I’ve been a little slow on the uptake since I was a kid. When I was little, I went camping with my childhood friend. In the middle of the night, I felt a small snake in my sleeping bag. I begged him, “Where did this snake come from? Throw it out.” His face turned bright red, and he stammered for ages before finally agreeing. Years later, I got drunk and ended up crashing in his room. My hand grabbed something again, and I cried out: “Jonah, you let a snake in the bed again!” The live comments went wild: [Twenty years later, and the FL is still this innocent?] [Girl, maybe give it a squeeze and see if it’s actually a snake.] [If she finds out the ML’s true form now, she’s gonna be scared to death.] 1 Jonah is my childhood friend. Sunny, athletic, straight-A student. The kind of kid every parent wishes was theirs. But he had a secret hobby he hid well—he liked raising snakes. I first found out when I was thirteen, on a camping trip with him. The adults had their tents, the kids had theirs. Jonah, two years older than me, was tasked with putting me to bed. “Go to sleep.” He zipped up my sleeping bag. Only my head was sticking out. My face felt a little hot and stuffy, so I stared at him and asked, “Why aren’t you sleeping?” Jonah stared back for two seconds, then turned away. “Kids sleep first.” Maybe because I was sheltered too much, my mom always said I was a bit dimmer than other kids. For example, when I saw strange things… First I’d frown, then I’d just accept it. In the middle of the night, I woke up. I struggled out of the sleeping bag, arms sprawled wide. But I didn’t bump into the person beside me. I groggily reached out, feeling around in the dark, calling his name: “Jonah?” “Where did you go? It’s so late.” No answer. It was pitch black inside the tent. My hand froze when it touched an unidentified object. Slippery, slimy, but hard. About as thick as my wrist, and kind of cold. My slow brain spun its gears as fast as it could. My first reaction was to keep calling Jonah. “Jonah!” “I touched something…” “Sob… I think it’s a snake. I’m holding it. I’m scared…” Yeah. I thought it was a snake. It must have warmed up in the covers, because it didn’t feel that cold. “Jonah…” I continued to cry out for him. “Stop yelling…” He finally made a sound. Accompanied by a weird… muffled groan. I paused, then continued crying, “Where did you go… I’m scared sleeping alone.” “I’m here.” Jonah’s breathing was heavy. “I’m sleeping far away from you.” “No.” I didn’t let go. Instead, I scooted closer to him. “I’m scared. Sleep next to me.” “Nngh…” He made a noise. I asked confusedly, “What’s wrong?” “Nothing.” He denied it. “Let go first. Where’s the snake? I’ll get it out.” “In my hand.” Saying that, I tried to grab my phone with my other hand. “I’ll turn on the flashlight for you.” “No!” Jonah immediately objected. I didn’t understand. “Why?” “N-nothing.” I let go. In the darkness, I heard Jonah unzip the tent, followed by the sound of something landing on the ground. “Done.” His voice was low and sounded unnatural. “I threw the snake out. Go back to sleep.” 2 The second time I found a snake was at Jonah’s house. That was also when I discovered his secret hobby. I was sixteen, he was eighteen. I forgot my keys, it was pouring rain, so I went to knock on Jonah’s door. “Jonah—” No one answered. But I knew his door code, so I just let myself in. As soon as I stepped inside, the chill was even deeper than outside. I shivered and called out again. Still no answer. But I remembered Jonah came home early today. He usually loved sports, but skipped basketball practice saying he didn’t feel well. “Jonah?” I tiptoed up the stairs. His bedroom door was slightly ajar. Through the crack, I saw a black snake as thick as my calf slowly slithering by. “Ah—” I was so scared I fell to the floor. The next second, a large hand covered my eyes. It was burning hot. Jonah’s body temperature was abnormally high. “Do you have a fever?” My heart tightened. I grabbed his wrist, trying to pull it away to see his face. But he held it tight. “Don’t move.” He said. Then added, “I’m fine.” “You’re burning up!” I was anxious. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a fever? Why didn’t you say anything?” Jonah was silent. Before I could get an answer, I felt a cold touch suddenly press against my calf. Then, inch by inch, it moved up. “Ah—” My mouth was covered too. I felt Jonah’s hand tighten. “It’s okay… don’t be afraid.” I thought of the snake I just saw. It was huge. How could I not be afraid? Not to mention, it was slowly climbing up my leg. And exploring further up. “Jonah—” I was about to cry. He didn’t move, just whispered soothingly, “It’s okay, it won’t hurt you. It’s like me.” Like Jonah? The worry-free kid, the childhood friend who took care of me growing up. Good at everything, knows everything, my sunny big brother figure. I felt the coldness. But slowly, it started to feel… wrong. I cried, “Jonah, it…” Jonah didn’t speak, but he pinned me down firmly. Forcing all my attention onto the sensation of the snake. My intuition told me that right now, he was completely different from usual. The fingers covering my mouth moved. One finger slipped into my mouth. “Don’t cry. Don’t move.” “Just trust me.” But… Tears were about to spill out. Until I fainted. 3 “You’re awake?” I woke up staring at my own bedroom ceiling. Jonah was sitting by the bed, wearing gold-rimmed glasses. His dark hair was slightly messy, curling over his eyes, but it couldn’t hide the gentle look behind the lenses. He looked gentle and refined, just like always. As if the person who pinned me down, blinded me, silenced me, and let a snake crawl all over me wasn’t him. I hesitated. “Your fever broke?” “Yeah.” Jonah acted so natural. He even touched my forehead and looked at me with pity. “Penny, you got caught in the rain yesterday and had a fever too. Don’t come back soaked next time.” Oh, yesterday. “Yesterday…” I started to speak, but Jonah interrupted. “Yesterday you fell asleep on the couch downstairs at my place. I only found you after my shower. Lucky I found you in time.” I paused. Was that it? It… seemed plausible. After all, Jonah was so good to me. Even if he raised snakes, he wouldn’t let them hurt me. I told myself that. Then asked, “Did you get a pet snake?” Jonah seemed to hesitate for a second. Then he returned to his impenetrable facade. He smiled and said, “Yeah.” “It’s my secret. Penny, you can’t tell anyone.” “If you’re not a good girl, big brother will have to punish you.” 4 A flower sheltered in a greenhouse. Besides luck, needs a tough bodyguard. Growing up, Jonah was that bodyguard. In high school, guys confessed to me all the time. Jonah never cared, mocking them: “Those losers. Gotta admire their courage.” I didn’t quite get what he meant, but I nodded in agreement anyway. Until one day, a boy as gentle as Jonah appeared. I didn’t know how to reject him. He brought me cupcakes, and Jonah saw it. “Penny.” When Jonah walked over, he was smiling. But the boy’s face gradually turned pale. He hid behind me. When I turned to look at him, his expression was terrified: “Sorry, Senior, I didn’t know she was your sister.” “Sorry, sorry, I’m leaving.” As if he saw something terrifying, he just ran away. When I turned back to look at Jonah. He was smiling gently, pinching my cheek. Asking me: “Want to come over after school?” I thought of the black snake. I pursed my lips and asked, “Is Blackie home?” Jonah looked thoughtful. “Do you want to see him?” “I’m still a little scared of him.” He nodded. So, after school, I went to his house. As soon as we walked in, he took out a tie. And gently blindfolded me. “What are you doing…” I whined. Jonah held my hand and led me into the room, saying, “Aren’t you scared of him? If you can’t see him, you won’t be as scared.” That sounded reasonable. Or maybe not. But I was slow. Before I could think it through, I felt that familiar cold touch again. “Pet him.” Jonah whispered. I gently grasped it with my hand. I didn’t hear the snake hiss, but Jonah groaned. He grunted twice, complaining, “Taking you to cut your nails tomorrow.” I felt wronged. I grew those nails out with hard work. But I still obediently said “Okay.” 5 Thanks to my “bodyguard” Jonah. Even being this dumb and slow. I safely grew to 22 and graduated college. This year was Jonah’s busiest time. He took over the family business, working at the company until dawn every day, practically living there. My mom ordered me to bring him good food. “President Vance…” In front of the CEO’s office floor-to-ceiling window. I saw a curvaceous woman leaning over Jonah’s desk. I paused, then knocked. “Penny, what are you doing here?” Jonah stood up immediately. The woman was shooed out. When she passed me, a wave of perfume hit me. Her blouse had two buttons undone, revealing cleavage I’ll never have in this lifetime. I looked down at myself with mixed feelings. Jonah had already walked over to me and took the lunch box. “Bringing me food? Such a good girl.” He smiled, eyes crinkling behind his glasses. Dark circles under his eyes revealed his exhaustion. “My mom made me bring it.” My tone was stiff. “I’m leaving now, no need to praise me.” My heart felt stuffy, and my words came out sour. “You’re busy, I have to go report back.” “Report, back?” Jonah stopped smiling, chewing on those words. “Bringing me food is just a task to you?” His aura became dangerous. But I’m stubborn. I turned around, but he grabbed me. “Penelope.” Jonah was unhappy. Whenever he was unhappy, he used my full name. Then, he threatened, “You aren’t scared of snakes anymore?” I shivered. I was still a little scared. Because of the trauma from the first time I saw it. But my stubborn streak flared up, and I forced out: “Not scared. I’m leaving, you handle your business.” So tough. I turned to leave. But just then, I suddenly saw something on the glass door of the office. Lines of subtitles floating by. [LMAO, girl do you know what you’re messing with?] [Exactly, keep provoking him girlie. We’ve been waiting for the ML to drop the mask and go feral on you.] [Poor ML. FL is 22 and still acts like a kid. When will he finally get some action? He looks ready to explode.] [Yeah, I support the ML just grabbing her by the neck right now.] [+11111111] I froze. Meanwhile, behind me, Jonah asked coldly again: “Are you really not scared of snakes anymore?”

