1 I took a bullet for my boyfriend of ten years. He survived, unscathed, and in the heat of the moment, he promised he’d do anything for me. Everyone assumed I would seize the opportunity to demand marriage. After all, I’d proposed to him multiple times before, and I was three months pregnant with his child. But to everyone’s shock, I looked him in the eye and dumped him. Right there. Then I turned my back on him. Someone told him to chase after me. But he just scoffed, his expression dripping with disdain. “Why bother? Everyone knows Jacqueline is desperate. She’s pathetic. She’s carrying my kid; she’s just playing hard to get. If I chase her now, I’m just falling for her little game.” He didn’t know that I had already died once. In my past life, my proposal was successful. But Lyla, the young girl he had ‘saved,’ slashed her wrists and screamed for him. Blaming me for her distress, he locked me in our house like an animal. He broke my legs—the legs I used to dance with. On the day I went into labor, he strangled our newborn with his own hands, leaving me to bleed out in agony. Heaven had mercy. I was back. And this time, I was going to give him exactly what he wanted. … My thigh burned like it was being branded with a hot iron. A sharp jolt of pain snapped me back to reality. The nurse was gently wrapping gauze around the wound, her voice soft. “The antiseptic is going to sting a bit, honey. Just hang in there.” Standing nearby, Jax let out a cold, mocking laugh. He was handsome, with that sharp jawline that used to make my heart race, but now his eyes were full of contempt. “Oh, now you feel pain? What happened to all that bravery earlier? If you hadn’t gotten in the way, I would have caught that dealer. You’re useless, Jacqueline. You ruin everything.” I looked down at my legs, smooth and unbroken. I stayed silent. In my last life, to avenge Lyla’s imaginary grievances, Jax had shattered these legs with a baseball bat. It had been so long since I’d seen them whole. The other officers in the room exchanged uncomfortable glances. They had been there during the raid. Two hulking drug traffickers, one with a loaded piece. If I hadn’t thrown myself in front of Jax, that bullet would have buried itself in his heart, not grazed my leg. Seeing that I wasn’t fighting back, Jax’s mood darkened. He kicked a metal stool, sending it skittering across the linoleum floor. “Enough with the silent treatment, Jacqueline! You stalked me to a crime scene and interfered with police work. Do you have any idea how stupid that was? And now you have the nerve to give me attitude?” He paced, agitated. “Look, I said I’d grant you a request for saving me. So? Spit it out. What do you want?” He looked like he was seconds away from hitting me. Time is a cruel thief. It stole the passionate, devoted boy I fell in love with and left this violent, bitter stranger in his place. He had forgotten that he once swore to protect me with his life. No, he hadn’t forgotten. He just found someone else to protect. My gaze drifted to his hand. The silver band we bought together years ago was gone. In its place, on his ring finger, sat a cheap, hand-woven string ring with a tacky plastic puppy charm. I knew who made that. Lyla. The eighteen-year-old orphan Jax met six months ago. The “innocent” victim. I let out a dry, bitter chuckle. “Anything? You’ll agree to anything?” Jax paused, his eyes flickering to the cheap ring on his hand. A shadow of guilt crossed his face, quickly replaced by annoyance. He gritted his teeth. “Yes.” A few rookie cops shuffled closer, grinning. They knew our history. Ten years is a lifetime. “It’s a life debt, boss! Might as well offer yourself in marriage,” one joked. The room erupted in laughter. “Yeah, Jax! Jacqueline said last year she wanted to be married before thirty. Tick tock!” “Count me in for the bachelor party!” I was about to shut them down when the door burst open. A breathless nurse rushed in. “Officer! It’s bad. The girl you brought in—she’s trying to slash her wrists!” Again. I couldn’t count how many times Lyla had pulled the suicide card. Just like in my previous life, she knew exactly how to steal the spotlight. Jax’s face drained of color. Without a glance at me, he sprinted out the door. I scoffed, ignored the pain in my leg, and limped after him to the second floor. By the window, Lyla looked frail and tragic, wrapped in Jax’s oversized police jacket. Her face was pale, her large eyes swimming with tears. When we left the scene earlier, Jax had carried her to the ambulance like she was made of glass. I remembered now—when the dealer aimed the gun, Lyla had stood there in silence. Only after the criminals fled did she collapse into Jax’s arms, sobbing and fainting on cue. Seeing me in the doorway, Lyla’s expression shifted minutely before she ramped up the hysterics. “I know Jacqueline took a bullet for you, Jax! You promised her anything. You’ve been together ten years. She wants to marry you, so you have to say yes, right?” She held a fruit knife to her slender wrist, pressing just hard enough to dent the skin. “But Jax… I’m an orphan. I’m just a stray dog nobody wants. You gave me a home. You saved me. The thought of losing you… I’d rather die!” “Put the knife down, Lyla! Please! I can explain everything,” Jax pleaded, his voice trembling with a tenderness he hadn’t shown me in years. It was almost funny. Lyla had some kind of dark magic. From the moment he saved her, Jax became obsessed with “fathering” this homeless girl. He gave her a credit card. He moved her into his apartment—our future apartment—claiming she needed warmth and safety. Whenever she cried, he ran. When I nearly died in a car wreck last year, he screamed at me over the phone for interrupting his time comforting Lyla after a nightmare. If you’re hurt, call an ambulance. What the hell am I supposed to do? You’re so dramatic. That was the moment my heart began to shatter. Jax saw a helpless eighteen-year-old in Lyla. He conveniently forgot that his twenty-nine-year-old fiancée had also grown up in the foster system. He forgot that he was the one who dragged me into this love story. In my last life, jealousy and unwillingness to let go led to my destruction. But this time? He could keep her. I was done. Jax lunged forward and wrestled the knife from Lyla’s grip. He pulled her into a crushing hug, kissing the top of her head repeatedly. “Don’t ever scare me like that again! You hear me?” Lyla buried her face in his neck, sobbing theatrically. “But you’re going to marry Jacqueline… and I’ll be homeless again. Why did you even save me?” I watched from the doorway, fighting the urge to vomit. It was such a clumsy performance, yet Jax bought every second of it. He glared at me over her shoulder, eyes filled with resentment, before looking back down at Lyla gently. “I promise you. Married or not, your place in my heart won’t change.” He sighed, as if forced to reveal a burdensome truth. “I have no choice, Lyla. Jacqueline and I have been together for a decade. Everyone knows she’s desperate to marry me. When my dad died, she paid for the police academy. She took care of my mom for years. It’s a debt. I have to pay it back.” The room went silent. The other officers looked awkward. Before Lyla, we were the precinct’s power couple. Now, he made me sound like a loan shark collecting dues. I did pay for his academy. I did nurse his sick mother. I did it because I loved him, not because it was a transaction. If I had known he would turn into this, I would have walked away years ago. “You said you’d agree to any request,” I said, my voice cutting through the soap opera. “Ready to honor that?” Jax stiffened. He patted Lyla’s head and stood up, adjusting his jacket with arrogant pride. “So eager to lock me down? Fine. You have no dignity anyway. When do you want to go to the courthouse?” “I want to break up.” Jax froze. The arrogance slid off his face, replaced by confusion, then anger. “Excuse me?” “I said I want to break up. Right now. Today.” “Quit the drama, Jacqueline,” he snapped. “Everyone knows you’ve been chasing me for ten years. You’d crawl over glass to marry into my family. Now I finally say yes, and you’re playing hard to get? Don’t treat me like an idiot. You’re still wearing our ring!” He pointed at my hand triumphantly. I calmly slid the silver band off my finger and tossed it into the medical waste bin. Clink. The sound was small, but in the silent room, it sounded like a gavel falling. “I’m not wearing it anymore,” I said, my voice eerily steady. “Can we break up now?” He had given me that ring when he was eighteen, fresh out of high school. He worked three jobs to buy it. He had presented it to me with shaking hands. Jacqueline, I know you don’t have family. I’ll be your family. I will protect you with my life. I’ll be the best man you’ll ever know. I believed him. I wore that cheap silver ring for ten years. Once, I dropped it in the ocean and nearly drowned diving for it. He knew what that ring meant to me. Now, it sat among the bloody gauze and used needles. “You think this threatens me?” Jax’s face turned red. “I’m warning you, Jacqueline. I’m keeping my word to marry you, but if you keep acting like a lunatic, don’t expect a warm welcome in my house!” I laughed. I actually laughed. “Good. Who wants to be in your house anyway?” I looked him in the eyes one last time. “Jax, this is your notice. We’re done. Don’t come looking for me.” I turned and walked away. “Aren’t you going to chase her?” someone whispered to Jax. “Chase her?” Jax sneered loud enough for me to hear. “She’s a clinger. And she’s pregnant with my kid. This is just a game. If I chase her, she wins. Let her cool off.” He was right about one thing. I was pregnant. Three months ago, he had shown up drunk, forcing himself on me, mumbling about how we were going to get married anyway. The next morning, he accused me of drugging him. Shameless! You trapped me! I should have left then. But the ten years of history weighed me down. I wanted a family. In my past life, that desire killed me. Lyla eventually committed suicide for real, and Jax blamed me. He turned my life into a horror movie. You killed Lyla! You don’t deserve happiness! I touched my slightly swollen abdomen. I knew what I had to do. The next day, I got a text from Jax. Passed out on duty near the old industrial park. Come pick me up. It was his usual rude tone. But I knew it wasn’t him. Only Lyla had access to his phone and would bother mimicking him. Jax had told me a month ago he’d never call me first. His ego was too big. I knew it was a trap. A “Hongmen Feast.” But I grabbed my keys and went anyway. The location was a derelict factory on the outskirts of the city. As soon as I stepped through the rusted doors, someone kicked the back of my knees. I hit the concrete hard. Crack. Pain exploded up my legs. Laughter echoed in the vast, empty space. I looked up. Lyla stood in the center, flanked by three rough-looking men. Her innocent mask was gone, replaced by a sneer. “Why did you have to follow him, Jacqueline? Why do you have to be so pathetic? Nobody wants you. Don’t you have any shame?” I stayed silent, kneeling on the dirty floor. Lyla strutted over, grabbed a handful of my hair, and yanked my head back. “Tell me,” she whispered, her breath smelling of peppermint, “if you lose this baby… do you think Jax will still marry you?” I stared into her eyes and smiled. “Why don’t you find out?” Smack. She slapped me across the face. “You think I won’t? Jax doesn’t love you! He told me you’re just a glorified maid. You’re disgusting! This is what you deserve!” She shoved me backward. Then, she started kicking. She aimed specifically for my stomach. “Bitch! Trying to steal my man! Blocking my way! You deserve to die!” I curled into a ball, screaming as the blows landed. I felt something warm and wet spread between my legs. My vision began to blur. Lyla laughed, breathless and manic. She grabbed a metal pipe from a pile of debris and raised it high. “Whoa, stop!” one of the thugs yelled. “She’s bleeding! That’s a lot of blood!” Lyla didn’t care. She swung the pipe down, smashing it into my ribs. The pain was blinding. Darkness swallowed me whole. I woke up to the chaos of a hospital corridor. White lights. Shouting. “We can’t operate without a signature!” “The emergency contact isn’t picking up! Check her phone for anyone else!” “Stay with us, honey! Stay with us!” … At the precinct, Jax was filling out paperwork. His phone rang. Lyla. She sounded terrified. “Jax! Help! Some men are following me!” Jax dropped everything and raced home. He found Lyla curled up in bed, shivering. “I was so scared,” she wept, clinging to him. “They said they wanted to have fun with me… I ran so fast…” “Shh,” Jax soothed her. “I’m here.” His phone began to ring. A jarring, persistent sound. He saw my name on the caller ID and frowned. He hit ‘decline’.

