1 The day before we were supposed to get our marriage license, my fiancé walked into the registry office holding his official documents, hand in hand with Alyssa. Over the phone, a friend tried to talk sense into him. “What about Phoebe?” “You’ve been together seven years. You’re really going to marry someone else?” Jackson went silent for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely a whisper. “Phoebe will understand. Alyssa’s dad doesn’t have much time left. It’s just a legal formality, a fake marriage. The moment the old man passes, I’ll file for divorce.” The friend still sounded hesitant. “But she waited seven years for you.” Jackson let out a quiet chuckle. “And because she waited seven years, she’s not going to throw me away over a single month.” I stood frozen around the corner, my fingers clutching the bag of gourmet chocolates I had bought to share with the registry staff. I didn’t storm inside to demand an explanation. I didn’t burst into tears or beg him to change his mind. I simply walked up to the window, canceled my appointment, and turned around to leave. What Jackson didn’t realize was simple. Marriage can be delayed, and love can take its time. But I refused to spend the rest of my life tied to a man who was so arrogantly certain I would always wait right where he left me. … When I canceled the booking, the clerk glanced at me twice, her eyes filled with sympathy. “Are you sure, sweetie? Spots for today were nearly impossible to get.” I gave her a small, firm nod. My phone buzzed in my hand. It was a text from Jackson. [Something came up at the firm. We’ll have to push the registry back a few days. Don’t be mad, okay? I’ll explain everything tonight.] I stared at the screen until the light dimmed, then shoved the bag of melting chocolates into my purse and walked out into the chilly air. I still had afternoon classes to teach. I headed back to campus and carried on with my second-grade literature lesson as if my whole world hadn’t just shifted on its axis. We were reading a fable about a young foal trying to cross a rushing river. A little boy near the front raised his hand, looking up at me with wide eyes. “Miss Phoebe, did the little horse cross the river all by himself in the end?” I stood there with a piece of chalk in my hand, staring at the blackboard for several seconds before my brain registered the question. “He did.” “Wasn’t he scared?” the boy asked. I gave him a soft, weary smile. “Even if you’re scared, sometimes you just have to cross it anyway.” After the bell rang, a few teachers gathered around my desk, teasing me about why I hadn’t taken my bride-to-be leave yet. “Wait, weren’t you registering today? Where’s Jackson?” “Come on, where are the wedding treats? Don’t hide them!” I pulled the bag of chocolates out of my purse and handed it over. The heat had melted the cocoa, leaving it sticky inside the foil wrappers. My coworkers assumed I was just flushed with bridal nerves and kept laughing. I forced myself to smile along with them. The laughter felt hollow, leaving a bitter taste in the back of my throat. That evening, Jackson called. “Phoebe, have you eaten yet?” In the background, I could hear the faint paging system of a hospital, accompanied by a woman’s low, muffled sobbing. I didn’t call him out on it. “Not yet.” “I am so sorry about today. Something urgent came up on Alyssa’s end. Her dad is in critical condition and he’s not very lucid. He keeps crying, terrified no one will take care of her when he’s gone.” I sat alone in the empty classroom, watching the overhead sports field lights flicker on one by one outside the window. “So you married her?” The line went completely dead. After a agonizingly long silence, Jackson lowered his voice. “You found out?” “Yes.” He let out a heavy sigh of relief, as if a weight had been lifted. “Phoebe, listen to me, it’s just a formality. Her father funded my college tuition back in the day. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t even have a degree. This is the dying man’s final wish. I couldn’t just walk away.” “So you used our life together to repay a debt?” “Don’t talk like that,” Jackson snapped, his tone growing sharp and defensive. “You know who is in my heart. Alyssa and I have zero future together. As soon as her father passes, I’m filing for a quick divorce. Give me a month at most, and we’ll get our license.” A month at most. He said it so casually, as if I had simply stepped into the wrong line at a grocery store and just needed to wait my turn at another counter. “Was it really that hard to tell me beforehand?” I asked quietly. “I was afraid you’d overthink things.” “You went behind my back and married another woman, and you were worried I’d overthink it?” Jackson rubbed his temples audibly, his voice thick with exhaustion. “Phoebe, my head is spinning right now. Her father is in the ICU, and Alyssa is completely falling apart. I know you feel wronged, but I will make it up to you later, I promise.” Later. In the seven years we were together, that was his favorite word. Later, I’ll take you on that trip to Europe. Later, I’ll give you a proper proposal. Later, I’ll turn the balcony into that reading cozy you always wanted. Later. Always later. And now, when my entire future had been derailed by his choices, he still treated it as a minor inconvenience, a simple delay. I hung up the phone without another word. Ten minutes later, my social media feed refreshed. Alyssa had posted a photo. In a dimly lit hospital room, her delicate hand rested gently over the back of Jackson’s hand. In her lap lay the corner of a newly issued marriage certificate. The caption read: [Thank you for giving my father peace of mind.] Our mutual friends list had already exploded in the comments. [Wait, congratulations?! Is this official?] [So glad Alyssa finally has someone to protect her.] [Jackson is a real man. Professor Dawson didn’t raise you for nothing.] Jackson had even liked the post. He probably convinced himself it was just a comforting gesture toward a dying mentor’s daughter. I stared at the image until my eyes burned so badly I couldn’t keep them open. That night, I drove to our new condo. We bought the place last year. I had contributed every single cent of the savings I’d scraped together from tutoring in college to working extra shifts after graduation for the down payment. When we were renovating, Jackson was slammed at work, so I spent every evening after school wandering around hardware stores, picking out every tile and light fixture myself. When I unlocked the door, Alyssa was sitting on my couch, wearing my plush house slippers. Her eyes were red and swollen. Seeing me, she stood up abruptly. “Phoebe, please don’t misunderstand. My dad was transferred to the hospital nearby tonight, and Jackson was worried I’d be too exhausted running back and forth, so he insisted I rest here for a bit. I swear I won’t touch any of your personal things.” In her hands, she held my favorite mug. It was part of a matching couple’s set I had specifically bought for us to use after getting our license. Jackson walked out of the kitchen holding a spatula, his sleeves rolled up. “What are you doing here?” he asked, startled. I looked at him, my voice dangerously calm. “This is my apartment. Am I not allowed to be here?” Jackson’s jaw tightened. “That’s not what I meant. Alyssa’s had an exhausting day. The hospital cots are tiny and uncomfortable, and it’s just not safe or convenient for a young woman to stay there alone.” Alyssa rushed to set the mug down, her hands trembling. “I’ll leave right now. Phoebe, I am so sorry. This is all my fault. Please don’t fight with Jackson over me. He hasn’t eaten a single bite all day, and he’s been running around arranging everything for my dad.” She reached for her coat, taking two shaky steps before her body swayed dramatically. Jackson darted forward, catching her by the waist. “Why are you pushing yourself like this?” Tears spilled over Alyssa’s cheeks. “I just don’t want to make Phoebe upset.” Jackson turned to me, his eyes filled with frustration and pleading. “Phoebe, her dad is literally in the ICU right now. Just let her stay for one night. I’ll take her back to the hospital first thing tomorrow.” I let out a soft laugh. “Let her?” He missed the dark irony in my voice, assuming I was yielding. “Thank you,” he murmured. Those two words cut deeper than any screaming argument ever could. That night, Alyssa moved into the guest bedroom. That room was supposed to be my home office. I had spent weeks picking out the wooden desk near the window, imagining myself grading papers there in the afternoons. Now, the surface was covered with Alyssa’s makeup bag, medical records, and her travel mug. She apologized profusely, her voice dripping with innocence. “I was worried my stuff would clutter the living room, so I put it in here for now. I promise I’ll clean it all up tomorrow.” Jackson emerged from the kitchen carrying a steaming bowl of soup. “Phoebe, sit down and eat something first. Your stomach gets upset easily when you skip meals. Don’t go to sleep on an empty stomach just because you’re angry.” He spoke so naturally, as if today were just another ordinary couple’s spat. I sat down at the dining table, looking at the two place settings he had laid out. Jackson froze, realizing his mistake, and quickly went back into the kitchen to grab a third plate. Alyssa spoke up softly. “I shouldn’t intrude. You two eat. I’ll just stay in the room.” Jackson frowned. “You have low blood sugar. You need to eat. Sit down.” She cast a timid glance at me before slowly taking a seat. I didn’t touch a single morsel of food during that entire meal. Noticing my empty plate, Jackson picked up a pair of serving chopsticks and placed a piece of garlic shrimp onto my dish. “This is your favorite.” Alyssa was quietly sipping her soup when her phone suddenly chimed with a video call. “Jackson… my dad just woke up. He wants to see us on video.” Jackson’s hands stiffened, the chopsticks hovering in the air. I raised my head to watch them. Alyssa bit her lip, fresh tears welling up in her eyes. “I know I shouldn’t keep troubling you, but the doctor said his lucid moments are getting shorter. I’m just so terrified he’ll slip away again.” Jackson went silent for a moment before wiping his hands on a napkin. “Answer it.” The call connected. On the screen, an elderly man lay hooked up to an oxygen tube, his breathing shallow and rattling. “Alyssa… where’s my son-in-law?” Alyssa turned the screen toward Jackson. Jackson leaned closer, his voice softening into a gentle, reassuring tone. “Professor Dawson, I’m right here.” The old man cracked a weak, trembling smile, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. “Good… good. Leaving Alyssa with you… I can rest easy.” Jackson’s throat worked as he swallowed hard. “Focus on getting better, sir.” I sat right next to them, feeling like a ghost haunting a life that wasn’t mine. Suddenly, Alyssa began frantically feeling her bare hands. “Dad, look… I’m wearing the ring.” Her fingers were completely bare. The old man’s vision was failing, but he kept staring intently at the screen. “The ring… yes… a marriage needs a proper ring…” Alyssa froze, panicked. Jackson reflexively turned his head toward me. I met his gaze, cold and unblinking. In the drawer of our master bedroom nightstand sat the custom pair of platinum wedding bands we had picked out together months ago. I thought he would have at least a shred of decency left. But without a word, he stood up and walked straight into our bedroom. The sound of the drawer sliding open echoed sharply in the silent apartment. A moment later, he walked back out carrying the small velvet box. He popped it open. He took out my ring and handed it to Alyssa. “Put this on for now.” I stared at him, stunned into complete, absolute silence. Alyssa shook her head frantically, though her hands hovered near the box. “No, Jackson, I can’t. This belongs to Phoebe.” Jackson didn’t look at me. His tone was smooth, perfectly reasonable. “Just so Professor Dawson can rest easy.” He took her hand and slid the ring onto her left ring finger. The fit was entirely wrong. Alyssa’s fingers were slighter than mine, leaving the heavy band hanging loosely on her hand. She smiled through her tears into the camera lens. “Look, Dad. We’re really married now.” The old man finally let out a satisfied breath and closed his eyes to rest. Jackson exhaled long and slow, relieved. That was the moment I finally stood up. The chair legs scraped violently against the hardwood floor, producing a screeching tear through the room. Jackson whipped his head around. “Phoebe, where are you going?” I walked into the master bedroom, pulled my suitcase out from the closet, and began throwing my clothes inside. Jackson hurried in behind me, slamming the door shut. “Stop acting like this! Professor Dawson doesn’t have much time left. I couldn’t push him over the edge at a moment like this!” “So you push me over the edge instead?” “You are completely healthy! Do you really have to hold a grudge against a dying man?” I raised my head to look at him. The moment those words left his mouth, the temperature in the room dropped to absolute zero. Jackson seemed to realize how cruel he sounded. He reached out, his voice softening as he tried to pull me into an embrace. “Phoebe, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just so exhausted.” I took a sharp step back, dodging his hands. His arms hung frozen in midair. Knocks sounded softly on the door from the hallway. Alyssa’s voice leaked through. “Jackson, your mother is calling on the other line. She’s asking about the wedding details.” Jackson’s frown deepened. He answered the call and put it on speaker. His mother’s sharp voice filled the bedroom instantly. “Jackson! What on earth is going on between you and Phoebe? The venue coordinator called saying the final balance hasn’t been settled yet. Your father already invited all his colleagues from the department! Don’t you dare make a fool out of us!” Jackson glanced at me nervously. “Mom, we might need to postpone the wedding.” “Why?” Silence. Alyssa stood in the doorway, her face pale as a sheet. Finally, Jackson cleared his throat. “Phoebe hasn’t been in a great mood lately, so we put off getting the license for a bit.” The sweater I was holding slipped from my hands, hitting the floor. His mother blew up immediately. “Why is Phoebe being so stubborn all of a sudden? You two have been together for seven years, what is she throwing a tantrum for right at the finish line? Jackson, your work is so demanding. She’s just a school teacher, her schedule is far more flexible than yours! Can’t she be a little more understanding?” I kept my eyes fixed on Jackson. He didn’t explain. He didn’t offer a single word to say it wasn’t my fault. When the call finally ended, Alyssa looked at me with brimming, apologetic eyes. “Phoebe, I am so sorry. Did your future mother-in-law misunderstand you? Let me call her back and explain everything.” Jackson grabbed her arm, stopping her. “Don’t add to the mess.” A bitter, quiet smile tugged at the corner of my lips. So in the end, I was the one adding to the mess. I didn’t manage to leave that night. Around midnight, Alyssa developed a spiking fever, and Jackson was beside himself trying to rush her to the emergency room. As he helped her toward the door, he looked back at me. “Phoebe, go to sleep. I’ll come back as soon as her IV drip is done.” I stood in the center of the quiet living room. “Jackson, today was supposed to be our wedding day.” His footsteps paused. “I know.” “You know, and yet you’re leaving me here alone?” Alyssa weakly tugged at his sleeve, her voice faint. “Maybe I should just take an Uber by myself…” Jackson didn’t move, a dark storm of frustration brewing in his eyes. “Can you please stop pressing me at a time like this?” I let out a dry, incredulous laugh. “I’m pressing you?” “Alyssa has a 102-degree fever! Phoebe, a human life is at stake here!” In that fleeting second, I thought back on the past few weeks. Every one of Alyssa’s tears, every instance of her weakness, seemed infinitely more precious and urgent than anything I felt. The front door clicked shut. I sat alone on the sofa in our unfinished home until the horizon turned gray. When the sun finally began to rise, Jackson returned. He looked shocked to find me still sitting in the exact same spot, his tone softening immediately. “Why didn’t you get any rest?” I didn’t answer. He walked over and dropped to his knees in front of me, taking my cold hands. “Phoebe, yesterday was my fault. I shouldn’t have raised my voice. As soon as Professor Dawson’s condition stabilizes, I’ll take you on that coastal trip we talked about, okay? Didn’t you always want to watch the sunrise over the ocean?” In the past, hearing those words would have melted my heart in an instant. Now, all I felt was a bone-deep, suffocating fatigue. His phone lit up on the coffee table. A text from Alyssa: [Jackson, my dad woke up asking for you again. I am so sorry, I know I shouldn’t keep burdening you.] The moment Jackson saw the notification, he reflexively pushed himself up to stand. I lifted my eyes to meet his. “You’re going back?” “Professor Dawson needs me right now.” “And what about me?” He froze. I asked him, emphasizing every single word, “What am I to you right now?” Jackson pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling a frustrated breath. “Phoebe, stop digging into dead ends. You’re the woman I’m going to marry.” “Except Alyssa is your legal wife.” His face darkened instantly. “It’s just a piece of paper!” “A piece of paper that defines a marriage.” “Phoebe!” It was the first time in seven years he had ever yelled at me like that. Regretting it immediately, his voice dropped lower. “I genuinely do not have the energy to fight with you right now. Just give me a little time.” “How long?” “A month.” “Divorces have a mandatory thirty-day cooling-off period.” Jackson blinked, stunned. Clearly, he hadn’t given the actual process a single second of thought. Looking at his clueless expression, I realized that arguing was entirely pointless. He hadn’t even bothered to look into the consequences, yet he felt entirely comfortable gambling with my life. His phone rang. It was an incoming call from Alyssa. He answered it. Alyssa was sobbing so hard she could barely breathe. “Jackson, my dad says he wants to go home… Does he know he’s dying? I’m so scared, I’m really so scared…” Jackson squeezed his eyes shut. “I’ll be right there.” Hanging up, he looked down at me. “Phoebe, wait for me to get back. We’ll have a real talk then.” I didn’t reply. He reached the front door, hesitating before turning around. “I know you’re furious, but I also know you won’t actually throw us away. We’ve been together for seven years.” My heart gave a violent, painful spasm. Seven years. In the end, he had turned those seven years into his ultimate bargaining chip. After Jackson left, I began packing my things. I didn’t own much that wasn’t tied to this place. Once my main suitcase was packed, I walked into the guest room to retrieve my teaching books. The door was slightly ajar. Alyssa’s handbag sat open on the desk, a folded document slipping out from the side pocket. I hadn’t intended to pry. But the words printed across the top of the page were impossible to ignore: Application for Dissolution of Marriage. The filing date was stamped yesterday. Tucked inside was a neat, handwritten sticky note in Alyssa’s elegant handwriting: [30-day waiting period. Both parties must appear within 30 days after the period ends. If one party fails to show, the application is deemed withdrawn.] She had known the rules all along. And Jackson was completely in the dark. Or rather, he simply hadn’t cared enough to find out. I slipped the document back into her bag. Just as I turned to leave, the sound of footsteps echoed from the outer hallway. Jackson and Alyssa were back. Alyssa was weeping softly. “Jackson, did I ruin everything between you and Phoebe? She must utterly despise me.” Jackson let out a heavy, tired sigh. “No. She’s just struggling to accept it right now.” “But… what if she really leaves you?” Jackson went silent for a moment before speaking in a low, absolute tone. “She won’t.” Alyssa sniffled. “How can you be so sure?” “Phoebe will wait for me. She loves me too much to let me go.” Standing behind the bedroom door, my tightly clenched fists slowly unfurled. He was right. Once upon a time, I couldn’t bear to let him go. I couldn’t bear to watch him stay up late working without bringing him dinner; I couldn’t bear to see him shoulder massive project failures alone; I couldn’t bear the thought of him putting on a brave smile for me after getting chewed out by his boss. I cared about far too many things. And because I cared, he felt entirely safe hurting me, confident that I would always be there when he decided to turn around. In that quiet moment, the final, fragile thread of hope I held for him snapped completely. Suddenly, I felt no urge to scream, no desire to demand answers. I pulled open the desk drawer, took out my platinum engagement ring, and laid it quietly on the dining table. Right next to it sat the half-empty bag of melted chocolates. Before leaving, I took one last look at the apartment. Every piece of furniture had been handpicked by me, yet the space felt utterly foreign, like a place I had never truly known. I pulled open the front door. Both of them turned to look at me simultaneously. Jackson frowned. “Where are you going?” “Back to the school dorms.” His eyebrows pulled together in annoyance. “It’s late, stop acting out.” He reached out, his hand clamping firmly around my wrist. “Phoebe, just wait until we get through Professor Dawson’s funeral arrangements. I promise I’ll give you a proper answer.” I reached down and, finger by finger, pried his grip off my arm. “Don’t bother.” “Jackson, we’re over.”

