1 In my past life, my family was cursed with a secret I couldn’t share: they could all hear the thoughts of the girl who had stolen my place. Only I was deaf to her voice. Returning to the Powell mansion, I stood before them in faded, threadbare clothes. Her sweet, venomous thoughts filled the air: [Her foster parents aren’t poor. She’s dressing like this to win sympathy.] My parents’ warmth turned to ice. Years of hardship had given me stomach cancer; every dollar went to painkillers. But Jane spun lies in her mind: [She’s not sick—she’s a gambling addict. Those are drugs.] Their flicker of concern became disgust. They dragged me to rehab. When I vomited from pain, she accused me of being pregnant. I begged and pleaded, but the Powells wouldn’t listen. They locked me away, and the staff tortured me until I died. When I opened my eyes, I was back at the beginning. But this time, I could hear her too. I looked straight at Jane and said, “I can hear you.” … The moment the Powells found me, I was digging through a dumpster for something to eat, my hands trembling from hunger. Jane stared at my patched-up jeans, and her silent voice slithered into my mind. [Her foster parents aren’t even poor. She must be dressing like this on purpose, scavenging for scraps just to win Mom and Dad’s sympathy. Should I say something?] Instantly, the pity on my birth parents’ faces curdled into revulsion. Just like before. In my past life, I couldn’t hear her thoughts, couldn’t understand why their expressions changed so abruptly. I just assumed they were disgusted by how dirty I was. But this time was different. I looked directly at Jane. “I can hear you,” I said, my voice clear and steady. “And I’m not wearing these clothes for sympathy. They’re the only ones I own. I’m digging through the trash because my foster parents don’t feed me. If I don’t, I starve.” Jane’s heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t expected me to be so direct, to voice her inner thoughts out loud. She bit her lip, her mind racing. [Can she really hear me? How can she lie without even blushing? I looked into it. Her foster parents treated her like a princess…] As my parents’ gazes filled with suspicion, I shoved up the sleeve of my tattered shirt, revealing a roadmap of old scars and fresh bruises. “Did you really look into it?” I challenged Jane. “Because all they ever did was beat me. I can’t remember a day in my life when I wasn’t covered in wounds. If you don’t believe me, take me to a hospital for an examination. But stop slandering me in your head.” Jane’s face went pale. She shrank behind Mrs. Powell, her thoughts turning pitiful. [She’s terrifying. She’s hurting herself just to get Mom and Dad’s attention.] [She doesn’t even need to do all this. She’s their real daughter. They’d love her anyway.] I turned to the Powells. “Take me to a hospital.” Seeing the marks covering my body, their eyes reddened with a fresh wave of pity, their faces a canvas of confusion. Who was telling the truth? Mr. Powell stepped forward, trying to smooth things over. “Alright, that’s enough,” he said to me. “Your sister… we’ve spoiled her. Don’t take what she thinks to heart. She’s just scared we’re going to cast her out.” I knew Jane’s place in their hearts was secure. She was the one who had been by their side all these years. I agreed to come back, but not for their affection. Last time, their blindness to Jane’s manipulations cost me my chance at treatment. This time, I wouldn’t let her silent lies destroy me. They ushered me into their car, ready to take me to my new home. But a sharp, agonizing pain seized my stomach. My face went white, my body started to tremble uncontrollably, and I fumbled in my pocket for my pills. I had just gotten the bottle open when Jane’s voice echoed in my head again. [Oh my god, she’s an addict. That’s not a painkiller bottle, it’s full of drugs. This is so bad…] The concern on my parents’ faces vanished, replaced by that familiar look of revulsion. Mr. Powell stopped the car, reaching over to snatch the bottle from my hands. But I was faster. I swallowed two pills and, in one swift motion, shoved a few more into his open mouth. I clamped my hand over his lips, tilting his head back like you would a stray cat you’re trying to deworm, and held it there until he swallowed. 2. Only then did I let go. “Elara!” my mother shrieked. “What are you doing?” The medicine was already working, dulling the fire in my stomach. I shrugged. “We should probably head to the hospital. If you start having withdrawals, you’ll have to check into rehab with me.” Jane’s face was ashen, her mind scrambling to regain control. [She’s terrifying. The drugs must be making her act like this. We have to get her to a facility, quickly—] Before she could finish the thought, my hand shot out and I slapped her across the face. Then I gave her the same treatment, forcing a few pills down her throat. As she choked them down, I looked at her with a cold smile. “You know damn well what they are.” Jane fell silent. My father’s face was a thunderous mask, but he had no time to rage at me. He slammed his foot on the accelerator and sped toward the nearest hospital. They ran every test imaginable: blood draws, an endoscopy, even a full toxicology screen. There was no sign of drug addiction. Still, my father wasn’t convinced. He insisted I was just a casual user and forced me through another battery of tests. That’s when they found it. The cancer. And the pills, they confirmed, were nothing more than high-strength painkillers. My parents couldn’t meet my eyes, their faces etched with shame. I looked at them. “So, are we still going to rehab?” My mother forced a laugh and reached for my hand. “Elara, honey, what have you been through? How could you have gotten cancer?” My voice was flat. “By living a life where I never knew where my next meal was coming from.” “The people who raised me swapped me with their daughter, Jane. They wanted me dead. A census worker showed up at their door, so they were forced to register me. They saw me as a waste of food, starving me for days on end before tossing me scraps like a dog.” “As I got older, I started scavenging from dumpsters just to survive. The constant hunger turned into a chronic illness, but there was no money for a doctor. I just learned to live with the pain. When I was old enough to work, I could finally afford to eat, but by then, it was already cancer. Every cent I made went to painkillers. With no money left for food, I went back to the dumpsters.” “When you found me, I thought… I thought I’d finally have enough to eat.” I let out a bitter laugh. The guilt on their faces deepened. Jane chose that moment to make her move. She approached my bed, tears streaming down her face. “I’m so sorry, Elara,” she sobbed, slapping her own cheek. “It’s my fault. I’m the one who stole your life…” Her strategy had shifted. Now, she was playing the victim. [Mom and Dad must hate me now. It’s all my fault. I’m the child of her foster parents. If it weren’t for me, my sister wouldn’t have suffered like this.] As predicted, my parents immediately rushed to her side. “Jane, honey, it’s not your fault. It’s your parents’ fault.” “That’s right, you had no choice in the matter! They switched you, you didn’t ask for this…” Just then, the hospital room door burst open, and my foster parents rushed in. My foster mother grabbed my hand, her face a mask of deep concern. “Elara, sweetie, are you okay? Why would you go digging through the trash?” she cried. “We gave you everything, we raised you like a princess! We know you were upset that we couldn’t buy you all the designer bags you wanted, but you can’t punish us like this…” She broke down into heart-wrenching sobs. My foster father hung his head, wiping away fake tears. “We’re just glad you’ve found your real parents. They’re wealthy. They can give you the life you deserve. It’s our fault we couldn’t provide for you…” 3. Every word was a carefully crafted performance, painting me as a vain, ungrateful brat. Jane’s thoughts chimed in right on cue: [But Elara said they were horrible to her?] My mother’s face flushed with anger. She spun around and slapped me. “Elara! Is this what you call being mistreated?” she spat. “I can’t believe you’d lie like that, pretending to be a victim just because they wouldn’t buy you a handbag! You manipulated us, tried to turn us against Jane!” “Thank god your foster parents showed up to set the record straight!” My foster mother immediately dropped to her knees. “Please, don’t hit her!” she begged. “If you have to hit someone, hit me! It’s my fault, I didn’t raise her right… I never laid a hand on her, not once! You can’t either!” My mother was furious. “This is what happens when you spoil a child! Look what she’s become!” But my foster mother remained on the floor, weeping with guilt. “It’s not her fault. We just couldn’t give her the life she wanted.” [Her foster parents’ clothes are so old and worn out. They look so poor,] Jane thought, fanning the flames. My parents looked at the couple—their threadbare clothes, their graying hair, the exhausted lines etched on their faces. The image of me, their daughter, throwing a tantrum over luxury goods while these poor people struggled to raise me, sent my mother into a fresh rage. “They worked so hard for you, and you repay them by pretending to be homeless? You’re unbelievable.” Having already died once, I felt strangely calm. “They’re lying,” I said simply. “And the hospital already confirmed I have cancer.” My foster father immediately shot back, “Elara, how could you lie to your birth parents like this? Just because the doctor is your cousin doesn’t mean you can make up something so serious!” I’d had enough. I walked to the door and raised my voice. “Excuse me! Doctor! My family says I’m faking my cancer and they want to stop my treatment!” A passing nurse and my own doctor, who was standing down the hall, both turned and hurried over. “What is wrong with you people?” the nurse scolded them. “Your daughter has stomach cancer and you want to refuse treatment? If she gets help now, she has a chance. If you do nothing, she might not have more than a few months…” My doctor’s brows furrowed. “Who here is Elara’s legal guardian?” My foster parents paled, realizing their lie had been exposed. The foster father stepped forward, trying to salvage the situation. “We are, we are. She’s just throwing a little tantrum, you know how kids are. We’ll just take her home now and get in touch with you later.” It was a clever move. To the doctor, it would sound like I was being difficult and they were responsible parents. To my real parents, it would confirm their suspicion that the doctor was my cousin. I didn’t bother arguing. I looked straight at the doctor. “My foster parents are claiming you’re my cousin, and that I paid you to fake my diagnosis.” The doctor’s face darkened. “That’s absurd! I’m nobody’s cousin!” He immediately called for the hospital administrator. Seeing things spiral out of control, my foster father tried to grab me and leave. The doctor blocked their path, his expression grim. “This is a serious accusation that affects my professional integrity. You will wait here for the police to arrive and take your statements.” Jane’s face went white. “You can’t call the police!” she blurted out. I smiled.

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“I’m pregnant.” The voice on the other end of the line was young. I stood in the middle of my living room, my hand tightening around my phone. “Congratulations.” “Kevin says he wants you to move out of the house.” I laughed. A dry, humorless sound. “Is he there with you?” “Yes.” “Put him on.” A few seconds of silence, then Kevin’s voice, laced with panic. “Grace, let me explain—” “Don’t,” I cut him off. “I have 47 screenshots of your text messages. Bank records show 67 separate transfers to her, totaling eighty thousand dollars.” The line went dead quiet. “I also have photos. And audio recordings. And video.” I stared out the window at the city lights. “City Hall. Tomorrow.” I hung up. 1. Kevin came home at ten o’clock that night. He opened the door and saw me sitting on the sofa, waiting. “Grace…” “Sit.” He sat down across from me, his head bowed. “How many months pregnant is Tina?” I asked. “Three.” “And what’s the plan?” “I…” He looked up, his eyes pleading. “I want a divorce.” I nodded. “Fine.” He stared at me, stunned. “But the house…” he hesitated. “The baby needs a home.” I just looked at him. When we got married five years ago, he had promised to give me a home. The down payment on this house was $200,000. My money. The mortgage is $2,500 a month. For the past five years, I’ve been the one paying it. He makes $4,000 a month. I make $15,000. “The baby?” I asked, my voice calm. “Your baby?” “Yes.” “With Tina?” “Yes.” I smiled. “Then that’s something for you and Tina to figure out.” “But the house is in your name.” “That’s right. In my name.” I stood up. “Which means the house is mine.” “Grace, you can’t be this selfish,” Kevin said, getting to his feet as well. “The baby is innocent.” “And what about me?” He had no answer. I walked into the bedroom and closed the door. My phone lit up. A text from my best friend, Sarah. Well? Did you find anything? I typed back. I did. 67 transfers. $80,000. Holy shit. I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Three months ago, I noticed Kevin was always ordering two meals for delivery. One to his office, and one to another address across town. Two months ago, I saw a contact in his phone named “T,” with a message history that included, “Hey babe, what time are you coming home tonight?” One month ago, I checked his bank records. Sixty-seven transfers, all to a Tina Bell. The first one was three years ago, for a thousand dollars. The most recent was last month, for five thousand. I did the math. A grand total of eighty thousand dollars. Kevin’s salary for the past five years was roughly $48,000 a year, making his total income around $240,000 before taxes. He had given almost all of his disposable income to Tina. Meanwhile, the most expensive thing he had ever bought for me was my wedding ring. It cost $300. I turned off my phone and closed my eyes. Tomorrow, I had an appointment with Mr. Evans, my private investigator. 2. I met Mr. Evans at a coffee shop the next afternoon. “Ms. Hale,” he said, sliding a manila envelope across the table. “Here’s the information you requested.” I opened it. Inside was a stack of photographs. The first showed Kevin standing with a young woman in front of an apartment building. The second showed them holding hands, walking into the lobby. The third was a photo of the woman, her pregnant belly clearly visible. “Her name is Tina Bell, 26,” Mr. Evans said. “A colleague from his office. They’ve been involved for at least three years.” “Where does she live?” “The Veridian Apartments. Rents a one-bedroom.” I nodded, putting the photos away. “There’s also this,” he said, handing me a USB drive. “Surveillance footage. Fifteen separate occasions of them entering and leaving a hotel together.” I took the drive. “I also pulled their call logs,” he said, producing a printout. “238 calls. At least three a day. The longest was over two hours.” I looked at the dense list of dates and durations. “Thank you.” “My pleasure,” he said, standing. “Is this enough, Ms. Hale?” “It’s more than enough.” When I got home, Kevin wasn’t there. I plugged the USB drive into my laptop. The hotel footage was crystal clear. Kevin and Tina, holding hands, checking in at night, leaving together in the morning. I took screenshots. My phone buzzed. A text from Kevin: Company dinner tonight. Won’t be home. I didn’t reply. I opened his cloud storage and found a hidden folder. The password was Tina’s birthday. I tried it. It opened. It was full of pictures of the two of them. At the beach, at an amusement park, in restaurants. In one photo, Tina was wearing a white sundress, smiling beautifully for the camera. The caption read, “My gorgeous wife.” The date stamp was our third wedding anniversary. The day I waited up for him to celebrate, and he told me he was stuck at work. I closed the album and took a deep breath. My phone rang again. This time, it was Tina. “Hello?” “Grace, we need to meet.” “Fine.” “Tomorrow, three p.m., outside The Veridian.” “Okay.” I hung up. A message from Sarah popped up: You okay, hon? I’m fine. Want me to come with you? No, I’ve got this. I stood up and walked to the window. A light rain was falling, stretching the reflections of the streetlights on the wet pavement. I remembered the day Kevin proposed, five years ago. It had been raining then, too. “Grace,” he had said, “marry me. I’ll spend the rest of my life making you happy.” And I believed him. 3. The next afternoon, I arrived at The Veridian on time. Tina was already waiting for me. She wore a loose-fitting maternity dress, her baby bump now noticeable. “Grace,” she said with a faint smile. “Hello.” “Let’s go somewhere to talk.” We found a quiet café nearby and took a table by the window. “I’m three months pregnant,” she began. “Kevin told me he wants a divorce.” “I know.” “About the house…” she paused. “Kevin said, could you…” “No,” I cut her off. She blinked, surprised. “The down payment was $200,000. My money,” I said, looking her straight in the eye. “The mortgage payments for the past five years? I’ve paid $150,000 of that.” “But the deed