamed, my infant cries echoing with hunger, but Mom just refrigerated the formula and breast milk Lydia didn’t finish. She would feed Lydia eight times a day. Eventually, my sister and I both ended up in the hospital. I was there for severe malnutrition. Lydia, surprisingly, was there for being fed spoiled, refrigerated milk. But even that wasn’t enough. As we grew older, our weights naturally diverged again. She fed Lydia until she was dangerously overweight, yet she couldn’t stand my natural lean frame. She eventually forced me to eat rich, fatty meat—the one thing she knew I was severely allergic to. That’s how I died—suffocated. The next time I opened my eyes, I was back inside my mother’s womb… 1 I was dead. The plate of fatty meat she forced down my throat had triggered a massive allergic reaction, swelling my esophagus until I couldn’t pull in a single breath. Yet, after death, I was enveloped in the warm, cushioning comfort of amniotic fluid once more. That sensation—that safe, warm, all-encompassing space—was the only true motherly love I had ever known. Then, a sharp voice cut through the muffled quiet. “Doctor, is there any way my two children can be born at the exact same time?” “Ms. Harrington, that is physically impossible. The cervix is only so large, you cannot possibly deliver two babies simultaneously.” The familiar words sliced through the fog. A jolt, like a tiny spark of lightning, shot through my nascent brain. Sure enough, the next line came, exactly as I remembered it. “I don’t care. You will make sure my children come out together.” “Or I’ll have your license revoked for gross negligence and emotional distress. I’ll make sure you never practice medicine in this state again.” …It was Mom’s voice. As her dialogue overlapped perfectly with my memory, the horrifying truth settled in: I had been reborn. I was back inside her womb, and she was on the delivery table. In the last life, she had hired an astrologer to calculate a Golden Hour for a “lucky” baby. But with two of us inside, it was impossible to hit the same moment. I—in my mother’s cold, cruel words—was too ambitious, too eager to be first. The moment I showed my face, I was branded the unlucky one. Lydia was luckier, born a few minutes later, perfectly within the calculated window. So when the doctor informed Mom I was three-tenths of a pound heavier, she didn’t even look at me. With a wrinkled brow, she issued my “Weight Loss Order.” I didn’t get a single taste of breast milk, forced onto a drastic regimen immediately. It left me malnourished from the start, permanently affecting my ability to absorb nutrients, keeping me fragile and lean. Meanwhile, Mom had an oversupply of milk. She would scoop Lydia’s leftovers into a bowl and refrigerate it. Lydia was fed eight times a day. It landed us both in the pediatric ward: me for failing to thrive, and my sister for chronic food poisoning from the spoiled milk. 2 This time, the attending physician was furious at my mother’s brazen threat, but seeing her on the verge of delivery, he had no choice but to push through his anger and continue. But this time, I fought back. I dug in, refusing to be the first one out. “Difficult delivery!” “We’ve got a complication!” “Family, our recommendation is an emergency C-section. Please sign the consent forms immediately.” “No! C-sections produce slow, damaged children! You will not cut her, she has to deliver naturally!” That sharp, strident voice belonged to my maternal grandmother, Eleanor. If my mother was the executioner, Eleanor was the one who handed her the knife. Together, they ran roughshod over my father, Marcus, who was too intimidated to speak up. So, Mom insisted on a natural birth, risking massive hemorrhaging to deliver both of us. Naturally, she was too exhausted to continue threatening the doctor with a fabricated harassment suit. This time, neither of us was the “lucky baby.” We started life on the exact same footing. Except I was still three-tenths of a pound heavier than Lydia. “Marcus, go buy ten more scales! I don’t believe it. They are twins—how can their weight be different?” Mom raked her fingers through her hair, looking frantic after weighing us eight times. Grandma Eleanor, a tyrant to everyone else, was a willing servant to Mom. She immediately rushed out to follow the order. But to Mom’s dismay, our weights were different on every single scale. She collapsed, pointing at me with a look of pure aversion. “Take her away! She’s always trying to get ahead! She must have stolen Lydia’s nutrition in the womb.” “Starve her for a few days. That’ll teach her to be humble.” In my last life, my lifelong digestive problems started right here. Reborn, I would not allow that tragedy to repeat. Crying in front of Mom was useless—it only made her dislike me more. So I waited until four in the afternoon, when my dad, Marcus, got home, and I started screaming. I let out the most desperate, pathetic cries I could muster. It terrified my father. He rushed inside without even changing his shoes, searching frantically for me. My throat was raw when he finally found me. He found me in the drum of the washing machine. 3 Yes. I had been put in the washing machine drum. Mom had told Grandma Eleanor to starve me. But every time Eleanor turned her back, I would manage to crawl off in search of food. Exasperated, Eleanor just tossed me into the washer. Out of sight, out of mind. “Tori, what in God’s name? Why would you put a baby in here?” Dad was so shocked he didn’t even yell at Eleanor first. He turned to Mom. “Mom, why did you put her in the drum?” “Didn’t you say she needed to slim down? Shaking her around in here—that’s a workout, isn’t it?” Eleanor said, utterly self-righteous. My usually reserved father finally snapped. He faced Eleanor. “Mom, a washing machine tumbles clothes! What if she had been seriously hurt?” “Hurt? I’ve been on this earth decades longer than you! I know what I’m doing!” Eleanor’s face flushed red at his audacity. “Don’t you dare talk back to me!” But Dad was genuinely furious this time. He held his ground despite her yelling. It wasn’t until Mom intervened that the shouting stopped. “Marcus, my mother is your elder. Don’t disrespect her.” “The baby is fine, isn’t she? Why are you being so dramatic?” Dad had been poor when they first met. Mom had stayed by his side, helping him build his business. He owed her, and he always deferred to her. Mom’s words stopped his outburst cold. He merely left the room, muttering, “It’ll be too late when something does happen,” and carried me to his home office. I tried to convey my hunger, gnawing on his hand for what felt like an hour. He finally understood, and with a fresh determination, he took me back to Mom for feeding. But she looked at him with icy indifference and shut us both out. “She’s already three-tenths of a pound heavier than Lydia. Why would I feed her?” 4 I’ll never forget the raw shock and anger on my father’s face that day. He banged on the door and pleaded with her, but Mom remained unmoved. Furious, he took me straight to his office, bought a case of high-quality formula, and began raising me himself. In my past life, I hadn’t been put in the washer. Dad had just said a quick goodbye and left on a business trip, which I always took as his silent approval of Mom’s cruelty. But now, it was clear: he loved me. He consulted online forums, called pediatric nurses, and dedicated himself to parenting. I was thriving. I was healthy, plump, and free of pain. The change was evident the next time Mom decided, on a whim, to check on me. It was this progress that made her completely lose control. “Marcus Harrington, I told you she wasn’t supposed to eat! Why is she this fat?” Mom’s nails dug into my soft baby skin. I screamed. Dad immediately snatched me out of her grasp. My weight was Dad’s proudest accomplishment. He showed me off to everyone, bragging that he was raising me himself. When Mom called me fat, he immediately got defensive. “Babies are supposed to be a little plump! She’s adorable!” he said, beaming. Mom, however, was on the brink of hysteria. She demanded he bring me home immediately. I was put on those ten scales again. This time, I was a full pound heavier than Lydia. We looked less like twins and more like sisters separated by a year. Mom’s face visibly darkened, but Dad, emboldened by my health, continued to chatter happily. “Look how great Mia is doing. Lydia looks so frail, Tori. Why don’t you let me take her, too? You can take a break.” His intentions were kind, but in Mom’s mind, he had not only ruined her plan but was now gloating about it. 5 “Marcus, look at them! They don’t look like twins anymore! Mia looks like you’ve turned her into a little pig!” “They are twins, Tori. And now they look completely different.” Mom started to weep, the tears of pure frustration. Dad knew all about her OCD, but he tried to reason with her. “It’s normal for twins to look different, Tori. The world doesn’t make two perfectly identical people. Especially with fraternal twins…” He tried to be rational, but she wasn’t listening. She slapped him across the face. “Marcus, I don’t care about other people! My children must be the same!” “Look at what you dress her in, her hair, her weight, everything!” To her, all the fault lay with me and Dad. If I could speak, I would have asked her, Why can’t it be you who is raising her wrong? Why must I be forced to live according to Lydia’s image? I was the older one, the sister who arrived first. Yet I still couldn’t understand why, even in this second life, she still preferred Lydia, always making her the baseline for perfection. The undeserved slap sent Dad over the edge. His pent-up frustration and rage exploded. “Tori Harrington, do you honestly think you’re the only person in the world who’s right?” he roared. “It’s wrong if I squeeze the toothpaste from the middle. It’s wrong if I step into the house with my left foot first. It’s wrong if I pair a black suit with a gray tie! It’s wrong if I don’t eat my dinner in the exact sequence you’ve laid out!” “And now, a healthy child is wrong!” “Tori, you are the sick one! I am done with this!” Dad stood tall and defiant, speaking the words I’d held in my heart for years. Mom was stunned into silence, reeling either from his words or his sudden, terrifying rebellion. A heavy silence descended. Then, the floodgates opened. She didn’t speak, but her tears streamed down her face like a broken dam. In the end, Dad compromised. 6 But he only apologized for shouting. He stood firm on the parenting issue. My health, the solid reality of my thriving body, was his best defense. The somber tension was broken by Lydia’s sudden, wrenching convulsions. They immediately rushed both of us to the hospital. Last time, we were admitted together—I for malnutrition, Lydia for the spoiled milk. This time was no different. The results came back, and the doctor’s frustration was palpable. “The children are too small to know better, but you, as the adults? How can you give a baby spoiled milk?” Mom’s first reaction was denial. “Impossible. You have the wrong diagnosis.” Ignoring the doctor’s warning, she fled, dragging Lydia all over the city to consult every available clinic and hospital. The result was always the same. The frantic clinic-hopping, combined with her underlying illness, only made Lydia worse. She ended up in the ICU. Mom finally broke, crouching in the hospital hallway, screaming and deflecting blame. “This is your fault for never coming home! You don’t care if your wife and kids live or die! Well, now Lydia is sick! Are you happy now?” Dad, already anxious about Lydia’s condition, was aghast. “Tori, I know you’re worried, but she is my daughter, too. I’m just as concerned as you are.” “How can you say that to me?” The crowd of onlookers grew. Mom was imperious, while Dad stood there holding me, the healthy baby. The public sympathy immediately tilted in Dad’s favor. Feeling humiliated and losing face in front of strangers, Mom’s rage escalated. 7 She stormed over, her sharp fingernails digging into my cheek. “You pretend Lydia is your child?” “From the moment they were born, your attention has been all on her! You dumped Lydia on me and walked away!” “How dare you act like you care about her now!” Seeing me hurt, and driven to the edge by her sheer villainy, Dad decided he was finished protecting her reputation. “Enough!” he roared. “You say I favor Mia? Why don’t you tell everyone why I, a man running a company, have to bring a baby to work every day?” “It was you! It was you who starved her for being three-tenths of a pound heavier! You stood by while your mother put her in a washing machine drum to ‘slim her down’!” “You let your excess milk spoil instead of giving Mia one drop!” “Lydia is in the hospital right now because you fed her that contaminated milk!” Dad spoke with furious conviction, clutching me tightly. The crowd instantly believed him, murmuring in shock. Even the doctors were appalled, their attitude toward Mom doing a complete one-eighty. Exposed in front of everyone, Mom was blinded by fury. The word “Divorce” flew out of her mouth. Dad, desperate to quell the public scene, simply agreed to placate her. But Mom lunged, trying to rip me from his arms. “I birthed them both! You won’t take either of them!” Dad refused to let go. In the struggle, Mom raked her nails across his face, drawing blood that dripped onto me. The feigned agreement became a sudden, cold reality. It was Dad who wanted the divorce now.

