Preston Sterling didn’t want me, his “hillbilly” fiancée from the countryside. To get me to break off the engagement myself, he hired the school’s poorest scholarship student to impersonate him. “One nouveau riche, one guy so broke he can’t afford lunch. A perfect match,” Preston sneered to his friends. “I bet the gold digger won’t last three days before she runs back to her daddy to cancel the wedding.” The scholarship student was tall, aloof, and looked like he was holding the weight of the world on his shattered shoulders. I fell for the lie completely. I really thought the Sterling family had gone bankrupt and that he couldn’t even afford a meal. My dad’s advice rang in my ears: “Baby girl, so what if they went bust? We don’t love people for their money. We have enough money to support him.” So, when he was hungry, I fed him. When he worked part-time, I acted as his bodyguard. When his mom was hospitalized, I swiped my card. I took excellent care of my destitute “fiancé.” Until that day. A gorgeous, preppy boy snatched the breakfast I had painstakingly prepared. Just as I was about to explode, he looked at me with a mix of frustration and desperation. “Lily, look closely. I am your fiancé…” 1. My dad told me I had a fiancé in the city. To let me decide whether I wanted him or not—and to get me into a better school—he transferred me to Preston Sterling’s high school for my junior year. I heard the Sterling family was old money, the richest in the state. My dad made sure I packed plenty of expensive gifts. But when I got off the train, not a single person from the Sterling family was there to pick me up. I was annoyed at first. But when I got to the school and saw “Preston”—wearing a t-shirt so washed out it was practically transparent—my anger vanished. A helpful student I met on the way had looked at the photo in my hand and guided me. “Junior AP History? You’re looking for Preston? I know him. I’ll take you.” He pointed him out. I followed his finger. Sitting by the window was a boy with a straight back, thin and clean. The afternoon sun filtered through the blinds, hitting his profile. The breeze ruffled his hair, revealing a smooth forehead and a sharp brow bone. I looked at the photo, then at him. The helpful student whispered, his voice dripping with tragedy, “You don’t know? The Sterling family went bankrupt two years ago. Preston is on financial aid now. He works part-time after school. Sometimes he’s so broke he can’t even afford lunch.” My family didn’t have much contact with the Sterlings, and rich families don’t exactly advertise bankruptcy to their country connections. I let out a soft “Oh,” nodding like a bobblehead, promising not to spread the gossip. “Class, this is the new transfer student, Lily Vance,” the teacher announced, pointing to an empty desk in the back. “You can sit there.” I looked up. It was right next to him. From the moment I walked in, he never looked up. He was writing furiously on a piece of paper. As I squeezed past his chair to get to my seat, my backpack snagged on something. I tugged gently, and a metal water bottle fell out of his desk. It clattered on the floor, the lid popping off to reveal half a dry, stale bagel inside. It rolled into the dust. I saw his shoulders tremble slightly. He gripped his pen tighter, but didn’t turn around. Stifled snickers erupted around us. I saw boys whispering, looking at his back with disdain. So it was true. The boy in the photo, once so full of life, really couldn’t even afford a proper meal. I bit my lip, hugged my bag, and sat down. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” He still didn’t look at me. He just picked up the bottle and stuffed it back into his desk. “I’m Lily,” I said, tilting my head to catch his eye. “Do you remember me?” We had met once when he was six. My mom and I are suckers for pretty faces, and little Preston was exquisite. I had dragged him to chase chickens, and he got pecked on the butt. He never spoke to me again. But he hadn’t grown up ugly. He was still beautiful. He jumped slightly at my closeness, leaning back to look at me. His eyes were gorgeous—like obsidian. His lashes were long and dark, softening the coldness in his gaze. He didn’t speak. I scratched my head. “I’m your fiancée. Remember?” He was taking a sip of water and choked, coughing violently. I quickly patted his back. When he recovered, he looked at me with a complicated expression, a flush spreading across his pale cheeks. Maybe he forgot. Or maybe bankruptcy changed him. Whatever. I decided we’d just start over as friends. I extended my hand, smiling. “Well, we’re desk mates now. I’m Lily. Nice to meet you. By the way, can you do me a favor?” I thought he would ignore me, but he spoke. His voice was cold. “I don’t have time.” 2. Meanwhile, the “helpful” student who guided me had run to the stairwell to meet a group of rich kids. Gavin laughed, high-fiving the center of the group—a handsome, preppy boy. “Preston, it’s done. That girl is not the brightest bulb.” “She believed everything I said. I pointed at Jax and told her the Sterlings went bust and he couldn’t afford food. Her jaw hit the floor.” “She even saw Jax’s stale bagel. Who lives like that in this day and age? Is she planning to run a charity?” “I bet you anything, she’ll call her dad to cancel the engagement within three days.” Preston looked impatient but checked, “Are you sure? Three days? She really bought it?” “I saw the photo she had. It was just a side profile of you. You and Jax have a similar build. Nobody would question it.” “I told her that after the bankruptcy, you changed your name to Jax to hide from debt collectors. She bought it hook, line, and sinker.” “If you run into her, just say you have the same name. She won’t cling to you.” Preston shoved his hands in his pockets, relaxing. “Nouveau riche country bumpkin. What century is this? Who does arranged marriages anymore?” “Exactly. The Sterling family has a hundred years of history. Even if you marry, it should be to an heiress, not some village girl.” “My mom has been on a hunger strike trying to force my dad to cancel it. But Dad listens to Grandpa, and Grandpa is all about ‘honor’ and ‘promises to old war buddies.’” “But hey,” Gavin added, “I actually think your fiancée…” Preston shot him a cold look. Gavin corrected himself. “The little village girl is actually pretty cute. I took a picture. Want to see? Maybe you’ll like her.” Preston scoffed. “Are you sick? Since when do I have low standards? I don’t do country girls.” Gavin scratched his head, muttering, “She really is pretty though. Prettier than the prom queen.” 3. I knew none of this. Right now, my world revolved around Jax. Yes, he said his name was Jax. The Sterlings really did change his name to hide from debt. I spent the whole day trying to talk to him. He rarely responded. But I’m chatty. I got my dad’s genes—he could talk to a cow for a whole day. Plus, I’ve never met a stranger. “Hey, what’s good to eat in this city? I’m new.” “Do you live on campus or commute?” “Wait, why is this formula different from what I learned back home?” “Where’s the water fountain? I’m parched.” Finally, Jax couldn’t take it anymore. He whispered, “Listen to the teacher.” Then, after a pause: “Water fountain is by Room 4. Go after class.” By the time the bell rang, I forgot about the water. I called my dad immediately and told him about the Sterling bankruptcy. Dad was shocked. “What? Oh well. It’s okay, baby. If they’re broke, they’re broke. We aren’t snobs. True character shows in hard times. If you like the kid, we’ll just support him.” I nodded. I didn’t love him yet. But Jax was just so pitiful. I didn’t have much, but I had money. And right now, that was exactly what he needed. My family got rich the year I was born. My dad invested in real estate when our town expanded, then got lucky with tech stocks. He didn’t know anything about the internet, but he knew how to write a check. Compared to the generational wealth of the Sterlings, we were definitely “new money.” But the benefit of being new money is that my dad hands me credit cards like they are playing cards. I could have bought the karaoke bar where Jax worked, but I didn’t want to hurt his pride. I followed him for days before finding out where he moonlighted. Jax looked different at night. More casual, hair a bit messy. I had sneaked in, so when he saw me, his eyebrows knotted together. “Who told you to come to a place like this?” He dragged me to the stairwell. “Go home.” Now he was talking. I pulled a club sandwich out of my bag and shoved it into his hand. Jax froze. “Eat it,” I pushed it toward him. “I bought too much. The shop owner said it expires tonight. I can’t eat it, and wasting food is bad. Help me out?” I knew Jax worked three jobs after school. Flyer distribution, running a taco stand, then cleaning at this karaoke bar. He sold tacos for $7 but never ate one himself. He survived on stale bagels or leftovers from the karaoke fruit platters. I had made friends with other classmates. They warned me to stay away from Jax. They said he was weird, gloomy, and anti-social. They said he had a mom on dialysis and a disabled sister. Strange. Mrs. Sterling was that sick? I couldn’t ask him. I didn’t want to break his heart. “Why?” Jax held the sandwich, looking down at me. I widened my eyes. “Why what? We’re desk mates. And you helped me with that math problem today.” I nodded firmly. “Yes! My dad said if I don’t get into a good college, he’ll break my legs. Jax, I am bribing you. This sandwich isn’t free. You have to tutor me tomorrow.” I saw his test scores. Perfect 1600 on the SATs. He pursed his lips. “You don’t think I’m… dirty?” I gasped. “How could I?” I leaned in and sniffed him exaggeratedly. “You smell like soap. Your clothes are cleaner than mine! Look at my sleeve—” I showed him a smudge. “Are you going to say I’m dirty?” In the dim light of the stairwell, Jax looked up. His eyes shone like stars. He shook his head. I lifted my chin proudly. “That’s right. I am your fian—” I stopped myself just in time. 4. Jax clocked out ten minutes early to walk me home. He stuffed a notebook of study guides into my bag. My dad bought me a house in the ritzy gated community, Clearview Estates, before I arrived. Since my mom passed, he treats me like a fragile treasure. He hired a live-in nanny to cook for me. As we approached the gates of the rich neighborhood, I swerved and walked toward the regular apartments down the street. His family went bankrupt. Seeing villas might make him sad. “This is me!” I pointed at a random building. “You go home now.” Jax looked at the building, then suddenly reached out and patted my head. “See you tomorrow, desk mate.” If anyone from school had seen him, they wouldn’t have recognized him. The paper-thin, lifeless Jax seemed to have inflated with a little bit of hope. Once he was gone, I sprinted toward the gated community. I ran fast, rounding a corner, and almost slammed into someone. The person reacted quickly, grabbing my arm to steady me. I looked up. A very handsome, preppy face. Huh. He looked familiar. Kind of like Jax. But why did he look so dumbfounded? I waved my hand in front of his face. “Hey, I’m fine. You can let go.” He startled and dropped his hand. “Sorry.” I didn’t care. I nodded and kept walking. “Wait, do you go to Central High…?” he called out from behind. But just then, my golden retriever burst out the front door to greet me. I squealed and ran to my dog, forgetting the boy entirely. Preston stood there, watching the girl hug her dog and disappear around the corner. By the time he reacted and chased after her, she was gone. He opened his group chat: “Does our school have a girl with long hair, big round eyes, and a beauty mark on her nose? Has anyone seen her?” Someone replied: “What’s the situation? Love at first sight?” “No way. Preston has high standards. He wouldn’t even date the cheer captain.” Preston kicked his feet up on the coffee table, staring at the words “love at first sight.” “Shut up. Just tell me if you’ve seen her.” “I’ve seen long hair. I’ve seen big eyes. But that specific combo? I can scout for you tomorrow. If she goes to Central, she can’t hide.” Preston smirked. He was rich, handsome, and confident. There was no girl he couldn’t get.

