Married life was a bore, so I got a canary to spice things up. Who knew word would get back to my husband of convenience? From that day on, he started coming home. A lot. And he got… creative. Until one day, he asked me, “When are you going to let me meet this canary you’re keeping on the side?” “What’s so special about him?” I froze. “You want to meet him?” When he said yes, I took him to see my bird. A Gloster canary. 1 Peter Fairchild and I were husband and wife, courtesy of a business arrangement. We’d known each other since we were kids, but we were never close. After the wedding, he was consumed by his empire, and I by mine. We were apart more often than we were together. It was our normal. Lately, Peter had been tied up with an overseas partnership, vanishing for weeks at a time. My friends loved to tease me about it. “You always joked about wanting a husband who’s never home and just sends money,” one of them said, swirling her wine. “But Peter is a god-tier catch. With him gone, I can’t decide if you’re winning or losing.” “…” “Seriously, Alison,” another chimed in, “your married life looks exactly like your single life. All work and schmoozing. Aren’t you bored? Haven’t you thought about finding… other ways to have fun?” Bored? Maybe a little. That’s probably why, when I drove past a street market with a flower stall and a pet shop, I pulled over on a whim. I walked out with a bouquet of white lisianthus in one hand and a birdcage in the other. Inside was a fluffy, bright yellow ball of feathers. The shop owner called it a Gloster canary. Its cheerful, insistent chirping was a melody that made my own heart feel a little lighter. I didn’t take the canary to the house I shared with Peter. Instead, I set him up in a villa I owned, with a housekeeper to look after him. Our marital home was shared space. I couldn’t just bring an animal into it without his say-so. The day I officially became a bird owner, I had to share my excitement with my best friend, Sophie. The background on her end of the line was a chaotic roar of voices. She could barely hear me and had to put me on speaker. I raised my voice. “I said, I’m keeping a canary on the side now—” The word hung in the air, and then, inexplicably, her end went dead silent. The entire party seemed to hold its breath. “Sophie?” Her voice came back, a frantic, hushed whisper. “Alison, are you insane? You can’t just say things like that! Do you have any idea where I am?” “What?” I was genuinely confused. What was wrong with getting a bird? “Is that not something I can talk about?” Sophie hissed, “Keep your voice down! Is it something to be proud of?” “…” In the days following that bizarre call, I started catching whispers about me and a “canary.” People would go quiet whenever I walked into a room. But I was swamped with work and didn’t have the energy to figure out what they were gossiping about. Tonight, I came home late from the office and sensed something was off the moment I stepped inside. The air felt… different. I looked up and saw a silent figure sitting on the living room sofa. The man I hadn’t seen in half a month was back, without a word of warning. 2 “Peter?” I walked toward him, dropping my purse on the console table. “I thought you weren’t back for another week.” While we weren’t a love match, I at least kept track of his schedule. “You don’t want me back?” His voice was strange, laced with an unfamiliar edge. “What?” I didn’t understand. He opened his mouth as if to say more, then shut it, a muscle clenching in his jaw. His expression was dark, almost stormy. I reached out and touched his cheek. “Are you feeling alright? You look pale.” No fever. The next second, his arm snaked around my waist, pulling me into him without warning. I landed on his lap, straddling him. Before I could process it, his mouth was on mine. It wasn’t a welcome-home kiss. It was a storm. A desperate, claiming kiss that tasted of something I couldn’t name. As it deepened, the taste soured with something else—possession, maybe even anger. I tried to pull away, murmuring that I hadn’t showered, but he just swept me into his arms, my legs wrapped around his waist, and stood. He started walking toward the bathroom. Peter worked out. The hard planes of his body were a testament to that, and he held me with an effortless strength that always left me a little breathless. But tonight was different. He was fierce. So fierce I cried, but he didn’t stop. He just kept asking me, his voice a ragged whisper against my skin, who he was. Peter… husband… my love… None of my answers seemed to satisfy him, but he demanded them anyway. The bathroom filled with steam, and I felt like a castaway clinging to a