My father was paralyzed in a car accident. My childhood sweetheart, Lara, secretly changed her college major to pre-med, vowing to help him walk again. I was so moved that I dropped out of school, worked every odd job I could find, and gave half of the money I earned for his medical bills to her, to fund her education. Eventually, I became Lara’s husband, and she became my father’s doctor. But last night, my father fell from his hospital bed. He pressed the call button all night, struggling, but the doctor who had vowed to save him never came. By the time I rushed back with the money for his surgery, the fingers he had wrapped around the call button were already cold and stiff. The next morning, Lara finally showed up. She was clinging to the arm of a handsome young male assistant, her voice a playful pout. “From now on, whatever your father needs, I’ll be there in a heartbeat. Isn’t that why I became a doctor? To protect the ones I love?” I gathered all of my father’s belongings and left a single sheet of paper on the empty bed: a divorce agreement. But Lara and her assistant blocked my way. 1 I felt nothing but a hollow numbness as I packed away my father’s things. When I finally looked up, the sky was already turning a pale, washed-out gray. The on-call room door was ajar, the room empty. The night had passed. But my sun would never rise again. I stared, transfixed, at the two names on the duty roster. On-Call Physician: Dr. Lara Song. On-Call Assistant: Alex Cheng. When did it start between them? I had no idea. In the beginning, I worked day and night, taking any job I could get just to make ends meet. Later, all my energy was focused on caring for my paralyzed father. For more than a decade, I’d been running on fumes, held together by sheer willpower. I wasn’t blind. I’d seen the lingering glances between Lara and Alex, the way they always seemed to be touching. But I didn’t have the strength to confront them. Besides, my father’s recovery depended on her. Now, the reason for my silent endurance was gone. Maybe our marriage had been a lifeboat adrift on a stormy sea for a long time. The sound of a man and woman laughing echoed from the end of the hallway. “From now on, whatever your father needs, I’ll be there in a heartbeat. Isn’t that why I became a doctor? To protect the ones I love?” The coquettish voice belonged to my wife of five years, Lara. Her slender fingers were wrapped around the arm of a handsome young man. His name was Alex. He was a recent graduate, Lara’s new assistant. He radiated youthful energy, dressed in a tailored white shirt and gleaming leather shoes, the cuffs of his trousers adorned with gold-thread embroidery. Not like me. I glanced down at the oil stain on my T-shirt, the hole in my jeans. “Jules? Are you okay? Your eyes are all red,” Alex said, finally recognizing the disheveled man in front of him. He looked away, a flicker of guilt in his eyes as he quickly pulled his arm from Lara’s grasp. Annoyed, Lara slipped her hand behind her back and hooked her pinky finger around his. Her smile vanished when she looked at me, her gaze impatient. “Julian, they say no son stays loyal at a sickbed for long. You know your father can’t be left alone, so what are you doing wandering around out here?” “Don’t think you can just relax now that I’ve agreed to do his surgery.” I felt a strange sense of calm. “You were the doctor on duty last night, weren’t you?” I asked, my voice flat. “Were all the patients in this ward less important than your date?” Alex gave me an oily, placating smile, his voice laced with a feigned innocence. “Jules, you’ve got it all wrong! My dad threw out his back yesterday, so I had to ask Dr. Song to come home with me and take a look.” I looked up and met his eyes, saw the challenge hiding beneath the surface. “Every doctor has their own responsibilities. You abandoned your patients and left your post without permission. Have you no professional ethics?” I turned to Lara, the carefully contained emotions finally breaking free. Grief and rage surged in my chest, forcing broken words through my clenched teeth. “Lara, let’s get a divorce. I wish you two a long and happy life together.” The love I once felt for her had become a blade, and it was twisting in my heart. She was the one who said she would save him. And she was the one who let him die. I remembered that day, years ago, when she held my father’s hand, her voice full of encouragement. Uncle, please, don’t give up hope. I’ll become the best orthopedic surgeon there is, and I’ll help you walk again. But last night, my father pressed the call button again and again and again. All he got was silence. Lara. The brilliant surgeon. The perfect daughter-in-law. My childhood sweetheart, my wife. For a handsome assistant she’d known for a few weeks, she had betrayed a decade of love and abandoned the promise she’d made at my father’s bedside. She’d thrown away even the most basic duty of a doctor. “Can you stop being so dramatic?” she snapped. “I’ve been up all night, I’m exhausted. We can talk about this at home!” Our argument was suddenly interrupted. “Dr. Song, Alex. I trust there were no incidents last night?” It was Dr. Evans, the head of orthopedics. Lara glanced toward my father’s room, a flicker of hesitation in her eyes, but then she nodded firmly. “None at all. What could possibly happen in the ortho ward? Besides, there are only ten patients.” “Perhaps, but we can’t afford to be careless,” Dr. Evans said, handing her my father’s chart. “I told Alex yesterday that this patient’s surgery had to be postponed. I noticed he was having chest pain and shortness of breath—I suspect it’s pneumonia from being bedridden for so long. I told you to arrange a respiratory consult immediately. The results should be back by now, right?” 2 Lara’s eyes darted to Alex. A flash of panic crossed his face, and he quickly avoided Dr. Evans’s gaze. Lara understood immediately and took the blame herself. “I’m his primary physician. His son has been caring for him personally, turning him over eight times a night. There’s no way he could have pneumonia. It’s probably something minor.” Dr. Evans frowned, his voice a low reprimand. “Lara, there is no such thing as a ‘minor’ issue with a patient. You have to be vigilant about every detail. And for God’s sake, his son is standing right here. Watch your tone.” Their words left me frozen in place. Ever since Lara had become his doctor, my father’s condition had actually started to improve. She’d told me about a new surgical technique, a spinal reconstruction, that could help him. If it was successful, he could leave his wheelchair behind and walk again. For the first time in years, I’d felt a glimmer of hope. But my father had refused the surgery. I knew he was afraid of the risks, terrified of ending up in an even worse state, of becoming an even bigger burden on Lara and me. But just last night, he had called out to me, his voice raspy, waking me from the cot beside his bed. “Jules, tell Lara to schedule the surgery.” “I’ve made up my mind. I’d rather take the gamble than be trapped in this bed for the rest of my life.” “In the locked drawer in my bedroom, there’s some money I saved up. Go home and get it.” “I know Lara makes good money, but it’s not right to always be asking her to pay. This one… I’ll pay for this one myself.” He handed me a small key. I was ecstatic. It wasn’t just about the hope of him walking again; it was a sign that he had found the courage to truly live. Then I glanced at the clock on the wall and came back to my senses. It was 1 a.m. “Dad, it’s too late,” I said softly. “Get some rest. I’ll go home and get the money first thing in the morning.” He shook his head, his movements slow, almost robotic. “Son, I’ve been trapped in this bed for over a decade. I can’t wait another minute.” It was a two-hour round trip by taxi from the hospital to our house. He saw my hesitation and held up the call button. “Don’t worry, this is a hospital. Lara’s on duty tonight. If I need anything, I’ll just call her.” He pleaded and insisted until I finally, reluctantly, agreed. Before I left, I noticed the on-call room was empty. I figured Lara was probably doing her rounds and didn’t think much of it. By the time I returned with the surgery money, my father’s fingers, wrapped around the call button, were already stiff. The doctor in the morgue had said, “He probably passed away not long after you left.” “But he was in the hospital! The on-call room is right next door, the call button was in his hand! Didn’t any of the doctors or nurses notice?” I’d pleaded. “He might have been saveable,” the doctor had replied, his voice full of a gentle regret. I had nothing to say to that. I lowered my head and arranged for his body to be taken care of. If I could trade anything to turn back time, I would. I would have stayed by his side. I wouldn’t have let Lara abandon her post for a tryst. I wanted to tear myself to pieces. And then I wanted to drag Lara down with me, to make her lie beside my father in his grave. But when I finished packing his things and ran into a late-arriving Lara and Alex, the rage turned to despair. Even if they paid with their lives, it wouldn’t give my father back that one night. Lara, sensing Dr. Evans’s displeasure, waited until he was gone before scribbling out a few requests for lung scans and shoving them at me. “If your father wasn’t feeling well, why didn’t you tell me directly? What kind of son are you?” I ignored her. I opened the insulated container my father had left behind. Inside were the last of his sweet rice dumplings. The glutinous skins, soaked soft in the broth, had split, spilling their sweet black sesame filling. Numbly, I started shoveling them into my mouth. The sweetness of the dumplings and the salt of my tears mixed on my tongue, turning to bitter ash. When I didn’t answer, Lara snatched the spoon from my hand. “Did you hear me? I’m talking to you.” The edge of the spoon scraped against my gums. A trickle of soupy broth and blood ran from the corner of my mouth, dripping onto the clean floor. She threw the spoon down in disgust, making no effort to hide her revulsion. “What is your problem? Who are you trying to impress with that ‘my-dad-just-died’ face?” Alex handed me a tissue, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “Jules, it’s all my fault. I was in such a panic, I made Dr. Song leave during her shift to go help my dad.” Lara strode forward, pulling Alex behind her. “Don’t you dare take the blame for this. He’s just looking for trouble. He thinks his father’s life is the only one that matters!” 3 I picked up the spoon and scooped up another broken dumpling, my words muffled as I shoved it into my mouth. “Lara, do you remember the promise you made to my father?” My dad was a truck driver. He raised me on his own, earning money hauling cargo on long-haul routes. Right before my college entrance exams, he worked for a month straight without a break, trying to save up for my tuition. He fell asleep at the wheel. The crash didn’t kill him, but it damaged his spine, leaving him paralyzed and completely dependent on others. I gave up my exams and dropped out of school to take care of him. And Lara, who had grown up with me, put down her paintbrushes and picked up a scalpel. Her promise still echoed in my ears. I met her stunned gaze and repeated her words, one by one. “You said you were giving up art willingly, to become a good doctor who could save people.” “You said you would be my loving wife, faithful and true, until the end of time.” I looked down at her, the bitter-sweet taste filling my mouth. “My father died because you abandoned your post. You didn’t keep either of those promises.” Alex looked terrified. “No way!” he blurted out. “Can a dead man press a call button? If I hadn’t silenced it last night, he would have woken up the entire floor!” His words were like a lit match to a fuse. I snapped. I lunged at him, wanting nothing more than to smash my fists into his smug face. But Lara threw her arms around me, holding me back. Her body was soft, but her words were like ice. “Alex just graduated, he doesn’t know how things work. He just accidentally overlooked your father’s needs.” “I apologize on his behalf. But you need to stop. Don’t use your father’s death to make a scene.” The container of rice dumplings clattered to the floor, spilling across the tiles. Lara’s eyes were red-rimmed. The warmth and affection she had once reserved for me were now being given to someone else. Alex shot me a triumphant smirk. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “On what grounds are you apologizing for him? As my wife? As my father’s doctor? Or as his lover? Who’s the one making a scene with my father’s death?” “Lara, you’re a married woman, lusting after a fresh-faced graduate. Have you no shame? If you had regrets, you should have just told me. I would have let you go.” It takes two to tango. There had been signs of her changing heart for a long time. The first thing she did when she got to college was video call me to introduce me to her new classmates and professors. Now, she never even mentioned our relationship. She was beautiful and brilliant, the heir apparent to the department head. Her life was perfect, except for her uneducated husband and her dependent, burdensome father-in-law. And Alex came from a wealthy, well-connected family. He was carefree and irresponsible, a passionate spirit who lived by his own rules. He was everything I wasn’t, and he had captivated her. Without me, they would have probably gone public with their affair a long time ago. My words hit a nerve. A flicker of annoyance crossed her face. “And what good would regretting it do?” she sneered. “Would it let me escape this white hell that reeks of disinfectant?” “Would it let me pick up my paintbrushes and be an artist again?” “Can I get back the decade of my youth that I wasted?” I couldn’t take it anymore. I raised my hand to slap her. But Alex jumped in front of her, raising his own fist, ready to strike. THUD. It was the sharp crack of metal hitting bone.