is in both of your names, isn’t it?” “I have a prenup. The deed is in my name only.” The color drained from Tina’s face. “Then Kevin…” “He didn’t contribute a single cent.” “That’s impossible!” Her voice rose. “The money Kevin has been giving me all these years—he earned that himself!” I laughed. “Sixty-seven transfers, totaling eighty thousand dollars.” I pulled out my phone and opened my banking app. “See for yourself.” I handed her the phone. Her face grew paler as she scrolled through the list of transactions. “His annual salary is forty-eight thousand dollars,” I said calmly. “Over five years, he’s grossed two hundred and forty thousand. He sent you eighty thousand of it.” “Then where did the rest of his money go?” “Ask him.” Tina handed back my phone, speechless. “Is there anything else?” I asked. “Grace, the baby is innocent,” she pleaded. “Can’t you just…” “No.” I stood up. “The house is mine. It has nothing to do with you.” I turned and walked out of the café. As I left, I heard her voice behind me. “Grace, you’ll regret this!” I didn’t look back. When I got home, Kevin was waiting in the living room. “Tina called me,” he said. “Why won’t you give up the house?” “Because it’s my house.” “But we’re married!” “Did you remember we were married when you were sleeping with her?” He fell silent. I went into the bedroom and came back with the USB drive. “What’s that?” he asked. “The surveillance footage of you and Tina at the hotel.” I placed it on the coffee table. “Fifteen times. I have the dates and locations.” His face went white. “And this,” I said, producing the call logs. “Two hundred and thirty-eight calls. At least three a day.” “And the photos. Forty-seven of them,” I continued. “At the beach, the amusement park, the restaurant.” “And the text messages. And the hidden folder in your cloud storage. The password is Tina’s birthday.” Kevin collapsed onto the sofa as if his legs had given out. “Grace, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice trembling. “I was wrong. I was so wrong.” “I know you were,” I said. “That’s why we’re getting a divorce.” “But Tina’s pregnant…” “That’s your problem.” “Grace!” he shot up from the sofa. “You can’t be so heartless!” I looked at him, my voice devoid of emotion. “You transferred eighty thousand dollars to her over three years. The most expensive thing you’ve bought for me in five years of marriage was a three-hundred-dollar wedding ring.” He opened his mouth, but no words came out. “Now tell me,” I said. “Who’s the heartless one?” 4. For the next few days, Kevin was relentless. “Grace, I swear, I know I messed up.” “Grace, I’ll break up with Tina, okay?” “Grace, we don’t have to have the baby, just please don’t divorce me.” I ignored him completely and focused on preparing the divorce papers. My lawyer confirmed it. Because of the prenup, the house was mine. And because of his infidelity, I was entitled to damages. “No damages,” I told her. “I just want the house. He can have everything else.” “Are you sure, Ms. Hale?” my lawyer asked, surprised. “You could easily get a significant settlement for emotional distress.” “I’m sure,” I said, shaking my head. “I just want this to be over quickly.” “Understood. I’ll draw up the agreement.” That evening, Kevin tried again. “Grace, are you really going through with this?” “Yes.” “Then what about Tina and the baby?” “You figure it out.” “But I don’t have any money!” he said, his voice rising in panic. “If I had the house, I could sell it, use the money to support the child…” “You are not getting the house.” “Why not?” I looked at him as if he were a stranger. “Because the two-hundred-thousand-dollar down payment was mine. The one hundred and fifty thousand in mortgage payments were mine. That’s three hundred and fifty thousand dollars of my money.” “But I’m your husband!” “Ex-husband,” I corrected him. “We’re going to City Hall tomorrow.” “I’m not going!” “Then I’ll sue.” I held up my phone. “I have all the evidence I need. The court will grant the divorce.” Kevin sank back onto the sofa and said nothing for a long time. “Grace, I really am sorry,” he said, and then he started to cry. “I don’t know what got into me. I made a terrible mistake.” I watched him weep and felt absolutely nothing. Five years ago, I was in the hospital for a minor surgery. He said he was too busy at work to visit. I later found out he was with Tina, celebrating her birthday. Three years ago, my father was seriously ill. I asked him for a loan of five thousand dollars. He said he was broke. But his bank records show he transferred three thousand to Tina that same month. Two years ago, on our third wedding anniversary, I cooked a special dinner and waited until midnight. He never came home. He said he was working late. The photos in his cloud storage show him and Tina at the beach that day. “Kevin,” I said, my voice flat. “I gave you chances.” He looked up at me, his face streaked with tears. “Three years ago, you came home late, and your shirt smelled of another woman’s perfume. I asked you about it. You said you must have brushed against someone on the subway.” “Two years ago, your credit card statement showed a thirty-five-hundred-dollar charge for a necklace. I asked you about it. You said it was a gift for my mother.” “Last year, I saw the texts from ‘T.’ I asked you who that was. You said it was just an older colleague from work who was helping you with some leads.” “And I believed you. Every time.” Kevin lowered his head in shame. “But you sent her eighty thousand dollars,” I said, standing up. “And all you ever gave me was a three-hundred-dollar ring.” I walked toward the bedroom. “Tomorrow, nine a.m. City Hall.” I closed the door behind me. My phone buzzed. A text from Sarah: What did the lawyer say? It’s happening tomorrow. And the house? It’s mine. FUCK YES. I lay on my bed and thought about the woman I was five years ago. I was 27, newly promoted, making good money. Kevin was 29, a salesman making a fraction of my salary. When he proposed, I hesitated. But he told me, “Grace, I know I don’t make much now, but I’ll work hard. I’ll be good to you.” And I believed him. Turns out he did work hard. He worked hard to make money for his mistress.

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The mission succeeded: I’d captured the villain’s heart. But victory came at a cost—I was torn from his world at the peak of our triumph. Damian Blackwood, the man I’d broken and rebuilt, coughed up blood, clutching me as if to fuse me into his soul. “Cara, trust me,” he rasped desperately, “I’ll find you. I’ll wait for you to come home.” After I left, grief hollowed me. I spiraled into depression, turned to self-harm, and was committed to a psychiatric hospital. Three years later, the System took pity and sent me back to Damian. I rushed through the night, eager to surprise him—only to overhear him talking to a friend. “Congrats on settling down with that look-alike!” Damian laughed coldly. “Congrats? She’s a gold digger who plays hard to get. But she has her price.” A smirk betrayed him. “Gotta go, my substitute has a curfew. She’ll lock me out if I’m late.” He added, “And call off the search for Cara. If the new girl finds out, she’ll freeze me out for a month.” I stood frozen. The man I’d suffered three years for, through despair and electroshock therapy, clinging to his memory even when I forgot my own name—was gone in that shattering moment. And I finally let go. … My hand found the cold brick wall, my body trembling so violently I could barely stand. System, take me back, I pleaded silently. I don’t want to be here anymore. The System had heard it too. Its usually cold, electronic voice was laced with something like pity. Three days. Fine. Just three days. I stumbled back to the tiny, rundown apartment that had once been my home, needing a place to collapse. But when I pushed open the door, it wasn’t my world inside. It was another universe entirely. My cramped 400-square-foot studio had been blown out, merged with the neighboring units to create a sprawling, multi-level penthouse. It was luxurious, dazzling, and utterly alien. Our simple wooden bed frame was gone, replaced by a monstrous European-style king. The cozy sofa I’d spent weeks picking out had vanished. And there, pressing a woman against an imported marble dining table, was Damian. He was kissing her deeply when he saw me. He froze. Instinctively, he pulled his collar up to hide a fresh bite mark on his neck. His eyes, rimmed with red, locked onto mine in a daze. “Cara,” he breathed. “You’re finally back…” I sidestepped his attempt to embrace me. A few feet away, the woman—Zoe—was wiping her mouth with a look of disgust. Her eyes met mine, and she paused, a slow, cold smile spreading across her lips. “So it’s true. Everyone says I’m your spitting image.” She pushed herself off the table. “Well, Mr. Blackwood, now that your ghost is back in the flesh, I assume I’m free to go.” Damian, still stunned by my rejection, shot her a panicked look. A wave of guilt washed over his face. “What the hell are you talking about?” he snapped, then turned his frantic gaze back to me. “Cara, don’t misunderstand. It’s not what you think…” His explanation was pathetic, empty. I laughed, a hollow sound. I unclasped the thin silver bracelet from my wrist and, walking over to Zoe, fastened it around hers. “It suits you,” I said softly. “A welcome gift.” It was the bracelet he’d given me. The one that sealed our promise. The panic on Damian’s face intensified. “Cara… are you leaving me? Don’t you want me anymore? I swear, with her, it’s—” Zoe was staring at the bracelet, lost in thought, when Damian lunged for it. “What are you looking at?” he roared. “You’re not worthy of wearing that!” But Zoe was quick. She dodged his hand, a defiant spark in her eyes. It was unclear who she was trying to provoke. “Thank you for the gift, Cara,” she said with a saccharine smile. “I love it.” Damian’s jaw clenched. He looked like he was about to verbally tear her apart, but as his eyes landed on her bright, challenging smile, he faltered. The anger drained from his face, replaced by a flicker of something else. He swallowed his rebuke and turned back to me, desperate. “Cara, I’ll buy you another one tomorrow! An identical one!” Identical. Did he think a perfect copy could fool his heart into believing it was the original? Was it the same for people as it was for bracelets? I smiled. “A gift is a gift. I’m not a fan of playing with substitutes.” Damian froze, the words hitting him like a physical blow. Zoe yawned and disappeared into one of the bedrooms. The silence between Damian and me stretched, thick and heavy. He finally opened his mouth to speak. “Cara… about her and me…” Suddenly, a piercing scream erupted from Zoe’s room. Damian didn’t hesitate. He forgot I was even there, sprinting towards the sound. Zoe was covered in angry red welts, her breathing ragged and shallow. She pointed a trembling finger at the bracelet, which had fallen to the floor. “…It… it…” A wave of fierce protectiveness washed over Damian’s face. He snatched the bracelet from the floor, and his expression instantly darkened into pure fury. He stormed back to me, his hand clamping around my wrist like a vice, all restraint gone. “What did you do to it?” he snarled. Pain, sharp and blinding, shot up my arm. Tears welled in my eyes. The wrist he was crushing was a roadmap of my despair. It was covered in deep, jagged scars from the days when the only way to feel something other than the agony of his absence was to feel pain. He seemed oblivious to the scarred, uneven skin beneath his fingers, his grip tightening with every word. “Why would you hurt her? Cara! You’ve changed!” Laughter bubbled up from my chest, wild and hysterical. A tribute to the three years I had bled for him. The searing pain in my wrist felt like a punchline. Look at that. The proof of my devotion had become the weapon he used against me. How pathetic. I don’t know how long passed before Damian was bundling Zoe into an ambulance. He shot a cold command to the housekeeper over his shoulder. “Watch the door. From now on, Cara is not to set foot in this place again.” He seemed to have forgotten. This was my home first. Before I returned, I’d spent days lost in fantasy, imagining a desperate, passionate reunion where we’d erase three years of heartache. I hadn’t even been back for a single day, and I was already being thrown out. the System chimed in. Of course it was. When Damian gave it to me, we had nothing. It was all we could afford. He had tended to Zoe like a prize flower, nurturing her until she was too fragile for my world. It wasn’t Zoe’s fault. But the injustice of it all burned like acid in my throat. I pulled out my old phone, the one I hadn’t touched in three years, and sent him the text that was long overdue. “We’re done.” Five minutes later, my phone exploded with calls from him. I just turned it off. I ended up at a bar, downing shot after shot of whiskey. A loud, cheerful voice cut through the haze. “Hey, there you are! What a surprise! The wedding’s just around the corner, can’t believe Damian would let you out to a place like this!” I looked up. The man’s eyes widened when he got a good look at my face. “…Oh. It’s Cara. You’re back?” He’d mistaken me for Zoe. I didn’t say a word, but he grabbed my arm and dragged me toward a private room. The moment we entered, the chatter died. Everyone stared. “Cara! You’re back! Does Damian know? Man, after you left, he completely fell apart. He was in the ICU for six months!” “Seriously! He was a wreck. I barely recognized him. It’s a good thing you’re back!” Someone must have called him, because five minutes later, the screech of tires echoed from the street below. Damian burst in, his eyes wild and red. “Cara, please don’t do this. Don’t break up with me. I swear, she’s just a substitute for you…” “She was drunk,” he pleaded, his voice cracking. “She came onto me for money. I was in so much pain after losing you… that’s the only reason I kept her around…” The others chimed in, a chorus of condemnation. “He’s right, Cara. You’re the one who heartlessly stayed away for three years. If it wasn’t for… for Zoe, Damian wouldn’t even be alive today!” “Come on, be the bigger person! Just let it go! You’re not really going to throw him away over this, are you?” They all pointed their fingers at me, as if I were the villain. But what about my pain? Did they know I’d carved my own body until there was barely an inch of smooth skin left? That during the worst of my depressive episodes, I’d clenched my jaw so hard I nearly shattered my teeth? Did they think my friends hadn’t tried to find me a replacement for him? I remembered crying until I thought my eyes would bleed, shaking my head frantically. “Damian is Damian,” I’d whispered. “No one can ever replace him.” The crowd slowly filtered out, leaving Damian and me alone in the suffocating silence. I turned to leave, wanting nothing more than to get away from him. He caught me in the hallway, wrapping his arms around me in a crushing embrace. He sounded like a lost little boy. “Cara, please, hit me, scream at me, just… don’t leave me,” he begged, burying his face in my hair. “I can’t lose you again.” Just then, a man and a woman stumbled down the corridor. The woman was drunk, leaning heavily on the man for support. Damian glanced over, and his whole body went rigid. His pupils contracted. In a flash, he released me and launched himself at the other man, kicking him to the ground with a guttural roar. He snatched the woman, Zoe, into his own arms. His eyes were blazing red with fury. “Getting bold, are we? Meeting up with your ex-boyfriend behind my back?” I felt a dizzying sense of déjà vu. He’d looked at me with that same expression once—violent, broken, and terrified—when I’d had dinner with a male friend. Zoe kicked at his shins. “Get off me!” she sneered. “Your precious Cara is back. What are you still clinging to me for? Don’t tell me you’ve actually fallen for me.” Damian shot a nervous glance at me, then scoffed. “In your dreams. A money-grubbing parasite like you? I’d never fall for you. But what about you? Getting a little jealous, are we? Did you fall for me?” Zoe shoved him away and helped her ex to his feet. “You’re not worthy,” she spat. Damian’s rage boiled over. He grabbed Zoe’s arm, yanking her away from the other man. In the struggle, a ring flew from her finger, sailing through an open window and into the dark river below. Zoe froze. Her eyes filled with panic. “Damian! That was my mother’s! It’s all I have left of her!” Damian stared, his anger vanishing, replaced by shock. Then, without a moment’s hesitation, he vaulted over the railing and plunged into the icy water. I closed my eyes, a single tear tracing a cold path down my cheek before splashing silently onto the floor. Damian was terrified of water. I had begged and pleaded with him for months, but he refused to even set foot inside a public pool. And yet, for her… Damian, I thought, a bitter ache spreading through my chest. Are you really sure she’s just a substitute? Even Zoe looked stunned, staring at the flailing, desperate figure in the river. Half an hour later, he hauled himself back over the railing, shivering, his face pale as death. He held up the ring like a trophy, then tossed it at her with disgust. “Tch. Only someone from the gutter would treasure a cheap piece of junk like this.”

