I’m an NPC in a horror survival game. When a new batch of players loaded in, something weird happened: I could suddenly see the stream chat floating in the air. [Here she comes! Our precious baby girl has arrived!] [Even the Level Boss in this horror game is going to treat her like family.] [Any NPC who dares to touch a hair on her head is gonna get ripped to shreds by the Big Bad.] [Hey, I’m talking to you! You, holding our waifu! You scared her into fainting! You are SO done when the Boss gets here.] I looked down at the woman dangling from my grip, hesitated for a second, and then tossed her onto the floor. If the Boss of this dungeon can’t do his job properly, then I’ll do it for him. 1 I’m a veteran NPC in the horror game system. My tenure is so long I’ve honestly lost count of the years. I just remember the early days, when we were short-staffed, and I had to moonlight across multiple dungeons. I played the Drowned Bride in River God’s Wedding. I was the Cult Deity in Mountain Sacrifice. I was even the Mean Cheerleader in Oakwood High. Eventually, the roster filled up, and I got a permanent station. Three years ago, I transferred to this specific dungeon. Since the moment I gained consciousness, I’ve memorized the 108 rules of the Employee Handbook. Scare the players. Torture the players. Eat the players. The higher their Terror Meter, the better they taste. We’re only one day into this cycle, and I already snagged a player. A girl. She was so scared she cried until she passed out. Players like this usually die in the prologue. I was planning to take her back to my lair, bread her, and deep-fry her. The smell alone would make the ghouls next door cry with jealousy. But I’d only taken a few steps when the text started scrolling across my vision. [Let go of Baby Girl, you ugly freak!] [You are dead meat! The Male Lead is looking for her, and she has the ‘Family Bond’ buff with the Level Boss.] I stood there for a moment, feeling a wave of indignation. Who are you calling ugly? I am widely considered the cutest monster in a ten-mile radius. [She’s so soft and fragile, being held by that hideous thing must be terrifying.] [Look at that axe in her head! I’m gonna have nightmares.] I was mad. Furious, actually. I opened my mouth to curse them out, but the chat just spammed more insults. [What is it doing?] [Is it glitching?] [God, the AI is so stupid.] I got so angry that I circled back to being calm. Whatever. I ignored the floating text, grabbed the girl, and headed back to prep dinner. But I didn’t get far before someone blocked my path. I scanned him. New player. Probably part of the same party as the girl I was carrying. The guy in the lead was handsome, in a delicate, boy-band sort of way. Not my type. The moment they saw me, they tensed up and pulled out their items. The chat exploded, and I couldn’t help but peek. [The Male Lead is here! RIP Ugly.] [Chase has cleared so many dungeons. His items are S-Tier. He can one-shot a low-level mob like this, no problem.] I glanced at the guy. The chat called him “Chase.” Apparently, his gear was “OP.” I grinned, ripping the axe out of my own skull. I charged. Screams erupted. Half the players behind him bolted immediately. Sweet, sweet Terror Points. Come to mama! I sprinted at Chase with a twisted, limping gait. This little combo move usually makes players wet themselves. I learned the walk from the Nurse NPC next door. She died jumping off a building and broke her legs, so her walk is naturally janky. When I first mimicked her, she got super offended. It took me lending her my axe as a hair accessory to calm her down. She even gave me tips on how to limp scarier. Chase lived up to his “Male Lead” title. He waited until I was right in his face before deploying his item. A blinding white light flashed. I couldn’t see anything but the dense wall of chat comments. [AHHH! Chase is so cool!] [That ugly thing is dust.] [It’s a Legendary Item. An NPC doesn’t stand a chance. That’s what it gets for touching our Queen.] The light faded. Chase and I stared at each other in awkward silence. Then, I screamed. My axe! My beautiful axe had crumbled into dust! Chase looked horrified. “My S-Rank Holy Light… didn’t work on her?” The chat, serving as the third-party observer, was equally shook. [What the hell? How is that NPC still alive?] [Glitch? I swear Chase used that to one-shot a Boss in the last game.] [Isn’t this just an A-Rank dungeon? It shouldn’t be this hard. Plus Bella has the ‘Universal Adoration’ trait.] [Yeah, her synergy with the Male Lead is supposed to be perfect.] I was seeing red. My eyes literally started glowing. That axe was the one that killed me. It had been with me for… forever. The memory of the axe breaking tore open a sealed part of my mind. My father killed me. He called me a monster. When my mother was alive, he just hated me. After she died, I lost my only shield. He decided to dispose of “the freak.” That night, he walked into my room, face twisted in hate, the axe raised high. After I died, I used that same axe to return the favor. Violent, tyrannical energy flooded my brain. The chat scrolled faster. [Uh, guys? I think the NPC is going Berserk.] [Crap. If the Male Lead’s item didn’t work, is this a TPK (Total Party Kill)?] [No, look! Bella just woke up! She’s gonna trigger the plot armor. She’ll bring the Big Boss.] [Yeah, this NPC is about to get wrecked by the Level Boss.] I marched toward Chase, step by heavy step, muttering with obsession: “You broke my axe.” “You broke my favorite axe!” Chase’s face was pale. He threw items at me like they were free samples. They slowed me down, but nothing actually hurt. Just as my hand was about to close around Chase’s throat, a shout came from behind. “Stop!” The chat cheered. [Bella called the Big Boss to save the day!] [Sobbing, she’s right on time.] [Die, trash mob!] A familiar pressure weighed on my mind. My brain automatically pulled up the Employee Handbook. Rule 21: Within the dungeon, the Level Boss’s command is absolute. 2 A good employee always remembers the handbook. The rage in my brain began to recede. My eyes cleared. The chat became readable again. [Bella’s family is here!] [Imagine being a grunt NPC and bullying the Main Characters. Don’t you know the plot armor is thick?] The woman the chat called “Bella” threw herself at Chase, crying an ugly, snotty cry, checking him for injuries. “Oh thank god, you’re okay! I was so scared!” I covered my eyes. Hello? Single NPC right here? I died before I even hit puberty, have some respect! A familiar aura swept over me. Luke’s voice boomed above my head. “You’re the one bullying Bella?” The chat filled with schadenfreude. [It’s over. That blind NPC is toast.] [She’s getting arrogant for cannon fodder.] [The Male Lead is human, so he has limits. But the Boss? He’ll rip her apart in seconds.] [Bella is the ‘Group Pet’ of the horror world. All Bosses love her.] [Seriously, the last NPC who scared her got their head twisted off. It’s probably still rolling around that dungeon.] I slowly rotated my head 360 degrees to face Luke. I wasn’t trying to scare him; it’s just occupational habit. When he saw my face, Luke’s ghostly pale complexion shifted. Awkwardness mixed with a hint of fear. He let out a dry laugh. “Sweetie… oh, it’s you.” “Where’s your axe?” “Heh, I almost didn’t recognize you without it.” The chat froze for a second, then erupted in confusion. [Excuse me? Is this the ruthless Boss we know?] [Shouldn’t he be tearing her to shreds and telling Bella ‘I’m here, don’t be scared’?] [Am I tripping, or does the Boss sound… affectionate?] [What is happening? OOC! OOC! The book says they level up together. Bella charms the monsters, Chase kills the threats.] I gave Luke a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. Through gritted teeth, I said, “This human broke my favorite axe.” Luke instinctively wiped non-existent sweat from his forehead. He pulled me aside and whispered, pleading, “Sweetie, give me a break. Let it go this time, okay?” I looked up at him. “Do you remember the Employee Handbook?” Luke nodded. “I remember.” My face was stone cold. “Recite it.” Luke stammered through the recitation. Only then did I nod in approval. Luke whispered, trying to bribe me. “You know that item you always wanted? The one I wouldn’t give you?” “I’ll give it to you.” 3 My eyes lit up. It was a beautiful red wooden comb. I’d wanted it forever, but he’d always refused. Finally! I accepted the bribe and walked away, happily playing with the comb, glancing at the chat occasionally. The viewers were furious at Luke’s reaction. [What kind of Level Boss is this? Garbage! Just kill the NPC!] [He’s unworthy of being Bella’s family.] Some were curious. [Anyone else wonder what the relationship is between the Boss and that NPC?] I tilted my head, thinking about that comment. What relationship? Gratitude, probably. After all, Luke only became the Boss of this dungeon because of me. Back when Luke was a player, entering this dungeon for the sixth time, I caught him. I hadn’t had deep-fried human jerky in ages. Crunchy, dipped in a little blood sauce… the ghosts next door would drool. I dragged Luke back to my lair. Just as I was about to prep him, he used a “Scapegoat” item and bailed. Because of that item, when he faced the original Boss, he managed to kill it, but the item’s curse bound him to the dungeon, making him the new Boss. We’re neighbors. We see each other all the time. He tried to bully me at first. He blamed me for wasting his Scapegoat item—if I hadn’t caught him, he would have saved it for the Boss fight and escaped the game entirely. Becoming a Boss amplifies your rage and malice, so he tried to torture me. It didn’t work out for him. I beat the living daylights out of him. The Owner even punished me by making me copy the Employee Handbook for two weeks because of it! I happily walked home with my new comb. I only work one hour a day. The Owner says scaring players 24/7 devalues the product. Supply and demand, or something. Dungeons have rules. I missed my snack today, but there’s always tomorrow. The game lasts five days. Plenty of chances. I lay in my small room, but the chat wouldn’t shut up. [Ahhh! Chase is so handsome! Hero saving the beauty!] [Bella is so delicate. They are perfect together.] [Ugh, that NPC is even uglier without the axe. Get away from Bella!] I sat up, annoyed. Do these people have eyes?! I jammed the red comb into the hole in my head where the axe used to be and checked the mirror. I am adorable! The Owner told me I am the cutest girl in the world. Thinking of The Owner, I rested my chin in my hands, smiling. 4 Nobody in the dungeon—NPC or player—has ever seen The Owner. Some say he’s a God. Who else could create this nightmare dimension? Some say he’s a higher-dimensional alien. Usually, he appears as a ball of light. But I’ve seen him. The real him. I’m going to work for him forever. With my axe broken, more memories unlocked. The Owner is beautiful. But his hands are cold. The first time I scared a player into tears, he patted my head and said, “Good job, Sweetie.” Right. “Sweetie.” He gave me that name. When we first met, I had an axe stuck in my skull. I charged at him, screaming. He just bent down and picked me up. “Do you want to come with me?” I snarled and struggled. My own father wet his pants looking at me, but this man gently brushed the hair out of my face like the axe wasn’t even there. “You’re very cute. Do you have a name?” “I have a name!” I roared. He tilted his head. “No name? Let me give you one.” “How about Sweetie?” He ignored my protests, smiling. “Sweetie it is.” He led me into the Dungeon World. Years ago, there weren’t many dungeons. Most players died fast. The Owner had free time. He’d braid my hair. He’d draw whiskers on my face like a cat. He’d look at me with that teasing smile and say, “I think you look pretty like this.” I sighed softly. I missed him. I was so bummed out I stopped reading the chat. The next night, my shift started. The players were smarter now. They figured out the rules. Dungeons aren’t instant-death traps. There are patterns. I circled around but couldn’t find an opening to attack without breaking the rules. The chat mocked me. [LOL, look at Ugly go.] [She swapped the axe for a comb. Fashion icon.] [She’s so mad. Bella and the crew figured out the mechanics.] [Look at her spinning in circles.] [First-person NPC cam is kinda funny, ngl.] I ignored them. When my hour was up, I clocked out. Dungeons aren’t impossible, but they are highly lethal.

