Preston Rhodes ran out on our wedding five years ago. He didn’t just get cold feet; he vanished. Now, he was back, standing in my office with a diamond ring in one hand and the audacity of a thousand men in the other, asking me to marry him. “Audrey, let’s make this official.” He gestured vaguely to the air, as if swatting away a minor inconvenience. “Bella gave me a son. My grandfather had to accept her into the fold because of the bloodline. The three of us… we can make this work.” He held the ring up, twirling it between his fingers with a bored elegance. “Bella doesn’t have your pedigree, obviously. I didn’t have a choice.” I looked up from the quarterly financial reports spread across my mahogany desk, staring at him as if he were a rare, fascinatingly stupid insect. Did this man miss the last century of social progress? Did he think he was living in a feudal fantasy because he forgot his medication this morning? He caught my stare and offered a smirk that was equal parts condescension and charm. “Why are you playing dress-up in this CEO role, Audrey? You should take a page out of Bella’s book. Give me a son. That’s the only legacy that matters.” I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. Listening to him pontificate about male heirs and domestic submission was like inhaling toxic fumes. I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Legacy is just a bedtime story insecure men tell themselves to feel important, Preston.” I closed the folder with a snap. “Tomorrow, I’m initiating the hostile takeover of Rhodes Enterprises. If you’re going to work delivery to make ends meet, try not to be late. My time is money.” 1 Preston had always been arrogant. He hated nothing more than being ignored. He snatched the report from my hands, his voice dropping to a growl. “You will never be half the woman Bella is, simply because you don’t know how to be soft. What kind of woman treats her future husband like furniture?” When he saw my smile vanish, replaced by a glacial stare, he softened his tone, pivoting to manipulation. “Look, I know you’re hurt. But men of my status… we have needs. We have options. It’s the way the world works.” He sighed, feigning the burden of nobility. “I know you’re still hung up on me leaving the wedding. But Bella was showing. I couldn’t hide it. I had to be there for the birth. You can’t hold a grudge against a mother and child.” When Preston fled five years ago, I threw myself into the wreckage of my family’s company. I didn’t have time for romance or heartbreak. Hearing these archaic justifications now, unearthed like dinosaur bones, I felt absolutely nothing. “You have thick skin, Preston. You think this is the 1950s? You think I’m going to sign up for a sister-wife arrangement?” Preston kicked his feet up onto my desk, crossing his ankles in his signature playboy sprawl. “Audrey, five years and you’re still so naive. In our circle, every powerful man has a side arrangement. The Sinclair family needs to save face, right? We’ll get the marriage license after I introduce Bella to Grandfather. You’ll be the official Mrs. Rhodes. That title belongs to you.” He leaned back, examining his fingernails. “Besides, holding it all together while I was gone… it must have been exhausting. I’ve always said, running a conglomerate isn’t women’s work. Pack it up, Audrey. Go home. Cook me dinner.” He leaned in, trying to turn on the charm, attempting to brush my cheek. I recoiled as if he were radioactive. Feeling my revulsion, Preston’s mask slipped. “Audrey Sinclair. Stop acting like a pristine saint. Take the damn ring. Do you really think you’re some untouched virgin goddess anymore?” The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. “It sounds like you know exactly what happened to me, Preston.” For a split second, he looked like he’d swallowed his tongue. Five years ago. The engagement party. Preston vanished. That same night, a catastrophic explosion ripped through the Sinclair main distribution center. Inventory destroyed. Lives lost. Crushed by the humiliation of being left at the altar and the devastation of my family’s business, I spent my nights drowning in bourbon. And then, one rainy night, in a haze of alcohol and grief, I was assaulted by a stranger. After it was over, the man—satisfied and cruel—whispered the truth. It was Preston. To force his family to accept Bella, he needed to devalue me. He paid for the sabotage at the factory. He paid the man to assault me. The goal was simple: drag the Sinclair name through the mud so we couldn’t sue for breach of contract, and drag me down to the gutter so I was no “better” than his mistress. I remembered lying by the window that night, staring at the rain, debating whether to jump. But I didn’t. Instead, I buried the girl I was. I took over the failing company. I fought in the trenches of Wall Street. Not for love. Not for happiness. But so my parents, with their graying hair and bowed heads, could look the world in the eye again. “Audrey, stop fighting it,” Preston said, his voice low. “I’m back. I’ll take care of the money. What else could you possibly want?” He reached out, grabbing my chin, trying to force a kiss. I didn’t think. I reacted. The slap echoed through the office like a gunshot. I slammed my hand on the security button. “If you see this man again,” I told the security team as they dragged him out, “throw him into the street.” Preston didn’t scream. He just smirked. “You’re fiery, Audrey. I’m the only one who can handle that. The ring is yours. I’ll wait for you to come to your senses.” Being thrown out didn’t stop him. For days, my office turned into a florist shop. Jewelry arrived by the crate. Lunch was delivered from his restaurants, a different menu every day. The notes were always the same condescending scrawl: Come back when you’re done playing boss. I didn’t even blink. I told my assistant to trash it all and block his number. We were in the final stages of acquiring Rhodes Enterprises. Negotiations and board meetings consumed my life. Preston Rhodes was a fossil, a relic of a life I had discarded. He meant less to me than the dust on my laptop screen. Just when I thought he’d given up, a text came through from a new number. Fine. You want to end the engagement? Come to the Rhodes Estate. It’s the only way you’re getting the contract back. The engagement contract? I almost laughed. It was a worthless piece of paper. But I was curious. I wanted to see the final act of his circus. The next evening, I walked into the Rhodes family manor. Preston was there, sitting on the velvet sofa. Next to him was the woman—Bella. She looked small, fragile, clutching a baby to her chest like a shield. Preston’s eyes raked over my tailored suit and short skirt. A smug smile tugged at his lips. “Audrey. You made it.” He stood, moving to wrap an arm around me. I sidestepped him effortlessly. He leaned in, whispering, “That skirt… remarkably short. Trying to get a reaction out of me?” I gave him a look that would wilt flowers. He cleared his throat, pivoting to the room at large. “Audrey, I brought you here to settle things. Bella is gentle. She’s sweet. You’re… ambitious. Capable. You two will be like sisters. One big, happy family.” Sisters? Happy family? The absurdity washed over me. He was still hallucinating. He actually believed that after the betrayal, the sabotage, the rape, I would settle for being the matriarch of his twisted harem. “Preston,” I said, cutting off his delusion. “Is your brain still buffering? We aren’t family. Give me the contract so I can leave. The air in here is stale.” Preston’s face darkened. The charming façade crumbled. Before he could speak, Bella tugged on his sleeve. Her voice was a breathy whimper. “Preston, don’t fight for me… She just… she can’t accept her place…” It was a masterclass in manipulation, pouring gasoline on Preston’s fragile ego. He slammed his hand on the table. “Audrey! Don’t be ungrateful! Bella has ten times the grace you do. You walked through that door, so you follow my rules.” He pointed a shaking finger at the floor. “Bella, sit.” Then he turned to me, his eyes manic. “You. Kneel. Pour Bella tea. Apologize for your attitude. Or you don’t leave this house.” Kneel? Serve tea to the mistress? I looked at Preston’s twisted face, then at Bella’s triumphant smirk hidden behind false tears. I didn’t feel anger. I felt a profound, icy contempt. I stood my ground and smiled. “Preston. You really think you have the leverage here?” “You want me to kneel? There isn’t a single brick in this house that the Sinclair Group doesn’t effectively own right now. I haven’t foreclosed yet out of pity.” “And as for the tea…” My eyes slid to Bella. “She doesn’t have the pedigree to accept a cup of water from me, let alone tea. It might shorten her life expectancy.” “You bitch!” Preston roared. Veins bulged in his neck. He raised his hand, stepping forward. I didn’t flinch. I took a step toward him. “Go ahead. Strike me. Let’s see what makes the front page of the Journal tomorrow: Rhodes Stock crash, or the last shred of your reputation obliterated?” Preston floundered, scanning the room for a weapon, desperate to assert dominance. “Fine. Fine! You need to learn a lesson. The old ways are best. You need a stick to learn respect!” “Respect?” I laughed, a dry, humorless sound. “Your version of respect is bankrupting your family to fund your affairs?” “Silence!” he screamed. “You’re drunk! Look at you, loose, drinking with men at business dinners… you need discipline!” “Drunk?” I had one glass of wine at a gala before coming here. Bella shrank into the sofa. “Preston… maybe she had too much… it’s hard for a woman alone with all those businessmen…” She framed me as a slut with surgical precision. Preston was panting now, consumed by sexual jealousy and inadequacy. “Who were you with? Which man? I’m not dead yet, Audrey! You’re cheating on me?” It was pathetic. “Preston,” I said, my voice calm and sharp as a scalpel. “Instead of worrying about who I drink with, maybe worry about your liquidity? Worry about the three subsidiaries bleeding cash? Worry about the bank calling your father?” He looked blank. He knew nothing. He was a prince of nothing, signing papers he didn’t read. “You… you’re lying!” “Ask your grandfather. You’re a parasite, Preston. sucking the life out of your ancestors’ legacy while you play house with your little bird.” “Shut up! Shut up!” Humiliated in front of Bella, stripped of his delusions, Preston snapped. His eyes locked onto an antique ebony walking stick mounted by the fireplace—a heavy, brutal thing used for ‘family discipline’ in the darker chapters of the Rhodes history. He ripped it off the wall. “You disobey your husband! You act like a whore! I will execute the family law myself!” Bella gasped, covering her mouth, but her eyes were glittering with excitement. I watched him advance, swinging the cane like a madman. The fear was gone. Only rage remained. “Preston, if that stick touches me, the Rhodes family ceases to exist by sunrise.” He hesitated, the cane hovering. Then, the madness took over completely. “Family law? You’re insane,” I spat. “You drove me to this!” he shrieked. “Guards! Hold her!” Two burly house staff entered. They hesitated, looking at me—a CEO, a public figure—but Preston’s unhinged screaming terrified them. “She’s my fiancée! It’s a domestic matter! Hold her down or you’re fired!” “Don’t you dare,” I warned. But the men, fearing for their jobs, grabbed my arms. They forced me to my knees on the cold marble. My blazer tore. Buttons popped from my silk blouse, exposing my shoulder and bra strap. “Look at you,” Preston sneered, looming over me. “Disheveled. Reeking of alcohol. Just like those women in the clubs.” “You dress like a slut, you get treated like one.” Bella chimed in, soft and poisonous. “Preston… she lived abroad… maybe she’s used to being… loose…” “Loose? It’s depraved!” Preston raised the heavy ebony cane. “I’m going to beat the defiance out of you. I’ll teach you what a husband is!” He swung. The wood cracked against my back. The pain was blinding. It stole the air from my lungs. I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper. Crack. A second blow. Crack. A third. The pain was a fire spreading through my nerves. The staff looked away, ashamed, but nobody moved. The sound of wood hitting flesh echoed in the silent mansion. My sweat turned cold. Blood began to soak through the silk of my blouse. I lay pinned to the floor, my body seizing with every strike. But I didn’t scream. I didn’t beg. I didn’t cry. I lifted my head, shaking, and locked eyes with him. My gaze was a weapon. “Have you had enough? Will you submit?” Preston was panting, sweat dripping down his face, pointing the cane at my nose. “Agree to the marriage. Be a good wife. And I’ll stop.” I spit a mouthful of bloody saliva onto the pristine floor. My voice was a raspy whisper, but it carried. “Preston… go to hell.” His eyes went wide with fury. He raised the cane high for a finishing blow— The heavy oak doors of the parlor groaned open. A voice, old and trembling with horror, shattered the moment. “Ms. Sinclair?! What… what in God’s name is happening here?!”