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1 In my wildest years, I played a West Point cadet, used him, and then tossed him aside. Years later, he became the youngest Major General in Northern Command. When my family was implicated in a major scandal, he was the one who proposed a marriage alliance. Everyone said I was the luckiest woman alive, that marrying him was the blessing of a lifetime. But they didn’t know that every night, Adrian McCloud brought a different woman back to our home on the base. I was quiet, accommodating. I even made sure he had condoms ready. But he just smashed a vase, and soon after, his old flame was pregnant with his child. I remained indifferent. But that night, he exploded, pinning me against the door. “Serena, is your heart made of ice?” he snarled. Later, his old flame, Elara, and I went into labor on the same day. I knelt on the floor, clutching my stomach, telling him I loved him, begging him to get me a doctor. He held me, ecstatic. “You finally admit you love me!” “Liar.” He shoved me to the ground. Then he scooped Elara into his arms and boarded the ambulance without a backward glance. “The labor pains are what you deserve,” he’d spat. “This is your penance for what you did to me.” … I only caught a glimpse of his departing figure before he was gone. It felt like a dozen dull knives were twisting inside me, a pain so profound it stole all my strength, leaving me collapsed on the carpet. Amniotic fluid and blood pooled around me, gleaming darkly in the light. With every ounce of strength I had left, I rasped at our housekeeper, Martha, whose face was pale with shock. “Call an ambulance… please…” Martha wrung her hands. “Ma’am, the General gave specific orders… we have to wait for him to return…” “Wait for him?” I clutched my clothes, my voice trembling. “If anything happens to me or this baby, Adrian McCloud will never forgive you! Go now!” My shout made her jump. She was about to turn when Adrian’s adjutant, Lynch, blocked her path at the door. “Mr. Lynch, she’s bleeding! We have to get her to a hospital!” Martha stammered. Lynch’s gaze swept over the spreading stain on the floor, then settled on my bloodless face. His voice was cold. “The General’s orders were clear. You are to wait here for his return.” “Ma’am is merely throwing a tantrum. You two,” he gestured to the maids, “help her back to her room to rest.” “If you delay any longer and someone dies, can you bear that responsibility?!” I pushed myself up, pointing a finger that was as cold as ice. Lynch offered a hollow smile, but his eyes were glacial. “The General is at the hospital with Ms. Elara, who is also in labor. He said for you to wait here.” “You know the General’s temperament. No one disobeys his orders.” “I can’t wait! The baby can’t wait!” As the words left my mouth, a violent contraction seized me, twisting my insides until I thought I would break. I curled into a ball, cold sweat soaking through my clothes. “What are you standing around for? Get her to bed,” Lynch commanded sharply. Two maids rushed forward and, ignoring my agony, hauled me up by my arms, dragging me toward the bedroom. A fresh wave of warm blood trickled down my legs, leaving a trail of dark red droplets on the floor. “Blood! I’m bleeding!” I grabbed one of the maid’s wrists, my grip desperate. “Take me to the hospital! I’m going to lose the baby!” “Ma’am, we can’t,” the maid said, prying my fingers off, her face a mask of panic and guilt. “Maybe… maybe we should call the family doctor to come have a look?” “No! I need the military hospital!” “Ma’am, please don’t get agitated! I’ll go beg Mr. Lynch!” The maid scurried out of the room. The pain was drilling into me. The plush carpet was soaked through with blood and water. Minutes ticked by. No one came. I dragged my body to the edge of the bed just as another maid, Grace, came in. I grabbed the hem of her uniform, tears and sweat mingling on my face. “Grace… please, I can’t hold on much longer…” Grace’s eyes were red. “Ma’am, just hold on. I’ll go right now.” But as she turned, Lynch blocked her path. He sauntered over to me, his gaze flickering with a brief moment of hesitation at the blood on the carpet before it was replaced by cold indifference. “Have the family doctor take a look first. No need to make a fuss.” Not long after, the doctor arrived, medical bag in hand, flanked by two other servants. Before I could speak, they lunged forward, pinning my struggling limbs with surprising strength. “Let go of me! I need to go to the hospital!” I thrashed, tears and sweat pouring down my face. “The baby can’t wait!” The doctor examined me with a blank expression, then produced a few small white pills and instructed Martha to give them to me. “What is that?” I shook my head violently. “I won’t take it! Are you trying to kill my child?” “It’s a tocolytic. It will slow down the labor. The pain will lessen.” “No! The baby will be deprived of oxygen!” The doctor remained silent. “Dr. Evans,” I pleaded, “I remember your wife is due soon. If it were her lying here today, could you be so cruel as to force this medicine on her? Aren’t you afraid of retribution?” I turned my desperate gaze to Lynch. “Lynch, if anything happens to me or this child, you’ll be an accessory. Adrian will never spare you!” The doctor and Lynch exchanged a look. The doctor had just started to relent, to say he would take me to the hospital, when Lynch’s phone rang. He stepped out to take the call. When he returned, the fleeting hesitation on his face was gone, replaced by a cold, steely resolve. “Ma’am, I am truly sorry.” Lynch’s voice was flat, but it held an unyielding authority. “The General insists that you wait. It’s not that I won’t help you, but I cannot defy a direct military order.” He nodded at Martha. Understanding dawned on her face. She stepped forward, clamping a hand over my jaw while the other two servants pinned my shoulders. They pried my mouth open and forced the pills down my throat. I gagged, trying to spit them out, but they slid down my throat. Silent tears streamed down my face. I stared at the chandelier on the ceiling and let out a wild, grief-stricken laugh, the tears flowing faster. “Fine! All of you, remember this day! If anything happens to my child, I will haunt you from my grave!” “Her emotions are too unstable. Give her a sedative so she doesn’t harm the baby. Martha, watch her.” Lynch frowned, gave his orders, and left. I stopped struggling, limp as the long needle slid into my arm. So, this was it. In Adrian’s heart, his old flame was worth more than his own flesh and blood. To ensure the safety of her child, he would let his own child dangle at the gates of hell. The depth of my despair was matched only by the depth of my regret for ever agreeing to this marriage. I thought if I was good enough, accommodating enough, one day he would see my worth. There were even times I thought he felt something for me. Now I knew. You can’t make someone love you. Not even by carrying their child. I felt a faint flutter in my belly. The sheets were soaked through with my blood. I closed my eyes, fresh tears wetting my cheeks. Adrian McCloud, if my child dies, I will never, ever forgive you. The drugs began to take effect, and the contractions eased. But I was still bleeding, lying helpless and weak. Through a hazy fog, I heard Martha say, “Mr. McCloud.” My heart leaped. A flicker of hope ignited within me. He was back? Had he finally relented? Was he here to take me to the hospital? Maybe he did care, about me, about this child. I summoned all my strength and screamed at the phone in Martha’s hand. “Adrian! Get me to a hospital! The baby is not going to make it!” Startled, Martha fumbled with the phone and accidentally hit the speaker button. But the voice that came through was not Adrian’s deep baritone. It was Elara’s—syrupy sweet, dripping with a triumph she couldn’t conceal. “Oh, Serena, you must hold on. Adrian is with me right now. He can’t get away.” She paused, then instructed, “Martha, you must take good care of my dear sister Serena. Make sure she does exactly as Adrian says.” “Elara, put Adrian on the phone…” I was shaking with rage, screaming into the phone. Before I could finish, a hand clamped over my mouth, muffling my cries. Martha’s voice was sickeningly obsequious. “Ms. Elara, don’t you worry. We’ve already given her the medicine to delay labor. We will follow the General’s orders to the letter.” “Good,” Elara said, her voice smug. “If she’s still in pain, I know a way to help her hold on until Adrian gets back.” “What is it? Please, Ms. Elara, tell me!” Martha asked eagerly. I held my breath, waiting to see what new torture she had devised. Elara’s voice turned sinister. “Hang her upside down. The fetus will retract within five minutes. Then tie a rope tightly below her abdomen. That will buy some time. If that doesn’t work, well…” She drew out the words. “…you could always, for example, sew her up. The point is, wait for Adrian at all costs.” I shook my head frantically, muffled whimpers my only protest. Martha stood frozen, her face ashen. It took a long moment for her to speak. “Ms. Elara, I don’t think… that’s not right… someone could die…” “Nonsense,” she scoffed. “Back home, we do it all the time to make sure a baby is born at an auspicious hour. Children are tougher than you think.” She paused for two seconds. “Adrian is right here with me. This is all his idea. He asked me to call and give you these instructions. He said Serena’s temper needs to be tamed, and that he wants to protect my baby at any cost. If you go soft on her and something happens to me, Adrian will not be merciful.” Ignoring the bleeding and the searing pain, I threw off the servants holding me down. “No! Adrian wouldn’t do this to me and our child! You’re lying! You venomous bitch! Martha, don’t listen to her!” The next second, the servants slammed me back onto the bed. Tears streamed down my face as I pleaded with Martha. “Martha, you’re a mother. How can you do this to my child?” She was trembling, sweat beading on her forehead, the phone shaking in her hand. Elara’s voice pressed on. “Adrian said he’s going to divorce her as soon as he gets back. You’d better think carefully about whose side you’re on.” Then, she hung up. The room was silent for a moment. Then Martha turned to the servants. “Let her go.” My heart soared. She couldn’t do it. I weakly held out a hand. “Martha, quickly, the hospital… before it’s too late.” But she turned her face away, refusing to meet my eyes. “Get some rope,” she ordered. “Martha! What are you doing? You can’t!” I stared at her in horror. She acted as if she couldn’t hear me. The two servants pinned me down again. The coarse rope bit into my wrists and ankles, instantly drawing blood. Every slight movement was agony. “Ma’am, this is for your own good. Just hold on a little longer,” Martha said, before calling out, “Bring the frame.” “For my good?” I stared at her, tears blurring my vision. “Then don’t believe Elara’s lies! Adrian would never be this cruel! He swore he would never hurt me!” No one listened. They brought in a metal frame, the kind used for medical restraints. They dragged me by my arms, forcing me onto it, leaving a long smear of blood on the floor. The baby, as if sensing the danger, began to kick and thrash wildly. The contractions returned with a vengeance, stealing my breath. And then, they hung me upside down. My head roared. The baby slammed against my insides. Black spots danced before my eyes. Tears ran up my forehead and into my hair. “Adrian, come back… are you really so heartless?” “Adrian, I can’t… the baby… he’s going to…” As my consciousness faded, I thought I saw him walking toward me, smiling. He leaned down and kissed my forehead, just like he used to, his voice as soft as water. “Serena, I’ll protect you and our child from now on. Don’t cry.” “Serena, I would give up anything for you. Even my life.” I reached out, but my hand closed on empty air. A sharp, searing pain from the rope around my abdomen jolted me back to reality. A moment later, they cut me down. I fell heavily onto the floor, the impact jarring my bones. The rope tied around my belly dug into my flesh, intensifying the contractions. The more I curled up, the tighter it became, threatening to crush my organs. Suddenly, a tearing, downward pressure. I trembling pointed at Martha. “Now… I’m really… having the baby…” A maid who had just entered screamed. “Martha! The baby… I can see the baby’s head! We have to get her to the hospital!” Martha’s face was white, but she just paced frantically. I stared at her, too weak to do anything but beg. “Please! The baby will die!” She suddenly raised her hand, her eyes turning to ice. “Get a needle and thread. We’re sewing her up.” “No!” Grace, a maid who had been with me for years, threw herself in front of me, arms outstretched. “You’ll kill them both! If you’re going to sew someone, sew me first!” “How dare you disobey?” Martha shrieked. “But there’s so much blood!” Grace sobbed. “Martha, how can you be so cruel?” “If we anger the General and Ms. Elara, none of us will have a job! Our families will suffer!” Martha screamed back. “Tie her up! Stop her from interfering!” Two servants grabbed Grace and dragged her toward the frame. They sealed her mouth with duct tape. Her eyes bulged as she struggled, knocking the heavy frame over. It crashed onto her back. She convulsed on the floor, then went still. I watched, my eyes burning with rage. “Let her go!” I shrieked. “You inhuman monsters! I’ll see you all in hell!” The next second, tape was slapped over my mouth. Martha approached with a needle and thread. She ripped my dress open. The long needle plunged into the flesh between my legs. White-hot pain exploded through my body, as if I were being carved apart. I shook my head, tears and sweat pouring down my face as the servants held me immobile. “It’s catgut suture, ma’am. It dissolves, it won’t leave a scar,” Martha said, her face expressionless, as she continued to stitch. “No anesthetic is for your own good. Childbirth is more painful than this. Just endure it. When the General returns, we’ll take you to the hospital.” I looked at these cold, merciless faces, and I closed my eyes. I gave up. Just then, the door was thrown open with a deafening crash. “What in God’s name are you doing? Stop it, right now!”

