The deadline for the contract was breathing down my neck. I raced to Office Administration to get some printer paper. Brenda, the admin coordinator, shot me a look of pure disdain. “In case you haven’t heard,” she sneered, “to stop people on the lower rungs from milking the company for all it’s worth, there’s a new policy. You bring your own paper now.” I pointed to the literal mountain of A4 paper boxes stacked behind her. “Then what’s all that for?” I asked, my voice cold. She rolled her eyes. “That’s for the people who actually deserve company resources.” “A small-fry project manager like you, always with your hand out, contributing next to nothing?” She leaned in, her voice a venomous whisper. “Don’t even think about touching a single sheet.” I just nodded, walked out, and made a phone call. “Mr. Dyer, my apologies. We’re pulling out of the bid for the two-hundred-million-dollar project.” 1. I stared at the clock in the corner of my screen. Less than two hours until the submission window for the Falcon Project slammed shut. The three-hundred-page proposal glowing on my monitor represented three solid months of my team’s blood, sweat, and tears. My nails dug into my palms, leaving angry red crescents in their wake. The project department was a ghost town, the only sound the frantic click-clack of my keyboard echoing in the silence. My team had been pulling all-nighters for a week straight. Just last night, Jake was so pale from a gnawing stomach ache he looked like he was about to collapse, but he’d stayed until dawn. I’d finally sent them all home an hour ago, promising I’d handle the final wrap-up. Now, it was just me and the cold, hard text on the screen. Outside, the sky was slowly bleeding from gray to black. “Done!” The final period landed like a gavel. I triple-checked everything, ensuring every single data point was perfect. A surge of adrenaline shot through me. This two-hundred-million-dollar deal was ours. I practically vaulted out of my chair, my knee smashing into the leg of the desk, but I didn’t feel a thing. Snatching the USB drive that held our entire future, I bolted from the office like a man possessed. In the administration department, Brenda was meticulously applying a fresh coat of lipstick in a compact mirror. “Brenda! I need paper! It’s urgent!” I burst in, slapping the USB drive down on her desk. After listening to my breathless explanation, she languidly picked up a nail file and started shaping her nails, not even bothering to look up. “There’s a new policy to stop lower-level employees from taking advantage of company resources. You have to bring your own paper now.” She paused, adding with a smirk, “What, did the memo not make it down to your pay grade?” My temper flared. “My own… my own paper? This is the two-hundred-million-dollar Falcon Project! It has to be couriered by six p.m. tonight!” Brenda just shrugged, completely unconcerned. “No paper here.” I was trembling with rage. I pointed at the fortress of boxes behind her. “What do you call that?!” “Oh, that’s paper,” Brenda said, standing up. She strolled over to the boxes, patting them condescendingly. “But this is for people who matter. And who are you, Ross Vance? Dead last on the contribution charts, and you have the gall to come asking for handouts?” She leaned closer, her voice dropping, each word a poisoned dart. “If I were you, with performance that pathetic, I’d have been too ashamed to show my face long ago. Why don’t you just pack your things and get out? Stop embarrassing yourself.” What she didn’t know, or chose to ignore, was that my biggest projects always ended up with the boss’s nephew’s name slapped on them. My phone buzzed. It was Jake. “Ross, did you send the file? The print shop says if we don’t get it to them now, they won’t have time to bind it!” The background was a chaotic symphony of voices as the rest of the team anxiously discussed the binding details. My throat felt like it was clamped in a vise. I couldn’t get a single word out. “Hear that? Your little soldiers are getting antsy. Better figure something out,” Brenda purred, leaning back in her chair and tapping the toe of her designer heel on the floor. “It’s not that I won’t help you, it’s just… company rules are company rules.” She dragged out the last word, savoring it like a cat toying with a mouse. “And you, Ross… you’re just not important enough for me to break them.” She picked up a stack of documents and fanned herself with them, the rustling paper a symphony of mockery. “Honestly, you project managers are all the same, always begging for resources. Two hundred million? You talk a big game. Why don’t you try collecting the overdue payments from last quarter’s project before you start making grand pronouncements?” I gripped the USB drive so hard its metal casing bit into my palm. Flashes of the last three months assaulted me—Mark, pulling an all-nighter from a hospital waiting room, balancing his laptop on his knees; Chloe, crying her eyes out over a single data discrepancy; the mountain of antacids in Jake’s desk drawer… I spun around and stormed out, heading straight for the boss’s office. I kicked the door open. The heavy oak slammed against the wall with a deafening crack. Mr. Davis yelped, jolting so hard he spilled hot tea all over his expensive suit. “Mr. Davis,” I said, my voice shaking with barely suppressed fury, “Admin says we have to bring our own paper now. The Falcon Project deadline is tonight, the proposal needs to be printed… are you going to do something about this or not?!” He regained his composure, his face darkening into a thunderous scowl. “Ross! Have you lost your mind?! A rule is a rule! I don’t care if it’s a two-hundred-million-dollar project or a two-billion-dollar one, you will follow my rules!” My fists clenched. “The nearest print shop is over twenty miles away! There’s no way to make it there and back in time, Mr. Davis!” “That sounds like a problem you need to solve,” he said, his expression smoothing into a placid mask. He took a delicate sip of his tea. “As a project manager, surely you possess some basic problem-solving skills?” I looked at his smug, dismissive face and remembered what Jake had told me: Mr. Davis never wanted our team to have the Falcon Project in the first place. He wanted to give it to his nephew, Frankie, the sales director. My eyes burning, I stormed back to the admin office. My voice was trembling. “Brenda… I’m begging you. Just let me borrow it, personally. I’ll pay you back double from my bonus when the project lands.” She looked at me as if I’d just told the funniest joke in the world, then leaned forward conspiratorially. “Ross, you still don’t get it, do you? This isn’t about the paper.” Her manicured finger tapped the desk. “It’s about the rules. And you…” She smiled, a slow, cruel curve of her lips. “…are not worthy of me breaking them.” Just then, my phone rang. The name “Mr. Dyer – Apex Dynamics” flashed on the screen. I looked at Brenda’s face, a mask of pure contempt. I looked at the mountain of paper behind her. I thought of Mr. Davis’s smug grin. A white-hot rage exploded in my chest. I answered the call, my voice terrifyingly calm. “Mr. Dyer.” “Ross! Is the file on its way? My entire board is assembled, we’re just waiting on your proposal…” “About the two-hundred-million-dollar bid,” I interrupted him, my eyes locked on Brenda’s suddenly frozen expression. “We’re pulling out.” A gasp of disbelief came from the other end, but I’d already hung up. 2. The phone slipped from my grasp, hitting the marble floor with a sickening crunch. The screen spiderwebbed into a thousand pieces. For a heartbeat, the office was utterly silent. Then, as if jolted by electricity, Brenda shot up from her chair. “Ross! Are you insane?! A two-hundred-million-dollar project, and you just pull out?! Who the hell do you think you are?!” Her heels clicked sharply on the floor as she stormed around her desk, her finger jabbing the air inches from my face. “You’re a bottom-rung nobody, and you think you can pull a stunt like this? I’ll have security throw you out on your ass!” I bent down and slowly picked up the shattered phone. My own distorted reflection stared back at me. “Are you deaf?! Say something!” she shrieked, her chest heaving. “Stop playing dead! I’m telling you, you can’t handle the fallout from this! You are going to call Mr. Dyer back right now and tell him you were joking!” When I didn’t move, her voice climbed an octave, dripping with condescension. “Ohhh, I get it. This is a tantrum, isn’t it? Because I wouldn’t give you paper, you’re trying to threaten me with the project? Ross, I never realized how childish you were. How pathetic!” She circled me like a vulture, looking me up and down. “You want to throw your weight around, you’d better have some weight to throw! Who do you think you are? You think this company can’t function without you? Let me tell you something, project managers like you are a dime a dozen!” Just then, my broken phone began to vibrate violently. I stared at her, and a slow, cold smile spread across my face. “What are you smiling at?!” she snapped, snatching her hand back as if she’d been burned. “I’m smiling at how pathetic you are,” I said, enunciating every word. “You’ve been kneeling for so long, you’ve forgotten how to stand.” She trembled with rage and swung her hand to slap me. I caught her wrist, my grip so tight she cried out in pain. “Let go of me! You’re a worthless piece of trash! You’re nothing without this company!” she screeched. On the phone’s cracked screen, Jake’s name was flashing, his caller ID a picture of him with his wife and young daughter. I could almost hear him on the other end, him and the whole team, waiting at the print shop, dialing my number over and over, desperate for good news. Brenda saw the caller ID too. “Go on, answer it! Why don’t you? Scared to tell your little minions you blew up their project just to soothe your bruised ego? That you just smashed their rice bowl? That you made them work for three months for nothing?” She took a step closer, her voice a low hiss. “Look at yourself, Ross. You sold out your entire team for a shred of pride. When they find out their fearless leader torpedoed their payday over a ream of paper, what do you think they’ll do?” “Will they feel sorry for you? Or will they want to tear you limb from limb?” Her words hit me like a physical blow. She was right. I had sold them out. But in the next instant, a wave of pure, unadulterated fury washed over me. I looked up, my eyes locking onto hers. “You’re right,” I said, my voice raspy. “I am a bastard.” And before she could process what was happening, I turned and kicked the towering stack of A4 paper with all my strength. CRASH! The mountain of boxes toppled over. An avalanche of pristine white paper cascaded across the floor, burying half the office in a blizzard of uselessness. Brenda screamed and stumbled backward, her ankle twisting, sending her sprawling ungracefully into the paper drift. I stood amidst the swirling sheets, bent down, and retrieved my shattered phone. Then, I looked at Brenda’s pale, shocked face and said, word by word: “Here’s your damn paper.” “And you can tell Mr. Davis that I’m done serving this sorry excuse for a temple. I quit.” 3. I walked back to the project department clutching my broken phone. Brenda’s words, “You sold out your entire team,” echoed in my head. I pushed the door open, and every eye in the room snapped to me. Jake was the first to rush over. “Ross! The print shop—” He stopped mid-sentence, his gaze fixed on my empty hands, then on the unfamiliar, grim expression on my face. “Where’s the proposal?” Mark asked, standing up so abruptly his chair screeched against the floor. I opened my mouth, but the words “we’re pulling out” felt like lead on my tongue. Chloe asked timidly, “Ross… did something happen?” I looked at their faces, and the crushing weight of the last three months—the sleepless nights, the heated debates, the bloodshot eyes—came crashing down on me. “Admin…” My throat was tight. “…they wouldn’t give us any paper.” The office fell silent. Then, a bitter laugh erupted from the corner. A murmur of disbelief rippled through the room. “No paper? What kind of crappy excuse is that?” “A two-hundred-million-dollar project gets killed over a ream of paper? You’ve got to be kidding me.” “Ross, are you messing with us?” Jake stared at me, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Because of paper? You just gave up? What about the last three months of our lives…?” His words were a slap in the face. Mark took a deep breath, his knuckles white. “Ross, I get that you’ve been put through the wringer. But you’re the project manager. You’re responsible for this team. You throw a fit, and we’re all out on the street!” “I…” I wanted to explain that it wasn’t just about the paper. It was about dignity. It was about raw, calculated humiliation. But looking at their exhausted, anxious faces, the words died in my throat. He was right. In their eyes, I was just an asshole who’d torched everyone’s livelihood over a temper tantrum. A toxic rage surged through me. I grabbed a nearby filing rack and hurled it to the ground, sending documents flying like confetti. I jabbed a finger in the direction of the admin office, my voice raw and loud. “Responsible?! How the hell am I supposed to be responsible?!” I roared. “They pointed at us and called us ‘lower-level nobodies’! They said we weren’t worthy of using the company’s damn paper! Was I supposed to get on my knees and beg her for charity?!” The room went dead silent, everyone stunned by my outburst. I was panting, my gaze sweeping over their pale, shocked faces. I squeezed the words out from between my clenched teeth. “So, yes. I pulled the plug.” “Anyone who wants to stick with me, stay. Anyone who thinks I’m an impulsive screw-up, you can walk right now. No hard feelings.” With that, I kicked a chair out of my way, stalked to my desk, and started furiously shoving my belongings into a cardboard box. No one moved. The silence was deafening. A few seconds later, Jake, his eyes red, walked over and silently picked up a box to start packing his own desk. Mark tore the project timeline from the wall, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it into his box, followed by the half-dead potted plant from his desk. Watching them, the churning storm of anger and humiliation inside me finally began to subside. Once I was packed, I picked up my box and took one last look at the place where I had poured three years of my life. The awards on the wall, the photos from late-night work sessions—they all seemed like a bitter joke now. “Let’s go,” I said, my voice now completely calm. “I know a co-working space downtown that’s open 24/7.” I walked out of the department first, my footsteps echoing in the empty hallway as I trod over the ruins of my old career. I was leaving the humiliation behind. From now on, I was carving my own path. 4. As I stepped out of the building, the cool night air hit my face. Jake caught up to me. “Ross, are we really giving up on the two-hundred-million-dollar project?” “Hell no,” I said, shoving my box into the trunk of a taxi. “We’re going to take it. But we’re going to take it standing up.” Saying it out loud felt like releasing a pressure valve in my chest. Mark looked back at the glowing monolith of the office building and sighed. “So, what’s the plan?” “We’re going into business for ourselves,” I said, getting into the car. Inside, I pulled out my shattered phone and sent a voice message directly to Mr. Dyer at Apex Dynamics. “Mr. Dyer, this is Ross Vance. I’ve just resigned, and I’ve taken my entire core team with me. The complete proposal for the Falcon Project is in my possession. If you’re still interested, I will be at the bid presentation tomorrow morning. I’ll deliver the proposal in person.” Jake sucked in a sharp breath. “That’s a hell of a gamble, man!” I leaned my head back against the seat and closed my eyes. “I’m betting he knows a good thing when he sees it.” Three seconds later, the phone vibrated. A reply from Mr. Dyer: “See you at nine.” I tossed the phone into the back seat. “We’re in.” “Holy shit!” Jake slapped his thigh. A slow grin spread across Mark’s face. “Savage.” As we got out of the taxi, I saw a new notification in the old work group chat. It was Brenda, posting yet another memo about “conserving office supplies.” I let out a cold laugh and typed a message, tagging everyone. “@everyone This is Ross Vance. I have officially resigned. All core technology and intellectual property rights for the Falcon Project belong to me personally and are no longer associated with my former employer. P.S. Enjoy the paper.” Then, I left every single company chat without a second thought. Turning, I pushed open the doors to the co-working space and said to my team behind me: “From now on, we play by our own rules.”