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It was Sunday, and I was playing hide-and-seek with my twin daughters. My younger daughter, Anna, was hiding right behind the door, giggling. But my older daughter, Lily? I couldn’t find her anywhere. Just then, my wife came home. She saw me looking under the sofa and asked what I was doing. “I’m looking for Lily,” I said. My wife’s face went blank. She looked at me with pure confusion. “Honey, we only have one daughter.” 1 I stared at my wife, Sarah, completely lost. Sarah likes to prank me and the kids, sure. But joking about our children’s existence? That’s crossing a line. I was anxious to find Lily, so I snapped back impatiently. “Stop playing around, Sarah. I really can’t find Lily!” I walked toward the bedroom, calling out, “Lily! Come out! Daddy gives up!” Sarah dropped the grocery bags on the floor and followed me into the bedroom. I thought she was finally going to help me look. Instead, she leaned against the doorframe, looking at me like I had grown a second head. “Will, are you out of your mind? Who is Lily?” “We don’t have a daughter named Lily!” I slammed the closet door shut and yelled, “Enough! Stop the joke!” My outburst scared Anna, who was standing in the hallway. She started to cry. I immediately crouched down to comfort her. “I’m sorry, Anna. Daddy shouldn’t have yelled. Did you see where your sister hid?” Anna was sobbing so hard she couldn’t breathe. It broke my heart. I picked her up and rocked her. Anna is non-verbal; she can only make simple sounds. She pointed frantically toward the bathroom. I put her down and rushed into the bathroom. I spun around. Nothing. Lily wasn’t there. Anna ran in after me. She grabbed my hand and pointed at the mirror, making urgent noises. I froze for a second, then realized what she meant. She was saying I had mistaken her reflection for Lily. They are identical twins, sure, but I’m their father. I don’t make that mistake. Anna shook her head violently, gesturing wildly. I was getting frustrated. “Anna, stop it. Daddy is looking for your sister.” Sarah rushed in, snatched Anna up into her arms, and looked at me with genuine fear. “Will, have you lost it? There is no Lily!” Impossible! I dragged Sarah into the living room and pointed at the large family portrait on the wall. “Tell me who the four people in this picture are!” She pushed me away. “Look closely! Count them!” I turned around, ready to scream, but the words died in my throat. In the photo, it was just me, Sarah, and Anna sitting between us. There was no Lily. This was insane. I ran to the kids’ room to find Lily’s clothes, her backpack, anything. The bunk bed was still there. But the top bunk—Lily’s bunk—was piled high with Anna’s toys and boxes. It looked like nobody had slept there in years. 2 I collapsed onto the bottom bunk. Sarah didn’t cook dinner. She took Anna and stormed out of the house, slamming the front door to show just how pissed she was. I sat there in the silence, actually starting to question my sanity. Was I having a psychotic break? Lily was just here. She was right in front of me. How could Sarah look me in the eye and say she didn’t exist? I have a habit of biting my nails when I’m nervous. I raised my left hand and stopped. There was a Hello Kitty Band-Aid on my index finger. Lily put that there. This afternoon, I was cutting fruit and nicked my finger. Lily had blinked her big eyes at me, held my hand with both of hers, and said seriously: “Daddy, pain fly away.” My heart had melted. That happened. Lily exists! I grabbed my phone and called my parents. Their reaction was identical to Sarah’s. They told me I’ve only ever had Anna. My mom sounded worried. “Will, honey… is this because you’re stressed about Anna being non-verbal? Maybe… maybe you and Sarah should try for a son.” What the hell were they talking about? I never cared that Anna couldn’t speak! I just wanted to find Lily! She was just tagging along behind me, calling me Daddy. How did she vanish from everyone’s memory but mine? Is the whole world gaslighting me? I felt a wave of crushing grievance. I mumbled a goodbye and hung up. I took a deep breath. Stop thinking. Just function. I unpacked the groceries Sarah had dropped and put them in the fridge. Just as I finished, the front door opened. Sarah and Anna were back. Sarah ignored me completely. Anna, however, walked straight up to me. “Daddy, you need to rest. Don’t be so tired.” Wait. Anna spoke? I reached out to hug her, but she bolted past me and ran to Sarah. My hands grabbed empty air. Sarah picked Anna up, looking at me with undisguised disgust. “Don’t talk to your father. His brain is broken.” She slammed the bedroom door. Apparently, I was sleeping on the couch or the guest room. I trudged to the master bedroom—which was empty now—lay on the bed, and closed my eyes. I hoped that when I woke up, the nightmare would be over. Sarah, Lily, and Anna would all be there. Exhaustion took over. I don’t know how long I slept, but a faint, childish voice whispered in my ear. “Daddy… Daddy.” It was Lily! My eyes snapped open. 3 It was pitch black. “Daddy, I’m down here!” The voice came from under the bed. I hung my head over the side. Lily was peeking out, just half her face visible. “Daddy, why didn’t you come find me? I’ve been hiding for so long.” I reached down to pull her out, but she scrambled out like a little monkey and ran out the door. I chased her. She stopped at the door of the kids’ room, eyes curved in a smile, looking at me. “Lily, stop running.” She didn’t stop. She turned and went into the room. Inside, Sarah was asleep on the bottom bunk. The top bunk was cleared of toys. It was made up with Lily’s sheets again. But where was Anna? Wasn’t Sarah sleeping with Anna? I crouched down and whispered to Lily, “Where’s your sister?” Lily pointed to the door. I looked back. Anna was standing in the doorway, smiling at me. Identical twins. Identical taste. They were both wearing the same bear-print nightgowns, standing one in front of me, one behind me. I felt dizzy. I grabbed Lily’s hand and Anna’s hand and dragged them to the bunk bed. I was going to wake Sarah up. I was going to make her look at our two daughters. 4 But the moment I flipped the light switch, my hands were empty. They vanished. “Lily!” “Anna!” I spun around to look for them, and then I heard Sarah scream. “AHHHH!!” “Will! Are you insane?!” Sarah was sitting up in the bottom bunk, clutching Anna tightly to her chest. Anna was safe. I smiled, relieved. But they were looking at me with pure terror. Anna burst into tears. I didn’t understand. Then I looked down at my hand. I was gripping a kitchen knife. The blade was pointed straight at my wife and child. I screamed and dropped the knife. It clattered loudly on the floor. What the hell? I hadn’t been to the kitchen. Where did the knife come from? I didn’t have time to process it. I raised my hands. “I didn’t… Sarah, listen to me…” I tried to explain everything I saw. The voice under the bed, the two girls. Sarah ignored me. She dressed Anna hurriedly, shaking. She asked Anna, “Honey, tell the truth. Did you get out of bed?” Anna was sobbing, shaking her head. “No. I was sleeping with Mommy. I woke up and Daddy was holding a knife and laughing at us.” That wasn’t true. I was losing it. “Sarah, please, just listen—” She shoved me away. “How many times do I have to say it?! We only have Anna!” “There is no Lily!” “Stop making up stories!” Seeing the hate in her eyes, I knew I couldn’t win. I compromised. “Okay. Okay. Maybe I am sick. I’ll go to the doctor tomorrow. Please.” Sarah didn’t care. She picked up Anna and stormed out of the house again, heading to her parents’.