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At twenty-six, my family finally wore me down, and I started going on dates. I never imagined my first setup would be with Julian Croft, the man I’d secretly loved for seven years. Six months later, he smiled at me and said, “Ivy, how did I not see you sooner?” My unrequited love had finally, miraculously, found its way home. He was in love with me. On our first wedding anniversary, I was scrolling through my phone when I came across a video from The Peregrine, a famous indie bookstore known for its art installations. This one featured a public display: a fifty-page letter, strung up with nearly a hundred plane and train tickets. Every line was a bloody testament to a love that couldn’t be, a story so painful it brought onlookers to tears. Curious, I zoomed in on a photo of the letter’s final page. The signature was a simple set of initials: J.C. The object of his undying devotion wasn’t me. It was his ex-girlfriend, Stella. And the cruelest twist? I was pregnant. Getting a divorce was suddenly going to be very, very hard. 1 A hot tear splashed onto my phone screen. A moment ago, I was crying for the tragic star-crossed lovers in the video. Now, I was crying for myself. I tried to lie, to tell myself the initials were just a coincidence. But I’d spent my high school years filling every notebook with Julian’s name. I had practiced his handwriting until it was a perfect imitation. He used to joke that I could sign documents for him one day. Outside, lightning tore across the sky, followed by a deafening crack of thunder. I dialed his number. “Ivy, I’m so sorry, the flight’s delayed. I promise I’ll make our anniversary up to you, okay?” He was in Austin for a business trip. My voice was a low rasp. “Does a business trip really have to keep you out this late?” “You miss me, don’t you? It’s all my fault. I’ll make it up to you when I get back,” he cooed, his voice warm and soothing. “And remember, no ice cream. Be good.” He hung up, but I felt a hand closing around my throat, squeezing the air from my lungs. The comment section of the video was a flood of heartbroken messages. “Why can’t two people who love each other this much be together?” “She had no choice, and he’s just numbing the pain. This is killing me. Someone please let them be together!” So, for the past year and a half, his love for his ex had never faded. Not for a second. I remembered my best friend’s warning. A man who ends a five-year relationship with nothing to show for it… Ivy, be careful. His heart might not have room for anyone else. Trying to get in there will be like trying to climb a sheer cliff. But my own heart had been too high on hope. I believed the past was the past, that we would move forward together. Instead, behind my back, he was flying from New York to Austin, again and again. He was standing outside Stella’s apartment building, just to catch a glimpse of her. It was almost eleven p.m. The restaurant was closing. My legs were numb as I walked out into the stormy night, my eyes vacant. And then he was there, holding an umbrella, standing right in front of me. He was smiling, and with a flourish, he produced a glittering necklace, letting it dangle before my eyes. It was the one I’d saved to my favorites list weeks ago. “Happy anniversary, Ivy.” “The traffic was a nightmare, so I took a motorcycle taxi. The driver floored it when I told him I was late for my wedding anniversary.” He fastened it around my neck himself, draping his jacket over my shoulders against the chill. A lump formed in my throat, and a tear escaped, tracing a path down my cold cheek. He panicked. “Ivy, are you mad at me?” he asked, his hands fluttering nervously. “Or have I been so bad at getting you gifts that one actually moved you to tears? I promise I’ll work on being more romantic!” His embrace was warm, but a deep, numbing cold spread through my veins. “Was the trip to Austin successful? Run into any old acquaintances?” “It went fine. No old faces, though. I was in such a rush to get back to you, I barely even checked my work messages.” I gripped the lapels of his coat, the words I know everything on the tip of my tongue. But before I could speak, the world went black. “Ivy! Ivy, wake up! Don’t scare me!” 2 When I woke up in the hospital, Julian was holding my hand, his grip tight and possessive. He was smiling, a wide, frantic grin that set my teeth on edge. “Ivy, we’re going to have a baby.” His voice was choked with emotion. “You’re going to be a mom, and I’m going to be a dad. Thank you, Ivy. Thank you.” He kissed my forehead, then pressed his ear to my flat stomach, murmuring to it. “You have to be good in there, little one. Don’t make things hard for your mom. Being pregnant is tough work.” I felt drained, hollowed out, my fingers weakly clutching the sterile white sheets. If things had been different, this baby would have been the beautiful result of our love. But all I could picture was him, fresh from crying outside Stella’s apartment, putting on this mask of a loving husband for me. The joy just wouldn’t come. “Julian, I want a divorce.” The air in the room turned to ice. How was I supposed to live in a marriage built on a foundation of lies? He pressed my hand to his cheek, his eyes red-rimmed. “The doctor told me… pregnancy hormones can make you emotional. It’s okay, Ivy. Don’t be scared. I’m not going anywhere.” “I’ve already requested time off from work to be with you. Don’t be anxious. We’re going to be okay, alright?” I buried my face in my pillow and cried without a sound. Later that night, I told my friends about the pregnancy in our group chat. “Ivy, you’ve officially won at life! You married your dream guy, and now you’re having a baby together!” “Julian’s going to treat you like a national treasure! Make him take that time off. He needs to take care of you!” I stroked my stomach, a profound sense of loss washing over me. Julian was the man I had bragged about to them countless times. I always said our love was the real deal, meant to be. Now, I couldn’t bring myself to tell them the truth about our crumbling marriage. Maybe a child would change things. Maybe, for the baby, he would stop going to Austin. After taking his leave, Julian threw himself into caring for me. He insisted on learning to cook from his mother over the phone, refusing to let her come over and “get in the way.” That afternoon, he took a call. I saw a flicker of panic in his eyes, quickly masked. “Ivy, there’s a huge problem at the branch office. I have to go, but I’ll be back within the day.” “Okay. Go.” He booked the next flight out. The destination was Austin. I booked a seat on the same flight and boarded right behind him. He was too engrossed in a phone call with Stella to notice me. “Stella, I’m almost there. Don’t do anything stupid.” “Who said no one loves you? There hasn’t been a moment I haven’t missed you. Don’t you understand that?” I leaned against the window, my face hidden under a baseball cap, tears blurring my vision. I couldn’t explain why I was doing it. I just had to see for myself how deep his obsession ran. And when I saw them in front of her apartment building, wrapped in each other’s arms, I knew I had lost completely. Stella was crying, pounding her fists against his chest, and his eyes were filled with nothing but excruciating pain, as if her sorrow was his own, magnified a thousand times over. “Julian, you’re married now! You’re supposed to be happy! What are you doing here?” “I don’t need your pity! You’re the one who pushed me away!” “Stella, I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Marriage was a last resort for me. I couldn’t let you go.” “You have no idea how many times I’ve come here this past year, just to look at you from a distance, unable to hold you. Do you know how much that tears me apart?” I cross-referenced the dates on his letter. The day I was in a near car accident, getting screamed at by the other driver, Julian was here, leaving a bouquet of flowers at Stella’s door. The day my boss was making my life hell and I called him, crying, he was here, fixing a lightbulb in her apartment. The day a burglar broke into our home and I was almost assaulted, he was here, walking her dog, holding her hand… In every single moment I needed him to hold me, he was a thousand miles away, comforting his other love. 3 I prayed he would remember his family, his unborn child. But he followed Stella into the elevator and went up to her apartment. The bedroom light flickered on. Through the curtains, I could see their two shadows, tangled together. The Austin night was colder than back home. The wind cut through my coat like a knife. I sat on the curb, forcing myself to stare at those two silhouettes, a form of self-torture. Julian had transferred to my high school in our junior year. He was quiet, brilliant in every subject, a natural athlete. He was popular. I was just a quiet member of his physics study group. One day, a sudden downpour caught us after school. He gave me his umbrella and ran out into the rain, grinning back at me. “Get home safe,” he’d called. And just like that, my bittersweet, secret love began. We went to the same university, though we were in different programs. He was still the center of every room, a star, and I was always there in the crowd, watching him shine. In his sophomore year, he started dating Stella, a girl from his department. Their names became a constant, painful refrain around campus. So I buried myself in my studies, swallowing the jealousy and the lonely tears that came with loving someone who wasn’t mine. After graduation, I went to a different school for my master’s, and our paths diverged. I knew he and Stella were happy together. By the end of my first year of grad school, I had finally, unilaterally, ended my seven-year crush. The next time I saw him, he was sitting across from me on a blind date. He was mature, steady, and easy to talk to. The blood in my veins, dormant for so long, began to stir. I frantically texted my friends for advice. Julian pursued me for a year. I saw his sincerity, and I finally agreed to be with him. I never told him about my past. I wanted him to love me for me, not out of some pity for the girl who had pined for him for so long. Our marriage was blissfully happy. He understood my every mood, my every unspoken need. He never made me sad. He was just so good at hiding the truth. Looking back, I can’t tell which of his sighs were for her, and which, if any, were for me. The sun began to rise, the tear tracks on my face long since dry. Julian emerged from Stella’s building. They were both smiling. I pushed myself up on numb legs, but I didn’t have the courage to confront them. In his mind, they had five years together. I had only been in his life for two. Somehow, that simple math made me feel like the intruder, and the word bastard died in my throat. My phone rang. I snatched it up. “Ivy! Your father had a stroke! He’s in the hospital! You and Julian need to get here now!” My body went rigid. I looked back, but Julian was already putting Stella in a car, sending her off to work. I booked the fastest flight home. Outside the operating room, my mother and I clung to each other, whispering reassurances we didn’t believe. I told her Julian was on his way. But my texts to him went unanswered. The exhaustion of travel, the stress, the pregnancy—it was all too much. I collapsed. In my dreams, I remembered why Julian and Stella had broken up. It was the long distance, and her family’s vehement disapproval. But it was also because Stella had health issues and couldn’t conceive. Julian’s mother would never accept her. Caught between their families, exhausted and defeated, they had finally gone their separate ways. A few days ago, Julian had been waking up in the middle of the night, just to sit by my bed, making sure I had water if I got thirsty. I thought he was being caring. Now I see it wasn’t about my pregnancy. He was probably imagining it was Stella lying beside him, thinking how perfect his life would have been. I struggled to open my eyes. My mother was beside me, her face swollen from crying. “Ivy,” she sobbed, “your father… he might not make it.” He was hooked up to a ventilator, unresponsive. The doctor said we’d gotten him here too late. There was little hope. I pulled my mother up from the floor where she had crumpled. “Mom, you have to be strong. We can’t fall apart.” The suddenness of it all was suffocating me. After being gone for two days and a night, Julian finally arrived, looking worn and tired. He wasn’t alone. Stella was with him. 4 My father was dying. My mother was in shock. And Julian walked up to me, holding Stella’s hand. Perhaps sensing the tension, Stella pulled her hand free. “Ivy, don’t misunderstand. I heard about your father, and I was worried, so I came to see if I could help.” “Don’t worry,” she added, her voice soft and placating. “Julian knows the top specialists at this hospital. They’ll make sure your father gets the best care.” My voice was sharp, laced with fury. “My family is none of your concern, Stella.” She shrank back, and Julian immediately stepped in front of her. “Ivy, don’t take it out on her. She was just trying to be kind.” “Stella had a problem at work, and she didn’t have anyone else she could trust. That’s why I had to help, and why I’m late.” “Helping her in bed? You’re a dedicated employee.” His eyes flashed with anger, his tone accusatory. “Ivy, do you have to make everything sound so sordid?” “Whatever. Julian, if you want a divorce, you can at least wait until my father recovers.” “Ivy, that’s not what I meant!” A commotion erupted from the hospital room. I ran. My father was conscious. My mother knelt by his bed. “You can’t go,” she pleaded. “You haven’t even met your grandchild yet.” I wiped my eyes. “Dad, we’re all here with you.” He nodded weakly, gesturing for Julian to come closer. Julian did as he was told. “Dad, we’re here.” My father took my hand and Julian’s, pressing them together. “Live… a good life…” he managed to say, his speech slurred. Beside us, Stella suddenly clutched her throat and retched loudly. Julian dropped my hand and rushed to her side, gathering her in his arms. “Stella, what’s wrong? Are you okay? Lean on me.” She looked up at him, her face pale. “Julian… that night… we didn’t use anything…” Her eyes were wide with a feigned innocence. “Could it be? Am I really pregnant?” The words were a lightning strike that ripped through me, leaving me scorched and bleeding. My father struggled to lift his hand, pointing a trembling finger at them. “You—how could you betray Ivy—” The heart monitor shrieked, a long, piercing tone. My father convulsed twice, then his eyes closed, a look of profound disappointment etched on his face. I threw myself onto the bed. “Dad! Dad, don’t go to sleep!” My mother let out a raw, animalistic wail and lunged at Stella. “You heartless bitch! You killed him!” “Ma’am, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!” Julian shoved my mother to protect Stella, sending her stumbling back into the wall. “Mom, you can’t touch her! She’s pregnant!” He stood over Stella, a fierce protector. “I’m here. No one is going to hurt you.” A blind rage consumed me. I flew at him, my nails bared. He held Stella tightly with one arm and grabbed my shoulder with the other, flinging me away with brutal force. I slammed into the wall, stars exploding behind my eyes. My mother screamed. “Ivy, your leg! You’re bleeding—”