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Two years after the divorce, I ran into my ex-wife at City Hall. She wasn’t alone. She was with her childhood sweetheart, and our daughter. They looked like the perfect, enviable family. My daughter spotted me and ran over excitedly, wrapping her arms around my legs. “Daddy! Lily missed you so much.” I calmly extracted my leg from her grip and looked at Chloe. “Here to get your marriage license? Congrats. Wishing you a lifetime of happiness and another kid soon.” She smiled unnaturally. “I’m here to file for divorce.” Then, scanning the folder in my hand, she asked urgently, “Are you getting married?” I flicked the document in my hand. “Just getting an Affidavit of Single Status.” 1. I never expected to see Chloe again, especially not at City Hall. I was walking out with my fresh paperwork when I bumped into her. She was walking with her head down. She looked shocked for a moment, then stared straight at me. “How have you been these past two years?” I didn’t have a fetish for catching up with my ex-wife—especially not when the metaphorical horns on my head hadn’t fully faded yet. “I’m fine,” I said dismissively, trying to walk past her. She chased after me, grabbing my sleeve. “Are you getting married?” The woman was baffling. Why was she so pressed about my marital status? Seeing my impatience, Chloe let go of my cuff. She scrambled for a topic. “We haven’t seen each other in two years.” That was true. The last time we met was right here, two years ago. That day, we ended a three-year marriage. I traded full custody of our daughter and walked away with zero assets just to get that divorce decree. Back then, she had asked me at the entrance, “When are you coming back to pack your things?” I looked at the sky, then at her. “Right now.” I only took the keys to my old family property and the only photo I had with my father. As I was leaving, Chloe, holding our daughter’s hand, stared at me. “Leave the house keys.” I didn’t stop opening the door. “They’re on the table,” I muttered. Behind me, her voice rose in frustration. “You’re the one who insisted on divorcing! Wes has no family or friends, and he’s diagnosed with depression. What is wrong with me spending more time with him? Why do you have to be so petty?” “Even Lily knows he needs companionship and warmth.” I turned back to see my daughter nodding vigorously, and Chloe looking at me with utter disappointment. Facing the accusing stares of both big and small, I rolled my wheelchair away as fast as I could. Wes had no family or friends? Well, neither did I. My only family had been her and our daughter. I looked at the photo of my father. At least I didn’t have to compete with Wes anymore. My wife and daughter weren’t mine anymore anyway. 2. Wes was Chloe’s childhood sweetheart. They grew up together. Wes’s father was the driver for Chloe’s family. When Chloe was seven, she accidentally started a car, and the driver sacrificed his life to save her. Since then, to repay the debt of life, Wes became like another child in the Zhao household, eating and living alongside Chloe. In adolescence, hormones hit. The handsome boy and the pretty heiress became an unspoken couple. They crossed the line. When it was discovered, Wes was sent abroad to study. They maintained a long-distance emotional affair for years. Then the pandemic hit. The economy crashed, and Chloe’s family business went into debt. That was when I found Chloe, drunk and nearly passed out on the roadside, saving her from being taken advantage of. I stayed by her side through the corporate winter, welcoming the economic recovery—and eventually, our daughter, Lily. On Lily’s second birthday, Wes suddenly reappeared. He gazed deeply at Chloe, talking about how much he missed her, the pain of getting COVID, and the hardships of returning to the States. That day was also our third wedding anniversary. Chloe cried in Wes’s arms until she shook. What followed was a cliché script. Everything I had became his. Chloe took Wes for a full body checkup. His post-COVID symptoms lingered, and he was diagnosed with severe depression. Conveniently, Chloe also “discovered” scars on his wrists. “Liam,” she told me, “the doctor says patients with self-harm tendencies can’t be left alone. He needs love and warmth.” I asked, unwilling to give up, “So?” “He has no other family. I want to move him into our house so I can take care of him.” “I don’t have any other family either.” Chloe’s face changed instantly. “How can you be so selfish? He’s sick. He needs company. You’re not sick.” She practically implied that refusing to let her ex-lover move in made me a monster who had wronged the entire world. Seeing this, I didn’t fight it. For months, I busied myself with company business while Chloe stayed home taking care of Wes and our daughter. I became the intruder in my own home. One day, while working at a site, a tire fell from a rack and crushed my lower leg. As I was loaded into the ambulance, I had only one thought: Good. Now I need to be taken care of, too. 3. My injury was sudden, but not fatal. Chloe didn’t give me much of her time. By the time I was discharged, she had only visited twice, never staying longer than thirty minutes. It was just a fracture, but bones take a hundred days to heal. I began my recovery under the same roof as Wes. The difference was, he lived upstairs next to the master bedroom, and I was in the guest room downstairs. Chloe said it was because of my leg—stairs were inconvenient. “Liam, you don’t mind, do you? He’s close by so I can care for him easily. It saves you the trouble of climbing up and down.” “I don’t mind.” Out of basic humanity, saving a life is a good deed. As long as she didn’t “care” for him right into bed, I didn’t care. Wes would come downstairs every day to see me, specifically when Chloe was around. One day, talking about his condition, Wes mentioned that the antidepressants were making him gain weight. He acted depressed about it, immediately hooking Chloe’s limited attention. She hurriedly grabbed Wes and took Lily out for exercise. They looked exactly like a happy family of three. At dinner, I stared at the table full of takeout Chloe had ordered. I couldn’t eat any of it. It was all Wes’s favorite—Sichuan food. Heavy spice. Exactly what I wasn’t supposed to eat with my medication and inflammation. Chloe ate happily. “Liam, why aren’t you eating? This place Wes picked is delicious.” “The doctor said I can’t eat spicy or stimulating foods.” Chloe paused for a second. “I just wanted Wes to eat more so he’d get better faster. You only have a fracture. A little bit shouldn’t hurt, right?” I gripped my chopsticks, looking at Wes’s provocative smirk. “Right. It doesn’t matter.” 4. Out of masculine pride, I ate that table of spicy food. Even though I drank gallons of water afterward, the wound became inflamed, triggering a high fever. This time, Chloe came to the hospital. But before my fever even broke, Wes followed us there. His “depression” flared up. He slashed his wrist. When Chloe rushed to Wes’s VIP room, she forgot to take Lily. In my feverish haze, I heard the little girl’s milky voice making a wish. At first, I felt comforted—regardless of the wife, the daughter was mine. “I wish Daddy would die from the fever. Then Uncle Wes can be my Daddy.” Someone asked her why she wanted to switch dads. “Uncle Wes is clean, handsome, and smells good.” The daughter I had cherished in the palm of my hand since birth thought I was dirty and smelly, and wanted to call someone else father. Chloe took Lily to the VIP suite to keep Wes company. I stayed in the regular ward with a hired nurse. From the doctors to the other patients’ families, everyone thought they were the family of three. Wes sent me a photo with a caption: “You’re just a smelly mechanic. What do you have to compete with me?” In the photo, Chloe was wearing pajamas, sleeping soundly in Wes’s arms. On Wes’s other side was Lily, fast asleep. I stared at that photo all night. I confirmed it repeatedly—that was the bed I had run all over the city to buy for our wedding. When the sun came up, I finally woke up. Before I could bring up divorce, Chloe stormed in. Wes’s mother had somehow gotten the news and went to his ward to demand money. Wes was “triggered,” and his condition worsened. Chloe came to interrogate me. I picked up the evidence she threw in my face in front of the whole ward—printed WeChat transfer records. Money I had sent to Wes’s mother. “You knew Wes needs peace and quiet! Why did you bring that woman here? Now he wants to kill himself. Are you happy?” Chloe was emotional, slapping my cast-covered leg as she screamed. “I just took care of him for a bit! I wasn’t going to divorce you! Why can’t you just understand me?” I knew talking was useless. She wouldn’t believe me anyway. I pulled out the divorce agreement I had already printed. “Let’s divorce. Now you can take care of him forever.”

