During the Great Quake, my sister and I were buried under the rubble. The rescue worker told my parents, “The structure is unstable. If we pull one out, the whole thing might collapse on the other.” Without a second of hesitation, my parents screamed, “Save Sarah first!” Sarah, my older sister, screamed too. “Save me! Get me out first!” During the rescue, the firefighter kept telling her, “Don’t move. Stay still.” But Sarah didn’t listen. She panicked, thrashing and pushing against the debris around her. Because of her, the secondary collapse happened. I was crushed to death under tons of concrete. Then, I opened my eyes. I was back. It was the day of the earthquake. 1 I jolted awake in bed, sweat clinging to my skin. I checked the date on my phone. It was that day. Two hours left. The quake would hit at 2:00 AM. It was exactly midnight. I didn’t waste a second thinking. I shoved my feet into my sneakers and ran out the door. In my past life, so many people in this building died. Since I was back, I couldn’t just let them perish. Even saving one life would be worth it. I started from the first floor, pounding on doors like a maniac. “Wake up! Gas leak! Everyone out!” I made sure people were awake before sprinting to the next unit. By the time I had woken up all seven floors, there were only five minutes left. I sprinted back to our apartment. Two minutes. In my last life, I wasted the best escape window trying to wake Sarah up. This time? I’d leave that honor to Mom, the one who loved her most. I burst into my parents’ room. “Mom! Dad! Earthquake! Get up!” They groaned, waking up groggy. I checked the time. Forty seconds. “I tried to wake Sarah, but she won’t budge! What do I do?” My dad sat up, annoyed. “Who says there’s an earthquake? Are you crazy? It’s the middle of the night…” Before he could finish, the floor lurched. “Sarah’s still asleep!” I screamed, feigning panic. Mom’s face went white. She scrambled out of bed and ran toward Sarah’s room, shrieking, “Sarah! Sarah, baby! Wake up! Earthquake!” Dad grabbed my arm. “Run!” The quake didn’t give us time to think. It was violent, immediate. Just as Dad and I stumbled out of the building entrance, a deafening BOOM tore through the air. The building collapsed. Mom and Sarah were trapped inside. Screams and sirens filled the air. Dust choked my lungs. My ears rang, but my mind flashed back to my previous life. That night… the shaking started. I ran to Sarah’s room. She was dead to the world. I shook her, screamed at her, but she wouldn’t wake up. Mom and Dad had already run out. I missed my chance. We were both buried. When dawn came, the rescuers found us. I heard Mom’s voice, frantic and terrified. “Sarah! Hold on, baby! They’re coming! Don’t be scared!” The rescue captain examined the wreckage. “Ma’am, it’s tricky. The debris is interlocking. If we pull one girl out, the shift will likely crush the other. We recommend taking the one on the left first; the structure is more stable there.” That was me. The one on the left. But I knew. I knew who she would pick. Growing up, Sarah was the golden child. I was the spare. “Save Sarah,” Mom said instantly. “The one on the right. In the white pajamas.” Sarah started screaming then. “Mommy, save me! My leg hurts! Me first!” I lay there in the cold dark, watching through a crack as Mom’s desperate eyes fixed solely on Sarah. The firefighter was gentle. He kept warning her, “Kid, do not move. If you move, the debris will fall on your sister.” But as they pulled her, she thrashed. She kicked. She pushed away a support beam. The moment she was free, the weight of the world slammed down on me. I screamed. “Mom! Help me! It hurts!” The rescuers wanted to dig again. They called for backup. But I heard Mom’s voice, cold and final. “Leave it. Even if you get her out, she’ll be crippled. I don’t have the energy to raise a vegetable.” The small hole of light was sealed up. I died in the dark, abandoned. I blinked, coming back to the present. I looked at the ruins. This time, you get to feel what it’s like to be chosen. Or rather, not chosen. 2 “Dad! Watch out for aftershocks!” I pulled my shell-shocked father toward the open park. He was trembling. It was his first time seeing his world end. But I’ve died once. Every breath I take now is a bonus. Rescue teams arrived fast. Dad rushed over, begging them to save his wife and daughter. The building was a pancake. He had no idea where they were. But I did. I “accidentally” led the first team in the wrong direction, where we saved an old lady instead. By the time we circled back to where Mom and Sarah were, six hours had passed. “Dad! I hear Mom!” I shouted. Dad grabbed the captain. They assessed the situation. Then came the verdict. The same verdict. “Sir, it’s complicated. The structure is compromised. We can likely only extract one safely without causing a secondary collapse.” I peeked through a gap. I saw Sarah’s pale face and Mom’s terrified eyes. Dad hesitated. Both were his loves. How could he choose? Unlike Mom in my last life, he struggled. Then, Sarah’s voice pierced the air. “Dad! Save me! I don’t want to die! I’m young! I can make money, I can marry rich, I can take care of you when you’re old!” She sobbed, desperate. “Mom is just a housewife! You can find another wife easily! I’m worth more than her, Dad!” I watched Mom’s face contort in shock. I bit my lip to keep from laughing. Surprise, Mom. The daughter you worship sees you as a replaceable servant. Dad made his choice. “Save my daughter.” Mom screamed. “David! Don’t you dare! If I die, I will haunt you forever!” “And you, Sarah! You selfish little brat! I can’t believe I raised you!” Sarah, pinned and in pain, snapped back. “So what if I’m selfish? It’s the truth! Dad is making the smart investment!” Mom’s eyes were full of pure hatred. It was beautiful. But I couldn’t let Mom die just yet. I leaned close to the gap. “Mom! Don’t be scared! I’ll get you out! Don’t give up! I promise I’ll save you!” Such a good daughter. Such a contrast to the ungrateful Sarah. I wasn’t saving her because I loved her. I was saving her because I wanted her to live with the knowledge of her favorite daughter’s betrayal. The rescuers worked hard. They pulled Sarah out. Her legs were black. Necrosis. “Likely amputation,” a medic muttered. Surprisingly, the secondary collapse didn’t happen this time. Maybe because Sarah was too weak to thrash around, or maybe the physics were slightly different. They got Mom out too. Both went to the hospital. Dad stayed with Sarah. I stayed with Mom. I wondered… now that she knew Sarah’s true colors, would she still love her? 3 I sat by Mom’s bed, staring at her sleeping face. It was the first time I’d looked at her this closely in years. She never really looked at me. Grandma told me Mom wanted a boy. She paid a fine to have a second child, hoping for a son. When I popped out a girl, she was furious. She dumped me at Grandma’s in the village. I survived on rice porridge and the charity of neighbors until I was eight. Then Dad brought me to the city for school. Sarah was two years older, already a star student. I was a village kid who barely knew the alphabet. I struggled. I was always last in the class. Mom hated me. I became the live-in maid. Dishes, laundry, sweeping—all mine. I had no time to study. Sarah was the princess. My birthday was a month after hers. They never celebrated mine. They said I would “steal her luck” if I ate her cake. But now? Sarah’s legs were gone. Her face was slashed by rebar. Mom woke up. She looked at me, confused, then relieved. “Mom? You awake? I’ll get the doctor.” She grabbed my wrist. “How is your sister?” I kept my face neutral. “Not good. Her legs… they had to amputate. And her face is badly scarred. She hasn’t woken up yet.” Mom went silent. She stared at the ceiling. When Mom was discharged a few days later, Sarah finally woke up. She lay in bed, seeing Mom alive and well. Her expression was a mix of shock and disappointment. “Mom… you’re okay. That’s… good. Don’t be mad at me, I was just scared.” Mom looked cold. She remembered everything. I walked over and held Mom’s arm. “Mom, sit down. You’re still weak. It’s a miracle you survived. If you hadn’t…” I trailed off, but the implication hung in the air. If you hadn’t made it, Sarah would have been happy. Sarah glared at me. “Lily, shut up! Stop trying to drive a wedge between us! Mom will never love you!” That snapped something in Mom. She turned, grabbed my hand, and teared up. “I’m sorry, Lily. I treated you badly. I promise, I’ll make it up to you. You’re my good daughter.” I smiled back. We’ll see about that. 4 Dad came in with takeout boxes. Three of them. One for him, one for Mom, one for me. None for Sarah. “Why don’t I get one?” Sarah demanded. Dad didn’t look at her. “Doctor said you need a liquid diet. I’ll get you porridge later.” “Why? What surgery did I have?” Silence filled the room. Sarah started to panic. “Tell me! What happened?” Mom, impatient, walked over and ripped the blanket off Sarah’s lower body. Empty space where her calves should be. Sarah’s mouth opened in a silent scream. Tears streamed down her face. Mom wasn’t done. She took a photo of Sarah’s scarred face with her phone and shoved the screen in front of Sarah’s eyes. Sarah screamed. A raw, animal sound. “Shut up!” a nurse yelled from the hallway. “This is a hospital!” Sarah shook her head violently. “No… impossible… I was saved… how…” I ate my chicken, watching the show. “You thought you’d be living the good life?” Mom sneered. “You told your dad to find a new wife? Look at you now. If he finds a new wife, do you think she’ll take care of a cripple? Do you think he will?” “I spoiled you rotten, and you wanted me dead. I raised a wolf.” Dad chimed in, trying to save face. “Honey, I never wanted to leave you. Sarah begged me…” Mom shot him a look. “I only heard Lily promising to save me. Don’t treat me like an idiot.” We moved into a temporary shelter. Sarah needed 24/7 care. She couldn’t use the bathroom alone. Mom refused to touch her. Dad said it was inappropriate. So, naturally, they looked at me. In the past, I would have done it. But Sarah was enjoying ordering me around. One afternoon, Sarah said she needed to poop. I “didn’t hear her.” I was outside washing dishes loudly. Mom and Dad were out. I finished the dishes and started hanging laundry. Mom came back. “Lily, let me help you.” THUMP. A crash from inside. We ran in. Sarah had tried to crawl to the commode and fallen. She was covered in her own filth. Mom gagged and walked out. Dad came back just then. He pulled me aside. “Lily, I found a boarding school in Beijing that will take you. Transfer immediately.” I packed my bag in five minutes. I left Mom and Sarah in the stinking shelter. Mom had to clean her up. She scrubbed Sarah in a plastic tub while Sarah cried. They didn’t speak. But I saw it. The bond. A mother never truly abandons her favorite. But me? Why was I so easy to throw away?