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I was tangled in the sheets with my boyfriend in broad daylight, basking in the afterglow. Suddenly, a violent bang echoed from the front door. Someone was kicking it. I blinked open my heavy eyelids, confused. “Is someone knocking?” The man above me didn’t stop. He nipped at my earlobe, his voice raspy and slurred with heat. “No, baby. You’re hearing things.” Suddenly, floating text scrolled across my vision like a live stream chat: [Succubus baby, maybe take a closer look at who’s in your bed?] [LMAO I’m dying. The male lead thought the soul bond meant she could only feed on him. He forgot he has a twin brother with the exact same bloodline!] [Hehe, twin sandwich! Our girl is never going hungry again. She is EATING good!] Before I could process the glowing words, a furious, trembling roar erupted from the hallway. “Jax! Get your ass out here right now!” 1 I’m Zoe, a succubus Julian picked up off the street. Because I “bullied” Tia, he hadn’t fed me in two weeks. I stubbornly reiterated my defense. “I didn’t bully her! I just told her to stop calling you in the middle of the night. I can never get a full meal…” Julian lifted his cold eyes. “You think you’re in the right?” He glanced at the text on his phone—Tia saying she wanted to draw a line between them—and his tone dripped with impatience. “You’ve been with me for so long, yet you haven’t learned a thing. But you’ve certainly mastered the art of using money to humiliate people.” “I didn’t humiliate her,” I said. His gaze was icy, judging me. I stood my ground. “If she thinks money is humiliating, that’s her problem. I think money is the best thing in the world.” Besides, it was her fault. My feeding time was strictly Sunday nights. For an S-Class succubus, that’s barely a snack. And she always interrupted. Every time we started, she’d call. She was being harassed by thugs at a diner, or she was drunk and needed a ride. Julian would leave immediately, leaving me half-starved. So, I went to her privately. I handed her some cash and asked if she could maybe schedule her crises for a different time slot. She acted like I’d slapped her. She gritted her teeth, stepped on the bills, and emphasized every word: “Miss Zoe, rest assured. I have zero interest in your boyfriend. I despise arrogant rich people like him. Before you two met, I rejected him at least ten times.” “He said he wanted to be friends. I didn’t know you were so insecure.” Her eyes were red as she sneered, “Honestly, you make it seem like I’m doing something shady. Please tell him I won’t ask for his help anymore. I don’t want to be labeled a homewrecker.” She walked away, head held high, looking proud and unyielding. That straight spine of hers… yeah, I could see why it triggered a man’s conqueror complex. I processed her words and concluded: Great, she won’t interrupt my meals anymore. But before I could celebrate, the story reached Julian. For the first time, the calm, elegant Julian lost his temper with me. He was convinced I bullied Tia and refused to admit it. “It took so much for her to ask for help, given her pride. And you? You destroyed the last of her dignity.” I teared up but held my ground. “…It wasn’t my fault.” I was usually obedient, but not on this. Finally, his patience snapped. “If I don’t teach you a lesson, you’ll never learn your place.” He loosened his tie, standing up with a look of disgust. “The estate upstate is empty. Go there and reflect on your actions.” “And if you don’t behave, you starve. Who else can feed you but me?” Meeting the warning in his dark eyes, I held back my tears. “Fine! Don’t feed me! I don’t need you!” I’m an S-Class succubus. I can get any man I want! He scoffed, unbothered. No one knew better than him what our soul bond meant. I was physically incapable of feeding on anyone else. 2 I held onto my grudge for three days. Then another three. Even when I was dizzy from hunger, legs turning to jelly, I refused to call him. The best way to tame a prey is to corner it, wait until it exhausts all strength struggling, and then appear as the savior. Julian was always a patient hunter. Summer was humid and rainy. On my tenth day in the villa, a massive storm hit. Thunder shook the house. I curled up on the couch, burying half my face in my knees, weak and trembling. I kept looking at the floor-to-ceiling windows. I thought, If Julian shows up right now, I might forgive him. Just a little. In the past, whenever it stormed, he’d drop his work and pull me into his arms, scolding me for being “useless” while wiping away my tears. But now, the villa was silent. Not even a phone call. I sniffled, burying my face deeper, trying to hide from the world. Suddenly, lightning illuminated the living room, followed by a crack of thunder. The front door burst open, slammed by the wind and rain. I looked up, dazed. A figure in a red racing suit appeared in my line of sight. Tall, cold, black hair soaked, eyes familiar yet strange. My body’s dependency overrode my brain. The tears I’d been holding back finally fell. I threw the pillow aside, ran to him barefoot, and crashed into his arms. “Julian!” 3 I was still angry. But the moment I hugged his waist, overwhelming grievance washed over me. “I hate you…” I hammered my weak fists against his chest, crying like a loser. “I hate you so much…” A cold, wet hand suddenly gripped my wrist. The man pulled back, creating distance. His voice was lazy, teasing. “Whoa. Throwing yourself at me?” Maybe it was the wet hair covering his forehead, but he looked less cold than usual. The red racing suit gave him a wild, rebellious edge. I vaguely felt that this Julian was different. But I was starving, and my brain was mush. I just frowned, confused. “Why are you dressed like that?” I remembered Julian hated racing. He called it barbaric. He circled my feverish wrist with his fingers, frowning. “You’re here alone?” I was confused. “You told me to come here and reflect.” He looked around the empty villa, then placed a hand on my forehead. I leaned back, dazed by the coolness. He clicked his tongue. “With a temperature this high, you didn’t know you had a fever?” Fever? I touched my cheek blankly. It was burning. 4 I hated the heat, so the AC was blasting despite the rain. The first thing he did was find the remote and turn off all the AC units. The villa was empty—no food, no medicine. He got a wet towel to cool me down. Then he made a call. It rang for a long time. The voice on the other end was impatient. “What?” The man in the racing suit—Jax—didn’t beat around the bush. His tone was lazy and arrogant. “Can’t I just call my brother? By the way, that little succubus you locked in the upstate villa seems to have a high fever. You coming?” “What are you doing there?” Julian sounded instantly displeased. “Car broke down nearby. Came in to hide from the rain.” On the other end, a GPS voice announced: Entering Old District. Jax’s tone turned mocking. “Oh? Heading to the Little White Lotus’s house? Playing the knight in shining armor again?” In the background, Tia’s cold voice cut through, sounding pouty. “No need to detour. Just drop me at the next intersection.” “Shut up,” Julian snapped at her, then spoke coldly to Jax. “Jax, get a doctor for Zoe. I don’t have time.” Jax looked at the storm outside, tapping his long fingers on the window sill. “Bro, I’m curious. You’re ignoring your feverish girlfriend to drive Tia home in the rain? Is she made of gold? or are you planning on cheating?” He was blunt. “We’re just friends,” Julian corrected stiffly. “Tia got caught in the rain, she looks pale. I can’t just leave her.” “And Zoe?” “She’s fine. Succubi heal fast. Starving a few days won’t kill her. She needs to learn a lesson.” Jax almost laughed. “Damn. I guess being the mistress really does get you the special treatment these days.” Tia heard the “mistress” comment and snapped, “Julian, don’t bother. I can handle myself.” “Sit still,” Julian ordered her. Then to Jax: “Jax, I said we are friends. Say one more word, and I’ll disband your racing team tomorrow.” “Get her a doctor, then get out. I’ll see her in a few days.” Click. The call ended. Jax smirked dangerously. Friends. What an ambiguous, convenient word. He turned around and saw me, burning up, delirious. My skin was flushed pink, my almond eyes misty, looking at him with total confusion. His Adam’s apple bobbed. He wanted to be “friends” with this little succubus too. The kind of friends who sleep together. 5 The rain was getting heavier. After a while, he checked my temperature again and swapped the towel. His phone rang. He answered it and turned to leave the bedroom. I grabbed his wrist. “Don’t go…” I knew this scene too well. Late-night calls. Either work or Tia. Sickness makes you fragile. My eyes welled up, and I unconsciously nuzzled his wrist bone. “Julian… stay with me, please?” He was still on the phone, but I saw his throat move. Thunder rumbled outside. The hunger came clawing back, stronger than before. I sniffled, widening my eyes to look as pitiful as possible. “Don’t go… I’ll starve to death.” He looked at me, unmoving. In the silence, the hope in my eyes dimmed. I remembered when he pushed me away cold-heartedly. “Is your brain filled with nothing but intimacy?” I whispered, “But I’m hungry…” “Can’t you endure it? Isn’t once a week enough? If you can’t control your desires, how are you different from an animal?” He wanted me to have self-respect. But a succubus’s instinct isn’t ruled by logic. Hunger eats away at reason until only the instinct to survive remains. When I first tried to feed on someone else, he caught me. He laughed in anger and tricked me into the soul bond. He said it was for protection. “Men outside are dirty.” He didn’t like me touching others, but he refused to feed me properly. Just like today. Jax hung up the phone. He looked down at me and scoffed. “Tsk. So much trouble.” The cold tone was exactly like Julian’s. I watched him walk out of the bedroom, tears pooling in my eyes.

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My entire senior class respawned to the days before the college entrance exam—the SATs. Everyone’s eyes lit up. They memorized the answers like zealots and, sure enough, every single one of them scored a near-perfect 1580 or higher. Everyone except me. I stared at the slip of paper in my hand. “650.” My throat tightened. Even this score… was still too high. 01 The day the scores were released, the classroom was buzzing like a beehive. Everyone crowded around the bulletin board. “Zara, are you blind? You got a 650!” The class president shouted it from the front row, sparking a wave of laughter. “How can someone actually get dumber over time?” “Seriously, the whole class is improving, and she’s dragging the average down to hell!” I kept my head down, feeling the mocking gazes pricking me from all directions. I was used to it. In this trashy high school, my genuine love for learning made me a freak. But this time, it was different. Out of a maximum 1600, nearly half the class scored above 1500. We swept the state rankings, taking the valedictorian spot for the entire city and state. This wasn’t a miracle. It was a glitch. The entire class had been sent back in time to before the exam. The moment they respawned, everyone went crazy memorizing the questions and answers. Even Lucas, the class delinquent who usually struggled to spell his own name, scored high enough for the Ivy League. Our class became a city-wide sensation, the poster children for academic excellence. Our homeroom teacher wept openly, thinking his teaching methods had finally paid off. But we all knew the truth—anyone can memorize an answer key. But only me… “Did you get your head caught in a door? You had the answers and couldn’t even break 700?” Jessica, the class queen bee, slammed her test paper onto my desk. Usually, I beat her in everything except looks. Finally, she had her moment. Seeing no reaction from me, she leaned in, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Do you want me to tutor you? Oh wait, you wouldn’t understand it anyway.” “No thanks,” I said, folding my paper and stuffing it into my bag. “I’m actually pretty happy with this score.” I calculated this 650 three times to make sure I got it exactly right. They laughed even harder. They didn’t know my backpack was already filled with glue. My test paper was now a wrinkled, sticky mess. … Laugh all you want. Laugh louder. I wonder if you’ll still be laughing when you realize those memorized answers are going to cost you your lives. 02 The next afternoon, the graduation ceremony began on schedule. The lights in the auditorium were aggressively bright. The “high achievers” in the front rows were loud and arrogant. “I wrote a ten-page acceptance speech!” “Does my hair look good for the photos later?” “Why haven’t Harvard and Yale called me begging yet?” I sat silently in the back corner, the designated “loser zone.” It was coming. It was about to start. On stage, the principal was still giving his speech, but the corners of his mouth had split all the way to his ears. With every word he spoke, dark red blood dripped from his chin. No one in the audience noticed. “…Congratulations on successfully completing your exams. Today, we have special rewards for our outstanding students.” I looked down at my transcript—650. Third from the last in the class. I had meticulously calculated this score based on last life’s results. I deliberately filled in wrong bubbles for every subject and wrote only three lines for the essay. Still, it was higher than I hoped. I glanced at the guy who scored 600, the second to last. Liam. A “simple-minded jock” who was ostracized by the class and missed out on the answer key after respawning. Now that is true score control talent! Suddenly, the principal spoke. “First, will all students who scored above 1550 please come to the stage to receive your awards!” A distorted piano melody began to play over the speakers, sounding like a nursery rhyme being strangled. Jason, the study rep in the first row, stood up. His back was straight, his uniform pressed to perfection. The first state valedictorian in our school’s 100-year history. He walked up the stairs, a smug smile plastered on his face, already envisioning his elite university future. And then— Snap. His neck suddenly twisted. Once. Twice. Three times. The sound of bone shattering was crisp, exploding in everyone’s ears. His head rotated 720 degrees before settling at a gruesome angle—face backward, body forward. The auditorium erupted in screams. “Is this… part of the show?” “Maybe it’s special effects…” Before anyone could process it, the principal spoke again. “Awards distributed,” his voice remained gentle. “Next, students with scores above 1500, please come to the stage.” Hearing their names, several students walked toward the stage. Under the deathly spotlight, each performed their own self-destruct sequence, twisting like pretzels. When blood splattered onto the faces of the front row, realization finally hit. This graduation ceremony wasn’t normal. I sat calmly in the back, watching the familiar scene unfold with a cold sneer. In my past life, the whole class chose to respawn immediately after the exam. Only I stayed behind long enough to witness this graduation ceremony—a massacre ordered by test scores. On the graduation banner, the words “Bright Future” were slowly being dyed dark red. 03 Even the dumbest person could figure it out now. The class ranking was the death order. From high to low, no one escapes. Since most of our class had cheated their way to the top, wailing filled the air. “Why did I have to score so high?!” “Sob… can I still go to Stanford…” “I must be dreaming! I have to be!” But reality was ruthless. Those who went up died. Those who refused were dragged up by the surrounding teachers and died anyway. Someone tried to flee the auditorium, but the moment they touched the sunlight outside, they spontaneously combusted. In an instant, corpses littered the floor. Watching the people who had just mocked me turn into meat sacks, I couldn’t help but scoff. They deserved it. Suddenly, a low male voice came from beside me. “You tanked your score on purpose, didn’t you?” I was surprised. I turned to meet a pair of calm eyes—Caleb. He scored 680 this time, just on the edge of the “loser zone.” But he was planning to study abroad anyway, so he just breezed through the test. “What makes you say that?” I asked. “I’m your deskmate. I know your level better than anyone.” True. With my normal ability, scoring 1450+ was no problem. Which is exactly why I was eliminated early in the ceremony in my last life. But my classmates seemed to have forgotten that, only caring about suppressing me. “If they kill based on scores, why didn’t you just hand in a blank paper?” Caleb asked. I shook my head. “The bottom ten students in the grade aren’t allowed to attend graduation.” Like the guy who got last place in our class. He was dead by default. Soon, the awards for the 1500+ scorers were finished. Before the survivors could catch their breath, the principal smiled and announced a choir performance for the graduates. The lights dimmed. The choir, which had appeared on stage unnoticed, slowly turned around. It was the 20-something students who had just died. Jason stood in the front row, his severed neck held together by wire, swaying mechanically to the music as he announced the song title. [Please enjoy a performance by our outstanding graduates: “The White Ship.”] 04 The auditorium fell silent. The living had no idea what was coming next. The piano started. The dead opened their mouths in unison, their rotting vocal cords turning the warm melody into something nauseating. [Blue sky, milky way…] […There sails a little white ship.] My body went rigid. Behind me, Liam, the class idiot, was humming along, oblivious to the danger—until the singing stopped abruptly. Twenty-plus heads snapped toward the audience, their gazes sweeping over faces. “Get down!” I dragged Caleb to the floor. “What are you doing?” Before he could finish his question, a girl in the row ahead of us suddenly stood up. Her mouth curved into an uncontrollable smile, her fingers trembling as they reached for her own neck. “Help…” A tear rolled from her wide, terrified eye, but her fingers snapped with sudden force. Crack! The sound of a cervical fracture exploded over the accompaniment of “The White Ship.” The last image in her eyes was her high-scoring boyfriend on stage, staring at her “lovingly.” “How…” Caleb gasped. “Whenever the singing stops, the people they stare at… die.” No repeats. One-on-one targeting. And they prioritized the high-scorers in the front rows. I watched as over twenty figures stood up one after another. Some laughed and cried as they suffocated themselves with test papers. Some stabbed pens through their temples. The boy in the very front bit through the arteries in his own wrist. The remaining living students were frozen. “Is this… random killing now?” Jessica’s shrill voice pierced the auditorium. Crying and cursing filled the air. Chaos. Aside from Caleb and me, no one knew what was happening. The newly dead swayed to their feet, wearing the same stitched smiles as the choir, and marched in unison toward the stage. Jason affectionately put his arm around a boy who had just killed himself, adjusting his crooked tie. Now, the choir had 46 members. That was 46 pairs of venomous eyes.