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For my boyfriend’s mom’s birthday, I bought her a $600 Estée Lauder gift set. That same night, I found the exact set listed on eBay by my boyfriend for a fraction of the price. I bought it immediately. The moment it arrived, I confirmed receipt. Then I called my boyfriend. “Honey, did your mom try on the heavy gold bracelet inside the box? Does it fit?” 1 I was doom-scrolling eBay when a listing caught my eye. [Estée Lauder Gift Set. Brand new in box. Authentic. Urgent sale! Only $299!] That price was suspiciously low. Was it fake? I just bought this exact set yesterday at Sephora for nearly $600! Wait. The more I looked, the more familiar it seemed. That was the exact set I gave to Lucas’s mom. Even the gift bag was the one I picked out. And that ribbon? I tied that bow myself. I clicked on the seller’s profile. ID: Luke_Skywalker99 Location: Seattle, WA (Same as me) I opened the chat. Me: Hi, is this still available? Is it authentic? Why is it so cheap? Luke: Hey gorgeous! 100% real. It was a gift, hasn’t even been opened yet! He sent a voice message. That voice. It was undeniably my boyfriend of three months, Lucas. I scrolled through his other listings and felt my stomach drop. Everything valuable I’d given him over the last few months was listed there. Birthdays, holidays, his sister’s graduation… last week he wouldn’t shut up about his mom’s birthday coming up. Turns out, I wasn’t his girlfriend; I was his supplier. I wanted to confront him right there and dump him. But that would be too easy. I changed my shipping address to my neighbor’s house. I used my housekeeper, Mrs. Wong’s, name and number. Ensuring he wouldn’t suspect a thing, I clicked “Buy Now.” Luke: Wow, quick payment! Since we’re both in Seattle, I’ll send it via Uber Connect right now! Luke: Please confirm receipt as soon as you get it! I played along enthusiastically, eyes glued to the tracking. When the Uber arrived next door, Mrs. Wong was waiting. The gift set was back in my hands. Even though I knew, seeing it hurt like a punch to the gut. The ribbon was untouched. He hadn’t even bothered to look inside before selling it for quick cash. Luke: Hey, app says delivered! Can you release the funds? I kinda need the money ASAP. I recorded a video of the box and sent it. Me: Hi, I shook the box and heard a clinking sound. Do you think a bottle broke? In the video, I gently shook the box while playing a sound effect of breaking glass on my iPad. Lucas panicked. Three voice messages came through instantly, his voice high with anxiety. “It was perfect when I sent it! If it’s broken, that’s on you!” “You didn’t check it in front of the driver, so it’s your problem! Release the money now!” “Listen, lady, don’t try to scam me! Once it left my hands, it’s not my problem. Whether it’s broken glass or a gold bar inside, it has nothing to do with me!” Perfect. That’s exactly what I needed to hear. I confirmed receipt. The moment the money hit his account, I got a notification: “You have been blocked by this user.” Trash. He couldn’t wait to cut ties. Don’t worry, Lucas. In five minutes, you’ll be begging me on your knees. 2 I FaceTimed him. Lucas answered immediately, beaming. “Hey baby, miss me?” “You look happy,” I smiled. “Good news?” He paused for a second. “Just… reminiscing about childhood stuff at dinner. Good memories!” “How did your mom like the gift?” Lucas’s face stiffened. Behind him, his mom and sister smirked, rolling their eyes. “Uh… Emily, about that. Mom wasn’t really a fan.” “She’s never been into fancy creams and stuff. She’s not… high maintenance like you.” I cut him off. “Oh, if she doesn’t like it, bring it back! I’ll return it.” Lucas panicked. “No, no! You can’t take back a gift! She opened it already. Even though she hates this stuff, she respects you too much not to try it!” He glanced back at his mom for backup. She gave a fake, tight-lipped nod. I tried not to laugh at his terrible acting. Lucas continued, trying to steer the conversation. “Emily, maybe stop buying these impractical things. They cost a fortune and hold no value.” “If you ever need cash, you can’t resell this stuff for much… unlike…” “Unlike what?” I asked. His mom chimed in loudly from the back. “Unlike gold! Gold holds value! Much better than jars of cream!” Ah, I see. No wonder his mom’s face fell when she saw the skincare set today. She wanted something she could pawn. They were already hinting for next time. Well, why wait? “You’re so right, Auntie. Gold is the best.” “So… how does the gold bracelet fit? Do you like it?” 3 Lucas looked like he’d been electrocuted. “What?! What gold bracelet? You bought a bracelet?” I gave a playful smile. “Yeah. Didn’t Auntie open the box? She must have seen it.” Lucas turned pale. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Behind him, chaos erupted. His mom and sister started frantically pacing. I heard his mom hiss at his sister, Mia. “Why didn’t you check inside?! There was gold in there, you idiot!” “I wanted to open it to post on Instagram!” Mia whined. “You and Lucas screamed at me not to touch it so you could sell it faster! You said I wasn’t worth using expensive lotion!” Lucas shushed them aggressively. I pretended not to hear. “Honey? What’s wrong?” I dragged out the syllables, feigning concern. “Does she not like the style?” “I know it’s a bit chunky. I bought a heavy one—70 grams—because I wanted to show my respect.” “If it’s too tacky, I can take her to the jeweler tomorrow to exchange it. 70 grams of gold… we could melt it down into a necklace and earrings set instead…” Lucas interrupted me, his voice trembling. “Emily… you put a 70-gram gold bracelet inside the skincare box? Why didn’t you tell me? Where did you get that kind of money?” “I saved up my bonus! I just wanted to make a good impression.” Then, I gasped dramatically. “Wait… is it gone? Did you guys lose it?!” Dead silence on the other end. Finally, his mom stammered, “No… no, of course not! I just… missed it when I was putting on the cream!” I let out a huge sigh of relief. “Oh, thank god. That bracelet cost nearly $6,000 with the crafting fee! I would have died if it was lost.” I pulled out a receipt and flashed it at the camera. “See? $5,800 total.” I also sent him a photo I took at the jewelry store of the heavy, ornate bangle. “Isn’t it gorgeous? It’ll look so classy on Auntie.” Truth was, I did buy that bracelet. But it was for my own mother’s birthday next week. “Six… thousand…” Lucas muttered, looking like he was about to faint. His mom saw the receipt and pinched his arm hard. “Emily, I gotta go! We probably just overlooked it in the box!” He hung up before I could say bye. A second later, Mrs. Wong’s phone started blowing up. And my eBay notifications went wild. 4 Luke: Hi! Do you still have the Estée Lauder set? Please don’t open it! Luke: I’ll pay you double! No, triple! $800! I’ll transfer it now! Luke: Where are you? I’ll come pick it up! Please, I’m begging you! I tried not to laugh as I typed back. Me: I was just about to open it, but your messages keep popping up. He replied instantly. Luke: I was an idiot before! There’s something in the box! Something very important to my mom! Me: What is it? He paused for a long ten seconds. Luke: Just a cheap trinket my girlfriend put in there! Luke: It’s worthless, but sentimental! Luke: I’ll give you $1,000 for the box back! Luke: If she finds out I sold her gift, she’ll dump me! He kept emphasizing “worthless,” terrified the buyer would keep it if they knew it was gold. When I didn’t reply, he spiraled. Luke: Answer me! Luke: I have your address! I’m coming over! Luke: I’m calling the police! I sent him a screenshot of his own voice message: “Whether it’s broken glass or a gold bar inside, it has nothing to do with me!” Me: Police? For what? You sold a gift and now you want to take it back? The typing bubble appeared and disappeared for a full minute. Luke: I’m sorry. How much do you want? I looked at the skincare set on my table. Me: $2,500. I expected him to haggle. Luke: Deal. Send the link. Of course. $2,500 to get a $6,000 bracelet back? He still thinks he’s profiting $3,500. I recorded a video showing the sealed box and the intact ribbon, proving I hadn’t opened it. Then I called the same Uber Connect service. While waiting, I texted Lucas on iMessage. Me: Did Auntie try the bracelet yet? Me: Baby? Why aren’t you replying? He ignored me. I tipped the Uber driver $50 to record the handoff. I told him not to give the package until the guy confirmed the order was complete on his phone. Lucas agreed instantly. He was desperate. Thirty minutes later, the app said “Delivered.” Lucas texted me immediately on iMessage. Lucas: Baby! Mom loves it! She says it’s the most beautiful bracelet she’s ever seen!

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I was attending my brother-in-law’s wedding as the honored sister-in-law. The pristine white dress, the aisle of red roses, the heartfelt vows. It moved me to tears, vaguely reminding me of a few years ago, before I turned into a monster. “Honey, do you regret marrying me?” My husband looked at me with deep affection. “Regret? Babe, I wouldn’t dare.” Moments later, the ceremony ended. Just as I was about to eat, the bride’s mother suddenly rushed over to me, screaming, “The maid of honor’s cash envelope is missing! Did you steal it?” The entire restaurant went dead silent. My husband’s family turned pale, cold sweat instantly beading on their foreheads. 1 Growing up, the phrase I heard most often was “Kill them with kindness.” As a kid, I didn’t get the metaphor. I just interpreted it my way. When older kids bullied me, I caught a venomous snake and left it in their backpack. When the neighbor’s girl got jealous of my hair ribbons and cut them, I shaved her head while she slept. When the old lady across the street called me a “bad seed,” I set her kitchen on fire while she was cooking. For a long time, no one dared to mess with me. They wouldn’t even come near me. My carefree mother found it strange. “Lexi, why does everyone walk around you?” I looked up, smiling, dimples showing. “Because they’re afraid of blocking my path.” Mom was relieved. She praised my popularity, saying people were so polite to make way for me. She had no idea. It wasn’t just walking. People made way for me in everything. That peaceful life didn’t last long. One day, a group of muggers cornered me in an alley, demanding money. I pulled out a box cutter and sliced every single one of their wrists. The police got involved. That finally woke my mother up. She grabbed me, shaking, and drilled it into my head: “Lexi, you have to appear kind. Even if you have to fake it, you must look like a good, obedient girl.” “What if someone bullies me?” Mom smiled, a dark glint in her eyes. “You endure it. You yield…” “You wait until they think you’re weak. You wait until the whole world thinks you are the victim.” “Then, you strike back. One hit. Lethal.” Mom winked. “That way, you get your revenge, and no one can blame you. Isn’t that fun?” My eyes lit up. Dear Mom, I finally understood the true meaning of “Kill them with kindness.” 