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I’m the Director of Human Resources for my company. During an interview, a candidate named Maya Chen presented a resume so riddled with lies it was almost comical. I called her out on the spot and politely showed her the door. The next day, she registered dozens of sock puppet accounts and launched a coordinated smear campaign across every major job search platform. 【Exposing the Dark Underbelly of a Major Tech Firm: HR Director Adrian B. is a Predator.】 【He didn’t even look at my resume. He just stared at my legs the entire time. His hand was practically reaching for me.】 【He hinted that if I just came to his hotel to “chat” at night, even the director’s position could be mine.】 【What good is being handsome? He’s just another greasy, disgusting sexual harasser. Vile!】 Messages of concern poured in from my colleagues. I simply compiled the screenshots. The young woman seemed to have forgotten what my company specializes in. Crisis communications and information warfare. And I am the founder of that department. … I forwarded the screenshots directly to my assistant. “Run a full background check on this Maya Chen. I want every social media account she’s ever had. The more detailed, the better.” My assistant’s half-typed message of sympathy vanished, replaced by an immediate: 【Yes, Mr. Black. Right away.】 The online firestorm spread faster than I’d anticipated. “HR Director Adrian B.” was quickly doxxed. My full name, my photo, and my company were plastered everywhere. Within hours, the hashtag #BigTechExecSexualHarassment was trending. The company’s internal servers were on fire. Colleagues in every department were whispering. My phone rang. It was the CEO, Mr. Thompson, his voice grim. “Adrian, what the hell is going on? This is a PR nightmare. We already have partners calling to ask questions.” “It’s a candidate whose fabricated resume I rejected,” I said, my voice perfectly calm. “This is her retaliation.” “Retaliation?” His voice grew cautious. “What kind of retaliation? You didn’t do anything… out of line, did you?” I understood his caution. In a scandal like this, a corporation’s first instinct is always self-preservation. “Every interview I conduct is recorded on audio and video. You can pull the tapes at any time.” “Good, good…” Mr. Thompson breathed a sigh of relief, but his tone quickly hardened again. “But you know how it is. The online mob doesn’t care about evidence; they run on emotion. For now, stay silent. Our legal team will issue a statement. We need to kill this story, fast.” I gave a noncommittal “Mm.” Kill the story? No. I never intended to kill it. I was going to let this fire burn until it was an inferno. As soon as I hung up, an encrypted file arrived from my assistant. The dossier on Maya Chen was exhaustive—every failed class from elementary school to college, every past relationship, every single account she’d ever registered on even the most obscure platforms. I found one of her phone numbers and dialed. It rang for a long time before she answered, her voice thick with sleep and suspicion. “Who is this?” “Ms. Chen, this is Adrian Black.” The line went silent. A few seconds later, a sharp, mocking laugh came through. Her tone shifted to one of pure arrogance. “Well, well, if it isn’t the great Director Black. What’s the matter? Saw the trending topics and got scared? Calling to beg for mercy?” I ignored her taunt. “What are your demands?” I asked calmly. “If you felt uncomfortable during the interview process, we can discuss it.” My composure seemed to fuel her ego. “Discuss? Alright, let’s discuss!” she said, her voice dripping with condescension. “First, your company will issue a public apology on its homepage, admitting to your sexual harassment and your unfair hiring practices.” “Second, you will immediately send me a job offer. The position… hmm, let’s make it your Assistant Director. I think it suits me.” “And third, five hundred thousand dollars in compensation for my emotional distress. Not a penny less.” She paused, then added flippantly, “Oh, and you’ll write the apology yourself. I want it to be tearful. I want it to be sincere. Otherwise, the ‘evidence’ I have is just the tip of the iceberg. I can ruin you, Adrian. I can make sure you’re a social pariah for the rest of your life. Do you believe me?” I almost laughed out loud. She thought she was threatening me. To my ears, this was a confession. “I’ve received your demands,” I said softly. “Don’t call me again. Have your lawyer contact mine,” she snapped, then slammed the phone down, as if terrified I’d retract my ‘surrender’. I put my phone down and packaged the call recording along with Maya’s entire dossier. I named the file “Phase One Evidence” and sent it to our company’s top legal team. Only then did I see the dozen missed messages from my wife. 【Honey, are those things online true?】 【Please don’t scare me, call me back!】 【How can they say those things about you!】 I called her immediately. Her voice was choked with tears. “Adrian, I saw the comments… they’re saying such horrible things… they’re threatening to come to our house…” A knot of ice formed in my stomach. She was pregnant. “Don’t be afraid. It’s all lies,” I said, forcing my voice to be a steady anchor. “Stay home. Don’t go out, and don’t look at anything online. Trust me. I can handle this.” I just never imagined how fast, how violently, things would escalate. The next day, the atmosphere at the office was toxic. Colleagues who used to greet me warmly now avoided my gaze, offering only awkward nods. When I walked into my own department, it was dead silent. The team I had built from the ground up, the people I had personally mentored, were all staring intently at their screens, pretending to be busy. No one would look at me. I pushed it aside and called my core team for the morning briefing. “Regarding the current situation, I want our PR department to hold all public statements. Await my signal,” I said, proceeding as usual. “Also, have the tech team continue to monitor the IP addresses of those sock puppet accounts and track the source of any new negative posts…” I was cut off. “Mr. Black.” It was Sarah. A management trainee I’d hired two years ago and personally promoted to team lead. She stood up, her eyes blazing with the self-righteous fire of someone “speaking truth to power.” “I think what the company needs to do right now is distance itself from you, immediately.” The entire conference room went silent. Everyone stared at her in disbelief. I frowned. “Sarah, what are you trying to say?” She took a deep breath, as if summoning immense courage. “As a woman, I feel sympathy and anger for what Maya went through. Whether her resume was fake or not is irrelevant. It’s not an excuse for workplace sexual harassment!” “The public opinion is completely one-sided. Everyone is standing with the victim. If the company continues to protect you, we’ll be branded as an organization that shelters predators. It will be devastating for our brand!” “Furthermore,” she said, looking around at the other female colleagues in the room, “as our direct supervisor, this incident makes all of us women on the team feel incredibly… unsafe.” As soon as she finished, another female colleague timidly chimed in, “Yeah, Mr. Black, the things people are saying online are so specific… it’s really disturbing.” A chill went down my spine. The very people I’d invested in, the ones I expected to have my back, were stabbing me in it without a second thought, all for some misplaced sense of “female solidarity.” This was the team I had so carefully cultivated. I managed a small smile. I looked at Sarah. “So, what’s your recommendation?” She seemed emboldened. Her voice grew louder. “I recommend that you resign, effective immediately. And issue a public apology to Maya and the public to salvage the company’s reputation. As the head of this department, it’s the only responsible thing you can do!” I started to clap, slowly and deliberately. “Well said. In crisis management, the core principle is to sacrifice the pawn to save the king. You’ve learned the lesson well.” A flicker of pride crossed Sarah’s face. Then my smile vanished. My voice dropped to absolute zero. “But you’ve forgotten the most important rule.” “In information warfare, the facts—the truth—are the ultimate nuclear option.” “You didn’t do the most basic level of investigation. You didn’t even try to verify the claims. You convicted your own boss based on a few screenshots and some inflammatory internet comments.” “Sarah, you are professionally incompetent.” I watched the color drain from her face. “Meeting’s over. You can go to HR and process your termination.” Sarah froze, tears instantly welling in her eyes. “Mr. Black… I… I didn’t mean it like that! I was just trying to protect the company! You can’t fire me for speaking the truth!” I didn’t give her another glance. I walked straight out of the conference room. The assault didn’t stop. That afternoon, Mr. Thompson summoned me again. His face was a thundercloud. He slammed a document on my desk. “Adrian, read this.” It was a petition. Headed by Sarah, nearly a third of the company’s female employees had signed it, demanding the company take severe action regarding my “harassment case” and terminate my employment. The reason cited was 【a pervasive fear of potential workplace risks and an inability to work in an unsafe environment.】 “This is now affecting internal stability!” Mr. Thompson’s hands were shaking with rage. “The board is under immense pressure. Several directors are already suggesting you be placed on temporary leave pending an internal investigation.” I looked at the pages filled with signatures. It was absurd. Just then, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Maya. A photo of me standing outside the CEO’s office. 【Heard you got suspended. How’s it feel to be betrayed by your own people, Director Black?】 【Don’t worry. This is just the beginning.】 【I told you. I’m going to destroy your reputation. You won’t be able to work in this industry ever again.】 The official suspension notice came swiftly. To appease the public, the company released a statement announcing that “HR Director Adrian Black has been suspended from all duties, effective immediately, to cooperate with an internal investigation regarding a personal controversy.” It was like pouring gasoline on the fire. The internet erupted in celebration. 【See! He’s guilty! Why else would they suspend him?】 【The scumbag finally got what he deserved! We won, sisters!】 Maya immediately posted a new, tearful message, “thanking” the company for delivering justice, casting herself as a hero in the fight against workplace abuse. My phone number and home address were leaked. A torrent of abusive texts and harassing calls flooded in. Piles of garbage takeout bags with “scum, go die” written on them appeared at my doorstep. But the final straw—the thing I could not tolerate—was when someone Photoshopped a picture of my wife into a funeral portrait and sent it to my phone. I had to turn off my phone, unplug my internet, and move my wife to a hotel. Seeing her tremble with fear and rage, I felt a pain sharper than any knife. Online harassment is never just words on a screen. It grows fangs, and it attacks the people you love most. These self-proclaimed champions of justice were inflicting pain on an innocent, pregnant woman without a shred of remorse. They had just pulverized the last bit of restraint I had, the part of me that wanted to keep this a “lesson.” After settling my wife, I went straight to Kevin’s office building. He was the other “victim” Maya mentioned in her posts. My assistant had confirmed that during that time frame, the only male candidate I’d interviewed was named Kevin. I waited downstairs for two hours. He saw me from a distance, and his face went pale. He spun around and tried to run. “Kevin,” I called out. “I just want to talk.” He flinched back, his eyes wide with panic. “Mr…. Mr. Black… Don’t, don’t come any closer.” I kept my voice as gentle as I could. “I just want to ask you about Maya’s posts online…” He suddenly shrieked, cutting me off, his voice high and terrified. “Stay away from me! It was you! You harassed me!” “During the interview, you asked if I had a girlfriend! You put your hand on my shoulder and said I was ‘cute’!” “I… I was too scared to say anything!” His hysterical screams immediately drew the attention of everyone leaving work. A crowd formed, their eyes landing on me, filled with contempt and fury. “Ugh, a wolf in sheep’s clothing!” “He got suspended and he’s still bold enough to harass his victims? The nerve!” “Call the police! Someone call the police and get this creep arrested!” The shouting escalated. A man walking by hurled his half-finished bubble tea at me. The icy liquid and tapioca pearls streamed down my face and hair. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t even wipe it off. I just lifted my head and, through the crowd, I met Kevin’s eyes. He recoiled from my gaze, unable to hold it. My voice was quiet but carried. “Kevin, you will be held legally responsible for every single word you’ve said today.” Then, ignoring the insults and the dozens of phones recording me, I turned and walked away. A few days later, Maya appeared on a popular talk show as a representative of “brave whistleblowers exposing workplace corruption.” She cried, her tears catching the studio lights. “I know… at first, a lot of people thought I was just seeking attention, that I was lying.” “That Director Black, he’s so powerful, so high up… I’m just a recent graduate. How could I ever win against him?” “But I couldn’t stand by and watch him hurt more people… I reached out, and I finally found another victim, Kevin. We gave each other the courage to speak out…” “We just want justice. We want people like him to face the consequences…” Her voice broke, and she couldn’t continue. The host handed her a tissue, her face a mask of sympathy as she guided the narrative. “As we can see, the villain has been suspended. This is a victory, a first step!” The studio audience burst into supportive applause. At that exact moment, the rear doors of the studio swung open. Several uniformed police officers walked in. And then, I stepped out from behind them, my eyes fixed on the spotlighted, utterly stunned face on the stage.