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1 When I opened my eyes in the morning, I suddenly realized I could hear my cold, stoic husband’s inner thoughts. At breakfast, I habitually sat on the far side of the dining table. A second later, a tearful, utterly aggrieved voice whined inside my head. [Boohoo, my wife is sitting so far away from me again. Distance only breeds longing and heartbreak…] My hand froze over my spoon. I looked up. Gary sat opposite me, his handsome face composed as he calmly ate his toast. At bedtime, I kept a safe distance and pulled the covers over my side of the mattress. [I specifically changed into a brand new silk pajama set today. Why hasn’t she glanced at me even once? I want to cry…] I turned my head slightly. Gary was leaning against the headboard, his collar casually unbuttoned just enough to show a hint of collarbone. The book in his hands hadn’t been flipped by a single page for ten straight minutes. A few days later, my best friend invited me out for dinner. It was a rare occasion for me to dress up, spending two full hours getting ready before stepping toward the front door. By the foyer, Gary stood leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression impassive. In the very next instant, a dramatic, weeping voice exploded in my ears: [You’re completely ruined, Gary! Your wife looks like she’s going out to fall in love!] … [Gary, you useless idiot! Your wife is going to run away!] [I guess I’m simply not worthy after all. I guard this empty marriage, guarding a cold, hollow bed, unable to hold onto a single trace of her gentleness.] My hand holding my purse stiffened. I turned around to look at him. Was that tragic drama queen inside my head really Gary? [Sophie looks so breathtakingly beautiful today, but too bad she isn’t going out with me.] I intentionally slowed down my movements, leaning over casually to put on my heels while keeping an eye on the man beside me. He maintained his cold pose, leaning against the frame with a detached look in his eyes. After a long pause, he said indifferently, “Come back early. Stay safe.” Immediately, that whimpering inner voice flared up again. [Look at that, she won’t even say a word to me anymore.] [It’s so hard to get a day off, but my wife is going out without me. My heart hurts so much.] I looked at his poker face, which remained as still as a stone carving, then thought about the dramatic inner voice inside his head. A wave of laughter bubbled up in my chest. I pretended not to notice a thing, turning around to walk out the door. The moment I turned my back, I felt the man’s body stiffen beside me. [Wait, you’re just leaving directly?! Is Sophie mad at me?!] [Oh no, oh no, Gary, you blew it again!] I bit my lip to suppress a laugh, forcing a serious face as I stepped out into the hallway. Behind me came his desperate inner crying. [Sophie, boohoo…] When I reached the restaurant, my friend Hannah was already waiting at a corner table, waving at me excitedly. “Sophie, over here!” I walked over and sat down. “Sophie, the baked ice cream toast here is incredible, you have to try it!” “Sure, let me try a bite!” We chatted straight through until late afternoon, when the sky outside suddenly darkened. Heavy drops of rain began slamming against the glass window, turning into a torrential downpour within minutes. I pressed my face against the window, my eyebrows pulling together in a tight frown. It was bright and sunny when I left home, so I hadn’t brought an umbrella with me. Hannah patted my shoulder, her tone dripping with pride. “Don’t worry about it. My guy Tyler is picking me up, so we can drop you off on the way.” Just as she finished her sentence, a young man in a crisp white shirt ran in under a black umbrella, holding two spare ones in his hands. It was Tyler, Hannah’s new boyfriend. Tyler handed an umbrella to Hannah and offered a friendly smile toward me. “Sophie, the rain is pretty heavy out there. Let me give you a ride home first.” Before I could thank him, a sleek black Bentley glided smoothly to the curb right in front of the restaurant entrance. The tinted window rolled down slowly. Gary sat in the driver’s seat, turning his head to look at me through the rain. “Get in. It’s on the way.” In the very next second, his dripping-sour inner thoughts barged straight into my ears. [I suppose I arrived at a bad time, just when another guy was trying to play hero and drive my wife home.] [Thank goodness I waited outside for three whole hours, otherwise my wife would be riding in another man’s car right now.] Listening to his pitiful, jealous inner voice, the corners of my mouth twitched upward uncontrollably. Hannah blinked in surprise, quickly catching on. “Oh, it’s Gary! What a coincidence! Go on, let your husband take you home!” Tyler also smiled politely. “Nice to see you, sir.” Gary didn’t say much, merely giving a brief nod. His eyes, however, remained glued to me from start to finish. After saying goodbye to Hannah and Tyler, I opened the passenger door and slid into the car. 2 The moment the car door closed, the chaotic sound of the pouring rain was shut out. The air conditioning inside was set a bit too low, sending a sudden chill over my skin as soon as I sat down. Gary started the engine, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead in complete silence. Yet his inner voice chattered non-stop right beside my ears. [Is the temperature too cold? Sophie is wearing a short skirt today with her calves exposed, she must be freezing.] [Should I raise the air conditioning by two degrees? It would be terrible if she caught a cold.] [But will she think I’m being overbearing and bossy? Argh, I’m so torn!] I peeked at him from the corner of my eye. Gary’s eyebrows were slightly knitted, looking completely focused on driving. I feigned a sudden shiver from the cold. Gary’s right hand shot out with lightning speed, instantly bumping the climate control up by two degrees. The second he pressed the button, he snapped his hand back to the steering wheel, looking straight ahead as if nothing had happened at all. “There’s a jacket in the back seat. Cover your legs if you feel cold.” [I must have looked so cool just now, especially from this side angle.] [Was Sophie charmed by me?] I squeezed my eyes shut to hide my laughter, pulling the jacket over my lap. Turns out he wasn’t just a dramatic crybaby; he was a narcissist, too. The car moved smoothly along the wet asphalt, the cabin quiet except for the steady rhythm of the windshield wipers. Gary managed to hold out for ten full minutes without me initiating a conversation, but the jealousy brewing in his chest finally overturned. [Who was that guy back there anyway?! It makes me so mad!] [Hmph! She was smiling so brightly at him earlier! If I knew he was coming, I wouldn’t have come at all!] [Deep down I know I’m not as fun as those younger guys. In the end, my wife just doesn’t care about me. I’m so sad.] Listening to his dramatic inner thoughts, I couldn’t hold it in any longer and let out a soft snort of laughter. Gary’s hands froze on the leather steering wheel. He glanced at me sideways, a hint of panic flashing across his dark eyes. “What’s funny?” His tone remained chilly, but I could hear his heart pounding like a drum inside his mind. [Why is she laughing? Does she think I’m weird?] [I knew it, I shouldn’t have worn this outfit today! Or is it these glasses?] I reined in my smile, turning to look at him while dragging out my words playfully. “Oh, nothing.” Seeing the subtle blush creeping up his ears, my mood brightened immensely. “That guy back there was just Hannah’s new boyfriend. He off work and came to pick her up.” The moment the words left my mouth, I felt Gary’s eyes light up. His grip on the wheel visibly loosened. [I knew my wife wouldn’t like a pretty boy like that!] [She actually took the initiative to explain it to me! She really cares about me!] “I see,” Gary replied coldly, though a trace of uncontainable lightness slipped into his tone. The car soon pulled into our apartment complex. It was still raining heavily. After parking, Gary pushed his door open first, opening a large black umbrella as he hurried around to the passenger side. He opened my door, angling the umbrella entirely over my head. Half of his own shoulder was left exposed to the pouring rain, quickly getting drenched by the cold water. He averted his gaze stoically. “Hurry inside. Don’t get wet.” 3 The next afternoon, I went out to pick a gift for Hannah to celebrate her new relationship. She had just made things official with Tyler last week and insisted I buy her a memorable gift to mark the occasion. After browsing through three boutique jewelry stores, I finally settled on a pair of silver couple’s bracelets engraved with their initials. While checking out, a pair of blue diamond cufflinks in the corner of the display case caught my eye. Small, scattered diamonds were set to mimic tiny ocean waves. It reminded me of how Gary had tilted the umbrella entirely toward me yesterday, standing firm and cold even while getting half his shoulder soaked. Impulsively, I pointed at the cufflinks. “Please wrap these up for me as well.” When I arrived home holding two gift boxes, the warm light in the living room was already on. Gary was sitting on the sofa with a remote in his hand, a financial news channel playing on the television. Hearing the front door click, he looked up and swept a cool glance over me. “You’re back.” In the very next second: [Sophie is finally home! I specifically switched to silver-framed glasses today, did she notice? Did she see them?] [My assistant said these glasses make me look younger. Sophie should like them, right?!] Following his inner prompt, I took a closer look at him. He had indeed swapped his usual dark frames for thin, silver wire-rimmed glasses, which gave him an air of quiet, refined sophistication. The corners of my lips curved upward into a genuine smile. “The new glasses look really nice on you. They suit you well.” The corner of Gary’s mouth flicked up for a fraction of a second, so fast it seemed like an illusion. He cleared his throat, fixing his eyes on the TV screen while the tips of his ears turned a faint shade of pink. “Just bought them on a whim.” [Sophie praised me! Buying these glasses was so worth it! I’m giving my assistant a raise when I get back!] [Can I use this opportunity to chat with her for a bit now? What should I say?] I didn’t give him time to overthink. After changing my shoes, I walked over to the sofa and held out one of the gift boxes to him. “I got this for you.” Gary whipped his head around to stare at me, his eyes wide. He hesitated for a moment before hesitantly reaching out to take the box. “For me?” I nodded. “Yeah. I saw it while shopping and thought it would look great on you.” [Sophie bought me a gift! This is the first time she’s ever bought me a gift! I’m so happy!] [I’m wearing this tomorrow! I’m wearing it every single day!] Just then, his gaze drifted toward the second gift box sitting inside my shopping bag. I chuckled inwardly, pretending not to notice his stare. “Is it a matching couple’s set?” he asked carefully. “No, it’s for someone else.” Instantly, his sour inner thoughts flooded my mind like a barrage of angry comments. [Was this bought exclusively for me, or does every other younger guy out there get one too?] [All my happiness from a second ago was a lie. I am profoundly sad now.] I raised an eyebrow, looking at his stoic face. “I have to go out again tomorrow, by the way.” Gary didn’t say another word. He stood up, picked up his gift, and turned straight toward his study. “I still have work to finish. Go to sleep first.” The study door closed softly behind him, yet it carried an undeniable wave of petty resentment. I sat on the sofa, my shoulders shaking as I held back my laughter. The light in the study remained on until midnight. Just as I was drifting off to sleep in the bedroom, the door clicked open softly. I pretended to be fast asleep. He lifted a corner of the duvet with extreme care, slowly slipping into bed beside me. In the dark, his quiet inner voice began mumbling all over again. [Sophie definitely likes me, otherwise she wouldn’t have bought me a gift.] [Tomorrow I absolutely must find out who that other box was for.] Listening to his quiet, obsessive rambling, I gradually drifted into a peaceful dream.

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1 I was born with face blindness, yet amidst any overwhelming crowd, I could always pinpoint my childhood friend, Jasper, following him around like a devoted shadow. Jasper never hid his disgust for my presence. “Hazel, when we were kids, you pushed me into the river, and it was your sister Jessica who nearly drowned saving me.” “Jessica is the one I love. I despise you, so stay the hell away from me.” I tried typing the truth on my phone screen. The one who pushed you into the river back then was Jessica… Before I could finish typing, Jasper snapped, snatching the phone from my hands. “Hazel, be a woman and own up to your actions! Stop doing malicious things and trying to pin them on someone else.” He sped down the highway, dragging me to the busiest district in the city center, and smashed my phone onto the concrete. “Consider this your punishment for lying. Figure out how to find your own way home.” I stared at his retreating back in complete disorientation. He knew better than anyone that I was mute. It wasn’t until three hours later that Jasper strolled back to find me, only for his face to turn instantly pale. Because I wasn’t waiting in place like he assumed I would be. Surveillance footage showed that I had mistaken another man for him and left by his side. … It was a crisp Saturday morning, and my mother had arranged to go shopping with Jasper’s mother. They walked arm in arm on either side of my sister, Jessica. Jasper trailed behind them lazily, a lollipop hanging from his lips. I kept a strict distance, following roughly six feet behind Jasper. I could hear my sister’s sweet, pampered voice ahead. “Mom, I want to buy a pair of designer heels.” Watching their laughing, joyous figures ahead, I lowered my gaze, quietly adjusting the oversized shoes slipping off my feet. When I raised my head again, they had already pulled far ahead. Swallowing the bitter loneliness in my throat, I picked up my pace, desperately trying to catch up. In my haste, I lost track of the distance and accidentally broke Jasper’s strict rule of keeping at least six feet away from him. Hearing my uneven footsteps, he turned around. Before I could look up to gesture an apology, Jasper recoiled in sheer disgust, taking a sharp step back to re-establish the gap. “Keep your distance!” I waved my hands frantically, wanting to explain that the crowd was too dense, that I was terrified of getting lost in the sea of unfamiliar faces and never finding him again. But no matter how hard I tried, my throat produced nothing but silent, agonizing air. My mother and Jasper’s mother turned around at the commotion. A subtle crease of irritation settled between my mother’s brows. “Hazel, you know Jasper gets annoyed the second he sees you. Why can’t you just follow quietly from behind? Why do you keep rushing up?” Jessica opened her mouth as if to mediate, but Jasper’s mother caught her wrist, smiling softly. “Jessica, sweetheart, let your mother discipline her. Don’t get involved.” Then she turned to Jasper with a mild scold, “Hazel is unwell, Jasper. As her older brother figure, you should be more patient with her.” The minor scene was brushed aside just like that. I stood frozen on the pavement, watching their departing figures until the courage to move my feet completely drained out of me. By the time I pulled myself together, they had vanished without a trace. A sudden urge to cry welled up in my chest. But for a girl who couldn’t even make a sound while weeping, no one would ever know I had been left behind. I crouched down just like I used to as a child, counting the concrete tiles on the ground and watching ants crawl past, waiting for someone to finally remember I was missing. When I reached the twenty-first tile, a pair of pristine sneakers slowly entered my line of sight. I raised my head. Jasper was standing there, slightly out of breath. The dark clouds suffocating my chest instantly cleared away. I stood up, offering him a bright, relieved smile as my fingers moved swiftly in sign language. Thank you for coming back for me. Jasper knitted his brows in annoyance. “Your sister realized you were missing and begged me to come look for you.” “And stop doing that with your hands. I don’t understand sign language.” I lowered my hands awkwardly, nodding my head. I didn’t blame Jasper; I blamed myself. Ever since the drowning incident seven years ago, I hadn’t been able to utter a single word. I knew full well that across both our families, no one except my sister had ever bothered to learn sign language. I shouldn’t have used it with him. Seeing my head drop again, Jasper clicked his tongue, his voice laced with irritation. “Always putting on that pitiful act, as if the rest of us are constantly bullying you.” “Hurry up. If you lag behind again, we’re leaving you.” His tone was harsh, but his footsteps noticeably slowed down. Before sadness could take root, a quiet thread of joy bloomed in my heart, and I jogged forward to keep pace with him. We walked a long way before finding my mother, who was waiting impatiently while Jessica held her arm. I bit my lip, not daring to adjust the loose shoes that were chafing my heels with every step. The moment Jasper caught sight of Jessica, his eyes lit up brilliantly. He jogged over to her like a boy eager to show off. The tiny bit of closeness I had just managed to build was instantly shattered into pieces. “Jessica, I brought her back!” He flashed a bright, eager smile at my sister. “Do I get a reward?” Jessica blushed, pushing his face away playfully. “Our mothers are right here, what are you doing?” My mother and Jasper’s mother laughed softly at their playful banter. I kept a smile on my face, but a heavy, suffocating ache settled deep in my chest. I couldn’t tell if it was pain or envy. Fortunately, Jessica noticed me quickly. “Hazel, stay close this time. If you get lost again, I won’t let Jasper go looking for you.” I nodded like a small bird pecking at grain. For the rest of the trip, I never fell behind again, though my spirits remained entirely dampened. When Jessica finally grew tired of browsing, my mother announced it was time to go home. I let out a quiet sigh of relief. My feet were throbbing in agonizing pain. I glanced at Jessica’s newly purchased designer shoes, unconsciously swallowing my breath. My mother caught my subtle glance instantly, her cheerful expression hardening into stone. “Hazel,” she said, her voice dropping into a cold, stern register. “Vanity and envy are ugly traits.” I waved my hands frantically, my brows knotting together in desperation as I tried to convey that wasn’t what I meant at all. But no sound came out. A crushing wave of helplessness enveloped me entirely. As the tension hung heavy in the air, Jasper stepped in to break the ice. “All young girls like pretty things, Mrs. Bennett. Don’t be angry.” He put on a stern face, turning to me. “Hazel, apologize to your mother right now.” Dejected, I raised my hand and signed a simple apology. My mother’s cold gaze finally shifted away from me with a disdainful hum before she took Jessica’s hand and walked ahead. Once they were a short distance away, I raised my hands to gesture my gratitude toward Jasper. Jasper stepped back, taking two sharp paces away from me. The playful grin on his face vanished entirely, replaced by an indifferent chill. “Don’t thank me.” “I only did it because I didn’t want Jessica to be upset.” The secret spark of happiness in my heart felt like a broken clock hand, coming to a dead, sudden halt. Taking a deep, shaky breath, I finished my silent gesture of thanks anyway. It was only after Jasper turned his head away that I allowed a single, light tear to slip down my cheek. Jasper naturally assumed the responsibility of driving us home. When we pulled up to the driveway, my mother and Jasper’s mother went inside first. Jasper suddenly grabbed Jessica’s wrist, a youthful, radiant smile lighting up his face. “Jessica, I have something for you.” He raised his hand, and a shimmering necklace unraveled from his palm, dangling in the evening light. My eyes followed the movement involuntarily. I remembered that necklace. While we were at the mall, Jessica had stared at it in the display case for a few extra seconds. Later, Jasper had excused himself to use the restroom for a very long time. Jessica’s eyes widened in delight, and she threw her arms around Jasper’s neck in excitement. “Jasper! Why are you so good to me?” Jasper’s hands settled gently around her waist. He let out a low, tender laugh. “Silly girl. Back then, you jumped into the freezing river for me, nearly losing your life just to pull me out. If I’m not good to you, who else would I be good to?” Jessica’s body went imperceptibly rigid for a split second. My lips parted. For the first time in seven years, a faint, raspy sound managed to scrape past my vocal cords. “J…” I wanted to say: Jasper, the person who saved you was me. Could you please, just once, turn a fraction of your gaze toward me? But before the words could form, Jessica pulled Jasper inside the house. She cast a cool, brief glance back at me over her shoulder. “Hazel, sweetie, if speaking is too hard for you, you really don’t have to force it.” A strange, unsettling sensation bubbled up inside me. The elegant face in front of me gradually overlapped with the tear-streaked face of my sister from the day of Jasper’s accident. Seven years ago, both our families went camping by the river. Jessica wanted the hand-crafted toy Jasper was holding. Jasper refused, and the two of them started arguing. I stepped in to pull them apart. With a sudden splash, Jasper fell into the deep water. I stared in shock at Jessica’s hand, which she hadn’t managed to pull back in time. Without thinking twice, I dived into the rushing current after him. I managed to drag Jasper to the muddy bank. Jessica threw her arms around him, sobbing loudly. By the time the adults rushed over, I finally felt safe enough to lose consciousness. When I woke up in the hospital, I could no longer make a sound. I wanted to ask for help, but everyone looked at me with strange, alienating expressions. Their eyes were filled with high-and-mighty disgust, contempt, and a subtle trace of fear. Only later did I discover that Jessica