My mother picked two potential marriage candidates for my brother and me. One was a wealthy socialite from a prominent family, her eyes always following my brother. The other, left for me, was the daughter of a scholarly family. She was in a wheelchair, blind. I didn’t look down on her because of it. Instead, I took her to the best doctors I could find. I spent all my savings and worked tirelessly to support her. Every doctor said there was nothing physically wrong with her legs; it might be psychological. So I took her to the seaside to feel the breeze. I took her to see rivers, mountains, and flowers blooming in spring. Until my brother and I were kidnapped. When the kidnapper’s knife was about to pierce my brother’s chest, she sprinted over and yanked me directly in front of him. I watched helplessly as the blade pierced my heart. As countless bodyguards rushed in calling her “Miss,” I finally realized the truth. She wasn’t crippled. She wasn’t blind. She wasn’t from some modest scholarly family. She just didn’t want to stand by my side. She didn’t want to see me. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “My family is the richest in the city. My father wanted me to feign illness to test for true love.” “You passed the test, but I couldn’t fall in love with you. Even if Ryan didn’t choose me, I couldn’t let him die.” “I owe you. I’ll repay you in the next life.” When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my mother chose our brides. 1 In the living room, Mom was smiling, entertaining two women. One was Fiona, sitting in a wheelchair. The other was Hannah, dressed in luxury brands. Just like in my previous life, my brother Ryan’s eyes were glued to Hannah. My younger brother, Lucas, who always enjoyed watching the drama, noticed my pale face and started teasing. “Is this even a choice? Big brother dresses so tacky, he’s a perfect match for the blind girl.” “Ryan has always been the school heartthrob. We can’t let him go to waste on a cripple.” I clenched my fists. “So you think your big brother, who paid for your food and drinks, deserves to be wasted on someone?” “Don’t forget how you survived until now!” Ryan and Lucas were twins, three years younger than me. Since childhood, our parents instilled one thought in me: as the eldest brother, I had to be like a father, caring for my brothers and supporting the family. So, any good food went to them first. New clothes went to them. Even when Lucas needed a kidney transplant, I was the donor. Now Lucas wanted to marry a rich girl but couldn’t afford the dowry. Mom shamelessly contacted the Fu and Han families, whom we hadn’t spoken to in over a decade, demanding they honor an old engagement promise made by the elders. They planned to use the dowry money Ryan and I received to pay for Lucas’s wedding. Since I was reborn, I had nothing to lose. “I choose Hannah. Or I won’t marry!” Everyone froze. Ryan turned red with anxiety. I had never spoken so forcefully in this house, nor had I ever fought for anything he wanted. He immediately looked at Hannah for help. Hannah got the message, sitting next to Ryan and leaning into his arms. “Ryan and I fell in love at first sight. I trust that as his big brother, you wouldn’t break us apart, right?” Ryan held her hand tightly, eyes teary. “You know I can’t take care of people. I can’t live with Fiona. If her condition worsens, I’ll feel guilty. Brother, you studied Chinese medicine with Grandpa. If you marry her and cure her, it would be a good deed.” I glanced at the silent Fiona, a smirk forming on my lips. “So you’ve decided on Hannah, right?” He nodded. Dad quickly hammered the final nail. “Alright, it’s settled then.” But the next second, Fiona moved. She lifted her pale hand, removed her sunglasses, revealing bright, clear eyes. Then, she stood up from her wheelchair. She walked past me straight to Ryan, smiling. “You don’t need to worry about taking care of me. I was just joking with everyone earlier. Although I’m not from Seaview City, my father is the richest man in Rivertown. If you marry me, you’ll live very well.” “Ryan, can you give me a chance to pursue you?” I sneered internally. So she was reborn too. That made things easier. 2 While everyone was shocked by the turn of events, I spoke up. “Dad, since that’s the case, I’m not marrying anyone. As for how much dowry you can get from them, that’s up to your skills.” Dad looked awkward. One was the son of the richest man in Rivertown, the other from a prominent family in Seaview City. He couldn’t afford to offend either. And just then, Hannah’s competitive streak kicked in. She stood up, meeting Fiona’s gaze. “A gentleman doesn’t steal what others love. Do you understand that?” Fiona didn’t back down. “Who he loves is up to Ryan to decide, isn’t it?” Then she smiled beautifully, looking at Ryan with utmost tenderness. “Do you remember when we were kids in Seaview City? My grandfather set up a chess game under a tree. You solved it in less than an hour. You were the only one.” “I was amazed by your wisdom back then and swore I wouldn’t marry anyone but you.” “Don’t feel pressured. I’ll compete fairly with Hannah. Whoever you choose in the end, I’ll respect it.” In my past life, I died not knowing why she loved Ryan so deeply. Hearing it now, I just found it laughable. I was the one who solved that chess game. I couldn’t blame her for the mistake. Back then, I was malnourished, giving all my food to my brothers. I wasn’t even as tall as Ryan. But I was too lazy to reveal the truth. It was boring. Seeing Ryan nod, Hannah looked displeased but agreed. From now on, it wasn’t a battle for a boyfriend, but a battle between the prominent families of Rivertown and Seaview City. Seeing enough of the drama, I got up to go to my room, but Dad stopped me. “Where are you going?” “Oh, I’m leaving this house to find Grandpa.” “You’re not going anywhere! If you leave, who will they marry?” I scoffed. “Dad, do you want both rich daughters-in-law? If it really doesn’t work out, why don’t you marry one? I don’t pick up other people’s leftovers.” I went to my room to pack. Grandpa had cut ties with our family long ago. Twenty years ago, my mom, greedy for money, boasted that Grandpa could bring the dead back to life and insisted on bringing a corpse for treatment. She almost ruined his reputation. Grandpa kicked her out and severed all ties. Only after I grew up did I sneak out to visit him. I had a talent for Chinese medicine. In my past life, I could have inherited Grandpa’s legacy. But because I married Fiona, I had to give it up. I was exhausted working multiple jobs to pay for her medical bills and save up to take her traveling. So this time, I was going to live for myself. 3 After packing, I ran to the community gate to hail a taxi. But Fiona blocked my way, standing right in front of me. This was the first time I stood next to her standing up. She was tall, her appearance perfect. Too bad her heart was rotten. “Liam, you were reborn too, right?” I met her gaze, neither humble nor arrogant. “Yes. I remember every cold look you gave me, every lie you told me, and the pain of that knife piercing my heart!” She sighed slightly. “I’m sorry.” “Save your cheap apologies! I will never forgive you! Move, get out of my way.” Suddenly, her hand clamped onto my arm like a vise. “You can’t leave.” The next second, two bodyguards dragged me into a car. I was taken to a villa, heavily guarded. “Fiona, what the hell are you doing! I’m not interfering with you and Ryan, why are you keeping me here!” “Liam, in my last life I said I would compensate you. If he doesn’t choose me this time, I’ll marry you and ensure you live in luxury for the rest of your life.” I scoffed. “And if he chooses you?” “Then I’ll give you a sum of money and let you go. For now, I need you to help me pursue him. Tell me everything he likes.” “Tell me what he likes to eat first. I invited him here for dinner. I’m going to cook.” Even though I was filled with hate, seeing how much she cared about Ryan still hurt. I bit my lip, refusing to speak, but her nails dug deep into my flesh. I winced and spoke. “Expensive. The more expensive, the better!” While she was in the kitchen, I looked around the house, thinking of a way to escape. Soon, the doorbell rang. Ryan stood there in a decent casual suit, looking boyish. Fiona welcomed him with a smile. He thanked her in a pinched voice, then saw me standing there. “Why are you here!” Fiona quickly explained for me. “He’s here to help me pursue you. I figured your brother would know your preferences.” Although his eyes were full of disgust, he had to pretend to be moved. “Fiona, you’re so thoughtful.” After sitting down, I unceremoniously devoured the airlifted lobster and king crab. Ryan, however, kept checking his phone. Soon, it rang urgently. “Hello Mom, don’t panic, what happened?” “What? I’ll be right there.” After hanging up, he suddenly knelt before me. “Brother, Lucas needs a kidney transplant. Help him, please. You can’t watch him die.” My mind went blank. I remembered clearly that after the last surgery, the doctor said Lucas recovered very well and wouldn’t relapse. “You’re a match too. Why don’t you donate?” But Ryan acted like he didn’t hear me, kowtowing repeatedly. “Brother, please, save him.” Fiona pulled him up heartache, hugging him. Then she glared at me. “You are so selfish!” She dragged Ryan away, not forgetting to order the bodyguards to watch me closely. 4 I was locked in a room on the third floor. Pounding on the door was useless. I found a trophy and smashed the window without hesitation. Looking down from the third floor, my legs went weak. I closed my eyes and jumped. But luck wasn’t on my side. I hit the ground hard, breaking my ribs. The pain was suffocating. Fiona walked over. I instinctively begged for help. “Send… send me to the hospital.” But her voice was freezing. “You’re not going anywhere. Wait here to donate your kidney to your brother.” I looked at her in disbelief, tears falling uncontrollably. “I only have one kidney left. If I give it to him, I’ll die.” “Yes, I know.” My heart turned completely cold. “This is your compensation to me?” “I’m sorry. I don’t want to see Ryan sad. Consider it another debt I owe you.” I lay in bed for days. My injuries healed slowly, but my life was counting down. Waiting for death filled me with despair. Five days later, Ryan walked into my room alone. Seeing me strapped to the bed, he laughed loudly. “Brother, since you’re dying, I’ll tell you. The person who needs the kidney is the guy Lucas hit with his car. Coincidentally, he’s a match with you.” Tears streamed down my face. “I’ve been good to you since we were kids. Why are you doing this to me?” He glared at me viciously. “Blame Fiona. If she were really crippled, I would have let you have her. But she’s not, so I want both!” I closed my eyes in sorrow. He untied me. I stood up and followed him slowly. When we reached the door, I suddenly shoved him out with all my strength and locked the door. I picked up the gasoline I had prepared by the bed, splashed it on the floor, and lit a match. Ryan pounded on the door frantically. “What are you doing? You can’t die! I’m calling Fiona right now!” My indifferent voice came from inside. “I’ve already called the police. If you don’t want Fiona to know you two conspired to trick her, you better pray I burn to death!” Sure enough, the noise outside stopped immediately. I stood in the dancing flames, laughing at the sky. Finally, I’m free. Goodbye, world that was never kind to me.

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The engagement party was winding down. I went to the lounge to find Richard, but stopped short when I heard his drunken voice slurring to a friend. “I don’t love Kelly. The woman I want to marry is Ava. You get me?” His friend sighed. “Then marry Ava. Why go through with an engagement to Kelly?” Richard mumbled, his words thick with alcohol and resentment. “My family demands a match of equals. They’d never let Ava into the Monroe family. But Kelly… she loves me, her family is perfect, my parents approve…” I lowered my eyes, swallowing the bitter taste that rose in my throat. It was true, I loved Richard. But my family, the Langstons, had no shortage of suitors. 1 I gathered the hem of my gown, ready to leave, when I heard his friend speak again. “Keep your voice down. What if Kelly hears you?” I froze, wanting to hear his answer. A moment later, Richard’s voice rose to a shout. “Let her hear! What’s she going to do? She loves me so much, she’d never leave me!” “You have no idea how suffocated I feel. When we were making the toasts tonight… God, I wished it was Ava standing next to me.” “Listen to me,” he said, his voice cracking. “Marry someone you love. Otherwise, you’ll end up miserable, just like me…” A smile, more painful than a sob, twisted my lips. I never knew. I never knew that Richard had agreed to be with me, to propose to me, under such a cloud of misery. My nose tingled, a hot sting behind my eyes. I turned to go and walked straight into a waiter. The hangover-remedy soup I’d ordered for Richard sloshed all over my expensive gown. The waiter began to apologize profusely. “It’s fine,” I said, my voice hollow. “Don’t bother making another one. Just… pretend I was never here.” I had arranged for the soup earlier, watching Richard knock back glass after glass. I thought he was happy. How utterly laughable I was. The waiter tried to say something else, but I was already walking away. I sat in my car for a long time, the world outside a silent blur. Then, I made a call. “The wedding in two months… can you be my groom?” The person on the other end was silent for a long moment. Then, a single word. “Yes.” My grandfather’s health was failing; the doctors had only given him a few years. His greatest wish was to see me married. As long as I was married, my uncles couldn’t touch the inheritance my parents had left me. That’s why, when Richard proposed, I’d said yes. But tonight, I learned the truth of his private agony. I drove back to the house we were supposed to share, our future home, but my heart felt like a hollow cavern. Just a few days ago, I had been excitedly telling the designer exactly how I wanted every room to look. In the living room stood several large suitcases I’d had delivered, still unpacked. Now, it seemed, they would be leaving with me. A dead calm settled over me. It was love at first sight for me with Richard. Our relationship was engineered by his family, a perfect strategic match. At first, he was polite but distant. Then, slowly, he began to return my affection. I thought… I thought he was falling in love with me. Richard’s call came while I was in the middle of ripping our enormous engagement portrait off the bedroom wall. I answered, and his heavy breathing filled the line. “They said you left early. Why didn’t you wait for me?” “Just tired,” I said coolly. He was quiet for a few seconds. “I have something to take care of tonight, so I won’t be coming back. I’ll pick you up for breakfast in the morning.” “Fine.” Tonight was meant to be our first night together in our new home. As soon as he hung up, I drove back to my own apartment and started searching for my important documents. I couldn’t find them anywhere. Then I remembered—I’d brought my birth certificate and passport to Richard’s apartment, thinking it would be more convenient for applying for the marriage license. Since that was off the table, I needed to get them back. The next morning, I drove to Richard’s downtown apartment. He often worked late at the office and wouldn’t come back until the afternoon. But when I opened the door with my key, the first thing I saw was a pair of long, bare legs. Ava, his secretary, was standing there wearing one of my shirts—one I had bought for Richard. Our eyes met. 2 So this was the “something” he had to take care of. “Kelly…” Ava stared at me, her eyes wide with shock. The egg she was frying in the pan began to smoke. “Where’s Richard?” I asked, my voice flat. “He’s… still sleeping.” She bit her lip, a picture of innocent chagrin. The scene was surreal: my fiancé’s secretary, wearing his shirt, making him breakfast in his apartment. But after overhearing his confession last night, my heart felt little more than a dull ache. There was no room for shock. I started toward the bedroom, but Ava blocked my path. “Kelly, this is all my fault,” she pleaded, her voice trembling. “I had too much to drink, and Richard was just worried about me. I was the one who initiated things. It’s all on me. You can hit me, scream at me, just please don’t blame Richard.” By the end of her speech, she was sobbing. I tried to step around her, but she grabbed my arm. I shook her off, and with a sudden shriek, she stumbled backward and collapsed onto the floor. Before I could even react, Richard burst out of the bedroom and shoved me hard. My back slammed against the sharp corner of a console table. A jolt of intense pain shot through me, and I gasped. He wasn’t even dressed, just wearing a pair of boxers. A cluster of fresh red marks on his neck burned into my vision. “Kelly! If you have a problem, take it up with me! Don’t you dare touch Ava! I can explain everything.” Explain? Explain why he was sleeping with his secretary? I opened my mouth to speak, but my gaze fell on a bracelet on Ava’s wrist. It was the Monroe family heirloom. Richard’s grandmother had given it to me, a tradition for every bride who married into the family. A priceless piece of jewelry, now on Ava’s wrist. I stepped forward to get a closer look, but Ava shrank away like I was a monster, hiding behind Richard. “Please, don’t hit me again,” she whimpered. Her shoulders trembled as she cried, the very image of a victim. Richard shielded her, his face dark with fury. “It’s just a bracelet, Kelly. As the future Mrs. Monroe, you shouldn’t be so petty.” So it was true. The bracelet I treasured, the symbol of my place in his family, had been given to her. “If you want to marry her,” I said, my voice steady, “I will step aside.” Richard flinched. The reality of his family’s opposition hit him, and his expression turned blacker than the burnt egg in the pan. “Kelly, it’s a stupid bracelet! If she wants to wear it, let her. I already owe her so much. Can you just stop making things harder for me?” I looked at his heaving chest and realized something with stark clarity: the absence of love is deafeningly obvious. With me, his emotions were always muted, a calm, placid surface. He rarely got angry. But now, for another woman, his face was a mask of cold fury. The realization sent my heart plummeting. A profound exhaustion washed over me. “I’m just here to get my things. I’ll be gone in a minute.” I came out with my documents, and Richard stared at me, his brow furrowed. “What do you need those for?” To marry someone else. To be with someone else. But I saw no need to tell him that. “It’s none of your business.” He instinctively started to follow me to the door, but Ava’s weak, wounded voice called out from behind him. “Richard…” He stopped dead in his tracks and watched as I slammed the door behind me. Outside, I made another call to the same person. “When you get back, let’s get the marriage license first.” “Okay. I’m almost done here. Wait for me.” I looked up at the vast blue sky and thought, maybe things weren’t so bad after all. At least I was free of a rotten man. 3 I had my suitcases moved to a penthouse owned by him and began to set up our new home myself. I worked until evening, when a text from Richard came through. I stared at the message, a humorless laugh escaping my lips, and deleted it. The future