2 I retracted my claws and played the role of the good girl. Until my wedding day. A client who constantly delayed payments tried to blackmail my in-laws at the reception, demanding a new contract in exchange for the money he owed. My honest, timid in-laws were shaking with rage but helpless. So, in between toasts, I dragged him into the VIP lounge and broke both his legs. Amidst the blood-splattered room, I whispered gently, “Don’t worry. Modern medicine is amazing. They can reattach those.” “Don’t bother calling the cops. The cameras saw you trying to force yourself on me. I was just defending myself.” When my husband, Caleb, rushed in and saw the blood, he almost passed out. It took him a long time to find his voice. “Honey… is this… a hobby? Or a one-time thing?” I thought for a moment. “Only when people piss me off.” “Caleb, will you piss me off?” Caleb laughed, though it sounded like a sob. “Don’t worry. I… I wouldn’t dare.” The client went to the hospital and wired the overdue payment that same day. My in-laws looked at me with pure terror after that. I asked, “Do you want to annul the marriage? It’s fine, I don’t mind.” They shoved Caleb toward me. “No, no, no! Consider him our protection fee! Please look after us!” Since then, I went back to playing the virtuous wife. Neighbors and relatives praised my gentle temper. They didn’t know that behind closed doors, in a family of five, I sat at the head of the table. Three years later, Caleb’s younger brother was getting married. My in-laws personally ushered me to the main seat. Watching the ceremony, I was genuinely moved. “Honey, do you regret marrying me?” Caleb hugged my shoulders tight. “Silly girl, I wouldn’t dare regret it.” Then, the meal began. The bride’s mother, Brenda, stormed over. “The maid of honor’s cash envelope is gone! Did you steal it?” Silence. My brother-in-law, Gavin, ran over to mediate. “Mom, please. Lexi has been sitting here the whole time. How could she touch the envelope? It must be misplaced…” Brenda shook him off. “Since my daughter walked down the aisle, this woman has been staring at her.” “She’s just jealous that my daughter’s wedding is grander than hers was! She’s sabotaging us!” 3 In the dead silence, I started to stand up. Caleb grabbed my hand, pleading in his eyes. “Babe, it’s Gavin’s big day. Please, spare them…” I thought about it. She is the bride’s mother. Bloodshed might be bad luck. So, I stayed silent. This only fueled Brenda’s arrogance. “Cat got your tongue? Guilty! Look at this sister-in-law, stealing from the bridal party. Trash!” “In-laws, you let this kind of person be the matriarch? Aren’t you embarrassed?” “I’m putting it out there: if she tries anything today, or bullies my daughter tomorrow, I won’t let it slide!” Even my good-natured mother-in-law snapped. “Show some respect! This is family business!” Brenda rolled her eyes, changing tactics. “Oh, I’m just worried you’ll suffer under her rule! My daughter, Bella, is so much better. Filial, gentle.” “Don’t worry, when this woman kicks you out, Bella will take you in!” It was a cheap, transparent attempt to sow discord. Brenda extended a hand toward me. “Hand over the money. I’m giving you a chance to save face.” I sat still and winked at my husband. Caleb’s face went through several colors before he let go of my hand. “Just… go easy,” he whispered. I nodded. “Relax. I’m doing this the civilized way today.” I walked onto the stage and took the microphone. “Everyone, quiet down. Brenda here claims I stole an envelope. I’ve called the police. Please cooperate.” “If the police can’t find it, I will personally fund a replacement envelope for the maid of honor.” “Rest assured, no matter how much was in there, I can afford it.” 4 Minutes later, two officers arrived and searched the area. They found one red envelope in a corner. The other was missing. Brenda looked nervous. “Oh, it’s a small thing, why call the cops?” I took the found envelope. “It was a gift from the bride’s mother. The amount must be significant. We have to be serious.” I ripped it open. I tipped it over. A single $20 bill fluttered out. The crowd gasped. “Damn… I haven’t seen a twenty-dollar wedding gift since the 90s.” “The bridesmaids paid for their own flights and dresses, and she gave them twenty bucks? Is the bride’s family destitute?” “She screamed at the head table over twenty dollars? Insane.” Laughter rippled through the hall. The bridesmaids looked furious. Even the cop laughed. “All this drama for twenty bucks? Alright, wait here, we’ll find the other one.” I stopped him. “No need.” I walked up to Brenda and patted her waist. Sure enough, I pulled the missing envelope from her belt. I opened it. Another twenty dollars. “Brenda, did you forget to give it out? Or did you give it out, regret the expense, and steal it back?” Brenda smiled awkwardly. “I… I remembered wrong. I hadn’t handed it out yet…” I threw the two bills in her face, thanked the cops, and sat back down. The drama faded, but Brenda was fuming. She muttered, “I’m an elder! Even if I made a mistake, you didn’t have to humiliate me…” Gavin looked exhausted. “Mom, stop. Lexi already gave you a lot of face.” If she had done it her usual way, you’d be in the ICU right now.

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My autistic daughter was being harassed by a boy who wouldn’t stop making dirty jokes. Her teacher called me, sounding thrilled, to tell me someone was finally going to “save” my daughter. When I rushed to the school, I found a bleached-blond boy cornering my daughter against the wall. “You put a rubber band on my finger yesterday and told me it was ‘ultra-thin.’ Aren’t you going to explain yourself?” My daughter’s face was beet red. It took her a long time to squeeze out a single sentence. “I… I didn’t!” Floating text—like a livestream chat—suddenly erupted in my vision. [See? I told you the male lead would cure her!] [Go, Jace! Make the mute girl speak!] 01 When I got the call from the teacher, my stomach dropped. “Hello? Mrs. Higgins? Is Maya okay?” You can’t blame me for panicking. Although my daughter is sweet and gets straight As, she has severe autism. I can never be 100% at ease. Terrible thoughts flooded my mind: scissors cutting her hair, glue poured on her clothes, or being cornered in the bathroom. I immediately asked, “Is my daughter being bullied?” To my surprise, Mrs. Higgins’ voice was bubbling with joy on the other end. “Oh, no! Maya’s autism is finally going to be cured! You need to come to the school and see this.” I hung up, completely confused. Suddenly, a row of bullet comments floated across my vision. [Poor Maya finally met her salvation!] [Yeah, I heard autism is miserable. Thank god for the Male Lead, or her life would be over.] I rushed to the school. Mrs. Higgins grabbed my arm the moment I arrived and chattered the whole way down the hall. “Your Maya is great, but that autism… she’s just too quiet.” “How will she survive in society? But good news! A transfer student just joined. He’s rich, outgoing, and hilarious. I arranged for him to be Maya’s desk mate.” Desk mate? To give Maya the best environment, we specifically enrolled her in a school that guaranteed single desks. Where did a desk mate come from? We reached the classroom during a break. Maya’s desk had been shoved together with another one. In the corner, a boy with bleached blond hair had her pinned against the wall. “You put a rubber band on my finger yesterday and told me it was ‘ultra-thin.’ Aren’t you going to explain yourself?” Maya’s expression shifted rapidly. Finally, she spoke her first sentence of the day. “You’re lying. I… didn’t.” Mrs. Higgins covered her mouth, moved to tears. “Look, Ms. Sanders! She spoke!” The floating chat was celebrating. [I knew it! The chatterbox Male Lead finally provoked her into speaking! They are my OTP!] [This girl’s mom is useless. Couldn’t cure her for years, but our little ball of sunshine Jace did it in a day.] My face turned cold. I cut their celebration short. “Maya. Come here.” 02 The chat exploded. [What is wrong with this mom? Can’t she read the room?] [Our precious boy finally decided to help the heroine, and she’s blocking it?] [No wonder the girl doesn’t talk to her mom.] Mrs. Higgins looked awkward. “Ms. Sanders, don’t be so agitated. It’s just a joke between classmates.” “You saw it yourself. Maya is even talking now.” I took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “Mrs. Higgins, when we enrolled, we made it very clear. Maya needs space. Why did you assign a desk mate?” “And more importantly, you think sexual harassment is a treatment?” I laughed coldly. “So, the hundreds of thousands I spent on therapists is less effective than a boy making condom jokes?” With every sentence I spoke, the classroom atmosphere grew heavier. Someone muttered, “What a Karen. Making a big deal out of nothing.” Mrs. Higgins looked ready to apologize just to shut me up, but suddenly, I felt a tug on my sleeve. I turned around. Maya was looking at me with puppy eyes. I looked into her eyes. “What is it?” “Don’t. Scold him.” The chat went wild. [Maya is so cute! She’s protecting her hubby already!] [Exactly. This old witch is single for a reason. She’s probably jealous her daughter gets attention.] [Ew, competing with her own daughter? Disgusting.] My heart seized in pain. Raising an autistic child as a single mother has been incredibly hard. She rarely responds to me. Today, she spoke her first complete sentence to me. And it was to defend a boy who was sexually harassing her. I fought back the urge to scream. I calmly asked for leave and took Maya home. In the car, I asked her, “Do you really like that boy?” “Are you okay with them spreading rumors like that?” Maya had retreated into her own world. She didn’t react. The chat defended her. [She’s pressuring Maya again. Unlike Jace, who heals her.] [This mom is incompetent. She needs to exit the story so Jace can take care of her.] Since Maya wasn’t listening, I didn’t push. I started making dinner, but I was so distracted I sliced my finger. Blood dripped into the sink. I texted the housekeeper to come early, then went to the utility room to bandage myself. There, I saw a photo of Maya as a baby. 03 The year Maya was diagnosed, my ex-husband divorced me without hesitation. He needed a “healthy male heir.” Since then, it’s been just me and Maya. I worked, I parented, I fought. We saw countless doctors, spent a fortune, trying to find a “cure.” Finally, I accepted the brutal truth: Maya would likely be on the spectrum for life. The doctor told me calmly not to fixate on a cure, but to find her potential and guide her behavior. I accepted everything about Maya. I accepted she wasn’t the “perfect child” society wanted. I just wanted her to be happy and find her own path. Everyone who meets her says I raised her well. Even the doctors praise her progress. We found her hobbies. Her brilliance. Even if she never lives like a “normal” person, I’ve saved enough money for her to live comfortably forever. But now? I’m being told that a boy making disgusting jokes is the cure? That all my efforts mean nothing compared to a bully? It was absurd. And what about her future? Is she supposed to stay lucid only by being constantly sexually harassed? I sat in the utility room, hugging my knees, devastated. 04 “Mom. Bandage.” Maya found me. She put a Band-Aid on my finger. After years of therapy, Maya has good language skills, but she often gets lost in the colorful thoughts in her head and can’t react to the outside world. I took her to do Math Olympiad problems. Sometimes, when we have friction, we use this activity to de-escalate. All correct. Savant syndrome in mathematics appears in a significant percentage of autistic individuals. Maya is one of them. Just on her math talent and the trust fund I built, she is set for life. After handing her a Rubik’s cube as a reward, I asked again: “Do you really like that boy?” “Why won’t you let Mom stop them from lying?” She silently solved the cube, scrambled it, and solved it again. I waited patiently. Again and again. Night fell. Time for bed. I asked one more time. Still no response. Midnight. Thunder and lightning. I woke up with a start and ran to her door, knocking gently. “Maya, don’t be scared. Mom is here.” The door was locked. Maya is terrified of thunder. To make it easier for me to comfort her, her door is never locked. [Give up, old witch. Only the Male Lead has the key to Maya’s room now.] [If it weren’t for you, Jace would be holding her right now. It would be a sweet, romantic night, not scary.] [Why do moms always block their daughters’ happiness?] I sat by the door for a long time. Looking at the Band-Aid on my finger, I didn’t give up. That is my daughter. I know she has a good heart. She wouldn’t be normal yesterday and a stranger today. Something must have happened to cause this change. I just needed patience. Suddenly, the door clicked open. Maya walked out, trembling. “Scared…”