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1 Before I turned fifteen, I lived like a weed growing in the cracks of the pavement—trampled, grey, just barely holding on. Then I met Asher and Summer. The first birthday cake I ever tasted was baked by Summer. The first pretty dress I ever wore, she bought with her allowance. The first time anyone celebrated the day I was born, it was because she spent weeks planning a surprise party. She was the one who applied ointment to my frostbitten hands in winter, tears in her eyes. She was the one who told everyone, loud and proud, that I was her best friend. And Asher? He was the one who pulled me out of a circle of laughing thugs when I was sixteen. He was the one who kicked down the door and carried me to the ER when my fever hit 104. He was the one who punched my drunk stepfather in the face right before the bastard could hit me again. On the day he confessed his feelings to me, his hands were shaking, and his heart was pounding so hard I could hear it. I cried when he said it: “I swear, Elara, I will protect you for the rest of my life.” I used to think, in the dark, quiet moments, how lucky a girl like me was to have found them. Until my twenty-third birthday. I heard Asher shouting at Summer, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t control my heart, Summer! So what if I’ve fallen in love with you? You feel the same way, don’t you?” The beautiful girl looked into the man’s red, tormented eyes. Finally, she broke, sobbing as she collapsed into his arms. “But… what about Elara?” I hid in the shadows around the corner, a sour, bitter smile twisting my lips. What about Elara? There was only one answer. You were both the people I loved most in this world. I couldn’t bear to make this difficult for you. I dialed my academic advisor’s number. My voice was calm, steady. “Professor? That twenty-year Antarctic research expedition… can I still apply?” The rain came down in sheets, soaking me to the bone, but I didn’t move. I stood outside the bistro, staring through the glass wall. Inside, the two people who had pulled me from the ruins of my childhood were embracing. He was handsome; she was gorgeous. The chemistry between them was palpable. A match made in heaven. It was such a beautiful picture, I almost didn’t want to ruin it. I stood on the corner for fifteen minutes, shivering, until the clock struck seven. Then, I wiped the water from my face, plastered on a smile, and walked into the private booth. “Ugh, you won’t believe it,” I announced, shaking out my wet hair. “My Uber broke down halfway here, and I couldn’t get another one. I had to run the rest of the way! I’m freezing!” Summer didn’t hesitate. She whipped off her expensive Chanel cardigan and wrapped it around my wet head. “You idiot,” she scolded, though her eyes were soft. “Why didn’t you call us? We would have picked you up! Do you want to get pneumonia?” Asher, usually the first to panic if I so much as got a papercut, hesitated. He didn’t rush to hug me like he did when we were seventeen and I’d been locked out in the storm. Instead, he stood three feet away, looking guilty. “I’m sorry, Elara. It’s your birthday, I should have picked you up from campus… I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry you got soaked.” I was shaking from the cold, but I kept the goofy grin on my face. “It’s fine! Seriously, don’t worry about it.” Maybe my nonchalance pricked his conscience. He finally stepped forward, taking my freezing hands in his and blowing warm air onto them. Summer, who was drying my hair, froze. A shadow of pain crossed her eyes. Asher noticed it instantly. He dropped my hands like they burned him and stepped back. He turned to the waiter. “Bring us a hot cocoa. Extra hot.” He smiled at me, a mask of normalcy. “Drink something hot. It’ll warm you up.” I pretended not to notice a thing. I sat down, loud and cheerful, but I could feel the heat of his gaze. It wasn’t on me. It was on the girl standing behind me. The cocoa arrived. Summer blew on it carefully before handing it to me. Usually, I found it too sweet, but tonight, the sugar tasted like ash. I drank every drop. “I’m starving,” I said, rubbing my stomach. “Can we eat?” In previous years, my birthdays were chaotic and loud. They would fight over who got to smudge icing on my nose for good luck. They would fight over who got to stand next to me in the photo. But in the final pictures, it was always the three of us. Asher holding me tight, looking at me like I was the only girl in the world. Summer leaning on my shoulder, eyes crinkled in laughter. This year, everything had changed. The cake was expensive. They were sitting right there. But the air felt thick, like we were trapped in drying cement. Summer ate quietly. Asher picked at his food, his mind clearly elsewhere. I took a deep breath and tried to inject some life into the room. “Why so quiet? You guys planning a prank? Are you going to smash the cake in my face when I’m not looking?” Summer forced a smile. “No way! We just figured you were tired from the library. Eat up.” “Alright, time for the main event!” We lit the candles. Our glasses clinked together. My best friend and the boy I loved spoke in unison. “Happy Birthday, Elara!” “Make a wish!” Baby, I swear I’ll spend every birthday with you. Whatever, lover boy. Elara only wants me. You’re just an accessory. Don’t be unreasonable, Summer. I’m her boyfriend. And I’m her soul sister. Floods couldn’t separate us… The memories of their playful banter from years past echoed in my head. I opened my eyes and blew out the candles. The smoke curled up, blurring their faces. This wasn’t my eighteenth birthday. This time, no one laughed. No one fought over me. They just toasted and sat back down. Summer seemed distracted. As she set her glass down, her wrist knocked against the table edge. She hissed in pain. Asher shot out of his chair. “Are you okay?” He froze, realizing his reaction was too intense. Two pairs of anxious eyes turned to me. I stared blankly at the cake. Every year, Summer baked me a cake. This one was no exception. On top, two fondant figures of little girls held hands. Just like when I was fifteen. I had gotten my period at school and didn’t have money for supplies. The other girls pointed at my stained jeans and laughed. Summer, the new transfer student, had tied her jacket around my waist, grabbed my hand, and glared every single bully into silence. From that day on, she was the spring breeze that blew through my desolate winter. I thought of the wish I had just made in silence. I smiled, and a tear slipped out. “Wow, getting old makes me sentimental,” I laughed, wiping the tear. “Let’s cut the cake.” I wish for the people I love to get what they want. To be happy forever. As for me… it’s okay. It really is okay. Seven days after my birthday, I received the acceptance letter for the Polaris Project. I studied Environmental Science, and while I loved the idea of uncovering nature’s secrets, I never imagined signing away twenty years of my life to the ice. But this time, I signed my name without hesitation. Just before I hit send on the final file, I hesitated. Panic fluttered in my chest. I closed the chat with my professor and aimlessly tapped my phone screen. My thumb accidentally opened an app I hadn’t used in ages. It had a heart background with little silver stars. It was an app Asher had coded for me years ago. “Night Whispers.” It was a digital diary for lovers. A place for his late-night thoughts, viewable only by me. He said once that when we were old, we’d read it all together—a poem of his enduring love. My wish: That my baby and I both ace our finals and get into the same university! Haha, I can’t sleep. You told me you loved me for the first time today. The way you blushed… I swear, I’m going to love you forever. The noodle place closed down. Don’t worry, I learned to cook your favorite chicken stew. It tastes exactly the same, I promise. Elara, you’ve been at the training camp for five days. A day feels like a year… The sweet memories washed over me, and the corners of my lips turned up. Then I scrolled to the recent entries. My smile froze. I used to think Summer was just Elara’s annoying friend. But watching her on stage today… she was glowing. I felt something strange in my chest. God, what is wrong with me? The date… five months ago. I thought this app was broken? I scrolled down frantically. We had dinner tonight. Summer sat across from me. I couldn’t stop looking at her. She has dimples when she smiles. How did I never notice? Summer’s grandmother died. I went with Elara to comfort her. Seeing her cry… I just wanted to hold her. I can’t stop thinking about her. I’m a scumbag. I touched Summer’s hand today. She blushed. She wouldn’t look at me. Does she feel it too? I feel guilty, but… I’m so happy. I’m so slow. She’s been avoiding me for a year. The girl who used to threaten to chop me into bits if I hurt Elara is now hiding from me. It all makes sense. Elara kissed me today in front of everyone. I felt nothing but panic because I saw Summer’s face fall. I can’t do this. I have to tell her how I feel. A wave of acid rose in my throat. The dazed look at the dance competition. The distracted dinners. The intense concern at the funeral. It all made sense now. Asher fell for her during the dance competition. Summer… she must have fallen for him much earlier. I was the only blind one. I scrolled to the bottom. The last entry was from an hour ago. Since Summer and I have confessed our feelings… now that Elara’s birthday is over, I have to end it. I know the truth will destroy Elara, but I have no choice… The phone buzzed in my hand. I curled my trembling fingers into a fist. Cold sweat trickled down my back. I finally understood why I had been fleeing. Why I left dinner early seven days ago. Why I was avoiding them. I was terrified. I was afraid Asher would come to break up with me. I had seen the look of pure love on his face when he confessed to me under the fireworks at seventeen. I didn’t know how to face him telling me, point-blank, that he loved Summer. But the call was coming. Desperate, I hit send on the email to my professor. Don’t tell me. Please, don’t tell me. I will never, ever be an obstacle to you. Let me leave quietly, and you can be together without guilt. Okay? The phone kept ringing. I buried my face in the duvet. The ringtone faded, but the pain in my heart sharpened into a physical ache. I cried until I had no tears left. For five days, I didn’t answer Asher’s calls. My paperwork was done. My professor expedited everything. In two days, I would be gone. But I underestimated Asher’s resolve to “clear the air.” He was in a hurry to start his new life with his true love. I saw him waiting outside my dorm. I gave a weak, resigned smile. He looked the same as always—tall, handsome, patient. In the past, he waited here to take me on dates. Or to bring me snacks. Or just to say “I miss you.” Today… I knew I couldn’t run. I walked up to him. “Hey. What are you doing here?” He looked up, concern flashing in his eyes. “Why are you wearing so little? It’s getting cold. You’ll get sick.” He reached out, his long fingers buttoning the top of my thin coat. His other hand moved instinctively to pull me into a hug. For a second, I almost let myself believe he was still mine. That he was still the boy who fought his parents for a year just to date me. But then, reality hit us both. Six years together creates habits. The tenderness was just muscle memory. Before I could step back, he froze. He pulled his hand away. My heart throbbed. He cleared his throat, voice raspy. “Why haven’t you been answering your phone?” I forced a casual smile. “It broke. I’ve been drowning in my thesis, haven’t had time to fix it.” He studied my face for a moment, then looked away. “…Oh. Okay.” Silence stretched between us. The wind cut through the hallway, biting at my skin. He didn’t speak, and I stubbornly stayed silent. Finally, when the windburn on my cheeks became too obvious to ignore, he whispered, “Elara, there’s something I have to tell you…” His phone rang. The ringtone… it used to be me singing. Now, it was “Lonely Whale.” Summer’s favorite song. A bitter smile tugged at my lips. He really hadn’t changed. When he loves someone, he changes every detail for them. “Hello?” “Asher? Where are you? I couldn’t reach Elara. Summer was in a car accident. She’s stubborn, she won’t tell her parents, and she didn’t want Elara to worry, so she’s lying in the hospital all alone…” It was Ryan, Summer’s childhood friend. Asher’s face went pale. “Is it bad? Which hospital?” I heard the voice on the other end say, “Not life-threatening, just a broken leg,” but Asher’s frown deepened. “I’m on my way.” He hung up. He hesitated, looking at me, and lied. “Elara… a relative is sick. It’s an emergency. I have to go.” I pretended I hadn’t heard the phone call. I nodded quickly. He noticed the redness on my face. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tube of ointment—the kind he always carried specifically for my sensitive skin. “Here. Put this on. Go inside.” Then he turned and ran. I stared at the tube in my hand. It was still warm from his body heat. Ants seemed to be gnawing at my chest. From now on… he wouldn’t need to carry this anymore. I don’t know if I went to the hospital because I was worried about Summer, or because I wanted to see, one last time, how much he loved her. The smell of antiseptic filled my nose. The door to Summer’s room was ajar. She was lying in bed, pale, her leg in a cast. She looked fragile and exhausted. And beautiful. Asher stood over her, his voice trembling. “Why didn’t you tell me?” “Why should I? You’re my best friend’s boyfriend. You…” “Summer!” Asher shouted. “Stop saying that! We already confessed how we feel! You know…” “Stop.” Summer closed her eyes. “That night was a mistake. I was emotional. Please… forget it. Elara is the most important person in the world to me. I can’t hurt her. I won’t let you hurt her. Go back to her. Fix your mindset. We act like nothing happened.” Her voice cracked at the end. Asher wept. “Summer, please… don’t do this.” Summer turned her head away. “I’ve made my decision. Leave.” Asher’s shoulders shook. Then, he took a deep breath. “Fine. You’re hurt. We won’t talk about this now. But I am staying. I fired the nurse you hired. If you hire another, I’ll fire them too. If you don’t let me feed you, you starve.” He sat down. He scooped up some porridge, blew on it, and held it to her lips. She refused. He persisted. Finally, Summer swatted the spoon away. “Asher! Are you crazy? I said get out!” He paused, spoon in mid-air. His voice was soft but unyielding. “You can fight me all you want. I’m not leaving.” He reached out and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. Then he picked up an apple and started peeling it with meticulous care. I stood in the shadows of the hallway. A statue. I had never seen this side of him. This gentle, stubborn determination. He really loved her. Summer’s eyes filled with tears. Her resistance crumbled. “Asher… you don’t have to do this.” “I know.” He sliced the apple. He looked at her with an intensity that burned. “I know I don’t have to. I want to.” In that gaze, the sterile hospital room vanished, replaced by a field of wildflowers. I knew then, with absolute certainty, that the boy who sang love songs to me until he lost his voice was gone. The boy who promised to love me forever was dead. I couldn’t watch anymore. I turned and walked away in silence. Love is fluid. It flows where it wants. I understood that. Two days later, I was at the airport. Alone. I didn’t shed a tear. The taxi window was down, the night breeze cooling my face. My life flashed before my eyes like a film reel. One year old: Mom died. My stepfather, who only took me in for the inheritance and reputation, hired an aunt to watch me. Three years old: The aunt left. I learned what hunger felt like. Five years old: I didn’t buy the alcohol fast enough. I learned what a belt felt like. I knelt in the snow all night. Eight years old: Social services got me into school. The other kids called me a ghost. Ten years old: A stray dog mauled me. No one came. I dragged myself home, bleeding. Fifteen years old: I met Summer. Color flooded my grey world. She said she wanted to be nice to me, just because. Sixteen years old: Asher saved me from the thugs. He held my hand and we ran, and I felt like a princess being rescued by a knight. Seventeen years old: My first red roses. A confession. Twenty-three years old: I am going to the South Pole. Everything changes. People leave. Elara—my name means “cheerful,” but I was weeping before I began. But you two… you gave me a grand, beautiful spring. Now, I just want you to be happy. Forever bright, forever happy. So, I leave willingly. I’m glad I could do one last thing for you. Goodbye, Summer. Goodbye, Asher. Never again.