raft in a churning sea. My body was pushed to its limits, and somewhere in the dizzying haze, I heard him whisper in my ear, “You’re mine.” Of course, I was his. But I was too exhausted to answer. It was like he’d never seen a woman before in his life. It wasn’t until the next morning that I had the strength to ask him about his schedule. He stood by the bed, his gaze intense as he looked down at me. “The project is wrapping up. I handed off the final stages. I’ll be staying in the country for a while.” “But you said it was a critical deal. That you had to see it through yourself.” Peter nodded slowly. “There are… other critical things here that need my personal attention.” I didn’t catch the hidden meaning in his words. 3 From that day on, Peter was a different man. Logically, with our demanding jobs, we should have barely seen each other. But he started coming home. Early. Most days, he was already there when I walked in. Tonight, I came home to find him in the kitchen, wearing an apron and carrying a platter of food. I stopped in my tracks. It wasn’t just that Peter was cooking. It was the way he was dressed. He had on a black tank top that did nothing to hide the sculpted lines of his muscles. That, paired with his handsome face, sent a wave of raw sex appeal crashing over me. The apron only amplified it. A dash of husband material. It was dangerously attractive. He looked at me, his expression softening. “You’re home. Go wash up, dinner’s ready.” It was the first time my husband had ever cooked for me. Our marriage was a contract; domestic skills weren’t part of the deal. We had staff for that. I had no idea he was this talented. “Is it good?” he asked, watching me take a bite. I nodded like a bobblehead. “Delicious.” Then he added, his voice layered with meaning, “If the food at home is this good, you won’t have to eat out. It’s not healthy.” I only heard the surface-level meaning. “Absolutely not. You’re too busy. You can’t come home from work every day and cook.” Peter just stared at me. “…” Later that evening, while he was in the shower, I called Sophie. Her voice was conspiratorial. “Is your husband around?” “No, why?” “Just checking. How’s your little canary doing?” My canary? “Oh, he’s great! He’s started rubbing his head against my hand to be cute.” My little bird had a wonderfully sweet personality, very affectionate. Sophie let out a strange, almost pervy giggle. “Alison, I never would’ve guessed you were into that type. Look, don’t say I never help you out, but you’re a married woman. Even if it’s a loveless business arrangement, you’re keeping… that… on the side. You need to hide it well.” “Hide what…” I was about to ask her what there was to hide when footsteps padded up behind me. Peter was out of the shower, a towel slung low around his hips. I watched as a single, perfect drop of water slid from his chest, tracing a path down his abs before disappearing beneath the towel. Silent, raw sensuality. “Who was that?” he asked, his voice a low rumble. “Sophie,” I said, belatedly turning my phone screen to show him. But she’d already hung up. 4 Peter’s eyes landed on my phone screen. He didn’t say anything, just reached out, took the phone from my hand, and set it down, screen dark. He leaned in, his handsome face filling my vision. He took my hand, lifted it to his cheek, and gently nuzzled against my palm. All the while, his gaze never left mine, intense and unwavering. “Do you like this?” he murmured. In that moment, my mind went blank. I barely registered his words. Peter and I had a marriage of convenience, but we fulfilled our marital duties. I just never imagined the composed, always-in-control Peter would do something like this. “Peter, did you overhear my call?” His eyes darkened, a furrow forming between his brows. He took a deep, shuddering breath. “Alison, if this is what you like, I can do it too. You don’t have to look for it outside.” Peter had no idea how dangerously sexy he looked right then. I only processed the first half of his sentence before his mouth crashed down on mine, and the world dissolved into a storm of sensation. Lost in the haze, a single thought surfaced: I was talking about my bird. Why was Peter competing with a bird? Did he really hate them that much? I decided then and there to scrap any plans of bringing my canary home. Tonight, Peter was different. He was clingy, whispering things in my ear that sent shivers of pleasure and shame through me. He was usually so quiet in bed. Now, every word was designed to unravel me. I was lost in a sea of illicit pleasure, drowning with him. Who the hell had reprogrammed my husband? Peter’s new routine was intense. He was always home, and he