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I ran into Randall again ten years after our divorce. I was enrolling our son in his new school. He was there to donate a new building for his daughter. I offered him a polite smile. He looked flustered. We ended up making small talk, the usual awkward pleasantries. As we parted ways, his eyes were glued to the acceptance letter in my hand. He looked like he wanted to say something more. Finally, he couldn’t hold it in. “Our son… he seems to be doing well with you.” Doing well? I just smiled, not offering a real answer. Yes, he was doing well. After I stopped loving Randall, our son and I… we were both doing very well. 01 Randall caught up to me at the school gate. “Where are you living now? I can give you a ride.” I took a few steps back, putting some distance between us. “No, thank you. I drove myself.” Randall looked stunned, a little lost. “Since when do you drive?” I smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear as the wind blew it across my face. I just shook my head gently. Randall’s memory of me was frozen ten years in the past. But I had moved on, traveled so far from the woman he remembered. On the drive home, a car shadowed mine the entire way. I knew who it was, but I didn’t let it bother me. It was only when I stopped at a red light that the thought truly hit me. Ten years. I used to imagine that seeing Randall again would break me, that all the old pain and hysteria would come rushing back and I’d fall apart. But there was nothing. I was as calm as if I’d run into a complete stranger, a footnote in the story of my life. Even with him following right behind me, my heart remained perfectly still, not a single ripple disturbing its surface. I locked my car and took the elevator straight up to my apartment. Randall didn’t follow, but I knew he wouldn’t leave. It was just like all those nights we used to fight; he would rather sleep on a park bench all night than be far from me, waiting for me to be moved by his gesture. Sure enough, after I’d washed up and pulled back the curtains, I saw the tell-tale glow of a cigarette ember in the darkness below. Randall stood with his head bowed, the ground around his feet littered with countless cigarette butts. He looked up. I looked down. Just like we had a thousand times before. But we both knew there was no going back. “Mom, what are you looking at?” my son asked, emerging from his room in his pajamas. I quickly drew the curtains shut and smiled. “Nothing.” Just an irrelevant person from the past. 02 I thought I would be able to sleep. But I couldn’t. Tossing and turning, memories flooded back like a relentless tide. When I first met Randall, he wasn’t the CEO he was today. He was the handsome, broke scholar, juggling three part-time jobs a day. He had an alcoholic father, a gambling-addicted mother, and a grandfather who had raised him but was now gravely ill. People at school were always circling him, drawn to that face of his. It was too striking. The boys were jealous, the girls were obsessed. I wasn’t the first person to offer him help, but I was the only one who stuck around until the end. “I like you,” I’d told him. “You don’t have to give me anything in return for what I’m doing. Just… don’t push me away.” I held out my debit card. It contained my entire life’s savings. It wasn’t much, but it was just enough to cover his grandfather’s hospital bills. Young love is foolish and pure. At that moment, I truly just wanted to help him. Even if it was all a scam, I didn’t care. Randall took the card. He looked at me, his eyes serious. “Thank you.” But his grandfather still died. I went to the funeral to help, ignoring my family’s objections. I watched Randall’s father beat him, watched his mother scream at him, all because his grandfather had left him the family’s only house. When his father raised a beer bottle to smash it over Randall’s head, I ran in front of him. It didn’t hurt. Because the bottle never landed. I stood in front of Randall, and he had raised his arm to shield my head. Blood streamed down his arm, splattering my face in red. I cried as I called the police, then grabbed Randall’s hand and ran. “Don’t go back, Randall,” I pleaded. “From now on, I’ll take care of you.” I don’t know where I found the courage. A college student still living on an allowance, making such a bold declaration. But Randall believed me. Maybe the sight of my snot and tears streaming down my face had shocked him. He held me, patting my back comfortingly. “Okay, okay, I believe you.” By the river, the reeds swayed in the wind. Randall looked up, and for the first time, he gave me a smile more beautiful than any rainbow. “Chloe,” he said, “I’ll take care of you for the rest of my life.” 03 In college, my single allowance supported the two of us. Randall was brilliant, and he worked incredibly hard. He was always working part-time jobs, and after graduation, he used my graduation award money to make an investment that paid off tenfold. That was his first real win. He dragged me to a jewelry store that same day and bought me a gold necklace. I was ecstatic, but he was wracked with guilt. He promised he would work even harder, that one day he’d buy me a much bigger, thicker gold chain. I just smiled happily and told him to keep going. The size didn’t matter; as long as it was from him, I would love it. But Randall took it as his motivation. He worked himself to the bone, buying stacks of finance books and teaching himself the trade. He was decisive, bold, never one to play it safe. In just a year, his initial capital had grown dozens of times over. He found his niche and started making a fortune. He became known as the man with the Midas touch. Every project he invested in turned to gold. The parents who had abandoned him came crawling back after seeing his name in the financial papers, demanding he support them. But he took them to court, declaring that parents who don’t raise their children don’t deserve the title. He publicly disowned them in the papers. That night, he knelt before me, holding a massive diamond ring. “Chloe, marry me,” he said. “Let me take care of you for the rest of my life.” I nodded, tears in my eyes, believing I was stepping into a life of pure happiness. I never imagined that the more perfect something seems, the more likely it is to be flawed. Especially the human heart. It’s the one thing you can never truly give away. 04 After we got married, I was truly happy. Randall had promised to take care of me for the rest of my life, and he did. I stopped working. He gave me his entire salary, and I controlled all our savings. When I got pregnant, he treated me like a precious jewel. He followed me everywhere. In the winter, when my feet were cold, he would wash them himself. When I got leg cramps in the middle of the night, he would groggily get up to massage them. My mom always teased that I was being treated like a queen. “Why a queen?” I asked her. “He waits on you hand and foot, like you’re his ancestor!” she’d laughed. And why not a queen? Perhaps that’s why, when he cheated, I fell apart so completely. Because I knew, in that moment, that he was never coming back. I was his queen, his ancestor to be worshipped. But with someone else, he was the one being worshipped. 05 Isabelle was not a remarkable-looking girl. She wasn’t as pretty as me, not as educated. But she understood Randall’s heart. Perhaps every man dreams of being a hero. In Randall’s darkest days, I had been his. So with me, he was always accommodating, always yielding. When he played basketball, I complained about the smell of sweat and made him shower before talking to me. When he watched anime, I called it childish and told him to turn the volume down. But Isabelle was different. She was his personal assistant. She not only managed his work flawlessly but also took care of my needs with meticulous attention. When Randall played basketball, she was there with a bottle of water and a word of encouragement. When he watched anime, she’d whisper in awe, “I never knew the CEO had such a passionate side!” I never understood how watching cartoons could be “passionate,” just as I never understood how Randall could get so worked up over animated characters. I couldn’t grasp it, but Isabelle got it instantly. Randall and I lived together day in and day out, yet we were drifting further apart. Isabelle was always a few steps behind him, yet they were growing closer. Soon, the name “Isabelle” became a constant presence in our lives. “This bouquet is nice. You don’t like it? I’ll give it to Isabelle.” The client had sent deep red roses, a color I found tacky. In the past, Randall would have thrown them out or given them to his colleagues. This time, he saved them for Isabelle. “Girls her age love roses. Better not to waste them.” It was just a bouquet. I didn’t make a big deal of it. But Randall’s excuses started piling up. A handbag I didn’t want, he’d take. “I’ll give this to Isabelle. A little bonus for the month.” Out at a restaurant, I wanted to order crab. “Isn’t Isabelle allergic to seafood? And crab is a ‘cooling’ food; you shouldn’t have it either.” He even let her sit in my passenger seat because she got carsick. Randall was oblivious. Every time I confronted him, he acted as if his conscience was clear. In his mind, Isabelle, an orphan from a group home, was just a pitiful little sister he wanted to look after, just as he had once been pitiful. I endured it. I thought I could keep enduring it. Then came Randall’s birthday. 06 We had been in a cold war for a week. My belly was swelling, and every time I went home, my parents would tell me not to be so petty, to swallow my pride sometimes. A man of Randall’s stature, they said, was bound to have these things happen. I baked his favorite chocolate cake from scratch and went to his office to surprise him. But as I pushed the door open, I saw Isabelle sitting on his lap, her clothes half-off, locked in a passionate kiss with him. I snapped. The black cake flew through the air, splattering across the white of her skin. Randall’s computer, the potted plants—everything was smashed. Isabelle screamed and cowered on the floor. Randall shielded her with his body and roared at me. “Chloe, are you insane?! Have you had enough? Can’t you just grow up?” He was the one cheating. She was the one having the affair. Yet he was telling me to be mature. I couldn’t understand it. I couldn’t accept it. I couldn’t believe that in a conflict between me and Isabelle, Randall would take her side. The office door was wide open. Everyone outside was listening. I raised my phone, recording, and demanded an explanation. He just stared at me, his eyes cold. “Chloe, I told you I would take care of you for the rest of my life. Don’t push your luck.” Isabelle, wrapped in his suit jacket, rushed over and knelt before me. “Chloe, Randall and I are truly in love. Please, let us be together! I don’t want anything. As long as I can be with him, I’ll do whatever you ask!” Randall pulled her up, his expression pained, and held her in his arms. He said nothing, but his actions said everything. In that moment, I was blinded by jealousy. I didn’t care about anything else. By the time I came to my senses, it was too late.

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After three grueling rounds of IVF, my family was overjoyed when I finally got pregnant. My parents even made me special broth with organic chicken they’d never normally buy. My husband Liam treated me like glass, always urging me to rest. Not wanting him to overwork, I secretly took a bakery delivery job to help with bills. That’s how I ended up outside an upscale restaurant—and saw them. My parents, who should have been working sanitation jobs, were dressed in designer clothes. And Liam was tenderly serving abalone to another woman, Cathy. “Cathy, darling,” he said softly, “Eliza is five months along. Our baby will be here soon.” My father slid her the keys to a new Mercedes. My mother fastened a diamond necklace around her neck. “Happy birthday, sweet girl,” Mom said lovingly. “We know the egg retrieval was hard on you.” “You can’t have children,” Dad added gently. “We had to ask you to let Eliza marry Liam. Once your baby arrives, our family will be complete.” Cathy lifted her chin like a princess. “Mom, Dad, you’ve done more than enough letting the maid’s child use our name.” Liam laughed coldly. “If she weren’t carrying Cathy’s baby, I wouldn’t even look at her.” The cake in my hands suddenly felt heavy. My heart plunged into a cold, dark abyss. It was all a lie—my parents’ love, Liam’s devotion. Even I was the lie. 01 “I’ve already had the divorce papers drawn up,” Liam was saying, his voice a gentle murmur that sent a blade of ice through my veins. “Once we have the baby, I’ll find some excuse to get rid of her.” His next words were for Cathy. “And I’ll give you the wedding of the century. Cathy, you will be the most beautiful bride in the world.” It was the dead of winter, and my hands were numb with cold, tinged a raw, angry red. But the chill biting at my skin was nothing compared to the frost crystallizing around my heart. I clutched my swollen belly, my eyes vacant, staring at the people who were once my family, now a gallery of cruel strangers. I was frozen in place. “Hey, delivery girl!” Cathy’s sharp voice cut through my daze. “What are you staring at? Get in here! God, are you stupid?” I flinched, quickly pulling my head down and hiding my face deeper inside the surgical mask I wore for deliveries. “H-hello,” I stammered. “This is the cake for Miss Sterling. Could you please sign for it?” My father, who had always been so kind to me, now frowned with disdain. He waved his hand at me as if shooing away a stray dog. “Get out of here. You’re filthy. Don’t you dare get our daughter’s cake dirty!” “Sweetheart, it’s from your favorite bakery,” my mother cooed, not even sparing me a glance as she lovingly carried the cake to Cathy. “Come on, let’s cut it.” The words on the card, which I had personally written just hours before, stabbed at my heart: “Happy Birthday, our darling. Mom and Dad will love you forever.” So this rush order, this custom cake, was from my parents for their daughter. Just two days ago, it was my birthday. Liam had said he was working late, trying to earn more money for the baby. My parents had shown up with a single, smashed slice of cake, and I had felt so loved, so happy, that I ate every last, slightly sour bite of it. “Happy birthday, sweetheart!” Confetti cannons exploded in a shower of glittering color. My eyes burned as I watched the people I loved most in the world celebrate Cathy. A primal scream of betrayal rose in my throat, but then I caught my reflection in a nearby mirror. My clothes were soaked with rain and sleet. Compared to Cathy in her stunning designer dress, I looked like something you’d scrape off the bottom of your shoe. In that instant, all my courage evaporated. I turned to flee, to escape this nightmare. “Wait!” A smirk played on Cathy’s lips as she glided toward me, a slice of cake on a small plate. “You’re pregnant, and life must be hard for you,” she said, her voice dripping with false pity. “Here, take this. You deserve a little treat.” Liam chuckled. “See? Our Cathy has a heart of gold.” Then he turned his gaze to me, and his tone instantly turned to ice. “Well? Take it. Don’t be ungrateful.” My hand trembled as I raised my eyes. Cathy stared down at me, a flicker of pure malice in her eyes. It was then I knew. She recognized me. I moved like a robot, reaching for the plate to thank her. But before my fingers could even brush against hers, Cathy let out a sharp cry and threw herself backward. My mind went blank. Before I could process what had happened, a stinging pain exploded across my cheek. My father had slapped me, so hard that I tasted blood. “You psycho!” he roared. “How dare you touch my daughter!” Liam caught Cathy just in time, relief washing over his face before it hardened into a mask of fury directed at me. “You bitch! Cathy was being kind to you, and you pushed her? That’s it, you’re fired! You’ll never work in this town again!” “My baby, are you okay? Should we go to the hospital?” my mother fussed, her eyes filled with a tenderness I had never seen before, a tenderness that was never for me. I clutched my swelling face, my voice a raw whisper as I tried to explain, over and over, that I hadn’t done anything. No one listened. Cathy wrapped her arms around Liam’s neck, her voice a sickly-sweet whine. “Oh, Liam, darling~ I’m fine. I’m sure she didn’t mean it. Just let her go.” As the security guards dragged me out, I instinctively glanced back one last time. My husband, Liam, was holding Cathy in a tight embrace, refusing to let her go. My parents were fussing over her, their faces etched with worry, telling her to be careful. What a perfect family. I swallowed the bitter lump rising in my throat and placed a hand on my stomach, whispering to the life inside me. “Baby… Mommy has to figure some things out.” 02 It was nearly ten o’clock by the time I dragged my exhausted, rain-soaked body back to our small, run-down apartment. I quickly hid my work uniform under the bed and sat in the dark, my mind reeling. I was just supposed to be a cashier at the bakery. But they were short-staffed today, so I’d volunteered to do the delivery. I never imagined it would lead me to a truth that would shatter my world. My parents weren’t poor. My husband, the low-level employee who was always “working overtime,” was a CEO, a “Mr. Collins” whom everyone respected. And they had another daughter. A daughter I never knew existed. Why? Why would they construct such an elaborate lie? Was it all just to get this baby? Was my entire life, my entire family, nothing more than a cruel fiction? My hands clenched into fists, my knuckles turning white. Tears, hot and silent, streamed down my face. “Sweetheart, we’re home! Look what we brought you!” My father was back in his faded, worn-out work shirt, his face once again the kind, familiar one I had always known. He led me to the dining table, a warm smile on his face. “Honey,” he called to my mom, “let’s heat up the food. Our girl must be starving. The baby needs to eat!” My mother bustled around, quickly reheating the dishes and setting them carefully in front of me. “Eliza, your dad’s boss treated everyone to dinner tonight. We packed up the leftovers for you,” she said. “Come on, eat up. It’s all good stuff, things you’ve never tried before.” “Don’t wait for Liam,” my dad added. “He’s still burning the midnight oil at the office. We already ate. You go ahead.” I forced a smile and looked down at the so-called “good stuff.” It was the scraps left over from Cathy’s birthday dinner. I thought back to all the late-night “treats” my parents used to bring me—half a slice of fancy dessert, a few crab legs. They were all just leftovers from their secret life, their secret dinners with their real daughter. Looking at my parents’ expectant faces, my heart felt like it was being pricked by a thousand tiny needles. What was I to them? A dog that could be satisfied with scraps from their table? “I already ate,” I lied, my voice flat. “I’m not hungry.” I retreated to the cramped silence of my bedroom. “What’s gotten into her today?” I heard my mother whisper. “Just leave her be,” Dad replied. “Pregnancy hormones, you know? Let’s just give her some space.” I sat in the dark for a long time before opening my phone. My fingers trembled as, for the first time ever, I typed my parents’ full names—Jonathan and Anne Sterling—into the search bar. The screen filled with photos and articles. The most recent one was from last week: “Jonathan Sterling, CEO of Sterling Industries, and wife Anne attend the annual charity gala.” The bold headline and the glossy photograph shattered the last of my illusions. Ever since I could remember, my parents had told me we were poor because I had accidentally started a fire that burned down our house when I was a child. I never questioned it. I just worked harder, paying for my own tuition with scholarships and part-time jobs. But the truth was staring me in the face. My parents weren’t sanitation workers. Our family wasn’t poor. They just weren’t raising me. I slid down the wall, a wave of nausea and despair washing over me. As if sensing my turmoil, a sharp pain shot through my abdomen. I doubled over, my face pale, trying to breathe through it. “Eliza? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Liam was home. He rushed to my side, his face a mask of concern as he gently placed a hand on my belly. “Is it the baby? Let me take you to the hospital!” I shook my head. “No, I’m fine. Why are you back so early?” “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, all alone here while you’re pregnant,” he said, his eyes sparkling with a sincerity that used to make my heart melt. But now, all I could see was the fresh, crimson love bite just above his collarbone. And then, a faint, sickly-sweet scent wafted towards me. It was Cathy’s perfume. 03 Later that night, Liam held me as we slept, just like he always did. But I wasn’t sleeping. My eyes were wide open in the dark. I carefully lifted his phone from the nightstand. The lock screen was a photo of us on our wedding day. The password was my birthday. Nothing had changed. I scrolled through his messages, his apps, looking for anything. Finally, I found it: a second, hidden social media account. And there she was, under the contact name “My Sweetheart.” Cathy. I only had to read a few days’ worth of messages before the tears started to flow, silent and unstoppable, soaking my pillow. All those times Liam was “working,” he was with her. While I was enduring painful injections for the IVF treatments, he was buying her designer bags. I had never traveled, never taken a vacation, because we were always “saving money.” But Liam had taken Cathy skiing in Aspen one day and to see the fireworks in Times Square the next. He had placed her on a pedestal, worshipped her, spoiled her, all while forgetting that I was his wife. But then again, this marriage was never about me. It was a scam, a conspiracy to steal a child. I cried until I had no tears left. The next morning, I booked an appointment for an amniocentesis. Even now, a sliver of hope remained. My parents were fake, my husband was fake, but this tiny life kicking inside me… I couldn’t believe that was a lie, too. Later that day, after the test, I stared at the paper the doctor handed me, a deep chill spreading through my entire body. When my eyes focused on the number—a 0% probability—my fingernails dug into my palms. The sting of breaking skin was nothing compared to the suffocating agony ripping through my chest. The child wasn’t mine. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Doctor,” I said, my voice hollow, “I’d like to schedule an abortion. As soon as possible.” “But… you’re quite far along,” she said gently. “There are risks. Are you absolutely sure?” I nodded, my lips barely moving. “I’m sure. I accept the risks.” As I waited for the procedure, I stared blankly at the ceiling tiles. My parents had introduced me to Liam right after college. I was hesitant at first, but the moment I saw him—his handsome face, his cool yet gentle eyes—I was completely enchanted. In that instant, the world went silent, and a single thought echoed in my mind: It’s him. For him, I gave up a scholarship to study abroad. I stayed home, by his side, by our parents’ side. When he told me he was infertile, I quit my job and devoted myself to IVF, to the endless cycle of pills and injections. I truly believed that once our baby was born, everything would finally be perfect. “Mom, Dad, I’m fine! I just twisted my ankle a little, that’s all~” Cathy’s cloying voice shattered my thoughts. I looked up and saw them—my parents, walking down the hospital corridor, their arms linked with hers. Our eyes met. A flash of awkwardness crossed their faces, and they instantly dropped Cathy’s hands. “Mom, Dad,” she whined, feigning confusion. “I thought you were at work. Who is she? Why is she calling you Mom and Dad?” My father stammered, unable to form a coherent sentence. My mother quickly jumped in. “She’s the daughter of a coworker. Her mom asked us to check in on her. Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.” I let out a soft, cold laugh. “Really? Anyone watching would think you three were the real family.” Just then, Liam came out of a nearby room. He heard my words, and his face darkened. “Eliza, is that any way to talk to your parents? What’s wrong with you? Don’t you trust them anymore?” he snapped. “I came with them because I was worried. Stop making trouble. Mom, Dad, Cathy, let’s go.” As they turned to leave, Cathy shot me a triumphant, hateful glare. She mouthed two words at me. I knew what they were. You mutt. Moments later, as I was being wheeled into the operating room, I saw Liam leading Cathy out of her own appointment, a full check-up. He glanced in my direction for a split second, a look of relief crossing his face. She’s gone? he must have thought. She probably finished her check-up and went home. When it was all over, my hair was plastered to my forehead with cold sweat. I placed a hand on my now-flat stomach, and my heart felt like it had been carved out of my chest. Before I left, I asked the nurse for the embryo. The tiny, palm-sized specimen jar. Since it wasn’t mine, I would give it back to them.

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1 On the eve of our wedding, my fiancée Aria’s childhood sweetheart came back. Caleb Chrest, the golden boy who once had the world at his feet, had been reduced to a simpleton by a tragic accident. Now, he wouldn’t let anyone near him except Aria. I thought she would keep her distance. After all, eight years ago, they had destroyed each other, a spectacular implosion that ended with Caleb fleeing the country and Aria’s entire family in the hospital. Since she’d been with me, I was her entire world. Our friends always teased her about it, calling her famously devoted now that her long-time crush—me—had finally become her fiancé. But now, she was on the phone, frantically arranging to pick him up, so absorbed she didn’t even notice I’d come home. “Cancel the setup at the venue for now,” she was saying, her voice strained. “Caleb can’t handle the idea of me getting married.” She let out a soft, confident breath. “Don’t worry, Ethan won’t mind. He loves me so much. He even cut ties with his family just to marry me…” Aria was so certain I’d do anything for her. What she didn’t know was that my father’s favorite game was pretending to disapprove. Not only had he prepared an astronomical “dowry” to help this ‘imposter’ heiress secure her position in the Monroe family, but he had also hand-picked another fiancée for me long ago… … A few days ago, I’d heard rumors that Caleb was back in the country, demanding that Aria come get him. I didn’t think anything of it. She hadn’t reacted to the news either, other than being too nervous and excited about our wedding to sleep. But now, the wedding I had dreamed of for years was just an inconvenient ceremony she needed to postpone. Her line was busy, so I drove to the hotel myself. The grand ballroom, which had been nearly transformed for our ceremony, was stripped bare. Everything had been packed away. The hotel manager conveniently avoided me. I went home, a cold fury simmering in my gut. Just as I was about to confront her, two vases came hurtling toward me. “Thief! Robber! Who said you could steal my Aria?” Shards of porcelain skittered across the floor, one slicing into my calf. I cried out in pain, stumbling backward. But Caleb wasn’t finished. He lunged at me, grabbing a handful of sharp fragments as if he couldn’t feel the pain, and tried to throw them at my face. I instinctively threw my arms up to block him. “Caleb!” Aria screamed, rushing out of the kitchen and grabbing his hand. The throbbing pain in my leg mixed with a surge of angry, wounded betrayal. This was the woman who used to fret over a papercut on my finger, and now she hadn’t even glanced at me. “Caleb, are you trying to destroy your hand?” she cried, her voice laced with panic. She immediately fetched the first-aid kit and began tending to his wounds, her brow furrowed with heartache. I looked around, and a wave of dizziness hit me. It wasn’t just Aria who seemed like a stranger; the whole house was alien. The designer watches she’d given me, the latest season’s menswear—all of it had been moved into a new, separate room. The rest of our home was a scene of utter devastation. Our wedding portrait and all our other photos together were shredded on the floor. The festive crimson banners we’d hung were torn down and crumpled. Anything red, anything that symbolized our union, had been destroyed. The Monroe family’s housekeeper was cleaning up the mess, while Aria’s neat handwriting on sticky notes directed her where to place Caleb’s garish action figures. She’d even installed protective corner guards on the tables. She was still so meticulous, just as she had been when she designed every inch of this home with me. But this was supposed to be our home. The unease I’d been feeling solidified into a cold, hard dread. “Aria, what is the meaning of this?” It was as if she’d only just remembered I existed. She turned, the gentle, placating smile she’d been giving Caleb freezing on her lips. Her eyes darted around the ruined room, and a look of guilt and panic flashed across her face. “Ethan…” As she started to rise, Caleb wrapped his arms around her waist and started to sob like a child. “Aria, why were you mean to me just now?” he wailed, then pointed a trembling, accusatory finger at me. “Was it because of him? Because of this pretty boy who stole you from me?” Aria finally noticed the blood trickling down my leg. With a sigh of resignation, she gestured for the housekeeper to come bandage my wound, then pulled me tensely into the study. “Ethan, please don’t be angry with Caleb,” she began, her voice hesitant. “I know he’s older than you, but mentally… he’s stuck at around ten years old.” “He’s always been possessive,” she continued, her tone pleading. “I just looked away for a second and he destroyed the house. You can understand that, can’t you?” She wouldn’t meet my eyes, but her resolve hardened. “You know what happened. After his family went bankrupt, his parents disappeared. He doesn’t remember any of his other relatives or friends. Caleb… he only has me now.” Then came the final blow. “He’ll be living with us from now on.” The decision was so sudden, so absurd, it was almost laughable. “No. I don’t understand, and I don’t accept it.” The words felt like acid on my tongue. “First you cancel the wedding, now you’re redecorating our home for him. Should I just give him my spot in our bed, too?” A look of relief washed over her face. “Oh, so you already know about the wedding?” 2 Aria started rubbing my shoulders, the way she always did to calm me down. She let out a small, placating laugh. “Honey, you’re not actually jealous of someone with the mind of a child, are you? Look, we can go get the marriage license in a couple of days. As for the ceremony, we’ll have a proper one once his condition stabilizes.” I pulled away from her touch, my disappointment a lead weight in my stomach. “What does his condition have to do with us?” Her face was a mask of guilt. “His psychological problems started after I forced him to leave the country. When he heard about our engagement, he got drunk and had an accident. It took him over a year to recover to… this state.” She finally looked at me, her eyes filled with a terrible certainty. “It’s my fault. I owe him this. I have to take responsibility for him.” This wasn’t a discussion. It was a declaration. I knew Aria. That unshakeable resolve, once a quality I admired, now felt like a dagger in my heart. That night, she smoothed things over with her family and posted on social media, confirming the wedding was postponed. My father’s call came soon after. His voice was tight with barely suppressed rage. “Ethan. Is this wedding not happening?” I gripped the phone, forcing my voice to remain steady. “No. Not for now.” The story Aria heard—that I’d cut ties with my family—was just an exaggeration of my father’s anger when I’d refused to have our main wedding ceremony in our hometown of Northwood. I didn’t sleep that night, lost in memories. I remembered the day Aria found out I loved her back. She was so ecstatic she wanted to shout it from the rooftops. My father had initially disapproved of our relationship; he already had the perfect daughter-in-law in mind. But Aria never complained. She just worked tirelessly to prove herself worthy. Even though she thought I came from a modest background, she never once treated me with anything but respect. “It must be me,” she’d say. “I’m just not good enough to make your father happy yet.” Everyone knew Aria was determined to marry me. The wild, rebellious girl I first met had slowly transformed into a poised and capable woman. It was only after she achieved incredible success at her company that my father finally gave her his blessing. On the day we got engaged, she cried with joy. “I promise, sir,” she told him, “I will never, ever let Ethan down.” And she hadn’t. She was fiercely loyal, shutting down any hint of flirtation from others, always putting me first. But the moment Caleb Chrest came back, she broke her promise. … The next morning, Aria emerged from Caleb’s room, dark circles under her eyes. Seeing my stunned expression, she explained awkwardly, “He gets anxious. He needs someone to soothe him to sleep.” I walked past her, heading for the closet to put away the tuxedo I’d had meticulously prepared for our wedding. But the display stand was empty. A terrible premonition coiled in my stomach. Laughter echoed from downstairs. I found Caleb there, wearing my tuxedo, gleefully painting on the walls with his hands. The jacket was covered in childish graffiti. The pant legs had been crudely hacked short. It was slathered in so many colors of paint it was unrecognizable. A roaring sound filled my ears. That suit was more than just fabric and thread. My mother, before she passed, had designed it for me, pouring over draft after draft. It wasn’t just a memento; it was a mother’s love and blessings for her son, woven into every stitch. Now, it was ruined. Defiled. He twirled in front of me, his eyes holding a clear, defiant challenge. For a split second, there was no trace of the simpleton, only sharp, calculating intelligence. I saw it all in that instant. “Hey, bad guy,” he chirped, his voice mocking. “What do you think of my new clothes? Aren’t all the colors pretty?” My fists clenched, rage, hot and blinding, shot through me. “Take it off.” He ignored me, dipping his fingers back into the paint. “Why should I? I don’t want to! Aria said this is my home now when we were sleeping last night. She said everything here can be mine.” I grabbed him by the collar and slapped him, hard, across the face. Twice. “Aria! Help me!” he shrieked, bursting into tears. “I said,” I snarled, my voice low and dangerous, “take it off!” He thrashed and clawed at my hands, but I didn’t let go. I raised my hand to strike him again, but Aria caught my wrist. Caleb scrambled into her arms like a frightened animal, sobbing that I was trying to kill him. Aria looked at me with a cold, guarded expression. “It’s just a suit, Ethan! Why are you going crazy and hitting him?” I was shaking with fury. “He’s faking it!” She didn’t believe me. Her eyes followed my gaze to the ruined tuxedo on Caleb’s body, and her breath hitched. 3 “Caleb! Didn’t I tell you not to touch Ethan’s things? You—” Caleb gasped for air, and then his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed. Aria caught him, her face pale with panic. She had the housekeeper change his clothes while she made a frantic series of calls, urging a doctor to come immediately. “Ethan,” she whispered, her voice pleading. “Please… don’t provoke him.” She still wanted me to be the one to yield. I numbly picked up the tattered remains of my suit from the corner where it had been tossed. A profound sense of powerlessness washed over me. When Aria came into my room later, she saw me packing a bag and her face fell. “Ethan, I’ll have it restored.” “It’s my fault, I should have been clearer with him,” she said hastily. “I’ll make him apologize to you right now.” She pulled me into Caleb’s room. He was clutching the corner of her shirt, looking lost and confused. “Aria, don’t be mad at me.” “You said… you said this was my home. Why should I listen to… to him?” He looked at me, and his expression suddenly twisted into a mask of pure desperation. He scrambled off the bed and started banging his head on the floor. “Please, I’m begging you, just leave!” he sobbed. “You can have all my toys! I just want Aria!” I saw shock and conflict flicker in Aria’s eyes. She didn’t immediately pull him up. When she finally moved to comfort me, Caleb let out a wild scream and pulled out a knife he’d hidden, holding it to his own wrist. “Aria is all I have! Make him get out!” The psychologist later told her Caleb had a “physiological aversion” to me. Watching him sob until he could barely breathe, Aria wrapped her arms around him, shielding his eyes from the sight of me. “His emotional state is too unstable,” she said, her voice strained. “Ethan, you need to leave. For now.” Two nurses she had called for backup escorted me firmly out the door. It was pouring rain outside. I knocked, but no one answered. My vision blurred, and a deep chill settled into my bones. I didn’t have my phone, and I was still in my pajamas. My only option was to walk out of the gated community to find a place where I could call for a ride. … I ended up in the hospital with a fever from the cold. As I was waiting, I saw Aria rushing down a hallway and instinctively followed her. “It’s been six months. Why hasn’t his condition improved?” It was the psychologist’s voice. “Aria, his obsession is you. That’s why you’re the only person he remembers.” The doctor sighed. “You’re the one who deliberately sent him the engagement announcement that triggered his accident in the first place…” “The reason he hasn’t gotten better is because you used to only visit him once a month. Of course he’s terrified you’ll abandon him again. It’s perfectly normal for him to be hostile toward your fiancé. If you don’t want Caleb to have another breakdown, you need to remove the source of his insecurity.” Aria’s voice was sharp with warning. “That’s enough. Don’t talk nonsense.” So. They had been in contact for a year. No wonder she was so practiced at handling him. The irony was suffocating. All those “monthly business trips” she’d told me about… My complete and total trust in her was now a cruel joke. Because of today’s incident, she had even hired bodyguards for Caleb. That evening, Aria picked me up so I could pack some of my things. She stared at my red-rimmed eyes, her voice soft and cautious. “Ethan… would you be willing to move out for a little while?” She showed me her phone. She had already booked our appointment to register the marriage. I nodded, turned off my screen, and closed my burning eyes. When we got back to the house, there was a puppy in the backyard. The engagement ring Aria had worn was now hanging from its collar. The reason? Caleb was afraid the puppy would get lost, and the unique ring would make a perfect dog tag. I calmly slipped my matching ring from my finger and dropped it into my pocket. Then, I opened my phone and accepted a friend request I had been ignoring. A message came through immediately. [Don’t worry. All the years of support Mr. Kensington has given the Monroe family will not be in vain.] Attached was a wedding plan, updated annually to reflect my changing tastes. In the past, my father had always declined it on my behalf. This time, I replied with a single word. [Approved.] … Two days later, a message from Aria popped up. [I thought we agreed to get our marriage license today? Ethan, why didn’t you show up?] I was busy with work transitions and ignored her calls. A few hours later, she sent me the address of a remote, no-name hotel. [Is this about the wedding? Fine. I’ll give you a wedding.] [Stop throwing a tantrum. We’ve been together for nearly ten years. Don’t let a small thing like this…] Someone leaked a screenshot of the cheap, thrown-together venue to our friends’ group chat, along with the fact that Aria had only invited a handful of people and begged them to keep it a secret. The same friends who had once envied our love story were now openly and privately mocking me. Our ten years, it seemed, couldn’t compete with Caleb’s ten-year-old mind. The messages in the group chat kept coming. I paused, typed out a short reply, and hit send. [Wedding’s off. We broke up.]