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My neighbor diverted the raw sewage from his hog operation directly into my wheat fields. The foul, black sludge swallowed the waist-high stalks, destroying an entire year’s harvest overnight. My dad was ready to grab a shovel and commit murder. My mom was on her knees, sobbing, begging me to run to the Councilman for help. I stopped them both. I didn’t say a single word. The next day, I silently drained the toxic mess and planted hundreds of willow trees in the mud. The whole town laughed, calling me an idiot. My neighbor smirked, convinced I was a coward who had accepted defeat. Three years later, a convoy of EPA agents pulled up to his front gate. 1 The August wind should have carried the scent of ripening wheat, the sweet, dusty promise of harvest. But standing on the ridge of my family’s land, all I could smell was the gut-churning stench of rot and ammonia. The golden waves I had nurtured were gone. In their place was a horizonless hellscape of black water. My waist-high wheat stalks were drowning in a thick, dark sludge. The heavy heads of grain drooped into the filth like the heads of drowning victims. Sunlight hit the surface, reflecting a sickly, iridescent oil slick. Swarms of bluebottle flies buzzed in a frenzied, chaotic cloud above it. This was my family’s only field. My entire savings. My hope. My name is Mason. I have a degree in Agronomy. I spent two years burning out in a city cubicle, getting laid off, and growing sick of the rat race. In the end, watching my parents age over video calls broke me. I chose to come back to the small, dying town where I was born. I brought my degree and every cent I had to my name, determined to use scientific farming to give my parents a better life. My crop was the best in the county. The stalks were sturdy, the kernels full. Everyone who drove past stopped to say that my college degree hadn’t been a waste of time. My dad, Frank—a man who’s spent fifty years working dirt until his hands looked like tree bark—had been happier these past few months than I’d ever seen him. He’d walk the perimeter three times a day, hands clasped behind his back, chest puffed out, grinning like a fool. He told me that once we sold the harvest, he’d bank the money for my future wedding. Now, it was all gone. Overnight. Our neighbor, Bubba Vance, had expanded his hog operation. To save money on a septic system and waste treatment, he dug a trench straight from his pits to the lowest point of the valley: my field. Hog manure, urine, wash-water, and the chemical sting of industrial disinfectant surged down the hill, effectively drowning our livelihood in toxic waste. “Vance! You son of a bitch!” My dad’s eyes went bloodshot instantly. Veins bulged from his neck to his temples. He looked like an enraged bull seeing red. He roared, spinning around to grab the heavy iron shovel leaning against the fence post. He was going over there to kill Bubba Vance. “Frank! Don’t do it!” My mom, Martha, threw her arms around his waist, her knees buckling into the mud. Her wail was a sound of pure, jagged heartbreak. “Don’t go, Frank! If you hurt him, we lose everything! You’ll go to jail!” “A whole year of sweat and blood! Oh God, why are you doing this to us?” She pounded the ground, her hands splashing into the toxic muck, sobbing until she choked. I grabbed my dad from behind, locking my arms around his biceps. His muscles were hard as iron, shaking with adrenaline. He fought against my grip. My heart felt like it was being squeezed by a giant hand, crushed, and tossed into that cesspool. Rage, nausea, and injustice bubbled in my chest like magma, threatening to erupt. But my face remained a mask of stone. I leaned in, putting all my strength into holding him back, and whispered into his ear. “Dad. Stop.” My voice was cold. It sounded alien, even to me. “Let go of me!” He whipped his head around, glaring at me with wild eyes. “Mason! Are you a man or not? He’s destroying us, and you want to play the coward? Did all those books you read turn your spine to jelly?” Mom was screaming now. “Mason, go find Councilman Higgins! Ask him to help us! How are we going to survive this?” Councilman Higgins? He was Bubba Vance’s first cousin. Asking him for help was like asking a wolf to guard the hen house. Just then, a horn blasted. A rusted-out, lifted pickup truck rolled to a stop on the gravel road nearby. Bubba Vance, a man whose neck had long since been swallowed by layers of fat, rolled down the window. He looked at our flooded field and hawked a thick glob of spit onto the ground. “Well, look at that, Frank. Checking the crops?” He grinned, revealing teeth stained yellow by tobacco. It was a blindingly arrogant smile. “Consider that free fertilizer. Don’t thank me, that’s what neighbors are for. Next year’s crop is gonna be huge!” The woman beside him in the passenger seat cackled, her voice shrill. “That’s right! Saved you a fortune on chemicals! You college boys better learn to do the math!” Humiliation. Naked, unadulterated humiliation. My dad was shaking so hard I thought he might have a stroke. My mom’s wailing stopped, replaced by hopeless, gasping sobs. I didn’t respond to their taunts. I just slowly lifted my head. Across the fifty yards separating us, I locked eyes with Bubba. There was no anger in my gaze. No pleading. Nothing. Just a dead, icy silence. Bubba’s laughter cut short, like a radio suddenly switched off. He shivered, unsettled by the look, muttered “freak” under his breath, and stomped on the gas, leaving us in a cloud of black diesel smoke. I supported my father, who could barely stand, and pulled my mother out of the mud. “Let’s go home,” I said. That night, the lights in our house burned until dawn. Dad didn’t eat. He lay in bed, chest heaving, his blood pressure spiking dangerously high. Mom sat on the edge of the mattress, eyes swollen shut, tears leaking silently as she muttered, “What are we going to do? What are we going to do?” The air in the house was heavy enough to crush a man. I sat alone in my room, a fresh notebook open on my desk. Outside, the crickets and frogs were silent, as if terrified by the death radiating from our land. I didn’t turn on the lamp. In the darkness, I wrote. I drew diagrams. The scratching of my pen against the paper was the only sound in the void. When the sky turned gray with dawn, I closed the notebook. I looked out the window. The anger, the pain, the despair—it was all gone. Replaced by a calm that felt cruel. Bubba Vance. You like dumping filth on people? Fine. I’m going to show you exactly what it feels like to drown in your own waste. 2 I left the house early the next morning. I didn’t go to the Councilman. I didn’t go to argue with Bubba. I went into town. Using the last of my savings and a loan from an old college buddy, I rented a high-capacity industrial water pump. My parents thought I was going to drain the sewage to try and replant a late-season crop. They knew it was hopeless, but seeing me do something stopped them from screaming at me. The pump roared for two days and two nights. I drained the black sludge into an abandoned drainage ditch nearby. The field lay exposed—a expanse of black, necrotic mud covered in a layer of rotting wheat stalks, smelling worse than a corpse. My family waited for my next move. But I didn’t buy seeds. I made a call to a friend working at the State Agricultural Research Center. I ordered several hundred saplings. Not just any trees. I ordered a specific hybrid of Willow—Salix matsudana crossed with White Willow. A bio-engineered variety known for its hyper-tolerance to heavy metals and organic pollutants. Three days later, a delivery truck dropped the root balls at the edge of the property. Under the confused and mocking gazes of the entire town, I rolled up my pant legs and waded into the toxic muck alone. Digging holes. Planting saplings. Packing soil. Watering. Sludge splattered my face. Sweat mixed with the filth running down my neck. The smell made me gag every ten minutes. But I didn’t stop. The locals gathered on the road like they were watching a circus freak. “Did the college boy lose his mind?” “Good farmland ruined. He’s planting trees? Can’t eat willow bark.” “He’s cracked. The boy is broken. Shame about Frank and Martha… a lifetime of work gone.” Their whispers were like needles pricking my parents’ hearts. My dad’s face went from red to gray. He stormed down the embankment, pointing a shaking finger at me. “Mason! Get out of there! I have never been so embarrassed in my life! Are you trying to kill me?” He hadn’t eaten a full meal in two days. His voice cracked. Mom stumbled after him, tears flowing again. “Son, please. Stop this madness. Let’s just accept it. I’ll go beg Bubba. I’ll beg him to have mercy next year so we can eat.” I stopped digging. I straightened my aching back and looked at their weathered, desperate faces. My heart bled for them. But I couldn’t explain. Not yet. Any explanation would sound like insanity to them right now. I looked them in the eye and spoke with a firmness they hadn’t heard since I left for university. “Dad. Mom. Trust me. Just this once.” I turned back around, bent down, and planted another tree. My silence broke them. Dad collapsed onto the dirt, clutching his chest, gasping for air. Mom’s weeping turned into a low, keening wail of defeat. Bubba Vance drove by in his truck. He stopped to admire my “work.” He walked the perimeter, then threw his head back and laughed—a loud, booming sound that echoed off the hills. “Hahaha! Alright, kid! I gotta hand it to you! Creative!” He walked up to the edge of the field and slapped my muddy shoulder hard enough to make me stumble. “College brain, right? You know you can’t beat me, so you’re changing careers! Not bad. When those willows get big, I’ll need firewood for scalding the hogs. They burn hot!” His wife shouted from the truck. “At least he knows when to quit! Unlike some old stubborn fools!” Every word was salt in my father’s open wounds. I could feel Dad’s murderous gaze burning into my back. But I didn’t react. I was a machine. I planted the last sapling. When I packed the final mound of earth, I stood up and looked at the rows of spindly, fragile sticks protruding from the black mud. They looked weak. A strong wind could knock them over. But to me, they weren’t trees. They were soldiers. They were the first pawns on the board. A three-year game of chess had just officially begun. 3 My “Willow Field” became the town’s biggest joke. I was the punchline of every conversation at the diner and the feed store. “The boy who studied himself stupid.” My parents gave up on me. Except for meals, they stopped talking to me. The house felt like a tomb. Bubba Vance was the victor. He became even more arrogant, bragging to everyone that I had rolled over like a dog. He preached his gospel that money and connections could crush anyone. A week later, Councilman Higgins finally decided to make an appearance. He summoned my parents, me, and Bubba to the Town Hall. Inside the peeling office, Higgins sat behind an old desk, nursing a coffee, his belly pressing against the wood. He started by slapping Bubba on the wrist. “Now, Bubba, that wasn’t right. We’re all neighbors here. You can’t just dump water wherever. It looks bad.” Bubba hung his head, feigning shame, but I saw the smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth. Then, Higgins turned to us. “But, Frank, Martha… you can’t hold a grudge. Bubba is contributing to the local economy. Accidents happen. It wasn’t intentional.” Not intentional? Did the trench dig itself? Bubba reached into his pocket and pulled out five crumpled hundred-dollar bills. He slammed them onto the table. “Cousin… I mean, Councilman is right. Frank, take this. Buy some medicine. Let’s call it even.” Five hundred dollars. He destroyed a crop worth twenty thousand dollars, wiped out our savings, and offered five hundred bucks. It wasn’t compensation. It was a slap in the face. I saw my dad’s face turn purple. His fists clenched at his sides. My mom stared at the money, her lips trembling, humiliation washing over her. Higgins pushed the money toward my dad. “Alright then. Bubba apologized. He showed good faith. Frank, let it go. We all have to live here.” He looked at me, his eyes patronizing. “Mason, you’re an educated man. Be the bigger person. Go pull up those weeds you planted and start over next year. I’ll make Bubba write a promise note that he won’t do it again.” A promise note? From a man like that? It was worth less than toilet paper. I had been silent the whole time, a spectator to this farce. Until now. I stood up. Under everyone’s surprised gaze, I reached out. With two fingers, I picked up the stack of bills and slid them slowly back across the table to Bubba. The movement was gentle, but final. I looked Councilman Higgins in the eye and spoke. My voice was quiet, but it filled the room. “Councilman, first: My losses—not counting labor or emotional distress—are at least twenty thousand. Five hundred is a joke.” “Second: My land is a willow grove now. What I grow is my business. It’s not up for debate.” My words hit the room like a brick. Higgins froze. Bubba exploded. He slammed his hand on the table and jumped up, pointing a sausage-like finger in my face. “Mason, you ungrateful little shit! You trying to blackmail me? You want to play hardball?” I looked at his red, screaming face and smiled coldly. “I don’t want to play anything.” “Water can be cleaned. But a dirty soul? That’s harder to fix.” I turned to my stunned parents. “Dad, Mom. Let’s go.” I walked them out, ignoring the shouting behind us. Outside, the sun was blinding. My parents were silent, but I felt my dad squeeze my hand. His grip was warm. For the first time, he was doubting his conclusion that his son was a coward. 4 Autumn arrived quickly. Miraculously, the willow saplings survived. They rooted into the poisoned soil, shooting up green branches, growing at a supernatural rate. More importantly, the stench began to fade. The willows were drinking the filth. One afternoon, I was pruning branches when a voice called out. “Excuse me? Are you Mason?” I looked up. A girl in a white t-shirt and jeans stood on the ridge. She had a high ponytail and bright, intelligent eyes. “I am. And you are?” “I’m Elena. I’m the new Soil Conservationist with the Extension Office.” She smiled, revealing dimples. “I was driving by and saw this… it’s incredible.” She didn’t look at me like I was an idiot. She looked… fascinated. She squatted down, examining the soil. “This land… it was contaminated, right?” I nodded. She stood up, eyes shining. She lowered her voice like we were conspirators. “Phytoremediation? You’re using a willow-microbe consortium to degrade the organic pollutants and sequester heavy metals?” My heart skipped a beat. For months, I had been an island. She was the first person who spoke my language. “Exactly,” I said, grinning for the first time in forever. Elena became a regular. We tracked pH levels and growth rates. She brought me professional testing kits from the university. She was the only bright spot in a gray world. Our friendship didn’t go unnoticed. Bubba Vance watched from his porch, eyes narrowing with jealousy and suspicion. To a man like him, a “college boy” conspiring with a “government girl” meant trouble. A week later, on a moonless night, disaster struck. I arrived at the field to find the row of trees closest to the road hacked down. Clean cuts. Sap bleeding onto the ground. My blood boiled. It was Bubba. It had to be. My dad saw it and grabbed a machete. “I’m going to kill him! Mason, get out of my way!” I blocked his path again. “Dad! Proof? Where is the proof?” Dad faltered. “So we do nothing?” “No,” I said, staring at the stumps. “He did it once. He’ll do it again.” That night, I borrowed money from Elena and ordered four military-grade trail cameras with night vision. Bubba, you like working in the dark? I’m going to give you an audience. 5 I hid the cameras in the foliage, angled to cover every approach. Then, I set the trap. I went to the general store with my mom and spoke a little too loudly. “Mom, Elena said because of my innovation, the state is giving me a ‘Green Initiative Grant.’ It’s a few thousand dollars. Should be here next week.” Mom, bless her, played along. “Really? That’s wonderful!” The rumor spread like wildfire. Bubba heard it. I knew he would. He destroyed my land, and now I was going to profit from it? His ego couldn’t take that. Three nights later, my phone buzzed. Motion alert. The feed was grainy and green, but clear. Bubba Vance. Holding an axe. And he wasn’t alone. He had brought his teenage son, Junior. “Dad, why we doin’ this?” Junior whined. “Shut up and chop,” Bubba hissed. “This little punk thinks he’s gonna get free money? Not on my watch.” They went to work. Bubba swinging the axe, Junior pulling up saplings. They laughed. They cursed my family. And the four cameras recorded every second of it in 4K resolution. I didn’t run out there. I let them finish. I needed a felony amount of damage. When they left, I retrieved the SD cards. I played the footage on the living room TV. My parents watched in silence. Dad shook with rage, but when it was over, he looked at me with new respect. “I’m going to the Sheriff,” Dad said, grabbing his keys. “No,” I said gently. “Not yet.” “Police means a slap on the wrist. A fine. He’s rich, he’ll pay it and laugh.” I looked out the window into the dark. “I don’t want to fine him, Dad. I want to bury him.”