suddenly cared about my every move. After work one day, I stopped by my private villa to see my bird. He was getting delightfully chubby, his little head a perfect, fluffy sphere. Even though I wasn’t his daily caretaker, he still fluttered down to land on my hand the moment I walked in. I hadn’t kept him in a cage; I’d had a whole room converted into a custom aviary, full of plants and natural light, temperature-controlled for his comfort. I was cooing at him when my phone rang. It was Peter. “You’re such a good boy, so attached to your mama…” I murmured, just as the call connected. “Peter?” Silence stretched from the other end before he finally spoke. “Where are you?” My husband had become remarkably possessive lately. I instinctively thought he was calling to hurry me home. “I’m on my way back now,” I said quickly. Another long pause. Finally, a quiet, “Okay.” That night, as we were tangled in the sheets, he leaned over me, his voice a cool, suppressed whisper in my ear. “Mama, was I good?” My eyes shot open. A tidal wave of speechless, searing shame washed over me. I had no idea how my husband of six months had transformed into this… this incubus. My last shred of composure crumbled under that one word. As I drifted into an exhausted sleep, I thought I heard him murmur a complaint. “Why didn’t you call me your good boy?” It felt so surreal, it must have been a dream. 5 My husband’s antics were getting more and more elaborate, sometimes to the point where I couldn’t keep up. I’d had a lot of work events lately and came home late one night, a little drunk. Peter had a sweet, hangover-soothing broth waiting for me, which he fed to me spoon by spoon. I looked up at him and noticed the darkness clouding his features. He looked miserable. Drunk as I was, I didn’t overthink it. I just reached up to smooth the worry from his brow. “Don’t frown.” He steadied me, his unhappiness palpable. “Why did you drink so much?” I cupped his face, studying him for a long moment before breaking into a wide, happy grin. “Hubby.” He froze. A few seconds later, I heard him sigh again. “Why do you keep sighing lately?” I asked. His answer took a moment to come. “Because I despise myself.” I was baffled. “You’re amazing. Why would you ever despise yourself?” Peter had been the golden boy his whole life, the kid other parents compared theirs to. I couldn’t understand this self-deprecating act. “Do you love me?” he asked suddenly. Love? We weren’t in bed. The question caught me completely off guard. I was fond of him, I liked him, but I didn’t know if it was love. My hesitation was answer enough. Peter didn’t press the issue. He knelt, slipped off my heels, and carried me to the bathroom. I used to be mortified when he bathed me, but Peter’s stamina in bed was relentless. More often than not, I was too spent to move afterward, and he would clean me up himself. Again and again. Habit is a terrifying thing. I loved Peter’s kisses. They were always so tender. But tonight, after he laid me on the bed, he didn’t kiss me. My head was fuzzy, my vision blurred. Through a drunken haze, I saw him pick up his tie from the dresser. ? His thumb stroked my wrist as he whispered, “Want to play a game tonight?” I pointed a shaky finger at the tie. “You’re going to tie me up?” “Can I?” I shook my head. “I don’t want to.” He stopped, his hand hovering. He just looked at me for a long moment, then asked, “What if you tie me up?” Tying Peter to the headboard… His eyes were dark pools, drawing me in. On a strange, devilish impulse, I nodded. With his hands bound, Peter looked completely at my mercy. It sparked a thrilling sense of control. I didn’t think I was a wicked woman. But tonight, the alcohol must have corroded my inhibitions, because all I wanted was to see him lose control. He’d also prepared a black silk sash. I used it to cover his eyes. He couldn’t see me, so I felt bold, liberated. It was a wild, chaotic night. So wild that when I woke up the next morning and remembered, I wanted to pull the covers over my head and disappear. Especially when I saw the faint red marks still visible on his wrists. How could I be that kind of person? But god, Peter, blindfolded and bound… he had been so unbelievably sexy. His suit jacket would hide the marks, but the thought of him going to work, being the decisive, powerful CEO with the evidence of my wildness hidden beneath his clothes, sent a secret thrill through me. I was a little bit bad.