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Damian Vance, the heir to Aurelia City’s most powerful family, had a fight with his childhood sweetheart. Crying, she boarded a flight overseas. Furious and soon regretful, Damian ordered the plane to be grounded immediately. However, there was a passenger on board in critical condition. The pilot and the flight director, under immense pressure, chose to continue the flight as scheduled. When the plane landed, the young woman, Clara, ignored all warnings and wandered off alone. She was cornered and assaulted by local thugs, and when Damian finally found her, she was injured. Three days later, the pilot and the flight director were found dead in an alley. Their end was gruesome, a scene so horrific no one dared to intervene. Their bodies were left to be torn apart by stray dogs, leaving nothing behind. Five years later, I curled into Damian’s arms, my eyes red-rimmed as I watched the woman across from us, his wife, break down in utter despair. “I’m sorry, Damian, darling,” I whispered. “I just wanted to say a few words to my sister…” Damian soothed me with one hand while casting a careless glance at his wife. “Don’t make a scene, Clara. The title of Mrs. Vance will always be yours.” His voice was a silken blade. “But a man needs a little novelty now and then.” … The first time Clara Morgan completely lost control and tried to strike me was when Damian brought me to her mother’s hospital room. The moment her father saw me, he exploded. He screamed that I was a homewrecker who deserved a miserable death and, when Damian wasn’t looking, he hoisted a chair to smash over my head. “You little slut! How dare you show your face here!” Damian was faster. He intercepted the chair with a sharp crack of wood against his arm. After wrestling Clara’s father out of the room, he left me alone with her mother. Clara wasn’t there. Her mother lay on the bed, her breathing as faint as a thread. “Clara…” she rasped. “Water…” I pressed my lips together, a small, knowing smile playing on them as I walked over. “Here you are, Mrs. Morgan. Drink up.” Through the window, Damian watched my display of gentle obedience with a look of deep satisfaction. It only hardened his expression as he dealt with the struggling man in the hallway. Mrs. Morgan managed to force her eyes open. When she saw it was me, her face contorted in horror. With a surge of adrenaline, she shoved me away. I stumbled backward, unprepared, and fell to the floor. A shard of glass from a fallen vase sliced into my calf, and blood began to well up, staining my skin a brilliant crimson. “You’re so young,” she wheezed, her voice trembling with rage. “Couldn’t you learn to be a decent person? Don’t you know that home-wreckers like you are cursed by God?” “And now… now…” she gasped, “you come here to torment my family!” “Get out! Don’t let my Clara see you!” At the thought of her daughter, her eyes filled with tears. When I didn’t move, just sat there on the floor, she grew frantic and tried to get out of bed. Her breaths came in ragged, desperate gasps, like a broken accordion. Then, she collapsed onto the floor. Just at that moment, Clara walked in, carrying a bowl of soup. The scene that greeted her made her freeze. After helping her mother back into bed, she wiped the tears from her own face, walked over to me, and poured the entire bowl of hot soup over my head. “I have turned a blind eye for so long,” she hissed, her body trembling like a leaf in a storm. “Why? Why must you come here and torture my parents?” She stood there, a fragile white flower braving a hurricane, both delicate and unyielding. My voice was a choked sob, tears streaming down my face. “Sister, I was just worried you couldn’t handle taking care of your mother all alone. I wanted to help…” “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know—” She ignored me. Behind her, her mother’s condition worsened, and the heart monitor began to shriek a piercing alarm. Shaking, Clara fumbled for the call button. The door flew open, but the incoming team of doctors was stopped dead in their tracks, held back by an invisible wall. Damian strode in and swept me into his arms, his face a mask of concern. “Clara,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “Apologize to Maya.” For a moment, a flash of defiance lit up Clara’s eyes. She grabbed the bouquet of flowers I had brought, tore them to shreds, and threw the ruined petals at us. “Damian, do you have any idea why my mother is in this hospital in the first place? It was you! You make me sick,” she spat. “Get out. Both of you, just get out!” The outburst drained her completely. She crumpled to the floor, a heap of helpless despair. Damian remained unnervingly calm, utterly unmoved by her breakdown. His only concern was me, his fingers gently probing my injuries. When he discovered the gash on my leg, his gaze on Clara turned to ice. “Are you done with your tantrum?” he asked coldly. “If you are, get up. Don’t you find this embarrassing?” The doctors, though they dared not enter, were getting an eyeful. I could feel their veiled, contemptuous glances on me. Clara pointed a trembling finger at the door. “Get out! Didn’t you hear me? I said get out!” Damian just smiled, a chilling, indifferent curve of his lips. “Clara, you need to think very carefully. If I leave—” He walked over to her mother, who was now convulsing on the bed, and his hand closed around the tube of her ventilator. The monitor’s alarm blared even louder, more insistent. But without Damian’s permission, no one dared to set foot inside the room. Gasps of horror echoed from the hallway, but no one moved to stop him. The look in Clara’s eyes shifted, a rapid, horrifying kaleidoscope of shock, agony, and finally, a dead, hollow numbness. Everyone watched as the woman Damian had once spoiled into Aurelia City’s most celebrated socialite, the woman who had everything, slowly, inexorably, sank to her knees. Under the desperate, pleading eyes of her parents, she knelt before me. “Miss… Maya… I’m sorry.” Her voice was a ghost of itself. “I shouldn’t have misunderstood your kindness. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I shouldn’t have thrown the soup on you.” “Please, forgive me.” She bowed her head, breaking her own spine. She had surrendered to Damian. Satisfied, his expression softened. “See, Clara? I told you. If you just behave, we can still have a good life together.” He stroked my hair. “Maya is very sweet and understanding. She heard your mother was in the hospital and insisted on coming to visit. She’s no threat to your position.” His gentle, placating words were like a series of sharp slaps across Clara’s face. But she could only keep her head down, all fight gone from her. Everything she had, everything she was, was a gift from Damian. And just like his hand on her mother’s lifeline, he could take it all away. If she didn’t bow, her mother would die. From that day on, Clara accepted her reality. She became the docile, obedient wife Damian wanted. She submitted to his every demand. She swallowed every one of my provocations, each one a slow, twisting knife in her gut. Damian was a man of particular habits. He liked to be clean. After we made love, he insisted on washing up before starting again. He had insatiable stamina, and our nights were often long. Which meant I had to shower several times a night. One evening, exhausted, I slipped in the bathroom and twisted my ankle. Damian was beside himself with worry. Then, he came up with a “perfect” solution. From then on, whenever we were together, he made Clara wait outside the bedroom door. Each time we finished, she had to come in and help me wash. I saw it countless times: her trembling hands, her red-rimmed eyes, the raw hatred simmering just beneath the surface. The woman who wanted nothing more than to tear me to pieces was forced to serve me like a maid. She learned her lesson the first time. Distraught and clumsy, she had accidentally scalded me. “Damian, darling, don’t blame her,” I had cried, my voice laced with feigned panic. “It wasn’t her fault, I was just being careless.” But the fear in my eyes as I looked at Clara betrayed my words. Damian’s fury was explosive. He knew Clara’s weakness. He didn’t punish her directly. He punished her father. That night, her father was dragged behind a car for a mile. The torture only stopped when Clara knelt and begged me, banging her head on the floor until it was bruised and bloody. It only stopped when she took a shard of glass and carved matching wounds onto her own body. She had no choice. Day by day, the light in her eyes grew dimmer, until it was almost gone. Then, one day, she met another man. Clara had been running a high fever, but I had a craving for a specific cake. She went out into the pouring rain to buy it for me, and on the way back, she collapsed. When she woke up, she was in a hospital. A man was sitting by her bedside, and it was clear he had been there all night. It wasn’t her husband, Damian. It was a stranger. When he saw she was awake, he stirred. He was holding an insulated food container, and by some twist of fate, it held her favorite dish: shrimp congee. As she ate, tears began to silently stream down her face. They didn’t speak much. She only learned his name was Liam Blackwood. It was a name she would never forget. From that day forward, it was as if the gears of fate had started to turn, pulling them both onto the same path. Whether she was at her weakest, her most broken, or feeling a glimmer of hope after her mother’s condition improved slightly, she would find him there, a quiet, constant presence in her life. He shared her pain and her joy, and in doing so, became the pillar that held up her crumbling world. One day, she gathered the courage to ask him the question that had been burning in her heart. “Do you have feelings for me?” Liam had always been reserved, almost shy, around her. But this time, he didn’t hide it. He simply nodded. In that moment, Clara felt as though a ray of light had finally pierced the suffocating darkness of her life. Her heart pounded in her chest. But then, her eyes fell on the date on her phone. Tomorrow was her wedding anniversary with Damian. Somehow, inexplicably, she didn’t answer Liam. She went home, clinging to one last, desperate shred of hope. The sounds of my panting moans drifted from the master bedroom. She closed her eyes in disgust. When she opened them again, she saw two plane tickets on the table. They were for the island where she and Damian had spent their honeymoon. The place they had promised to return to every year on their anniversary. “He remembered…” she whispered. Her heart, which she thought was dead, fluttered for him once more. She remembered Damian’s words, that he still loved her, that his affair with me was just a passing fancy. Maybe, if she could just endure a little longer, everything would go back to the way it was. That night, for the first time in a long time, Clara slept soundly. The next morning, she dressed herself in Damian’s favorite style, her heart full of nervous anticipation. But when she went downstairs, the house was empty. The tickets were gone. Just then, a new post appeared on my Instagram feed. [He was hesitant about this island at first when I suggested it, but what my baby wants, my baby gets! We’re off!] [The price was a whole night of ‘punishment’ from Damian though hehehe…] The picture was of me, nestled in Damian’s arms, holding up the two plane tickets and making a peace sign. Clara felt like the biggest fool in the world. A wave of nausea washed over her, and she ran to the bathroom, vomiting until there was nothing left. But she didn’t have time to be heartbroken. Her phone rang. It was the hospital. “Miss Morgan? Your mother just went into cardiac arrest!” On the plane, I was leaning against Damian, watching the clouds drift by, when I overheard a heated argument from the cockpit. “Are you insane? Ground the plane now!” “Just shut up! Have you forgotten what happened last time?” “But there’s a world-renowned surgeon on this flight…” “There’s no patient in critical condition on this flight! The order came from his wife! You might not value your life, but I value mine!” A moment later, the plane began to veer sharply off course. The sudden change in direction sent us straight into a flock of birds. Blood and feathers exploded against the window in front of my eyes. I screamed and fainted in Damian’s arms. When I woke up, Damian’s voice, thick with rage, was ringing in my ears, intertwined with Clara’s hysterical sobs and pleas. “Damian, I’m begging you! Please, let my mother down!” “No! Please, no!” I was in a spacious, comfortable van. When I opened the window, I had a clear view of the scene unfolding on the ocean. It was a vision from hell. Clara’s parents were being dangled from a helicopter, spinning endlessly over the water. Below them, the dark shapes of sharks circled. Men on the helicopter were tossing chum and bloody animal parts into the sea. Some of it landed on Clara’s parents, some of it was snapped up by the sharks. Some of the sharks leaped high out of the water, their jaws snapping just inches from her parents’ feet. Clara’s face was utterly devoid of color. She had lost count of how many times she had kowtowed to Damian. But he just stroked her head, his voice deceptively gentle. “Clara, you’ve been a very bad girl. I spoiled you too much.” “Your mother wasn’t that sick. When I went to see her, she was energetically cursing Maya with you. She was faking it. I don’t believe you couldn’t see that. So why use that as an excuse to ground my plane? Do you have any idea how long Maya was unconscious from the shock?” “This,” he said, gesturing to the horrific scene, “is just an equal punishment. When you do something wrong, you have to be punished.” “Don’t worry,” he added with a chilling smile. “They’re all animal experts. They know what they’re doing. Nothing will go wrong.” Clara could only shake her head, her words choked with tears. “We didn’t lie to you… we didn’t…” But Damian no longer believed her. She couldn’t fathom how the man who had once grounded a plane for her, who had flown into a rage over a tiny scratch, could now torture her like this for another woman. Suddenly, two of the sharks went into a frenzy. They leaped from the water, their jaws clamping down on her parents’ legs. Her parents’ mouths were gagged, but their eyes were wide with unimaginable agony. The men in the helicopter, fearing the sharks would drag them down, frantically cut the ropes. “NO—” By the time Clara’s mind registered what was happening, her parents had been dragged under the waves. The dark water churned, and then, a massive bloom of crimson spread across the surface. Clara’s scream was a sound that could have shattered the sky. Even Damian seemed stunned for a moment. In that instant, Clara found a surge of superhuman strength. She broke free from the men holding her and ran to the edge of the deck. Against the light, she was a broken silhouette. “Damian,” she whispered, her voice a hollow echo. “If this is what you wanted.” Then, right before his eyes, she leaped from the deck, into the blood-red water where her parents had vanished. It was only then that Damian seemed to snap out of his trance. His heart felt like it had been hit by a sledgehammer. “NO—” he roared, his voice cracking. “CLARA—”