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I’m a small-time gaming streamer. I have zero mechanical skill, yet somehow, I’m on a massive winning streak. Even with my mods spamming gifted subs, my channel was pretty dead. That is, until I got matched against a pro player, and my viewer count exploded. But before I could even get excited about the clout, a loud crash came from my living room. Chat started spamming “LUL cat is destroying the house,” but I just picked up my sleeping kitty from my lap, held her up to the cam, and waved her paws. “Nope, Mittens is right here. I live alone.” The chat went dead silent for a solid minute. Then, the messages came flooding in: Who is in the living room? I calmly closed my eyes, did a quick mental reading, and said, “Oh, don’t worry. It’s just a serial killer.” Chat instantly exploded. They asked how I knew. I kept my eyes on the game, farming minions. “I manifested the answer.” Before chat could roast me for capping, the door behind me slowly creaked open. A man stood there, knife in hand, staring at me with dead, cold eyes. Chat screamed at me to run. I shrugged. “It’s fine. Let me win this match first. I’m laning against a pro.” Chat: “???” 1 I’m a variety streamer. Specifically, the kind who sucks at games but somehow never loses. My mechanics are trash—I flash into walls constantly—but I have an edge: I’m psychic. I literally predict when the enemy jungler is ganking, or exactly when they’ll start Baron. So, yeah, I win. I can’t help it. I’m the top prodigy of the mystic arts. I spent my whole youth studying the occult and working in the field. My only dream now is to be a degenerat—I mean, a gamer. Streaming is just a side hustle because my clients threatened to hunt me down if I didn’t give them a way to contact me. I refuse to go back to a 9-to-5 exorcism job. So, I stream. Thanks to my clients whaling on donations, I get on the front page sometimes, but I never really went viral. Until today. I queued up for a ranked match, and suddenly 50,000 people flooded the lobby. I thought my mods bought view-bots again, so I ignored it and locked in my champion. Halfway through the game, I noticed the chat warring. “This is sus. How does she know exactly when to dodge?” “First time? I’ve watched her for six months. She literally never loses.” “Scripting? Or is the enemy team wintrading?” “Are you dumb? Look who she’s playing against. That’s Cloud. You think a World Champion is wintrading for a 20-viewer Andy?” “True… if Cloud wasn’t on the enemy team, I wouldn’t even be here.” I glanced at the chat, did a quick calculation on my fingers, and giggled. “Oh, so that’s Cloud? Nice. Looks like I’m beating a pro today.” Chat immediately turned on me. “She’s hot, but delusional.” “Waste of a pretty face.” “You’re down 2k gold and think you’re gonna win? Stick to Just Chatting.” “Cloud is gonna stomp you. FF at 15.” 2 I ignored the haters and focused on my lane. I already foresaw the outcome. I’m winning this. Who’s gonna call me trash when I solo kill a World Champ? The trolls got bored when I didn’t rage bait, so a lot left. Only the loyal fans and the confused Cloud viewers stayed. Mid-game, someone typed: “It’s super loud on your end. What’s that banging?” “Does she have a dog?” “She has a black cat. Maybe it knocked over a shelf?” “LMAO go check, sounds like your apartment is getting wrecked.” I recalled to base to heal and saw the message. I picked up Mittens, my black cat sleeping on my lap, and held her up like Simba. “Mittens is asleep, guys. And I live alone.” Crash. Bang. The noise from the living room got louder. Like someone ransacking the place. Chat went silent. Then the panic set in. Who is out there? I kept farming. “Oh, that? Don’t worry. It’s just a serial killer.” Chaos. Absolute chaos. Maybe someone in Cloud’s chat mentioned it, because my viewer count doubled instantly. “??? Is this a bit? Lock the door! Call 911!” “She’s joking, right? How would she know it’s a serial killer without looking?” “Not funny. I almost called the cops.” “Is she okay in the head? Pretty privilege really lets you say anything.” “I came for the cat, leaving because of the cringe.” “Focus on the game, streamer. You don’t need to make up stories for clout.” I didn’t look away from the screen. “Huh? I’m not lying. I divined it.” Before chat could flame me again, the door behind me creaked open. In the webcam frame, a gap appeared. Then a face. Then a knife, glinting in the LED strip lights. 3 Chat went nuclear. “WTF” “Is that a paid actor??” “BEHIND YOU! LOOK BEHIND YOU!” “RUN! HE HAS A KNIFE! IT’S REAL!” “Forget the game! Someone doxx her so we can send the cops!” “She’s so calm… it has to be a skit.” “Bro, who skits a home invasion? Real or not, someone call the police!” “Wait, isn’t she in LA? There’s been a slasher news story recently… the guy hasn’t been caught.” “OMG IT’S HIM. I RECOGNIZE THE HOODIE.” “Stop playing! He’s inside!” “I can’t watch this.” I dodged a skill shot, glanced at the second monitor, and said flatly, “Chill. Let me win this. It’s Cloud.” Chat: “???” “Is she insane?! RUN!” “Brain damage confirmed.” “HE’S RAISING THE KNIFE!” “HELP HER!” The cam clearly showed the man creeping up. On screen, Cloud’s character stopped moving. He started typing in All Chat. C9_Cloud: Mid laner, drop your address. I’m calling 911. C9_Cloud: Don’t type it. Just say it. My stream is watching. We got you. 4 The game paused. Even my teammates stopped moving to ask what was happening. I sighed. “Fine. Guess we’re pausing.” I swiveled my chair around to face the man. He realized I was streaming. He saw his own face on my monitor, and the wall of text screaming POLICE. He laughed, a jagged, ugly sound. “Stupid bitch. Living alone with zero awareness. I’ve been in here for thirty minutes.” He gripped the knife tighter, veins popping. “Well, you showed my face. I can’t run now. So I’m gonna peel your skin off while your fans watch.” He looked terrifying. I wasn’t scared. I reached out and turned off the webcam. “Mittens. Sick ’em.” Chat couldn’t hear me anymore. They just saw the screen go black. The text scrolled so fast it was a blur: WHERE DOES SHE LIVE? SAVE HER! The killer looked at the tiny black cat by my feet and sneered. “The cat? Really? Go ahead and scream. I’m gonna leave you in pieces.” “Holy shit, this guy is psycho. I called the cops!” “Guys, Cloud says he lives in the same complex! He’s running down right now!” “Please be okay…” “Cloud better bring a bat or something.”

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I was born with a cursed mouth. The day my mom gave birth to my little brother, four-year-old me spoke the first sentence of my life: “Here comes the debt collector.” My dad heard it. He grabbed a sewing needle and pierced my lip. I bled so much. My Nana held me in her arms, heart broken, screaming at my dad, “She’s just a child! How could you?” I stared unblinkingly at my father and whispered, in a voice only Nana could hear: “He’s going to die.” The next day, my dad’s semi-truck jackknifed on the highway. By the time they found him, he was nothing but a pile of meat paste. 1. After Mom got the insurance payout, she took my baby brother and moved to Chicago, leaving me behind in the boonies with Nana. She said I cursed my father to death. She said I was a jinx, a bad seed. I stared at the baby in her arms and thought: But he’s the debt collector. Why is she blaming me? From that day on, I rarely saw my mother. The folks in our small town didn’t know I could speak. To them, I was just “The Mute.” Adults whispered it; kids shouted it. Some mean little boys would throw mud at me. “No daddy, no mommy, just a stray little mute! Get lost! We don’t play with freaks!” Children’s cruelty is pure and unfiltered. Nana would march to their houses, hands on her hips, and curse their parents out, but it didn’t change much. One day, when Nana came home, I was tending the wood stove. She pulled a first-grade reading book out of her canvas tote. She rubbed my head, her rough hands gentle. “Raven, honey, I helped Mrs. Gable clean her attic, and she gave me this instead of cash. Nana’s gonna teach you to read, okay?” I shook my head. I didn’t want to read. Counting ants was more fun. Nana, usually so gentle, got angry for the first time. Her eyes were sharp. “If you don’t want to learn, you don’t eat dinner. Think about it.” Two hours later, I found Nana and waved my hands frantically. I wanted to learn. Not because I had an epiphany, but because I realized if I didn’t read, Nana really wouldn’t feed me. I was hungry. Nana smiled, her face wrinkling up like a happy apple. She rushed to serve me stew. “I knew my Raven was smart. We start after supper.” From then on, Nana taught me a word a day. If she didn’t know it, she’d ask the neighbors. By the time I was eight, I knew hundreds of words. I communicated with Nana using a whiteboard I cherished like gold. Mom had thrown it out as trash when she moved; Nana had dug it out for me. Nana knew I could speak. She knew I just chose not to. She told everyone, “She’s just saving her words for something important.” 2. On the night of my twelfth birthday, Nana made me a huge bowl of longevity noodles. Two golden fried eggs sat on top, garnished with fresh greens from the garden. It looked perfect. I ate until my mouth was slick with oil, waving at Nana to eat too. She just watched me, smiling. “Eat up, Raven. Nana wants you healthy and to live a hundred years.” “You’re twelve now. What’s my big girl’s birthday wish?” I chewed on the end of my chopstick, thought for a moment, then grabbed my pen. I wrote, stroke by stroke: To be with Nana forever. To have a happy home. Inside, it was warm and loving. Outside, the wind howled, promising a storm. 3. Then came the knock at the door. I slurped a noodle, wondering who it could be. We didn’t have friends. A widow and a mute girl? People avoided us like we carried the plague. I peeked out and saw my mother. She dragged my brother, Caleb, inside and dumped her expensive bag on the heater. My heart leaped. Did Mom remember my birthday? Did she come back to celebrate? She saw me and the bowl of noodles. Her brows knitted together tight. “Today is your birthday?” Caleb tugged her hand. “Mom, I’m hungry. I want fried eggs too.” Mom ignored him. She just stared at me. I nodded, hope rising in my chest. Then, she lunged. Smack. She slapped me so hard I saw stars. “I knew it! I knew you were a curse! Why don’t you just die?” My face swelled instantly. Nana rushed in from the kitchen, saw me holding my face, and shoved Mom away. She hugged me tight. “What is wrong with you?! It’s Raven’s twelfth birthday! If you want to act crazy, get out!” Mom laughed and cried at the same time, collapsing on the floor, pointing a shaking finger at me. “This little bitch jinxed me, Ma!” “I was going to put a down payment on a condo tomorrow. But today? Today Caleb burned down the entire carport at our complex!” “I had to pay $30,000 in damages! Eight years of savings, gone! They kicked us out. We had to run back here overnight.” She looked at me through blurry tears. “What kind of demon are you? You cursed your dad to death, and now you’re destroying me and your brother. Why won’t you just die? Please, just die!” I was stunned by her screaming. Tears pooled in my eyes. I didn’t understand. Caleb set the fire. Why was it my fault? Nana pushed me gently. “Raven, take your brother to the back room to sleep. I need to talk to your mother.” I nodded and reached for Caleb’s hand. “Don’t touch my son, you mute freak!” Mom screamed. If anyone else had said that, Nana would have fought them. But this was her daughter. I lay in bed, tears soaking the pillow, unable to sleep. Late that night, Nana lay down beside me and pulled me into her arms. “Don’t blame your mom, Raven. She’s had a hard life.” The next day, I brushed my teeth and went to school as if nothing happened. I treated my mother like air. She hadn’t cared for me in years, only to come back and call me a freak? Fine. I only needed Nana. That woman wasn’t fit to be a mother. 