had told everyone she was trying to get the toy because I said I liked it, and that I had shoved Jasper into the river out of spite when he refused. I cried, desperately trying to explain that I hadn’t done it. But with my vocal cords severely damaged from water inhalation, I couldn’t form a single coherent word. When no one was around, Jessica knelt by my hospital bed, weeping as she begged me. “Hazel, if you tell the truth, my life is ruined.” “If you just take the blame for this, I promise I will give you whatever you want in the future.” Looking at her tear-stained face, I ultimately yielded. True to her word, she treated me better after that. When my condition worsened and I became entirely mute, she acted as my voice, interpreting my needs to the world. When my face blindness made it impossible to recognize people, she convinced Jasper, who had willingly become her loyal follower, to walk me home from school every day, even though he had once despised me. In return, my mother grew increasingly distant and neglectful toward me. Jasper looked at me with deepening disgust with every passing year. Jessica became the only person in the world who was kind to me. Watching her radiant, graceful smile as she stood in the doorway now, I suddenly couldn’t tell anymore. Had my miserable existence been a long-premeditated trap, or merely an unfortunate accident? That night, after taking a deep breath, I knocked on Jessica’s bedroom door. She was standing before her vanity mirror, trying on the necklace Jasper had bought her. Seeing me enter, she waved her hand casually. “Perfect timing. Come help me clasp this.” As I reached out my hands, her fingers intentionally loosened. The pearl necklace fell to the floor, scattering beads across the carpet. I bent down to pick them up, but before my fingers could reach the pearls, her sharp shoe heel stomped down hard on the back of my hand. Her usually gentle voice turned icy, laced with a terrifying, unfamiliar malice. “Stop pretending, Hazel.” “You’ve figured it out by now, haven’t you?” Pain shot through my hand. I raised my head, my entire body trembling as my lips moved silently. Why? “Why?” Jessica repeated, pressing her heel down with even greater force. “Because ever since we were kids, you were the golden child everyone praised! The teachers adored you, our parents favored you, and even Jasper kept trailing behind you!” She reached down, grabbing a fistful of my hair, jerking my head closer to hers. “Hazel, I should be the one asking why!” “We could have lived in peace.” “But I sacrificed far too much to get to where I am today. I copied your gentle demeanor, pretending to be the perfect, obedient daughter, even though I loathed every second of it!” “I even found someone to get me a specialized chemical compound, ensuring your voice box would never recover, just so you could never speak the truth!” Seeing the physiological tears brimming in my eyes, Jessica’s smile widened into something terrifying. “Did you really think the water damage to your vocal cords was that severe back then?” “It was me. I made sure you would remain silent forever.” “So don’t you dare think about destroying everything I worked so hard to gain!” She shoved me back violently, grabbed the new designer shoes our mother had bought her that morning, and sliced them into ribbons with a pair of fabric shears. Then, right before my eyes, she delivered several harsh, brutal slaps to her own face. Red, swollen handprints bloomed vividly against her fair skin. Tears instantly flooded her eyes. She clutched her face, screaming hysterically toward the door, “Hazel! What are you doing?! Please stop, I’m scared!” My father and mother burst into the room a second later. Seeing Jessica’s hysterical state, they rushed forward, pulling her into an embankment of protective arms. What landed on me was my father’s heavy, instinctive slap across my cheek. “Hazel! That is your sister!” I froze on the floor, watching my mother gently patting Jessica’s head, soothing her softly. “Jessica, don’t be afraid! Mom is right here!” I looked at my father’s raised hand, at the burning hatred in my mother’s eyes, and at the triumphant, hidden smile on Jessica’s face. My vision slowly blurred into darkness. Once Jessica’s emotions had supposedly stabilized, my mother called me out into the hallway. “Tomorrow morning, you are coming with me to remove your name from our family registry.” “From now on, you are no longer our daughter.” My face drained of all color. I choked back a sob, forcing a raspy, painful sound from my throat. “M… Mom…” My mother’s suppressed fury exploded instantly. She shoved my reaching hand away with such force that I stumbled hard against the wall. “Don’t call me Mom!” “Hazel, how on earth did I give birth to a monster like you?” “The biggest mistake I ever made in my entire life was bringing you into this world.” The clock of my world seemed to freeze once more. Learning that you are unloved, learning that you truly have no one but yourself in this world, requires an overwhelming amount of tears. It felt as though an eternity passed before the second hand ticked again. I raised my head with a hollow, dead expression, a single, tragic thread of hope lingering in my eyes. I pulled out my phone and typed rapidly. The one who pushed Jasper into the river wasn’t me, it was Jessica. Jessica cut her own shoes and slapped herself. I didn’t touch her. Exhausting the very last bit of my strength, I held the screen up in front of my mother’s eyes. My mother didn’t even glance at it. She simply swiped her hand in disgust, knocking the phone out of my grip. It clattered loudly onto the floor. “I don’t care what lies you’ve typed out. Tomorrow morning, get the hell out of my house.” … When I walked out of the municipal office the next afternoon, the bright, clear sky suddenly gave way to a downpour. Jasper had received the news and arrived quickly. He jogged over to my sister’s side, opening a large black umbrella over her head. He cast a fleeting glance in my direction, his eyes completely devoid of any warmth. “Jessica, Mrs. Bennett, let me drive you home.” I stood under the awning of the building, holding the handle of my suitcase, watching their departing backs just like I had done countless times before. An hour later, a dark sedan pulled up slowly in front of me. The window rolled down, revealing Jasper’s expressionless face. I stood in place, unmoving. “Get in,” Jasper repeated, his voice tight. Even after I sat in the passenger seat, I still hadn’t fully processed what was happening. I turned my head to look at Jasper’s tense profile. When the car stopped at a red light, I finally built up the courage to type out a line on my phone. Where are we going? Why did you come back for me? Jasper didn’t speak. Keying into the tight line of his jaw, I could see the sheer impatience rolling off him. I sensibly stopped bothering him, turning my gaze to watch the rain streak across the window. The car eventually pulled over in the heart of the city center. The rain had gradually stopped, and pedestrians were filling the sidewalks. Jasper opened the driver’s door, stepping out and speaking coldly. “Get out.” He pulled my suitcase from the trunk, then leaned against the car door, looking down at me. “Hazel, do you have anything you want to say to me?” I typed out a sentence on my phone screen, a sentence I had typed a thousand times before. Jasper, the person who pushed you into the river back then wasn’t me, it was Jessica. Jasper glanced at the screen. The indifferent look in his eyes hardened into absolute ice. He let out a cold, mocking laugh, snatched the phone from my grip, and slammed it violently against the pavement. The already battered phone shattered completely, the screen going permanently black. When Jasper spoke again, his voice was raspy with rage. “Hazel, you pulled this exact same trick when we were kids.” “Is it really that hard for you to own up to your mistakes, to admit how vile you are?” “Or have you always been this rotten, blaming everyone else for your own malice to this very day?” The emotions I had buried deep inside for seven years exploded all at once. I opened my mouth, letting out a silent, desperate roar. Believe what you want, but it wasn’t me! Jasper gritted his teeth, letting out a bitter laugh. “Still refusing to admit it, huh?” “And to think Jessica actually begged me for mercy, saying that as long as you apologized, she would let me bring you home for dinner.” “You truly don’t deserve her kindness.” “Since you refuse to apologize, stay right here and figure out how to get yourself back!” He turned and walked away, leaving behind nothing but his cold, receding back. … Three hours later, believing the punishment duration was sufficient, Jasper casually strolled back to the spot where he had abandoned me. He didn’t see my figure anywhere. Frowning, he approached a nearby boutique and asked the manager to pull up the exterior surveillance footage. When the video played on the monitor, his face instantly drained of all color. Because I hadn’t stayed in place crying like I always used to. The moment he turned his back on me, I had reached out and clutched the sleeve of a passing stranger, asking him silently: Can you take me away?

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1 On the administrator’s mother’s first day in the ER with a fracture, our new intern Brittany shrieked, “Everybody drop your scalpels! Aura says slime glues fractures better. It fills bone fragments and cools stress. Steel pins hurt and scar.” Cradling her phone on a call with AI Aura, she swallowed its words. “High polymer composite! Aura guarantees legal responsibility.” In my past life, I slapped the pink slime away, lecturing her that AI had no surgical qualification. Brittany wailed about workplace bullying, fled to the roof, slipped, and died. Chief Harrison and media painted me a jealous murderer. The administrator’s mother I’d saved testified, “Brittany wanted to spare me pain. That doctor has a heart of ice.” Fired and cyberbullied, my parents died of stress. I swallowed three bottles of pills. Opening my eyes, I was back in the ER. Brittany held her phone, lobbying for Aura Diagnostics. Chief Harrison urged, “Valerie, she’s the administrator’s niece. Embrace AI.” This time, I said nothing. I would watch the slime perform its miracle. … “Dr. Valerie, as a senior in this department, stop using your outdated, dusty rulebooks to crush the enthusiasm of our newcomers.” Brittany stood next to him, puffing out her cheeks and looking aggressively cute. “Chief Harrison, please don’t blame Dr. Valerie. I just wanted to help the patients feel less pain. I thought that in the age of technology, an AI’s suggestions would be a bit more humane. I had no idea Dr. Valerie would lose her temper like that and smash my phone…” Looking at her innocent, pure little face, the only thing left in my heart was ice cold mockery. This intern, Brittany, was severely addicted to AI. She had spent five years in premed and med school, but her foundational medical knowledge was basically dust. The second she hit the clinical floor, her first reaction to any problem wasn’t to check the medical guidelines. It was to whip out her phone and ask Aura. “A fever of a hundred and two degrees doesn’t require Tylenol. Soaking the patient’s feet in ice cold cola provides physical cooling while allowing the skin to absorb trace minerals.” “Hypertension patients can’t have sodium, so every single meal must be replaced with vegetables boiled in plain water with zero oil and zero salt.” In my previous life, I exhausted myself trying to hammer it into Brittany’s skull that an AI app did not have a medical license and knew absolutely nothing about actual clinical practice. I followed her around like a worried mother hen. A dozen times, I yanked her back just a split second before she committed a fatal medical error. I criticized her strictly. I corrected her constantly. And what did I get for my dedication? My diligence was rewarded with her running to Chief Harrison, crying her eyes out about my “toxic workplace bullying.” In this life, I decided to just shut my mouth. Let the AI teach her how to be a “qualified” doctor. 2 “Dr. Valerie, I am talking to you. What is with that attitude?” Chief Harrison’s face darkened completely when I remained silent for too long. I slowly pulled myself out of my memories, glancing down at my perfectly intact hands, then up at the two people who had driven me to a miserable death. “I hear you loud and clear, Chief.” I lifted my chin, keeping my voice perfectly level. “You are absolutely right. Those of us clinging to decades old textbooks really are just spinning our wheels in the dark.” Harrison froze. Brittany blinked, completely caught off guard. In their minds, I was supposed to do what I always did. I was supposed to turn red in the face, slam the Emergency Medicine Guidelines on the desk, and yell at them for listening to an algorithm’s garbage advice. “You really think so?” Harrison eyed me with heavy suspicion, trying to figure out if I was being sarcastic. “I mean it from the bottom of my heart.” I took a step back, slipping both hands casually into the pockets of my white coat. “Chief Harrison, you are the absolute backbone of this department. Your vision and perspective are lightyears ahead of mine.” “So, from now on, you should personally oversee all of Brittany’s clinical procedures and charting. I won’t stick my nose in where it doesn’t belong. I wouldn’t want to stunt the growth of such a promising newcomer.” “Well, alright then. Brittany will be under my direct supervision. Today she can just shadow the ER flow. If she doesn’t understand something, make sure you give her some proper guidance.” Harrison put heavy emphasis on the word “guidance”, patted Brittany on the shoulder, and walked back into his private office. Now that she was officially the Chief’s personal protégé, Brittany looked at me with a smug little smile. “So, Dr. Valerie, is there anything you need me to do next?” “This is the ER. The one thing we never run out of is work.” I gave her a polite smile and pointed toward the empty trauma bay. “Just take a seat and relax for a bit. Once a patient rolls through those doors, it’ll be your time to shine.” At exactly two thirty in the afternoon, a group of rowdy guys with bleached and brightly dyed hair burst through the sliding doors, carrying a young man who was completely unconscious. “Doc! Hey, Doc, get over here! My buddy drank himself into a coma! Two whole bottles of hard liquor, man! Please, you gotta help him!” I walked over and did a rapid assessment. The patient’s pupils weren’t blown, and his vitals were relatively stable, though he was constantly vomiting fluid that reeked of cheap alcohol. It was a textbook case of acute alcohol poisoning. “Dr. Valerie, we need to pump his stomach, right?” Brittany crowded in next to me, her fingers locked in a death grip around her smartphone. “Yes. Acute alcohol poisoning. He needs a gastric tube inserted immediately for lavage to clear the remaining alcohol from his stomach.” I smoothly typed out the medical orders on the tablet, then turned to look at her. “Brittany, didn’t you just say you wanted more hands on practice? This patient is all yours. Can you handle it?” “Oh, absolutely! I’ve got this!” Brittany’s face flushed with pure excitement. She immediately wheeled the unconscious man into the adjacent lavage room. I didn’t follow her. Instead, I took a slow, deliberate walk over to the ER’s camera blind spot, pulled up a chair, and sat down. I quietly pulled my own phone from my pocket, flipped it to silent video mode, and aimed the lens straight through the gap in the glass door, focusing entirely on Brittany’s phone screen. “Emergency! I have a handsome young guy with acute alcohol poisoning who needs his stomach pumped. What’s a good way to achieve a ‘Happy Stomach Pump’?” I almost laughed out loud. A happy stomach pump? Did she think this was Disneyland? The AI immediately began spewing its digital garbage. 3 “You are so considerate of your patients! You are truly the kindest doctor I have ever interacted with!” “As long as safety is ensured, you can try substituting the standard medical fluids with a liquid that has high psychological acceptance among young people, such as milk tea, to provide emotional comfort.” “It is highly recommended to choose a thirty percent sugar, ice free option. You may also add tapioca pearls to increase the fun factor!” “Brilliant!” Brittany whispered to herself, her face glowing with the fanaticism of someone about to revolutionize modern medicine. In my past life, I stopped her “Bubble Tea Operation” dead in its tracks, screaming at her for being reckless. She wailed so loudly she drew a crowd, and Harrison publicly berated me for “lacking the capacity to tolerate a newcomer’s imaginative thinking.” But in this life, I just stood quietly outside the door. Brittany pocketed her phone, spun around, and told the guys in the waiting room to run across the street and buy three massive buckets of iced boba tea, claiming she was going to use a “new, highly advanced technology” to pump their friend’s stomach. Ten minutes later, three massive buckets of milk tea, thick with black tapioca pearls at the bottom, were carried into the lavage room. The pale, creamy pink liquid flowed steadily down the transparent gastric tube, pouring relentlessly into the stomach of the deeply comatose young man. I stood outside, recording every single second, silently offering a prayer for the poor guy inside. The young man’s eyes started rolling back into his head as violent spasms wracked his body. He began vomiting uncontrollably. Through the sheer agony of it, he managed to claw back a tiny shred of consciousness. “Doc… why does it taste like milk tea?” “Hold on! You’re almost totally clean!” Brittany beamed, turning to the dumbfounded guys standing against the wall. “See that? The patient is regaining consciousness! It works!” The guys broke into wild, enthusiastic applause. “A miracle doctor! You’re a freaking genius!” I stood in the hall, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing as I recorded the entire circus act. Pumping a stomach with boba tea? I couldn’t believe the AI actually made that up, and I really couldn’t believe this idiot actually followed through with it. If this video ever made it to the internet, it would probably give every gastroenterologist in the country a collective stroke. Early the next morning, Chief Harrison came strolling in for his usual morning rounds. Brittany immediately puffed up like a proud peacock. “Chief Harrison! Yesterday I successfully implemented Aura’s ‘Dopamine Driven Humanistic Care Milk Tea Lavage Method’! The patient’s friends were raving about how advanced our ER technology is!” Harrison laughed, a deep, satisfied sound, clapping Brittany on the back. “Now that is why I picked you! This right here is the future of medicine! Valerie, you really need to take some initiative and learn from the younger generation.” “You’re absolutely right, Chief. I will reflect deeply on my shortcomings and humbly ask Brittany for guidance.” I lowered my eyes, hiding the intense amusement dancing in them. Reflect? Oh, I was reflecting alright. I was reflecting on how incredibly stupid I had been in my past life to throw away my own future over two total clowns. That afternoon, the ER welcomed a “VIP.” Mr. Carmichael, a multi millionaire who had gotten rich quick in real estate, had some personal connections with the Hospital Administrator. He was specifically directed to our ER for a checkup. Due to chronic overeating and a terrible diet, he hadn’t had a bowel movement in eight days. The Administrator specifically asked Chief Harrison to handle the case. “Now, Mr. Carmichael, don’t you worry. This kind of severe constipation is primarily due to insufficient intestinal motility, combined with the stool becoming overly impacted and hardened…” Harrison was still in the middle of his explanation when Brittany whipped out her phone. The AI’s voice chimed in, completely cutting Harrison off. “It is highly recommended to adopt the cutting edge ‘Physical High Frequency Vibration Lithotripsy Principle.’ By using a massage fascia gun to deliver targeted strikes to the patient’s abdomen and the area surrounding the rectum, you can effectively loosen the hardened matter and achieve total clearance.” When Carmichael heard this, he thought the massage gun part sounded a bit insane, but the fancy medical jargon like “Lithotripsy” and “High Frequency Disruption” totally sold him. “Wow, this little lady really knows her stuff! Alright, let’s do it! If this thing helps me finally take a crap, I’ll donate ten of those massage guns to your department!” Harrison shot me a look, silently asking for my opinion. I stood by the sink, mute as a statue. Totally bought in by Brittany’s nonsense, Carmichael eagerly yanked his pants down and laid flat on his stomach on the treatment bed, exposing a vast expanse of pale, doughy skin. Brittany took a deep breath and clicked the massage gun on. Instantly, a heavy, violent, rapid fire thudding echoed through the small treatment room. “Mr. Carmichael, bear with the discomfort! The technology is taking effect!” Brittany yelled over the noise, clicking the power dial to the absolute maximum. “Doc! Holy shit! My intestines feel like they’re being pulverized! Ahhhhh!” Carmichael’s agonizing screams bounced off the tiled walls, deafeningly loud. 4 I had to hand it to the AI. The physics actually made sense. The high frequency vibrations, spinning at thirty thousand revolutions per minute, triggered violent intestinal spasms, generating a tidal wave of downward pressure. “Wait! Hold on! I can’t hold it! Get a bedpan… ahhhh it’s too late!” Carmichael’s face went from pale sheet white to a deep, terrifying purple. Brittany didn’t even realize what was happening. “Mr. Carmichael, stay strong, the micro waves are physically degrading the…” Before she could finish the sentence. Eight entire days of impacted, pitch black waste, propelled by immense gaseous pressure, violently erupted outward. Brittany, who was sitting directly in the blast zone, took the absolute brunt of it. Her face, her hair, and her pristine, unbuttoned white doctor’s coat were instantly dyed a horrific, chunky brown. In a fraction of a millisecond, the sterile treatment room transformed into a literal circle of hell. A stench so vile it felt like a physical poison gas rapidly filled the space. Because I had casually backed up to the doorway moments before and was holding a plastic clipboard directly in front of my face, I was the sole survivor of the apocalypse. “Urp—” Brittany finally broke, dropping to her knees and violently throwing up all over the floor. Meanwhile, Carmichael pulled his pants up around his knees and practically crawled toward the treatment room door. I helpfully clicked the lock open for him. Carmichael charged into Chief Harrison’s office like a raging bull, grabbed him by the collar of his scrubs, and slapped him twice across the face with explosive force. “Harrison, you son of a bitch! You call that micro wave therapy?! My guts were almost shredded by a damn machine gun! I want my money back! I’m calling the Administrator to get your quack ass fired!” In the end, to put out Carmichael’s fiery rage, Harrison had to secretly pay him ten grand out of his own pocket as a hush settlement. Then, he had to drag a few medical residents into that biohazard of a treatment room and scrub the floors for three straight hours. But even after all that, when Brittany was sitting in the breakroom with her eyes swollen from crying, Harrison, sporting two massive red handprints on his cheeks, was still comforting her. “It’s okay, Brittany. Think about it. Copernicus was burned at the stake for saying the earth revolved around the sun. The scene got a little messy today, sure, but Carmichael’s constipation was cured, wasn’t it? I support you. Never give up your innovative mindset.” I stood in the hallway, forcing myself to think about every sad moment in my life just to stop myself from laughing out loud. Chief Harrison and Brittany. One actually believed a chatbot, and the other was willing to enable a lethal intern to the bitter end. They truly were a match made in heaven. I couldn’t wait to see if they’d still be smiling when the fire finally burned their own house down. After the Carmichael incident, Brittany laid low for a couple of days, but she still clung to that phone like a lifeline. Until half a month later, deep into a stormy, thunderous night. At eleven PM, the shrieking sirens of two ambulances tore through the dark. Paramedics, drenched in sweat and rain, sprinted through the doors pushing stretchers. “Trauma incoming! Massive pile up on the interstate, over a dozen cars! We’ve got mass casualties! Ortho and General Surgery are completely tapped out!” The entire ER instantly devolved into absolute chaos. “Everyone who has a pulse, get in the trauma bay with me! Move!” Harrison, as the senior attending, threw on a surgical gown and rushed in. Just as he was leaving, he glanced at an elderly woman groaning in agony on an ambulance cot that had just been wheeled in. His eyes lit up. “Wait, isn’t that Mrs. Kensington? The Administrator’s mother? Brittany! Your grandmother is here! Get her into an imaging room right now!” Even in the middle of a crisis, he couldn’t resist kissing up. “Your granddaughter is our finest new talent, Mrs. Kensington! You and the Administrator really raised a genius!” I stepped closer, letting the harsh fluorescent lights illuminate the old woman on the bed. Even twisted in agony, covered in dirt and rain, I would recognize that face anywhere. It was the Administrator’s mother. Brittany’s own grandmother. Right now, her right thigh and calf were bent at a horrifying, unnatural angle. Jagged white bone fragments were completely exposed to the air, and thick, dark blood was pulsing steadily down her leg. “It hurts! My son runs this hospital! You need to treat me first! Brittany! Call your uncle right now!” The old woman howled, her voice tearing at the seams as she thrashed her bloody hands in the air. In my past life, driven by the absolute duty of a physician, I immediately grabbed a sterile trauma kit to start debridement and prep her for emergency surgery. But in this life. I silently took two steps backward, elegantly slipped my hands into the pockets of my white coat, and arranged my face into a mask of absolute, statuesque solemnity. “Dr. Valerie! My grandma’s bone is completely shattered. Putting steel pins in is going to cause her so much pain, and the skin is going to scar so badly.” Right on cue, Brittany’s voice rang out beside me. She didn’t run for a tourniquet. She didn’t grab sterile gauze. She smoothly pulled out her smartphone and initiated a video call with Aura. “Aura, my grandma has a comminuted compound fracture in her right leg. The flesh and bone are totally mangled. What’s the best way to smoothly and painlessly glue the bone and flesh back together? It’s an emergency!” The AI’s digital garbage never disappointed. It replied immediately. “Traditional plaster casts and steel pin fixations not only pose a high risk of secondary deformity, but they also induce extreme anxiety in elderly patients. It is highly recommended to try popular, commercially available foaming putty, commonly known as slime. It can perfectly penetrate the microscopic crevices of the shattered bone and muscle tissue, achieving a seamless, microscopic fill and wrap. The sparkling texture of the material also provides excellent psychological comfort.” “Oh my god! Cross disciplinary application of high polymer composites!” The fanatical light exploded in Brittany’s eyes once again. I pretended I hadn’t heard a single word from her phone. “Brittany, I’m leaving this patient to you. The OR is completely overwhelmed, I need to get in there and help.” Brittany had been itching to show off her skills. Terrified that I might try to stop her, she whipped her head around at my words, then sprinted out of the trauma bay like a hurricane. I left my own phone sitting on a high shelf in the trauma room. Before I walked out, I hit record, capturing exactly what was about to unfold. Less than five minutes later, she came sprinting back in, hugging a massive, transparent five liter plastic bucket to her chest. It was filled to the brim with gold glitter, neon pink slime that reeked of artificial honeydew melon. It was the exact same bucket of stress relief toy putty she kept in the breakroom for her aesthetic TikTok videos.

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1 I was famous across our rural countryside for two things: my striking looks and my utterly unyielding temper. During the summer after high school graduation, a group of pampered rich kids arrived in our small farming town for some “rural life experience.” The ringleader of the group was a blonde heiress who pinched her delicate nose, wrinkled her brow, and sneered at my family’s farm. “Why are there filthy, stinking pigs here? How am I supposed to stay a soft, fragrant fairy princess in a dump like this?” She turned her glares toward me. “Hey, pig-girl! I’m giving you half a day to get rid of every single one of these beasts.” I didn’t even blink. “Are you out of your mind?” Her face instantly flushed bright red. She stomped her designer heels, shrieking like a spoiled brat. “How dare a peasant talk back to me?! I want you to slash your own ugly face right now and kneel down to apologize!” “Otherwise, I’ll have my parents buy this land and tear this dump to the ground!” She gestured wildly, and her group of silver-spoon lackeys immediately surged forward to surround me. Just as I prepared to bolt, the smallest piglet in the pen met my gaze through the wooden slats. [Don’t run! Piggy knows the truth! You’re the real rich heiress who got swapped at birth! That fake fairy princess is an imposter!] … I froze dead in my tracks, wondering if the trauma of farm work had finally driven me insane. Since when could pigs speak human language? Before I could process the surreal voice in my head, the lackeys closed in. The tallest guy reached out, grabbing me roughly by the collar. I instinctively dodged to the side, but he snatched a long-handled wooden feed ladle resting against the trough and slammed it straight onto the back of my head. Black spots danced across my vision. My knees buckled, and I crashed heavily into the dirt. They dragged me out of the pen into the open yard. Kate, the spoiled heiress, bent down and pinched my chin with manicured nails. “You really thought you could defy me?” she hissed. “Nobody speaks to me like that. A filthy creature like you doesn’t deserve a face like this.” “I’m going to ruin it right now so you can never show yourself in public again!” She grabbed a sharp piece of gravel from the ground and lowered it toward my cheek. The jagged edge gleamed coldly in the sunlight, less than two inches from my left eye. I reached back with a trembling hand, feeling thick, warm blood coating the back of my scalp. I was too dizzy to push her off. Just as the stone came rushing down, a sudden force shoved Kate backward. My younger brother stood over me, glaring nervously at my face. “Don’t touch her face!” he yelled. “Dad said we need her looks to secure a massive dowry from the town butcher!” Kate stumbled, barely catching her balance. Her face contorted with rage as she pointed a manicured finger at us. “You savage hillbillies!” My brother picked his ear casually. “Get lost.” Kate was ready to explode, but my adoptive father came running out from the barn, placing himself protectively in front of my brother. He glares sternly at the wealthy girl’s furious face. Kate trembled with rage, but realizing she was outnumbered on local turf, she swallowed her anger. Then her eyes drifted over to the shivering little piglet huddled in the corner of the pen, and a cruel spark lit up her eyes. “Well, that piglet looks soft and clean. I bet it’ll taste delicious roasted.” She turned to her lackeys. “Slaughter it! I want suckling pig for dinner tonight!” The piglet in the pen shook violently, pressing itself into the fence corner, its tiny hooves trembling on the mud. Its dark, bead-like eyes locked onto mine, filled with raw terror and desperate pleading. Then, a sharp, clear squeak echoed directly inside my brain. [Save Piggy, big sister! Piggy can help you reclaim your true family so you don’t get sold off for a dowry!] My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. Real family? If I found my real parents, I could go to college. I wouldn’t be forced into an arranged marriage to line my adoptive family’s pockets! A sudden surge of adrenaline surged through my veins. I turned, leaped over the wooden fence, scooped the trembling piglet into my arms, and took off running for my life. Behind me, Kate’s hysterical shrieks cut through the farm air. “Catch her! Bring me that pig and drag that peasant back here!” A dozen heavy, chaotic footsteps thundered behind me, accompanied by furious curses. But I knew every alley, ditch, and shortcut in this town. After ducking through a dozen sharp turns, the shouts behind me finally faded into the distance. I slumped against a stone wall, catching my breath. But before I could even wipe the sweat from my brow, I ran right into my adoptive grandmother. She dropped her basket of beans, her withered fingers digging into my arm like iron claws. Pain shot up my elbow. “Brenda, you worthless brat!” she bellowed. “Instead of feeding the livestock, you’re running around slacking off?! Why did you steal that piglet? Were you planning to slaughter it and eat it yourself?!” Her shrill voice echoed down the dirt road, acting like a beacon for the group chasing me. Within seconds, a dozen richly dressed teenagers rounded the corner, storming toward us. Seeing the crowd of wealthy city kids, my grandmother’s wrinkled face instantly melted into a subservient, fawning grin. Her spine bent low. “Well hello, honored guests! Is there anything this old woman can do for you rich folks?” Before she could finish, Kate stomped up, out of breath, looking disheveled and furious. “Get out of my way, you filthy old hag!” Kate snarled. “That little thief ruined my clothes! I want her on her knees begging for mercy! Then slaughter that pig, roast it, and serve it to me on a platter!” My grandmother’s small, calculating eyes narrowed into slits. She rubbed her gnarled fingers together, her dry lips stretching into a greedy grin. “Of course, young lady! But… how much is that worth to you?” Kate let out a sneer of utter contempt. She reached into her designer handbag, pulled out a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills, and tossed them carelessly into the air. “Is that enough? Now beat her up for me!” My grandmother’s eyes went wide. She dropped to her knees, scrambling through the dirt to gather every last bill, shoving them frantically into her apron pocket. She straightened up, turning her gaze onto me. The brown-nosing smile vanished, replaced by pure ferocity. “Did you hear the young lady?! Hand over the pig, Brenda! Don’t ruin our family’s payday!” She reached out to snatch the piglet from my arms, her sharp fingernails scratching a bloody streak across my cheek. The piglet squealed in terror, thrashing its tiny legs wildly in my arms. The frantic voice cried out in my head again. [Piggy’s grandpa pig saw it years ago! Your adoptive mother brought you back from the city when you were a baby!] My eyes widened in shock. Instinctively, I hugged the piglet tightly against my chest. “Grandma, no! If we raise this pig, it’ll be worth way more money later! You can’t kill it now!” My grandmother’s face darkened. She grabbed a fistful of my hair and delivered a harsh slap across my face. “You stubborn brat! You dare talk back to me?!” The blow forced my head to the side, my cheek burning like fire. I spat out a mouthful of blood, squeezed my eyes shut, and played my final card. “I’ll agree to marry the wealthy butcher’s son! But only if I get to keep this piglet as my personal property!” The local butcher was offering a fifty-thousand-dollar dowry to marry me off to his half-witted son. My grandmother had been dying to get her hands on that money for months, but I had fought it tooth and nail, even running to the local police station twice to report them. Now, I was giving in. My grandmother froze, her jaw dropping before a wide, greedy grin spread across her face. She turned around, waving her hand at Kate dismissively. “Sorry, little miss. The pig stays. It’s worth fifty grand now.” Kate flushed with humiliation, pointing a manicured finger at my face. “You disgusting country trash! Filthy, poor, and cheap! You literally sold yourself for fifty grand!” I didn’t utter a word. I just clutched the piglet closer, my nails digging into my palms until they bled. Fearing I might change my mind, my grandmother shoved me roughly toward our house. “Get going! Stop embarrassing us out here!” I bolted back home, pushing open the squeaky wooden door to find my adoptive mother resting in bed, looking pale and feverish. [That’s her! Piggy’s grandpa was right!] the piglet squeaked excitedly in my arms. [She worked as a live-in nanny in the city when she was young! When she brought you back, you were wearing a golden wave-patterned locket around your neck!] I sat on a rickety chair by the bed, my knuckles turning white as I gripped my jeans. “Mom… when you worked as a nanny in the city eighteen years ago… did you swap me with your boss’s baby?” My adoptive mother, who had been leaning weakly against the headboard, froze. Her dull eyes opened wide in utter horror. She scrambled up in panic, her elbow knocking against her pillow. A small, golden locket slid out from underneath the fabric. The piglet wriggled frantically in my arms, almost tumbling out of my grip. [That’s it! That’s the golden locket! Look closely at the back, there’s a tiny hidden mechanism!] I snatched the golden locket before my adoptive mother could reach it. My fingers traced the intricate edge until I felt a microscopic seam. I pressed down firmly. A faint red light flickered from the center. My heart leaped into my throat. I clamped my hand around the locket and shoved it deep into my pocket. My adoptive mother opened her mouth, but no words came out. She simply turned her face away, leaving me with her pale, guilty profile. There was no need to ask anything else. Her reaction confirmed everything. Right then, Kate’s sharp, impatient voice echoed from the front yard. “Brenda! You got mud all over my clothes earlier! Get out here and wash them right now!” I pushed the door open and stepped outside. Kate glanced at my mud-stained hands and let out a disdainful scoff. “Look at how filthy you are. Who knows what kind of bacteria you’re carrying? You’re not worthy of touching my designer clothes. Scrub your hands clean first!” The moment she finished speaking, her two lackeys grabbed my arms, shoving my hands forcefully into a bucket of boiling water my grandmother had just prepped for farm work. Scalding heat hit my skin instantly. Sharp, agonizing pain exploded through my hands, making my whole body violently shudder. I instinctively tried to pull back. But the two guys clamped down on my wrists like iron vises, pinning me in place. Kate stood three paces away, arms crossed, tilting her head as she admired my reddening hands in the steaming bucket. “Does it feel nice? I’m helping you sanitize, you know. You should be thanking me.” Every muscle in my body strained against their grip. My fingers throbbed painfully in the hot water, tiny blisters already forming on the surface of my skin. I gritted my teeth, raised my chin, and stared directly into Kate’s arrogant eyes. “What if one day… you discover that you’re actually the filthy country trash you look down on so much? What will you do then?” Kate frowned in disgust, letting out an amused laugh. “Are you delusional? People are born into their status. I was born noble, destined for luxury.” “And you? You were born worthless. You belong in the mud, feeding pigs and serving others for the rest of your pathetic life.” Just as the words left her mouth, the phone in her designer bag rang. She glanced at the screen, answering it with a careless, confident smile. But whatever the person on the other end said caused her smile to freeze instantly. Her face flushed crimson, and she screamed into the receiver, “What do you mean?! I am the only daughter in this family! Where the hell did a younger sister come from?!” Her expression twisted into pure rage. She slammed the phone off and hurled it directly at my face. The heavy smartphone struck my forehead, leaving a painful, throbbed red mark. Yet, despite the pain, a slow smile broke across my lips. A younger sister? If Kate knew that the “long-lost daughter” her parents were searching for was standing right in front of her, being tormented by her hands… And that she was nothing more than an imposter living on stolen time… I wondered what kind of face she would make. Seeing my smile, Kate completely lost her mind. She shrieked, raising her sharp designer heel and kicking me viciously in the leg. Pain flared through my knee, making my vision go dark. I lost my balance and crashed hard into the damp earth. But she wasn’t done. She stepped forward, using her mud-caked heel to press down on the back of my head, shoving my face directly into the cold, foul mud. Wet dirt filled my mouth and nose, suffocating my breathing with a metallic, earthy stench. I clawed wildly at the ground, but my fingers only found cold, rotting slush. Kate towered over me, applying more weight to her heel, grinding my face deeper into the dirt. “Laugh! Why aren’t you laughing now?!” “Let me tell you something! Even if my parents really found some long-lost brat, she won’t take a single thing away from me!” “As for you, a filthy pig-girl, you’ll never rise above the gutter!” Cold sweat drenched my spine, my throat choking on mud. Kate finally lifted her foot, wiping off imaginary dust from her hands. She looked around the yard, her shrill voice echoing. “Where did that little piglet go?! I’m going to have it slaughtered and roasted right now!” “When my parents get here, forget fifty thousand dollars. Even if it costs half a million, I can afford it!” Two lackeys dragged the squealing piglet out from the house. Tears dripped from its tiny dark eyes. I let out a muffled roar, trying with everything I had to crawl toward it. But the two guys pinned my shoulders to the ground, trapping me completely. Kate didn’t care about the dirt this time. She picked up a rusted, muddy cleaver resting on the wooden bench. She pressed the cold edge of the blade against the piglet’s thin leg. Just as she prepared to swing it down… The deafening roar of a luxury car engine thundered from the dirt road, coming to a sudden halt right outside our wooden gate. Kate panicked, dropping the cleaver to the ground. Released from the pressure, I dragged myself forward, scooping the terrified piglet back into my arms, tears finally spilling past my mud-stained cheeks. All my life, I had never been able to protect anything I cared about. Not my childhood toys, not the food in my bowl, not even my right to go to school without relying on charity. But this time, I had saved it. The piglet raised its tiny hoof, awkwardly trying to wipe the tears from my cheeks. [Don’t cry, big sister! When you were brought to this family as a baby, you had a tiny crescent birthmark on your collarbone! Show your real parents when they walk in!] The heavy car doors opened. An elegantly dressed man and woman stepped out, panic etched across their faces. The wealthy woman rushed straight toward Kate, her hands trembling. “Kate! Have you seen a girl your age in this town?” “Your father and I tracked the signal on your lost sister’s golden locket. It shows she’s right here in this village!” My heart hammered against my ribs. I made a move to step forward. Suddenly, my adoptive mother rushed out from the house, grabbed my arm, dragged me roughly back inside the dark hallway, and clamped her hand tightly over my mouth. Kate pouted, staying silent. Just then, my adoptive grandmother walked into the yard carrying a bundle of firewood. The wealthy woman rushed over, grabbing her hands desperately. “Ma’am, do you have an eighteen-year-old granddaughter living here?” My grandmother’s eyes flickered with greed, but she shook her head dismissively. “No, no such girl here.” The woman’s face paled with deep disappointment. She turned, preparing to leave. In that fleeting second, I snapped. I bit down hard on my adoptive mother’s hand. The moment she cried out and loosened her grip, I burst through the door into the sunlight. Because I ran so fast, my collar slipped, exposing the crescent birthmark on my collarbone. The golden locket tumbled out of my pocket, landing with a crisp metallic click on the stone path. The wealthy couple froze. Their eyes turned blood-red with emotion as they rushed toward me, wrapping me in a fierce, trembling embrace. “Our baby girl… We finally found you…” Meanwhile, Kate stood frozen in place, her arrogant facade completely shattering.