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I went on the reality show The Perfect Partner with my wife, Sophia. Knowing her stomach is sensitive in the mornings, I woke up before dawn to slow-cook a nutrient-rich bone broth. My father-in-law, Arthur, just scoffed. “Stop pretending. It’s just performative nonsense for the cameras.” later, when we hit traffic on the way to our date, I rented a tandem bicycle. I pedaled us toward the restaurant, trying to recreate the carefree days of our youth, laughing the whole way. My stepdaughter, Lily, rolled her eyes when she saw the footage. “So fake. You can tell he’s desperate for attention.” My wholehearted devotion was met with a zero-star rating from my wife’s family. It wasn’t until the production crew, in front of millions of viewers, aired a montage of Sophia and her late husband, Lucas. The scenes were natural, overflowing with love. That was the moment I finally understood why my careful, tiptoeing attempts to please them never made the grade. It wasn’t that I wasn’t good enough. It was simply because I wasn’t Lucas. Nothing more. 1 The massive LED screen on the soundstage lit up. They were playing home videos of Sophia and Lucas. No one had warned me. I just stood there, in front of a national audience, watching my wife be deeply, madly in love with a ghost. On screen, Sophia stood on her tiptoes, pulling Lucas down for a kiss. It was intimate, electric. With me, she refused to even hold hands on camera, claiming she wanted to “maintain boundaries.” She left the porch light on for Lucas when he worked late. She peeled oranges for him, removing every bit of the bitter pith because she knew he hated it. Every frame dripped with a passion I had never tasted. My chest ached, a physical tremor running through my heart. But the red “ON AIR” light was blinking, so I kept my face composed. When the clip ended, Sophia and Arthur were wiping away tears. I dug my fingernails into my palms, grounding myself so I wouldn’t interrupt their grief. The host turned the microphone to Arthur. “Arthur, it seems you’re quite moved. If you had to score Lucas and your current son-in-law, Ethan, out of ten, what would you give them?” The studio fell dead silent. It was a trap, obviously designed by the producers to stir up drama. Arthur didn’t hesitate. He held up the ’10’ paddle. “I give Lucas a ten.” Then, he turned to me and raised a ‘0’. A ripple of awkward murmurs tore through the audience. A producer off-camera prompted him, asking for the reason behind the zero. Arthur’s voice was cold steel. “Because he doesn’t even have the right to be compared to Lucas.” The audience gasped. The directors’ eyes lit up; they had their viral clip. Not a single person stepped in to smooth things over. I was a joke, left hanging out to dry in front of the entire country. I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat and endured until the director yelled, “Cut!” Walking back to the cast house, I realized my palms were sticky. I had dug my nails in deep enough to draw blood. Sophia walked beside me, her voice light. “Don’t take it to heart. Dad just speaks his mind. He didn’t mean any harm.” My heart froze over. She didn’t say, “He was wrong.” She didn’t promise, “I won’t let him do that again.” She just excused it as “speaking his mind.” I pulled the corners of my mouth into a dry smile. “Yeah. He speaks his mind.” “So when I make soup, I’m performing. When I give you a massage, I’m showing off. Sophia, what exactly do I have to do to get a passing grade from you and your father?” Sophia fell silent. She wasn’t used to me pushing back. Since we married three years ago, I was always the one apologizing, the one smoothing things over. We walked a bit further until she suddenly jogged to the roadside and picked a small bouquet of wildflowers. She shoved them into my hands, a peace offering. “I remember you love Cornflowers. Let’s put them in a vase when we get back… don’t be mad, okay?” I looked down at the flowers in my hand. Blue Cornflowers. Specifically, the flowers Lucas loved most in the video clip we just watched. After all these years, her subconscious was still wired to Lucas’s preferences. I had told her at least ten times in three years that my favorite flowers were Sunflowers. She just never remembered. Those with a heart don’t need to be taught; those without one will never learn. I didn’t correct her. I let Sophia carry the blue Cornflowers back to the house. She stood by the window, humming a tune as she trimmed the stems, the unpleasantness of the studio already forgotten. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a message from Abby: I saw the show. Why do you let them humiliate you like that? If you want out… I’m always here. Two lines of text, and my nose stung. Even she couldn’t stand watching it. She felt my pain from a distance, yet my wife couldn’t remember my favorite flower while standing right next to me. I stared at the screen for a long time before turning it off. The front door burst open. My stepdaughter, Lily, was back from her segment. She screamed “Mommy!” and launched herself into Sophia’s arms, clutching her ragged teddy bear. She saw me sitting near the door first, but she didn’t even blink. She looked right through me. Three years. She had never called me “Dad.” She barely even called me “Ethan.” I was just furniture to her. “Cornflowers! Daddy’s favorite color!” Lily pointed at the vase, delight in her voice. Sophia’s hand froze mid-snip. She realized her mistake. She glanced at me, panic flickering in her eyes. When I didn’t say anything, she quietly took the vase down and hid it in a corner where I couldn’t see it. Lily pouted immediately. “Mom, why are you moving them? Put them back!” I felt a wave of exhaustion so heavy it nearly crushed me. I didn’t want to hear Sophia’s excuse. I stood up and walked out to the patio. The production crew had set up a fire pit for a barbecue dinner. Embers glowed in the twilight. I crouched down, warming my hands over the heat. Sophia, sensing the tension, came out carrying a few foil-wrapped sweet potatoes. “Let’s roast these together.” Habit kicked in. I didn’t want her to burn her fingers, so I took them from her. We sat side by side, the silence between us thick and heavy. Lily ran out, her tone filled with nostalgic wonder. “Daddy used to double-wrap the potatoes so they wouldn’t burn! That’s how they get super sweet!” My hand, in the middle of turning a potato, paused. I said nothing. She kept going. “And when they were done, Daddy would always break them in half and give me the sweet middle part first.” Sophia sensed the shift in my mood and whispered, “Lily, that’s enough.” Lily looked genuinely aggrieved. “But Daddy did do everything better! I’m not lying!” Pop. A spark from the fire pit snapped, landing squarely on the back of my hand. The skin turned red instantly. The physical sting drilled straight into my heart. My eyes burned. The accumulated grievances of three years—the insults, the comparisons, the invisibility—surged up like bile. My voice came out raspy. “But the person roasting them right now is me.” “And your dad isn’t coming back. Is he?” Lily wailed. She clutched that faded bear to her chest and sprinted into the house. Sophia looked at me in disbelief. “How could you say that? She’s just a child!” She started lecturing me, her voice rising, but my ears were ringing. I couldn’t stop the trembling in my voice. “A child? She’s twelve years old! Her father has been gone for five years!” “I can accept that she doesn’t like me. But you? Are you really going to watch her drag that bear around everywhere she goes, trapped in a shadow she can’t escape for the rest of her life?” “Sophia, are you loving her, or are you ruining her?!” My words were needles, popping the bubble of denial Sophia had lived in for half a decade. Her face flushed crimson. In her panic, she lashed out. “This is a matter between my daughter and me! I don’t need an outsider telling me what to do!” I froze. Sophia froze, too. It was their family matter. Then what was I? I nodded slowly, my voice terrifyingly calm. “Right… I’ve always been the outsider to you people.” Panic flooded Sophia’s face. She reached out, trying to grab my hand. “No, Ethan, wait, I didn’t mean it like that—” From inside the house, Lily’s screams tore through the air. I sidestepped Sophia’s touch. “Go comfort her.” Sophia looked torn. But the screaming got louder. “I don’t want him! Mom, kick him out!” “Daddy promised he’d bring us to the beach! Why is he here?!” “Make him leave! I want Daddy!” Sophia turned and ran inside. Soon, her soft, cooing voice joined the chaotic sobbing. I stood alone on the patio. The ocean was just a few hundred yards away. The night wind was wet and biting. God, it was cold. When we were selecting locations, I told them I hated the coast in winter. It aggravated my joints. But mother and daughter had been adamant. Now I knew why. This was where they had made memories with Lucas. This was their shrine. I was just the extra body. The fool trying to squeeze into a picture frame that had no space for him. The last tiny flicker of hope in my chest sputtered and died. I smiled. It was a smile of pure relief. I pulled out my phone and opened my chat with Abby. I typed three words: I want to leave. 计费点 The reply came instantly. I’ve been waiting for you to say that. Don’t worry. I’ll handle everything. I knew she could. But this relationship started with me, and it had to end with me. No, I typed back. I’ll handle the production team. I pocketed the phone and walked toward the editing bay. The lights were blazing; the editors were pulling an all-nighter. I stood in the doorway, watching the monitors. They were reviewing the solo interview segments. The crew saw me but didn’t stop me—drama is content, after all. I watched Sophia’s “Chemistry Test.” The producer asked: “What is Ethan’s favorite color?” Sophia sat in silence for a long time before guessing wrong. “What is Ethan’s favorite movie?” Sophia frowned, thinking hard, then shook her head apologetically. “What food does Ethan hate?” She listed three things. All of them were wrong. Those were things she hated. Finally, the producer, sensing the disaster, threw her a softball question. “Okay, then when is Ethan’s birthday?” This time, Sophia didn’t hesitate. She rattled off a date immediately. My stomach dropped like a stone. That was Lucas’s birthday. My birthday is in winter. She gave a date in the middle of summer. I stared at the screen, waiting for the anger. But it didn’t come. There was only a vast, hollow sadness. I didn’t have the energy to be angry anymore. I found the showrunner. When he heard I was terminating my contract, his face twisted. “Ethan, look, the contract is signed. We’re halfway through filming. If you walk now, it’s a breach. It’s huge damages.” I understood. Without the clown to be kicked around, where would their ratings come from? “Calculate the penalty,” I said flatly. “I’ll pay it. I have one condition: I leave tonight.” The director opened his mouth to argue, but his phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID and snapped to attention. His face went pale. “Yes… yes, ma’am. I understand. Absolutely.” He hung up, looking at me with a mix of shock and newfound fear. My phone buzzed. Abby. I know you hate confrontations. It’s handled. The car is waiting. I put a bag of roasted chestnuts in the back seat. See you soon. I unclipped my microphone and handed it to the director. “But… what if Sophia asks?” he stammered. I glanced back at the beach house. Mother and daughter were probably hugging right now, crying over Lucas, bonding over their shared grief. There had never been any room for me in that house. “She won’t care,” I said. I turned around and walked into the dark, endless night. I didn’t look back.

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I thought I would never see him again. But I never expected that the next time our paths crossed, he would be standing there with his arms crossed, watching his wife beat my son. 1 I received a frantic call from the kindergarten teacher. She told me Leo had gotten into a fight with another classmate and urged me to get there immediately. She mentioned the other child’s parents were already on their way and we needed to negotiate a resolution. I dropped my work instantly and rushed over. But the moment I reached the door of the principal’s office, I heard a woman’s shrill, abusive screaming. “You little mongrel! How dare you hit my son? You really are a bastard with no upbringing. I’m going to teach you a lesson you won’t forget!” Smack. Smack. Two sharp slaps rang out, followed immediately by a heart-wrenching wail. That was my son, Leo. She had slapped him across the face. I heard the teacher’s voice, trembling but trying to intervene. “Mrs. Miller, you can’t just hit a child! Leo’s mother will be here any minute. We need to talk this out civilly. Please, stop!” The woman hadn’t vented enough anger yet. She turned and snapped at the teacher. “I pay a fortune to send my son here, and this is how you protect him? Letting him get beaten by trash? My son is precious royalty compared to these peasants. Today, I’m not just going after this little bastard’s parents; I’m coming after your school too!” I couldn’t listen to another second. I kicked the door open and stormed in. Leo was sitting on the floor, clutching his face, sobbing uncontrollably. Standing over him was a chubby kid with a smug, malicious grin. Beside the fat kid was a woman dressed in gaudy, expensive clothes, waving her manicured claws and berating everyone in sight. The teacher stood to the side, looking awkward and helpless. And then there was the man. He stood against the wall, arms folded across his chest, watching the scene with a face devoid of emotion. “Leo!” I shouted, scooping my son up from the floor. Leo buried his face in my chest, his cries growing louder as he choked out, “Mommy, Mommy…” I looked up, my eyes locking onto the woman. She didn’t back down. In fact, seeing me seemed to fuel her rage. She pointed a finger right at my nose. “So, you’re the mother of this little animal? How exactly are you raising him? Look at my son’s face! He scratched him! I demand an explanation right now, or I swear I won’t let you leave this room.” I stared at her, my eyes burning with such intensity that she actually faltered and took a step back. “Honey!” she shrieked, turning to the man. “Look at this bitch! She’s glaring at me! Get over here and beat her up for me!” The man was staring at me. Intently. He hadn’t said a word. When I finally turned my gaze to him, I froze. I hadn’t recognized him in my rush to get to Leo. His hair was styled differently, he was wearing a suit I’d never seen, but there was no mistaking him. I instantly understood the dynamic in the room. That was my ex-husband, Mark. 2 I had only glanced at him when I burst in, but now the reality settled in. I stood up slowly, pulling Leo behind me, and looked straight at the woman. “Did you just hit my son?” Emboldened by her husband’s presence, she puffed out her chest. “That’s right, I hit him. He dared to touch my son, so I touched him. A little bastard born to a slu—” Smack! Before she could finish the word, my hand connected hard with her cheek. The room went dead silent. Everyone froze. No one expected me to get physical. The woman’s face twisted in shock, and she opened her mouth to scream a stream of profanities. Smack! I backhanded her across the other cheek before she could make a sound. “You gave my son two slaps,” I said, my voice shaking with adrenaline but icy calm. “Now I’ve returned them. We’re even. Now, we can talk about what actually happened.” The woman hadn’t expected me to be this ferocious. She was too scared to hit back, so she turned to her husband, screeching, “Mark! Kill her! Beat this bitch to death! She hit me! Even my mother has never hit me!” But Mark didn’t move. His expression was a storm of conflict, his eyes darting between me and the floor. I ignored them both and turned to the teacher. “Ms. Hayes, what exactly happened?” Ms. Hayes exhaled a long breath and explained the situation. Leo and the woman’s son, Tyler, were playing separately. For no apparent reason, the chubby kid, Tyler, walked over and shoved Leo hard, knocking him to the ground. Leo landed on his tailbone and started crying from the pain. Instead of apologizing, Tyler pointed and laughed, chanting that Leo was a “bastard with no daddy” and that he deserved to be bullied. He ran around the classroom clapping his hands and announcing to everyone that Leo didn’t have a father. Leo, pushed to his limit, chased him down and scratched Tyler’s face in retaliation. It was a conflict between toddlers. But for a child that young to use such specific, hateful language meant he heard it at home. The parenting was clearly rotten to the core. Because Tyler’s family was wealthy, this woman—Tiffany—had stormed in with her nose in the air. She didn’t ask questions; she just slapped my son. After hearing the full story, I turned back to Tiffany. Seeing the look in my eyes, she flinched and took another two steps back behind Mark, terrified I would strike again. Finally, Mark stepped forward. 3 “Sarah… Leo’s mom,” Mark stammered, correcting himself. “This… this was definitely Tyler’s fault. I apologize on his behalf. Kids will be kids, they don’t know any better. We adults shouldn’t take it too personally. Look, you’ve hit her, she hit him… let’s just call it even and move on, alright?” Tiffany couldn’t believe her ears. She grabbed Mark’s arm. “No way! She assaulted me! I’m calling the police. I want her arrested!” Mark grabbed her wrist and yanked her down. “Enough! Stop making a scene. Haven’t you embarrassed yourself enough today?” Tiffany looked at her husband, then at me, her face contorting with jealousy. “Oh, I see. She’s pretty, isn’t she? You see a pretty face and suddenly you lose your spine? She slapped your wife right in front of you and you do nothing? Are you even a man?” Mark shook her hand off his arm with disgust. He walked over and crouched down in front of my son. “Hey there, little guy. You’re Leo, right? Does it still hurt?” I grabbed Leo by the shoulders and yanked him back. “Don’t touch my son.” Mark stood up, looking weary. “Sarah, let’s just drop it. Dragging this out won’t be good for anyone. The kids are watching.” I held Leo’s hand tight. “I hope this is the last time. If anything like this ever happens again, I won’t let any of you off the hook—adults or children.” I turned and walked out with Leo. Behind me, I could hear Tiffany’s wailing. “Mark, you coward! You can’t protect your own wife! You’re staring at her ass as she walks away, aren’t you? You cheater!” Then Mark’s voice, sharp and angry: “You are completely irrational. Hopeless. Get in the car before you humiliate us further.” I never imagined my son and Mark’s son would end up in the same preschool. I had cut all ties years ago. Running into him like this was a nightmare. The next day, I pulled Leo out of that school and transferred him to a new one across town. I thought that would be the end of it. But ten days later, Mark found me. 4 I was at the gate of Leo’s new kindergarten when Mark appeared, stepping out of the shadows as if he’d been waiting for me. I frowned instantly. “What do you want?” He sighed, a sound meant to evoke pity. “Sarah, why did you transfer him?” “We’re divorced,” I snapped. “Don’t call me Sarah like we’re friends. It makes me sick. If people hear you, they might misunderstand. Since we cut ties, stay out of my life. Where I send my son to school is none of your business.” “Sarah, are you still blaming me?” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I know I wronged you back then, but I had no choice. It was the situation. But look at me now. I’ve recovered. Everything is under my control. I can divorce Tiffany. We can get back together.” I laughed, harsh and dry. “Stop right there.” “I have self-respect. Once a traitor, always a traitor. We have no destiny together. I don’t care how much money or control you have now. If you keep harassing me, I’ll call the police.” “Sarah, do you really have to be this cruel?” He reached out to grab my arm. I shook him off violently. “Mark, watch yourself! There are people everywhere. Don’t make me beat you up right here on the sidewalk.” Mark sighed and stepped back, raising his hands in surrender. Then, he asked the question that had clearly been burning a hole in his mind. “Is Leo my son?” My heart skipped a beat, but I kept my face like stone. “You’re delusional. Would I have a child for a man who betrayed me? He’s my son. Not yours.” “I don’t believe you!” His eyes narrowed. “His age matches up perfectly with Tyler’s. You must have been pregnant when you left me. Leo is mine, isn’t he?” “Don’t flatter yourself,” I sneered. “I admit, I was heartbroken when we split. But that heartbreak didn’t make me want your baby. It made me reckless. I went to a club that night and slept with a gigolo. That’s how I got Leo. So no, he isn’t yours.” Mark shook his head frantically. “You’re lying just to hurt me. You have emotional OCD. You wouldn’t even date a guy who had too many ex-girlfriends, let alone sleep with a random hooker. You would never stoop that low.” I looked him dead in the eye. “People change. You changed into a cheater. Why couldn’t I change into someone who enjoys a one-night stand?” Mark looked at the resolve in my eyes. He realized he wasn’t getting anywhere today. He slumped his shoulders. “I’ll come see you and the boy again.” “If you dare show your face in front of me again,” I warned, “I won’t hold back. I’ll knock your teeth out.” Mark didn’t reply. He turned and walked away. He left, but my mind was in chaos.