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My best friend made a fortune off the same man twice. First, her debut novel, a thinly veiled account of her high school crush, became a bestseller. Then, it was adapted into a movie. On premiere night, I dragged my fiancé, Ashton Hayes, to the theater to show my support. During the Q&A, a fan asked the question on everyone’s mind. “To the screenwriter: did you and the real-life inspiration for the story ever get together?” My friend, Stella, lit up, her smile radiant. “Persistence pays off,” she said cryptically. “What was lost has been found.” The crowd erupted in cheers. I leaned over to Ashton, whispering, “Looks like Stella’s decade-long crush finally got a happy ending.” Ashton said nothing, but I saw a flicker of something in his eyes. I figured he wasn’t interested and let it drop. It wasn’t until later, backstage, that I heard Ashton’s voice, tight with a restraint I’d never heard before. “Stella,” he said, “we’ve wasted too much time.” 1 Stella’s laugh was bittersweet. “Ashton, I can finally stand beside you as an equal. I hope it’s not too late.” I froze. So, the man Stella had been secretly in love with for years was Ashton. “What was the meaning of that little speech you gave in front of Ava?” he asked. Stella rose on her toes, her hands winding around his arm. “Ashton, Ava Brooks isn’t right for you. She’s a spoiled princess who only knows how to spend money and have fun. Does she really understand you?” Ashton’s warning tone, which had started so sharp, softened into silence. A long moment passed. I lowered my eyes, a bitter smile on my lips. Ashton and I were childhood friends, but our personalities were worlds apart. I was born with congenital insensitivity to pain, a rare condition that made me physically fragile. My family catered to my every whim, and in our social circle, everyone knew not to cross Ava Brooks. Ashton, on the other hand, was the sole heir to the Hayes fortune. Raised with strict discipline, he was always cool, reserved, a man of few words and fewer desires. Only with me did his guard come down. He was my gentle, protective “Ash.” After a serious illness in my childhood, my memory became spotty. No matter how hard I studied, I’d blank out during exams. People whispered that I was an airhead. I grew to hate school, especially math and physics, subjects I could never grasp. Ashton was different. He was a physics prodigy with a near-fanatical obsession with astronomy. He’d gone abroad for college, studying at a top university. He came back to get engaged to me. The day of our engagement party, I invited Stella, who had just returned from a research project. After getting her doctorate, she’d become a university lecturer. I was clinging to Ashton’s arm, excited to introduce them. Stella just stared, speechless. Ashton stiffened beside me. He looked Stella up and down, his expression as cool and indifferent as ever. The silence was awkward. I forced a laugh. “Stella, I messaged you a few days ago! I wanted you guys to meet for dinner. Don’t mind Ashton, he was born with that grumpy face.” A flicker of sadness crossed Stella’s eyes, but she quickly masked it, pinching my cheek affectionately. “It’s fine. I was out in the field, no signal. I just never pictured our Ava ending up with someone so… serious.” At the time, I was completely oblivious to the undercurrents between them. Now, as Ashton’s footsteps approached from behind, he saw me standing in the drafty corridor and draped his coat over my shoulders. My sense of temperature was always off, but he was always the first to notice. The faint, bitter scent of oud wood from his coat enveloped me. I stared at the floor, my vision blurring. “Ava, it’s windy here. Let’s go home.” I pulled away from his outstretched hand. “I’m going to my parents’ house.” He stopped, his hand hovering in mid-air. He didn’t ask why. He just drove me home, as he always did. The car was silent. Normally, I would have been chattering away. I had always relied on Ashton, always felt safe to be myself around him, knowing he would indulge me. He could read my moods better than anyone. But tonight, I could feel his distraction. “Ash,” I said, breaking the silence, “what are you thinking about?” He murmured a name, almost unconsciously. “Stella…” Then he quickly corrected himself. “…the movie. I was thinking about the movie.” A sharp pain lanced through my chest. I tried to clench my fists, to transfer the emotional agony into a physical sensation, but I forgot—I couldn’t feel it. Ashton, in the story, the two protagonists were soulmates, destined for each other. And I was just the villain who stole him away, the one who broke them apart. I swallowed the pain. “Do you also think it was a shame the hero didn’t see the heroine at the airport when he left the country?” The car screeched to a halt. My heart jumped. I turned to look at him and found myself staring into his dark, unreadable eyes. 2 “Why are you suddenly asking about that?” I turned away, avoiding his gaze. “You just seemed really interested in the movie.” He seemed to relax, a faint, wry smile on his lips. “Weren’t you the one who insisted I come with you? You know I never watch these teen romance films.” I didn’t answer. He finally noticed something was wrong. He reached out and stroked my hair, his touch familiar and gentle. “Ava, are you still upset that I can’t make it to your art exhibit?” I shook my head. I knew he had a conference to attend out of town. As I got out of the car, he hesitated. “Ava, don’t be mad. When I get back, I’ll take you skiing.” I had been begging him to take me skiing in Switzerland for ages, but he was always worried about my health. My memory was poor, but he was always patient, willing to teach me the same thing over and over. I forced a smile. “You promise, Ash. No backing out.” Stella’s movie was a critical and commercial success. The clip of her interview went viral, racking up millions of views. The internet was abuzz. “Does this mean she got her man?” “The hero was definitely in love with her in high school too!” “OMG, you guys have to see Stella’s old private blog. It’s the sweetest thing.” I found the blog the fans had unearthed. For ten years, it had been a diary of a teenage girl’s secret love. After Ashton went abroad, the entries became a once-a-year affair. I scrolled through, reading until I reached the most recent post. It was from the day of my engagement party. The moment we met again, my heart knew it had been waiting. But it’s too late. Someone else is by your side now. My hands trembled as I kept scrolling. After that, the updates became more frequent. She chronicled their “reunion.” A chance meeting at the university that led to dinner. A rainy night when he drove her home. And finally, the premiere, where she used the movie to confess her feelings. She mentioned me several times. She called her beloved’s fiancée a “bimbo with a big chest and no brain,” an arrogant bully who used her family’s power to get her way, someone completely unworthy of Ashton. She claimed I repeatedly interrupted her “dates” with him. I stared at the screen for a long time. Stella was my college roommate. I knew her family was poor. A mother who played favorites, an alcoholic father. But she had fought her way out of that life. Early in our freshman year, I’d spiked a high fever in the middle of the night. It was Stella who got me to the hospital. We became close after that. I helped her out, both openly and behind the scenes, more times than I could count. When someone stole her scholarship spot, I was the one who stormed into the dean’s office and got it back for her. In her version of the story, I was “using my family’s power.” When she took an internship in another city, I let her stay in one of our family’s empty apartments, rent-free. She saw it as me “showing off my wealth.” When she wanted to write a novel, I was the one who connected her with a publisher. I even secretly pre-ordered a thousand copies to boost her sales. I thought we were best friends. In her eyes, I was just a stupid, spoiled brat. My misplaced trust felt like a cruel joke. Her name flashed on my phone screen. I rejected the call, my hand shaking. A text message popped up immediately. 3 “Ava, why did you leave so early? Weren’t you coming to my after-party?” I fought back the urge to scream at her, replying with a cold, detached message. “Not feeling well. Let’s catch up tomorrow.” She replied instantly. “I have a business trip tomorrow. I’ll call you when I’m back.” The next day, I dressed up and went to my gallery exhibit. The opening was a success. Near the end, Ashton appeared, holding a bouquet of flowers. My heart fluttered. He had made it back after all. He smiled, leaning in to playfully tap the tip of my nose. “You’re so calm. That’s not like you, Ava.” A wave of revulsion washed over me. I said nothing. He was back to his usual attentive self. The strange mood in the car the other night felt like a distant dream. He even kept his promise about the ski trip. I adjusted my goggles, looking out at the snowy slopes with excitement. My parents, ever-protective, had forbidden me from skiing. But somehow, Ashton had convinced them. “Ash, where should we start?” I asked, eager to learn the new turning technique he’d promised to teach me. But he didn’t move. He was looking at his phone, a complex email chain on the screen. A rare look of joy lit up his usually cool features. He didn’t answer my question. “Ava,” he said slowly, “our plans for today might have to change.” A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. My smile faltered. “We’re not going to the mountaintop restaurant tonight? Is the chef sick or something?” “It’s the observatory here. Stella just told me my application was approved. I can use their new telescope tonight. The viewing window is only three hours…” My excitement vanished, doused by a bucket of ice water. “Ashton,” I interrupted, “you promised you would spend the day with me. Are you going to ditch me now?” He finally turned to look at me, a hint of exasperation in his eyes. “We can ski anytime. This viewing window is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Ava, you have to understand.” The emotions I had been suppressing finally broke through. My voice was sharp, piercing. “I don’t understand! Ashton, you applied for this without telling me, but you told Stella? She understands you, so why don’t you just go with her!” He flinched, his brow furrowing. “Stella is just a colleague. Ava, don’t take your anger out on an innocent person.” I scoffed. “Innocent? Aren’t you two kindred spirits, vibrating on the same frequency? Your precious stars are a higher calling, and my plans, my feelings, are just cheap, meaningless things you can buy and discard?” He tried to explain, but his voice was cold now, laced with the assumption that I was being irrational. “This isn’t about value. Stella and I are both passionate about astronomy. This is about exploration, about understanding the very nature of our existence…” I couldn’t take it anymore. I booked a flight and flew back home that night. And just as I expected, Stella’s next blog post was geotagged in Switzerland. You said your orbit needed another star to resonate with. Am I that star for you? 4 She had attached a photo. It was the observatory Ashton had mentioned. I zoomed in. In the reflection of the glass, I could see the silhouette of a tall, slender man. I was like a drowning person, desperately searching for anything to cling to. Ashton had never lied to me. But in that moment, all my trust shattered. I should have laughed, but instead, tears streamed down my face. I blocked Ashton’s number. But our world was small. It was inevitable that I would run into him at a party. He was with his date. Stella. When he saw me, his expression was cold. After our fight, he’d tried to see me a few times, but I’d sent him away. The golden boy of the Hayes family wasn’t used to being rejected. He still thought I was overreacting, being unreasonable. Stella was as friendly as ever, showing no sign of guilt. I brushed her hand away and started up the stairs. She followed me, surprised by my coldness, chattering on about why I hadn’t been returning her calls. I couldn’t stand the pretense any longer. “Stella,” I said, my voice cutting through her monologue, “are you in love with Ashton?” She stopped on the landing, silent, her eyes locked on mine. In the dead quiet, I tore our years of friendship to shreds. “Stop acting, Stella. Did you really think you could get away with seducing my fiancé behind my back?” The color drained from her face, but she looked away. “Ava, you and Ashton are from different worlds.” I reached out and fingered the sapphire necklace she was wearing. I sneered. “No, Stella. You’re the one who doesn’t belong. That’s my necklace you’re wearing. And I’m guessing that’s a designer dress Ashton bought for you.” “Take those things away, and what right do you have to be here?” I ripped the necklace, my gift to her, from her neck. “Because of your sappy teen romance novel? Your self-proclaimed talent? Do you think your book would have ever been published if it wasn’t for me?” Her face flushed with anger, her voice sharp. “You don’t understand, Ava! That book is about my memories with Ashton! When he and I were discussing the universe, you were living in a gilded cage, so protected you couldn’t even feel pain without someone telling you it was there. How could you possibly understand his world?” My expression darkened. “Stella, even a stray dog has more self-respect.” She was right. I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand why my best friend had betrayed me. And I didn’t understand why Ashton, the boy who had always been on my side, was now standing opposite me. Dressed in black, his face was a cold mask as he stared at me, his voice dripping with disappointment. “Ava, that’s enough.” “How long are you going to keep this up?” I was rooted to the spot. A crowd was gathering. I could hear their whispers. “Did Ashton just yell at Ava Brooks?” “Is he really turning on her for another woman? I’ve never seen her look so… lost.” Ashton took Stella’s arm. “Ava,” he said, his voice cold, “it seems I’ve spoiled you. You should learn to behave.” Then they pushed through the crowd and left. I was shaking with rage, the air in the gallery suddenly too thin to breathe. Then I heard my name. It was Ryan Cole, Ashton’s junior colleague from his university days abroad. He handed me my coat, his gaze steady. I had only met Ryan a few times. He was the heir to a Hong Kong business empire, and he seemed to have a problem with me. Whenever Ashton took me to gatherings and people teased us, Ryan would let out a small, derisive laugh. I’d mentioned it to Ashton once. He’d dismissed my concerns, turning it back on me. “When did you become so sensitive?” I never brought it up again. But tonight, Ryan was different. He had stepped in to help me, and now he was driving me home. When we arrived, I handed his coat back, thanking him. He glanced in the rearview mirror, his words pointed. “You and Ashton aren’t a good match. You should break up with him.” I pursed my lips, offended. But I didn’t deny it. “I’ll consider it,” I said quietly. He raised an eyebrow, a knowing look in his eyes as he glanced behind me. Ashton, who had left the party, was standing there. He looked worried, anxious. “Ava, why didn’t you answer my calls? I went back to get you, but you were gone.” I crossed my arms, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “You seemed pretty determined when you left me there.” He flinched. Ryan spoke up. “I’ll be going now. See you around.” His dark eyes lingered on me for a moment. I nodded. The silver sports car disappeared into the night. Ashton was still there, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. “Stella told me. You know about the book.” “No wonder you were so angry with her. Ava, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.” I looked up at him, at the familiar tenderness that had returned to his eyes. “Ashton,” I said, my voice like ice, “I don’t accept your apology.”

