I was kept as a caged bird for ten years. Until the day I died, he never once promised me a wedding. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to ten years ago. To avoid repeating the nightmare, the very first thing I did after my rebirth was track down his future arch-nemesis. At this moment, the man was still just a broke, grease-stained mechanic. I slapped my debit card onto the table. “Marry me. After we’re married, you get my entire paycheck!” The man gritted his teeth. “For two grand a month, you’ve got a deal.” 1 I proposed to Jake Miller. At that moment, the man had a cigarette dangling from his lips. “What exactly do you see in me?” I thought about it for a long time before squeezing out, “You’re handsome?” “Heh.” His scoff made my face burn bright red. I gathered my courage and asked, “So, is that a yes?” Jake didn’t say anything. He just stared at me intently. It was as if he could see right through my little scheme. I braced myself and met his gaze, hoping he could see my sincerity. After a long silence, he smiled. With a careless, cynical drawl, he replied, “A wife delivering herself right to my door? Why wouldn’t I say yes?” And just like that, I got married. On the second day after traveling back in time. Clutching the marriage license in my pocket, a deep sense of unreality washed over me. I had actually met Jake in my past life. It was during my seventh year of being locked away by Carter Sterling. I had escaped from the mansion, completely penniless. Wandering the streets, I ran into Jake. By then, he was already a renowned, incredibly successful entrepreneur. Impeccably dressed, he carried a ruthless aura that warned strangers to stay away. I begged him to save me. Jake helped arrange a safe house for me and provided a plane ticket out of the country. But eventually, Carter still found me. Unwilling to dwell on those dark memories, I looked up at Jake and asked, “Where to next?” “Taking you home.” I blinked, surprised. “Didn’t we… just get married?” “So?” “So, weren’t you planning to… take me to our home?” 2 Jake lived in a half-finished apartment complex. The roof hadn’t even been fully sealed yet. The place was swarming with construction workers coming and going. “I used to do day labor here and got to know the site manager. Until the building is officially handed over, I’m crashing here to save on rent,” Jake explained voluntarily, probably noticing the confusion in my eyes. The apartment was raw, bare-concrete industrial style. Aside from a canvas camp cot, it was completely empty. The bathroom didn’t even have a flushing toilet, and the shower was just a single cold-water spigot protruding from the wall. Jake looked at me. “Regretting it? It’s not too late to run.” “I don’t regret it.” I set my suitcase to the side. “Are we both sleeping on this tonight? The bed seems a little small.” Jake narrowed his eyes. “It’s big enough.” When night fell, I lay on Jake’s camp cot. The man had casually laid out a couple of newspapers and lay down on the hard concrete floor. There were no curtains, and the bright moonlight poured right through the glass. “Jake, are you asleep?” “Yeah.” Worried he’d catch a cold sleeping on the concrete, I scooted over to one edge of the cot. “Do you want to come up and sleep here?” The bed was narrow, but if we squeezed, we could make it work. A few seconds passed before Jake replied, “If I go up there, you can forget about sleeping.” I gripped my blanket tighter. “I don’t mind.” The moment the words left my mouth, Jake lunged onto the cot and hovered over me like a beast granted permission. Caught off guard, I instinctively turned my head away. The weight above me lifted slightly. In the moonlight, I saw a trace of mockery on Jake’s face. “If you can’t go through with it, don’t play games. I’m a simple guy; I tend to take things seriously.” Saying that, he moved to get back down onto his newspapers. Realizing his intention, I grabbed the hem of his shirt. My fingers slipped through the fabric, brushing against his skin. Jake shuddered, a dark, complex emotion flashing in his eyes as he looked down at me. I bit my lip hard. “I really am willing.” Terrified he would say no, my hand recklessly traced a line across his stomach. Jake’s eyes darkened instantly. “You’re out of chances to back out now.” Unlike the gym-sculpted muscles Carter used to flaunt. Jake’s body was naturally tanned from years of manual labor. His core was rock-solid, his entire frame radiating raw power. Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore. He only stopped when I was sobbing and trembling. He roughly kissed away my tears and muttered, “So delicate.” His tone sounded almost dissatisfied. My whole body was aching terribly, and instead of comforting me, he had scolded me for no reason. I got upset, turning on my side and refusing to look at him. The man didn’t try to coax me. He got out of bed and walked off somewhere. Clutching the blanket, the more I thought about it, the more wronged I felt. In my past life, I was kept as Carter’s caged bird for ten years. It was only through death that I finally found freedom. I thought heaven had taken pity on me by giving me a second chance. I hadn’t expected Jake to act like a completely different person. Just as I was crying, a hot towel was suddenly pressed against my face. I didn’t know when Jake had returned, but he was holding a plastic basin and a steaming towel. “Crying?” I refused to admit it. “No.” Jake clumsily wiped my face, then turned to wring out the towel. “What are you doing?” “There’s no hot water here, so you can’t shower. A wipe-down will make you feel better.” My skin did feel sticky and uncomfortable. Forgetting my anger, I blushed and tried to grab the towel. “I can do it myself.” “Stay put.” Ignoring my protests, Jake pulled back the blanket and applied the hot towel. A moment later, I heard his voice. “Stop being mad. I’ll go easier next time, alright?” His voice carried a hint of awkwardness. The heat rushed to my cheeks, and the corners of my mouth curled up. I pulled the blanket up to hide my face. 3 When I woke up the next morning, Jake was already fully dressed. Two breakfast buns sat on a low, makeshift table. I had no idea when he had gone out to buy them. “I boiled some water. Finish washing up, and I’ll drop you off at work.” “It’s fine, I can go by myself.” Jake shot me a look. “There are a lot of construction workers around here. It’s not safe for a little girl like you to walk alone.” Then he added, “Call me when you get off work tonight. I’ll pick you up.” As I sluggishly washed up, I finally noticed the debit card sitting on the table. It was the same one I had given Jake when I proposed yesterday. “You forgot your card.” Jake barely glanced at it. “Keep it. I haven’t sunk so low that I need to live off a woman’s money.” Liar. He was clearly broke. Since he didn’t want it, I didn’t argue. I mentally calculated that maybe I could use the savings to rent us a better apartment. Or, if Jake refused to move, at least buy a real bed. Even though I didn’t have the “golden cage” from my past life, looking at Jake made me feel an inexplicable sense of security. That good mood lasted all the way to work. As soon as I walked into the teachers’ office, Lily Evans strutted over, looking secretive. “Maya, I’ve got great news for you!” She lowered her voice. “My cousin has his eye on you.” Me: ? She pulled me aside conspiratorially. “My cousin isn’t just anybody. He’s incredibly handsome, has a great personality, and graduated from Harvard. His dad is literally a billionaire. So many rich heiresses throw themselves at him, and he doesn’t bat an eye. But yesterday, he suddenly asked me to set up a blind date with you.” Lily’s eyes sparkled. “Girl, your golden ticket has arrived!” Harvard grad. Billionaire father. A name instantly exploded in my mind. My face drained of color. Controlling my expression, I used the most polite tone I could muster to decline. “You might have to apologize to your cousin for me. I don’t have that kind of luck. I’m already married.” Lily didn’t believe me. “We’ve been coworkers for a year. You’ve never even had a boyfriend. How could you suddenly be married?” “It’s true. We got the license, just haven’t had the ceremony yet. I’ll send you an invitation when we do.” I forced a smile. “I have two classes back-to-back right now. I need to head to the classroom.” With that, I quickly walked away. It wasn’t until I stepped out of the office that all the strength seemed to leave my body. Carter Sterling. In my past life, he definitely hadn’t appeared this early. Why was he showing up so far in advance? And how did he know Lily and I taught at the same elementary school? My hands and feet turned ice cold. I comforted myself with the thought that in this life, I was already married. I already had Jake. I would absolutely never repeat the same mistakes. 4 Carter’s premature appearance definitely threw off my mood. I was distracted all day. My right eyelid wouldn’t stop twitching. I had a sinking feeling something was about to happen. Sure enough, the moment I walked out of the school gates after work, I saw a black SUV parked right in front. The logo was flashy and arrogant. Spotting me, the man stepped out of the vehicle, holding a massive bouquet of roses. “Miss Brooks.” He called out to me, introducing himself with a polished smile. “Forgive the intrusion. I’m Carter Sterling, Lily’s cousin.” The sidewalk was crowded with students heading home and parents picking up their kids. Carter’s bouquet of roses was glaringly conspicuous. Some people recognized me and started clapping, cheering for me to say yes. My face turned pale. “What do you want?” “Don’t be nervous. I just wanted to get to know you,” Carter said, the corners of his mouth lifting. “I happened to see you while waiting for Lily a while back, and I felt a very strong connection. I know I showed up uninvited today. Don’t feel pressured; just treat it as making a new friend.” Even though Carter was playing the part perfectly, I could still sense the crazy, obsessive gleam in his eyes. In my moment of helplessness, I suddenly spotted Jake in the corner. He was straddling a beat-up motorcycle, a cigarette hanging from his lips, watching me with a sideways glance. He looked entirely unbothered, as if none of this had anything to do with him. Like a drowning person spotting driftwood, I sprinted straight toward him. The familiar scent of motor oil on Jake instantly grounded me. I turned back to Carter. “I explained this to Lily earlier. I’m married.” Carter clearly hadn’t expected me to be married. The smile froze on his face. His gaze drifted to Jake, and a flash of pure hatred crossed his eyes. Even though he masked it instantly, my sharp senses caught it. But… hatred? This was supposed to be his very first time meeting Jake. Why would there be hatred? Carter recovered his expression quickly, smoothing out his emotions. “That was presumptuous of me. I should have asked about Miss Brooks’s relationship status first. Since I already bought the flowers, I won’t take them back. Let me just wish you a happy marriage.” He held the bouquet out toward me. “Fresh flowers for a beautiful woman. I’m sure your husband won’t mind.” Before I could speak, Jake suddenly laughed. “Who says I don’t mind?” He stared Carter down. “I’m a petty guy. I can’t stand seeing my gorgeous wife accepting things from other men.” With that, Jake grabbed a small pink helmet and slapped it onto my head. “Put it on.” Looking at the brand-new helmet, my mood inexplicably lifted. I couldn’t help but ask, “Did you buy this just for me?” “Fished it out of a dumpster.” I grinned. “Well, next time can you fish out a blue one? I like blue.” Jake raised an eyebrow and made a move to snatch the helmet back. I hurriedly strapped it on tight, knocking on the hard shell twice with my knuckles. “Does it look good?” A hint of amusement danced in Jake’s eyes. He reached out and snapped the visor down over my face. Then he muttered, “Idiot.” When I looked back, Carter was already gone. Thanks to today’s spectacle, everyone knew my husband was a grease monkey at a repair shop. During recess, I overheard a few teachers gossiping. “So what if she’s pretty? She still ended up with a guy like that.” “You guys didn’t see it, but his motorcycle was a total wreck. Sounded like a damn tractor.” The group burst into laughter. Seeing me walk in, one of them purposely asked, “Maya, where does your hubby fix cars? My husband just bought a Mercedes; we’ll have him do the maintenance from now on to throw some business his way.” “Sure, I’ll text you the address later.” Lily couldn’t stand it anymore and dragged me out of the office. “Are you missing a piece of your brain? They’re openly mocking you, and you don’t even talk back?” “You’re pretty, you have a solid career, how could you settle for…” Lily paused, then continued, “I’m a straight shooter, so don’t get mad. You’re just fresh out of college and naive. You think love conquers all, but when reality hits, you’re going to regret it. Seriously, think about my cousin. He said he doesn’t even mind that you’re technically a divorcee now…” “Lily, that’s a nice bag.” I cut her off, my eyes landing on the Hermès Birkin on her desk. “New?” Lily froze, her face flushing red. “Yeah.” Lily was living on a teacher’s salary. It was glaringly obvious who gave her the bag, and why. I didn’t press the issue. “My husband and I are doing great. How we live our lives is our business. Don’t talk badly about him again. I don’t want to hear it.” 5 When I got off work that day, Jake didn’t show up on his motorcycle. “Where’s your bike?” “Sold it.” Jake didn’t offer any further explanation. The corners of his mouth curled up. “Let’s go.” Jake pulled me along by the hand, but we walked in a different direction than usual. I had no idea what he was up to until we stopped at an apartment complex just a few blocks from my school. “Third floor. Let’s go take a look.” A faint suspicion began to form in my heart. But I didn’t dare believe it. I slowly walked up to the third floor. The door to the middle unit was wide open. Stepping inside, I found a cozy one-bedroom apartment. It wasn’t huge, but it was decorated incredibly warmly. The curtains were the color of the sky, fluttering slightly in the breeze. The setting sun spilled through the windows, bathing the entire room in a golden glow. He actually remembered that I liked blue. I couldn’t describe the feeling. Living across two lifetimes, I had stayed in luxurious mansions and rundown, raw concrete husks. But only in this exact moment did my heart feel completely swollen with happiness. “You sold your motorcycle to rent this place?” Because it was in a good school district, the buildings here were older but the rent was sky-high. Jake’s savings wouldn’t have been enough to cover the standard first month’s rent plus a security deposit. Jake ignored the comment about the motorcycle, simply saying, “It’s close to your school, so your commute is easier. Plus, the other place didn’t have hot water. You’re too delicate to handle that.” Before he even finished speaking, I turned and threw my arms around his waist. Jake was entirely stunned by my sudden leap into his arms. He froze for a moment, then slowly wrapped his arms around my back. “Alright, it’s not time for you to cry yet. Save the crying for tonight, yeah?” So inappropriate! That night, Jake successfully made me cry. The man pulled me into his arms, thoroughly satisfied, and kissed the corner of my mouth. “My wife was right. A double bed really is way better than a single cot. We should have moved sooner.” I-I never said that! I held back my temper, resisting the urge to kick him off the bed. The next day was the weekend. Jake and I had planned to go to the unfinished building to grab the last of my things. By afternoon, Jake still hadn’t come home. “I probably won’t have time today. Something came up at the shop.” Jake called me midway through the day. I didn’t think much of it. “I’ll just go by myself, then.” It wasn’t a lot of stuff anyway, just a single suitcase. It sounded chaotic on Jake’s end, and the call disconnected before I could hear his response. Previously, Jake never let me go to that building alone. Mostly because there were too many construction workers around, and he felt it was unsafe. But it was broad daylight, and I was just grabbing a bag. What could go wrong? I didn’t expect that the moment I walked into the room, three or four workers would follow me inside. “You living here all by yourself, miss?” My heart dropped. “Who are you? Get out.” “We work here. Why should we get out?” The one leading them laughed. “We’ve been watching you and that guy play house in here. You guys get pretty wild. Why don’t you play with us for a bit?” The room was completely empty. I couldn’t even find anything to use as a weapon. Gritting my teeth, I turned and made a mad dash for the door. The man reacted fast, grabbing me by the hair and throwing me to the ground. “Little girl’s got a great body. I’ve been craving you for a while. Today’s my lucky day.” Saying that, he lunged down on top of me. I fought back frantically, screaming at the top of my lungs. Just as his hands were about to tear at my clothes, the door was suddenly kicked open. The man pinning me down was punched and sent flying to the floor. The other two workers immediately moved to jump in. “I’m the developer of this property. Are you absolutely sure you want to lay a hand on me?” The three men exchanged nervous glances, seeming to weigh the truth of his words. A moment later, they cursed and ran off. Carter Sterling took off his suit jacket and draped it over my shoulders, turning to his assistant. “Find those men. Handle them however you see fit.” The assistant nodded and walked away. Only then did Carter look down at me. “Remember me?” My knuckles turned white as I clutched the jacket. “No, I don’t.” I shoved the jacket back into his chest and grabbed my suitcase. “Thank you for your help today.” As I walked past him, Carter suddenly grabbed my wrist. “You seem terrified of me.” “We don’t know each other. Why would I be terrified?” “Fair point.” Carter let go of me. “What about you? What are you doing here? If I remember correctly, this complex isn’t finished yet.” “None of your business.” “True, but I developed this land.” Carter stared at me intently. “Squatting is illegal. What do you say I sue Jake for trespassing?” “What exactly do you want?” “I want you.” Carter made absolutely no effort to hide his intentions. “Maya, I told you from the very beginning. I want you.” “And I told you, I’m married.” “That doesn’t matter to me.” I pressed my lips into a tight line. He leaned in so we were at eye level. “That man can’t give you the life you deserve. You’re a pearl, and you shouldn’t be gathering dust in his hands. You can either watch your man rot in a prison cell, or you can come live like royalty with me. It’s your choice.” I gripped my suitcase tightly, turned my head, and walked out the door. This time, Carter didn’t try to stop me.