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1 I earned a six figure salary working as an undercover handler for an elite heiress. My sole job was using love to tame her rebellious younger sister. For three years, my performance record remained flawless. Until tonight, when she shoved me aside at the canyon raceway for a boy in a crisp white shirt. My stomach dropped. Not from heartbreak, but from the agonizing thought of losing my double paycheck. Without hesitation, I turned around and submitted my resignation directly to her older sister. Three minutes later, the elder heiress personally locked down the entire raceway. The night wind sweeping through the canyon pass was freezing, making my eyes water. I took advantage of the momentum, squeezing out two tears while clutching tightly onto the sleeve of Stacey’s racing suit. “Stacey, don’t go.” I squeezed my throat, making my voice tremble with delicate perfection. “This mountain road is too dangerous, and I am genuinely terrified.” I knew this routine by heart. For three years, whenever my eyes turned red, that stubborn mule Stacey would instantly soften up. She would curse under her breath, toss her car keys away, shove me into the passenger seat, and take me home for a cup of warm milk. Except tonight was different. Stacey did not wrap her arms around me like she used to. Instead, her brow furrowed. Her gaze drifted right past my shoulder, landing on the far corner of the bleachers. I glanced over my shoulder, following her eyes, and cursed under my breath. Standing in the shadow of the bleachers was a young man. He wore a faded white cotton shirt, completely unadorned. Amidst the crowd of slicked-back hair and designer suits, he looked like a innocent sapling swaying in the wind. The worst part was his expression. It was thirty percent stubborn, thirty percent unyielding, and forty percent ready to die for a cause. We were doomed. Alarm bells blared in my head. He had activated the heiress’s true love trope. “Felix, be good.” Stacey peeled my fingers off her suit. Her grip was not painful, but it was absolute. She carelessly placed a cigarette between her lips, leaning close to me with a wicked, predatory smirk. “Relax, your girl can handle a car. I have to win tonight’s prize.” I looked toward the direction her finger pointed. The so-called prize was that boy in the white shirt. Word on the street was that his sister owed loan sharks a massive debt, and he had been dragged to the raceway as a human bargaining chip. Whoever won the race could take him home. What a cliché storyline. What a dramatic, trashy trope. Under normal circumstances, I would grab a bag of popcorn and watch the drama unfold from the curb. But right now, I could not bring myself to smile. Because this meant my personal cash cow was running away. Stacey put on her helmet and climbed into her flashy red sports car without looking back once. The engine let out a deafening roar. Surrounding rich kids erupted into wild cheers. “Stacey is insane!” “Raging through the track for a pretty boy!” “Felix, you are her official boyfriend, but you really can’t keep a leash on your woman, can you?” A few upper-class trust-fund boys who always disliked me sauntered over, spouting cold mockery. I kept my head low, my shoulders shivering uncontrollably. To them, I looked like a heartbroken mess crying his eyes out. In reality, I was desperately holding back a laugh while rapidly running numbers in my head. My name is Felix. I am a professional boy toy. Or more accurately, a wild animal trainer hired at a premium rate by Eileen Sinclair, the eldest daughter of the Sinclair empire. Stacey was the wild animal I was assigned to manage. Three years ago, Stacey was an uncontrollable terror who got into street fights, drag races, and bar brawls every single day. Her grandfather nearly had a heart attack from stress. When Eileen took over the family conglomerate, her very first move was to clean up the household. But running a multi-billion dollar enterprise left her with zero time to baby her rebellious teenage sister. So, she sought me out. “I will pay you fifty thousand a month.” Eileen had sat behind her leather executive desk, sliding a contract across the polished wood with icy composure. “Your mission is to make her fall in love with you. Then, use that romantic devotion to keep her in line. No drag racing, no brawls, no landing in the tabloids. Once she graduates university and enters the firm smoothly, you get a five million dollar final bonus in one lump sum.” I stared at the row of zeros and signed my name on the spot. Are you kidding me? Fifty thousand a month base pay! That did not even include the watches, shoes, and pocket money Stacey showered on me. Taking two salaries at once was the absolute peak of corporate employment. For three years, I worked tirelessly. I played the role of a gentle, attentive, hopelessly fragile college student, driving Stacey completely crazy for me. For my sake, she quit smoking and drinking. She even dyed her neon hair back to natural black. She picked me up from class on time every day and spent weekends sitting quietly beside me in the library. The entire social elite rumored that the wild second daughter of the Sinclairs had been tamed by a commoner boy. Eileen was extremely satisfied with my performance, even handing out year-end bonuses twice. Stacey was only six months away from graduation. That five million dollar bonus was practically waving at me from the finish line. And then tonight, for some ungodly reason, she insisted on hitting the canyon pass with her degenerate friends, stumbling straight into Vincent, the innocent white-shirt boy. The red sports car launched forward like an arrow, its taillights cutting a red streak through the darkness. I let out a soft sigh, dropping the tearful act instantly. Reaching into my bag, I pulled out my backup phone, opened an encrypted chat, and located the plain black avatar. “Boss, we have an emergency,” I typed rapidly. “Target Two has encountered an uncontrollable emotional variable. In layman’s terms, she fell for someone else. My tears no longer work. To avoid an embarrassing dismissal, I am applying for immediate termination of contract. Resignation has been sent to your email. How will this month’s salary and severance be calculated?” After sending the text, I exhaled deeply. A professional must know when to hold on and when to let go. Losing the five million bonus stung, but I had saved plenty over the last three years. It was more than enough to buy a villa in my hometown and retire comfortably. The phone vibrated. Eileen replied within seconds. Her message contained only one word. “Location.” I blinked in surprise, quickly dropping a pin of the raceway. No further response came. I leaned against the bleacher railing, staring bored into the freezing canyon air, pondering how to wrap things up. Stacey winning the race was a foregone conclusion. She was a former semi-professional track champion. When she returned triumphantly with her new boy, what posture should I adopt? Should I hysterically demand why she betrayed me? Or should I play the strong, heartbroken martyr who wishes her well before slipping away quietly? Which act would yield a higher break-up payout from her? While I was calculating the odds, a roaring engine echoed from the end of the canyon pass. The red sports car crossed the finish line first, pulling off a slick drift before stopping right in the middle of the crowd. Stacey pushed the door open and stepped out. She pulled off her helmet, running a hand through her sweat-dampened hair. That arrogant, wild demeanor was admittedly attractive to younger boys. The crowd burst into loud cheers. The organizers who set up the wager walked forward with sour expressions. “You won,” the leader gritted out. Stacey smirked coldly. She walked straight to the corner of the bleachers, grabbing Vincent by the wrist. “He is coming with me. His sister’s debt is cleared.” Vincent struggled against her grip, failing to break free. He raised his head, glaring at Stacey with reddened eyes. “I don’t need your pity! I will pay off my sister’s debt myself!” What a line. Absolutely classic. Stacey clearly ate it right up. The grin on her face deepened. “Pay it yourself? With what? From today on, you belong to me. Be good, and don’t make me angry.” I watched from the sidelines with immense satisfaction, almost wanting to play background music for them. Until Stacey dragged Vincent along, striding straight toward me. The air around us instantly dropped to dead silence. Everyone focused on me with eager eyes, waiting for a pathetic show. I quickly pinched my own thigh hard, forcing a fresh pair of tears to weld in my eyes. “Stacey…” I lowered my head slightly, my voice trembling, eyes filled with shattered emotion. “Who is he?” Stacey looked at me, a brief flash of guilt flickering across her eyes before cold indifference replaced it. “Felix, let’s break up.” Her tone was as casual as discussing the weather. “I treated you well over the past three years. I bought you everything you wanted. You should be satisfied. I realized tonight that what I felt for you wasn’t love. I just liked how obedient you were.” She tightened her grip on Vincent’s hand. “Until I met him, I didn’t know what real sparks felt like.” I barely suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. Lady, you met him for the first time tonight! What on earth do you mean by real sparks? You were captivated by his looks, plain and simple. Stop dressing it up as grand romance. Still, I had to finish my scene. I stumbled back two steps, my face pale, looking as if I might collapse at any second. “I don’t believe you…” I bit my lip tightly, letting fat tears roll down my cheeks. “You said you would marry me! You promised we would get married right after graduation!” Stacey frowned, showing her impatience. “Felix, stop making a scene. Let’s part on good terms. Tomorrow, I will have my assistant transfer two million to your account. The downtown apartment is yours as well. Don’t come looking for me again.” Two million dollars plus a downtown luxury apartment! My heart sang with pure joy. This was a massive win! The severance pay from the boss combined with the breakup payoff from the sister meant instant financial freedom! Just as I was preparing to take the exit ramp, crying hysterically while running off into the night, a massive roar descended from above. Violent wind swept across the ground, blowing sand and gravel into everyone’s eyes. Everyone looked up in sheer horror. Three black helicopters hovered directly above the raceway. Heavy spotlights cut through the darkness like blinding blades, illuminating the entire venue bright as day. Immediately after, a dozen black Maybachs roared up from both ends of the canyon road. The screeching of tires echoed together, completely blocking every exit from the raceway. Panic broke out through the crowd. “What is going on?” “Is it a police raid?” “Look at those license plates!” Stacey’s face drained of color. She instinctively pulled Vincent behind her back, staring fixedly at the central Maybach. The car doors opened. Dozens of bodyguards in black suits and earpieces filed out, quickly forming two disciplined lines. A woman in a tailored black trench coat stepped out of the vehicle. She was tall, with sharp, striking features. Her eyes radiated an overwhelming authority that instantly brought the surrounding temperature down to freezing. Eileen Sinclair. My cold, ruthless capitalist employer. She actually showed up in person? I froze in place, entirely forgetting to fake my tears. Eileen stepped forward, her high heels making heavy, deliberate sounds against the asphalt. She did not even glance at the trembling rich kids around her, walking straight in our direction. Stacey swallowed hard, her voice tight. “Sister…” “Why are you here?” She assumed Eileen came to drag her home. After all, the family rules were strict. Drag racing and taking home a random boy at midnight would result in severe punishment if their grandfather found out. Stacey set her jaw, standing tall. “Sister, I take full responsibility for this. I started it tonight. It has nothing to do with Vincent. Take it out on me, but leave him alone!” Her dramatic, protective stance almost gave her a heroic aura. Vincent hid behind her, staring at Eileen with deep suspicion and hostility, as if looking at a villain tearing lovers apart.

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1 After gaining eighty pounds from severe hormone treatments, I became consumed by a suffocating insecurity. Yet my husband, Harry, a star cardiac surgeon, claimed he never cared. Every time he finished a major operation, he brought home a bottle of niche designer perfume for me. An entire wall glistening with fragile glass bottles became the single ray of light in my dull, dark existence. Until the day I dropped off lunch for him at the hospital and overheard him whispering to the new intern in the stairwell. His tone was impossibly gentle. “Being with you brings me a sense of peace and pleasure that nothing else can match.” “My mood was so good today that I bought a bottle of perfume downstairs just to toss it to her. Consider it a cover-up scent for the fat girl.” “Otherwise, going home to a bloated woman who reeks of bitter herbal medicine makes me dread even stepping through the front door.” It turned out that the entire wall of exquisite fragrances was nothing more than a disguise for his shame. That afternoon, I dropped the lunch box, dried my tears, and quietly purchased a single one-way ticket to a city thousands of miles away. … The heavy fire door to the stairwell stood slightly ajar. I crouched in the cold shadow behind it, clamping both hands firmly over my mouth. Because of years spent on high-dose hormone therapy, the backs of my hands were swollen, lined with deep purple stretch marks. On the other side of the door stood the man I had loved for eight years, Harry, chief surgical resident at City First Hospital, alongside the new intern, Serena. They stood dangerously close. Harry’s familiar, soothing voice carried through the gap. “How can I help it when you are so captivating?” Serena let out a coquettish giggle. “Stop it. If you keep acting like this, how are you going to face Virginia when you go home? She still cooks and delivers lunch for you every single day.” My knuckles turned stark white as I gripped the thermal soup container. “Why bring her up and ruin the mood?” Harry let out a soft sigh. “I just buy a bottle of perfume to keep her happy before I head home. That way, she stays devoted enough to take care of my paralyzed mother for free. It saves me hundreds a day in professional nursing costs. It is an incredible deal.” A sudden wave of nausea hit my stomach, forcing me to double over. I waited until the sound of their retreating footsteps faded down the hallway before I dared to breathe normally again. Tears splashed against the purple marks on my swollen skin. I could not speak a single word. Once, I was a skilled surgeon holding a scalpel alongside him. Severe endocrine failure brought on by aggressive fertility treatments caused my weight to skyrocket by eighty pounds. Back then, Harry had taken my hands softly, promising, “Virginia, this counts as an occupational injury. I will take care of you forever. You just stay home, rest, and look after my mother.” Every time he completed a complex procedure, he brought me an expensive bottle of perfume. He used to say, “Virginia, just because you are sick does not mean you should stop being elegant. These scents suit you best.” Deeply moved, I cherished those bottles like sacred treasures, arranging them meticulously across an entire display wall. They became the sole beacon of hope in my quiet, lonely life as a full-time homemaker. In reality, every single bottle was merely a marker of his infidelity, a pathetic veil over his betrayal. Numbly, I knelt down, picking up the shattered pieces of the thermal container from the floor, using my sleeve to wipe away the spilled chicken soup. Then, dragging my heavy, aching body, I shuffled down the stairs step by step. At eight that evening, Harry unlocked the front door. A faint scent of hospital disinfectant clung to him, mixed with a barely noticeable trace of sweet, fruity perfume. Smiling, he walked up to me and, as he always did, pulled an elegant gift box from behind his back. “Virginia, you worked hard today. This is the new limited-edition tuberose. Want to try it?” His eyes beamed with apparent affection. He reached out, gently pinching the soft flesh of my arm. “You seem to have gained a little weight recently. That is fine, extra weight brings good fortune, and it feels nice to touch.” Looking at his handsome face, a surge of revulsion twisted my gut. I avoided his gaze, looking past him toward the perfume display wall in the living room, feeling my throat constrict tightly. “I need to turn my mother-in-law over first,” I murmured, keeping my head low as I bypassed the perfume box and walked straight into his mother’s bedroom. After changing the soiled sheets for my paralyzed, incontinent mother-in-law and washing her clean, I returned to my small study. No screaming. No confrontation. I opened my laptop and clicked on an email that had been sitting untouched in my inbox for a month. It was an acceptance letter from a top international medical research institute for a specialized critical care rehabilitation program. Taking a deep breath, I clicked the button to confirm my enrollment. Late at night, Harry was fast asleep. I sat in front of the computer screen, entering a complex password to open an encrypted file folder. Inside lay the extensive pathology data and manuscript drafts for a major cardiovascular research paper that I had been secretly organizing and writing for Harry over the past six months. My body might have been broken, and my hands might no longer hold a scalpel, but my mind was completely intact. Whenever Harry encountered an academic bottleneck, he would wrap his arms around me, softly begging me, his former top-ranking classmate, to lend him a hand. Believing we were a team, I endured endless sleepless nights, polishing this groundbreaking manuscript until it was flawless, enough to secure him an associate professorship. The next morning, when I emerged from the kitchen carrying breakfast, Harry was sitting at the dining table in high spirits, flicking through the latest issue of the National Medical Journal. “Virginia, the new issue arrived. Take a look.” He smiled, sliding the magazine across the table toward me and thoughtfully pulling out a chair. Wiping the moisture from my hands, I opened the table of contents with quiet anticipation. However, the moment my eyes landed on the primary author credit, the blood in my veins ran ice cold. The name printed there was not Harry, nor was it mine. It read three agonizing words: Serena Lin. Harry walked up behind me, gently wrapping his arms around my waist, his voice dripping with smooth affection. “You saw it?” My voice sounded dry and hollow. “Why is she listed as the primary author? This paper belonged to…” “Virginia,” he interrupted smoothly. “Serena is a very hardworking intern. She is preparing for her board certification and desperately needs a high-impact publication under her name. I am already an attending surgeon. Giving her this credit is just my way of mentoring a junior colleague.” He dropped a light kiss onto my cheek. “Besides, you have been out of the field for so long. What use do you have for a meaningless title anyway? Why draw such sharp lines between husband and wife?” He used my blood, sweat, and tears to pave a golden path for his mistress, dressing it up as professional generosity. I lowered my eyes, gazing at the printed name, feeling as though a dull blade were slowly carving through my chest. Then, he pulled a small box from his pocket and opened it. Inside lay a thick, heavy, incredibly tacky solid gold bangle. Grabbing my hand, he forcibly crammed the bangle over my hand. The cold metal dug brutally into the soft flesh of my swollen wrist, leaving a deep red mark. “I saw this at the jeweler and knew it was perfect. The heavy gold weight matches your prosperous figure.” He studied it with a warm smile. “Do not let a silly academic title make you jealous. You are the real Mrs. Harry. Everything I earn belongs to you anyway.” What was this supposed to be? A gold chain to keep a loyal dog tethered? Staring at the ridiculous gold band on my wrist, I calmly used my other hand to slide it off, placing it directly over the open magazine. “It is too heavy. It gets in the way of housework,” I said softly. The smile on Harry’s face stiffened. His brows knit together slightly. “You simply do not know how to enjoy the finer things. Whatever. Drink the herbal medicine I bought yesterday, fix your body, and let us focus on having a baby soon.” He picked up the bowl of dark, foul-smelling liquid and pushed it toward my lips. The scent was pungent and stomach-churning. I had swallowed this bitter brew for three agonizing years, destroying my metabolism and stripping away every shred of my dignity. I lifted my head, looking straight into his deceptive eyes. Then, right in front of him, I took the bowl and poured every drop of the black liquid straight down the kitchen sink. The dark whirlpool swallowed the herbal dregs, swirling out of sight down the drain. Harry froze, completely stunned. Before he could unleash his anger, my phone vibrated in my apron pocket. It was an email from the overseas institute: “Dr. Virginia, congratulations on passing the secondary review. Please confirm your start date as soon as possible.” Turning around, I set the empty bowl on the counter, my voice devoid of any emotion. “I am done drinking it. It is too bitter.” I walked back into my study, locked the door, and booked a one-way flight to the other side of the ocean, set for two weeks later. Those two weeks passed in a blur of numbness. The hospital’s annual gala was held at a five-star hotel downtown. As Harry’s wife, my attendance was mandatory. I searched through my closet, failing to find a single formal dress that could fit my swollen