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After I rejected Milo’s divorce proposal for the third time, I did something stupid. I compiled everything—the chat logs with his assistant, the hotel receipts—into a damning slideshow and blasted it all over the internet. I poured out five years of marital grievances, a testament of my pain written in blood and tears. Just when I thought I’d finally feel the sweet satisfaction of revenge, the police showed up at my door. That’s when I learned Milo had reported me for invasion of privacy. For that, I was about to face the five darkest days of my life in a holding cell. But on the third day, he came to see me. He brought our son’s latest award-winning essay for me to read. The title was: My Mom is a Psycho. In that instant, the bedrock of my convictions crumbled into dust. Seeing the contempt in his eyes, I finally broke. The fight went out of me. “Milo,” I said, my voice a raw whisper, “I’ll sign the papers.” — 1 “Kelly, you can ask for anything you want, except custody of our son.” Now that he had what he wanted, Milo’s aggressive posture softened. For the first time in months, he looked at me with something other than hostility. All the fight had drained out of me, too. There were no more hysterical arguments left in my soul. I stated my terms calmly. “I want one million dollars.” His face flickered with surprise. He had clearly expected another war, another dragged-out battle for our son. He had probably come prepared, armed with a strategy to dismantle my every claim to motherhood. But my request threw him completely off balance. “Just a million?” he asked, his voice laced with disbelief. “You take this money, and Leo will have nothing to do with you from this day forward. You understand that?” I met his probing gaze and gave a slow, deliberate nod. Milo opened his mouth as if to say more, then thought better of it. “Fine,” he clipped out. “The moment you’re released, we’ll file the papers. Don’t you dare play games with me, Kelly.” He left me with that final warning, turning his back and walking away. But just after he was gone, another visitor arrived. It was my mother, who I hadn’t seen in the five years since she moved to Paris. She had a lawyer with her. Before I knew it, she had posted my bail with an air of casual efficiency. Walking out of the police station, she fished a slim cigarette from her purse and flicked a lighter open with practiced ease. She exhaled a slow, thoughtful plume of smoke before turning her gaze on me, taking in my exhausted, disheveled state. “Ready to come with me now?” I’m twenty-seven years old. That was the second time she’d asked me that question. The first was when she divorced my cheating father. She walked away with nothing, wanting only to take me with her. But everyone around me, all the well-meaning relatives, whispered in my ear. A six-year-old would be a burden. A penniless woman couldn’t raise a child. So I ignored the cry of my own heart and chose to stay with my father. She accepted my decision without a fight and left without a backward glance. For years, a small, bitter part of me resented her for it. Resented her for abandoning me, for shattering our family. So when she flew in for my wedding to Milo, and she told me, “Kelly, learn to love yourself before you love anyone else. Don’t pour your entire being into another person. Be good to yourself,” I bristled. Back then, I was so naive. Ten years of history with Milo felt like an unbreakable bond. I believed he would love me as he loved himself, forever and always. I’d shot back at her with all the arrogance of a girl in love. “Do you think everyone is as selfish as you are? Always demanding love but never trying to be worthy of it.” She didn’t get angry. She just looked at me with a sad, knowing smile. Only now, sitting here, did I finally understand. I truly was a naive little fool. My throat felt like it was lined with shattered glass. Each word was a fresh cut. “As soon as the divorce is final,” I rasped, “I’ll go with you.” 2 I spent the night at my mother’s hotel. The next morning, dressed in the new clothes she’d bought for me, I went back to the house I had called home for six years. Our son, Leo, was in the living room playing with his toys. When he saw me, his eyes flashed with surprise, quickly followed by a wave of annoyance. He muttered under his breath, “Weren’t you supposed to be in there for five days? Why are you back in three?” Just then, Milo came down the stairs. He, too, looked startled to see me, as if he hadn’t expected me to be out so soon. He quickly schooled his features into a neutral mask. “You’re back,” he stated calmly. “Go wash up and get some rest. Don’t cause any more trouble.” I shook my head. “No need. Let’s go to the courthouse now and file for divorce.” At the word “divorce,” Leo’s face contorted. He scrambled behind Milo’s legs, shouting at me, “If you’re leaving, you’re not taking me with you! I’m not going anywhere with you!” The raw rejection on his furious little face was a familiar sting. I could only manage a hollow twitch of my lips. Milo had left Leo’s essay with me yesterday. I’d read it over and over, the words burned into my memory. “My mom is like a psycho,” he had written. “My dad works so hard, but she’s always fighting with him. She smashes things around the house like a crazy person and hits my dad. If I could, I wish this psycho woman wasn’t my mom.” The first time Milo asked for a divorce was right after I found out he was cheating. I had calmly taken pictures of the chat logs and hotel receipts on his phone. When he got home, I laid the evidence out before him, one photo at a time. My fists were clenched so tight my nails dug into my palms, but I held my rage in check. I was waiting for his confession, for him to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness. I’d imagined a hundred different ways he would break down and apologize. But he didn’t. He just looked at me, his eyes devoid of guilt. Instead, there was a chilling arrogance, the brazen confidence of a man who’d been caught and simply didn’t care. “Kelly,” he said, “either you delete those photos and continue playing the quiet Mrs. Shen, or we get a divorce.” Until that moment, I’d foolishly thought that if he just said he was sorry, I could try to forgive him. For Leo. I didn’t want our family to break apart, didn’t want my son to relive my own childhood trauma of being forced to choose between his parents. But there was no apology. His shameless audacity ignited the fury I’d been suppressing. I grabbed the nearest object and hurled it at him, then another, and another. A storm of grief and betrayal broke loose. But then I heard the nanny’s voice from the hallway, talking to Leo. I froze, desperately trying to rein in my breakdown. I didn’t want my son to see this ugly, broken side of us. But it was too late. Leo saw me, a wild woman hurling things at his father. What he didn’t hear were the words Milo had said just moments before. Now, looking at this child who regarded me as if I were poison, I accepted the piercing pain of this wound, inflicted by the one person I brought into this world. “Don’t worry,” I said, my voice flat. “I don’t want you. I’ll be gone after the divorce.” Leo’s expression was a mixture of suspicion and hope. He looked up at Milo for confirmation. Milo met his gaze. “In that case,” he said coolly, “we’ll file the papers tomorrow. I’ll have my lawyer draft a parental rights termination agreement. Once you sign it, Leo will be able to relax.” At his father’s words, Leo’s eyes lit up, shining with pure, unadulterated anticipation. I swallowed hard. “Fine,” I agreed. 3 Milo’s lawyer was efficient. Within two hours, the agreement was in my hands. A document relinquishing all my parental rights. I signed my name without a moment’s hesitation. The second the pen left the paper, I heard a small, happy sigh from beside me. Leo snatched the document from the table. “I finally don’t have a psycho mom anymore!” he cheered. “No one at school can make fun of me now.” He caught me staring, and Milo’s gaze met mine, his eyes glinting with a faint mockery. “Someone took a picture when the police escorted you out of the house. It went viral online,” he explained, his tone thick with blame. “Because of you, Leo’s been getting a hard time at school.” He forgot, of course, that he was the one who started it all. I didn’t bother to argue. I let him heap all the blame onto my shoulders, just as he wanted. But the disdain in his eyes reminded me of the second time he’d asked for a divorce. That time, I had refused to accept it. Consumed by a desperate, maddening grief, I stormed into his office. In front of all his employees, I screamed my accusations, laying bare the affair between him and his assistant, Lana. He stood in the middle of the crowd, completely unmoved, watching my public breakdown as if I were a clown in a circus. I had forgotten. He signed their paychecks. They weren’t about to judge their boss’s private life or risk their jobs for a stranger. They all just stared, their eyes filled with a mixture of pity and amusement. Their gazes were like spotlights, leaving me nowhere to hide. I wanted to run, to disappear. Then I heard the whispers from the crowd. “She’s pretty, I guess, but she’s got nothing on Lana. If I were the boss, I’d make the same choice.” “Right? So many guys cheat, especially the rich ones. Why is she being so dramatic? Can’t she just learn to turn a blind eye?” “If I were her, I wouldn’t make a scene. Just take the money and live the good life. Making a fool of herself like this is just pathetic.” I stood there, paralyzed, as their words washed over me. A memory surfaced. The year Milo started his business. I’d helped him land a crucial contract by drinking round after round with a client, a night that ended with me in the hospital with a bleeding ulcer. Milo sat by my bedside, clutching my hand, his voice thick with tears. “Kelly,” he’d choked out, “I swear, I will never let you down. I’ll give you a home, I’ll make you the most envied wife in the world.” I opened my mouth to shout back at them, to tell them that he was the one who made those promises, that he was the one who swore we’d grow old together. But before I could speak, Lana came running over, her face streaked with tears. She dropped to her knees in front of me with a dramatic thud. “Mrs. Shen, please!” she sobbed, bowing her head. “I never meant to come between you and Mr. Shen. If you don’t want me here, I’ll resign immediately. I’ll never see him again. But I’m begging you, please don’t do this here! How can he face his employees after a scene like this?” She cast herself as the noble woman protecting her boss, and me as the unhinged wife. Milo looked at her, crumpled on the floor in a puddle of tears, and his heart clearly went out to her. He rushed over and helped her to her feet. Then he turned on me, his voice booming with fury. “That’s enough! Kelly, we’re getting a divorce! I can’t live like this for another day! I am sick of this suffocating life!” That day was also documented in Leo’s essay. I only learned then that he had skipped his after-school class that day to go to the office and play with Lana. And in his essay, he wrote: “My mom isn’t just a psycho, she’s so embarrassing. I don’t understand why I have a mom like her. I wish Lana was my mom instead.” 4 I agreed to the divorce. I signed away my rights as a mother. For Milo and Leo, it was a day of celebration. They took the agreement and went out, eager to commemorate their victory. As I started packing my bags, a new post popped up on Milo’s social media feed. It was a photo of him, Leo, and Lana, all wearing matching family outfits. Milo, who rarely ever smiled, was beaming. The brilliant, joyful smile on Leo’s face was just as piercing. Lana stood between them, the very picture of a gentle, loving mother. I glanced at it for only a second before a message from my mom lit up my screen. “I have your new passport ready. As soon as you file the papers tomorrow, come with me. We can come back just to pick up the final decree when it’s time.” “Okay,” I typed back, without hesitation. I used to tell myself I had to be a good mother, a mother who always put her child first. I wanted him to grow up happy, to know he was loved. So I never told him about the C-section. How the pain was so blinding I almost passed out several times. Milo wasn’t there. I had to stay conscious. I’d heard horror stories about babies being switched or stolen when no one was watching. So I bit down hard, enduring wave after wave of agony. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore and called Milo, sobbing. He didn’t answer. I assumed he was busy with work and forced myself to swallow my pain. It was only after his affair came to light, after all the ugly truths were spilled, that I found out where he was. While I was in a hospital bed, crying in agony after being cut open for our child, he was in someone else’s bed, enjoying a much softer embrace. The night Leo had a raging fever and I was simultaneously struck down with appendicitis, frantic and in excruciating pain, Milo was on another one of his “business trips”—in that same woman’s bed. He was blind to my suffering. On the rare occasions he felt a pang of guilt, he would shower me with expensive gifts. And when he saw the genuine joy on my face, a dark, ugly thought would cross his mind: Kelly is so easy to please. He told me this himself. He recounted my moments of gratitude as if they were a joke, completely forgetting the years when we had nothing. Back when we lived in a cramped, dark basement apartment, he would see other men’s girlfriends, so polished and beautiful, and then look at me, worn down by work and worry, and his eyes would fill with tears. “Kelly,” he would whisper, his voice thick with emotion, “I’m the luckiest man in the world to have met you. How could I ever live without you?” He swore he would give me the best of everything. Whenever he got paid, he’d spend half his meager salary on a pretty dress or a piece of jewelry for me. “You deserve so much better, Kelly,” he’d say. “Just wait a little longer. Everything they have, I’ll give it all to you, and more.” I waited. And I hoped. Day after day, I dreamed of the beautiful future we would build for our little family. But reality was a relentless blade, stabbing at a heart already riddled with scars. I finished packing. I went through the house and tore up every photograph of myself, then hired a cleaning service to scrub away every last trace of my existence. Tomorrow, after filing the papers, I would leave. Milo and Leo didn’t come home that night. I didn’t call to check on them. The next morning, I was at the courthouse as we’d agreed. Milo arrived half an hour late. As he got out of his car, he saw me. I was wearing a vibrant red dress. A flicker of something—surprise, admiration—crossed his face before he quickly masked it with a smirk. “Why are you wearing the dress from our wedding day?” he drawled. “Having second thoughts?” I looked at him and shook my head. “Red is for celebration,” I said. “And today is a day worth celebrating.” The smirk vanished from his face. He looked into my eyes, as calm and still as a deep lake, and a flicker of unease crossed his features. “Are you sure about this? No regrets?” he pressed. “You know me, Kelly. I don’t look back. Once we sign these papers, we’re strangers.” I pulled out my phone. Right there, in front of him, I deleted his number, his messages, every digital trace of him from my life. Then I turned and walked toward the courthouse entrance. “Let’s go,” I said. “It’s our turn.” After it was done, we walked out into the sunlight. Without a single backward glance, I walked toward my mother’s car parked by the curb. Milo watched my resolute figure walk away, and an inexplicable hollowness bloomed in his chest. He reached out, his hand grasping for something to hold on to. But all he caught was empty air.