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One week before finals, my entire class of thirty students got transmigration-trucked into the body of a “True Heiress.” The “False Heiress” patted our cheek with zero respect, her voice dripping with malice. “You dead-eyed hillbilly. If you want to stay here, you’d better sleep with one eye open.” “Otherwise, I’m going to make your life a living hell.” She didn’t know that we had exactly 15 pairs of eyes to do just that. 1 After eating some sketchy, undercooked meatloaf in the cafeteria, all thirty of us woke up inside the plot of a “True vs. False Heiress” novel. We were sharing one single body. A massive data dump of the plot flooded all of our brains simultaneously. The body we were occupying belonged to Holly Yates. She was the True Heiress who had been swapped at birth by a nanny. For eighteen years, the nanny treated Holly like trash. When she finally found out the truth and ran to the Lynn family to reclaim her identity, nobody gave a damn. Her dad didn’t care, and her mom was cold. At home, she was gaslighted by the False Heiress, Lyla Lynn. At school, she was bullied relentlessly. Holly finally snapped, but her one attempt at fighting back was seen by Mrs. Lynn. Mrs. Lynn decided Holly was bullying Lyla. To “fix” her, they sent Holly to The Ranch—a brutal behavioral correction facility. In the end, Holly fell into a deep depression and jumped off a building. After processing the plot, we all let out a collective mental scream. Heartthrob: [Why do other people get isekai’d into War Gods or Dragon Lords? Why are we stuck in a tragedy? Who did I offend?!] Me: [This is definitely a capitalist conspiracy.] Jock: [AHHH! This novel was written by an NPC, I swear.] Bella (Queen Bee): [How do we get back? I have finals next week!] Nerd: [I need to go home!] Prez: [Everyone chill! Chill! Based on my years of reading web novels, we’re probably here because the True Heiress had too much grievance in her past life. If we help her reclaim everything that belongs to her, we can probably go home.] While we were debating furiously in the headspace, Lyla patted our cheek, dropped her villain lines, and then immediately pivoted. She looked up at Mrs. Lynn, who was standing on the spiral staircase, tears instantly welling up in her eyes. “Mom, just give my room to my sister.” “Sister said I’m a rat and I don’t deserve a big, bright room. I’ll go live in the attic storage closet.” Mrs. Lynn frowned. “Holly, didn’t I just tell you? Being swapped was Nanny Zhang’s fault alone. Lyla is a victim too.” “She’s lived with us for years. We see her as our own child. Lyla has claustrophobia, how could she live in the attic? Can you stop being so selfish?” Is this woman for real? Inside Holly’s body, we couldn’t take it anymore. Thirty of us started fighting for control of the limbs. The True Heiress’s body shuddered, then her face twitched, eyes rolled in different directions, and she started lurching toward them like a zombie from The Walking Dead. Me: [Left foot first! Who is controlling the right foot?!] Prez: [Who is grabbing the mouth? Priority one is explaining to Mrs. Lynn that we didn’t say that stuff!] Jock: [Can’t hold it back! I wanna roast them! Give me the mouth!] Heartthrob: [Why are the eyes blinking like a strobe light? I have no control!] … Mrs. Lynn looked at us in horror and instinctively pulled Lyla behind her. “Holly, what are you doing?” “Are you having a seizure?” Lyla’s eyes were wet with fake tears. “Is Sister pretending to be ugly on purpose to get Mom’s attention?” Seeing us lurch closer, Mrs. Lynn pushed us away with a look of disgust. Her diamond ring snagged on our collar. It was like she had touched something filthy; she yanked her hand back. The collar ripped, exposing a patch of jagged, shocking scars on our collarbone. Mrs. Lynn froze when she saw the scars. Lyla quickly stepped in front of her, blocking the view. I yelled, “Opportunity!” and tried to kick Lyla with the left foot. But I didn’t expect the Nerd controlling the right foot to be on the exact same wavelength. She swung the right foot to kick left at the same time. Holly’s legs crossed in mid-air, both feet left the ground, and the body launched itself like a “stubborn Magikarp,” flopping aggressively toward Lyla. We slammed onto the floor, smacked our head on the banister, and blacked out. 2 While we were unconscious, Prez called a meeting. Prez: [Listen up, squad. We exist as souls inside Holly. That means we all have admin rights to this body.] Prez: [But if we all drive at once, we crash like we just did.] Prez: [Forget going home—we’ll end up in a psych ward.] Prez: [We don’t know the exit condition yet, but we definitely can’t follow the original bad ending.] Prez: [So, I propose a schedule. Only one person drives the body at a time.] We all agreed. When we opened our eyes again, Bella was in the driver’s seat. We had been changed into clean clothes. The butler knocked, telling us to come down for dinner. Before we even got to the dining room, we heard Lyla sobbing. “Mom, does Sister hate me?” “Is that why she acted crazy in front of me…” “Mom, please don’t kick me out. I don’t have to be the young miss. I can be Sister’s maid. I’ll do laundry, sweep the floors… just treat me like a servant.” “Boohoo, please don’t send me away.” Mr. Lynn was wiping Lyla’s tears with heartbreak in his eyes. “Silly child, how could we kick you out? Don’t overthink it.” “Holly is just too immature. I’ll have a word with her when she gets here.” Nerd: [Omg, I’m gonna puke.] Me: [We need a plan. If the plot follows the book, we’re going to The Ranch.] Bella: [Relax. Watch me clutch this. Only a Queen Bee knows how to handle a Pick-Me Girl.] Bella put on a terrified, timid expression and walked toward the table. Mrs. Lynn nudged Mr. Lynn to shut him up. He grunted coldly. Mrs. Lynn stood up and ladled some soup for Bella. “Holly, sit. You scared us earlier. How do you feel? Do you want to go to the hospital for a checkup?” Bella wrapped her arms around herself, shivering violently, and frantically apologized. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry. I was having a somatic symptom episode.” Mrs. Lynn paused, ladle in mid-air. “Somatic symptom?” “I… I have depression. When I get triggered, my body reacts physically…” “How did you get that kind of illness?” Bella whispered, “When I was little, if Nanny Zhang thought I ate too much, she’d hit me with a hot fireplace poker. Sometimes it left a welt, sometimes it took a strip of flesh… The doctor said it’s PTSD from childhood trauma…” Mrs. Lynn’s eyes turned red. Lyla immediately interrupted. “Sister, the past is the past. Why bring that up now? You know Mom has a weak heart. You’re making her sad. She won’t be able to sleep tonight.” Bella looked horrified and bowed her head repeatedly. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t know…” Mrs. Lynn looked conflicted but stopped her. “It’s okay, Holly. You don’t need to apologize. Let’s eat.” Bella said “Okay,” took the soup, and turned to walk away. Mrs. Lynn asked where she was going. Bella pointed to the front door, voice trembling. “I… I’ll go squat by the entrance to eat.” “Silly child, why would you squat by the door? Sit and eat with us.” Mrs. Lynn grabbed Bella’s hand to pull her to the chair. Bella looked terrified. “Am I really allowed at the table? Nanny Zhang said I was a little animal, only fit to squat by the door and eat with the dogs.” Mrs. Lynn froze. Then she couldn’t hold it back anymore and hugged Bella, sobbing. Me: [Bella, you are a legend. Three sentences and the billionaire’s wife is bawling.] Bella: [EZ. Light work. The original Holly was too tough. She never talked about the abuse and hid her scars.] Bella: [If you don’t show it, nobody hurts for you. It’s not weakness; it’s strategy.] Inside the mind palace, we all gave Bella a thumbs up. 3 Lyla stared at us with pure venom. But she couldn’t do a thing. Mr. Lynn coughed. “Alright, alright. The past is gone. Holly, we know you suffered, and we will make it up to you.” Mrs. Lynn wiped her tears and sat Bella next to her. “Right, let’s not talk about sad things. Eat.” “Okay.” Bella nodded obediently. Halfway through the meal, Mr. Lynn brought up school. “Holly, we transferred your records. Tomorrow, you’ll start at Crestwood Academy with Lyla.” “You two can look out for each other.” Lyla’s eyes lit up. She smiled at us. “Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll take good care of Sister.” Nerd: [That smile is sus.] Of course it was. In the novel, this was the first reason the parents started hating Holly. Crestwood is an elite prep school. Top acceptance rate in the country. You either have money or brains to get in. All new students take a placement test. Classes are assigned by score. Money can’t buy you into Class A. Lyla got into Class A on her own merits, which made Mrs. Lynn super proud in her social circle. But Holly had zero formal education for eighteen years. Her grades were trash. She scored a total of 150 points. Across all subjects. Lyla forced her to take an IQ test, and the hospital diagnosed Holly as borderline intellectually disabled. Mr. Lynn thought Holly was an embarrassment, canceled her welcome party, and told everyone she was just an adopted daughter. Holly got dumped into Class F—the zoo for rich kids who didn’t study. She was bullied instantly. But things were different now. We have thirty brains. Thirty brains currently peaked for finals season. Maximum cognitive capacity. On the day of the exam, Prez organized us like a military operation. We breezed through the first three subjects. Then came Math. We all froze. Why is a high school testing AP Calculus and Advanced Functions?! Prez: [I just checked the plot again. Crestwood is insane. They teach college math early.] Heartthrob: [Does anyone here know Multivariable Calculus?] English Rep: [Nope.] Bella: [Crying_emoji.jpg. Nope.] Jock: [Is this fate? Are we doomed? Sobbing_emoji.] I raised my hand weakly. [Maybe let me try.] Jock: [Get real. You got a negative 5 on the last math mock exam. Did you forget?] Bella: [Negative five? How?] Me: [I fell asleep and drooled on the scan-tron sheet. They deducted 5 points for ruining the paper.] Bella: [Bruh.] 4 Me: [But… I can hear what the person in front of me is writing.] Prez: [Bruh.] Nerd: [Bruh.] English Rep: [Bruh.] … Even though nobody really trusted my “skill,” time was ticking. They decided to throw a Hail Mary and gave me the wheel. As soon as I took control, our senses sharpened. I focused on the sound of the pen in front of me. A is three strokes, C is one stroke, B and D are two, but D is written faster. Two hours later, I finished the test. The next day, results were posted. We ranked 36th. We were placed in the Star Class. Nerd: [Holy crap. The Star Class is the best class in the novel. Elites only.] Me: [Oops. I cheated too hard.] Prez: [So what did you actually score on Math?] Me: [It was all multiple choice. I purposely changed a few answers. I got a 140.] Heartthrob: [Your hearing is god-tier. Why do you usually score so low?] Me: [I feel like eavesdropping is cheating. If my rank goes up, I push someone else down. So I usually point-shave. I aim to score just a few points higher than Jock, so I’m second to last. Hehe.] Jock: [Thanks a lot.] I put the report card in my bag. As soon as I walked in the door, Lyla pounced. “Sister! Scores are out! What did you get? Which class?” I sighed. “Not great.” Mrs. Lynn walked over and patted my head. “It’s okay. Crestwood is hard. It’s normal to struggle at first.” Lyla bit her lip, a trace of malice in her eyes. “I heard Sister hangs out with delinquents at school. It’s normal for her grades to be bad.” “Sister should focus on school.” Mr. Lynn frowned. “Holly, education is important.” I looked up and locked eyes with Lyla. “Who did you hear that from?” “People.” “Which people?” I pressed. Lyla stuttered. Mrs. Lynn’s expression shifted. She told Lyla, “Don’t spread rumors.” Lyla pouted and nodded, then doubled down. “Then I assume Sister put all her effort into the test? You must have done well, right?” Mr. Lynn said, “Holly, let me see the report card.” I obediently handed it over, adding, “I missed a bunch of easy questions. Bad day.” Mr. Lynn’s eyes widened when he saw the paper. “You’re in the Star Class.” Lyla looked like she’d swallowed a fly. Mrs. Lynn leaned in, looked, and immediately beamed. “Star Class! That’s my daughter! Genes don’t lie!” “Good, good. Study hard so you can take over the company.” Mrs. Lynn hugged me and shoved a black card into my hand as a reward. Mr. Lynn read the report card over and over, muttering, “Nice. Very nice. She has talent.” Lyla stood to the side, staring at us with eyes full of poison. That night, a dead rat was shoved under our door. Its insides had been hollowed out. There was a note inside. Jock: [Does it say ‘The Revolution Begins’? Doge_face.jpg] Bella: [Bruh.] Prez: [Ignore him.] Heartthrob: [Open it! Open it!] I opened the note. It was one sentence. So you got into the Star Class. I can still make your life at school a living hell.