Mrs. Monroe? Sorry. I’m no longer interested. Though I was resolute in my decision to leave Richard, our families were still entangled in business. So, until I was ready to make my move, I played my part. At my birthday party, I was on his arm, a fake smile plastered on my face as we accepted congratulations. When I grew tired and slipped out to the balcony for some air, I saw Ava, dressed in a stunning white gown, step gracefully to Richard’s side. They looked good together. A perfect match. I didn’t remember inviting her. A short while later, Richard was summoned to the study by my uncles. As he headed upstairs, he shot a worried glance back at Ava and me. I knew what he was thinking. He was afraid I would hurt her. Once Richard was out of sight, Ava came and sat beside me. She raised her wine glass. “Congratulations, Kelly.” “Are you congratulating me on my fiancé’s infidelity, or on you successfully climbing into his bed?” Her smile faltered, a flash of jealousy in her eyes. Since I wasn’t playing nice, she dropped the act. “You don’t actually think last night was our first time, do you?” She smirked, her tone dripping with provocation. “The night you confessed your feelings to him, the night you two officially got together? He came to me, drunk, holding me and apologizing for how guilty he felt.” “You were out making wishes on shooting stars, Kelly. Did the stars give you what you wanted?” My hand trembled, and red wine sloshed over the rim of my glass onto the floor. The night before I told Richard how I felt, I had seen a shooting star and made a wish. When he agreed to be with me, I’d joyfully told him my wish had come true. He had just smiled and patted my head. I couldn’t stop myself. I threw the rest of my wine in her face. The red liquid stained her expensive dress. I turned to leave, but she grabbed my hand and clamped it around her own throat. “Kelly, I’m sorry… please don’t do this…” I struggled to pull away, confused, and in the next second, she threw herself backward over the balcony railing. It wasn’t a high balcony, only a single story down to the lawn below. I heard Richard’s roar of fury from behind me. He ripped me away, his eyes locked on Ava’s unconscious form on the grass. Then he was gone, flying down the stairs to her side. He looked up at me, his eyes blazing with a hatred so intense it scorched me. He sped away with Ava in his car. She’d broken her leg. She wasn’t dead. The next day, I was trending online. Headlines painted the future Mrs. Monroe as a vicious shrew who couldn’t tolerate a grain of sand in her eye, who had pushed her fiancé’s poor secretary off a balcony. The story they spun was that Ava had only come to the party to deliver an urgent file. The public backlash was immediate and brutal. The Langston Group’s stock plummeted. My uncles pressured me to go to the hospital and apologize. Not wanting to worry my grandfather, I went. I was met by Richard, his face covered in stubble, his eyes shot with blood. The moment he saw me, he lunged, slamming me against the wall, his hands tight around my throat. Just as my vision started to blacken, Ava’s weak voice came from the room. “Richard… don’t do something you’ll regret…” He let go. “If we weren’t engaged,” he snarled, his voice thick with rage, “I would kill you.” He turned and went to her bedside, carefully spoon-feeding her porridge. I watched the scene with a cynical detachment. Ava, however, flinched under my gaze. “Kelly, I was wrong, I really was. Please, forgive me, I’ll break it off with Richard…” Before she could finish, Richard cut her off. “Kelly, get out!” My heart was already numb. I turned and walked away. Photos of my hospital visit were, of course, leaked to the press. The next day, a new story was published: it was all a misunderstanding, an accident. But no one believed it. Someone was carefully orchestrating the narrative, keeping the blame squarely on me. Then, two days later, every negative story about me vanished from the internet. I knew he was back. Eddy. Eddy Cole. He’d had a crush on me in college, but his family was so powerful, their world so complicated, that I had turned him down. We hadn’t spoken since, though he’d sent his congratulations through a mutual friend when he heard I was engaged. The night I heard Richard’s confession, I’d gotten Eddy’s number from that same friend, never imagining he would actually agree to my desperate proposal. Now, he sat across from me in a private dining room, devastatingly handsome. I had to ask. “Eddy, was it you who had the stories taken down?” “Yes,” he said, his gaze steady and serious. We ate in a comfortable silence. With Eddy, I was learning what it felt like to be treated with genuine chivalry. The next day, we got our marriage license. I showed it to my grandfather, who was overjoyed. He’d only met Richard once and barely remembered what he looked like. A moment later, my phone rang. It was Richard. “Where have you been? You haven’t been staying at the new house, have you? And all your suitcases are gone.” His voice was strained. “Kelly, I’m already stressed out cleaning up the mess you made. Can you please stop throwing a tantrum…” I cut him off, my patience gone. “What do you want?” He paused, then his tone softened. “Come back. There’s something I need to discuss with you.” Honestly, I could have just ignored him, but I knew if I didn’t go, he would just go to my uncles. Now that I was legally married, it was time to set the record straight. When he saw me, the frustration on Richard’s face melted away. He rushed toward me and took my wrist. I pulled away instinctively. His voice was gentle, conciliatory. “I was thinking, after we’re married, we should have Ava move in with us. That way, I can look after her. I don’t trust anyone else.” I stared at him in disbelief. He seemed completely oblivious to my shock. “None of this would have happened if your jealousy hadn’t gotten the best of you and you hadn’t pushed her,” he continued, his tone matter-of-fact. “I was going to call the police, but Ava stopped me. You should be grateful to her, Kelly.” “I’ve already had the housekeeper prepare the master bedroom for her. If you want to stay, you’ll have to use the guest room.” Hearing his words, I felt a wave of profound relief that I had woken up when I did. I opened my mouth to tell him that none of this mattered to me anymore, but he cut me off impatiently. “I have to get back to the hospital to take care of Ava. If you need anything, call my assistant.” He started for the door, but just then, his phone rang. My hands were shaking with rage at his audacity, and I accidentally hit the speakerphone button as I answered. Eddy’s clear, calm voice filled the room, laced with an unmistakable tenderness. “Wife, are you coming home for dinner tonight?” Richard froze, his hand on the doorknob. He turned slowly, his face ashen. “Kelly, stop playing these games. Do you really think hiring some guy to call you is going to make me abandon Ava?!”

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I won the $50 million lottery. But when I went to deposit the money at the bank where my fiancé, Wayne, was the manager, the teller suddenly screamed, “There’s a problem with the money! Security!” Wayne rushed over and grabbed my hand in front of everyone. “Ava, the source of these funds is questionable. The bank has to freeze the account temporarily. Just cooperate and go home. I’ll call you.” In my past life, I believed him. Not wanting to cause him trouble, I went home obediently and waited. But the only thing that came for me was a police summons. Wayne and that teller had conspired to steal every last cent of my money, then framed me by claiming it was the proceeds of a scam. In the end, with my reputation destroyed, I lit a charcoal stove in my tiny apartment and let the despair swallow me whole. My soul drifted aimlessly through the lavish villa they bought with my money. I heard Wayne say to the teller, “That idiot really thought I loved her? Trading her luck for our lifetime of luxury… I’d say she died a worthy death.” I opened my eyes again, and I was back in that moment, with Wayne’s hand gripping mine. This time, I smiled, nodded, and pushed the money back across the counter. Let’s see who dies a worthy death. 1. The smile on my face made Wayne flinch. His grip on my wrist tightened, as if trying to decipher something from my expression. He would find nothing. The me from my past life would have been a panicked, pale-faced wreck right now, looking at him helplessly, clinging to him as my only lifeline. But now, I simply pulled my hand free. I took the bank card holding the fifty-million-dollar prize, along with my ID, and pushed them back across the counter. Right in front of the teller, Mia. “Deposit,” I said. My voice was quiet but clear, easily heard by the curious onlookers whose ears had perked up. A flash of panic crossed Mia’s eyes. She glanced at Wayne, silently pleading for help. Wayne recovered quickly, his voice softening. “Ava, please, don’t make this difficult. I know you’re excited about the money, but we have to follow procedure. Go home first, and I promise I’ll call you the second this is sorted.” He reached for my hand again, trying to pull me away from the unfolding scene. I sidestepped his grasp. “Mr. Thorne,” I used his formal title deliberately, creating a chasm between us. “If we’re talking about procedure, then let’s follow it. If the bank suspects an issue and needs to freeze my funds, fine. But I’ll need an official written notice. It should state the reason for the freeze, the duration, and it must be signed and stamped by an authorized bank official, correct?” A deep line formed between Wayne’s brows. He never expected the woman who had always been so compliant to suddenly become this difficult. The crowd in the lobby was growing, their whispers turning into a low murmur. “She doesn’t look like a criminal…” “Fifty million dollars! My God, no wonder the bank is on edge.” “But they can’t just seize her money without a proper reason, can they? That’s not right.” The rising tide of chatter made Wayne’s face darken. He knew a public scene would destroy his plan. Mia, from behind the counter, grew agitated. Her voice turned shrill. “We suspect the funds are related to money laundering! This is for your own good. What if you’re being used by a criminal organization? Wayne is just trying to protect you!” She called him “Wayne” with such practiced intimacy, her eyes, when they met mine, were filled with a smug, defiant glee. I looked at her coldly. “Miss, I am discussing official bank protocol with the manager. May I ask your position? Are you authorized to declare a transaction as suspected money laundering on behalf of the bank? Or does your relationship with Mr. Thorne allow you to overstep your authority and make decisions for him?” My words were a slap across her face. Her cheeks flushed a blotchy red, and she stammered, unable to form a coherent reply. And Wayne, hearing me call out their relationship, his gaze turned to ice. He finally realized it. I wasn’t the same woman he knew. 2. “Ava, how can you say that about Mia? She was just trying to help. Have you been under a lot of stress lately?” He sighed, putting on a mask of deep, wounded affection. “I know we’re about to get married, and your family’s situation has always made you feel… insecure. Coming into this much money so suddenly, it’s normal to feel overwhelmed. Trust me, I would never hurt you.” In a few short sentences, he painted me as a mentally unstable woman, warped by insecurity, while positioning himself as the virtuous, long-suffering partner. The way people looked at me shifted instantly, from sympathy to suspicion and disdain. A masterclass in manipulation. I didn’t argue. I simply turned back to Mia. “Since the manager can’t provide the required documentation, I demand you process my deposit immediately. If you refuse, I will call the Banking Commission right now and file a formal complaint against this branch for unlawfully refusing a customer’s deposit.” I took out my phone. Wayne’s pupils contracted. The one thing he couldn’t afford was for this to escalate. If I went to corporate, or worse, to the regulators, his entire scheme would crumble. “Don’t!” The word escaped his lips before he could stop it. He quickly composed himself. “Ava, let’s not be hasty.” He walked to the counter and whispered something to Mia. Though her face was a mask of resentment, she nodded. Wayne turned back to me, his perfect smile back in place. “Alright, Ava. Since you insist, we’ll deposit the money first. But the verification process will still have to proceed. I hope you understand.” “Of course,” I said, nodding. I knew he was just buying time. He would let me deposit the money, then use his managerial access to manipulate the system from the backend, transferring the funds out silently. Just like last time. Mia began the transaction, her fingers striking the keyboard with resentful force. When the deposit slip printed, she stamped it violently and shoved it at me. I picked it up, carefully checked the details, and then placed it securely in my purse. “Thank you,” I said to her, flashing a brilliant, satisfied smile. The expressions on both her and Wayne’s faces froze again. Ignoring them, I turned and walked out of the bank. The sunlight was blinding, but I felt a profound sense of release. I hailed a cab and went straight to the State Lottery Commission. Wayne. Mia. Did you think the game was just beginning? No. The moment you decided to cross me, the game was already over. 3. At the Lottery Commission, I went directly to the public relations department. A director named Mr. Peterson greeted me. I didn’t give my full name, only that my last name was Sterling and I was the recent $50 million jackpot winner. Mr. Peterson was visibly surprised but maintained his professional composure. “Ms. Sterling, congratulations. How can we help you today?” “I’d like to do an anonymous interview,” I said, getting straight to the point. “The topic is how jackpot winners can protect themselves from financial risks and fraud—specifically, risks from within the banking system itself.” Mr. Peterson’s eyes lit up. This was a major story. A jackpot winner speaking out was more effective than a hundred of their own dry press releases. “Ms. Sterling, are you suggesting… you’ve encountered some trouble?” he asked, his journalistic instincts kicking in. I shook my head, my tone light. “Not trouble, just a minor incident that made me feel it’s necessary to warn future lucky winners. For instance, what to do if bank staff try to illegally seize your winnings, claiming the funds are from an unknown source.” I recounted what had just happened, omitting names and the specific branch, describing it in a calm, matter-of-fact way. Mr. Peterson’s expression grew serious. “That’s completely outrageous!” He slapped his desk lightly. “Ms. Sterling, rest assured, we will publish your warning through all our official channels. Furthermore, I strongly advise you to go to a notary public immediately and have your original lottery ticket and the claim receipt notarized. It’s the strongest legal evidence you can have.” “Thank you for the advice. That was my next stop.” It was the other reason I had come. In my last life, it was the lack of this crucial evidence that allowed them to brand me a fraud, a stain I carried to my grave. Leaving the commission, I went straight to a notary’s office. Everything went smoothly. As I held the notarized documents, my phone rang. It was Wayne. I answered. “Ava, are you home? Don’t be angry with me, I was just looking out for you. I’ve booked a table at your favorite restaurant tonight. Let’s talk properly.” I could almost picture his handsome, earnest face. It made me sick. “Of course! But I might be a little late. I’m out running some errands. Just gathering a few documents to prove my innocence.” On the other end of the line, Wayne’s breath hitched. “What documents?” His voice was laced with suspicion. “Oh, nothing much,” I said breezily. “Just some official papers. Fifty million is a lot of money, after all. Better to be safe than sorry. By the way, Wayne… what do you think would happen to someone who tried to steal that money and frame the real owner with fake evidence?” A long, heavy silence stretched from the other end of the phone. I could hear his breathing, suddenly ragged and harsh. He was scared. Good. This was what I wanted. To watch him fall from grace. To make him taste the same terror and despair that had consumed me. “Ava, what are you talking about?” he finally managed to say, his voice strained. “Just kidding,” I laughed lightly. “See you tonight.” I hung up, the smile on my face turning to ice. Wayne, your good life is officially over. 4. I went to a café to meet another familiar face from my past. Elias Vance. In my last life, he was the only financial advisor who had been willing to believe me in my darkest hour. Unfortunately, by the time I found him then, it was too late. Wayne had woven a web of lies so tight, with all evidence pointing to me, that even Elias couldn’t save me. His last words to me were, “Ms. Sterling, if time could be turned back, you must come to me the very second you get the money.” Now, here I was. Elias, dressed in a impeccably tailored suit and gold-rimmed glasses, looked calm and professional. “Ms. Sterling,” he said, extending a hand. I shook it briefly and pushed my bank card, deposit slip, and a copy of the notarized documents across the table. “Mr. Vance, today I deposited a fifty-million-dollar lottery prize. The bank manager—who is also my fiancé—and a teller publicly claimed my money was dirty and tried to freeze it. Although the deposit went through, I have every reason to believe they will make a move on the funds.” Elias listened, his eyes scanning the documents. They sharpened. “Your fiancé’s name, and which branch?” “Wayne Thorne. Manager at the Sterling Trust Bank, Westgate branch.” At the mention of the name, a subtle change crossed Elias’s face. “Ah, him. I’ve heard things. He has a reputation for high-risk ventures that have caused the bank more than a few headaches. I never thought he’d target you.” So that was it. A history I knew nothing about in my past life. “Ms. Sterling, your instincts are correct.” Elias’s expression turned grim. “A man like Wayne Thorne won’t give up easily. He has countless ways to move your money within the bank’s internal system and then create a flawless paper trail that will leave you with no way to defend yourself.” “So what should I do?” I asked. “It’s simple,” a cold smile touched Elias’s lips. “We call the police. But before we do that, we’re going to let him hand-deliver all the evidence of his crimes to us.” He looked at me, his gaze seeing right through me. “I suspect you want more than just your money back, don’t you?” I met his gaze and nodded. I wanted their ruin. Total and absolute. Just then, my phone rang again. A number I didn’t recognize. I answered. A stern, middle-aged man’s voice came through. “Is this Ms. Ava Sterling? This is Director Walsh from Sterling Trust Bank’s internal affairs department. We need you to come to our corporate headquarters to assist with an investigation regarding a deposit you made at the Westgate branch today.” It was happening. Wayne was moving faster than I’d anticipated. He was striking first, trying to solidify his narrative and paint me as the criminal. I hung up and looked at Elias. He simply smiled. “It seems the show is about to begin. Let’s go, Ms. Sterling. I’ll accompany you. I’m quite curious to see what kind of ‘gift’ Wayne has prepared.”