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It was the night Devon’s on-screen romance with his co-star, Anya Wells, went viral—again. I ripped open a bag of sea salt and vinegar chips with enthusiasm, clicked on the fan-made compilation video, and started weeping openly over their “sweet, destined love.” Devon sighed beside me. “It’s all just promotion, Jo. It’s not real. Don’t get upset.” I lifted my tear-drenched eyes. “I’m not upset. I genuinely think you guys have amazing chemistry.” The video’s soundtrack swelled as every on-screen kiss flashed by, each one looking utterly consuming and impossible to stop. They looked like two people who were truly meant to be, which only fueled the fandom’s favorite comment: The timing is everything. If only his girlfriend had never been in the picture. I took a deep, shuddering breath. “Devon,” I said. “Let’s break up.” I watched his eyes widen in stunned disbelief. It hit me then—this was the seventh year of my relationship with Devon Shaw. He was finally a household name, the big star, and I was just the “plain, undeserving civilian girlfriend” the public—and his fans—loved to hate. When a female colleague was attacked by rumors, Devon would shield her, offering careful, public comfort and concern. But when I was the one being shredded by the online mob for dating him—labeled the “extra baggage” and the “stale older woman”—he just told me calmly: “Look, the audience is obsessed with me and Anya. They’re still invested in the characters. Try not to overreact.” But now that I was finally taking his advice and stepping away, why did he suddenly look so panicked? 1 Devon looked like he hadn’t processed my words. After a long silence, he said flatly, “I need to hear the real reason, Josie.” I shrugged. “That is the reason.” He stared into my eyes, thinking he saw right through me. “It’s about the shoot, isn’t it, Jo? You’re getting paranoid and insecure again?” He emphasized the word again. It was true. My lack of security had always made me fret and spiral. Especially over the last two years, right as Devon’s career took off. He’d join a set and suddenly, texts wouldn’t be returned and calls wouldn’t be answered. Where he was shooting, who he was working with—he never told me anything. Most of the time, I learned about his life by refreshing Twitter and watching paparazzi leaks from the set. In those short videos, holding, hugging, and passionate kissing were just part of the job. I would often watch them, my mind uncontrollably conjuring up intimate scenarios of him with other women, and then I wouldn’t sleep. Maybe I was just too small-minded. A few times, when I couldn’t stand it, I called him, only to be met with Devon’s cold, immediate hang-up. When we finally saw each other, his first response was always to criticize me: “I’ve told you so many times. I have to commit to the role. I have to be completely immersed in the script, and I can’t be distracted by outside people or things. As a professional actor’s girlfriend, you have to understand me, you have to support me. You can’t just cause trouble. Get it?” 2 I had tried my best not to cause trouble. There was only one time I’d truly slipped. We hadn’t seen each other in over three months, and I missed Devon desperately. I checked his schedule in advance, making sure he had the day off to come visit the set. I waited in line for three hours to buy his favorite artisanal pastries. But then a sudden, torrential downpour hit New York. The production crew quickly moved a major rain-soaked scene to that day. Because of my unscheduled arrival, Devon couldn’t get into the headspace for his kiss scene, and the director called for multiple retakes. Devon was usually polite and charming to everyone, never losing his temper on set. He apologized profusely to the crew for the delays. But he saved all his rage for me. He even threw the box of pastries I’d bought. “Jocelyn, who told you to come here? Take your damn junk and get out!” Tears blurred my vision. “Devon Shaw, you’re an asshole! You only ever yell at me! I saw you were busy, and I immediately went to the break room to wait. How was I causing trouble? I’m done with this! We’re breaking up!” Hearing the word “break up,” Devon froze for two seconds. He clenched his fists, forcing down his anger. He shoved me into a chair and kissed me—a desperate, rough, hungry kiss that was half kiss and half savage bite. “We can fight, but don’t ever threaten to leave me again.” Today, Devon was trying the same move. I took a step back. He missed. Devon rubbed his temples, patiently explaining, “Anya is a newcomer. She’s young, it takes her a minute to snap out of character, okay? Is that wrong? She’s a colleague, and she was crying, so I offered comfort. Is that wrong? Can you please stop being so suspicious? You make me feel like a total jerk. I’m under so much pressure…” He rambled on and on. I didn’t hear a word. My mind was stuck on the live stream from earlier today. Devon and Anya had stared into each other’s eyes, and both had burst into tears. I didn’t understand. In the show, the couple got their happy ending. The show was a massive hit, earning critical acclaim. So why were they both crying? Devon had instinctively raised his hand to wipe Anya’s tears, paused mid-air, and then awkwardly switched to patting her on the head. That one tiny detail was enough for the CP fandom to churn out countless videos. The caption: Your tears are still wet on your face, but I no longer have the right to wipe them away. Before, I would have been consumed by jealousy and demanded that Devon grovel. But not now. It turns out that when a relationship truly reaches its end, it really is like stagnant water. There are no more waves to be made. “You’re right, Devon. You didn’t do anything wrong. But I still want to break up today.” 3 My stubbornness finally depleted Devon’s patience. He was rushing to catch a flight and didn’t have time for this drama, so he threw out his usual parting shot: “Just go cool off for a while.” It was his most common solution to our problems. He’d just wash his hands of it. The next time we met, we’d kiss and make up, and we’d both pretend the argument never happened. To him, silence meant resolution. But with me, every incident was carefully cataloged. A few days later, I signed a lease transfer agreement for my flower shop. “Ms. Reid, your business is always doing so well. Why are you giving it up?” the new owner asked. I looked at my shop, feeling a deep, wrenching sadness. I had poured years of my life into this place. “Because I’m leaving New York soon.” Devon and I were both from Santa Monica. Years ago, he moved to New York to chase his dreams, and I quit my job and followed him. In the beginning, we were dirt poor, living in a ten-foot windowless box where the monthly rent was six hundred dollars and the windows barely peeked above ground level. Passersby were always peeking in. New York was so luxurious. And we were like rats living in the sewer. The winters here were bone-chilling. I bought a secondhand space heater, and one night it malfunctioned and started a fire. When Devon heard the news, he borrowed a friend’s car and drove seven hours overnight to get back. He’s a man who puts almost all of his emotion into his acting. He’s usually distant and cool in everyday life. But that night, he held me and cried so hard he was practically hyperventilating. “Josie, this is my fault. I’m making you suffer. I promise I’ll make it big. I’ll make so much money, and I’ll love you and cherish you forever!” Seven years later. Devon’s career had soared, and our problems had multiplied. It was unavoidable. I’m a person who is cripplingly anxious about intimacy and security. And Devon is an actor. His job required filming intensely intimate scenes, shoving his entire soul into another identity, and imagining himself falling in love with another person as his character. Once, he had a fiercely passionate kiss scene with an actress. It was a crucial, famous scene that marked the climax of the characters’ emotional entanglement. They kissed until they were both crying, spontaneously embracing and kissing for a long time, not even hearing the director yell “Cut!” They ended up falling onto the bed, bodies pressing close, tearing at each other’s clothes. The things that happened after were not in the script. It was a subconscious reaction born of genuine, raw emotion. The director applauded wildly. “That’s fantastic! We’re keeping that—they really committed to the feeling!” As fate would have it, that day was Devon’s birthday, and I had come to surprise him with a gift. Honestly, seeing that scene was agonizing. But what could I do? It was his job. Even getting mad or being jealous made me look like a hysterical idiot. That lack of security made me anxious, sensitive, and obsessively controlling. I checked his phone while he was showering. He caught me. He was furious. “Jocelyn, what is wrong with you? Don’t you have anything better to do? Don’t you have a life?” A brutal trio of questions. He was the one who had convinced me to quit my job and move to New York, claiming he loved how attached I was and that he’d support me forever. After that fight, I took all my savings and opened this flower shop. I came every single day, rain or shine. I made myself busy. That way, I wouldn’t have time to obsess over who Devon was kissing today, how intense the sex scenes were, whether he was getting a physical reaction, or if he’d fall out of character and genuinely fall for someone else. 4 Rush hour was over. The subway car on the way home was empty. Two girls sat next to me, staring at a phone with goofy, lovesick smiles. “Wanna bet? Devon and Anya have definitely caught real feelings off-camera. Those subconscious touches don’t lie.” “Doesn’t Devon have a girlfriend?” “Come on. Think about it: on one side, a girlfriend he’s been with for seven years, who’s stale and old news. On the other, a gorgeous, vibrant new actress. If you were Devon, who would you choose?” I subtly pulled out my compact mirror and checked my face. I was once the homecoming queen, damn it. I couldn’t be that stale, could I? Actually, Devon only went public with our relationship because I forced him to. Initially, he said he didn’t want his personal life discussed in the media. So no one in the industry knew he had a girlfriend. Women pursued him, people tried to set him up, and there were even offers for favors. I finally lost it. “Is it that you don’t think it’s necessary, or is it that you’re ashamed of me and don’t want to give up your single status?” Devon called me irrational. But he still posted a statement on Instagram announcing my existence: Happy 7th Anniversary to my girl @JosieReid Late that night, both #DevonShawAnnouncesRelationship and #DevonAnya were trending simultaneously. Because their CP fandom had immediately published a viral post— You are my frenzy, existing outside the order of the mundane world. The post summarized every ambiguous moment between them since they started working together. In the thread, they were positioned as star-crossed lovers, and I was the villain, the bully standing in the way of their destined union. The fans claimed Devon was only with me out of a sense of obligation, not wanting to break up with a “boring, mediocre girlfriend.” Anya logged onto Instagram late that night. She liked the post, then quickly unliked it, and then posted an explanation claiming her “thumb slipped.” A textbook move. Then she specifically tagged me: @JosieReid Hey, sis! Don’t worry about it. Let’s grab brunch soon! As if we were close friends. I’d never even met her. Devon told me not to overthink it. “Anya’s just a sweet, simple kid. She was probably just trying to smooth things over so you wouldn’t feel awkward.” I asked subconsciously, “She’s simple. And what about me?” “You?” Devon curled his lip into a slight smile. “Come on, Jo. Why are you comparing yourself to a young girl?” His tone was gentle, almost affectionate. Anya was only two years younger than me. 5 The girl next to me unplugged her headphones. I heard a familiar voice. Then I realized: today was the press conference for Devon’s new movie in Los Angeles. It was streaming live. I clicked into the live feed. Recently, Anya had been facing major public backlash. Rumors were swirling about her past—high school bullying, trading favors for roles, and flirting with her male co-stars. At the conference, Anya addressed the rumors for the first time. Within moments, she was sobbing, unable to speak. Devon was there the entire time, shielding her. For every invasive question from the media, for every malicious comment in the live chat, Devon was right there to fire back. He spoke with serious gravity: “Online bullying is a terrible thing. It causes irreparable harm to people…” I started to laugh. I laughed until the tears started welling up and my nose began to sting. I buried my face in my hands. The tears streamed down through my fingers. “Are you okay?” the girl next to me offered a tissue. “Thank you…” Crying on the subway was embarrassing. I got off early. It was all Devon’s fault. Ever since he went public, his and Anya’s fans had relentlessly attacked my comment section. Stop hoarding him, give the King to someone who is actually worthy. The unloved one is the third wheel. You’re really just extra, sis. If you, the little bitch, hadn’t been in the way, our OTP would be together! Break up now, or we’ll keep bullying you until you do. More extreme fans had doxed me, sent me gruesome messages, and even staked out my apartment building. I used to read about people who committed suicide because of online bullying. I felt sad, but I also didn’t quite understand it. Couldn’t they just unplug, ignore the anonymous hate, and focus on their own lives? When it happened to me, I finally understood the terror. It was truly horrifying. Devon was on location at the time. Calls went unanswered, and messages vanished into the void. By the time he wrapped and came home, I had been struggling with insomnia for two weeks. I had even visited a doctor to get medication for my nerve issues. Devon just held me and offered a shallow comfort: “It’s okay, Jo. Don’t worry. They’re just still invested in the show.” That night, he left for his next scheduled trip. I always thought his behavior was just his personality. He was a little insensitive to other people’s feelings, not great at comforting, but it wasn’t a huge deal. It wasn’t like he stopped loving me. But watching the screen right now, seeing Devon vehemently defending Anya, saying online hate kills people… Watching him sitting in the corner, constantly handing Anya tissues and speaking softly to comfort her, making her laugh through her tears… I felt like the biggest joke in the world. 6 I booked a flight back to Santa Monica. The day before I was scheduled to leave, I followed my doctor’s advice and went for one last follow-up appointment. Psychiatry was on the top floor. A long hallway was roped off, surrounded by a crowd of people. I walked over to look. They were shooting a movie. I wasn’t interested and turned to leave, just as my eyes met Devon’s across the crowd. I also saw Anya standing right beside him. I remembered—Devon had mentioned a while ago that his next role was a doctor. He hadn’t mentioned it was a reunion with Anya. But it didn’t matter. I no longer cared. The moment our eyes locked, Devon frowned and subconsciously took two steps toward me. I walked away without looking back. Anya glanced over, catching the sight of my long-haired back. She asked Devon, “Who was that? Your girlfriend?” “Yeah.” “Checking up on you?” Devon gave a slightly embarrassed smile. “I guess so.” Anya pouted, muttering, “Dating a civilian is such a hassle. She’s checking up on you even at the hospital. This is the first time anyone has ever treated me like a mistress. What’s her deal?” “That’s not what she’s doing.” Devon kept looking in the direction I’d walked. “She’s just a little jealous, a little insecure. She’s not targeting anyone.” During the break. Devon opened his text messages and saw that his last exchange with me was over two weeks ago— When do you wrap? I need to talk to you. He’d read it but hadn’t replied. He must have forgotten. It was normal for him not to contact me when he was filming. But it was very abnormal for me not to contact him. I used to send him constant, useless updates. Like I found a great steak place, or that New York was windy, or I saw a cute dog. He never seemed to mind. This sudden shift in my attitude must mean she was still mad from our last fight. Why was she so angry this time? Remembering the look in my eyes, Devon worried I’d misunderstand, so he decided to explain himself. … I sat waiting for my number to be called. My phone started ringing incessantly. So annoying. I realized I’d forgotten something important. I hung up, went into my contacts, and blocked the number. Then I opened my messages, found Devon Shaw, and hit Delete Contact. Much better.