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Julian Sterling drove over to pick me up. The man was usually an iceberg—cold, ascetic, untouchable. But there he was, letting his brand-new secretary sit in his passenger seat. That was the moment I knew: this marriage was dead in the water. 1 That day, Julian pulled up to the curb. When I opened the passenger door, I froze. A young, pretty girl was already occupying the seat, flashing a sugary sweet smile at me. “Hi, Mrs. Sterling!” She greeted me politely enough. But she made zero move to get her ass out of the seat. My eyes narrowed, shifting to Julian. He was looking down, finishing a call, completely oblivious to the silent warfare happening two feet away from him. We had plans to go to an exclusive auction tonight. I had been looking forward to this date. I’d spent hours getting ready, hair done, dress perfect. I didn’t expect to find a squatter in the front seat. “Hi, Mrs. Sterling. I’m Lola. I’m Mr. Sterling’s new Executive Assistant.” Her smile widened, revealing two cute little dimples. “I heard you guys were going to a private auction tonight, so I begged Mr. Sterling to let me tag along. Just to broaden my horizons, you know? Don’t worry, I won’t disturb you two at all.” My heart instantly dropped into the basement. I knew this man. He was distant. He had boundaries made of steel. He didn’t just let people into his personal space. We got together through a merger—a strategic union. We weighed the pros and cons and chose each other. Outsiders joked that I was marrying a monk. But after we made it official, Julian would hold me with a gentle look in his eyes. In our most intimate moments, the corners of his eyes would turn a flushed red. He once told me, “You are my wife. We are one entity. You are different from everyone else.” Today, it felt like the fine print on that contract had changed. 2 But I wasn’t some shrinking violet trained to swallow insults. I was Summer Vance. I didn’t cater to anyone’s mood but my own. “Get out.” I ordered her out cold. Zero mercy. The girl froze. She clearly didn’t expect me to slap her down so publicly on our first meeting. Maybe my tone was too harsh, because Lola looked completely lost. “I… I’m sorry, Mrs. Sterling.” Her voice trembled with unshed tears as she scrambled into the back seat, looking like a kicked puppy. Julian finished his call and finally looked over. He realized I was pissed. A look of helpless indulgence crossed his face. He leaned over to buckle my seatbelt. Feeling that the seat position had been changed, I adjusted it back with aggressive, impatient jerks. The whole ordeal made my blood boil. “Annoying as hell. Who gave anyone the nerve to mess with my seat settings?” The air in the car turned to ice. The girl in the back didn’t dare make a sound. Julian frowned slightly. His tone was calm, reasonable. “If you’re in a bad mood, we can just go home.” In the rearview mirror, I saw the woman silently wiping away tears. I was over it. “Lola, was it? I’m not in the mood anymore. Call yourself an Uber. Julian and I are going home.” Her face went pale. She looked weakly at Julian. He made no move to save her. She got out of the car, looking like her soul had been crushed. 3 Julian would never embarrass me in front of outsiders. He knew how to control the room. That’s why he suggested going home. Issues get solved behind closed doors. That was our unspoken rule. “She’s just a college grad fresh out of school. Why are you lowering yourself to bicker with her?” Back home, Julian pulled me into his arms. “First time.” Julian looked confused. “What?” “In all these years, this is the first time you’ve let another woman sit in your passenger seat.” He didn’t expect that to be the trigger. Everyone in our circle knew how exceptional Julian Sterling was. Countless women threw themselves at him. But he was clean. He walked through a garden of flowers and never let a single leaf stick to him. Julian chuckled softly, rubbing my hair. “I can’t believe I actually made you jealous.” He leaned down to kiss me, his nose grazing my cheek. “She is my subordinate. That’s it. “There will never be anything else between her and me.” Julian cupped my face, staring deep into my eyes. His voice was low, heavy with a promise. 4 A woman’s intuition is basically a sniper rifle. Even though I’d only met Lola once, my gut screamed that this girl had designs on Julian. I thought my little power move at the car would be enough. I was wrong. The diamond necklace from the auction—the one meant for me—was around her neck the very next day. Harper, Julian’s Chief of Staff, sent me a photo and a screenshot of a social media post. In the photo, the crescent moon diamond necklace sat on Lola’s pale neck, making her look delicate and precious. Her eyes were red and puffy, but the corners of her mouth were turned up in a smile. Presumably, she cried all night and received a consolation prize from a certain someone. The screenshot was from Lola’s timeline: [The Big Boss said girls need to be strong even when they’re wronged! Wiping my tears. Yes, sir, my Captain!] xoxo Followed by a few “fighting” emojis and a picture of the necklace in its velvet box. My blood turned to slush. I hate to admit it, but she got to me. It felt like finding a squashed mosquito on my favorite white silk scarf. It was a strange feeling. I wanted to drive my yellow Ferrari 180 mph straight to the office and slap her twice across the face. But looking at my manicured hands, I realized that engaging with a low-tier “Pick Me” girl was beneath my tax bracket. I called my SA at Hermès. Her voice practically vibrated with joy. “Mrs. Sterling, don’t worry! I will empty out Shanghai if I have to. I’ll get the stock allocated and delivered immediately!” That afternoon. Before the workday ended. Every female assistant and employee in the CEO’s office—forty-six people in total—received a gift from the President’s wife. Everyone except Lola. A Hermès necklace worth about $15,000. Sure, the unit price didn’t match the $300,000 auction piece, but I won on volume. Harper handled it beautifully. The condition for receiving the gift was a mandatory social media post with specific copy: [The Boss’s Wife says every girl deserves the best! Clenched fist emoji. Yes, ma’am, my Queen!] The girls were more than happy to cooperate. As assistants in the CEO’s office, they were the hub of all corporate gossip. Receiving a five-figure gift from the Lady of the House? They posted that sh*t instantly. Some smart ones even added their own flair: [Mrs. Sterling plays chess, not checkers!] These executive assistants might not have executive power, but their influence on the company grapevine was terrifying. In less than thirty minutes, the entire company knew the CEO’s wife had dropped a bomb of generosity. And everyone knew why. Lola’s face went white. She felt the humiliation burn. Red-eyed, she hid in the bathroom to take off the diamond necklace. Two colleagues came in to touch up their makeup, saw her, and let out a meaningful snicker. Lola wished the ground would swallow her. She put the necklace back in the box and marched it back to Julian’s office. 5 Julian had just finished a video conference with a partner. He saw the girl, obviously crying again, clutching the velvet box and staring at her shoes. “What’s wrong?” he asked, puzzled. Lola’s tears fell before she even spoke. “Mr. Sterling, please take this back. I don’t dare to keep it.” A frown creased Julian’s cold face. He knew something had happened. He didn’t ask directly. He just waited. Lola bit her lip, hesitated, and then poured out the whole story of what happened in the office. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m always causing trouble. I just posted to encourage myself… I didn’t know Mrs. Sterling would see it.” She sobbed quietly. “I didn’t think she would be so angry.” She looked as pitiful as a wet rabbit. “Mr. Sterling, I want to apologize to her. I can explain everything to her face.” Julian never looked at social media. His life was consumed by work. But as a CEO, he knew how toxic office politics could be. His expression turned frosty. “I understand,” he said, his voice deep.

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Everyone said Grant Sterling loved me. After we got married, we treated each other with mutual respect. That was until the day I found out he had been bankrolling his “first love” on the side. When I confronted him, red-eyed and shaking, his reaction froze my blood. Afraid I’d ruin the other woman’s reputation, he had me thrown into the confinement cell on the base. 1 “You’re free to go.” The baton slammed against the iron door, the metallic clang echoing sharply. The guard stood at the entrance of the holding cell, looking down at me with pure disdain. She was just like everyone else on the base. Deep down, she looked down on Mrs. Sterling. I struggled to stand up. It took me a solid minute to realize the truth: I had died under a mudslide, and somehow, I had been reborn. Grant was standing outside the main gate waiting for me, just like in my past life. 2 “Why are you crying?” The man’s handsome, sharp features came into view. I remembered the feeling of tracing his brow bone every night, the intimacy we once shared. But now, back from the dead and looking him in the eye, I was speechless. I really was reborn. I sniffled and walked down the steps in silence. Winter in Harbor City was brutal. The cold made my heart shiver with grief. Out of habit, Grant took off his heavy military coat and draped it over my shoulders. “Don’t catch a cold.” The warmth hit me, mixed with the faint scent of gardenias. I knew that smell—it was the soap Bella used. I remembered my past life. When I questioned him about the scent, Grant’s gentle aura turned icy. He looked at me with suppressed rage. “Zoe, I locked you up for three days. Haven’t you cooled off yet? Can you please stop making a scene?” Back then, I was full of grievances. I struggled, isolated and helpless, while he turned a blind eye to Bella’s provocations. I became a joke to everyone. Grant, in this life, go ahead and love your “one that got away” in broad daylight. I’m done playing. Holding back the tears threatening to spill, I stiffly removed the coat. I didn’t say a word about the scent. “Wear it yourself. I’m not cold.” Grant paused, stunned. It took him a long moment to recover. 3 Back home, I boiled water to take a bath. When I came out, Grant was actually in the kitchen cooking. There were three side dishes already on the table. “Sit down. Soup’s almost ready.” Who would have thought the high-and-mighty Captain Sterling, the man everyone admired, would be wearing my apron? If I hadn’t seen him order me into confinement to protect that woman’s reputation, I wouldn’t believe this was the same man. Even after the hot shower, my body shivered with phantom chills. That was the pain of being buried alive by mud. The despair of being abandoned by Grant. I took a deep breath and told myself: Zoe, you have to be strong. If others don’t cherish you, betray you, or abandon you, then you must love yourself even more. I scooped myself a huge bowl of rice. Three days in confinement with no one looking out for me meant two meals a day: cold buns and watery gruel. Grant brought the seaweed soup to the table and froze. I didn’t wait for him. I shoveled food into my mouth like a starving ghost. He sat opposite me and served the soup. “Slow down. If you like it, I’ll buy more tomorrow.” He placed the soup next to me. The sound of chopsticks hitting porcelain echoed in the house, making the two of us seem like total strangers. I finished dinner like a tornado and stood up to leave. “Zoe,” Grant called out. “We need to talk.” 4 “There’s no need for the cold shoulder.” Grant was reserved, a man of few words. Influenced by his strict father, he was disciplined and accomplished, rarely showing emotion. “Years ago, after Bella’s father passed, she left the city with her mother. We lost contact. “I ran into her years later in the mountains. By then, her uncle had forced her to marry a violent drunk.” No one could understand Grant’s shock and anger back then. The proudest girl in the compound, reduced to a bruised mess by her ex-husband in just a few years. When Grant carried her out, Bella had curled up in his arms, trembling. “She suffered severe mental trauma and had a child with her. It took me two years to help her stabilize. I really don’t want her to get hurt again.” Maybe because my attitude had changed this time, Grant chose to explain the past to me. The pain in his eyes was real. He held a deep pity for his childhood friend. Even though my heart was already dead, seeing my husband moved to tears for another woman felt like a physical blow. He would never know that his moment of vulnerability was like a knife twisting in my heart. I steadied my breathing, clinging to my last shred of sanity. “So, you locked me in a cell?” Grant’s breath hitched. He tried to make me understand his dilemma. “You accused her of being a mistress in front of everyone. Do you know how damaging that is for a single mother?” “Grant, your monthly salary is 80 dollars. You give me 20, and you give her 60. And you call that innocent? “If you love her so much that you can’t stand to see her suffer, why did you marry me? What is this home to you? “You didn’t want her to get hurt, so you threw your lawfully wedded wife into confinement. Did you know that because of that, I’ll be the laughingstock of the base? That I’ll be fired from the textile factory with a mark on my record and never find work again?” Years of grievances from my past life poured out. Looking at the man I had loved for half my life, I laughed in despair. “Of course you knew. You just didn’t care.” Tears blurred my vision. I felt like a fish dying on the shore, suffocating in my own grief. He pulled me into his arms, that crisp, unique scent of his enveloping me. He held my waist, patting my back, seeming at a loss. “I didn’t mean that, Zoe. Don’t cry. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t have a job. I’m your husband. I’ll support you for the rest of your life.” 5 In my last life, he said the exact same thing. I’ll support you forever. Back then, I clung to my pitiful dignity and refused. I tried everywhere to find a job, but with a disciplinary record, no one dared to hire me. In the end, bruised and battered, I crawled back home like a stray dog and became a housewife. Grant didn’t mock me. He was actually a decent provider; he kept his word. When we got married, he handed over his entire savings to me. Before I knew about Bella, I was genuinely happy. But after he locked me up for another woman and I lost my job, the gossip started. People whispered behind Grant’s back that I was a toad lusting after swan meat—that I wasn’t good enough for him. The scariest part? To me, those vicious words felt like the truth. Day after day, I ground myself down until I became exactly what they said: an ignorant shrew who exploded at the slightest provocation. The past was unbearable to look back on. This time, I knew where my path lay. I wiped my tears, pushed Grant away, and whispered, “Okay.” 6 “Grant, is… is Zoe back?” When Grant opened the door, Bella was standing there in a bright yellow quilted jacket, wrapped in a trendy red scarf that made her oval face look exquisite. “It’s cold out. Come in.” Grant stepped aside, habitually setting out slippers for her. Bella lowered her head with a shy smile, eyes full of affection. I knew why she was here. I watched her performance with a cold sneer. “Grant, I came to return the key. It’s not right for me to keep living in your wedding house.” Bella looked at me apologetically, though the provocation in her eyes was loud and clear. “Zoe seems to misunderstand us. I should move out so she doesn’t feel upset.” Grant was stunned and instinctively looked at me. I didn’t react. Panic flickered in his eyes. He opened his mouth but seemed at a loss for words. “Grant?” Bella looked confused, probing. “Does… does Zoe still not know?” Dead silence in the room. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. Grant, I…” Her eyes turned red instantly, as if she had been greatly wronged. “I’ll move out right now and give the house back to you!” Grant grabbed Bella as she made a show of leaving. “Stop it! It’s freezing outside. You have a child, where are you going to go? “Zoe, my family gave me that apartment when I started working. I let Bella and her son stay there so she could recover.” “Mm.” Looking at this pair of tragic lovers, I didn’t want to waste another breath. Grant’s face was pale, his eyes full of oblivious confusion. I stood up to clear my bowl, done with their faces. “Grant, I’m going to prepare for the exams. I can’t control what you do outside, and I don’t want to anymore.” Grant tried to speak again, but I walked away without looking back. 7 In 1977, the country reinstated the National College Entrance Exams. Back then, life had ground me down. I never thought about changing my destiny through study. Reborn, I wanted a different life. No more sleepwalking through existence. I stopped caring about how many women or “sons” Grant supported outside. As long as we weren’t divorced, he had to support this house too. I locked myself at home, buried in books. I asked nothing about his work. I showed zero interest in his progress with his “white moonlight.” I stopped doing his laundry—plenty of people outside could take care of him. I stopped the warm greetings; let those tragic lovebirds comfort each other. When he came home, I was usually at the desk, head down. Days passed. We stopped communicating. Sometimes I heard his footsteps stop outside the bedroom door. I could feel him standing there for a long time. He seemed to want to say something. But I never turned around. Eventually, he would leave in silence. Sometimes late at night, I kept the light on to study at his usual desk. He had to read by the bedside, but he never complained. Occasionally, I sensed he wasn’t reading, just leaning back against the headboard, watching me with a gaze I couldn’t decipher. Only when I shifted in my chair would he look away. He knew I didn’t want to talk to him. Necessary household comms were written on notes left on my desk before he went to work. We still slept in the same bed, but nothing happened. I was exhausted. After studying, I’d crawl into bed and pass out. Once, he saw I had dirty clothes and tried to wash them. He wasn’t built for it. Watching my white shirt get stained with dye, my heart pinched. That was one of my few new shirts. He looked annoyed, like a child who made a mistake, but also secretly sad. “Sorry, I…” It was our first conversation in ages. “It’s okay.” I re-soaped the shirt. “Go do your thing. I’ll wash my own clothes from now on. I don’t need your help.” Grant lowered his eyes, watching me. Even though I was still in this house. Even though I still slept beside him. Everything was different now.