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Eight years of marriage, and my husband—a man as precise and unyielding as a Swiss movement—finally malfunctioned. He used his immense leverage to steal another man’s girlfriend, buried his marital status, and claimed he believed in love at first sight. I stood outside the frosted glass of the clean room, watching him lift the “generation’s greatest physics prodigy” onto a stainless steel lab table. His eyes, usually cold as slate, were rimmed with raw red emotion. Their mouths were locked together. The silk tie I had perfectly dimpled for him this morning was now a crumpled ball of fabric discarded in a hazardous waste bin. The buttons on his shirt, which mandated a strict vertical alignment, were chaotic and askew. Preston Shaw was sharp. He caught my reflection in the glass. He frowned—a silent, dangerous warning. My shin throbbed. The phantom ache of a hairline fracture, a souvenir from the last time I tried to stop him from seeing Sienna. I blinked, masking the shock with a practiced, porcelain smile. I turned to the confused board of investors standing behind me. “Apologies, gentlemen,” I said, my voice smooth as aged whiskey. “It seems there was a chemical spill. A student’s experiment went sideways. It’s not safe to enter yet. Let’s move to the Quantum Wing.” 1 Inside the lab, the sounds dampened but didn’t disappear. I could hear the girl’s breathless, weeping laughter. And Preston’s voice, terrifyingly casual. “What are you afraid of? If anyone sees, I’ll just tell them you’re mine. Don’t you want that?” A single door separated two different realities. Out here, I was the face of cutting-edge tech investment. I was the estranged daughter of the wealthy Vanderbilt-adjacent Vance family. Finally, I was Mrs. Shaw. In there, Preston was the heir to the Shaw dynasty. And he was Sienna’s boyfriend. The only thing he wasn’t, was my husband. Our marriage had been a strategic merger announced in the Wall Street Journal, but we were private to the point of paranoia. No tabloids had photos of us together. Sienna, however, was his trophy. He paraded her around like a rare diamond. The rising star of theoretical physics. Preston was her loyal lapdog. But the girl was proud. She was angry he’d scared off her previous boyfriend, and she withheld the title of “official partner” from him. A bitter irony curled in my chest. I had the title, the ring, the name. And what did it matter? As long as Preston wanted to keep a secret, no one would dare tell Sienna that her suitor was a married man. I didn’t listen to another word. I straightened my spine and walked away. In a merger, the line item with the least value—is always sentiment. Preston taught me that. Although the tuition for that lesson had been a broken leg and six months in a wheelchair. The delegation was raving about the equipment, but the conversation inevitably pivoted to Preston. “I hear the Shaw heir is pouring money into quantum computing,” one investor noted. “If he sees a future in it, we’d be fools not to follow.” Another man glanced at me, his eyes lingering on my bare hands. “Mrs. Shaw isn’t wearing her wedding set today? Ah, well… men will be men. They get distracted by wildflowers. I remember when he bought a literal meteorite just to cut you a custom diamond.” I heard the derision loud and clear. These titans of industry were only entertaining my startup because of the Shaw name. How poetic. The heiress marries, and suddenly she loses her birthright. To succeed, she must beg for scraps from her husband’s table. I touched the indent on my ring finger, forcing a light, airy laugh. “Preston said for our eighth anniversary, he’s commissioning something that puts the Star of Eternity to shame. I’ve vaulted the old one. It’s practically an antique now.” The suspicion evaporated. Contracts were signed. After the handshakes, I rubbed my cheeks to massage away the stiffness. I turned the corner and froze. A matte black sedan with the license plate SHAW 1. Preston never used this car for his affairs. It was too recognizable. He was waiting for me. The realization sent a tremor through my hands. I tried to pivot, to feign ignorance, but the car lurched forward, blocking my path. Aggressive. Dominant. Just like him. The window didn’t roll down, yet I could feel the chill radiating from the back seat. Once, I would have rushed to apologize, terrified of his displeasure. I was the perfect curator of his moods. But today? I had walked five miles in heels. I hadn’t eaten. Rage, hot and sudden, flared in my gut. I stared at his silhouette through the tint. “This was just an accident,” I said to the glass. “I’m exhausted. I don’t have time for a lecture.” I had tried so hard to avoid their orbit, yet gravity kept pulling me back to Preston and Sienna. The window slid down. Preston sat there, his long, elegant fingers toying with a diamond ring. “Better than the Star of Eternity?” he asked, his voice dropping fifty degrees. “Audrey, when did you become a liar?” It was the ring I used to guard with my life. The ring I had deliberately “lost.” He tossed it at me. It hit my chest with a dull thud. I looked at it and smiled. “Let’s get a divorce.” The words tasted sweet, but before I could say them, my survival instinct kicked in. “Isn’t lying what you taught me?” 2 The Shaw family operated on a code of conduct that made the military look relaxed. Preston was the embodiment of that code—an obsessive perfectionist bordering on pathological. His coffee had to be single-origin Ethiopian, grind size 14, brewed exactly thirty seconds after grinding. His suit buttons, his cufflinks—everything had to be perpendicular to the floor. Even his treadmill sessions were calculated down to the calorie and heart rate zone. As his wife, I was another metric to be optimized. His requirements were specific: “My wife must come from old money. She must be beautiful, poised, and fluent in the language of high society.” I was eighteen when the Vance family finally acknowledged my existence. I stood in a lineup with my four half-sisters, wearing a dress that had been washed until the fabric thinned, afraid to lift my head. Any sane man would have chosen the polished princesses next to me. But Preston chose me. His eyes didn’t hold the disgust my parents had, nor the mockery of my sisters. They were clear, calm water. “You,” he said. “You are the exception.” It was the first time anyone had chosen me. It is impossible not to fall in love with Preston Shaw when he turns his focus on you. I treated his preferences like gospel. I reinvented myself. In one year, I became the perfect debutante. After the wedding, I became the quintessential Mrs. Shaw. And to my shock, beneath the iron exterior, Preston offered rewards. We chased the Northern Lights in Iceland. We took a private gondola in Venice. We ate gelato on the Ponte Vecchio and felt the Mediterranean breeze in Sicily. Until a week before I caught him. We were in Barcelona, admiring Gaudí. He told me, in a voice that sounded like devotion, that being with me was the happiest he’d ever been. I thought it was real. I thought the cold, robotic Preston Shaw had a heart, and that I held the key. Then came Sienna. Finding her was an accident. She was the wunderkind of the physics department, fast-tracked to a Nobel Prize. And naturally, she was the lead on a project funded by Shaw Capital. I went to surprise Preston at the lab. It was a scene eerily similar to today. Only back then, Sienna hated him. She was throwing his Cartier gifts out into the hallway. Preston, usually so dignified, was chasing her like a desperate teenager. She slapped him. And instead of recoiling, he pinned her against a whiteboard and kissed her. When she pushed him away, he laughed—a raw, rugged sound I had never heard. He was never that relaxed with me. With me, he was polite. A performance. I realized then, tears stinging my eyes, fingernails digging into my palms. Why was our marriage a dance of eggshells? Why was there no heat, no lover’s quarrels? Because to him, I was just a mirror. He was only ever acting. 3 It was a high-security facility. I didn’t have the clearance to barge in. So I watched my husband betray me through a window. I didn’t have the courage to confront him. I chose willful blindness. There was a pathetic hope buried deep inside me: They haven’t slept together yet. Maybe he’ll get bored. I waited three years. Preston couldn’t conquer Sienna. The cracks in his perfect veneer began to show. He started breaking his own rules. When Sienna mentioned a boyfriend, Preston’s jealousy turned nuclear. He used his board influence to reassign the poor boy to a field station in rural Namibia. He pulled strings to make sure Sienna couldn’t graduate without his approval. He held her career hostage because he couldn’t handle rejection. I saw the photos from the private investigator. Sienna’s face, once bright, looked gray and desperate. A dark thought took root: If she won’t take him, maybe I should help her disappear. But I underestimated Preston. My hired muscle betrayed me. I was thrown into the trunk of a car like luggage, blindfolded. The smell of gasoline and exhaust triggered a primal panic. I screamed until my throat bled. When the trunk popped open, Preston was there. He looked disheveled, bruised. He pulled me into a crushing hug. “I forgive you this time,” he whispered into my hair. “But never again.” I froze. To punish me—or perhaps to keep me docile—he became even more attentive. Our families were thrilled. But one night, in the dark, he whispered her name. I snapped. “Get out! If you love her, go to her!” I smashed every vase in the bedroom. I screamed like a banshee. Preston just stood there, lighting a cigarette, looking at me with pity. “Audrey. I thought you were smart.” “Your advantage over the others was always your obedience.” I was pulling at my hair, sobbing. “But you said you loved me. I believed you.” “What did I do wrong? I did everything you asked… please, just look at me. Don’t love her.” He walked through the debris of our room, touched my face, and smiled. “Don’t hurt yourself, darling.” “You are the perfect Mrs. Shaw. I made you. You should know by now: in a merger, feelings are irrelevant.” “If a lie maximizes profit, only a fool tells the truth.” He drove me to the brink of insanity, then demanded I stay sane. I didn’t understand then. I just stubbornly tried to stop him from seeing her after she attempted suicide. I locked myself in the garage with the car running, letting the carbon monoxide choke me, hoping it would scare him. It worked, temporarily. He promised to stay away. Then he went to her. When he found out I was the one who told Sienna he was married, Preston snapped. He didn’t yell. He picked up a vintage 9-iron golf club. “You cost Sienna half her life,” he said, testing the weight of the club. “A leg for a life. You’re getting off cheap.” The sound of the bone snapping haunts my nightmares. While Sienna was being pumped full of charcoal in the ER, and while his grandfather—the patriarch—had a heart attack from the stress, I was dragging my cast through the rain, locked out of the manor. That night, alone in the cold, I lost our baby. And I lost the last shred of hope for Preston Shaw. The next day, from my hospital bed, I asked for a divorce. “Divorce?” Preston ripped the papers in half. “Audrey, where would you go? The Vances don’t want you. You’ve developed a taste for caviar; you won’t survive on bread.” “I can survive,” I whispered. “Sign the papers.” Maybe it was my pallor. His eyes flickered to my flat stomach, and his hand twitched. “Stay in your lane, be Mrs. Shaw, and I won’t make your life difficult.” I smiled, a dry, brittle thing. “Sienna won’t love a married man.” “She has amnesia,” he said.

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They told me the divorce tore our family apart. That was the first lie. I went with Dad. After the “split,” his temper curdled into something rancid. He was a man composed entirely of whiskey fumes and violence, a black hole that swallowed every cent I earned and every ounce of peace I tried to build. He didn’t care if the lights were cut or if the fridge was empty. So, I grew up fast. I spent my afternoons gutting fish at the wharf, my hands permanently smelling of brine and bleach, just to keep a roof over our heads. It was a Tuesday when everything shattered. Dad—Frank—had just knocked me sideways, rifling through my pockets to steal my tips—forty dollars I’d sweated blood for. As I lay on the linoleum, dazed, my phone buzzed on the floor. The screen glitched, displaying a stream of chat comments overlaying my camera feed. [User778: She still has no clue. Doesn’t realize Mommy and Daddy never actually divorced.] [TruthSeeker: It’s just a reality show, guys. ‘The Nature vs. Nurture Experiment.’ Sadistic, if you ask me.] [RichGirlSummer: Look at her. Freezing and starving while her sister is living it up in the Hills.] I blinked, thinking it was a concussion. But the comments kept scrolling. Following the instructions in the chat, I dragged myself up and tracked the location they mentioned. I found myself standing outside a gated estate in Pacific Palisades. The air here smelled different—like jasmine and money. Then, the front door opened. My sister, Ivy. She wasn’t wearing the hand-me-downs I remembered. She was draped in a silk dress that probably cost more than my life’s earnings. And there were my parents, flanking her, looking vibrant, healthy, and unmistakably together. They laughed as they climbed into a gleaming Rolls Royce, the heavy doors thudding shut like a vault. I stood there, gripping my stomach where the hunger pangs usually lived, but all I felt was a bitter, rising bile. They hadn’t divorced. We weren’t broke. I was just the control group. They chose me to suffer because I was the quiet one. The obedient one. 1 I stood frozen on the manicured lawn, the sprinklers hissing to life around me. If the text on my screen had been a rumor, seeing them with my own eyes was the verdict. My parents were still married. My family was sitting on a goldmine. And I was the punchline of a cruel joke. Because I was good? Because I didn’t fight back? Is that why I was the one thrown to the wolves? I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to force air into my lungs. The pain wasn’t physical; it was an existential hollowing out. The comments scrolling across my phone screen filled in the blanks. It was a game. A deep-web reality stream for the bored and wealthy. They paid to watch the disparity—one daughter groomed for the throne, the other ground into the dirt. Five figures a day in donations. Was that it? Was I sold out for ad revenue? Standing under the California sun, I felt a chill settle into my marrow. My phone buzzed. A text from Ivy. “Hey Maya, heard you’re scrubbing floors to pay rent? Poor thing. But you’ve always been the resilient one. Keep grinding, okay?” I could hear the smirk in her voice. Ivy had always been the charming one, the one who knew how to curate her personality for maximum applause. I was the introverted shadow, the one who kept her head down. In middle school, when I brought home straight A’s and Ivy brought home detention slips, Mom didn’t celebrate me. She scolded me for making Ivy feel bad. I should have known then. The scales were never balanced. “Hey! You on the clock or not? Move it!” The shout snapped me back to reality. I looked around, disoriented. My feet had carried me on autopilot back to the fish market. This was my life. Frank was a violent drunk who treated me like an ATM. I wasn’t eighteen yet, so legal work was hard to find. I took what I could get, paid under the table, cash in hand. “Sorry,” I whispered, the word tasting like ash. I tied on the stiff, stained apron, my face pale under the fluorescent hum of the market lights. I worked until my fingers were numb. It was past midnight when I walked back through the alleyways, clutching my day’s pay. The apartment was dark. The peeling wallpaper, the cracked window taped over with cardboard—it all looked like a stage set now. Frank wasn’t home. He was probably celebrating with his real family. I ate a cup of instant noodles, staring at the water stains on the ceiling. I knew they were watching. Hidden cameras, capturing every slurp of broth, every tired sigh, broadcasting it to strangers who found my misery entertaining. I couldn’t sleep. I pulled out my cracked phone. The chat stream popped up again, dropping a link. [Here’s the main feed. Poor Maya looks broken. She’s working herself to death while they feast.] I held my breath and clicked. It was a sophisticated, private streaming site. The number one channel was live. There I was, on a split screen. And there they were. The Bishop family. My parents and Ivy were seated at a table draped in white linen, servers pouring vintage wine and cracking open lobsters. I smelled the stale flavor packet of my noodles; they smelled melted butter and success. I felt like a scavenging creature watching swans glide across a lake. 2 I got home at nine the next night. It was report card day. I had maintained my rank—Valedictorian. To celebrate, I stopped at a bodega and bought a generic, plastic-wrapped muffin. It cost two dollars. No frosting, just dry sponge cake. I set it on the wobbly kitchen table like it was a delicacy. I broke off a piece. It was stale, but the sugar hit my tongue, and my eyes started to burn. I couldn’t remember the last time I had a birthday cake. The stream chat flickered in my peripheral vision. [Maya’s celebrating being top of her class with a stale muffin. Sad.] [Meanwhile, Ivy failed three classes and look at the spread she’s getting.] I opened the livestream. They were at a high-end sushi bar in Malibu. Mom—Susan—was stroking Ivy’s hair, smiling that warm, maternal smile I hadn’t seen in years. “Grades aren’t everything, sweetheart,” she was saying. “As long as you’re happy.” Frank placed a piece of fatty tuna in Ivy’s bowl. “If you want, we can just send you to Europe for a gap year. Or buy your way into that art program. The world is yours, Ivy.” They talked about her future like it was a boundless, golden horizon. My name wasn’t spoken once. It was as if I didn’t exist. As if they had only one daughter. I closed the laptop, the silence of the apartment deafening. Halfway through my muffin, heavy boots stomped in the hallway. The door slammed open. Frank. For a split second, a childish part of me wanted to show him my grades. To make him proud. I crumbled the report card in my hand before I could offer it. He shoved me into the counter. “You got cash? I need a bottle. Now.” “I… I don’t have much,” I stammered. He had taken everything yesterday. “You’ve been working all day! Don’t lie to me!” His boot connected with my shin. Pain exploded up my leg, turning my vision white. I gasped, shrinking back. I dug the crumpled bills from my pocket—my grocery money for the week—and handed them over. I ran to the liquor store, limping, and ran back. “Here,” I said, setting the bottle down. He cracked it open, the smell of cheap vodka filling the room. “Dad,” I tried, my voice shaking. “Report cards came out. I got first in the…” “First?” He laughed, a harsh, barking sound. “What’s the point of a girl reading books? You’re just going to get married anyway. Quit school, get a full-time job, and bring me more money. That’s your purpose.” I stared at him. The image of him offering Ivy a gap year in Europe flashed in my mind. Girls should see the world, they had told her. Reading is useless, he told me. I kept the report card hidden in my fist. He finished half the bottle, then stumbled out, knocking the table over as he went. My muffin—my celebration—rolled onto the dirty floor. He stepped on it, grinding the crumbs into the linoleum, and slammed the door. I looked at the flattened cake. The tears finally came, hot and silent. 