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Two years after I died, Xavier Thorne was set to get engaged to Beatrice Vanderbilt, the heiress to a real estate empire. At the engagement gala, he took a sip of his bourbon, a cold sneer playing on his lips. “Someone once told me that I, Xavier Thorne, would never make a dime. That I’d never be anyone, never achieve anything. Now I’ve done it all. So where is she? Why won’t she show up?” I floated there, stunned. Oh. He still remembers what I said? But I’m already dead. The living shouldn’t hold grudges against the dead. I really wish he’d just forget about me. 1 Xavier is now the richest man in the city. The engagement party was packed with elites. Even our old high school classmates and teachers were invited. Mark, our old class president, walked over respectfully to toast Xavier. They chatted about the old days. Suddenly, Mark asked, “Mr. Thorne, that person you mentioned earlier… who was it?” Xavier scoffed, unconsciously touching the watch on his right wrist. It was strange. I bought him that watch for graduation. It cost five hundred bucks—cheap by his current standards. It didn’t match his Armani suit at all, yet he never took it off. Mark shook his head and sighed. “That sounded like something Sarah Jenkins would say. But Sarah has been dead for so long. How could she show up?” For a split second, the air in the room seemed to freeze. Silence. Then—Crash. The crystal glass in Xavier’s hand hit the floor, shattering into a million pieces. His face drained of all color. He opened his mouth, but it took a long time for the words to come out. “What did you say? Who died?” By now, everyone was staring. Xavier was known for being cold and composed. This sudden panic made everyone wonder what scandal was unfolding. Mark hesitated, then stammered, “Sarah… Sarah Jenkins.” “Impossible!” Xavier cut him off instantly. “She told me she went abroad to find her boyfriend!” “What boyfriend?” Mark looked confused. “Sarah had a hereditary genetic condition. Women in her family don’t live past thirty. You… you didn’t know, Mr. Thorne?” 2 My ghost stood behind Xavier, watching the chaos unfold, and I let out a long sigh. Two years ago, when I left Xavier, that is indeed what I told him. I told him I had an old flame abroad—six-foot-three, gold-rimmed glasses, a “sophisticated scumbag” type with a sexy British accent and a trust fund. It drove Xavier insane. He had stared at me, his eyes red, looking like he was about to bleed tears. “I don’t believe you,” he had said, gripping my wrist so hard it hurt. “Sarah, I don’t believe you. You’re lying.” “If I’m lying, I’m a dog!” I had lied through my teeth, pulling a photo out of my pocket. It showed me in the arms of a tall man, both of us laughing. I paid a guy on Fiverr fifty bucks to Photoshop that. But Xavier didn’t even look at it. He snatched it and tore it to shreds. Fifty bucks. Gone. My heart ached for the money. “Give me a reason.” He threw the confetti-sized pieces on the ground and crushed them with his shoe. “We’ve been together for so many years. You’re just dumping me?” “What else?” I rolled my eyes. “You’re poor, Xavier. Your startup failed. I don’t see a future with you. Do you want us to be thirty years old and still living in a cramped rental apartment?” Maybe I was too harsh. His hand, which had been gripping my wrist, slowly loosened and dropped to his side. I knew Xavier. He had pride. That was his limit. He would never beg me to stay again. So, I dragged my suitcase out of our rental. The moment I opened the door, Xavier called my name. “Sarah.” He stared at me, enunciating every word. “One day, you will regret the decision you made today.” I smiled lightly. “Good. I’ll be waiting for that day.” 3 They say death is like a candle going out, but my soul somehow stayed tethered to Xavier. The Reaper told me it was because someone’s obsession with me was too strong, keeping me grounded in the mortal world for a while longer. So, I watched Xavier become cold, ruthless, and decisive. In two years, he tripled his status. His company went public, and he amassed a fortune. He was no longer the boy who stood outside an investor’s door all night for a fifty-thousand-dollar seed fund. But hearing that I was dead, he looked terrified. He pulled out his phone and started frantically dialing my number. But I had blocked him on everything ages ago. The call would never connect. Beatrice, standing awkwardly to the side, saw his state and walked over cautiously. She gently placed a hand on his shoulder. “Xavier, are… are you okay? Who is this Sarah person?” “Get away from me!” Xavier shoved Beatrice aside. When he wanted to be mean, he really didn’t hold back. “We are just a business arrangement. I’ll help your family, but stay out of my personal life!” Beatrice’s face flushed red at the public rebuke. The guests looked at each other, sensing a massive scandal but daring not to speak. In the silent ballroom, the only sound was Xavier’s heavy breathing and his fingers tapping the screen, dialing over and over. Finally, he got a number from Mark. It was for my best friend, Fiona. Poor Fiona was probably asleep. It took a while for her to pick up. “Who is this?” she asked groggily. “Where is Sarah?” Xavier demanded. “Are you psycho? Sarah has been dead for two years. Why are you looking for her now?” Before she could finish, Xavier hung up. He stood there for a moment, then let out a cold, broken laugh before stumbling out of the banquet hall. His driver was waiting outside. Sitting in the back seat, Xavier hunched over, burying his face in his hands. He didn’t speak for a long time. Just as they neared his villa, he took out his phone and texted his assistant: Investigate everything about Sarah Jenkins. 4 Back at the villa, Xavier went straight to his study. He sat alone in his massive leather chair. His phone rang multiple times, but he didn’t answer. Eventually, he muted it. He looked just like he did years ago, sitting on the curb after being kicked out by an investor. Back then, I would have bought him a hot milk tea and shoved it into his hands. Now he was rich, so why did he still look so pathetic? I really wanted to pat his shoulder and yell in his ear: “Xavier, move on! Look forward!” Xavier sat there all night. Around nine the next morning, the butler knocked, followed by his assistant, Colin. Colin placed a file on the desk and whispered, “Boss, here is the information on Miss Jenkins.” Efficient. Colin must have pulled an all-nighter too. I pouted. “Exploitative capitalist.” Xavier opened the folder. It wasn’t much—just seven or eight photos. I curiously leaned over his shoulder to look. Most were from two years ago. Some were clearly screenshots from street surveillance cameras; others were backgrounds of strangers’ photos found online. I tsked. Colin was wasted as an assistant; he should be a PI. In the photos, the place I visited most was the hospital. The timestamps showed that after I broke up with Xavier, I didn’t go abroad. I rented a tiny room in the city and lived there for a few months. Xavier stared at the photos for a long time without saying a word, his brow furrowed deep. Finally, he moved. He put the photos away in a drawer and locked it. “Drive,” he said to Colin, using the desk to support himself as he stood up. “Take me to this hospital.”