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My arms-dealer father brought home a pair of twin bodyguards from an underground fighting ring. My sister, Vivian, chose the brother who fawned over her. That left me with the other one, the silent one with expressive mutism. I knew that rejected bodyguards were thrown back into the fighting pits to fend for themselves, so my soft heart got the better of me, and I took him in. He couldn’t speak, so I found doctors and therapists for him. He was an outcast, bullied by the others for his quiet nature, so I trained twice as hard, beating down anyone who dared to lay a hand on him. I spent my nights learning sign language and psychology, desperate for a way to connect with him. I thought my devotion would earn his undying loyalty. Until the night of the botched arms deal, when he watched as both Vivian and I were trapped by the flames. He didn’t hesitate. He ran to her. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice clear. “I can’t let anything happen to Vivi.” His mutism had been cured long ago. As the explosion consumed me, he looked at me, and his lips formed the words: “I owe you this life. I’ll repay you in the next.” I opened my eyes and was back on the day we chose our bodyguards. … A stinging pain in my palm snapped me back to reality. The crescent-shaped wounds my nails had dug into my skin were a grim reminder that this was not a dream. My sister glanced at me, then wrapped her arm around our father’s, her voice a sweet poison. “Daddy, it looks like sister is still thinking. Why don’t you let me choose first?” Under our father’s doting gaze, she preened like a peacock, her eyes flitting between the two brothers, Zane and Kael. “I think I’ll choose Kael,” she announced, though her eyes had been fixed on Zane the whole time. “Sister is such a loner. She needs a bodyguard who knows how to read people.” I watched her performance, my mind replaying the scene from my past life. She’d said the exact same thing then, pretending to be considerate by offering me the more outgoing brother, Zane. She knew I would fall for it. She knew my heart was too soft. Back then, her act had worked. I’d not only let her have Zane but had taken the silent, brooding Kael under my wing. It wasn’t until the fire, when she cried for the brothers to save me first but held her hand out to Kael, that I finally understood. Zane, her sworn protector, was right beside her. The exit was closer to her. But she had always been certain I would yield, that my compassion was a weakness to be exploited. She got what she wanted and a reputation for being selfless. But this time, I met her confident gaze. “I’ll do as you say, sister.” The smile on Vivian’s face froze. She wasn’t the only one in shock. Kael’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with disbelief. “No,” our father interjected. “Vivian, you’re fragile. You need the stronger protection. Kael has a speech impediment. He’s not suitable.” I understood. Father had already decided. This whole charade of letting us choose was just for show. “Daddy, let’s let sister choose first…” Vivian began, putting on her sweet, obedient daughter mask again. But Kael cut her off. “Sir, my speech impediment has been cured.” In my past life, Kael hadn’t spoken a word until the moment I died. But now? His eyes were no longer vacant. They were filled with a sharp, hidden pain as they met my scrutinizing gaze. So, he was reborn too. Watching his desperate attempt to be chosen, I thought of his last words to me—I’ll repay you in the next—and a bitter, ironic laugh threatened to escape my lips. It didn’t matter. I didn’t want him anyway. Father didn’t respond. In a blur of motion, Kael moved. One of the elite guards standing by my father’s side was on the ground, neutralized, in the span of a single breath. A flicker of surprise crossed my father’s face. Vivian beamed. She had always preferred Kael’s cold, aloof beauty. If not for his diagnosis, he would have been her first choice. Finally, my father nodded. “Very well. Kael, you will be with Vivian. As for Zane…” “He’ll be with Aria.” The silent Zane’s brow furrowed. He dropped to one knee, his voice tight and strained. “Sir, I cannot obey this command.” “You refuse?” My father’s face darkened. He might favor Vivian, but I was still his daughter. A bodyguard’s public refusal was a direct challenge to his authority. “Then you can crawl back to the fighting pits. The Smith family has no use for disobedient dogs.” I knew this would happen. A bodyguard who wasn’t chosen was discarded. In my past life, I couldn’t bear to see Kael sent back to die, so I kept him. This time, it was Zane’s turn. I stood by, a silent spectator. Vivian, however, was panicking. She rushed to Zane’s side, reaching for his arm, but he subtly moved away. She stomped her foot, her voice a petulant whine. “Zane, if you don’t go with my sister, they’ll beat you to death!” Zane