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On the day I was supposed to get engaged to New York tycoon Gavin Sterling, my boyfriend died. Three years later, I stood on the podium, accepting the award for Best Actress. The host asked me, “Who is the love you dedicated this award to? Is it Mr. Sterling?” I smiled and shook my head. “His name was Xander. He left me three years ago.” Facing countless flashing cameras, I spoke with serious, stubborn intent. “Xander, if you’re watching, come find me.” The internet said I was crazy. Telling a dead man to come find me? Did I have a death wish? But I still hoped for one more miracle in this world. 1 “Xander, if you’re watching, come find me.” After I said those words, the entire awards ceremony fell silent for a moment. Maybe the expression on my face was too intense, leaving the host scrambling for a way to respond. Finally, she let out a dry laugh. “Everyone knows our Best Actress, Sue, won for her role in Goodbye, My Lover. The male lead in that movie did indeed die young, a tragic ending.” “It seems Sue is still deep in character, giving us an impromptu performance.” “Truly effortless. Admirable.” “Let’s give her a round of applause!” Thunderous applause gradually filled the hall. I didn’t offer any further explanation. I wasn’t talking to them anyway. Holding my heavy trophy and lifting the hem of my floor-length gown, I walked down the steps. Bathed in gazes of admiration and envy, I felt lighter than air. Unlike the road to get here, which had been so incredibly hard. I passed Gavin. Our eyes met. His expression was calm, his demeanor cool. His thin lips parted. “Congrats.” I nodded. “Thank you.” I had already thanked him in my speech, but it would never be enough. I sat back in my seat, thumbing the trophy. My mind had already drifted far away from the ceremony. 2 After the ceremony, there was a gala. Investors, stars—everyone who was anyone would be there. To celebrate the winners, and to pave their own paths. Gavin gave me a ride. Once inside the banquet hall, I consciously separated from him. Avoiding the crowd, I slipped away to the quieter back garden. I set my champagne on the edge of a flowerbed and scrolled through the trending topics. News of my win was #1, naturally. A bright red “EXPLOSIVE” tag next to it. Right below it was a discussion about the new Best Actress’s mental state. Also tagged “EXPLOSIVE.” The netizens were analyzing it like they were Freud. [Her ex-fiancé turned out to be gay. Did that drive Sue crazy?] [Sister, take a break. You’re spiraling.] [Seriously dangerous. She wants to see a ghost.] [I laughed. How can Sue talk about her ‘hard road’ in her speech? The Sterling Group basically dumped all their resources on her. That’s probably why she didn’t blow up at Gavin and accepted his… arrangement.] [She’s okay with being a beard? The world really is a giant Alabama.] [Keyboard warriors just love to tear women down with zero facts. Did you miss how hard Sue worked for three years?] [Am I the only one curious about who Xander is? Reminds me of a guy I knew. A singer at a bar I used to run. Played guitar like a god, but never took off his mask. Never saw his face.] [Curious about what? Three years ago Sue was a D-list nobody. How famous could anyone she knew be? She’s just saying vague stuff for clout. She knows how to play the internet.] Fame brings trouble. Aside from my career fans congratulating me, there were armies of bots and trolls attacking me. True or false? Only I knew the difference. But the part about Xander being a bar singer? That was true. 3 Xander and I were abandoned at the orphanage door on the same day. So, we shared a birthday. Maybe that’s why Xander always protected me. If someone bullied me, he’d retaliate. Even if he got jumped, he never backed down. The other kids called him “Mad Dog.” No one played with us. Later, in school, I had good grades. He… didn’t. I became the “nerd,” he became the “delinquent.” He kept his distance so I could study. But if anyone harassed me or confessed their love, he’d take them “out back.” If words didn’t work, fists did. Boys were terrified to approach me. The girls said I was being haunted by a demon and told me not to “fall.” I just smiled softly and told them, “Xander is good.” No one believed me. Because Xander was always covered in bruises. He dyed his hair blonde. looked every inch the thug. In high school, tuition fees kicked in. Xander dropped out. Being underage, he could only find work in shady sweatshops. The pay was dirt. The money he earned paid my tuition, my living expenses, and kept him alive. Those times were hard. I studied day and night to stay #1, to get scholarships and grants. To lighten Xander’s load. But honestly? I didn’t want to go to school. I wanted to act. To be a star everyone knew. Xander said no. He let me do anything, but I had to finish college. He said, “I will carry you my whole life. But first, you need knowledge. Raise your horizons. Then chase your dream.” Freshman year of college. On my 18th birthday, I confessed to Xander. He wanted to refuse. He said I’d meet better people. But he couldn’t resist my tears. We were together for four years. I thought it would be forever. But his “forever” only lasted twenty-three years. I graduated and entered the entertainment industry. Xander bought a guitar, taught himself to play, and started singing in bars. He said, “When you become a leading lady, I’ll record your theme song.” I hadn’t become a leading lady yet. I played a maid. I had three lines. Then I wrapped. The day I wrapped was our birthday. He said he was coming to celebrate. He bought a big cake and a bouquet of gardenias. Crossing the street on a green light, a drunk driver hit him. Ran over his legs. The cake and flowers were crushed. My Xander was crushed too. 4 That’s when I met Gavin. He was the CEO of my agency. A D-lister like me never saw him. But Xander had a rare blood type, and miraculously, his heart was undamaged. Gavin found me. He needed Xander’s heart. At any cost. So, the story of my engagement to Gavin began. It was Xander’s dying wish. To give me status and a bright future. Sadly, I never fulfilled it. In this life, I felt like I never did anything for Xander. Repressed emotions fermented over the years, turning into a soft thorn in my heart. Move, and it hurts. I prayed day and night, hoping there were gods above. Hoping they’d send Xander back to me. Netizens called me crazy. I never denied it. I had seen a miracle. Right next to Gavin. His lover was the one who needed Xander’s heart. He died the same day Xander did, but was reborn in another body. That is a miracle. I hoped a miracle would favor me just once. And if being crazy meant seeing Xander again? I’d gladly be insane.

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After my husband went blind, he became silent and withdrawn. One night, after we finished being intimate and I was drifting off to sleep, a stream of floating text—like a livestream chat—suddenly scrolled across my vision: [The Male Lead is overthinking it again. He thinks she got up to take meds because he made her uncomfortable.] [This man is the CEO of Sensitivity. Last time she said his soup was bland, he hid in the bathroom and cried for thirty minutes!] [And the time before that! She said his outfit wasn’t right for going out, and he spiraled, thinking he was washed up and losing to the young bucks outside!] [He finally opened his mouth to ask, but she didn’t answer. He’s crashing out. He’s planning to end it all!] The next second. I felt movement beside me. 1 Damien got up quietly. If it weren’t for the suppressed, choked sob coming from behind me, I would have thought the floating text was a hallucination. I slowly opened my eyes and looked at the dark silhouette standing by the bed. He stood there like a statue. Head bowed, fists clenched and unclenched. Finally, with a trembling hand, he fumbled to tuck the quilt around me. In the dark, his unfocused eyes seemed to burn with a desperate, paranoid heat. He reached out, his hand hovering inches from my face, then stopped. His voice was a broken whisper: “Why… why did you get tired of me so fast?” A warm droplet hit my palm. Against the moonlight, Damien’s face was wet with tears. Before I could speak, he stood up abruptly and walked toward the door, barefoot and silent. The chat flashed again: [Wake up, girl! Your husband is about to delete his save file!] [Let him die. He’s just a jealous wreck pretending to be noble.] [She said the soup was bland, he heard “our love is dead, get out.”] [That slutty mesh shirt he wore? She said it wasn’t suitable for public, he heard “you’re old and ugly, make way for a boy toy.”] [This MC has the fastest death flags I’ve ever seen. But good news: It turns into a ‘Ghost Romance’ genre after this. The smut gets wilder!] [Yesss! Ghost Husband Era! He becomes a possessive spirit and haunts her for midnight fun!] [Unfocused eyes, phantom touch… fast forward to the good part!] I snapped awake, the confusion vanishing instantly. Ghost Romance? They play that hard? But I’ve been terrified of ghosts since I was a kid! Goosebumps erupted all over my skin. I widened my eyes and shouted at Damien’s retreating back: “Damien! I need water!” 2 The warm water soothed my throat. As my brain rebooted, the fear of a ghost romance faded, replaced by the realization of what the chat was saying. Damien’s personality did a 180 after the accident. He wasn’t totally blind, but his vision was blurry shadows. He refused therapy and shut down. I didn’t know what was going on in his head, so I treated him normally. Who knew my normal comments were being filtered through his insecurity processor? I said the soup was bland. He thought I was implying our arranged marriage was flavorless and I despised him because he was blind. He drank the soup in silence, then went to the bathroom to cry so the nanny cam in the living room wouldn’t catch him. I said his outfit didn’t work. He thought I was calling him washed up. I blushed thinking about that outfit. A sheer, black V-neck shirt and pants made of some material that left nothing to the imagination. He went commando! I almost dragged him to the bedroom right then and there. But I was trying to take him to a gala to boost his confidence. I gently suggested he change. He went to his room and never came out. Apparently, he was mourning his youth. And tonight… he spiraled again. The worst part? He wasn’t going to die properly. He was going to come back as a horny ghost. The chat descriptions… they were not PG-13. And again: I. Hate. Ghosts. [Hey! Why did he turn around again?] [She called him, why is he still trying to off himself?] [Whatever, let him die. Unlock the Ghost Route!] I shuddered. Does he have to become a ghost? Can’t he just… live? My mind went blank as I remembered what he was misunderstanding this time. I grabbed the object on the nightstand and shouted at his back: “You didn’t make me uncomfortable! It was great! I’m taking Tums! It’s for digestion!” 3 The moment the words left my mouth, I turned into a boiled lobster. The bottle of antacids slipped from my hand and hit the floor with a loud clatter. The chat paused for a second, then exploded: [Why is she blushing?] [Why is she taking digestive aids at 3 AM? Dinner was ten hours ago.] [She didn’t eat a midnight snack. What is she ‘full’ of?] [Oh… the screen faded to black for a LONG time earlier. The Male Lead has stamina.] **[I know what she ate. It’s **.] **[Yeah, definitely **. Damn, censorship!] A screen full of asterisks. Not a single pair of pants in sight. We’ve been married three years. I wanted a baby. I closed my eyes, my heart hammering against my ribs. My face burned so hot it hurt. My lips trembled. “Too many times… my stomach is… bloated.” 4 Setting aside the arranged marriage aspect, Damien and I were childhood friends. We grew up together. Even though we were the same age, Damien always acted like the mature older brother, taking care of me. I don’t know when my feelings changed. I crushed on him from high school through college. I wanted to confess. At a family dinner, our parents hinted at setting us up. I held the cup of ginger cola he made me, waiting for his answer. All I got was Damien saying, “It’s too early for that conversation.” It wasn’t a yes. It was a polite rejection. And after crushing my heart, he gently asked if my cola was still warm or if I needed a fresh cup. His gentleness felt like a slap in the face. He was nice to everyone. I wasn’t special. My pride took over. I lied and said I liked someone else. He was so gracious. He congratulated me and killed my last shred of hope. After graduation, I went abroad. We lost touch. We met again at a coffee shop to discuss the merger marriage. Through the steam of his coffee, he told me that perhaps, as a partner, he would be a suitable choice. He was suitable. Generous, open-minded. Not the jealous type. The model husband. Until six months ago. The car accident took his sight. His “open-mindedness” rotted. He said he was fine, but I saw him clench his fists when I turned my back. He promised not to be suspicious, but I caught him sniffing my clothes at 2 AM when I got up to use the bathroom. My heart, which I thought was dead, started beating again. I hate jealous men. But seeing Damien like this… unraveling because of me? It made my blood boil in a different way.