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I was taking my mom to a U-Pick farm for fresh cherries when she suddenly dropped a bomb. “You know, you’re actually kind of cheap.” I looked up, a bit slow on the uptake, and stared at her. “Why would you say that?” “I mean, sure, you have money, but sometimes you really don’t measure up to your sister.” “To put it plainly, you’re a penny-pincher.” She emphasized the words, her tone dripping with righteous indignation as she repeated herself. “Sometimes you look generous. You give me cash, you buy the groceries and household stuff. But you never take me out to eat at nice restaurants. Your sister is different. She always treats me.” It hit me like a ton of bricks. That lunch Chloe paid for two weeks ago. That was still stuck in her craw. She just couldn’t let it go. 1 Two weeks ago, Dad got into a car accident and broke his arm. I was the one who rushed him to the ER, ran up and down stairs handling insurance, paying the deductibles, and hiring a home health aide. By the time my little sister, Chloe, finally showed up, I had basically done all the heavy lifting. So, Chloe decided to treat us to a meal at a Panera Bread across the street from the hospital. At the time, Mom’s face was already dark. She kept shooting me looks, hinting heavily: “You’re the big sister.” I sighed, resigned to my fate, and reached for my phone to pay. The bill was maybe fifty bucks. Tops. I really didn’t want Mom sulking over fifty dollars, giving me the cold shoulder because I didn’t reach for my wallet fast enough. But Chloe was faster. She waved her phone playfully. “Already Venmo’d the register. It’s done.” Mom looked absolutely horrified. She asked Chloe, “Where did you get the money? You spent over a hundred just Ubering here! With me and your sister here, why on earth should you have to pay?” Chloe, afraid I’d get mad, shot me a secret, helpless little smile. Then she linked arms with Mom and whined cutely. “Mom, who cares who pays? Sis already covered the hospital deposit and the nurse fees. There’s no reason I can’t cover the small stuff.” “Once we find the driver who hit Dad, insurance will reimburse all that. Your sister is just floating the cash, it’s not like she’s losing it.” Mom muttered under her breath, clearly unconvinced. But in reality, when Mom got the settlement check later, she never paid me back a dime. Honestly? I didn’t care about that. Dad was hurt. It was my duty to step up. I didn’t feel unbalanced about the money. What hurt was that Mom wouldn’t shut up about that damn lunch Chloe paid for. “We shouldn’t have let your sister pay. Her job is so unstable, she works one month and takes two off. She can barely feed herself.” “Chloe paid for lunch. You know, Harper, you really rode your sister’s coattails on that one.” I spent thousands. Chloe spent fifty. And in the end, I was the one mooching off her? I was at my breaking point, ready to snap back. But I saw Dad on the hospital bed, shaking his head at me desperately. For the sake of my injured father, I didn’t scream at my mother right there in the ward. But all afternoon… Mom called her friends, FaceTimed the aunts, chatted with the neighbors. She told everyone. Chloe bought lunch. It was headline news. And me? I craned my neck to listen, only to hear her whisper-complaining: “The youngest is just so thoughtful. She knew we hadn’t eaten all morning and took us out immediately.” “The oldest sat there all morning and didn’t even think to grab me a bagel.” I couldn’t take it anymore. I made up an excuse, turned around, and walked out. Tears were streaming down my face before I hit the elevator. It wasn’t that I didn’t care she was hungry. I was too busy to think. Admissions paperwork, CT scans, co-pays, dealing with the police report, finding a caregiver. When did I have a second to breathe? I always knew Mom played favorites. back in college, the deal was that Chloe and I both got $1,000 a month for living expenses. But between textbooks, lab fees, food, and basic survival, I was always broke. Chloe, somehow, always had extra cash. Mom always scolded me, saying I wasn’t as sensible as Chloe, that I didn’t care about my parents’ money, that I didn’t know how to budget. Every time I asked for money, I got a lecture. Occasionally, I’d starve myself to stay under budget, but Mom wouldn’t even send the check on time. She’d delay it a few days. To “build my character.” 2 I lived in constant anxiety. Every month, I prayed the transfer wouldn’t be late. But I never dared to demand anything from Mom. Because she always shut me down with one sentence: “How come Chloe has enough? How come she never nags me?” Yeah, I didn’t get it either. I was being cheap as hell. I was rationing tampons. Why was I still drowning? It wasn’t until years after graduation, during a casual chat with Chloe, that I found out the truth. Yeah, the cash allowance was $1,000. But Mom paid for everything else separately. Textbooks, Sephora hauls, snacks—Mom ordered them on Amazon and shipped them directly to Chloe’s dorm. Even her meal plan was prepaid each semester—thousands of dollars I didn’t know about. Chloe’s $1,000 was just for fun. She didn’t know how to spend it all. And me? I had nothing. Everything I needed had to come out of that grand. One Thanksgiving, Mom brought out her special pot roast for guests. Chloe and I both loved it. When we were leaving, Mom packed a huge Tupperware container for Chloe. She didn’t even mention it to me. Dad, feeling the awkwardness, quickly spoke up: “Pack a bag for Harper, too.” Mom curled her lip in disdain. “It’s just leftovers.” She spoke slowly. But her eyes were fixed on me. Then she asked, hesitating, “Do you even want it?” I held back the tears stinging my eyes and shook my head violently. “No. I don’t like it.” She let out a sigh of relief, like she’d been pardoned, and smiled at Dad. “See? I said she didn’t want it. She’s so picky, she’d never want these scraps.” It hurt too much. I rushed out to my car, ready to leave. But Mom chased after me. She completely flipped her attitude, smiling brightly as she shoved a greasy bag into my hands. “Just take it. Your dad insists.” “If you don’t take it, he’s going to fight with me again.” I sighed quietly and took it. When I got home and opened it, I realized it wasn’t the roast she made. Her roast was savory and tender. This was dry, bland meat. It was the leftovers from my Aunt’s house that Mom didn’t want to eat herself. I remembered her heating it up earlier, muttering, “This tastes like cardboard. I should just regift it.” Oh. So I was the garbage disposal. And now, standing in this cherry orchard, listening to her bring up the lunch Chloe paid for again? I snapped. “Mom, the duvet covers, the sheets, the fruit, the snacks, the toilet paper, even the AC unit and the 65-inch TV in your living room—I bought all of that. I Venmo you thousands for every birthday and holiday. Have you ever calculated how much that is? Yet you’re obsessed with the fifty bucks Chloe spent, repeating over and over how I mooched off her. How about this: from now on, let her buy that stuff. I’ll PayPal her a hundred bucks right now to cover that lunch. Will that buy your silence?” “If this is how you keep score, then fine. Let Chloe have the ‘privilege’ of paying for everything. I’ll take the hit on being ‘cheap,’ okay?” My voice was shaking, throat tight. Mom was startled. Her eyes went wide. “Why are you so unstable? We’re just chatting, why are you throwing a tantrum?” “I don’t have a degree like you, I don’t know what’s PC to say and what isn’t. Do you really need to nitpick your own mother? I never said you didn’t spend money. I admitted you buy things. I’m just saying that when it comes to dining out, you aren’t as thoughtful or classy as your sister. Did I lie?” 3 “Honestly. Can’t even open my mouth around you.” “Don’t ever ask me out again. Dragging me out in this heat… acting like I owe you something.” “I was in a good mood, and now you’ve ruined it with your screaming.” She looked at me like I was bad luck personified. She grabbed the baskets of cherries we’d picked and started walking out. From a distance, I heard her tell the farmer, “My daughter will get the bill,” before walking to the road to hail a cab. I stood there, heart filled with frustration and humiliation. I deeply regretted asking her out. Actually, I didn’t ask her out. She called me yesterday saying she craved cherries. I offered to Instacart some. She said she wanted “fresh off the tree.” I canceled my meetings, skipped breakfast, and drove her here. And she left me in the dust. In the past, I would have told myself: She’s getting old, she’s confused, let it go. But this string of events was too much. She was being too cruel. I couldn’t gaslight myself anymore. I decided to let my anger breathe. I wasn’t bowing my head this time. There was one loose end, though. A month ago, Mom mentioned she wanted a Roomba. She said sweeping was hurting her back. She wanted to wait until the weather cooled down to go shopping for it. Usually, if I took her, I’d be the one paying. I’ve fought with Mom before. But I was always the one to break the ice, to apologize. This time, I wondered… If I went no-contact, if I didn’t mention the Roomba, what would she do? Even if she reached out, I knew it didn’t mean she cared about me. But I was curious. Would she initiate contact, even if just for a machine? The answer came three months later. She texted me. But the content shocked me. “You don’t need to take me to buy that robot vacuum anymore.” [Why?] “I asked around. Those things eat electricity. It’ll cost sixty or seventy bucks a month to run. That’s almost a grand a year. Too expensive. I don’t deserve to use it.” My fingers hovered over the screen. I paused, then typed back casually: [It’s not that expensive. Modern ones are energy efficient. It won’t cost that much.] [But it’s up to you. If you don’t want it, that saves me the trip.] I saw the “typing…” bubble bobbing for ages. But two hours passed. Not a word. When I tried to send another message, I got the “Not Delivered” error. She blocked me. I got it. Her passive-aggressive “I don’t deserve it” was code for: Tell me you’ll pay the electric bill too, and then I’ll happily go buy it. I knew the game. But I was done playing. I didn’t say it. At this point, I was heartbroken and disillusioned, but not entirely dead inside yet. I wasn’t thinking about cutting her off financially forever. I just wanted to stop being invisible. I wanted her to acknowledge my existence, my contributions. On the day we were originally supposed to buy the vacuum… Early in the morning, Dad called. He asked casually when I’d be there and if I wanted breakfast. I feigned surprise. “Dad? I’m at work. What’s up?” 4 “Wasn’t today the day you were taking Mom to get that sweeping robot thing? Why are you at work?” “I was going to take PTO, but Mom said she didn’t want it anymore. So I didn’t request the day off.” “Well, request it now. We’re waiting for you.” Dad sounded helpless. But I refused. “Can’t do it, Dad. Need 24-hour notice. It’s too busy here. We’ll do it another time.” Mom must have been listening. She exploded in the background. “I told you not to call! She’s just talking pretty, you think she actually wants to come? God, I’m embarrassed for you! Hang up! Stop bothering her high-and-mighty career!” Her shrill voice dripped with sarcasm. The call ended. Dad texted me on WeChat. His tone was accusatory. “You know how your mother is. She said she didn’t want it because she was mad at you. If you don’t come coax her, why are you taking her literally?” “Dad, Mom blocked me. How do I coax her? Besides, she’s an adult. She said no. Was I supposed to kidnap her to Best Buy?” Meanwhile, Mom posted a video in the four-person Family Group Chat. The title was: “When old people are annoying, do they deserve to die?” Chloe, oblivious to the war zone, popped in with a joke: “Who was brave enough to piss off Mom? Name them, I’ll fight ’em.” “Is it Dad? Apologize now, or your favorite daughters are gonna be mad.” “It wasn’t your father.” “Thank god I have you, Chloe. Otherwise, your mother would die of a broken heart.” Mom’s targeting was laser-focused. Dad @-mentioned me in the group: “@Harper regardless of who is right, you’re the child. Bowing your head won’t kill you. Just apologize.” He then @-mentioned Mom: “And you, stop holding grudges against your own kid. Stop spiraling. We’ll go tomorrow. Harper will take the day off.” “Right, Harper?” Chloe finally smelled the smoke. She DM’d me: “What happened, Sis? Did you fight with Mom?” “No. Just a misunderstanding.” I replied to Chloe, then explained in the big group. “Mom, I’m not breaking a promise. You said you didn’t want to go. That’s why I’m at work.” “You blocked me for no reason. I don’t know what I did. Now you’re doing this. I really don’t know what I did wrong. If you want the vacuum, just tell me. I’ll take off tomorrow. But I can’t guess your mind games anymore. I’m too tired.” “Dad, can we change the dynamic in this house? If you need something, or if I messed up, just say it. We’re family. Why do I have to be a mind reader to make you happy?” Dad replied instantly: “Yes, yes, Harper is right. Come home tomorrow, we’ll lecture your mom together.” Then he DM’d me privately: “Just take the day off. I’ll work on your mother. I’ll drag her there if I have to.” I felt a wave of exhaustion. But I held my ground in the group chat: “Dad, that doesn’t work. I need Mom to say it. Does she want me to come tomorrow? I’m done being the bad guy.”

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