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After spending a year as the “School Bully’s” backup girlfriend, I still didn’t make the cut. He chose the good girl. On the phone, he dragged out his words, casually insulting me: “Sorry, Stella. Compared to Lily, you’re just too… cheap.” Everyone bet I would throw a tantrum. Or maybe get jealous and start a catfight with the good girl until we were both bleeding. Instead, I just said, “Oh.” I hung up and continued booking my flight to study abroad. Nobody knew I only approached Hunter to dodge a creepy stalker who wouldn’t leave me alone. Graduation was here. The acting was over. Later, Hunter flew to a dozen countries, finally cornering me red-eyed at an airport. “Stella, did you seriously play me like a fool from the very beginning?” 1 It was pouring rain on graduation day. Hunter invited me to a party. I didn’t go. So they started a livestream just for me. On screen, the whole crew was there. Hearing I wasn’t coming, the mood dipped instantly: “Wait, wasn’t today the day he picks between her and Lily? I was waiting for the drama. What’s up with Stella?” “I bet she knew Hunter wouldn’t pick her, so she’s hiding somewhere crying.” “LOL, the simp finally realized she’s not worthy. I told you she’d break.” For the past year, while I desperately chased Hunter, everyone treated me like a joke. The camera zoomed in on Hunter’s face. He was expressionless, sitting next to Lily, the “good girl” everyone thought was his perfect match. Hunter grabbed her chin: “Since Stella forfeited, you’re my girlfriend now. The only one allowed to kiss me.” The room erupted in cheers. Lily turned bright red, burying her head and playfully hitting him. “Stop it~” Hunter leaned in to kiss her, but someone shouted: “Honestly, Stella isn’t uglier than Lily. Hunter, why didn’t you pick her?” “Yeah, I remember you drove her home a few times and bought her Christmas gifts.” “Dude, look how cheap she acted. Obviously, she begged for it, right Hunter?” Hunter paused. Then he sneered: “Obviously.” Lily, ears still red, pouted. “Yeah, and Stella looks so desperate for love. Who knows how many guys she’s been with? She’s probably not clean.” The group burst into laughter. “Guess I’ll chase her in a few days then, see if I can get some action. She’s kinda hot. You cool with that, Hunter?” Hunter took a sip of his drink. “Why would I care?” His eyes drifted toward the camera lens. After a beat, he picked up his phone and dialed. “Hello, Stella.” The second I picked up, mocking laughter pierced my eardrum. “You really gotta tell her yourself for maximum damage.” “Hey, put it on speaker! Let’s hear how loud she cries.” “Hahaha record it!” I didn’t speak. I just heard Hunter’s lazy drawl, dragging out every syllable. “Stella, here’s the thing.” “It’s a shame, really. But you’re just too cheap and easy. I like girls like Lily who behave.” “So…” “Oh,” I said. I cut him off. Before he could continue, I hung up. 2 I stood by the window, booking a flight for two days later. After hanging up, I confirmed the time and airport, grabbed my ticket, and exhaled deeply. I watched the livestream. Notifications from classmates kept popping up on my phone; it was hard to miss. Hunter was the school’s untouchable bad boy. When he played basketball, the way his muscles flexed made every girl swoon. Usually, girls admired him from afar, too scared to approach. I was the first. Starting senior year, I “shamelessly” chased Hunter. I blocked his path after school, waited for him at the gates. By the third week, he finally acknowledged my existence. Right after me, the second pursuer appeared: Lily. Clearly, Hunter preferred her type. I ran three blocks to buy Hunter his favorite sports drink; he took a sip and tossed it. Lily bought a random water from the vending machine. Blushing, she handed it to him. He put it on his desk and didn’t touch it all afternoon, cherishing it. I waited two hours at the basketball court for him. Lily already had his number. She walked over with him, giggling. Seeing me, she covered her mouth. “Hunter, is she the girl everyone says harasses you?” Hunter glanced at me. That was the first thing he ever said to me directly. “Her? She’s not half as cute as you.” But I didn’t give up. After three months of effort, I finally earned the position of Hunter’s “backup girlfriend.” “As long as you need me, I’ll do anything. I won’t cling to you. It’s all one-sided on my part.” I lowered my head, standing in front of him. He raised an eyebrow, his gaze a mix of amusement and disgust. “Really? Are you that desperate?” I kept my head down, gritting my teeth. “Yes. All I want is to be around you more.” Hunter scoffed. “Interesting.” He walked away. But after that, everyone knew our relationship was ambiguous. He walked with Lily but called me to bring them food. Sometimes when he played ball alone, he called me to fetch rebounds. Classmates couldn’t guess who he really liked. When asked, Hunter laughed openly: “I don’t date. They know that.” So I was a backup. So was Lily. The only difference was Hunter promised he’d give her a title after graduation. The rumor mill turned it into a “Bachelor”-style choice between us. Unsurprisingly, I was destined to be the punchline. But honestly? I never took it seriously. A notification popped up: Hunter’s official relationship announcement on Instagram. He tagged me specifically. The photo was a silhouette of Hunter and Lily kissing. I didn’t look closely. I just noticed a familiar name in the comments: Ethan: Congrats. I smirked in disgust and fear. I should thank Hunter. If not for his terrifying reputation, I don’t know how many times that creepy, slimy stalker Ethan would have assaulted me. 3 In the VIP room. After hanging up, Hunter didn’t speak again. People whispered. “What did Stella say? Did you hear?” “She just said ‘Oh’.” “No way? Seriously? No reaction? She chased Hunter like a dog, ready 24/7. How could she not care?” “I bet the shock was too big. She froze.” At the table, people stood up to toast the new couple. Hunter barely reacted. He just smirked faintly and kept scrolling through his phone. Refresh. No comment from Stella. No new message. Hunter’s eyes grew darker. Others didn’t know Stella, but he knew. Her tone just now was flat, completely void of emotion. Like she heard something totally irrelevant to her life. But why? Usually, she lit up just seeing him. She hung up first? Suddenly, Lily’s best friend stood up, pouring wine indignantly. “Honestly, you guys should have been together ages ago. It’s all because of someone trying to be a homewrecker. So shameless, right Lily?” Lily pursed her lips shyly and nodded. “Can’t blame her. Even though Hunter liked me back then, she probably thought she had a chance.” “I don’t care. She better stop clinging to Hunter now. Can we beat her up and then delete her number?” Lily giggled. “Don’t be violent. Just have Hunter delete her.” She reached for Hunter’s phone. He slammed his hand down on it. “What are you doing?” Hunter glared at her. Lily froze. She’d seen Hunter angry before; it was never pretty. She swallowed her words. “N-Nothing.” Her eyes turned red, tears welling up. Hunter ignored her and stood up. “You guys have fun. I’m leaving.” He grabbed his jacket and walked out. Lily sat there, stunned. Outside, Hunter stared at his phone for a long time. He looked up at the moon, took a deep breath, and opened his chat with Stella. [Usually you’re desperate to stick to me. Are you dead today?] [Just because I’m official doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. Don’t be too sad. Come out, I’ll comfort you. You have 30 minutes.] 4 I slept for 14 hours straight. Exams over, no more studying. I collapsed like a puppet with cut strings. I woke up at dusk. Dad called to remind me about packing. “Don’t forget your acceptance letter.” “Okay, Dad.” I packed, then checked my phone. Messages flooded the screen. My throat tightened. Unknown number. I knew it was Ethan. [Can I come to your house tonight?] [Leave the window open? Your security guard pulls hard, my arm hurt for days. But I was happy you looked at me.] [Hunter has a girlfriend now. Stop wasting time on him. He won’t stop us anymore.] [I heard you’re going to USC? I’ll rent a place near your dorm.] … I scrolled down. My teeth clenched uncontrollably. My body shook. Ethan. The most invisible guy in the class next door. The reason I approached Hunter. He noticed me freshman year. Sophomore year, I realized someone had been following me for a whole year. He mimicked my habits, my movements. He found out everything I liked. He sent love letters written while fantasizing about me at night. My desk was always missing a used eraser, an opened pack of tissues, a half-drunk water bottle. Every time I noticed, I went numb. The worst was that one time. I turned around on the street. I saw him. Walking fast, like he was about to pounce. “What are you doing!” He realized he was caught and laughed psychotically. “Nothing. Just looking at you.” Later, he followed me home, even climbed through my window at night. We called the cops, but he kept following me like a ghost. Then I became Hunter’s backup girlfriend. Ethan backed off for a year, scared to offend the big dog. Now he was back. Luckily, I graduated. I’m leaving the country. USC? Just a smokescreen. Thinking of this, I relaxed and booked a hotel. Flight in two days. One last hideout. But that night, I bumped into Hunter at a nearby convenience store. And Lily. He was staring at his phone. When we bumped into each other, he froze. “Stella?” I ignored him. Turned to leave. Then I saw a familiar shadow in the distance. Standing in the dark, staring at me unblinkingly. Goosebumps exploded all over my body. I whipped around and grabbed Hunter’s sleeve. “Where are you going? Can I come?” Lily froze, her eyes red instantly. She gripped Hunter’s hand. “Stella, Hunter and I are together now. Can you stop?” “Hunter, ignore her! I’m your girlfriend, she can’t steal you!” Hunter stared at me. Said nothing. After two seconds, he scoffed. “Stella, what is this? Did you forget I gave you 30 minutes?” 30 minutes? I was confused. I’d heard count-downs like that a million times. “Be here in 30 minutes or you’re fired as backup.” “Five minutes. Or I block you.” … Terror consumed me. I clung to Hunter. Almost begging: “I apologize for being late. Last time! Just let me stay near you for a bit, okay?” Lily started crying. Hunter ripped my hand away. He laughed, a cold, amused sound. “Stella, I thought you grew a backbone not replying to my texts.” “Turns out you’re still this cheap. Can’t live without a man? I look down on you.”