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The day my med school application madness hit its peak, my wealthy biological parents showed up. Turns out, I was the real heiress, switched at birth. The moment I stepped into their mansion, the fake heiress, Isabelle, started sobbing about how the shock of not being their real daughter was making it hard for her to breathe. My eyes lit up. “Hold still. I’ve dissected a frog. Let me have a look.” My new father frowned, warning me in a stern voice not to bully her. I ignored him, spun around, and slid to my knees in front of my new brother, grabbing his hand with feverish excitement. “Bro, you have to have a rich pre-med friend, right? Oh my god, please, I will literally worship the ground he walks on!” 1 Isabelle stood there, clutching the handle of her suitcase, her shoulders shaking with sobs. “Mom and Dad said what happened in the past has nothing to do with me, but I’m so scared my sister won’t forgive me! I should just go!” She said she was leaving, but her feet were glued to the marble floor. My mother wrapped a comforting arm around her, stroking her silky hair. “Isabelle, what are you talking about? You’ve lived in this house your whole life. You’re our precious daughter! No one is kicking you out.” My father’s expression darkened as he turned his intimidating gaze on me. “That small town you came from is a complete backwater. Isabelle couldn’t possibly live like that. Just think of her as your new little sister and try to be more accommodating.” I bit my tongue so hard I tasted blood, but I couldn’t stop myself. “Wow, a classist and a bigot. Is there a tumor pressing on your frontal lobe? You should really get that checked out.” My father, realizing his gaffe, froze. His face went rigid, and he didn’t say another word. Just then, I spotted a young man in a sharp suit walking in from the entryway. He had the same eyes as me. My focus shifted instantly. I scrambled over, a huge grin plastered on my face, and grabbed his hand. “Hi! You must be my brother, Liam, right?” Liam’s face soured, and he tried to yank his hand away. But I clung to it like a lifeline, letting him pull me into his chest rather than let go. His expression grew even darker. “Yes,” he bit out through clenched teeth. My smile only widened. “Bro, you have to have a rich pre-med friend from an Ivy League school, right?” To get into a top medical program, I would do anything. I didn’t care if my brother was biased. I needed to get in. The entire hall fell silent. Liam’s face was a thundercloud. He squeezed my hand hard, pushed me to the ground, and loomed over me. “You just got here and you’re already causing trouble. I’m warning you, drop the sleazy social climbing act.” Isabelle quickly suppressed a smirk, tapping her designer leather shoes anxiously. “Liam, how could you push her? It’s all my fault. Seeing me obviously makes her uncomfortable. Blame me, don’t be angry with her!” I blew on my scraped palm, flicking away a small piece of gravel embedded in the skin, and looked up at him. “You know, after that little push, I could say I’m dizzy, nauseous, and my limbs feel weak. Then I could stand up, spin around a few times, and collapse. I could probably sue you for a condo, you know that?” My mother rushed over to help me up, but her eyes were fixed on Isabelle. “Isabelle, honey, don’t overthink it. It has nothing to do with you. You’re Mommy’s good girl. If anyone says otherwise, I’ll rip their tongue out!” Then she shot a glare at Liam. “Why would you push your sister? Honestly, you’re all brawn and no brain! Go to the backyard and pull weeds. No dinner until you’re finished!” Liam’s eyes flickered with a hint of regret as he saw the blood beading on my hand. But at the mention of weeding, his face hardened, a vein throbbing in his forehead. “What? I barely touched her! Who knows if she’s…” Isabelle immediately stepped in front of him and took my hand in a gesture of faux intimacy. “Sister, it’s okay, Liam didn’t mean it. Let me blow on it, it’ll feel better…” I calmly pulled my hand away. “No thanks. Your spit would be more effective. At least saliva has some antibacterial properties. Your breath isn’t exactly magical, and frankly, I find it a little gross.” As a med student, my precision was impeccable. I mentally gave myself an A+. The concern on Isabelle’s face froze, and she was left speechless. Then, a thought struck me. I frowned at her. “By the way, you don’t have tuberculosis, do you? Mycobacterium tuberculosis can be transmitted through respiratory droplets.” I took a deep breath and forced a warm, sunny smile at Liam. “But hey, we’re family, right? Of course I don’t blame you… bro.” The last word hit him like a physical blow. His face flushed a deep red. He let out a sharp scoff, turned on his heel, and stalked off toward the backyard. 2 The dinner spread was magnificent. But I was so hungry I was seeing stars, and I still hadn’t had a single bite. “Isabelle is so sweet. She won’t eat because she’s worried about her brother still weeding the garden,” my mother cooed. “Honey, just start without him,” my father added. “We can’t have our baby girl starving! That brother of yours made a mistake, he deserves to be punished.” Isabelle smiled shyly, her cheeks blushing. “It’s okay, Mom and Dad, I can wait. Let’s all eat together when Liam gets back. He’d be so sad if he came back to a table of leftovers.” She shot me a triumphant glance, then leaned in conspiratorially, her voice dripping with pity. “Sister, what happened this afternoon was Liam’s fault. I apologize on his behalf. Can you please forgive him and let him come eat?” My blood sugar was already dangerously low. It had started with tingling in my hands and feet, then blurry vision, and now a ringing in my ears. I was so deep in my own world I couldn’t process any external information. My breathing grew shallow. I started talking to myself. “The body burns carbohydrates first for energy, then fat, then protein. I think I’m about to hit stage two.” My mother, who was also worried about her son but too proud to admit it, seized the opportunity to lecture me. “Ava, I know your brother was also in the wrong this afternoon, but you’re siblings. You can’t be so petty. Look at your sister, she’s so much more mature. I know you’ve had a hard life, and I understand, but that’s not Isabelle’s fault…” Finally, my brain performed a forced shutdown. A wave of dizziness washed over me, and I slumped sideways. As I fell, my hand conveniently knocked a bowl of lukewarm curry soup all over Isabelle. The unappetizing yellow liquid stained her limited-edition dress in ugly blotches. Her face turned green. “My new dress!” she shrieked. Liam had just walked in the door and saw me slide off the chair like a limp noodle. He sprinted over and caught me just before I hit the floor. He heard the shriek and instinctively looked up, only to see Isabelle recoiling from me in disgust, her brow furrowed as she stared down at her ruined dress. Sensing Liam’s gaze, she belatedly snapped back to reality, her face paling. “Liam… is Ava okay? The soup just burned me a little, but I’m fine, she’s more important!” Ignoring the mess on her clothes, she rushed over as if to help me. Liam’s flicker of suspicion vanished. He gave a distracted nod and lifted me into his arms, carrying me to my bedroom. My parents, startled by the sudden turn of events, followed anxiously upstairs. The dining room fell silent, leaving Isabelle alone, her fists clenched in rage, her beautiful, pitiful face twisted with resentment. When I woke up, I wasn’t staring at the moldy ceiling of the orphanage or the cramped walls of my dorm room. I was in a princess-style bedroom with a sparkling crystal chandelier. A teasing voice sounded from my side. “You’re awake?” “So, I hear you were asking for me.” 3 I turned my head. A man about my brother’s age was standing there, wearing a white lab coat. A jolt went through me. I shot up in bed. “Whoa, easy there! Don’t get too excited. I know I’m devastatingly handsome, but please, try to contain yourself.” “Did you graduate from King’s College of Medicine?” I asked, kneeling on the edge of the bed and staring at him with manic intensity. Miles Kent was silent for a moment, then looked up at the ceiling as if asking for divine intervention. “Can you please not call it that? It’s one of the top medical schools in the country.” The confirmation sent another jolt of excitement through me. “So, about my application…” Before I could finish, the door burst open. It was Isabelle, her voice edged with urgency. “Miles, you’re here!” She turned to me. “Ava, come down for dinner. Mom and Dad had the cook make a whole new meal. I wasn’t trying to be difficult earlier, I just wanted to wait for Liam…” Her eyes reddened as if she’d been deeply wronged. I tasted something sweet in my mouth—the glucose Miles must have given me—and gave a distracted nod. At the dinner table, a medium-rare steak was placed before each of us, flanked by a neat arrangement of knives and forks. Isabelle was exceptionally attentive, constantly refilling our parents’ glasses, earning their praise for being so filial. After sitting down, she gave a subtle smirk and looked at me with feigned concern. “Sister, why aren’t you eating? I had the chef make this steak especially for you. It’s perfect!” She gracefully cut a small piece with her knife and fork, but didn’t eat it. “Oh, sister, I’m so sorry. You probably don’t know how to use a knife and fork, do you? I can help you.” At her words, all eyes turned to me. One of the maids let out a small, derisive snort. My father’s face was stone, his eyes filled with disgust. I calmly pressed her hand down. “No need.” Was she kidding me? I aced my anatomy practical. I could isolate any nerve in the musculature of a cadaver on command. This little piece of beef was nothing. In seconds, it was cut into perfectly uniform cubes, neatly arranged on my plate. Isabelle’s nails dug into her palms, her smile strained. The rest of the meal was tasteless. My parents and Miles chatted amiably. I leaned closer to Isabelle. “Do you know what part of the cow this tenderloin comes from?” I whispered. “My guess is it’s equivalent to the psoas major in a human. Originating from the transverse processes and lateral aspects of the vertebral bodies from T12 to L5, extending down through the pelvis to insert on the lesser trochanter of the femur.” I continued, lightly tracing a line along her slender waist. “What do you think would happen if someone were to, say, stick a knife in right here?” Isabelle’s entire body went rigid. She started to tremble. When she didn’t respond, I kept going. “The books say this is a deep muscle group. If the person holding the knife had an unsteady hand, which nerve would they likely damage? Oh, right. The lumbar plexus.” The color drained from Isabelle’s face. She shot to her feet. Realizing her overreaction, she forced a stiff smile. “I’m… I’m full. I’m going to head up.” Everyone at the table stared. I spoke up, my voice light. “Where is she going? The guest hasn’t even finished eating. Don’t you think you spoil her a little too much, Mom and Dad?” My mother gave an awkward laugh, at a loss for words. My brother just kept his head down, lost in thought. After dinner, I went straight to my room. I’d heard the application review didn’t have a written test, but the professors would ask questions on the spot. I needed to review all the key concepts in internal medicine and surgery before the interview. 4 After my little scare tactic, I thought Isabelle might back off for a few days. I had no idea she was about to go completely off the rails. I was oblivious to her careful plotting. The application system allowed for three choices. I only submitted one: King’s College. All or nothing. This was it. “Hi, Miles. It’s Ava. So, I’ve been having some recurrent tonsillitis. On examination: T 36.2, P 78, R 16… apical impulse is located in the fifth left intercostal space at the midclavicular line…” Miles sounded annoyed. “Just send me a picture of the case study.” “Okay, Miles!” My relentless academic questioning finally wore him down. He offered to take me out to dinner. As I was leaving, I ran into Isabelle. She was dressed to the nines, looking stunning, clearly on her way to meet someone. “Oh, are you going out too, sister? Be careful on the road. It would be a shame if something happened to you. Mom and Dad would be so sad, I think.” Her words struck me as odd. My gaze fell to her exposed back. “You know, you have an issue with your back.” “Your scapulae are protruding. The medical term is winged scapula.” Isabelle, furious, slammed her purse against her leg and stormed out to her car, her usually sweet voice stiff with anger. “Sorry, sister, I’m in a hurry. You’ll just have to let me go first. Didn’t Mom and Dad tell you to take care of me?” I rolled my eyes and headed for the subway station. As I passed through a narrow alley, a sudden sense of unease washed over me. Suddenly, a sharp blow struck the back of my neck. He missed his mark. But I didn’t want a second hit, so I let my eyes roll back and went limp, collapsing to the ground. Several pairs of hands stuffed me into a burlap sack and threw me into the trunk of a car. I opened my eyes, turned on my phone’s video recorder from inside the sack, and sent a quick text to Miles. “I’ve been kidnapped. You’ll have to eat dinner alone.” Miles: ? “The assailant was an amateur,” I typed. “He was probably aiming for my carotid sinus to induce syncope, but he hit my cervical spine instead. The carotid sinus, as you know, is located on both sides of the neck and contains a high concentration of baroreceptors. Impressive, right? Even under duress, my foundational knowledge is solid.” I heard the trunk open and quickly put my phone away. They pulled me out of the sack and threw me on the ground. A cloyingly sweet perfume filled the air. It was familiar. It was Isabelle’s. “Okay, untie her, then tie me up. And then you need to cut me,” Isabelle’s delicate voice instructed from above. As soon as the ropes were off, I discreetly angled my phone’s camera towards her. She was just as ruthless as her mother, the nanny who had switched us at birth. The bodyguard hesitated, unwilling to cut the now-bound Isabelle. “Useless!” she hissed. “If you don’t cut me, how am I supposed to frame that bitch Ava? The more pathetic I look, the more Mom, Dad, and Liam will pity me, and the more they’ll hate her!” When the bodyguard still didn’t move, she got up and stumbled into the knife herself. “…Ouch. Okay, Mom and Dad should be here soon. You can go now. I’ll wire you the money, every last cent.” Not long after the bodyguards left, my parents and Liam rushed in. “Isabelle! Oh, Isabelle, please be okay! If anything happens to you, what will I do?” my mother wailed. “Don’t be afraid, sweetie, Dad’s here to save you! Ava! Get out here!” I chose that moment to let out a faint groan, giving them a clue to my location. Isabelle was trembling, tied up, tears streaming down her face like a tragic heroine. “No… sister, please let me go. I’ll never try to compete with you for Mom and Dad’s love again. I’ll leave the family right now, I’ll get out of your sight, just please don’t kill me…” My mother saw her pitiful state and the blood, and all the color drained from her face. She lunged forward. “Isabelle! Mommy’s here! Are you okay? Oh my god, the blood…” My father aimed a kick at me. I dodged to the side. Missing me only made him angrier. “You monster! You psycho! How could you do this to your own sister? I should never have brought a venomous snake like you into this house!” I pulled out my phone, opened the video, and held it out for them to see. “Watch for yourselves. It’s not like you’d believe anything I say anyway.”