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A text came through at 4:00 AM. A wedding invite, out of the blue, from a classmate I hadn’t spoken to in years. I work for the Defense Intelligence Agency, and the leave approval process is a bureaucratic nightmare. I politely declined the invitation. The very next second, he sent a follow-up, his tone demanding. “You don’t have to come, but you can gift us a house, and I’ll forgive you for skipping!” I was stunned, thinking he was joking. “I’ll wire you eight thousand dollars later. Happy wedding.” His voice instantly went cold. “Are you trying to insult me? A handout?” “My fiancée is Park Avenue Royalty. Our guests are the city’s elite. I invited you—a house is the least you can do! Don’t push your luck!” As he spoke, he smugly sent an electronic invitation. I clicked it open and was instantly staggered. The photo showed my wife, Sienna Reed—the woman who claimed to have severe germophobia and acted like a frigid saint—locked in a passionate, completely unrestrained kiss with Blake Shaw. I gave a cold, short laugh. “I’ll be there on time, and I’ll send you a house.” A custom-made replica mansion. That still counts as a house, doesn’t it? 1 Blake Shaw couldn’t sense the malice in my tone. He screamed excitedly. “That’s my best brother! I knew you wouldn’t let me down! I don’t need much, just a townhome in Tribeca! If you can’t afford it, sell a kidney, man! I won’t judge!” Sell a kidney? The audacity! I kept my voice calm. “I heard Sienna Reed is already married. You haven’t been conned, have you?” From the phone, I heard the unmistakable, muffled, wet sounds of their activity. “Honey, someone says you’re already married!” Blake yelled away from the receiver. “It was just a fake marriage. The ceremony was fake, the certificate was fake, and the husband… he was fake, too.” Sienna’s voice shifted instantly, dismissive, yet still husky with a deep, sated exhaustion. It clearly drove Blake wild. He ended the call abruptly, yet he was too eager to notice the line was still connected. The intimate sounds of their continued passion filled my empty, sterile bedroom, grating against my sanity. “We’ve been at it all night, why are you starting again… Blake, I love you.” The woman’s cooing voice made me physically nauseous. I hung up, rage building, and pulled the marriage certificate from my drawer. The official stamp was indeed flawed. A fake. Sleep was impossible. Did Sienna forget? The moment she married me, Leo North, she became the actual “Manhattan Royalty.” Defrauding a federal intelligence officer? That was a fast-track ticket to a maximum-security prison. I called my aide, Sergeant Miller. “Arrange an immediate deep audit of Reed Corp’s accounts. Contact my lawyer and the Police Chief. I’m filing charges. Also, call the city’s most reputable funeral director and order a large, custom-made replica mansion.” I drove home that same night to pick up my daughter, only to find that Sienna had sent her to a children’s home. Without a word, I drove straight there and brought her out. In the passenger seat, my timid little Lulu was curled up, her hair tangled, her cheek bruised and swollen. I reached out to touch her head, but she flinched and ducked away in pure panic. “Don’t hit Lulu, I’ll be good. I won’t eat or drink or use the bathroom again.” A dull ache filled my chest. I pulled her gently into my arms, stroking her tiny, frail shoulders, comforting her again and again. From Lulu’s halting, broken sentences, I finally understood the truth: for all these years, she had been living in that facility. Sienna only retrieved her for a few days when she knew I was coming home, staging a performance of a loving family. And Blake Shaw wasn’t just aware; he was one of her frequent abusers. He had beaten her until she lost control, then, disgusted that she’d soiled herself, he’d locked her in a closet without food or water. I gritted my teeth until I thought they would shatter. My work kept me away for long periods, and on my occasional calls, Lulu had always seemed perfectly normal. My blind trust and deep devotion to Sienna had been repaid with this catastrophic, brutal betrayal. If that was how she wanted to play, I would prepare a very special wedding gift. When I finally arrived back at my house, the sun was fully up. The wall of the master bedroom still held the large, smiling photo of Sienna and me on our wedding day. The image was insulting, pathetic. I had bought the house after we were married. It should have been shared property, but with the knowledge that the certificate was fake, I quietly and quickly processed the sale, clearing every single one of Sienna’s possessions and transferring the title for a fraction of its value. Just then, Sienna’s text arrived. “Honey, the IRS is suddenly auditing the company! Reed Corp is in trouble!” “I can’t handle this. Take some emergency leave and get back here immediately!” The demanding, entitled tone was exactly as it had always been. I ignored the text. I put my foot down on the accelerator and drove Lulu straight to the wedding venue. When we arrived, only Blake was greeting guests; Sienna was nowhere in sight. The welcome poster was a blown-up, explicit photo of Sienna being grabbed by Blake. My chest seized up. Sienna, who was so unrestrained and open with Blake, had always presented herself as a pure, devout Madonna to me. Six years ago, wearing plainclothes, I took several knife wounds rescuing her from a dark alley where she was being violently assaulted. Later, when we met, she told me about her severe “spiritual contamination complex”—she couldn’t stand to be touched by anyone. She insisted our daughter was a result of a one-time accident when we were drunk. Now, I realized her contamination complex was intermittent: she was only repulsed by me, and she extended that disgust to my daughter. My jaw was aching from clenching my teeth. I told Lulu to wait in the car, and I walked slowly, deliberately, into the venue. Inside, the dozen-strong groom’s party included many men who were once my close friends. Blake spotted me and immediately smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Well, look who it is! My best pal, Leo North! Guys, he promised me a Tribeca townhouse. Where’s the deed, Leo?” I answered mildly. “A townhouse isn’t something you pick up at the corner store, Blake. It takes a little time.” Gary Wexler, a former friend, flashed his gold Rolex and sneered. “Stop acting like a big shot, North. Everyone knows you went straight into some forgotten satellite office after college. How many years have you been filing papers? You can’t afford a decent apartment, let alone Tribeca. Don’t puff out your chest here.” The others chuckled and joined the mockery. “Leo, our guy Blake is marrying Sienna Reed—Manhattan Royalty. A nobody like you shouldn’t even show his face. Can you even afford the cash gift? Want us to pool some money for you, for old times’ sake?” It was clear they were jockeying to impress Blake, eager to join the sycophantic crowd. Blake played the consoling friend, draping an arm over my shoulder. “Leo, you were smart, good-looking, always a step ahead of me in school. But what did it get you? Should’ve found a rich wife. Listen, after the wedding, I’ll introduce you to Sienna’s great-aunt. She’s almost seventy, two hundred pounds, but she’s got a ten thousand dollar IRA and a good pension. You’ll fit right in! She’ll save you a few years of struggle!” I sneered internally. His “rich wife” was about to be penniless and disgraced. Just then, a brass band started playing a loud, mournful tune. Behind them, a procession of men carried the massive, paper-mâché replica of a mansion. Blake’s face turned the color of iron. “What in the hell is this supposed to be?” The lead musician was very polite. “The mock-up house is delivered, sir. The funeral band is a complimentary gift. You’re welcome!” Blake was furious and lunged, but I smoothly blocked him. “My wedding gift is here, Blake. Please sign for it.” “Leo North, you’re dead!” Blake swung a punch, which I easily caught. No civilian has ever won a fight against me. The others instantly rushed in to defend Blake, kicking and stomping the replica house until it was nothing but crushed paper and wood. “Low-class trash! How envious can you be? Gifting something like this at a wedding? You deserve to be hit by a car on the way out!” Gary Wexler grabbed an iron stand and swung it hard at my head. I sidestepped, and he stumbled, eating concrete. Blake pointed at me, roaring. “The Reed family runs this city! You destroy a Reed wedding, and I promise you will not walk out of here alive!” I mocked him silently. We’ll see who leaves in a body bag. “What are you waiting for? Take this scumbag down!” As soon as Blake spoke, his hired security guards rushed me. Two or three were nothing to me. In moments, I had them all sprawled on the ground. Blake panicked and screamed at Gary and the others. “Help me! Unless you want to lose your contracts with Reed Corp!” The security guards and the dozen groomsmen finally overwhelmed me, forcing me down onto the floor. Blake’s eyes were filled with venom. He grabbed a nearby dining chair, raised it high over his head, and smashed it down on my back. I gasped, the pain sharp and blinding. My back was on fire. He walked closer, his polished leather shoe driving into my kidney, again and again. “That’s what you get for being arrogant! I’m going to end you!” Blake paused to admire my anguish, then pulled out his phone and made a dramatically wronged call. “Honey, someone crashed our wedding and brought a funeral gift. He’s the guy who always envied me in school… what was his name…” Sienna didn’t let him finish, erupting in a fury. “Dare to touch my man in this city? They have a death wish!” “Baby, whatever you want—kill him, beat him senseless—it’s up to you. I’m just finishing up with the company stuff, I’ll be there soon to back you up!” The surrounding groomsmen were full of envy. “Blake, you’re the man! She’s crazy about you!” “A simple rich girl? Please. Back in the day, I was the one running the neighborhood. Anyone I wanted, I dragged them into an alley. Being chosen by me? That was her blessing.” Blake was drunk on his own ego. He grabbed a cake knife from a nearby table and plunged it deep into my side. “Hear that, Leo? My wife just gave me permission to kill you. Hahaha.” Lulu, who had witnessed the entire, brutal escalation, was crying hysterically in the car. Ignoring her terror, she burst out and rushed the crowd, throwing herself over my body. “Please! Don’t kill my daddy! Please!” Lulu’s desperate plea made Blake pause for a split second. “That little bitch? Why hasn’t the children’s home managed to get rid of her yet?” That one phrase—that little bitch—ignited a firestorm in my blood. I shoved everyone off me like a madman and delivered a single, brutal punch to Blake’s face, knocking out three teeth immediately. “You pig! You animal! To hurt a child that small!” Blake wiped the blood from his mouth, a chilling, triumphant smile crossing his face. “Leo North, did you enjoy the sex show last night?” “Your wife is young, hungry, and wild. So stimulating.” My heart jerked. “You… you knew about the fake marriage?!” “Why else would I work so hard? I fulfilled her all night long. Thank you for the six years of dry spell. I was happy to take your place, soldier.” I was shaking with blind, total fury. I slammed Blake hard into the concrete. “We were friends for a decade! You stab me in the back like this?” “Ten years ago, my family was broke, I depended on your charity, and Gary and the others treated me like dirt! Now I’m rich and powerful, and I want you to beg me, look up to me! I want your kid to be bullied like a dog under my foot!” As he spoke, Blake unlocked his phone and shoved a video in my face: Lulu being tormented. In that moment, I would have dragged Blake to hell with me, even if it meant my death. But before my next punch could land, a sharp slap cracked across my face. Sienna. The moment her eyes focused on my face, her expression froze solid. “What… why are you here?” She was so shocked she nearly lost her balance. I reached out instinctively to steady her, and she reacted by slapping me hard with the back of her hand. Her face was contorted by raw, pure loathing. “Leo North, how many times do I have to tell you—don’t touch me! You’re filthy!” As she said it, she turned and pressed herself tightly against Blake. My heart felt like it had been pierced by a needle. I lived a life of rigorous discipline and integrity, yet she called me filthy. She embraced the felon. Her words sparked a new wave of derision from the onlookers. “I knew why Leo was so bitter! His unattainable crush is getting married!” Lulu’s small body