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The day my fiancé, Julian, brought home a girl we were sponsoring, I walked in on them embracing. Caught off guard, I froze. Julian didn’t even flinch. “Lily has skin hunger,” he said calmly. “I’m just helping her cope. She’s practically my little sister, Maya. Don’t overthink it.” Before I could respond, the front door creaked open behind me. A young man stood there, laden with bags, looking like a stray puppy that had finally found its way home. He smiled shyly. “Excuse me, is this the Sterling residence?” What a coincidence. My childhood “groom” had come to find me. 1 The day Julian brought her home, I had just finished a six-hour remote conference on an empty stomach. It was evening when I walked through the door. Next to the shoe cabinet sat a pair of dainty Mary Janes. From the living room, a girl’s sweet laughter floated out. “Professor Julian, you don’t even know how to arrange flowers?” Then came Julian’s soft chuckle. “I guess I’ll have to learn from you.” I paused, dazed for a second. The housekeeper approached, hesitant. “Miss Maya, that’s the friend Mr. Julian brought home today…” I forced a smile and walked slowly toward the living room. Sure enough, there they were. Julian, who had never cared for flowers in his life, was bent over, carefully trimming stems. Beside him was a younger girl. Hands behind her back, head tilted, she watched him with a smile. She had healthy, sun-kissed skin and pear dimples when she grinned. Her eyes were bright and lively, like a rose in full bloom. Hearing my footsteps, she looked up quickly. She tugged at Julian’s sleeve, whispering, “Who is that…” Julian followed her gaze. His expression remained indifferent. “You’re back?” I hummed a response, smiling. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Julian tossed the scissors aside and took the tissue she offered to wipe his hands. “This is Lily.” “You know her.” Seeing my slight frown, he added, “The student we’re sponsoring.” Right. I remembered. Two years ago, I decided to sponsor a female student until she finished college. Someone quickly connected me with Lily. Back then, she was scrawny and lived in a leaky shack. In winter, without heating, her hands were red and swollen with chilblains. Julian and I covered her tuition and living expenses for the year. Since I was busy with work and Julian didn’t trust anyone else, he handled the communication. “I bought these flowers on the way here,” Lily said softly. “I didn’t know if Mrs. Sterling would lik—” Julian cut her off. “You’re not that far apart in age. No need for formalities.” His tone was gentle. “Just call her Maya.” Lily nodded and smiled at him. “Okay.” Julian placed a hand lightly on her back, guiding her toward the dining room. “Let’s eat first.” He glanced back at me, seemingly casual. “If you were going to be in meetings, you should have said something. Lily’s been starving waiting for you for an hour.” … It wasn’t until dinner that Julian told me Lily would be staying with us for a while. “She’s on summer break. Just visiting the city for a few days.” Lily immediately chimed in, “Maya, am I causing trouble?” I ignored her and asked Julian, “Why didn’t you tell me beforehand?” Julian frowned, annoyed. “What’s there to say? We have plenty of guest rooms. It’s just an extra pair of chopsticks.” He looked at me with that familiar, lofty indifference. In his eyes, I always asked stupid questions. I was the uncarved block of wood, hopeless and dull. Lily looked between us, then tugged Julian’s sleeve again. “Don’t fight with Maya.” Julian calmly picked up some food. “I’m not fighting. This is just how we are. She’s used to it.” Lily mumbled, “That’s so sad for Maya.” I stared at my reflection in the soup, the corner of my mouth twitching in a self-deprecating smile. Yeah. So sad. 2 I wasn’t brought back to the Sterling family until high school. Before that, I lived with my grandparents in a small rural town. My father, after three marriages and three divorces, realized he was destined to have no sons. That’s when he remembered me, his only daughter. He was the quintessential nouveau riche. Everything in our house screamed “money,” creating a jarring disconnect. Like the furniture, I didn’t fit into his world. He took me to galas where I stood silent, smiling like an idiot. The other kids talked about luxury brands and the latest season’s fashion; I didn’t recognize a single name. My mind was busy wondering if I’d miss the discount coupons on the livestream at 8 PM. They looked at me with disdain, deliberately ignoring me while chatting animatedly. I couldn’t join their conversation, yet I was trapped in their circle, awkward and helpless. “Maya,” someone said, rescuing me. Julian grabbed my wrist and pulled me out of the crowd. “What are you doing standing there like a statue?” I knew very little about Julian back then. Only that his dad was friends with mine. When we first met, my dad introduced him: “Call him ‘Brother.’ If you don’t understand something, ask Julian.” Julian had glanced at me, elegant and aloof. I still remember that look clearly. I looked up at him now, pulling me away from the crowd. “Thank you… Brother,” I whispered. Julian paused. His handsome features softened for a moment. Then he smiled faintly. “It’s nothing.” Julian became my only friend in the Sterling world. He took me to luxury stores, to high tea. His friends were welcoming, inviting me to their gatherings and never letting me feel left out. But as I spent more time with him, I learned about his temper. “Your taste is terrible. Throw these dresses away.” “Didn’t I tell you where this wine is from? You couldn’t even remember that?” “Don’t give cheap gifts next time. You’re embarrassing me.” I treated him like an older brother, so I subconsciously obeyed. A voice in my head constantly reminded me: Julian is always right. I felt insecure and timid in areas I didn’t understand. But with Julian around, I felt safe. So when my dad suggested we get engaged, my first reaction was to look at Julian with joy. But I saw him frown. My heart sank. It took a long time before I heard his indifferent “Okay.” … The next morning, the room next to mine was empty. Even though we were engaged, Julian and I slept in separate rooms. He wasn’t used to physical contact, and he was a bit of a germaphobe. I figured the wedding date was set anyway, so there was no rush. I checked my phone. 7:30 AM. Julian was usually still asleep. I wondered if he had gone out for a run when I heard Lily’s voice downstairs. Urgent and hushed. “It wouldn’t be good if Maya saw…” 3 I hurried to the stairs. In the corner of the living room, two shadows were intertwined. Seeing me, Lily pushed Julian away in a panic, her face flushed red. “Maya…” Julian turned slowly, adjusting his collar when he saw me. His expression was indifferent. “Lily has skin hunger. I’m just helping her cope. Don’t overthink it.” Skin hunger? I’d never heard of it. Julian always used terms I didn’t know. Separation anxiety, Stockholm syndrome, avoidant attachment. He’d say coldly, “If you don’t know, forget it.” As if I were the unreasonable one for not understanding. Those terms became his shield, justifying everything he did. “Maya,” Lily defended him, face still burning, “don’t be mad at Brother. Don’t fight because of me.” Brother. A distant, unfamiliar title. I felt a moment of confusion. I didn’t know when Julian stopped letting me call him that. “We aren’t siblings. Just call me Julian.” Back when I called him Brother, I had special privileges. I could do things his friends wouldn’t dare. I could ask questions his family avoided. He would just sigh helplessly and let me be. Everyone said I was special to him. Ironically, I thought so too. “Brother?” I looked at him with a half-smile. “You’re not siblings. Why call you that?” Julian frowned. “Maya, why are you so aggressive today?” “Lily is like a little sister to us. If she can call you sister, why can’t she call me brother?” I looked at him calmly, searching for a trace of panic. None. His expression returned to that lofty pity. “Maya, when did you become like this?” He accused me lightly. “Did you consider Lily’s feelings when you said that? She’s just a high school girl. You’re practically slandering her.” “Just because it’s a man and a woman, it has to be dirty in your eyes?” Beside him, Lily’s ears turned redder as she lowered her head. Julian twisted the narrative. I became the villain. The living room fell into a dead silence. Seeing I didn’t respond, Julian sighed and comforted me, “I think you’re just stressed from work lately. Try not to think so negatively—” Before he could finish, a knock came from the entryway. I heard the housekeeper open the door. “Who… are you looking for?” A clear, clean male voice asked, “Does Maya Sterling live here?” I froze. I had so few friends. Even my deliveries were under aliases. Who would come looking for me? The voice sounded familiar. I pushed past Julian and walked to the door. A young man stood there, carrying bags, looking green and youthful. My mind went blank for a second. Hesitantly, I called out, “Caleb?” Hearing my voice, Caleb looked up. Seeing me, he broke into a grin, revealing his tiger teeth. “Maya!” Behind me, Julian and Lily walked over. Julian scanned him, then looked at me. He pursed his lips, frowning. “Who is he?” “Me?” Caleb smiled shyly. “Nice to meet you. Sorry to intrude.” “I’m Maya’s childhood friend. And also…” He looked up, meeting Julian’s gaze calmly. He smirked slightly. “Also her childhood groom.” 4 Julian froze. Beside him, Lily gasped, “Wow…” She shut up immediately after a glare from Julian. I stepped forward to explain. “Not a real groom. Just something my dad messed around with when we were kids…” I was sickly as a child. My grandparents heard some folk remedy about warding off bad luck. The best way was to find a boy my age to raise in the house. His “yang” energy would counteract my sickness. Later, my dad brought home a little boy. Caleb followed my dad silently. He was pale and delicate. All I knew was his mom abandoned him, and his dad didn’t want him. My dad’s business had just picked up, so feeding another kid wasn’t a problem. So, Caleb and I spent our days picking fruit and watching cartoons. We became the village tyrant… and her sidekick. Caleb was timid back then, always getting bullied. My dad told me to protect him. So, relying on my dad’s money, I beat up the bullies. All that exercise actually made me stronger. The summer after middle school, my dad came to take me to the city. My grandparents wanted to stay, so I was the only one leaving. My dad looked at Caleb with a complicated expression. “Caleb, your dad… misses you too. Come back with us.” Caleb refused. He said he had no feelings for his father. “I promised Maya I’d stay and keep Grandpa and Grandma company. Besides, the high school in town is good. Don’t worry about me, Uncle Sterling.” I didn’t understand the weird tension between them then. I just felt sad. I got in the car. Dust swirled behind the wheels. Caleb stood outside the courtyard, waving and smiling. His face slowly disappeared into the dust. Back at the Sterling mansion, my dad demanded I fit in with his friends’ kids. They were born with silver spoons. I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. I hid in the bathroom and cried when they looked down on me. My dad said I was unpresentable. At night, hiding under the covers, I complained to Caleb. He comforted me patiently, telling me I didn’t need to please them. I mumbled, “If I don’t please them, I won’t have any friends.” Caleb immediately pledged loyalty. “How could that be? Am I not your friend?” I wanted to say, You don’t count. I need friends who can help me fit into this circle. Gradually, we had less to talk about. Until later, I told him, “I went to a gala with my dad today and met a really great guy! He’s like a big brother.” That day, I praised Julian endlessly. His knowledge, his class, his EQ, his taste. Caleb didn’t reply instantly like usual. A long time later, he wrote: “Congratulations, Maya. You found a good friend.” But I was too busy maintaining my new friendships. Chatting with Caleb went from weekly to monthly. Eventually, just holiday greetings. I heard from my grandparents that Caleb’s dad took him back. Apparently, it was in a faraway city. I thought I’d never see him again. And yet… here he was, at my door.

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I was pregnant with the devoted second male lead’s child. But when I was hemorrhaging during a difficult labor… He was by the female lead’s side, showering her with care and concern. I was in agony, my body slowly turning cold. The moment my soul left my body, I murmured a self-deprecating vow: “If I could do it all over again, I would never feel sorry for a man.” 1 I opened my eyes. I had been reborn, back to the beginning of the story. At that time, the male and female leads were at each other’s throats, looking like a classic bickering couple. And Liam Vance, the gentle second male lead, was the female lead, Chloe’s, childhood friend, always silently protecting her. In the book, he was the typical “beautiful, strong, and miserable” character. Raised by a single mother who was critically ill, he studied while working to support the family and pay for his mother’s medical bills. His life was a series of tragedies: his mother’s death, failing the college entrance exams, a failed startup… As the devoted second male lead, he was Chloe’s eternal safe harbor, her strongest shield. After the main couple got married, he went abroad, achieving the “forever alone” ending. He earned plenty of tears from the readers. I’ve always been a sucker for the gentle, devoted type. After finishing the novel, I couldn’t help but feel incredibly sorry for him. In my past life, after I died, I inexplicably transmigrated into the book as a beautiful background character. Reason told me not to get involved in their story, to just be a quiet extra. But feelings won over reason. Maybe out of pity, I couldn’t help but get close to Liam. I willingly protected him. I did everything I could to redeem him. I wanted to give him my whole heart. But everything I did couldn’t compare to Chloe’s tearful plea: “Liam, I miss you so much.” So Liam abandoned me in the hospital while I was waiting to give birth, rushing to comfort Chloe, who had run away after a fight with the male lead. Under the extreme emotional stress, my water broke prematurely. And then, I died on the cold operating table. 2 I actively distanced myself from the main cast. Liam quickly noticed something was wrong. After all, I had been the one thick-skinned enough to cling to him and force myself into their group. My sudden distance was obvious even to outsiders. My nerdy deskmate whispered to ask if I had fought with Liam and the others. I patted my workbook and smiled generously: “Of course not. I need to focus on my studies. Finals are coming up, and I don’t want to be at the bottom of the class again.” As soon as I said that, a piercing gaze shot at me from the front row. I didn’t need to guess to know it was Liam. He had been secretly watching me a lot these past few days, always looking like he wanted to say something but stopping himself. But he was clearly afraid Chloe would misunderstand something, so he didn’t dare approach me. In my past life, I was stupid and pathetic, thinking I could save him. I never expected to end up as such a joke. Now, I couldn’t even muster the energy for revenge. First, I didn’t want to have anything to do with the main characters anymore. Second, I really didn’t have the ambition or courage to be a villain. Current me just wanted to enjoy my wonderful life. After dying twice, I cherished being alive even more. Life is hard to come by. Whether in the real world or the book world, I had never truly lived freely. Before I transmigrated, I was my mom’s precious treasure. But back then, I had congenital leukemia. My dad ran away, and my mom had to work very, very hard to raise me alone. But later… I was only fifteen when I fell to my death. My mom must have been heartbroken. Thinking about it, my nose tingled, and I almost cried. Suddenly, Chloe’s sickly sweet voice sounded behind me: “Gwen, why haven’t you been hanging out with us lately? Did you fight with Liam?” I looked up and met Liam’s probing gaze not far away. The next second, I gave him the middle finger and mouthed: “Idiot.” His smile froze, staring at me in disbelief. 