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1 At the company’s annual party, they handed out gag gifts: a prank scratch-off ticket for everyone. Each one was a “winner” of a hundred million dollars. I thought it was lame, so I just took it home without scratching it. But when I came out of the shower, the ticket was gone, and my wife had a look of pure ecstasy on her face. I was about to tell her it was a fake. But in the next second, my mother-in-law burst through the door. “Annie, divorce him! Now! I always said this good-for-nothing wasn’t worthy of you!” “You’re a hundred-millionaire now! You can have any man you want!” Without a second thought, my wife, Annie, agreed. “I know, Mom. I’ve already made the appointment. We’re going tomorrow!” Then she turned to me, her expression a caricature of innocence. “You’re not going to try and claim this ticket is yours, are you?” “I already checked. Lottery tickets are bearer instruments. Finders keepers.” “Liam, my mom’s right,” she said, her voice dripping with contempt. “A loser like you isn’t good enough for me anymore.” My heart turned to ice. I turned and quietly put away the gift I’d bought her with my million-dollar year-end bonus. If I wasn’t good enough for her, then she didn’t deserve any of this. … “Did you hear me? Pack your things and get out!” “You’re a grown man. Don’t tell me you’re going to try and squat in this house after the divorce?” My mother-in-law, Brenda, pointed a finger at me, her face a mask of smug triumph. “My daughter may be rich now, but she’s not stupid.” “She suffered with you for years. It’s only fair she gets some compensation for her emotional distress!” I was stunned, staring at Annie, trying to process it. “You really want a divorce?” She shot me a look, the disgust in her eyes impossible to hide. “That’s right.” “I’ve been married to you for five years, and I’ve never even owned a real Hermès bag. What good are you?” “You never gave me the good life. Now that I have my own money, it’s only natural that I’d divorce you. You brought this on yourself.” I suddenly felt like the world’s biggest fool. For five years, I had given her my entire paycheck—fifteen thousand dollars a month—without fail. The house and the car we bought after we married were all in her name. The bags I bought her weren’t Hermès, sure, but some of them cost more than a luxury car. And she had the nerve to say I never gave her a good life. Seeing my silence, Brenda thought I was refusing. “Don’t you even think about trying to steal my daughter’s ticket!” she shrieked. “That’s hers! It has nothing to do with you!” “You never worked hard enough to support her, and now you’re after her money? You’re shameless!” “Everyone in the neighborhood says it—that Annie married a freeloader!” “And they were right!” Annie turned away. “Mom, stop. It’s embarrassing just talking about it.” They had no idea. The company had just promoted me to General Manager, with a 5% stake in the business. If it weren’t for this, Annie would have been set for life, the wife of a very wealthy man. But now, it seemed fate had other plans for her. I looked at them, a cynical smile on my face. “The company gave me that ticket at the party. All of my colleagues can vouch for it.” Annie clutched her pocket protectively and then kicked my shin. “Are you that desperate for money?” “Have some dignity, Liam! The ticket belongs to whoever holds it!” Just then, another figure burst through the door. He swept Annie up into a hug. “Annie, is it true? Did you really win a hundred million?” It was my best friend, Dylan. He’d given me so much advice when I was trying to win Annie over. I never imagined he would be holding her in his arms, right in front of me. And Annie, the moment she thought she was rich, had called him first. It was obvious what was going on between them. Annie dropped the act. She wrapped her arms around Dylan’s neck. “It’s true, Dylan. From now on, how about I take care of you?” “Dylan, I think you’re my good luck charm!” “It must be because you kissed me today. That’s why I won!” “So really, you deserve a share of this prize money!” My head was spinning. The ticket was stolen from me, so my luck had nothing to do with it. But Dylan cheats with my wife, kisses her, and he gets a cut? The sight of them made my stomach churn. I remembered the first time I saw her, feeding stray cats. I was so drawn to her kindness, her innocence. I pursued her for three years, and I cherished her. A few years ago, when the company was struggling, I felt so guilty that I couldn’t afford to buy her a nice gift with a bonus. Now, I finally had a million-dollar bonus to give her. And a single, fake lottery ticket had shown me just how pathetic my devotion had been. I took a deep breath. “A divorce is fine. But what about the baby?” Just then, Annie covered her mouth and ran to the bathroom, the sound of retching echoing through the apartment. Brenda followed her. “Damn it! Is it that little bastard in your belly making you sick again?” I tried to go to her, but Brenda shoved me back. “Don’t touch my daughter! The big loser is disgusting enough, we don’t need the little freeloader making things worse!” Annie came out, wiping her mouth and glaring at her own stomach. “I’m not keeping this baby.” Hearing her say that, I actually felt a wave of relief. The thought of the child hurt, but the thought of being completely free of her, with no ties left, made me smile. She pulled out her phone, frowning as she booked an appointment. “I don’t care if I’m three months along. I’m getting rid of it.” “I’m a hundred-millionaire. Why would I have a baby for a loser like him?” Brenda immediately chimed in. “Exactly! Get rid of it!” “We’re rich now. You can have as many babies as you want later!” I pretended to be angry. “You cheated on me with Dylan. Shouldn’t you be the one leaving with nothing?” She exploded. “Liam! Are you even a man?!” “It was your fault! You didn’t give me the security I needed in this marriage! That’s why I fell for Dylan!” “You’re the one at fault! You should be the one leaving with nothing!” Dylan wrapped his arms around her waist. “Annie, baby, maybe the child is mine.” “Don’t you remember last month, when Liam was on that business trip? We spent days in here together.” “Why don’t we get a DNA test? If it’s mine, we can get married right away.” Last month? I suddenly remembered. That night I video-called her, she was breathing heavily, covered in sweat. She said she was working out. I guess this is the kind of workout she meant. My best friend had been sleeping with my wife behind my back. Seeing my silence, Annie thought I was going to fight her. “Liam! You don’t get a say in this!” she shrieked. “If you agree to the divorce, I might be generous and let you have the house!” Hearing that, I put on a heartbroken expression and nodded. “Fine. I’ll take the house. Let’s go get divorced now.” 2 Annie practically ran out the door, terrified I would change my mind. At the courthouse, the clerk handed us the paperwork. “Have you agreed on the division of assets?” Annie snatched a pen. “The house goes to Liam,” she scribbled. “We don’t need to split the savings. It’s not like he has any money anyway.” Brenda nodded from the side, sneering. “Gets a free house just for a divorce. You’re really something, Liam.” I said nothing, just signed my name with a blank expression. The moment both signatures were on the paper, Annie let out a sigh of relief. Then she and Dylan left for the hospital. Brenda turned to me. “The divorce isn’t final until the certificate is issued! You’re coming with us!” “If they need your signature for anything, you sign it. No questions asked! Or my daughter can take the house back anytime she wants!” I swallowed my disgust and agreed. After all, I needed more evidence of her infidelity. At the hospital, the doctor looked at the ultrasound. “A non-invasive prenatal paternity test usually takes five to seven business days. If you want to expedite it, we can get it done in two.” “Expedite it!” Annie blurted out. “I have plenty of money! Do it now!” “And if the baby is Liam’s, schedule an abortion immediately!” “An abortion?” a voice called from the hallway. My mother, holding a medical report, hurried over. “Annie, you’re getting rid of my grandchild?” I’d forgotten she had a check-up today. What a coincidence. Annie sneered. “Your son and I are divorced. I can do whatever I want with this baby. It’s none of your business.” My mom grabbed Annie’s arm. “Did Liam do something to you? Tell me…” Annie shoved her away violently. “What ‘mom’? You’re not my mother anymore! You’re disgusting!” “Trying to cozy up to me now that you know I’m rich? Ha! None of you are getting a penny!” My mom stumbled back, her face suddenly pale as she clutched her head. “Mom!” I rushed to steady her. “It’s okay. If she wants to get rid of it, let her. I can handle this.” She was trembling in my arms, her lips turning purple. “Don’t… don’t…” “You old hag!” Brenda shrieked at my mom. “Even if you fake your death right here, my daughter is never getting back with your loser son!” “Besides, the baby in her belly might not even be his!” At those words, my mom’s face contorted in pain. My heart sank. These were the signs of a stroke. “Doctor!” I yelled. “My mom is having a stroke! Somebody help!” Dylan just scoffed. “Annie, don’t fall for it.” “They know you’re rich now. They’re just trying to squeeze some money out of you before the divorce is final.” “It’s a pathetic act.” Annie glanced over, her expression mocking. “Your mom is just faking it.” “Besides, I barely pushed her. Even if she does die, it has nothing to do with me.” I froze. My mom had treated her better than she treated me, her own son. She cooked for her every day, even gave Annie her own retirement savings for vacations. When she found out Annie was pregnant, she immediately bought a hundred grams of gold to give her as a gift. And now, Annie could say something so monstrous. Before I could react, she was gone, dragging Dylan and Brenda with her. I didn’t spare them another thought, rushing my mom to the emergency room. Half an hour later, I saw a new post from Dylan. It was a video of him and Annie, kissing in the city’s most expensive nightclub, shouting, “Drinks are on me! For the whole bar!” The whole bar? A night there cost a fortune. The average person spent at least twenty thousand dollars. I let out a cold laugh and immediately cancelled the supplementary credit cards and shut off the family payment accounts I had set up for Annie. Sure enough, a few hours later, my phone rang. It was Annie, furious. “Liam! How dare you cancel my cards!” “Get your ass down here and pay this bill!” I laughed. “We’re getting divorced, and you want me to pay your bar tab?” “Annie, do you really think I’m that stupid?” She paused, then said, “I’ll pay you back tomorrow! After I cash the ticket!” “It’s only five hundred thousand dollars. Are you really going to be this petty?” I said nothing. I just hung up and blocked her number. Did she really think I would still spoil her like I used to? Did she really think any of that was her money? After hanging up, I dialed another number. “Hello, Mr. Peterson? I have a case for you.”