began to tremble when she saw Sienna. Her already bowed head sank lower. “Lulu wants to leave. Lulu is scared…” I gripped her tiny hand tightly. No. They will watch their evil brought down. Sienna looked at Lulu as if she were a piece of garbage, frowning at Blake. “Why is this girl here? The sight of her makes me sick.” Blake slid his hand under Sienna’s dress, gripping her breast hard, his smile predatory. “Then I’ll make them both disappear, my love. They won’t bother you again.” He waved his hand at the security detail. “Pin him down!” Protecting Lulu, I couldn’t fight at full capacity. After a few skirmishes, I was pinned down hard. I struggled, raising my head to glare at Sienna. “You dare do this to me?” Sienna’s eyes were bloodshot. She grabbed a wine bottle from the table and smashed it violently over my skull. Hot, thick blood immediately streamed down my face. The pain was excruciating. She took a few steps forward and jammed her stiletto heel down onto my hand, grinding it viciously. “Hitting you? What of it? Your General Harrison is a thousand miles away!” I couldn’t help but scoff internally. I had secretly helped the Reed family, pushing all the credit to my supposed “Uncle,” General Harrison. I never thought my humility would make Sienna dismiss me so completely. Lulu was sobbing uncontrollably. “Mommy, don’t hit Daddy! Please don’t hit Daddy!” Sienna acted as if she couldn’t hear, pressing her heel down harder. Blake taunted her. “Honey, he’s your husband, after all. Take it easy.” Sienna frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous. Our marriage certificate is fake. He’s not my husband.” Lulu wrapped her small arms around Sienna’s leg, pleading. Sienna simply kicked her away. Blake, grinning cruelly, grabbed Lulu’s small, tear-stained face. “Your dad knocked out three of my teeth. You can pay me back with six of yours.” I screamed a protest, but Sienna kicked me hard in the head, blinding me with fresh blood. Blake gestured for a wrench. He forced Lulu’s mouth open with the tool, gripping her teeth, preparing to yank them out. “STOP!” I roared with the last of my breath. “I am the Commanding Officer of the Defense Intelligence Agency! Let her go!” Blake roared with insane laughter. “You’re the Commander? And I’m the President!” He shook his head at his cronies. “Make this fake commander beg! Slam his head against the floor one thousand times!” My head was hammered repeatedly against the hard tile floor. Lulu was crying, fighting with all her might, but Blake pulled her hair and slapped her several times. Dizzy, my mouth full of the taste of blood, I looked up at the stone-faced woman who was my wife. “Sienna, Lulu is your daughter! How can you be so heartless?” “Shut up!” Sienna screamed, cutting me off. “If I hadn’t gotten drunk and made a mistake, giving birth to this little mistake, I would have been with Blake years ago, repaying my debt for him saving my life!” My heart stopped. The long-healed scar on my side—from the knife I’d taken for her—suddenly burned with sharp agony. “Repaying what debt? It was me…” Blake interrupted me, pulling Lulu’s hair back to keep her small face exposed. “Enough talk about the past. This little bastard needs to pay for my teeth.” The blood-stained pliers were about to come down when a single gunshot echoed through the venue.

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The moment my foster family decided to spend a billion dollars on a knock-off Ming Dynasty tiara for Savannah, I didn’t just stand back. I signed over every dollar of the company’s liquid capital to support the purchase. In my first life, when the “real heiress” Savannah Stone attended this auction, she had been determined to make a No-Limit Bid for this same antique jewelry set. I had recognized the malicious inflation of the price and stepped in immediately, desperate to protect her. I told her the piece was a cheap replica and that I could buy her something genuinely exquisite. Savannah had taken my concern as a deliberate, humiliating lecture on her lack of taste. She ran out of the venue in a rage and was killed instantly by a car. My foster parents, Richard and Veronica Stone, and my fiancé, Preston Shaw, had held me and consoled me. It was just bad luck. It wasn’t my fault. Later, I spearheaded the Stone & Co. IPO, turning Richard and Veronica into the area’s most powerful moguls. On the day of my wedding, they and Preston kidnapped me and threw me onto a train track. My final, desperate question: Why? Their final answer, as they kicked my body toward the oncoming locomotive: “If you hadn’t deliberately humiliated Savvy that day, she wouldn’t have died. This is what you owe her.” The train crushed me. I opened my eyes and found myself back on the day of Savannah’s reckless No-Limit Bid. 1 “I’m bidding thirty million for this tiara, and I dare any of you to try and beat me.” Hearing the familiar, entitled pitch in Savannah’s voice, I looked around the opulent auction hall. The realization hit me like a physical punch. I had been reborn. “An auction is determined by the highest bidder, Savannah. Why can’t we try?” A mocking voice cut through the air. “You’ve only been back with the Stones for a month. Do you even have that kind of money? Maybe give up now.” “Fifty million. I’ve decided I want this headdress.” A wealthy socialite peered down her nose at Savannah, baiting her. Savannah’s face flushed scarlet. She surged to her feet and made the dramatic, recognized gesture of a No-Limit Bid—a declaration that she would pay any price to win. The whole room erupted into a murmur of shock and excitement. Veronica, my foster mother, tugged at Savannah’s arm, trying to look concerned. “Savvy, darling, don’t be impulsive. There are plenty of other pieces. Maybe you’ll like something else more.” Then, Veronica’s hand came down hard on my arm. “Anya Reed, are you mute? Say something! Don’t you know you should be talking sense into your sister?” The memory of the last life—of that same slap, that same condemnation—flashed in my mind. Last time, I had seen the malicious intent and the cheap replica. I had begged Savannah to stop, only to have her assume I was attacking her taste. She died. The Stones and Preston had comforted me, only to later kill me for my perceived sin. I remembered the agonizing crush of the train, the bone-deep hatred. My fists clenched, then slowly relaxed. I turned to Savannah and offered a small, cold smile. “Mom, Dad,” I said smoothly. “You’re the ones who said you wanted to compensate Savannah. You brought her here to treat her. She’s finally found something she loves. Why should we stop her?” Richard and Veronica’s faces froze in a sudden, awkward silence. “Savvy, a No-Limit Bid isn’t something you just throw around,” Veronica stammered, panicking slightly. “Let Mom buy you something else, alright?” Savannah pouted, tears welling up in a practiced, pathetic display. “Mom, it’s not for me. It’s a birthday gift for Mrs. Lewis, the head of Lewis Global.” Richard and Veronica’s eyes widened immediately. “Savvy, you… you know Vivian Lewis?” Savannah shot a triumphant, contemptuous look my way before answering. “I got an invitation to Mrs. Lewis’s birthday gala yesterday. I heard she absolutely adores this particular Ming Dynasty design. I want to give it to her to cement our relationship with the Lewis family.” Richard clapped Savannah on the shoulder, his eyes alight with avarice. “Savvy, I had no idea you had an in with Lewis Global! If they give us even a few projects, Stone & Co. will go stratospheric. Savvy, your father supports you. Make that No-Limit Bid!” Savannah’s voice had been loud, deliberately so. When word spread that Stone & Co. was trying to cozy up to Lewis Global, their corporate rivals reacted instantly. They couldn’t let the Stones gain such a massive, unassailable advantage. The price shot up. Thirty million. Fifty million. One hundred million dollars. Watching Savannah keep bidding, a cold laugh bubbled in my throat. She was already a fool for planning to spend over $100 million on a fake to impress Mrs. Lewis. But broadcasting her intentions to the entire hall? She was practically inviting every enemy Stone & Co. had to bid against her, just to deny her the connection. She was terrified of spending too little. Four or five rival companies vying for the same IPO slot as the Stones couldn’t allow them to leapfrog ahead. The bidding quickly crested the $500 million mark, with only one other competitor still holding out. An auction attendant approached the Stones’ table. “Ms. Stone, your collateral deposit has reached its limit. To continue, the deposit must be increased. Should you forfeit the bid now, you will be liable for a ten percent breach-of-contract penalty.” Savannah’s brow furrowed. “Why would I have to pay a penalty for quitting?” The attendant remained polite. “It’s the rule of the No-Limit Bid. Regardless of the price, you are obligated to purchase the item. If your funds are insufficient and you forfeit, you pay a ten percent fine on the highest bid.” Panic finally registered on Richard and Veronica’s faces. “Our total savings are five hundred million dollars at most. What are we going to do?” Richard turned to me, his voice sharp. “Anya Reed! How much money do you have left? Hand it all over to your sister now.” I blinked, feigning surprise. “Oh, I had a little incident earlier. I accidentally triggered a security lock on my main accounts. They won’t unlock for a week. We’ll just have to forfeit, I guess. We’d only be out fifty million dollars.” I held up my phone, showing them a screen displaying a generic ‘Account Frozen’ message. Savannah’s eyes turned glassy. She abruptly knelt down in front of me. “Sister, you don’t have to like me, but this tiara is the key to Lewis Global for our family. It affects the entire future of Stone & Co. Please, please help me, just this once?” Seeing Savannah on her knees, Veronica completely lost it. She raised her hand and delivered a stinging slap directly across my face. “Anya Reed, you heartless snake! You know your sister made a No-Limit Bid, and you deliberately froze your own accounts? I order you to cough up the five hundred million dollars immediately, or you are out of this house and out of the company!” Preston Shaw, my fiancé, stared at me with unconcealed disgust. “Anya, you utterly disappoint me. You usurped Savannah’s life, living in luxury for years, and now that she’s finally home, you still try to sabotage her? You are a completely ungrateful viper.” Preston’s loud accusation instantly drew all the attention in the immediate area. Everyone stared at me with strange, judgmental looks. I was suddenly the wicked step-sister, the ungrateful foster child, the vulture who wouldn’t sacrifice five hundred million. I let out a soft, humorless laugh. “Five hundred million? I don’t have it in my personal accounts,” I admitted. “But there is another way.” Savannah, thinking I had yielded, looked up at me with open condescension. “Then if you have a way, Sister, hurry up and use it! Don’t waste everyone’s time.” Preston glared at me. “Anya, you need to learn from Savannah. Your character makes you unworthy of being my wife. If only Savannah hadn’t been lost all those years ago…” I cut him off, my voice steady. “Don’t feel sad. I’ll make it easy for you.” I reached into my bag and produced two sets of legal documents that I had prepared earlier—the severance papers, formally dissolving my ties to the Stones. I handed them to my foster parents. “Sign these two agreements, and I’ll tell you the solution for the other five hundred million.” Richard and Veronica stared, momentarily stunned. “Anya Reed, you want to cut ties with us? Have you lost your mind?” I smiled, a cold, empty expression aimed only at them. “A month ago, when Savannah returned, you pressured me to change my surname to make her feel secure. That was the moment you declared yourselves a complete family. I’m simply making my exit. From now on, I have no connection to the Stone family.” Richard and Veronica launched into a tirade, calling me ungrateful, ruthless, and saying they wasted twenty years raising me. Savannah, teary and pitiful, spoke up. “Sister, please. Every mistake is mine. Don’t be angry with Mom and Dad. If you hate me so much, I’ll leave the house immediately. I won’t bother you anymore.” Veronica pulled Savannah into a tight embrace. “Savvy, you are my own blood daughter! You are not the one who needs to leave.” Seeing Savannah’s manipulative vulnerability, Richard, who had been wavering, snatched the severance papers from my hand. He and Veronica signed them both, one after the other. “Anya Reed, you are going to regret this day,” Richard hissed. Ignoring him, I pulled out a separate corporate bank card and passed