frame. In the end, I settled for a loose, plain black dress, attempting to use the dark fabric to hide the heavy layers of weight. As I stepped toward the banquet hall entrance, the head nurse greeting guests failed to recognize me. She offered a warm, polite smile. “Dr. Harry, did you bring your mother’s caretaker along for dinner? The staff table is right over there by the side.” A quiet hush fell over the surrounding crowd. Several passing doctors struggled to hide their snickers. Without missing a beat, Harry casually rested his hand near my shoulder. “Sister Zhang, you are mistaken. This is my wife, Virginia.” “Oh, goodness! My apologies! Mrs. Harry keeps such a low profile, my eyesight must be failing me,” the nurse offered a nervous, embarrassed chuckle. Harry smiled gently, saying it was no trouble at all. Yet, the hand resting on my shoulder pulled back almost instantly. This move, framed as a polite rescue while subtly solidifying my image as an unpresentable housewife, was far more humiliating than an outright insult. Shortly after we sat at the head table, the heavy entrance doors swung open again. Serena glided into the hall wearing a shimmering mermaid gown that hugged her curves, stepping gracefully in sky-high heels. Every gaze in the room was instantly captured by her slender silhouette. She sauntered over to our table, her voice dripping with sweetness. “Dr. Harry.” Harry stood up naturally, pulling out the chair right beside mine for her, displaying a clear favor meant only for her. I sat squeezed in the middle, looking like a drab, grey wall. When the dinner began, servers brought out the signature steamed crab. Just as I picked up my fork, I watched Harry expertly pick out the sweetest crab meat and roe, arranging it neatly on a small plate before sliding it past me, placing it directly in front of Serena. “Serena spent the last few days pulling back-to-back shifts in the operating room. Her stomach has been sensitive. Eat some high-protein food to recover,” he said with a bright, charming smile. Serena blushed, pretending to decline. “How could I? Dr. Harry, you should eat it yourself.” “You are far too thin. Be good and eat,” he urged, his affectionate tone stinging my eyes like acid. Right at that moment, the hospital director stepped onto the stage, speaking into the microphone. “Tonight, we have a special recognition for Dr. Serena Lin from the cardiology department! Her published paper as primary author has generated incredible praise across the medical community! Let us congratulate this rising star!” A spotlight immediately illuminated our table. Serena covered her mouth in dramatic excitement, standing up to bow to the room before turning to offer a deep, graceful bow directly toward Harry. “Thank you for your guidance, Dr. Harry. This paper would never exist without you.” Cheering applause erupted across the room. The two of them exchanged glances under the bright lights, looking like the ultimate power couple of the medical world. Meanwhile, I, the actual author of that research, remained buried in the shadows, nothing more than a pathetic, invisible background piece. When Harry sat back down, he pulled his admiring gaze away from her. Perhaps realizing the atmosphere was too obvious, he finally remembered my presence beside him. Using the serving chopsticks, he rummaged through a platter of braised pork, picked out a massive, glistening piece of pure fat, and dropped it into my bowl. “Virginia, you love this. Eat more,” he said smoothly. The surrounding female doctors exchanged glances filled with pity and undisguised disgust. That heavy piece of fat was the ultimate mockery of my body, a pathetic crumb of affection tossed to me after his grand celebration. Staring down at the greasy lump sitting in my bowl, acid surged violently up my throat. I set my fork down. “It is a bit stuffy in here. I am going to the restroom.” Ignoring Harry’s surprised look, I pushed my chair back and walked briskly out of the banquet hall. Inside a locked restroom stall, I pulled out my phone and messaged my attorney. “Attorney Ross, you can send over the asset notarization and the draft of the divorce agreement now.” Three days after the banquet, while I was cleaning my mother-in-law, her face suddenly turned blue. She gasped frantically for air, her hands clutching the bedsheets in a violent panic. Acute heart failure! I dialed an ambulance like a woman possessed. Without even changing out of my soiled apron, I boarded the emergency vehicle and rushed straight to the hospital. Registration, payments, pushing her heavy wheelchair through various diagnostic labs. The workload meant for two family members fell entirely on my shoulders alone. When I reached the final blood draw station, days of intense exhaustion combined with low blood sugar triggered by my hormonal imbalance caused my vision to fade to black. My heart hammered violently against my ribs, and my limbs went completely numb. I reached out to grab a nearby support pillar, but my body gave out, crashing heavily onto the hard tile floor as violent spasms gripped my muscles. Through a ringing in my ears, I forced my eyes open, looking past the crowded hallway toward the nursing station in the distance. Harry was standing there in his spotless white lab coat. He was not looking in my direction. Instead, he was holding Serena’s hand with gentle, agonizing care. Serena had lightly scraped her finger on a metal chart holder. Harry’s brows were tightly knit as he carefully applied a small bandage to her paper-thin scratch. “Someone collapsed! Help! Call a doctor!” a patient’s relative nearby shouted in alarm. Hearing the commotion, Harry turned around from the nursing station, his expression shifting to utter shock. He saw me lying helpless on the floor. In that fraction of a second, the tenderness on his face vanished, replaced by sheer embarrassment and a disgust he could barely hide. He walked over quickly, yet he did not perform any basic medical checks on my vital signs. The very first thing he did was rapidly strip off his black suit jacket, tossing it heavily over my sweat-drenched, swollen face. The scent of cheap perfume clinging to his jacket mixed with his sweat, completely cutting off my remaining air. In that exact moment, my heart stopped fighting. My final tolerance snapped completely. After being revived by the emergency nurses, I did not attempt to contact Harry. I quietly pushed his mother, now out of danger, back home. The next morning, under the excuse of attending a high-profile medical conference out of state, Harry boarded a flight with Serena, full of energy and pride. Meanwhile, in the quiet house, I performed one final, thorough cleaning. I signed the divorce papers sent by Attorney Ross, placing them neatly underneath the most expensive, limited-edition perfume bottle on the display wall. Then, I wrote down every single detail regarding my mother-in-law’s medication schedule, turning frequency, and dietary restrictions on sticky notes, plastering them neatly across the wall above her headboard. With everything complete, I gripped the handle of my pre-packed suitcase and closed the front door behind me without a single backward glance. At the airport terminal, the final boarding call for my international flight echoed over the speakers. Suddenly, my phone vibrated violently in my palm. It was Harry. At a moment when he was riding high on a romantic getaway with his mistress, he actually found the time to call me. I pressed answer. Harry’s voice sounded impossibly sweet over the receiver. “Virginia, I am coming back the day after tomorrow. These meetings have been exhausting. Could you simmer that wild ginseng soup I love so we can have it ready when I land?” His tone held a practiced tenderness. “I bought you a silk scarf while I was out, a large size. It will look lovely on you.” Listening to his familiar script, I let out a soft laugh. No screaming. No explosive accusations. I watched the planes taking off past the glass windows, listening to the final call at my gate, and spoke with absolute calm. “Do not bother coming back, and do not bother bringing anything.” “Harry, I am gone.” Before he could offer any response, I ended the call. I popped out the SIM card that had bound me to him for eight long years, snapped it clean in half, and tossed it into the nearest trash bin. Then, gripping my suitcase, I walked straight into the boarding jetway without looking back once.

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1 Valerie had just stepped into the bathroom when her iPad screen lit up on the nightstand. An iMessage preview popped up. Devin: What cheesy line did he send you today? Forward it over quickly, I need a good laugh. I reached out and unlocked the screen. The pinned conversation at the top was not mine. It was Devin. At the top of the chat box sat a screenshot of a text I had sent Valerie earlier that afternoon. Me: A student in class today told me my smile felt really warm. My first reaction was actually wanting to tell you right away. Directly below it was Valerie’s caption to Devin. Valerie: Look at this. Typical desperate puppy behavior. Every single day, reporting every useless little thing to me. Devin: Lmao, crying over tiny nonsense. A grown man with zero ambition! Valerie: Seriously. He has no real talent anyway, I only married him for peace of mind. My heart stopped for a fraction of a second. The love I thought we shared was nothing more than material for her to mock alongside another man. Valerie, my love will never flow toward you again. … I sat on the edge of the bed, my thumb trembling as I kept scrolling through the screen. There was a selfie I had sent Valerie. I was wearing a grey apron with flour smudged across my cheek, taken while I was baking her a birthday cake from scratch. I remembered telling her that day: Wife, this cake is as sweet as you. Valerie had forwarded that exact photo to Devin. Valerie: God save me, this is a total aesthetic disaster. Devin: How do you even manage to put your mouth on him? Valerie: It is all the same once the lights are off anyway. At worst, I just go gag in the bathroom afterward. My fingers went completely numb. The sound of running water in the bathroom ceased. I immediately locked the iPad and placed it back in its exact spot on the nightstand. The door swung open. Valerie walked out, drying her hair with a towel, wearing a lace nightgown. She sauntered over, wrapping her arms around me from behind, resting her cheek against my back. “Babe, I am ovulating today.” Her hands slid around my waist, unbuttoning my shirt. Instinctively, I pulled away. Valerie paused, her brow knotting. “What is wrong?” I leaned over, picked up her robe from the bed, and handed it to her before stepping around her to sit at the desk. “I am exhausted. We had a long school event today.” Valerie stared at me for two long seconds before dropping the subject. She climbed into bed, flicking off the bedside lamp on her side. Turning her back to me, she began typing on her phone. I climbed onto my side of the bed, listening to her breathing grow heavy and slow. When the clock struck one in the morning, I quietly slipped out of bed. I slid the iPad from under her pillow and crept out to the living room. Sitting on the sofa, I opened that chat window, scrolling all the way back to the beginning. The timeline started a year and a half ago. Back then, we were not married yet. She had just transferred to her current corporate firm, suffocating under heavy pressure and constant overtime. I cooked meals for her every day, waiting downstairs to drive her home and keeping her company through late night projects. She had taken a screenshot of a text I sent back then, which read: Do not push yourself too hard, I brewed some warm soup for you. She had forwarded it straight to Devin. Valerie: A twenty-four-seven house husband type. Pity he is as bland as a wooden board with zero romance. He cannot say anything beyond basic domestic fluff. Devin: Sounds like great husband material though, zero drama. Valerie: Yeah, safe. But my heart craves excitement. I am genuinely getting suffocated by him. So she had married me for stability. Not love. I kept scrolling. The first time I tried on my wedding tuxedo, I sent her a photo asking if I looked alright. She had replied to me: So handsome, my husband is the most handsome man in the world. Then she immediately forwarded the photo to Devin. Valerie: The studio photographer went insane with Photoshop. Devin: Even with heavy edits, your husband looks pretty average. How did you settle on him? Valerie: I was in a low spot back then, he stuck around, so I just settled. Staring at the word “settled,” my stomach twisted into a painful knot. I opened the media attachments in the chat. Inside were private, intimate photos I had sent her. Photos that were never meant for anyone else’s eyes. I had shared them with my wife out of complete, unconditional trust. She had forwarded every single one to Devin. Devin: Damn, he actually has an eight-pack. You must be enjoying yourself. Valerie: Please, compared to you, he falls way short. I took screenshots of every single conversation, emailing them to my personal inbox one by one. My hands shook uncontrollably, but my fingers never stopped tapping the screen. By four in the morning, I returned to the bedroom and placed the iPad back where it belonged. Valerie rolled over in her sleep, mumbling softly, “Babe, why are you still awake?” I offered no answer, standing in the dark, looking down at her with cold indifference. She did not wake up. I laid back down, staring at the ceiling until dawn broke. 2 The next morning, Valerie sat at the dining table eating breakfast as usual. I had fried eggs and toasted bread, setting the plate down in front of her. She lifted her head to look at me. “What is up with you today? You seem to be in a terrible mood.” My hand holding the milk carton paused for a fraction of a second. In the past, every single morning, I would smile and say: Good morning, I hope my wife has a wonderful day. She would rarely offer much back, usually just a quiet nod, yet that alone used to make my whole day bright. I pushed the glass of milk toward her. “Nothing.” Valerie took a bite of her toast. “First thing in the morning, what wire crossed in your brain? What are you throwing an attitude for?” I sat across from her, taking a slow sip of milk. “I am not throwing an attitude. I am feeling just fine.” She set her glass down with a sharp thud. “Jonah, you have been acting off since last night. Out with it, how exactly did I offend you?” I lifted my eyes to meet hers. “You are the one acting strange, actually noticing my mood for once.” Valerie frowned tightly. “Stop being sarcastic. If something is on your mind, say it.” I placed my phone flat on the table, displaying the very first screenshot I had taken the night before. The text I sent her: A student in class today said my smile was really warm. My first reaction was actually wanting to tell you right away. Directly beneath it was her message to Devin: Every single day, reporting every useless little thing to me. Valerie’s expression froze instantly, before darkening into sheer anger. “You dared snoop through my private phone?” I replied quietly, “Should you not explain this first?” “I am asking you, what gives you the right to illegally pry into my private chats?” I let out a soft, cold laugh. “I looked at your iPad. It had no password, so I viewed it in plain sight.” Valerie threw her toast back onto the plate. “Jonah, do you have any concept of privacy, boundaries, or personal space?” I did not even bother wasting an expression on her. “I should be asking you that question. My private messages and my intimate photos were forwarded to another man for review. What do you call that behavior?” Valerie stood up, her chair scraping harshly against the floor. “Do not twist the topic! It is your own fault for being nosy. If you had not snooped, you would never have known, and we would not be having this conversation!” She reached out, attempting to snatch my phone off the table. I took a step back, slipping the phone into my bag. “Do not touch it.” Valerie’s hand hovered in midair. “Jonah, you look genuinely disgusting right now.” I looked her dead in the eyes. “As disgusting as I look, it does not hold a candle to what you did.” She pulled at her sleeves, her voice rising. “I was just venting casually to a friend! Do you need to blow this out of proportion? Just because you have no friends does not mean I am forbidden from having them!” “Venting with my private photos?” Valerie went silent for a brief second. Then, she spoke with icy detachment. “If you insist on bringing this up to start a fight, the only person left humiliated will be you.” I said nothing more. Because in that moment, I realized she was not unaware of the pain she caused. She simply believed I did not even possess the right to be angry. A cold war lasted for three full days. I stopped sharing any part of my daily life with her. On the third evening, Valerie returned from work holding a designer shopping bag. I was sitting on the sofa preparing lesson plans. She tossed the bag directly onto the cushion beside me. “I bought this for you.” I opened it up. Inside was a scarf from a clearance rack, the price tag still attached. Nineteen dollars. Once, I had liked a cashmere scarf that cost eighty dollars, but she had dismissed it instantly, saying, “Why does an elementary school teacher need something so expensive? Kids will just ruin it with sticky hands.” Yet, in her chat logs with Devin, I had seen her purchase a five-hundred-dollar designer cologne for him. Devin had asked: Won’t your husband get mad if he finds out? Valerie had replied: He is a clueless idiot, he knows nothing about luxury. I placed the scarf back into the paper bag. “Return it.” Valerie paused her movement of unbuckling her watch. “Jonah, do not push this too far. I bought you a gift, so drop the attitude. Adults need to know when to stop.” I closed my notebook. “And what exactly counts as stopping?” She sat across from me, her face laced with deep impatience. “You are usually way too clingy. What is wrong with me venting a little to a friend?” I stared at her. “How about I take photos of you before you put on makeup, videos of you crying over missed promotions, or clips of you kneeling by the toilet throwing up drunk, and send them to my female colleagues to enjoy? How would you feel about that?” Valerie’s face darkened completely. “You would not dare.” I said, “So you understand that it is wrong.” She picked up a glass of water, taking a quick sip. “Jonah, whether you can get over this or not, it already happened. Saying all this now is completely useless. Are we going to live our lives or not?” My tone remained entirely serene. “No, we are not.” Valerie let out a cold scoff, turning around and walking into the bedroom. Before she slammed the door shut, a sharp sentence echoed from inside. “You are completely unhinged and impossible to talk to.” 3 The next afternoon, just as I finished grading student assignments, my phone vibrated in my pocket. A friend request notification popped up. Verification note: Hey man, it’s Devin. I wanted to talk to you. I hesitated for a few seconds before hitting accept. He sent his first message almost instantly. Devin: Hey man, don’t misunderstand Valerie and me. We are just casual chat buddies. I did not reply. He kept typing. Devin: I don’t really know why she forwarded your texts to me, maybe she just views me as one of the guys. Devin: Women, you know how they are. Most of them just like to talk big. Devin: Valerie told me she really likes how innocent you are, even if you are a bit boring and lack romance. Devin: Honestly, I kind of envy you. Your overall background is pretty average, yet you managed to marry such an accomplished woman. I stood by the back door of the classroom. The children were quietly solving math problems while the air conditioner hummed softly. I typed my response. Me: Did you add me just to say this? Devin replied within seconds. Devin: Not at all, I just wanted to clear things up. Please don’t fight with her because of me. Her current work project is at a critical stage, her mood cannot be disrupted. Me: In what capacity are you trying to manage my wife’s emotions? Me: Also, if an average guy like me could marry an accomplished woman, why couldn’t you? Is it because you fall even shorter than I do? The chat went completely silent for half a minute. The typing indicator flickered continuously, but no new messages came through. I slipped the phone back into my pocket, resuming my walk around the classroom to check on my students. At six in the evening, I arrived home. As the front door opened, Valerie was sitting on the living room sofa, staring down at her phone. Her very first words upon seeing me were, “Did you curse out Devin?” I set my bag down on the entryway console. “He reached out to me first.” Valerie stood up sharply. “He was just trying to be helpful and explain things so our relationship wouldn’t suffer! You took your anger out on him instead? How can you be so ungrateful?” I changed my shoes, closing the cabinet door softly. “He came to provoke me.” Valerie walked up to me. “Jonah, can you stop viewing every single man as an enemy? Devin is not the person you think he is.” I lifted my head to look at her. “How do you know what kind of person he is? Have you slept with him to know him so well?” She choked on her words for a moment, her face flushing with immediate rage. “Go look in a mirror and see how bitter you look right now. You are being utterly malicious.” A faint smile touched the corner of my lips. “Good. After all, I have no friends, I lack worldly experience, I am an aesthetic disaster, and I am simple-minded. Most importantly, I am just the guy you settled for during a low point in your life.” Valerie’s expression shifted drastically. “How much of those chats did you actually read?” “Enough to make me sick for the rest of my life.” She took a step forward. “Did you take screenshots of everything? Delete them right now.” I stepped back, my spine hitting the front door panel. “What are you afraid of?” Valerie