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At my mother’s funeral, my ex-husband’s girlfriend stormed in with a team of bodyguards and started wrecking the place. She thought I was his mistress. Priceless heirlooms and artworks, meant to honor my mother, were ripped to shreds and scattered across the floor. When I rushed forward to explain, she grabbed a fistful of my hair. “A homewrecker has a mother? Aren’t you all just things born but never raised right?” she shrieked. “For all I know, that’s just a jar of flour you’re using to scam my fiancé out of his money!” “Today, I’m going to expose you for the gold-digging parasite you are and ruin you completely!” A cold smile touched my lips. A homewrecker? It seemed she had no idea who the real other woman was. 1 After hours of managing the funeral, I finally found a moment to rest and check my phone. A “people you may know” notification popped up. I clicked on it. The woman was live-streaming, and she looked vaguely familiar. She was weeping about being tormented by her partner’s mistress, rallying a whole army of online supporters. The comments were a torrent of fury. It took me a moment to place her. Wasn’t that my ex-husband’s mistress, Amber? No wonder he didn’t have time to play the part of a supportive friend at my mother’s funeral. He was too busy putting out fires in his own backyard. Amber’s voice was thick with tears. “Everyone, that viper has sucked my fiancé dry of over a million dollars in just one month! We had to postpone our wedding because of her!” “And she had the nerve to send me the bills to flaunt it! I hired a private investigator to find her, and if I don’t teach her a lesson today, I’ll have lived for nothing!” “A homewrecker with a dead mother? And she has the gall to hold a funeral now? Her mom’s been dead for years, and she’s just now using it as an excuse to grift for cash? I’ve never seen a woman so shameless!” A million dollars in a month? I had to hand it to him. A leopard can’t change its spots. The man Amber had stolen was now being stolen from her in the exact same way. I clicked out of her live stream and scrolled through her old videos. They were a curated fantasy of high-end restaurants and luxury gifts. My ex had certainly spared no expense on her. She may have been cheated on now, but she’d profited handsomely before. Too bad a man’s affection is always in flux. Now, she was just like I had been when I first discovered Neil’s infidelity—desperate and broken. I glanced at the time. The interment was about to begin. I put my phone away and went back to the guests. I had just finished my words of thanks when a commotion erupted outside. Before I could even ask what was happening, a powerful force shoved me to the ground. A phone on a tripod was thrust in my face before I could get up. Amber’s voice was shrill. “Here she is, everyone! The homewrecker who’s been clinging to my fiancé! A vile creature, born but never raised right. Look at this washed-up hag, still trying to seduce men!” “Homewreckers deserve to die! If you’re going to destroy someone else’s relationship, you’d better be prepared for the consequences!” I pushed myself up on one hand, my brow furrowed. “You’ve made a mistake. I’m divorced. You have the wrong person. This isn’t the place for this. If you leave now, I can pretend this never happened.” She let out a wild laugh. “Did you hear that, everyone? Not only is she a hag, she’s divorced second-hand goods! All talk and no shame!” She swung the camera around the room. “This is the fake funeral she’s using to scam us out of our wedding money! Over a million dollars! What, is her mother’s urn made of solid gold?” I struggled to my feet as the guests stared, their faces a mixture of shock and morbid curiosity. For the sake of the funeral, I lowered my voice, trying to de-escalate. “This is my mother’s funeral, and I am not your fiancé’s mistress. I’m warning you to leave now, and I will forget this ever happened.” Amber sneered and pulled out another phone, tapping open her photo gallery. She shoved the screen in my face. “Look closely. These are the transfer receipts from my fiancé to you! Over a million dollars! What do you have to say for yourself now?” “And this is the chat log where he told me your mother died a long time ago! How are you going to lie your way out of this one?” “He might be soft-hearted enough to fall for your act, but I’m not! Today, I’m going to teach you the lesson your long-dead mother never could!” I stared at the screenshots, my frown deepening. I couldn’t believe it. Neil’s affair had literally shocked my mother to death, and now he was turning his mistress on me to slander my name. So that’s why he’d refused to come today. Too busy at work. An important project came up. All lies. He was waiting for his mistress to show up and reclaim the money for him, keeping his own hands clean. He got to play the good guy while I took all the blame. He hadn’t even told her he’d been married. When we divorced, I was so hurt by his betrayal that I didn’t ask for a single cent in compensation out of respect for the years we’d shared. And now, he was trying to claw back the money that was rightfully mine. It wasn’t about the money. It was my reputation they were destroying. Seeing my stunned silence, Amber gloated. “What, nothing to say? We were supposed to get married next month, and you ruined everything! You’re not leaving here today until you give back the money!” She held the phone up to her live stream, showing off the screenshots. “See, everyone? Am I lying? Count the zeroes! And look at the date he said her mother died! Her ashes are probably moldy by now, and she’s holding a funeral to scam my fiancé!” Her voice grew more shrill with every word. My face hardened. I couldn’t let her continue this circus. But before I could speak, she lunged forward and slapped me hard across the face. “Give back the money, now! Or I’ll tear that seductive old face of yours to shreds!” 2 This was the city’s most prestigious hotel, and a crowd of onlookers had gathered, drawn by the commotion. Fed only Amber’s side of the story, they started pointing and shouting. “So that’s why the hotel couldn’t be booked out today! There’s a whole drama unfolding!” “You can hold a funeral retroactively? First I’ve heard of it. These homewreckers have no shame when it comes to money!” “She’s so young, couldn’t she find an honest job? If her mother knew she was destroying families, she’d roll over in her grave!” Amber lifted her chin, her face smug. She walked over to a table, picked up a glass of wine, and downed it in one gulp. The guests at that table immediately scrambled away. The whispers turned to malicious speculation, assuming I was a mistress caught by my husband, that I deserved everything I was getting. My voice was ice. “I suggest you stop before you go too far. If you want to know who the real mistress is, why don’t you just call Neil and ask?” At his name, a flash of fury lit her eyes. She grabbed another glass and hurled it at me. The wine soaked my custom-made dress, worth thousands. If I hadn’t dodged, the glass would have shattered against my head. I took a deep breath, fighting for control. She turned back to her livestream. “See, everyone? The nerve on these homewreckers is something else! The evidence is right in front of her, and she still won’t admit it! What do you expect from a divorced old hag? She’s got the constitution of a cockroach!” She spun back to me. “I’m calling hotel management! I want a refund! Give me back my fiancé’s money, or you’ll be paying it back from a prison cell!” “He felt sorry for you because your mother died young, and you used that to manipulate him, didn’t you? Well, I’m not falling for your sob story!” My face was flushed with rage. “A refund? You have no right to say anything about my mother’s funeral! Get out, now, or I’m calling the police!” If it wasn’t for his affair, my mother would still be alive! Paying for a dignified funeral was the very least he owed me. Amber’s eyes widened theatrically for her audience. “Did you hear that? The mistress is going to call the cops! Oh, I’m so scared! Let’s see who gets taken away when they find out this whole funeral is a sham!” She shot a look at the bodyguards behind her. “So, you’re not giving back the money? Fine. Then everything my fiancé paid for, I’m taking back. Smash it all!” In an instant, a dozen burly men tore through the hall. The guests screamed and scattered. I could only watch in horror as they overturned table after table, my heart splintering with each crash. Amber filmed my breakdown, her laughter growing more manic. My mother’s portrait was displayed at the front of the room. As a few of the men got close, I cried out, “Stop! That’s enough! You want money? I’ll give it to you! I’ll give you the million! Consider it a donation to a pack of rabid dogs!” The men ignored me. The scene was chaos. Two hotel employees rushed to protect the portrait and the urn, clutching them tight, their faces pale with terror. Amber just laughed. “Oh, you’re ready to admit you’re wrong now? Didn’t think about the consequences when you were sleeping with my man, did you? And you’ll give me the money? It’s his money to begin with! You have no shame!” “It’s too late for apologies! Smash everything! Don’t leave a single chopstick!” My vision turned red. I lunged for her, for the phone, but a bodyguard intercepted me, pinning my arms and lifting me off the ground. She covered her mouth, feigning shock for the camera. “Everyone, did you see that? The homewrecker tried to attack me! Is there no justice in this world?” “What should I do? She won’t return the money, and now she’s trying to assault me! I’m so scared!” She said she was scared, but she walked right up to me. She bent down, picked up an intact plate from the floor, and swung it at my face with all her might. The porcelain shattered on impact, slicing my cheek open. Blood began to well up. 3 She aimed the camera back at my face. “How’s that? Satisfying enough? This is what homewreckers deserve!” “Everyone, hit that like button, share this stream! Let every immoral woman out there see this! You destroy someone’s relationship, you end up destroyed!” The hall was a wasteland. Every emergency exit was crammed with terrified guests. The two employees clutching my mother’s urn and portrait stood frozen in the middle of the devastation. Amber spotted them. “Get the stuff they’re holding, too! It’s all fake anyway, what’s the point?” A raw, primal scream tore from my throat. “NO! Don’t you dare! Don’t touch that!” I threw all my strength into breaking free from the bodyguard’s hold and sprinted across the room. I swear I had never run so fast in my life. But it wasn’t fast enough. The bodyguards tackled the employees, who dropped to the ground, covering their heads. The urn and the portrait tumbled from their arms. In the face of violence, they chose their own safety. My mother had died from the shock of Neil’s affair, and now his mistress was here to desecrate her memory. Just as a bodyguard’s foot came down on the urn, I dove, shielding it with my own body. A split second later, a heavy boot slammed into my back. A wave of agony washed over me, so intense I thought my organs had ruptured. Tears stung my eyes, and the metallic taste of blood filled my throat. The bodyguard, who had been smashing objects but hadn’t hurt anyone yet, looked shocked at what he’d done. Amber strolled over, camera held high. I swallowed back the bile rising in my throat. “Stop this right now, or I swear you will regret it,” I bit out. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing? Are you insane? He’s just a man!” She shoved the phone in my face. “Look at her, everyone, still threatening me! Are all homewreckers this arrogant?” “You didn’t seem to think he was ‘just a man’ when you were taking his money! Oh, I’m so terrified! Should I get on my knees and beg for your forgiveness?” She paused, then bent down, her lips curling in a sneer. “You’re protecting that jar of flour like your life depends on it because you’re afraid of being exposed, aren’t you? What a performance. You should have been an actress.” She straightened up and slapped the stunned bodyguard on the back. “What are you waiting for? Smash what she’s holding! It’s just flour!” “Is this how you tricked my fiancé? He might be a fool, but I’m not!” The bodyguard, recovering his senses, stepped toward me. I clutched the urn to my chest, my grip like iron. He couldn’t pry it from my arms and looked to Amber for instruction. “If one of you can’t do it, then two of you get on it! My fiancé will cover any trouble! Whoever smashes that thing in her arms gets twenty thousand dollars!” At the mention of money, the other bodyguards’ eyes lit up with greed. “Someone, please, call the police!” I screamed, scrambling across the floor. “I’ll give you a hundred thousand!” A swarm of them descended on me. I rolled and kicked, a desperate, cornered animal. “Get off me! Get away! Don’t you touch my mother!” 4 Finally, the hotel security guards heard the commotion and came running. Amber was out of patience. “A whole group of you can’t handle one woman? Are you useless? You want to get paid or not?!” She spun around and screamed at the guards. “Stay back! Or I’ll call the police! Get away from me, or I’ll have my fiancé buy this hotel and fire every single one of you!” After her threat, I felt the bodyguards’ efforts intensify. The room was a minefield of broken furniture. There was nowhere to run. Someone grabbed my leg and dragged me across the floor, right in front of Amber. Her face was flushed, her makeup streaked. She shoved the camera at me and yelled at the men, “What are you doing, dragging her to me? Do you want me to do it myself?!” The security guards were closing in. She was panicked. She grabbed a large shard of a broken vase from the floor and brought it down on my back. The sharp edge tore through my dress and stabbed into my skin. Blood began to pool beneath me. I clenched my jaw, refusing to scream. My eyes burned with a furious, crimson hate. Neil. Amber. I will see you both in hell for this. The wine from earlier stung the open wound, an agony of salt and fire. Amber was still shouting. “Hurry up, smash the urn! Step on her shoulders! Pry her hands open!” As I struggled, more blood flowed from the wound. In the distance, one of the security guards was on the phone, calling the police. When Amber heard him, she lost what little sanity she had left. She sat down hard on my back, right on top of the wound. A scream of pure agony was ripped from my throat. With me pinned, the bodyguards finally wrenched the urn from my grasp. One of them lifted it high above his head and, with all his might, smashed it on the floor. As it shattered, all the fight went out of me. My world dissolved into a cloud of blinding, gray dust. Across the room, another bodyguard stomped on my mother’s portrait, cracking the glass and the frame. The men were a frenzied mob, fighting for their prize. Amber finally seemed to relax. She turned back to her livestream. “See that? That’s what happens to homewreckers,” she panted. “And I’m not just going to beat her. I’m going to make her pay back every single cent my fiancé spent on her.” “Let this be a warning to anyone who even thinks about looking at my man. Your end will be worse than hers.” Just then, the wail of sirens filled the air. Police officers stormed into the hall. Amber spoke first. “Officer, this woman scammed my fiancé out of over a million dollars! Arrest her immediately!” I gritted my teeth against the pain and screamed, my voice raw. “My ex-husband’s affair drove my mother to her death. Today, his mistress destroyed her funeral. I want them both to rot in jail!” “I funded his company! I want them to pay back ten times the cost of every single thing they destroyed here today!”