it over. “This card has the five hundred million. It’s the total liquid capital for all of Stone & Co.’s ongoing projects. Use it, and the company’s financial chain will break. The method is yours. Whether you use it or not is your business.” Richard had a flicker of sanity left. “No! Breaking the financial chain puts the company at massive risk!” Savannah snatched the card before he could finish. “Dad, it’s only temporary! With Lewis Global’s support, the IPO will be a cinch!” She shoved the card into the attendant’s hand. “I bid one billion dollars! This tiara is mine.” At the doubled price, the other bidder withdrew immediately. The auctioneer slammed the gavel three times, declaring Savannah the winner. The attendant delivered the headdress. Savannah looked at me, her eyes brimming with victorious malice. “Sister, to facilitate our upcoming partnership with Lewis Global, I’m going to take over as CEO. You can be my personal secretary and assist me.” I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. She spent a billion on a fake tiara and thought it was enough to usurp my entire life’s work. Preston grabbed my arm, annoyed. “Anya Reed, as Savannah’s secretary, you need to take care of her. She hates onions and cilantro in her food. Her clothes must be hand-washed. You need to organize her daily schedule by 5 AM. And try not to bother her with business you can handle yourself.” I rolled my eyes, utterly exasperated. “I’m a secretary? Sounds more like I’m supposed to be her mother.” Preston’s face hardened. “Anya, don’t tell me you’re jealous of the CEO title? Don’t forget, Savannah is the real Stone heiress. You’ve been squatting here for years. Are you going to keep monopolizing the company?” I scoffed. “I resign. I’m walking away from the company. From this moment forward, Stone & Co. and the Stone family are irrelevant to me.” Savannah’s eyes lit up. “Sister, the company is about to go public! Are you really going to quit?” I curved my lips into a thin smile. “I’ll be watching your IPO. With great interest.” Preston glowered, warning me. “Anya Reed, don’t try to play hard to get. You’ll regret this.” I finally lost my composure. “Play your mother’s head,” I snapped. Preston shot to his feet, ready to argue, but a sudden commotion broke out in the room. “Mrs. Lewis is here!” “Vivian Lewis looks like she’s looking for someone.” My phone vibrated with a text message. “Darling, I heard you were at the auction. I’m passing by, I’ll pick you up. —Mom.” The Stones still had no idea I had reunited with my biological mother, Vivian Lewis, a year ago. Vivian spotted me and started walking toward me. As I stood up, Savannah suddenly lunged. She violently shoved me, sending me tumbling over the few stairs and crashing hard onto the floor. Savannah rushed past me toward my mother. “Mrs. Lewis, hello! I’m Savannah Stone.” Vivian Lewis’s expression was cold. She stopped and gave Savannah a sharp, head-to-toe appraisal. The next second, Vivian raised her hand and delivered a stunning, loud slap to Savannah’s face. She then roughly pushed Savannah aside and hurried toward me. “Savannah, is this the kind of manners the Stone family taught you? Laying hands on people?” Vivian helped me up from the floor. Preston rushed to Savannah’s side, his eyes full of anguish for the ‘victim.’ “Mrs. Lewis, there must be a misunderstanding! Savannah isn’t like that. Anya Reed is always causing trouble. You should know, Anya is conniving, shallow, and—” Vivian spun around, fixing him with a look so icy it stopped Preston’s tirade mid-sentence. Richard and Veronica also rushed over. They glanced at Savannah, then Richard’s hand shot out, slapping me across the face. “Anya Reed, you ungrateful wretch! You stole Savannah’s life for so long, and now that she’s home, you still sabotage her and try to slander her? Have you no shame at all?” Vivian Lewis’s face went crimson with pure, hot rage. “Are you blind? Savannah clearly shoved Anya! And you stand there and completely twist the truth and abuse my daughter? Is this how you’ve been bullying my child all these years?”

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On the day we were supposed to get our marriage license, Xavier suddenly demanded that I take legal responsibility for his aunt’s unborn child. “My aunt is pregnant out of wedlock, and it would ruin her reputation. Put the child under your name, and we’ll raise it as our own.” When I refused, Xavier dropped a bombshell: “We’ll get married when you agree!” He left me at the courthouse, striding away without looking back. This was the ninth time our marriage registration had failed because of his aunt. Did he think I would wait for him like I always did? I looked down at my phone and saw a notification from a friend’s post: “The girl I love most is marrying someone else today. Heartbroken!” I sent him a message: “Want to get married? I’m at the courthouse, waiting for you. Now.” 1 Fifteen minutes later, Liam roared up in his car. “Really? We can get married? You and me?” His eyes couldn’t hide the secret joy and disbelief. “Cut the crap. Did you bring your ID?” Liam muttered under his breath: “I dropped an eight-hundred-million-dollar contract signing to come here, can’t I ask one question?” But after getting the license, he stared at the little red book repeatedly: “I really married you, Serena? You’re my wife now?” Then he apologetically told me he had to go back to finish signing the contract and asked me to take a taxi home. While waiting for a cab, Xavier pulled up in front of me with his aunt, Felicity. “Get in.” I pressed the bag containing my marriage certificate and opened the car door. “For you.” He handed me a box. Inside was a silk scarf. Xavier was always like this. After upsetting me, he would give me a small gift. Then we would tacitly never mention the unhappy incident again, and it would pass. Xavier’s aunt, Felicity, subtly touched the bag beside her. Looking at the scarf in the box again, I realized it was just a free gift that came with her bag. I pretended not to notice, as usual, and put the gift box aside. Felicity curled her lips into a mocking smile. “Where are we going?” I asked. Xavier looked at his aunt tenderly: “Picking up a gift, then heading to the old family mansion.” I remembered then, today was Xavier’s grandfather’s eightieth birthday. We had agreed to go long ago. It was good to go today, to say goodbye to Old Man Xie. Through the rearview mirror, Xavier looked at my face cautiously and explained for the first time ever: “Serena, don’t overthink it. Auntie being pregnant alone will cause gossip.” “Raising the child under our names will make it easier for her to marry in the future.” I said indifferently: “Indeed, being an unwed mother is bad for reputation. Not even having a boyfriend makes it look cheap. Raising it under your name is best.” Hearing my words, Felicity’s face turned purple with anger. She turned around and said, “You…” Xavier corrected me: “It’s raising it under our names.” Then he looked at me expectantly. I sneered: “What if I’m not willing?” Xavier’s face darkened instantly: “If you’re not willing, we break up.” I said “Okay.” Seeing Xavier’s face relax. My “Okay” meant breaking up. He must have misunderstood. He continued: “See, Serena, if you were this obedient earlier, we would have gotten the certificate already.” I didn’t answer, just watching the scenery fly backward outside the window. Just like our three-year relationship, flying away from me. Felicity and Xavier were the same age; she was the adopted daughter of his grandfather. And she was the thorn in our relationship. On dates, Xavier would bring her. At meals, Xavier would bring her. Even the house we lived in together had a room for her. I complained many times, but Xavier always said: “She’s my aunt, what are you thinking?” Xavier and his aunt grew up together and were very close. Every time he said this, I would back down. But Felicity seemed to lack boundaries, always deliberately showing intimacy with him. They got out to pick up the gift together, and Felicity specifically linked arms with him. From behind, they really looked like a couple. And I was left alone in the car, like an outsider. For almost three years, it had been like this. I felt like the third wheel. But I spent two years chasing Xavier and couldn’t bear to let go. He knew my psychology, which is why he abandoned me at the courthouse time and again. Lost in memories, my phone rang. It was Liam: “Wifey, finished signing the contract, but I have to entertain clients tonight, so I’ll be back late. Eat well by yourself.” “I’ll contact you when I’m done.” 2 I just realized I was someone else’s wife now. It was too sudden; I hadn’t adapted to this identity yet. But answering Liam’s call, I felt more relaxed than ever before. “Who was that?” Xavier opened the car door just as I hung up. He looked at me suspiciously. “A friend.” I don’t know why, but I didn’t want to tell him about marrying Liam yet. Felicity also got in the car carrying gifts. Putting down the gifts, she rubbed her hands and blew on them. “So cold.” Xavier immediately wrapped her hands in his: “I’ll warm them for you.” As if I wasn’t in the car. Suddenly I was glad he abandoned me at the courthouse this time. If we had really gotten the license, could I stand their ambiguity for decades? I shook my head gently. “Xavier, it was so cold outside just now, is the baby okay?” Hearing her words, Xavier looked nervous. He quickly took off the Bodhi bracelet from his wrist and put it on Felicity’s wrist. Through the rearview mirror, Felicity gave me a triumphant smile. I had climbed 999 steps on my period to pray for this bracelet for Xavier at a mountaintop temple. Caught in a storm on the way down, I was almost washed away. Two years ago when I gave it to him, he was moved to tears. He said he would never take it off. Now, just two years later, he gave it away so casually. The past flashed by like a meteor. I tried hard to hold back my tears. I grabbed Felicity’s hand, snatched the bracelet, and threw it out the window. A flash of anger crossed Felicity’s face, then she looked on the verge of tears: “Xavier, why is Serena angry? Is she blaming you for giving me the bracelet? Even if she’s angry, she shouldn’t throw it away, right? After all, it’s something you wore. She doesn’t care about you at all.” Xavier’s face was livid: “Serena, what are you fussing about now? It’s just a broken bracelet, not something precious. What’s wrong with me giving it to Auntie? If you keep being so selfish, I can’t marry you.” I said dismissively: “Then don’t marry, what’s the big deal?” Hearing my words, Xavier got even angrier. I should be the one angry about this, right? But he pursed his lips tightly and drove fast. Even running two red lights. As soon as we arrived home, Felicity was taken to a room by the old man. “Whose bastard are you carrying? If you can’t get engaged, abort it immediately.” “Women of the Xie family are not allowed to have children out of wedlock.” Even from far away, I could hear the old man’s roar. And Felicity’s sobbing. Xavier looked worried. He pulled me over, face solemn, and persuaded again: “Serena, you see how hard it is for Auntie.” “Go tell Grandpa you can’t conceive, and Auntie is a surrogate for you.” “You’re afraid of pain anyway; with this child, you won’t have to give birth yourself.” I slapped his hand away: “For your aunt, I have to say I’m infertile? Are you sick? Is this child yours?” Xavier’s face darkened, obviously displeased: “Serena!” He said heavily. “What nonsense are you talking about? How could I do such a thing?” “Didn’t you agree in the car just now?” I sneered: “The things you’ve done could fill a book.” Xavier grabbed my wrist: “Serena, if you still want to marry me, accept this child and stop spreading rumors about me and Auntie. Otherwise, we break up.” “Think about it.” Before I could answer, he shoved me and walked away. Near the end of the banquet, I was about to say goodbye to the old man. Turning a corner, I was dragged onto the terrace by Xavier. 