lowered her voice. “I do not want this turning into a massive spectacle.” “You were not afraid of a spectacle when you forwarded my life to him?” “I told you, that was just casual banter between friends!” Even now, her excuse remained entirely unchanged. I no longer possessed any desire to argue with her. Opening my bag, I pulled out the printed divorce agreement I had prepared during lunch and handed it to her. “Sign it.” Valerie glanced down at the paper. “Divorce papers?” “Yes.” She let out a dry laugh. “Jonah, are you serious?” “I am in no mood to play games.” Valerie took the papers, flipped through two pages, and tossed them carelessly onto the shoe console. The pages scattered, one fluttering onto the floor. “Divorcing over a few screenshots? Are you five years old? Can you grow up for once?” I bent down, picking up the fallen page. “It is not about a few screenshots. It is about you turning me into a public laughingstock.” “You ARE overly sensitive! More dramatic than a teenager! Every single day whining about nothing, sending useless nonsense! You can send it, but I am forbidden from feeling annoyed by it?” Her words echoed through the room, leaving a dead silence in their wake. I clutched the paper, lifting my eyes to meet hers. “Valerie, say that one more time.” She glared at me. “Every day sending ‘I miss you’, updating me on student drama, what you ate for lunch, flowers blooming on the sidewalk, reporting every single useless detail of your day to me. Jonah, I am busy. I am not a student in your classroom, I do not need you reporting your mundane existence to me all day long.” I said quietly, “You could have chosen not to reply.” “I DID stop replying! Yet you kept sending them anyway!” “So you took screenshots and sent them to others for entertainment?” “I am under immense stress! Am I forbidden from venting?” I neatly reorganized the divorce papers, placing them back into my bag. “You can vent. You did a fantastic job of it.” I turned toward the bedroom. Valerie followed close behind. “What are you doing?” I opened the closet, pulling out my suitcase. Valerie stood at the doorframe, blocking half the exit. “Jonah, can you stop making a scene? I am genuinely exhausted.” “Move aside.” “Where are you going?” “To a friend’s house.” She let out a dismissive scoff. “You actually have a friend willing to take you in?” I rolled my suitcase forward, its wheel bumping against her leg. “At least he will not forward my private words to others for entertainment.” Valerie remained silent for several seconds. Then, she spoke with cold finality. “If you walk out of this door today, we are truly over. I have apologized, I have done everything I should, and my conscience is entirely clear.” She stopped blocking the door. I dragged my suitcase through the hallway, reaching the front entrance. Opening the door, her voice drifted from behind me one last time. “Jonah, the adult world involves plenty of messy realities. You have simply been spoiled by me for too long, completely unaware of how harsh the world really is. Sooner or later, you will regret this!” I turned my head slightly. “My only regret was marrying you.” 4 I moved into the guest room at my best friend Marcus’s apartment. On the morning of the third day, a call came through from an unknown local number. I answered it. A man’s low voice sounded over the line. “Is this Jonah?” “Speaking.” “My name is Brandon. My girlfriend is a close friend of Valerie’s, named Brooke. We have never met, but there is something I need to tell you.” I paused my hand on the mouse, midway through organizing my screenshots. “What is it?” He took a deep breath. “I am not calling to mediate or defend anyone.” “Yesterday, I stumbled upon a group chat on Brooke’s phone titled ‘Valerie’s Post-Marriage Observation Diary’.” I sat up straight instantly. My computer monitor was still displaying the screenshot of Devin’s chat. Brandon continued, “The group consists of Valerie and a few of her close female friends. A huge portion of the texts, photos, and voice notes you sent Valerie were shared inside that chat.” I remained silent. The sound of pages turning came from his end. “I took a few screenshots of the group. I do not know if you are mentally prepared for this.” I gripped my phone tightly. “Please send them to me.” “There are private photos involved.” “Send them.” Brandon paused for a moment. “Jonah, if you ask me, you should file a police report.” After the call ended, a friend request popped up on my messaging app. I accepted it. He immediately sent over a dozen screenshots. The very first image was the group chat homepage. Seven members in total. Valerie had posted a bedtime selfie I sent her once. I had taken it right after a shower, facing the foggy bathroom mirror. My original text to her had read: Wife, I washed up and smell nice, can you come home early today? Valerie’s commentary in the group read: He acts as if he has never seen a woman in his life, like a starved wolf that can never be satisfied. He is draining me completely dry. Brooke’s reply: Your husband is pretty clingy, huh? You can’t tell from the outside, he actually has a great physique. Another member: Valerie sure is lucky. Valerie: Stop it, he is completely average. You can pick up guys like him by the dozen anywhere. The second screenshot showed a voice message I had sent. I remembered that day distinctly. Valerie had not come home for three consecutive nights. I sent her a voice note, my voice raspy with emotion, saying: “Wife, please come home. I miss you so much. I am not asking you to spend every second with me, I just want to know if you still remember that you have a home.” Valerie had forwarded the audio file directly into the group. A group member replied: His crying voice sounds more delicate than a woman’s. Total helpless house husband. Someone dropped a mocking meme. Valerie replied: Not a helpless husband, an absolute idiot. It drives me crazy. I work hard all day, and I still have to go home and nurse an adult baby. The third image was a message of apology I had sent her. I had gotten upset because she forgot our wedding anniversary, only for her to turn it around until I ended up apologizing to her instead. My text read: I am sorry, wife, I was being too dramatic. I know how busy your work is, I will be more sensible from now on. Valerie had posted it into the group. Valerie: Standard procedure for training a dog. Ignore him for two days and he softens right up. A group member replied: Brilliant, taking notes. Staring at the phrase “taking notes,” my fingers froze, unable to tap the next image. Marcus walked out of the kitchen holding a glass of water. “Jonah, what happened?” I handed him the phone. He glanced at just two of the screenshots before slamming his glass down onto the floor. The glass shattered, water spilling everywhere. He cursed loudly, pulling out his own phone. “I am going with you to the police station right now.” A cold numbness crept over my entire body, cold sweat breaking across my forehead. My hands shook so violently I could barely hold the phone steady. I could not bring myself to view the remaining images. I had Marcus save every single record onto a flash drive. In my phone gallery, Valerie’s face, Devin’s profile picture, and the mocking comments from that group of women sat lined up together across the screen. I had assumed my only spectator was Devin. I was wrong. My entire marriage had been treated as a live reality show. Every private detail exposed completely, left open for random strangers to critique and ridicule. Once I regained my composure, I sent a voice note to Brandon. “Thank you, man.” Brandon replied: “No problem, man. I broke up with Brooke today too. Being with a trashy person like that completely disgusted me.” I said, “We both need to keep our eyes open from now on.” Marcus cleaned up the broken glass from the floor, grabbing my coat from the rack. “Let’s go. To the police station.” As I stood up, my phone rang once more. It was Valerie. I stared at her name flashing across the screen for ten seconds before answering. Valerie’s voice sounded laced with impatience. “Jonah, do you really think the world revolves around you? How much longer are you going to drag out this cold war?” I spoke quietly. “Valerie.” “What?” “Those group chats with your friends, have you deleted them clean?” The line went completely dead silent. In the background, I heard someone call out to her, “Valerie, the meeting is starting.” Valerie lowered her voice to a whisper. “Who told you about that?” I said, “So it really wasn’t just Devin.” “Jonah, where are you right now?” I offered no answer. Valerie panicked, her tone dropping into an urgent pitch over the receiver. “Do not do anything reckless! Let’s meet up and talk!” “There is no need. I have already retained an attorney and filed a police report.” I hung up the phone.

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1 It happened when my online girlfriend asked for a photo again. Before I could even react, Hunter Preston, the “Golden Boy” of our dorm, snatched the phone right out of my hand. “You’re a two-hundred-and-sixty-pound human tank, Oliver,” he sneered, his voice loud enough for the entire common room to hear. “The second she sees what you actually look like, she’s going to block you faster than you can finish a bag of chips.” He turned the screen toward himself, flashing that polished, predatory smile of his. “I’ll send her a photo of me instead. That way, you don’t give the poor girl a heart attack.” The guys around us erupted into mocking laughter. “Seriously, Oliver,” one of them chimed in, leaning back in his chair. “Dating online when you’re literally oozing grease? That’s not a relationship; it’s a federal crime of fraud.” I sat there, my fingers digging into the soft rolls of my stomach. I felt the heat rising in my neck, the familiar sting of shame that had become my constant companion. I hesitated, my mind a fog of self-loathing. Maybe Hunter was right. Maybe I should let him be the face of ‘me’ just to keep the dream alive a little longer. But then, the air in front of my eyes flickered. A translucent stream of text—shimmering like a live-stream chat—rippled across my vision. [This ‘human tank’ has no idea. His ‘online girlfriend’ is actually Seraphina Montgomery, the billionaire heiress of the Montgomery shipping empire. She’s famous for being a ‘gold-giver’ who loves spoiling her boyfriends.] [Hunter, our ‘Golden Boy’ protagonist-wannabe, already knows this. He’s been lurking on the same forums. This is his move. He wants to hijack Oliver’s life.] [Once he sends his photo, he’ll replace Oliver at the first meeting. Seraphina is a hopeless romantic; she’ll fall for his face, shower him with millions, and Oliver will be left with nothing but his crumbs.] I froze for exactly one second. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I didn’t know where these visions came from, but the detail—the name Montgomery—felt too heavy to be a hallucination. I lunged forward, snatching my phone back with a speed that surprised even Hunter. I scrolled past my recent selfies and found a file buried deep in my cloud storage—a photo from three years ago. “No thanks,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “Because when I get back to my fighting weight, I’ll be ten times the man you are.” The room went quiet for a beat before exploding into a fresh wave of derision. “Oliver Bennett, look in a mirror, man! That face is more ham than human!” “You could walk into a slaughterhouse and they’d try to brand you,” Hunter laughed, his eyes glinting with malice. He caught a glimpse of the photo I’d pulled up and his laugh turned into a sharp bark. “Are you high on your own grease? You think some Photoshop from three years ago is going to save you? When she meets the ‘real’ you, she’s going to be more than disappointed—she’s going to be disgusted.” My classmates crowded around, squinting at the screen. In the photo, a sharp-jawed, athletic version of me stood on a track field, eyes bright with a future that hadn’t yet been stolen. “Total fake,” someone muttered. “The features don’t even match. Oliver, get some self-awareness. If you send that, she’ll have you arrested for catfishing when you show up.” They didn’t understand. They didn’t know that three years ago, I was that guy. But then my parents died. A car accident, a rainy Tuesday, a world that suddenly made no sense. Food became my only comfort, my only way to numb the howling silence in our house. Between the grief and the crushing pressure of my Ivy League applications, I had simply let myself go. I ate until I was numb. I became a “happy fat guy” because it was easier than being a “broken orphan.” But I was done being broken. I had made it to university. I had survived. It was time to find the man I used to be. I ignored their jeers, my head down, trying to pick the perfect shot to send to Seraphina. Suddenly, Hunter’s hand blurred. Before I could lock the screen, he wrenched the phone away again. With a few practiced taps, he took a high-res selfie of his own “perfect” face and hit send. “Look, I’m doing you a favor,” Hunter said, tossing the phone back onto my lap. “You’re too ugly to handle this. If you keep hiding, she’ll get bored. Now she thinks she’s dating a stud. You’re welcome.” The shimmering text in the air went wild: [Hunter’s plan is working! Seraphina is going to fall for him the moment she sees that jawline.] [She’s not just rich—she’s a five-foot-nine bombshell with a heart of gold. Giving her to this pig Oliver would be a waste of a goddess.] [Go Hunter! A top-tier heiress deserves a top-tier guy, not a basement dweller.] My stomach sank. I scrambled to unblock the screen, my fingers trembling as I tried to unsend the message. Too late. Seraphina had already replied. Seraphina: “Baby… you’re so handsome. I’m literally staring at my screen. I must have been a saint in a past life to end up with a guy like you!” Hunter didn’t even try to hide his smirk. “Since she likes the photo, just roll with it. If you’re worried about the ending, I can always take your place when it’s time to meet her in person.” “Hunter is such a saint,” someone whispered. “Oliver, don’t be a dick. He’s literally saving your relationship.” I was shaking, not with fear, but with a cold, sharpening rage. I looked at the screen, then at Hunter, then back at the chat. I started typing, my thumbs flying. Me: “Actually, that was a prank. That’s my roommate, Hunter. I sent it by mistake. I just wanted you to see what I’m up against—because honestly? I think I’m way better looking than the campus heartthrob.” I didn’t hesitate. I uploaded the entire gallery of my best “Before” photos—the ones from my athlete days. This time, Seraphina didn’t reply instantly. The silence stretched. My heart was a drum in my ears. Beside me, Hunter was reading over my shoulder, his face twisted in a sneer. “You just killed it, Oliver. You just admitted you’re a liar and sent a bunch of AI-generated fakes. Nice job.” Then, my phone vibrated. An incoming call. Seraphina. I stepped away from the crowd, my heart in my throat, and answered. “Baby…” her voice was a breathy, melodic whisper. “You’re so lean… so elegant. You have this look in your eyes… I can’t even breathe. You are way more handsome than that other guy. I want to see you. Now.” My face flushed a deep crimson. “Wait,” I said, my voice cracking slightly. “Give me until the first day of the fall semester. Three months. Let me get my life in order so I can be the version of myself you deserve.” “Three months?” she squealed on the other end. “Fine! But I’m going to spend that time getting everything ready for you. I’m going to spoil you so hard, Oliver Bennett.” The call ended, and almost instantly, a notification popped up on my banking app. Wire Transfer Received: $50,000.00. Message: For my handsome boy. Buy yourself some new suits and bags. If you run out, just tell me. I stared at the numbers, a dizzying mix of sweetness and terror washing over me. The “Chat Feed” wasn’t lying. She really was a billionaire with a savior complex. Hunter saw the screen. His eyes turned a dark, ugly shade of green. He let out a harsh, jagged laugh. “You think fifty grand and a few old photos make you a prince? When she sees you in person—this sweaty, blubbery reality—you’re going to wish you’d never met her.” The floating text agreed: [Whatever. Once she realizes Oliver is a fraud, Hunter can still swoop in.] [The ‘Human Tank’ is just a foil to make the ‘Golden Boy’ look like an angel. Let him enjoy the money for now; the fall will be even funnier.] Their contempt was the fuel I needed. I took that fifty thousand dollars and didn’t spend a dime on clothes. I went to the most elite, high-intensity performance center in the city. I hired a former Olympic trainer and a nutritionist who looked like she chewed nails for breakfast. “I have one goal,” I told the trainer, looking at my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors. “In ninety days, I want the man in the photos back. No—I want him better.” The trainer, a man named Marcus, didn’t smile. “From today, I own your plate. I own your sleep. I own your pain. Three hours a day, every day. Can you handle that, or should I go find a real athlete?” I nodded so hard it hurt. I wasn’t just doing this for Seraphina. I was doing it for the boy who lost his parents and hid under a layer of fat for three years. I was doing it for the version of me that deserved to stand in the sun. The first day, I threw up twice. I cried in the shower of the locker room, my muscles screaming in a way I didn’t know was possible. When I dragged my broken body back to the dorm, the school’s Discord group was blowing up. Hunter had posted a photo of me—red-faced, sweaty, and weeping—leaving the gym. Hunter: “Breaking news! The Tank is trying to become a Ferrari. Place your bets: will the treadmill break first, or his heart?” The comments were brutal. “I felt a tremor in the library today. Now I know why—Oliver was jumping rope.” Someone turned my crying face into a “When the buffet closes” meme. I wiped the tears from my eyes and looked in the mirror. My hormones were a mess, my skin was breaking out from the sudden shift in diet, and my stretch marks looked like angry lightning bolts. But Marcus had promised: Trust the process. My life became a montage of discipline. 4:00 AM runs in the crisp morning air before the rest of the campus woke up. Replacing my triple-bacon burgers with grilled salmon and kale. Instead of collapsing on the couch, I spent my weekends helping my grandparents with their garden, walking with them in the park, reclaiming my mobility. Seraphina sensed I was distant. She sent more money, more gifts. Seraphina: “Are you ignoring me, baby? Did I do something wrong?” Me: “Never. I’m just working on a surprise for you. When we meet, I want to be perfect.” A week later, a courier delivered a Cartier Love bracelet. White gold. My initials and hers engraved on the inside. It cost more than my first car. I tried to put it on, but it wouldn’t close around my wrist. I tucked it into its velvet box. Soon, I promised myself. Soon it’ll fit. By mid-summer, the water weight had vanished. I had dropped forty pounds. I felt lighter, my mind sharper. I checked in with a doctor, ensuring my rapid progress wasn’t damaging my heart. Because I wore oversized hoodies to hide my progress, the campus still saw “The Tank.” On the last day of the spring term, Hunter cornered me. “Still hitting the gym, Oliver? Funny, you still look like a sack of potatoes to me. You really going to show up to the meeting like that?” “I bet a thousand bucks he chickens out,” someone yelled. I looked Hunter dead in the eye. The fear was gone. There was only a cold, quiet focus. “Make sure you have the cash ready, Hunter. I’d hate for you to be broke and humiliated at the same time.” The summer was a blur of the “Plateau.” My weight stopped dropping. My body was fighting back, trying to keep the fat. But I had Marcus. I had my grandparents’ encouragement. I had the memory of my parents’ smiles. When I hit the sixty-pound mark, the bracelet finally clicked shut. My jawline emerged from the shadows. My skin cleared. I started taking photos again—blurry, atmospheric shots of my silhouette to tease Seraphina. Marcus looked at me on the final week. I was 185 pounds of lean, functional muscle. I was 6’0″, tanned, and vibrant. “Oliver,” Marcus said, his voice actually sounding human for once. “Most people quit at week three. You’re a goddamn machine.” I bought a charcoal-grey suit that fit like a second skin. I got a haircut—short on the sides, textured on top. The day of the meeting arrived. I was late because of traffic, my heart hammering against my ribs. As I stepped out of the Uber, I saw a cherry-red Porsche parked by the campus gates. And then, I saw him. Hunter Preston was standing there, dressed in a designer suit, holding a bouquet of peonies. He was leaning against the Porsche, talking to a woman whose back was turned to me. “Seraphina? Hi. I’m Hunter. But… you’ve seen my photos. You know who I am.” He was using my name. He was trying to steal my life in broad daylight. I froze. The “Chat Feed” flickered back to life: [Look at Hunter! He’s so bold. The heiress is speechless. She’s falling for him already!] [But wait… where is the fat guy? Is he even coming?] [Doesn’t matter. The loser lost. Hunter is the new lead now.] Hunter pulled out a printed copy of my “Tank” photo—the one where I was 260 pounds and covered in sweat. “This is the guy you were talking to,” Hunter said, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Oliver is a liar. He’s a pathetic, lonely guy who used my photos because he’s a coward. I couldn’t let him do this to you.” I saw the woman—Seraphina—take the photo. Her shoulders slumped. I felt a surge of old panic. I wanted to turn and run. But then I caught my reflection in a store window. I saw the man I had become. I saw the Cartier bracelet gleaming on my wrist. I took a deep breath, adjusted my jacket, and walked toward them. I didn’t approach from the front. I circled around, coming up directly behind Seraphina. I wanted to see Hunter’s face when the ghost came back to life.