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1 After the breakup, I took my shattered heart and, without telling a soul, fled the country to study abroad. For five years, I changed my name, my number, and severed every last tie to my old life. Everyone thought I was dead. That I had died on the day my boyfriend, Liam, went behind my back and married my stepsister. For five whole years, a fresh red rose was laid on my grave every single day. Five years later, I returned to arrange for my mother’s grave to be moved. And there he was, Liam, once again holding a red rose to mourn me. After a moment of shared shock and awkward silence, I managed to speak. “Long time no see.” He forced a twitch of his lips, hiding the rose behind his back. “Long time no see,” he echoed. “I thought… I thought you were dead.” I offered a thin smile, pretending not to notice the redness rimming his eyes. He wasn’t wrong. Cathy was dead. She died five years ago, on the day he secretly married my father’s illegitimate daughter. 2 I was arranging to have my mother’s grave relocated when I noticed a new headstone right next to hers. A headstone that belonged to me. The inscription read: 【Beloved Wife, Cathy Graham】. In front of it lay a bouquet of fresh roses, a small St. Christopher medal, and a slice of the chocolate fudge cake that used to be my favorite. The cemetery administrator followed my gaze and his eyes widened slightly. “Ms. Davenport, look at the photo on that headstone. Doesn’t she look just like you?” He chuckled nervously. “If I didn’t know you just flew in from Paris, I’d think I was seeing a ghost!” I smiled. “She does, but it’s not me.” My name is Stella Davenport. I’m a senior writer for the Parisian magazine MT and the sole heiress to the Davenport Corporation. I just celebrated my third wedding anniversary with my husband. Our son is two. A winner, by all accounts. The woman on that headstone was Cathy Graham. Five years ago, after my father’s illegitimate daughter was diagnosed with depression, my father and brother arranged a wedding for her behind my back. The groom was the man I had loved since we were children, my fiancé of eight years. She was a complete and utter loser. We were no longer the same person. Tearing my eyes away, I turned back to discuss the relocation details with the administrator. Suddenly, a familiar voice cut through the air from behind me. “Cathy!” I ignored it, continuing my conversation. A strong hand suddenly gripped my arm. Under the administrator’s astonished gaze, I stumbled, spinning around to meet Liam’s eyes. “Cathy,” he breathed, his voice tight with disbelief. “You… you’re not dead?” A cold smile touched my lips, but my eyes drifted to the red rose in his hand. Five years. Since when did Liam’s eyes become as red as the roses he held? 3 After the administrator left, I stood before my own grave. Liam was behind me, the rose now crushed on the ground. His voice was laced with the fury of a man who’d been deceived. “Quite the act you’ve been pulling, huh, Cathy? Was it fun? Watching me drown in guilt every single day for five years?” “You couldn’t even leave a single message.” I answered with a casual shrug. “Wasn’t it you who told me to never bother you again?” Five years ago, when I got the news he was marrying Mia, I’d raced to the venue. I crashed on the way. The airbag pinned me to the driver’s seat, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I called him, begging him to come save me. But he was busy placing the veil on Mia’s head. The phone rang and rang. He only picked up on the final call. “Mia’s had a hard enough life as it is,” he’d said, his voice cold. “Can’t you even let her have one wedding?” “I don’t care if you’re in a car crash. Even if you died, don’t bother me. I am marrying Mia today!” I met Liam when I was seven. We started dating at eighteen and were engaged at twenty-three. At twenty-six, he told me to die so he could marry my father’s illegitimate daughter. In that moment, I made a vow. I would never bother him again for the rest of my life. Now, hearing my words, he tugged uncomfortably at his collar. “C’mon, it was just a figure of speech. You actually took it seriously?” He straightened up, his eyes scanning me from head to toe. “How did you know I’d be at the cemetery today? You even wore that green coat I always liked…” A humorless smirk played on his lips. “You don’t actually think that after tricking me for five years, all you have to do is play dumb, play a little hard-to-get, and I’ll come crawling back, do you?” “Let me tell you, Mia has been wonderful to me while you were gone. Unless you get on your knees and beg for my forgiveness, I will never—” “You’re overthinking things,” I cut him off, my patience gone. “I’m here to move my mother’s grave. Once that’s done, I’m leaving.” “And one more thing…” I paused, then started walking towards the cemetery gates. “Since you’re married, you should probably stop wearing our engagement ring.” “It’s faded.” 4 Liam stood frozen for a second before striding to catch up with me. “It’s your dad’s fiftieth birthday tomorrow. He misses you. Make sure you come early.” I hesitated for a fraction of a second, then quickened my pace. As far as I was concerned, my father died five years ago. Five years ago, at my mother’s funeral, Robert Graham brought his illegitimate daughter home and introduced her to all our relatives. “I just made a little mistake, the kind any man could make,” he’d announced. “Mia’s been living on the outside for over twenty years. I waited until after your mother passed to bring her home. I did right by your mother.” So, to “compensate,” he let Mia take my room, my jewelry. He let her play the “innocent little sister” and wedge herself between me and Liam. When I was rushed into surgery after the car crash, the nurse called him for consent. He’d refused. “Today is my younger daughter’s wedding. A hospital is such a downer, I can’t go.” “I know Cathy. She’s always been a drama queen. Broken bones, major blood loss… she’s making it all up. You’re a hospital, not a theater. Don’t play along with her.” “My daughter is calling for me, the ceremony is about to start. Don’t call again.” Lying on that operating table, I could feel the pity and sympathy in the eyes of the doctors and nurses around me. They had probably never seen someone so completely abandoned by their family. Snapping back to the present, I pulled down my sleeve to cover the scars on my arm and hailed a cab back to my hotel. That evening, I video-chatted with my husband and son. My husband, Noah, is an expat, and he’s wonderfully clingy. Just like our little boy, he can’t stand a day without me. “Honey, Dad said he’s feeling homesick too. He’s packing right now and will fly back with us tomorrow morning,” Noah said. My adoptive brother, Julian, poked his head into the frame. “That’s right, little sis. Dad and I talked it over. Moving your aunt’s grave is a big deal, we have to be there.” “Besides,” he added, “Dad and I can inspect our domestic operations. You take care of yourself while you’re there alone. Eat well, stay warm. You know how your knee gets.” The accident five years ago left a permanent ache in my knee. Julian was my mentor back then, the first to see how lost I was. During those five years in France, he took me in, made me his sister, and helped me build a new identity. My adoptive father, Richard Davenport, doted on me as if I were his own. They are my real family. I smiled and nodded. After a few more minutes of chatter, I reluctantly hung up. It felt so good to have a family that cared. 5 The next day, the arrangements for the grave were proceeding smoothly, so I had some free time. I decided to go to the mall to buy a few things for my family’s return. On the way, Liam, who had somehow gotten my new number, sent me a text with an address. The Alistair Hotel. One of the properties my adoptive father, Richard, was planning to inspect upon his return. I ignored it and hailed a cab back to my hotel. A black Maybach pulled up silently in front of me. Before I could react, the back door was opened, and I was pushed inside. The door clicked shut, locking me in. “Bobby?” Seeing the familiar face of my brother, Bobby, in the driver’s seat, the name slipped out instinctively. Then I remembered the last call I ever made to him. Five years ago, boarding pass in hand, I had called to tell him I was leaving for good, that I wouldn’t get in the way of him and Mia being “real” siblings anymore. But before I could say a word, his angry voice had cut me off. “Cathy! Did your manners die with Mom?” “If Liam and Dad hadn’t told me, I never would have known you’d stoop so low as to fake a car crash just to ruin Mia’s wedding. You just can’t stand to see her happy, can you?” “Don’t you ever call me ‘brother’ again. I don’t have a sister like you!” The memory flooded back, and I immediately corrected myself. “Sorry, my mistake.” “Mr. Graham.” I stressed the name, emphasizing my detachment. Bobby’s face darkened instantly. “You’re still so… Hmph. Have the last five years been that hard on you?” he sneered, glancing at my shopping bags. “Can’t even afford a decent gift for Dad’s birthday.” “If Liam hadn’t told me you were back, how long were you planning on holding this grudge?” “If you were half as considerate as Mia, I wouldn’t have to—” He stopped himself. I gave a small, bitter laugh, finishing his sentence for him. “You wouldn’t have to choose her over me.” It was a line I could have recited in my sleep five years ago. Bobby glanced at the rearview mirror, his expression unreadable. Then, he said casually, “There’s chocolate fudge cake in the fridge.” I used to love chocolate fudge cake. Especially the kind Bobby made. Before Mia moved in, Bobby had been the kindest person to me in the world, besides my mother. I loved pink, so he filled my closet with pink princess dresses. I loved chocolate cake, so he learned how to bake it himself. Whenever I was upset, he would appear with a freshly baked cake to coax a smile out of me. I once believed he was the one person in the world who would never betray me. But at Mia and Liam’s wedding, he was the one who led the toast, wishing them a lifetime of happiness together. On my way to crash that wedding, I had called and screamed at him, “Why are you helping an outsider bully me?” I could have accepted anyone’s betrayal. Anyone but his. Because he was my brother. He had paused on the phone, then his voice came back, firm and final. “Cathy, you’re my sister. But Mia is my sister, too.” “I want her to be happy.” That phrase, “Mia is my sister, too,” had made my mind go blank. My hands slipped on the wheel, and I crashed into the guardrail. I could almost feel the phantom pain of steel tearing through my knee again. Taking a sharp breath, I forced the memory down. “I stopped eating chocolate cake five years ago,” I said softly. Bobby froze, his lips parting as if to say something. I looked up, my eyes sweeping over his hair, which was now streaked with gray. “This isn’t the way to my hotel. Where are you taking me?” Bobby’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “To Dad’s birthday party.” The black Maybach stopped in front of the hotel. I was reluctantly dragged inside by Bobby. At the head table in the center of the grand hall sat my biological father, Robert Graham, dressed in a festive red suit and looking perfectly genial. He had aged in five years, softened around the edges. If the memories weren’t so painful, I might have forgotten the way he’d forced me to kneel in the rain all night because I wouldn’t give my room to Mia. “Dad, I brought Cathy,” Bobby announced, pulling me through the crowd. Liam was sitting next to my father, but Mia was nowhere in sight. “Dad knew you were coming back today, so he sent Mia on a trip,” Bobby explained, as if reading my mind. “He’s missed you a lot these past few years.” I snorted. How amusing. “You’re back,” Robert said, his gaze sweeping over me with the calm indifference of a parent addressing a child who had just finished a tantrum. I ignored him and looked at Bobby. “We’ve had our reunion. Can I go now?” My other father and brother would be landing soon. They’d worry if I wasn’t there. Bobby looked taken aback. As he was about to speak, the surrounding relatives, hearing the commotion, turned to look. “Isn’t Cathy dead? How is she still alive?” The speaker was my Aunt Carol, who used to dote on me more than anyone. She sighed dramatically to the person next to her. “It’s a good thing Mia isn’t here, or this would just upset her again.” “On such a happy occasion, for her to just show up out of the blue… Honestly, that girl has no sense of propriety.” “Tell me about it,” chimed in Aunt Susan, who always used to say she wanted to take me home as her own daughter. She shot me a disdainful look. “I always knew there was something conniving about Cathy. Look at her now, lying to her own father just for attention. She’s just like her dead mother!” Their words flew back and forth. All reprimands. Not a single person asked where I’d been for five years. If I was okay. If I had been hurt. A wave of exhaustion washed over me. I wrenched my arm from Bobby’s grasp and turned to leave. “Stop!” Robert’s voice was sharp, his expression complicated. “Cathy, you’re not even going to stay for dinner?” As if he wasn’t the one who’d forbidden me from eating for a week because I refused to give Mia my bedroom. Liam stood up and grabbed my arm, his face a mask of concern. “It’s Dad’s birthday. You just got home. Don’t make a scene.” I shoved him away, spitting out two words. “You’re insane.” I made for the hotel exit. A heavy hand grabbed a fistful of my hair, and the next second, a stinging slap landed across my face. The blow was forceful, snapping my head to the side. My scalp and left cheek burned with a fiery pain, and I tasted blood. My Uncle David, the man who used to give me piggyback rides, let go of my hair and roared, “You little brat, is that any way to speak? Do you have any idea how many times your father has been sick with worry over you?” “Get on your knees! Apologize to your father properly.” “So young, yet so full of anger…” Five years ago. My mother’s funeral. Robert had walked in with Mia, a girl only a year younger than me, and announced to everyone at my mother’s memorial that she was his long-lost daughter and was being officially welcomed into the family. I had flown into a rage, a madwoman clawing at them. I screamed for them to get out, to not defile my mother’s memory with their presence. Aunt Carol had held me back, scolding me for being difficult. “Wouldn’t it be nice to have a sister?” Aunt Susan had comforted the “shocked” Mia, saying I was crazy and to ignore me. Uncle David had clapped Robert on the shoulder. “I told you,” he’d said sagely, “you can’t spoil girls. Look at the state of Cathy now.” “Disgraceful.” The past flashed before my eyes, a nauseating wave of disgust. If I was going to be sick, they were going to be sick with me. I dropped the hand covering my cheek, grabbed a wine bottle from the table, and smashed it at their feet. “I’m telling you for the last time. My name is Stella. Not Cathy. And I have nothing to do with any of you!” Uncle David pointed a trembling finger at me. “Robert, look at your precious daughter! Daring to defy her elders!” “Throw her out! She is not welcome in this family!” Robert stepped in. “Brother, calm down. She is my daughter, after all. Bobby’s sister. She’s just a child who doesn’t know any better. I’ll teach her.” Bobby moved to stand in front of me, his voice a mixture of frustration and disappointment. “Cathy, can’t you just be reasonable for once?” Liam leaned in, his tone urgent. “I told you not to make a scene! These are our elders. Why do you have to be so stubborn?” “Look, just step outside for a bit. I’ll call Mia back, let her smooth things over with everyone, and then you can—” Before he could finish, the grand doors to the hotel ballroom swung open. My husband Noah and my brother Julian walked in, flanking my adoptive father.