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After my father went bankrupt, I was shipped off to the Thorne estate to settle his debts. The man who picked me was the third son, Julian Thorne—a man with a notorious obsession with snakes. Every night, he would bring a cold, slithering reptile into our bedroom. He’d let it coil around my ankles, ignoring my tears, refusing to take it away. Aside from that terrifying quirk, I lived a life of luxury. I was the envy of everyone, the spoiled bird in a gilded cage. But then, another girl arrived at the estate to pay off a debt. Because this new girl was terrified of snakes, Julian killed his favorite pet right in front of her. Looking at the serpent’s blood pooling on the floor, I knew my time as his favorite canary was up. Conveniently, my three-year contract was over. So, clutching my barely showing baby bump, I quietly escaped the Thorne estate. 1 When I found out my family was bankrupt, I was actually thrilled. My dad had eight daughters. I was number eight. My seven older sisters had all been sold off into strategic marriages. They were pawned off to divorcees with baggage or geriatrics old enough to be their grandfathers. Beautiful women, all of them, living miserable lives. Dad had picked a winner for me, too. He combined the worst traits of all my brothers-in-law: short, obese, fifty-six years old, and mean. I took one look at him and threw up. Literally. I knew if I married him, I’d starve to death because looking at his face killed my appetite. When I refused, Dad locked me in the basement. He knew the drill; he’d broken seven daughters before me. Just as I was about to lose hope, his company tanked. Even better? None of my rich brothers-in-law lifted a finger to help. Dad was finally broke. I lit incense for my ancestors, thanking them for the divine intervention. I thought I’d dodged the bullet of marriage. I underestimated my father’s shamelessness. Since he couldn’t marry me off, he decided to use me as collateral. 2 Being sent to the Thorne estate felt like walking into a slaughterhouse. Dad said the Thornes had three sons. If one of them took a liking to me, great. If not, he’d ship me off to the next creditor. By that point, my standards were on the floor. I figured I’d rather deal with the Thornes than be passed around like a bad check. As long as they weren’t 5’3″ and pushing sixty, I was game. But the Thorne patriarch was old-school. He looked at my dad with disgust. “We run a legitimate business. We don’t accept human trafficking as payment.” We were kicked out. Dad was already scrolling through his contacts, mumbling about the next family on the list, when a sharp whistle cut through the air. A man stepped out of the shadows. Sharp jawline, high brows, messy hair falling over his forehead. He was wearing black joggers, and his legs looked like they went on for days. Our eyes met, and I had one thought: This is my reward for looking at ugly men all year. Then I looked closer, and my blood ran cold. There was a silver snake coiled around his arm. Not a toy. A real, live snake. It was as thick as a baby’s arm, its beady black eyes locked on me, tongue flicking in and out. I’ve been terrified of cold-blooded creatures since I was a kid. My scalp went numb. I tried to step back, but my dad bowed low, his voice trembling with hope. “Third Young Master.” I knew of Julian Thorne. He was the black sheep of the prestigious family. Wild, dangerous, and obsessed with snakes. No women, just reptiles. Yet, for some reason, he was the heir apparent. Julian ignored my dad. He lifted his chin at me, his voice lazy and deep. “Scared of snakes?” Terrified. Petrified. But I forced my feet to stay planted. Compared to the troll my dad wanted me to marry, this guy was a Greek god. I squeezed out a harmless smile. “No.” He smirked, clearly not buying it. He extended his arm, thrusting the snake right into my face. “Touch it then.” 3 Every cell in my body screamed run. But I couldn’t afford to offend Julian Thorne. I gritted my teeth and reached out. The snake stretched its neck, its icy scales brushing against my palm. Cold. Slimy. Mommy, help. I kept the smile plastered on my face and lied through my teeth. “Wow… the texture… it’s really nice.” Suddenly, the snake unhinged its jaw, lunging as if to bite. I shrieked and scrambled back three steps, my composure shattering. My lie was busted. I expected him to mock me. Instead, he looked me up and down with an amused glint in his eyes. “What’s your name?” “Harper. Harper Lee.” “Want to come with me?” “Huh?” By the time I processed what was happening, my dad and Julian had struck a deal. I was to stay with Julian for three years. In exchange, he’d wipe out $5 million of my father’s debt. It was a terrible deal for Julian. But he nodded, looking bored. “Sure. Done.” 4 That night, I moved into Julian’s private villa. When he walked into the bedroom, he’d already showered. He was wearing a white silk V-neck pajama top, damp hair dripping water down his chest, disappearing into the fabric. I stood pressed against the wall, stiff as a board. “What is this, detention?” He scoffed, towel-drying his hair. “If you don’t want to share a bed, there are sixteen other rooms. Take your pick.” My eyes lit up. He was a gentleman! I was about to nod when he added, a wicked smirk playing on his lips, “But the other fifteen are snake rooms. Between five and twenty snakes per room. Your choice.” I froze. “Actually… this room is great. Very cozy.” He closed the door. Just us. Look, Julian was hot, and I knew what a “debt repayment” girl was expected to do, but my knowledge of intimacy came entirely from romance novels. I had zero practical experience. Julian climbed into bed and patted the empty space beside him. “You coming, or do I have to carry you?” I hesitated, then inched toward the bed. Rumor had it Julian Thorne hated women. Since I didn’t look like a reptile, maybe I was safe? I slid under the covers, leaving enough space between us to fit a minivan. Julian looked at me, an unreadable expression on his face. He flapped his pajama shirt, trying to cool down. Flash of eight-pack abs. I glanced, then looked away, trying to be helpful. “Is the AC too high? I can lower it.” Julian went silent. He stared at me, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He looked… thirsty. “Do you need water?” I asked. His expression got complicated. He suddenly wasn’t thirsty anymore. He turned off the light and turned his back to me. I relaxed. The rumors were true. He wasn’t interested. He probably just bought me out of pity. I was blessing his kind heart and drifting off to sleep when a heavy arm draped over my waist. A hot body pressed against my back. His voice was raspy, right in my ear. “We doing this?” 5 I take it back. Julian Thorne was not a good person. He was a menace. I was too shy to say no, so he took that as a yes and pressed his advantage until I surrendered. And he was a pervert. Who brings a snake to bed during that? He’d let the snake slither around the bed, its tongue flickering against my ankle, its cold scales sliding over my calf. Meanwhile, he’d bite my earlobe, his hot breath clashing with the cold reptile. Fire and ice. It nearly drove me insane. The first year, I counted the days until I could leave him and his creepy zoo. The second year, I realized Stockholm Syndrome is real. I started getting used to it. Maybe even… liking it? The third year, I realized life with Julian wasn’t bad. He was clean. No other women. He gave me whatever I wanted. I had diamonds the size of pigeon eggs, gold bars, closets full of designer bags. Everyone knew I was Julian’s favorite. Even my dad bowed when he saw me now. I was living the high life. I thought Julian liked me. When he whispered my name in the dark, his eyes reflected only me. So when the three years were up, he didn’t mention me leaving, and I didn’t bring it up. When I found out I was pregnant, I was actually excited. I couldn’t wait to tell him. But that night, for the first time in three years, Julian didn’t come home. The next day, I found out why. The Thorne family had acquired a new “debt girl.”