3 Looking at the female lead’s innocent expression, I smiled slightly. “Yeah, we fought. It was a huge fight.” “Huh? How did that happen?” She looked surprised, but there was a hint of secret joy in her eyes. She was young, after all; she hadn’t learned to hide her thoughts yet. “Because—” I acted very sad and angry, “I found out he likes you, so I don’t want to like him anymore.” Hearing this, Chloe’s face turned pale, and she nervously glanced around. After a while, she stammered a defense: “Ah, Gwen, w-what are you talking about!” “I’ve always seen Liam as a brother, and he definitely sees me as a sister too.” “We’re just very good friends, don’t talk nonsense…” As she spoke, she lost confidence, clearly guilty. It was kind of funny. Everyone could see Liam liked her. Did she really not notice at all? In the end, it was just using the “sibling” label to act like lovers. Not refusing, not initiating, not committing. As long as she didn’t break the window paper, she could unscrupulously enjoy Liam’s kindness. Too lazy to watch her face change colors, I grabbed my vocabulary book and went out to memorize words. I brushed past Liam, who was walking over. He tried to grab me. I spat out a pleasantry: “F*ck off!” The gentle smile on his face completely vanished, replaced by confusion in his slightly angry eyes. The male lead, Noah, came over to join the fun, wanting to mock Liam. Me: “You f*ck off too!” Useless idiot who can’t watch his own girl. I hated everyone in the main cast equally! Noah jumped, then resentfully turned back to Chloe. “Tigress! Did she eat dynamite?” I shoved past Liam, who was blocking my way, and quickly left the classroom. 4 For a few days, everyone stayed in their lanes. We were strangers. After school that day, I went to the alley as usual to feed Fatty. Fatty was a stray orange cat, very wary of humans. I planned to kidnap him home once he warmed up to me. In my past life, Chloe and I both wanted to adopt him. Fatty was about to go with me, but Liam intervened. After his repeated persuasion, I gave Fatty to Chloe. But because Noah didn’t like cats, she casually dumped the cat on Liam. So I took the chance to ask for him back. This time, I was definitely going to strike first. Just as I reached the alley entrance, I heard Chloe’s giggle. “Wow, Liam, this cat is so cute! I want to take it home…” I ran over and blocked her hand reaching for the cat. “Don’t touch! Fatty bites.” She withdrew her hand reluctantly and questioned me unhappily: “Oh, Gwen, is this your cat?” Funny, she changed her tune fast! Finally stopped calling me “Gwen-Gwen.” Sounded like a pigeon spirit. “Yes, my cat,” I answered expressionlessly, squatting down to put out cat food. Chloe bit her lip and said timidly, “But it looks like a stray. Why don’t you let me give it a home?” “No!” I refused flatly. “This is my cat. I’m taking him home.” I wouldn’t yield. And Chloe was dead set on having him. Liam looked at her with helplessness and affection. He said to me very politely: “Gwen, could you give this cat…” I couldn’t be bothered to waste words with them. I picked up Fatty and started walking. Strangely, Fatty didn’t struggle this time. He was unusually well-behaved. Seeing I was taking the cat, Chloe panicked. She whined, refusing to give up: “Liam, help me—” Liam sighed with a smile: “Tsk, I really can’t say no to you.” So he chased after me and blocked my way, putting on his usual gentle offensive. Looking at the boy with the warm smile in front of me, I hated him so much. It was this gentle and broken expression that made me fall for him again and again in my past life. I helped him through his mother’s death. I helped him through his failed exams. I gave him my heart and soul. It was clearly he who confessed to me first, making me have delusions I shouldn’t have had! It was clearly he who proposed to me, promising me forever. But why did he still have to be entangled with Chloe!? At this moment, the pain and sorrow of my past life surged into my heart. I couldn’t suppress the resentment anymore. Slap! I couldn’t control my hand and slapped him hard. “You spineless man!” “Ah! Gwen, how can you hit people!” Chloe screamed in anger. Liam’s head was knocked to the side. My nails scratched his chin, and beads of blood seeped out. I withdrew my hand, still unsatisfied. This slap was for your cold heart, for your fickleness. Chloe was heartbroken, righteously accusing me of being vicious, destroying what I couldn’t have. “Then call the police—” I retorted with a smile. “Also, what do you mean ‘destroy what I can’t have’? I don’t understand.” “Why don’t you explain the context to me, Chloe?” Ha, as if she could explain! If she explained, wouldn’t she be piercing the paper window right in front of him? How could she be “siblings” with Liam then! Sure enough, Chloe lost her momentum instantly, looking at me in panic, afraid I would say something I shouldn’t. Tsk tsk, she had a “guilty conscience.” But how could I possibly “remind” Liam? This was the fate he deserved! Remembering Nanny Wang was still waiting for me in the car, I took out a few hundred-dollar bills from my backpack. Because I didn’t want to get close to these two, the bills fluttered to the ground. “Liam, this is for medical expenses. Enough? If not, I’ll add more.” “Gwen, you’re going too far!” Chloe became angry out of shame again. “So what if you have money! Apologize to Liam right now!” I ignored her and sized up Liam. Even a clay figurine has some temper. The gentler and more amiable a person is, the more earth-shattering their anger. I knew him too well after being with him for so many years in my past life. What he hated most was having his dignity trampled on the ground. And now, I was doing exactly that. He was indeed angry, his face terrifyingly dark. Even though the anger in his eyes was about to burst out, he still smiled and comforted Chloe, saying it was okay. As expected of the devoted second male lead! I rolled my eyes and left with Fatty without looking back.

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Chapter 1 “Child, just stay. I’ll give you a hundred million dollars.” “No? Two hundred million then!” In the grand study of the Pierce Estate, Old Man Pierce sat in his mahogany chair, practically begging the young woman standing before him. I shook my head, sliding the astronomical check back across the desk. “Grandfather, I’m sorry. We agreed on six years. The time is up, my debt is paid, and it’s time for me to go.” My voice was soft, but there was steel in it. Seeing my resolve, the old man sighed heavily. “You’ve suffered these past years. Before you go, tell me what you want. Anything.” I was silent for a long time. Finally, I said, “I want you… to let Julian and Yara be together.” “You sent me to approach Julian to make him forget her. But six years later, you see the truth. Maybe true love really can’t be broken.” Old Man Pierce slumped, looking defeated. “Fine. I’m too old to fight them anymore. Let them ruin themselves if they want. As for the divorce… you’ll have to tell Julian yourself.” I nodded, bowed respectfully, and walked out the heavy oak doors. Sitting in my car, I took one last look at the estate. I first came here to repay a debt. I was an orphan, destined for a hard life, but the Pierce family sponsored my education. I skipped grades, worked myself to the bone, and earned my PhD from MIT by twenty-two. When I came to thank him, the old man made one request. “The Pierce family doesn’t need money. If you want to repay us, give me six years. Marry my heir, give him a child, and make him forget… his stepsister.” That’s when I learned Julian Pierce, the golden boy of New York business, was in love with his foster sister, Yara. He was willing to throw away his inheritance for her. The family had shipped Yara overseas to stop the scandal, leaving Julian a drunken wreck. To repay my debt, I agreed. I played the part of the devoted admirer. I married him. I gave him a son. For six years, I was the perfect wife. But the moment Yara returned from abroad, his buried love caught fire again. Even our son, Leo, who I’d raised with everything I had, started spending all his time with Yara, growing to despise me. The white moonlight never fades, I suppose. But it didn’t matter anymore. The contract was done. I was free. I pulled my gaze away from the rearview mirror just in time to see an out-of-control truck barreling toward me. CRASH. The world spun. Pain exploded in my skull. Then, darkness. When I woke up, the smell of disinfectant stung my nose. “You’re incredibly lucky,” a nurse said, checking my vitals. “Mild concussion. Everyone else in that pile-up on the highway didn’t make it. You’re the sole survivor.” I sat up, shaky. “Can I leave?” “Call your family to sign you out,” she said. I grabbed my phone and dialed Julian. It rang and rang. He didn’t pick up. Eventually, he started declining the calls. One, two, ten times. I switched to calling my son, Leo. Finally, a text popped up. [Stop annoying me! I’m busy. Make sure you have chicken soup ready when we get home.] The impatience was palpable. My five-year-old son, ordering me around like a servant. Outside the door, nurses were gossiping. “Mr. Pierce is so devoted. The woman barely had a scald from hot water—it would have healed if they waited five minutes—but he booked out the whole VIP floor. And his son is so cute, running around getting her water.” “You mean Mrs. Pierce?” “No, that’s his foster sister, Yara. Rumor has it they’re the real couple. He only married his current wife because she was sent away.” I smiled bitterly. So that’s what they were “busy” with. If I had died in that crash, would anyone have even come to identify the body? I looked at the nurse. “I don’t have any family. Can I sign for myself?” She looked at me with pity and handed me the clipboard. On my way out, I passed a VIP suite. Through the open door, I saw Julian and Leo sitting by a bed, peeling fruit, looking gentler than I had ever seen them. I watched for a moment, expressionless, then turned and walked away. Back at the villa, I pulled the divorce papers from a drawer. Julian had signed them years ago. “Stella,” he had said on our wedding night, cold and distant. “I know you’re obsessed with me, but I love someone else. If you ever want to leave, sign this.” I picked up a pen. Without hesitation, I signed my name: Stella Rourke. Chapter 2 Just as I finished, the front door opened. Julian walked in, holding Leo’s hand. They looked like a matched set in their bespoke suits—handsome, expensive, and cold. “Why did you call so many times?” Leo scowled. “Where’s the soup? Is that all you do all day, and you can’t even get that right?” “It’s on the stove,” I said calmly. Leo didn’t spare me another glance, running to the kitchen. Julian stepped forward, loosening his tie. “Leo is young. I’ll talk to him about his attitude.” I didn’t care anymore. Leo used to call me ‘Mommy.’ But since Yara returned, he treated me like the villain who kept his father and “Auntie Yara” apart. “No need,” I said. “Julian, I signed the papers. I don’t want the money, and I don’t want custody. Once the thirty-day cooling-off period is up, I’m gone.” Before Julian could respond, Leo came running back, hugging a thermos. “Daddy, let’s go! Auntie Yara must be scared all alone in the hospital!” Julian looked at me, distracted. “What did you say just now? I didn’t catch it.” He was looking right at me, but his mind was already back at the hospital. “Nothing,” I said. It didn’t matter if he heard. I was leaving anyway. I watched them rush out the door. They were gone for days. It gave me time. I submitted my resume to the National Research Institute. I was a prodigy once. My classmates were winning Nobel Prizes while I was playing house. It was time to go back. A few days later, my phone rang. “Stella! Is it true?” An old classmate’s voice buzzed with excitement. “The Professor hasn’t slept in days, he’s so happy you’re coming back! The academic world is going to shake!” I smiled, a genuine smile for the first time in years. “Yes. From now on, I’m dedicating my life to science. I don’t need anything else.” The front door opened. Julian and Leo walked in. “Don’t need what else?” Julian asked. Chapter 3 I hung up quickly. “Just old junk. I was cleaning out the closet.” Julian stared at me, suspicious, but I kept my face blank. “Why are you back?” I asked. “The food outside is terrible,” Leo complained, throwing his jacket on the sofa. “Go make me ribs. Now.” I looked at Julian. He said nothing, his silence endorsing his son’s demand. I went to the kitchen, feeling like a clown. Six years of being a wife and mother, and I had become nothing more than a live-in chef to them. During dinner, I spoke up. “You should hire the old staff back.” Julian frowned. He had fired the maids because he preferred my cooking and housekeeping. “Why?” “I’m leaving soon. You two need to get used to being taken care of by someone else.” “Leaving? To go where?” Julian scoffed. Leo rolled his eyes. “Are you throwing a tantrum because we took care of Auntie Yara? Where would you even go? You don’t have anywhere.” Julian looked at me. I had no family, no job history, no money of my own. In his eyes, I was helpless without him. He thought I was bluffing. “Stop talking nonsense,” Julian said, dismissing the topic. That night, lying in the same bed, he reached for me. His hand slid around my waist, his breath hot on my neck. “Yara…” he whispered in the dark. It wasn’t the first time. Every time we were intimate, he whispered her name. Disgust surged in my throat. I shoved him away hard. He looked at me, confused and annoyed. “What now?” “I’m sleeping in the guest room,” I said, grabbing a pillow and walking out. Chapter 4 The cold war lasted until Leo’s birthday. Julian threw a massive party. Yara was there, of course. I sat in the corner, watching my husband and son fawn over her. They looked like the perfect family. “Mr. Pierce, Mrs. Pierce,” a guest greeted Julian and Yara. Julian paused. This was the fiftieth time it had happened tonight. He glanced at me in the corner. I was looking down at my phone. “Yara isn’t my wife,” Julian corrected gently. “She’s my… sister.” Later, the guests gossiped. “That woman in the corner is the real wife? That’s pathetic.” I ignored them. When it was time for gifts, I handed Leo a key. “Your gift is in the safe. This is the key.” Inside were gifts for the next eighteen years. I wouldn’t be there to give them. Leo didn’t even look at it. He tossed the key onto a side table. “Whatever. I don’t have time for this.” “Leo, be polite,” Julian chided half-heartedly. “It’s fine,” I said. Leo ran to Yara. “Auntie Yara! What did you get me?” Yara produced a cheap storybook, unwrapped. Leo held it like it was gold. “I love it! Thank you!” Then came the cake. Leo closed his eyes to make a wish. “I wish Auntie Yara could be my mommy, and stay with Daddy forever!” The room went dead silent. “Leo!” Julian warned. “Why not?” Leo shouted. “I saw the letters in your study, Dad! You love her! Stella is just a glorified nanny! Why can’t you be with Auntie Yara?” Yara turned to Julian, eyes brimming with tears. “Julian… is it true? You never forgot me?” Julian looked at her, then at the silent crowd. Finally, he looked at me. I stood there, impassive. He turned back to Yara. “Yes. I never forgot you. Not for a second.” Chapter 5 Chaos erupted. Suddenly, a crash. Someone bumped the champagne tower. Yara was standing right under it. “Yara!” “Auntie!” Julian and Leo lunged forward. I was standing in their path. They shoved me. Hard. I lost my balance and fell backward, crashing into a table of glassware. Shards of glass sliced into my arms and legs. Champagne soaked my dress. Blood pooled around me. Across the room, Julian was holding Yara. A single champagne flute had grazed her arm. A tiny scratch. “Yara, you’re bleeding!” Julian panicked. “We need to get to the hospital!” Leo screamed. Julian picked her up and rushed out. Leo followed. They ran right past me. Julian glanced down for a split second, saw me lying in broken glass and blood, and hesitated. “I have to get Yara to the ER. You… call a cab.” Then he was gone. I lay there, bleeding, and laughed until I cried. Then I called 911. At the hospital, I was being wheeled into surgery when Julian and Leo appeared. “Yara needs blood!” Julian grabbed my arm. “She has a clotting disorder. The blood bank is low. You have the same type. Come with me.” The doctor tried to stop him. “Mr. Pierce, your wife has severe lacerations and significant blood loss. She can’t donate—” “It’s just a little blood!” Leo yelled. “Auntie Yara could die! How can she compare to Auntie Yara?” I looked at my son. The boy I birthed. The boy I loved. “She’s more important than my life?” I asked. “Yes!” Leo screamed. “Take it! Take all of it!” Julian didn’t speak. He just dragged me to the donation room. As the needle pierced my vein, I felt the last thread of attachment snap. I watched my blood fill the bag. “More,” Julian told the nurse. “Just to be safe.” The darkness took me.