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My school uniform was still torn from the last day of exams when my mother, a fragile little flower who couldn’t possibly survive in the wild, announced she had found me a stepfather. “You’re not my blood,” the man told me flatly. “Don’t expect me to be a doting father.” He tossed a black card onto the table. “Here’s a million dollars as a welcome gift. From now on, your monthly allowance is only a hundred grand. Deal with it.” My mother’s eyes went red, brimming with tears. “I’m so sorry, baby. It’s all my fault. I’m useless. I let you suffer such indignity…” Indignity? I clutched the card. If this is suffering, please, let me suffer more. But that wasn’t all. I also inherited a stepbrother. A billionaire CEO. 6’2″, built like a Greek god, and rumored to be colder than a Siberian winter. Who says you can’t have your cake and eat it too? 1 My mom is the queen of gold diggers. Back when my biological dad went bankrupt, all his other mistresses fled like rats on a sinking ship. Not my mom. She truly believed he would bounce back. She emptied her savings to help him, lecturing me on “The Long Game.” “When he gets back on top,” she’d say, “I’ll be the only one left standing. The Queen Bee.” Her calculations were… off. Dad didn’t bounce back. He bounced off the pavement. Unable to handle the debt, he jumped from a building. He died, and we were left destitute. At our lowest point, my mom—who used to spend thousands on skincare—rolled up her sleeves and started collecting recyclables to pay for my tuition. She lost her glamour, waking up every day to scavenge for plastic bottles. I swore I would get into an Ivy League school and lift us out of poverty. But right after I finished my SATs, before I could even take off my worn-out uniform, she brought home a distinguished, middle-aged man. “Lola,” she said. “Meet your new dad.” Victor Sterling. The richest man in the city. I was stunned. Morning: scavenging for bottles. Evening: married to a billionaire? The plot twist was too much. My mom wept into Victor’s expensive suit. “I didn’t want you to see me like this… a bankrupt ex, a daughter in school, leeching parents… I had to pick up trash to survive. If you think I’m embarrassing, just leave me…” Victor held her tight. “You are strong and independent. How could I ever leave you?” Then he turned to me. “I love your mother,” he said seriously. “You are just part of the package. Don’t expect fatherly love.” He threw the black card at me. “A million dollars to start. One hundred thousand a month after that.” Mom cried harder. “I’m so sorry, Lola. I made you suffer.” I squeezed the card. It took me a long time to realize: I was a prop in their romance. And a very well-paid one. 2 That night, I was shipped off to one of the Sterling family’s “spare” villas. My delicate mother went off to her honeymoon nest with Victor. Her parting words: “Lola, you’re eighteen. Time to be independent.” Translation: Don’t cockblock me. I stood alone in a massive, empty villa, clutching a million dollars. It was lonely. And creepy. The place was so big my footsteps echoed. My brain immediately started replaying every horror movie I’d ever seen. Too scared to go upstairs, I curled up on the living room sofa. In the middle of the night, I heard a noise. Rustle. Click. I bolted upright in the dark, grabbing a heavy vase. Terror gripped my throat. “Who’s there?!” A shadow moved by the window. I squeezed my eyes shut and hurled the vase. CRASH! The lights blazed on. A man in a trench coat stood by the sofa, backlit like a model stepping off a runway. He looked down at the shattered porcelain at his feet, then at me. His gaze lingered on my tattered uniform. “Where did this little sparrow come from?” he drawled. “Feisty.” I jumped up, defensive. Midnight. Strange man. Villa. This was a murder setup. He ignored my panic, pouring himself a drink with infuriating calm. The amber liquid swirled in the glass, matching the dangerous glint in his eyes. “Tsk. Is the sparrow going to peck me?” “Who are you?!” I shouted, bluffing. “Don’t try anything! I’ll call the cops!” He tipped his chin toward the sofa. “Your phone is right there. Pick it up and say that again.” I froze. Then, the man started taking off his coat. Oh god. I’m just a high school graduate. Is he a pervert? My brain short-circuited. I looked for an exit. Before I could move, a heavy coat landed on my head, smelling of cedarwood and expensive cologne. “Didn’t the old man buy you clothes?” he asked, sounding disdainful. “You look like a beggar.” He walked upstairs, answering his phone on speaker. “Julian, baby~” a sultry male voice cooed from the phone. “Where did you go? Did you catch a canary?” “No canary,” Julian replied, glancing back at me. “Just a little sparrow.” I realized then. Julian Sterling. The heir. The Prince of the City. My stepbrother. This was his house. I had invaded his home and thrown a vase at him. I’m dead. 3 I was agonizing over how to apologize when Julian called from upstairs. “Sparrow! Get up here.” I ran up. He had changed into white loungewear. The dangerous edge was gone, replaced by a soft, damp look. His hair was wet, water droplets clinging to the ends. “Staring?” he asked. I blushed and grabbed a towel. He didn’t take it. He lay down on the sofa and pointed at his head. “Dry it.” Guilt made me compliant. I started toweling his hair. Up close, he was devastatingly handsome. His skin was flawless. It was unfair. “I’m… sorry…” I whispered. “For what?” he asked, eyes closed. “I thought you were a burglar.” Since Dad died, Mom and I had dealt with a lot of creeps. I was jumpy. If that vase had hit him… Suddenly, he grabbed my wrist and yanked. I fell onto his chest. Before I could scramble away, his arm locked around my waist. I was trapped in his heat, staring into his unreadable eyes. “How do you know,” he murmured, “that I’m not a bad guy?” My heart hammered against my ribs. “You… you’re my stepbrother now!” “Do you think I care about labels?” His grip tightened. I started to panic. Tears welled up. Why was he so unpredictable? “Let me go!” “And if I don’t?” I pushed against his chin, desperate. My finger slipped and pressed against his lips. They were hot. Julian froze. He released me abruptly and sat up. “Keep your guard up, Sparrow,” he said, touching his lip. His eyes were dark. “Or you’ll get eaten alive.” I threw the towel at him and ran downstairs, face burning. 4 His coat was still on the sofa. Angry and humiliated, I threw it on the floor and stomped on it. Take that, Julian! “Feel better?” I jumped three feet in the air. Julian was leaning over the railing, phone in hand. “That coat cost fifty grand. How are you paying?” My heart stopped. My allowance just took a massive hit. “I… I’ll swipe my card!” “No need.” He tossed the coat at me. “Wash it. Bring it back clean.” He walked toward the door. The villa suddenly felt huge and empty again. I ran after him. He turned, raising an eyebrow. “I… I’m scared to be alone,” I mumbled. “Not scared of me anymore?” “You won’t kill me, right?” He stared at me for a long moment, then sighed into his phone. “Buy a juice. Be there in ten.” He dragged me to the city’s biggest nightclub. He shoved me into a booth and handed me a watermelon juice. “Drink this. Don’t touch anything else,” he whispered in my ear. The breath tickled. I shrank into the corner. “Yo, Julian! Changing tastes?” a guy shouted. “High school uniform? Really?” Julian shot him a cold look. The table went quiet. “Family. Watch your mouths.” The silence lasted two seconds before the whispers started. “Family? Since when is he nice to family?” “Must be the new stepsister.” Julian ignored them, leaning back in the shadows. “So she’s not blood related?” A guy with bleached hair, Fred, squeezed next to me. “If Julian isn’t playing, I’ll take a turn…” Fred grinned, reaching for my hand. “Hey sweetie. You legal?” I looked at Julian. He was watching, eyes half-closed, doing nothing. Fred’s hand touched mine. I snapped. I stood up and splashed the watermelon juice in Fred’s face. “I’m not his stepsister,” I hissed. “I’m his auntie!” I shoved past the stunned Fred and ran out. 5 I didn’t go back to the villa. I called my best friend, Chloe. “Your mom married a billionaire and you got kicked out?” Chloe gasped. “Not by the dad. By the son.” He watched me get harassed. He wanted me to know my place. He thought I was a gold digger like my mom. “I’m homeless, Chloe.” “Don’t worry!” Chloe thumped her chest. “I got you. We’ll survive on ramen until college starts!” She handed me a pair of pajamas to replace my uniform. Just then, my phone buzzed. [Deposit: $100,000. Balance: $1,100,000. Note: July Allowance. – Stepdad.] Chloe snatched the pajamas back. “You call this homeless?!” “Technically…” “This is a luxury vacation!” she screamed. I told her everything. “Your stepbrother is trash,” she concluded. “But… does he really have an eight-pack?” I facepalmed. “Priorities, Chloe?” “I’ve never seen abs in real life! Was it… hard?” I thought back to falling on him. “Yeah… hard. Like rocks.” Chloe squealed. “Details! Was there a V-line?” “I was fighting for my life, not taking notes!” But… his lips were soft. “It’s okay,” Chloe said solemnly. “If you missed Julian, there’s always Chad.” “Who?” “Chad Miller. The class president.” “Do I know him?” “He has a crush on you! Are you blind?” Chloe sighed. “Your mom has max charisma. How did you end up with zero EQ?”

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Three years after I dumped Hunter Chase, his high-society mother tracked me down. She begged me to “save” him, claiming he’d turned into a useless, hedonistic wreck. When I found Hunter, he was in a VIP booth at a club, surrounded by his frat boy entourage and girls. He froze for a second when he saw me. Then the mockery started. “What? Want to get back together? Get on your knees and beg, then maybe I’ll think about it.” I walked up and slapped him across the face. Hard. Suddenly, floating text comments appeared in front of my eyes. [This side-chick is insane! Does she have a death wish, hitting the billionaire heir? Doesn’t she see our precious Female Lead sitting right there?] [Some ‘first love’ she is. More like a mosquito bite. The Male Lead is gonna destroy her face for that.] [Our Female Lead is so much better. Gentle, obedient, basically the perfect trophy wife. Hunter knows who the real prize is.] [No wonder she’s the villainess. Gold-digging and disobedient? Gross. A woman’s best accessory is submission. I hope she dies soon. Can’t wait for Hunter to explode!] Hunter explode? I laughed. In front of everyone, I looked him in the eye. “Apologize.” A red handprint bloomed on Hunter’s handsome face. His eyes were rimmed with angry tears. Through gritted teeth, he forced out three words. “…I am sorry.” The room went dead silent. Someone whispered in horror, “The only person who can control the devil is back.” I nodded, satisfied. I thought they had forgotten. Three years ago, I had already trained this billionaire heir into the most obedient puppy. Chapter 1 When Hunter’s mom, Mrs. Chase, found me, I was packing for grad school abroad. “Lily, please. I’m begging you. Come back to Hunter. Save him.” We met at the same coffee shop as last time. Mrs. Chase got straight to the point, shedding a few crocodile tears. “Since you left three years ago, he’s spiraled. He’s a complete wastrel now. Drinking, partying, doing nothing. He won’t listen to his father or me. If this continues, he’s ruined!” I stirred my coffee, a smirk playing on my lips. Three years ago, she sat in this same spot, threw a check in my face, and told me to get lost. She called me poor trash, unfit to manage her son. She said men were born to rule over women, and that I should focus on books instead of climbing the social ladder. She claimed poverty was a sin and that Hunter would be better off without me. She conveniently forgot that I was the reason Hunter tamed his temper, finished college, and joined the family business in the first place. I looked up. The fear and insecurity I had back then were gone. “Sure. I’ll do it.” Mrs. Chase started to smile, but I cut her off. “But my rates have gone up. How long I stay depends on how much you pay. Once the contract is up, I’m gone.” Her face turned green. “Lily, when did you become so vain? How can you put a price on feelings? You’re disappointing.” I stood up to leave without a word. Her attitude flipped instantly. She begged, promising the money immediately. I chuckled. People bully the nice ones. I learned that lesson three years ago. That night, with a five-million-dollar deposit in my account, I walked into the club, found Hunter’s VIP room, and pushed the door open. The noise inside died instantly. Everyone stared at me. Chapter 2 “Who the hell are you? Get out!” some lackey yelled. I ignored him, scanning the room. It was filled with Hunter’s rich, useless friends, each with a girl in a skimpy dress on his lap. Expensive liquor covered the tables. It smelled like money and bad decisions. My gaze landed on Hunter in the corner. He was smoking, legs crossed, head down. His hair was dyed a rebellious grey. Next to him sat a girl who looked about 60% like me. Same vibe, but softer, more “pure.” One of Hunter’s childhood friends recognized me. “Holy shit! Is that the legendary Li—” He covered his mouth, but it was too late. Hearing the “L,” Hunter’s head snapped up. He locked eyes with me and froze. The club lights dimmed, hiding his expression. When they flashed bright again, his face was twisted with disgust and mockery. He leaned back, pulling the girl next to him into his arms. She blushed, nestling into him like a fragile bird. Hunter didn’t even look at her. He just sneered at me. “Well, well. Look who it is. The gold digger who dumped me for a check.” He looked me up and down, noting my lack of designer labels. He looked satisfied. “Lily, you’re still broke as hell. What? Want to get back together? Get on your knees and knock your head on the floor three times. Then maybe I’ll listen.” His friends roared with laughter. Only his childhood friend looked terrified, glancing between us. “Damn, imagine dumping Hunter for cash. Idiot. If I were a girl, I’d worship him. Beat me, scold me, whatever. I’d call him Daddy!” “Is she trying to pull a scam? Why does she look like Bella? Plastic surgery? Give it up, you can’t compare to Bella. She’s wifey material!” Bella. That must be the girl. Name fits. Bella looked at me with pity mixed with smug superiority. Poor me, trying to clone her look but failing to get the guy. I was about to speak when— [The Villainess is here! The so-called ‘White Moonlight.’ She looks mid compared to our baby Bella.] [Don’t worry, she’s toast. Hunter forgot her ages ago. He won’t give her the time of day.] [I can’t wait for the humiliation scene! She tries to lecture him, and he ignores her. Classic!] Floating comments? Interesting. I had planned to be polite. It had been three years, after all. But reading those comments changed my mind. Someone forgot the rules. He needed a reminder. Hunter was still smirking, turning to high-five his lackey, when my shadow fell over him. I walked right up to him, raised my hand, and… SMACK! I backhanded him across the face. Silence. Chapter 3 For a few seconds, the room was frozen. Jaws dropped. Bella reacted first. She glared at me, tears welling up. “Miss! How can you hit people? Do you have no manners? Just because you’re uneducated and low-class doesn’t give you the right to harass us! You aren’t in Hunter’s league!” Eloquent. Logical. Polite. Funny how she was mute when they were slut-shaming me a minute ago. Justice is apparently selective. [OMG the Villainess is crazy! Hitting the billionaire heir? Did she scare our baby Bella? Bella is too nice, she should have dragged that bitch!] [She’s dead in three chapters. Mosquito blood, not a White Moonlight. Hunter’s temper is explosive; he’s gonna wreck her!] [Bella is the best. Gentle, submissive, never argues. The perfect wife. Any man would choose her.] [Typical villainess behavior. Vain and disobedient. Being a simp for men is a woman’s best trait. Die already! Waiting for Hunter to rage!] I was amazed. If being a doormat is the requirement for a Female Lead, I’m happy being the Villainess. Men exist to serve women, not the other way around. Expecting Hunter to explode on me? Sorry to disappoint. I looked down at Hunter. “Apologize.” A guy with bleached hair jumped up. “Who the f—” “Shut up!!” Hunter roared. His face was red, bearing my handprint. His eyes were bloodshot. He looked at me, tears shimmering in the corners. Through gritted teeth, he forced it out. “I. Am. Sorry.” The room gasped. Hunter’s friend whispered in horror, “It’s over… the only person who can tame the beast is back…” I nodded. I thought they forgot. Three years ago, I trained this rich boy into a perfect dog. Chapter 4 “Everyone out!” Hunter barked. They scrambled. Except Bella. She frowned. “Miss, please leave! Didn’t you hear Hunter? Do you have no shame? Did you even graduate high school?” Hunter rubbed his temples, dizzy with rage. “I meant you. Get out.” Bella froze. Then, the waterworks started. Even though they weren’t official, she clearly thought of herself as the girlfriend. She gave me the “homewrecker” glare and ran out crying. A perfect, fragile flower. Too bad Hunter didn’t even look at her. [What is the Male Lead doing?! Why chase the wife away? He should be kicking the villainess out and comforting Bella!] [It’s not about the villainess. He’s probably just jealous because Bella talked to the Second Male Lead yesterday.] [Our Jealous King! Hope he realizes his feelings soon and comforts Bella!] [But I hate that he’s alone with the villainess just to make Bella jealous. Ugh, letting that bitch win.] [Relax, Hunter knows what he’s doing. He won’t let her touch him. It’s all an act.] I sat opposite Hunter. “Tastes have changed?” Hunter looked at me resentfully. “I thought you were going abroad? What do you want?” “How do you know I’m going abroad?” “I…” “Stalking me? Still in love with me?” I leaned forward, invading his space. The familiar pressure made him look away. His ears turned red, but his mouth stayed stubborn. “Who likes you? It’s been 1,186 days. I forgot you ages ago!” I stood up, smirking. “Okay. Forgot to mention, I moved back into our old apartment. Since you’re not interested, I guess I’ll live there alone.” Hunter shot up. “You didn’t break the lease?” I gave him a look and walked out. Behind me, Hunter started yapping like a puppy left behind. “Hey! Wait! Don’t leave yet! I didn’t say I wouldn’t go! Damn it, you ditch me for three years and can’t even pretend to beg? Lily! Get back here!!” I lit a cigarette outside. I picked up the habit after my adoptive mother died. Inside, I heard Hunter muttering excitedly. “Thank God, Buddha, and the Universe… she came back for me…” I lowered my eyes. Idiot. It wasn’t God. It was your mom’s money. Chapter 5 Hunter and I met in college. We dated for five years. He fought with his family constantly. Whenever they cut him off, he was broke. We rented a tiny one-bedroom apartment and lived there for three years. I never cancelled the lease. Sometimes I went back to clean. It was the only place that felt like “home” after my mom died. I didn’t tell Hunter that. Let him think I missed him. It’s easier for the con. He walked around the apartment, looking nostalgic and emotional. I went into the bedroom. He tried to follow. Bam. I shut the door in his face. When I came out in my pajamas, he was standing there, head hanging low. If he had a tail, it would be between his legs. I threw a set of clean men’s pajamas on the couch. “Put these on.” His head snapped up. Eyes bright. Tail wagging. “Tonight, I sleep in the bedroom. You take the couch.” Tail down. When he came out of the shower, shirt unbuttoned, water dripping down his eight-pack abs, I had to admit—he looked good. The man aged backwards. Still looked like a college student. He was definitely trying to seduce me. I ignored it, turned around, and went to bed. Crack. The sound of a heart breaking. I slept well that night. I have insomnia, but sleeping near Hunter always knocked me out. Maybe because he’s brainless, so I don’t need my guard up. I left the door open. In the middle of the night, I got up to use the bathroom and tripped over something. I turned on the lamp. Hunter was curled up on the floor by my bed, sleeping on his jacket. “Lily… don’t leave… let’s make up…” he mumbled. I leaned down and whispered, “Hunter, your acting sucks.” His face turned red. Even in his sleep, he knew he couldn’t outsmart me. He opened his eyes. “Let’s make up. Forget the past.”

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On the day my family gathered to celebrate my eighteenth birthday, my phone buzzed with a series of bizarre text messages. “Darling, you are not human. Please be careful not to reveal your identity.” “In a world overrun by humans, you must survive.” 1. My hand froze, hovering over the birthday cake. A smudge of frosting smeared onto my phone screen. My mom, sitting right next to me, noticed. She poked my forehead gently. “You’re eighteen now, Chloe. Still so messy…” Her voice trailed off. Her finger lingered on my forehead a second too long. I don’t know why, but a primal instinct kicked in. I locked my phone screen instantly before she could lean in. Mom looked a little hurt, but she recovered quickly with a smile. “My baby’s all grown up. Keeping secrets now.” She shifted her gaze across the table to my cousin, Tyler. “Why is everyone looking at their phones today?” I felt a pang of guilt. How could I doubt my own family over a spam text? Maybe it was post-exam stress. I had just finished my SATs, and my brain was fried. For a split second, I actually believed the text. It had to be a prank. Some senior prank, maybe? “You’re not human”? Please. Why not tell me I’m the heir to the throne of Genovia while you’re at it? I definitely didn’t buy it. I glanced at Tyler. He was only a few hours younger than me, practically my twin. Was he the one messing with me? Just as I was about to check the sender ID, another message popped up. “MEMORIZE THIS. Humans use the following methods to identify Mimics. We use these rules to blend in.” “1. Before the age of eighteen, Mimics and Humans are indistinguishable.” “2. Humans do not possess special abilities. Mimics awaken an ability after turning eighteen.” “3. The Golden Rule of the Costco Food Court: The hot dog and soda combo is always $1.50.” “4. Humans vastly outnumber Mimics. This is not our world. Remember this.” “5. If a Human suspects you, clear your name immediately. Or you will die.” “6. Not all Humans know Mimics exist. Use this ignorance to hide.” 2. I read the list and frowned. What kind of creepypasta nonsense was this? The first part was whatever, but the “special ability” part? That confirmed it was a prank. If I had superpowers, I wouldn’t be stressing about college applications. And the Costco hot dog thing? Everyone knows that. It’s practically an American institution. $1.50 forever. Just as I was about to dismiss it all as garbage, a hand snatched the phone from my grip. “Chloe, are you texting a boyfriend?” Mom asked, her voice sweet but her grip firm. My face burned hot. “Mom!” It wasn’t even about the texts. It was the embarrassment. If she saw this sci-fi roleplay spam, she’d think I was having a mental breakdown from academic pressure. I just wanted to be a normal girl. “Oh? Silence? So there is a boy,” Mom teased, looking at the screen. I felt a sudden spike of panic. But when she handed the phone back, my eyes widened. The messages were gone. Deleted. Vanished. The top message was now from Ben, the class president: Hey Chloe, free tomorrow morning? Meet me at the stadium bleachers? I knew Ben probably wanted to confess his feelings, but my mind was racing. Did Mom delete the texts? Or did I hallucinate them? No. I definitely saw them. Then a thought hit me. A virus. Maybe the messages were programmed to self-destruct after reading? But that would require some serious hacker skills. We’re in a high school drama, not Mission: Impossible. Then, my heart slammed against my ribs. There was one other possibility. 3. “Aunt Helen! My phone is bugging out. Look at this spam,” Tyler said, waving his phone in front of my face. “It’s hilarious.” My stomach dropped. Tyler got it too? If Tyler got it, maybe it wasn’t a virus. Maybe it was a family prank. I looked at Dad. He loves pulling pranks. He’s been really serious lately, but maybe he’s back on his bullshit? I grabbed Tyler’s phone. It was the exact same message. I was about to laugh and tell him I got it too, when Mom’s expression changed. She didn’t just frown. She looked terrifying. She grabbed Tyler’s phone and smashed it onto the floor. Crash. “Tyler,” she said, her voice dropping to sub-zero. “Are you human?” Tyler blinked, thinking it was a joke. He laughed, slapping my shoulder. “Aunt Sarah, what are you talking about? If I’m not human, am I a Mimic like the text says?” He was giggling. He didn’t see Aunt Helen—his own mother—stand up. Crack. Aunt Helen cracked her neck. It sounded like a gunshot. The air in the room grew heavy. Suffocating. “Tyler,” Aunt Helen asked softly. “Tell mom. How much is the hot dog combo at Costco?” Tyler scratched his head. He sensed the vibe was off, but the text was still fresh in his mind. He tried to recall the “rules” but got confused by the tension. “Mom? You hungry? It’s… uh… inflation, right? Like $3.50 now? Maybe $5?” Aunt Helen smiled. The tension vanished. “Right. Exactly right.” She placed a hand lovingly on Tyler’s shoulder. “Tyler…” SQUELCH. Blood sprayed across the dinner table. Aunt Helen had driven a steak knife into Tyler’s neck. Tyler’s head hit the floor with a wet thud. His eyes were bulging, staring directly at me. I stumbled back, knocking over my chair. Mom and Dad sat there, stone-faced. Aunt Helen looked at her son’s severed head with pure disgust and stomped on it. “I didn’t expect Tyler to be replaced,” she spat. “Filthy Mimic.” I stared at the corpse, my brain screaming. Aunt Helen just killed him. Just like that. Where were the police? Why was nobody screaming? And… why did Tyler die when he answered the wrong price? The text said $1.50. He guessed higher. Wait. If the text was a guide for Mimics… and the text told the truth ($1.50)… then a Mimic would know the answer. A human might know. But a panicked human who doesn’t go to Costco might guess inflation. Tyler guessed wrong. So he was human? Or… 4. Aunt Helen wiped her hands on a napkin. Before my eyes, Tyler’s body began to liquefy. It fizzed and melted until it was nothing but a pile of white ash, which seemed to seep into the floorboards. Gone. My jaw hit the floor. Everything I knew about reality shattered. Then came the fear. The text said I wasn’t human. If I’m a Mimic… will they kill me too? Mom wrapped her arms around me. “Chloe, baby. You’re eighteen now. We can’t hide it anymore.” She looked at the smashed phone on the floor. “Tyler wasn’t human. Years ago, Mimics invaded our world. They’re easy to kill, but they replace humans seamlessly. Before eighteen, you can’t tell the difference. The only tell is that only Mimics receive the activation text.” “Tyler got the text. And he failed the test.” Mom’s eyes went dark. She stared into my soul. “Chloe. Tell Mommy. How much is the hot dog combo at Costco?” The room went silent. Dad, Mom, Aunt Helen. Three pairs of eyes, locked on me. If I answer wrong, I die. If I answer right ($1.50)… do I die because I know the rule? Or do I survive because I’m passing as human? Wait. The text was a guide for Mimics. If I answer correctly, I confirm I read the text. My hands shook inside my hoodie sleeves. Think, Chloe. Think. The text said: Use human ignorance to hide. I looked at Mom, feigning confusion and a little bit of teenage attitude. “Mom? Are you serious? Who goes to Costco? That’s for old people. I don’t know, like two bucks?” I narrowed my eyes at her, flipping the script. “Wait. Why are you acting so weird? Are you the Mimic?” Dad and Mom exchanged a look. Then, they smiled. Mom hugged me, tension draining from her body. “That’s my girl! A Mimic would have memorized the price from the text!” Aunt Helen wiped a tear, grabbing my hand. “Oh, Chloe. I was so worried. I’m sorry.” But I saw it. Deep in Aunt Helen’s eyes, there was a flicker of malice. 5. “Mom, don’t we need to call the cops?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. The hug felt cold. “Silly girl,” Mom said. “Mimics don’t leave bodies. No corpus delicti.” She sighed. “Poor Tyler. Don’t mention him around Aunt Helen for a while, okay?” I nodded obediently. I retreated to my room, my mind reeling. One day. That’s all it took to go from a high school graduate to a separate species. Good news: I look human. Bad news: I am a Mimic. Worse news: I am living in a nest of Mimic-hunters. Worst news: Aunt Helen suspects me. 6. I pulled out my phone. I focused my mind. Hide the message. The text reappeared. That was my ability. I could toggle the visibility of the “Mimic network.” I replied to the number: Who are you? No answer. I tried calling. Dead air. The sender was either busy or a bot. I typed again. The Costco rule is a trap. You can’t just answer $1.50. You have to feign ignorance if it fits your persona. A reply pinged instantly. “Thank you, User, for your feedback. The Survival Guide is updating.” “Reward for contribution: Location of Mimic Scent Masker. Stadium Locker 305. Code 5454.” A masker? I needed that. I grabbed my keys. “Going somewhere?”