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I Loved the Boy Next Door for Ten Years, and He Loathed Me for Ten. Finally, I Slept With Him and Left Him a $200 Tip. My childhood best friend felt deeply humiliated and relentlessly “hunted” me down everywhere. But he couldn’t find me. I hid from him for three years, until my father passed away and I became an orphan. His parents told me, “From now on, our home is your home. That boy is your older brother.” I looked at his face, which contorted with humiliation and rage the second he saw me, and cheerfully called out, “Hi, big brother!” 01 I hid from Holden for exactly three years. The reason I remember it so clearly is because the night I slept with him was New Year’s Eve during my freshman year winter break. That night, there were fireworks going off everywhere outside. And today is New Year’s Eve of my senior year winter break. I was dragging my suitcase, wanting to buy some fruit before heading up to the apartment. Unexpectedly, I bumped right into Holden. He hadn’t changed much. Hood pulled up, hands shoved in his pockets, radiating that lazy, effortless bad-boy vibe. —You couldn’t tell he was a bastard at all. A beautiful bastard. The moment he walked into the convenience store, I instinctively turned my back and pulled my baseball cap down low. “Holden, back for some fruit?” The female owner was young, and her eyes lit up the moment she saw him. “The new batch of grapefruits is great, take a couple back for your parents to try.” Holden said, “I don’t eat sour things.” “How about cherries? Guaranteed sweet.” “I hate sweet things even more.” …I wanted to smack him. Eat it if you want, if not, get lost. But the owner’s enthusiasm didn’t wane. When he was paying, she even forced a few apples into his bag. This was Holden’s special treatment. With that handsome face, he was the local prince wherever he went. When he was ten, Holden would walk down the street empty-handed and come back with his pockets stuffed full of snacks from the neighbors. It used to make me cry out of jealousy. Now, at twenty, the people giving him snacks had changed generation after generation. But he was still the prince. The owner asked, “Holden, heading home alone this year?” “Yeah.” “I heard from the neighbors you were planning to bring a girlfriend back this year.” Holden has a girlfriend? My ears instinctively perked up. 02 Holden gave a soft chuckle. When he laughed, he had this slight nasal tone that tickled your ears. Three years ago on New Year’s Eve, I heard it up close. It didn’t just tickle my ears; after hearing it enough, it tickled my heart. “It’s a rumor,” he said. Owner: “I knew a guy like you would have high standards. It’s hard to find the right girl. What type do you like? I have a younger sister, she’s super sweet…” “I hate sweet, cutesy girls.” Yeah, I could almost picture the exact expression on Holden’s face when he said that. On my sixteenth birthday, I got a lacy dress. I wore it to show Holden. He used that exact disgusted tone and said, “Maggie, I hate cutesy girls.” The owner chuckled awkwardly. “Well, you should still find a girlfriend soon to give your parents some peace of mind.” “Don’t worry, I have a girlfriend.” Holden drawled lazily: “I just haven’t decided which girlfriend to bring back.” Owner: … Somehow, coming from this bastard’s mouth, such an outrageous statement actually sounded perfectly reasonable. After a while, the store fell quiet. I figured Holden must have left. I reached for the last melon on the display. A long, slender hand suddenly shot out and intercepted the melon mid-air. “Sorry, I grabbed it first.” That lazy voice echoed right above my head. He said sorry, but I couldn’t sense a single ounce of guilt. “But I might consider letting you have it.” Holden’s clear, piercing voice struck my eardrums— “If you just turn around.” 03 My cursed history with Holden goes back twelve years. My dad took me from our small rural town and moved us to Chicago. He and Holden’s dad were army buddies. After they got discharged, their lives went in completely opposite directions. My dad got the short end of the stick. The city was expensive. He drove a city bus, barely making enough to scrape by. As for why we had to live in the city, my dad said the schools were better here, so I could get into a good college. Rent in the city was brutal. Thank God for Holden’s dad, who let us stay in a small adjacent apartment they owned. Holden’s parents were amazing to me. My dad was out driving a lot, so after school, I’d just go to Holden’s house for dinner. I basically ate with Holden, lived near Holden, and went to school with Holden. But, he didn’t like me. Holden’s friends were mostly good-looking or came from wealthy families. I was a chubby, tanned little country bumpkin. I stubbornly followed him everywhere, which annoyed the hell out of him. Once, he intentionally ditched me at a local carnival, almost causing me to get lost. Holden got the beating of a lifetime for that. He probably still has the scars on his ass. He hated me even more after that, constantly thinking of ways to prank me. But I was so silly back then. I always felt Holden was different from the boys back in my hometown. He was so good-looking, his skin so pale. When he smiled, he seemed to glow. No matter how he pranked me, I stubbornly trailed behind him. This blind worship eventually blossomed into a teenage crush during puberty. Looking back now, Holden’s annoyance with me was completely undisguised. One spring, all the flowers at school were blooming. Holden’s friends asked him what his favorite flower was. Holden said, “I don’t have a favorite, only a least favorite. I absolutely hate magnolias. They’re too sweet, too cloying, they smell awful.” As he said it, he glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. My name is Magnolia, Maggie for short. He said that entirely on purpose for me to hear. But I was dense. I still followed him around every single day, practically driving him crazy. Finally, the year we graduated high school, a minor incident occurred. I asked Holden, “Where are you applying for college?” Holden thought about it. “New York.” I eagerly applied to schools in New York. It wasn’t until the acceptance letters arrived that I found out. Holden was going to Boston. He lied to me, just to get away from me. What a cruel reality. 04 During the first semester of freshman year, if I didn’t reach out, Holden wouldn’t contact me either. He had his own life, his own social circle. He was brilliant, top of his major, and famously known as the hottest guy on campus. There were always beautiful girls in his group photos. I went to Boston to visit him once. His friends asked, “Holden, who’s the chick?” Holden said, “My dad’s friend’s daughter.” I froze right then and there. We had known each other for ten years, and in the end, I wasn’t even considered a regular friend. I felt a sudden, crushing disappointment. But I refused to just give up like that. I plotted for a long time, and on New Year’s Eve during winter break, I slept with Holden. We both had some drinks that night. Holden was a lightweight and got drunk fast. I, however, was exceptionally sober. When I got close, he said, “Maggie, do you even know what you’re doing?” I asked him back, “Holden, do you even know how long I’ve liked you?” Holden fell silent. I reached out to unbutton his shirt. He grabbed my wrist, and it hurt a little. I hissed in pain, tears welling up in my eyes. Holden instantly let go. A flash of guilt crossed his eyes, but maybe I imagined it. Because immediately after, he said something like a true bastard: “Maggie, you look really ugly when you cry.” “It’s fine, you’ll be crying in a minute too.” My bold words didn’t exactly pan out. I was the one crying in the end. But Holden was very gentle that night. Afterward, he held me and whispered, “I’m sorry I lied to you about college.” I ignored him. He twirled my long hair around his finger and sighed helplessly, “Stop crying, Mags. I’ll go to grad school in New York, okay?” What did that have to do with me? I had already decided to let go. Tonight was just about giving myself some closure. After all, I had been an idiot for so many years. It felt like a loss if I didn’t get him at least once. Now that I had him, I wouldn’t obsess over him anymore. Early the next morning, before Holden woke up, I bolted. Oh, right. He had paid for the motel room. I didn’t want to owe him, so I left a $200 tip for my half of the bill. But this action seemed to cause a bit of a misunderstanding… I deleted all of Holden’s contact info and cut him off completely. I heard from my high school best friend that Holden felt immensely humiliated and was relentlessly “hunting” me down everywhere. He even showed up at my campus. He came several times but never caught me. The most memorable instance was May of my sophomore year. My roommate recounted it to me later: Holden looked like an erupting volcano that day, ready to catch me and tear me to shreds. He stopped my roommate and demanded fiercely, “Where the hell did Maggie go now?!” My roommate said, “Oh, didn’t you know? Today is Valentine’s Day.” “—She went out to celebrate with her boyfriend.” In that moment. It was like a torrential downpour instantly extinguishing the volcano. Holden stood frozen in place, not moving an inch for a very, very long time. 05 To clarify, the dating part was true. I didn’t like Holden anymore, so what’s wrong with dating? Not only did I date, I dated several guys over time. And Holden knew about every single one of my exes. My best friend kept him updated. Holden never stopped holding his grudge against me. He had been on a pedestal for twenty years, only to be “humiliated” by the little sidekick he used to look down on. I’d be pissed too. I heard he even stormed back to my rural hometown. Unfortunately, that was the year my dad went to New York for medical treatment, so I didn’t go home. He couldn’t catch anyone, acting like a bitter, abandoned ex. This game of cat and mouse played out for three years. And today, it was finally coming to an end. Because moving forward, I was going to spend my holidays at Holden’s house. My dad passed away last winter. I didn’t have a home anymore. Holden was currently standing right behind me, way too close. He tapped his finger against the melon, tap, tap. “Turn around. I’ll buy this melon for you.” I didn’t move a muscle. He quickly got bored. “Don’t turn around then. Just kidding. I’m out.” That was Holden. His interest in anything never lasted more than three minutes. This time, he really left. Even though in ten minutes, we were going to reunite in his living room anyway. Even though we used to be inseparable. Even though he hated my guts right now. We still had to sit down and eat New Year’s dinner together. I carried the pile of fruit to the register. The owner gave me a few extra looks. “Young lady, you look a little familiar.” “I have a generic face.” “Oh, please. As pretty as you are, there’s no way you have a generic face,” she tsked, saying confidently. “I’ve definitely seen you somewhere. Especially those dimples.” It was normal that she didn’t recognize me. I had changed a lot. After puberty, I lost a ton of weight, and after spending years in the city staying out of the sun, my skin cleared up and brightened. I was no longer that dark, chubby little country girl. In a recent campus poll, I even won the title of “Communications Department Sweetheart.” Oh, right. Holden actually showed up in that poll thread. He commented: “Bullshit sweetheart. Are everyone’s eyes in the Communications department broken??” The only reason I recognized him was because his username was “ImTheKing.” After paying, I grabbed the fruit and left. The moment I pushed the door open, an icy stare landed on my back. “Buying all this, where exactly are you heading?” Holden hadn’t left. He was leaning against the wall, looking like he’d been waiting for me for a while. I ignored him and sped up. He quickly caught up, taking a long stride to block my path. He snatched the baseball cap right off my head. “Did you have fun playing me, Maggie?” 06 Yeah, it was fun. I wanted to say that, but obviously, I couldn’t. Holden scoffed. “Three years and you’ve gone mute?” I looked up at him with a sweet, innocent smile. “Hi Holden. Long time no see.” Since I couldn’t avoid him anyway, I might as well face him bravely. But Holden wasn’t smiling. He just stared at me, like he wanted to burn a hole through my skull. His expression was too calm. Terrifyingly calm. Only his slightly red eyes and trembling hands gave him away. I don’t know how long we stood there. Long enough that people walking by were staring at us. Finally, Holden looked down and took my suitcase. Neither of us spoke on the way back. Holden walked fast, with absolutely no intention of waiting for me. I had to jog just to keep up. He seemed to have grown even taller. He looked to be at least 6’2″. He walked faster and faster, and I couldn’t help but speak up. “Holden, slow down.” Holden stiffened. —It was exactly like before. He’d walk in front, and I’d follow behind, chattering away, calling out, “Holden, Holden!” It had been a long time since we felt this dynamic. Holden sounded impatient. “Are your legs just short?” But his pace noticeably slowed down. “Your legs are long, you have the longest legs,” I fired back without hesitation. “Too bad you didn’t grow in the places that actually matter.” The words slipped out. The double entendre was instantly established. I meant his emotional intelligence and his narrow perspective. But… Holden had already snapped his head around, his lips pressed tightly together, his face a mix of humiliation and pure disbelief. “Is that why you left without saying goodbye?!” Me: … This was bad. Holden the Bastard—I mean, Holden the Prince—had a huge ego. And I had just shattered it in one blow. He dragged me into the stairwell, relentlessly demanding that I break down what I just said and explain it in detail. I threw my hands up. “There’s nothing to explain. I meant exactly what I said.” “You must be remembering it wrong. You drank too much that night.” “Whatever, it’s not important.” “It’s incredibly important!” Holden’s cheeks flushed, probably out of anger. “No, I have to prove myself.” I was just about to ask, how exactly are you going to prove it, when I saw Holden put his hands on his belt buckle. I froze. “You’ve gotta be kidding me…” What kind of childhood friend drops their pants on the first day of their reunion? Holden’s expression told me he was dead serious. He was betting his dignity on this. Before I knew it. He had already unbuckled his belt. 07 Right at that exact moment, Holden’s dad pushed the apartment door open. “Is Maggie here yet?” Holden froze. I dodged in front of him, blocking him from view. “Hi, Mr. Brooks! I just got here!” “Did you run into Holden? The kid said he was going downstairs to buy fruit. It’s been over an hour and he wouldn’t come up. Said he was waiting for you.” I paused for a second. When I looked back, Holden’s pants were securely fastened. He awkwardly averted his gaze. “I was just taking a walk.” Once we were inside, Mr. Brooks casually asked, “What were you two dawdling about outside just now?” Both Holden and I went dead silent. Mrs. Brooks chimed in, “The kids haven’t seen each other in so long. They were probably just catching up.” “Exactly.” I nodded vigorously. “It’s been way too long since I saw my big brother.” Holden: “Who’s your brother? Stop calling me that.” As soon as the words left his mouth, his mom smacked the back of his head. “From now on, our house is Maggie’s house. You are her older brother. You have to protect her.” Holden was stunned. “I don’t want to be her brother!” “Then you can be her younger brother. We don’t mind.” “Mom! That’s not what I mean. I’m actually Maggie’s—” Mrs. Brooks cut him off. “Stop whining. I’m going to go cook.” But I was a little curious. What was Holden trying to say? He’s actually my… what? Over the past three years, it felt like we had zero relationship whatsoever. He couldn’t possibly be planning to tell his parents about what happened three years ago, right?! No, I had to stop him. I looked up and met Holden’s dangerous gaze. I smiled sweetly. “Hi, big brother.” Holden: …

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My lover has paranoia. He imagines that I am his nemesis, his mortal enemy, the person he despises most in this world. Day after day, I play along with his delusions. Until one day, I couldn’t play the part anymore. I was diagnosed with terminal cancer. 1 The house was pitch-black when I got home. I set my bag down, kicked off my shoes, and trailed my hand along the wall, slowly feeling my way through the dark. The moment my fingers brushed the light switch, a ceramic plate came flying at my head. I tilted my head, dodging it just in time. The lights flickered on. A man stood on the staircase, staring down at me with an entirely expressionless face. “So you still know how to come back.” “…” I smiled, walking toward him. I reached out and wrapped my arms around his waist. “Can you stop acting like a bitter, neglected housewife, Ethan?” He smelled faintly of floral soap, a scent I specifically picked out for him. I always hoped it would somehow neutralize the freezing aura he radiated. But it never did. The way he looked at me was still full of absolute disgust. 2 The crystal chandelier cast fragmented, glittering light across the room. Yet, the brightly lit living room felt agonizingly cold, and the man sitting right beside me offered no warmth at all. I rested the iPad on my lap, swiping through the pages to show him. “Look at this for our wedding. Should I wear this one?” “The skirt is a mermaid design.” “It’s so pretty, like liquid light slipping right over the fabric.” “Oh, and I love this one too. The veil has a starry night design, just like the time you took me to see the—” A sharp scoff cut off my words. He lifted his gaze, his dark, pitch-black eyes staring dead into mine. “Did we even have a past?” I wanted so desperately to tell the man in front of me that yes, we did. We had so many beautiful, wonderful memories together. But the man in front of me only saw me as an unforgivable, heinous villain. He gripped my chin, his thumb pressing into my skin, and landed a kiss at the corner of my lips. His cold voice carried a ripple of deliberate, elegant seduction. “Be a good girl. Give me the medicine.” 3 The only reason Ethan Hayes listened to me at all was that I held the one thing he desperately craved. If he ever bothered to look through the Seattle Police Department’s internal reports from a few years ago, he would be shocked to find his own name listed under both “Narcotics Commendations” and “Injured in the Line of Duty.” Ethan got hooked on drugs while working deep undercover. And after his undercover days ended, he developed severe paranoid psychosis. Delusional disorder. He categorized almost everyone around him as the enemy—including me. Including the woman he once said he loved the most, the woman he swore to protect with his life. That gentle man was long gone, dragged down into a living hell. His eyes, when he looked at me, were like thousand-year-old ice caves. The bedroom light was dim. I gripped his collar. Even though I had him pinned beneath me, his gaze remained entirely unfazed. Even tainted by addiction, he still looked as pure and untouchable as a god looking down from above. Just the slight curve of his lips was mesmerizing. I leaned down, wanting to kiss him, but with a sudden, practiced twist of his hips, he flipped me over and pinned me to the mattress. He dug into my chest pocket for a moment and pulled out the syringe. With practiced ease, he injected it right into his right arm. … To him, that syringe was his heroin. But it wasn’t. It was a specially formulated psychiatric medication laced with heavy sedatives. You can’t cure a severe addiction overnight; you have to slowly taper the dosage. Lying there, I suddenly understood exactly why he hated me so much. Because, in his eyes… I wasn’t his devoted lover. I was the monster who got him hooked on drugs, the dealer who kept him on a leash by dangling a pathetic little fix in front of him every single day… Just a villain. 4 I had a dream. I dreamed of a few years ago, back when Ethan was still deep undercover. I went to see him on Christmas Eve. We navigated through the thick holiday crowd, only able to truly look at each other while hiding behind the cover of a newspaper. He had both hands shoved in his pockets, leaning lazily against the railing like he didn’t have a bone in his body. Ethan was a gorgeous man. Even a slight smirk made him look dangerously handsome, drawing the eyes of two young women nearby. Right in front of me, he whistled at the two girls. I kicked him in the shin. He let out a dramatic “Ow!” and lowered his voice, leaning in. “Honey, I gotta play the part, right?” He was already starting to carry the grimy, dangerous aura of the criminal underworld, but his eyes were still so clear. The sound of Jingle Bells drifted through the air. He tilted his head back, a teasing lilt in his voice. “Just one more year, they always say. Then another, then another.” It was a line reminiscent of our favorite mob movies. He turned his head, our eyes meeting only through our reflections in the glass pane beside us. “When am I finally going to be able to marry you, Claire?” … I lowered the newspaper and walked past him, our shoulders just barely brushing. “Finish the job. I’m waiting for you.” … He finished the job, but I never got to marry him. When I woke up the next morning, the space next to me in bed was cold and empty. I knew he hated me, that he despised sharing a bed with me. But when I hurried downstairs and couldn’t find him anywhere, a blind panic set in. I tore through every room in the house. He was gone. I tried calling a friend, my hands shaking so badly I could barely hold the phone. He was nowhere. I squatted on the floor, clutching my head. Lately, I had been getting these splitting headaches whenever I tried to focus or think too hard. The throbbing pain made my vision blur, but the agonizing anxiety of losing him was far worse. I frantically typed out a text, on the verge of begging my old colleagues at the precinct to run a search. My heart hammered against my ribs, burning hotter and hotter—until a pair of white sneakers stepped into my line of sight. “What are you doing?” The voice was steady, as cold and indifferent as ever. Ethan wasn’t Ethan anymore, yet he was still Ethan. It was just that this detached, icy man standing in front of me could never be reconciled with the sunny, teasing boy in my memories. I stood up and threw my arms around him. I don’t know why, but I loved hugging him. It felt like, if I just held him tightly enough, I could transfer my body heat to him—even if he never hugged me back. “I thought you left, Ethan.” He took a step back, smoothly peeling my arms off him. “I was just out in the back watering the plants.” “…” I smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “What do you want for dinner tonight? I’ll make you—” “Drop the fake act. You don’t even let me out the front door.” He cut me off, snatched a book off the dining table, and walked upstairs. I didn’t let Ethan leave the house because I was terrified of cartel remnants coming after him for revenge. But the more I protected him… The more he felt like a white dove trapped in a cage. And the more he hated me. 5 I went to the hospital for a full-body scan. The headaches had been getting significantly worse over the last few days. I was never someone who liked hospitals, but ever since Ethan’s incident, I had become hyper-vigilant about my health. I was terrified that if I died, there would be no one left to take care of him. He would be left to suffer in his personal hell all alone. At least while I was here, I could sit in the flames with him. Ethan lived in hell. When he was first diagnosed with his delusions, his psychiatrist pulled me aside. He told me that the reason Ethan constantly pushed me away was because, deep in his subconscious, he believed that as a junkie, he was no longer worthy of me. The cartel boss had forced him to test the product. Forced him to shoot up. He had no choice. A decorated cop, turned into a heroin addict. That was Ethan’s personal hell. I couldn’t drag him out of it, but I could stay in the dark with him. The test results wouldn’t be ready for a while, so on my way home, aside from picking up groceries, I bought a bouquet of baby’s breath. When Ethan was undercover, he used to send me flowers all the time. He couldn’t send them to my real address, so he sent them to our secret spot. Ethan’s handwriting was terrible, but he tirelessly wrote little notes on the cards anyway. Short, sweet little love letters. “I’m no poet, Claire, otherwise I’d write you the moon.” “Watched the sunset today. It wasn’t a fraction as pretty as it is when you’re here.” “The wind blew off the lake, and the wind told me I miss you.” “Claire, seriously, I miss you so damn much.” “…” I could perfectly picture the scene. Him, stuck in some damp, miserable trap house under the cartel’s thumb. Tilting his head, leaning against a dirty windowsill, writing out these incredibly sappy lines. And then smiling to himself as he tucked them into the bright, blooming flowers. 6 Lately, even our home had stopped being a safe haven. Several luxury cars were parked outside my house. Holding the bouquet of baby’s breath, my heart plummeted like a stone the moment I saw the front door wide open. I kept telling myself to breathe, but a sudden, blunt force of pain slammed into my skull, forcing me to grip the doorframe to stay upright. Three men in black suits and sunglasses stood in the entryway. Sitting gracefully on my living room sofa was a woman. “Detective Vance. Even if you’re a cop, trespassing is still a crime.” I slowly set the flowers down on the entryway console and spoke to the woman on the couch. She tilted her head and offered a slow, deliberate smile. “Illegal imprisonment is also a crime. And you’re not a cop anymore, Claire.” “…” I was accusing her of breaking in; she was accusing me of locking Ethan up and restricting his freedom. Victoria Vance. The sole, precious daughter of the Seattle Police Commissioner, and my… rival. She loved Ethan, too. “I’m taking Ethan with me.” She raised her chin, looking down to casually inspect her flawless manicure. “Not happening.” I leaned heavily on the coffee table, glaring at her. “Why isn’t it happening? The department universally agrees that you are no longer capable of managing Ethan’s treatment. He’s been with you all this time, and he hasn’t improved at all.” “I have the best medical resources. The absolute best psychiatrists. Only with me can he get the care he—” “I am his fiancée.” I cut her off. The woman finally looked up at me, pure disdain reflecting beneath her immaculate makeup. “Says who? He didn’t marry you. Ethan never married you.” “He said he would.” “But now he hates you. Watch.” Victoria pulled a pocketknife from her coat and pressed it directly against my throat. She turned me to face the staircase. There, Ethan was slowly walking down. The man watched with a completely blank expression as Victoria held a blade to my neck. “See? Even if I killed you right here, he wouldn’t even blink.” It felt like she was choking me, whispering, Look. You gave him everything, and he threw it to the dogs. How good had I been to Ethan? I had practically carved out my own heart and handed it to him. Yet when my life was threatened, he didn’t even spare me a second glance. It felt like no matter how hard I tried, it was all useless. Then… I guess I just have to try harder. That was our promise. Ethan and I had promised we would never give up on each other. No matter what. Slowly, I brought my bare hand up and gripped the sharp edge of the blade. Victoria obviously didn’t really want to stab me; she visibly flinched and paused. “I am not letting you take Ethan.” In the silent, tense standoff, she suddenly laughed. “Fine. Then let’s play fair.” “Let Ethan choose. Whoever he chooses, he goes with.” “How about it?” … Ethan wasn’t an object. He wasn’t a prize to be won. After they finally left, I sat alone on the sofa. The lighting in the living room really was too dim. I needed to remember to buy new bulbs. I kept my head down until a shadow fell over me. He stood in front of me, his voice entirely flat and monotone. “They didn’t break in. I opened the door and let them inside.” “When she put that knife to your throat, I really didn’t feel a thing.” “…” Ethan knew exactly how to twist the knife into my heart. I looked up at him. Reflected in his pitch-black eyes, I saw just how utterly broken I looked. I asked him softly. “So you want to leave with her? Is that it?” “…” He didn’t answer. …Makes sense. To Ethan, leaving with Victoria was just trading one cage for another. What he didn’t know was that he himself was the cage. Dark, sunless, and full of endless torment.