4. Mom spent the next few days transferring Caleb to the village school and showing him off to relatives. Eight-year-old Caleb was a spoiled brat. He thought he was better than everyone because he came from the city. He sat under the big oak tree, showing off a toy. “My mom got this train from overseas. It’s expensive.” He pressed a button, and the train went Choo Choo and ran along the ground. Billy, the neighbor’s kid, drooled over it. “Caleb, let me play when you’re done?” Caleb sneered. “Get away. You dirty hillbilly, you’ll break it. Go play with mud.” Billy rolled his eyes. “I may be a hillbilly, but at least I don’t have a mute sister who kills her dad.” Billy started dancing around, chanting, “Caleb’s sister is a mute! The mute has a brother named Caleb!” Caleb flew into a rage. He grabbed a rock and smashed it into Billy’s head. “She’s the mute, not me! I don’t have a sister! Mom said she’s a debt collector, she should be dead!” “I’ll kill you! You dirty wild kid!” By the time the adults found them, Billy had a four-inch gash on his head. He needed fourteen stitches. That afternoon, I came home to a cold kitchen. When Nana and Mom finally dragged Caleb back, Mom twisted his ear and made him kneel. I did my homework, not looking up. “Why did you hit him with a rock?!” Mom screamed. “Do you know how much trouble I went through to get you into this school?” “Why can’t you behave? You won’t have any friends!” Caleb pointed at me, sobbing. “It’s her fault! They made fun of me because of her! Mom, you said she’s a debt collector, why isn’t she dead yet?” “I want Daddy! I don’t want a sister!” Nana’s face turned green. For the first time, she yelled at Caleb. “Your sister is not a debt collector! Raven is a good child!” Mom heard Caleb say it was my fault, and her anger shifted targets instantly. “Raven! Did I owe you something in a past life? Must you destroy me and your brother? Do you know how much I’ve suffered because of you?” I put my homework in my bag and looked at Caleb kneeling on the floor. His fat face had no childish innocence. Just snot and malice squeezing out of his piggy eyes. His mouth was wide open, wailing. I couldn’t articulate my disgust. So I spoke. “Then let the real debt collector be childless and die before he turns sixteen.” My voice was raspy from disuse, but the curse rang clear in the small room. Nana rushed over and covered my mouth. “Raven! Don’t say such things! There are no debt collectors in this family!” She started bowing to the empty air, like she was possessed. “Child’s words, no harm meant! God, please don’t listen to her nonsense! I apologize on her behalf!” Nana slammed her head against the floor until it bruised. I tried to stop her, but she pulled me down. “Raven, kneel! Tell God you were just talking nonsense!” I stubbornly kept my mouth shut. I was the mute again. Mom laughed coldly. “Ma, if she dares to curse him, let’s see if God opens his eyes.” “Don’t worry. If this little bitch dies, you still have me, and you have your precious grandson. We’ll take care of you.” Nana ignored her, shaking my shoulders. “Raven, take it back!” I shook my head. A word spoken is a word bound. Disappointed, Nana slapped me. It was the first time she ever hit me. I didn’t want to cry in front of Mom. I held back the tears and ran out the door.

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After a full year of flaming each other online, that piece of trash finally cracked. He found an excuse to surrender first: “I’m married, okay? I have to go home and cook for my wife. I don’t have the energy to deal with a psycho like you anymore. Please just block me.” I laughed out loud and typed back: “LMAO. Who would marry a defect like you? Your brain is smoother than a chicken breast. Save the lies for someone who cares.” I was merciless. I felt like I owned the internet today. “Heh. Sorry to disappoint you, but I really do have a wife. And she’s dead gorgeous.” Then, he dropped a photo right in the chat. In the picture, a handsome guy with thick brows and big eyes was standing next to a woman who looked incredibly familiar. Wait a second. Isn’t that me? Isn’t that the photo I took with my crush right before we flash-married? [Why aren’t you replying? Intimidated by her beauty?] [Next time you want to roast someone, look in a mirror first.] [You aren’t even in her league.] [Middle Finger Emoji] The lunatic on the other end kept provoking me. But I just stared at the screen, zooming in on the photo again. The beautiful couple in the picture was undeniably me and my new husband, Luke. But how could this toxic, keyboard-smashing troll be my gentle, virtuous husband? It’s impossible. This hater must have hacked my phone. That has to be it! Clinging to a shred of hope, I typed: [Is that the only photo you have?] [Probably stole it from somewhere.] One second later. He spammed me with ten more photos. All identical to the ones in my private album. Some were candid shots of me taken from his perspective—photos even I didn’t have. [You really will say anything to cope, you sewer rat. Your life must suck if you have to project this hard.] [Look. Here’s the braised ribs I made her. The tofu salad. The shrimp…] [Has anyone ever cooked for you? Or are you eating instant noodles in your mom’s basement?] [Well? Look in my eyes!] [Answer me!] His tone was so arrogant he was practically ascending to heaven. Meanwhile, my heart plummeted straight to hell. I flash-married my secret crush, only to find out he’s the internet troll I’ve been fighting with for a year. We haven’t even been married as long as we’ve been enemies. [Get lost!] He kept spamming, bragging about his life. I sent those two words and blocked him. At 5:15 PM, my husband came home half an hour early. Luke was bending over to change his shoes. I leaned back on the sofa, tilting my head to study him. He was wearing a crisp white shirt and black slacks. Tall, broad shoulders, narrow waist. Thanks to his gym habits, his muscles were perfectly defined, his skin fair. His face was the real killer. Peach-blossom eyes, high nose bridge—he looked like a top-tier K-pop idol. When my friend introduced us, she said he was an Ivy League grad, top-tier IQ and looks. Most importantly, he was a great cook, gentle, and polite. He was exactly my type: the perfect “malewife” material. Looking at his face, I believed it. While we were dating, Luke’s acting was Oscar-worthy. Not a single crack in the mask. He never swore. Not once. One time, I saw a dirty slang term online and forwarded it to him. He video-called me, looking genuinely confused, asking what it meant. “Touch grass? Is that about gardening?” The man on the screen shook his head, looking so innocent and unworldly. I felt guilty for corrupting him. “Oh, it’s just internet slang. Not a nice word. Don’t worry about it.” In reality? I checked our chat logs from that day. He not only understood it immediately, he clapped back with: [Your brain is so smooth I could go ice skating on it.] Thinking about it now… this man is a master manipulator. Luke carried a bag of shrimp into the kitchen. After washing his hands, he trotted over to me like a golden retriever. “Riley, you said you liked the shrimp last time. I left work early to get the freshest ones today.” I lifted my eyelids and gave him a tight smile. “That must have been trouble for you.” He looked at me, eyes crinkling with a smile. He crouched down and took my hand. “It’s never trouble. Cooking for you is my blessing.” No, no, no. I can’t accept that. My “blessing” is apparently eating instant noodles in a basement. “Alright, go cook.” I pushed Luke’s shoulder. I didn’t want to see him acting cute. I used to think it was adorable. Now I just marveled at his commitment to the bit. That night, Luke reached out as usual to hook his arm around my waist, pulling me into his embrace. I stared at the dark ceiling and suddenly asked: “Do you know what a ‘sewer rat’ is?” He let out a confused hum through his nose. “Hmm? What’s that? Some kind of mutant ninja turtle thing?” He sounded so serious. I almost laughed out loud. “You really don’t know?” “Wifey, I really don’t. Tell me?” “Forget it. Let go, it’s hot.” I rolled over, taking the duvet with me, rolling all the way to the edge of the bed. Luke let out a soft “Oh” and lay flat, behaving himself. But a few minutes later, I heard rustling behind me. I turned my head. Hot breath tickled my ear. Luke had scooted over to the edge, chasing me. “Why are you so close?” “Move over.” In the dark, I couldn’t see his face, but his voice was dripping with grievance. “Why?” “You’re too close. I’m hot.” I was getting impatient. “I’ll turn on the AC, okay?” Luke spoke cautiously, terrified of making me angry. “No need. Just scoot over.” Thinking about his arrogant attitude in our DM war, I was still fuming. “Okay.” Luke pulled the blanket up to my stomach, patted me gently, and turned over. Now, we were back to back, a demilitarized zone of three feet between us. I thought I’d feel better, but I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned until 3 AM. Suddenly, a dim light glowed behind me. Luke wasn’t asleep either. He was looking at his phone. Curiosity got the better of me. I turned slightly and peeked. In the search bar, a glaring title: [Why is my wife suddenly cold to me after marriage?] The AI-generated summary at the top had two words: [She’s cheating.] Me: “?” What kind of brain-dead AI is this? Luke turned off his phone. I closed my eyes, pretending to sleep. A few minutes later, I heard the sound of tissues being pulled. Then, soft, stifled sobs drifted into my ears. No way. He actually believed it? He believes whatever the AI says? I should sell him oceanfront property in Arizona when we’re old. After a sleepless night, I was dozing off at my desk. I hadn’t even opened the file my boss sent. My phone pinged. A private message on that app. I flinched. I didn’t want to click it. This was the alt account I used exclusively to fight with Luke. We didn’t follow each other. A sudden DM meant my “old friend” was big mad about being blocked. I clicked it. A giant middle finger emoji filled the screen. Called it. Luke, using a blank username, demanded: [Did you doxx me?] Me: [?] [Are you drunk?] [Ever since I sent you my wife’s photo yesterday, she’s been giving me the cold shoulder. She’s never been like this.] [What does that have to do with me?] At least he has some brains. He didn’t stick with the cheating theory. [Stop pretending.] [Did you find her contact info? Did you send her screenshots of our chats?] I watched the “typing…” bubble and felt a sudden urge to play with him. [Wow, you’re smart. So what if I did? Did we talk about anything we shouldn’t have?] Five minutes later, Luke folded. [My wife doesn’t like aggressive people.] [Look, I’ll