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On my eighteenth birthday, all I wanted was a slice of cream cake. Instead, because I didn’t crack the top ten in my mock exams, my mother told me I might as well be dead. I sat on the rooftop, crying quietly. The firefighters spent ages trying to talk me down. But my mom? She slapped me across the face, shoving me while screaming, “Why don’t you jump? Go ahead, jump!” She pushed too hard. I fell. The firefighter broke down in tears. On my eighteenth birthday, the results of the second mock exam came out. I choked. I ranked eighteenth in my grade. The moment I saw the ranking, I started shaking. Nausea roiled in my stomach, spasms racking my body. I almost threw up. My mother’s voice crashed through my mind like a nightmare. “Lily, you are my pride. You must study hard. Don’t disappoint me!” “Lily, everyone laughs at me for not having a son. But I will prove to them that my daughter is ten thousand times better than their sons!” “Lily, if you dare slack off, I will die right in front of you. I will die with my eyes open!” … Cold sweat broke out on my skin. My face felt unnaturally hot, my breathing ragged. Eighteenth. If I didn’t make the top ten, Mom would go crazy. After school, I walked home in silence. Up ahead, I saw a girl throw herself into her mother’s arms, sobbing about how poorly she did on a test. Her mother hugged her tight, saying it didn’t matter, that she could just try harder next time. I clearly saw her mother wipe a tear from her eye. She was crying, too. My heart clenched. Why was it so easy for other mothers to cry for their daughters? Over the years, I had become obsessed with other mothers’ tears. The neighbor would tear up when her daughter scraped her knee. My desk mate’s mom would cry just seeing her daughter had lost a little weight. The single mom who ran the convenience store downstairs would often touch her daughter’s face with misty eyes. Why? Why was it so easy for them? Back home, the table was set with steaming dishes and my favorite cream cake. Mom had prepared it specially for me. She ran out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. Her weathered face was lit up with an expectant smile. “Lily, save the cake for later. How did you do? Did you make the top ten?” I kept my head down, my mind a chaotic mess, still thinking about other mothers’ tears. “Speak, Lily. What was your rank?” Mom stopped smiling. Her thin frame seemed to hunch over, her expression hardening instantly. “Eighteenth,” I whispered, my throat feeling like it was filled with lead. My fingers trembled. I added hurriedly, “Mom, I promise I’ll make the top ten next time!” I fantasized that she would comfort me. That she would urge me to eat the cake. That she would say it was okay, just do better next time. But she said nothing. She just stared at me, her eyes slowly turning red. Not from sadness. From rage. “Lily, good for you. You’re getting worse and worse. Are you studying with your ass?” Mom screamed, “Tell me, how are you studying? Do you know how hard I work for you? I get up before dawn to work. Look at my hands!” She thrust her hands out. They were covered in deep, jagged cracks—scars of years of hard labor, healing and splitting open again and again. “Look closely! All of this is for you! To pay rent, to buy food, to buy you clothes!” She pressed her palms right in front of my face, panting. Then she pointed at the door. “Do you know what people say about me? That I can’t have a son! All our relatives have sons, except me!” “My only hope is you. You must get into Harvard or Stanford! You must make something of yourself! Do you understand?!” This was the craziest she had ever been. Because the SATs were approaching, and she was more anxious than anyone. If I failed, her life would dim forever. She would lose the last bit of pride keeping her upright. I squatted on the floor and cried. The image of other mothers’ tears filled my mind again. Why was it so easy for them? “Mom… if I were a boy… would I not have to work this hard?” I finally asked the question I had buried deep in my heart. Since I was little, I wondered why I always had to be compared to other people’s sons. I was a girl. “You have the nerve to ask? If you were a son, would people look down on me?!” It was like I poked her rawest wound. She roared, “I’m the only one in the village without a son! The only one in the family! Do you know how people stab me in the back?!” “They say you’re a money-losing investment! If you don’t make me proud, who will?!” She spoke her truth. Tears streamed down my face. “I’m not a money-losing investment… I don’t want to be compared to boys anymore. I’m so tired…” “Tired? What work have you done? Do you know I work until I cough blood every day? What right do you have to be tired?” She raised her hand to slap me. I looked at her. “So tired… tired enough to die…” “Then go die! Go die!” The slap didn’t land, but her disappointment was crushing. She flipped the table. Dishes crashed. Food scattered everywhere. Mom stormed into her room and slammed the door. I stood there, lost. I stood for a long time, then turned and walked toward the roof. The sunset was beautiful. I stood on the roof, looking down at the traffic, listening to distant laughter. I felt dazed. So tired. Even standing was tiring. So I sat down. I sat on the edge of the low, old rooftop, my legs dangling over the seven-story drop. Down on the street, someone spotted me and screamed. “Look! Someone’s going to jump!” Gazes turned upward, shocked and chaotic. I snapped back to reality. Oh, they think I’m going to jump. “Little girl, don’t jump! You’re so young!” “Don’t move! Go back inside!” People shouted at me, concerned and anxious. My heart warmed slightly, then ached even more. Why did strangers care more than my own mother? I wasn’t going to jump. I just wanted to sit here. I wanted to wait for Mom’s concern. Ideally, her tears. I wanted her to cry for me just once. The firefighters came. They inflated a cushion below. Several firefighters came up to the roof. The neighbors were all alerted, peeking from the stairwell. I watched them silently. I watched the firefighters getting closer. “Little girl, don’t be impulsive. Calm down first…” A young firefighter raised his hand, greeting me gently. I sat silently. He kept talking to me, trying to soothe me, distract me. But I had no emotions left. His words spun around in my ears and floated away. He talked until his lips were dry. Then my mom came up. The firefighters brought her to talk me down. But she was shocked and furious. She pointed at me in disbelief. “Lily Lin, you want to jump? Are you crazy?” “Ma’am, please calm down. We need to stabilize your daughter’s emotions,” the firefighter signaled her to stop. Mom took a deep breath. Her eyes turned red again. She held out her hands once more, showing those gnarly scars. “Lily, look at my hands. Where have I failed you? You just have to study! How does that make you tired enough to die?” She questioned me, urgent and angry. My heart trembled. I didn’t want to see her hands. I didn’t want to see them at all. Those hands crushed me. They were her suffering, her sacrifice for me. Seeing them made me feel guilty and sad. I had failed her. “Little girl, your mom loves you very much. She was crying when she heard you were up here. That’s why we let her up,” another firefighter said, giving the first one a look. The young firefighter stepped closer tentatively, reaching out. “Is the study pressure too much? It’s okay. We’ll talk to your mom. She’s wrong, but she has a sharp tongue and a soft heart. Look how worried she is…” He turned to my mom. “Ma’am, you love your daughter very much, right?” Mom pursed her lips, took a deep breath. “Yes. Lily, come down.” Mom admitted she loved me. I finally got a shred of concern. My heart loosened, and tears poured out uncontrollably. The firefighter seized the moment, grabbed me, and pulled me down. He exhaled a long breath, patting my head. “Okay, okay. Don’t think silly thoughts.” I said ‘okay’ in my heart, looking at Mom through my tears. Even though she still hadn’t cried for me, I really wanted to hug her. She rushed over and slapped me across the face. Her face was tight with rage, eyes bulging, veins throbbing in her neck. “Lily, jump then! Why aren’t you jumping? You ungrateful thing, where do you get the nerve to act like this?” I was stunned. The firefighters were stunned. “How did I give birth to such an ignorant thing? Are you only happy when you’ve completely humiliated me?” Mom roared. She screamed at me, at the firefighters, then over the edge at the crowd below. “Come look, everyone! I don’t care about my face anymore! My daughter is so filial, jumping off a building!” A deep chill settled in my bones. I suddenly realized that saving face was what mattered most to her. I was a girl, so I was shameful. I wasn’t better than my relatives’ sons, so I was shameful. My suicide attempt caused a scene, so I was shameful. “Mom, so you want me to jump,” my tears stopped strangely. My voice was dry, my eyes dull. “Yes, jump! You’re an embarrassment!” She kept cursing, shoving me with both hands. “Jump! I raised you for nothing! Jump!” She was frantic, seemingly forgetting how low the parapet was on this cheap rental, forgetting I was right next to the edge. Her shove sent my body tilting backward. My center of gravity shifted over the abyss. In the next instant, I fell. The last thing I saw was Mom’s face morphing from rage to pure horror. Seven stories. Twenty-one meters. Two seconds of free fall. Maybe two seconds. One breath. Smack. I hit the ground. My eighteen years of life, smashed onto the pavement. Pushed by my own mother. Flesh tore, bones snapped, blood seeped from every pore… “Ah!” Screams erupted. The street was in chaos. People recoiled in horror. The firefighters manning the cushion rushed over—I hadn’t landed in the center. I clipped the edge and hit the ground, blood staining the side of the yellow plastic. I didn’t die immediately. I hit an awning on the way down, so my legs and hips took the impact. I was groggy. I didn’t feel much pain, just exhaustion. Bone-deep tiredness. Then, lightness. So light. My body and soul felt weightless, like a dandelion seed floating on the asphalt. “Little sister!” The young firefighter from the roof burst out of the stairwell. He was sweating profusely, face pale, eyes full of disbelief and confusion. “Don’t touch her! Ambulance!” another firefighter yelled, holding back the crowd. The young firefighter didn’t come close. He just stood there staring at me, shaking uncontrollably. He seemed to care about me. I felt a trace of joy. Someone cared. Maybe he was a rookie. Maybe I was the first person he tried to save. Too bad I failed him. “I saved her… I had her…” he stammered, trembling. His colleagues held him back, shielding his eyes. The ambulance arrived. I was lifted onto a stretcher in a daze. Or maybe scooped up. My lower body was shattered. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was Mom. Where was she? I wanted to see Mom. I wanted to see her cry. That was my only wish left. Mom, please cry. Finally, she appeared. She walked out holding the wall for support, her face blank and numb. People made way for her like she was a plague. She saw me on the stretcher and stood there, dazed. Was she in shock? “Why did you push your daughter?! Are you human?!” The young firefighter saw her and snapped. He screamed, eyes red, pointing a shaking finger at her. Mom flinched, like her soul slammed back into her body. Realization hit. Her face went paler than death, then flushed an unnatural waxy red. Her breathing hitched, like she couldn’t catch air. “I talked her down! Why did you push her?! Why?!” He was still screaming, tears streaming down his face. My weightless soul felt another flicker of joy. Someone was crying for me. But why wasn’t it Mom? Mom didn’t cry. She bit her lip until it bled, clenching her fists until the veins popped. She walked toward me, step by stiff step. Like a broken robot. “Drive! Family, get in!” the medic shouted. The ambulance was leaving. Mom took two quick steps, stumbling, almost falling. She was finally close enough. She could see me. I started hallucinating. Was I still alive? Were my eyes open? Was it me looking at her, or my soul? Mom was pushed into the ambulance by a firefighter. She squatted stiffly beside me, staring stiffly at me. Her lip was bitten through, bleeding. Her arms were rigid. But still, she didn’t cry.