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The System required me to win the heart of the male lead, a boy born with telepathy who would grow up to be a ruthless, cold-blooded, and brooding psychopath. I pondered for a moment and chose to enter the world when the male lead was exactly one year old. The System: [?] “Starting today, I will be his legal guardian. I will teach him to obey the law, respect women, stay optimistic, and be a decent human being,” I said without batting an eye. “A truly excellent romance strategy should start with a proper education.” The System was convinced: [You make a valid point.] So, on a day with heavy snow, I picked up the one-year-old male lead, Robin Winter, who had been abandoned at the hospital. Six years later, at the children’s home I opened, he asked me in his sweet, childish voice, “Miss Ellie, what does it mean to win someone’s heart?” I gently patted his head. “It means I want you to feel all the care and love this world has to offer.” Seven-year-old Robin’s eyes sparkled, and he spun around in pure joy. “I love you too, Miss Ellie!” Around him, the male lead’s future subordinates, business partners, mortal enemies, and childhood sweethearts all swarmed around me, chirping, “We love Miss Ellie the most!” The System: [The male lead’s affection meter is maxed out. Host’s mission is complete… Wait, you can do it like this?!] 01 After dying from severe overwork, I was forced to bind with a System and accept a romance mission. The System transmitted the original plot to me. I looked at the files showing a handsome but utterly apathetic teenage boy and fell into deep thought. He was being trampled underfoot, covered in bruises and cuts. His eyes were filled with an inorganic, dead gray, so indifferent that he looked entirely detached from the world. The System spoke in a rigid, mechanical tone: [Once you enter the world, you can take him home. Right now, he is working odd jobs on the streets and suffering endless bullying. He might not trust you at first, so you will need to melt his frozen heart with love. Also, he has a childhood sweetheart, his first love. According to our projections, after he reunites with her, the two of you will have a massive misunderstanding…] I interrupted it. “How old is he? He looks like a young teenager.” It paused for a second. [This is a photo of him at fourteen.] “Then why is he working on the streets?” I frowned. “At that age, he should be in middle school.” The System: […He has no money. He dropped out.] “Public education is free and mandatory through high school. The foster system should also be covering his basic needs,” I pointed out the glaring issue. “The group home he was placed in is clearly non-compliant and violating regulations.” The System was baffled by my logic. [Is… is that how it works?] “It seems the child welfare system in this region is severely flawed,” I mused for a moment. “Just send me into this world. I already know exactly what I need to do.” The System perked up. [Great! So which timeline would you like to drop into? When he’s fourteen and being humiliated by customers? Or when he’s eighteen and unconscious in a dark alley? Or maybe when he’s twenty-three…] I said, “When he is one year old, obviously.” The System: [?] When Robin Winter was born, he was sickly and frail. His father was unknown, and his mother died in childbirth. When he was just a year old, his distant relatives abandoned him at the entrance of a local hospital. It was the dead of winter, with a massive blizzard howling. Robin spiked a dangerously high fever and permanently lost a portion of his hearing. Yet, as the male lead, he possessed a unique protagonist perk—telepathy. From that day on, even though his physical world grew muted and quiet, the malicious thoughts of everyone around him constantly screamed in his head. I stood at the hospital entrance, looking down at the baby sleeping soundly in my arms, and said bluntly, “Since you expect me to complete a mission, you need to give me a cheat code. Like unlimited funds, for example. Otherwise, your male lead is going to starve to death.” [Is this really allowed?] The System sounded incredibly anxious after unlocking the funds for me, asking for the thirteenth time, [Should I just fast-forward you ten years into the future?] “Let’s not be a predator,” I wagged my finger. “I am twenty-two years old. When it comes to a romance mission, raising a one-year-old is acceptable. Hitting on an eighteen-year-old is not. Sixteen is absolutely out of the question, and eleven is just criminal.” The System: […] Bathing in the radiant light of my morality and respect for the law, it fell into a daze, utterly speechless. “Let’s go,” I said. “We have a lot of work to do.” For starters, I needed to look up the licensing requirements and qualifications needed to take over an orphanage. The Haven Children’s Home, where Robin was originally supposed to end up, was horribly mismanaged. But that didn’t matter. I could overhaul it myself. I wrapped the baby’s blanket a little tighter and carried him into the hospital. “Hopefully we’re not too late, and his hearing can still be saved.” 02 The System forged all the necessary legal identification for me. First, I got Robin fully treated at the hospital. Then, I officially took over the dilapidated Haven Children’s Home. The facility had been bankrupt and effectively abandoned for years. There were no children and no staff. It was only temporarily seized by the county this year, leaving everything in complete chaos and desperate need of rebuilding. My previous job in the real world had been at a foster facility, so I was incredibly familiar with the protocols—especially with the System helping me cut through the red tape. Robin was an abandoned infant. After the hospital handed his case to the police, I pulled some strings, officially fostered him, and brought him into Haven Children’s Home as its very first and only child. It was the exact same trajectory as the original plot, but the difference was that this time, the director of the orphanage was me. While caring for Robin, I simultaneously reconstructed the entire facility, systematically upgrading the infrastructure and living conditions. Everything progressed incredibly smoothly, which left the System in a state of profound shock. Because Robin’s affection meter toward me was skyrocketing. It was already at eighty. I wasn’t surprised in the slightest. For a toddler, the person they love the most is obviously the one who feeds and cuddles them every single day. Even though Robin didn’t understand the complex concept of “love” yet, he had already learned to reach his chubby little arms out whenever I approached, flashing me a goofy, toothy smile. Whenever this happened, the System would mutter to itself: [How is this happening? You can do it like this? I didn’t know you could do it like this…] I ignored its existential crisis, looking up at the beautifully renovated children’s home. “The efficiency is great. Now I just need to figure out if there are decent educational facilities nearby.” I had reviewed the local zoning laws. A children’s home was legally permitted to operate its own on-site school, but Haven currently didn’t meet the strict educational standards. I was going to have to work harder. The System: […] It didn’t understand human zoning laws, so it chose to remain silent. Because I got him to the hospital in time and took meticulous care of him, Robin grew up to be exceptionally healthy. By the time he was three, he was running and jumping everywhere, calling me “Miss Ellie” in his sweet, milky voice. Little Robin looked up at me and asked, “Miss Ellie, what does my name mean?” I picked him up and told him that on the day he came into this world, it was snowing. And his mother happened to love robins, the little birds that brave the winter. He was still too young to grasp the permanence of death and separation, but I didn’t want to erase the beautiful origin of his name just to protect him. Robin nodded, half-understanding. “My name means the bird mommy liked. And mommy liked me too.” “Yes,” I gently stroked his hair. “She loved you very much.” He beamed, flashing that same goofy, adorable smile. On the day I taught Robin how to write his own name, I asked the System, “Are there different types of Systems out there?” [Umm…] The System was stumped by my question and thought about it seriously. [I don’t know for sure, but we are all Romance Systems.] “You guys,” I caught the nuance in its phrasing. “You have coworkers?” [Yes, but I don’t have a name.] “Do they have names?” [They all picked names for themselves,] the System said blankly. [My friends are named Clemency, Justice, Medic, and Scholar…] I asked, “Why don’t you give yourself a name like they did?” The System hesitated for a few seconds. [Because some of the older Systems said they were slacking off. They said that once you pick a name, you end up getting distracted by other things instead of the mission.] “You can do other things too. Like helping me run this children’s home,” I said. “I’m still technically doing the romance mission, so it’s not slacking off.” [Really?] The System sounded suddenly excited. [I can pick my own name too?] “Yes,” I said warmly. “What do you want to be called?” [Then… I want to run this home with you,] it said. [I want to be called Felix. It means lucky and happy.] I smiled. “Felix. I like it.” It went quiet for a long time, but I guessed it had probably run off to share the good news with its friends. 03 On the day Haven Children’s Home officially reopened its doors to the public, I brought Robin with me to welcome the new kids. I had read the files. Likely due to the gravitational pull of the original plot, Robin’s former childhood sweetheart and future white moonlight, Chloe Bennett, was among the new arrivals. Her parents had both died in a tragic car accident, after which she was sent to the orphanage. In the original timeline, when she was eight, her adoptive parents took her and immigrated overseas. The plot didn’t dwell much on that period, but for Chloe to go from a sweet, innocent little girl to a classic, vicious antagonist later on, her time overseas must have been utterly miserable. I carefully reviewed her file and realized that the couple who originally adopted her hadn’t actually met the strict legal requirements for adoption at all. It was another failure of the welfare system’s lack of oversight. So, looking at the timid, trembling little girl in front of me, I crouched down and gently rubbed her head. “Don’t be scared, Chloe. This is your home now.” She looked at me with wide, innocent eyes. Perhaps because my gaze was entirely patient, and sensitive children could easily detect the absence of malice, she cautiously reached out her chubby little hand and grasped my finger. The adorable little girl still had tear tracks on her pale cheeks, but as I held her in my arms and gave her a piece of candy, she showed her very first smile of the day, softly mirroring the others and calling me, “Miss Ellie.” Robin, meanwhile, kept a very serious, tight expression on his face, nervously but proudly leading the new kids on a tour of the facility. I had officially assigned this task to him. He took his responsibility very seriously, acting like a true senior resident, weaving in and out among the crowd of new children. I watched him comfort one crying toddler, hand a piece of candy to another, and pump his little fist, swearing that this was the absolute best home in the world. I couldn’t help but laugh. That afternoon, I put the kids down for their naps. Robin was clearly too excited to sleep. He even leaned in and whispered to me, “Miss Ellie, out of all the new kids today, I like Caleb the most. He’s so cool!” Me: “Oh? Is that so?” The name Caleb Thorne… why did it sound so familiar? I looked at the birthmark on the little boy named Caleb’s face and finally remembered: Wasn’t this Robin’s future mortal enemy, the terrifying mob boss Caleb Thorne?! Me: Looks like I need to move the legal and ethics classes up the schedule. Right now, Caleb was incredibly timid. He kept his head down and rarely spoke. Because of the large birthmark on his face and some minor developmental delays, his biological parents had abandoned him. Abandonment is a felony. Seeing the deep insecurity and sadness in Caleb’s eyes, I pulled Robin aside. He must have heard my internal thoughts, because his face crumpled into a sad expression. He said gloomily, “Miss Ellie, did Caleb’s mommy and daddy really not want him?” Robin, with his telepathy, never hid anything from me. But we had pinky-promised that his ability was our special secret. So I answered him seriously. “What his mommy and daddy did was very wrong. They broke the law, and they will be punished.” Robin looked confused but nodded. “I want to be his friend.” “Then take him out to the garden to play,” I suggested. “Didn’t you tell me yesterday that you wanted a friend to go on the seesaw with you?” Robin’s eyes lit up, but then he wilted again. “But it’s nap time right now.” “That’s okay, today is a special exception,” I ruffled his hair. “Robin, from now on, we are Caleb’s family. I want Caleb to be happy. Can you help me do that?” Robin puffed his chest out, full of energy. “I can!” I unlocked the garden doors, waved them out, and watched the two tiny silhouettes cheer quietly as they ran toward the seesaw in the sunlight. I walked back into the dormitory. Sure enough, a bunch of little heads quickly ducked back under their blankets. I stifled a laugh. “Can’t anyone sleep?” Dead silence. Only Chloe peeked her head out, pointing a tiny finger toward the garden window. “I want to play with Miss Ellie too,” she said in a babyish voice. “Then let’s all go out to the garden,” I smiled warmly. “But just remember, it’s nap time. This is a one-time exception, okay?” “Okay!” The previously anxious and rigid kids instantly lit up, responding in unison. Like a flock of happy little birds, they rushed out into the garden. I strolled leisurely behind them, chatting with Felix. [Why is their affection for you so high, Host? I’ve never seen a mission progress this fast…] “Have you ever heard a certain story?” I thought for a moment. “A demon sealed in a bottle once promised that whoever freed him would be granted infinite power and wealth. But when a fisherman finally found him centuries later, the demon had grown resentful. He decided to punish the fisherman because he had taken too long to arrive.” [That story is in my database.] “Love works the same way,” I said calmly. “Winning someone’s heart is essentially an exchange. You give love, you receive love. But if someone goes their entire childhood starved of affection, do you really think some calculated, impure affection later in life will win them over? If I had shown up when Robin was fifteen or sixteen, there is absolutely no way I could have ever competed with Chloe, who would have grown up beside him.” [So you chose the one-year-old timeline purely to guarantee the mission’s success?] “Not entirely.” I smiled, scooping up a little girl who ran toward me, gently patting her head. “I just wanted to teach you something.” [What is it?] “The word ‘romance’ or ‘capture’ is far too narrow,” I said. “There are so many different kinds of love in this world. Teaching them what true love looks like—that counts as winning their hearts, too.” [Host, you really are different from anyone else I’ve ever met.] “How many people have you actually met? To me, you’re just a kid too,” I sat on a swing, holding the little girl in my lap. “Maybe in your System’s background check, they saw that ‘nurturing’ was my actual profession—and that’s why you chose me.” [Wait, what did you do for a living before?] Felix sounded confused. [But so many people loved you in your old world, Host.] “Did they?” I paused, letting out a very soft laugh. “I used to work in special education.” I was the undeniable black sheep of the Vance family. All my siblings had grand ambitions; they either took over corporate empires or became shining stars in the art world. I was the only one who buried myself in a tiny, rural town, volunteered as a teacher for years, then transferred to a special-needs school, and finally just opened my own foster home. Most orphans are not perfectly healthy children. They often carry various physical or psychological traumas. At first, when my family came to visit me, they would be horrified by the occasional bruises or scratches on my arms. They asked me more than once, “Eleanor Vance, have you completely lost your mind?” Outsiders understood it even less. The Vance children were raised in the lap of luxury. Why did Eleanor turn out so thoroughly devoid of aristocratic grace? But in a person’s life, there are always one or two defining moments that completely change who they are. I had no intention of judging what was “noble” or “low-class,” nor did I want to use grandiose words to prove how “transcendent” I was. In truth, I was just an incredibly ordinary person among the masses who happened to choose this specific path. So, I brushed off their doubts and mockery with a simple smile. “Just like the rest of you, I’m just doing what I want to do.” Felix asked me, [So, what was the event that completely changed you?] “Who knows,” I said. “My childhood memories are pretty blurry now. But there must have been something like that.” Actually, I did remember. I remembered when my elite private school held a charity event. We dressed up in our fancy little dresses and tailored suits and went to the special education school next door to hand out gifts. But we didn’t actually meet a single student that day. I overheard their teachers saying they were worried the kids might hurt us, so they locked them all in their dormitories. We just placed books and clothes on their empty desks, took some PR photos, and prepared to leave. I saw a book sitting on one of the desks. It was a fairy tale book, and scrawled on the cover in crooked handwriting was a single line: Timmy asked, what do stars look like? I want to know too. Do they taste like candy? In that fairy tale, the stars in the sky were all made of candy. Could Timmy not see the stars? And what about the owner of the book—had he never tasted candy? I looked down at my pristine, expensive dress, reached into my pocket, and struggled to pull out a single piece of candy. I quietly slipped it inside the pages of the book. Before we left, I glanced back at the dormitory building. I saw a few smudged, dirty little faces pressed against the windows, watching us. I suddenly felt incredibly sad. I had only brought one piece of candy, and I had only left one. I could only let one child taste the stars. 04 I spent the next week working non-stop. The arrival of the new kids brought life and vitality to this small patch of land, but it also brought a mountain of new responsibilities. From things as small as choosing the brand of milk the kids drank, to things as massive as hiring new teachers—as a one-woman management team, I had to handle everything personally. Thankfully, I had the ultimate cheat code, Felix. He helped me monitor the children’s status to prevent any accidents. Otherwise, even if I split myself into three people, I wouldn’t have been able to keep up. Our home wasn’t huge. I had already hired cooks, cleaners, nurses, and care aides. But the role of academic educators was crucial, especially since I planned to set up actual classes soon. I needed people who were absolutely reliable. After several rounds of interviews, I finally found someone who perfectly matched what I was looking for. She was a girl who, based purely on looks, could have been a movie star. She was young, with a neat bob cut, bright eyes, a gentle personality, and a small red mole near the corner of her eye. Honestly, I could tell her family was probably quite wealthy. From her elegant speech to her natural grace, she gave off the aura of a girl who had been cherished her entire life. Yet, her skin was tanned, and her cheeks carried the distinct, rosy flush of someone who had spent a lot of time working outdoors under the harsh sun. “My name is Clara Hayes,” the girl said, her eyes shining like stars. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Miss Vance.” I reached out and shook her hand. “Welcome aboard, Clara.” Clara’s hiring freed up a lot of my time to focus on getting the kids’ education sorted out. Well-funded orphanages usually had their own on-site classrooms, while smaller ones sent the kids to local public schools. Considering the special needs of several of our children, I decided to set up separate, in-house classes for them. After finalizing the paperwork, Clara and I hired a few more subject teachers and officially launched the in-house curriculum. Since we didn’t have that many kids, we only formed one main class. We held a democratic vote for the name, and the kids loved the word “Seedlings.” And just like that, Haven Children’s Home’s very first class, the Seedlings Class, was born. I was highly experienced in this field, and Clara had clearly done extensive homework, so the classes ran incredibly smoothly. In early childhood development, the priority isn’t just cramming facts; it’s about building good habits and forming healthy personalities. I set up a Storytime class, reading them a new fairy tale every single day. In the world of fairy tales, the storm always passes, the villains always lose, the princess meets her prince, the ugly duckling becomes a beautiful swan, and the little animals you save always return to repay your kindness. Life is obviously more than just fairy tales. Maybe when they grow up, they’ll realize the world isn’t exactly like the stories. But I still wanted them to believe in the magic of those tales for now. However, right after my Storytime, Clara would come in to teach Safety Education. While you shouldn’t harbor malicious intent toward others, you must always stay guarded. I could teach them to be kind to the world, but someone also needed to teach them that not everyone is kind. They needed to learn to be vigilant and know how to protect themselves. I appointed Robin as the Class President of the Seedlings Class. The little boy immediately awakened to a fierce sense of “civic duty,” dedicating every day to maintaining peace and harmony in the classroom. The little president was usually brimming with fighting spirit, but occasionally, he faced setbacks. Like today. “Miss Ellie, Caleb cried today,” he said, resting his chin gloomily on my knee. “I heard him thinking about why his mommy and daddy didn’t want him.” Ever since Caleb moved into the home, he had become much more cheerful, but sometimes, in the late afternoons, he would still cry secretly. Robin couldn’t solve his friend’s emotional distress, so he came to me for advice. When I told Robin his story, I said his mother loved him very much. Because of that, Robin couldn’t comprehend why Caleb’s parents would abandon their own child. I rubbed Robin’s head gently. “Robin, people are all different. Some parents… just don’t love their children.” Robin pursed his lips. “Then why did they have him?” “There are many reasons, and we can’t always know them. But what I want to tell you is that Caleb’s parents abandoning him is a crime,” I said. “There are a lot of abandoned children in this world. Caleb is lucky to have a friend like you to care about him, but many other kids don’t even have friends.” Robin’s dark eyes went wide. “Really?” “Yes,” I offered him a suggestion. “When you get a little older, you and Caleb can work together to protect all the kids out there who are just like him.” Robin listened intently, stood up, and his little feet pitter-pattered toward the door. “I’m going to tell Caleb! Bye, Miss Ellie!” I smiled warmly. “Go on, Robin.” In truth, in the original novel, Caleb was fiercely protective of his people. The subordinates in his mafia syndicate were mostly street orphans—kids without parents. I didn’t believe that was a coincidence. Even though the photos from the plot files showed a terrifying man with a birthmark and eyes devoid of emotion, perhaps, in his own lonely childhood, he had desperately craved that exact kind of protection. They say that the things people do as adults are often ways to overcompensate for their childhood traumas. I thought to myself: At the very least, Caleb definitely isn’t going to become a mob boss this time around.