transfer you a few thousand dollars. You clarify things. Tell her the account in the screenshots isn’t me.] I stared at the phone, speechless. He slid to his knees so fast. He knows exactly what “type” I like, so he wants to keep scamming me. Can’t he just be himself? Is he addicted to roleplaying the innocent flower boy? [Fine.] I went with the flow. [Name a place. I’ll have my secretary bring a contract. You sign, take the money, and explain that the account isn’t me.] Wow, so professional. I checked my business trip schedule for next week and sent a location. [Fine. But I want you to come personally. Otherwise, I will forward every word you’ve typed in the last year to your wife.] Luke: [You psycho, you aren’t going to assassinate me, are you?] Me: [Bring two bodyguards if you’re scared.] I unblocked his account. I honestly forgot how our feud started. Eventually, arguing became a habit. Opening the app and insulting him was like clocking in for work. I clicked on his profile. Man, I discovered a new continent. I was so busy fighting him I never noticed he had posts. One was from last year, back when we were strangers. The first GIF was him getting a tongue piercing. The shiny stud glinted under the light. My pupils dilated. Hiss. WTF? He had a tongue piercing?! Doesn’t that hurt? Just looking at it made my tongue numb. Scroll to the next one. Two slender fingers holding a lit cigarette. Didn’t he say he hates smoking? Scroll to the bottom. A glass of whiskey on a desk. Didn’t he say he doesn’t drink? Luke, you smoke and drink in private? You’re just playing the white rabbit in front of me? I never expected the perfect househusband to be this wild. Just then, a WeChat message popped up. [Wifey, are you off work? I’m downstairs waiting for you.] Looking at his “Lotus Flower” profile picture and his bio—”Heaven Rewards the Diligent”—my exasperation deepened. He loves sending me “Boomer” style memes with giant text. I genuinely thought Luke was an old soul who barely used the internet. Now I highly suspect his sticker pack is full of dank memes. [Coming.] I locked my phone and went downstairs. In the elevator, I met my colleague, Kevin. “Hey! I was just about to call you. Director Liu is treating us to dinner tonight. Come along.” “Ah, pass. My husband is picking me up.” “Perfect! Bring him along. We’ll drink him under the table!” “No, no, my husband doesn’t…” Wait. Drinking? “Okay. Sure. No problem.” Luke sat to my right. He kept attentively putting food on my plate. My colleagues took the chance to tease: “Riley’s husband looks so scholarly. I wonder if he can handle a few drinks with us roughnecks.” Usually, I would intervene. No, my husband doesn’t touch alcohol. Not a drop. But today? I stayed silent. Under the table, Luke’s hand tugged at my sleeve. He shook it gently. I looked into his panicked, reserved eyes. “Drink a little. It’s fine. I’ll drive tonight.” He looked at me pitifully, his long lashes fluttering like a victim. Then, he picked up the glass, frowned, and took a tiny, tentative sip. “Hey, that’s not enough! Bro, are you looking down on me? Bottoms up!” Kevin is a drunkard. He loves pressuring people. Luke wasn’t getting out of here without downing a few. After the fifth full glass, Luke downed it in one gulp. The guys opposite him were already shaking their heads, saying they tapped out. I heard Luke set his glass down. Clink. Then his head hit the table. “Luke?” “Wake up.” I pulled his arm, gently patting his slightly flushed cheek. “Hmm?”

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I accidentally witnessed a murder scene from my balcony. The killer had just delivered two solid thwacks to the victim with a baseball bat. He looked up and saw me standing there, sipping boba tea. From a distance, he counted the floors to my apartment, then flashed me an OK sign. Then, right in front of me, he raised the bat high, ready to savor the final blow. And I, casually, pulled out my slingshot. 1 The rain was torrential tonight. The victim was still conscious, struggling to raise a fist into the air. I couldn’t hear her, but she was probably calling for help. But that gesture only excited the killer more. My presence as a “witness” added an extra layer of thrill for him. Like a gourmet murder feast cooked to perfection, now garnished with a surprise seasoning. Seeing him deliberately pose for the strike, I knew his dominance satisfaction had peaked. Damn it. He actually made me part of his play. I casually picked a smooth pebble from a flower pot and pulled back the elastic band of my slingshot. 2 Thwack. A direct hit to the killer’s wrist. The baseball bat dropped from his hand. I pulled back the slingshot again. Thwack. The second pebble landed by his feet. Then the third, the fourth… He picked up the weapon and tried to run. I slowly pulled the band to its limit, firing three stones at once. The killer went down. I immediately called my best friend, Jane, who lives upstairs, and told her to grab her first aid kit and get downstairs. When I saw the victim’s face clearly, I froze for a second. How is it her again? 3 The girl’s name is Shay, my downstairs neighbor. Besides being tonight’s victim, she’s also the sole survivor of another serial killer case. I knew this because I have a hobby of collecting files on major criminal cases. That case happened ten years ago. The killer was a fisherman who targeted teenage girls. He would usually keep the victims on his boat, torture them for seven days, kill them, and dump the bodies at sea. Shay was only eighteen that year. I couldn’t find details on what she went through. All I know is that she managed to kill the murderer, drifted at sea for three days, and survived. This girl… she’s unlucky, but tough as nails. 4 Currently. Jane shouted twice: “Shay! Shay?!” Shay had lost consciousness. Jane turned to me, panicked. “Eve, she’s losing a lot of blood!” Yes, that was the strange part. The killer was holding a baseball bat, but she didn’t have many blunt force injuries. Instead, she had multiple stab wounds. The heavy rain washed away the blood, making it hard to find the source. I didn’t have time to think. I carried her into the lobby. Once we opened her clothes, Jane gasped. This girl had at least a dozen knife wounds. One was a slash right across her head. In this condition, most people would have passed out long ago, let alone fought back or ran. And she had very few defensive wounds. It seemed she had ignored the knife and attacked aggressively, with considerable skill. She’s smart. She knew that if someone is determined to kill you, curling up and defending gives you a zero percent survival rate. I pried open her tightly clenched fist and saw the killer’s flesh under her fingernails. She also knew that only by touching the killer as much as possible could she leave his traces on herself. Like this handful of DNA. 5 The rain was too heavy earlier to judge blood loss. Just as we stopped the bleeding from the major wounds, Jane suddenly said, “She’s stopped breathing!” I immediately started CPR. Whether she lives or dies now is up to fate. Fortunately, the police and ambulance arrived quickly. Jane ran out into the rain to guide them. Then I heard a scream: “Eve! The killer is gone!” Paramedics rushed in to take over, and I ran out to look. Sure enough, the killer who had collapsed in the rain was gone. Also missing were the baseball bat and the six pebbles I shot. This just got interesting. 6 The police didn’t find it interesting. The lead detective, a woman named Jo, frowned so hard she could have crushed a fly. After a brief questioning, she determined the killer might not have gone far and ordered a search. The heavy rain was washing away evidence fast; every second counted. Shay was loaded onto the ambulance, still receiving CPR. When they put her on the ventilator, I knew she would survive. She lived alone, no family or friends seen, so Jane went with her to the hospital. The police came to my apartment to collect evidence, mainly checking the vantage point. Before I knew it, dawn broke. The good news: Jane called to say Shay survived. The bad news: The golden window for catching the killer had passed. They didn’t find him. 7 That afternoon, Detective Jo brought people to my apartment to check surveillance footage. Unfortunately, the complex’s cameras “coincidentally” malfunctioned last night. Shay worked as a cashier at a nearby convenience store. She was on the night shift. The police pieced together what they could from the store to the complex. 1:30 AM: Store footage showed Shay suddenly running out in terror. 1:41 AM: Complex footage showed Shay running in the rain. 1:45 AM: Shay collided with a man in black wearing a cap. They seemed to clash, he chased her, and they both vanished from the camera’s view. Next was me deciding to watch the rain from my balcony at 2:24 AM. The camera there was broken. The whole thing looked strange, like a random violent conflict. But what conflict makes someone determined to kill her? She fought the killer for 39 minutes! Detective Jo asked, “Ms. Eve, is this the man you saw last night?” The cap guy appeared for only 7 seconds. I pretended to check carefully before saying, “I’m not sure.” Jo: “Why?” “He didn’t have that bat in his hand.” Although Shay had knife wounds, I definitely saw a baseball bat. That’s not something you just keep in your pocket or find on the ground. “There’s no baseball culture in this city. Not even a batting cage.” Carrying a knife “coincidentally” is plausible. Carrying a baseball bat “coincidentally” is absurd. This was the killer’s “ritual.” So, this was likely a premeditated murder. And there were at least two killers. One with a knife, one with a bat. I watched Detective Jo. Clearly, she wasn’t surprised, just very disappointed. 8 But if it was premeditated, it’s hard to explain why Shay suddenly ran out of the store. There was no one around her, no sound. Jo said, “We’re arranging a tox screen and checking for mental health history.” A reasonable deduction. But if that’s the case, the killer couldn’t control when she left the store. I said, “There’s something that might help. Shay is a survivor of the ‘Deep Sea Butcher’ case.” Jo stiffened. The “Deep Sea Butcher.” Every cop learns about it in the academy. It’s famous not just for the case itself, but for the legendary survivor. 9 Jo reacted quickly. That same day, I saw police searching the convenience store extensively. What cameras can’t record is smell. As a survivor, Shay’s case has been studied to death. She spent 7+3 days at sea with rotting fish and a decomposing corpse. Her file says: PTSD. Intense fear and panic attacks triggered by the smell of fish or rot. Long-term avoidance behavior. Simulating that smell isn’t hard. Combined with the rain, one could use water-soluble trimethylamine hydrochloride crystals mixed with a strong base like sodium hydroxide. Reacts with rainwater. I collect case files because I have a secret hobby. I hunt criminals. Now, I’m waiting for the police to finish. I want to see if this killer suits my taste. 10 At 11 PM, Jane was still at the hospital. She called and asked me to check on Shay’s pets on the 9th floor. I asked, “Is Shay awake?” She said no, it was Shay’s neighbor across the hall, Mimi, who reminded her. “The dog is Bright, the cat is Skip. Clean the litter, walk the dog. Food is in the cabinet under the desk…” I went downstairs while taking notes. Shay’s apartment was small, but it took effort to find the pets. They were huddled in a corner of the sofa, terrified. Bright was blind. Skip was lame. Their bowls were full. They hadn’t eaten since last night. Jane: “Probably rescues. Shay is such a homebody, being gone for a day must be terrifying for them.” I stayed silent.