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My husband thought I was a gold digger, a vain woman obsessed with appearances. He was so terrified I’d raise our son to be just as materialistic that he controlled every single cent in our household. Even after our son and I died, he planned to burn spirit money for us in installments. “I’ll burn it for you three times a day,” he’d said, his voice cold and even. “Just to make sure you and the boy don’t go on a spending spree in the afterlife.” My in-laws stared, dumbfounded. My son and I were just as stunned. You control our money when we’re alive, and you want to keep controlling it after we’re dead? It’s enough to make a ghost come back to life just to haunt you! And then I opened my eyes. My son and I were alive. Truly alive. I blinked again, and the world solidified around me. I was back on the day my husband, Andy, and I got divorced. “Lily, you’ll get custody of Jeff after the divorce,” Andy said, his tone clipped and businesslike. “You and he can move into the apartment I own. I’ll transfer child support to you three times a day.” He continued, consulting a small notebook. “I’ve spoken with the nanny. A typical family spends about five dollars on breakfast, ten on lunch, and fifteen on dinner. I’ll round it up and give you thirty dollars a day.” “Any additional expenses will require a written request from you, which I will review and approve at my discretion. This is to prevent you from spending the money frivolously and corrupting Jeff’s values.” Andy droned on, listing his concerns, his arrangements… In a daze, I looked down at my son, Jeff. He was looking right back at me. One look was all it took. I knew. We had both been reborn. In my past life, Andy’s fear of my supposed gold-digging nature led him to force me to quit my job after we got married. For three years, Jeff and I lived under his thumb, dependent on his every whim. When I finally couldn’t take it anymore and asked for a divorce, this was his response. He calculated our basic living expenses down to the penny, terrified of giving me a single extra dollar that I might “waste.” He was religious about it, sending the money in three infuriating installments every single day. If I didn’t send him a detailed report on Jeff’s day, complete with pictures, he would dock the support as punishment. Sometimes for a day, sometimes for three. That suffocating control had pushed me to the edge. I spent my days washing dishes in a restaurant until my fingers were wrinkled prunes and my nights cleaning office buildings until my back screamed in protest. I never dared to stop. Jeff was a growing boy. He needed milk, fruit, things a growing boy needs. But the pittance Andy gave me barely covered our three meals, and that was before his frequent deductions. There was never anything left over. I dug my nails into my palms, the sharp pain barely enough to suppress the wave of hatred rising in my chest. Across from me, Andy watched me with cold, judgmental eyes, as if expecting me to snatch his money and run off to a casino at any second. “Fine,” I said, my voice surprisingly calm. “I agree.” Andy was clearly taken aback by my quick compliance. He paused, then pushed a pre-prepared divorce agreement across the table. “Sign it. And remember what you said. If I find out you’re taking my money and squandering it instead of caring for our son, you won’t see another dime.” I picked up the pen and signed my name, each stroke a farewell to the misery of my past life. Once it was done, I took Jeff’s hand and stood up. Without another glance at Andy, I walked straight out the door. The moment we stepped out of that sterile, cold house, the sun hit my face, so warm it made my eyes burn. Jeff squeezed my hand and looked up at me with a bright smile. “Mommy, we’re free.” I shook my head. Not yet. As long as we were living hand-to-mouth, dependent on his charity, we weren’t truly free. The apartment Andy provided was a cramped, 400-square-foot walk-up with peeling paint on the walls. But I didn’t mind. I set up Jeff’s room, turned the living room sofa into my own bed, and felt a sense of peace I hadn’t known in years. At least here, there were no judgmental eyes, no suffocating pressure. The next morning, I woke with a jolt as sunlight streamed through the old, dusty window. Jeff was still fast asleep beside me, his face flushed and peaceful. In my past life, I was always up at the crack of dawn, riddled with anxiety, terrified of making a mistake that would displease Andy. This rare moment of relaxation had made me oversleep. I scrambled to wake Jeff, rushing through dressing and washing up. There was no time to make breakfast; I just grabbed two packs of crackers and hurried him to preschool. I watched him skip through the gates, a wave of relief washing over me. As I turned to leave, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Andy, his tone dripping with accusation: Lily, do you know what time it is? You can’t even get our son to school on time. How lazy can you be? You’re a terrible influence! Today’s child support is docked. A little lesson for you. In my past life, a message like that would have sent me into a panic. I would have sobbed and typed out a long, rambling apology, begging him not to cut off any more money. Now, I just stared at the screen, a cold smile touching my lips. I locked my phone without a word of reply. I knew arguing with Andy was pointless. He only ever believed his own narrative. It was better to find a practical solution. I looked across the street to the grocery store and walked in. I took a few pictures of the vegetable and meat sections, then a final one of my empty shopping basket. I posted them to my Facebook page with a simple caption: “No money for groceries. Any friends willing to help a girl out?” I put my phone away and bought the cheapest bag of flour and a few eggs I could find. Even with no money, I was determined that Jeff would have a hot meal tonight. I had just paid when my phone started ringing off the hook. I opened it to see a comment from my mother-in-law on my post: “Lily, what’s going on? Is that boy of mine giving you trouble again?” A warmth spread through my chest. I quickly replied: “Mom, it’s nothing major. I was just a little late dropping Jeff off today, so Andy said he was docking today’s support. I’m just a little short on cash and thought I’d see if I could borrow some.” A few seconds later, she called. The moment I answered, her angry voice filled my ear. “Has Andy lost his mind? He’s docking your child support? Is he even Jeff’s father anymore?” “Don’t you worry about him. I’m sending you some money right now. That boy… honestly, he’s a regional manager with a six-figure salary, and he’s nickel-and-diming his own wife and son!” After I hung up, I stared at the thousand-dollar transfer notification, a mix of emotions swirling inside me. She was right. Andy worked for a major national corporation. As a regional manager, thirty dollars a day was less than pocket change for him. He wasn’t being frugal; he was being cruel. He was convinced I was weak and easy to manipulate, and he was using this paltry sum to control me, to keep me forever under his thumb. I had just sent her a thank you message when my phone rang again. Andy. I took a deep breath, hit record, and answered, deliberately making my voice sound hoarse, as if I’d been crying. “Hello?” “Lily, what the hell was that Facebook post?” Andy’s voice was a low growl. “Are you trying to air our dirty laundry in public? Make me a laughingstock? Or are you just playing the victim to scam money off people?” I laughed silently, but my voice was panicked and small. “No… I really don’t have any money for groceries. Jeff didn’t even have breakfast today. I was just desperate. I wasn’t trying to make you look bad or scam anyone, I swear.” The line went silent for a few seconds as he tried to gauge if I was telling the truth. Finally, he scoffed. “You’d better not be. And remember, if I find out you’ve taken money from anyone else, or if you’re wasting my money, I have ways of making your life very difficult.” “I know,” I said quickly. “I wouldn’t.” I paused, then added, “Could you… could you maybe send today’s support payment? I bought some flour and eggs, but there’s no meat in the house. Jeff’s a growing boy, he can’t just eat…” He cut me off. “The deduction is to teach you a lesson. Being late is not acceptable. Don’t ask me for money again. When you’ve learned your lesson, we’ll talk.” He hung up with a sharp click. Listening to the dial tone, I couldn’t help but smile. Even now, he still thought he could control me with a few dollars. I opened my contacts and scrolled through the names of his relatives. An idea began to form. In my past life, I was always afraid of causing trouble, of being seen as the difficult ex-wife who was disrupting the family harmony. So, no matter how Andy treated me, I gritted my teeth and endured it. And what did I get for it? I was pushed to the brink of despair, and his entire family thought I was a lazy, ungrateful woman. But this time, I knew better. What did Andy care about most? His professional reputation. He could be cruel to me, he could withhold child support, but he would never want the world to know that he was the kind of man who would let his own son go hungry. My plan was simple. If he didn’t send the money tomorrow, I’d post again. And maybe I’d have a little chat with a few friends in the local media about my “family situation.” When it came to public shame, what did I have to lose? But Andy, the successful regional manager? He had everything to lose. On my way home, I ran into Sarah, the mother of one of Jeff’s classmates. She was carrying two large bags of groceries. When she saw me clutching my small bag of flour and eggs, she paused. “Lily? Is that all you’re getting? Jeff’s a growing boy, he needs proper nutrition.” My face flushed. After a moment’s hesitation, I told her the truth. “Don’t ask, Sarah. I was late dropping Jeff off this morning, so my ex-husband decided to teach me a lesson and docked today’s child support. This is all I could afford.” “He docked the child support?” Sarah’s eyes went wide. “For being a little late? That’s insane! And what kind of man is so stingy with money for his own kid?” I gave her a bitter smile. “That’s not even the half of it. He’s so paranoid I’ll run off with his money that he sends it in three installments a day. Thirty bucks total. And I have to send him daily updates on Jeff. If I’m even a little late, he docks it.” “Oh my God,” she gasped. “That’s not just stingy, that’s crazy. Who treats their ex-wife like that? You’d think he was a millionaire trying to protect his fortune.” I just smiled weakly. But then, a memory hit me. In my past life, around this time, Sarah had seen how much I was struggling and offered to help me find a job. But I was so afraid of what Andy would think that I refused. I ended up taking exhausting, low-paying manual labor jobs instead. This time, I wouldn’t make the same mistake. I took a deep breath. “Sarah, can I ask you something? Do you know of any office admin jobs available? I don’t need a high salary, just something that would let me pick Jeff up from school on time.” She blinked, then her face lit up. “An admin? You’re in luck! My husband’s company is looking for one right now. No overtime, six-hour days. The schedule would be perfect for you.” My heart leaped. “Let me talk to my husband,” she said, pulling out her phone right then and there. She explained my situation to him, her voice fiercely protective. “Listen, Lily is a wonderful person who just got a raw deal. You need an admin, she needs a job. And don’t you dare lowball her on the salary; she’s raising a kid on her own.” A moment later, she hung up, beaming. “It’s done! He said you can start tomorrow. Thirty-five hundred a month. And he specifically said he’ll pay you in cash, to keep your ex from seeing the deposits and giving you trouble.” At the words “thirty-five hundred” and “cash,” tears sprang to my eyes. In my past life, I worked three back-breaking jobs and didn’t even make that much, all while living at Andy’s mercy. Now, all it took was asking for help. Sarah was startled by my sudden tears. “Lily, what’s wrong? Did I say something?” “No, no,” I sobbed, wiping my eyes. “Sarah, thank you. Thank you so much. I can finally stop begging for money. I can finally earn my own money to raise Jeff.” She patted my shoulder. “Silly girl, what are you crying for? You deserve this. We moms have to stick together.”

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It was Christmas, and my Uncle Rick had graciously invited the whole family for a “friendly” game of poker. But just as everyone was taking their seats, he announced, “We’re not playing for pennies. If we’re gonna play, we play for real.” The relatives chuckled nervously. “How real are we talking, Rick?” He unzipped a duffel bag and slammed ten stacks of cash onto the poker table. “Ten thousand a hand. If you don’t have the bankroll, don’t sit at the table.” An awkward silence fell over the room. One by one, they shook their heads, admitting they couldn’t afford stakes that high. They flattered him instead, saying he was a real big shot, a high roller even during a family game. Rick puffed out his chest, soaking in the praise. He launched into a lecture about how they all needed to be more ambitious, or they’d be poor their whole lives, too broke to even play a real man’s game. That’s when I quietly walked to the table. “Uncle Rick,” I said. “I’ll play with you.” 1 “You?” Everyone stared. Rick looked stunned for a second, then broke into a condescending smirk. “Leo, my boy, don’t you make a few grand a month? What is this, a joke?” I smiled faintly. “I got a decent Christmas bonus this year. Enough to keep you company for a few hands.” We all knew what this was about. Rick wasn’t playing poker; he was playing ‘look how rich I am.’ I’d been putting up with him for days. The day I got back for the holidays, I’d brought my dad a bottle of vintage Macallan. When Rick saw it, he’d scoffed, “Your dad’s a simple farmer. Does a man like him even have the palate to appreciate something like that?” If my dad hadn’t physically held me back, I would have exploded right then and there. But if Rick was going to use a simple game to trample on the dignity of his family, then I saw no reason to treat him like family anymore. “Well, well, look at you, doing alright for yourself,” Rick sneered, his disdain palpable. “A bonus that big is almost what I make in a week. Just don’t come crying to me when it’s all gone.” I looked at him, my stomach turning with disgust. It was the same thing every year. The holidays would start off happy, but then Rick, who owned some small-time logistics company, would start lording his success over everyone, lecturing anyone who would listen. Bragging to outsiders was one thing, but what kind of person needs to feel superior to their own family? Today, I was done indulging him. “Don’t worry, I can afford to lose,” I said, my voice cold as I hit him with a challenge. “I’m more worried you won’t pay up when you lose.” “Heh.” Rick’s laugh was sharp. “A hundred grand is nothing to me. You think I’m like you, scraping by on one bonus a year? Your dad told me you’re saving for a down payment to get married. It’d be a real shame if your fiancée left you when you’re broke. Don’t blame me when it happens.” His words hung in the air, and even the other relatives flinched. What kind of uncle says that to his own nephew? I was done with the verbal sparring. “So,” I said to the room, “is anyone else going to join us?” You need more than two for a game. But seeing the tension between Rick and me, no one wanted to get caught in the crossfire. They all shook their heads, mumbling about the high stakes. Rick rolled his eyes. “Bunch of cowards. Can’t even handle a ten-thousand-dollar hand. How do you expect to ever get anywhere in life?” The relatives bristled, but no one dared to say a word. I took it all in, then narrowed my eyes at Rick. “If poker’s a no-go, how about something a little more… thrilling?” Rick’s eyelids drooped with arrogance. “Name your game. Texas Hold’em, Blackjack, Craps, Dice. I’ll play you in anything.” That was exactly what I wanted to hear. “Let’s do dice, then,” I said smoothly. “Simple high roll. Whoever’s higher, wins. Fast and exciting.” A triumphant grin spread across Rick’s face. “Fine by me. Your funeral, kid. Don’t regret it.” My other relatives shot me looks of pure shock. They all knew Rick had spent years hustling in VIP lounges and high-stakes games. He had a legendary dice roll, a skill honed over countless nights that even the most seasoned croupiers couldn’t beat. Playing dice against him was like a lamb walking into a wolf’s den. Of course, I knew dice was his specialty. Still, I asked for two sets of dice cups, each with five dice inside—his preferred setup. “Hold on,” Rick said, stopping me just as I was about to start. I raised an eyebrow. “What now?” “Where’s your money? Mine’s on the table.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. I told him I didn’t carry cash and showed him my digital wallet on my phone. In this day and age, who carries tens of thousands in cash unless they’re deliberately trying to show off? “Fifty thousand, huh? Not bad for a bonus these days,” Rick said, his eyes glinting with contempt after seeing the balance. “That’ll cover my pocket money for a couple of weeks.” I just smiled coldly, knowing he’d never miss a chance to flaunt. “Roll ‘em, lock ‘em, and show ‘em!” Rick snatched his cup and shook it with a flourish, the dice rattling for a full thirty seconds before he slammed it down on the table. I gave my cup a couple of casual shakes and set it down. All eyes were on us. Rick lifted his cup with a confident flourish. Three sixes, two fives. A powerful hand. I lifted mine at the same time. One, two, three, four, five. A straight. I lost. “Haha! The kid’s out of his depth,” Rick crowed, slapping the table. I said nothing, just silently transferred ten thousand dollars to him. “Rick, come on, the boy was just talking,” my dad pleaded, his face tight with worry. He looked at my uncle with begging eyes. “Let’s just call it one game.” Rick’s face darkened. “Don’t bother me, old man,” he snapped, not even bothering to call my dad his brother. “Your son’s not a dirt farmer like you. He’s seen the world, worked in the city. Ten grand is nothing. He’s still got forty left. Stay out of it.” He always treated my father this way, with zero respect. He’d completely forgotten that he only had what he had because my dad had given up his own chance at an education for him. “It’s okay, Dad,” I said, giving him a reassuring look. “I can afford to lose fifty thousand. I’ll earn it back next year.” My dad sighed. He knew my stubborn streak and didn’t want to embarrass me in front of everyone. “Again,” I said, picking up the dice cup. I lost the second round. And the third. And the fourth. And the fifth. In a matter of minutes, the fifty thousand dollars in my account was gone. “Haha! What a good nephew, giving your old uncle a fifty-thousand-dollar gift,” Rick chortled, raking in the last of my money. “Don’t worry, I’ll take you out to a real high-class club sometime, show you how the world works.” He was about to get up and leave. “Wait,” I said. He stopped. “What, you want more?” I nodded. Rick raised an eyebrow. “With what? This might be for fun, but we don’t play on credit.” I smiled. “I don’t need credit. I’ve got another three hundred thousand on my card.” “You idiot!” my father suddenly shouted, slapping his thigh in panic before I could even act. “That’s your down payment for the house! You can’t touch that!” “What are you yelling about?” Rick sneered, pointing a finger at my dad. “See, that’s your problem, old man. No vision. Your son wants to play, and I’m gonna play with him!” “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” My dad turned on me, his voice trembling. “Your mother and I worked our whole lives to save that money for you! If you lose it all, what are you going to do?” I ignored him. Right in front of Rick, I opened my banking app and transferred the entire three hundred thousand into my digital wallet. Rick’s eyes narrowed into slits, a greedy smile spreading across his face. “Leo, my boy, ten grand a hand is a little slow. Why don’t we raise the stakes?” I kept my voice flat. “How high?” Rick held up two fingers. “One hundred thousand a roll. Best of three.” I knew what he was thinking. Three quick rolls and my entire future would be in his pocket. But this was exactly what I was waiting for. “Done,” I said. A collective gasp went through the room. “One hundred thousand a roll? You two are crazy! We’re family, you don’t need to do this!” the relatives pleaded. My dad was frantic. He lunged forward and slapped me on the back of the head. “You damn fool! Are you insane? Are you going to gamble away our entire family’s savings? Your uncle does this every day! He’s a goddamn hustler, and you’re just a kid! What are you trying to prove?” I knew he was just trying to give me an out, a chance to back down and apologize. After all, three hundred thousand might be nothing to Rick. But to us, it was everything. I couldn’t afford to lose. “Are you going to be a nuisance all night?” Rick shot my dad an annoyed look. He was praising me on the surface, but I knew he was just afraid I’d back out. “Leo’s not like you! It’s only three hundred grand. He’s young, he can make more!” Just then, my Aunt Carol came over, frowning at my dad. “Honestly, it’s Christmas. Let the boy have some fun. You’re ruining the mood.” “Don’t worry about my dad, Uncle,” I said, a flicker of ice in my eyes. “Let’s just play.” Rick grinned and started shaking his cup. I matched him, then we both set our cups down. “Shame. Almost had five of a kind,” Rick said with a smug sigh, revealing his dice. Four sixes and a five. An incredible roll, but he acted as if it was a disappointment. The room fell silent. All eyes turned to me. This was for a hundred thousand dollars. One more loss, and I’d be in a hole I couldn’t climb out of. I didn’t hesitate. I lifted my cup. The next second, as everyone saw the numbers on my dice, their pupils contracted, their faces a mask of pure disbelief.