3 Frank didn’t come back for a long time. The livestream chat told me why. Ivy was stressed about “life,” so the family rented a villa in Napa to help her “decompose.” I sat in the damp apartment, shaking from a cold that wouldn’t lift. It felt like ice water was circulating through my veins. On the day of the final AP exams—the culmination of four years of sleepless nights—I walked the six miles to the testing center. Cars whizzed past me. I saw a flash of a familiar Mercedes—Ivy, in the passenger seat, laughing. She didn’t even have school that day. When I walked out hours later, exhausted, I saw my parents’ car idling by the curb. My heart did a stupid, treacherous flip. They came. They finally remembered. I started to walk toward them, a smile forming. But they weren’t looking at me. The back door opened, and Ivy hopped in, holding shopping bags. They had just stopped to adjust the GPS. As I raised my hand to wave, the Mercedes peeled away, merging into traffic without a backward glance. I stood alone on the sidewalk, the exhaust fumes washing over me. The text on my screen blurred. [Ivy is the princess. A spa day while Maya fights for her future.] [Maya’s been eating crackers and water. Is this even legal?] [Are they trying to break her?] I pulled up the stream. My parents were addressing the camera, answering the chat. “We’re building her character,” Frank said, swirling a glass of red wine. “Plenty of kids have it worse. If she can’t handle this, she’ll never survive the real world. We’re doing her a favor.” “Once the acceptance letters come in, we’ll bring her home,” Mom added, checking her manicure. “We’ll make it up to her.” Make it up to me? I laughed, a dry, jagged sound. They thought a new wardrobe and a hug would erase six years of starvation? They thought I should be grateful for the trauma? 4 I threw myself into work the moment exams were over. I didn’t know if they’d pay for college, but I knew one thing: they didn’t love me. Acceptance day arrived. I logged into the portal at the public library. Stanford University. Class of 2026. The librarian, Mrs. Higgins, hugged me. “I knew it, Maya. You’re going to do great things.” I ran home, adrenaline pumping. I had a stash—emergency money I’d hidden inside the hollow leg of the kitchen table. It was enough for my deposit and a bus ticket north. I burst into the apartment. It had been tossed. Drawers pulled out, mattress overturned. The table leg was unscrewed. The money was gone. Frank was passed out on the couch, snoring, clutching a bottle of top-shelf bourbon. I grabbed his collar and shook him. “Where is it? Where’s my money?!” He swatted me away like a fly. “Quit screaming. What’s yours is mine. I raised you. You owe me.” “That was for Stanford! I got in!” He glared, his eyes bloodshot. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re eighteen. Get a real job and pay rent here. Don’t ask me for a dime.” I stood there, trembling with a rage so pure it felt like fire. “I am going,” I said, my voice deadly quiet. “And I’ll earn every cent myself.” I walked out. I wandered aimlessly until I found myself near the upscale shopping district. “Maya?” I looked up. Ivy. She looked immaculate. A sundress that caught the light, a crystal pendant at her throat. I looked down at my frayed sneakers. “I heard you got into Stanford,” she said, smiling. It looked almost genuine. “That’s amazing.” She scanned my outfit. “Are you looking for work? This place is… grim. Listen, Mom’s friend needs a private tutor for her kid. It pays really well. In the Heights. You should take it.” I looked at her concern. It felt like a lifeline. I was so desperate, I wanted to believe her. 5 The tutoring gig was in a secluded, wealthy neighborhood. The pay was incredible. On the night I finally had enough for my tuition deposit, I was walking to the bus stop. A dark sedan pulled up. Three guys hopped out. They reeked of stale smoke and trouble. “Hey, sweetheart,” the one with bleached hair sneered. “You look lost. Need a ride?” I backed up, clutching my backpack. “Stay away from me.” “Feisty.” He lunged. I fought. I scratched and kicked, but they were stronger. They yanked my backpack off, dumping the contents onto the pavement. My acceptance letter fluttered into a puddle. They found the envelope of cash. “Stanford, huh?” The bleach-blonde guy laughed. “Never hooked up with a genius before.” “Let me go!” I screamed. He kicked my legs out from under me. I hit the concrete hard. “You talk too much.” He picked up a rusted pipe from the gutter. He didn’t hesitate. He brought it down on my shin. The crack was the loudest thing I’d ever heard. Then came the scream. [This is too far. Ivy set this up.] [Yeah, the ‘job’ was a setup. She hired these guys.] The chat flashed across my dropped phone screen. The pain in my leg was blinding, but the betrayal was a knife in my heart. Ivy. My own sister. She didn’t just want to win; she wanted to destroy me. “Did… did Ivy send you?” I gasped, spitting blood. My hand found my phone, tapping the record button blindly. The guy scoffed. “You’re smart. She said you needed a lesson. Don’t overshadow her, got it?” He kicked me one last time and they ran. I lay there, curled in a ball. My leg was twisted at a sickening angle. Footsteps. Light, deliberate. I opened one swollen eye. Ivy stood over me. She wasn’t horrified. She was smiling. A cold, satisfied curve of her lips. “Help,” I wheezed. “Call 911.” She watched me for a long moment, like I was a bug she’d successfully squashed. Then she turned on her heel and walked away. 6 A jogger found me an hour later. I woke up in the hospital, my left leg encased in heavy plaster. Tibial fracture. No surgery needed, but I wouldn’t be walking for weeks. I called the police immediately. I gave them the recording. I told them everything. That evening, my parents burst into the room. They were carrying a fruit basket and wearing expressions of rehearsed concern. “Oh, Maya!” Mom cried. “My poor baby! Who did this to you?” Frank looked teary-eyed. “We’re here, honey. We’ll take care of everything.” I watched their performance. It was nauseating. “Cut the act,” I said. They froze. “Maya,” Mom’s voice dropped an octave. “Look, Ivy is your sister. You can’t press charges. She didn’t mean for it to go this far. It was just a prank that got out of hand.” “A prank?” I pointed to my cast. “She hired thugs to break my leg and steal my tuition.” “Think of her future,” Frank hissed. “If she gets a record, she’s ruined. If you sign this settlement—an NDA and a waiver of liability—we’ll bring you to the mansion. We’ll pay for Stanford. Everything.” “Or,” Mom added, her eyes narrowing, “You have no insurance. No money. You’ll be discharged onto the street with a broken leg. And who knows? Those boys might come back.” I stared at them. They were monsters. “Fine,” I said softly. They brightened. “But I have a condition. I want a legal document. A complete emancipation and severance of ties. You disown me, I disown you. No legal claims, no financial ties. We are strangers.” They exchanged a look of relief. They didn’t want a daughter; they wanted a liability removed. “Done,” Frank said. The next morning, they brought the papers. They signed the severance agreement with eager scribbles. I handed over the signed settlement letter. They walked out, beaming, thinking they had won. The second the door closed, I emailed the audio recording to the detective. I opened the livestream. They were celebrating in the Rolls Royce, Ivy showing off a new bracelet, bragging about how “family sticks together.” The siren wail cut through their audio feed. I watched on the screen as the police cruiser blocked them in. “Ivy Bishop, step out of the vehicle.”

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Four years. That was the tally of our long-distance marathon. I never once worried that Holden would betray me. Why would I? My best friend, Sienna, attended the same university as him. She was my eyes and ears, my proxy on the ground. She kept me synced to his life, beat for beat. Over those four years, Holden came to see me more than two hundred times. Between the flights and the hotels, he must have burned through thirty thousand dollars. I remember how he used to smile, his hand warm and heavy as he ruffled my hair. “You get air-sick, and cars make you nauseous,” he’d say, his voice a soft rumble. “So let me come to you. I never want you to look at other girls and envy their boyfriends. Not for a second.” “I can make money tutoring,” he’d insist. “If I’m not spending it coming to see my high-maintenance girl, what’s the point?” On the day of his graduation, I told him a lie. I said my advisor was chaining me to the lab for three days. In reality, I endured a twenty-hour trip from hell—three layovers and a Greyhound bus—just to make it to his ceremony. I had a ring in my pocket. I was going to propose to him. When I arrived at the university, the air was electric. A crowd had gathered on the main quad, the cheering deafening. It was the sound of a spectacle. I tilted my head, curious. Through the gaps in the crowd, I saw a man down on one knee. It was my boyfriend. It was Holden. And the girl standing before him, hands over her mouth? That was my best friend. Sienna. 1 I felt like I’d been struck by lightning. My vision blurred, static filling the edges of my sight. Rub your eyes, Avery, I told myself. It’s the travel fatigue. The stale air. You’re hallucinating. But when I focused again, the image sharpened, and the tears came before I could even process the pain. I saw Holden’s hand trembling as he held the velvet box. “Sienna,” he said, his voice projecting clearly over the hush of the crowd, “I have never imagined spending the rest of my life with anyone else.” “To me, there is only you, and then there is everyone else. Will you marry me?” My head turned mechanically, locking onto Sienna. She was weeping, that beautiful, delicate cry she had perfected. She looked stunning today. She was wearing a white, tiered chiffon dress paired with little leather loafers. In the sunlight, it looked almost like a wedding gown. Sienna, who hated makeup, was flawless today. The kind of beauty that makes your heart ache. A memory, sharp as glass, sliced through my mind. Two weeks ago. Her voice on the phone. “Babe, which dress should I get?” I had told her to pick the white tiered one. “But it’s three hundred dollars over my budget,” she had hesitated. “Is it worth it?” “It’s gorgeous,” I had insisted. “It’s perfect for you. If you love yourself, buy it. I’ll Venmo you the difference.” At the time, I thought she was wearing it to a dinner with her roommates. Now I realized: She was wearing the dress I paid for, to accept a proposal from my boyfriend. The shock was physical. It froze my blood, locking my limbs in place. Part of me wanted to scream, to sprint into the center of that circle, snatch the ring, and crush it under my heel. Instead, I watched Sienna smile through her tears. “I couldn’t imagine loving anyone but you,” she sobbed. “I’d rather die.” “Holden… yes! I will! I will marry you!” I watched, paralyzed, as Holden slid the ring onto her finger. They embraced, their lips meeting in a kiss that looked like it belonged on a movie poster. The crowd erupted, a tidal wave of applause and cheers. Beside me, two girls sighed in admiration, their words twisting the knife deeper. “Holden and Sienna are literally perfect. From freshman year sweethearts to marriage… I’ve been shipping them since they got together first semester!” “Right? He’s the Student Body President, she’s the brilliant Lit major. You couldn’t write a better romance novel. Three years together and straight to a proposal? I’m dying. It’s too romantic.” The bouquet of flowers in my hand slipped. The ring box I had been clutching tumbled onto the pavement. Three years. Only now, amidst the confetti of my shattered reality, did I learn the truth. My best friend and my boyfriend had been the campus power couple for three years. Everyone knew. Except me. A metallic taste—blood—surged in my throat. My body began to convulse, a violent rejection of what I was seeing. The world tilted, and I hit the ground. Strangers, kind students, rushed to help me, carrying me toward the campus health center. In the distance, Holden and Sienna were still lost in their kiss, oblivious to the universe outside of their deceit. When I woke up in the clinic, the nurse looked relieved. “Honey, your blood sugar bottomed out,” she said gently. “You need to take better care of yourself.” I sat up, hands shaking, and dialed Holden. No answer. I messaged Sienna on every platform. Called her. Nothing. Tears dripped onto my phone screen, blurring the keypad. The nurse handed me a candy wrapped in gold foil. “Why the tears? Here, have a chocolate. Some students dropped these off. Party favors from the big proposal.” “That Sienna girl and Holden… they’re a sweet couple. Big scene on the quad today. Very exciting.” I walked out of the clinic like a ghost haunting the campus. The nurse’s words echoed in my ears, a loop of torture. “Freshman year, Sienna fainted during physical fitness tests. Holden carried her all the way here. You should have seen how panicked he was.” “After that, they were inseparable. Wanted to be together twenty-five hours a day. People even wrote stories about them on the campus forum. Totally codependent. And now, look at them. Happily ever after.” Every sentence was a razor blade, carving fresh wounds into my heart. Freshman year. I had fainted during my fitness test, too. My roommates had helped me. I never imagined Holden and Sienna were lying to me. They were building a romance in the very clinic where I imagined him worrying about me. My phone buzzed. A voice message from Holden. I played it. His voice was thick, slightly slurred. “Baby… graduation was crazy. Went out drinking with the guys, sorry I missed your call.” “Don’t be mad, okay? Can we FaceTime? Actually… no, I smell like a brewery. I’ll FaceTime you tomorrow.” “I ordered breakfast for you, it’ll be at your door in the morning. Remember to eat. Love you.” My heart plummeted into the abyss. A message from Sienna followed seconds later. “Avery! Is the thesis stressing you out? I was so busy taking grad photos with my roommates I totally missed your texts. My bad!” “Your boy Holden is behaving, by the way. Some girls tried to get photos with him, but he shut them down. He only wants to take photos with you.” They were so coordinated. They had built a fortress of lies, timing their messages to cover the cracks. If I hadn’t seen the proposal with my own eyes, I would have believed them. I would have been the fool who thanked them for their loyalty. I sank into a crouch right there on the sidewalk, burying my face in my knees, and wept until I couldn’t breathe. Then, I heard them. I looked up. Under the streetlights by the campus lake, Holden had his arm around Sienna. They were laughing, that intimate, secret laughter of lovers. They were feeding a stray orange tabby cat. Sienna’s voice was wistful. “Mittens… we’ve been feeding you for three years. You’re like the witness to our happiness.” Holden looked at her, and the love in his eyes was so potent it was terrifying. “I love you, Sienna.” The words shook my very soul. Sienna bit her lip, looking tragic and beautiful as she buried her face in his chest. “You’ve done enough for me. After today… we can’t love each other out loud anymore.” “You have to go live with Avery. Build your little home. And I’m going to France for grad school. We might never see each other again.” Holden held her tighter. “Sienna, no matter how far you go, you are the one in my heart. I proposed to you.” She nodded, a sad, accepting smile on her face. “I have enough memories. At least you asked me first. Even if you marry Avery later, I won’t be jealous.” “Don’t feel guilty. Even if we don’t get the marriage license… maybe you’ll remember me longer because of it.” My fingernails dug into my palms until the skin broke. I watched them kiss again, desperate and passionate. Holden’s voice was ragged. “I’m sorry, Sienna. I’ll find ways to come to France. I’ll see you.” The wet, intimate sounds of their kissing drifted through the night air. Holden was a master at partitioning his heart. He would secretly propose to Sienna, the love of his life, and then settle for marrying me. Sienna was his ‘one that got away.’ His golden ghost. My face felt like it was burning. Tears plastered my hair to my cheeks. I looked at the chocolate in my hand—the “party favor”—crushed it into a shapeless lump, and threw it into the nearest trash can. Then, I turned around. I went straight to the airport and boarded the first flight back. I had arrived full of hope. I left with a heart that had turned to ash. Exhaustion pulled me into a feverish sleep on the plane. Dreams flickered like a horror movie reel. Holden and Sienna holding hands on the quad. Feeding the kitten until it grew into a fat cat. Eating in the cafeteria, picking out the vegetables the other didn’t like. Walking through the first snow, sharing a scarf. I woke up gasping, sweat chilling my forehead, tears soaking my pillow. I was back in my dorm. My roommates were hovering, looking worried. “Avery? You’re back? We thought you were proposing! Why do you look like a wreck?” “Yeah, did Sienna get a video? Show us! It must have been so brave. Seriously, you’re a legend for doing that.” I had kept the trip a secret to surprise Holden. Surprise. The word tasted like bile. I looked at their curious, kind faces and couldn’t even force a smile. “Holden… he had to go collect data with his advisor suddenly. I missed him. So I came back.” They glanced at each other, sensing the lie but kind enough not to press. I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t say that the “World’s Best Boyfriend” I had bragged about for four years had been sleeping with my best friend the entire time. My head was splitting. I went to the balcony to brush my teeth, needing air. That’s when I saw him. Downstairs. Holden. Standing there, looking windblown and desperate. He was holding a bouquet of Cappuccino roses—my favorite. And a box of that expensive pistachio cake from the bakery I loved. He looked up, his eyes full of that familiar, deceptive warmth. Last night he was making love to Sienna. Today, he was playing the perfect boyfriend for me. “Avery!” he shouted. “Let’s take graduation photos!” My roommate poked my shoulder, swooning. “God, he’s romantic. Go down there!” I moved like a robot. I didn’t even put on shoes. I walked out of the dorm barefoot. When Holden saw me, he frowned, running over to scoop me up and deposit me on a nearby bench. “Are you happy-shocked? Why no shoes?” “We’re going to live together soon,” he scolded gently. “I have to break you of this bad habit.” Soon? The word made me want to laugh hysterically. He paused, noticing my expression. “Avery, do you feel sick?” “Are you still mad? I know, I know. Not texting back last night was terrible. That’s why I caught the first flight out. Flowers and cake as a peace offering.” The rage hit me all at once, a physical blow. I grabbed the cake box and smashed it into his face. Before he could react, I took the roses—thorns and all—and hurled them at his chest. “Holden! Do you think I’m an idiot? Do you think you can just play me like a fiddle?” My voice was a scream, raw and terrifying. I didn’t recognize myself. The ring was still on his finger. The one he gave Sienna. How much did he love her that he couldn’t even take it off to see me? Holden’s temper was terrifyingly good. It made my skin crawl. He wiped frosting from his eye, forcing a smile. “Babe, is the lab work going badly?” “It’s okay. I handled everything at my school. I’m here to help you prep for graduation. I’m here. Don’t stress.” “We have our trip coming up. Smile for me.” “And hey, didn’t you want to buy a going-away gift for Sienna? I’ll pick up some extra shifts. You can buy her something expensive.” He started cleaning up the mess, cautioning me, “Watch out for the thorns.” I didn’t feel the thorns. I walked up to him and slapped him across the face. Hard. “Holden. You are absolutely disgusting.” But the grief was a vacuum, sucking the energy out of my cells. The world went black, and I collapsed. The last thing I saw was Holden’s face crumbling into panic as he lunged to catch me. When Holden heard the doctor say I had fainted from acute gastroenteritis and stress, guilt washed over his features. He gripped my hand. “Avery, this is my fault. I made you feel like you couldn’t even tell me you were sick.” “Don’t be scared. I’m staying right here. I already emailed your professor.” He was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. A perfect mask over a rotting soul. I couldn’t even muster the energy to be angry anymore. I watched him bustle around—wiping my face, buying food, dealing with the insurance forms. Since high school, he had taken care of me. Peeling fruit, remembering anniversaries, the grand gestures. After finals senior year of high school, he had confessed to me with a bouquet he arranged himself. I fell into that sweet, first-love dream. Sienna, interestingly, hadn’t liked him. “Babe, I don’t think Holden is good enough for you,” she’d said. They were like oil and water. I was always the mediator. When we got into different colleges, I cried for days. Sienna stayed by my side, volunteering to keep an eye on him. “Babe, I’ll watch him. If Holden so much as talks to another girl, I’ll report back instantly.” I remembered leaning on her shoulder, looking at Holden with arrogant pride. “See? Don’t think about cheating. Sienna is my CCTV.” He had promised, hand over his heart. “Don’t worry. She won’t have anything to report.” I thought I had the world’s most thoughtful boyfriend and the world’s most loyal best friend. I didn’t know they were using my trust—and my lack of social media stalking—to build a life together. They were the campus sweethearts, living a romance everyone else envied. Holden’s phone rang on the bedside table while he was getting water. It was his mom. Mrs. Warner. I remembered how she always held my hand, bringing me homemade dishes. I picked up. Her voice froze me solid. “Son! When are you bringing Sienna home for dinner? Your dad and I miss her.” “Don’t bring Avery this time. Every time she comes, I have to fake a smile and cater to her. She’s such a princess. High maintenance. I like Sienna so much better.” “Tell Sienna I miss her. I have that vintage pearl necklace for her—grandmother’s pearls. I couldn’t bear to give them to Avery.” My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice. The woman who smiled at me… behind my back, she had already chosen her daughter-in-law. My voice rasped. “Mrs. Warner. If you hate me that much, why do you call my parents ‘family’ every time you see them?” She recognized my voice. The line went dead instantly. I let out a bitter, hollow laugh. Driven by instinct, I reached into Holden’s jacket pocket. There it was. The second phone. I typed in Sienna’s birthday. It unlocked. The photo gallery. Thousands of them. Intimate, domestic, happy. Every wallpaper was Sienna. Every app was organized by her. No wonder Holden always let me check his phone with such confidence. He had a burner life. A message popped up from the pinned contact: My Sienna. “Honey, I’m coming to see Avery now. She won’t suspect anything, right?” “I need to see you. Plus, with her princess temper, if I don’t show up, she’ll blame me for not caring.” The words were poison. I typed back: “Come over.” “On my way! Wait for me, my love!” I put the phone back. I sat in the silence, waiting for the curtain to rise on their little play.

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One week ago, the real Sterling heiress showed up at our doorstep. That was the moment I found out I was a fraud. But since my biological parents were long dead, the Sterlings decided to keep me around. The real daughter, the one who just came back, seemed to have a lot of beef with me—the imposter. She not only monopolized Mom, Dad, and my brother’s attention, but she was also determined to reclaim the fiancé who was originally supposed to be hers. I honestly didn’t care. I just wanted to survive and keep a roof over my head. But when I tried to return my fiancé to her, the man who had always been gentle with me showed a dark, gloomy expression I’d never seen before. He gripped my waist tight, looking down at me with an oppressive, natural-born dominance. “Harper,” he whispered, “since we were kids, I’ve known… you can only be mine.” Right at that moment, the real heiress pushed the door open. She blinked, flashing a smile that revealed two cute canine teeth. “Julian! Didn’t you promise Mrs. Vanderbilt you’d have dinner with me?” Weirdly, at that exact second, I heard the roar of her inner thoughts. — “You batsh*t crazy male lead! Get the hell away from the heroine! She belongs to the second male lead!” 1. I’ve become weird. Normal people can’t read minds, but I can. Specifically, I can only read Hailey’s mind. Hailey is my sister in name, but she’s the real blood of the Sterling family. I’m the fake. The day she was brought back, Mom, Dad, and my brother Austin held her and cried their eyes out. I stood to the side, clearly the outsider. After that day, I knew the drill. No more acting spoiled, no more being willful. I just needed to be a good piece of furniture in this house. The whole world started revolving around Hailey. Hailey hated me, the imposter. I understood. I’d been the cuckoo in the nest for nineteen years, living a life of luxury while she suffered out there. I was content with the status quo. Mom, Dad, and Austin were hers. My childhood fiancé, Julian Vanderbilt, should be hers too. Hailey had been visiting the Vanderbilt estate a lot lately. She’d come back and brag in front of me about how nice Julian’s mother was to her, how polite and gentlemanly Julian was, and how lively the house became with her around. My brother, usually close to me, looked like he wanted to say something but held back. Finally, Mom came to me. “Harper, Hailey really poured her heart into Julian. Knitting scarves, baking pastries… If Hailey hadn’t been lost all those years ago, she would have been the one engaged to him…” Before she could finish, I cut in immediately. “Mom, as long as my sister is happy, I’m happy.” Mom breathed a sigh of relief, then seemed to feel a delayed pang of guilt. “Good child. I’ll keep an eye out for other eligible bachelors for you. We won’t treat you unfairly.” I nodded obediently. But everyone knew how awkward my position in the Sterling family was now. Any decent guy would avoid me like the plague. Whatever. I wasn’t planning on relying on a man anyway. 2. But Julian must have heard the rumors. He walked into my room casually, just like when we were kids. He used to love hanging out in my room while I played house, forcing him to eat “fried rice” made of Play-Doh. But this was the first time since we grew up that he barged in without knocking. “Julian…” I barely got a word out before he yanked me up from the sofa by my wrist. His grip was rough. Standing in front of him, I realized I only reached his chest. Through his thin white dress shirt, I could see the definition of his muscles, radiating a dangerous kind of wildness. He was mischievous as a kid but grew up gentle and quiet. I’d never seen this side of him. My wrist throbbed. I wanted to yell at him like old times, but then I remembered—this guy was about to be my brother-in-law. Let it slide. But when I stayed silent, he got worse. His arm snaked around my waist, pulling me tight against him. Even though we were engaged early on, we’d never been this intimate. “Julian, are you crazy?” I couldn’t help but snap, trying to break free. “Shh,” his voice was hoarse, whispering right in my ear. “Be good. Just let me hold you for a minute.” I struggled harder, but against his absolute strength, it was useless. He held me for a while, then suddenly looked down. His eyes were dark enough to swallow a person whole. “Harper, since we were kids, I’ve known… you can only be mine.” His predatory stare made my skin crawl. It felt like my childhood friend had morphed into a wolf that had been lying in ambush for years. 3. When Hailey walked in, Julian didn’t let go. I was caught in a literal nightmare scenario, my scalp tingling with awkwardness. But Hailey was clearly a girl with deep thoughts. Faced with this scene, she didn’t flinch. She just smiled. “Julian! Didn’t you promise Mrs. Vanderbilt you’d have dinner with me?” At the same time, her lips didn’t move, but I heard a roar full of energy echoing in my room like thunder. — “You batsh*t crazy male lead! Get the hell away from the heroine! She belongs to the second male lead!” Julian’s expression didn’t change. I thought I was hallucinating. But then came another line. — “You toxic trash man, get your ass downstairs and eat dinner! Stop harassing the heroine!” — “Or I swear to God, I’ll send you to prison myself!” Me: ? I looked at Hailey, who was smiling innocently, and felt my worldview shattering. She had no idea I could hear her screaming internally. — “Big Sis is here. I won’t let you hurt the heroine.” — “Got it?” 4. From then on, I kept hearing these weird, bizarre thoughts coming from Hailey. For example, the day she came back from dinner with Julian, she bragged to me as usual. “Julian is so sweet. He heard I hate deboning fish, so he picked out all the bones for me. He said he knows a place with amazing fish and he’ll take me there next time. I’m going to fall in love with seafood~” In reality, her mind was spewing profanity. — “Bullsh*t!” — “That bastard Julian, giving me that resting b*tch face the whole meal. Who was he showing attitude to? It’s not like I kidnapped him!” — “He wants the heroine but also wants the Sterling family’s support to solidify his status. Greedy pig.” — “Trash. Absolute societal garbage.” — “Useless except for his face.” — “I sincerely hope he’s compensating for something. Tiny. Three-second man.” Me: … Me: “Pfft.” Hailey looked at me instantly, her fake bragging expression cracking. Her inner voice rang out again. — “? Why is she laughing?” Then she realized. — “Sigh, look at her mental state. I must have driven her crazy with jealousy.” — “Hope she’s okay.” — “But short-term pain is better than long-term suffering. Stay away from that perverted scumbag and you’ll be happy for eight hundred lifetimes.” Hailey walked past me, up the stairs, then turned back to give me a provocative smirk. “Sister,” she said, “Julian… I’m going to win him over, you know.” She strutted away like a peacock spreading its tail. Accompanied by her excited inner thoughts. — “Yessss!” — “I am a genius.” — “I should win an Oscar for this.” 5. My brother Austin came back from a business trip to Chile. He brought gifts. Hailey and I each got a crystal bracelet. She got an extra pair of pearl earrings. I got a jar of chocolates—I specifically asked Austin to bring them. He knew I didn’t care much for jewelry but loved sweets. Hailey eyed my chocolates. She wanted the whole jar. Austin couldn’t handle her pestering. He turned to me, “Harper, Hailey never had these things growing up. Her foster family couldn’t afford them… How about you give the chocolates to her this time? I’ll have someone buy you more later.” I never realized my family was so good at “future faking”—selling me empty promises. The moment I handed the chocolates to Hailey, a hurricane raged in her mind. — “Speechless. I am literally speechless.” — “If he’s this good at selling dreams, why isn’t he working at a bakery? He’s spinning so much dough he could open a pizzeria.” — “Spineless coward. His brain flew away with the pizza dough.” — “Heroine, please give up on this useless man.” — “In the future, when this guy gets a wife, it’ll be even worse. He’ll just let his wife bully you.” — “Right now he asks you to ‘endure’ over chocolate. Later, when his wife slaps you, he’ll tell you to ‘endure’ that too.” — “Harper! Wake up!” — “There aren’t that many things in this world worth enduring!” I looked up at her, stunned. There aren’t that many things in this world worth enduring. I don’t know why, but that sentence hit me hard. Plip, plop. My tears started falling. 6. Since childhood, my education was all about endurance. Etiquette meant if you want to laugh, hold it in. Be strong. If you want to cry, hold it in. Keep your figure. If you want to eat, hold it in. Bullied at school? Endure it. Afraid of the dark, ghosts, thunder? Endure it. They needed a perfect Sterling heiress, Harper Sterling. The phrase I heard most was: “Harper, just endure it, it’ll be fine.” This was the first time someone said to me: “There aren’t that many things in this world worth enduring.” So I didn’t hold it in. Tears fell one after another, an inexplicable grievance washing over me. Hailey was visibly panicked. Austin was stunned too. “Harper, it’s just a jar of chocolates…” “Shut up!” Hailey barked at him viciously. Austin flinched. Her inner voice became incredibly frantic. — “Ahhhhhhh! Does she love chocolate that much?! If I knew I wouldn’t have snatched it!” — “I’m so mad! Why do I have to follow the Villainess script?!” — “Can someone tell me…” — “If the villainess gives back half the stolen chocolate, does she still look evil?” — “Stop crying, Sis. You’re my sister, okay?” She was dancing on my funny bone again. I was about to laugh through my tears. Suddenly, a man’s low, magnetic voice came from the side. “Tsk. Why the tears?” I looked up. A man in a sharp suit was sitting on the sofa. I hadn’t noticed him. His features resembled Julian’s, but sharper, colder, more aggressive. I stopped crying and greeted him politely. “Uncle Silas.” Of course, he wasn’t my uncle. I just followed Julian’s lead. He was Julian’s youngest uncle, the youngest son of the Vanderbilt patriarch. He was also the new king of the business world, having doubled the Vanderbilt fortune in recent years. At the same time, I heard Hailey scream internally. — “Holy mother of god!!! Why is the Second Male Lead here?!”