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Right before finals, our AP Calc teacher—who was also our homeroom teacher—was suspended for “offending” the administration. They replaced her with a brand-new teacher fresh out of college. Our class was the top-ranked in the district. We had multiple students aiming for Ivies and Stanford. And the school thought it was a good idea to swap horses mid-stream so someone else could take credit for our scores? Did they ask us? No. But our Class President dropped one line about “getting justice for Ms. Bennett,” and the entire class skipped third period to storm the Principal’s office. We were good at tests, sure. But we were even better at starting a riot. 1 With finals less than a month away, Ms. Bennett vanished. When the bell rang, a young woman walked in. “Hi everyone, I’m Ms. Snow. I’ll be your substitute homeroom teacher and AP Calculus instructor.” Substitute? The class froze. Whispers broke out instantly. Most eyes turned to Jason, our Class President. He looked just as confused. He raised his hand. “Ms. Snow, where is Ms. Bennett?” Ms. Bennett was a legend. Thirty-something, sharp as a tack, had been teaching at our elite high school for six years. She built the Honors program from the ground up. This new teacher looked like she graduated five minutes ago. She smiled at us, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Ms. Bennett is taking some time off for personal reasons. I’ll be handling your review and daily affairs for the next month. Any questions? No? Let’s start the homeroom meeting.” Jason kept his hand up. “Ms. Snow, why is she taking time off? Is she sick?” Ms. Snow’s smile turned cryptic. “That’s private. I can’t discuss it.” “Okay, roll call,” she said, her tone hardening. “I don’t know you yet. Raise your hand when I call your name.” “Sloane Vance.” I raised my hand. “Here.” Ms. Snow’s gaze lingered on me for a second too long before moving on. “Liam Zhou.” “Here.” As she went down the list, I realized something. It wasn’t alphabetical. It was ranked by our last mock exam scores. 2 During the break, our math rep, Haley, got called to the office. Liam, the academic chair who sat behind me, ran out and came back looking grim. “Ms. Bennett got screwed,” he whispered. “What happened?” Everyone crowded around. Liam’s parents were teachers in the district, so he always had the tea. “Someone reported her for running an ‘illegal private tutoring ring.’ She’s suspended pending investigation.” Bullshit. “No way,” someone argued. “Ms. Bennett lives at this school. She’s here on weekends for our study hall. When does she have time to run a side hustle?” “And even if she did, who fires a teacher a month before AP exams?” We were the “Golden Class.” The school’s reputation depended on our acceptance letters. Ms. Bennett was the architect of our success. “Wait,” I said, a thought hitting me. “Even if they had to suspend her, why replace her with a rookie?” Usually, another veteran teacher would cover the classes. Ms. Snow was a complete stranger. She wasn’t from our math department. Just before the bell, Haley came back, eyes red and puffy. “Haley, what’s wrong?” I asked. “Ms. Snow…” Haley choked back a sob. “She yelled at me for wearing jewelry. She said I wasn’t focused and asked if my grades dropped because I was ‘messing around with boys.’” I stared at her. Haley wore a jade bangle and a small pendant. They were heirlooms from her mom, who passed away from cancer last year. Her dad was working out of state to pay for her college. She lived with her grandparents. Messing around with boys? Haley was the most focused person I knew. How could a teacher accuse a student of that without knowing a single thing about her? 3 Class started. Ms. Snow projected a PowerPoint. “We have four weeks left. I’ve created a final sprint review plan.” Liam raised his hand. “Ms. Snow, Ms. Bennett already made personalized study plans for each of us. We’re following those.” Ms. Snow’s expression iced over. “From now until the AP exam, I am in charge of your math review. You follow my plan.” Her plan was generic. It didn’t match our pace at all. “I know you think you’re smart,” she added, voice dripping with condescension. “But mock exam scores don’t mean anything. The AP exam is the only thing that matters. I’m doing this for your own good.” She started lecturing on basic concepts we had mastered months ago. I put my head down and continued working on my practice set. I listened with one ear until something sounded wrong. I looked up. She was solving a sample problem on the board. “Teacher,” I interrupted, raising my hand. “I think there’s a mistake in your solution.” Ms. Snow stopped. She glared at me. She definitely remembered me from the roll call. “Sloane Vance. If you’re not listening, don’t disrupt the class. Do you think I don’t see you doing other work?” At this stage, teachers usually let us self-study. Especially in Honors Math. “I know you’re top of the class,” she sneered. “But good grades don’t give you the right to be disrespectful. If you don’t learn respect, you’ll be useless to society no matter what college you get into.” Harsh. I stared back at her, unfazed. Before I could retort, another student spoke up. “Ms. Snow, you missed the case where the line is vertical. The slope would be undefined.” “Oh!” Ms. Snow looked at the board, flustered. “Right.” She checked her answer key before correcting herself. The vibe in the room shifted. We knew. She didn’t know the material. She was relying on the answer key. Ms. Bennett would have been thrilled if we caught a mistake. She always said, “If you can outsmart me, you’re ready for the test.” Ms. Snow just looked embarrassed and angry. This person was supposed to lead us to a 5 on the AP Calc BC exam? 4 By the next morning, Jason had the full story. “The ‘illegal tutoring’ was her helping her nephew with his homework in the staff room during evening study hall. The Dean of Students got into a shouting match with her and suspended her on the spot.” Her nephew was a freshman here. Helping family is illegal now? “And Ms. Snow,” Jason added darkly, “is a new hire. The only new hire the district approved this semester.” We didn’t need a math teacher. “If Ms. Snow takes over,” Haley asked quietly, “who gets the bonus for our AP scores?” Silence. Teachers got bonuses and accolades for high AP pass rates and Ivy acceptances. “Hell no,” a guy in the back shouted. “Ms. Bennett did all the work. She put up with our crap for three years. We’re not letting some newbie steal her thunder.” We were the cash cow class. We were supposed to produce the Valedictorian. “We need to get justice for Bennett,” Jason said, standing up. “Okay, me, Liam, Sloane, Haley, and Ethan. We’re going to the Principal’s office.” The Top 5 GPAs. Plus the Class President. “Why just you five?” the English rep piped up. “They’ll just pick you off one by one. Safety in numbers. Let’s all go. The office can fit thirty people, right?” “Yeah! My parents are already asking questions in the group chat. Ms. Snow kicked Bennett out of the chat and muted everyone!” “She has no backup. If we don’t fight for her, who will?” Teenagers run on caffeine and righteous fury. Within seconds, the entire class—thirty-two students—agreed. We stood up as the bell rang. Ms. Snow walked in, saw us mobilizing, and froze. “What do you think you’re doing?” 5 We ignored her. Being young doesn’t mean being stupid. Ms. Snow walking into the best class in the school fresh out of college? That screamed nepotism. We just didn’t know whose niece she was yet. We marched down the hall to the admin building. We ran into some kids from Class 2. “Whoa, Class 1 is moving out? Is there a fire?” “We’re getting our teacher back,” I said. Class 2 shared Ms. Bennett with us. They looked at each other, realizing what was happening. We arrived at the Principal’s office. Principal Miller was brewing tea, looking relaxed. He looked up, startled, as thirty students filed into his room. “Which class is this? Why aren’t you in session?” “Principal Miller,” Jason stepped forward. “We are the Senior Honors Class. We’re here to ask why Ms. Bennett was suspended a month before APs.” Principal Miller frowned. “You’re Honors students? You should know better. Every minute counts. Go back to class! This doesn’t concern you.” “Doesn’t concern us?” I spoke up. “She’s our teacher. Who is going to prep us for the exam?” “Yeah! You can’t just swap teachers like spare tires!” “Bring Ms. Bennett back!” The room erupted. Miller slammed his mug down. “Ms. Bennett violated district policy! The school is following protocol. Keep making noise, and I’ll write you all up! Do you want a disciplinary record on your transcripts right before college?” He thought threatening our permanent records would scare us. I laughed. A cold, dry sound. “Principal Miller, show us the proof. If she violated policy, show us the investigation report. If not, reinstate her.” I stepped closer. “And go ahead. Write me up. I don’t care about a record. I care about fairness.” “Me neither!” “Write us all up!” “We want Ms. Bennett!”