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During our summer vacation, my little sister sneaked into a beat-up cargo van. I pretended I didn’t see a thing and turned my back. In my past life, I stopped her. And for that, she hated me for decades. On my daughter’s first birthday, she laced her formula with a lethal dose of rat poison. Watching my baby cough up blood, she laughed like a maniac. “Remember this? You caused this!” she screamed. “You ruined my life, so I’m going to make sure you suffer for the rest of yours!” “Why did you stop me from getting in that van?!” I tried to fight her, but she stabbed me until I was paralyzed. I spent years rotting in a hospital bed, a vegetable, until I finally flatlined. When I opened my eyes again, I was back there. The parking lot. The heat. And my sister, sneaking toward the van. 1 I opened my eyes and stared right at Chloe’s back as she nervously looked around. I squinted, a tidal wave of hatred crashing over me. A black panel van rolled up to the curb. She knocked on the door three times—a signal. Two men slid the door open and yanked her inside. In my last life, I thought she was being kidnapped. I screamed, rallied a crowd, and dragged her back from the edge of hell. I was too frantic back then to notice the look on her face. It wasn’t fear. It was annoyance. Chloe hated me for forty years. Not only did she murder my daughter, but she also spent years poisoning my food, wrecking my body before she finally put me in that coma. While I lay paralyzed, she would come to my bedside daily to curse me out. She’d brag about her wealthy husband, her perfect life, her adorable daughter. Every year, she’d bring her kid to celebrate her birthday right in front of my dying body. Five years of torture later, I died of sheer rage. It wasn’t until the bitter end that I realized why Chloe was so desperate to get in that van. It was her “Main Character Ascension Plan.” Since she was a toddler, Chloe believed she was special. The “Chosen One.” She was convinced she didn’t belong in our middle-class family, that she was a lost princess switched at birth. As she grew older and started looking exactly like Dad, she had to accept biology. But she hatched a new plan. If you’re born in the wrong house, you can just switch houses, right? The men in the van were traffickers. Chloe had contacted them herself. She volunteered to be kidnapped. Her only condition? “Sell me to a billionaire’s family.” The traffickers, obviously, said yes. Today was the execution day. In her twisted mind, I destroyed her destiny. I blocked her path to becoming a heiress. Watching the taillights of the van fade into the distance, I smirked and melted back into the crowd of tourists. This time, sister dear, go chase the life you think you deserve. I can’t wait to see where they actually take you. 2 Ten minutes later, Chloe still hadn’t come back from the “bathroom.” Mom and Dad started getting antsy. They checked the restrooms. Empty. Their faces went pale. Twenty minutes later, we’d scoured the entire tourist trap. No Chloe. Mom nearly fainted. Dad called the cops. Thirty years ago, security cameras were trash. They only saw Chloe walk toward the bathrooms and never come out. Only I knew she’d climbed out the bathroom window, circled back to the blind spot by the service exit, and hopped into the van. We searched until sunset. Nothing. Mom passed out twice. Dad chain-smoked a whole pack, his hands shaking. “It’s my fault! Why didn’t I watch her?!” Dad sobbed, face buried in his hands. “Summer, Daddy lost your sister.” We stayed in that town for half a month. My parents were eating themselves alive with guilt. They both ended up hospitalized from stress. I watched them wither away and broke into a cold sweat. This wasn’t part of the plan. I couldn’t let that monster ruin us from afar. That night, I walked up to my parents’ hospital beds, tears streaming down my face. “Mom, Dad…” I choked out. Mom pulled me into a hug, wiping my tears. “Baby, do you miss Chloe? Are you blaming Mommy for losing her?” I shook my head violently and buried my face in her chest. “I lost my sister. I can’t lose you guys too.” “I’m so scared. Please don’t leave me alone. Mom, Dad, you have to get better!” It was like a bucket of ice water hit them. They realized they didn’t just have Chloe. They still had me, their eight-year-old daughter who needed them. The next day, they pulled themselves together. Three days later, we went home. They stopped blaming themselves in front of me. To make up for the loss, they poured double the love into me. Dad threw himself into his work to distract from the pain. He caught the wave of the tech boom. His small factory became a massive corporation. We moved from a cramped apartment to a sprawling estate in the hills. I became the sole heiress of the Joestar family. I was thirteen. Lying in my king-sized bed, I laughed out loud. I wondered what kind of “billionaire life” Chloe was living. If she knew we were filthy rich now, what kind of face would she make? The family she tried to escape was the very “wealthy dynasty” she dreamed of. In the last life, because she came back, my parents stayed middle-class workers. We lived ordinary lives. I smoothed the silk of my designer dress. Turns out, Chloe was the curse on this family. Without her, we soared. Because of how weak I was in my last life, I started training. Kickboxing, swimming, Pilates. I studied nutrition and medicine. I also hit the books hard. My parents, seeing me work so hard, were heartbroken. “Summer, we have enough money. You don’t need to push yourself. We just want you happy.” I flashed a sharp, toothy grin. “Mom, I am happy.” 3 Dad never stopped looking for Chloe, even while building his empire. He spent a fortune on missing person ads and offered a massive bounty. $5,000 for a lead. $2 million for finding her. Scammers lined up around the block. Dad didn’t care. He was practically giving money away, earning the nickname “The ATM.” Two years passed. Nothing. Mom was getting frustrated. “It’s all fake! Just people trying to swindle us!” Just as they were about to give up, a bald man showed up. I recognized him instantly. He was the driver of the van. Ten years hadn’t changed his sketchy, rat-like face. He licked his lips. “Mr. Joestar, I think I know where your girl is.” Dad waved him on. He’d heard it all before. “I saw a girl looking like her in B-City. But she was taken so young, I ain’t sure.” “I can go check. If I find her, I’ll let you know. But about the cash…” Dad sighed, barely listening. “Like I said. You find her, you get the two million.” Baldy rubbed his hands together, took the five grand “finder’s fee,” and left. My parents didn’t have much hope. B-City was 2,000 miles away. But I knew. Baldy wasn’t lying. He knew exactly where she was because he sold her there. But did he think he was getting that two million? In his dreams. I hired a private investigator immediately. “Find a girl named Chloe in B-City. You have one week.” Three days later, I got the photos. I laughed until my sides hurt. Oh, Chloe. Is this the high life you sold your soul for? 4 In the photos, Chloe was scrubbing toilets in a greasy diner, wearing rags. In another, she was sitting at a dinner table, eating watery porridge while a little boy across from her devoured a whole roast chicken. The PI told me the details: The couple who bought her couldn’t conceive. They wanted a son but couldn’t afford one, so they bought a girl cheap. Two years later, they miraculously had a biological son. Chloe became the live-in maid. She dropped out of school years ago. The “parents”—the Millers—forced her to work. Then the PI hesitated. “Miss Summer, there’s… something else.” “Spit it out.” “The second daughter… she has a boyfriend.” A boyfriend? Normal for an 18-year-old. But then I saw the photo. It was a wrinkly, toothless man in his sixties. The PI explained they often hooked up in the back of the diner after hours. The old guy, Gary, had a bit of money and bought her things. I paid the PI double to keep his mouth shut. Baldy was already on his way to B-City. The reunion was inevitable. That night, I put in eye drops to make my eyes red and puffy. Mom saw me and panicked. “Summer! Baby, who hurt you?” I bit my lip and slid the photos across the marble table. “Mom, Dad… I found her. I found Chloe. She’s… she’s suffering so much.” I withheld the photos of her and Old Man Gary. My parents took one look at Chloe scrubbing toilets and broke down. Mom wailed. “It’s our fault! We failed her!” They decided to drive to B-City immediately. As I stood up, I “accidentally” knocked the photo of Chloe and Gary onto the floor. “Oh no!” I scrambled to grab it, making sure they saw it clearly. “Mom, Dad, wait—Chloe must have a reason! Life is hard, maybe she had no choice!” My dad’s face turned purple. In the photo, Chloe was hanging off the old man, laughing with genuine delight. Mom pursed her lips. I hid the photo behind my back. “Don’t judge her! Maybe… maybe he’s a nice grandpa figure?” Dad slammed his chopsticks down. “We leave at dawn!” The guilt was still there, but now, it was mixed with shame. I went back to my room and smirked at the photo. Showtime.

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I was in the middle of a game when my roommate suddenly ripped my headphones off and smashed them into pieces. “You’re still playing games?!” he roared. He forced my game to quit and opened the campus forum. I saw the pinned post and froze. “Student Sophie Su Expelled for Degrading Conduct Involving Foreign Nationals, Violating University Honor Code.” I was stunned. That’s my girlfriend. My roommate then quickly turned on his VPN and opened an international streaming site. He said furiously, “Your girlfriend is being livestreamed. The whole school knows!” I finally saw it. A foreigner had started a livestream with the title: “Took down an Easy Girl from China in one day!” In the livestream app, my girlfriend, Sophie, was sitting in a foreigner’s lap. She looked completely enamored, letting the man hold and kiss her. She looked straight at the camera without shame and coquettishly told the guy, “You can’t post this, okay?” The foreigner grinned and said, “Don’t worry, I won’t show anyone. I’ll only watch it when I miss you.” Sophie giggled, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him back passionately. Little did she know, this guy wasn’t just going to show it to people—he was livestreaming it on the international web, letting the whole world see just how cheap she was! I was in a daze. Because my girlfriend, Sophie, was supposed to be in Shanghai on a trip with her best friend. She told me she’d been feeling down lately and wanted to travel with her bestie. She said she didn’t have enough money and asked me to help out. To make her happy, I lived frugally and worked part-time jobs just to buy her a plane ticket to Shanghai. And in the end, this is how she treats me! I basically paid to send her to another man’s bed! I shouted, “Who is this guy?” My roommate said, “You missed the earlier stream. This guy is Ukrainian, an esports player. Your girlfriend went to Shanghai to watch him compete. They added each other on socials, and it hasn’t even been a day, and they’re already in bed! This is huge, it’s trending in twelve countries!” The world was spinning. I couldn’t believe the forward girl in the livestream was my girlfriend. Back when I was chasing her, she wasn’t this open. She demanded gifts every day, demanded romance, or she wouldn’t date me. She always said, “If he cares, you don’t need to teach him; if he doesn’t, you can’t teach him anyway,” using such strict standards to judge me. But in front of that foreigner, she was a completely different person. No, I couldn’t believe this was my girlfriend. It must just be someone who looks like her! My girlfriend must still be traveling with her best friend right now! I quickly called her, staring intently at the phone screen. To my horror, a ringtone rang out in