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1 Three years after being brought back to the Sinclair estate, I remained the ghost of the family. For three years, I hadn’t spoken a single word. When the fake daughter, Bella, stood on stage to receive her awards, I sat in the darkest corner of the banquet hall, staring into space. The relatives would whisper, mocking me as the mute country bumpkin they couldn’t dare show off in public. My biological parents’ initial joy and guilt had slowly curdled into bitter disappointment. “Rowan, if you would just call me Mom, we wouldn’t feel so heartbroken,” my mother would say. Even the fake daughter’s early paranoia had morphed into a condescending pity. “I’m sorry,” she would whisper to me, “but even though you’re back, I’m still the apple of their eye.” That was the status quo. Until a distant uncle showed up with a forged equity transfer agreement, threatening to liquidate the Sinclair company to pay off his debts. Bella collapsed to the floor in terror. My parents nearly gave themselves heart attacks. I set down the old newspaper I was reading, walked up to that gang of extortionists, and calmly spoke a single sentence. … The day Bella brought home her latest trophy was a Friday. My mother, Eleanor, hurried down the sweeping staircase. Right in front of the maids, she pulled Bella into a tight, loving embrace, kissing her cheek. “My sweet girl. I’ll have the driver book that French place you love. We’ll rent out the whole dining room. Invite whoever you want.” Bella’s eyes sparkled. She clung to Eleanor’s arm, her voice dripping with sugar. “Mom, can I invite my girlfriends too?” “Of course. Invite them all. Put it on my card tonight.” The two of them walked into the grand living room, laughing and chatting. I sat at the very edge of the dining table, quietly eating a bowl of oatmeal. That seat was right next to the kitchen door. The closest chair to the trash can. In three years, my seat had never changed. As she walked past me, Eleanor’s footsteps faltered. She turned her head and looked at me for three full seconds. I saw what was swimming in her eyes. It wasn’t anger. It was something far worse than anger. It was total disappointment. Then she looked away, followed Bella into the living room, and her voice brightened once more. “Tell me, sweetie, what did the judges say about your performance?” The laughter from the living room built an invisible wall, shutting me out. I put down my spoon, stood up, and walked away. My name is Rowan. The eldest daughter of the Sinclair family, lost for twenty-three years. The DNA reports were printed in stark black and white. They ran the test four times. A perfect match every time. Before I was brought back, I grew up in a place called Oakhaven, a rural farm town in the Midwest. My days were spent helping my adoptive parents harvest corn, feed chickens, and run a stall at the local farmers’ market. After I was brought back, I didn’t speak a single word. I wasn’t a mute. In my past life, I was a corporate litigator for twenty years. Trials, negotiations, mediations. I talked from dawn until dusk, wearing my jaw out for clients. Ultimately, I died of a massive heart attack on the floor of my own corner office, dying before the ambulance even arrived. When I opened my eyes again, I was sitting in the back of a luxury SUV sent by the Sinclairs. Next to me was a thick stack of DNA reports, and sitting across from me was a middle-aged woman crying her eyes out. I figured it out right then and there. God threw me back into the world, so I might as well catch my breath. All I wanted in this life was to sit quietly, keep my mouth shut, stay out of trouble, and catch up on the decades of sleep I had missed. But the Sinclair household was no place for peace and quiet. The fake daughter, Bella, had lived in this house for twenty-three years. She had the emotional ties. She knew all their habits. She had the pretty face they had pampered since infancy. In every way that mattered, she felt more like their daughter than I did. When I first arrived, she treated me like a ticking time bomb. She was dripping with insecurity. When Grandpa’s antique porcelain vase shattered, she casually mentioned seeing me near his study. When the jade bracelet my grandmother left for Eleanor went missing, it miraculously turned up in my nightstand. When the company’s charity donation records were tampered with, the IP address traced back to my laptop. I never explained myself. It wasn’t that I couldn’t. I was just too lazy to bother. Grandpa stared at me for a long time after that last incident. He sighed, waved his hand, and told everyone to drop it. Eleanor didn’t say anything either, but from that day on, the fresh fruit bowl outside my bedroom door disappeared. Later, my father, Arthur, tried to integrate me into the family business. At a corporate dinner, after a few rounds of drinks, a major client turned his gaze to me. “So this is Arthur’s eldest daughter? What division of the group are you heading up?” Every eye at the table zeroed in on my face. I looked back at him. I said nothing. Three seconds passed. Five seconds. The smile on the client’s face began to crack. Under the table, Arthur gently nudged my hand. I still didn’t speak. By the eighth second of silence, the atmosphere in the private room had frozen solid. Right at that moment, Bella leaned over from her seat next to me, a flawless, radiant smile on her face. She seamlessly picked up the conversation. “Oh, my sister has a bit of a condition. She can’t speak.” “I can walk you through the operational side of things, Mr. Sterling.” Her voice was soft, her pacing immaculate. It flowed as naturally as a river. “Since you asked about the business, my sister actually shadows our father on overall strategy. Oh, by the way, I read your company’s annual report last week. Your layout for the Midwest logistics hubs is incredibly visionary. I actually had a preliminary idea I wanted to pick your brain about.” She hijacked the conversation without leaving a single trace. The client’s eyes lit up. The partnership was finalized before dessert. For the rest of the dinner, Arthur didn’t say a word to me. Eleanor turned her head toward me. Her voice was a hushed whisper, but she bit out every single syllable. “Rowan, it was one sentence. Could you really not manage a single sentence?” I didn’t move. She turned back around and never looked at me again. That night, Bella knocked on my bedroom door. She was holding two mugs of warm milk, smiling a gentle, nurturing smile. “Rowan, Mom warmed some milk for us. Want some?” I didn’t take the mug, but I didn’t close the door either. She placed one of the mugs on the hallway console table, gently blowing on the steam. Her voice grew even softer. “Hey, don’t let tonight get to you.” “Big crowds can be intimidating. It’s totally fine.” She paused. “After all, you grew up on a farm. Being thrown into a high-society dinner is scary. Anyone would freeze up. We all understand.” “Right?” “Oh, right. This is my new gold medal for the piano competition. If you want one, I can beg Mom and Dad to buy a fake trophy so you have something to put on your shelf.” I looked into her eyes for one second. Then I gently closed the door. The moment the latch clicked into place, I heard a soft giggle from the hallway. It was the laugh of a house cat watching a stray bird fly into the wrong cage. A laugh full of pity, laced with absolute arrogance. Bella’s actions weren’t entirely baseless. To try and get me to speak, Eleanor had exhausted every method. At first, she tried to coax me. She decorated my room like a princess suite, replacing all the curtains and bedding. She piled my vanity with luxury skincare, claiming she wanted to make up for the twenty-three years she missed. Later, she tried appealing to my emotions. She would sit on the edge of my bed, hold my hand, and recount the day I was lost over and over again. She would talk until she sobbed, until her voice went hoarse. I would sit there and listen. When she was done, I would nod and slide under the covers. She would stare at me for a long time, then stand up, take a deep breath, and leave. Arthur was much more direct. “Rowan, what exactly is your endgame here?” “You get whatever money you want, whatever clothes you want. Are you actually deaf and dumb?” Finally, he ground out a sentence through clenched teeth. “If I knew this was how you were going to act, I would have never brought you back!” He turned on his heel and strode into his study. The sound of the door shutting wasn’t a violent slam. It was a heavy, controlled click. That calculated restraint hurt worse than a slammed door. It meant he was so thoroughly exhausted by me that he couldn’t even muster the energy to be properly angry. I sat in my chair, staring at the closed door. I knew Eleanor had heard him. But she didn’t come out to defend me. She just walked away on her tiptoes. The only person in this house I found tolerable was Grandpa Winston. He was seventy-three this year. In his youth, he hauled cement and drove delivery trucks, dragging the Sinclair legacy out of the mud with his bare hands. The day I was finally brought home, the whole family swarmed me. They cried, they laughed, they made a massive fuss. Only Grandpa sat in his armchair, quietly watching me for a long time. Then he stood up, pulled me out of the suffocating crowd, and gave me a personal tour of the estate. He showed me who lived in which room, what was kept in which cabinet, where the spare kitchen keys hung, and the passcode to the backup safe. When we were done, he pressed a keyring into my palm. “These are the keys to my study.” “If you ever get sick of the people in this house, come sit in my office.” “You don’t have to say a word. Just sit.” I looked down at the keys in my hand in silence. He patted my shoulder, turned, and walked away. I remembered that gesture for three years. Whenever the family held executive meetings at the house, Arthur would get irritated by my silence and eventually just barred me from entering the conference room. Grandpa never argued with him. But after every single meeting, he had his assistant deliver a copy of the meeting minutes straight to my bedroom. I flipped through them a few times. They were always annotated versions, filled with dense, handwritten notes in his distinct script. He didn’t talk much, but his eyes missed nothing. Last month, I was sunbathing on the patio. He pulled up a chair next to me and sat in silence for a good half hour. Then he spoke one sentence. “Rowan, you aren’t stupid.” “I’ve lived a long time. I know the difference between a fool and someone playing the fool.” I looked over at him. His lips twitched. It wasn’t quite a smile, but it carried a weight I couldn’t fully read. “Whatever it is you’re waiting for, just know your old man has your back.” He stood up, patted his knees, and went back inside. I buried those words in the bottom of my heart, turning them over and over in my mind for days. Tonight, Eleanor returned from Bella’s celebratory dinner and pushed my bedroom door open once again. She was carrying a small slice of cake. “Rowan, I know you feel wronged.” “You are my flesh and blood. If you would just open your mouth and say one word to me, I’ll forget everything that’s happened.” I stared at her bloodshot eyes for a long time. The words I had swallowed for three years felt like they were crawling up my throat on their own. I was one breath away from speaking. Crash. A violent noise erupted from the ground floor. 2 “Eleanor! Get down here! The debt your family owes is getting settled today!” It was an unfamiliar male voice. Gruff, booming, and thick with reckless arrogance. I frowned. I walked out to the second-floor balcony and looked down. Seven or eight men had crowded into the grand foyer. I recognized the man leading the pack. He was Eleanor’s distant cousin, Uncle Marcus. He was in his fifties, wearing a cheap, shiny leather jacket, his hair slicked back with enough grease to reflect the chandelier. Word was he made some decent cash in construction back in the day, but a string of bad investments left him drowning in debt. For the past two years, he had been circling the extended family, demanding “favors” and cash. Today, he brought a prop. He slammed a thick stack of legal documents onto the mahogany coffee table, making the teacups rattle in their saucers. “Arthur, this is the equity transfer agreement you signed with your own hand.” “Thirty-five percent of the Sinclair Group’s shares. That was the collateral we agreed on for the capital I fronted you back then.” “It’s in black and white. Are you going to honor it, or are we going to have a problem?” Arthur’s face was a mask of cold fury. He sat frozen on the sofa. Eleanor’s voice cracked into a shrill panic. “Marcus! Have you lost your mind? What agreement? What shares?” “Hey now, don’t get hysterical, Ellie,” Marcus chuckled. His smile was greasy and foul. “Ask Arthur. He knows exactly what happened back then.” “I had a handwriting analyst verify the signature, and it’s backed by a public notary. If you want to play dumb, we can settle this in court.” “But if you want to talk it out right now, I’m a reasonable guy. We can negotiate a buyout price.” Eleanor clutched her chest. The color drained entirely from her face. She stumbled backward. Bella lunged forward to catch her, but wasn’t fast enough, and the two of them went crashing down onto the Persian rug. “Mom! Mom, are you okay?!” Bella’s voice shrieked. Arthur shot up from the sofa, slamming his knee into the corner of the coffee table. Hot tea spilled everywhere. But no one was looking at them. Because sitting in the armchair in the far corner of the room, Grandpa Winston was gripping the armrests. His face was a sickly ash gray, his chest heaving in rapid, violent gasps. “Call an ambulance!” The living room descended into absolute chaos. Marcus stood his ground, taking in the panic without a flinch. Instead, he leaned back against a chair, pulled a piece of hard candy from his pocket, and lazily peeled off the wrapper. “Nobody panic. Save the old man first.” “But my boys and I aren’t leaving this house until we get a number we like.” He crumpled the plastic wrapper and tossed it casually onto the polished hardwood floor. Out of a room full of people, no one dared to breathe a word against him. I stood on the second-floor balcony, still holding the folded newspaper in my hand. I looked down at the circus playing out below. Three years. I hadn’t spoken a single word in three years. But today, I was done biting my tongue. I folded the newspaper neatly and rapped it against the wooden banister. Smack. It wasn’t a deafening sound. But it cut through the room like a blade of cold steel, instantly silencing every throat in the grand hall. 3 I walked down the stairs. Step by step. No rush. Marcus hadn’t noticed me yet. He had one leg propped up, half-chewing his candy, bragging to the thugs flanking him. Eleanor saw me first. The blood rushed from her face. She stood up and took a half-step toward me, then froze. She waved her hand at me in short, frantic, dismissive gestures, like she was trying to shoo away a stray dog. Her message was clear. Go back upstairs. Don’t come out. Don’t embarrass us in front of them. Bella stood next to Eleanor. Her eyes swept over my face, and she rolled her eyes in undisguised contempt. It was a look that screamed, know your place. Arthur was back on the sofa, clutching his chest, looking terrible. He turned his head when he heard footsteps, a flicker of hope in his eyes. When he realized it was me, the hope died instantly, replaced by a bone-deep, resigned exhaustion. I reached the bottom step and stopped. Marcus finally noticed the extra body in the room. He shot me a sideways glance. “Well, look what we have here. Who’s this?” No one answered him. He turned back to Arthur, jerking his chin in my direction. “Arthur, this your eldest?” “The one you dragged out of some hick town?” Arthur remained silent. Marcus flipped a heavy silver lighter in his hand, a look of twisted amusement on his face. “Man, Arthur, are you sure you grabbed the right kid?” The two thugs next to him let out a crude, booming laugh. “She’s standing there like a wooden post. Blank stare. Is she brain-damaged or something?” Eleanor gripped her phone so tightly her knuckles turned white. Bella looked down, pressing the back of her hand against her mouth to hide a subtle, trembling smirk. The thugs laughed louder. Marcus felt emboldened. He stood up, circled the coffee table, and swaggered over to me, stopping just inches away. He looked down his nose at me. “Hey, mute.” Just those two words. Tossed out casually, like he was calling a dog that didn’t know how to bark. “I’m talking to you.” “Are you deaf too?” He snapped his thick fingers right in front of my eyes. “She really is broken,” he sneered, his voice laced with genuine pity. “You’re better off keeping Bella around. At least when this family goes under, someone will know how to cry at your funeral. Hahaha!” “Marcus.” Just his name. Not too loud, not too soft. Calm and measured. But the moment those two syllables left my mouth, it was like someone had pulled the main breaker on the entire house. Marcus nearly choked on his hard candy. He coughed violently, straightening up, his eyes locking onto mine in shock. The smirk froze on Bella’s face like it was cast in resin. The phone in Eleanor’s hand slipped and hit the rug with a soft thud. She covered her mouth. Her shoulders began to shake. Arthur snapped his head around so fast his neck popped. His eyes instantly went red. His lips trembled. “You… you can speak?” I ignored him. I kept my eyes locked on Marcus. “That equity transfer agreement. Do you mind if I take a look?” “Take a look?” Marcus scoffed, a nervous edge creeping into his voice. He snatched the thick stack of papers from his briefcase and slapped it back onto the coffee table. It landed with a sharp crack. “Be my guest.” “Black ink on white paper. Signed by your dad, stamped by a notary. You think you’re gonna find a typo?” I picked up the document. I flipped open the first page. “The execution date on this contract is September 3rd, 2021.” “Yeah. So?” “From September 1st to September 7th, 2021, my father was in Boston attending the East Coast Corporate Summit.” I dropped the document back onto the table and looked up at him. “He was staying at the Four Seasons. Hotel records will show that on the morning of the 3rd, he attended the keynote panel. In the afternoon, he sat in on breakout sessions. That evening, he hosted three major clients at the hotel restaurant.” “My father was in Boston. This contract bears the seal of a notary public based in Chicago.” “Tell me, Marcus. Did my father split himself in two?” The living room went dead silent. A muscle in Marcus’s jaw twitched. The silver lighter in his hand stopped spinning. “W-well, maybe he signed it beforehand.” “A pre-signed contract submitted for notarization? A notary public wouldn’t verify the signatory’s physical presence and ID?” I flipped to the second page. “Furthermore, the notary whose stamp is on this document is named David Sterling.” “David Sterling had his license suspended on August 31st, 2021, for professional misconduct. A three-month suspension.” “On September 3rd, he had zero legal authority to stamp a grocery receipt, let alone a corporate equity transfer.” “This seal is a forgery.” The smug arrogance peeled off Marcus’s face layer by layer. The two thugs flanking him exchanged a nervous glance and slowly began inching toward the front door. “W-where did you get that kind of info…” “Public records. You can google it.” I closed the folder and pushed it to the center of the table. “Marcus. Forging a corporate contract. Forging a notary seal. Trespassing on private property, and extortion.” “Any one of those three is enough to put you away for a long time.” “You have two options right now.” “Option one: You take this trash off our table, walk out that door, and we pretend tonight never happened.” “Option two.” I paused, letting the silence hang. “I call my lawyer right now.” Marcus