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The phone buzzed just as I was about to leap from the bridge. The caller ID read Danny Vance—my ex-fiancé, the newly crowned movie star who had, just thirty minutes ago, publicly announced his relationship with Zoey Bell, the long-lost heiress of the Sterling family. I answered. His voice, dripping with condescending triumph, slid through the speaker. “I’m going to be a father, Aria. And the mother isn’t you.” He thought this was his final judgment, his ultimate victory. He had no idea he was setting me free. I’m a transmigrator. My mission was to save four villains on the brink of their descent into darkness, Danny included. But everything I had, everything I was, had been stolen by a woman named Zoey. Now, with my final mission failed, I could finally escape. The System had been clear: once all missions failed, I could return home through “death.” Home… Even if it meant facing the pain of my sickbed again, it was worth it just to see my parents one more time. “Congratulations,” I whispered, and let the phone slip from my fingers, a dark speck swallowed by the black water below. I climbed onto the railing, spread my arms, and prepared to embrace an embrace I had longed for. “ARIA!” A raw scream tore through the night, followed by the screech of tires. 1 Before I could even turn, a powerful arm yanked me back from the railing. My back slammed into the guardrail, the impact forcing a pained grunt from my lips. The person held me from behind, their grip so tight it felt like they were trying to merge my body with their own, the pressure making my bones ache. A familiar scent of fir, mingled with sweat and the ragged sound of frantic breathing, filled my senses. Kian Archer. The new prodigy of the tech world. What was he doing here? Oh, right. The tracker he’d installed on my phone years ago. When we were in love, he’d said it was because he was afraid of losing me. After we broke up, I forgot to delete it. And now, it had become the first shackle to chain me to this world. He was a wall, trapping me between his body and the cold metal of the guardrail. His tie was askew, his chest heaving. My escape had failed. A surge of white-hot anger flared within me. I glared at him, a cornered cat with its tail stepped on. “Aria,” he ground out, his usually impassive face twisted with fury. “You want to die that badly?” The Patek Philippe on his wrist dug painfully into my skin. For a moment, I was transported back to a leaky, drafty apartment, where I’d spent a month eating instant noodles with him, a broke student. I’d used my very first scholarship payment to buy him that watch on an installment plan. His eyes had been red then. He’d held me and promised, “Aria, from now on, all my time is yours.” Now, he looked at me as if I were a bug in his code, his words sharp as a scalpel. “So Danny dumped you, Zoey has everything, and this is your next move? A pity party on a bridge?” “Who’s this performance for?” “Aria, since when did the woman who took a check from my rival just to backstab Zoey become so pathetically simple-minded?” My heart felt like it had been squeezed by a giant fist. So that’s what he thought. In his mind, even my desire to go home was just another calculated performance. A single lie from Zoey was all it took for him to brand me a vicious, money-grubbing shrew. I looked at the disgust in his eyes and suddenly felt an immense wave of exhaustion. I stopped struggling. My body went limp as I looked up at him, a hollow smile on my face. “Kian,” I said softly. “You’re wrong.” “This isn’t a performance.” “I just… want to go home.” As the words left my lips, the world tilted. A combination of low blood sugar and the complete release of all my tension sent a wave of blackness over me. In the last second before I lost consciousness, I thought I heard a strange, strangled sound escape Kian’s throat. It was a sound of fear, as if the perfectly logical world he had built for himself had just shattered into a million pieces. 2 The sharp smell of antiseptic forced my eyes open. Another white ceiling. Still not dead. I laughed, but tears slid from the corners of my smile, tasting of salt and bitterness. I was so close. I almost made it home for my mom’s birthday dinner. The thought made me laugh harder, my shoulders shaking. I sat up abruptly, still laughing, and pulled the IV needle from the back of my hand. A single, perfect bead of blood welled up, shockingly red. Barefoot, I padded over to the window. The twenty-eighth floor. Surely, I wouldn’t fail this time. But the handle had been removed, and the glass was covered with a thick, shatterproof film. Kian had turned this room into my cage. The smile froze on my face. The door opened and Kian walked in, flanked by two bodyguards. He had changed his clothes, but the oppressive aura was the same. His eyes fell on the blood on my hand, then to my position by the window, and his expression turned to ice. “Aria. Are you done?” He tossed a file onto the table. “The doctor says you’re suffering from long-term malnutrition and severe depression.” “Is this your new strategy for gaining sympathy? Testing my limits with self-harm?” “Mr. Archer,” I used his most formal title, “is a person happily preparing to go home just another line of code for you to debug?” His expression flickered. A cold smirk replaced it. “Your behavior is illogical. Until I figure out what it is you truly want, you’re not going anywhere.” He stepped closer, looming over me. “Today is the most important day for Zoey and Danny after their announcement. I don’t want her seeing any trashy headlines.” “She suffered for twenty years before she was found. She doesn’t need you causing her more pain.” He was afraid I’d die at an inconvenient time and spoil Zoey’s big day. He turned and left. The door clicked shut, locked. I don’t know how much time passed before it opened again. It was my brother—my adoptive brother—Ethan Sterling. He had the same cold, detached look, his eyes sharp behind gold-rimmed glasses. “Kian said you were sick,” he stated, placing a thermal flask on the nightstand. His voice was flat. “Zoey is very worried about you. She couldn’t sleep all night. She asked me to come and check on you.” Zoey again. I didn’t move. I just stared at him. My silent gaze seemed to unnerve him. He opened the flask, and the rich aroma of chicken soup filled the room. “Our cook made it. It used to be your favorite.” My stomach churned. I remembered when Zoey first came to live with us. She was frail and sickly, and the cook made her this soup every day. I’d taken one sip out of curiosity, and Ethan had snatched the bowl away, his face a cold mask. “This is for Zoey. She grew up in hardship, not like you. Can’t you be more considerate?” But two years ago, when our parents died in a plane crash, when the house felt like a tomb, it was him. He was the one who had clumsily tried to make me soup, coaxing me, “Aria, please. Drink this. It will make the bitterness go away.” And now, he was offering me the very soup that once belonged to Zoey, the soup that had branded me “inconsiderate.” I slowly sat up and took the bowl from him. A flicker of relief, almost imperceptible, crossed his face. I smiled at him. And in the next second, with a slight tilt of my wrist, I sent the bowl of scalding soup crashing to the floor. It shattered into a hundred pieces. “Aria, what are you doing?!” For the first time, Ethan’s voice was ragged, his perpetually cool facade finally cracking. I ignored him. While he was stunned, I bent down and picked up the sharpest shard of porcelain. I didn’t say a word. I didn’t threaten anyone. I simply, in front of him, drew the sharp edge across my other wrist. Not too deep, not too light. A red line appeared, then welled up into beads of blood that began to drip, one by one, to the floor. “Brother,” I said, looking up at him, guessing the smile on my face was hideous. “The Sterling family’s charity… I’m just the thief who stole someone’s life for twenty years. I can’t accept it.” “ARIA!” Ethan’s scream was sharper than the sound of the shattering bowl. He lunged at me, grabbing my wrist. The warm blood quickly soaked the cuff of his crisp, white shirt. 3 “Let go of me!” “When you listened to Zoey’s lies, when you thought I was targeting her at every turn, did you feel like a worthy heir to the Sterling name?” I sneered. “And now you bring me her leftover soup, pretending to care.” “Ethan, what are you so afraid of?” “Are you afraid that if I die here, your precious, long-suffering sister will have nightmares?” “That’s not it!” Ethan’s face went deathly pale. “Believe it or not,” I said, pressing the shard a little deeper, “if I bleed out here today, the Sterling Industries’ stock price will get a big ‘surprise’ tomorrow morning.” The door opened. Kian, who must have returned at some point, walked in to this exact scene. Me, a madwoman, with a bleeding wrist and a shard of porcelain, smiling as I faced a horrified Ethan. Kian’s face was grim, his eyes analyzing me like a program on the verge of a fatal error. Ethan clutched my wrist, shouting at the bodyguards in the hall. “Get a doctor! Now!” He turned to Kian as if grabbing a lifeline. “Kian, don’t listen to her! She’s lost her mind! Ever since Zoey came back, she’s been like this, always hurting herself for attention!” Kian’s brow furrowed. He glanced at my still-bleeding wrist, his voice cold. “She… she almost jumped off a bridge earlier.” “It’s just an act!” Ethan insisted. “I know Aria. She’s terrified of death. She would never actually do it.” The flicker of doubt in Kian’s eyes vanished, replaced by a self-mocking certainty. I watched them, the two of them working in concert to define my despair as a pathetic performance, and I started to laugh. Fine. If a physical death was off the table, I would find another way home. My fingers went slack. The porcelain shard clattered to the floor. In the instant Ethan let out a sigh of relief, I moved like lightning, snatching the phone from his pocket. “Aria, what are you doing?!” I backed into a corner, my fingers flying across the screen. His passcode. It was still my birthday. How ironic. I opened a live-streaming app, ignoring their wary stares, and pointed the camera at my own pale, blood-streaked face. I quickly typed in a title: Aria Sterling’s Last Words: A Public Funeral. As I was about to press ‘Go Live,’ a name flashed in my mind. Leo Cruz. A scholarship student my mother had sponsored, now the most fearless investigative journalist in the city. Leo, if you’re watching, help me one last time. I hit the button. “Hello, everyone,” I said softly. “My name is Aria.” “Today, I’d like to perform something for you. It’s called ‘A Solo Funeral.’” Kian’s expression changed completely. He finally understood what I was doing—putting myself on trial in the court of public opinion. He lunged toward me. But I was faster. With my back against the sealed window, I held the phone high above my head. “Don’t come any closer,” I said, smiling, waving my bloody wrist in front of the camera. The smile was probably terrifying. “One more step, and I jump.” “Twenty-eighth floor. A live-streamed suicide. That should make the headlines, don’t you think?” “It would add a nice, festive touch to Zoey and Danny’s new romance, wouldn’t it, Brother?” Kian froze, his face a mask of fury. Ethan was frantic. “Aria, what do you want?!” “I want to prove something.” I turned the camera back to myself, watching the viewer count skyrocket. I spoke each word with chilling clarity. “I, Aria Sterling, adopted daughter of the Sterling family, hereby make my public last will and testament.” “Upon my death, all assets in my name—including the five percent of Sterling Industries’ original shares left to me by my parents, as well as all my jewelry and real estate…” I paused, my gaze sweeping over Ethan’s ashen face. “…will be donated, in their entirety, to the state.” “You all think I did this for money, right? Fine.” A tear escaped, but I was still smiling. “Then I’ll take the things you think I value most, and I’ll destroy them, right here, in front of everyone.” “Aria, you’re insane!” Ethan yelled. “Mom and Dad left that for you, to protect you!” “Why wouldn’t I dare?” My smile was tragic. “I’m dying anyway, aren’t I?” Just then, the door was thrown open with a violent crash. Danny Vance, my newly-a-father-to-be ex-fiancé, rushed in, looking like he’d run all the way here. He was unnervingly calm. He walked toward me, pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket, and held it up. A hospital diagnosis. “Severe depression with suicidal tendencies.” Danny’s voice was soft. “Aria, you’re sick.” 4 He handed the paper to Ethan and Kian. “Zoey has been worried about your mental state for a while. A doctor prepared this preliminary diagnosis as an emergency measure.” His voice was thick with self-reproach. “The doctor said your live stream, your suicide attempts… it’s all because of your illness.” “Nothing you say can be taken seriously.” A single piece of paper, a single diagnosis, and all my defiance was dismissed as the ravings of a madwoman. I thought of the time he was being trashed by the entire internet. I sold the only piece of jewelry my mother had left me and stayed up for days writing the lyrics and music for his comeback song, “Starlight.” But now, after a few tears from Zoey, who claimed she had been his silent supporter all along, he believed her. He had even accused me of stealing her work. Danny’s eyes began to redden. “Your live stream went viral.” “Zoey… she saw it. And she had a complete breakdown.” “She left a note, saying it was all her fault, and then she disappeared.” “I can’t find her, Aria.” In an instant, the gazes of Ethan and Kian were like daggers, piercing me once again. “A brilliant move,” Kian’s voice was glacial. “Forcing her hand like that.” “Aria, how could you become this person?” Ethan’s eyes were filled with disappointment. I looked at them and finally, truly, laughed. Zoey didn’t even have to be here to turn me into the evil sister who drove the kind, gentle one away. “Find her.” Danny’s eyes locked on mine, a terrifying madness swirling in their depths. “Aria, I don’t care how you do it, but you will find her and bring her back.” “Or else,” he leaned in, his voice a whisper only I could hear, “I will lock you away, break your legs, and make you spend the rest of your life watching me, begging me.” I was done playing their game. I looked up, meeting his obsessive gaze, and said calmly, “Fine.” “I’ll help you find her.” They all stared, clearly not expecting me to agree so easily. I stood up, ignoring the wound on my wrist, and walked toward them. “The keys to Ethan’s car. Give them to me.” Ethan frowned. “What do you need the car for?” “To find her,” I said. “Zoey sent me a message. A picture of herself at the edge of a cliff. She said if she doesn’t hear that I’m safe within three hours, she’ll jump.” “Give me three hours.” “If I can’t find her, you can have my life.” Kian scoffed. “And why should we believe you?” “You don’t have to.” I shrugged. “You can stand here and waste time, and wait for the police to scrape Zoey off the rocks. Or, you can take a chance.” My words hit their weak spot. In the end, Ethan tossed me the keys. I turned and walked out. I settled into the driver’s seat of the black Bentley, floored the accelerator, and shot out of the parking garage. I wasn’t looking for Zoey. I knew she was probably relaxing in some five-star hotel, enjoying the show. I drove straight for the winding mountain road that led to the cliffs outside the city. Three hours. Enough time to get to the summit, and then send myself, and the car, into the ocean. This time, no one would be able to save me. I cranked up the stereo, blasting an old rock anthem about freedom. I’m going home. Dad, Mom, I’m coming home. The end of the road was the cliff’s edge. My foot pressed the accelerator to the floor. At the same time, in another car, Kian watched the red dot representing me race towards the cliff on his monitor, his eyes turning bloodshot. He activated his emergency comms, his voice a raw scream. “JAX! SHE’S GOING OVER! I’VE SENT YOU THE LOCATION! YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE CLOSE ENOUGH! WHATEVER IT TAKES, STOP HER!” Just as the car was about to launch over the guardrail— CRUNCH! A black, military-grade SUV materialized out of nowhere, slamming into the front of my car with the suicidal force of a missile.