the livestream. I watched helplessly as Sophie picked up the phone. The foreigner asked curiously, “Who is it?” Sophie said, “My boyfriend.” In that moment, my heart died completely. The comments section exploded. There were probably a lot of Chinese people watching the stream for the drama, and a string of “WTF” flooded the chat. The foreigner grinned, “You have a boyfriend and you’re still sleeping with me?” She thought for a moment, then playfully stuck out her tongue and said, “We have a saying in China: Since we’re chasing thrills, we might as well go all the way.” That slut! She said that in a livestream the whole world could see! After saying that, she actually answered my call! Then she hugged the Ukrainian guy, letting him kiss her neck and shoulders. I held the phone, hearing Sophie’s panting on the other end. She gasped out, “Baby, I’m rushing to a scenic spot. Shanghai is so big, I’m exhausted from walking.” The panting on the phone, combined with the intimate actions on the screen, seemed to mock me for being a stupid dog. I am her boyfriend. But now, she was treating me like a tool for her thrill-seeking game. I opened my mouth, but found I couldn’t say a word. My mouth was full of bitterness. Sophie, hearing my silence, looked at her phone in confusion and then hung up. Then she opened WeChat and sent me a voice message: “Baby, your signal is bad, I can’t hear you.” My roommate asked me confusedly, “Why didn’t you speak just now? Why didn’t you expose her true face?” I watched the livestream, gritting my teeth, “The main event hasn’t started yet. Before she strips naked, why should I let this slut realize she’s embarrassing herself in front of the whole world?” My roommate realized what I meant. He gave me a thumbs up and said, “Good job! I was afraid you’d go soft because of your past love and stop her from humiliating herself further.” I watched Sophie being so proactive on the screen, and fury rose in my heart. That bitch. I spent so much money on her. I want her to spit it all back out! The foreigner was still holding Sophie, asking with interest, “You’re so bold, aren’t you afraid your boyfriend will find out?” Obviously, in his mind, Sophie was just a tool. He knew Sophie was bringing him a lot of traffic right now, so this question wasn’t for him—it was for all the viewers! Without knowing it, Sophie had entered the Q&A segment of the show. She said, “I just made a decision that any Chinese girl would make.” The foreigner asked puzzledly, “What do you mean?” Sophie said, “Chinese men suck. They are our last resort. We get together with them only because there’s nothing better at the moment.” The foreigner laughed loudly, “So you’d rather cheat and have a good time with me for a night, right?” Sophie giggled, “Yeah, we all worship your size.” At this moment, the comments section had completely exploded. “I’m also a Chinese girl, please don’t represent me.” “I’m a Chinese girl. I would choose a foreign man, but I would break up with my boyfriend fair and square first.” “I also dislike Chinese men, but honestly, what’s more unacceptable than Chinese men is cheating and knowingly being the other woman! This girl is both!” “I support her! She just did what all men would do. The ones scolding her are all men whose egos were bruised. Stop using alt accounts to pretend to be women here!” “I’m not a man, but the person above is really a dog.” The comments section was filled with curses, and a tiny minority of comments supporting Sophie. Just then, my phone rang suddenly. I looked at it, and rage flared up instantly! It was Sophie’s best friend! I picked up the phone, and she said, “I saw you calling in the livestream. Do you already know?” I said, “Didn’t you tell me Sophie was traveling with you and told me not to worry?” Her best friend said helplessly, “I lied to you, but I didn’t know that guy would livestream it online! It happened, is there any use talking about this now? If you want an apology, I’m saying sorry to you now. Happy?” I was stunned. Her self-righteous attitude left me completely unsure of how to respond. I said, “What do you want?” She said, “No time for nonsense. Go to the campus forum immediately and post a thread saying Sophie didn’t cheat, but that you two were already fighting and in a cold war, which led her to travel to clear her mind. And say you already broke up with her, and she was just calling you ‘baby’ out of wishful thinking. Just explain it to everyone like that, understand?” I asked in shock, “Why should I do that?” She said excitedly, “Don’t you get it? Sophie is the biggest victim now! She was livestreamed and expelled from school. Only you can help her minimize the damage now!” I couldn’t help saying, “Are you drunk? She spent my money to fly to Shanghai to sleep with a foreigner, and you want me to help her minimize the damage?” Sophie’s best friend broke down, “Why don’t you understand! She betrayed you, yes, but now only you can save her! Hurry up and post the thread! If you delay any longer, her life will be ruined by you!” I hung up directly. My roommate also heard what Sophie’s best friend said. He said in shock, “How can this woman be so stupid and so evil!” I said, “She’s not stupid.” It had been so long since the incident happened. As Sophie’s best friend, claiming to care about her sister, she didn’t call to inform her but instead asked me to post a thread. What does this mean? It means she was afraid of appearing in the livestream herself and getting criticized, so she wanted me to take the bullet! Sophie’s best friend, whom I hung up on, bombarded me with text messages. “Hurry up and help her! Didn’t you love her?” “Since you loved her, even if she doesn’t love you, you should do something for her, even just a little bit!” “Don’t be so irresponsible. Men should be magnanimous!” “She is the victim! She is being livestreamed in front of the whole world. Even if you don’t post, at least call her to stop all this! Don’t let her take off her clothes. If that gets recorded, she won’t be able to live!” I got annoyed reading her messages and blocked her number directly, then looked at the phone screen. Things had spiraled out of control. Because Sophie’s livestream video was already trending in over a dozen countries. The whole world was watching this joke, the whole world was learning what an Easy Girl from China looks like! My roommate hesitated for a moment and said, “Do you want to call and stop all this?” I sighed and said, “One thought can be kind, one thought can be evil. Whatever the final outcome is, let her choose for herself.” I finally picked up my phone and dialed Sophie’s number. Right now, she was trending in over a dozen countries. The world was waiting to see her take off her clothes and become that cheap girl. The choice was entirely in her own hands. In the livestream, Sophie glanced at her phone and said, “My boyfriend is calling again.” The foreigner laughed loudly and actually undid the buttons of Sophie’s top. Sophie picked up the phone with an excited look on her face, panting as she spoke to me, “Baby, what’s wrong?” I said, “Your best friend admitted it to me. I know you cheated.” In an instant, the smile on Sophie’s face froze. I didn’t tell her she was being livestreamed. Everything could still be saved. It all depended on how she chose. I said, “I treated you so well, yet you slept with a foreigner you met for one day. I just calculated it. During our relationship, I spent twenty thousand yuan on you. Please return it to me. If you don’t have that much cash on hand, write me an IOU.” I had made up my mind. As long as Sophie agreed to return the money, we would part on good terms. For the sake of our past affection, I was willing to save her this once. However, Sophie suddenly sneered. She said, “Since you know everything, we have nothing more to say. Originally, I felt a little guilty, but now I don’t feel guilty at all. Turns out you are such a terrible man.” I was stunned. Where was her guilt? If she felt guilty, would she be embracing and kissing that foreigner while talking to me on the phone? And one thing I didn’t understand. I said, “How am I terrible?” Sophie said disdainfully, “Asking for money back after a breakup? Do you think I’m a prostitute? Didn’t your parents teach you to respect girls? Doesn’t the time I wasted need compensation?” I said in shock, “At least prostitutes get paid. You traveled a thousand miles to give it away for free. Did you ask him for money? You’re worse than a prostitute.” Sophie instantly flew into a rage. She roared, “Fuck off! You disgusting thing, don’t come looking for insults!” The phone was rudely hung up by her. The foreigner asked, “Did your boyfriend find out?” Sophie hugged the foreigner’s neck and said coquettishly, “I don’t have a boyfriend anymore. How do you plan to compensate me?” The foreigner asked teasingly, “How do you want me to compensate you?” Sophie said, “I can’t bear to leave you. From now on, every time you come to China, give me a call, and I’ll run to find you, okay?” The foreigner raised his hand and actually slapped Sophie across the face. He pinched her cheek and said, “You are really a slutty girl.” Sophie was slapped, but instead of being angry, she obsessively sucked on the foreigner’s finger and said, “Yeah, I am that kind of girl. So how do you want to punish me?” I was truly about to throw up from this scene. I remembered one day, Sophie crossed the street without looking at the traffic lights and was almost hit by a car. I grabbed her arm and pulled her back. She didn’t thank me. Instead, she started blaming me, scolding me for using too much force and hurting her arm. Yes, I saved her life, but she scolded me for hurting her. But now?

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My mom called me on the secure line at The Agency to tell me she’d set me up on a blind date. All I knew was that her last name was Sterling, and she was the daughter of the richest man in D.C. To pick out a decent greeting gift, my Director pulled some strings and got me into an exclusive charity gala. During the preview, I spotted a vintage Romanov Emerald necklace. Just as I reached for the display case to get a closer look, a guy in a cheap suit shoved me hard from behind. “Hey, pal! If you value your life, keep your hands off the merchandise.” I stumbled, straightened my jacket, and turned to glare at him. “This is a public auction, not your living room. Who died and made you king?” The guy sneered, looking me up and down like I was something he stepped in. “You’re asking me who I am?” “I’m the guy telling you that this is D.C. If Miss Sterling wants something, nobody else touches it. Capiche?” I stared at him for a few seconds, processing the audacity. Then I pulled out my burner phone and dialed my “fiancée’s” number. “I hear you’re running this town… pretty aggressively.” 