violently pushed himself off the chair, the legs screeching against the hardwood floor. He pointed a shaking finger at my face. “You little farm trash bitch, who the hell do you think you’re…” “Marcus.” I cut him off. My voice was still flat and icy. “I grew up on a farm, yes. But I went to Columbia Law.” “The very first case I worked as a clerk was a corporate contract fraud.” “The defendant got seven years in federal prison.” Marcus’s pointing finger slowly lowered. A heavy silence suffocated the room for five brutal seconds. Then, his legs started to shake. Not a nervous twitch. It was the physical collapse of a man who realized he was completely trapped. He took a half-step back, his knees buckled, and he dropped to the floor with a heavy thud. Someone in the living room let out a sharp gasp. Marcus knelt there, his head bowed, his shoulders heaving violently. A guttural, raspy sob tore from his throat. It didn’t sound like crying. It sounded like a cornered animal realizing the trap had just snapped shut on its leg. “I… I didn’t have a choice.” “I owe a lot of bad people a lot of money. They’re parked outside my house every day. My wife and kids are terrified.” “I just figured, the Sinclairs are loaded. Arthur is family. I thought he could bail me out.” “I wasn’t actually going to sue. I just… I just wanted to scare you guys into cutting a check.” “Please, cut me a break. Please! I’ll work like a dog for you for the rest of my life!” “Enough.” I cut him off. He looked up at me, his eyes bloodshot, snot and tears smearing his face. I stared him down. “You got yourself into debt. That is your problem.” “But you brought a forged document into this house and nearly gave an old man a fatal heart attack.” “That’s not desperation.” “That’s bullying.” “Get the hell out of my house,” Arthur finally barked, his voice thick with rage. Marcus and his thugs scrambled to their feet and practically tripped over themselves running out the front door. The living room fell into a hollow silence. I turned around. Eleanor was standing two steps away from me. She had both hands clamped over her mouth. Tears streamed freely down her face. She was staring at me like she was seeing me for the very first time. I looked at her. I looked at her for a long time. “Mom.” Just one word. Eleanor’s body gave a violent shudder. The floodgates opened. She opened her mouth, but couldn’t form a single word, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably. “Get Grandpa to the hospital.” Eleanor froze for a split second, then nodded furiously. She didn’t even bother wiping her tears as she sprinted toward the coat rack to grab her purse. When she reached the door, she stopped. She looked back over her shoulder at me. That look held everything. Guilt. Heartbreak. And a fragile, desperate kind of relief. Then she turned around, pushed the door open, and ran out. Only Bella and I were left in the living room. She stood frozen next to the sofa. I didn’t look at her. I looked down, neatly stacked the remaining files on the coffee table, and slid them to the corner. “You can talk.” She finally spoke. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement ground out between her teeth, the realization dawning on her after running the math in her head a hundred times. I didn’t answer. “Three years.” Her voice was faint, like she was talking to herself in a trance. “Three entire years, and you didn’t say a single word.” “We thought you were…” She paused. “You lied to us for three years.” I smoothed out the last page of the file and stood up. “Lied?” I turned my head and looked at her. “When did I ever say I couldn’t speak?” Bella’s lips parted, but nothing came out. Exactly. She had nothing to say. Because I had never actually claimed to be mute. I walked toward the staircase. As I passed her, she suddenly reached out and grabbed my wrist. Her grip was tight. Desperate. I looked down at her hand, but didn’t pull away. “What do you want?” Bella looked up. Something was burning behind her eyes. It wasn’t tears. It was the raw, uncontainable panic of a gambler whose bluff had just been called. “Rowan, what exactly was your goal today?” “Did you want Mom and Dad to look at you like a hero?” “Did you want them to feel guilty?” “Or…” Her voice dropped an octave, laced with a tremor she couldn’t hide. “Or are you trying to kick me out of this house?” I looked at her. I let three seconds pass. “Bella.” “That man brought a forged contract.” “If he had actually walked away with what he wanted, do you think you’d still be standing in this mansion right now?” Bella’s grip loosened a fraction. Just a fraction, before she tightened it again. “I didn’t do it for you, and I didn’t do it for them.” I pulled my wrist out of her grasp. “Grandpa is on his way to the hospital.” “I didn’t want him to die.” “Do you think just because you opened your mouth and played lawyer, this house belongs to you now?” Her voice started to shake, but she was forcing the bravado. “Mom and Dad raised me for twenty-three years.” “Twenty-three years.” “You’ve been here for three, acting like a ghost. You speak a few sentences today, and you think you can just—” “I don’t think anything.” I cut her off. “I told you. I just didn’t want Grandpa to get hurt.” She glared at me, her chest heaving. “If you could talk this whole time, why didn’t you?” “What were you waiting for?” “What are you waiting for?!” She practically screamed the last sentence. Her voice cracked, echoing off the high ceiling. I didn’t say a word. I just watched her. I watched as the polished, perfect facade melted off her face piece by piece. Anger. Panic. And buried at the very bottom, absolute terror. She had lived in this house for twenty-three years. She knew better than anyone that this house never truly belonged to her. She only got to stay because the real owner hadn’t come to collect. And now, the owner was speaking. I turned and walked up the stairs. When I reached the third step, she spoke to my back. Her voice had dropped back down, eerily calm, stripping away all emotion. It didn’t even sound like her. “Rowan.” I didn’t stop. “Do you really think a few clever words are enough?” I kept walking. Her voice drifted up from behind me, growing fainter, like a poison whispered into the wind. “This isn’t your house to run yet.” I reached the second floor and walked into my room. I gently closed the door. I sat by the window, watching the streetlights flicker on the driveway below. Not my house to run? I had waited three years. I wasn’t in a rush.

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Lexi, my absolute best friend, had just set me up on a blind date. “Listen to me, Monica. This guy is basically untouchable. He practically runs the city’s business sector, and get this, he fell for you at first sight! One look and he was absolutely hooked!” I couldn’t believe my luck. But right as she spoke, floating text boxes suddenly popped up in my field of vision, scrolling past like a live stream chat: [It’s real! There actually is a guy like that! It’s the corporate god himself, Victor Harrison!] [He saw our girl at a banquet and it was totally love at first sight!] [The thing is, Victor is a bit older and notoriously reserved. You just need to make the first move, show him you match his freak, and he’ll take the lead from there!] Seeing those floating comments, I immediately took action. I managed to get his contact info and started bombarding him with sweet good morning and good night texts, aggressively trying to lock down weekend dates. Despite all my efforts, Victor’s responses remained ice-cold. Frustrated, I finally complained to my best friend. “Did Victor really fall for me at first sight? Who acts this cold to someone they supposedly fell for?” Lexi just stared at me, completely lost. “Who the hell is Victor?” “The guy you set me up with. Obviously.” “Monica, the guy I set you up with isn’t named Victor.” 01 I froze. The world seemed to stop spinning. Not Victor? I had been sending borderline unhinged, flirty texts to this man for a solid month, and now you’re telling me I was flirting with the wrong guy? Lexi tapped her chin, trying to remember. “He’s a buddy of my cousin Tyler. I think his last name is Grant.” Grant? I just sat there looking absolutely stupid. I instinctively pulled out my phone and checked my pinned contacts. The name at the top was simply ‘Victor’. That had absolutely zero connection to anyone named Grant. The floating chat in my vision was equally entirely utterly panicked: [Not Victor? Wait, it’s not our CEO Harrison?] [An untouchable corporate god who already met our girl at a banquet… I literally can’t think of anyone else but Victor Harrison!] [Hold up… Lexi never actually said the guy was a corporate god. She just said he was successful…] [Holy crap. Have we been hyping up the completely wrong guy this whole time?!] The color drained from my face, shifting through about five different shades of horror. “But this Victor guy you mentioned,” Lexi muttered, her eyes widening. “I swear I’ve heard that name before.” Before I could even process my own impending doom, Lexi sharply sucked in a breath. “Oh my god. Are you talking about the CEO of Harrison Corp?” She grabbed my arm, her nails digging in. “How on earth did you get tangled up with him? Word is that man is completely ruthless and a total germaphobe when it comes to romance. Every single person who has tried to throw themselves at him has been utterly destroyed!” My vision literally went black at the edges. My savings, my future, my dad’s company. I could practically hear them all whispering their final goodbyes. Right as I was spiraling into pure despair, my phone buzzed. It was a message from Victor. 02 It started with a picture. It was a sleek, velvet gift box. Followed by three simple words: [You bought this?] I tapped the photo and zoomed in. It was a luxury men’s watch I had painstakingly picked out a few days ago, intending to give it to Victor as a one-month talking-stage milestone gift. In the month we had been texting, this was the first time I had ever sent him something genuinely expensive. I thought he would be pleasantly surprised. Now, I realized I was just lucky he hadn’t called security. Before I could even type out an excuse, Victor sent another text: [Don’t do this again.] My heart sank straight to the bottom of my stomach. My fingers flew across the screen. [I am so sorry! It won’t happen again. Just return to sender.] Victor seemed to pause. [Return it?] I was practically crying in the middle of the coffee shop. [Or just throw it in the trash! Seriously, my bad. I’ll never send anything again!] There was a long silence. The little ‘typing’ bubble appeared and disappeared for what felt like an eternity. Finally, he sent one word: [Whatever.] What did ‘whatever’ even mean? I genuinely could not read this man’s vibe. [Victor is probably only tolerating this because he’s doing business with Monica’s dad.] [Yeah, the big boss is definitely giving our girl a pass this one time.] [But Monica, take the hint! The man is dangerous. Run. Pack your bags and run.] Reading the chat just made me want to scream. Now they tell me to run? Where was this energy when they were gaslighting me into being aggressive?! I thought back to how confident the chat had been, making it seem like Victor being head over heels for me was an absolute fact. I had literally begged my dad for Victor’s private number based on their hype. Within days of adding him, I was trying to force him to call me ‘babe’. I had even sent him a dozen of those obnoxious ‘I know you’re obsessed with me’ reaction memes. Thinking about it now made me want to spontaneously combust. Lexi noticed my blank, traumatized expression. “Monica? You good?” Lexi was a veteran in the dating scene. She could handle any romantic crisis. I stared at her for two solid seconds, took a deep breath, and began. “So, I have this friend…” 03 I invented a fictional friend and spilled the entire agonizing story. When I finished, Lexi just grabbed my hands with a look of profound pity. “I highly advise you, I mean, your friend, to block him, delete his number, and leave the country.” “The only reason Victor is putting up with your… I mean, your friend’s dad having a business partnership with him, is for the money. That is his absolute limit.” “But you know how the saying goes. A quiet man is either plotting a murder or building an empire. Do you really think Victor Harrison is the type to just quietly take a loss?” Obviously not! He was the type to make other people take the loss. Usually a fatal one. I took a deep breath, stood up, and grabbed my purse. “Goodbye, Lexi. I’m moving to the Southern Hemisphere for the summer.” I hadn’t even made it out of the coffee shop, let alone checked flight prices, when my phone rang. It was my dad. His company, Croft Industries, was wrapping up a massive project with Harrison Corp, and they were throwing a celebration banquet next week. “Victor is definitely going to be there,” my dad added, his voice dripping with parental plotting. “Make sure you play your cards right.” Play my cards right? I was about to be played off the table! “Also,” my dad continued, completely oblivious to my internal screaming. “I need you to drop some files off at Victor’s office tomorrow. See how much I look out for you?” I choked on my own spit. Gee, thanks, Dad. The chat tried to comfort me: [Don’t panic, Monica! The project isn’t finalized yet. He won’t nuke your dad’s company before the ink dries!] [Exactly. Just be on your absolute best behavior tomorrow. Drop the files and sprint!] [Right! Just don’t provoke him. Even if he wants to snap, he won’t have a reason if you’re perfectly professional!] 04 Okay, valid points. So the next morning, I completely overhauled my usual wardrobe. I ditched the backless tops and the cute mini skirts. Instead, I pulled out the most modest, innocent-looking white sundress I owned and headed straight to Harrison Corp. The receptionist recognized me immediately and reached for her phone to call Victor’s assistant for the private elevator code. “No, no, please,” I stopped her quickly. “The regular elevator is perfectly fine.” I walked over to the main elevator banks like a totally normal, non-delusional employee. While waiting, I took a deep breath, trying to psych myself up. Keep your head down. Don’t start nothing, won’t be nothing. Just survive this week! But as the metal doors closed and the numbers ticked higher, my stomach tied itself into knots. Would Victor think I was here to harass him again? Was he currently adding another strike to my file in his mental burn book? Ding. The doors slid open. My heart jumped into my throat. Standing right there in the hallway, looking flawless in a tailored charcoal suit, was the man himself. All the courage I had spent the last ten minutes building instantly evaporated. “Monica?” Victor’s deep voice echoed in the quiet hall. He looked genuinely surprised to see me popping out of the employee lift. “What are you doing here?” I let out a shaky breath and plastered on my most polite, emotionally distant corporate smile. “Just delivering some documents for you, Mr. Harrison.” Victor visibly froze for a fraction of a second. Then, his dark brows pulled together into a deep frown. 05 Oh my god, why was he frowning? Panic flared in my chest. I practically shoved the manila folder into his hands. “I’m seriously just here to deliver these! You can call my dad and check!” Victor stayed quiet for a moment. He didn’t take the folder. Instead, his dark eyes locked onto mine. “Did you just call me Mr. Harrison?” I blinked, totally confused by the question. “What else am I supposed to call you?” Another beat of heavy silence passed. He shifted his stance. “Why didn’t you take the private elevator? Did my assistant not come down for you?” I waved my hands frantically. “No need to bother your assistant! The regular elevator is perfectly fine for me from now on.” That is, if there even is a ‘from now on’. Victor’s expression grew even more unreadable. He looked almost completely thrown off by my sudden burst of professionalism. [Victor probably didn’t expect our girl to suddenly gain self-awareness and boundaries.] [He was definitely ready to give you another strike, but you didn’t leave him an opening.] [The CEO is officially buffering. Keep it up, Monica!] Reading the room, I let out a tiny sigh of relief and pushed the folder closer to him, ready to make my grand escape. “Well, if there’s nothing else, I’ll just be taking off…” “Do you want to wait in my office…” We both spoke at the exact same time. And then we both immediately shut up. Victor looked down at me, the intensity in his gaze making my skin prickle. “You aren’t going to come sit in my office?” In the past, whenever I came to Harrison Corp, I would invent the most ridiculous excuses to trap him alone in his office. I once even faked a low blood sugar episode just so I could take a nap on his private lounge sofa. But now? I would rather walk into traffic. I shook my head vigorously. “No, no, I’m good. I actually have somewhere to be.” Victor, uncharacteristically, pressed the issue. “Where?” I choked. “Just… meeting a friend.” His frown deepened, and he opened his mouth to say something, but a sharp ding echoed behind us. It was the private elevator. I turned around, genuinely startled. I was standing next to the CEO, and I definitely wasn’t using it. Who else had top-tier clearance? 06 The polished metal doors slid open, and a woman stepped out. She was wearing a stunning, body-hugging red dress, her lips painted a bold crimson. The moment she saw Victor, her face lit up with a brilliant smile. “Victor! Were you waiting out here just for me?” She walked straight toward him, acting like I was completely invisible. “Let’s grab lunch. I found this amazing new fusion place that you’ll absolutely love.” Victor didn’t reply to her. Instead, his hand caught my elbow, subtly pulling me half a step closer to him. His voice dropped lower, directed entirely at me. “Go wait in my office.” The woman in red finally seemed to notice I existed. Her eyes dragged over my plain white dress. “And who is this?” Victor opened his mouth to introduce me, but my survival instincts kicked in and I beat him to it. “I’m just a business partner.” I gave Victor a crisp, totally professional nod. “Mr. Harrison, I really must be going. I hope the project goes smooth…” “Stop.” Victor cut me off. His face had gone completely blank, his jaw ticking slightly. He jerked his chin toward the heavy oak doors down the hall. “Go wait in there.” It was a direct order to his private office. I hesitated, terrified of pushing him over the edge, and ultimately decided to obey. The heavy doors clicked shut behind me, completely soundproofing the room from whatever conversation was happening in the hallway. I sat down on the edge of his expensive leather sofa, feeling like a kid in the principal’s office. My eyes darted nervously around the immaculate, minimalist room. And then, my gaze locked onto something. Wait. Why did that little Capybara mystery box figurine sitting on his mahogany desk look so familiar? That was the exact one I had unboxed a few weeks ago! I had thought it was ugly and forced it into Victor’s hands as a joke. I was entirely convinced he had thrown it straight into the garbage. But here it was, proudly displayed on the desk of a multi-million dollar corporation, looking absolutely absurd next to his sleek silver pens and leather folders. [Why does this feel like he’s keeping it as a warning? Like a king keeping the skull of his enemy…] [He’s definitely staring at that little rodent every day to remind himself to never let his guard down against crazy women.] [Victor is a man who holds a grudge…] Was it really that deep? Was he using my discarded plastic toy as a psychological anchor for revenge? The more I read the chat, the colder my blood ran. Finally, I decided I couldn’t take the risk. I stood up, tiptoed over to his desk, and reached out to steal the evidence. Click. The office door swung open. Victor’s voice hit the back of my neck like a physical weight. “What are you doing?”