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Ten minutes into the movie, and the text I sent Jace still sat on Delivered. I was just about to call him when my phone buzzed. It wasn’t him. It was a notification from our gaming Discord server. Lyla, his childhood sweetheart, was spamming the chat, practically begging him to log on. A second later, the familiar avatar matching mine popped up with a reply: [Hop on. I’ll carry you to Diamond, babe.] Whatever excitement I had for the night evaporated instantly. I quit the server without a word, bought a bucket of popcorn, and sat through the premiere alone. By the time the credits rolled, my phone was flooded with dozens of missed calls from Jace. And one frantic, incoherent voicemail: “Baby, Lyla can explain! Seriously, something came up! It was an emergency!” “Tomorrow… I promise I’ll take you tomorrow, okay?” I didn’t reply. My tomorrow? It didn’t seem to need him anymore. 1 When Jace finally came home, I was on the sofa, focused on my game. “Sienna, can I trade these roses for a bowl of your famous noodles?” He was half-kneeling on the floor, offering a bouquet of red roses with a look of guilty charm plastered on his face. I didn’t stop tapping my screen. I just glanced at him. “Thanks.” Seeing that I wasn’t screaming, he let out a long sigh of relief, humming a tune as he turned on the TV to catch some sports highlights. On my screen, the enemy crystal shattered. Victory. Rank up. I gathered my takeout containers, stood up, and walked to the kitchen. Passing the trash can, I dropped the roses inside. The humming stopped. “What is that supposed to be?” I was washing my hands when he threw the question at me. I looked back, confused. He was staring at the trash can, frowning deeply, as if I were the heartless villain in his story. “I’m allergic to pollen,” I said simply. As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted explaining. Unless he had developed early-onset dementia, there was no way he could forget that I’d been hospitalized twice for pollen allergies. In the past, whenever we fought, he’d buy roses with apology cards. To give him an out, to keep the peace, I used to take them. I’d suffer in silence just to smooth things over. God, I was an idiot. Jace looked awkward for a split second before pivoting. “Okay, I’ll get you a different gift next time. Babe, I’m starving.” I stifled a yawn, heading for the bedroom. “There’s instant ramen in the cupboard.” Jace froze. He looked at me in total disbelief. “You’re not going to cook for me?” He used to complain that my cooking was too bland. But every time he specifically asked for a meal, I felt that pathetic rush of validation—like I was finally being seen. His face darkened. “I want your egg noodles. You always say instant stuff is unhealthy.” I stopped in the doorway and looked him in the eye. “Eating it once or twice won’t kill you. Besides, don’t you have an ‘iron stomach’?” That shut him up. He used to be a pro gamer, and now he was a head coach. Years of grueling schedules meant he treated food as fuel, destroying his gut in the process. I used to spend hours researching recipes, making gut-friendly meals just for him. If I hadn’t decided to surprise him at the training facility with soup one day, I never would have known. I wouldn’t have seen Lyla eating the nutritional lunch I woke up at 6:00 AM to prepare. I had lost it that day. I cried, I screamed. Jace had just watched me unravel. When I finally ran out of tears, he pulled me into a hug. “If I actually liked Lyla, do you think I’d be with you?” he’d said. “Sienna, you’re two years older than me. Can’t you be a little more mature? It’s just lunch.” “The girl has a weak appetite. I was just helping her out. I have an iron stomach; I can eat whatever garbage comes my way.” Back in the present, Jace frowned, looking me up and down. He let out a scoff. “You’re still mad I missed the movie?” “Fine, be mad at me. But us fighting is between us. Why did you leave the Discord server without saying a word? Do you know how embarrassing that makes Lyla look? She’s the admin.” It was a rank-boosting server. People joined and left all the time. “I’m not throwing a tantrum. I don’t know anyone in there. Leaving isn’t a big deal.” I was too exhausted to argue. His expression shifted. He blocked the bedroom door. “You left right when Lyla asked me to play. People who don’t know better might think she’s wrecking our relationship and chased you off.” I actually laughed. So that was it. He wasn’t worried about my feelings; he was worried his precious childhood friend might get labeled a homewrecker. “Fine. Sure. I’ll issue a press release tomorrow. Can I sleep now?” “That’s not what I meant…” Click. I slammed the door and locked it. 2 Jace, of course, wouldn’t deign to sleep on the couch. The last time he slept on a sofa was before he retired. I had stayed up all night with him during training. I fell asleep on his single bed, and he didn’t want to wake me, so he curled up on a beanbag chair. When I told him to get a bigger bed for the studio, he tapped my nose, grinning. “Don’t think you can micromanage me 24/7.” Recently, the studio did get a king-sized bed. When I asked why, he shrugged. “Lyla naps there sometimes after hosting matches. The small bed hurt her back.” The honesty was so brutal it left me speechless. He didn’t even realize he instinctively put her comfort above everything else. Jace didn’t come home for three days. But I saw plenty of him. His Instagram stories were a highlight reel: racing tracks, VIP lounges, bars. He was in his element. He posted more in three days than he had in the last six months. One scroll down, and I saw Lyla’s post. A photo of Jace in his racing gear, arm tight around her waist, holding up a trophy. Caption: [Men are just giant children. Still my favorite immature winner.] They looked like the poster couple for “Young Love.” I double-tapped the photo to like it. Then I called an Uber, went to my office, and handed in my resignation. My manager was stunned. “This is so sudden, Sienna.” She knew how hard I’d worked. I went from an intern to a name people respected in the industry. I drank the bad wine, smiled at the rude clients, and swallowed my pride to build connections. I never really liked the job. I stuck with it partly because my network helped Jace’s career, and partly because I was competitive. “I heard your family is overseas,” she said, signing the paperwork. “Going back to get married?” I smiled, shaking my head. “I just miss home.” I had fought my parents to stay here, chasing a love that I thought was worth the distance. I gambled and lost. When my team heard I was leaving, they demanded a farewell dinner. We went to a trendy bistro downtown. Of course, the universe has a sick sense of humor. As we walked in, Jace and Lyla were walking out. They brushed past us. Jace barely glanced at me, his eyes cold, as he wrapped an arm around Lyla’s shoulders. “Come on, let me introduce you to Jagerbombs.” Lyla feigned surprise when she saw me, but her eyes danced with triumph. She leaned into Jace, whispering loud enough for me to hear. “Aren’t you worried Sienna will get mad again?” Jace sneered. “She doesn’t control me.” I listened to their footsteps fade and let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Better this way. No awkward conversations. We drank until midnight. When I stumbled out to hail a cab, a familiar Porsche Panamera pulled up to the curb. The window rolled down. Jace looked furious. “Get in.” I stared at him. “You’ve been drinking. Driving under the influence is illegal.” “I didn’t drink. Get in the car, Sienna. Now.” It was impossible to get a ride at this hour. I didn’t have the energy to fight, so I opened the back door and slid in. I closed my eyes, leaning my head back. The car didn’t move. I opened my eyes to see Jace watching me in the rearview mirror, his expression complicated. “Sienna. Am I your Uber driver now?” I blinked, answering out of reflex. “Huh? But… you said I don’t get carsick, so I should sit in the back.” 3 I wasn’t trying to dig up the past. I was already planning to break up with him. But the righteous indignation in his voice—as if I was the rude one—triggered me. The passenger seat used to be mine. Then Lyla moved closer to the city, and Jace started “conveniently” driving her to work. She claimed she had severe motion sickness. Jace had looked at me, exasperated. “Sienna, you have a strong stomach. Just sit in the back.” I remembered choking back tears that day. “Why should I? No.” After that, he started leaving the house at dawn just to avoid driving me, terrified I’d try to claim my seat. I sighed, closing my eyes again. “If we aren’t moving, unlock the doors. I’ll walk.” He let out a frustrated groan and slammed on the gas. When we got home, Jace pinched the bridge of his nose, looking exhausted. “Sienna, can we stop fighting?” All I wanted was a hot bath. “Sure.” My indifference panicked him. “Lyla and I are just friends. She’d never been to a track before, so I took her. That’s it.” “I know.” I stood in front of the bathroom cabinet, debating between a bath bomb and Epsom salts. “Then why aren’t you answering my texts?” I walked into the bathroom and shut the door. Once I was in the tub, I checked my phone. I had muted him days ago. [I went to the bar because you locked me out. I wasn’t gonna sleep on the floor.] [I decided I’m not giving up racing for you anymore.] [I’m joking, babe. Don’t be mad.] [Silent treatment? Really?] [I’ll pick you up. Sienna, I surrender…] Reading them, I thought back to the movie theater. Waiting ten minutes for a reply that never came. I finally understood. When he cared, he wouldn’t miss a single text. He’d stare at the screen waiting for a response. Jace used to mute my notifications because I was “annoying.” But that Discord server? He kept alerts on for that. I finished my bath and realized the problem: We only had one bed. If I broke up with him right now, tonight would be a logistical nightmare. When I walked out, Jace looked like he was struggling to find the right words. Before he could speak, his phone rang. Lyla. He answered immediately. I could hear a girl crying on the other end. He hung up, his jaw tight. “Something happened to Lyla? Go,” I said. His shoulders relaxed. “She got into a fender bender. It’s her first accident, she’s panicking. I just need to go handle the insurance stuff.” He grabbed his keys, paused, and pulled me into a hug. “Don’t overthink this, please? I’m begging you.” I went rigid. It took everything in me not to shove him away. He was too distracted to notice. He grabbed his jacket and left. Before I slept, I unpinned Jace from the top of my chat list. He sent a stream of texts throughout the night. [The hospital won’t let me leave, she needs a guardian. I’ll take you shopping tomorrow…] I didn’t read the rest. I tossed the phone aside and went to sleep. 4 With Jace, “tomorrow” was a concept, not a promise. After finalizing my exit from the company, I crashed at my best friend Quinn’s apartment. We ordered a mountain of fried chicken and binged horror movies. Right before a jump scare, I instinctively looked down at my phone. Lyla had posted again. And honestly, it was scarier than the movie. The photo showed Jace, sleeves rolled up, peeling an apple for a frail old woman in a hospital bed. Caption: [Grandma, I did it. I finally brought him to meet you.] The comments section was a dumpster fire of mutual friends: [Dude, Jace playing the fake boyfriend? If Sienna finds out, she’s gonna nuke the city.] [Sienna, don’t be jealous! Jace literally can’t live without you lol.] These were his former teammates. They always hated me. Thought I was too old, too controlling, too boring for their golden boy. Jace usually laughed it off. “They’re just joking. You know I’d die without you.” Turns out, his “reassurance” was just an inside joke for the boys. “Whatcha looking at?” Quinn slapped my shoulder, scaring the life out of me, and snatched my phone. Her face went red instantly. “That dog! I’m going to kill him!” She dialed Jace immediately. No answer. “Forget it,” I said, taking the phone back. “I don’t like him anymore anyway.” I wasn’t sad. My eyes just stung a little. Quinn sighed, grabbed my phone again, and blocked Jace on everything. “I just hate that you wasted three years on trash.” The doorbell rang. “Food’s here!” Quinn brightened up. “Rock paper scissors for who gets it!” I laughed, “You cheater,” and went to the door. I pulled it open, and my smile died. Jace stood there, looking like he hadn’t slept in days. His clothes were wrinkled, his eyes bloodshot. I tried to slam the door, but he jammed his hand against the frame. “Sienna,” he croaked. “You quit your job? You blocked me?” 5 “You audacious piece of sh*t! You have the nerve to show your face here?” Quinn didn’t hesitate. She flew past me and slapped Jace across the face. Hard. “Did you take the freight elevator up? Because you moved on fast! Don’t stand there looking pathetic!” She raised her hand for a second round. I stood there, blinking. Jace ignored the slap, desperate to get to me. “Sienna, please, just listen!” I sighed. We needed to end this properly. I gave Quinn a look. She glared at Jace but lowered her hand. I leaned against the doorframe, crossing my arms. “Go ahead. Explain.” He faltered, looking at me with those puppy-dog eyes he used to weaponize. He looked at me like I was the one who broke his heart. Like I was the one pretending to be someone else’s partner. “Lyla… she’s in the hospital,” he rasped. “She wasn’t hurt in the crash, just shaken up. But her grandmother… she’s critical. Her dying wish was to see Lyla’s boyfriend.” His voice got quieter as he spoke. “You have to believe me. I just felt bad for her. I didn’t know she was going to post it on social media.” I nodded slowly. His brow furrowed. “Sienna, what is wrong with you?” “Usually you’d be crying, or screaming. Now? It’s like you don’t even care.” I let out a short, dry laugh. “Isn’t this what you always wanted?” I used to stop him from drinking because of his stomach. I hated his racing because his family had a history of heart disease. I was terrified of his reckless driving, but I forced myself into the passenger seat because he wanted me there. When he won that championship, he screamed at me in front of everyone. “If you’re scared, don’t get in the car! I just won, and you’re crying? You’re embarrassing me!” “Stop acting like my mother. It’s annoying.” He had looked at me with pure disgust that day. And yet, because I got upset, he actually stopped doing the things I hated. I thought it meant he loved me. I thought he was just bad with words. I was so stupid. I mistook toxicity for passion. “You’re right,” I said, looking him dead in the eye. “I don’t care anymore.” “Jace, I don’t want to see you again.” 6 A breakup shouldn’t require a consensus. But Jace didn’t seem to understand that. “Then I don’t need permission to pursue you again,” he declared. I wanted to tell him that unwanted pursuit is just stalking. But he was committed to the bit. He stopped going to work. He became a ghost haunting my periphery. Random strangers handed me stuffed animals on the street. My social media notifications were flooded with likes and comments from burner accounts. I blocked number after number, but new messages appeared daily, asking if I’d eaten, if I slept well. It was a grand performance. He was playing the tragic hero, but the only person he was moving was himself. I booked my flight. My parents sent my little brother, Sawyer, to pick me up. I hadn’t seen Sawyer in a year. The kid had grown. He was leaning against a rental car wearing designer sunglasses, all white linen and arrogance. He looked like he walked off the set of a K-Drama. “Sis! Missed you!” he shouted, throwing an arm around me. He grew up in the States, so he was touchy. He leaned in to kiss my cheek. Suddenly, a hand clamped onto my arm and yanked me backward. “Get your hands off her, you creep!” Sawyer and I froze. Jace was standing there, eyes wild, chest heaving. Sawyer took one look at Jace’s tear-filled eyes, connected the dots, and smirked. It was a cruel, sharp smile. He casually lit a cigarette, took a drag, and blew a cloud of smoke directly into Jace’s face. He looked Jace up and down with pure condescension. “So, Sienna,” Sawyer drawled, ignoring Jace entirely. “Who’s it gonna be? Him or me?” I cringed. I knew Sawyer was trying to defend me, but this alpha-male standoff was embarrassing. I pried Jace’s fingers off my arm, finger by finger. I didn’t even look at him. Instead, I frowned at Sawyer, reached out, and snatched the cigarette from his lips, crushing it under my shoe. “Who said you could smoke?” I scolded, swatting his shoulder. To Jace, that touch looked intimate. It looked like flirting. “Sienna,” Jace’s voice trembled. “This guy is clearly a player. He’s just trying to get in your pants. Don’t fall for it.” I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. My brother was a good kid who had never even had a serious girlfriend. Just because he was handsome, he was a predator? “None of your business,” I snapped. I grabbed Sawyer and shoved him into the car. “Sis! Look!” Sawyer laughed, checking the side mirror as we drove away. “Your ex is still standing there. He looks like he’s gonna cry!” I glanced back. He looked shattered. Not my problem.