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Years after graduation, my high school crush became an A-list superstar. When we reunited at a class party, his expression was ice cold. “Do I know you?” Everyone thought Parker had forgotten me. Until the news of my accidental death broke. While packing up my apartment, my best friend found an old love letter Parker had written to me years ago. June, loving you is too bitter. I don’t want to like you anymore. But further down, in tiny handwriting: Never mind. I’m lying. That same night, the news of Parker’s suicide trended #1 on X (Twitter). When I opened my eyes again, I was back at that reunion dinner. Looking at Parker’s cold, indifferent face, I tentatively pulled out my phone and sent him a text. The very next second, his phone blasted a unique notification sound—the one reserved for “Special Contacts.” Parker: “…” 1. I died in a blizzard. I went out looking for inspiration for my novel, got lost in the mountains, and froze to death. It was not a dignified way to go. My best friend, Zoe, rushed over the moment she got the call. She was sobbing so hard she could barely breathe while identifying my body. “June! How could you be so cruel? How could you just leave me?” “Even if Parker doesn’t remember you, you still have me!” My soul was floating in mid-air, and hearing this made my spectral toes curl from second-hand embarrassment. If I wasn’t already stone-cold dead, I would have rushed over to cover her mouth. Girl! The coroner clearly said it was an accident. Why are you making it sound like I died of a broken heart? Can’t a girl leave a clean reputation behind? But clearly, Zoe didn’t think so. For some reason, she was convinced my death was Parker’s fault. She whipped out her phone and dialed his number. It rang for a long time before he picked up. “Hello?” A raspy male voice answered, sounding like he’d just been woken up. “Zoe? What is it? I just wrapped an overnight shoot…” “Parker,” Zoe cut him off, her voice trembling with grief. “June is dead.” Silence stretched on the other end of the line. Even as a ghost, I couldn’t help but feel a tiny spark of hope. How would Parker react? Would he be sad? Or would he think it was just the passing of someone insignificant? After all, at the reunion a few days ago, he had been so cold. When our classmates tried to tease us, he just asked in a frosty voice, “Do I know you?” That one sentence froze the entire room. Meeting his indifferent gaze, the courage I had spent hours building up instantly evaporated. I just stammered, “N-nothing,” and lowered my head, terrified to look up again. Actually… I understood. He was a top-tier celebrity now, and it had been six years since graduation. It was a good thing he didn’t remember me. Otherwise, I’d always feel like I owed him something. “Parker, did you hear me?” Zoe screamed into the phone, crying. “I said June is dead! She’s gone!” Thud. There was the sound of something heavy hitting the floor on the other end. Parker seemed to be gritting his teeth, his voice shaking. “…I don’t believe you.” The next second, he hung up. Zoe, furious and weeping, took a photo of my death certificate and texted it to him, only to find she’d been blocked. I wanted to comfort her, but my hand passed right through her shoulder. I ended up just hugging the air around her. Don’t cry, you dummy. 2. Five days after my death, Zoe brought my ashes back to the city. I didn’t have much family in the country. My only brother was on a business trip overseas and was currently on a flight back. When Zoe carried my urn into my apartment, my Ragdoll cat, Nugget, hadn’t eaten in two days. I had left three days’ worth of food, thinking I’d be back. I never thought I wouldn’t make it. Zoe used to come over all the time. Seeing her, Nugget immediately pounced, meowing for food. Seeing my cat triggered Zoe, and she almost started crying again. After filling the bowl, Nugget rushed to eat. Zoe walked into my study to start packing my belongings. I was a full-time author, so I spent more time in my study than my bedroom. The desk was exactly how I left it. Next to the computer sat a framed photo of our high school friend group. In the photo, Zoe was linking arms with me in the center, and Parker stood on the far right. Through the crowd, I was smiling at the camera, but Parker’s eyes were looking sideways—at me. Zoe was currently furious at Parker. She packed everything else and reached for the photo frame last. Just then, Nugget, full from dinner, zoomed into the room. Seeing Zoe reach for the frame, the cat launched a surprise attack. Crash! The frame hit the floor, glass shattering everywhere. Zoe jumped. She picked up the cat and noticed something tucked inside the backing of the broken frame. “Meow.” Nugget realized he messed up and let out an apologetic squeak. Zoe bent down and pulled out a letter hidden behind the photo. It was a love letter. We were both confused. The paper was yellowed with age, but the handwriting was sharp and clear. Every word was filled with a hidden, grand, unrequited love. June, loving you is too bitter. I don’t want to like you anymore. But further down, in tiny print: Never mind. I’m lying. When our eyes drifted to the signature, both Zoe and I froze. Signed: Parker. The current king of the entertainment industry. And my high school desk mate whom I had secretly loved for years. Suddenly, I remembered. Parker had given me this frame during our senior year. I had moved many times over the years, but I always kept this frame by my computer. I never knew it held such a secret. I thought back to the phone call—the way Parker gritted his teeth and said “I don’t believe you” with a trembling voice. My heart ached unbearably. So ghosts can feel heartbreak, too? I watched Zoe whip out her phone and unblock Parker. But before she could dial, a breaking news notification popped up on her screen. #ParkerSuicide Zoe’s hands shook as she clicked the trending topic. A video from a gossip account with millions of followers had been posted ten minutes ago. An ambulance was parked outside a luxury villa, surrounded by security. The camera zoomed in. A hand hung limp from the stretcher—slender, pale, undeniably his. Dark red liquid dripped from his fingertips, splashing onto the ground like blooming flowers. The headline screamed: Parker found dead by wrist-slashing at home. Suicide note suggests he died for love. I stared at the words “Died for Love.” My brain short-circuited. No, no, it shouldn’t be like this… Why would he die? How could he die? In an instant, memories flashed through my mind like a reel of film. They stopped at that snowy winter day when we were seventeen. Parker stood at the bottom of the school steps, reaching his hand out to me. “It’s a deal then, June.” His eyes curved into crescents, his smile impossibly gentle. “When I become a superstar, you’re going to be my manager.” A gust of wind blew, covering the world in white snow. It felt like a long dream. 3. “June? June!” I snapped back to reality. “Why are you zoning out? Parker is here!” I looked at Zoe’s concerned face and felt my eyes sting. Thank god. I was back. Back to the night of the reunion. I looked up and locked eyes with Parker. In that split second, I knew exactly what he was going to say— Do I know you? “Why are you crying?” The voice from my memory overlapped with the voice in my ear. I looked at him blankly. “What?” Unlike the last life, Parker didn’t ask who I was. He frowned slightly, repeating in a cold voice, “Why are you crying?” He started to reach out instinctively, then seemed to remember where we were and froze. He turned his face away, his frown deepening. I touched my cheek. I hadn’t realized I was crying. “June?” Zoe noticed too. “What’s wrong? Do you feel sick?” “N-no…” I took a deep breath, wiped my face, and pretended to rub my eyes. “I think an eyelash fell in my eye.” So awkward. Crying right in front of him. Parker must think I’m insane. I peeked at him. He was talking to Zoe. Zoe was an editor at a fashion magazine now, the only one of us who crossed paths with Parker professionally. That’s why she had his number in my past life. The reunion had been planned for a month. Knowing Parker was coming, almost everyone showed up. Even as the food arrived, everyone’s eyes were glued to Parker. Some people are born protagonists. He just had to sit there to be the center of the universe. Separated by Zoe, I kept my head down and ate quietly. Seeing him alive was enough. If I don’t die this time, he won’t die either. After a few rounds of drinks, the Class President walked over to toast Parker. “Superstar! We thought you wouldn’t make it. You really honored us by coming!” Parker smiled, politely taking a sip of his wine. The Class President’s gaze drifted to Zoe, then to me. He frowned. “Are you… June?” Suddenly, everyone looked at me. “It really is you!” The President got excited when I nodded. “You transferred so suddenly in senior year and cut off all contact. I thought you wouldn’t come!” “Come to think of it, weren’t you and the Superstar desk mates back then?” I felt Parker’s gaze land on me heavily. “Is that so?” I heard Parker’s voice, cool and indifferent, as if I meant nothing. “I forgot long ago.” The food in my bowl had gone cold. I swallowed it. It tasted bitter. 4. The winter of our senior year, I transferred schools suddenly due to family issues. One day we were planning our future; the next, I vanished. For years, Zoe was the only one I kept in touch with. She knew my situation but never brought it up. The following summer, Parker exploded onto the scene via a talent show, taking the championship. That summer, his name was everywhere. The face I knew so well was on every TV screen. His songs played in every mall. Overnight, I went from the girl sharing his desk to just one of his millions of followers on Weibo. And finally, I could openly say: The person I like is named Parker. College out of state was lonely. Several times, I opened my chat with Parker, only to stare at the history and stay silent. June, where are you? June, you’re late. June, what happened? June, it’s snowing. Bring an umbrella. Further down were dozens of missed calls and worried messages. The last message was sent at midnight, nine hours later. June, I’m not waiting anymore. That was New Year’s Eve. We had planned to meet, and I stood him up. I typed and deleted, typed and deleted. Suddenly, my phone rang. I jumped. Seeing the caller ID, I instinctively answered. I heard his familiar breathing. My throat went tight. I didn’t know what to say. “June…” He sounded like he was grinding his teeth. “Speak.” “What does ‘typing’ for ten minutes mean?” I took a breath and whispered, “Are… are you okay?” His breath hitched. I had imagined our reunion a thousand times. But in the end, separated by a screen, I only heard his cold voice. “Thanks to you, I’m doing great.” After a long silence, I managed a dry reply. “That… that’s good. I hope you get even better. Become a huge star. Have a smooth path…” Beep— He hung up. I stared at the screen, laughing and crying at the same time. Later, he did exactly as I said. He became huge. His path was smooth. And my grand, secret, youthful crush quietly came to an end.

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On the day Caleb Sterling was about to exchange wedding rings with me, his “depressed” stepsister called. “Caleb… my wrist is bleeding so much. My Prince is gone, and now the Little Mermaid has to turn into sea foam and sleep forever in the deep ocean…” “Will you think of me when you look at the sea, Caleb?” Caleb’s hand, which had been holding mine tightly, suddenly went slack. His voice trembled. “Bella, tell me where you are. I’ll watch the ocean with you, okay?” “Don’t do anything stupid. I’m coming right now.” He hung up, his eyes turning to me with that familiar, apologetic look. “Bella is unstable again. I have to go find her.” “Let’s reschedule the wedding, okay?” “No!” I grabbed Caleb’s sleeve tightly, ignoring the confused whispers of the guests below. I questioned him, my voice bordering on hysteria. “Are you the only psychiatrist in the world? Why does she try to kill herself every single time we get married?” “This is the ninety-ninth time, Caleb. Have you ever considered that maybe, just maybe, changing doctors would actually help her?” Caleb’s dark eyes instantly turned sharp. His thin lips pressed into a line of displeasure. He looked at me coldly, as if I were the one being unreasonable. Bella was his trigger. Untouchable. Sacred. 01 I couldn’t help but think back to the first time I met Bella. She had stolen a handmade charm bracelet Caleb made for me. Before I could even get angry, Caleb stepped in front of her like a knight in shining armor, explaining on her behalf: “Bella developed kleptomania because of her depression. Don’t blame her.” “I’ll make you another one exactly like it later. Since Bella likes this one, just let her have it.” I opened my mouth to say that there are no two handmade items exactly alike in this world. I wanted to ask, If Bella likes you, do I have to let her have you, too? But I couldn’t say a word. I’m a normal person. How could I argue with a clinically depressed patient? While Caleb went upstairs to get her antidepressants, Bella, who looked somewhat like me, smirked with triumph. “You’re just a cheap knockoff of me. Caleb only picked you because he can’t cross that moral line. He can’t bring himself to touch me.” “He studied psychology just for me. I will always be first in his heart. You can never compete with me. Giggle.” She curved her eyes into a sweet smile, looking nothing like a patient with severe depression. Looking at Bella, I vaguely guessed why Caleb had fallen for me at first sight and pursued me so relentlessly. I smiled politely, gently reminding her of boundaries. “Of course. After all, you and Caleb are legally siblings on the family trust.” As long as they were legal siblings, and as long as Caleb’s old-fashioned, strict father was alive, he would never allow anything beyond a sibling relationship. When Mr. Sterling found the love letters Bella wrote to Caleb, the first thing he did was try to force Bella to legally change her last name to Sterling to solidify the sibling bond. Bella went on a hunger strike, took pills, and threatened to jump into the ocean. She refused. Mr. Sterling was a tyrant who never compromised. It wasn’t until Caleb introduced me to his father that the old man finally dropped the name-change issue. Rich families like the Sterlings care about reputation above all else. Hearing my words, Bella’s face suddenly changed. She lost control, grabbed a glass from the table, and smashed it violently against the coffee table. Crash. Glass flew everywhere, slicing long, bloody gashes into her palm. Startled, I instinctively took a few steps back. But Bella, as if she couldn’t feel pain, laughed wildly and recklessly. “Guess what? Will Caleb blame you for not taking good care of me?” 02 The next second, panicked footsteps thundered down the stairs. Caleb rushed down and slammed into me, knocking me to the floor. “Why weren’t you watching her?” He quickly scooped Bella into his arms, carefully placing her on the sofa to tend to her wounds. His eyes were cold as he interrogated me. “Don’t you know she has severe depression? She has suicidal tendencies at any moment!” My palms were pierced by the glass shards on the floor, stinging sharply, but I didn’t dare say a word, terrified of triggering Bella again. Bella hooked her arms around Caleb’s neck, burying her face in his chest. She sobbed and whined in a baby voice, unable to hide the smugness in her tone. “Caleb… it hurts so much. Bella hurts.” Caleb sighed. The look he gave her was full of heartache. He gently wiped the tears from her face, held her injured hand, and softly blew on the wound. “I’ll blow on it, and the pain will fly away. Bella is the best girl.” In that moment, Caleb didn’t even notice that I was bleeding profusely on the floor. I kept comforting myself. Because Bella is sick, it’s only right that Caleb pays more attention to her. But later, Caleb’s first choice was always Bella. Bella threatened suicide ninety-nine times. And he abandoned me ninety-nine times. In the silent, deep mountains; in the biting winds of a blizzard; on the busy highway; in the desolate suburbs late at night; at the weddings we tried to hold over and over again… Because of Bella’s depression, every time Caleb left me to find her, I had no right to say “no.” This time, I really didn’t want to compromise. No matter what Caleb said, I held onto his sleeve, refusing to let go. Because last night, the System warned me repeatedly. If Caleb abandoned me for Bella one more time, my mission would be a failure. And I would be erased. To help me let go of my moral burdens and fight Bella with everything I had, the System even secretly told me: Bella’s depression is fake. She would never actually kill herself. Caleb looked anxious. “Bella is my sister. I can’t just ignore her.” “Besides, I’m a doctor. I have to be responsible for my patients. We can have a wedding any day, but if something happens to Bella today, my conscience will never be clear.” “I promise, next time, I’ll give you a perfect wedding.” I shook my head, my voice raspy. “Caleb, if you leave this time, there won’t be a next time.” Caleb’s patience finally ran out. He forcefully pried my fingers off his sleeve. His handsome brows furrowed, and his tone grew colder. “I will marry you, and I must save Bella. These two things don’t conflict. Why do you have to be so difficult?” “This is a matter of life and death. Do you have to be so unreasonable right now?” The atmosphere froze. Mocking gazes from the guests shot at me from all directions. I opened my mouth, wanting to tell him that Bella was faking it, that she wouldn’t die. But I couldn’t get the words out. The System said I couldn’t tell Caleb what it told me. That counts as cheating the mission. I opened my mouth again, wanting to tell Caleb the truth about me. If you leave, I will die. But before I could speak, Caleb’s phone rang again. He answered it, gently comforting Bella on the other end. Then, without hesitation, he abandoned me. He left without looking back. The next second, the System’s cold, mechanical voice rang out: “Host, your mission has failed.” “You may freely choose your method of death.” “After you die, you will be sent back to your original world.” Back to my original world? Suddenly, that sounded wonderful. In my original world, I was terminally ill, but at least I had my mom who loved me. In this world, aside from a healthy body, I truly had nothing. I thought for a moment and said to the System: “Then let me fall into actual severe depression and die at Caleb’s hands.” I’m going to die anyway. I want Caleb, the professional psychiatrist, to see what real severe depression looks like. Because it definitely doesn’t look like Bella. 