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The intern, Nancy, had set up a deposit transfer on my account. No matter how much I deposited, the balance always reset to fifty dollars. In my past life, my biggest dream was to buy an apartment near the office. I finally saved the fifty-thousand-dollar down payment, my hands shaking as I handed over my card. But the agent just looked at me with pity. “Declined. Insufficient funds.” I checked statements, argued with the bank, even filed a police report. Everyone thought I was crazy. Every transaction was there, clear as day, but I hadn’t made any of them. I sobbed to my parents, only to be scolded. “Nora, if you need money, just ask. You don’t have to lie,” my mom said, sharp with disappointment. My coworkers smirked at my statements. “Look, Nora’s spending thousands at The Velvet Rope after midnight. Wonder what kind of escort costs that much?” I posted my story online anonymously, but was called an attention-seeker. Only one comment offered real advice: watch the people around you. So I did. Every time Nancy bought something—even a coffee—a matching charge appeared on my account. I confronted her. She laughed, called me pathetic, and convinced everyone I was having a breakdown. They had me committed. After two years of torment, I escaped and jumped into the river. When I opened my eyes, I was back, the day before I was supposed to buy my apartment. 1 The first thing I did after my rebirth was check my online banking. Just as I expected: fifty dollars. My mind raced, piecing it all together. By now, Nancy had already siphoned my life savings into her own account using some dark, digital magic. I wanted to tear her apart, to drag her down with me, but then I remembered the image of my parents from my last life, their hair turned white with grief overnight. I couldn’t be reckless. That would just be a repeat of the same tragedy. Just then, my department manager, Kate, called me into her office. “Nora, I’ve got a tough client for you, but the commission is a sweet five grand. Don’t say I never look out for you!” I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. Five thousand dollars. That was a month’s rent, with plenty left over. But I shook my head. “Thanks, Kate. But I’m not taking any new clients for the next month.” I walked out of her office, ignoring her stunned silence. The office walls were thin, and the chatter outside died down as my words carried. Instantly, the whispers started. Did you hear that? Nora—’The Machine’—is turning down a commission? Not just today! She said for the whole month! I ignored them, pulled out my phone, and opened a delivery app. I ordered the largest iced Americano they had, and with a tap, the last fifty dollars in my account vanished. In my past life, I wouldn’t have even spent four dollars on a sugary latte from the corner cart. To put down roots in the concrete jungle of Sterling City, I had lived on a knife’s edge. I worked until two or three in the morning doing client follow-ups, then woke before dawn to cram myself into a subway car packed like a can of sardines for a two-hour commute, all just to clock in on time. Fifty dollars docked for being late once. That was almost a week’s worth of food. All I dreamed of was a place of my own near the office, even if it was just a tiny, three-hundred-square-foot studio. Every payday, I’d allow myself a hundred dollars for living expenses. The rest went straight into my savings. And now, the fifty thousand I had bled for was lining someone else’s pocket. Suddenly, the office door flew open. “Lunch is on me, everyone!” It was Nancy, her voice obnoxiously loud. Her face was flushed with excitement, a brand-new Chanel bag swinging from her arm. She looked like she’d just hit the lottery. “We’re going to The Meridian Grand! Order whatever you want!” The office erupted. Coworkers swarmed her. “Nancy, did you strike it rich?” “Who’s the sugar daddy?” I didn’t move. I just sipped my coffee, my eyes cold as ice as I watched her. I knew exactly where the money came from. It was mine. Nancy, basking in the attention, waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, it was nothing. I just bought a lottery ticket the other day and got lucky.” Someone nosy immediately pressed, “How lucky?” 2 Nancy’s eyes flickered toward me, a smug smile playing on her lips. “Not much,” she said, trying to sound casual. “Just a couple hundred thousand.” A collective gasp echoed through the office. A couple hundred thousand dollars. To us, people barely making five figures a month, that was an astronomical sum. But I noticed something. From the moment she walked in, her gaze kept drifting toward me, like a scientist watching a lab rat, waiting for a reaction. She was checking to see if I’d realized my bank account was nothing more than a hollowed-out shell. I fought back the tidal wave of hatred rising in my chest, swallowing the accusations that were burning my throat. I couldn’t spook her. Not yet. I stood up, forcing a perfectly pleasant smile, tinged with just the right amount of envy. “Nancy, that’s amazing! Congratulations! I hope some of that luck rubs off on me.” Seeing me act so normal, a flicker of surprise crossed her face, followed by a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh of relief. She must have thought I was still blissfully unaware. Later, just before lunch, Lily from the next cubicle leaned over. “Hey Nora, didn’t you say you were going to look at apartments once you had the down payment? When are you going? I can come with you!” The mention of the apartment made my fists clench so tightly my nails dug into my palms. I forced them to relax, my expression remaining breezy. “No rush,” I said. “I lost my ID a few days ago, have to wait for a replacement. Besides, with the market dipping, it’s better to wait and see, you know?” As the words left my mouth, I felt that familiar gaze on me again. It was Nancy. Watching me, a poorly hidden glee dancing in her eyes. Nancy had only been an intern for two months. She was short, overweight, with a plain face and performance that was always at the bottom of the department’s rankings. In our sales division, where looks and numbers were everything, she should have been invisible. But in my previous life, this was the woman who took my fifty thousand dollars, got full-body liposuction, and had her face completely redone. She transformed into a stunning beauty everyone adored. And it was her who used my money to buy loyalty, conspiring with those sleazy colleagues to have me committed for being “mentally unstable.” The memory of those two years in the hospital sent a chill down my spine. I took a deep, steadying breath. At The Meridian Grand, Nancy grandly told everyone to order whatever they wanted. I didn’t hold back. I flipped the menu straight to the most expensive pages. “The King Crab. The largest one you have.” “Lobster Thermidor.” “And this, the Foie Gras.” “I’ll have the caviar service as well.” With every dish I ordered, the expressions on my colleagues’ faces grew more and more priceless. Lily tugged at my sleeve, whispering, “Nora, isn’t this… a little much?” I just smiled at her, saying nothing. How can it be a waste when I’m spending my own money? Nancy’s cheek twitched, but in front of everyone, she had to maintain her generous facade. “It’s fine! Nora is our top salesperson, she’s earned it! She needs to eat well to keep up her strength.” Her smile was dazzling. “We need her to keep bringing in those big numbers for the department!” Before I could reply, another coworker chimed in. “Oh, Nancy, you weren’t here this morning. Nora already told Kate she’s not taking any new clients for the next month.” The air went still. I slowly wiped my mouth with a napkin and looked up at Nancy. The smile on her face froze, then cracked. “What did you say?” she shrieked, her eyes locked on me, her voice sharp and shrill. “Nora, why would you stop taking clients? What are you trying to pull?” 3 I met Nancy’s fiery gaze and let a slow smile spread across my face. “I’m taking a break. Why are you so worked up about it?” The other colleagues exchanged confused glances, the flames of gossip burning brightly in their eyes. “Yeah, Nancy,” Lily chimed in. “Nora’s not worried, so why are you having a meltdown?” “Seriously,” someone else added. “You’d think it was your commission she was giving up.” The chorus of questions was like a bucket of cold water on Nancy’s hysteria. The rage on her face vanished, replaced by a mask of deep, dramatic concern. “I… I’m just worried about Nora!” she declared, her voice rising as if volume equaled sincerity. “You said you were just a few deals away from your down payment! The listings at The Sterling Point Condos are so hard to get. If you stop now, you’ll lose so much money! I just feel terrible for you!” She looked like she was on the verge of tears. It was a masterful performance. I laughed. “I’m tired. I need a rest.” I nonchalantly picked up a grilled prawn and began to peel it with deliberate slowness. “Besides,” I paused, looking up at her with an expression of pure innocence, “didn’t you just win the lottery? A couple hundred thousand. If I happen to come up a little short on my down payment… you wouldn’t mind helping me out, would you?” The air froze again. Every eye in the room swiveled to Nancy. The color drained from her face, leaving it a sickly white. Her lips trembled, but no words came out. I popped the prawn into my mouth and added sweetly, “You’re so generous, Nancy. I’m sure you would. Right?” Trapped in the spotlight of everyone’s stares, she was being roasted alive. Finally, she managed to squeeze a few words through her clenched teeth. “Of… of course.” As if terrified I’d actually ask, she quickly added, “But, I mean, it wasn’t that much. Just… just some pocket money.” I glanced at the new Celine dress she was wearing, the limited-edition Chanel bag by her side, and the feast on the table that could feed a family for a month. Right. My fifty thousand dollars was just her pocket money. I enjoyed every last bite of that meal. Before we left, I asked the waiter to pack up the untouched King Crab and the rest of the lobster. I heard a few colleagues whispering behind my back. “Oh my god, she’s taking the leftovers? How tacky.” “It’s like she’s never seen good food before. So embarrassing.” I heard them, but I acted as if I hadn’t. I just turned to Nancy with a radiant smile. “Nancy, it was so good of you to treat us, but I can’t let all this amazing food go to waste. I’ll take it home to enjoy later. You don’t mind, do you?” Nancy’s face was a kaleidoscope of fury and humiliation. But in front of everyone, she could only grit her teeth and nod. “No… I don’t mind.” Back at the office, I placed the takeout containers in the communal fridge with a theatrical flourish, completely ignoring the judgmental stares. That afternoon, I knocked on the door of the finance department. “Sarah? I need to request a salary advance for half the month.” Sarah looked up from her screen. “You know the rules, Nora. Needs a manager’s signature, and it all gets direct-deposited at the end of the month.” I handed her the request form, already signed by Kate. “It’s been approved.” I leaned in closer. “And I don’t want a transfer.” “I want cash.” If money in my account could be stolen by a ghost in the machine, then physical cash should be safe. An hour later, I was back at my desk, a thick envelope of bills tucked into my purse. It was my base salary and last month’s commission—fifteen hundred dollars. I stuffed it into the deepest, most hidden pocket of my bag and zipped it shut. In my last life, my downfall began with fifty thousand dollars. This life, I would climb my way back up starting with this fifteen hundred. I hadn’t even been sitting for five minutes when it started. A frantic, uncontrollable twitching in my right eyelid. Thump. Thump. Thump. Each beat was more violent than the last. An overwhelming sense of dread seized my heart. My hands flew to my bag. I ripped open the zipper, my fingers scrambling for the hidden pocket— It was empty. The envelope was there, but the thick stack of cash inside had vanished into thin air. My blood ran cold. The hair on my arms stood on end. I never imagined the transfer Nancy was using on me had no limits. Was she trying to cut off every possible lifeline? I looked across the room at her. A flicker of pure, triumphant joy flashed across her face. I clenched my fists until my knuckles were white. Good. I already had a plan.

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I was in a psychiatric hospital, focused on the livestream of my brother’s wedding. Suddenly, a man, naked and covered in blood, burst into the ceremony and threw himself at my brother’s feet, slamming his head against the floor. “Abel, my brother! You’ve already ruined my face, you’ve shredded my clothes! I’m not a threat to you anymore. Please, I’m begging you, don’t have me locked up in an asylum. I’ll stay away from Isabella, I swear…” My brother’s bride, Isabella, erupted in fury. She ordered her guards to slap my brother across the face, again and again. “Callahan grew up as an outsider, always having to walk on eggshells. He’s the kindest soul I know. And you… you can’t even stand the sight of him?!” “It seems I’ve been far too lenient with you. Today, you will learn that the Vance family has no place for a vicious snake like you!” The wedding was brought to an abrupt halt. My brother was violently shoved into a car and sent to a remote monastery to “reflect and repent.” The next time I saw him, his face was a canvas of wounds, his chest was caved in, and all ten of his fingers were mangled. The vibrant young man who used to visit me, his eyes full of life, was gone forever. My face twisted into a mask of pure fury. I pressed a restraint strap against the hospital director’s throat and forced him to sign my discharge papers. Whoever touched my brother would die. 1. When I pushed open the door to our home, my mother was lying motionless on her bed. My brother was dead. My mother had gone to see Isabella. When Isabella heard the news of Abel’s death, she looked at my mother with utter disbelief. But Callahan, who was lounging beside her, suddenly smiled. He slowly pulled out his phone. “Abel is dead? How could that be?” His fingertip tapped the screen. “That’s strange. In the video they just sent me, he looks like he’s sleeping so peacefully.” In the video, my brother lay still, his long lashes casting dark shadows on his pale cheeks. It looked as if he could wake up at any moment. My mother, shaking with rage, lunged at Callahan. “My son is lying in a morgue, his body broken and bruised! He’s dead, and you’re the ones who killed him!” Isabella shot to her feet, her face a mask of contempt. “That’s enough! Is Abel so desperate for forgiveness that he’d drag his own mother into this pathetic act?” “You’re a family of actors, I’ll give you that. So convincing. But everything that comes out of your mouths is a lie!” Callahan leaned back into the leather sofa, a smirk playing on his lips. “Ma’am, you’re really embarrassing Abel with this little performance.” Isabella flicked a piece of lint from her sleeve and gestured to the guards at the door. “Throw her out.” My mother was thrown out. Both of her legs were broken. As I listened to her story, I reached out with a stone-cold expression and pulled back the white sheet covering my brother’s face. His features were marred by a crisscross of scars. His chest was concave, his limbs twisted at unnatural angles, like a butterfly with crushed wings. My mother sobbed behind me. “When Abel left… it must have hurt so much, didn’t it?” My name is Cain. Abel was my twin. He was bright and full of life from the moment he was born. I was the opposite: quiet, grim, with a chilling light in my eyes that made people uneasy. No one ever wanted to talk to me. They called me a monster, a freak. Only Abel would press his only piece of candy into my mouth, his eyes sparkling. “Is it sweet, brother?” I gently touched his cheek now. His eyes were sealed shut. He would never see me again. Years ago, the headmaster’s son took an interest in him. One day, a group of shadowy figures cornered my brother and dragged him into an alley. He ran, terrified, while I followed them silently. When Abel finally stumbled out of the alley, relieved that his pursuers had given up, he didn’t see me behind him, drenched in their blood. The moon was full that night. I didn’t go home. The headmaster’s entire family was found slaughtered. When the police arrived, they were stunned by the carnage. I was sitting in a pool of blood, smiling as I counted the candy wrappers my brother had given me. They said I was sick. They locked me away in the Blackwood Asylum. The windows in my room were always barred. Every time Abel visited, he would press his face against the cold iron, his eyes curving into crescents. “Cain! The cherry blossoms by the road are all in bloom today!” Even though I never spoke, he would chatter on, sharing every little joy with me. The last time I saw him, he was beaming. “Brother, I’m getting married.” “On the wedding day, I’ll have Mom livestream it for you. You can see how handsome I look as a groom!” I never imagined the wedding wouldn’t even finish before he was gone. I used a restraint strap to choke the director until he signed my release. The people who touched my brother… I will make them all die. After arranging Abel’s affairs, I had just walked through the door, holding his ashes, when the door was violently kicked open. Callahan teetered in on high heels, arm in arm with Isabella, a mocking sneer on his face. “Well, well, if it isn’t the late and great Mr. Abel.” Isabella’s gaze fell on the urn in my arms, and her expression flickered. But when she saw my face, her eyes instantly turned to ice. “Abel, have you no shame? Using such a disgusting trick to beg for sympathy?” Callahan wrapped his arm around Isabella’s waist and simpered, “Isabella only sent you to the monastery to reflect for a few days. But you… you not only injured the master, but now you’re back with some prop urn, trying to play the victim.” “Don’t tell me you’re planning to use this cheap box to trick Isabella into attending some fake funeral?” His hand shot out toward the urn. “Let me see what piece of trash you picked up from the dump.” I sidestepped, and he stumbled, nearly