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At 3:00 AM, my homeroom teacher was raging in the group chat because I scored 685 on the Gaokao (college entrance exam) but refused to apply to Tsinghua or Peking University. @Vivian: You stubborn student! You’re self-centered, ignoring my advice, and determined not to apply to the top schools. You’ve wasted the efforts of all your teachers! You don’t trust our experience and just blindly follow your own ideas. Wasting such a high score is the biggest failure of education! Everyone was waiting for my defense. Instead, I quietly left the group chat. By the next evening, screenshots of his rant had gone viral. He was labeled the “Meltdown Teacher” online. Terrified for his reputation, he begged me to clear his name. I just laughed. Too late! 1 I scored 685. First in the school. The moment Mr. Chen, my homeroom teacher, found out, he summoned me back to school to discuss my college applications. He pushed me relentlessly to apply for obscure majors at Tsinghua or Peking University. “You’re the only one this year with a shot at the Ivies of China! Grab this opportunity. Who cares about the major? Just get in first!” he said, eyes gleaming. “When the school puts up the Honor Roll, your name will be at the top to inspire the juniors!” He looked so sure I’d listen. I silently closed the browser and told him I’d fill out the application at home. Panic flashed in his eyes. He practically tried to wrestle the mouse from me to input his choice as my first preference. “What is there to think about? With this score, it has to be Tsinghua or Peking!” I guarded my login credentials like they were nuclear codes and fled the classroom. Back home, he called me nine times. “Vivian, you can’t waste 685 points! You have your pick of the best schools. Listen to your teachers; we’ve seen it all. We won’t lead you astray.” I had thought about this for days. I firmly chose Beijing Jiaotong University for Communication Engineering as my first choice. On the last day of applications, my phone blew up. “Vivian! How could you put BJTU first? Are you crazy? Do you have any respect for your score? For the teachers who worked so hard for you?” “Change it to Tsinghua or Peking immediately before the system closes!” 2 I found out later my mom had let it slip to a neighbor. Mr. Chen had been snooping around my neighborhood and heard the news. That’s why he was losing his mind. I told him over the phone, “My first choice is final. I’ve thought it through.” That sentence lit the fuse. He screamed, his voice cracking, “We worked so hard to create this environment for you, and you drop the ball now? How can you decide something this important based on your own whims? You’re being selfish! You’ll regret this! Change it!” I didn’t say a word. I hung up. Then I blocked his number. I heard from a senior that Mr. Chen had been teaching for fifteen years. I was the first student he’d ever had with a score like mine. He pathologically believed my success was entirely due to “the teachers’ guidance.” He tried to gaslight me into fulfilling his dream, even if it meant sacrificing my next four years. I knew from a young age that for a kid from a small town like me, the Gaokao was my only way out. I ground through every difficult problem until I mastered it. If I applied to the top two schools with my score, I’d end up in a major like Paleontology or Ancient Manuscript Restoration—dead ends for me. Communication Engineering was my dream. This was my life. I called the shots. Three minutes before the deadline, my choice remained unchanged. Mr. Chen completely lost it. 3 When he confirmed I hadn’t applied to the top schools, his rage kept him up until 3 AM. He spammed the class WeChat group: @Vivian: You stubborn student! You’re self-centered, ignoring my advice, and determined not to apply to the top schools. You’ve wasted the efforts of all your teachers! Many of us stayed up late working for you. Getting 685 should be a celebration, but you’ve turned our hard work into zero. You don’t trust our experience and just blindly follow your own ideas. Wasting such a high score is the biggest failure of education! I warn the class: never forget what the school gave you. Be grateful, or your path will narrow! I am so disappointed, especially in Vivian. Tomorrow, I will dissolve this group out of sheer disappointment! Reflect on your actions! His profile picture was still lit up. He was waiting for my apology. I stared at the screen, wide awake. “Self-centered”? “Reflect on your actions”? The only one who needed to reflect was the unreasonable, dictatorial teacher. I am an independent person, not a trophy for his resume. I realized quickly: he lost his bonus. At the 100-day pep rally, the principal announced a 200,000 RMB bonus for any homeroom teacher who got a student into Tsinghua or Peking. No wonder he was furious. Classmates started spamming emojis, waiting for the drama. I clicked settings. “Leave Group Chat.” The next morning, my best friend, Sophie, told me the group had imploded. 4 Sophie showed me the screenshots. [Did Mr. Chen get hacked?] [Is he trying to ruin the Valedictorian’s life for a bonus?] [Wait, does he get paid if someone gets into the top schools?] [He’s definitely venting because he lost his bonus!] The group was quickly muted by the admin. “Everyone knows what he’s up to,” Sophie sighed. I thought that was the end of it. But that evening, Sophie looked grim. “Vivian, bad news. Someone posted the screenshots online. Thousands of people are dragging Mr. Chen. The school’s reputation is tanking.” Then, Mr. Chen did something even crazier. My phone started ringing off the hook. Calls from a “Repeat School” (a cram school for retaking the Gaokao). Every thirty minutes. A new number. I finally picked up to tell them to stop. “Hello, Vivian? We are the Sunrise Repeat School. If you enroll with us to retake the exam, we’ll give you a 500,000 RMB signing bonus!” “How did you get my number?” I asked coldly. “Your homeroom teacher told us about your situation. Tuition is free. 500k cash. Just think about it. Talk to your parents.” I hung up immediately. Mr. Chen again! 5 Instead of reflecting on the backlash, he was doubling down. First the harassment, now selling my info to cram schools? He just wanted me to retake the test so he could try for his bonus again next year. I wasn’t falling for it. 500k was a lot of money. But giving up a sure thing for a gamble? Risky. And my first choice was solid. I didn’t tell my mom about the offer. I didn’t want her to worry. But at dinner, she looked troubled. She burned the sweet and sour ribs. “Did the cram school call you too?” I asked. Mom hesitated, then nodded. “Vivian, I was thinking…” I couldn’t blame her. 500k would change our lives. 6 This was the third year since Dad died. He was a weather recorder in the mountains. A mudslide took out the station during a storm. They found him three days later. Mom cried until she got sick. Most of our savings went to hospital bills. In 10th grade, I wanted to drop out and work. Mom stormed into my room. “Even if I have to sell everything, you are finishing high school! You’re 15! Who would hire you? Sharpening the axe doesn’t delay the woodcutting. Finish school!” I promised her I would. From that moment, I studied like my life depended on it. I went from average to top 10. And finally, first. The cram school’s offer was tempting. But the choice was: My dream now, or a gamble for money later. 7 Honestly, I didn’t want to do senior year again. It was hell. Endless tests, pressure, anxiety. I was an NPC in a game called “Gaokao.” I wouldn’t bet a year of my life on a “maybe.” Plus, high school wasn’t all sunshine. The boy behind me used to snap my bra strap. He’d laugh, “You’re flat anyway, who cares?” I told Mr. Chen. He shrugged. “Ignore them. Focus on studying. Don’t be distracted by small things.” I later found out those boys were his relatives’ kids. That’s when I stopped expecting anything from him. The summer uniforms were thin and white. When girls complained they were see-through, the principal yelled, “Wear light-colored underwear! Stop trying to be special!” Thinking back made me shiver. I was done. That night, I accepted the WeChat request from the cram school teacher. [I will not be attending. Please do not contact me again.] I thought it was over. But Sophie texted me. She got an offer too. 300k bonus, guaranteed score increase. “Vivian, wanna do it together?” she asked, excitement in her voice.

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The year Julian Sterling became the nation’s top scorer on the SATs, Harvard and MIT were so desperate to recruit him that they offered him a special “Plus One” scholarship—he could bring anyone he wanted with him. Everyone assumed he would give that spot to me. But in the end, the girl who walked through the gates of Harvard Yard with him wasn’t me. It was the transfer student, Ivy Brooks. “Harvard is Ivy’s dream,” Julian told me, his voice calm and reasonable. “She needs this opportunity more than you do.” He said my grades were mediocre anyway, that I’d just be looked down on if I went to an Ivy League school. So he “helped” me apply to an art school in New York instead. “Wait for me,” he promised. “When we graduate, we’ll get married.” I didn’t wait. I packed my bags and flew to Paris to study art on my own terms. Years later, we met again. Julian stared at the ring on my finger, his eyes red and wet. “Why?” he choked out. “You said you’d only ever marry me.” 1 It had been seven years since high school graduation. The first time I heard Julian Sterling’s name in nearly a decade was at JFK Airport, waiting for a flight back home. The girl sitting next to me kept glancing my way. Finally, on the seventh look, she leaned in. “Lily? Lily Harper?” I looked up, confused. Her face didn’t ring a bell. “It is you! Do you remember me? We went to Westview High together!” Seeing my blank stare, she tried harder. “We were in the drama club? We painted the sets for Grease?” High school felt like a lifetime ago. I racked my brain, but nothing came up. She didn’t seem to mind. “It’s okay if you don’t remember me. But you definitely remember Julian Sterling, right?” Julian Sterling. The moment that name hit the air, my mask slipped. My eyes must have betrayed me because she clapped her hands together. “I knew it! You guys were the Golden Couple of Westview High!” “Remember when Julian got that perfect SAT score? Harvard practically begged him to attend and told him he could bring his girlfriend along.” Her eyes sparkled with gossip. “So? Did you guys go to Harvard together? Are you married now? Are you here on a business trip?” She fired off questions like a machine gun. I didn’t hear most of them. My mind was already spinning, dragging up memories I thought I had buried deep. Luckily, the boarding announcement saved me. “Sorry, that’s my flight,” I said, standing up abruptly. She looked confused as I hurried away, leaving her questions hanging in the stale airport air. 2 My escape didn’t calm me down. For the entire seven-hour flight, the name “Julian Sterling” echoed in my head like a cursed mantra. Julian was my childhood sweetheart. My “bamboo horse,” as they say. He was Westview High’s prodigy. He won every math Olympiad, every science fair. When he scored a perfect 1600 on the SATs, recruiters were camping on his front lawn. Harvard and MIT fought over him. To sweeten the deal, they offered him a rare “Partner Admission”—a guaranteed spot for a significant other. Before Julian even made a decision, people were already congratulating me. Everyone knew. Lily and Julian were inseparable. We were a package deal. Sitting in my cramped economy seat, I recalled the envy on that girl’s face at the airport. A bitter, ironic smile touched my lips. Seven years later, and people still didn’t know the truth. The girl who went to Harvard with Julian wasn’t me. 3 I spent the flight in a daze. It wasn’t until I landed and heard his voice that the fog lifted. “Hey. You land okay?” “Yeah. Just touched down.” “You sound off. Everything alright?” Five words, and he knew. I marveled at Ethan’s intuition. “Just jet lag,” I lied. I didn’t want to burden him with my high school drama. “Get to the hotel and sleep. I’ll call you later.” “Okay.” I hung up and took a cab to the hotel. I tried to sleep, but my phone buzzed. It was Sarah, my old class president. “Lily! You’re back in the States? Why didn’t you tell anyone?!” I was surprised. “How did you know?” “The alumni group chat! Check it!” I hadn’t logged into that Facebook group in years. I barely remembered my password. I scrolled back. Two days ago, someone had posted a candid photo of me at the airport. [OMG! Guess who I saw at JFK? It’s Lily Harper!] [I was scared to ask, but it’s totally her. She looks even more gorgeous now. So chic!] The photo was a side profile of me dozing off near the gate. The chat exploded. [Is it really her? She hasn’t aged a day.] [Is she alone? Where’s Julian? Aren’t they inseparable?] I scrolled down. Julian’s name appeared again and again. It was like we were still tethered together in everyone’s minds. Then, a message stopped the flow. [Wait, you guys don’t know? Julian and Lily broke up right after graduation.] The chat went wild. [What?!] [No way. Julian worshipped the ground she walked on.] [Why would they break up?] I closed the app. I didn’t need to read the theories. Sarah was still talking in my ear. “So, you’re in New York? I’m in the city too! We have to grab dinner!” Sarah was the only person from high school I kept in touch with. I agreed. That one “yes” led me straight into the path of the one person I had spent seven years avoiding. Julian Sterling. 4 It was a setup. Or maybe just cosmic bad luck. Sarah picked a trendy restaurant in SoHo. When I walked in, she hugged me tight. “I missed you so much! You look amazing!” She linked her arm in mine, chattering away as we walked toward our table. “You know, Mr. Harrison still talks about you. He was so bummed you didn’t go to art school in the States. He tells every freshman class about your talent.” “And honestly, I still don’t get it. Why did you leave over Julian? It wasn’t worth it…” She stopped dead in her tracks. I followed her gaze. Standing near the coat check was a man. Julian. 5 It had been seven years. I had imagined this moment a thousand times. What would he look like? He was wearing a white dress shirt and black slacks. The boyish softness was gone, replaced by sharp angles and a cold, professional aura. He looked successful. Mature. But his eyes—those dark, distant eyes—were exactly the same. Sarah looked back and forth between us, the air suddenly heavy and awkward. “Julian, everyone’s here. We’re just waiting for you.” A soft, melodic voice drifted from behind him. A woman walked up to Julian. She placed a hand on his arm, then noticed us. She froze. Her eyes widened in shock. “Lily…?” I recognized the panic in her voice. It was Ivy Brooks. I looked at her, calm and composed. Honestly, she had no reason to be nervous. She was the winner. I was the one who fled the country. If that girl from the airport were here, I could finally tell her the truth. “The girl who went to Harvard with Julian wasn’t me.” It was her. Ivy Brooks. 6 Before we were seventeen, Julian and I were basically the same person. We were born on the same day, in the same hospital. Our moms were best friends. We went to the same preschool, same elementary, same middle school. Julian gave me his first Valentine’s card. He got into his first fistfight defending my honor. When I got my first period at school, he was the one who ran to the store to buy me pads. We were inevitable. Everyone said so. Then came sophomore year. And Ivy Brooks. She was a transfer student from a small town. Quiet, studious, plain. I didn’t pay attention to her until midterms, when she scored second in the class—just one point behind Julian. “Whoa,” Sarah had said, looking at the ranking sheet. “Someone’s finally giving Julian a run for his money.” “Please,” I laughed. “Julian’s a genius. She won’t catch him.” I was wrong. She didn’t just catch him. She caught his attention.