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I pretended to be the long-lost heiress to a billionaire family. The family was just about to kick me out. Suddenly, a stream of floating comments, like a live chat, drifted across everyone’s vision: [Don’t kick her out! Sophie really is your biological child!] [Lisa is the fake! She acts innocent, but she’s plotting to steal the family fortune and kill everyone!] [Even worse, Lisa is manipulating her ‘brother’s’ feelings. The Sterling family is being played like fiddles!] Everyone could see the comments—except Lisa. What they didn’t know was that I was bound to a “Live Stream System.” I was the one sending the comments. My goal? To avenge my dead mother and cousin. 1 The moment the comments appeared, the faces of Lisa’s “parents” and “brother” changed. A heavy silence fell over the room. “What does this mean? I did a DNA test with Lisa. She is my daughter,” Mr. Sterling said, frowning. Lisa, oblivious to the floating text, pointed a finger at my nose and screamed. “How can someone be so shameless? Randomly claiming people as parents! Mom, Dad, kick her out right now!” The brother, Luke, looked bewildered. He looked at me, then at his mother. “Mom… why does she look exactly like you did when you were young?” Mr. Sterling nodded in agreement. “It is uncanny. Let her stay. We’ll do a DNA test first.” Lisa exploded. “Mom! Dad! Are you doubting me? This is so hurtful!” She stomped her foot and ran upstairs, yelling over her shoulder, “Fine! I’ll make room for her since I’m just an eyesore now!” Mrs. Sterling gave me a long look, then instructed the maid to show me to a guest room before rushing upstairs to comfort Lisa. I lowered my eyes, acting like a child who had done something wrong. “Actually,” I whispered, “I just wanted to see what my biological parents looked like. Since you already have a daughter, I won’t disturb you. Seeing you once is enough for me.” Through the system, I sent another wave of comments: [OMG, the real heiress is heartbreaking. She’s too soft!] [How can Sophie be so humble? It’s not her fault she was switched at birth and lived a hard life without knowing her parents.] [You can’t blame Mr. and Mrs. Sterling. Lisa showed up at ten years old with a fake DNA test. They’ve raised her for eight years; they have feelings for her.] I turned to leave, but Mr. Sterling called out. “Sophie, was it? Stay.” Mrs. Sterling grabbed my hand, her eyes scanning my face. The more she looked, the more she saw herself. “Resemblance… the resemblance is undeniable.” Inside, I sneered. Of course I looked like her. My makeup skills were god-tier. Making myself look like her younger self was a piece of cake. Her attitude softened completely compared to moments ago. “If you really are my daughter, I promise you won’t suffer anymore.” I played the obedient girl perfectly. Luke and Lisa had a deep sibling bond. When I moved in, he warned me, “Real or fake, you better be polite to my sister.” They collected my hair for a DNA test. I wasn’t afraid. The hair I gave them belonged to my cousin, who had been dead for eight years. And my cousin was Mr. Sterling’s biological daughter. 2 My aunt was Mr. Sterling’s first love. But for the sake of the family business, he married Mrs. Sterling instead. He wanted my aunt to be his mistress. She refused and left him. She didn’t know she was pregnant. When she gave birth, she was in the same hospital as Mrs. Sterling. Mrs. Sterling’s friend switched the babies. Later, that friend told my aunt the secret. Lisa overheard it. She went to the Sterling family, claimed to be the lost daughter, and used a fake DNA test. After the switch, Lisa resented my cousin for “stealing” her life as a rich miss for ten years. She bullied my cousin relentlessly, eventually driving her to suicide. My aunt nearly went insane. Later, Mrs. Sterling found out my aunt was Mr. Sterling’s first love. Terrified they would reconnect, she hired men to assault my aunt. But they got the wrong person. They grabbed my mother instead. My mother was humiliated and tortured to death. My father and I searched for days, only to find her naked body in an abandoned building. The pain was unbearable. Even worse, the men took the fall to protect Mrs. Sterling. If Lisa hadn’t bragged about it to a friend while I was within earshot, the truth would have been buried forever. I hated Mrs. Sterling and Lisa to my core. Then, I bound with the Bullet Screen System. I came to the Sterling house for revenge. Why should the perpetrators live a life of luxury? 3 Mrs. Sterling spent half the day coaxing Lisa. At dinner, I sat opposite her. She held her head high, looking down her nose at me. “Fake is fake. When the results come back, get out of my house.” Since returning to the Sterling family, Mrs. Sterling felt guilty and spoiled Lisa rotten. Lisa had become increasingly arrogant. I squeezed out two tears and forced a smile. “I’m sorry my presence bothers you, sister. I just wanted to feel the warmth of a family. No need to wait for the results. I’ll leave tomorrow. Seeing Mom and Dad was enough.” Luke shuddered. “Such a ‘pick-me’ girl. Definitely not my sister.” I wiped a tear. “I… I’m not a ‘pick-me’.” I looked devastated. Mrs. Sterling spoke up. “Sophie, Lisa is just straightforward. Don’t take it to heart.” It was normal for them to be skeptical before the results came out. Luke opened his mouth to scold me again, but the comments floated by: [Heartbroken for Sophie. She’s the real daughter but treated like an outsider.] [Keep defending Lisa, Luke. When she tries to seduce you later, don’t come crying to us!] [Lisa calling someone else a ‘pick-me’? Did she forget how she acted when she first arrived? Crying constantly, acting like the cousin bullied her.] My cousin was the one mentioned. Luke’s face turned red. He muttered, “What the hell? Seduce me? No way…” Mr. Sterling looked sternly at Lisa. “Until the results are in, be polite to Sophie!” “Dad! She’s fake! Why wait? Look at how much I look like Mom!” She did look like Mrs. Sterling. But she didn’t look a thing like Mr. Sterling. “Shut up. Since when do you give orders?” Mr. Sterling’s eyes were cold. “You were so sweet when you came at ten. Now you’re spoiled rotten.” “Dad…” Mrs. Sterling tried to mediate, tugging Lisa’s sleeve. “Whether she’s my daughter or not, I won’t let you leave.” Lisa looked incredulous. “Mom, what do you mean? I am your daughter! This random girl says two words and you doubt me? Do you have no judgment?” They had judgment. But my comments were interfering, making them doubt themselves. [Look at her arrogance, challenging Mr. Sterling. She won’t hesitate to destroy the family later.] [Mr. Sterling is such a pushover, letting an adopted daughter scream at him.] [What a coward.] [If my daughter yelled at me like that, I’d slap her.] I cursed Mr. Sterling internally, and the system translated it into comments. Mr. Sterling slammed his chopsticks on the table. “Lisa! If you can’t eat properly, get out!” 4 Lisa’s eyes turned red. “Dad, you’re yelling at me for this impostor?” The atmosphere was heavy. Mr. Sterling looked imposing. “Look at your sharp tongue. Where are your manners?” “I’m being bullied in my own home, and you talk about manners?” Mrs. Sterling pulled Lisa. “Don’t fight your father. Eat quickly, you’ll be late for school.” Seeing no one was on her side, Lisa swallowed her anger. She stood up to leave without eating. Angry already? What a fragile princess. I acted nervous about their fight. Mr. Sterling put food in my bowl. “Ignore her. Eat.” I wiped a tear, ate the food, and looked at him gratefully. “It’s delicious. Thank you, Dad.” [Mr. Sterling is a boss!] [So satisfying seeing that fake get scolded.] [Hope he keeps protecting Sophie. Poor little thing.] Compared to the bratty Lisa, my obedience softened their hearts. Mr. Sterling looked at the butler. “Old Zhou, drive Sophie to school.” Lisa’s eyes widened. “Dad! Old Zhou is mine and Luke’s driver! Can’t someone else take her?” Mr. Sterling wiped his mouth slowly. “Today, you learn who makes the rules in this house.” Lisa glared at me. “You green tea bitch. Wait until the results come out. You’re dead.” As I got in the car, I waved at Lisa. “Bye, sister! Dad is so thoughtful!” Watching her stomp her foot in rage felt amazing. This is just the beginning, Lisa. The DNA results came back in less than a day. It was exactly what Mr. Sterling expected, but not what he wanted. He called me immediately. 5 In the coffee shop, Mr. Sterling tapped the table, eyes sharp. “Tell me, who is your mother? The results say you are only related to me.” I looked up, eyes brimming with tears. “My mom is Cherry Mo. I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean to disturb your happiness. I just missed you.” Cherry Mo was my aunt. Hearing the name, Mr. Sterling froze. “Cherry…” I let the tears fall. “One night, Mom was drunk, crying over your photo. That’s how I knew. I didn’t come for anything. I just wanted to see you.” His gaze turned tender. “Child, don’t say that. I haven’t been a father to you all these years. Stay. Let me make it up to you.” “But Mrs. Sterling won’t agree.” “Don’t worry about that. I have a plan. How… does your stepfather treat you?” My aunt never married. To avoid Mr. Sterling, she cut contact with everyone, including my mom. Until Lisa switched places with my cousin, and my aunt returned to the city. Ironically, they missed each other like characters in a bad drama. After my cousin’s suicide, my aunt tried to jump into the river. Mr. Sterling saved her. They met again. He wanted to rekindle their romance. Mrs. Sterling found out and ordered the hit. Thinking of my mother’s brutal death, I clenched my fists under the table. “Mom says she only loved one man in her life. She’d rather be a single mother than marry just anyone.” He was stunned. “Really? Last year, she told me she was happily married and told me not to bother her. She lied… She’s still hiding from me.” He rambled on about their past love. Finally, he ordered his assistant to forge a DNA test showing I was related to Mrs. Sterling too. So I could enter the house legitimately.

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