03 After Caleb left, the wedding turned into chaos. I didn’t force a smile to see off the guests like I usually did. I just watched coldly as Caleb’s stepmother—Bella’s mom—cried and accused Mr. Sterling. “Are you trying to force Bella to her death? You know how much she loves Caleb!” “If anything happens to Bella, I won’t live either! Let’s see if your Sterling family reputation matters more than me and Bella!” After that, she glared at me and spat viciously: “You shameless bitch!” Then she stormed off angrily. As if I were the mistress interfering in Caleb and Bella’s relationship. But clearly, she was the mistress who climbed the social ladder and drove Caleb’s biological mother to suicide. Unfortunately, the System told me that secret too, so I couldn’t tell Caleb. Otherwise, I would have loved to see his face if he knew the sister he doted on was the daughter of the woman who killed his mother. Mr. Sterling sighed and came over to shake my hand. “You’ve suffered, Chloe. Bella’s illness will be cured one day. Just endure it a little longer.” I pulled my hand back numbly and nodded, feeling nothing. Caleb had said the same thing to me countless times. Every time we fought about Bella, he would tell me to endure it, not to argue with a sick person. Before, I would get angry, sad, despairing. But today, I just didn’t care. The System said severe depression is like this. It robs you of normal emotions, strips away your will to live, leaving only endless pain and a resolve to die. I asked the System, puzzled: “Bella’s depression is so different from mine. Caleb is a professional. Why can’t he see she’s faking it?” The System was silent for a long time before saying: “How do you know Caleb doesn’t see it?” My breath hitched. If Caleb knew all along that Bella was faking… Then he was just using her “depression” as an excuse to spoil her limitlessly, to force me to give in, allowing Bella to cross boundary after boundary without consequence. Lies don’t hurt. The truth is the sharpest knife. A stinging pain, like thousands of needles, pricked my heart. I walked through the noisy crowd in a daze and went home. I signed the organ donation papers, swallowed a whole bottle of sleeping pills, and curled up under the covers to wait for death. Dying means I can go home and see Mom. People who really want to die do it quietly, alone. They don’t broadcast it to the world like Bella. 04 In my haze, the phone rang. I picked it up. It was Bella’s chirpy voice: “Caleb, what brand is your mattress? It’s so comfy.” Heh. So Bella was in our marital home. Sleeping in the wedding bed I hadn’t even slept in yet. My stomach churned violently. “Your sister-in-law bought the mattress. I don’t know.” “Don’t lie on it. Chloe hasn’t even slept there yet. She’ll be angry if she finds out.” “Caleb, have you slept with her yet?” Caleb was silent for a long time before answering honestly: “No.” “Heehee, I knew it. You don’t love that clingy bitch at all.” “If you really loved her, how could you hold back for so long?” I vaguely remembered the many times Caleb and I got carried away. But every time, right at the last step, Caleb would push me away, panting, stroking my hair, saying he wanted to save the most precious memory for our wedding night. I thought he cherished me. Turns out, he was keeping himself pure for Bella. Disgusted, I was about to hang up. The next second, the sound of kissing and soft panting came through. Bella’s voice, thick with lust, came in broken gasps: “Caleb… please… please don’t push me away… If you push me away again, my depression will flare up… I’ll jump…” Caleb’s usually cool voice was husky: “Bella, I’m getting married. I can only be your brother. Do you understand?” “Brother, stop lying to yourself. This house is decorated entirely to my taste.” We fought so many times about the renovation. Our tastes were polar opposites. We fought until we almost broke up. Finally, exhausted, I gave in. I let Caleb decorate it his way. I didn’t realize “his way” was actually Bella’s way. “Do you dare touch my heart and swear you’ve never had feelings for me? If you dare to swear, I promise I’ll never pester you again.” Bella took a deep breath, waiting confidently for his answer. And on the other end of the line, I waited too. I wanted to know. In five years together, did Caleb treat me as a placeholder for Bella the whole time? I waited through a long, heavy silence. The last shred of hope in my heart quietly extinguished. So, all those moments I thought were beautiful… I was just delusional. Finally, Bella’s explicit seduction broke the silence. “Let me be your first woman, okay? I really want to see what you look like when you lose control…” Caleb sounded like he was rejecting her, but barely: “Stop it! This is my wedding house!” Bella giggled. “Doesn’t that make it more exciting?” Listening to their ambiguity. My brain was a mess. I started spiraling, imagining what he and Bella did during all those late nights he abandoned me. Uncontrollably, I dry heaved. I swear I heard Bella chuckle triumphantly. As if showing off that she had beaten me again. The next moment, Caleb’s panicked voice came through: “Chloe? Listen to me, it’s not what you think!” I let out a desperate, cold laugh. “Then what is it?!” “It’s a long story. Wait there, I’m coming to explain…” “Get lost! You make me sick!” Before he could speak, I used my last bit of strength to hang up and block him. My limbs were turning cold. My eyelids felt heavy. I sank into a chaotic darkness. I thought I saw my mom, younger, wearing that yellowed apron, speaking in her gentle dialect, standing at the alleyway entrance waving to me while I played in the mud: “My sweet girl, come home and wash your hands for dinner.” … In the final moment before losing consciousness completely. I heard frantic knocking on the door. “Chloe! Open the door! I can really explain!” It was Caleb. Too bad. Too late. I’m dying. Driven to severe depression by him and Bella, killing myself right in front of this esteemed psychiatrist. When he thinks of me in the future, will he regret it? Will he feel guilty?

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After three years abroad, I stumbled upon a livestream that was absolutely blowing up. The clickbait title read: “A-List Starlet DESTROYS OnlyFans Wannabe! You Won’t Believe What Happens Next!” I was about to scroll past, laughing at the trashy headline, when I froze. The woman being labeled an “OnlyFans wannabe” wasn’t some random stranger. It was my best friend, the one trying to make it as a serious actress in Hollywood. She was stripped down to her underwear, kneeling on the floor, shaking uncontrollably. And the backdrop? It was my $50 million Hamptons estate that I let her stay in. Surrounding her was a clique of flashy, over-dressed influencers and B-list celebrities, mocking her relentlessly. “What do you mean this is your friend’s house?” sneered a woman in a white designer dress, acting like she owned the place. “Everyone knows this is the location Liam secured for me to film in!” She flipped her hair, feigning generosity. “Look, Liam gave me this estate. If you want inside, fine. But you’re gonna have to crawl in naked.” “I mean, you’re basically an adult film star anyway, right? Being naked shouldn’t be a big deal for you.” The live chat was toxic: Yaaas Chloe! Drag her! That shameless tramp deserves it! Her ‘friend’ is probably just another sugar baby! Liam? Liam Sterling? That was my fiancé. Who the hell was this squatter acting like the queen of my castle, bullying my best friend right in front of my eyes? I saw red. I booked the next flight to New York immediately. Then I called my fiancé. “You have ten minutes to get your ass over here.” “And you better be ready to explain to these people who actually owns the Hamptons estate.” 1. I clicked into the stream, ready to drop a few thousand dollars in “Super Chats” to support my best friend, Anna. Instead, I watched as she was blocked at the massive iron gates of my property. Even though she had the keys. No matter how many times she repeated, “This is my best friend’s house, she let me stay here!”, the security guards—people I didn’t recognize—wouldn’t budge. “Mr. Sterling gave us strict orders,” one guard said coldly. “Today, the estate belongs to Ms. Chloe Vance.” I was stunned. This was supposed to be Anna’s big break—a livestream reality show debut. The premise was simple: the cast brings the venues, and they live together for a week. Even though I hadn’t been in the States for a few years, I never skimped on supporting her. I immediately offered her my Hamptons estate, “The Dune House,” for filming. So what the hell was happening? On screen, the group of women surrounded Anna, laughing. “You? A nobody with a sketchy background knows someone with a house like this?” “Don’t compare yourself to us. You probably rented this for an hour to flex. This is obviously the location Liam got for Chloe!” “Your ‘best friend’ is probably imaginary, or just some other girl trying to bag a rich guy. Hilarious!” Chloe Vance, looking like the lady of the manor in her white dress, looked down at Anna with fake sympathy that barely masked her smugness. “Anna, honey, if you couldn’t secure a venue, just say so. We’d understand. You don’t have to lie and say the house Liam gave me belongs to your friend.” Anna flinched just looking at Chloe. But thinking of me seemed to give her strength. “It really is my friend’s house. I have proof…” Before she could finish, someone splashed a full glass of water right in her face. Her shirt soaked through instantly, clinging to her skin. Instead of cutting the feed, the camera crew zoomed in on my friend, who was desperately trying to cover her chest, looking humiliated. Chloe smirked. It was obviously intentional, but she gasped, covering her mouth with zero sincerity. “Oops! My bad, Anna. Hand slipped.” “But we can’t delay filming. Why don’t you take off that wet shirt before you come inside?” “Even though Liam gave me this place, I have to take care of it. If you drip water on the antique rugs or the art, you definitely couldn’t afford to replace them.” She looked Anna up and down, sneering. “Besides, considering your… past work, showing some skin for views is just another Tuesday for you, right?” Anna’s face went pale. She tried to defend herself, but Chloe’s posse was already reaching out, tugging at her clothes. The chat went wild. LMAO finally! Can’t stand her! She’s always acting innocent but we know she’s thirsty. Show us what you got! Chloe is the queen of calling out fakes! I rubbed my eyes. I thought I was hallucinating. But no. That was Anna. My Anna. And that was my house. It was the property old Mr. Sterling begged me to accept when Liam and I got engaged. I bought it as our future wedding home. My money. My name on the deed. I left it empty when I went abroad to be with my parents for their retirement. So since when did it belong to Chloe and “Liam”? On screen, Anna was outnumbered. Her buttons popped off. She was down to her bra, sobbing. “Please! I’m done! I quit! Just let me go!” Chloe laughed, delivering the final blow. “Honey, you signed a contract. You can’t just quit.” “As the owner of this house, I make the rules today.” “Either strip naked and crawl inside, or pay the $5 million breach of contract fee. Your choice.” Seeing Anna’s despair, my rage burned away all reason. Who was this absolute trash acting like she owned the place? I boarded my flight. Just wait until the real owner shows up. 2. By the time I landed in New York and drove out to the Hamptons, the crew had started filming Day 2. I rolled up with a team of bodyguards and stormed past the confused security at the gate. I burst into the living room just in time to see Anna kneeling on the floor, shivering. She was wearing a humiliatingly short maid outfit. In front of her was a pile of chewed-up food someone had spit onto the marble floor. Chloe frowned, acting distressed. “Anna, your punishment yesterday was to serve us today. But look at this mess. You haven’t even cleaned the floor properly.” “Here, let me help you.” She lifted her foot and stomped on Anna’s head, trying to force her face into the vomit-like mess. My pupils dilated. I didn’t think. I sprinted forward and slapped Chloe across the face with everything I had. Crack. Chloe stumbled back, screaming. I pulled Anna up. She was a wreck. My heart broke. “I’m sorry,” I choked out, hugging her tight. “I’m so sorry I’m late.” Anna realized it was me and stopped shaking for a second. But then panic set in. She tried to push me away. She turned to kneel before Chloe again. “Ms. Vance, I’m sorry! It’s my fault! Don’t be mad at her! I’ll clean it up right now!” Chloe recovered from the shock of the slap. She clutched her red, swelling cheek, the “gentle girl” mask slipping completely. “You bitch! You hit me?! Do you have any idea who I am?!” I looked at Anna. Before I left, she was bright, confident, ready to take on the world. Three years later, she was broken. I grabbed Anna, forcing her to stand. “Get up! Do not kneel! I am here now!” I turned and kicked Chloe square in the stomach. “I don’t care who you are. The President could be here and I’d still beat your ass.” “Let’s see who dares to stop me!” Chloe shrieked and fell backward—landing right in the pile of gross food. The other celebrities finally snapped out of it, rushing to help her but recoiling at the mess on her dress. They turned on me instead. “Who the hell is this psycho?! Don’t you know Chloe is Liam Sterling’s girl?!” “Liam will literally kill you for touching her!” The livestream chat was exploding: Is this the ‘friend’? Looks like another escort. Probably sleeps with some old oil tycoon and thinks she’s tough. Chloe has Liam Sterling backing her! He buys her million-dollar diamonds like they’re candy! This girl is dead meat. Liam Sterling. Liam Sterling. I finally laughed. Last night, Liam sent me a voice note whining about when I was coming back for our wedding. And now he was apparently Chloe’s knight in shining armor? 