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Chapter 1 After my grandmother stole me and sold me to human traffickers, my mother went insane. My father went to his grave never forgiving my brother for letting go of my hand. My brother spent ten years searching for me alone. He traveled to every corner of the country, living like a ghost. When he finally lost all hope, he slit his wrists in a cheap motel room. Meanwhile, my grandmother and my uncle’s family happily occupied our house and spent our inheritance. I wanted to burn them all alive. I wanted to drag them to hell with me. Instead, I woke up. I was reborn. I heard my grandmother’s voice, counting cash and whispering to the trafficker: “Take the girl. Leave my grandson for now.” If I hadn’t been snatched that day, I would have remained the princess of my family. My parents and my big brother adored me. In my past life, I was sold deep into the mountains. A high fever left me slow, confused, and broken. The family that bought me realized I was “damaged goods” and a waste of food, so they sold me again. I was passed from hand to hand like a bad penny until no one wanted me anymore. Finally, they said, “She might be slow, but her kidneys work. Her heart is strong.” I was carved up and sold for parts. That’s how I died. Only after death did my spirit drift back home. That’s when I learned the truth. My parents couldn’t handle the grief and died one after another. My brother was the only one left. He never stopped looking. He carried my photo everywhere, sleeping under bridges, eating one meal a day, asking every stranger if they’d seen his little sister. When he finally heard the news of my death—that I had been butchered on an operating table—the last thread of his sanity snapped. “Mom, Dad… Sophie. Wait for me. I’m coming.” The razor blade sliced deep. “Ben! No!” I tried to stop him, but my ghostly hand passed right through his wrist. The rage and sorrow were so intense I thought my soul would shatter. Was this it? Was I just going to watch my family die because of me? Suddenly, a blinding light flooded the room. I jolted awake, coughing. The air was thick with stale cigarette smoke. I was lying in the back of a cargo van. I stared at the man in the front seat. Black leather jacket. Greasy hair. It was him. The trafficker. Snake. He pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and handed it to the woman sitting across from him. “Count it, Auntie. Five thousand dollars. I heard you have two grandsons, too. I’ll pay triple for them.” Five thousand dollars. That was the price of my life. That was the price of my family’s destruction. Through the haze of smoke, I saw her face. My grandmother. The woman who always smiled at me and gave me candy. She stuffed the money into her bra, looking satisfied. “Forget it. I’m not selling my grandsons.” A chill went through my bones, colder than the death I had just escaped. Why? Why Grandma? Snake laughed, echoing my thoughts. “Auntie Ruth, aren’t you scared your son will find out?” “You keep your mouth shut, I keep mine shut. Who’s gonna know?” Grandma Ruth scoffed, her accent thick and jagged. “Besides, girls are just raised for other families anyway. If I don’t sell her now, she’ll just get married off later for free.” “My oldest son is in jail. He needs bail money. My youngest—Sophie’s dad—refused to give it to me. He won’t help his own brother, but he treats this little girl like a treasure? I’m doing this because he forced my hand.” Snake cackled. “Alright, Ruth. Call me when you have more stock.” “With this money, I can get Earl out,” Grandma muttered, then added sharply, “Make sure you take her far away. The farther the better. Maybe then my rich son will pay me more alimony to comfort himself.” Because of that one sentence, I was dragged across state lines in my last life, never to see the sun again. This time, I was going to make them all pay. The sedative hadn’t fully worn off, but my mind was racing. I memorized every turn, every sign. There was another kid in the van—a little boy, dressed in expensive clothes, sound asleep. Probably snatched from a wealthy neighborhood. The van pulled over on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere. A woman in a sun hat tapped on the window. “Snake, you got a boy this time?” Snake looked around nervously and nodded. “Yeah. Twelve grand.” “Done.” The woman sighed in relief, handing over a thick envelope. She turned around to reveal a large wicker laundry basket on her back. “Put him in here.” This was my chance. “Mommy! Mommy, don’t leave me! Take me with my brother!” I screamed, struggling up and grabbing the woman’s sleeve. “What do I need a girl for?” The woman, Martha, turned away, though I saw a flicker of hesitation. The little boy woke up at the commotion. He was smart. He didn’t expose me. He just started crying, “Sissy! I want Sissy!” Snake saw an opportunity to upsell. “Just take her, Martha. Girls are cheap. She can do chores, clean the house. Since you’re a regular, I’ll give her to you for two grand. A package deal.” Martha did the math and nodded. I was shoved into the laundry basket next to the boy. I was sold again, for a discount. The basket was covered with a heavy tarp. Martha drove us to a bus station. When she went to the bathroom, she left the basket on a bench. “You two stay quiet. There are bad men around here.” The moment her footsteps faded, I shook the little boy awake. “Do you want to go home?” I whispered. He nodded furiously, tears in his eyes. “Listen to me. Follow me. Don’t cry, don’t scream. If you make a sound, I’m leaving you here.” I put on my fiercest face. We climbed out and blended into the crowd. I didn’t go to the cops. Not in this town. Snake operated here; the local sheriff might be on his payroll. I couldn’t risk it. I found the ticket counter. I dug a crumpled ten-dollar bill out of my pocket—my emergency money—and bought two tickets for the next Greyhound bus to the city. The lady behind the counter raised an eyebrow. “Where are your parents?” I grabbed the boy’s hand and gave her my sweetest, most innocent smile. “We’re going to see Mommy in the city. She’s waiting for us at the station.” We got on the bus. We didn’t have enough for a long haul, but we just needed to get away from here. I smeared dirt on our faces to hide our features. We looked like two little beggars. The boy—let’s call him Timmy—was starving. His stomach growled like a beast, but he didn’t complain. “We’ll be home soon,” I promised him. We scavenged leftover fries from a trash can at a rest stop. It was degrading, but survival has no pride. Finally, we had enough for a train ticket back to my hometown. I spotted a nice-looking lady and we tailed her, pretending to be her kids to get through the gate. Just as we stepped onto the train car, chaos erupted on the platform. “My babies! They stole my babies!” It was Martha. She was screaming like a banshee, pointing right at us. She charged the train. A few passengers behind us frowned. “Kids, don’t run off. Go to your mom.” My heart hammered against my ribs. Was history repeating itself? I thought of Ben, my brother, bleeding out in that motel room. No. Not this time. I bit down hard on the hand of the passenger trying to hold me back. “She’s lying! She’s not my mom! Help! She’s a kidnapper!” Martha screamed in pain and slapped me across the face. Smack! Her accomplice, a burly man, grabbed me by the hair. “You little brat! Biting your own mother?” I curled into a ball on the floor. The other passengers looked away. No one wanted to get involved in a domestic dispute. “Kids these days,” someone muttered. My vision blurred. The man was dragging me toward the door. Suddenly, a small body threw itself over me. “Leave her alone! Don’t take my sister!” Timmy screamed, latching onto the man’s leg. Martha grabbed Timmy, her face twisting into a fake smile. “Oh, my poor baby. Come to Mama.” I tasted blood in my mouth. I used every ounce of strength I had left to scream. “You don’t even know our names! My real mom loves me! She would never hit me like that! You’re a liar!” The car went silent. Doubt crept into people’s eyes. Martha looked nervous. “She’s… she’s my stepdaughter. She’s got mental issues. Always running away.” The “stepmom” excuse. It worked like a charm on the indifferent crowd. Just as hope was fading, a calm voice cut through the noise. “Ma’am, if you’re his mother, why didn’t you notice your son is having an asthma attack?” A young man in a suit stepped forward. “I’m a doctor. You’re suffocating him. I suspect you aren’t related to these children at all.” Timmy’s face was turning red, his chest heaving. Martha had been clutching him too tight. The tide turned. The conductor was called. Martha and her goon were kicked off the train, screaming curses. We were safe. The doctor, Dr. Carter, treated Timmy. “You’re safe now,” he said gently. I sat in the seat, trembling. “Does it hurt?” he asked, looking at my bruised cheek. I shook my head. This pain was nothing compared to losing everything. “Do you know where you live, kid?” “Yes.” I knew. I had dreamed of my front door every night for a lifetime. Dr. Carter was kind. He believed us. “I’m just back from med school abroad. If I hadn’t stepped in… well, I saved a family today.” When we arrived in the city, he walked us to the police station. He gave me a handful of chocolates before leaving. “Stay safe, little one.” At the station, I gave the officers my address and phone number. But Timmy stayed silent. He clung to my shirt, terrified. “We can find your parents,” the officer said to me. “But this little guy… we don’t know who he is.” Timmy looked at me with big, wet eyes. “Sissy?” I sighed. “Officer, can he come with me? Just until you find his family? My parents will help.” I gave them a detailed description of Snake, Martha, and the van. The female officer was stunned. “How do you remember all that?” “Because,” I said, my voice cold, “I never want to forget the face of the man who tried to end my life.” The police drove us to my house. It was dark. The house was locked and dusty. My heart sank. They were already out looking for me. I knew the timeline. Mom was currently wandering the streets, showing my photo to strangers. Dad was sleeping in his car near the train station. Mom would die in four years. Dad the year after. I couldn’t wait. I turned to the officer. “Take me to the countryside. My grandma’s house.” We drove deep into the backwoods. It was 3 AM. Most houses were dark, but a light burned in Grandma Ruth’s window. I stood outside the thin walls and listened. “David, listen to me,” Grandma’s voice whined. “Your brother Earl found a connection. A private investigator. But he needs twenty grand to start looking for Sophie.” My dad’s voice sounded broken. “Mom, I swear, if I had twenty grand, I’d give it to you. But the business is tight…” “Sell the factory then! Borrow from the neighbors!” Uncle Earl chimed in, his voice dripping with fake concern. “Every day Sophie is out there… I heard these traffickers break kids’ legs to make them beg better…” I saw red. She sold me, and now she was scamming my grieving father for more money? I banged on the door with both fists. “Dad! Mom! Don’t listen to them!”