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When I was reborn, I dodged every opportunity to bond with the parents who had found me after fifteen years of separation. They decided to hand the family empire to my older sister, Minkie. So, I dropped my business major and applied to a geology program in the rugged wilderness of Alaska. They wanted to throw a lavish birthday gala for Minkie, so I volunteered for a remote field expedition. They bought Minkie a limited-edition sports car as a graduation gift. I “sensibly” walked into traffic, breaking both legs just so I could say I didn’t need a car. In my past life, I starved for my parents’ affection until the day I died, despised by everyone. Even my own son, in my old age, would frown at me and say, “Mom, can you stop competing with Aunt Minkie? Why can’t you just live quietly? You’re embarrassing me in front of my friends.” I died full of resentment, only to open my eyes and find myself back at the moment I was eighteen, just found by my biological family. This time, I’m done fighting. I will let them have their perfect, happy family. 1 Staring at the “Application Submitted” notification on my laptop screen, I calmly closed the browser tab. No one knew this was the second time I had filled out my college applications. In my previous life, I followed their orders. I attended a top-tier Ivy League business school, desperate to stay close to them, desperate to mold myself into someone worthy of the prestigious Vanderbilt name. After all, ever since I—the lost daughter returned after fifteen years—came back, I had been nothing but a stain on their reputation. But in this life, before they could even broach the subject of Minkie taking over the company, I spoke first. “Dad, Mom, I’ve applied to the University of Alaska for Geology.” The silence at the dinner table was deafening. My father, Richard, set down his fork, his brow furrowing deeply. “Geology? In Alaska? What are you going to learn there? How to dig for rocks in the snow?” My mother, Eleanor, let out a soft gasp, her eyes wide with undisguised shock. “Sophia, honey, is it your grades? Did you not score high enough? It’s okay, we can make a donation to…” I had been back for nearly two weeks, yet neither of them knew I was a straight-A student. They simply assumed the girl from the foster system was uneducated trash. “My scores are perfect,” I cut her off. “I chose it because I like it.” Minkie sat across from me, feigning concern. “Sophie, are you under too much pressure lately? That kind of place is brutal. I know you’re used to… hardship… but is this necessary?” I looked at her. In my past life, she always played the saint, yet her words were laced with barbs designed to trigger me. She remained elegant and poised, while I looked like an ungrateful savage screaming at her. But in this life, her hidden thorns couldn’t pierce my skin. “I’ve thought it through,” I said, lowering my head, my voice even. ” The application is in. It can’t be changed.” The air grew stagnant. Richard finally scoffed. “Fine. It’s your choice. Don’t come crying to me when you regret it.” Eleanor sighed, and for the first time, she used her serving chopsticks to place a prawn in my bowl. “Let’s just eat. We can discuss this later.” I didn’t touch the prawn. She didn’t know I was severely allergic to shellfish. Minkie, however, loved seafood, so the family ate it almost daily. Every meal here felt like navigating a minefield. For the rest of the dinner, the three of them chatted happily. I finished quickly and excused myself, abandoning the exhausting effort to fit in that defined my previous life. I knew now that this house never had room for me. 2 Back in my room, I opened my calendar. Forty-three days until the semester began. I took a red marker and drew a small ‘X’ over today’s date. Every day was a countdown to my escape. I looked around the room. Every piece of furniture was expensive, imported, and utterly soulless. It looked like a showroom in a luxury catalog, not a home. To me, it couldn’t compare to the drafty, creaky farmhouse my foster parents owned. That place was freezing in winter and sweltering in summer, but it was filled with the warmth of life. In the fifteen years of my past life, I drained all my passion and hope within these cold walls. I learned etiquette, forced myself to get perfect grades, gave up the major I loved, and even married into a strategic alliance they chose—all to beg for a scrap of warmth from my “family.” And what did I get? My parents’ exasperated sighs: “Sophia, why can’t you be effortless like Minkie?” My sister’s gaslighting: “Mom, Dad, don’t blame Sophie. She just cares too much about what you think.” My husband’s cold indifference: “Sophia, aside from your last name, is there anything about you that actually belongs in this world?” And finally, my son’s rejection. I died of illness caused by decades of depression. I fought for a lifetime, only to be detested by everyone. The phantom sensation of suffocation still lingered in my chest. This time, I won’t fight. Your love, your company, your picture-perfect trio… I want none of it. I only want myself. The next morning, when I went downstairs, the living room was filled with laughter. 3 Minkie was nestled on the sofa, linking arms with Mother, resting her head on Eleanor’s shoulder as they reviewed the guest list in Father’s hand. “Let’s invite all the prominent families from the Hamptons and the City, Mom. I want a big birthday bash this year.” Minkie’s voice was sweet, almost childlike. “Of course, darling, whatever you say.” That was Mother’s voice, dripping with indulgence. “Minkie is a young woman now; it’s appropriate to invite important figures for networking,” Father added approvingly. They were a perfect oil painting of happiness. I was just a stray smudge on the canvas. I walked past them silently, heading to the kitchen for water. “Oh, Sophia, you’re up?” Mother saw me, and her smile instantly dimmed, her tone shifting to polite formality. “It’s your sister’s birthday early next month. We’re hosting a party here. You’ll attend, of course?” Next month. That was exactly when I planned to leave early for Alaska to acclimatize. In my past life, I canceled a crucial internship for this party—my debut as a Vanderbilt daughter. I thought it was my chance to belong. The result? Despite cramming etiquette lessons for a month, I was clumsy. Minkie’s sorority sisters pointed and laughed, and I became the evening’s joke. The fifteen years I was missing created a chasm between me and this glittering world that nothing could bridge. “No,” I heard my own voice, calm and steady. “I signed up for a pre-semester field orientation. I have to leave early next month.” The living room went silent. Minkie reacted first, a flicker of joy in her eyes masked by concern. “Field orientation? That sounds exhausting, Sophie. And dangerous, isn’t it? It’s so much nicer to stay home.” Richard’s brow furrowed again, visibly annoyed. “What kind of orientation is mandatory? Cancel it. It’s your sister’s birthday. How does it look if you’re not there?” Here we go again. My life, my plans, were always the ones that could be sacrificed. I gripped my glass, knuckles turning white, but my voice remained flat. “It’s booked. I can’t cancel.” “You!” Father started to raise his voice. Mother quickly intervened. “Alright, alright, if she doesn’t want to go… It’s good Sophia has her own plans. Just be safe.” I mumbled an acknowledgment and went back upstairs. Behind me, I heard Minkie’s gentle voice. “Mom, Dad, don’t be mad. Sophie just isn’t close to us yet. She’ll come around…” She was always the sensible one. And I was always the ungrateful wolf cub. 4 I tuned out the noise downstairs. In my room, I began to pack. I didn’t have much. The traces of my existence in this house were pathetic. Most of the clothes and items were things Mother had the housekeeper buy in bulk when I returned—expensive, but chosen with zero thought. There was only one small, battered suitcase containing the old clothes I brought from my foster home and a photo album. It held the only picture I had with my foster parents. In the photo, they held a skinny, scrawny me, their faces wrinkled with smiles, their eyes full of love. That was my real warmth. I rubbed my thumb over the photo, my eyes stinging. After I was abducted, the traffickers dumped me halfway because a girl wasn’t “worth much.” My foster parents saved me and raised me. Tragically, they died in a car accident earlier this year. It was the news coverage of that accident that allowed the Vanderbilts to find me. Sometimes, I wished they never had. I carefully tucked the album into the bottom of the suitcase. I took out my bank book. It held the savings from my part-time jobs and the small inheritance my foster parents left me. It wasn’t a fortune, but it was enough to get me to Alaska and cover my first semester’s rent. I didn’t intend to spend a single penny of Vanderbilt money. 5 Dinner that evening was tense. Father ate in sullen silence. Mother tried to lighten the mood, chattering about the menu for the party. Minkie played along, occasionally steering the conversation toward me, trying to bait me into a reaction. “Sophie, I heard the wind in the northwest strips your skin right off. It’s so dry. You’ll need a ton of moisturizer.” “Mm.” “The food there is really heavy and greasy, too. With your weak stomach, you should be careful.” “I know.” My cold, monosyllabic answers made Mother’s attempts at cheerfulness awkward. Finally, she put down her chopsticks. “Sophia, do you have a problem with us?” I looked up. Father glared at me, his eyes judging. Minkie wore her practiced look of worry. It was such a familiar scene. In my past life, any expression of pain or injustice was twisted into me “having an attitude” or being ungrateful. “No,” I said, looking back down at my plate. “I’m just an adult now. I want to walk my own path.” “Your path is running off to the tundra to suffer?” Father’s voice vibrated with suppressed rage. “Did we starve you? Did we deny you clothes? Why are you so desperate to leave this house?” Yes, I am desperate. I answered in my head. Out loud, I stayed calm. “Geology is a critical field for resource development. I find it meaningful.” I gave them a generic, noble answer they couldn’t attack. Father was stumped. His face darkened, but he couldn’t argue with “meaningful.” Mother jumped in. “Okay, okay, ambition is good… let’s eat, the soup is getting cold.” I was the first to set down my bowl. “I’m full. Please, take your time.” I turned and walked to the stairs. Behind me, I heard Father’s hiss. “Look at her! Look at how she was raised! Zero manners!” And Mother’s soothing whisper. “Hush, Richard. She grew up in the country. It’s normal for her to be short-sighted…” I entered my room emotionless. To them, I would always be the unwashed, short-sighted hillbilly. 6 I locked the door. Finally, peace. I opened my laptop and researched rental apartments near the university. Since I was leaving for good, I wouldn’t stay in the dorms. I needed a space that was entirely mine. After booking a small studio, I crossed off another day on the calendar. Forty-two days. Time was moving too slowly. For the next few weeks, I became a ghost in the house. They were consumed with Minkie’s graduation and birthday. No one paid attention to my “rebellion.” My parents bought Minkie a Range Rover for graduation. I happened to be in the driveway when it was delivered. Mother looked slightly embarrassed. “This is for your sister. If you want one…” I immediately cut in, playing the role perfectly. “I don’t need one. I don’t drive well anyway. It would be a waste.” Mother visibly relaxed. “We’ll pick something else for you next time.” There would be no next time. They would forget me the moment I turned the corner. I was used to being forgotten. And that was fine. I didn’t want their gifts. I spent my days at the library, leaving early and returning late. Occasionally, I’d run into employees from Father’s company. They would politely call me “Miss Sophia,” but their eyes held pity or disdain. Everyone knew I was the awkward appendage of the Vanderbilt family. Not like Minkie—the celebrated socialite, the pride of her parents. My existence served only one purpose: to prove the Vanderbilts were benevolent enough to take back the stray dog. How ironic. 7 The day of departure finally arrived. I booked a red-eye train ticket. I told no one. The night before, I dragged my packed suitcase into the living room. The three of them were on the couch watching a reality show Minkie loved, laughing together. The laughter died instantly when they saw the luggage. “Sister? What are you…” “My train is tonight. I’m heading to school.” I kept it brief. “Tonight? In such a rush?” Mother stood up, flustered. “Why didn’t you say so? I’ll have the driver take you!” “No need. I called a cab.” Father’s face was dark. He said nothing. “You child… why are you so stubborn?” Mother stepped forward to fix my collar, but I turned slightly, dodging her touch. Her hand froze in mid-air, her expression hurt. A faint ripple of emotion crossed my heart, then vanished. Some damage is permanent. The touch I craved in my last life was something I no longer needed in this one. “I’ll handle my own tuition and living expenses,” I said, looking at them like I was discussing the weather. “You won’t need to worry about me anymore.” “What nonsense are you spouting!” Father slammed his hand on the armrest and stood up. “Sophia! Do you have to be this dramatic? Has this family mistreated you? Is that why you’re talking like this?” “Richard!” Mother grabbed his arm. Minkie chimed in, “Dad, don’t be mad! Sophie didn’t mean it…” She turned to me, eyes pleading. “Sophie, apologize to Dad. You’re just angry, right?” I looked at them, and suddenly, I felt exhausted. “I’m telling the truth,” I said, gripping the handle of my suitcase. “I’m leaving.” I turned my back on their reactions and walked toward the heavy oak door. “Sophia Vanderbilt! If you walk out that door today, don’t you dare come back!” Father’s roar echoed through the high ceilings. My footsteps paused for a fraction of a second. I didn’t turn around. “Okay.” The word was barely a whisper, yet it took every ounce of strength I had. Then, I opened the door and stepped out.

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The wealthiest man in the state claimed I was his biological child. But the moment I was brought home, the nightmare began. My “mother” accused me of trying to seduce my own father, calling me a homewrecker and a slut. My fake sister, the girl I was swapped with at birth, spread rumors that I’d had an abortion and was a sugar baby for old men. My cousin, acting the white knight, pulled the fake sister into a protective hug and roared at me with righteous indignation: “I only recognize Anna as my sister! If you pull any more of these trashy stunts, get the hell out of the Sterling family!” I looked at them, watching their passionate performance with a detached, almost amused expression. Wait a minute. Who told you guys I was a girl? I’m a biological male. A pure-blooded dude. Did you guys skip the gender check when you looked at the DNA test?! 1 The moment I stepped into the Sterling estate, Madeline wasted no time putting me in my place. “You’re Xavier?” I nodded, opening my mouth to call her “Mom,” but she cut me off with a sharp wave of her manicured hand. “Don’t call me Mom yet. Let me make one thing clear: now that you’ve entered this house, you follow the rules. Anna is younger than you, which makes you the big sister. You are not to compete with her for anything. You will not fight for affection, and you certainly will not bully her. Do you understand?” I tightened my grip on the strap of my worn-out canvas backpack. A fire ignited in my chest, but I kept my voice low. “Why am I the older sister? We were switched on the same day. And besides, I…” “Enough with the excuses!” She raised her voice, causing the maids dusting the antique vases in the living room to freeze. “I said you’re the older sister, so you are! Anna grew up by my side; she’s delicate and used to the best. If you let her suffer even a tiny bit of grievance, I won’t let you off the hook.” Just then, a guy in designer athleisure wear jogged down the grand staircase. It was my cousin, Hunter. Chewing gum loudly, he sauntered over to Madeline, eyeing me with open disdain. “So this is the ‘real heiress’ dragged back from the boonies? Let me warn you—Anna is the treasure of the Sterling family. If you touch a hair on her head, you might walk in, but you’ll be carried out.” I stared into Hunter’s eyes and asked, “I’m a Sterling too. Why protect only her? And where is my father? I’ve been back for a while now; why haven’t I seen him?” Madeline rolled her eyes, turning back toward the plush velvet sofa. “Your father is busy running an empire. Do you think he has time for you? Don’t get arrogant just because we let you in. A country bumpkin like you should be grateful just to have a roof over your head.” Hunter sneered, echoing her sentiment. “Exactly. Don’t think just because you have the bloodline, you’re suddenly a princess. In our eyes, you aren’t worth a single one of Anna’s fingernails.” I bit my lower lip, recalling the information I’d paid a private investigator to dig up before I came here. Arthur Sterling, my biological father, was obsessed with male heirs. Because Madeline couldn’t produce a son, they had taken in Hunter, the son of Arthur’s younger brother, treating him as a semi-heir. Since they had all assumed I was a girl, I decided to keep the charade going. I wanted to see just how deep the bias in this family ran. I lowered my head, feigning submission. “I understand, Mom. Hunter. I won’t fight with Anna.” Madeline nodded, satisfied. She waved a dismissive hand. “Mrs. Higgins, take her to the guest room at the end of the second-floor hall. Don’t let her wander around and be an eyesore.” As the housekeeper led me away, I heard Hunter mutter behind me, “Country trash has no backbone. Folded after two sentences.” 2 I had been living in the Sterling mansion for a week, and I still hadn’t met my biological father. One morning, I bumped into Madeline in the dining room. She was meticulously peeling a hard-boiled egg for Anna. “Mom, will Dad be back today?” I asked. Madeline’s hand paused. She looked up with blatant impatience. “Your father is negotiating a merger. He doesn’t have time for you. You’re just a girl; what does it matter if he sees you or not?” Anna looked up from her plate, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “Yeah, big sis. Daddy is so busy. Don’t be a burden. If you need something, just tell Mommy.” I frowned. “But he’s my father. It’s strange that I haven’t seen his face since I arrived, isn’t it?” Madeline slammed the egg down on the plate. Her face darkened. “What is wrong with you? I said he’s busy! Are you trying to start trouble?” I didn’t give up. Over the next few days, whenever I saw Madeline, I asked about Dad. Arthur Sterling was the king of this castle. My future depended on surviving under his rule. I needed to know what kind of man he was—whether he liked me or not—to plan my next move. But there was no news. On the third night, Madeline was in the living room applying a luxury face mask. I approached her. “Is Dad not coming home again? I heard the company has a major project. I studied some finance; maybe I could help.” Madeline ripped the mask off her face. Her eyes were venomous. “Help? I think you have other intentions! Every day it’s ‘Dad this’ and ‘Dad that.’ You’re desperate to see him. Tell me, are you trying to seduce him?” I stood frozen, unable to believe my ears. “Excuse me? He is my father. How could I seduce him? Are you insane?” “Am I insane?” Madeline let out a cold, sharp laugh, standing up to tower over me. “I think you’re the crazy one! You come from nowhere, learned god-knows-what in the gutter, and now you want to use cheap tricks to climb the ladder? You think because he has money and power, you can charm him? Let me tell you something—not a chance! The Sterling fortune is not for a little slut like you to covet!” I was shaking with rage. “If you’re sick in the head, go to a hospital. Don’t project your filth onto me! I’m his child. What is wrong with wanting to meet him? You’re so paranoid you suspect your own child? You call yourself a mother?” “You dare talk back to me?” Madeline’s face turned crimson. She raised her hand to slap me. Instinctively, I dodged. Her hand hit empty air, which only fueled her fury. “Fine! Not only are you twisted, but you’re also rebellious! When your father comes back, I’ll make sure he teaches you a lesson. You’ll learn who the mistress of this house really is!” I scoffed. “Go ahead and tell him. I’d love to see if my father is as irrational as you. And stop calling yourself the ‘mistress of the house.’ If you were actually secure in your position, you wouldn’t be terrified of your husband leaving you, and you wouldn’t need to bully me to feel important.” Madeline was struck dumb. She pointed a trembling finger at me, choking on her words, before finally shrieking, “Get out! Go back to your room and don’t come out!” I turned and walked away, my heart turning to ice. So this was my biological mother? To say something so vile… It seemed that in this house, I could only rely on myself. 3 Since our argument, Madeline began targeting me openly. She would start dinner without me. The driver who took me to school was dismissed on some flimsy excuse, forcing me to take the crowded public bus. My allowance was cut to zero—I couldn’t even buy pens. I didn’t care. The bus was crowded, but it got me to school. I had savings from my past life in the countryside. I could skip breakfast or buy a cheap bagel at the cafeteria. But I didn’t expect Anna to start her own campaign. One morning, I walked into the classroom to find Anna standing by my desk, holding a shredded designer dress. She was sobbing to the surrounding crowd. “I just bought this yesterday… Mom spent thousands on it… and this morning Xavier tore it apart because she said she hated looking at me…” The classmates turned to me, their eyes filled with disgust. I frowned and walked over. “Are you delusional? When did I touch your dress?” Anna cried harder. “I’m sorry, big sis. I know you hate me, but this was a gift from Mom… If you want to vent, hit me, curse at me… but don’t ruin Mom’s gift…” I was about to argue when I heard the whispers. “I didn’t know Xavier was that kind of person.” “It’s just jealousy. Typical trashy behavior.” “I heard that back in the country, she was a sugar baby for some old guy. She even had an abortion. No wonder she’s so vicious.” I froze. These rumors were beyond ridiculous. I just had somewhat delicate features. How could they fabricate something so disgusting? I’m a man, for God’s sake! Abortion? Are you kidding me? I was shaking with anger, ready to confront them, when I caught a glimpse of a smirk flashing across Anna’s tear-stained face. I understood instantly. She was the source. Over the next few days, the rumors grew nastier. People pointed fingers. Someone threw trash in my locker. I endured it. Until one morning, I opened my desk to find a dead rat and a handful of cockroaches inside. That was the breaking point. I grabbed a plastic bag, scooped up the dead rat and the roaches, walked over to Anna’s pristine desk, and dumped the bag right in front of her. “Anna, your pranks are pathetic. Can’t you come up with something original?” Seeing the contents of the bag, Anna’s face went pale. She let out a piercing scream. “Ahh! A rat! Roaches!” She jumped up, tears instantly flowing, and ran out of the classroom. The class was stunned. They stared at the bag in my hand, terrified into silence.