falling flat on his face. “Abel!” Isabella’s voice was sharp. “How long are you going to keep this up? Faking your death wasn’t enough, now you dare to push Callahan?” Callahan rubbed his ankle pathetically, but his eyes glinted with malice. “I know Abel is still mad at me for ruining his wedding… Isabella, don’t blame him. It’s all my fault…” Isabella’s face darkened. “Abel, apologize to Callahan. Now!” I stood there, expressionless, clutching my brother’s urn. My mother, from her wheelchair, rolled in front of me and screamed at them, “Get out! You are not welcome here!” Isabella, enraged, grabbed my wrist. “Is this the upbringing your family gave you?” “Since you refuse to repent, men! Seize him and take him back! He can return when he learns to behave!” I shook her hand off and let out a low, sinister laugh. “Fine.” I was just wondering how I would find my brother’s killers. And here they were, delivering themselves to me. Isabella was taken aback, clearly not expecting me to agree so easily. I gently placed my brother’s urn on the small memorial altar I had set up. I caressed his photo on the box. In the picture, his smile was so sweet. Just as sweet as when he used to press candy into my mouth. As I turned to leave, my mother grabbed my hand. “Cain!” she whispered, her eyes filled with a universe of reluctance. I patted her hand reassuringly. She let out a heavy sigh and finally let go. “Go.” I nodded and followed Isabella to the car without a backward glance. Callahan sat in the front passenger seat. The moment I closed the door, he whined, “Isabella, I think I got something in my eye~” Isabella immediately leaned over to blow on his eye, their noses almost touching, their breath mingling in the small space. They had completely forgotten I was in the back. Afterward, Callahan shot me a triumphant look over the seat. I sat perfectly still, my eyes downcast, as if I hadn’t noticed a thing. The car sped along the winding mountain road, getting closer and closer to the monastery. The bloodlust in my veins began to sing. These were the ones. The ones who killed my brother. The radio suddenly crackled to life. “Emergency broadcast: A patient classified as extremely dangerous has escaped from Blackwood Asylum. All citizens are advised to remain vigilant…” I looked at the two in the front, completely oblivious. A silent smile stretched my lips. After dropping me at the monastery, Isabella drove off without a second thought, completely missing the look of sheer terror in the master’s eyes. The heavy gate slammed shut with a deafening CLANG. A group of men, cigarettes dangling from their lips, surrounded me, their faces twisted into nauseating grins. “Well, look what we have here. Missed us, pretty boy?” “You didn’t have enough fun last time, did you? Don’t worry, we’ll make sure you’re satisfied this time!” “What are you waiting for? Get to it, boys. The usual way!” I kept my head down, listening as their heavy breathing grew closer, every muscle in my body coiling tight. Seeing that I wasn’t moving, the leader sneered and pulled out a long whip. “Worthless piece of trash! You only listen when we beat you to a pulp, is that it?” The whip cut through the air, but I caught the end of it in my hand. He froze for a second, then his face contorted with rage. “You dare to fight back? I’m going to have some real fun with you today!” Before he could finish his vile curses, I yanked the whip. He stumbled forward, and I met him with a dozen slaps, my hand a blur. CRACK. CRACK. CRACK. CRACK… The sharp sounds echoed in the courtyard. The others were still laughing. “What’s wrong, Tommy? Can’t handle one pretty boy?” Their laughter died when Tommy turned his head, now swollen like a pig’s, and spat out a mouthful of blood and broken teeth. The courtyard fell dead silent. The master suddenly screamed, “Abel is dead! He’s supposed to be dead!” The men froze, their eyes darting down to my feet. In the sunlight, my shadow was stark and clear. “Shit, he’s alive!” the leader spat, his eyes turning vicious again. “Who cares who he is? What’s one scrawny little punk going to do?” They closed in, their knuckles cracking, their sneers returning. I kept my head bowed, but my lips curled upward uncontrollably. Of course, they didn’t know. I was born with unnatural strength. How else could I have slaughtered the headmaster’s entire family? My blood runs thick with violence. If it weren’t for my brother, why would I have ever restrained myself? Now, finally, I don’t have to hold back anymore. The screams lasted for three days. The beauty of this remote monastery was that any sound, no matter how loud, was like a stone dropped into a deep well—gone in an instant. When Isabella came to pick me up, the entire monastery had been reduced to scorched earth. I was huddled by a ruined wall, my clothes in tatters, my face smeared with ash, my fingernails caked with dried blood. “Disgusting,” she muttered, tossing a coat at me. As Callahan passed by, he whispered viciously in my ear, “Too bad you didn’t burn to death.” I kept my head down, trembling in the back seat of the car. The cuffs of my sleeves were stained with the dried blood of those men. It was so amusing, the way they begged for mercy on their knees. Especially when I took the wooden mallet and, inch by inch, smashed the rotting flesh between their legs. They were men of reflection, after all. They needed to be purified. How wonderful. Now every one of their bones was as beautifully broken as my brother’s. Remembering their agonized wails as the fire consumed them, I smiled to myself. When we finally got home, I was about to step inside when Callahan blocked the doorway with his foot. “Abel, you’re filthy. You should probably clean up in the yard before you come in.” “The hose in the backyard still works. I’ll have someone help you.” He feigned a gentle, caring tone, but a flicker of cruelty crossed his eyes. It was the dead of winter. The water in the yard would be ice cold. A shower like that would make me sick for days. I turned to look at Isabella, but she was already walking away. “Get yourself clean before you step inside this house.” The door slammed shut, locking me outside. I squatted in front of the rusty spigot as three bodyguards surrounded me. They were the same men who had slapped my brother at the wedding. They pulled out a fire hose. “No hard feelings, Mr. Abel.” The leader licked his lips as he deliberately aimed the powerful jet of water down my collar. “Miss Vance’s orders. We have to make sure every last crevice is spotless.” Through a gap in the second-floor curtains, I could see Callahan’s silhouette. When Isabella’s figure approached, he quickly closed the curtain and disappeared. I wiped the freezing water from my eyes and gave them a slow, chilling smile. A moment later, the high-pressure hose was shoved into their mouths. When I walked into the house, spotless, there were three new “fountain sculptures” in the yard, swollen and bloated like waterlogged pigs. Isabella frowned, wrapping a towel around my dripping hair with a surprisingly gentle touch. “What took you so long?” “I only told you to rinse your feet.” She pushed a bowl of steaming chicken soup toward me. “I had the kitchen make this especially for you. Go change, then come down and have it while it’s hot.” “Mm,” I grunted, a rare response, and went to change. When I returned, Callahan’s eyes were filled with jealousy. He eagerly brought the soup to me. But before I could take it, the entire bowl of scalding soup was poured onto my body. “Ah!” Callahan cried out in pain. “Abel! I was just trying to be nice, and you deliberately knocked it over to burn me!” “I know you can’t stand me! Isabella, I’ll leave right now! I won’t get in your way ever again!” Isabella rushed over, cradling his uninjured hand, her face filled with anguish. She didn’t even notice the massive red welt on my own hand. She spun around and snapped at me. “Abel, apologize to Callahan!” A sharp pain lanced through my chest. Is this how they treated my brother? His pure heart, wasted on these dogs. I lunged for the front hall. With a click, I deadbolted the villa’s main door. Isabella roared, “Abel, what do you think you’re doing? Have you forgotten every lesson you were taught?” “Apologize to Callahan now!” My face was dark, my eyes bloodshot as I slowly advanced on them. Suddenly, Callahan, still nestled in her arms, stared past me in horror. He pointed a trembling finger at the wall-mounted television, too shocked to speak. “You… you’re…” I raised a finger to my lips and whispered, “Shhh. The show is just beginning.”

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My girlfriend landed an offer from a Fortune 500 company. I jokingly told her that my mountains of debt made me unworthy of her brilliant future. She nodded and immediately broke up with me. Before I could explain, she had deleted and blocked me. But… I said I had mansions of debt! As in, a mountain of sprawling, luxurious estates! 1. Scrolling through my social media feed, I saw a photo my girlfriend, Clara, had posted. It was an internship offer from a publicly traded company. It was just a branch office, but the prospects were incredible. Her caption read: “Internship ready.” The comments were a chorus of praise and congratulations: “Wow, Clara, you’re a rockstar!” “Are you even sleeping at night? Your future is so bright!” “OMG, Clara, you’re too good for your boyfriend now!!!” My thumb froze on the screen. A knot formed in my stomach. I was her boyfriend, yet I was finding out this huge news from a social media post, just like everyone else. She had been so busy with her job search lately. Whenever I asked, she’d brush me off with an irritated, “Don’t bother me, I have my own pace.” “It’s a secret right now.” “I’m not telling you.” I tried to be understanding, to respect her process, and swallowed all my questions. But the more I thought about it, the worse I felt. Maybe… maybe she wanted me to ask her directly? With that thought, I immediately texted her. “Babe, you got the offer? My girl is amazing!” “You can finally relax. How about I treat you to a celebratory dinner tomorrow? Your choice of place.” 2. I sent the text, but my phone remained silent. I refreshed her feed and saw she had replied to several other comments. “Thanks, girl!” “Love you~” The replies were warm and enthusiastic. Half an hour later, Clara finally texted back. Two cold, dismissive words: “No thanks.” I stared at the screen, confused, and sent a question mark. “?” “Bad mood? Want me to come pick you up?” The message went unanswered, sinking into a digital void. My thesis advisor was hounding me for revisions, so I put my phone away and tried not to overthink it. By the time I picked it up again, it was eight o’clock. The chat window was unchanged—no reply. The unease in my stomach grew, a tiny flame of anxiety licking at my insides. I waited another thirty minutes, clutching my phone, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. How could someone be so persistent in the face of such coldness? I couldn’t take it anymore. I typed furiously, my frustration seeping into the words: “Oh, you got the offer? Congrats.” “Funny how I had to find out about something this big along with the rest of your followers.” The next second, my phone rang. It was Clara. I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice calm. “You finally—” My words were cut off by a deafening roar of noise from her end. The clinking of glasses, the raucous laughter of men and women, someone shouting what might have been a song. “Clara,” I said, my voice dropping. “Where are you? Why is it so loud?” I could hear her faint breathing, and then, the piercing sound of someone egging her on. “Clara, what are you waiting for? Just say it!” “Yeah, is he really going to stop you from moving on to bigger and better things?” “If you don’t say it, we’ll say it for you!” It was the voices of her so-called best friends. My heart sank. So, her coldness all day… it wasn’t a misunderstanding. It was intentional. She finally spoke, her tone icy. “Liam, if I remember correctly—you told me your family has ‘mountains of debt,’ right?” 3. I remembered. One tipsy evening a month ago, I had my arm around her and said, half-joking, “My family… we have mansions of debt.” My words had been slurred. She must have misheard “mansions” as “mountains.” But three years… three years of love and commitment… was all of that erased by a single drunken misunderstanding? A strange impulse took hold of me. I wanted to test her. I decided to play along. “That’s right. My family has mountains of debt. I’m not good enough for your brilliant future. But…” A sharp, undisguised scoff came from the other end. “Yeah,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “I think so too. Let’s break up.” “My friends are right. We were never a good match.” “You’re not on my level. Look at you. It’s almost May, and you haven’t even finished your thesis. I already have an offer. We’re on different wavelengths, and the gap is only going to get wider.” “Don’t make this pathetic by clinging.” Before I could say another word, she hung up. I tried calling back—the line was busy. She had blocked me. So, that was it? I’d been dumped, just like that, off the edge of a cliff? But what I had said was… mansions of debt. As in, a mountain of sprawling, luxurious estates. In three years, I had never let her spend a single penny. How could she possibly think I was poor? And the thesis… I hadn’t finished it because I had chosen the most difficult topic, a challenge I relished. I preferred to take my time and do it right. How could she have misunderstood me so completely? Three years, and she had never truly known me at all. 4. After the breakup, I felt like I was suffocating. I called my best friend, Ben, and we went out for a drink. I told him the whole story. He covered his mouth, trying to stifle his laughter. “Seriously, Liam. You are the most low-key rich kid I have ever met.” I swirled the amber liquid in my glass. “As long as I’m comfortable, what’s the point of brand names?” Ben clapped me on the shoulder. “Getting dumped sucks, man. But dodging a gold digger? That’s a win. Just wait. When she finds out who you really are, she’s going to regret this so hard.” I gave him a wry smile. “She blocked me. How is she ever going to find out?” “Did you even look at her offer letter?” Ben raised an eyebrow. “The company she’s interning at? It’s a subsidiary of your family’s corporation.” I blinked, the realization dawning on me. “No wonder the name sounded familiar.” Ben roared with laughter. “I get it. So many companies under the family umbrella, you can’t even keep track, right?” I didn’t answer, just tilted my head back and downed my drink. Three years of my life, traded for a brutal, sudden breakup. The irony was laughable. Through a drunken haze, my phone buzzed. I squinted at the notification and froze. It was from Clara’s best friend, Jessica. “Liam, are you okay?” I frowned and sent a question mark. She immediately sent a screenshot of Clara’s latest post: a perfectly curated selfie with the caption, “Hello, freedom. Hello, future.” When I didn’t reply, Jessica sent a voice message. I pressed play. Her voice was saccharine sweet. “Clara is just so impulsive… Did you two really break up? Did she block you? If you want to say anything to her, I can pass along the message for you~” She even followed it up with a cute cat emoji. I stared at the screen and sneered. Jessica was the biggest pot-stirrer of the group. Her voice was the loudest on the phone call, cheering Clara on. Did she really think I wouldn’t recognize it just because she was putting on a sweet act? I replied with three words: “Don’t need it.” Then, I blocked her. Now that I saw Clara for who she really was, there was no reason to have any contact with the fake people she surrounded herself with. I didn’t give it another thought. 5. Occasionally, thoughts of Clara would still surface. But my thesis defense was looming. My days were a blur of research, experiments, and my advisor’s feedback. When you’re running on fumes, there’s not much energy left for heartbreak. Before I knew it, it was June. The campus was filled with graduating seniors in caps and gowns, most of whom had their futures figured out. My dorm mates were heading off to tech giants or studying abroad. Compared to them, I was a step behind. But I wasn’t worried. I gave my older brother a call. He laughed on the other end. “So? Are you going to start your own business, or are you coming back to take over the company?” “The family business is fine with you at the helm,” I said, testing the waters. “I want to try starting something on my own.” “That’s great,” he said warmly. “But you can’t just build a business on paper. How about this: there’s a subsidiary that’s been underperforming for a few years. Go there, work as an intern in the tech department. Start from the bottom, and see if you can figure out what the problem is.” I had been looking for direction, and this was the perfect opportunity to gain experience and help my brother out. I agreed immediately. I just never expected fate to have such a twisted sense of humor. The subsidiary was, of course, the same one where Clara was interning. She was in marketing. I was in tech. 6. On my first day, I got a taste of the intern life. The department manager dumped all the tedious, grunt work on me. From organizing spreadsheets to proofreading data, I was so busy I barely had time to breathe. Fortunately, the work wasn’t difficult for me. What was strange, though, was that the other new intern, Evan, had it easy. He had a light workload, and the manager was constantly checking in on him, asking if he needed anything. Was Evan the manager’s nephew or something? It wasn’t until I overheard a conversation in the breakroom that I understood. “Did you hear? The CEO’s son is interning here!” “Really? Which department? He’s so low-key…” “Wow, if I could catch his eye, I’d be set for life.” I took a sip of my coffee and unconsciously touched my nose. The CEO’s son might be rich, but he wasn’t stupid. What were these people thinking? Then, I thought of the ex-girlfriend who had dumped me for being “poor,” and I couldn’t help but shake my head. Just as I was about to leave, I heard them continue. “But a rich kid would be wearing designer clothes, right? None of the new interns are dressed like that. The most expensive thing I’ve seen is on Liam, that thousand-dollar shirt of his—but he wears the same one every day.” I glanced down at my shirt and had to laugh. I just happened to love the cut and feel of this particular brand, so I had bought the entire collection. Another voice immediately shot back, “It’s definitely not him! It has to be Evan—he has the same last name as the CEO! None of the other new interns are named Vance.” The coffee cup in my hand stilled. Suddenly, it all made sense. No wonder the manager was fawning over Evan. I narrowed my eyes. Being mistaken for someone else wasn’t so bad. It was the perfect opportunity to see just how many opportunistic, shallow people were hiding in this company. 