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1 In the dead of night, Echo, the parrot in the living room, suddenly spoke. “I’ll call you back later. He isn’t asleep yet.” I bolted upright on the sofa. The living room was dead silent, save for the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock. Echo stood on his perch, head tilted, his bead-like green eyes shifting. “Don’t use the trust fund account. He’ll notice.” The tone was a perfect imitation of my wife’s. Even that slight upward lilt at the end of her sentences was there. I froze, a sudden chill creeping down my spine. Tina had never uttered those words in front of me. And I had certainly never taught them to Echo. Echo pecked at his feathers and fell silent again, acting as if nothing had happened. I slowly leaned back onto the sofa, my eyes locked onto him. The next morning, I moved his perch to the far corner of the living room, right opposite Tina’s study desk. I needed to hear every word she left unsaid. … “Phillip, didn’t you sleep well last night? Why did you move Echo over here?” Tina walked out of the kitchen, holding two mugs of warm milk. She was wearing her loungewear, her collar slightly loose, her gold-rimmed glasses resting on the bridge of her nose. As always, she looked the picture of gentle elegance. “It gets drafty by the window. I didn’t want him to catch a cold.” I took the mug and took a sip. The temperature was spot-on. Not too hot, not too cold. In our five years of marriage, she had mastered the exact temperature I preferred for my milk. What a wonderfully sweet, attentive wife. “True, autumn is setting in.” She sat opposite me. Her gaze swept over the bird perch now facing her desk, and she paused for a fraction of a second. “It’s nice here. I can play with him while I work.” “Yeah.” I didn’t look up, focusing on cutting the fried egg on my plate. The doorbell rang. Tina set her mug down. “Who could that be so early?” She walked over to open the door. A man stood outside, wearing a light khaki trench coat over a white silk shirt. It was the exact same limited-edition shirt hanging in my closet. “Good morning, Director.” Gavin smiled eagerly. He held a few blue folders in his hands. “For this morning’s signing ceremony, there are a couple of supplementary agreements that need your eyes.” Tina frowned slightly, but her voice remained soft. “Why didn’t you just email them?” “It involves confidential financial details. Physical copies are safer.” As Gavin spoke, his gaze drifted past Tina’s shoulder, landing on me. “Morning, Phillip.” “Morning.” I laid down my fork and wiped my mouth with a napkin. Gavin was the financial director of the Aurora Foundation, handpicked and promoted by Tina. He was young, handsome, and an Ivy League graduate. “Come on in,” I said, standing up. “I hope I’m not interrupting your breakfast?” Gavin swapped his shoes and walked inside. Instead of sitting on the living room sofa, he walked straight to Tina’s desk. He moved with a familiarity that made it seem like his own home. “Look at this part, Tina.” He spread the folders open, leaning in slightly, his arm brushing against hers. She didn’t pull away. “I think we can push this budget down another five percent.” “Too aggressive. Better to play it safe.” They spoke in hushed tones. I watched from the side. I watched their shadows overlap because they were standing so close. I saw the faint red mark on Gavin’s neck, just below his collar. That was no mosquito bite. Flap. Echo suddenly fluttered his wings. “Be good, don’t make a scene.” Echo mimicked. His voice was high and feminine, carrying a hint of playful coquetry. The two at the desk froze instantly. Tina’s hand trembled, almost dropping the folder, and Gavin’s face went pale. A dead silence fell over the room. I walked over, picked up my glass, and poured some warm water. “The bird’s been mimicking TV lines lately. I left a drama playing last night. He must have picked it up.” Tina let out a forced laugh. “Right, he’s a clever bird. Mimics everything.” She snapped the folder shut. “Alright, Gavin. I’ve reviewed the agreements. Everything looks fine. Head back to the office.” “Will do, Tina.” Gavin scrambled to pack up his things, his movements clumsy. At the door, he suddenly stopped and turned back to look at me. “Phillip, you know, you don’t have to stay home watching TV all day.” “Oh?” “The foundation is swamped lately. You are the founder, after all. You should drop by once in a while, otherwise everyone will forget you and only recognize Tina.” His smile held a trace of provocation. “Gavin, watch your tone with Phillip,” Tina snapped, her expression hardening. “Phillip isn’t in the best health. Staying home to rest was my idea.” “Of course. You pamper your husband so much, we’re all dying of jealousy.” Gavin pushed the door open and left. Tina shut the door, walked over to me, and wrapped her arm around my shoulders. “Don’t mind him. He’s young and blunt, but he doesn’t mean any harm.” “I know.” I gently brushed her hand off. “I’m going to change. I need to head out.” “Where to?” “Just a spa appointment.” I walked into the bedroom and shut the door. The calm on my face vanished instantly. I walked to the deepest corner of the walk-in closet. Opening a drawer with a digital lock, I pulled out a burner phone. I turned it on and dialed. It rang three times before someone picked up. “Hello.” The voice was cool and lazy. “Audrey, it’s me.” Audrey. A senior partner at a top-tier accounting firm, my college classmate of four years, and once my fiercest rival. “Well, Phillip. What a rare surprise.” The rustle of papers came through the line. “I need a favor.” “Shoot.” “Audit some accounts for me.” “Which ones?” “The Aurora Foundation.” The rustle of papers stopped. “Your wife’s turf? You’re digging into her?” “Don’t ask. Are you in?” “I’m in.” “How long do you need?” “Depends on how deep you want to go.” “Everything. The ledgers, the cash flow, especially the offshore accounts.” Silence stretched for a couple of seconds. “That’s a massive undertaking. She isn’t careless.” “I’ll give you an entry point.” “Deal. I’ll wait for your signal.” “Keep this absolutely quiet,” I said, staring at my reflection in the mirror. “Don’t worry. You know my rules.” I hung up, changed into a sharp black suit, and walked out. Tina was adjusting her scarf. “Sweetheart, what do you want for lunch? I’ll have the maid prepare it.” She looked at me, her eyes full of warmth. I walked over and adjusted her collar. “Anything is fine.” “You’re always so easygoing.” She took my hand and kissed the back of it. “I’m off to the office. I have a dinner tonight, so I might be late.” “Okay.” I watched her walk out. The moment the door clicked shut, I turned and went straight to her desk. Underneath was a wastebasket. Inside lay a crumpled piece of paper. I picked it up and smoothed it out. It was a discarded draft of the supplementary agreement Gavin had brought over. On it was a handwritten figure: 8,000,000. Next to it, an arrow pointed to a scribbled abbreviation: C.I. Cayman Islands. I let out a cold laugh. Folding the paper, I slipped it into my pocket, pulled out my phone, and texted Audrey: “Start with the foundation’s Spark Initiative renovation project. Focus on the overseas procurement budget.” She replied instantly. “Got it. When are we pulling the net?” “Soon,” I typed back. “I’m going back to work at the foundation tomorrow.” 2 “Phillip, the files for the Spark Initiative have been archived. If you want to review them, you’ll need to go through the approval process,” Gavin said over the phone. His tone was purely professional, carrying an almost imperceptible hint of smugness. “An approval process?” I sat in my car, looking up at the glass facade of the Aurora Building. “Yes. Tina set a new rule yesterday. Any access to core project accounts requires her signature.” “Right. Got it.” I hung up, pushed the car door open, and stepped out. The Aurora Foundation. The passion project I had built from the ground up five years ago. Back then, Tina was just a struggling girl who couldn’t secure a dime of funding. I had gone against my family’s wishes, using our resources to pave her way, handing her the director’s seat. I had stepped back, keeping only the empty title of founder. And now, she was making the rules. I walked into the lobby. The two receptionists froze when they saw me. “Mr… Mr. Phillip?” “Morning.” I walked straight to the elevator. When I reached the top floor, the executive suite was quiet. I walked up to Tina’s office. The door wasn’t fully closed, leaving a narrow crack. Whispers drifted out. “Why did you block him? If he wants to see them, let him.” It was Tina’s voice. “Tina, there’s a deficit of nearly two million on the books. What if he catches on?” Gavin’s voice was tense. “Catch on to what? He’s a house husband who hasn’t touched a financial statement in five years. Do you honestly think he can decipher cooked books?” Tina sneered. “Besides, even if he did, he wouldn’t make a scene.” “You’re that sure?” “He’s head over heels for me. He gave up his family’s business just for me. You think he’d turn on me over a little money?” I stood outside the door. My hand hovered in mid-air, my fingertips feeling cold. So that was what I was to her. A gullible idiot. “But…” “No buts, Gavin. You’re getting soft.” The sound of a chair rolling back echoed from inside. “I’m just worried about your plan. Once that money is transferred, when are you going to show your hand to him?” Gavin’s voice softened. “Soon. After next month’s board meeting, when we officially secure complete control of the foundation.” I took a deep breath, took two steps back, and let my leather shoes click loudly against the floor. I pushed the door open. Tina was sitting behind her desk, with Gavin standing close by. Their distance looked professional enough now, but Gavin’s breathing was shallow and rapid. “Phillip? What are you doing here?” Tina stood up immediately, her face lighting up with surprise. “I was bored at home, so I thought I’d drop by.” I smiled, stepping past her outstretched hands, and sat on the sofa. “Gavin’s here too.” “Phillip,” Gavin said, pulling at his collar as he looked down. “I called earlier to check the Spark Initiative files. Gavin mentioned I needed your signature?” I looked at Tina. Her face stiffened for a second, then she glared at Gavin. “Nonsense! Phillip is the founder. Why would he need a signature to look at the books?” She turned back to me with an apologetic smile. “Honey, Gavin is still new. He doesn’t know how things work around here. He’s too rigid.” “He was just following the rules you set. He did nothing wrong.” I picked up the glass of water on the table but didn’t drink. “But the Spark Initiative was something I personally oversaw. Since it’s being renovated, I just wanted to check on the progress.” “Of course, absolutely.” Tina shot Gavin a look. “Go on, fetch the ledgers.” Gavin bit his lip. “Tina, those books are in the safe. The key… you have it.” Tina blinked. “Oh, right. Look at my memory.” She walked over to her desk and pulled open a drawer, pretending to search through it. “Oh dear, I must have left the key at home.” She turned around, looking thoroughly apologetic. “Sweetheart, what bad timing. How about I grab it from the house this afternoon and show you then?” I watched her perform. It was a clumsy act. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not that urgent anyway.” Tina visibly relaxed. “Exactly. You aren’t in the best health. Why stress over these details?” She walked over and put her arm around my shoulder. “Come on, lunch is on me. Let’s get French.” “No, I have plans.” I pulled away from her hand. “Plans with whom?” Her eyes flickered. “An old college classmate. She’s in town, so we’re grabbing a quick bite.” “A she?” Tina’s expression soured instantly. “Phillip, you’re a married man. Meeting a female classmate alone doesn’t look good.” Her tone was heavy with accusation. A classic guilt trip. “It’s just lunch. What’s wrong with that?” “I don’t like you getting close to other women. You’re my husband, you need to think about your reputation.” She raised her voice slightly. In the past, whenever she used this tone, I would back down to protect her pride, to prove I was loyal. I smiled. “Fine. I won’t go.” Tina beamed. “That’s my husband. Let’s go, I’ll keep you company.” She turned to grab her coat. I watched her back, pulled out my phone, and messaged Audrey: “Meeting canceled. The ledgers are locked in Tina’s office safe. German model, C-400.” Audrey replied almost instantly. “Got it. I need the passcode to that safe before midnight.” “Consider it done.” I put my phone away and followed Tina out of the office. Gavin stood at the end of the hallway, watching us leave. His eyes were filled with envy and spite. In the elevator, Tina took my hand. “Honey, you aren’t mad at me, are you?” “About what?” “About not letting you see your classmate. I only did it because I care.” “I know.” “Good. By the way, next Friday is the foundation’s fifth anniversary. Get ready.” “For what?” “Just show up, say a few words. And…” She paused, her tone turning casual. “Announce at the event that you are transferring some of your decision-making rights to me. I’ve been running things for years anyway. It looks odd to outsiders if I don’t have the official authority.” I turned to look at her reflection in the polished elevator doors. She was finally making her move. “Sure,” I said softly. “If you think you can handle it.” 3 “Honey, you’re so understanding. I was worried you’d think Gavin is too young to handle things,” Tina called out from the kitchen, washing strawberries. She was in an exceptionally good mood tonight, probably because I had agreed to hand over my authority on the drive home. I sat on the sofa, a slim laptop open on my knees. “He might be young, but he’s capable. If you trust him, I have no objections.” I typed away, my voice flat. On my screen was an encrypted email Audrey had just sent. I entered the passcode and opened it. It was a corporate registry chart of an offshore company. Peeling back the layers of shell corporations, the final beneficial owner was revealed in three words: Gavin Reid. And the source of funds was clearly marked as the Aurora Foundation’s primary account. Over two years, like ants moving dirt, they had funneled nearly fifty million dollars out of the foundation. I shut the laptop, closing my eyes, and took a slow breath. Fifty million. That was money from countless kind-hearted donors, sponsorships I had personally secured to build schools for children in impoverished areas. Tina, you really are a piece of work. “What’s wrong? Feeling unwell?” Tina walked over with a bowl of strawberries, looking at me with concern. “I’m fine. Just spent too much time looking at the screen. My eyes are tired.” I took a strawberry and bit into it. It was sweet. “Then stop looking at it. Honestly, it’s not like you need the money. Why keep stressing yourself?” She sat beside me, resting her hand on my thigh. “By the way, Phillip, there’s something I wanted to discuss with you.” Here it comes. “What is it?” “The foundation has its eye on an overseas medical aid project. The returns are incredible, but the initial funding gap is quite large.” She looked at me with earnest eyes. “How much do you need?” “Thirty million.” She paused. “I was thinking, don’t you have that family trust fund? Could we pull some from there just to cover the temporary gap?” I stared at her. My family trust fund. That was the final safety net my father had left me. It required my physical signature to touch. She was finally reaching for that. “The trust fund is heavily protected. Moving assets out of it is incredibly complicated, and the returns are fixed. It’s not meant for risky investments,” I declined gently. Tina’s smile faltered, but she quickly recovered. “I know it’s a hassle, but this is for the foundation’s growth. You’re the founder. You wouldn’t want to watch this project fall apart, would you?” “Doesn’t the foundation still have twenty million in reserves?” “That money… it was already used to cover some previous deficits.” Her eyes darted away. “What deficits?” I pressed. “Oh, just some general operating losses. You don’t understand the day-to-day logistics anyway, so don’t worry about it.” Her impatience flared, her voice rising. “Look, all you need to do is sign. I’m your wife. Would I ever do anything to hurt you?” That same sense of entitlement. “I can’t touch that money,” I said coldly. Tina snapped, standing up abruptly. “Phillip, what is that supposed to mean? Are you keeping secrets from me?” She pointed a finger at me, her voice sharp. “For five years, who worked day and night to build this foundation? Me! And what did you do? You sat at home playing the wealthy gentleman! Now I’m asking you to support my work, and you’re making excuses!” “Your work?” I stood up, staring her down. “Who provided the starting capital for Aurora? Who gave you the seat you are sitting in? Tina, without my family, you would be absolutely nothing.” In our five years of marriage, this was the first time I had ever spoken to her like this. Tina froze, staring at me in disbelief, as if looking at a stranger. Then, pure fury took over. She raised her hand. I didn’t flinch, meeting her gaze coldly. Seeing my eyes, her hand stopped in mid-air. Instead, she swept it sideways, knocking a ceramic vase off the table. Crash! Shards of porcelain shattered across the floor. “Fine. Great.” She gritted her teeth. “Phillip, do you honestly think you’re still that powerful heir? Your family’s business is practically gone! The only thing you have left to rely on is me!” She snatched her car keys, slammed the door, and stormed out. The house fell back into dead silence. I looked at the shattered porcelain, knelt down, and began to clean up the mess. No tears. Only absolute clarity. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Gavin, showing an image of Tina sitting in a dark booth at a bar, her scarf loosened, leaning against Gavin’s chest with a glass in her hand. The caption read: “Tina was upset, so I’m keeping her company for a few drinks. Phillip, a woman needs understanding. If you’re too controlling, you’ll only push her away.” I stared at the screen and smiled. I saved the photo, then forwarded it to Audrey with a simple note: “She won’t be home before midnight tomorrow. I’ll get you the passcode to the safe.” Audrey’s reply was short: “Get ready.” I stood up, threw the broken porcelain into the trash, and walked over to Echo’s cage. “Echo.” “Don’t use the account… Don’t use the account…” the parrot repeated, fluttering inside the cage. I threw a black cloth over the cage, blocking out the light. “Tomorrow,” I whispered to the empty room. “Tomorrow, I’ll bring the papers to sign at the board meeting. I’ll give her the show she wants.” 4 “Director, today’s board meeting is the main event. Are you ready?” Gavin whispered just outside the conference room. I caught the tail end of his words as I turned the corner and stopped in my tracks. Tina stood with her back to me, smoothing the lapels of her blazer. “Everything is set. Once he signs the authorization today, this foundation will belong to me entirely.” She let out a cold laugh. “The moment the funds clear, I’m kicking that useless weight out of my life. I’m sick of looking at his miserable face every single day.” “Oh, Tina, you’re cruel.” Gavin smiled, tracing a circle on her chest with his finger. “So, what does that make me?” “You’ll be the official spouse, of course.” Tina caught his hand and planted a kiss on it. I stood in the shadows of the hallway, watching them. My stomach churned, but I forced the disgust down. My brain told me now was not the time to flip the table. Let them climb as high as they want first. The fall is spectacular from the top. Taking a deep breath, I stepped out, letting the rhythmic click of my shoes announce my presence. Hearing the footsteps, the two broke apart instantly. Tina turned around, her venomous expression shifting effortlessly into a warm, gentle smile. The speed of her transition was sickening. “Phillip, you’re here. I had a bit too much to drink last night and slept at the office. You aren’t mad at me, are you?” She stepped closer, reaching to wrap her arms around my waist. I stepped aside, avoiding her touch. “Let’s start the meeting.” I pushed the door open, my face completely blank. Inside sat a dozen board members, all veterans who had built this foundation with me. When I walked in, a few looked up in surprise. I had lived in seclusion for years, and it had been a long time since I had shown my face at an official gathering. Tina followed me inside, walking straight to the head of the table. She took the primary seat. I took a side seat—a subtle but telling arrangement. “Everyone, thank you for coming to this emergency board meeting. We have two main items on the agenda today,” Tina began, her voice commanding and professional. “First, an internal personnel adjustment. Gavin Reid has shown outstanding performance during his tenure as financial director. I propose we appoint him as the Deputy Secretary-General to assist with daily operations.” Silence met her words. Deputy Secretary-General was a position of real power. Several board members exchanged glances, their eyes shifting toward me. I kept my head down, staring at the glass of water in front of me, saying nothing. Seeing my lack of reaction, a smug smile spread across Tina’s face. “Since there are no objections, we’ll make it official.” She turned to Gavin. “Gavin, hand out the documents.” Gavin walked around the table with a sway in his step, placing a folder in front of each member. The final folder was laid before me. The Aurora Foundation Full Decision-Making Transfer Agreement. “The second item,” Tina said, crossing her hands on the table, her eyes locked onto me. “Due to Phillip’s health, he is unable to participate in the long-term management of the foundation. For the sake of Aurora’s future, Phillip has decided to transfer all his decision-making rights, personnel appointments, and fund allocation authority over to me.” The room erupted into quiet murmurs. This meant I would be completely stripped of power, leaving the foundation as Tina’s personal empire. “Phillip, is this…” one of the older board members started. “Everyone, this is a decision Phillip reached after careful consideration,” Tina interrupted, her voice firm. “Isn’t that right, honey?” She stared at me, her eyes carrying an unspoken warning. Yesterday she couldn’t get her hands on my trust fund, so today she wanted the foundation’s lifeblood. Her greed knew no bounds. I set my glass of water down, looking up to let my gaze sweep across the room. Then I picked up the agreement and flipped through the pages. “This is a very thorough agreement,” I said quietly. Pure joy flashed across Tina’s face. She quickly pulled a pen from her pocket and offered it to me. “Then let’s sign it. Once it’s done, you can relax at home without any worries.” Gavin stood behind her, his lips curving into a smug grin. I took the pen and pulled off the cap. Under the collective gaze of the room, the tip of my pen hovered over the signature line. Tina held her breath. Click. I capped the pen and tossed it onto the table. The sharp sound echoed loudly in the quiet room. “I’m not signing.” The smile froze on Tina’s face. “What did you say?” “I said, I’m not signing.” I leaned back in my chair, looking at her coldly. “Not only am I refusing to sign this, but I am also rejecting Gavin’s appointment as Deputy Secretary-General.”