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Victoria is pregnant. The father isn’t me. It’s her assistant. At our ninth anniversary gala, she brought him home, parading him around like a prize. Her voice was cool, detached, as she issued her orders to me. “Felix is a picky eater. From now on, his three meals a day must be prepared personally by you. No repeated dishes.” She didn’t stop there. “And he’s a light sleeper. Your breathing is too loud. Pack your things and move to the guest room.” I didn’t say a word. I simply gripped the handle of the suitcase I had packed hours ago and walked calmly toward the front door. The butler tried to step in, his face etched with worry, but Victoria let out a cold, mocking laugh. “Let him go. He’ll be back crawling like a dog within three days. He has nowhere else.” Hearing this, the guests erupted in laughter. Right in front of my face, they placed bets. Ten million dollars on the table. They bet that before the sun rose, I’d be banging on the door, weeping and begging Victoria to let me back in. But they didn’t know the truth. They didn’t see the Maybach waiting just outside the iron gates. This time, I was actually leaving. 1 Just as I was about to step out of the villa, Victoria’s voice cut through the air. “Sam, leave the Peace Bracelet. Felix has been having nightmares lately.” That bracelet was the only heirloom my parents left me. It was my life. Seeing my eyes redden, the woman I had loved for nine years looked at me with bored indifference. “Name your price.” How much was a marriage worth? A marriage where I was treated like mud for nine years? I was too tired to calculate it. I only remembered the last time I refused a demand—when I wouldn’t give my ski goggles to Felix. Her bodyguards stripped me to my underwear and left me halfway up the freezing mountain. I slid the Peace Bracelet off my wrist and placed it onto Felix’s arm. “I wish the three of you happiness,” I said, my voice hollow. “And peace.” Hearing this unexpected blessing, Victoria softened, offering me a rare, condescending olive branch. “Sam, as long as you’re obedient, my child will be your child too.” The moment the words left her lips, the bracelet slipped from Felix’s wrist. Crash. It shattered against the marble floor. A tiny shard scratched Felix’s leg. A microscopic cut. Victoria rushed over, panic in her eyes. She screamed at the butler to call the family doctor, acting as if Felix had been shot. The guests watched me with amusement, enjoying the show. It was funny. Even I found it hilarious. Last night, when I had a heart attack, Victoria was busy taking Felix to see a meteor shower. Even as I foamed at the mouth and collapsed, she stepped over my body without breaking stride. Before I lost consciousness, I heard her tell the housekeeper, “Disinfect the living room. Felix is coming home tomorrow; I don’t want him smelling anything foul.” I gripped my suitcase handle, turning to leave again. Victoria’s hand clamped around my wrist. Her face was ice. “Apologize.” “Wha—” Before I could finish, she shoved me. I fell hard, landing on my knees in front of Felix. My knee landed on a shard of jade, staining the white floor crimson. Seeing the blood, Victoria released me, her eyes filled with disgust. “You used a cheap trick to break Felix’s bracelet and hurt him. Shouldn’t you say sorry?” Since marrying Victoria Snook, “I’m sorry” had become my catchphrase. The soup is too bland? I’m sorry. I texted you while you were drunk? I’m sorry. I accidentally saw Felix’s sexts to you? I’m sincerely sorry. I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper. I straightened my back. I bowed ninety degrees to Felix. I apologized three times. Then, I looked at Victoria with dead eyes. “Is that enough?” Staring at the blood trickling from the corner of my mouth, her chest heaved slightly. “Sam, your grandfather isn’t here to protect you. Who are you putting on this pathetic act for? It’s disgusting.” Before I could answer, the doctor arrived. Victoria shoved me aside, practically carrying Felix to the sofa. While her entire world revolved around him, I walked out the door. Beep-beep. Two sharp honks came from the silver car outside the gates. I quickened my pace. But before the iron gates could open, two massive bodyguards materialized from the shadows, dragging me back into the villa. 2 In the study, Victoria had me tied to a chair. She ordered a nurse to insert a needle—thick as a child’s finger—into my arm. Through the half-open door, I heard the doctor pleading with her. “Ms. Snook, although both Mr. Sam and your assistant have the rare RH-Null blood type, Mr. Sam has a history of heart failure. Forcing a transfusion now could induce acute shock. We should go to the hospital and get a proper blood bank for Felix…” “Don’t lecture me,” Victoria’s voice was frosty. “Your only job is to make Felix healthy. I know what I’m doing.” I heard her footsteps approaching. I closed my eyes. “Does it hurt?” Her voice carried a rare, twisted note of comfort. “Just bear it. It’ll be over soon.” I turned my head away. I didn’t have the energy to speak to her. After they drained 800ml of my blood, my lips turned purple. Suddenly, Felix coughed in the master bedroom. Hearing it, Victoria immediately grabbed the doctor’s hand, stopping him from removing the needle. She ordered him to double the draw. The doctor, sweating profusely, warned her I would die. She hesitated for two seconds. “Felix comes first.” “But…” I interrupted the doctor, my voice a rasp. “Draw it. Just let me leave when you’re done.” Victoria looked at my pale, lifeless face. Anger flashed in her eyes. She opened her mouth to ask if I was done throwing a tantrum, if I was really going to run away over something so trivial. “Vicky…” Felix’s weak voice drifted from the other room. She abandoned me instantly. 3 Two days later. I woke up in a hospital bed, recovering from severe shock. Victoria was there, reviewing documents. We stared at each other in silence. She expressionlessly brought a bowl of porridge to my lips. I turned my head. “I can do it myself.” She watched me eat half the bowl in silence. “Are you uncomfortable anywhere?” I ignored the question. “Please give me my phone.” My tone was distant, unfamiliar. It took her a moment to process it before she signaled the butler to hand it over. Seeing the string of missed calls, she asked abruptly, “Who called you?” She never used to ask questions. A flicker of annoyance crossed my eyes. “No one you know.” She unbuttoned the top button of her blouse, looking down at me with cold arrogance. “Sam, how long are you going to keep up this dog-like temper? I give you an inch, and you want a mile?” In the past, I would have apologized. I would have groveled. Now, I just pointed at her vibrating phone. “Felix is calling.” Her eyes softened instantly. She walked out to the corridor to answer it. The moment she left, my phone rang. I picked up. before I could speak, a frantic voice on the other end shouted. “You said you were coming! Sam, did you regret it?” “I didn’t regret it. There was… an accident.” “An accident? Are you hurt? No, I’m flying back personally…” “No,” I cut her off gently. “Just give me a few more days.” Victoria returned just as I hung up. Seeing the faint smile on my lips—a smile she hadn’t seen in years—she felt a strange tightness in her chest. But she had just promised Felix they would go shopping for cribs. She didn’t have time to interrogate me. She assumed it was my cousin, the only friend I had left after nine years of isolation. She grabbed her files. “Sam, something came up at the company. I’ll come back tomorrow.” Tomorrow came and went. Then the day after. She never showed up. Instead, our mutual “friends” bombarded me with videos. Victoria and Felix at banquets. Victoria and Felix at dinners. She was parading him around like a love-struck teenager. On the day I was discharged, she posted a photo grid on social media. Sunset. A hot air balloon. Her and Felix, locked in a deep kiss. I commented under the post: [Wishing the two of you a long life and an early birth.] Ten minutes later, she called. I didn’t answer. Thirty minutes later, I was walking out of the hospital alone when I saw them at the OBGYN department. The nurse was gushing over them. “Mrs. Snook, your husband treats you so well! He warms the ultrasound gel with his hands before we use it. I’ve never seen such devotion.” The other pregnant women in the waiting room looked on with envy. I subconsciously remembered our child. The one she aborted without telling me. Back then, Felix had sent me a voice note: “Ms. Snook lost a bet to me in a video game. I guess she can only have my babies now?” Before I could reply, Victoria called me herself. She screamed at me for being petty and stupid. “Sam, you spineless waste. What right do you have to demand I bear your child? If I’m going to ruin my body, it’ll be for someone with superior genes!” I shook the memory away and tried to bypass them. But Victoria saw me. She walked over, her face darkening. “Why are you standing there like an idiot?” I lowered my eyes. “I wasn’t stalking you. It’s a coincidence. Sorry to disturb.” “Wait.” As she called out, jealousy flashed in Felix’s eyes. He tightened his grip on her waist and smiled at me. “Mr. Sam! I owe you my life for that blood transfusion. Without you, I’d still be dizzy. Vicky, let’s take Mr. Sam home with us, okay?” Victoria looked at him with adoration. “My kind-hearted Felix. Whatever you say.” I didn’t refuse. I needed to get my passport.