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My co-star, the so-called “Nation’s Perfect Boyfriend” and A-list actor Julian Chen, was trending on Twitter for refusing to open his mouth during a kiss scene. The comments were brutal: “Zero chemistry.” “He looks like he’s kissing a dead fish.” “Give us some passion, man!” Being the chaotic agent of chaos that I am, I liked the meanest tweet. Suddenly, Julian posted: “Fine. Next project, I’ll show you exactly how open I can get.” The internet exploded with joy. I, however, froze. Because I am the female lead in his next project starting tomorrow. 1 In Hollywood, Julian Chen is known as the industry’s golden boy—scandal-free, professional, and annoyingly wholesome. I, Tara Lee, am known as the industry’s favorite “man-eater”—flirty, scandalous, and always in the tabloids. I can’t stand his holier-than-thou act, so I roast him online constantly. Me: “Oh, look at Mr. Ice King wearing sunglasses inside. Is it to hide the fact that he’s secretly checking me out?” Julian: “Sorry for the late reply. It takes longer to type with just my middle finger.” The comments are usually just rows of skull emojis. Everyone knows we hate each other. On the red carpet, I once “accidentally” bumped into him. “Oops, my zipper seems to be stuck. Help a girl out?” Julian didn’t even look. He reached out, zipped it up in 0.01 seconds without touching a millimeter of skin, and flashed a peace sign at the paparazzi with his other hand. I rolled my eyes. “Wow, you’re good with your hands. How many zippers have you practiced on?” He looked down at me with a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. I glanced down, too. Oh. “Pervert! One day I’m going to expose you!” 2 Karma came for him fast. Julian got dragged on social media for his “dead fish” kissing technique in his latest drama. I was lounging on my couch, sipping iced tea, and gleefully liking every single hate tweet. I even commented: “If any of these tweets hurt your feelings, let me know so I can retweet them.” The replies were gold. “Julian, you look like you’re in pain.” “Where is the tongue? We demand tongue!” “Do better next time, bro.” Then, a notification popped up. Julian tweeted. “Fine. Next project, I’ll show you exactly how open I can get.” His fan base went feral. The comments were a mix of thirst tweets and celebrations. I, however, sat there in stunned silence. Wait. Our next project starts filming tomorrow. I took the role just to dig up dirt on him. Now, karma was coming for me. My phone pinged. It was the director of Chasing Blossoms. Director: “Hey Tara, Julian wants to reschedule the big kiss scene and the… bedroom scene… to tomorrow.” Me: “Are you serious? You’re letting him bully you? Fight back!” Director: “His dad is the executive producer.” I went silent. Fine. He wants to kiss? I’ll make sure it’s a kiss he never forgets. I raided my kitchen. Garlic. Onions. Durian candy. Kimchi. Bring it on, pretty boy. 3 The next day, before the scene, I snuck into the dressing room. I pulled a stalk of green onion out of my sleeve, ready to chomp down. Suddenly, a curtain swooshed open. A tall, shirtless man walked out. My eyes nearly popped out of my head. Broad shoulders, tapered waist, and abs that looked like they were carved from marble. The lighting hit every muscle perfectly. I shrieked and covered my eyes. “Julian! You exhibitionist! I’m tweeting about this!” Then I peeked through my fingers. Nice. Eight-pack confirmed. I totally forgot I was in the wrong dressing room. Julian glanced at me, unbothered. He reached for his belt. I gulped. “Whoa, buddy. There’s a lady present. Are you blind?” He chuckled, pausing with his hands on his buckle. “Tara, didn’t you brag in an interview about dating half of Hollywood? Why are you acting shy over a guy changing his pants?” I straightened up, crossing my arms. “Yeah, well, I’ve seen more naked men than I’ve had hot meals. Go ahead. Show me what you got.” I stared intently as his long fingers undid the belt. The suit pants dropped. Then… My face turned atomic red. I couldn’t do it. “You just wait!” I yelled, sprinting out of the room. 4 Even on set, the image of his abs was burned into my retinas. “Tara, you okay? Your face is red,” the makeup artist asked. I jumped. “Nothing! Where’s my onion?” Action. It was a rainy scene. Julian and I stood facing each other under a fake downpour. “Julian, let’s just end it,” I said, channeling my character’s heartbreak. I turned to walk away. He grabbed my wrist. “I don’t accept that.” He pulled me close. His face loomed over mine. His lips crashed onto mine. They were warm, wet from the rain. I remembered his tweet. I clamped my mouth shut like a bank vault. Suddenly, his hand slid down to my waist and pinched. Hard. “Oof—” My mouth opened in surprise. He took the opening. His tongue swept in, tangling with mine. He pulled me flush against his chest. I could feel the heat radiating off him. My fingertips tingled. I was breathless, tears prickling my eyes. “Can’t handle it?” he whispered against my ear as the director yelled, “Cut!” I tried to push him away, but my knees gave out. I almost collapsed. “Easy there, Tara,” he laughed, catching me. “Don’t call me that,” I mumbled, feeling weirdly flustered. “Wait,” I realized. “Did you not taste the onion?” I had practically eaten a whole bulb before the scene. “I tasted it. It was sweet,” Julian said, smiling. The mole under his eye seemed to wink at me. I looked away. “You’re weird.” Then came the bedroom scene. I told myself not to worry. I’m a pro. I’ve done these scenes before. But… damn, this guy could kiss. “Hey, watch the hands!” I protested weakly. His shirt slipped off his shoulder, revealing that smooth, pale skin. His hot breath trailed down my neck, over my collarbone. The camera zoomed in. Even his expression of restrained desire was perfect. Under the covers, I took the opportunity to grope his abs. “Not bad,” I whispered. Julian stiffened for a second, then continued kissing me like his life depended on it. 5 I actually used to have a massive crush on Julian back in high school. Well, sort of. I lost a bet with my best friend, Chloe. The penalty was either asking Julian out or having her leak my middle school emo phase photos. Julian was the school’s “High Mountain Flower”—unreachable, cold, popular. He rejected love letters by the dozen. The prom queen tried everything. Bringing him coffee, cheering at his games. He just ignored her. “No thanks,” he’d say, grabbing a water bottle from his friend instead. He rejected everyone. But I had a plan. We were neighbors. One day, I caught him taking out the trash. I cornered him against the wall. “Hey. Look at me. I’m gonna chase you. Just accept it.” Then I dragged him to the park where I had set up candles in the shape of a heart. He raised an eyebrow, looking bored and unfairly handsome in the dim streetlights. I turned on my light-up sneakers and hit play on my boombox. I started dancing. Badly. Like a malfunctioning robot. “Tara,” he said, his face darkening. “Are you insane?” He walked away. Whatever. I blew out the candles. A good woman never gives up. Julian’s parents fought a lot. I could hear the screaming and smashing plates through the thin apartment walls. “Where is the money?!” “I spent it on clients!” “Liar! You spent it on your mistress!” Whenever they fought, Julian would sit on the stairs in the hallway. I opened my door quietly. He was doing homework on his knees, using the step as a desk. His shoulder blades poked through his thin shirt. “Hey. Hungry?” His parents often forgot to feed him. He didn’t look up. “We’re having braised pork ribs. Your favorite.” I grabbed his pen. He finally looked at me. I pulled him up. He was taller than me now. When did that happen? I dragged him into my apartment. “Julian! Come in!” My parents loved him. They set a place for him immediately. He sat there stiffly. “Thank you.” “Eat up! Or be our son instead!” Mom joked, piling food into his bowl. I watched him eat slowly. After that day, he stopped ignoring me. “Hey Julian, let me copy your math homework.” “No. Do it yourself.” “Hey Julian, this boba is too sweet. You want it?” “Okay.” “Hey Julian, don’t write my name down for talking in class.” “Okay.” Eventually, I took him to the roof. “Julian. Be my boyfriend.” He stood in the spring breeze, looking at me for a long time. “Do you like me?” I paused. Like? I mostly wanted to punch his arrogant face. But for the sake of my emo photos, I nodded. “Yeah. So much. I dream about you.” His ears turned red. “Okay.” We started walking to school together. He’d wait by the stairs, looking at me with those intense eyes. He helped me with homework. He carried my bag. He ate the food I didn’t want. We even adopted a stray cat. Named it Pear. He would stroke the cat with those long, artistic fingers. It made me blush. Then, disaster struck. Graduation night. Chloe got drunk at karaoke and spilled the beans. “Even if you didn’t get Julian, I wouldn’t have leaked the photos! I’m not a monster!” The door opened. Julian walked in. He looked at me, his eyes darker than I’d ever seen them. “Tara. Did you ever like me? Or was it just a bet?” I froze. I couldn’t meet his gaze. I didn’t see the light go out in his eyes. “Okay. I misunderstood.” He left. He blocked my number. He vanished. We met again in Hollywood. He was a rising star. I was a D-list actress with a bad reputation. 6 He became my biggest hater. I posted about my first brand deal. He commented: “Congrats on your first. I just signed my 250th.” I snuck instant noodles onto a survival show. He tweeted the director: “Check her bag. She’s hoarding food.” I fell into a ditch on a variety show. He retweeted the video. The comments were always: “Why does Julian hate Tara so much?” “What did she do to him?” I knew. He hated me because I played him. I decided to fight fire with fire. On a variety show, I stole the food from his plate. He put down his chopsticks. “Really?” I smirked, chewing on his pork rib. He grabbed a napkin and wiped the sauce off my lip. “Glad you like it.” I shivered. He was playing mind games. During a game, I “accidentally” fell into his arms and stepped on his pristine white sneakers. “Oops. Sorry, bro.” I waited for him to shove me away. Instead, his hands tightened around my waist. “Throwing yourself at me? Tara, are you chasing me again?” His voice was low and raspy. I panicked and pushed him away. “In your dreams! Don’t call me that!”

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