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I decided to fly across two states to surprise my online boyfriend. Instead, I got the surprise, hiding behind a plastic ficus at a loud sports bar, listening to him talk to his friends. “What good is a hot voice if she won’t even send a real picture?” he said, his voice dripping with scorn. “She’s probably a total dog.” A wave of laughter. “If that campus queen hadn’t curved me, I wouldn’t be wasting my time sliding into some rando’s DMs.” “And get this,” he continued, “on top of being ugly, she’s thirsty as hell. Demanded I send a pic to ‘verify the goods’ before we even met.” One of his friends snickered. “No way. You actually send one?” My boyfriend—Ryan—let out a smug grunt. “Yeah. But it wasn’t mine. It was Liam’s.” A collective “Whoa” went around the table. “Your roommate? The guy you said was packing, like, eight inches? For real?” “Dead serious. Why would I lie about that?” Ryan took a drag from his vape, blowing a cloud of sickly-sweet smoke toward the ceiling. “Liam’s a real one. Knew I didn’t want to send my own, so he volunteered to be my, like… my dating stand-in.” A beat of silence, then the table erupted in howling laughter. I laughed, too, a silent, bitter thing. I’d heard of stunt doubles, body doubles. A “dating stand-in” was a new one. Three minutes. That’s all I needed. Three minutes, and I was going to find out everything about this man. 1 I was a good girl. Sweet, considerate, polite. Optimistic, cheerful, a diligent student. Yeah, right. That was the character I played for my parents and their friends. The real me… I was rebellious and sharp-tongued, with a mind that ran wild. I held a grudge like it was a winning lottery ticket, and you really didn’t want to get on my bad side. And I was hungry. In every sense of the word. The summer after high school graduation was a blur of scrolling through TikTok, my thumb swiping past an endless buffet of beautiful men. Lean athletes, sunny-faced pretty boys, cold, brooding grad students—all of them liked, all of them saved to a private collection. Looking turned into wanting. Wanting turned into doing. So, I got myself a boyfriend online. Ryan. A year older, already in college. According to his profile, he was six-foot-two, with shoulders you could build a house on and abs so defined you could do laundry on them. And most importantly: eight inches. Finding a guy like that felt like winning the jackpot. I was on cloud nine. The craziest part? He went to the same university I’d just been accepted to. It felt like fate, like the universe was writing us a love story. He, of course, had no idea. I kept it a secret, planning a huge surprise for the first week of school. To maintain the mystery, I never sent him a single photo that showed my face. Just artsy shots of my hands, my shadow, the back of my head. This drove him crazy. He’d whine over the phone, his voice all pouty, saying I wasn’t being “real” with him. His hometown was just a short bus ride from mine, less than an hour away. So, after weeks of him complaining, I decided to close the distance myself. 2 To his credit, Ryan was great about giving me a sense of security. He’d check in constantly, even sending me the name of the bar where he was hanging out with his friends. It saved me the trouble of having to trick it out of him. I followed the GPS on my phone, the pulsing blue dot leading me straight to a crowded sports bar called “The Dugout.” Dozens of tables were crammed onto a sticky patio, but I spotted him instantly. He was even better-looking in person. It was the height of summer, and the air was thick and hot. A warm breeze blew across the patio, and I could feel my cheeks flush. I took a deep breath, ready to walk over. That’s when I heard it. Ryan slammed his beer mug on the table, his expression a mask of derision. “What good is a hot voice if she won’t even send a real picture? She’s probably a total dog!” My feet froze to the pavement. The blush on my cheeks evaporated, replaced by an icy chill. Then he kept going. “It’s just for fun, anyway. If the campus queen hadn’t curved me, I wouldn’t be wasting my time.” “And get this,” he said, leaning in conspiratorially, “on top of being ugly, she’s thirsty as hell. Demanded I send her a pic.” I bit my lip, my fists clenching at my sides. He was the one who bragged about his size, asking me if I wanted to see. Of course I said yes. Who wouldn’t? But now, in his version of the story, I was the desperate one. Amid the jeers, someone asked the question. “No way. You actually send one?” Ryan grunted, a smirk playing on his lips. “Yeah. But it wasn’t mine. It was Liam’s.” A chorus of “dude, no way” filled the air. “Your roommate? The guy you said was packing, like, eight inches? For real?” Ryan nodded. “Dead serious. Why would I lie?” He took another swig of beer. “Liam’s a real one. Saw I didn’t want to do it and offered to be my, uh… my dating stand-in.” The table was quiet for a second, processing this, before they all burst into roaring laughter. “I can’t even! So, this whole time, she thinks she’s talking to you, but she’s really getting off on you plus… one other thing?” Another round of hoots and hollers. Ryan’s brow furrowed. “It’s not a ‘relationship.’ It’s just messing around. She’s basically a puppy on a leash. The second the semester starts, I’m ghosting her ugly ass.” By then, the words didn’t even sting. My mind was completely consumed by the image that had landed in my DMs a week ago. An image of shocking, breathtaking perfection. What was his name again? Oh, right. Liam. 3 On the bus ride home, I started scrolling through Ryan’s Instagram. It was a monument to his own ego—a hundred photos of himself, and not a single one of anyone else. I sighed. Looks like I’d have to wait until school started to see what this Liam character actually looked like. I mourned this fact for about a second before opening TikTok to scroll through my collection of hot guys. As the bus pulled into the station, I swiped past a campus interview video. The title was “Who’s Your Campus Crush?” I wasn’t really interested and was about to scroll on. But then I heard the name: “Liam.” The automated voice announced my stop. I grabbed my bag and headed for the door, turning the volume on my earbuds all the way up. I played it back three times just to be sure. I hadn’t misheard. And the university name was a match. My mind immediately flashed back to that photo… Campus crush Liam. He had a wild side, didn’t he? 4 As the start of the semester got closer, Ryan grew more and more distant. My texts would sit on “read” for days. I gritted my teeth. If I didn’t still need him for something, I would have blocked him weeks ago. That night, staring at our one-sided text history, I decided to send one last, desperate-looking sticker. This time, he replied almost instantly. “Hey, look, I don’t think this is working out. We can be friends, but I don’t think we should be… you know.” I was lying on my bed, legs crossed in the air, a sheet mask clinging to my face. I saw the message and my eyes lit up. It was finally happening! A grin spread across my face as I typed. “Why? Did I do something wrong? ” His reply was textbook. “No, don’t even think that. It’s me.” I rolled my eyes. Could he be any more cliché? After silently roasting him, I put my plan into motion. “You don’t have to spare my feelings. I know I’m not good enough for you. You deserve someone amazing. I wish you all the best.” I could practically feel his ego inflating through the phone. His guilt and vanity were at war. After a moment, he replied. “You’re a great girl, Zoe. Be more confident. Seriously, I’m the one who’s sorry.” Then, the magic words: “If there’s anything you want, just ask. I’ll make it happen.” My heart leaped. I ripped the mask off my face, sat bolt upright, and hit the call button. He picked up. I sniffled for effect, letting a little sob creep into my voice. “You really mean… anything?” “Yeah, of course,” he said, his voice thick with sincerity. “I kind of figured you weren’t super confident about your looks, and that’s okay, I don’t care about that stuff. If you want to meet up, I can drive down right now…” “Then set me up with a new boyfriend.” I cut him off. I didn’t have the patience for his self-serving monologue. He went silent. Three seconds later, he finally managed a single word: “Huh?” 5 I let out a long, theatrical sigh. “Ryan, the second I saw your pictures, I knew we could never be a real thing.” “You’re so handsome. How could a guy like you ever fall for a plain girl like me? Being your friend is more than I could ever ask for.” Whatever anger he might have been feeling instantly dissolved, replaced by a fresh wave of pity and self-satisfaction. “Zoe, don’t say that about yourself,” he said, his voice earnest. “You’re great. I… I’ll set you up with my roommate. How about that?” “He’s a good-looking guy, too. Tons of girls on campus are after him, but he turns them all down.” “I think it means he doesn’t just care about looks,” Ryan added, selling it hard. “You two should talk. Maybe you’ll hit it off.” I paused for a moment, then let out another soft sigh. “Okay… I guess I can try.” Then, as if it were an afterthought, I asked, “So, what’s his name?” “Liam. His name is Liam.” Bingo. I hid a triumphant smile, schooling my voice to sound hesitant and small. “Okay. Well, can you send me his contact? I’ll add him.” “And Ryan? Thank you.” He chuckled, sounding relieved. “Hey, what are friends for?” 6 Ten minutes later, Liam and I were connected. I immediately clicked on his profile, my heart pounding. His feed was completely blank. His profile picture was the generic default icon. It was like a brand-new account. Was Ryan messing with me? Just as the suspicion took root, a series of notifications popped up. “Hi, Zoe. I’m Liam.” “Ryan said he was introducing you to me. As a potential boyfriend.” “I’ve actually been thinking about getting into a relationship recently, so I think we could give it a try.” “But I’m worried I might not be your type. I’ll send you some photos first. You can decide if you want to move forward after you see them.” I bit my lower lip, my finger hovering over the screen. I held my breath and tapped on the first image. My pupils dilated. If a normal handsome guy made my heart flutter, Liam, even in a static photo, was enough to make me dizzy. He was breathtaking. I squealed and kicked my feet against my mattress like a teenager. Just then, a text from Ryan came through. “Hey, so Liam isn’t the easiest guy to get along with. He’s kind of cold to everyone, a total loner. Don’t get discouraged if he’s not super responsive. You gotta be proactive.” Hmm? I looked back at the new set of pictures Liam had just sent. All of them shirtless, showcasing a perfectly sculpted torso. Cold? A loner? Because from where I was sitting, if this guy was a peacock, his tail feathers were spread so wide they were about to snap. 7 I was so busy saving every single one of Liam’s pictures to my phone that I forgot to reply. He couldn’t stand the silence. “You don’t like them?” “Maybe it was a bad angle. Everyone says I look better in person. How about we meet up? I can come to you.” I raised an eyebrow. He was eager, wasn’t he? I’d read online that when you finally meet your online love in person, things can move incredibly fast. Some people even ended up in bed on the first day… I wasn’t quite ready for that. As I was lost in thought, my finger accidentally tapped open my “hidden” album. There was only one photo in it. Ahem. My face felt hot. My mouth was suddenly very dry. I poured myself a glass of ice water before typing a reply. “No, I like them. You’re very handsome.” “We don’t have to rush to meet. We’re actually going to be at the same school. I just got accepted. We’ll see each other on campus in a few days.” After I sent that, the chat went quiet for a moment. Then, my phone started vibrating. I cleared my throat before answering, pitching my voice a little higher than usual. “Hello?” A deep, lazy voice flowed through the speaker and straight into my ear. “Hey. It’s Liam.” My heart skipped a beat. I touched my burning earlobe and whispered, “I know.” “So,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Are we boyfriend and girlfriend now?” I countered with my own question. “But you don’t even know what I look like. What if I’m ugly? Will you be disappointed?” “No,” he said, without a single hesitation. My cheeks puffed out. That’s what Ryan had said, too. And look how that turned out. Sensing my silence, Liam spoke again, his voice softer this time. “Zoe, I don’t want to lie to you. The truth is… I’ve seen you before.” What? Seen me before? Where? A guy who looked like him? I would have remembered. As my mind raced, Liam continued. “The reason I was so eager to lock things down is because I know you went to his city a few days ago. I’m pretty sure you went there to see Ryan.” I was even more confused. “He didn’t even know I was there. How could you know?” There was a brief pause on his end. “Because,” he said quietly, “he’s been searching for you all over the internet.” 8 Liam sent me a link. I frowned and clicked on it. It led to an Instagram post with a slightly blurry photo. In it, I was in the back of a taxi, my forehead pressed against the cool glass, the city’s neon lights painting streaks across my face. It had a kind of lonely beauty. The caption read: “URGENT – HELP ME FIND THIS GIRL. Saw her tonight, July 7th, near The Dugout in downtown. She’s the most amazing girl I’ve ever seen. I tried to run after her taxi but couldn’t catch up. If anyone knows who this is, please help me out. I’ll be your servant for life!” Seeing that last line, I let out a snort of laughter. I glanced at my calendar. One week until move-in day. This was going to be fun.