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Three years after walking out of the iron gates, I ran into Lucas at a high-end patisserie. He was there, dripping wet from the rain, picking up a custom cake for his pregnant wife. I was there to pick up a DoorDash order. The shock of seeing each other froze us both for a second. But love and hate had long since burned to ash. I broke the silence first. He asked how I was doing. I told him everything was fine. We stood there, strangers with a lifetime of history. Just as I turned to leave, his voice stopped me. “Scarlett, if things get hard… you can always call me.” My delivery app pinged, a harsh reminder of reality. I stepped forward to hassle the barista for the order, ignoring him completely. Life’s hardships were just the price I paid to keep my belly full. But getting close to him? That would bring a hell I could no longer survive. I was scared. I was tired. And I had stopped loving him a long time ago. 1 The barista was frantically packing the order. All I cared about was grabbing the bag and beating the delivery timer. Lucas seemed to sense that I had no desire to speak, so he stayed silent. That is, until the clerk handed him a pristine, ribbon-wrapped box. Her voice dripped with envy. “Mr. McKenzie, I truly envy your wife. Driving across the city in this storm just to get her favorite cake?” Lucas took the box, a soft, indulgent smile playing on his lips. “My wife… her cravings have been impossible since she got pregnant. She only eats from here.” I pretended not to hear. My order slid across the counter. I grabbed it and bolted out the door. I was just about to kick-start my beat-up electric scooter when Lucas rushed out and grabbed my arm. “Do you have a minute? We need to talk.” I ripped my arm from his grip, shoving my phone screen in his face. The timer was ticking down red. “No time. Customer’s waiting.” “Why didn’t you contact me when you got out?” He stared at me, his voice low, commanding. I strapped my helmet tight and revved the engine. “Didn’t see the point. I don’t want anything to do with you people ever again.” I twisted the throttle and merged into the heavy traffic, drowning out whatever he said next. I didn’t hear him. I didn’t care. In the rush to deliver the final order, I took a corner too fast. The scooter skidded. My jeans tore against the asphalt, exposing the skin beneath. It wasn’t smooth skin. It was a roadmap of grotesque, burn-like scars. They snaked from my calf all the way up my body. Staring at the jagged marks, it hit me. It had been nine years since I last truly saw Lucas. Six years in prison. Three years out. My life was a pile of rubble. His was a golden tower. The only mercy was that I felt nothing. No flutter in my heart. No pain. I limped back to the crumbling apartment complex in the darker side of the city. Downstairs, I saw Mia—my cellmate turned roommate—holding my daughter, Annie’s, hand. Before I could even park, Annie launched herself into my arms, babbling about how much she missed me. Holding her soft little body, the exhaustion melted away. Then, I noticed what she was holding. A dirty, old teddy bear. Mia saw me staring at it. “Hey,” she said softly. “Annie dug this out of your old suitcase today.” She pulled out a faded piece of paper, folded into a heart shape. “There was a letter stuffed inside the bear. I figured it was something you saved on purpose, so I kept it safe.” I took the paper. The past rushed back like a tidal wave. I unfolded it. Lucas’s sharp, confident handwriting stared back at me. Mia leaned in, trying to lighten the mood. “Ooh, let me see. Which ex wrote this? The heartbreaker?” Annie, curious, stood on her tiptoes to look. The signature at the bottom read: Forever loving my Scarlett, Lucas McKenzie. Mia’s jaw dropped. “Lucas McKenzie?” “The tech mogul? The richest guy in the state?” She looked at me, eyes wide with disbelief. “Girl, you never told me your ex was a billionaire.” I picked up my daughter, tore the letter into confetti, and let the pieces fall into the gutter. “I’m Lucas McKenzie’s ex-wife.” The ex-wife who tried to kill his mistress. The ex-wife he personally sent to prison. 2 Annie looked like Lucas. Especially when she slept. Watching her chest rise and fall, the memories I tried to bury began to claw their way out. I met Lucas in high school. He was the school’s golden boy—a genius on a scholarship, an orphan with nothing to his name. Education was his only ladder out of the gutter. I was young, naïve, and dazzled by his brilliance. I envied how easily he solved math problems that made my brain hurt. I pitted him when I saw him shivering in a thin sweater in the dead of winter. So, I convinced my father—a nouveau riche developer—to sponsor him. He started coming over. We grew close. He tutored me. He walked me home every night after study hall. I stopped letting my driver pick me up just to walk with him. Teenage affection is a dangerous thing. It grows quietly, like weeds. With my dad’s money, Lucas never went hungry again. When the SAT results came out, he was top of the state. My parents, however, had plans for me to study abroad in London. The night before I was supposed to leave, Lucas grabbed my hand. His eyes were red, desperate. “Scarlett, don’t go. After my parents died, I thought my life was over. But then you showed up.” “You are the only light I have. I love you. Please, don’t leave me.” I listened to his clumsy, desperate confession, and my heart sank right into his hands. I lied to my parents. A massive, unforgivable lie. I took my passport and suitcase and followed him to his university town. My parents thought I was struggling to adjust in London. In reality, I was in a 200-square-foot studio apartment, learning to cook cheap pasta for a boy who promised me forever. I threw away my future to drown in Lucas’s love. When the lie finally collapsed, Lucas knelt before my parents. “I will spend my life making sure Scarlett never suffers. I will die before I betray her!” My parents were moved. We got married the year he graduated. Lucas was a genius, a shark in a suit. He didn’t break his promise about the money. He took my father’s investment and turned it into an empire. Within three years, he was the new King of New York. But when a man sees the world from the top of a skyscraper, the view changes. And so do the temptations. First, it was the smell of perfume on his shirts. Then, lipstick on the collar. He would hug me and say, “Honey, it’s just business. Showmanship. You don’t understand the corporate world. My heart is yours.” I believed him. I was a high school graduate who had spent years playing house. My world was him. So when the truth hit me, it didn’t just hurt. It destroyed me. Her name was Jasmine. The daughter of a real estate tycoon. It was a winter night. He had missed his own birthday. I had spent all day baking a cake. I wanted to surprise him at the office. The main floor was dark. But a sliver of light bled from under his office door. My heart hammered against my ribs. I pushed the door open. He was naked. Jasmine was straddling him on the leather couch. They were entangled, moving with a primal rhythm. The Lucas who was always so gentle with me was rough with her. He was whispering filthy things, words I didn’t know he knew. His eyes weren’t full of love. They were full of hunger. Of satisfaction. That, I realized, was the real Lucas. 3 I did what any woman would do. I screamed. I charged in. I grabbed her hair. The cake I spent hours making smashed onto the floor, a perfect metaphor for my marriage. That was the first time he hit me. A slap, hard and fast, across my face. He shoved me back and pulled Jasmine into his arms, covering her with his jacket. “Scarlett! Have you lost your mind?” “Do you know who she is? If you touch her again, I can’t protect you!” I looked at him, and I saw a stranger. “Lucas… how could you?” He stared at me, cold and detached. “I told you, you don’t understand business. Jasmine doesn’t affect us. She’s just… necessary.” Jasmine smirked from the safety of his chest. “Scarlett, let’s be real. What do you bring to the table?” “Your family is just new money trash. Lucas is building an empire. Do you think your dad’s little investment is enough to make him King of the city?” “You have a high school diploma. You’re useless. You rely on him for the air you breathe. What right do you have to question him?” “We are a power couple. I can take his company to the next level. You? You’re just a pet.” I fled. After that, Lucas stopped coming home. I was in my twenties, watching my fairy tale burn down. I went mad. I hired a PI. I got photos. Him holding her hand on his old campus. Kissing her in the crowd. Him and her in hotel beds, tangled in sheets. Jasmine beat me in every category—money, education, looks. For the first time, I felt small. Inferior. Jealousy is a poison. I drank it all. I crashed his company’s product launch. I knew how much work he put into it. I wanted to burn it all down. I thought if he failed, he would come back to me. In front of the city’s elite, I put the sex tape on the big screen. I expected outrage. Instead, the room looked at me with pity. With disgust. Lucas looked at me, shaking his head. “Scarlett… you really disappoint me.” “You could have come to me. But ruining this? Hundreds of people worked for six months on this project. You’re so selfish. When will you grow up?” Security dragged me out. The media didn’t side with me. They painted me as the ungrateful, uneducated housewife trying to sabotage the brilliant genius and his “business partner.” I became the city’s laughingstock. I locked myself in the house. One night, in a fit of despair, I lit a match. The fire took everything. I was pulled out, burned and broken. When I woke up in the hospital, Lucas was there. He had come from Jasmine’s prenatal checkup. He stood over my bandages, looking annoyed. “Scarlett, can you just stop?” “Trying to kill yourself just to get my attention? Are you crazy?” “Your dad’s company is bleeding money. I’m the one keeping it afloat. Without me, you starve. Do you want to lose me that badly?” “I told you, you are my only wife. Jasmine agreed. As long as you behave, we won’t divorce.” Jasmine stood by the door, protecting her small bump, looking at me like I was a cockroach. I looked at Lucas. For the first time, I didn’t cry. 4 He took me home. He brushed my hair, avoiding the scars on my neck. “Scarlett, I made mistakes. But I did it for us. For a better life.” “Your parents are old. Do you want to worry them?” “Just be good. Jasmine won’t threaten your position. I promise.” I was a wasteland. My parents had signed everything over to him years ago. He held the leash. I submitted. I became a ghost in my own home. He came home three times a month. The rest of the time, he was with Jasmine. He gave her everything. He learned to cook for her cravings. He took maternity photos and posted them, captioning them with hearts. “My love, Jasmine.” I gave up everything for him. He gave up everything for her. I thought if I stayed quiet, my parents would be safe. But Jasmine wasn’t done. She invited my parents back from Europe for her baby shower. She humiliated them in front of everyone. Her father laughed. “Mr. and Mrs. Reed, you have to be selfish to be happy. Your daughter has the grace to let her husband breed with a better class of woman. You should be proud.” My parents didn’t know. I had sent them away to shield them. The room laughed. My father clutched his chest and collapsed. When I got to the hospital, he was gasping for air. “Sorry… baby girl… I was too soft… I shouldn’t have let you jump into the fire…” He flatlined before he finished. I snapped. I grabbed a fruit knife and went to the venue. Jasmine was toasting with champagne—sparkling water, actually, because Lucas was so careful with her. I didn’t see people. I saw red. I lunged. I aimed for the belly. Jasmine lost the baby. Lucas looked at me like he wanted to rip my throat out. I got six years for aggravated assault. He testified against me. One month into my sentence, I found out I was pregnant. Two years in, my mother died of grief. Because of Lucas, I lost my home, my family, my humanity. I woke up from the nightmare with a start. The sky was turning gray. Mia had already dressed Annie. “Go back to sleep, Scarlett. I’ll drop her at school.” I hugged Annie. She smelled like milk and cheap soap. My lifeline. Then, a knock at the door. Mia opened it. It was Lucas. He was panting, his shirt soaked with sweat, chest heaving. He had run here. His eyes locked onto Annie in my arms. I remembered what he had yelled yesterday as I drove away.

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I walked away from a partnership track at a top Wall Street firm and flew back to the States to slave away for my boyfriend’s startup for three years. Finally, the day came. We rang the NASDAQ opening bell. At the celebration gala, under the crystal chandeliers, my boyfriend made an announcement. He pulled a junior developer—a girl I had hired—into his arms. She was his true fiancée. She leaned into him, fragile and triumphant, raising her champagne flute at me. “Elena, thanks for every line of code you wrote over the last three years. Your work is now registered under my name on the patent filing.” “Oh, and that historic brownstone you sold to keep the company afloat during the seed round? That’s going to be our wedding venue.” Jacob, the man I had loved for seven years, looked at me with a sickening mix of pity and arrogance. “Elena, what we had was gratitude, not love. Here’s a check for half a million. Take it. Go start your own life.” I took the check. Under the gaze of the city’s elite, I tore it into confetti. I built you up to the IPO. I can certainly tear you down to bankruptcy. 1 The hangover headache was splitting my skull, but my phone vibrating against the nightstand was worse. I swiped the screen. Dozens of news alerts clogged my notifications. The headlines were variations on a theme, linking my name with Jacob Thorne’s. I tapped the trending article. It went live at 3:00 AM. I had left the gala less than four hours ago. Jacob’s PR team was nothing if not efficient. The press release was a masterclass in corporate gaslighting. “Due to differences in strategic vision, co-founder Elena Shand has voluntarily stepped down and received a generous severance package.” “CEO Jacob Thorne stated: ‘Though it is difficult, we appreciate Ms. Shand’s contributions. This company will always be her home.’” The photo was curated perfectly. One of me looking cold and detached during a board meeting. Another of Jacob at the bell-ringing ceremony, looking teary-eyed and exhausted. He painted himself as the sentimental, burdened entrepreneur. I was the cold-hearted exec taking the money and running. Generous severance? You mean the check I shredded? Hilarious. I ignored the phone and walked barefoot into the bathroom. The cold tiles grounded me. The woman in the mirror looked tired, but her eyes were sharp, burning with a cold fire. Jacob, you think a few press releases can scrub the slate clean? I threw on a blazer and drove to the office. It was rush hour. The lobby was buzzing. Employees who used to bow and scrape now avoided eye contact, parting around me like I was contagious. I walked straight to the turnstiles. BEEP. The light turned red. The screen flashed two offensive words: ACCESS DENIED. I tried another lane. ACCESS DENIED. In the security booth, Old Hank, who I used to bring coffee to every morning, buried his head in a logbook. I tapped my knuckles on the glass. “Hank.” He hesitated, then stood up slowly, forcing a pained smile. “Ms… Ms. Shand.” “What’s wrong with my badge?” “Well…” Hank’s eyes darted around. “Orders came down. Your clearance… it was revoked at midnight.” He lowered his voice. “It’s not just the doors. Your email, internal accounts, Slack… everything’s been wiped.” So much for “this company will always be her home.” I couldn’t even get past the doormat. I drove back to my apartment. It was a high-end loft only ten minutes from the HQ. Jacob had “thoughtfully” leased it for me, saying, “Elena, you work so hard. I hate seeing you commute. Live close so you can rest.” In hindsight, it was just so I could spend more hours coding. My landlord was waiting in the lobby, arms crossed, tapping his foot. “Ms. Shand, finally!” He shoved a printout in my face. “Look at this! Your company just emailed. They stopped the automatic rent payments as of today!” “The lease says the corporate entity pays. If they stop, you go.” He looked me up and down with a sneer. “You have three days to vacate.” “Or I call the Sheriff to toss your stuff on the curb.” I stared at him until he flinched. “Three days,” he barked, retreating to the elevator. “I’m not running a charity.” I walked into the empty loft and collapsed onto the sofa. Locked out of the company. Kicked out of my home. Jacob was systematically erasing me. I pulled out my phone. Over the last three years, I had mentored dozens of engineers. They called me “Master,” “Mentor,” “Boss.” I dialed Marcus, my first protégé. Three rings. Declined. I tried Kevin. Straight to voicemail. I tried a third, a fourth… Radio silence. Just as I was about to throw the phone against the wall, a text popped up from a burner number. “Elena, it’s Sarah, the intern.” “Don’t call Marcus or the guys. Jacob called an all-hands meeting at 8 AM. He said anyone caught talking to you gets fired immediately and blacklisted from the industry.” “They’re scared… take care of yourself.” The number went dead immediately after. My finger hovered over the screen. Good. Burn the bridges. Salt the earth. I packed the few things that mattered—clothes, some cheap toiletries, and an old, battered laptop. It was a brick I’d bought at a pawn shop during the lean startup days. Once the funding came in, I’d tossed it in a closet. I sat on my suitcase, looking around the apartment I’d lived in for three years. Jacob, you stole my company, my patent, and my home. You cut my network. You think you’ve won? You think unplugging my ethernet cable stops me? I opened the old laptop and blew the dust off the keyboard. Power on. The screen flickered, and a familiar command line interface greeted me. You revoked my admin privileges. You locked the front door. But you forgot one thing. I wrote the kernel architecture of that entire building. I wrote the foundational code of the platform. My fingers flew across the keyboard. Lines of green text cascaded down the black screen like a digital waterfall. I hit Enter. ACCESS GRANTED.

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