3. I pulled out my phone and dialed Liam. He answered instantly, sounding excited. “Tara! Babe! You called! Did you miss me? I’m flying out to see you as soon as I wrap up this deal!” My voice was ice. “Save the flight. Get your ass to The Dune House. Right now.” “You have ten minutes. Come tell everyone here who this house actually belongs to.” The room erupted in laughter. Chloe and her squad were losing it. “Did she just pretend to call Liam? That acting is worse than Anna’s!” “Birds of a feather! You’re both delusional trash!” “If Liam isn’t here in ten minutes, you’re stripping down and scrubbing the floors with your tongue!” Anna was trembling, tugging my sleeve. “Tara, let’s go… we can’t fight them.” I smirked. “There is no one in New York I can’t fight.” Ten minutes later, the roar of a sports car engine cut through the air. Liam strode in wearing a sharp black suit. “Tara!” He started, smiling, until he saw Chloe sobbing on the floor behind me. His expression shifted to annoyance. He frowned at me. “Tara, did you hit Chloe?!” I was waiting for an explanation, and he was questioning me? Whack. I slapped him too. “I hit her, and now I’m hitting you.” “Watch your tone when you speak to me.” Chloe screamed and threw herself into Liam’s arms. “Liam! She’s crazy! She’s jealous you gave me the house!” I crossed my arms, staring Liam down. “The deed is in my name. I paid for it. Since when do you have the right to give my property away?” Chloe looked up at him, wide-eyed. “Liam… is that true?” Liam froze. His face turned red with embarrassment, then anger. He lowered his voice, hissing at me. “Tara, stop making a scene! I already promised her. Just sign the transfer papers later. It’s supposed to be our marital home anyway, so I own half of it in spirit!” I laughed so hard I nearly choked. Then I slapped him again. “You broke ass, gold-digging loser. You beg me for a marriage alliance and then act like a big shot with my assets?” Liam’s eyes bulged. “Tara!” I didn’t stop there. I grabbed Anna’s hand and walked up to Chloe. Slap. “That’s for lying about her career.” Slap. “That’s for squatting in my house.” Slap. “And that is for breaking her spirit!” My bodyguards blocked anyone who tried to intervene. The chat, previously full of Chloe fans, started turning. Wait… is this security for real? She just slapped Liam Sterling! Is this scripted? I’m calling the cops! This is assault! Chloe, the “Sweetheart of America,” was now swollen-faced and shaking. I massaged my wrist, glaring at Liam. “You’ve clearly forgotten that the Sterling family only survived because of my family.” “Last chance. Get these people out of my house. And tell them who owns it.” Before Liam could speak, a furious roar came from the entrance. “Who owns it? Chloe owns it!” 4. I stared at the man walking through the door, my jaw practically hitting the floor. “Tyler?! What the hell?” Chloe saw him and lit up like she’d seen God. She threw herself into his arms. “Tyler! Baby! It hurts so much!” My brother, Tyler Vance, looked heartbroken. Then he walked over and slapped me. Hard. “Tara, you spoiled brat!” “It’s just a house! How dare you hurt Chloe like that!” My ears rang. I stumbled, tasting blood. “You…” I gasped. “Why don’t you ask what she did to Anna?!” Tyler glanced at Anna, who was bruised and disheveled. In the past, he treated Anna like a second sister. Now, he just frowned, dismissing her. “It’s just girl drama. Does it warrant this violence?” “Apologize to Chloe. Now. Or don’t blame me for what happens next.” I saw the light go out in Anna’s eyes. I realized then: Liam wasn’t Chloe’s biggest backer. My own brother was. I spit blood on the floor. “Apologize? She’s not worth the dirt on my shoe.” Chloe started crying on cue. “If Tara is your sister, Tyler, then forget it. I deserve it. I’m just an outsider.” Tyler melted. He looked at me with pure hatred. “Tara, if you won’t learn, I’ll teach you.” He snapped his fingers. “Restrain her!” Ten bodyguards rushed me, pinning me to the ground. Thud. My head hit the marble. Blood trickled down my forehead. “You won’t admit you’re wrong? I’ll beat it out of you!” Tyler yelled. “Hit her ten times for every slap she gave Chloe!” Blow after blow landed on me. Anna screamed. She dropped to her knees. “Tyler… Mr. Vance! Please! It’s my fault! Punish me! Leave Tara alone!” She banged her head against the floor, begging. Tyler ignored her, cooing at Chloe. “Whatever you want, babe. I’m doing this for you.” Chloe pretended to be conflicted, but her eyes were venomous as she looked at Anna. “Well, since Tara won’t apologize… I guess Anna has to take the blame.” “I won’t be mean. Anna, since you’re an ‘adult actress’ anyway… just strip naked and walk around the room once. Then I’ll forgive you.” The room went silent. Anna froze. She had fought so hard against those rumors. She was a serious actor. Yesterday she slammed her head against a wall to avoid stripping, ending up in the ER. Now Chloe wouldn’t let her go. “If you don’t…” Chloe sighed. “Then I guess Tara keeps getting hit.” I felt like my eardrums were going to burst from the slaps. Anna looked at me, then at the camera. If she did this, her life was over. I screamed, struggling against the guards. “ANNA! NO! DO NOT DO IT!” “I apologize! I’m sorry! Stop!” Tyler scoffed. “Too late. Lesson number one: missed opportunities don’t come back.” “Either she strips, or you take a hundred slaps.” Anna looked at me, tears streaming down her face. She mouthed, I’m sorry. She closed her eyes and took off her jacket. Then her shirt. Her pants. Until she was just in her underwear. The men in the room leered. The chat was disgusting. Knew she was a slut! Couldn’t wait to show it off! Gross. She’s probably diseased. She deserves this. Anna covered herself with her arms, shaking. Chloe blinked innocently. “Anna? I said naked. Why are you half-assing this? Do you want Tara to suffer?” Anna flinched. I screamed until my throat tore. “ANNA! STOP!” She smiled at me. A sad, broken smile. Her fingers went to the clasp of her bra. Click. Just as it was about to fall, the front doors were blown off their hinges. A convoy of Rolls Royces screeched into the driveway. Dozens of elite security operatives swarmed the room. And then, two voices I loved more than anything thundered through the hall. “Who the FUCK dares to touch my daughter?!”

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After I went viral. My best friend’s first move was to blackmail me with our chat history. “Girl, I’ve switched phones like five times, but I never deleted our texts. I’ve been waiting for this day.” “Don’t forget where you came from. You said if you got famous, you’d take care of me for life.” “Start by buying me a condo. Your dirty laundry is my biggest leverage.” I smiled and agreed. But even after I bought the condo, she still leaked the chats. Because she said she wanted to use my scandal to launch her own influencer career. I was cyberbullied into a deep depression and fell from a rooftop. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day I decided to start my social media journey. 1 “Harper, my bestie! Are you really going to start creating content?” Hearing Lily’s familiar voice in my ear, I realized I had been reborn. In my past life, ever since I started doing social media, Lily became exactly like those cliché “best friends” in the comment sections. Waiting for the day I blew up so I could support her. She said, “Our chat history is gold right now. I can’t bear to delete a single word. Once you’re famous, this is all blackmail material.” “If you dare to forget me, the scandal drops at noon, and your career ends by dinner.” At the time, I thought she was joking. After all, she was my only best friend. If I made it big, of course, she would benefit. Later, I did make it big. I treated her like family. I gave her cars, houses, cash—everything. But at the peak of my career, she publicly exposed our old chat history on a livestream. Lily said: “Harper, you reaped the benefits of the internet. Surely you wouldn’t mind letting me have my moment, right?” “Don’t worry, I’m just using you to jumpstart my account. Once I have a stable following, I’ll help you clean up your image.” Once the chats were exposed, my image was destroyed. Cyberbullying came in waves. I developed severe depression and fell from a rooftop. But thankfully, I was reborn. This time, I looked at the excited Lily. “Yeah. But my phone is dead. Can I borrow yours for a sec?” She eagerly handed me her phone. “Use it! Use it all you want.” “What’s mine is yours!” “Just don’t forget me when you’re famous!” I took Lily’s phone. Found my contact. Clicked in and cleared all chat history. Lily jumped like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. “Harper! What are you doing?!” I shoved the phone back into her hands, putting on an innocent face. “Oops, sorry Lily, my finger slipped.” “There wasn’t anything important anyway. Deleted is deleted.” Lily scrambled in a panic, her face turning ugly. “Not important?! That was years of my hard work!” “If you get famous later, those were my chips!” I held back the urge to sneer and pretended to affectionately wrap my arm around her shoulder. “Lily, chips or no chips, you’re my only best friend. How could I forget you when I get famous?” She seemed soothed by my words, her expression softening. Lily hugged my arm back. “I knew you were the best. It’s a deal then, I’m your only Ride or Die!” Only Ride or Die? Ha. For a backstabber like you? You like using people to launch your career, right? Let’s see how I destroy you in this life. 2 Back home, I immediately started filming my first video. I already had experience going viral in my past life. Replicating my path to fame wasn’t hard. After posting my first transition video, it got over 10k likes that same night. Lily saw it and immediately DM’d me. “Harper! Your video has 10k likes! I feel like you’re about to blow up!” “I saw a bag today. How about you buy it for me first?” “Since your stats are so good, advancing me a little something shouldn’t be a problem!” Before I could reply, she sent a payment link. I clicked it. A bag worth nearly $5,000. Lily was exactly the same as in my past life—eager to take as soon as she saw me achieve a little success. I didn’t reply, nor did I pay. Late at night, Lily messaged again. “Harper, lonely night. Wanna see some spicy videos?” I immediately went on alert. Since the old chat history was gone, Lily was trying to manufacture new dirt. This time, I smartly replied with two words: “Not interested.” Lily was still baiting me. She sent several links in a row. “I’ve vetted these, all top-tier hot guys!” “Average 7 inches. You’d be missing out if you didn’t look~” Honestly, it’s fine for girls to be a little thirsty. But as a public figure, it’s forbidden. In my past life, these secret conversations between best friends became the tools she used to step on me to get ahead. I replied coldly: “Lily, I never watch these. Don’t send them to me anymore.” Lily sent a few question marks. “Harper, what are you pretending for? You used to beg me for these resources.” “Just because one video popped off, you think you’re better than me now? So fake!” That was a clever line. I thought for a moment and replied: “Lily, how could you think of me like that?” “When we went out to eat, didn’t I pay every time? When you got sick in the middle of the night, I drove across the city to take you to the ER.” “I don’t think I’ve ever wronged you. Instead, your aggressive attitude right now is chilling my heart!” Checkmate. Lily was so angry she called me directly. “Harper, are you sick in the head?” I suppressed my anger and silently picked up another phone to record. “What’s wrong, Lily? Why are you so mad?” Her shrill voice pierced my eardrums: “I said, did you take the wrong meds? What are you pretending for? Look at what you said, were you possessed by a ghost today?” “You won’t buy the bag I sent, didn’t we agree you’d take care of me when you got famous?” “Don’t forget where you came from.” I fake-sobbed twice. “Lily, only one video went viral. I haven’t even gotten a brand deal yet. Where would I get the money to buy it for you?” “Don’t you have savings? You can’t be unable to afford $5,000, right?” I put on my best “pity me” act: “But if I buy you the bag, I won’t be able to afford food.” “You have such a cruel heart, to treat me like this.” Lily was impatient: “Will you earn less once you’re famous? Any random ad is like twenty or thirty grand.” I didn’t forget to establish my persona. “But I have to screen them carefully. I can’t just take dirty money!” She blurted out: “Tch! You’re so high and mighty. If I were famous, I wouldn’t care what the ad was. If it pays, I’m taking it!” Hearing that sentence, I was incredibly glad I turned on the recorder. Seeing that moral kidnapping wouldn’t work on me, Lily reined it in. “Fine, you’re just starting out, it’s not easy. I’ll let you off this time.” “Once you get a brand deal, I’m coming to rip you off properly.” 3 Since that video went viral. Lily urged me to post new videos every day. This time, I was planning to replicate the video that got millions of likes in my past life. So the prep time for props took a bit longer. She couldn’t wait: “Ugh, you can go viral just by posting anything. Why wait half a month to post one?” “At this upload speed, I’ll be waiting until the next century for you to support me!” I ignored her and continued at my own pace. Three days later, I finally finished editing the video. The moment I posted it, I let out a huge sigh of relief. After exhausting myself for half a month, I could finally sleep well. The next day, I was woken up by Lily’s phone bombing. “Harper! Why are you still sleeping! Do you know you’re famous?” “That video got 5 million likes overnight! You have over a million followers now!” Her voice was full of excitement. “Now you’re really a big influencer. You shouldn’t have any excuse to refuse me now!” “How about this, you buy that bag for me first, and this afternoon I’ll go look at a car, okay?” I cut off Lily’s greedy voice by hanging up. The second I hung up, I blocked her. “Whew~” I exhaled a long breath. So satisfying. After I blocked Lily, she kept asking our mutual friends to contact me. I told them to stay out of it, that it was between Lily and me. A mutual friend said: “Lily says if you don’t reply to her, she’s going to expose you.” “She says you don’t care about old friendships and that fame went to your head.” “She says she has a ton of dirt on you and told you to watch out.” I deleted everything. What dirt could Lily possibly have? Keep dreaming. To my surprise. That night, I actually stumbled upon Lily’s livestream. She even titled it: [Come Spill the Tea! My Influencer Bestie Got Famous and Forgot Her Roots!] For some reason, she didn’t show her face. She wore a virtual doll mask over her head. “Tonight’s stream is just a warning. Don’t force me to drop the receipts on a certain ungrateful person!” People kept pouring into the stream, more and more rubberneckers. The chat was boiling: Who is it? Can the streamer just drop the name? Is it that girl who just blew up recently? I saw her last time, felt like she wasn’t a good person just from her face! I’m staying neutral for now! Netizens flip-flop so fast these days, my parents are getting whiplash. If you’re gonna say it, say it! Anyone who doesn’t name names is spreading rumors in my book! Lily waved her hand. “After all, we were besties. I don’t want to be too cruel.” “I hope she sees my stream, comes to her senses, and unblocks me soon.” Netizens typed furiously. What? Blocked after getting famous? If my bestie did that, I’d slap her into orbit! She’s fake. The first person she kicked to the curb after success was you. This bestie is already drowning in her ‘girl boss’ persona, doesn’t know up from down anymore. If my bestie was like this, I wouldn’t just expose her! I’d hammer her until she could never make a comeback in this lifetime. I used to watch these comments for fun. Now I know, the first people who can’t stand seeing you succeed are the ones closest to you. As long as you don’t conform to their wishes even a little bit. They’ll call you ungrateful. They’ll treat the sincerity you once gave them as chips to threaten you with. They want to suck your blood for a lifetime! Lily continued her act. “After all, I’ve been with her for so many years. I was there through her hardest times. Now that she’s finally made it, I still can’t bear to hurt her.” Chat: Girls are truly the gods of soft-heartedness. Your bestie treats you like this, and you’re still defending her! Sister, be my bestie, okay? If I get famous, I will never mistreat you. Sister, don’t be soft! You have to expose this toxic tumor of a best friend! Lily sighed. “Sigh, I’m still soft-hearted.” “If I