3 Felicity was waiting there. Eyes red. Xavier gripped my wrist tightly, his voice cold as ice: “Serena, you must give a definite answer today. Will you put the child under your name or not?” I struggled hard but couldn’t break free. “Xavier, let go. You care so much about this child, it must be yours.” After saying this, I saw Felicity panic for a second. Xavier gripped harder, hurting my wrist. “Still spreading rumors. I’ve really indulged you too much.” His other hand pinched my chin forcefully: “Grandpa scolded Auntie today. Are you satisfied seeing Auntie embarrassed?” “If I knew you were such a vicious woman, I wouldn’t have accepted your pursuit back then.” Whenever he argued with me before, he always said he regretted accepting my pursuit. I would immediately surrender and start coaxing him. No matter whose fault it was, it was all mine. I apologized and made promises until he reluctantly accepted. But this time, I suppressed the anger in my heart and said softly but firmly: “It’s not too late now. Let’s break up!” Xavier was stunned for a moment. He let go of my wrist and took a step back. His skeptical gaze swept over my face again and again: “Serena, are you serious?” Before I could answer, he added: “You know me. If I agree to break up, you won’t even have a chance to regret it.” “Don’t say break up lightly in front of me in the future.” With that, he turned and walked out. I also turned to leave. This place, this Xie family, had nothing to do with me anymore. Just one step out, Felicity pushed me hard. In desperation, I grabbed Felicity’s arm. She rolled down the terrace steps with me. I was pinned under Felicity. Pressed too painfully, I pushed her. She rolled onto the ground. Turning half my body, sitting up, I slapped her face hard. Too much force, making my palm sting. Hearing the commotion, Xavier turned back. The blurted “Auntie” echoed through the banquet hall. He rushed over, kicked me away, and picked up Felicity. “Auntie, how are you? Where does it hurt?” Felicity was incredibly weak: “It hurts, it hurts. She hit me.” Felicity pointed at me, tears flowing instantly. Xavier looked at me with fire in his eyes: “Serena, I won’t forgive you this time. Just wait.” “Aren’t you even going to ask why?” Shouting this sentence, tears swirled in my eyes too. Partly from pain. Partly because Xavier always unconditionally believed Felicity, never me. It had been like this for three years. With that, he carried Felicity and walked out. After two steps, he turned back: “Serena, follow us to the hospital. If anything happens to Auntie, I will definitely call the police.” His tone contained a thousand years of ice. I hurt all over. Especially my legs; when Felicity fell, she landed right on them. My elbows hit the ground, now bloody patches. My injuries were more severe; anyone could see. But to Xavier, it was like he was blind; his eyes only saw his aunt. I stood up with difficulty, grabbed my down jacket, and followed them into the car. Xavier drove even faster than before, almost hitting the guardrail. While driving, he asked: “Auntie, don’t sleep, we’re almost at the hospital.” That tone, as if his aunt was about to die. Hearing his words, Felicity also pretended to be extremely uncomfortable. But she was just scrolling on her phone a moment ago. At the hospital, after blood tests, Felicity made me hold the cotton swab. After pressing, I quietly pocketed the swab. After a round of checks, besides a little anemia, Felicity was fine. Even the baby was growing steadily in her belly. Hearing about the anemia, Xavier was sweating with nervousness. “Anemia? What should we do?” “Right, Auntie has a rare blood type, and Serena has a rare blood type too. She can transfuse her blood.” He dragged me in front of the doctor. 4 The doctor looked at him mockingly: “It’s normal for women to be slightly anemic. No need for a transfusion at all.” But Xavier wouldn’t listen to the doctor. “You must give her a transfusion today. She’s pregnant; you can’t be responsible if something happens.” The doctor wanted to persuade him further, but Xavier flashed his business card. “My family invested in this hospital. If you don’t want to lose your job, draw the blood now.” Seeing Xavier’s obsession, I wanted to break free and leave quickly. The doctor saw my reluctance and said helplessly: “Even if we draw this lady’s blood, we need her consent, right?” He looked at me inquiringly. “I don’t consent. Why should my blood be given to someone else?” Xavier gripped my wrist tightly: “Serena, you have to understand. Auntie is pregnant and can’t be harmed.” “She can’t be harmed, but I can, right?” When I spoke, my voice trembled with anger. I didn’t know the man I had been with for so long was such a scumbag. Hearing my words, Xavier hesitated for a moment. But he still didn’t let go of my hand: “Serena, be obedient. After giving blood to Auntie, we’ll go get the license tomorrow.” “Haven’t you always wanted to? I promise not to break my word this time.” I tried to shake off his hand while shouting “Let go! Let go!” He still wouldn’t let go. And started calling security to help hold me down. In desperation, I dialed Liam’s number: “Save me—” Before Liam could answer, the phone was knocked to the ground. Liam’s voice still came from the receiver: “Serena, what’s wrong? Where are you?” But the surrounding noise drowned out Liam’s urgency. Several people pushed me into the blood draw room. I couldn’t move at all. My menstrual flow has always been heavy, so I’ve always been anemic. I’ve been treated many times without obvious results. Xavier knew this clearly. He even introduced me to Chinese medicine doctors before. But when facing his aunt, he could be deaf, mute, and blind. My health in his eyes wasn’t worth a single hair on his aunt’s head. Tears flowed uncontrollably. Watching the nurse’s needle about to pierce my arm, I closed my eyes in despair. Just then, chaotic footsteps approached. Seven or eight people ran towards us simultaneously. “Who wants to draw my wife’s blood?” It was Liam.

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When my parents divorced, Mom fought for my older sister, and Dad fought for my younger brother. I was the middle child, the one nobody wanted. Everyone bet against me, but irony has a funny way of working out. After the SATs, my sister ended up at a community college, my brother dropped out, and I? I was the state’s top scholar. Suddenly, it was my turn to be fought over. I shook off their hands, pulling two documents from my bag. “Kids who’ve been abandoned once have trust issues,” I said coolly. “So, here’s the deal—” “Whoever signs this will, leaving everything to me, gets to be the parent of the top scholar.” 1 My dad is a cop, and my mom is a surgeon. To everyone else, they have glamorous careers. But to me, they were just permanently “busy.” Especially after the divorce. Every time I asked Mom for allowance, she’d rush off, saying, “I’m saving lives, ask your dad.” When I called Dad, he’d sound exhausted, “I’m arresting bad guys, ask your mom.” They kept passing the buck, assuming the other had already paid up. In reality, I was often starving. When I was really broke, breakfast was two steamed buns—three yuan. That was my food for the day. When stomach cramps hit, I’d lay my head on the desk and tell myself to endure it. Classmates went to the cafeteria for lunch; I said I wasn’t hungry, but the truth was I had no money. There were lucky days, of course. Sometimes they’d both remember me and transfer money simultaneously. But that “luck” was random. Most of the time, I was hungry. Once, after three days without a proper meal, seeing black spots from hunger, I called them. Both rejected my calls with the “busy” excuse. That moment clarified everything. In this world, money is more reliable than love. Love disappears, gets ignored, gets forgotten. Money doesn’t. From that day on, I wanted money. Lots of it. Enough to buy the best food in the world. So I’d never have to go hungry again. 2 One day before the SAT registration fee deadline. I still couldn’t reach my parents for money. Because they were “busy.” Yet, my sister and brother just updated their social media. Sister’s post: A photo of her in a new dress, smiling brightly. Mom stood beside her, hand gently on her shoulder. They looked so alike, gentle and elegant. Caption: [Thanks Mom for the pre-exam gift, love you~] Brother’s post: On the basketball court, shooting hoops, Dad coaching him. Both wearing brand-new matching sports gear. Caption: [Dad said gotta blow off steam before the big test, can’t have too much pressure.] I stared at the photos for a long time. So they weren’t busy. They were just busy for me, the extra daughter. A familiar bitterness spread in my chest. I should have known. I was the surplus, wasn’t I? Just like the day of the divorce. In court, the judge asked about custody. Mom didn’t hesitate: “I want Grace.” She looked at my sister with adoration. “She’s sensible and obedient, just like me. She’ll go far.” Dad chimed in quickly: “I’m definitely taking Lucas.” He patted my brother’s shoulder, eyes shining with expectation. “He’s got athletic talent, he’ll follow in my footsteps and be a cop.” The judge flipped through the files, frowning. “What about the other child?” My parents froze. “Oh, right, Zoe.” Then came the hot potato game. “I already took one, can’t afford two.” “She’s a Lin, she should stay with the Lin family!” Mom argued. “Zoe’s a girl, you’re her mom, she should be with you!” “My work is too demanding, the hospital needs me, I don’t have time for two kids…” I sat in the corner, watching them fight to not take me. Finally, I broke the stalemate. “I can live alone, as long as I have living expenses.” And so began my life of solitude and hunger. Looking at the class group chat, classmates posting screenshots of their paid fees. Only I hadn’t paid. The class rep reminded me again. No fee, no SATs. I bit my lip, stomach cramping again. One bun today. My balance couldn’t even afford two. But hunger didn’t matter now. The registration fee wasn’t just about food; it was my only way out. If I couldn’t take the test, my life was over. I had to get that money. Since they ignored my calls and texts, I’d go to them. Mom’s place was closest to school. I decided to start with her. 3 Standing before that familiar yet strange door. I took a deep breath. Finger trembling, I pressed the doorbell. The door opened quickly. It was my sister, Grace. Seeing me, her face instantly filled with impatience. She turned and yelled toward the kitchen: “Mom, Zoe’s here.” Her tone dripped with disdain. She blocked the doorway, no intention of letting me in. Sounds of cooking came from the kitchen; Mom was busy. “Oh, let her in then.” Only then did Grace reluctantly move aside, leaving a crack for me to squeeze through. I walked into the living room. Grace was back on the sofa, taking up the whole thing. I sat awkwardly on a small stool in the corner. Like an unwelcome beggar. Soon, Mom came out with a bowl of soup. Milky white broth, smelling divine. My starving stomach growled immediately. “Gracie, this is bird’s nest soup with lotus seeds.” “I stewed it for three hours. Just this small bowl, very nourishing.” “You’ve been studying hard, drink it while it’s hot.” Grace took the bowl, sniffing the aroma. “Mom, you just finished a ten-hour surgery and still made soup for me? You’re too tired, you drink it.” “Silly child, Mom won’t drink. You’re Mom’s precious baby, anything for you is worth it.” They pushed the bowl back and forth. Finally, sharing it. One sip for you, one sip for me. A heartwarming scene. And me? The invisible person. Sitting three steps away, watching this mother-daughter bonding. I checked my phone. Deadline approaching. “Mom, the SAT registration fee is due soon. Can you send me the money?” As soon as I spoke, Mom’s face changed. Gentleness vanished, replaced by impatience and disgust. “Look at you, every time you come it’s for money. Like a debt collector.” “Besides money, do you know how to say anything else?” Grace chimed in: “Yeah, Zoe, can you not be so materialistic?” “Mom works so hard, and you just have your hand out.” My fingers curled into a fist, nails digging into my palm. “But I’m just asking for the registration fee, not allowance.” “It’s mandatory.” “And it’s your obligation to support me.” “Obligation?” Mom sneered. “I raised you till now, what value have you created for me?” “Just spending money, useless.” “Registration fee is over a hundred, isn’t that money? You think my money grows on trees?” Hearing this, my heart felt squeezed. I stood up slowly, eyes on the exquisite white porcelain bowl. Half a bowl of bird’s nest soup left, gleaming temptingly under the light. I saw the price tag at the pharmacy days ago. Premium bird’s nest, dozens of dollars per gram. This bowl was worth hundreds. And I was asking for a registration fee of just over a hundred. She’d spend hundreds on soup for Grace. But grudged a hundred for my future. “Money grows on trees”? What a joke. All my grievances exploded in that moment. I grabbed the soup bowl. “Zoe, what are you doing?” I didn’t answer. I smashed the bowl on the floor. The crash echoed in the living room. Soup splattered everywhere. “Are you crazy?” Mom stared, wide-eyed in disbelief. Slap! A loud slap landed on my left cheek. Burning pain spread instantly. But I didn’t retreat. I looked her in the eye. “Give me the registration fee.” “You wretched girl!” Mom trembled with rage. “You