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After playing the part of the cowardly, universally despised male lead, I had finally completed my mission. Before faking my death, the System gave me one day to say goodbye to my targets. After three years of biting my tongue, I let loose, going scorched-earth on each and every one of them. 【I’ve been sick of you for ages, you damn poser!】 【Three years of tutoring and your brain is still underdeveloped? Are you an idiot?】 【Who in their right mind would want to be engaged to an old woman like you? You’ve already got one foot in the grave!】 Just as I sent the last message, basking in the glow of sweet satisfaction, the System shrieked in my head. 【We’re screwed, Host! I misread the date…】 【Your actual exit date is in SEVEN DAYS! Aaaah!】 Me: “?” The next second, the doorbell rang, sharp and frantic. 1 This was my third year playing the part of the universally despised male lead. And I had finally completed my mission. For three long years, I’d been the timid, spineless protagonist everyone loved to hate. A ghost at school, my adoptive sister’s beck-and-call boy at home. I had no friends, and my family’s affection was a currency I could never afford. My only stroke of luck was an arranged engagement, a marriage alliance set up by the family. But on the day of the engagement party, the truth detonated: I was the wrong son, switched at birth. A fake heir. The real Sterling heir had been found. In an instant, the world’s scorn, which had been a steady drizzle, became a hurricane directed straight at me. I was, once again, public enemy number one. Perhaps that was the final straw. The System, silent for three years, finally flickered back to life. 【Congratulations, Host. The ‘Universally Despised’ mission is complete. A substantial reward awaits you.】 【Tomorrow, you will return to your original world.】 I blinked, processing. “What about the ‘me’ in this world?” I asked. The System chuckled reassuringly. 【Don’t you worry about that. He’ll just… disappear.】 It sounded too easy. “Are you sure this is it? The final curtain? No more missions?” The System puffed out its digital chest. 【Absolutely! You can cash your check and check out tomorrow!】 A wave of relief washed over me. The System granted me one final day to say my goodbyes. But as I thought about it, who was there to say goodbye to? My death would probably cause less of a ripple than a stone tossed in the ocean. Bored, I picked up my phone, scrolling through my contacts. Just then, it buzzed. A message from “The Poser,” my nickname for her. 【I’ll have the tailor send your suit for the gala tomorrow.】 【For God’s sake, don’t wear one of your own hideous ones. You’re an embarrassment.】 That was my sister, Isabella Sterling. Or rather, my adoptive sister now. The true-born daughter of the family. From the moment I entered this world, she’d looked at me with nothing but disdain. She was a creature of sour moods and venomous words, constantly belittling me. My taste was trash, my intelligence laughable. A kind word from her was rarer than a unicorn. My very presence seemed to offend her senses. But she was the Sterling heiress, Dad’s only daughter. No one dared cross her. Even Mom told me to just grit my teeth and bear it. I had borne it. For three years. I’d been her doormat, her errand boy. But I was leaving tomorrow. And today, I was done bearing it. Me: 【You think your taste in clothes is any better?】 Me: 【Attachment: Image】 Me: 【Is this supposed to be a suit or a pile of shit?】 Me: 【That wasn’t a typo.】 Me: 【You act like you’re some fashion guru, but honestly, even with your rotten personality and non-existent friends, exactly zero people give a damn about you.】 A long pause followed. Then, a single question mark appeared from Isabella. The shock must have short-circuited her brain. The “typing…” indicator blinked on and off for what felt like an eternity. Finally, she wrote: 【What’s wrong with you?】 My fingers flew across the screen. 【Nothing’s wrong with me.】 【I’m just sick of your bullshit.】 【You damn poser.】 Silence. She was probably seeing red, a fury so pure it could power a small city. What did I care? I put her on mute. A soft knock on my door. A maid peeked in. “Mr. Sterling, the car is waiting. It’s time for your school event.” Even as the fake heir, my parents felt some lingering obligation, enough to see me through high school. The ride to school was heavy with unspoken tension. The driver, sensing the storm brewing at home, was silent, afraid to say the wrong thing. The car hadn’t even come to a full stop when I opened the door and a furious voice lashed out. “Bruce, do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for you?” 2 I looked up. A girl stood before me, chest heaving with rage, her eyes shooting daggers. I gave her a slow, deliberate once-over. “And why, exactly, were you waiting for me?” Janet Thornton’s jaw dropped. “?” “I was taking pity on you!” she sputtered, her voice incredulous. “No one wants to be your partner for the coming-of-age gala tonight. I was doing you a favor by being your date, and this is the attitude I get?” The Thorntons and the Sterlings were old family friends. Janet and I were, for all intents and purposes, childhood friends. With her sharp, vibrant beauty, she was one of the most popular girls at school. Our parents had once even floated the idea of an engagement between us. An idea Janet had publicly and viciously shot down. I still remembered the look of pure disgust on her face, as if she’d been forced to swallow a fly. “Engaged to him?” she had sneered. “Are you insane? Are you trying to make me puke?” Her very public rejection had made me the laughingstock of our social circle for a solid year. But her reaction had served its purpose, earning me a cool 100 experience points and completing a third of my mission. Thinking back, I didn’t really want to give her a hard time. But then, a couple of her cronies passing by decided to chime in. “Yeah, Bruce. Making Miss Thornton wait for you? Who do you think you are?” “Don’t tell me you’re still playing hard to get. It’s pathetic.” Janet’s lips pressed into a thin, hard line. She took a step forward, her voice tight with anger. “Bruce. I’m talking to you!” I looked up, feigning confusion. “What is it? You’re blocking my way to the building.” She laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. “Did you not hear a single word I just said? Aren’t you even going to apologize?” I blinked. “Apologize? To who?” I paused for effect. “To you?” “Do you really think you deserve one?” Janet froze, stunned into silence. “You decided to wait for me, but you never told me,” I continued, my voice calm. “What am I, a mind reader? And for the record, I never asked you to be my date. So who exactly is this little drama for? Here, let me get you a tissue. Maybe if you squeeze out a few crocodile tears, it’ll be more convincing.” Her two hangers-on jumped to her defense. “Janet was just trying to be nice because she felt sorry for you! And you throw it back in her face!” “Why are you being so nasty? You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” I shot them a bored look. “Duh, of course it’s on purpose. What’s the point of saying it if it isn’t nasty?” I looked them up and down. “Did you two share a single brain cell and lose it? As nasty as my words are, the three of you aren’t exactly deserving of poetry.” Janet was the first to snap out of it, lunging forward to grab my arm. “Bruce—” My bodyguard smoothly stepped between us. I glanced back at her, my voice dripping with condescension. “While I’m feeling generous, you’ve got five seconds to spit out whatever else you have to say.” But the expression on her face wasn’t the fury I expected. It was… confusion. A deep, unsettling bewilderment. “Bruce, today you’re…” she stammered. “Are you sick?” I’d braced myself for an explosion, a tirade, anything. But this? This was all she had? I’d been surrounded by a bunch of amateurs. All this time, I’d seriously overestimated them. 3 I ignored Janet and headed straight for the principal’s office upstairs. I had more important things to do. A school gala held no appeal for me. It was just an excuse for the beautiful people to dance and take pictures. As the resident outcast, I was never anyone’s first choice for a dance partner, so I hadn’t even bothered to prepare, showing up in a simple hoodie and jeans. When I came out of the principal’s office, the way people looked at me in the hallway had changed. Their whispers were like the rustling of dry leaves. “So he’s not really a Sterling…” “That explains it. He never had that Sterling air about him…” “He and his sister are from two different worlds. Poor Isabella, having to put up with an adopted brother like that.” The winds carrying the news of my true identity had finally reached the school. I glanced at my phone and saw twenty missed calls. All from Isabella. A number that had been dormant for a decade suddenly flooding my screen with calls and texts. I almost thought she’d bought one of those spam-call packages online. I didn’t bother calling back, just tapped open her messages. There were too many to read. The last one caught my eye. Isabella: 【I’m coming back tomorrow.】 She was still overseas on a business trip. I stared at the message, unsure how to respond. Finally, I just locked my phone. Whatever. It was her house. She could come and go as she pleased. As I was heading downstairs, I ran into Janet again. She was dressed in a formal gown, her features sharper and more mature than I remembered. Seeing me, her lips tightened, suppressing her irritation. “Bruce, why haven’t you changed yet?” she demanded in a low voice. “I’m not dancing,” I said, frowning. Janet seemed to be on a different planet today. From past experience, her dance partner for the night should have been Alex Ryder, the most popular guy in our year. As she was about to say something else, my bodyguard stepped forward, politely but firmly blocking her path. “Miss Thornton, Mr. Sterling is engaged to Miss Lockwood.” Janet’s expression instantly turned to ice. “I know that! You don’t have to tell me!” I cupped a hand to my ear. “Let’s go,” I said to the bodyguard, turning away. Once in the car, I saw a few of Janet’s friends swarm around her. They were whispering and gesturing towards my family’s car, smirks on their faces. Janet’s expression shifted from confusion to utter shock. I could guess what they were telling her—the juicy gossip about my parentage. The car began to move. Suddenly, Janet shouted my name, her voice filled with urgency. “Bruce—!” She started running after the car, her gown hindering her steps. The driver accelerated, and the window slid shut, cutting off the sound of her frantic calls. I watched her figure shrink in the rearview mirror until she was just a tiny, dark speck. I turned to the bodyguard beside me. “What do you think she’s doing?” He considered this for a moment. “Training for a marathon, perhaps.” 4 When I got home that evening, the head maid hurried to greet me. “Mr. Sterling, Miss Lockwood came by this afternoon,” she said. “She left when she found you weren’t home.” Eleanor Lockwood. My fiancée. But since the news about my identity broke, she hadn’t contacted me for a week. The engagement was nothing more than a business arrangement brokered by our parents. I understood she had no feelings for me. “What did she want?” I asked. The maid thought for a moment. “She said she couldn’t reach you, so she came to check.” My parents were away, and Isabella was out of the country. It was just me and the staff at home. I pulled out my phone. Sure enough, buried under a pile of group chat notifications was Eleanor’s icon, glowing with a red dot. 【Are you free? I’d like to talk about the engagement.】 My impression of Eleanor was neutral. She was conventionally attractive, but her eyes were cold, and she had a habit of looking down her nose at people. We had only met four or five times, and each time she was like a statue. No matter what I said, no matter what topic I tried to broach, she would turn her head away, her disinterest a palpable force field. She wouldn’t even spare me a glance. I’d heard she was a prodigy, skipping grades since elementary school before returning from abroad to take over her family’s company. An alliance with her was, frankly, above the Sterlings’ station. But the Lockwood family owed ours a debt from long ago, so I was the one who lucked out. Eleanor was probably resentful, but she couldn’t defy her family. So she took her frustration out on me with a suffocating cold shoulder. I, in turn, was an expert at quietly taking the abuse. After a while, I’d almost forgotten what she looked like, except for the memory of a very sharp jawline. I dialed her number and put it on speaker, busying myself with other things. “Bruce,” her voice, steady and cool, came through the phone. “I called to discuss the engagement party.” Our first attempt at an engagement party had been spectacularly derailed by the whole “real heir” drama, forcing a hasty postponement. “Nothing to discuss,” I said casually. “I’m calling it off.” Silence on the other end. Then, “You’re calling it off? Why?” “No reason,” I said breezily. “Just don’t feel like being engaged to you.” I was leaving tomorrow. The kid gloves were off. I was done playing their game. It was time they realized they weren’t the center of the universe. “Look, I’ll be blunt,” I explained with mock sincerity. “It’s your age, you know? I don’t have a geriatric fetish.” Her voice was tight, suppressing a volcano of rage. “I am only six years older than you.” “Only six years?” I exclaimed, feigning shock. “That’s huge! You’ll be thirty in a few years. After thirty comes forty, and after forty, you’re halfway to the grave. It won’t be long before you’re pushing up daisies.” Eleanor took a deep, shuddering breath. Each word sounded like it was being ground between her teeth. “Who… told you to say that?” I was losing patience. “That’s not important. The point is, you’re getting on in years. Let’s just call it a day and go our separate ways.” Without waiting for a reply, I hung up. The key to winning these arguments was never to let them drag you into justifying yourself. I might be the fake heir, but so what? In this narrative, she was the old one, and I was the one who couldn’t be bothered. With that mess handled, I opened my phone, accepted a new friend request, and sent over a list of instructions for the new house. Time for a long bath and a good night’s sleep. Just before bed, I summoned the System one last time. 【What time are you picking me up tomorrow?】 The System seemed… off. It stammered, unusually solicitous. 【Well… about that…】 【Why don’t you get some rest first? You’ve had a long day.】 After fighting three battles with three different people, I was exhausted beyond belief. I figured the System was just busy and didn’t think much of it. I’d sleep soundly, and when I opened my eyes, I’d be back home in my own world. And I did sleep soundly. In my dreams, I was a master of martial arts, leaving my tormentors bruised and beaten. I woke up feeling sore all over. I yawned and stretched, habitually reaching for my phone. It had exploded with missed calls and unread messages. The Poser: 【I’m almost home. I brought a doctor.】 The Firecracker: 【I knew it was the fake heir thing that pushed you over the edge. I’m coming to see you!】 The Ice Queen: 【I was up all night thinking. Is someone else trying to steal you away? We need to talk. In person.】 Downstairs, the maid’s panicked voice drifted up. “Mr. Sterling, you have guests—” “And I don’t think it’s just one—” Seriously? You guys move this fast? “System!” I hissed. “Get me out of here, now! They’re storming the castle!” There was a long, painful silence before the System spoke, its voice barely a whisper. 【Host… I… I misread the date…】 A cold dread washed over me. “And?” The System offered a weak, digital laugh. 【Your escape date is actually… in seven days…】 I froze. What?