7. That night, exhausted, I collapsed onto my king-sized bed. My phone vibrated with a friend request. Without looking closely, I assumed it was a coworker and accepted. The moment I did, a string of messages flooded in: “Liam! Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m only adding you because I have something important to discuss.” The familiar tone made me grimace. “Clara?” She replied instantly: “It’s been a month, and you’re still not over me? I know I’m irresistible.” “But let me be clear. Don’t think you can win me back just by following me to this company. You look pathetic when you’re this desperate. We are never, ever getting back together.” I stared at the screen, speechless. I had never realized how narcissistic she was. If she hadn’t changed her profile picture and username, I would have never accepted the request. I couldn’t resist sending a sarcastic emoji. “Relax, I have zero interest in getting back together. As for being at the same company—pure coincidence.” Clara: “It better be.” “If there’s nothing else, let’s just delete each other.” I had no desire to drag this out. In my opinion, a good ex is a dead ex. But Clara quickly typed back: “Wait!” “I need to ask you about someone—the new guy at the desk next to you, Evan. Do you know him well?” I finally understood. The only reason she had contacted me was to get information about Evan. “So, you only added me to ask about him?” She seemed flustered, sending an angry emoji. “What’s wrong with that? We have a work project together. Can’t I ask a simple question?” I almost laughed out loud. What kind of important work project could two interns possibly have together? Not wanting to waste another word, I blocked her. 8. The following days were a blur of work. The manager started assigning me Evan’s tasks as well, under the guise of “giving the new guy more experience.” Meanwhile, the supposed “prince” of the company spent his days scrolling through his phone and accepting gifts. Many of the young female employees tried to get his attention. “Evan, I bought too much coffee. You can have this one!” “Evan, you don’t drive? You take the subway? Me too! I love the subway! We should ride together after work!” “Evan, there’s a new Japanese restaurant that just opened. Want to go after work?” Among the crowd of admirers, I spotted Clara. She was clearly dressed to impress. The click-clack of her heels grew closer, pausing for a moment beside my desk. The familiar scent of her rose-scented shampoo—her favorite—wafted over. She didn’t even glance at me. The moment she saw Evan, her face broke into a dazzling smile, her eyes curving into gentle crescents. “Evan, there’s a new movie out this weekend. I have an extra ticket. Want to go?” Clara was beautiful. Especially among the other young women, she seemed to glow. Evan’s eyes lit up, and he agreed without a second thought. Clara tossed her hair and walked away, her heels clicking on the floor. She never looked at me once. Watching her leave, I was suddenly reminded of the first time I saw her. It was at the university’s welcome gala. She was on stage, dancing in a faded cotton dress. The spotlight hit her, and she shone like a swan. No fancy makeup, no beautiful dress.

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1 After returning from my studies abroad, I went to my father’s company without telling him, wanting to give him a surprise. But on my first day, I found the entire office fawning over an intern, calling her “the Princess.” I froze, asking my new colleagues to confirm what I was seeing. They all said the girl, Pearl Shen, was my father’s acknowledged daughter. But I’m an only child. I’ve never had a sister! I sent a text to my father, a cold smile on my face. 【Dad, I was thinking, after I graduate, I’ll come intern at our company.】 As always, he replied in seconds. 【My precious daughter doesn’t need to work. Once you graduate, just stay abroad and enjoy yourself. The money I make is enough for you to live lavishly for the rest of your life!】 I locked my phone and immediately contacted my lawyer. 【Please get the divorce proceedings started for my mother.】 … The employees crowded around Pearl, their compliments flowing endlessly. I pushed my way through the throng. The moment she saw my face, the middle-aged woman standing protectively beside Pearl went pale. “Ahem, everyone get back to your desks! What does it look like, chatting during work hours!” The smiles vanished from the employees’ faces as they scattered like mice, muttering under their breath. “I thought we’d get a break with the Princess here, but why’s the boss’s wife on a warpath again?” Hearing them call another woman “the boss’s wife” sent a fresh wave of fury through me. My mother had no interest in the business, and I lived abroad. It seemed that in our absence, a new mistress had taken over the Shen household. Pearl looked annoyed. “Mom, I thought you were going to help me build my image so I could take over the company sooner. I wasn’t done showing off.” I laughed. “You want to take over my company?” Pearl shot me a venomous glare. “Obviously, this is my dad’s—” Before she could finish, the “boss’s wife” shoved her aside. “Shut your mouth and get back to work!” Then, the woman lowered her head, looking at me as if I were a ticking bomb, and forced a few words through her teeth. “We can talk about this outside.” Seeing the sweat beading on her forehead, I casually pulled out a chair and crossed my legs. “Why should we go outside? Is it because you know you’ve done something that can’t see the light of day?” The woman gasped, looking like she was about to faint. Her voice was pleading. “This… this is the office!” She reached out, grabbing my arm and pulling me out of the office, away from the prying eyes. As she did, I got a clear look at the name tag on her chest. 【Rose Qin, Secretary to the General Manager】 Rose dragged me into an empty hallway and finally let out a long breath. “You must be Mr. Shen’s daughter, Cecilia. I’ve heard so much about you.” “I know I overstepped,” she began, her eyes welling up. “I was just worried my daughter would be bullied during her internship, so I let her pretend to be Mr. Shen’s daughter. Please, I’m begging you, don’t say anything. Let an old employee like me keep some dignity.” She looked so pitiful, like a desperate mother doing anything for her child. Too bad I didn’t believe a single word. Because hanging around her neck was the exact necklace I had sent to my mother not long ago. I hooked a finger under the deep, lustrous imperial jade, my eyes glinting with mockery. “It seems you’ve overstepped in more ways than one, Ms. Qin.” My mother was a princess who had been coddled with love her whole life. She cared nothing for business, only for her jewelry collection. This piece was something I had won at a high-stakes auction, and I had specifically asked my father to fly it back to her personally. My father had promised to deliver it to her, safe and sound. It seemed my leech of a father had long forgotten who my real mother was. I tightened my grip, the cord of the necklace digging a red line into Rose’s neck. Tears instantly streamed down her cheeks, making her look even more fragile. “Miss Shen, you must have misunderstood. I’m just a poor mother trying to do what’s best for my daughter.” I sneered and suddenly yanked harder. The cord snapped. Rose cried out in pain and stumbled to the floor. I didn’t spare her another glance. I contacted my lawyer. 【Get the divorce proceedings started for my mother.】 【You heard me. I’m making the decision.】 … I went home with the lawyer, who had rushed to meet me, and slapped the divorce papers down in front of my mother. She was completely bewildered. “Cecilia, are you insane? Your father and I have a wonderful relationship. Why would we get a divorce?” “Did your father cut your allowance? My sweet girl, don’t throw a tantrum. Here, take my card.” As my mother pushed her black card toward me, my lips trembled, and tears welled up in my eyes. My mother’s family had once been the wealthiest in New York. She grew up in a bubble, shielded from the ugliness of the world. How could I be the one to tell her about the disgusting things my father had done? Seeing me cry, she rushed to comfort me. As she bent over, a fake jade pendant slipped out from under her blouse. She saw me staring and gave me a reassuring smile, quickly tucking it away. “Your father said you picked this out especially for me. I love it so much, I wear it all the time.” In that moment, everything became clear. My mother has seen every treasure under the sun; how could she not recognize a fake? She must have known my father had swapped the gift, but thought I had been scammed, so she wore it happily to protect my feelings. The image of Rose flaunting the real necklace flashed in my mind. I didn’t hesitate any longer. “Mom, Dad’s having an affair.” “And not only that, his daughter is a year older than me.” The color drained from my mother’s face. Her eyes filled with tears. “Cecilia, do you have any idea what you’re saying?” I steeled myself and laid out a stack of photos. My mother picked up the first one. When she saw the brilliant necklace around Rose’s neck, her body went rigid. She looked at me, her face pale, before continuing. As she picked up the second photo, I sighed. “The girl in the picture, that’s their daughter, Pearl.” “If I hadn’t gone to the company today without telling you, I would have never known that there was already a new ‘Mrs. Shen’ and a ‘Princess’ in charge.” Tears streamed down her face as she reached for another photo. I gritted my teeth. “That’s a company share transfer agreement. The shares you trusted Dad with, the ones you gave him to manage, he handed them all over to his mistress and his illegitimate child.” My mother froze, her eyes scanning the document. The next page was a university acceptance letter. Seeing the name of the medical school, a flicker of realization crossed her face. The crying stopped, replaced by a grave expression. I gave a bitter laugh. “That’s right. I failed my college entrance exams and had to study abroad.” “But I did some digging today. It turns out I didn’t fail. It was James—that ungrateful leech—who swapped my scores with Pearl’s.” At my words, the sadness on my mother’s face hardened into a cold fury. She slammed her hand on the table. “That bastard! How dare he hurt my daughter!” I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. I had gambled correctly. At her age, my mother could forgive many things, but I would not tolerate having a backstabbing parasite for a father. If it was just about the affair, she might have hesitated. But learning he had stolen my future? That was unforgivable. I gently wiped away her tears. “What’s past is past. What matters is now.” “Mom, you inherited a multi-billion-dollar fortune from Grandpa, including several public companies. I suspect that while you’ve been hands-off, Dad has seized control of everything. That’s why he’s so brazenly bringing his mistress into the company.” I expected her to be anxious, but she just smiled knowingly. “Don’t worry, darling. The prenup is iron-clad. Everything I own, James was only managing. The moment we divorce, he has to give it all back.” “In that case,” I said, my voice turning to ice, “let’s make sure that unfaithful bastard loses everything and is ruined for life.” Just then, my phone buzzed incessantly. I realized the employee notification group I had muted was blowing up with 999+ messages. 【To celebrate the Princess’s successful onboarding and the company’s upcoming IPO, a grand banquet will be held at The Zenith Club! All employees and their families are cordially invited!】 【The boss is so generous! I heard the minimum spend there is two grand a person!】 【It’s all thanks to the Princess! Long live the Princess!】 Pearl herself made an appearance, dropping a dozen large cash-filled “red packets” into the chat. The compliments and fawning intensified. I watched the celebration with a cold smile. Just when I was wondering what to do next, James had the audacity to throw his illegitimate daughter an IPO welcoming party. Perfect. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I found James’s contact and sent him a message. 【Dad, I’m flying home today. Could you and Mom pick me up from the airport?】 He replied instantly. 【What are you doing back now?】 【I mean, is my baby girl homesick?】 【I’ll tell your mother right away and book her a flight to come see you. I’ll come visit after I finish up some things here. Be good, do some traveling, and take lots of pretty pictures for Daddy to show Mom, okay?】 I raised an eyebrow and showed the phone to my mother. She needed to see his true colors. She had already recovered from her initial shock and was now sitting at her vanity, picking up a custom-made makeup brush. She beckoned to me. “Come. Let’s get you ready.” “We’re going to pay a visit to your father… and his other family.” … The Zenith Club was buzzing with energy. At the entrance, a staff member stopped my mother and me. “Ladies, please step this way for a security check.” A security check for dinner? My mother and I exchanged a look of disbelief. Seeing our expressions, the staffer smiled. “Apologies, but this event is not only for the company’s IPO, but it’s also a welcoming party for the boss’s own daughter.” “Mr. Shen adores his daughter, Pearl. For her safety, everyone entering the restaurant must go through security.” My mother and I rolled our eyes in unison. The staffer saw our disdain and sniffed. “What’s with that look? Everyone at Shen Corp knows Mr. Shen has doted on his precious daughter since she was a baby. He even braided her hair and picked out her clothes himself!” My smile froze. When I was a baby and my mother was away, James had left me unattended in the bathtub. A maid found me unconscious, having nearly drowned. He promised to take me to the park but left me locked in a hot car in the middle of summer. A passerby had to call the police to get me out. He took me hiking, I fell down a ravine, and he went home without even noticing I was gone until my mother asked where I was. I used to tell myself he was just focused on work. But I was wrong. He wasn’t incapable of love. He just never loved me. My mother, sensing my distress, pulled me away, only for us to run into a group of people fawning over Rose. She was showing off a jade bracelet James had personally flown abroad to bid on for her. “My James knows I love these things. He spent eight million on it for me. He’s so thoughtful.” My mother raised a hand to her own bare neck, a sarcastic smile playing on her lips. “Don’t be sad, Cecilia. He loves taking care of people and buying them jewelry, doesn’t he?” “Today, I’m taking back everything I ever gave him. And I’m going to watch that ungrateful wolf meet his end.” I took my mother’s hand, and we found a quiet corner to wait. Just then, my phone buzzed. It was a video call from James, who never, ever initiated contact. My heart leaped into my throat. I almost dropped my phone. Then I realized—I had just seen Rose. After I left, James must have been busy with the party preparations and hadn’t spoken to her yet. Now that everything was ready, she must have told him about our encounter. He suspected something was wrong. This was an interrogation. I looked at my mother for help, but she was perfectly calm. She simply smiled. “Follow me.” She led me through a winding corridor and, to my surprise, into a wine cellar. Pointing to the walls of wine and the foreign staff milling about, she said, “I thought this might happen, so I had some of my international staff wait nearby. Answer it. With James’s limited worldview, he won’t know the difference.” I let out a breath and answered the call. James’s greasy face filled the screen. “Sweetheart, where are you?” I held up the phone and did a 360-degree spin. “Wine tasting with some classmates. The signal isn’t great. What’s up?” I held the pose, pretending the video was frozen. On the other end, James frowned, scrutinizing every detail, before finally sighing in relief. I heard him mutter to someone off-screen. “I told you she was still abroad. Cecilia is such a mama’s girl; she would have told her mother immediately. There’s no way she came back without saying anything.” “Stop worrying and go get changed!” I was about to explode. The sheer audacity of this man, calling his real daughter to verify a lie for his mistress. My mother, having heard enough, ended the call and hurried me back to the banquet hall. By the time we returned, the party had already started. After a stunning fireworks display, a dapper James walked onto the stage, holding a beautifully dressed Pearl by the hand. To thunderous applause, they shared a heartfelt hug. James looked at Pearl as if she were a precious jewel. “My daughter, Pearl. Her name says it all. She is the pearl of my eye.” “Today, here, in front of all our dear partners and loyal employees, I am officially introducing the pearl of my eye to you all!” “As you know, the pharmaceutical company under my name is about to go public. And my daughter is a brilliant graduate from a top medical university. I hereby announce that I am gifting this company to my daughter, Pearl, as a symbol of my love and devotion. I hope that under my protection, her future will always be a path of ease and success!” The entire audience was moved by his passionate display of fatherly love, erupting in wild applause. After the applause died down, I slipped through the crowd, leaped onto the stage, snatched the microphone, and smiled at James. “Dad, before you give my mother’s company to your illegitimate daughter, shouldn’t you ask for my opinion?”