dare act wild here over a registration fee?” I repeated: “I want the registration fee.” Infuriated by my attitude, she grabbed her phone with shaking hands. Beep. The transfer notification sounded. She threw the phone onto the sofa. “Take the money and get out. Don’t disturb Grace’s studying.” I checked the amount. Fifty-something. Exactly half the fee. “Why only half?” Mom sneered. “I’m divorced, not widowed. The court ruling said your dad and I split your costs 50/50.” “Go ask your dad for the rest.” She pointed at the door. Get out. The broken porcelain glittered coldly on the floor. Just like my heart. Cold. Grace sat on the sofa, watching coldly. A smirk played on her lips. Fine. At least I got half. Though only fifty-something, it was better than nothing. For the other half, I had to find Dad. 4 Leaving Mom’s, my cheek still throbbed. But I couldn’t care less. Half the fee was still missing. Dad lived across the city. Two hours by bus. His door was ajar. I pushed it open gently. Quiet living room. Only the flickering light of the TV. Dad was curled on the sofa watching a kung fu movie. Wearing loungewear, messy hair, looking exhausted. Strangely, the TV was muted. He didn’t look up until I stood in front of him, blocking the screen. “Oh, Zoe, you’re here.” “Why is it muted?” I asked. Dad pointed to Lucas’s room: “Lucas is doing homework. Can’t disturb him.” I nodded, sitting on the other end of the sofa. Jackie Chan was fighting on screen, silent punches and kicks looking comical. Dad glanced at me, gaze fixing on my left cheek. “What happened to your face?” “Who hit you?” Dad’s face shifted from fatigue to anger. “Went to ask Mom for the registration fee, and she…” Before I finished, Dad stood up, dialing his phone. “Hello, Zhang Yulan, are you crazy?” As soon as it connected, Dad roared: “You hit Zoe? She’s just a kid, how could you?” Mom’s shrill voice came from the other end. Couldn’t hear the words, but she was yelling too. “What do you mean I didn’t fulfill my duty as a father?” Dad got louder. “What kind of mother are you? Won’t even pay the kid’s registration fee?” “You have the nerve to lecture me? Look how you spoiled Grace!” “At least our Lucas is sensible, unlike your…” The argument escalated. Tension filled the living room. Lucas ran out of his room: “Dad, what are you arguing about? So loud.” “Nothing, go back to your homework.” Dad covered the mic, voice instantly gentle. But Lucas heard. “Dad, is that woman yelling at you again?” Hostility filled his voice. “That woman” was said with heavy emphasis. Grace’s screech came through the phone: “Lin Youbao (Lucas), what ‘that woman’? That’s your mother! Where are your manners?” Lucas grabbed the phone, putting it on speaker. “Lin Enci (Grace), who do you think you are? A super-senior retaking 12th grade has no right to lecture me!” “Besides, Dad divorced her, she’s not my mom anymore!” Grace’s voice pitched up. “You little brat! Grades so bad you have to rely on sports to get into college, and you dare bark at me?” Lucas wasn’t backing down. “So what if I’m an athlete? Unlike some people still in high school at 20!” “I skipped a grade, getting into college at seventeen.” They argued red-faced, wishing to stomp the other into the ground. And I, the extra daughter, sat there like an outsider, watching a war started because of me. What a ridiculous family. Divorced parents, each spoiling their favorite, treating the other’s child like an enemy. Sister and brother despising each other, raised in comparison, now enemies. This war wasn’t for me. They argued to prove their parenting was superior. To prove their chosen child was better. Finally, like a pact, both sister and brother declared they would crush the exam. “I’ll score higher than you, make Mom proud!” “Lol, I have extra points for sports, I’ll beat you by ten points easy. Glory for Dad!” Both eyes burning with competitiveness. Hanging up, Lucas turned to Dad for validation. “Dad, going back to study.” “I’ll definitely beat that repeater Grace, make you proud!” Dad beamed with satisfaction. “Good son, Dad believes in you!” “You have talent and drive, you’ll get into a great college.” Encouraged, Lucas strutted back to his room. The living room fell silent. Dad finally remembered I was there. He turned to me, expression flattening instantly. No gentleness like for Lucas, no anger like for Grace. Just plain, perfunctory. “Right, you came for the registration fee.” I watched him tap his phone. “Sent the other half.” I checked. Exact amount. Not a penny more. “Getting late. Be safe on the way back.” With that, he sat back down. Resumed his silent movie. “Okay, I’m leaving.” I whispered, turning to the door. No sound behind me. No “stay,” no “careful,” not even a “bye.” I closed the door gently, standing in the dim hallway. The sensor light flickered on, blinding white. I touched my throbbing cheek. Doesn’t matter. I have the money.

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I’m the top dog trainer in the business, hired by a CEO’s wife to “train” her son. “We’re away on business, so my son will let you in.” When the door opened, I was dumbfounded. Whose “child” is 6’3″ with an eight-pack? Suddenly, a bullet screen floated above my head: [This nanny is so pitiful. Killed by the male lead two days into the job.] [If the male lead doesn’t turn dark, how can the female lead’s ‘Little Miss Sunshine’ power shine?] After training him for a month, I took the money and left. The young master swore he’d never forgive me. But when we met again, he pressed against me aggressively: “Sister, aren’t you going to feed me? Your puppy is starving.” 1 Ethan Ye, the son of a top CEO in the capital, wasn’t eating, sleeping, or talking. He had self-destructive tendencies, and no expert could fix him. Hearing I had a way with dogs, Mrs. Ye decided to try anything. Her assistant found me, offering five million dollars for the job. I needed money urgently, so I agreed without hesitation. “We’ve hired many experts before, but the child is too naughty and drives them away in a few days.” “It’s okay, ma’am. I can try.” “We’re away on business recently. The child will let you in. Sorry for the trouble, Miss Du.” I went to the villa area as agreed. I knocked for half an hour before anyone answered. The door opened, and I was dumbfounded. Whose “child” is 6’3″ with an eight-pack? Before I could appreciate the view, a bullet screen appeared above my head: [This nanny is so pitiful. Killed by the male lead two days into the job.] [If the male lead doesn’t turn dark, how can the female lead’s ‘Little Miss Sunshine’ power shine?] Nanny? Are they talking about me? Is this a novel world, and I’m going to be killed by Ethan Ye in two days? I wasn’t having it. Who do they think I am? Running wasn’t an option. The aggressive dogs I’ve trained could line up from here to France. Besides, Mrs. Ye offered too much money. Enough for me to take a gamble. 2 [Bet five cents this woman won’t survive tonight.] [Bet she goes offline directly. Fast forward to Little Miss Sunshine’s entrance, thanks!] Ignoring the comments, I sat opposite Ethan. He was curled up on the sofa gaming, dark circles under his eyes, looking like he hadn’t slept for days. “Hello, your mother asked me to take care of you. Let me know what you like to eat.” He didn’t look up: “Scram. Don’t annoy me. Another person in the house means I have to wear clothes.” Ugh, difficult indeed. “It’s okay,” I smiled professionally, “Actually, you don’t have to wear anything…” Ethan’s hand shook, and his game character died instantly. “Which agency are you from? My mom hired someone this unprofessional?” He was speechless. “I’m not a nanny.” “Then what do you do, master?” “Dog trainer.” … The air froze for three seconds. “Fuck,” he jumped up, face red with anger, “Taking me for a dog?” “No,” I looked at him seriously for a moment, “You’re not as well-behaved as a dog.” At least dogs at home don’t curse. He stormed off, slamming his bedroom door, skipping dinner. The bullet screen exploded: [Damn, the young master’s ears are red! This woman has something.] [Shippers shut up! This woman is annoying. Male lead, make her scram!] I watched them argue for a while, then reheated dinner. This mansion was too empty and quiet; hearing a few barks was better than nothing. I carried the tray upstairs, straight to his room. The lock had been removed, leaving a black hole. A gentle push opened it. Ethan was boxing inside, bare-handed. His knuckles were bloody from the nylon sandbag. Seeing me enter, he was impatient. “Get out.” I ignored him, putting the food on the table: “Refuel? Afraid you’ll be beaten to death by air.” He finally stopped, mocking me: “Entering without knocking? Aren’t you afraid I’m doing something shameful?” “Your door is broken. Does knocking make a difference?” Anyone can roast. Whoever gets triggered loses. Perhaps poking a sore spot, Ethan froze, then bang, locked himself in the bathroom. “Scram, and take your food.” 3 Not eating? Easy fix. I hid all the snacks in the house, cooked at fixed times, and removed the bowl if he didn’t eat on time. [She dares starve our young master? Little Miss Sunshine feeds him mouth-to-mouth.] [Evil woman has a death wish? Waiting for the young master to turn dark and stab her.] [Actually, I don’t want him to turn dark… but the supporting female character definitely deserves to die.] After a few days, forget the comments, even I was scared. Scared of starving Ethan to death. Lunchtime again. I cooked and knocked on the door. “Let’s talk, okay?” “Not eating.” His voice was weak. “I can fix locks. If you eat properly, I’ll fix your door lock.” Silence inside, then a sneer: “You fix it today, my mom removes it tomorrow. Is this game fun?” “I have my ways, as long as you eat.” I went downstairs to wait. Mealtime was almost over, and he hadn’t come down. Twenty minutes later, I was about to give up. The door opened suddenly. Ethan, in loose pajamas, came down, sat opposite me reluctantly, and started shoveling rice. ! I was stunned. Not a dream, right? He looked so obedient eating, like my old Alaskan Malamute. Professional habit kicking in, I reached out and rubbed his head: “Good boy.” Ethan froze, ears turning blood-red upon realizing what happened. “Are you sick?!” He threw the bowl and sulked on the sofa. I regretted it instantly. Doomed. He probably won’t eat my cooking again. After a while, just as I was about to clear the table, he suddenly sat back down and started eating. Head buried low, occasionally leaning towards my hand. Bullet screen spam: [No way, is he asking for head pats?] [Side character, did you quit drugs? How can you resist petting him?] [Young Master: Angry, but want pets.jpg] Wait, pet what? I was confused. Ethan’s behavior was profound, so I didn’t dare move. Predictably, he got angry again, dropped a “Tastes awful,” and left. 4 Ethan ate on time for days. Mrs. Ye was delighted and agreed to my request to fix the lock. After the locksmith installed it, I gave the key to Ethan. “See? I keep my word!” He sized me up: “Why help me?” “For the five million.” … Click! Locked from the inside. Hard to please. Ethan wasn’t starving anymore, so I tackled his insomnia. Back at the kennel, a Beagle barked all night. We took turns running it up the mountain to chase rats. It slept like a log afterward. But Ethan isn’t a small animal. I can’t tie him up and drag him out. Amidst the bullet screen chatter, the doorbell rang. A girl in a floral dress, sweetly sickening, stood there. “Hello Auntie, I’m Chloe Cheng, Ethan’s childhood sweetheart!” [Ahhh, Little Miss Sunshine is here! Our young master is saved.] [Side character die quick, don’t block the camera!] Chloe made herself at home: “If Brother Ethan isn’t eating, Auntie can cook for me!” She skipped upstairs but shrieked seeing the new lock. “How could you change his lock,” Chloe gasped, “People like him can’t have closed doors. Are you professional?” “If something happens inside, you can’t pay for it in several lifetimes.” The comments defended Chloe: [Ahhh, Sister Bao protecting her husband. The young master is unstable; this nanny is crazy.] [Did the story change? In the intro, the heroine walks in on the young master bathing because the door was broken.] [Thanks upstairs. Side character ruined the famous scene. I’m furious.] Seriously? Prolonged privacy invasion easily destroys a sense of security. Before I could speak, Chloe teared up: “Brother Ethan is so pitiful. Luckily I’m here.” She pulled out her phone: “I’ll tell Auntie Ye to find a new nanny. Pack your things and resign.” “Not me…” I wanted to explain. If she kicks me out now, I lose the final payment. “You have no right to make her leave.” Ethan suddenly opened the door, hair dripping wet. “And she’s not Auntie. She’s Sister.”