01 If it weren’t for my mom, I wouldn’t have even bothered making the call. D.C. is a shark tank, but money isn’t the only thing that makes you an apex predator here. If she apologized, I figured I could be the bigger man and let it slide. “I’m busy. Make it quick or get lost,” a sharp female voice snapped on the other end. “Miss Sterling, I suggest you put a leash on your dogs, otherwise—” Click. She hung up on me. I stood there, phone in hand, blinking. Is this standard operating procedure for billionaire heiresses? Seeing my stunned expression, the guy who shoved me—Brad, the assistant—grinned so wide his face looked like it might split. “Oh, look at that! I thought you actually knew Miss Sterling. Turns out she won’t even give you the time of day.” “Listen, kid. You’re trying to snatch something from the Sterlings in this town? You got a death wish?” He saw I was in my early twenties and wearing off-the-rack clothes. He didn’t see a threat. “Sir, let me be clear. This is an auction house. It’s not the Sterling estate.” “The rule here is simple: Highest bidder wins.” “Highest bidder?” Brad burst out laughing. “Kid, is your brain lagging? Do you need a reboot?” “Look around. Half of D.C. is built on Sterling money. You really think you can outspend us?” He was getting in my face now, spit flying as he yelled. I clenched my fist, my eyes going cold. “We’re in the capital of the free world, and a merchant thinks he’s royalty? That’s rich.” The crowd around us started whispering. “Whoa, this kid has a death wish. Disrespecting the Sterlings?” “It’s just a necklace. Not worth disappearing over.” “If I were him, I’d apologize right now. Maybe kiss the ring. He might even get a job out of it.” The crowd’s murmurs only fueled Brad’s ego. “You little punk. You dare look down on the Sterlings? You’re done.” I didn’t flinch. I actually found it funny. “I suggest you rinse your mouth out with soap.” “If you actually manage to piss me off, your boss won’t be able to pay the repair bill.” “Repair this!” Brad swung at me. I dodged effortlessly. He threw three more punches, hitting nothing but air. “Quit moving, you little rat! You want me to call Miss Sterling right now?” I didn’t fight back. Not because I was scared, but because before I left the Black Site, the Director gave me strict orders: “You represent the Department now. Do not engage in physical altercations with civilians.” Besides, I don’t brawl. I neutralize. Brad thought I was scared. He wound up for a haymaker. Just then, someone shouted from the entrance. “Miss Sterling is here!” Chapter 2 02 A woman with legs for days, surrounded by a phalanx of bodyguards, strutted toward us. “Brad. You’re my personal assistant. Why are you brawling with the help in public?” I looked her over. Mom had decent taste, physically speaking. She was wearing a crimson designer gown that fit like a second skin. The only flaw was the look in her eyes—absolute zero. “Miss Sterling. Let me introduce myself properly.” “I’m Spencer. Spencer Vance. My mother—” “Save it,” she interrupted, waving a manicured hand. “We aren’t a match. And the Sterling family doesn’t need a waste of space like you.” I almost checked my hearing. With my clearance level, even the Senators she bought dinner for had to salute me. “Victoria, let’s get one thing straight. I was forced into this just as much as you were.” “You think I want to marry you?” Victoria’s face twisted. “Don’t play hard to get with me, Spencer! Do you know how many men in this city would kill to marry into my family?” I grinned. “Victoria, I don’t know about them. But personally? I’d rather marry a barista from Starbucks than an heiress with zero class.” “And this ‘Sterling Empire’ you brag about? It’s just new money built on real estate bubbles. You have no legacy.” The room went dead silent. Then, chaos. “Holy… did he just say that?” “Victoria Sterling is the dream girl of every bachelor in D.C.! And he called her classless?” “This guy is insane.” I ignored them. Sure, the Sterlings were rich. But money? In the face of true power, money is just a number on a screen. I remembered her father, Richard Sterling, sweating through his shirt in front of my mother, begging for this engagement. He probably never imagined his precious daughter was about to nuke his golden ticket. “You loser,” Brad spat. “Look in a mirror. You aren’t fit to tie her shoes.” Victoria sneered. “Brad is right. If my dad hadn’t forced this, I wouldn’t even look at a broke joke like you.” I narrowed my eyes, locking onto hers. “Since you feel that way, Miss Sterling, shall we call the wedding off?” I tried to be diplomatic. She took it as a negotiation. “Fine. How much do you want to go away?” I waved my hand dismissively. “Keep your money. I don’t want to get my hands dirty.” I turned to leave. “Hey! Get back here!” Brad yelled. I stopped and looked over my shoulder. “What? You want to buy me dinner, Brad?” He smirked and whispered something in Victoria’s ear. The heiress’s eyes flashed with rage. “Spencer! You dare try to outbid me?” Chapter 3 03 Brad had obviously poisoned the well. Judging by Victoria’s glare, diplomacy was dead. I didn’t bother explaining. “Yeah. I want the necklace. So what?” Victoria looked shocked that I admitted it. “Good. Great. Today, I’m going to teach you what happens when you cross a Sterling.” She raised her paddle high. “Open Bid. No limit.” The auctioneer nearly dropped his mic. He stammered, “The… the opening bid for this item is ten million dollars. Do we have an opening bid?” In auction terms, an “Open Bid” or “Lighting the Lantern” means you cover the spread. You keep bidding until everyone else bleeds out. It’s a declaration of war. Since the Sterling family wanted to gamble their entire legacy on a necklace, I figured I’d play along. “Ten million? I’ll take it.” The crowd gasped. They were all waiting for the punchline. Nobody knew who I was. “You idiot,” Brad laughed. “Do you know how many zeros are in ten million? This is Christie’s, not eBay.” “If you can’t pay, you go to federal prison.” I smiled at him. “Brad, stop worrying about my wallet and start worrying about your boss.” “There’s no undo button on an Open Bid.” Victoria scoffed and raised her paddle again. “Ten million is nothing. That’s my monthly allowance.” She glared at me. “You want to play? Let’s see if you have the cards. I raise to twenty million!” The room exploded. It was a charity auction. This necklace was worth maybe eight million, tops. “Generous,” I said, clapping slowly as I stood up. “I’m sure the orphans will appreciate your donation.” I held up one finger. “Twenty million… and one dollar.” In D.C., people usually kissed the ground Victoria walked on. Nobody ever told her “no.” Unfortunately for her, I wasn’t from D.C. I was from a place that didn’t exist on maps. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Victoria announced loudly. “Just so we’re clear, this man is a charity case my father found. He has no connection to me.” “When his check bounces, don’t come looking at the Sterlings.” I laughed out loud. “Thanks for the concern, Victoria. The auction house knows I’m good for it. But your family…” My voice dropped an octave, turning ice cold. “You guys should watch your backs.” Chapter 4 04 Victoria rolled her eyes. “Don’t talk big, Spencer. In this town, I’m untouchable.” As the price climbed, sweat started to bead on her forehead. I didn’t let up. “Victoria, since this is for charity, why are we nickel-and-diming? Let’s skip to the end.” “One hundred million dollars. Do you call, or do you fold?” The room went silent. One hundred million. Liquid. Victoria froze. Brad jumped in to save her. “This is an auction, you fraud! It’s not a game of Monopoly! Show us the money!” The crowd, sensing blood, joined in. “Proof of funds! We want proof of funds!” I smiled. “Finally. Someone asked the right question.” I pulled out my phone. “Director? It’s Spencer.” The voice on the other end was warm. “Spencer! Did you pick a gift? How’s the girl?” I side-eyed Victoria. “Sir, I’m reporting a situation.” My tone shifted to official business. “Hostile engagement at the auction. Someone is running a ‘No Limit’ bid against the Department.” “What?” The Director sounded like he choked on his coffee. “That’s a federal auction. Who has the stones to do that?” “I wouldn’t joke about this, Sir.” I gave him the sitrep. I heard glass shattering on his end. “Hold your position. I’m handling it.” Before he could hang up, Brad snatched my phone. “You’re this kid’s ‘Director,’ huh?” “Listen, old man. I’m giving you twenty minutes to wire a hundred million. If you’re a minute late, I break one of your boy’s fingers.” The Director paused. I could practically hear the gears of the war machine turning. “You’re the one bidding?” Brad laughed. “Don’t bore me. Just pay up.” The Director’s voice went dangerously quiet. “One hundred million? Done. You just wait right there.” Brad handed the phone back, looking smug. “Victoria, you really know how to pick ’em,” I said, genuinely impressed. “I’ve never seen a man dig his own grave with such enthusiasm.” “Screw your ‘Director’,” Brad sneered. “As long as the Sterling name is on the building, I’m safe.” I smiled. “Is that so?” “You want to bet that by tomorrow morning, the name ‘Sterling’ won’t exist in this city?” Before he could answer, someone screamed. “Look outside!” We turned. A convoy of armored trucks, flanked by black SUVs with government plates, screeched to a halt in front of the venue.

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At 3:00 AM, I sent a text to my boss. “Do you want a baby?” Ten minutes later, my phone lit up. “Meeting at 8:30 AM. Have the pitch deck ready.” I stared at the cold, unfeeling command from my capitalist overlord, then looked over at the little boy fast asleep in my bed. It was hard to imagine that my boss and I could ever create something so cute. 1 I became a mother at twenty-eight, and the stork didn’t bring the baby. Mrs. Higgins, the building superintendent, did. When Mrs. Higgins knocked on my door holding the hand of a little boy, I was bewildered. The kid looked about five or six. He had bright, dark eyes and deep dimples. He was wearing a t-shirt, overalls, and a little yellow duck backpack. He looked clean and well-cared-for. Definitely a kid who belonged to a good family. He was also a kid who was very easy to like. That is, until he opened his mouth. Upon seeing me, the boy’s eyes lit up like Christmas lights. He wrenched his hand free from Mrs. Higgins, barreled into my living room, and wrapped his arms around my waist. “Mommy!” he shouted. My eyes nearly popped out of my head. Before I could speak, I saw Mrs. Higgins muttering something about a pot roast in the oven and fleeing the scene. The boy rubbed his face against my stomach and looked up at me with sparkling eyes. “Mommy, where’s Daddy?” Daddy? Mommy? I am a single woman. I haven’t even dated in two years. Where would I get a five-year-old? I crouched down, placed a finger on his forehead, and gently pushed him back. “I’m not your mommy, and your daddy isn’t here.” “You are! You are!” The kid’s eyes turned red, and his cheeks puffed up. “Mommy is Willow Evans, and Daddy is Spencer Sterling. I wouldn’t recognize the wrong people!” My heart skipped a beat. My eyelid twitched. I am Willow Evans. That part is true. But Spencer Sterling? That’s my CEO. To prove he wasn’t crazy, the kid rattled off my phone number, Spencer’s private number, and even our social security numbers without missing a beat. Then he puffed out his little chest, looking proud, waiting for praise. Am I awesome or what? his face seemed to say. I face-palmed. I had no choice but to bring him inside. I handed him a pair of guest slippers. Surprisingly, he took off his shoes and lined them up perfectly by the door. Impeccable manners. But he was clearly unhappy with my reaction. He sat on the sofa, pouting, arms crossed. I found it funny, so I grabbed a pint of Ben & Jerry’s from the freezer and handed it to him. His mood flipped instantly. He dug in happily. “Since you’re sharing, I won’t tell on you.” I raised an eyebrow. “Tell on me for what?” He grinned, holding up a spoon full of Half Baked. “This. You always get a stomach ache when you eat ice cream, so Daddy banned you from having it.” I froze. I do have a sensitive stomach. I do lack self-control. But how would this kid know that? We chatted. I learned his nickname was “Bean.” He said he was five. He claimed he lived at 28 Riverside Estates on Oak Avenue. He said he got lost walking home from school, met Mrs. Higgins, and she brought him here. I pulled out my phone and checked Google Maps. Oak Avenue existed, but it was currently a construction site for a future luxury development. No houses yet. A weird feeling settled in my stomach. “Bean,” I asked cautiously. “What year is it?” Bean wobbled his head. “I know this one! Teacher said it’s the Year of the Ox.” Ox? I looked at the calendar on my desk. It was the Year of the Tiger. Holy cow. Bean traveled back from the future. Eight years, to be exact. I looked at the kid devouring ice cream. He did look familiar. Wait. Who did he say his father was again? Spencer Sterling. 