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1 My husband had a strange quirk: he had to count my heartbeat to fall asleep. Thinking it was romantic, I secretly took a photo and posted it on TikTok. The comments section was flooded with envy, putting me in a wonderful mood, until one comment was suddenly upvoted to the very top: [Did you have a heart transplant?] I sat up straight in bed, my heart hammering. I did have a heart transplant, but that was a secret known only to my immediate family. I sent a private message to the user, and they replied almost instantly: [Your transplant was on May 20th three years ago, wasn’t it?] [Your husband looks exactly like the donor’s boyfriend.] A wild, terrifying thought began to take shape in my mind. That night, I begged a contact to dig into the records. Hours later, they sent over a photo of the donor’s final wishes. It contained only one short, handwritten sentence: “Please leave this heart to Wesley’s beloved.” Wesley was my husband’s name. But three years ago, when I received that heart, I didn’t even know him. … [What was the name of the donor you found?] At two in the morning, I squatted on the balcony, my fingers trembling as I typed. The screen went silent for a few seconds before a photo popped up. The girl in the photo wore a white dress. Her smile was clean and bright, and there was a tiny mole at the corner of her eye. Then came a line of text: [Evelyn. She was Wesley’s college girlfriend. Three years ago, she was declared brain-dead after a car accident, and her organs were donated according to her wishes.] I stared at her face for a long time. She was a complete stranger, someone I had never seen before. Yet, her heart was beating inside my chest right at this moment. [In her will, she wrote ‘Wesley’s beloved.’ At the time, Wesley wasn’t married. The hospital ran the standard matching process, and you just happened to be the perfect recipient. But Wesley tracked you down afterward.] The light from the phone screen made my eyes sting. I wanted to deny it. I wanted to tell myself that Wesley and I met through a blind date set up by my mother’s friend, and that it had nothing to do with any donor. But a memory suddenly flashed in my mind. Three years ago, during our first blind date, the moment Wesley saw me, his chopsticks slipped from his hand and clattered onto the table. At the time, I thought it was love at first sight. Now, looking back, that look in his eyes wasn’t passion; it was recognition. I exited the chat and scrolled through Wesley’s social media. His profile was incredibly clean, containing only a few photos of us that I had forced him to post after our wedding. I scrolled all the way to the bottom. On May 21st, 2021, he had posted a single line: “From now on, I will live well for you.” There was no photo, no location. That day was the day after Evelyn had passed away. It was also the day after my heart transplant surgery. Footsteps echoed from the living room, and I quickly locked my phone screen. Wesley walked out, a coat draped over his shoulders, his brow slightly furrowed. “Why aren’t you sleeping?” “I couldn’t sleep. Just wanted some fresh air.” He walked over and naturally placed his hand over the left side of my chest. His fingers spread slightly, his palm covering the exact spot of my heartbeat. I used to find this gesture incredibly tender and comforting. Now, as I looked down at his hand, I only felt a cold dread, as if he were simply checking to see if something was still there. “Your heart is beating fast,” he murmured. “Just a bad dream.” He didn’t press further, wrapping his arm around my shoulder to guide me back to the bedroom. “Get some rest. I have a business trip tomorrow, so don’t stay up late while I’m gone.” I nodded, lying back down obediently. He lay on his side, his palm resting over my heart again, and closed his eyes to count. One, two, three. I stared blankly at the ceiling. He wasn’t counting my heartbeat. He was counting hers. The next morning, Wesley was at the entryway putting on his shoes. I leaned against the kitchen doorframe with a glass of milk, watching him just as I did every other day. “Wesley.” “Yeah?” “Who is Evelyn?” The hand tying his shoelaces paused for a fraction of a second. Just a fraction. Then, he stood up, his expression completely normal as he picked up his briefcase. “Never heard of her. Why do you ask?” “No reason. I just saw a blogger with that name online last night and thought it sounded pretty.” He smiled, walking over to press a gentle kiss to my forehead. “I’m off. I’ll bring back those almond tarts you love tonight.” The moment the door clicked shut, I poured the milk down the sink. He lied. I had gone through his college yearbooks and the memory books at the bottom of his bookshelf. Evelyn’s name appeared seventeen times. In the group photos, she stood right next to him, her smile bright and free. And the way he looked at her in those pictures held a warmth I had never once seen in our three years of marriage. Sitting on the floor with the yearbook in my lap, another memory hit me. During our first year of marriage, I asked him why he never called me by my name. He had laughed and said he was just used to calling me “wifey” because it felt more intimate. But now, I realized he had barely ever uttered the name Amelia. It was as if saying another woman’s name was a form of betrayal to him. And I, from start to finish, was nothing more than a vessel, carrying his deceased lover’s heart so she could keep beating. 2 “Amelia, is something going on with you lately?” Phoebe’s face appeared on the FaceTime call while I was sitting in Wesley’s study, sorting through his old hard drives. “No, everything’s fine.” “Don’t lie to me. Your dark circles are practically down to your chin. Is Wesley giving you a hard time?” I hesitated for a moment before forwarding her the screenshot of the donor’s will. The other end of the line went dead silent for ten whole seconds. “What a bastard,” Phoebe swore under her breath. “He married you just for this?” “I’m not entirely sure.” “What’s there to be unsure about? The will says ‘Wesley’s beloved,’ you didn’t even know him when you got the transplant, and then he actively sought you out. Amelia, use your brain.” I kept quiet. I had run through that exact logic all night long. “So, what are you going to do?” “I want to verify a few more things.” “Verify what? Whether he loves you or the heart beating in your chest?” Her words were brutal, cutting straight to the bone. I opened my mouth, but no defense came out. After hanging up, I continued scanning the files on the drive. Most of it was work-related, but there was one encrypted folder named “0520.” I tried three passwords. The first was my birthday: incorrect. The second was our wedding anniversary: incorrect. For the third attempt, I entered 20210520. The day Evelyn died. The folder clicked open. It was filled entirely with photos. Evelyn reading in the library, Evelyn running on the track, Evelyn fast asleep against his shoulder. The last photo was of her in a hospital bed. Her eyes were closed, her face pale, her body hooked up to a tangle of tubes. The caption below read: “Our final moment.” I closed the folder and put the hard drive back exactly where I found it. My hands were shaking, but my eyes remained dry. I couldn’t cry. Suddenly, I remembered the speech Wesley gave at our wedding. He had looked at me and said, “From this day forward, I will spend the rest of my life protecting you.” The guests had cheered, and my mother had wiped away tears of joy. Only now did I realize who the “you” in his promise actually was. At eight in the evening, Wesley came home on the dot, carrying a box of almond tarts. “Give these a try. They’re from that old bakery downtown. I stood in line for thirty minutes.” I took the box and opened it. The tarts looked beautiful, dusted with sliced almonds, smelling sweet and buttery. “Wesley, do you remember when I first told you I liked almond tarts?” He thought about it for a moment. “Right when we first met, wasn’t it? You said you’d loved them since you were a kid.” “I never said that.” He blinked. “I’m severely allergic to nuts, Wesley. I get hives if I even touch them. I told you that on our very first date.” The air in the room instantly turned heavy. The smile on Wesley’s face stiffened for a second before he quickly recovered. “Oh, really? I must have mixed it up. Don’t eat them then. I’ll get you something else tomorrow…” “The person who loved almond tarts was Evelyn, wasn’t it?” His hand gripping his briefcase tightened. The silence stretched even longer this time. “Amelia, what are you trying to say?” “Nothing.” I smiled, closing the box. “I’m going to take a shower.” I turned toward the bathroom, but after a couple of steps, I paused. “By the way, our anniversary is next week. You remember, right?” “Of course I do.” “What date is it?” He couldn’t answer. Our wedding anniversary was November 3rd. Evelyn’s birthday was May 20th. Every year on May 20th, Wesley took a day off, claiming it was for a company team-building event. I had never doubted him. The rush of the shower water drowned out everything else. I stood under the spray, letting the hot water stream over my face, unable to tell the difference between the water and my tears. 3 “How do you want to spend our anniversary?” During breakfast the next morning, Wesley brought up the topic himself. I looked at him as I chewed on my toast. He was calmly adding sugar to his coffee, his expression perfectly normal. “What do you think?” “Should we book a table? You mentioned wanting to try that new steakhouse downtown.” “Sure.” I didn’t point out that he had clearly looked up our anniversary date the night before. I had seen a notification on his phone screen earlier that morning: “Nov 3, Anniversary.” Created: Last night, 11:47 PM. In three years of marriage, this was the first time he had ever put our anniversary into his calendar. Yet, on his calendar, May 20th had a recurring red dot every year, empty of words but never missed. After he left for work, my phone rang from an unknown number. “Is this Amelia? I’m calling from the transplant registry office at Mercy Hospital.” “Yes, speaking.” “You underwent heart transplant surgery at our facility three years ago. According to our post-op management policy, we are due for an annual follow-up. Would you be able to come in for a checkup this week?” “Yes, I can make it.” “Excellent. I’ll schedule you for Wednesday morning. Also, I wanted to verify if Wesley remains your primary emergency contact?” “Yes, he is.” “Perfect. The notification will be sent to his number as well.” I hung up, a thought blooming in my mind. If Wesley received this notification, how would he react? Would he be anxious? Caring? Or would he simply be checking to see if his investment was still performing well? On Wednesday morning, I went to the hospital alone without telling him. After the tests, the doctor looked at my charts and declared everything normal. I hesitated before asking, “Doctor, is there any way for me to get information on my donor?” The doctor adjusted his glasses. “According to regulations, donor and recipient information must remain strictly confidential.” “What if the donor’s family reached out to me directly?” “If both parties agree, it can be arranged through the proper channels. But as far as our records show, your donor’s family has never submitted such a request.” Never submitted. Which meant Wesley had never used any official channel to find me. So how on earth had he tracked me down? As I walked out of the hospital gates, my phone vibrated. It was a message from Wesley: [I received the hospital notification. Why didn’t you tell me? I would have gone with you.] I replied: [I’m already done. Everything is normal.] He texted back instantly: [Let me know next time. I don’t feel comfortable with you going alone.] Not comfortable. Was he worried about me, or was he worried about this heart? I slipped my phone back into my pocket and stood at the entrance for a long time. Then, I hailed a cab and gave the driver an address: Greenwood Cemetery. I had looked it up online. Evelyn was buried there, in the quietest section of the grounds. Following the markers, I found her headstone. It was clean white marble, bearing the same bright, smiling photo I had seen on his hard drive. In front of the stone sat a fresh bouquet of white roses. The petals still carried the morning dew. Today was Wednesday. Wesley had told me he had an early morning board meeting. I knelt down, noticing a small card tucked under the stems. Written on it in Wesley’s unmistakable handwriting were two words: “Miss you.” I stood up, my legs feeling weak. Three years. On every day he claimed to be in meetings, traveling, or working late, how many times had he actually been standing right here? Whispering “I miss you” to a cold piece of stone, only to come home and press his hand against my chest to count her heartbeat as he drifted off to sleep. I felt a sudden wave of nausea, not directed at him, but at myself, for being so utterly blind for three whole years. My phone rang again. It was Wesley. “Amelia, what do you want for dinner? I can get off work early and cook.” I looked at Evelyn’s smiling face on the headstone while listening to the warm, gentle voice coming through the receiver. “Anything is fine. You choose.” “Alright. I’ll make those honey-glazed ribs you like.” My favorite was classic, smoky BBQ ribs. Honey-glazed ribs were likely Evelyn’s preference. “Okay.” I hung up, taking one last look at the white roses. As I turned to leave, I spoke to Evelyn in my mind. I’m sorry. I’m going to return her heart to him. 4 “Amelia, you seem a bit distracted tonight,” Wesley said, swirling the red wine in his glass as he looked at me across the table. “I’m fine. Just thinking about some projects at work.” “Leave work at the office. Tonight is our night.” He spoke with such quiet sincerity. I looked into his eyes, searching for any trace of guilt or hesitation. There was none. He looked at me with pure warmth and focus, like a husband deeply in love with his wife. If I didn’t know the truth, I would still believe I was the happiest woman in the world. “Wesley, let me ask you a question. You have to be completely honest with me.” “Go ahead.” “Do you love me?” He smiled, reaching across the table to cover my hand. “Of course I love you.” “What do you love about me?” “I love…” He paused for a beat. “I love everything about you.” What a textbook, flawless answer. But it wasn’t what I wanted to hear. “If one day my heart gives out and I need another transplant, if I have to replace it with someone else’s heart, would you still love me?” His grip on my hand tightened slightly. “Why are you asking that? did something go wrong with your checkup today?” “You didn’t answer my question.” “Amelia, don’t let your mind wander. Your heart is perfectly healthy. Nothing is going to happen.” “I said if.” He set his wine glass down, his expression turning solemn. “There is no ‘if.’ I won’t let anything happen to your heart.” I caught his choice of words. It wasn’t “I won’t let anything happen to you.” It was “I won’t let anything happen to your heart.” I pulled my hand back and took a sip of my wine. “I’m just joking. Don’t look so serious.” He let out a breath, his smile returning. “You scared me. I thought the doctor had found something.” “Actually, the doctor said I’ve recovered beautifully. I don’t even need to come back for annual checkups anymore.” “Really? That’s incredible news.” His joy seemed entirely genuine, but I couldn’t tell if he was happy for my health or for the safety of the heart inside me. On the way home, he held my hand as we walked along the sidewalk. The streetlights stretched our shadows out, making us look like any other devoted, ordinary couple. “Wesley.” “Yeah?” “If one day I’m no longer around, what would you do?” He stopped walking, turning to look at me. “Amelia, what is wrong with you today? Why do you keep saying these things?” “I just wanted to know.” He pulled me into his arms, resting his chin against the top of my head. “You aren’t going anywhere. I won’t allow it.” I buried my face in his chest, listening to his heartbeat. It was steady, strong, and slow, carrying a rhythm entirely different from the borrowed heart beating inside my own chest. In that moment, I made my decision. Once we returned home, I waited until he fell asleep. I waited until his hand found its usual spot over my heart, and his breathing turned deep and even. I gently moved his hand away and sat up. In the drawer of my nightstand was the package I had prepared earlier: a signed set of divorce papers, a letter, and a one-way ticket to Southport for six in the morning. I placed the divorce papers and the letter side by side on his pillow. Then, I opened the closet and pulled out my packed suitcase. I didn’t take a single thing he had ever bought me. None of the jewelry, the designer bags, or the dresses, because they had all been chosen according to Evelyn’s taste. I took only the clothes I had owned before our marriage and a single notebook. Tucked inside the notebook was our wedding photo. I looked at it one last time, pulled it out, and laid it on top of the divorce papers. At the door, I glanced back at the bedroom. Wesley rolled over, his hand reaching out across the empty sheets. Not finding me, his brow furrowed slightly, his palm clenching the air before falling loose. I pulled the door shut quietly behind me and rolled my suitcase to the elevator. The hallway at four in the morning was as silent as a tomb. As the elevator doors slid shut, a muffled shout echoed from inside the apartment, a voice rough with sleep and sudden panic: “Amelia?” The elevator began its descent. I took a deep, steady breath, letting his voice fade behind the concrete walls.