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This was the seventh time I’d tried to save the tortured, self-loathing male lead. And for the seventh time, he jumped off the roof. Before he died, he arranged everything perfectly. He considered everyone, even his former bullies. Xavier even left a note absolving them of any guilt to prevent them from getting canceled on social media after his death. Just like the six times before, Xavier left gently. He tried to take care of everyone until the very end. So, at the funeral, everyone mourned him. They were regretful, heartbroken, devastated. Everyone except me. Because this time, I was pregnant. I had knelt on the ground, begging Xavier not to give up, begging him not to leave me and our child. But Xavier just gave me that sad, beautiful smile and said, “I’m sorry.” Then I lost my husband, and my child lost his father. I asked the System: Can I stop saving the male lead? I’m done. The System ignored me and booted up the eighth loop. I opened my eyes and found myself back in the high school classroom. I looked over at the corner. There was Xavier, the pathetic little outcast, drenched in dirty mop water thrown by the school bullies. I stood up. I saw the faint glimmer of hope in his eyes as he looked at me. Then, I walked right past him. I walked straight up to his stepbrother—the bully leading the pack—and looked into the boy’s malicious eyes. “Kill me.” I stared him down. “Or get me the hell out of here.” 1 Xander’s expression froze. Then, he let out an exaggerated, mocking laugh. “Gwen, did you sleep your brain away during lunch? ‘Kill you’? What are you, some kind of emo drama queen?” I didn’t say anything. I just watched him quietly. Gradually, Xander stopped laughing. He looked into my eyes, then abruptly looked away, unsettled. “…Shit. You’re freaking me out.” I kept staring at him stubbornly. Because I knew Xander could do it. In the future, Xavier’s stepbrother would become a murderer. Right now, though, High School Xander just kicked over the mop bucket his friend was holding. “This vibe is cursed. Show’s over. Everyone get lost!” Before leaving, Xander glanced back at me a few times. His brows furrowed, like he wanted to say something but held back. In the corner, that figure was curled up in a ball. High school Xavier was skinny. His skeletal frame looked even more fragile wrapped in the soaked uniform. Dirty water dripped from his black hair, sliding down his sharp brow bone and crashing onto the floor, drop by drop. He just looked up at me like that, his dark, wet eyes unblinking. His pupils constricted slightly, like he’d just seen a ghost. Memories hit me like a tidal wave. Every loop started with this scene. Usually, I would rush over immediately. I’d spread my arms and shield Xavier. I’d scream at Xander and his goons to back off. “Tch—Gwen, playing the saint again?” Xander would sneer. “Hey Xavier, look at you. Hiding behind a woman? Pathetic.” And when I finally chased them away and turned around… Xavier would always look up at me with those dark eyes. Like a puppy left out in the rain. It made my heart ache and swell at the same time. Then I would carefully help him up, whisper comforting words, and take him to the sink to clean up… But this time was different. My gaze lingered on Xavier’s dark eyes for half a second. I saw the expectation he hadn’t had time to hide, the confusion about why I wasn’t moving. And the lingering, shattered shimmer of tears. Then, I lifted my foot. And I stepped around him. I didn’t pause. I walked straight back to my desk and sat down. I took out the textbook for the next period and smoothed it out in front of me. I didn’t look back. Finally, the warning bell rang through the school. In the corner, the figure moved. Xavier’s upturned head slowly, inch by inch, dropped down. 2 Class started. Xavier returned to his seat in the back row. The wet uniform clung to his back, outlining his shoulder blades. From the teacher’s podium, you could see his shoulders shaking slightly. But the teacher said nothing. Because Xavier and Xander… they were technically family now. The homeroom teacher had tried calling the parents before—Xavier’s father, who was also Xander’s stepfather. The father’s attitude was to turn a blind eye, clearly favoring his stepson, Xander. The result? Xander’s bullying didn’t stop; it got worse. Since then, no teacher bothered. In the adult world, difficult problems are easily filed away as “family matters.” Right now, I was staring at my textbook, but I couldn’t read a word. Originally, I accepted the System’s contract on my hospital bed to come to this world. The System promised that if I completed the mission, my illness in the real world would be cured. I thought saving a gentle boy would be easy. For the first three loops, I stayed by Xavier’s side as a friend. I blocked the bullies, listened to his fears, and shared every bit of happiness I could find. I naively thought friendship was enough to pull Xavier out of the abyss. But at the end of every loop, all I got was a cold funeral invitation. And a handwritten letter: [Gwen, you were my best friend. Thank you. Please be happy.] So clean. So gentle. He thought of everyone else, but forgot to leave a way out for himself. In the fourth loop, I realized my feelings for Xavier weren’t just pity. I fell in love with the boy who would give me his only umbrella in the rain and run home soaking wet. The boy who remembered my period, carried spare pads, and silently carried my heavy books. I loved his kindness toward a cruel world. I even loved his bone-deep insecurity and sensitivity. From then on, I gave it everything. I used all my love, my optimism, my passion. I tried to light a bonfire in his dark world that would never go out. I confessed. We dated. We moved in together. Xavier would sit by the bed watching me sleep, kissing me gently when I woke up. He loved hugging me from behind, burying his face in my neck, whispering: “Gwen… meeting you was the luckiest thing that ever happened to me.” I thought he was healed. I thought this time, we could grow old together. But his death always came without warning. One day, Xavier would be wearing the bunny apron I chose, face flushed from the steam in the kitchen, asking, “Gwen, do you want steamed fish or braised fish tomorrow?” The next day, I’d find an empty bottle of sleeping pills beside his cold body. One night, we’d be cuddling, his warm breath on my neck. The next morning, the space beside me would be empty, and the smell of blood would drift from the bathroom. Beside his body, there was always a small wooden box. The first time I saw it, Xavier took out a yellowed piece of paper. One glance, and the color drained from his face. I asked him what it was. He immediately put the paper back, gave me a reassuring smile, and said it was nothing. The next day, he turned on the gas in a sealed room. Since then, I desperately tried to find that box. I wanted to know what was written on that paper, what words had the power to push him to death again and again. But I never found it. Until the seventh time. The last time. We had come so far. We were married. Xavier smiled genuinely more and more often. That afternoon, I came back from the hospital, hugging the ultrasound report, wanting to surprise him. And then I saw it. Xavier was standing by the window, holding that piece of paper I knew too well. The joy froze on my face. It took everything I had not to scream, rush over, snatch the paper, and tear it to shreds. “Xavier…” My voice trembled. “I’m… pregnant. Do you want to see our baby?” Xavier looked so pale by the window, like a flicker of light in the snow, ready to melt away. He turned, backlit by the sun, wearing that familiar, tragic smile. “Yeah. In a bit.” My world collapsed. “Xavier!!” I shook the report frantically, tears streaming down my face. “Isn’t this enough?! Don’t you look forward to our baby? What is on that paper? Even if it’s a curse, so what? I’m here! I’m here! We can start over!” In that moment, the fragile air around him shattered. He rushed over and hugged me, apologizing over and over. He held me so tight, as if trying to embed me into his bones. But the next day, he still jumped from the roof of that building. I loved him, saved him, pulled him out of the abyss time and time again. And every time, he chose to jump back in. My effort, my endurance… it was all for nothing. RIIING— The harsh bell snapped me out of my memories. SLAM! A hand slammed onto my desk, making my pencil case jump. A shadow fell over me. I looked up and saw Xander. One hand in his pocket, leaning forward, looking down at me. Two buttons of his uniform were undone, showing his collarbones. His hair was getting long, black strands falling into his eyes. “Hey, Gwen.” His voice was lazy, carrying a rogue-ish edge. “That stuff you said before class… ‘take me away’… what did that mean?” Xander paused, then smirked, revealing sharp canine teeth. “You don’t… have a crush on me, do you?” 3 Xander burst into loud, mocking laughter. “Trying to get my attention with that? Pretty unique. I almost bought it. But your acting is seriously—” “Yeah.” I said. Xander’s laughter choked off into a cough. He straightened up immediately. “Cough! You… you said ‘yeah’?” I didn’t look away. Yeah. I give up. I don’t want to save Xavier anymore. I just want to be free from this endless loop. “If I say I like you, will you kill me later?” “…” Xander froze. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. A few seconds later, a flush crept up his neck, burning his ears and spreading to his cheeks. The classroom went silent. Everyone was staring, eyes wide with gossip. Only from the back row came the screech of a chair being dragged. Xavier, who had been hanging his head, now buried his face completely in his arms. His uniform was half-dry, the muscles in his back tight and trembling. “You…” Xander took half a step back. He finally found his voice, but it was loud and cracked. “Are you f*cking crazy?! You’re just a kid, why—why are you always talking about death! You think it’s edgy? There’s a limit to being an emo teenager!” His friend next to him burst out laughing at Xander’s flustered state. Xander snapped like a cat whose tail got stepped on and kicked his friend in the shin. “Laugh at your mom! Shut up!” He was humiliated. I looked at this loud, blustering boy. But in my mind, I saw a different image. Years later. An afternoon. Adult Xander, being escorted out of an apartment building by two officers. Hands cuffed behind his back, stained with dark, drying blood. The onlookers whispered one word: Murderer. The last time I saw Xander, he smiled at me through the police car window. “…Hey! Why are you spacing out?” Present-day Xander poked my forehead. He looked fierce, but his touch was light. “What is your deal? Is this how people confess these days?” He pulled his hand back and ruffled his own hair aggressively, making it even messier. “Say something!” Suddenly, a harsh screech came from the back of the room. The sound of a chair hitting the floor. Everyone turned to look. Xavier was standing up, leaning forward, hand still pushing the desk. His chair was toppled over behind him. Meeting my eyes, Xavier froze, like a kicked dog. Then he panicked, bending down clumsily to pick up the chair. He kept his head down the whole time, hair hiding his face. Once the chair was upright, he didn’t look at anyone. He turned and rushed out of the classroom. “…” Seeing this, the blush on Xander’s face faded. He stared coldly at Xavier’s retreating back and spat out one word: “Freak.” 4 Lunchtime. The cafeteria was a chaotic din. Xander slammed his tray down on the table, jerking his chin at the student sitting next to me. “Move.” The student didn’t argue and scrambled away. Xander sat down heavily. “Hey, Emo Girl. You planning to keep that depressed face all day?” He stabbed at a green pepper on his tray but kept glancing at me. “I’m telling you, the gym rep from the other class? He gave one of our guys a bloody nose last week. Yesterday after school, I cornered him. Guess what? He peed his pants. Hilarious, right?” He kept talking, moving a spare rib from his tray to mine. “Eat. Lunch lady had a shaky hand today, gave me extra meat.” I didn’t touch the rib. I didn’t look at him. Xander tapped his tray with his chopsticks. “What’s with the face? Food sucks? Or do you lose your appetite looking at me?” Xander talked until his mouth was dry. My tray was empty. I wiped my mouth, stood up, and picked up my tray to leave. “Hey! You’re done already? That rib…” Xander tried to talk with his mouth full. I didn’t look back, walking toward the return window. Just as I got close, a figure stood up from a nearby table and followed me. Head down, back slightly hunched, shoulders drawn in. His uniform still had water stains. Xavier. I could feel him behind me. Not too close, not too far. Step for step. Suddenly, a sneaker shot out from the side, blocking Xavier’s path. Xavier was caught off guard. He pitched forward, about to face-plant onto the greasy floor. The students around him were already laughing. Subconsciously, I shot my arm out to catch him— It was pure muscle memory from seven lifetimes of protecting him. My hand hovered for a second. The exhaustion of futility washed over me, and I started to pull back. But a hand grabbed my wrist faster. It was cold, bony, and gripping tight. Xavier used my meager support to steady himself. The students waiting for the show booed in disappointment. I stared at the person in front of me. Xavier was still holding my wrist. He looked up. Those pitch-black eyes were terrifyingly bright. Like he was overwhelmed by an undeserved favor. Xavier’s lips moved. Very softly, very slowly, he choked out words that were almost drowned by the noise: “…Thank… you…” At that moment, Xander rushed over with his unfinished tray. “What the hell are you doing?” His eyes locked onto Xavier’s hand on my wrist. His face went black. “Let go!” Xavier didn’t let go. He stood his ground, unmoving, staring straight at me. The look in his eyes was heavy. “Gwen… Gwen.” He whispered my name. Raspy. Trembling. “I… I think I have… a lot of new memories.” “In the future… we have a baby, don’t we?”