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My aunt’s favorite pastime? Playing the victim and sowing discord. Every day, she’d badmouth my mom to anyone who would listen, but in front of my dad, she was a fragile, bullied little flower. Eventually, her manipulation drove my parents to divorce. Young and naive, I believed her lies. I grew to hate my mom, becoming a brat who couldn’t tell right from wrong under her influence. Meanwhile, she raised her own daughter to be gentle, elegant, and well-educated. Her daughter graduated from a top university abroad and became a famous pianist. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on my 8th birthday. An uninvited guest arrived: my mom. My aunt tugged at my sleeve, whispering, “Your cheap mom is here. You know what to say, right?” 1 “Lynn, what’s wrong?” My mom asked, looking at me with uncertainty. The relatives around us fell silent. Everyone knew how much I loathed my mom since the divorce. I snapped back to reality, seeing the gift my mom held. Her eyes were full of love and worry. I clenched my fists, trying my hardest not to cry. My aunt seized the moment to hug me. “What could be wrong? Don’t you know? You’ve been out enjoying yourself for years. How many times have you visited the child?” She looked down at me, comforting: “Don’t be scared, sweetie. Just say whatever comes to mind!” Her expression was gentle, but her eyes held malice and anticipation. In this moment, I finally realized this wasn’t a dream. I had been reborn. After her divorce, my aunt had nowhere to go, so she brought her daughter to live with us. Soon after, my dad was misunderstood as cheating, and my mom left in anger. But somehow, under my aunt’s “mediation,” the conflict deepened, leading to their divorce. My aunt started badmouthing my mom daily. She said my mom didn’t want me anymore, abandoning us to have a son with some other man. She claimed my mom only came back to trick my dad out of money to raise her “bastard” and tried to kick my aunt out multiple times. She played the victim to brainwash me, while behind my back, she found excuses to prevent me from seeing my mom. Over time, I grew to hate my mom and pity my aunt. Thinking back, my mom was the pitiful one. Adopted and treated as cheap labor since childhood. At 18, her adoptive father tried to marry her off to a 70-year-old man. Luckily, he passed away, and she seized the chance to apply for college and escape the village. Meeting my dad in college was her first breath of fresh air. I was her only blood relative in this world. Yet, manipulated by my aunt, I broke her heart time and again. Thinking of this, my blood boiled. Suppressing my disgust, I looked my aunt in the eye and sneered: “Auntie, wasn’t it you who wouldn’t let Mom see me?” 2 My voice was childish but clear, my expression serious. The relatives at the table were surprised, especially Grandpa. Everyone was used to me resisting my mom; no one expected this reaction. In my past life, my mom came to give me a birthday gift. Incited by my aunt, I smashed the crystal ball she gave me and screamed, “You shameless woman, running off with men! Get out of my house! Don’t bully my aunt!” That was the last time my mom came to see me. Soon after, my dad was diagnosed with lung cancer and passed away. My aunt naturally became my guardian. She spoiled me rotten, taught me to be unreasonable, lazy, and unable to distinguish good from bad. She encouraged me to drop out for “love,” leading me to get pregnant before 18 and marry a divorced man in his 30s. Meanwhile, she carefully cultivated her own daughter, teaching her to be diligent and refined. When my husband beat me until I hemorrhaged, I begged my aunt for $200 to save the baby. The aunt who claimed to love me most sneered, “Forget $200, you won’t get $20.” I was beaten to death by my husband. It was the mom I had hurt so deeply who held my body, trying to get justice. But my aunt hypocritically advised, “Let it go. She was born bad. She’s dead, you’re free.” She turned around and signed a settlement letter, leading to my mom being stabbed to death on the street by my resentful husband. Reborn, I will never be my aunt’s tool again. In this life, I will make her pay! 3 “I didn’t! You’re lying…” My aunt froze, eyes wide with shock and embarrassment. Before she could react, I continued in an innocent tone. “You said Mom would only regret leaving if she saw me angry, and only then would she want to remarry Dad.” “But Auntie, I haven’t seen Mom in so long. I really missed her. Could I not throw a tantrum this time?” The room exploded. Dad stood up abruptly. “Faye, what nonsense are you telling the child? Is this how you raise Lynn?” My aunt’s face turned pale, lips trembling. “No, I never said that. Lynn, what’s wrong with you? When did Auntie say that?” I put on a confused face and counted on my fingers: “This morning, yesterday, the day before… you say it every day.” “Oh no, I lost count. Auntie, don’t be mad at me for being dumb.” I carefully tugged at her sleeve, looking up at her. Her expression was a mix of anger and anxiety, but she couldn’t explode in front of the relatives. “How could I? Lynn is smart, but you can’t lie!” She squatted down, staring at me intently. “Good Lynn, be brave and admit when you lie, or Auntie won’t like you anymore.” I quickly covered my mouth. “Auntie, I was wrong!” A triumphant look appeared on her face. Before she could speak, I smiled fawningly. “I admitted my mistake. So Auntie, you still have to take me to the reservoir to play!” “Reservoir?!” Mom and Dad screamed in unison. “Lynn is only 8! Taking her to a reservoir? Are you crazy?” My mom was furious. “Faye, this is outrageous!” Even Grandpa scolded her. “You’re her aunt! How could you do such a thing?” My aunt was scared silly, stammering an explanation. “…It was Lynn who insisted on swimming. I couldn’t handle her tantrum…” “Besides, she took swimming lessons. She’ll be fine.” Ridiculous. I never threw a tantrum; she took me herself. Thankfully, my mom wasn’t buying it. She gritted her teeth at my aunt: “If she wants to go, you take her? If she told you to eat shit, would you eat it?” “My daughter survived by luck. Why didn’t you take your daughter?” My aunt panicked and reached for me. But being small, I dodged her, crawled under the table, and threw myself into my mom’s arms. “Mommy, I’m scared!” Mom hugged me tight immediately, glaring at my aunt. “What do you want?” Back in my mom’s embrace, I almost cried. In the past life, you protected me. This time, I’ll protect you. 4 My aunt put on her victim face, looking ready to cry. “Brother, during the two years you were fighting, who took her to the dentist? Me!” “I treat her so well, and she lies and frames me. What an ungrateful brat!” “Fine! If you don’t believe me, I’ll leave!” She wiped a tear, grabbed her daughter, Penny, and made to leave. Now my dad couldn’t sit still. “Stop it! We’re family, why make such a fuss? Eat first, we’ll talk later!” My aunt took the out, throwing herself into my dad’s arms and wailing. The scene was incredibly awkward. My mom sneered. “Some family. Treating my Lynn like this? Since that’s the case, I’m taking Lynn. I won’t disturb your ‘family unity’.” Dad scratched his head in frustration. “Helen, drop it. Everyone makes mistakes.” Mom ignored him, looking down gently to ask if I wanted to go with her. She didn’t force me when I stayed silent. instead, she patted my head, told me to take care, and to call her if I missed her. Watching her leave, I apologized silently. I want to! Of course I want to! But not now. My aunt is still squatting in my house. How can I hand over my things to her? My aunt cried until midnight, with my dad comforting her. Seeing me, she looked almost manic. “Why did you lie? Auntie is so good to you, why?” Dad also signaled for me to apologize. “Anyway, your aunt hasn’t had it easy these two years. You shouldn’t have embarrassed her publicly.” I didn’t expect my dad to not only gloss over her manipulation but demand an apology. He didn’t know the sister he cherished had been eyeing his assets for a long time. In my past life, he didn’t die of lung cancer.

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I was the most invisible little security guard in the company. So ordinary that no one even knew my name. But no one could have guessed, I took this job just to cover up my real identity— A modern-day “corpse walker.” By day, I help the living clean up their messes. By night, I help the dead continue their lineage. I originally planned to retire after saving up 100 million. But that night, I received a huge order worth 50 million. 1 Seeing that string of zeros, I bounced off the bed like a rocket, sleep instantly forgotten. Fifty million! After this job, I could retire on the spot and lie flat forever. Thinking of this, I happily prepared to accept the order. But the moment I was about to press confirm, reason reclaimed my brain. When things are too good to be true, there’s usually a catch. This price, unreasonably higher than the market rate by tenfold, definitely smelled fishy. With a cautious attitude, I asked a few detailed questions. The other side replied quickly. “The situation here is a bit special. The deceased’s family loves their daughter dearly and can’t bear to move the body.” “So, you need to leave an heir for the deceased at the scene of death first. Do the deed, then clean up.” I frowned and replied: “I don’t do risky jobs.” I’ve worked hard for years to save up tens of millions. I didn’t want to lose everything before I could even enjoy it. Seeing my reluctance, the other side got anxious. After hesitating for less than three minutes, they explained their true intent. 2 He told me the deceased was Stella He, the only daughter of the richest man in the capital circle. Stella committed suicide by slitting her wrists at home because of love troubles. The death scene was particularly gruesome. Mrs. He, who always doted on her daughter the most, fainted just by looking inside. Mr. He was worried that news would affect the company’s stock price. He was also worried that there would be no one to inherit the family business. So he thought of finding me to solve this trouble. “Of course, this money isn’t for nothing.” “Besides guaranteeing a 100% success rate, you also have to accept a body search and guarantee not to leak any information.” I thought quickly. In our line of work, reputation is paramount. Followed by confidentiality. Since I planned to retire right after this job anyway, The fewer people who knew about this, the better. Thinking of this, I agreed immediately. The He family truly lived up to their reputation as the richest. Less than half an hour after confirming the order, A helicopter to pick me up landed on the lawn downstairs. Arriving at the He residence, I was blinded by the magnificent villa. I couldn’t help calculating in my mind. With my security guard salary of 3,500 a month, I couldn’t afford such a luxurious house even if I didn’t eat or drink for several lifetimes. Just as I was thinking, Mrs. He’s crying interrupted my thoughts. Looking up. The Western-style living room was decorated with traditional Chinese wedding ornaments. A big red “Double Happiness” character was pasted on a pitch-black coffin. 3 In this silent late night, it appeared especially eerie and terrifying. Mr. He burst into tears as soon as he saw me. “Master, you must help. We worked hard for half our lives and only have this one daughter.” “Now the white-haired are sending off the black-haired. If there’s nothing left to hope for, her mother and I really don’t want to live anymore…” The old man in front of me had graying temples and a haggard face. He looked like a completely different person from the spirited President He on TV. I remembered reports about him. Lost his father young, started from scratch. Now losing his child in old age, with no successor. Truly tragic. Seeing the couple’s unbearable grief, I couldn’t help sighing in my heart. The rich also have troubles money can’t solve. Thinking this, my attitude softened a lot. “How about this? Add another five million, and I’ll do my best to get you fraternal twins.” Mr. He paused, then agreed joyfully. After receiving half the deposit, I asked for Stella’s birth date and time as per custom. Just as I was about to draw the talisman, I froze. This birth date… there’s a problem. 4 I looked at it again and again. I refused to accept the answer in my heart. I could only ask the He family to take me to Stella’s room first. Mrs. He fainted again crying as soon as she saw the dried bloodstains on the wall at the door. Mr. He barely maintained his composure. But tears still rolled down his cheeks uncontrollably. “Master, don’t be offended.” “Stella, she really… died too tragically…” I glanced into the room. Stella lay stiffly on the bed. The dim light obscured her face. But it illuminated the shocking bloodstains in the room. Arterial blood can spray more than two meters high. Those million-dollar vases and crystal chandeliers in the room were all splattered with blood. Looking up, it was a sea of crimson. Doing the deed in such an environment was truly creepy. No wonder the He family offered a high price of fifty million directly. I glanced around briefly and frowned. “How can I work with the room in this state? Have to add money.” “Tell you what, I won’t make it hard for you. Add another five million, making it sixty million total. A lucky number.” Mr. He looked at me with a hint of suspicion in his eyes. “Master is young but quite skilled.” “It’s just… a bit different from the corpse walkers in my impression.” Traditional corpse walkers transport bodies to let the souls rest in peace. But times have changed too fast, and transportation methods have become diverse.

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