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1 I woke up inside an angsty, toxic romance novel. Worse, I was the tragic female lead destined to suffer. But the moment I opened my eyes, I realized I had gained a bizarre power: I could modify any number in the text of this story. With a mental flick of my wrist, I decided to play God. The manipulative mistress in the original story bragged about weighing ninety pounds with the appetite of a tiny bird. I changed her weight to three hundred pounds, making her so massive she broke her chair and sent the male lead’s jaw dropping to the floor. In the original plot, she pushed me from a seventh-floor balcony, causing me to miscarry and shattering every bone in my body. I changed the number to the first floor. I fell, brushed the dirt off my jeans, and walked right back inside. While I lay dying in the original script, she and my husband took off for a ten-day tropical island getaway. I added some zeros, turning their quick vacation into a ten-year survival nightmare. By the time they returned, I had manipulated the numbers in my bank account to become the wealthiest tycoon on the East Coast. As for them? They had spent a decade playing a real-life version of Castaway, reduced to shivering, dirt-caked cave people. It all started when I opened my eyes to find myself trapped in this cliché nightmare. The mistress was named Tiffany, and my husband was Gavin. Tiffany was the newly hired secretary at Gavin’s corporate headquarters, a master manipulator who knew exactly how to play the victim. I, Vivian, had spent years building a life with Gavin. We were childhood sweethearts. I supported him through his grueling startup years, cooking his meals and keeping his home, only to become a boring, neglected ornament in his eyes once he made his fortune. He began cheating on me, letting his toxic mistress torment me until I lost my baby, ended up paralyzed in a hospital bed, and was finally dragged off to an asylum. After endless torment, the original Vivian became a vegetative shell. Only then did Gavin realize his mistakes and begin his pathetic, desperate chase to win her back. But I was here now, and I had no intention of playing the victim. When the system notified me that I could edit the story’s numbers, I grinned. I did not need to be greedy. A few strategically placed digits would do just fine. Sitting at the dining table, I watched Tiffany pick at her food. Knowing what was about to happen, I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud. In this scene, Tiffany had come to our house to provoke me. She pretended to be drunk, draping herself over Gavin. He brought her home to stay in our guest room, but in the middle of the night, she wailed that she was starving. Gavin ordered me to get out of bed and cook a three-course meal for her. The original Vivian complied, only for Tiffany to take one bite and sneer. “Gavin, I have the stomach of a bird, I barely weigh ninety pounds. I am completely full after one bite. I really envy Vivian. You can tell she has a wonderful appetite just by looking at her figure.” Then she pushed the plate away with a look of disgust. “Gavin, now that I am full, the smell of this grease makes me want to throw up.” Gavin immediately ordered me to throw all the food in the trash and scrub the kitchen so Tiffany would not have to smell it. As I slaved away, he watched me with cold disdain. “Vivian, you should learn some self-discipline from Tiffany. Look at your body, you have completely let yourself go.” The original Vivian wept silently in the kitchen. She only gained weight because she had been taking heavy hormone injections for years, desperately trying to get pregnant because Gavin said he wanted a family. Now, facing the exact same scene, I pulled up the system panel. I targeted the number ninety in Tiffany’s dialogue and changed it to three hundred. The effect was instantaneous. Tiffany’s silk blouse buttons violently popped off. One button shot through the air and landed with a splash directly in the soup bowl. Her body expanded so rapidly that the delicate wooden dining chair splintered beneath her. She crashed onto the hardwood floor with a heavy, flesh-shaking thud. Gavin stared at her newly acquired rolls of fat, his eyes wide with horror and disgust. I rested my chin on my hand, looking her up and down. “Well, sweetheart, you do not look like you have the stomach of a bird to me.” Tiffany tried to stomp her foot in anger, but her massive weight sent a violent shudder through the entire dining room floor. Gavin, like most superficial men, was entirely driven by looks. The disgust in his eyes was impossible to hide. “Tiffany, help Vivian clean up the table. Walking around will be good for your weight loss.” He was bound by the novel’s plot to cheat, but his eyes betrayed his sheer confusion. He could not understand why on earth he was falling for a loud, overbearing, three-hundred-pound woman. Later that night, the original plot dictated that Gavin would sneak into the guest room for some intense, skin-to-skin intimacy. I did not care about the betrayal, but I refused to listen to their noisy antics keeping me awake. So, I pulled up the system and changed their seven inches of intimacy to zero. Gavin spent the entire night huffing and puffing, completely blocked by Tiffany’s massive, three-hundred-pound stomach. 2 Despite their lack of physical success, the novel’s plot still forced a pregnancy onto Tiffany. Gavin moved her into our home permanently and demanded that I serve her three meals a day. In the original timeline, Vivian worked day and night, cooking gourmet meals to cater to Tiffany’s endless demands. Tiffany treated her like a servant, throwing tantrums and flipping the dining table whenever a dish was not to her liking. But I was not the submissive wife. I did not feel like cooking at all. I opened the system panel and changed the phrase “three meals a day” to “one meal every three days.” When Gavin opened his mouth to give his daily order, his voice sounded strained as the plot rewrite took hold. “Vivian, you will prepare one meal every three days to serve Tiffany.” I smiled brightly. “As you wish, darling.” Tiffany’s nightmare began. Waiting seventy-two hours for a single meal left her absolutely ravenous. Every time I placed a plate in front of her, she devoured it like a feral animal, practically licking the porcelain clean. She was too busy starving to complain about the quality, let alone flip any tables. Once, she looked at the bowl of plain instant noodles I set down and let out a soft groan of disgust. I immediately grabbed the edge of the table and flipped it over, sending the noodles splashing across the floor. “Let me help you with that, Tiffany. I just realized I made this meal two hours too early. We still have time to wait before your three-day mark.” Tiffany shrieked in anger. But half an hour later, I found her on her knees, weeping as she scooped the stray noodles off the floor to eat them. From that day on, she treated my cooking with absolute reverence. She looked at every plate as if it were a sacred offering, terrified I would flip the table again. Ten months later, Tiffany gave birth to a baby boy. Shortly after, I discovered I was pregnant as well. In the original story, this pregnancy was the result of seven long years of medical treatments. Vivian cherished the baby, believing it would mend her broken marriage. But Tiffany saw the child as a threat to her position and decided to get rid of it. She began slipping high doses of toxic herbal extracts into my daily soups, causing me to suffer severe cramps and bleeding. When I was rushed to the hospital, she secretly swapped my pregnancy-safe medication with useless vitamins. After my third emergency room visit, Gavin slapped me across the face. “Stop putting on a show, Vivian. Do you really think this pregnancy makes you special? You think you can use a baby to tie me down? Tiffany has already given me a son. I only keep you around out of pity. If you try to use this baby for attention one more time, I will personally drag you to an abortion clinic.” That slap shattered the last of Vivian’s hope. She decided to survive just long enough to have her baby and leave him. But she never got the chance. Tiffany cornered her on the seventh-floor balcony and pushed her over the railing. Now, I stood on that same balcony, looking down at the ground. I felt a phantom ache in my bones, but I remained calm. I opened the panel and changed the number seven to one. As Tiffany crept up behind me, I turned, gave her a cheerful wave, and jumped over the railing myself. Amid her panicked screams, I landed softly in the manicured bushes of the first-floor garden. I crawled out, brushed the dirt off my knees, and walked back to the front door to ring the bell. 3 Because Tiffany had already poisoned my system with so many toxins, the minor fall was still enough to end the fragile pregnancy. But my bones were perfectly intact. As I lay in my hospital bed, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Best of all, Gavin and Tiffany had completely vanished from my sight since the incident. Just as I was enjoying the peace, my phone buzzed. It was Gavin. My finger slipped, and I accidentally answered the call. “Vivian, I am sorry,” Gavin’s voice sounded tight. “Tiffany has been feeling depressed lately and needs a change of scenery. I am taking her to a private island resort. I won’t be able to look after you for a while.” I squeezed my eyes shut, pretending to be heartbroken. “For how long, Gavin?” As I spoke, I opened the system panel and edited the text. Gavin’s voice faltered on the other end, sounding dazed and confused. “For… ten… years.” He cleared his throat, sounding utterly bewildered by his own words. “I am sorry, Vivian. I do not know why I said ten years. My original plan was just a quick trip to clear our heads, but…” I cut him off before he could recover. “Enjoy your decade, darling. Do not worry about a thing. I will take care of the company while you are away.” I hung up immediately, ready to enjoy my ten years of freedom. In the original timeline, Gavin left for his vacation without even paying my hospital bills. Meanwhile, Tiffany filled her social media with posts boasting about his generosity. She had shared photos of her bank account showing a five-hundred-thousand-dollar balance, alongside Gavin’s thirty-million-dollar account. Her posts featured designer bags scattered across a luxury hotel bed. Meanwhile, my own account had held a pathetic fifty dollars, a random handout Gavin had tossed to me weeks prior. Because I could not pay the hospital fees, I was discharged early. I had walked through a freezing rainstorm all night, clutching my aching stomach. That was the night the original Vivian finally lost her mind, sinking into a permanent state of paranoia until Gavin returned and committed her to an asylum. Now, I unlocked my phone and scrolled to Tiffany’s old boastful post. I changed her five hundred thousand dollars to five dollars. Then I turned Gavin’s thirty million dollars into three dollars. They were stuck on a remote island for the next ten years. I smiled, feeling like a benevolent savior. Adversity builds character, after all. I was simply giving them a wonderful opportunity to test the strength of their true love. Next, I opened my own banking app, stared at my fifty-dollar balance, and began typing zeros behind it until my thumb grew sore. I decided to take a nap and add some more tomorrow. In the original story, Vivian had called Gavin dozens of times a day during his absence until he finally blocked her number. I, on the other hand, was far too busy adding digits to my bank account to care about where he was. On the sixth day of his trip, Gavin called me. His tone was uncharacteristically polite, almost nervous. “Vivian, how have you been?” I was in the middle of typing another row of zeros and answered distractedly. “I am doing great.” Gavin hesitated, his voice tight with embarrassment. “Vivian, could you wire me some money? Or perhaps you could authorize an early release of my monthly salary of one million dollars? I was certain I brought enough funds, but for some reason, all my cards are being declined.” My eyes lit up at the mention of corporate authorization. “Gavin, you still have nine years, eleven months, and twenty-three days left on your island vacation. The company cannot run without a leader. Transfer all administrative rights to me, and I will handle your salary.” Gavin snapped, telling me I did not have the brains for business, but he quickly shut his mouth. He knew that if he abandoned the company for ten years without a trusted proxy, there would be nothing left when he returned. He had no choice but to sign the digital transfer forms. The moment the corporate power of attorney cleared, I did two things. First, I blocked Gavin’s number. Second, I adjusted his monthly corporate salary from one million dollars to one cent. For a husband who was entirely absent, a penny a month was more than generous. Ten years flew by. By constantly manipulating the numbers of my investments, I transformed myself into the most powerful financial tycoon on the East Coast. I was no longer the weeping housewife. I was a brilliant corporate force, running a massive business empire. Over the decade, handsome bachelors and elite suitors constantly sought my attention, and my life was filled with excitement. I had completely forgotten about Gavin and Tiffany. One afternoon, during a ribbon-cutting ceremony for my new shipping port, a loud gasp rippled through the crowd. “Look out there!” Everyone turned their eyes toward the ocean. A battered, makeshift raft was tossing and turning in the rough harbor waves. Two figures clung to the wooden logs. It was impossible to tell their gender at first. They were covered in layers of dirt, dressed only in woven leaves, with matted hair that dragged along the deck. I squinted at the two wild figures paddling desperately toward the dock. They looked strangely familiar. My jaw tightened as recognition set in. It was Gavin and Tiffany. I had been so absorbed in my multi-billion-dollar acquisitions that I had completely lost track of the timeline. Ten years had actually passed. Before I could process it, a massive wave flipped their fragile raft, dumping them both into the shallow, murky water near the shore.

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1 Eight months pregnant, my doctor warned my stress-related condition was worsening fast—I might have just five years left. Determined to leave something for my unborn daughter, I began recording video messages set five years in the future. Midway through filming, a glitch froze the screen, then revealed my older self. “Was the baby safe? Boy or girl? Does she look like me—or her father?” I asked, imagining her in a little princess dress. “Have you found someone who loves her? Call her my sweetheart. Watch her try on her wedding dress for me.” Future-me turned away at the mention of the dress. “She was born,” she said flatly. “A girl. We named her Hope. But she never saw your videos.” “Naomi—Graham’s wife—deleted them all. Every trace of you is gone. Hope is five now. She doesn’t know what you looked like. She believes her father remarried, and her new aunt tells her she killed you.” “She hides in closets, stays silent, writes in a secret journal. Graham says they only keep her as a biological donor for Naomi’s son… who’s seven.” The final frame of the video flickered, replaced by an image of a medical chart. The patient’s name was mine. The cause of death was listed as chronic drug toxicity leading to anaphylactic shock. In the space for the attending physician, Naomi’s signature was clearly written. The screen went black, and the connection severed. A wave of icy terror washed over me. Naomi was my closest friend, my college roommate, and a brilliant psychology graduate. She had always claimed she chose that field because of me. She had been there when I witnessed my mother kill my unfaithful father, an event that left me plagued by nightmares and severe depression for over a decade. At the time, Naomi had wept, promising she would master psychology to cure me. She had kept her word, becoming my therapist and prescribing medications that finally allowed me to sleep through the night. Beside Graham, she was the person I trusted most in this world. How could I accept that the two most important people in my life were quietly plotting my death? The sound of the door opening broke my trance. Graham walked into the room, a warm, gentle smile on his face. “Sweetheart, Naomi formulated a new compound for your therapy. Why don’t you try it?” He unscrewed the plastic bottle, poured out a single pill, and held it to my lips. I looked up into his eyes. They were filled with a familiar, tender concern. I slowly parted my lips, took the pill, but slipped it beneath my tongue before swallowing a mouthful of water. “I will get you a blanket,” Graham said, turning toward the master bedroom. “The weather is turning cold.” The moment he walked away, I spat the pill into my palm. I pulled out my phone, opened a photo translation app, and scanned the tiny chemical symbols printed on the prescription label. My heart battered against my ribs, so hard I could barely breathe. The screen illuminated with a list of active ingredients. Diphenhydramine. Loratadine. Acetaminophen. Three of my most severe allergens, all packed into a single daily tablet. None of them were lethal on their own, but taken together over a prolonged period, they would systematically destroy my immune system until my body simply gave up. My hands began to shake. For five years, my health had steadily deteriorated despite the medication. I had assumed I was simply cursed, that my psychological trauma was too deep to heal. In reality, every single pill had been a slow, invisible blade. “What are you looking at, sweetheart?” Graham returned, carrying a soft fleece throw. I quickly locked my phone screen, squeezing my hand shut around the pill. “Nothing.” “You should spend less time on your phone. It is bad for your eyes.” He draped the blanket over my lap, his movements natural and caring. “Get some rest. Hope and I are waiting for you to get better. I have some urgent business at the office, so I must head out.” Though my daughter was not yet born, I had already chosen her name. I wanted the world to remember that I had been here, that I had loved. Yet in five years, she would have no memory of me at all. Her very existence would be reduced to a medical resource. As soon as Graham’s footsteps faded down the hall, I blinked back my tears and dialed a number I had not called in years. Before my mother passed away, she had told me: “Nora, if the world ever becomes too heavy to bear, find Uncle Thomas. He will protect you for me.” I opened a messaging app, my tears splashing onto the glass screen as I typed: “Thomas, please draft a divorce agreement for me. As quickly as possible.” Over the next few days, sleep became impossible, but I still made sure to attend my scheduled prenatal checkup. In the ultrasound room, the technician stared at the monitor for a long time, a look of pleasant surprise on her face. “Nora, your physical markers are significantly better than last month. Every indicator is recovering. If this trend continues, you might actually make a full recovery.” A cold sweat broke out across my back. Over the past few days, I had completely stopped taking Naomi’s pills. The video from the future was real. My final sliver of hope was shattered. “Thank you, doctor,” I forced a polite smile, clutching my purse tightly as I left the room. The hospital corridors were bustling with patients. As I rounded a corner, a small body collided with my knees. Instinctively, I reached out to steady him. He was a soft, frail little boy around two years old, his skin exceptionally pale and his lips tinted a faint, unhealthy blue. He held a small toy car, which had clattered to the floor, and his mouth puckered as if he were about to cry. “I am so sorry, sweetheart…” I knelt to retrieve the toy, but as I looked up, my entire body went rigid. Naomi stood before me, a stack of medical folders clutched to her chest. “Nora? What are you doing here?” Before I could answer, another figure stepped out from behind her. Graham. He carried a bottle of mineral water in one hand and a small cartoon backpack in the other. “Sweetheart, what a surprise,” Graham said, his voice entirely calm. “I came to help Naomi with her son’s appointment. The boy is quite ill, and she was struggling to manage everything on her own.” I stood there, looking at the three of them. They looked exactly like a family portrait. Naomi quickly adjusted her expression, offering a tired, apologetic smile. “Nora, please do not think badly of us. I was simply at my wit’s end, so I asked Graham for help. You know the father has his own family and refuses to support us. It is so hard raising a sick child alone, and Graham was just being kind.” I had to clench my jaw to keep from laughing out loud. She had repeated this story countless times. She had told me she fell in love with a married man who abandoned her, leaving her to raise a child with a chronic blood disorder alone. Out of sympathy, I had sent her large sums of money over the years, treating her child like my own. Instead, they had been feeding on my flesh and blood. I looked down at the little boy. His eyes and jawline were a near perfect mirror of Graham’s. No wonder Naomi had always kept him hidden from me. I forced my voice to remain steady. “He is a beautiful boy. When is his birthday?” “March seventeenth,” Graham answered casually. March seventeenth. My birthday. Fragments of memory began to piece themselves together. Two years ago, on my birthday, Graham had called to say he was stuck working late, then phoned later to say he had been in a minor car accident and was at the hospital getting his wrist bandaged. I had spent my birthday alone, watching the candles on my cake burn down to ash. When he finally returned, his wrist had indeed been wrapped in gauze. I had never doubted him. But now I knew. That night, Graham had been at the hospital to welcome his son into the world. At that moment, the door to the examination room opened. A doctor poked his head out, gesturing toward Graham. “Toby’s father? You may come in now. It is your turn.” The hallway fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. I did not scream. I did not cry. I simply offered a faint smile. “You should go inside. Do not keep the doctor waiting.” With that, I turned and walked away. Shortly after I arrived back at the empty house, my phone rang. It was Naomi, her voice trembling with tears. “Nora, I am so incredibly sorry about today. It was entirely my fault. I panicked and could not find anyone else to help. The hospital regulations require both parents to sign for the treatment, so I asked Graham to pose as the father.” It was a pathetic lie, but I chose not to shatter it just yet. “I am not angry,” I said quietly. There was a brief silence on the line. “Really? That is wonderful. I thought you… well, never mind. I sent a small peace offering via same day courier. It should arrive shortly. Once you receive it, you must promise to forgive me.” I gave a brief murmur of assent and hung up. Within twenty minutes, the doorbell rang. The courier handed me a paper bag. As I closed the door, a faint scent drifted from the package. It was a white musk perfume, the only brand Naomi claimed did not trigger her allergies. I tore open the bag, and a piece of black lace lingerie slid onto the floor. It was thin, delicate, and visibly worn. Near the collar, there was a faded, discolored smudge, as if it had been rubbed repeatedly against skin. The garment had been used. A wave of intense nausea hit me. I rushed to the bathroom, gripping the toilet bowl as I dry heaved. The tears finally spilled over, my chest tightening with an agonizing ache. After washing my face, I threw the garment directly into the trash. The front door opened again. Graham walked in, holding a small cake box from my favorite bakery. Seeing my pale face, he immediately came over and supported my shoulders. “What is wrong, sweetheart? You look terrible. Is the morning sickness acting up again?” I looked into his eyes. He had played the part of the doting husband for five years, and every expression was polished to perfection. “I am fine. Just a bit nauseous.” “Let me get you some warm water.” As he leaned over the coffee table to reach for the kettle, his collar slipped slightly, exposing his collarbone. Two inches below his neck, there was a faint pink smudge. It was Naomi’s favorite lipstick shade. I had spent hours helping her pick out that exact color at the department store years ago. Noticing my gaze, Graham casually adjusted his shirt. “Let me cut some cake for you. You have not had much of an appetite lately, and something sweet might help.” I took the small fork he handed me, staring down at the frosting. “Graham.” “Yes?” “I want a divorce.” His hand froze in midair. “Is this about what happened at the hospital today? I can explain, Nora. Please, do not be unreasonable.” He set the fork down, a flicker of irritation crossing his brow. I looked directly into his eyes. “Explain what? Explain that you and Naomi have a son together? Or explain that the two of you have been slowly poisoning me for five years? Pick one, Graham. I am listening.” In an instant, the warmth drained from his face. “Nora, this is a side effect of your medication. You are experiencing paranoid delusions.” I did not bother arguing. I stood up, walked into the bedroom, and grabbed a coat from the closet. “Where do you think you are going?” Graham followed me, blocking the doorway. “To the hospital,” I said, my voice completely flat as I slipped on my shoes. “To terminate the pregnancy.” Given my physical condition, bringing a child into this world would only doom her to a life of suffering. I had lived a painful life, and I refused to let my sweet Hope be born merely to be used. Hearing this, Graham panicked. “Have you lost your mind?!” I pushed past him, heading for the front door. I heard his hurried footsteps behind me, but before I could turn, a wet towel was clamped tightly over my nose and mouth. The chemical scent was overpowering, stinging my eyes. I struggled against his grip, but my strength quickly faded, and the world dissolved into darkness. When I opened my eyes, I was lying on a cold surgical table. My wrists and ankles were secured with thick leather straps. This was not a public hospital. It was Graham’s private wellness clinic. “You are awake?” Graham’s face appeared above me. He was dressed in sterile blue scrubs, his mask and cap obscuring most of his features. “The stress triggered early labor. I suggest you cooperate with the procedure, for your own sake and the child’s.” My mouth was gagged, leaving me unable to scream. I felt the first sharp wave of a contraction rippling through my abdomen, breaking me out in a cold sweat. Graham had clearly administered a labor-inducing drug. I thrashed against the restraints, the pain in my stomach tearing through me like a physical blade. I could not scream; I could only let my tears and sweat mingle as they ran down my face. After what felt like an eternity of agonizing pain, my body felt as though it were being torn apart, and I nearly lost consciousness. Then, the high-pitched cry of a newborn pierced the silence of the room. I forced my head to turn, catching a glimpse of my tiny, fragile Hope. She was so small, her cries weak like a frightened kitten. Before I could even try to see her face, Graham stepped over to the counter and dialed a number. “The baby is delivered. Prepare the laboratory for the blood matching.” A surge of maternal fury gave me a sudden burst of strength. Hope had only just entered the world, and he was already planning to drain her blood. I thrashed against the leather straps with everything I had left, and one of the worn buckles suddenly gave way. I managed to pull my wrist free and rolled off the table, crashing heavily onto the cold floor. The fresh surgical incision tore open, leaving a bright trail of red across the linoleum. Without a single glance back at me, Graham cradled the crying baby and walked out of the room. In that moment, only one thought consumed my mind. I had to survive. I had to make them pay. Dragging my body across the floor, I stumbled out of the clinic. The security guard at the entrance froze in shock but did not dare to stop me. A woman drenched in blood escaping from a private facility was a terrifying sight. I ran with every ounce of strength I had left, collapsing into the nearest police station. As I pushed through the doors of the precinct, I cried out with all the breath in my lungs: “I want to report an attempted murder! My husband, Graham, has held me captive, forced me into a cesarean section, and has been poisoning me for years!” “He has an illegitimate child, and he is trying to drain my newborn daughter’s blood for a bone marrow transplant!”

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