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This year, I scored a 600 on the SATs. So, I took a knife and held my entire high school hostage. Why? Because this is my third time taking the test, and every single time, my score has been swapped. Over a thousand students and teachers are locked in the auditorium with me. The doors are sealed shut. I shouted my demands to the police outside: “You have 30 minutes to bring me the person who swapped my test. For every minute over the deadline, I kill one person.” Countless parents collapsed outside, kneeling on the pavement, screaming that I was taking my anger out on the innocent, begging me to let their children go. I didn’t blink. I pressed the blade against a student’s throat. “One minute has already passed. I only want the person who stole my score.” I know they’re here. The person who stole my future is in this school. 1 Three minutes ago, the principal was still looking down his nose at me, graciously offering to let me repeat my senior year for free—for the fourth time. I took out my knife and stabbed him in the arm. When I pulled it out, warm blood sprayed all over him. The principal screamed, clutching his wound and cursing me out. “Sarah, have you lost your mind? I told you, no one swapped your test! We showed you the exam booklet! It has your name and your student ID!” “I’ve already called the police! Unless you want to rot in prison, let us go!” I toyed with the knife, my expression cold. “When I walked in here today, I didn’t plan on walking out alive.” “Taking you all down with me? That’s a fair trade.” Outside the sealed doors, a voice boomed from a megaphone. I recognized it immediately—Officer Miller. “Sarah, don’t do anything rash! We’re already investigating your claim about the swapped test. Let the hostages go first, and we promise we’ll find the truth.” I scoffed. Did he really think I was that stupid? This year was my third time taking the SATs. I’ve always been a straight-A student. Top of my class since kindergarten. Everyone expected me to be valedictorian, to get a perfect score. But when the results came back the first time? 1000. I thought I choked. I chose to repeat the year without hesitation. Second time? 900. I wasn’t willing to accept that. I took it a third time. This time, I memorized every answer I put down. I checked them against the answer key released later. I calculated my score. It should have been near perfect. 1580 at least. But when the results came out? Six. Hundred. I couldn’t even get into community college with that. I couldn’t understand it. Until I demanded to see my exam booklet. The handwriting wasn’t mine. The answers weren’t mine. That wasn’t my test. I went to the police. But the investigation went nowhere. It just… disappeared. I yelled at the security camera, “I want to see the person who swapped my test. If I don’t see them in 30 minutes, I kill one person every minute after that.” Hearing the dead seriousness in my voice, Officer Miller’s tone darkened. “Sarah, I know you’re upset about failing. But this is a major accusation. We can’t solve it in a day.” “That’s a ‘you’ problem,” I said coldly. “I only care about results.” Miller choked. He tried a different angle. “These are your classmates and teachers in there. Do you really have the heart to hurt them?” I sneered. “Whether they live or die isn’t up to me. It’s up to you. You have 25 minutes left.” 2 News spread fast. Parents were gathering outside the school gates. Hearing my ultimatum over the megaphone, they were losing it. “Don’t do this! My kid didn’t do anything to you! Don’t hurt him!” “What are the police doing?! Why aren’t you storming in there?! If anything happens to my daughter, I’ll sue you all!” Officer Miller looked pained. He rushed toward the auditorium doors. But I’d prepared. The doors and windows were sealed with heavy steel plates. Not even a fly could get in. The only way in was if I opened the door myself. Seeing Miller wasting time banging on the steel, I reminded him, “23 minutes.” Miller’s face fell. He started barking orders into his radio, then turned back to try and talk me down. “Sarah. When you filed the report, we investigated. The handwriting on the test matched yours. No one can swap a test perfectly without a trace.” He hesitated. His implication was clear: That 600 score IS yours. Seeing I didn’t respond, he continued, “I know your family is struggling. I promise you, we will set up a scholarship fund for you. We’ll pay for your tutoring until you get into college.” Hearing this, the desperate parents outside started shouting too. “I’ll pay for your tuition! Just don’t hurt my kid!” “I’ll hire the best private tutors for you! You’ll get in next year for sure! Just let my son go!” “I run a prep school! I’ll give you free classes!” Hearing these offers, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted. But then I remembered—if I couldn’t find the person swapping the tests, it wouldn’t matter if I took the SATs a hundred times. They’d just swap it again. My heart turned to ice. I took a deep breath and shouted at the camera, “I don’t want your money! I want the person who stole my score!” Miller cursed under his breath. “There is no person! Who are we supposed to find?!” “Are you going to kill all these people over a delusion?” I laughed coldly. “The one killing them is you. Find the person, and I let them go.” SATs are secure. The chain of custody is tight. The person who could swap a test isn’t some random nobody. I couldn’t find them on my own. I needed the police. Miller was furious and helpless. I ignored him and turned my gaze back to the auditorium. My eyes landed on the principal. “Principal Henderson. If you tell me who swapped my test, I’ll let you walk out of here right now. Deal?” A flicker of temptation crossed Henderson’s face, but he shook his head quickly. “No one swapped your test, Sarah. Stop this madness.” I didn’t blink. I was just calculating where to cut him to make him talk. Just as I raised the knife, a voice came from outside. “Sarah… baby, please stop. It’s okay if you don’t go to college. Mom and Dad will take care of you forever.” It was my parents. My blood boiled. I couldn’t believe Miller dragged them here from the hospital. Five years ago, my dad was diagnosed with cancer. Three years later, Mom got kidney failure. We sold everything we had to keep them alive. I needed to get into a top university. I needed a good job to pay their medical bills. My parents rambled on, crying and begging. When I didn’t answer, they looked nervously at Miller. Miller encouraged them, “Keep talking. You have to talk her out. If she kills someone, her life is over.” My parents nodded and opened their mouths again. But then they saw me dragging a half-conscious student to the door. Through the crack in the steel plates, Miller saw me press the knife against the girl’s neck. His pupils shrank. Fear washed over his face. “What are you doing?! Don’t!” I looked at him dead in the eye. “You have time to fetch my sick parents, but no time to find the culprit? Guess you don’t care about these hostages.” Before Miller could react, I plunged the knife into the student’s chest. 3 I twisted the blade in the wound. She screamed. Blood poured down her chest, pooling on the floor and seeping under the door to the outside. Seeing the blood, the crowd outside exploded. “She killed her! Oh my god, she’s crazy! Help!” “Dammit! What are the cops doing?! Go in there! She’s killing them!” “Break the door down! There’s hundreds of us and one of her!” I smiled a twisted smile, staring right at Miller. “I drugged the water supply hours ago. They can barely lift a finger. You want to bet who’s faster? Your breach team, or my knife?” Miller’s face was red with rage. “You dare threaten a police officer? You really are insane!” I didn’t flinch. I pulled the knife out and stabbed again. And again. Into her stomach. Her screams went from piercing to a gurgle, then silence. Miller turned pale. “Fuck!” “Stop! Don’t hurt her! We’ll find the person! We’ll find them!” I pulled the knife out and looked through the crack. “15 minutes left. If you don’t have the culprit by then, she bleeds out.” “She’s the first. But she won’t be the last.” Miller had been hoping I was bluffing. Now that hope was gone. He took a deep breath. “We will find the person. But she needs medical attention now. Can you let her go?” “No,” I said flatly. “If you don’t find the person, you watch her die.” Miller was sweating. He consulted with the SWAT team about breaching. The expert shook his head. “She’s too smart. She fortified the place. Like she said, the moment we breach, the hostages die.” Miller slammed his fist on the table, eyes bloodshot. Too many hostages. One wrong move and it’s a massacre. His orders were to protect the hostages at all costs. As for Sarah… shoot to kill if necessary. Miller wanted to take the shot, but I was using the hostages as shields. Parents who saw the carnage were trying to rush the police line. A huge man grabbed Miller by the collar. “My daughter is in there with that psycho! And you’re just standing here?! If anything happens to her, I will end you!” “You guys have guns! Go in there and trade places with my kid!” Looking at the parents who wanted to tie up the cops and offer them as tribute, Miller felt a chill in his heart. He forced himself to calm down, reassuring them he would get the kids out. Just then, my voice rang out again. “Ten minutes.” 4 Miller met my cold gaze and muttered, “Lunatic.” I smirked. “You people made me this way. If you don’t find the person who stole my life, I’ll show you what a real lunatic looks like.” Miller stopped hoping for mercy. He turned to the forensics team. “Anything?!” The tech looked miserable. “We reviewed all the surveillance footage from the testing center. Nothing. The chain of custody is unbroken. That test is hers.” “She just can’t accept that she failed three times. She’s delusional.” Miller knew that was the most likely explanation. But right now, with a knife at a kid’s throat, “you’re delusional” wasn’t going to cut it. “Are you sure? Nothing weird? No gaps?” The tech shook his head, then paused. “Well… there is a blind spot in the hallway camera when the tests were being moved to the secure office. Just thirty seconds. But… no one can swap a test in thirty seconds, right?” Miller’s face hardened. “This is life or death. Check it again. Start from that blind spot.” I looked at the timer on my phone. Three minutes left. I dragged five students and two teachers to the door. Through the crack, the crowd could see everything. “Three minutes left. Who should go next?” I ran the dull side of the knife across their throats, one by one. Eeny, meeny, miny, moe. A few parents recognized their kids and collapsed, kowtowing on the asphalt. “Please! Kill me instead! Let my baby go!” “I’ll give you anything! Money! Anything!” “You want to go to college? I’ll buy a building for Harvard! Just let him go!” I didn’t blink. “Two minutes.” A furious dad jumped up. “Bitch! If you touch a hair on my kid’s head, I will haunt you from hell!” “Useless cops! Do something! She’s going to kill them all!” My tone didn’t change. “One minute. Officer Miller, you disappoint me.” Miller was frantic. “Wait! Don’t! We have a lead! We’re almost there!” “Three. Two. One.” I flipped the knife and drove it into a boy’s chest. He convulsed for a second and went still. His mother fainted instantly. The crowd erupted. Curses and screams washed over me like a tidal wave. Miller’s eyes were crimson. “Sarah! How dare you!” I pulled the knife out, wiping it on the boy’s shirt. “Now, I kill one person every minute until you bring me the culprit.” I stood over another student, counting down ten seconds in my head. Just as I raised the knife, a siren wailed. A police cruiser screeched to a halt. Miller’s face lit up. “Sarah! We found him! We found the guy who swapped your tests for the last three years!” “This time, you can go to your dream college!” A lump formed in my throat. Three years. Finally. Miller dragged a man out of the car. He was handcuffed, a black hood over his head. My palms were sweating against the door handle. I stared at the hooded figure, heart pounding. Impossible. How could it be him? Just then, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I looked at the text message. My blood ran cold.

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