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On Adoption Day at the orphanage, all the children were picked except me. I huddled in the corner, blind and unwanted. The Director tried to recommend me to a wealthy couple. “This child is wonderful, apart from her sight. She’s obedient and smart.” The wealthy couple refused. “Forget it. We don’t want a disabled child.” The Director patted my head. “It’s okay, Nana. Grandma will take care of you forever.” I clutched the hem of her shirt, biting my lip to keep quiet. Just then, a hard candy was pressed into my palm. And I heard a boy speak, stuttering over his words. “H-here. C-candy. For y-you.” Suddenly, floating text appeared in my mind’s eye, like comments on a livestream. [OMG! Did I see that right? The Male Lead spoke!] [He hasn’t spoken a word since the accident when he was five! He’s speaking because of the Female Lead!] Then, someone grabbed my hand tightly. “I… I want h-her. To be m-my sister.” 1 Last night, Grandma Director patted each of our heads. “New moms and dads are coming to see everyone tomorrow.” I lay in my small bed, my heart pounding like a drum. A new home. Would someone love me? Hug me? Would I have a window of my own? In the darkness, I secretly smiled. As soon as Grandma’s footsteps faded down the hall, the chubby kid in the next bed rolled over. “Hey, Blind Girl, what are you smiling about? No one’s gonna want you! They’re coming to pick kids, who wants a blind one? Loser!” I bit the soft flesh inside my lip hard. Don’t cry. Crying makes it worse. I buried my face deep into my thin pillow, forcing the tears back. The next day. The small auditorium was packed. The smell of strange perfumes, the click of leather shoes, and the suppressed cheers of children being chosen filled the air. I sat on a chair, palms sweating. I listened as name after name was called, followed by happy footsteps running away. The sounds grew quieter. Until the last bit of noise vanished. Only Grandma Director and I were left. Everyone gone? Really… not a single one left? Grandma touched my hair, speaking tentatively to someone nearby, “Mr. and Mrs. Sterling, this child is Nana. She’s very sensible, quiet, and learns fast… just… she can’t see…” My heart leaped into my throat. I held my breath. Mrs. Sterling spoke. Her voice was beautiful. “Director, it’s not that we’re prejudiced. Our own child is very sick. We wanted to bring a healthy child home to liven things up, to be a companion. We can’t take care of a blind child properly, and we wouldn’t want her to suffer…” “It’s okay, Nana,” Grandma hugged my shoulders tighter, “Our Nana is so good, Grandma will raise you forever! Don’t be scared!” I clutched Grandma’s shirt, nails digging into my palm. Just then, something hard was suddenly shoved into my hand. Cold. Then, a young voice spoke, stumbling over the words: “H-here… c-candy. For y-you.” Before I could react, glowing text appeared in the eternal darkness of my vision: [Holy crap?! The Male Lead spoke?!] [OMG! Julian spoke! First time since he was five!] [In the original story, he was mute for ten years! He spoke for this blind girl?!] Then, a hand grabbed my wrist. The raspy voice spoke again. “I… I… want her.” “To be… be my sister.” The moment his fingertips touched my skin— A bright light flashed before my eyes. Objects in the darkness began to slowly take on color and shape. 2 The wealthy couple happily completed the adoption paperwork. Before leaving, Grandma whispered to me. “If they treat you badly, come back.” “Do you remember the way home?” I held her hand and nodded. Grandma handed me over to the wealthy couple. “This child can’t see, it’s inconvenient. Please be kind to her.” After two hours in the car, we finally stopped. But that cold hand never let go of mine. I followed them into a place as big as a palace. My heart hung in midair, thumping wildly. Would they regret it? Like those people before, thinking I was trouble? I tried to straighten my back, stepping carefully, ears pricked for every tiny sound, terrified of knocking something over and being annoying. Be good. Must be good. “Don’t be scared, Nana.” Mrs. Sterling’s voice came from above, “You’re home now. We chose you, so we will treat you well and love you forever.” Heat rushed to my eyes, and I nodded vigorously. The hand holding mine was cold, the knuckles distinct. From the orphanage to here, no matter what his parents said, no matter where we walked, he hadn’t loosened his grip one bit. “Look at our Julian,” Mr. Sterling said with a smile, “Liking his sister so much? Can’t bear to let go?” Even more amazing, as long as he touched me, I could see. But I didn’t dare say it. If I did, they’d think I was a monster. 3 We sat at a huge table for dinner. My right hand was firmly pressed under the table by Julian, palm to palm. He used his left hand to awkwardly hold a spoon, eating silently. “Nana, try this shrimp.” Mrs. Sterling gently placed food in my bowl. “And these ribs, very tender.” Mr. Sterling’s voice came from the other side. The food piled up in my bowl. I was hungry and grateful, but I could only use my free left hand to fumble for the spoon, eating in small bites. Halfway through, I got thirsty. The water glass wasn’t far to my left, but I couldn’t reach it. I licked my lips, hesitating to ask for help. Suddenly, the chair next to me moved. Julian pulled away briefly. The next second, a cold glass rim, smelling of tart orange juice, gently touched my lips. “Drink. Water.” The raw, raspy voice sounded low in my ear. I opened my mouth instinctively, and cool orange juice flowed in carefully. He was clumsy, and a few drops ran down my chin. The moment his fingertip accidentally brushed my chin— The text floated into view again. [!!! Julian is feeding her???] [Impossible! In the original story, he only changes for his first love when he grows up! He’s just a kid!] [Who is this blind NPC? Plot collapse warning!] [Male Lead is acting OOC! He’s supposed to be cold as ice!] [Help! Where is my cold, autistic boy?!] I sat there dumbly, holding the glass rim in my mouth, forgetting to swallow. 4 Mrs. Sterling’s laughter broke the silence. “Julian, you’ll scare your sister. Let go a little, let Nana drink by herself.” Julian didn’t move. But he seemed to understand a little, loosening his grip on my hand slightly. Then, he pulled a tissue and clumsily wiped the juice off my chin. “Oh my, our Julian is really…” Mrs. Sterling smiled, “So good today. Knowing how to take care of his sister.” Mr. Sterling added with a smile: “Yes, your sister is young and can’t see. You’re the big brother, you must protect her, okay?” The nanny, Mrs. Zhang, who had been silent, suddenly chimed in: “Oh, if I knew the Young Master liked playing with girls his age, I would have brought my granddaughter over! She’s so lively!” Mrs. Sterling seemed in a good mood and replied casually: “We thought he didn’t like contact with people, but… he likes playing with pretty little girls? Sure, bring her over during summer break.” That night, Mrs. Sterling bathed me herself. She was gentle, very tender. Just like the mother I imagined. Changed into soft new pajamas, I was sent back to the door of the room prepared for me. Time to separate. Mrs. Sterling wanted to take Julian back to his own room. But his hand clamped onto my wrist like iron, unmoving. “Julian, let go. Sister needs to sleep.” Julian resisted silently. Mr. Sterling stepped forward, trying to pry his fingers open. I heard a slight friction sound; Julian’s wrist must be red. He still wouldn’t let go. I felt his breathing quicken. Then, something warm and wet dropped onto the back of my hand. He was crying. “Julian, be good,” Mrs. Sterling sounded panicked too, “Sister can’t see, sleeping together is inconvenient, what if…” “Uncle, Auntie.” Relying on feeling, I reached out with my free hand toward Julian, fumbling until I wrapped my arm around his waist. “I… I want to sleep with big brother.” Mrs. Sterling sighed. “Sigh… these kids… alright, alright. Mrs. Zhang, go get Julian’s pillow and blanket.” The text scrolled again: [OMG! In the original, Julian only actively approached his wife in his whole life! This blind NPC took the spot?!] [??? Plot completely broken! Where’s my high-mountain flower?] [Wait… why do I think… it’s kinda cute? Two little ones warming each other?] [+1! So healing! Angel blind girl x Autistic young master! Ship it!] The parents’ footsteps faded. Mrs. Zhang brought the bedding, set it up, and left. Door closed.