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The day he found out the truth, Ashton—the man who was always cold, quiet, and impossibly composed—went out and had a beauty mark tattooed onto his face. When I went to pick him up, he greeted me with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes and pressed me for an answer. “Vivian, do I look like him now?” “Viv, isn’t it a perfect match?” “Vivian, have you never read a goddamn romance novel? The ones with the stand-in? Why won’t you just use me as his replacement…?” “Just use me as him… please…?” 1 It was my best friend who sent me the video of Ashton taking a woman to a hotel. I set down my paintbrush, rubbing the ache out of my neck before I finally freed up a hand to check my phone. 【Viv, baby, is this your husband?! He’s… he’s cheating?!】 I scrolled up and tapped on the first video. The man in it was unmistakably Ashton. That aura of cold, aristocratic grace was impossible to miss. He was shielding the woman beside him with an air of intimacy, the two of them moving quickly into the hotel lobby. My friend’s messages kept flooding in, one after another. I stared at the screen, a strange thought bubbling up in my mind— So, the tropes in those trashy romance novels were real after all. Paparazzi really do stalk CEOs for their sordid affairs, then leak the story. But weren’t they afraid of being blacklisted and ruined? I guess the novels don’t get everything right… I was lost in thought when I heard Mrs. Gable, our housekeeper, call up from downstairs. “Mr. Thorne, you’re home! Ma’am, the mister is back.” I covered my canvas and walked to the door of my room. Ashton was indeed back. He slipped off his shoes, handed his jacket to Mrs. Gable with a slight nod, and then his eyes lifted to meet mine. I immediately plastered a bright smile on my face, but before I could even say a word, his gaze slid away. He walked past me, up the stairs, and disappeared into the bathroom in his study. Cold, as always. The moment the bathroom door clicked shut, my smile collapsed. My relationship with Ashton was… complicated. I had been the one to pursue him. He didn’t love me; in fact, you could say he despised me. People called him a block of ice that could never be thawed. He only married me because I was obedient. I never caused a scene over the women he was linked with in the tabloids, and I never interfered in his business. Two years of marriage, and aside from our physical compatibility, he knew next to nothing about me. But even so, Ashton always came home, no matter how late his business dinners ran. He never spent the night out. And though he didn’t love me, he never skimped on material things. A supplementary credit card, jewelry, designer bags—I wanted for nothing. I chalked it up to his impeccable upbringing. The sound of the shower began to fade. To avoid the inevitable awkwardness, I decided to head back to my room. Just then, Mrs. Gable brought me a bowl of soup, her face wreathed in a kind smile. “Ma’am, the mister smells strongly of alcohol. When he comes out, could you give this to him? It will help him feel better.” I glanced at the steaming bowl and offered a polite smile in return. “Of course. Thank you, Mrs. Gable.” I carried the soup into the study and had just set it on the desk when the bathroom door opened. Ashton emerged with only a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair still dripping. Droplets of water traced paths down his chiseled chest, disappearing into the towel. His eyes were misty, the corners tinged red from the alcohol. As he looked up at me, he was the very picture of temptation. While I was sizing him up, his gaze was locked intensely on me. I scratched my head, ready to make my exit, but he spoke first, his voice a low rasp. “What’s the soup?” “Oh,” I snapped back to reality. “It’s to help with the hangover.” He began to dry his hair as he walked closer. “You made it?” I shook my head. “No, Mrs. Gable did.” His lips tightened, and he said nothing more. The silence between us stretched, thick and awkward. I swallowed hard. “Well, if there’s nothing else, I’m going to bed.” He continued to slowly rub his hair with the towel, still silent. I turned to leave. My fingers were just about to brush the doorknob when a strong arm snaked around my waist. Before I could react, the world spun. I was pinned against the desk, sending a cascade of documents fluttering to the floor. A sharp gasp escaped me, and then I felt the wet heat of Ashton’s lips on my neck. I froze for a second, then instinctively tried to push him away. “I—I haven’t showered yet…” He pressed closer, capturing my lips with his, his words muffled. “Doesn’t matter. You smell incredible.” Trapped beneath him, a tear escaped the corner of my eye, and I squeezed my eyes shut. In my mind, Ashton was almost always calm and self-possessed, his emotions locked away where no one could read them. Most people feared him. But there were times when he lost control. Like now. Dawn was breaking; I had no idea how much time had passed. I couldn’t hold back any longer and began to sob quietly against his shoulder. His eyes were bloodshot. He gripped my waist, turned me over, and whispered against my ear, his breath hot. “One last time…” In a daze, I blindly wiped at the tears on my face and cursed, “You bastard…” And through the haze, I thought I heard him let out a low, soft laugh. 2 After what felt like a long, deep sleep, I slowly became aware of a voice nearby. I forced my heavy eyelids open and saw Ashton, bare-chested, talking on the phone out on the balcony. He was usually a man of few words, his tone clipped and cool. But now, his voice was honeyed with a tenderness I’d never heard. “Okay, I’ll come see you in a little bit. You be a good girl for me, alright? Yes, that’s my good girl…” That gentle tone… I stared at his back, a familiar ache blooming in my chest. My mind felt fuzzy, and his name slipped from my lips before I could stop it. “L… Liam…” Hearing me, the figure on the balcony turned. In the soft light, I saw him clearly. It wasn’t Liam. It was Ashton. Of course, it wasn’t Liam. Liam died a long time ago. How could I forget again? Ashton glanced at me once before turning back to his call. Ignoring the soreness in my body, I slid out of bed and went into the bathroom. Ashton was never one for restraint in these matters, and every time, I felt like I’d been run over by a truck. He was still on the phone. After my shower, I went into the walk-in closet. By the time I was dressed and had put on some makeup, Ashton had finished getting ready too. I quickly tied my hair back and went downstairs to my studio to retrieve the commissioned painting I finished yesterday. Ashton usually left for work early, but today, he was still by the door, on another call. This one was about business. Carrying the large canvas, I tried to tiptoe past him, not wanting to disturb him. But just as I passed, he ended the call. His gaze landed on me with unnerving precision. “Going out?” he asked, his tone flat. I paused, then nodded. “Mhm.” He looked away, adjusting his tie. “Where to?” I gestured with the painting in my hands. “Delivering a commission.” He fiddled with his phone. “Is it far?” “A little, I guess.” Another long silence stretched between us. He spoke again. “How far is ‘a little’?” I blinked, unsure how to explain. I decided to change the subject. “Aren’t you leaving yet? You’ll be late for work.” His lips pressed into a thin line. He fell silent again. I watched the icon for my ride-share creep closer on my phone’s map. I looked up, about to say goodbye. But he spoke at the exact same moment. “How are you getting there? Do you need…” “My ride is here, I’ve got to go…” Our words collided in the air. He froze for a second, his expression instantly souring. I scratched my head. “What were you saying? Do I need what?” He ignored me, turning on his heel and getting into his own car. He slammed the door shut and sped away. He seemed angry. I shook my head, hugged the canvas tighter, and hurried into my waiting car. The client picking up the painting was a student from a nearby university. The young man was thrilled with my work, praising it effusively before ordering a mountain of desserts. “Vivian, you’re so young, I can’t believe you’re this talented! Could you teach me? I’ll pay for lessons!” I took a sip of my coffee and pushed the plate of sweets a little farther away. “I’ve been painting for many years.” The boy propped his chin on his hand, his eyes wide. “How many is ‘many’?” I was about to answer when I felt a tug on my skirt. I looked down to see a little girl with adorable pigtails staring up at me. When she saw I was looking, she stood on her tiptoes, grabbed my hand, and her voice trembled as she said, “Mommy, Mommy, are you leaving me and Daddy?” I froze. My eyes instinctively shot up, and I caught a fleeting glimpse of a familiar figure in a suit disappearing around the corner. Across the table, the student sputtered, spraying coffee everywhere. “V-Vivian, you’re married?” I managed a small smile and a nod. “Mhm.” He looked down, crestfallen. “Oh. You’d never know. You look so young…” The little girl was still tugging at my hand. “Mommy, let’s go home. Daddy misses you so much he’s been crying. He cried a lot.” I stood up, said my goodbyes to the student, and led the little girl outside. “Sweetie,” I asked, “who told you to do that?” She looked up at me. “A handsome man. He gave me five hundred dollars and told me to call you Mommy really loud in front of that other guy. He said he’d give me more if I was loud enough.” I knelt and patted her head. “You did a great job. Go on and play now.” She skipped away happily. I pulled out my phone and texted Ashton: 【Was that you?】 He replied instantly: 【I have no idea what you’re talking about.】 3 The online gossip about Ashton and the mystery woman was escalating. At first, people were shaming the woman for being a homewrecker. Now, they were mocking me for being unable to keep my man. Through it all, the internet seemed obsessed with me and her. Ashton, the one who started it all, had somehow managed to become invisible in his own scandal. I sighed, turned off my phone, and focused on my painting. Over the years, when I had commissions, I painted for clients. When I didn’t, I painted Liam. Under my brush, Liam became more and more vivid. The truth was, Ashton didn’t look that much like Liam. But there was something about the way he stood, the way he carried himself, that felt like him. The reason I agreed to marry Ashton was because the first time I looked up at him, for a fleeting moment, I thought Liam had come back for me. I gave a self-deprecating laugh just as my phone rang. I answered, and my friend’s shriek nearly deafened me. “Viv! Check the trending topics, right now! Your husband! Aaaah, he’s so hot!” I hung up, my curiosity piqued. I opened my phone and saw the number one trending topic. #AshtonThorneShattersBreakupRumorsWithLateNightPhotoOfSleepingWife,He’sSoInLove# Below it was a photo Ashton had posted in the middle of the night. A candid shot of me, asleep. It was blurry, showing only half of my face, but anyone who knew me would recognize me instantly. Ashton’s caption was a single red heart emoji. So cheesy. It looked like something an old man who just learned how to use a smartphone would post. The thought made me chuckle. My friend messaged me again: 【Baby, are you totally melting right now?】 Hearing the excitement in her voice, I snapped back to reality and replied calmly: 【The scandal was affecting Thorne Industries’ stock. It’s just a standard PR move. Anyway, I have to go, I’m on a deadline.】 After closing her chat window, I noticed that Ashton had sent me a message five minutes earlier, but he’d retracted it. Probably a mistake. I silenced my phone, tossed it aside, and immersed myself in my work. When I next looked up, the sky outside was dark. I stretched, my back aching, and picked up my phone. I saw a message from Ashton, sent six hours ago. 【Dinner tonight.】 I glanced at the time. It was already 11:30 PM. I’d only just seen it. 4 I had a strong feeling that Ashton was going to be furious. But then again, maybe not. In all the time I’d known him, he’d never really cared about me. Dinner was probably just another PR move to lend credibility to his post from earlier. I carefully typed out a reply: 【Sorry, I was working and didn’t see my phone. Still on for dinner?】 I hit send, and immediately, a red exclamation mark appeared next to my message. Ashton had blocked me. I stared at the red symbol, my mind blank. Was he throwing a tantrum? I couldn’t figure out why. But… the way Ashton acted when he was upset was so much like Liam. I clutched my phone, squeezing my eyes shut. Suddenly, the phone vibrated. Startled, my thumb slipped and tapped the red exclamation mark again. The message swirled for a moment and then, somehow, it sent. Only ten minutes had passed since I’d discovered he’d blocked me. He must have unblocked me in that time. The moment the message went through, he replied. That was one thing about Ashton—he always replied instantly. 【Come to Apex.】 Apex was the bar his friend Leo owned. I hated places like that, so in our entire marriage, I’d only been once. I took a cab. The hostess at the door recognized me and led me to a VIP room. She gave me a polite nod and left. The door was ajar. As I reached out to push it open, a sudden burst of laughter from inside made me jump. It was Leo’s voice. “Ash, man, this scandal of yours is blowing up online. You’re not even gonna explain it to Vivian? Aren’t you afraid she’ll get mad and divorce you? Want me to teach you how to smooth things over? First, you buy her a bag…” Ashton swirled the drink in his hand, a detached smile playing on his lips. “There’s no need. She won’t divorce me. And besides, I don’t care what she thinks.” Leo’s smile faltered for a second. “No way, man. You’re still hung up on Hannah?” Ashton paused, then set his glass down, his expression unreadable. “Maybe.” Leo scratched his head. “Well, I guess. First loves are hard to forget.” … Listening to their conversation, I was frozen, trapped between going in and leaving. If I walked in now, it would be excruciatingly awkward. But if I didn’t, where would I go? As I looked around, a surprised voice came from behind me. “Vivian? You’re here? Why aren’t you going in?” I tensed, gripping my purse strap, and turned to see a familiar face. “I, uh, I just got here,” I stammered. “Was just about to…” At that exact moment, the door behind me was pulled open. I woodenly turned my head and met Ashton’s calm, unruffled gaze. I forced a smile. “Ashton.” His lips moved, as if he wanted to explain something, but no words came out. He just gestured behind him. “Come in.” I took a seat one person away from him. The moment I sat down, the atmosphere in the room turned strange. They all had weird expressions, probably wondering how much I’d overheard. Finally, Leo broke the silence with a laugh. “Vivian’s here! Let’s play a game, huh? We’ll continue the one from before. Sound good, Vivian?” I smiled and nodded. “Sure.” Leo spun an empty bottle on the table. “Okay, whoever it points to has to answer three questions from one of these cards. If you can’t answer, you take three shots.” I was about to nod again when I saw the bottle grind to a halt, pointing directly at me. Leo rubbed his hands together, clearly trying to diffuse the tension between me and Ashton. He picked up a card and chuckled. “Alright, Vivian. Is the man you’re married to now your first love?” The moment he finished speaking, I could hear my own heartbeat, a frantic thumping in my ears. Should I lie? No. I shouldn’t. And I didn’t want to. After a long pause, I answered truthfully. “No.” The words hung in the air, making the room’s atmosphere even more suffocating. Leo swallowed hard and glanced at Ashton. Ashton was slumped low on the sofa, his head down, his expression hidden. He was just fiddling with a bottle opener in his hands, seemingly oblivious to what was happening. Leo scratched his head and looked back at me, pushing on with the next question. “So, uh… have you forgotten your first love?” I blinked. My first love. Liam. The best, kindest person in the entire world. The boy who was my brother, but not by blood. The one who loved me more than anyone. The childhood friend who, after a few drinks, had shyly asked if I would be his girlfriend. The hero who gave his life to save mine. “Hey, little sprout. I’m your big brother.” “Don’t be scared, Viv. I’ll protect you.” “Viv… I’m so sorry. There were still things I wanted to tell you…” Forget him? I would never forget him, not in this lifetime. My eyelashes fluttered. I looked down at the colorful array of drinks on the table. After a long moment, a small smile touched my lips. “I’ll take the three shots.” As my words fell, the room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Then, a sharp clatter. The bottle opener had fallen from Ashton’s hand. 5 I downed the three shots, one after another. I set the empty glass down, stood up, and said my goodbyes. “Sorry, I’m not feeling well. I’m going to head out. You all have fun.” I grabbed my bag and left quickly. By the time I got back to my studio, it was three in the morning. Mrs. Gable had texted me an hour ago, telling me Ashton was home and asking where I was. I replied that I wasn’t coming back, then turned off my phone. I kicked off my shoes and curled up in the wicker chair by the window, my eyelids heavy. As the alcohol began to take hold, I thought I saw Liam push the door open and walk in. He leaned down and draped a coat over me, his voice gentle but chiding. “Viv, didn’t you promise me you wouldn’t fall asleep in chairs anymore? What if you catch a cold? You hate taking medicine…” I clung to that fleeting moment of warmth, grabbing his hand, my voice thick with tears. “What if I do fall asleep in the chair?” Liam bent lower, his cheek brushing against mine. “What can I do?” he said, his voice full of affection. “I could never stay mad at you. I’d just have to come and carry you to bed.” I was laughing and crying at the same time. “Every time?” “Of course,” he said without hesitation. I let go of his hand and closed my eyes, the tears flowing freely now. You liar, Liam. You never came. Not once. You’re never coming back. 6 When I opened my eyes again, the sun was already bright. I moved my stiff neck, my head throbbing. I reached up and felt my forehead. I had a fever. The studio was just a place for me to paint. There was no food, and definitely no medicine. I threw on my coat and, with my head spinning, called a car to take me home. When I pushed open the front door, I saw Mrs. Gable standing anxiously outside my studio. As I bent down to change my shoes, I noticed Ashton’s were still on the rack. Next to it was a toppled-over gift bag, something that looked like a purse inside. Strange. Why wasn’t Ashton at work yet? Seeing me, Mrs. Gable hurried over, gesturing toward the studio and whispering, “The mister seems to be in a very bad mood. He’s been in there all night. He hasn’t eaten or drunk anything, and he won’t say a word.” “He’s been in my studio all night?” Mrs. Gable nodded. A sense of unease crept over me. I left one shoe half on and rushed into the studio. The room was a disaster. Canvases and sketches of Liam were scattered all over the floor. Ashton was sitting in the chair behind my desk, his face a mask of indifference. In his left hand, he held the photo of Liam I kept in my drawer. In his right, he held a lighter, flicking it on and off, on and off. He saw me burst in and swiveled the chair to face me. A cold, mocking smile twisted his lips. “Vivian,” he sneered, “this must be him, right? Your first love. You chased me, you married me… all because I look like him. Is that it?” My throat was dry. I instinctively called his name. “Ashton…” He laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. “Did you get the name right? Is it my name you wanted to say? When you look at me, do you see me, or do you see him? When we’re in bed, are you pretending I’m him?” My lips clamped shut. I watched the lighter’s flame dance, again and again, coming dangerously close to the photograph. My heart felt like it was about to stop. “Ashton, put the photo down.” He lifted his eyelids, his dark, bottomless eyes boring into me. Not only did he not put it down, he brought the flame even closer. “So, Vivian, you can get flustered. But maybe you don’t know the kind of person I am. I, Ashton Thorne, will never be anyone’s substitute. I’d rather die.” I watched in horror as the lighter’s flame licked the corner of the photograph. A sharp pain shot through my chest. I lunged forward, snatching the photo from his hand and smothering the small flame with my bare palm without a second thought. The smell of burning flesh quickly filled the small studio. Ashton’s brow twitched. For the first time, he looked panicked. He shot to his feet, grabbed my wrist, his own brows knitted in a tight knot. “Mrs. Gable, bring the first-aid kit—” Before he could finish, I swung my free hand and slapped him hard across the face. Ashton froze, his head jerked to the side. He looked stunned, almost pathetic. I seized the opportunity to wrench my hand free, clutching the photograph of Liam to my chest as if it were my lifeline. I pointed a trembling finger at the door and shrieked, “Get out! Get the hell out of my house!” 7 It was dark by the time I finally emerged from the studio. I touched my forehead; the fever had broken. I hadn’t eaten all day, but I didn’t feel hungry. The living room was dark, save for the pale light from the streetlamps filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. It wasn’t bright, but it was enough. I gently closed the studio door behind me. From the darkness, Ashton’s voice, flat and devoid of emotion, cut through the silence. “Vivian, let’s get a divorce.”

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