wasn’t, I would have dropped her black history already. She has a ton of skeletons in her closet!” I was getting angrier by the second. I switched to an alt account and commented. Who knows if what you’re saying is true or false? Maybe you’re just using netizens to launch your own account! There were still some netizens who maintained their critical thinking. Yeah, no evidence, just running your mouth in a livestream. Who knows if it’s fabricated! If you have proof, post it! I have to rush to the next tea party! I got used for clout last time. Before I see evidence, I won’t speak for anyone. Some people empathized deeply with Lily. She said she didn’t want to be cruel. What can you guys do besides incite conflict? You’re defending her bestie so much, are you the bestie herself? You have the guts to block her, but no guts to face her on your main account? Blocked by an ungrateful bestie, still thinking about not hurting her by not naming her, yet being forced by you guys for evidence. Sis, I really feel for you. I was furious. I unblocked Lily right then and there. I messaged her asking what the hell she wanted! In the livestream, Lily picked up her phone and covered her mouth in surprise. “Babies, my bestie unblocked me.” “Do you think she saw my stream?” The chat scrolled rapidly: Was the person talking just now your bestie? What did she say to you? Did she apologize? Don’t forgive her just like that! She’s not apologizing because she knows she’s wrong, she’s afraid her career is ruined! Exactly! Support the streamer to expose her to the end! Don’t be soft! Lily smiled bitterly. “Do you guys know what she said to me?” She covered my profile picture, held up the phone, and showed the message to the netizens. “My bestie asked me, what the hell do I want by streaming?” As she spoke, tears fell from Lily’s eyes. “I thought our friendship of over ten years was indestructible, friends but more like family. But I didn’t expect that I was the only one who kept her in my heart.” “I’m just something she can discard at will after she gets famous.” Chat comforted her: Baby, don’t cry. It’s not worth it for this kind of person. You’re so pretty, doing social media you’ll definitely get famous faster than her. Starting today, I’m your first fan! Even like this, you didn’t expose her name. You’re such a kind baby, I feel for you. +1, can’t let that ungrateful person make money. I will support you to become the new influencer! Lily sniffled, her voice full of grievance. “That’s it for today’s stream. I want to go talk to her first.” “Babies, see you next time.” To gain followers, Lily even made a teaser for the next stream. Her desire for fame was practically overflowing from the screen. 4 After she went offline, she replied to me: “Oh, finally decided to unblock me?” “I didn’t expose you on stream today, that was me giving you face. I advise you not to be ungrateful.” I really didn’t expect that even without dirt, she’d dare to stream to launch her account. “What do you want? Use me for clout?” Lily sent a grinning emoji. “Not impossible.” “Look at how many people were in my stream today. How about we collaborate?” “You help me launch my account. Once I become an influencer too, you won’t need to support me anymore.” “Lightening your burden, how great is that!” I sneered, my fingers typing rapidly on the screen: “You want to eat my blood buns!” (profit from my misfortune) Lily: “Don’t say it so harshly. We’re sisters, what’s wrong with helping me once?” “Or are you just selfish and self-serving, not wanting the people around you to do better?” ??? Talk about gaslighting. “I support you posting videos and doing social media normally, but doing this kind of hype? I will absolutely not help you!” Lily: “Can’t understand nice words or harsh words, huh? Then don’t blame me for using some tactics.” After sending this message. Lily immediately posted a video on her account. The video was accompanied by sad BGM, packaging herself as a victim. Her caption read: “I thought it was an apology, didn’t expect it was a threat.” She also posted a cropped screenshot of the chat history. Once the video was posted, the army of 100k followers who followed her immediately swarmed in. “Oh my god, what a hard life. Is there anything more desperate than being backstabbed by your best friend?” “Sister, call the police. No need to care about old feelings anymore.” “So what if she has a lot of fans? Sis participated in the Great Fan Wars back in the day!” “Sister, you just point in the direction of the battlefield. I’ve never lost when it comes to cursing people out!” Her fans really loved her. They started searching the internet overnight for who the backstabbing influencer was. Maybe I didn’t clean up my alt account well enough when I commented yesterday. These “righteous” netizens actually found me. They commented recklessly under my main account. “So you’re the one who backstabbed your bestie, right? Sisters, hit report. We absolutely cannot let this kind of person become famous!” “Yo, only 1 million followers and you forgot your roots. Did you forget where you came from?” “I’ve disliked every single one of her videos and forwarded this to my family group chat. Fam, did I do the right thing?” “Sorry, I know a little bit of doxxing jutsu.” … Actually, I could post a video or livestream exposing Lily’s true face right now. But I decided to let the bullet fly for a while.

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When my real family found the true daughter they’d been missing, I staged a hunger strike at home. “Now that the real daughter is back, you guys definitely won’t love me anymore. I’m going on a hunger strike. I’m going to enter my villain era.” My big brother, just like when we were kids, smacked me right on the butt. I froze. He turned bright red. After the real daughter moved in, my big brother snuck into my room one night. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted you? Little sister.” 1 I always thought if our family ever had some dramatic “switched at birth” scandal, it would surely involve my big brother, Sebastian. Because honestly, the rest of us—Mom, Dad, and me—are total sweethearts with heads full of clouds. Sebastian, on the other hand, is this cool, brilliant, unattainable figure who often seems like he doesn’t belong with us goofballs. When Sebastian came home from work, I was busy packing my bags. He leaned against the doorframe, his long legs crossed. His gold-rimmed glasses perched on his high nose, hiding most of his emotions. But I could still feel his exasperation. He rubbed his temples wearily. “Princess, what are you fussing about now?” I shot him a sideways glance but didn’t stop packing. “Your biological sister is coming back. You guys are going to stop loving me any second now. I’m running away from home. I’m entering my villain era.” Sebastian scoffed. “Villain era? How exactly?” I stood up, annoyed. “None of your business. Anyway, the next time we meet, I won’t be the same Harper you knew.” Saying that, I grabbed a bag bigger than me and swung it onto my shoulder. Momentum took over, and I spun in a circle before face-planting on the floor. Sebastian sighed softly. I looked up at him, pouting, tears ready on command. “I fell and you didn’t even help me up. You just laughed. You don’t love me anymore. Waahhh~” Sebastian resigned himself to his fate and grabbed my arm to help me up. But I refused to budge. Right now, I was harder to wrangle than a greased pig. Sebastian had to crouch down to meet my eyes. He spoke in that gentle tone he uses to coax children. “Be good. Even without a blood relation, our bond over all these years is the same. Eat first, okay?” Sebastian held up a bowl of soup. It was my favorite—corn and pork rib soup. He had even thoughtfully picked out all the scallions. I don’t eat scallions, but I think the soup lacks flavor without them cooked in. So Sebastian always painstakingly picks every single green bit out for me. But I was still mad. I didn’t know what exactly I was mad about, but I was fuming. “I’m not eating. I’m on a hunger strike. You’re not my brother, you have no right to boss me around.” In my struggle, I accidentally knocked the bowl over. Sebastian instinctively moved the bowl away from me. So the entire bowl of hot soup splashed onto him. I watched the pale skin on his arm turn angry red instantly. But Sebastian, as if he couldn’t feel pain, grabbed my wrist with red-rimmed eyes. “What did you say? I’m not what?” Growing up, I was most afraid of Sebastian. I was the late-in-life baby, the only girl in this generation of the Sterling family. Even my strict grandfather would crack a smile when he saw me. So I was spoiled rotten by the family, practically lawless. Only Sebastian, my big brother, strictly managed me. Studies, friends, manners. I was willful and bratty, but thanks to Sebastian, I didn’t grow up crooked and even achieved a little success. I feared him, but I relied on him even more. So when I found out I wasn’t the Sterlings’ biological daughter, the first person I thought of was Sebastian. Big Brother isn’t my big brother anymore. What do I do? 2 Fear and uncertainty made me want to retreat. I couldn’t bear to imagine Sebastian patting another girl’s head with eyes full of adoration, couldn’t bear him telling me I wasn’t his favorite sister anymore. When I was little, I cried for three days straight when I learned Sebastian would eventually marry another girl. Now, even the sibling bond was gone? I was scared. My first instinct was to run. If I ran, I wouldn’t have to face it. Like an ostrich burying its head in the sand. But I didn’t mean to hurt him. I pouted, tears falling like broken pearls. Seeing me like this, Sebastian sighed in resignation. He used his uninjured arm to gently pull me into his embrace. “Don’t worry. Whether you are a Sterling by blood or not, Big Brother loves you.” He paused before the last two words, saying them softly, but I heard them. Hearing Sebastian’s familiar gentle voice, my anxious heart settled a little. I leaned into his chest and bawled, soaking his custom-made shirt until the pink of his skin showed through. Tired from crying, I looked up slightly and rubbed the top of my fluffy head against Sebastian’s chin. Like a little kitten. I’ve always acted cute like this with him since I was small. “What’s wrong?” Sebastian scratched my chin. “Big Brother, I’m sorry.” Sebastian gently patted my hair. “It’s okay, it doesn’t hurt.” “How could it not hurt? It’s all red.” Sebastian hesitated before speaking. “Blow on it for me, Harper, and it won’t hurt.” I looked at this usually staid and serious brother in confusion. Was he acting cute? But I gently blew on his arm anyway. Looking up, I saw Sebastian’s pale face was flushed red. “Big Brother, do you have a fever?” Sebastian turned his head and coughed. “No. It doesn’t hurt anymore.” “Why didn’t you dodge earlier?” “If I dodged, it would have scalded you.” Sebastian pressed my head deeper into his chest, sighed lightly, and rested his chin on top of my head. “As long as I’m here, I won’t let you get hurt.” Hearing this, my eyes reddened again. I wrapped my arms around his waist and sobbed quietly into his chest. I felt Sebastian’s body stiffen instantly under my hands, muscles going taut. “Big Brother?” I looked up, staring at him with teary eyes. Sebastian put me down from his embrace and awkwardly scratched the bridge of his nose. “Stop acting cute. Eat your dinner.” I sat at the small table. Just as I picked up my spoon, my second brother, Julian, ran over excitedly. “Sebastian! Sebastian! The new sister is back! She’s gorgeous!” My hand shook, and the spoon fell back into the bowl. “I knew you guys didn’t want me anymore. I’m entering my villain era. I’m running away.” Sebastian shot a glare at Julian at the door, a look that promised murder. 3 I dragged my giant bag, taking slow, deliberate steps toward the door. I knew it wasn’t very imposing, but I had no choice—it was too heavy. Just as I reached the living room, I saw the three of them walking in, all smiles. The moment I saw Vivian, I froze. Julian, the idiot, said dopeyly, “Sebastian, look, this is the new sister.” Sebastian shot another glare, and Julian shut his mouth resentfully. “Harper.” Sebastian spoke with concern. I raised a hand to stop him, kicked the giant bag over to Julian’s feet, and walked towards Vivian in a daze. I reached out and touched her face. Warm. It’s a living Vivian. “Are you really Vivian Vaughn?” Vivian paused, then smiled and nodded. “The Vivian Vaughn who joined the band Neon Riot as lead singer before even graduating.” Girls, do you understand? I am meeting my idol. The real daughter is my idol. Ahhh~~~ A fangirl screech echoed in my head. “I’m your fan! Can I have an autograph?” Vivian graciously agreed. “We have a show next month. I’ll send you some VIP pit tickets. You can bring your friends.” Ahhh~~~ VIP tickets I couldn’t even buy with money! I held her face and kissed her on both cheeks. “Sis, you are my biological sister!” “I also love that cute drummer boy in your band. He looks so sweet but plays the drums so wild and cool.” “Sure, I’ll introduce you guys sometime. Let’s grab dinner.” Sebastian suddenly stepped in, pulling me aside. “Harper, your sister is tired.” “Right, right, right.” I affectionately pulled Vivian towards the stairs. “Sister, let me take you to your room. It’s right next to mine. Our rooms get the best light.” As we passed Julian, he suddenly spoke up. “So, are you still running away from home?” “Shut up.” I turned back to Vivian with a smile. “Don’t listen to his nonsense. Never happened.” I pressed my face against her arm. “Sister is so cool. Cuddles for Sister.” 4 That night, I went for a walk in the back garden to clear my head. Vivian was nice, and she was the idol I’d always loved. The Sterling family treated me the same as always, maybe even with a bit more caution. But my heart felt heavy. Suddenly, I saw Sebastian and Vivian talking in the gallery. That gallery was built specifically for me by Sebastian. It was filled with my paintings. He had said it was a secret base belonging only to him and me. Now, he and his new sister were standing in it. I watched him smile and pat Vivian on the head. It felt like a jar of boiling water shattered in my heart—a burning pain. Before, Big Brother only patted my head. The moment Sebastian looked at me, my only thought was to run. Run somewhere they couldn’t find me. Ignoring him calling my name from behind, I ran to the garage, grabbed a random car, and bolted. I found a nearby bar, wanting to numb my emotions with alcohol. My heart really hurt. Big Brother wasn’t just my big brother anymore. His doting love for me was finally given to someone else. So how was I supposed to face him in the future? Drink after drink poured into my stomach. But the more I drank, the more wrong things felt. My head was dizzy, my body was getting hotter and hotter, and panic was setting in. I tried to stand up and leave, but a man reeking of stale smoke grabbed me. “Little sister, all alone? Want big brother to show you a good time?” I struggled desperately, but I had no strength at all. Just as I was on the brink of despair, I smelled a familiar scent of pine and cypress. I heard two grunts of pain, and then everything around me went quiet. Vaguely, I heard a helpless sigh. Hot. So hot. In the back seat of the Cullinan, I desperately searched for anything that could cool me down. Next to me was a soft body that felt cool to the touch. I clung to it like a koala, pushing aside annoying clothes, using my face and lips to absorb every bit of coolness. “So cool, so nice.” My voice was thin and alluring. “Harper, look clearly at who I am.” I lifted my hazy eyes, rims red, tears brimming. “Big Brother, it feels awful. Help me.” Suddenly, my lips were captured, sucked on. Like a dying person in the desert, I frantically drank the life-saving water. “Help me, please, it hurts so much.” “Okay, Big Brother will help you.” My lower body suddenly felt cool. It felt like all the blood in my body was boiling… I bit my lower lip tight, but broken moans still escaped my throat. My mouth was suddenly blocked by a pair of soft lips. The moans were drowned out between teeth and lips. “Don’t make a sound, Harper.” The movements got faster and faster, too fast for me to handle. “Harper, I’m saving you. Don’t hate me.” Finally, my whole body tensed, spasmed, and then slowly went limp. The burning heat inside me slowly dissipated. I felt exhausted, and my consciousness drifted away uncontrollably.

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