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It was 100 degrees during freshman orientation, so I paid out of pocket to treat the whole class to boba tea. The scholarship student my brother sponsors immediately lost it. “I know your family is rich, but that’s your brother’s hard-earned money. What right do you have to waste it?” With that, she slapped the drink out of my hand, spilling it everywhere. “I’ll let it slide this time, but if it happens again, I’ll teach you how to be frugal on your brother’s behalf!” I looked at the spilled boba, then slapped her right back. “From today on, my family stops sponsoring you!” “You like being frugal, right? Go ahead and be frugal on your own dime!” 1 The drill instructor had just dismissed us. I immediately rounded up a few guys to help carry boba tea from the shop across the street. The weather had been brutal lately. Several students in our formation had already passed out from heatstroke. So, I decided to treat everyone. Honestly, I mostly just wanted one myself. But drinking alone felt rude. Plus, my brother had specifically told me to make friends at college, so I figured this was a perfect opportunity. Also, the boba shop across from campus? My brother invested in it. Since I love boba but he hates all the additives in most places, he had his secretary open a “healthy” shop right there just for me. It was family-owned, safe, and delicious. After the guys brought the drinks over, I started handing them out. First dibs went to the guys who helped carry them. But as I started passing them to the rest of the formation, a cold sneer cut through the air. “Buying drinks just to seek male validation? Pathetic.” I frowned, looking for the source. But with so many people crowding around, I couldn’t pinpoint who said it. I sighed. Whatever. Haters gonna hate. After the small interruption, I continued handing out drinks. Everyone was thrilled. “Vivian, you’re an angel!” “Vivian for President! I’m following you for the next four years!” I laughed and joked with them. Suddenly, that sarcastic voice rang out again. “College students? Please. You’re just a bunch of shallow simps who can be bought with a drink.” This time, before I could even get mad, my classmates snapped back. “Calling us simps? What are you? Hiding in the crowd like a coward. Come say it to my face!” “Exactly! Vivian saw we were dying in the heat and bought drinks out of kindness. What’s your problem? Stop acting morally superior while getting a free drink!” I stood awkwardly by the boxes. I remembered my brother’s warning: “Vivian, make friends, but don’t stand out too much. People get jealous. Sometimes doing good deeds gets you punished.” He was right. The diversity of human stupidity never ceases to amaze me. I patiently addressed the unknown voice. “I’m not trying to buy anyone. I genuinely want to be friends, and it’s incredibly hot today. This is just a sincere gesture.” As soon as the words left my mouth, the person laughed louder. “Sincere?” “Spending your parents’ hard-earned money to show off? You call that sincere?” A thin girl stepped out of the crowd. She walked straight up to me and slapped the drink out of my hand. 2 The cup hit the ground and cracked open. Caramel-colored milk tea splashed all over the rubber track and my camouflage uniform. Sticky. Gross. I was stunned. It happened so fast. “Vivian, I know your family is rich, but that money comes from your parents’ blood and sweat. What right do you have to enjoy it without working, to waste it like this?” “I hate princess-syndrome girls like you who enjoy unearned blessings!” “Orientation is meant to build willpower! But you? Disrupting discipline! Dragging everyone into your gluttony! Don’t you think you’re just grandstanding?” “Sincere? You just want to flex!” With that, she kicked over the remaining boxes of boba. Then, she pulled a piece of paper from her bag. It had the counselor’s signature. “The counselor is sick and can’t come in. She appointed me as the temporary class monitor.” “From today on, everyone in this formation listens to me.” “No one is allowed to drink Vivian’s boba!” “If you do, I’ll report you for disrupting orientation!” The whole formation was stunned. Everyone stared at the spilled drinks with heartbreak in their eyes. But the girl was deep in her own world. She even started introducing herself. Her name was Sarah. She was a scholarship student from a remote mountain village. She had suffered a lot, so she despised people like us who spent money like water. “You guys can’t handle a little heat? Farmers back home work in 104-degree weather all day! You don’t see them drinking boba!” “If schools produce pleasure-seekers like you, this country is doomed!” “I can’t control others, but since I’m the monitor, I’m taking responsibility! I won’t let this culture of extravagance infect our class!” “Vivian, you started this. Go write a 5,000-word self-reflection essay. And however much you spent on these drinks, pay that amount into the class fund.” “You like showing off? That money will cover everyone’s water for the week. I will personally ration out water bottles to everyone!” Sarah’s speech left everyone speechless. I bought some drinks, and she escalated it to the downfall of the nation. The moral kidnapping was too strong. The guys who took drinks silently put them back. Everyone returned to their spots. I turned to go back too. As I passed her, our eyes met. Instantly, I remembered a photo. It was an ID photo in a file on my brother’s desk. He had mentioned it specifically. “Vivian, this girl got into the same university and major as you. I’m planning to sponsor her. Once school starts, I’ll ask her to look out for you.” So, Sarah is the girl my brother sponsors? 3 At lunch in the cafeteria, I sat with my roommate, Quinn. Quinn pouted, complaining about the morning’s disaster. “I swear, you were just being nice! What is Sarah’s problem?” “Acting like a dictator just because she’s ‘temporary monitor.’ Holding a chicken feather like it’s an arrow of authority. Who knows if she’ll even keep the position?” “So annoying! My boba!” Quinn tilted her head back, pretending to cry. I stuffed a piece of sweet and sour pork into her mouth. “Okay, okay, I’ll treat you next time.” “Maybe she’s just really straightforward. Different backgrounds, you know? We can’t empathize, so let’s just avoid her.” While talking, my chopsticks slipped, and a piece of pork fell onto the table. Quinn and I looked at each other. “Three-second rule!” Just as Quinn was about to pick it up to wash and eat, Sarah appeared. She slammed her tray onto our table. CLANG! It attracted stares from the entire line. Quinn and I looked at her, confused. Sarah started her lecture. “Vivian, was my speech this morning not clear enough?” “Do you think having money makes you exempt? Do you know how much effort goes into raising a pig? Farmers work day and night for us to have food, and you throw away perfectly good meat just because it has a little fat? Are you human? Do you deserve to be here?” I take back what I said about her being straightforward. She’s mentally ill. Why does she hallucinate so much? I stood up. I wasn’t having it. “First, we didn’t throw it away because of fat. We dropped it by accident and were about to wash it and eat it. You’re the one who started screaming.” “Second, I may not know farm life, but I know not to waste food! Unlike you, who kicked over 35 cups of boba this morning. Do the staff who made those not count as workers? Is their labor free for you to trample?” “Finally, you spilled rice when you slammed your tray down. Since you’re so frugal, please pick it up and eat it!” Quinn immediately washed the dropped pork and ate it. Chew chew chew. She swallowed and pointed at the rice grains on the floor, raising an eyebrow at Sarah. “I ate mine. I didn’t waste food.” “Your turn.” 4 Sarah’s eyes turned red instantly. She swept her arm across the table, knocking all our trays onto the floor. Grease splattered everywhere. Quinn and I were covered in sticky oil stains. Sarah looked at our mess with a sneer in her eyes. But when she spoke, she went full victim mode. “Vivian, Quinn, don’t go too far!” “You wasted food first! So what if I said something? I know you rich people look down on us poor people, but do you have to humiliate me in public?” I laughed out loud. We didn’t actually expect her to eat off the floor. We just wanted to vent. But she kept morally hijacking the conversation. She constantly tried to create class conflict. We are all students. We are equals. Who walks around broadcasting their background like her? Is being born rich a crime? Even a saint couldn’t handle her constant attacks. “How did we humiliate you? You’re the one screaming about waste! Quinn ate the pork, she didn’t waste anything. But when it’s your turn, your principles suddenly don’t apply?” “Sarah, I wasn’t going to make a big deal about this morning. But since you insist on pestering me… sorry.” “This morning, you destroyed 35 cups of boba. At $5 a cup, that’s $175. Plus my shoes, $1,500. They’re covered in grease because of you. I won’t make you buy new ones, just pay the cleaning fee. My usual place charges minimum $50. I’ll round down. You owe me $200.” Since she insists I’m a spoiled princess, I’ll act like one. Quinn followed my lead. “Oh right. Me too. My shoes aren’t as expensive as Vivian’s, but they aren’t cheap. Cleaning fee: $30.” If I recall correctly, my brother sent Sarah her first month’s stipend. He gives her $300 a month. Given her frugal nature, she should still have plenty left. It was enough. Of course, I was doing this to get my family’s money back. Since she’s so noble and loves suffering, she doesn’t need our sponsorship. I don’t have many virtues. But I love helping people achieve their dreams. Sarah loves hardship? I won’t stand in her way! I looked at Sarah and used her own weapon against her. “A class monitor should lead by example. You wouldn’t renege on a debt, would you?” The surrounding students started chiming in. “Yeah, monitor! Set an example!” “Poor but proud, right? Does that stop when you have to pay up?” “Exactly! Vivian and Quinn’s money didn’t fall from the sky. You destroyed the drinks and ruined their clothes. That’s all money. If you don’t pay, they should call the cops.” Under the pressure, Sarah was speechless. She took out her phone and, wincing in pain, transferred the money to us. I smiled at the notification. I raised my phone to the crowd. “I’m buying boba for everyone this afternoon!”

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My adopted brother, whom I’ve had a crush on forever, has always been cold to me. I thought he just wasn’t the smiling type. Until one night, I heard his raspy voice calling someone’s name: “Sisi.” Heartbroken, I packed up my pet snake and moved out. Suddenly, floating text comments appeared before my eyes: [Girl, you are killing me! He wasn’t calling a girl’s name! Snakes make a ‘hissing’ sound!] [The Male Lead is never going to hiss again. He’s probably trying to poison himself mute right now.] [Did you seriously not notice that your pet snake and your brother never appear at the same time?] The day I moved out, a crack finally appeared in Ethan’s icy facade. He frowned slightly, lifting his eyelids. “Why?” I avoided his gaze, flustered. “I graduated. I can support myself now. It’s not good to keep living at home.” I was adopted by the Reed family. This reason should be reasonable enough. I really couldn’t say the truth. Hearing him call someone else’s name made me feel sad and awkward. I just wanted to run away. Ethan has always been a cold, self-restrained person. But that night, when he called “Sisi,” his voice was low and raspy. Like it was soaked in some deep emotion. Just thinking about it still shocks me. My suitcase was packed and sitting by the door. As expected, Ethan didn’t ask me to stay. He just opened the door to his study, dropping one sentence: “Don’t forget to take your pet.” He was cold to me, and cold to my pet. He never visited my little snake, let alone touched it. Now, he couldn’t wait to kick it out too. I was heartbroken. I grabbed the snake, terrarium and all, and left alone. The floating comments—like a livestream chat—appeared after I moved into my new apartment. I unpacked my stuff and collapsed on the sofa. My little white snake slowly crawled out of the open terrarium, climbing up my calf. Its cool scales pressed against my bare skin. Like always, I bent down and scooped it up. It climbed up my arm and settled on my shoulder. I started to suspect the mushrooms I fried for lunch weren’t fully cooked. Lines of text started popping up in front of my eyes. [Why did she move out?! My favorite trope of angsty tension under one roof is gone!] [Forget tension, the plot is about to hit the highway and you’re still driving a tricycle.] What are they babbling about? Highway? I just got my driver’s license; I’m not allowed on the highway yet. I looked down and started googling “What to do for mushroom poisoning.” I’ve heard of seeing little green men, but never floating text. While my mind wandered, I switched to my messages and saw Ethan pinned at the top. His profile picture was pure white. The messages stopped a day ago. Me: “Brother, I’m moving out.” Him (replying much later): “Okay.” So perfunctory. I got dumped before we even started dating. I buried my head in my knees, ready to cry my eyes out. I forgot the snake was still on my shoulder. It suddenly slipped into my collar, then stopped. Leaving a cold, slippery sensation. And… a snake tongue that didn’t retract in time. The snake seemed stunned too, freezing in place. My scalp tingled. I frantically fished it out. It still left a faint red mark. Emo mode paused. The text scrolled by rapidly. [Male Lead be like: Sorry, I type slow.] [Female Lead: Stop pretending.] [He wasn’t being perfunctory! You were playing with him at the time; he couldn’t free his hands. He typed that ‘Okay’ with his tail!] [Holy crap! Just joined the stream and it’s already this spicy.] [Ethan must be in heaven.] I understood the words, and my face instantly turned red. Is this snake… Ethan? He always wears gold-rimmed glasses. Is he a cobra? (Note: ‘Spectacled Cobra’ in Chinese/culture reference) Suspicion: Hallucinations from mushroom poisoning. I put the snake back in the terrarium and wanted to text my best friend. To tell her I might be tripping on mushrooms. My finger swiped, and I saw the messages I sent her last time. Me: “It’s over. I have no chance.” “Ethan seems to like someone!” “He even called her ‘Sisi’!” “Sob.” The comments seemed to be peeking at my screen. [Girl, you are killing me! He wasn’t calling a girl’s name! Snakes make a ‘hissing’ sound!] [The Male Lead is never going to hiss again. He’s probably trying to poison himself mute right now.] [Did you seriously not notice that your pet snake and your brother never appear at the same time?] Hey, didn’t I put on a privacy screen protector? I deleted the unsent text. I looked hesitantly at the terrarium by my feet. The white snake was wrapped around a grape vine, head raised, staring quietly at me. It and Ethan… really never appeared together. [Question Xu Xian, Understand Xu Xian, Become Xu Xian.] (Reference to the Legend of the White Snake, a man who fell in love with a snake demon) [Try this, feed Ethan some realgar wine. If he faints, he’s a snake. If not, he’s a snake demon.] I pursed my lips. I found Ethan’s number in my contacts and dialed it. The white snake’s eyes seemed to widen. Then, its tail started rattling. I don’t know the principle behind it, but… I understood. I hung up. That night, I was drawing on my tablet in my room. I actually received a message from Ethan first. “Forgot to tell you.” “The snake cousin gave you back then… it’s a rattlesnake.” [Male Lead trying to cover his tracks.] [What rattlesnake rattles with a ringtone sound?] My cousin gave me the snake. In high school, I was stressed and randomly wanted a pet snake. My cousin heard and brought one over. “Home-bred. Different from the ones you buy.” “Long life span, smart, obedient, clingy. Great emotional support.” “Knows to find food when hungry, knows to come home when it rains.” It was true. It understood all my commands. It was clingy, often wrapping around my calf. It slept with me at night. I thought I found the perfect snake. Turns out it was my brother. …It feels really weird. My secret crush and my favorite pet merged into one. Whatever. I can pretend I don’t know. I put down my pen and tablet, opening the door. The white snake had crawled out of the terrarium at some point and was waiting at the door. I hesitated, then squatted and held out my hand. It climbed onto my shoulder and shook its tail. The tail made a shhh-shhh sound, clear as day. [Male Lead trying SO hard to prove he isn’t himself.] [He doesn’t dare let her find out he’s a pervert.] [That is a Western Diamondback Rattlesnake. In the US, they bite more people than any other snake…] Maybe beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I felt like this snake looked a lot more handsome now. It leaned in, nuzzling my cheek with its nose affectionately. Tentatively, its tongue flicked the corner of my mouth. Leaving a cold, wet sensation. My breath hitched. I took it off, put it outside the door, and locked it quickly. [Male Lead got rejected just like that. But a snake is kinda hard to accept.] [Only in novels. If I saw a snake that big in my house, I’d move out overnight and leave the deed to the snake.] I threw myself onto the bed, burying my head in the quilt. My face was burning. It took a while to calm down. I texted my best friend. “Can you understand Xu Xian?” The comments were shocked. [???] [So you’re shy, not rejecting him?] Bestie: “???” “Is your latest obsession a snake-man character?” “If he’s hot, I totally get it.” I draw a lot of fan art. She probably misunderstood. I didn’t explain. Ethan’s human form is too handsome—cold and abstinent. His snake form is also special, iridescent scales, looking expensive. I just made the mistake every simp makes. I adjusted my mindset, opened the door again, and brought the snake back in. Petting time. The high-and-mighty Ethan was now at my mercy. I squeezed and petted him, taking revenge for his coldness. He didn’t resist at all. He even seemed excited, trembling slightly. [Which part of the snake corresponds to which part of the human?] [Look at him acting cheap. She hasn’t even used any tricks yet and he’s already surrendered.] I wanted to continue my revenge. But my hands were tired, and he wasn’t tired at all. I gave up and tossed him aside. Maybe the contact tonight was too intimate. I had a very… vivid dream. The snake repeated that accidental movement from the afternoon. Coiled on my chest. But not cold. Slightly hot. Scales rough, sliding over me slowly and gently. I couldn’t take it, grabbing the corner of the quilt, arching my back. The sensation blurred the line between dream and reality. So much so that when I opened my eyes, I was still dazed. The room was dim. I turned on the nightlight. The white snake was lying by the bed, motionless, sleeping soundly. So it really was a dream. Because the night was too hot, the first thing I did after waking up was shower. I have mild dermatographia; a touch leaves a red mark, but it usually fades fast. The mark from yesterday afternoon still hadn’t faded. Faintly red. Maybe I should get that treated. Wrapped in a towel, I pushed open the glass door. The snake was awake, coiled in a circle, sitting at the door. Staring at me intensely. When I first got the snake, I learned most are nocturnal. So I tried not to disturb it during the day. But my cousin said: “Don’t worry about him. He plays when he wants. He can adjust.” He sure can adjust. His schedule matches mine now. I clutched my towel, unable to squat down to pick him up. The snake and I stared at each other. [Ethan’s expression is killing me. Why so aggrieved?] [Your wifey won’t pick you up.] He paused for a moment, then slithered up on his own. Snake tail wrapping around my calf. The first time he climbed up from there. I hadn’t wiped the water off my body yet. The cold scales sliding against my skin… Tingling. Numbing. He wrapped tight. I could barely walk. I stumbled to the bedroom door and fell onto the bed, no time to read the comments. …… I grabbed the snake by the seven-inch point (neck), held him up, and threw him out. “Get out. I need to change.”

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