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The call came out of nowhere, a voice from ten years ago. On the line, a boy’s voice, cocky and untamed, but buzzing with excitement. “Viv, ten years from now, do we have a boy or a girl?” My own voice was calm. “You’ll have a son.” He clicked his tongue, then his tone dropped into a playful whine. “My dearest Viv, you can’t love him more than you love me.” Across from me, a man in a tailored suit took a drag from his cigarette. His voice was flat. “Honey, Clara’s going into labor.” He slid a stack of papers across the polished mahogany table. “Sign them. It’s time you did some soul-searching.” I signed the divorce papers while replying to the boy on the phone. “Don’t worry. I’ll never love another woman’s son. Or her husband.” 1. The boy on the phone went silent. For a few seconds, there was nothing. Then, a raw shout exploded through the speaker. “Shit, what the hell?!” But I wasn’t listening anymore. I hung up. Then, stroke by stroke, I carefully wrote out my name: Vivian Hale. Tim Vance turned around. The years had chiseled away the wildness in his handsome features, replacing it with a cool, mature reserve. He glanced at the signature on the divorce agreement, the hand holding his cigarette freezing for a fraction of a second. After a moment, his voice, laced with sarcasm, cut through the silence. “So decisive, honey?” I put down the pen, a wave of exhaustion washing over me. “Let’s just end it. There’s no point in dragging this out anymore.” Tim’s expression flickered as he tried to gauge if I was serious. Just then, my phone began to buzz violently on the table, a relentless incoming call. He let out a short, sharp laugh, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “Are you that pathetic, honey?” he sneered. “Still desperate to hear my voice from back then? This scammer, pretending to be me in high school… he must be getting a nice payday out of you, huh?” I flinched. I knew that look—that infuriating, triumphant smirk he used to provoke me. And it always worked. In the past, I’d lose it, make a scene, turn into the hysterical madwoman he seemed to expect. But why? Wasn’t this divorce what he wanted? “Yeah, you’re right,” I said, too tired to fight, too tired to even think. I pushed his hand away and calmly switched my phone off. Tim’s smile faltered, just for a moment. He stubbed out his cigarette, his voice dropping to an icy warning. “It better be. Don’t let me find out you’re pulling something, Viv. You know what I’m capable of.” I dug my nails into my palm, welcoming the sharp sting of pain before I let go. Oh, I knew exactly what he was capable of. Last week, I publicly humiliated Clara at the office, announcing to everyone that the baby in her belly was Tim’s. The very next day, I was “asked” to resign and take a leave of absence. Years of hard work, of building my career, all vanished because of one tearful tantrum from his mistress. That was Tim’s punishment. I took a deep breath and watched his retreating back as he strode out of the room. He was walking so fast. He didn’t even give me a chance to tell him. Don’t call me “honey” anymore. 2. Ten years ago, I would have never believed it. That the person who would tear my life with Tim to shreds would be Clara Ross. In high school, I was the radiant swan everyone admired. And Clara? She was the school’s resident ugly duckling. Poor, plain, and hopelessly chasing after Tim Vance with a foolish, desperate passion. Just as relentlessly as Tim was chasing after me. The difference was, I eventually said yes to Tim. Clara never even got a second glance from him. That changed a year ago. Tim took me to a corporate gala. I saw her there—Clara, draped in a stunning red dress, radiating a confidence that was completely new. I also saw Tim’s throat bob, saw the flash of raw admiration in his eyes. It was so fleeting I almost missed it. But I remembered it vividly when, months later, Clara triumphantly slapped a positive pregnancy test onto my desk. Only then did I realize who the “other woman” was, the one who had turned my marriage into a battlefield. Clara stood before me like a victorious general, gloating over her conquest. “Vivian, there’s something I’ve wanted to tell you for years,” she’d said, a smug smile on her face. “You never really thought you were all that special, did you?” Back in high school, Tim would wrap his arms around me and joke that my fiery temper was a product of him spoiling me rotten. But that day, after Clara’s taunts sent me into a blind rage and I shoved her to the ground, his face went cold. His voice was laced with a contempt I’d never heard before. “You should take a good look at yourself in the mirror right now, honey,” he’d snarled. “Bullying a pregnant woman. Does that make you feel powerful?” 3. That fight with Tim was apocalyptic. I fell apart, consumed by a desire to destroy him, but I could never bring myself to do it. He tried to smooth things over, of course. He’d hold me, whisper promises that once the baby was born, everything would go back to the way it was. But I hated him. I hated him for betraying me, for turning our perfect, storybook romance into a cheap joke. And I hated myself even more for not being able to let him go. So we tortured each other, becoming the bitter, warring couple everyone whispered about. Things hit a new low when Clara sent me a video of her and Tim in bed. Shaking with rage, I confronted him, and it escalated into the worst fight we’d ever had. I smashed everything in the house I could get my hands on, screamed the most vile things I could think of, and even threatened to leak the video online, to ruin him completely. But Tim just sat there on the sofa, calmly smoking, a lazy, confident smile on his face. He extinguished my fury with a single question. “So what if I’m openly keeping a mistress? So what if I knocked her up, and there’s a sex tape floating around?” he asked, blowing a smoke ring. “Are you really going to leave me, honey?” I froze, an icy dread creeping through my veins, as if someone had dumped a bucket of freezing water over me in the dead of winter. All I could do was stand there and tremble. Tim laughed, his eyes full of pity and scorn. “Pathetic.” After that, he knew he had me. He bought Clara a penthouse, flew with her to Switzerland for prenatal checkups. When they found out it was a boy, he threw a lavish party to celebrate, months before the due date. He made sure the entire world knew he didn’t love me anymore. He turned me into a punchline, a cautionary tale whispered at cocktail parties. Sometimes, watching them together, so open and blissfully in love, a sliver of doubt would creep in. Maybe I was the one who should just walk away. But I couldn’t. I was too proud, too stubborn. So I stayed, rattling around in our empty mansion, slowly turning into a paranoid, obsessive mess. I just couldn’t let go. Not until the day I stumbled upon a video of an interview at our old high school. 4. Tim had taken a very pregnant Clara back to our alma mater for a donation ceremony. In the video, he was wearing a simple black windbreaker, his hair unstyled for once. He stood under the shade of a poplar tree, a faint, easy smile on his lips. For a dizzying moment, I saw the boy he used to be—the one with the cocky slouch who waited for me after class every day. Then I blinked, and the illusion shattered. I saw him gently stroking Clara’s swollen belly. A reporter asked them about their relationship. They exchanged a look, a perfect picture of domestic bliss. My eyes started to burn. I wanted to turn it off, but then I heard the reporter’s next question. “What is your biggest regret from your high school days?” Without a moment’s hesitation, Tim looked directly at Clara, his voice soft and full of meaning. “Probably that I was blind back then,” he said. “That I didn’t fall for her sooner.” He squeezed her hand. “I just hope the universe gives me a second chance. This time, let it be my turn to chase you.” Clara playfully swatted his shoulder, a shy, happy blush on her cheeks. The reporter gasped with delight. The students around them cheered. And I just stood there, frozen. The world went silent, so quiet I could hear my own heart hammering in my chest. Thump. Thump. Thump. And then, with one final, shuddering beat, it stopped. In that instant, every tower I had built inside me came crashing down. Something inside me shattered completely. It was the last, lingering piece of my obsession with the boy he used to be. I finally understood. Sometimes, letting go isn’t a process. It’s a single, blinding moment. 5. I blinked away the sting in my eyes, pushing the memories aside. Then I got up and started to systematically gather everything that belonged to Tim in the house. One by one, I carried it all out to the curb with the trash. When I was finally done, I let out a long, slow breath. I turned my phone back on. A flood of missed calls and frantic texts poured in. I knew, with absolute certainty, that the calls were from the real, 18-year-old Tim. But I felt nothing. I calmly ignored the number and called a friend back. She was inviting me to a class reunion next week. I didn’t hesitate. “Sure, I’ll be there.” As I was about to put the phone down, my eyes caught the string of desperate texts from the unknown number. [Shit, Viv, don’t scare me like this!] [What’s going on? Pick up the phone!] [Your man just ran eight laps around the track and now his heart feels like it’s gonna explode.] [If you don’t answer, I swear I’ll drop dead right here and now!!!] The familiar words hit me. He was talking about that day it poured, the day I got caught in the rain. My white shirt was soaked through, and a few guys were making lewd comments. Tim had appeared out of nowhere, his face a mask of cold fury. He’d grabbed a chair and brought it down on one of them, hard. Afterward, the coach made him run eight laps as punishment. He collapsed with a fever afterward, got seriously ill, and missed the championship soccer game he’d been training for for two years. I remembered how, besides me, Clara had been devastated. She had glared at me with pure resentment. “Can’t you just stop being such a drama queen?” she’d spat. “You love seeing him torture himself for you, don’t you, princess?” Before I could even respond, Tim cut her off, his voice sharp despite his exhaustion. “What’s it to you?” he’d snapped, looking right at her. “It’s my choice, isn’t it?” That day, Clara’s face had been even paler than Tim’s. But times change. The boy Tim from back then could never have imagined. That the thing he’d regret most in his thirties, at the height of his success, was making Clara Ross sad. 6. The reunion was already in full swing by the time I arrived. The divorce hadn’t left me with a car. So when a sudden downpour started, all I could do was hold my purse over my head and make a run for it. I burst through the doors, breathless and slightly disheveled, and my eyes immediately landed on Clara, looking immaculate and radiant. She looked me up and down, a smug, superior smile spreading across her face. “Vivian, darling. I never thought I’d see you looking so… desperate.” Laughter rippled through our old classmates. They were enjoying the show. Life is fickle. So what if Tim cheated? So what if Clara was a homewrecker? Siding with the powerful and kicking the weak—that’s just human nature. My gaze drifted past them to Tim, who was watching with a lazy, amused smirk. I dug my nails into my palm, crushing the tiny pinprick of pain in my chest. Suddenly, someone gasped. “Is that… Clara Ross?!” All eyes snapped to a phone someone was holding up. Someone had leaked the video. The video of her and Tim. A guy snickered. “Damn, and while she’s pregnant, too.” The next second, the sound of shattering glass echoed through the room as Tim smashed a bottle over the guy’s head. “All of you, shut the hell up!” he roared. But it was too late. The color drained from Clara’s face. She looked like she was about to snap. Her eyes found mine, and with a guttural scream, she hurled her glass directly at me. “You did this! You leaked it!” Tim’s face hardened as he turned to me, his voice a low, menacing growl. “Honey, did you forget what I told you?” 7. I didn’t have time to dodge. The glass shattered against my forehead, the sharp pain making me wince. The water inside splashed all over my dress, leaving me looking even more of a wreck than when I’d arrived. I pulled out a tissue, pressing it to the cut. “First,” I said, my voice steady despite the throbbing in my head, “I didn’t leak the video. Second, I’m not your honey.” Tim’s jaw tightened. He just stood there, seething, though I couldn’t tell what he was angrier about. But before he could respond, Clara let out a choked cry. The shock had sent her into labor. The room descended into chaos. For the first time, I saw panic in Tim’s eyes. He had fought too hard for this child. He swept Clara into his arms and started pushing through the crowd. As he passed me, he paused, his voice dripping with scorn. “I underestimated you. Are you satisfied now that you’ve made this mess?” He leaned in closer. “Don’t think for a second that I’ll let you off the hook if anything happens to Clara, Vivian.” I glanced at the crimson stain spreading across the tissue in my hand. Then I looked up, and I swung. My hand connected with his cheek with a loud, satisfying crack. “That,” I said, my voice ringing with clarity, “was for Clara.” Tim’s head snapped to the side. His face was a canvas of shock and disbelief. Before he could react, I shook out my stinging hand and, without a backward glance, turned and walked away. 8. The rain was still pouring outside. I stood under the awning, watching the frantic scramble of people, and answered my phone. “The money’s been transferred to your account, Ms. Quinn. A pleasure doing business with you.” “Likewise,” I said, and hung up. It was true, I hadn’t leaked the video. Not directly. A CEO’s affair and a mistress’s pregnancy—that kind of scandal could do serious damage to a company. So I simply sold it to Tim’s biggest corporate rival. After all, Tim hadn’t exactly been generous in the divorce settlement. A girl has to look out for herself. A sudden clap of thunder split the sky. “Viv! I finally found you!”

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