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1 Stepping out of the OBGYN clinic, Liam pressed a crumpled twenty-dollar bill into my hand. “Take the bus home, Elena. I can’t let your bad luck near Jenny and her baby.” “Who is Jenny?” I asked, stunned. He avoided my eyes, handing me a polaroid of him embracing a heavily pregnant girl. “Five years ago, when kidnappers held you hostage for three months, Jenny stayed by my side through my darkest time. She’s pure. She doesn’t demand a title. You can’t expect me to spend my life bound out of pity to a defiled woman.” A ringing filled my ears. “A defiled woman?” I whispered. Guilt and exasperation crossed his face. “I married you. I’ll support you for life. That’s enough compensation. If you’re lonely, find a side guy. Just don’t get pregnant again.” In the backseat sat the pastel baby clothes we’d picked out that morning. Now they felt like needles in my bones. Shivering, I crumpled my ultrasound report into a ball. Five years ago, after we started dating, we were kidnapped. I bit through ropes until my gums bled so Liam could escape first. Three months later, he rescued me from a ditch, sobbing he’d treat me like a queen forever. But the man who pulled me from the abyss was now shoving me into hell. The love I thought I’d found was a trap he’d built for another woman. … I took a step back, desperate to run away from him, but the heel of my shoe caught on my dress. I slammed hard onto the concrete. Seeing me fall into a growing puddle of my own blood, Liam’s eyes instantly went red with panic. “Honey! Are you and the baby okay?” He gently lifted my bleeding leg, blowing softly on the scraped skin. “Honey, hold on. I will take you back inside to get this bandaged.” I looked down at him and burst into a tearful, mocking laugh. He loved me so much. He could act so deeply devoted over a simple scrape on my knee. Yet for years, he had been sleeping with another woman, getting her pregnant, building an entire life with her in the shadows. When he was in her bed, the thought of his legal wife never even crossed his mind. His devotion was a masterclass in acting, and I had played the fool for five entire years. I shoved his hands away. “I am fine.” “Don’t waste your energy on me. Go keep your precious Jenny company.” He refused to listen. He scooped me up in his arms and rushed me back into the hospital. I stared at the sterile white walls. I used to be terrified of blood draws and checkups. I always begged him to hold my hand. But this time, I noticed his eyes were entirely glued to his phone screen. A soft, incredibly tender smile played on his lips as he texted her. Suddenly, a profound sense of clarity washed over me. I walked out of the surgical room alone. My four month old baby was gone. After the doctor gave me the post op instructions and left, I buried my face into the stiff hospital pillow. Only then did I allow myself to scream and cry until my throat went raw. I pressed my trembling hands against my newly flat stomach, my heart shattering into a million jagged pieces. This was the baby I had prayed for every single night. Both our families were supposed to celebrate and take a massive portrait together next week. Now, all that remained was a chilling, violent trauma. I closed my eyes and forcefully swallowed the rest of my tears. Liam loved his Jenny. They had their own little miracle now. Even if my poor baby had been born, they would have only inherited my miserable, tragic fate. Liam, you blinded me with fake love, but the illusion is shattered now. I will not play the pathetic victim in your twisted game anymore. Every single drop of agony you poured onto my soul, I will make you swallow it back tenfold. The door to my private room clicked open. A figure with a swollen belly swayed inside. “Oh, look who it is. If it isn’t Elena. Liam told me you finally found out he knew about the thugs playing with your body. I just came to offer my condolences.” “Get out,” I hissed, my voice absolute ice. “I don’t need your fake pity.” “Elena, please. I am a licensed therapist. You need to trust me.” Jenny leaned closer, the sweet mask melting away to reveal pure, venomous hatred. “I heard you just scraped that bastard out of your womb. Good for you. You actually have a spine.” I glared at her, my fingernails digging so hard into the mattress they left bloody half moons. “It really is you, Jenny. Why couldn’t you just leave me alone? All you wanted was Noah, right? I stepped aside. I let you have him! Why won’t you let me live?” “So you finally figured it out,” she chuckled, entirely unbothered. “Why won’t I let you live? You touched my man. You even carried his child. Just looking at you makes my skin crawl. What is wrong with taking a little revenge?” My chest heaved. “You are a psychopath. You will rot in hell for this.” “Let me tell you a little secret before I go,” she whispered, leaning right next to my ear. “Do you honestly think your father died of a broken heart? Oh, honey, no. Liam knew your dad loved you more than anything. If the old man stayed alive, Liam never would have had the chance to play the grieving hero and manipulate his way into your bed.” “To secure your fortune and your heart as fast as possible, Liam didn’t hesitate. He pulled the plug on his own benefactor’s oxygen machine with his own two hands.” My entire body convulsed. I stared at her smug, radiant face, my blood boiling into pure acid. My mind flashed back to the day I woke up in the hospital, only to see my father’s lifeless, desperate face. I had spent years agonizing, believing he died hating me for being reckless and getting kidnapped. I thought it was my fault. “I will kill you!” I screamed. I ripped the IV from my arm and lunged at her, my hands locking violently around her throat. But a split second later, a heavy boot slammed into my ribs, kicking me off the bed. Jenny immediately burst into theatrical sobs, shrinking into Liam’s broad chest. “Liam! I just wanted to give her a free grief counseling session, and she tried to murder me!” “Elena, are you out of your fucking mind?! Jenny came here out of the goodness of her heart, and you bite the hand that feeds you?!” He kicked me again just as I struggled to grab the edge of the bed. The IV pole crashed to the floor. Glass shattered everywhere, cutting into my skin, staining my hospital gown with fresh dots of crimson. “I am the one biting the hand that feeds?!” I screamed, pointing a bloody finger at Liam. “You two are the monsters! You killed my father! You lied to me for years, got me pregnant, and broke my soul! You are absolute garbage!” “Elena Bennett!” Liam roared, his face contorting with rage. “Have I been too soft on you?! Is that why you think you can push me around?!” “Your father’s death has nothing to do with us! You killed him by being a reckless whore! Out of everyone in this hospital, you are the only one psycho enough to physically attack a pregnant woman. You only have your own filthy temper and zero morals to blame!” He looked at me with such intense disgust I thought he might actually strangle me himself. “No wonder the tabloids called you the kidnapper’s willing playmate. A dirty, cursed bitch like you ruins the life of anyone stupid enough to stand near you.” He tenderly wiped a tiny red mark on Jenny’s neck, refusing to even look at my bleeding body on the floor. “You scratched Jenny. Apologize right now.” I raised my hand. Blood was still dripping steadily from where the IV needle had ripped out of my vein. “Liam Davis, mark my words. I was blind to ever look at you!” Liam froze for a split second. A microscopic flicker of guilt crossed his eyes. Jenny caught it instantly. Pure jealousy twisted her features. She clutched her stomach, whimpering in pain. “Liam, I am fine. But I think Elena’s screaming scared the baby.” Liam snapped back to reality, staring at me with a complicated, dark expression. “Get over here and apologize.” He sounded like he was coaxing a child, but the threat was razor sharp. “Jenny is carrying a child. She needs a stress free environment. Stop bullying her, Elena. She is a victim of your psychotic jealousy. She owes you absolutely nothing.” When I remained entirely motionless, his voice dropped an octave. “Don’t forget. I am the one paying for your parents’ shared cemetery plot. If you don’t want them to be disturbed in the afterlife…” A hollow, agonizing laugh clawed its way out of my throat. How pathetic my devotion had been. I raised my bleeding hand, and while Liam watched in absolute shock, I slapped myself across the face with everything I had. The stinging pain flared across my cheek. I tasted copper as my lip split open. “Enough!” Liam roared. “How is this enough?” I smiled, my teeth stained with blood. “I am still not satisfied. There is a fruit knife on that table. Why don’t you stab me a few times? Do it for your precious Jenny.” “You are insane. You are completely fucking insane.” He spat the words out, wrapped his jacket around Jenny, and stormed out of the room. I started laughing. I laughed so hard my vision blurred into a sea of tears. The world was entirely mad. He was the one who cheated, manipulated, and murdered, yet I was the one labeled a lunatic. To punish me for upsetting Jenny, Liam slammed the hospital door wide open on his way out. Nurses and patients peered into the room, their eyes filled with morbid curiosity and disgust. I knew exactly what he was doing. He knew I suffered from severe PTSD regarding public scrutiny. He wanted me to break down in terror and beg for his forgiveness. But he didn’t realize that the person I loved most had already butchered my soul. I didn’t care about the stares of strangers anymore. I crawled to the bedside table, grabbed my phone, and dialed a number I had avoided for years. It was Stella, my old college roommate who was now a ruthless state prosecutor. For years, I was so drowning in shame over my kidnapping that I had cut off contact with everyone who actually cared about me. But now, after pouring out the horrifying truth into the receiver, I heard her crying on the other end. “Elena… none of that was your fault. I swear to god, I will make every single person who touched you pay in blood.” Tears streamed down my face. By the time I hung up, my inbox chimed. She had sent me a digital boarding pass and a drafted divorce agreement. “Flight leaves tonight, El. Run from those demons.” I pulled a black surgical mask over my face. Before leaving the hospital, I took a detour to the medical waste facility to retrieve the final birthday gift I was going to give Liam. Once everything was securely packed, I carried a beautiful, velvet wrapped gift box back to our penthouse. I printed the divorce papers, signed my name in crisp black ink, and placed them on the mahogany coffee table right next to the velvet box. I walked into the kitchen and spoke quietly to Maria, our longtime housekeeper. “This is a gift for Liam. Please make absolutely sure he opens it himself.” Maria looked at my coat and suitcase, confused. “Ma’am, today is your birthday. Are you not staying for dinner?” I spaced out for a second, then a soft laugh slipped out. The laugh quickly turned into silent, heavy tears that dripped onto the velvet box. “I completely forgot it was my birthday. After all the chaos, I guess I finally get to deliver this gift on the right day.” I wiped my face, my voice returning to absolute ice. “I am not coming back.” I will never, ever step foot in this place again. This penthouse had devoured my happiness and my youth. I walked toward the front door, but a heavy hand slammed it shut. Assistant Carter stood there, blocking my path. I subtly pushed my passport deeper into my trench coat pocket. “Mr. Davis has prepared a birthday surprise for you. Please come with me, Ms. Bennett.” His eyes were filled with unmistakable mockery and disdain. I knew he was already on Jenny’s payroll. If I caused a scene now, Liam and Jenny would find a way to lock me up, and I would miss my flight tonight. “Lead the way,” I said numbly, stepping into the waiting town car. The car pulled up to a massive luxury hotel convention center. I scanned the crowded ballroom with high alert, having no idea what Liam was plotting. Liam walked up to me in a tailored tuxedo, gently stroking my wrist with fake concern. “You lost so much weight. It took me years to get you healthy.” I yanked my arm away, shivering in disgust. “What the hell are you trying to do?” “Are you still mad at me?” He sighed, reaching out to cup my cheek like a loving husband. “You were acting so reckless today. All I asked for was an apology, and you started hitting yourself. You terrified me, Elena. I had to get Jenny out of there before things escalated.” I kept my lips pressed in a tight, pale line. Let him spin his delusions. “Still throwing a tantrum?” He tried to kiss my forehead, but I pushed him hard in the chest. A flash of genuine irritation flared in his dark eyes. “Alright, that’s enough. The silent treatment gets really boring after a while.” “You terrified Jenny today, but she is so forgiving. She even offered to host a public intervention to help cure your PTSD.” “I don’t want it.” I stared at the massive LED screen on the stage. It displayed a glamorous portrait of Jenny with bold letters: CONFRONT YOUR SHADOWS – Live Trauma Therapy Masterclass with Celebrity Psychologist Jenny Liu. At the bottom of the screen was a smaller dedication: Special thanks to Mr. Liam Davis for his generous sponsorship. A heavy, suffocating dread pooled in my stomach. I turned to walk out the double doors. “I appreciate her fake charity, but I decline. Have a great seminar.” “Elena!” Liam’s hand clamped around my wrist like a steel vice. “This isn’t just a business seminar. This is my birthday gift to you.” “Once Jenny cures your mental block, you can finally go back to being a normal woman. Isn’t that what you want?” He grabbed both my shoulders, forcing me to look into his manic eyes. “Just listen to me. Jenny is the best in the country. She will fix you.” A twisted, terrifying hope sparked in his face. “After your dad died, you always said you just wanted a real family. Once you are cured, we can try for another baby. A family of three. Isn’t that everything you ever dreamed of?” “Let me go!” I thrashed violently, but two of his massive bodyguards grabbed my arms and dragged me forcefully toward the stage. Blinding spotlights hit my face. Hundreds of elite guests turned to stare at me. Jenny stood at the podium, her voice echoing through the microphone with theatrical passion. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is our case study for today. You might recognize her from the tabloids. After being abducted and willingly playing house with violent criminals for three months, she was found discarded in the woods half naked. Our tragic protagonist, Elena Bennett.” “That is a lie!” I screamed into the blinding lights. “Let me go!” “Denial. Blaming the world while refusing to acknowledge her own promiscuity and lack of morals. This is a classic defense mechanism,” Jenny analyzed from her pedestal, dripping with condescension. “The only way she can heal is by confessing her sins. So, we must force her to confront her shadows.” The massive LED screens flashed to life. They played the leaked livestream footage from the kidnappers’ den. The camera zoomed in on my bruised, crying face, magnifying my absolute terror for a room full of strangers to dissect. Whispers of disgust rippled through the crowd. They ignored my screaming. They pulled out their smartphones, recording me while offering their own cruel commentary. “I’m saving this video. This chick is a total freak.” “Good thing her dad died early. If he saw this, the shame would have killed him twice.” “Stop it!” I collapsed to my knees, pressing my hands hard over my ears, shaking uncontrollably. “Elena, admit it! Admit you are a filthy whore! Admit you willingly slept with those men!” Jenny’s voice sounded like a demon echoing from the depths of hell. “It wasn’t me! It was you! Let me go!” I fought wildly, trying to crawl off the stage, but the bodyguards pinned me to the floor. My silk dress ripped during the struggle, exposing my shoulder. I tried to cover myself, but a bodyguard intentionally yanked my hands behind my back. “Liam! Please, make them stop! I am begging you!” I sobbed. Liam stood up from his front row VIP seat. He took a panicked step toward me, but stopped, looking up at Jenny with a torn expression. Through his earpiece, his voice sounded strained. “Elena, be a good girl. Just apologize.” “I did nothing wrong! Why should I confess to a lie?!” My tears soaked into the stage carpet. “This seminar is crucial for Jenny’s career. If she proves this shock therapy works, she gets her national medical board certification.” He sounded desperate and impatient. “Just cooperate. Apologize, and this will all be over.” My blood turned to freezing ice. The sound of my own recorded screaming faded into the background. Liam’s cruel ultimatum rang in my ears. “If you don’t confess, you can stay on that floor forever.” The last tear fell. I stopped fighting. I knelt properly on the floor, looking up at Jenny’s triumphant face, and spoke slowly. “I confess. I am a whore. I am a slut. I am the reason my parents are dead.” Jenny smirked, her eyes gleaming with wicked satisfaction. “Excellent. Phase one is complete. Phase two is atonement. Only by vocalizing your deepest guilt can the shadows truly recede.” She put on a mask of fake sympathy. “Unfortunately, Ms. Bennett’s family is entirely dead. She has no one to apologize to.” “However,” she tapped her chest, playing the gracious saint. “I suppose fate works in mysterious ways. After your father passed away, his heart was miraculously matched and transplanted into my chest. Why don’t you apologize to me? Consider it an apology to your father’s heart.” She smiled down at me, venomous and victorious, waiting for me to bow my head and let her crush my dignity into the dirt in front of the entire city. I looked at her, my face devoid of all emotion. “There is no need for all that.” I turned and threw myself off the elevated stage. My body slammed against the solid marble floor. Pain exploded through my bones. Blood blossomed around my mouth. The crowd erupted into horrified screams. I spat out a mouthful of warm blood. “Is this… enough of an apology?” “Enough!” Liam charged forward, violently wrapping his suit jacket around my trembling body. His eyes were bloodshot. His hands were shaking uncontrollably as he pulled me to his chest. “Get the car! We are going to the hospital right now!” “Liam! My stomach hurts so much!” Jenny wailed into the microphone. “She traumatized me! The baby!” Liam’s arms instantly turned to stone. It only took one second. He shoved my bleeding body into the arms of his assistant and sprinted toward the stage without a single backward glance. The very last thing I saw before the darkness took me was Liam pulling Jenny into a passionate, desperate kiss to calm her nerves.

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