2 At 3:00 AM, after finally getting the time-traveling toddler to sleep, I was tossing and turning. I looked at Bean, sleeping soundly, smacking his lips in a dream. Like possessed by a ghost, I opened WeChat and found my boss’s contact. Our chat history was a wall of business. Files, meeting minutes, schedules. I typed the message. “Do you want a baby?” Ten minutes later. “Meeting at 8:30 AM. Have the pitch deck ready.” I looked at the text. I looked at the time. I gritted my teeth and got up to work for the capitalist machine. Serves him right for being single at thirty! Go marry your spreadsheets! 3 I pulled an all-nighter, handed the files to a colleague, and then asked the Boss for time off to drop Bean at a daycare near my apartment. I couldn’t leave a five-year-old alone all day. When I finally got to the office, it was 10:30. Liam, a colleague, walked over. “Boss wants to see you.” I nodded and walked to the CEO’s office, clutching two binders. The door was closed. I could hear a woman’s voice inside. It sounded like an argument. I didn’t knock. I just waited. Ten minutes later, the door swung open. Vanessa, the daughter of one of our board members, stormed out. She looked gorgeous but furious. “Miss Vanessa,” I nodded. She glared at me like I was trash and stomped away. I waited two minutes, then walked in. Spencer Sterling was sitting behind his mahogany desk. Gold-rimmed glasses, black fountain pen, lips pressed into a thin line. He was reading a contract as if a beautiful woman hadn’t just screamed at him. Stoic. Terrifying. He signed his name, looked up, and scanned me. “Are you free tomorrow night, Willow?” I ran a mental check of my schedule. “No plans.” “Accompany me to a gala. Starts at 6:30, ends around 8:00.” I nodded. I could pick Bean up, drop him home, and then go. He could handle two hours alone with an iPad. Spencer waved a hand, dismissing me. As I reached the door, I looked back. He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. Sharp brows, clean jawline, slightly upturned eyes. When he looked down, his eyelashes were long and thick. Except for the cold expression… he looked exactly like Bean. Back at my desk, Lily, the office gossip, slid her chair over. “Did you hear? Vanessa came to beg him to take her to the gala.” Spencer Sterling. Heir to the Sterling empire. Ivy League grad. Took over the company sophomore year. Stock price tripled. Handsome. Rich. Clean record. Every heiress in the city wanted a piece of him. But Spencer was an iceberg. Most girls gave up. But Vanessa was like a cockroach; she kept coming back. Since Spencer wouldn’t crack, she took it out on us assistants. Specifically me. She was convinced I was the gatekeeper preventing her true love. 4 The next morning, I dropped Bean at daycare and swung by a clinic to drop off a DNA sample. I decided that if the results backed Bean’s story, I’d tell Spencer. Two heads are better than one, and his head is worth a billion dollars. He has a stake in this kid too. I left work early to pick up Bean, set him up with dinner, and got ready. The dress was from Spencer. Emerald green velvet, spaghetti straps. It made my skin look porcelain white. He even sent jewelry. A purple diamond necklace. The man had taste. When I walked out, Bean gasped. “Mommy! Are you going on a date with Daddy again?” He patted his chest. “You guys always try to ditch me for romance.” He squinted at me. “Daddy picked that dress, didn’t he? He always makes you look like a princess.” My heart did a weird flip. I went downstairs. The company car was waiting. I opened the back door and froze. Spencer was already inside. “Get in,” his cool voice commanded. I gathered my skirt and slid in. As I bent over, I felt his gaze. The neckline was draped. From his angle… he could see everything. I sat down and immediately covered my chest, my face burning. I wasn’t wearing a bra, just adhesive covers. Spencer didn’t react. He was typing on his laptop. But the atmosphere was thick. I noticed his PowerPoint slide hadn’t changed in ten minutes. It was the title slide for a project I managed. I leaned over. “Is there an issue with the—AH!” A shadow darted across the road. The driver slammed the brakes and swerved. I was thrown sideways, straight toward Spencer. To avoid face-planting into his lap, I twisted my body. A strong hand grabbed my arm, yanking me back. I crashed into his chest. One of his hands gripped my arm; the other wrapped firmly around my waist. The scent of sandalwood and expensive cologne filled my nose. I looked up. His jawline was inches away. “Stray cat,” the driver announced, checking the mirror. “We didn’t hit it.” Spencer let go. I scrambled back to my side of the car, staring out the window at the dark trees, trying to ignore my heart hammering against my ribs. “You okay?” he asked. “Fine.”

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I can talk to my husband from ten years ago. He asked me: “Did I marry Lily Summers?” I thought for a moment, then wrote in the diary: “No.” The pen on the other side paused for a long time. “Did I achieve my dream?” “Pretty much. Your team just won a top-tier aerospace award for propulsion systems.” “So… am I happy?” I looked at Ethan Vance, asleep on the bed after pulling a forty-hour shift at the lab. I wrote: “You’re doing okay. You have a career you love, and someone who loves you deeply.” You just never really noticed her. 1. “Who are you?” The handwriting on the page turned sharp, aggressive. I hesitated, then wrote: “I am you, ten years from now.” “Bullshit.” The reply was instant. “Prove it.” Even through the paper, I could picture Ethan’s skeptical frown. “When you were five, you found a book on rocketry in your grandpa’s study. You couldn’t read the big words, but you told him you were going to build a ship to Mars.” “Your high school physics mentor was Mr. Harrison. He said you were a genius, but ‘stubborn as a mule.’” “Keep going…” “You and Lily made a pact. Sophomore summer, you’d go to Appalachia to volunteer. She’d teach math; you’d teach physics.” Silence stretched across the page. “Anyone could find that out if they dug deep enough into my background.” I continued: “How about this?” “The guys in your dorm call you ‘God Mode’ because you never study but curve every exam.” “Once, you went to a LAN party at the cyber cafe. While everyone played League, you sat in the corner solving physics Olympiad sets and fixed the owner’s server before you left.” I flipped the page. “You were a Guaranteed Admit to MIT. You didn’t need to go to class, but you sat in the back row every day at 4 PM because Lily needed help with mechanics.” “Three months before graduation, your advisor told you to prep for the International Physics Olympiad. You bailed. You said solving problems wasn’t as fun as teaching her.” “You didn’t need to take the SATs again, but you did, just to sit in the same testing center as her.” “You handed your test in early and waited outside with two iced coffees because you knew she liked them cold.” The reply came fast: “A reporter snapped a pic of me with the coffees. That was on the local news. That proves nothing.” I scribbled furiously: “Graduation night. Bonfire party. Lily got peer-pressured into drinking three beers.” “You drank the rest for her without saying a word. When you carried her home on your back, she whispered, ‘Ethan, let’s go to the same college.’” “You sat on that MIT acceptance letter. When the scores came out, you saw hers. You declined MIT and enrolled at Georgia Tech.” “Your dad threw a coffee mug at the wall. He couldn’t understand why you’d tank your future for a girl.” “Your homeroom teacher roasted you in the group chat. Everyone called you selfish.” “You told them, ‘It doesn’t matter where I study, it matters who I study with. Lily’s scores can’t reach MIT, but they can reach my future.’” 2. The handwriting on the other end became frantic. “Stop! Who are you? Some kind of stalker? Is this a prank?” “Where did you get this diary?” On the bed, the present-day Ethan groaned in his sleep and rolled over. I wrote calmly: “I really am from the future.” “Freshman summer, you guys went biking in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Lily’s chain broke. You gave her your bike and walked hers twenty miles back to town.” “When Lily got the flu, you climbed the dorm fence in the rain to get her meds from the 24-hour pharmacy.” “And you hate sweets. But every time she hands you a piece of dark chocolate, you eat it.” “Only the two of you know that, right?” “Hahaha, I got you! You’re Lily! What kind of game is this?” His writing looked giddy now. “Okay, you got me. Only we know that stuff. So, who rigged this book? Is it Bluetooth?” “We’re supposed to grab burgers at the dining hall after my final. Just you wait, I’m gonna get you back for this.” “And hey, nice try saying I didn’t marry you. Impossible. Wherever Lily Summers goes, that’s where Ethan Vance ends up.” My eyes locked on that last sentence. The pen slipped from my fingers and clattered onto the floor. I closed the diary and looked at the wedding photo on the nightstand. Me and Ethan. Ethan, I lied. I’m not you. And I’m certainly not Lily. I’m Sarah Jenkins. You didn’t marry the love of your life. You married the woman who made sense. The colleague. The partner. Because Lily Summers stayed forever in that summer you loved her most. 3. I first noticed Ethan Vance at freshman orientation. He was the valedictorian representative. He stood on stage, talking about propulsion systems, and the crowd went wild. I sat in the front row, dreaming that one day I’d stand on a podium next to him. His name was always at the top of the Dean’s List. Physics Olympiad Gold. Putnam Fellow. MIT Recruit. I looked at the rankings, counting the names between him and me. It felt like a galaxy. Senior year, the gap closed a little. I’d walk past his AP Physics class just to see the back of his head as he tutored someone in the back row. He never looked at me. In the story of Ethan Vance’s youth, I was an Extra with no lines. When college decisions came out, I saw the news. The “Genius Boy” waiting outside the testing center with iced coffee. Lily running into his arms. The “Power Couple” headline was everywhere. That night, I changed my first choice from Georgia Tech to Caltech. A professor from Caltech had given a seminar once: “The US aerospace program is hitting a materials bottleneck. We need engineers who can solve it.” I figured that was the best way to say goodbye. Go to the place furthest from Ethan Vance. Do the work we both loved. 4. Caltech was a grinder. I got into the BS/PhD fast track. Labs, libraries, student council. My roommate called me a “perpetual motion machine.” I ate lunch with a textbook open. Late at night, when the code wouldn’t compile, I’d Google Ethan’s name. There were photos of him winning robotics competitions, looking sharp in a dress shirt, that same black watch on his wrist. Sometimes, I’d re-watch that old news interview from high school graduation. I was a thief, stealing glimpses of a life I wasn’t part of. 5. Until the summer of our junior year. My feed was flooded with a headline: [Hero Teacher Lily Summers: A Life Given to Save the Future.] The video was shaky, shot on a cheap phone in the pouring rain. Flash floods in Appalachia. A mudslide tearing through a valley. Lily was soaked, shoving kids up a muddy embankment. “Run! Don’t look back!” she screamed. The last kid froze, paralyzed by fear. Lily ran back. The mountain gave way. A wall of mud and debris swallowed the schoolhouse. She shielded the kid with her body, taking the brunt of a collapsing wall. The footage cut to the aftermath. Ethan, kneeling in the mud. His hands were shredded, fingernails torn off, digging frantically into the rubble. Rain mixed with blood and tears dripping from his chin. “Lily! Why didn’t you wait for me?!” The timeline on the other end of the diary… was just before that summer.

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