looked up, his eyes burning with a fierce, unwavering loyalty. “My life’s only purpose is to serve you, Miss Vivian!” A blush crept up Vivian’s cheeks. I let out a soft laugh. This display of blind devotion was just as pathetic the second time around. “Sister!” Vivian whirled on me, her eyes instantly welling with tears. “Are you just going to stand there and watch him die?” From the brothers’ perspective, she must have looked like a tragic, beautiful angel. I took a step forward. “Father, since Zane is so loyal to my sister, why not let them both serve her? One is good, but two is better. Vivian’s safety is what matters most.” My words were exactly what she wanted to hear. From the moment the twins had arrived, she had been torn, unable to choose. Father hesitated. “Aria, what about you?” I lowered my head, playing the part of the dutiful, self-sacrificing older sister. “It’s fine, Father. I’m the older sister. I should give way to Vivian.” Suddenly, every gaze in the room was filled with approval. A smile touched my father’s lips. “Aria, you’ve matured.” “However,” he continued, “things are unstable right now. Our enemies are watching. It’s not safe for you to be without protection.” I looked up, meeting his approving gaze and catching the complex emotion in Kael’s eyes. I didn’t care enough to decipher it. “If you’re worried, Father, you can send me to work with my cousin. I won’t cause any trouble for the family.” In my past life, I had no foundation in this family, so I had poured all my energy into saving Kael. Vivian was born when I was five. To ensure she was the sole recipient of their affection, my parents had sent me to live with distant relatives. It was only two years ago, when the family needed to manage some bad press, that my father brought me back. My cousin, who ran the family’s overseas arms trade, always brought Vivian limited-edition bags and jewelry when he came home. Even her nanny was treated better than I was. The money for Kael’s medical treatments had come from my own meager allowance, saved penny by penny. This time, I knew better than anyone: if I wanted to escape being a pawn, I had to seize every opportunity to build my own power. My cousin was cold and dismissive, assigning me to a low-level position in his company. I didn’t complain. I poured every waking moment into my work. Using my knowledge from my previous life, I quickly mastered the business, even seizing an opportunity everyone else had written off, landing a massive contract for the company. That success finally caught my cousin’s attention. He summoned me for a formal meeting. “There’s an important business dinner tonight. You’re coming with me.” The banquet was a sea of influential figures. My cousin introduced me to several key partners. “This is my uncle’s daughter, Aria Smith.” I was poised and articulate, my insights into the business impressing many. Soon, the rumor of the capable elder Miss Smith spread through the circle, eclipsing my sister, who was known only for her frivolous lifestyle. That night, when I returned to the Smith villa, Vivian stormed into my room the moment I opened the door. “Sister, you should just stay quietly at home.” I glanced at her. Her voice was sharp. “The Smith family business is run by men. As daughters, our greatest contribution is to marry well. Cousin has helped you, but your foundation is weak. If you mess up, you’ll not only bring shame to the family, you might lose your value as a marriage asset.” I responded coldly, “Vivian, by what right do you presume to plan my future?” I stepped closer, my gaze like steel. “You’ve enjoyed everyone’s favor your entire life. Does my carving out a path for myself threaten you that much?” “Sister…” Her face flushed, and she glanced at Zane, who stood guard behind her. Her eyes immediately welled with tears. “I know, it’s all my fault… If it weren’t for me, Mom and Dad would never have sent you away.” “Save your tears,” I snapped. “You’re not the one who should be crying.” “After you were born, they threw me away like trash so you could have everything. With those so-called relatives, I was beaten, starved, and almost assaulted. I escaped and survived on the streets like a stray dog!” I backed her toward the door, my voice a low snarl. “You can continue being the perfect little princess. No one is going to take that from you. But you will not tell me how to live my life!” “Sister, that’s not what I meant,” she sobbed, grabbing my sleeve. “I really do care about you. I want to make it up to you. Why won’t you let me… I might as well just die.” She made a show of running toward the window. Zane caught her, pulling her into a protective embrace. He glared at me. “Miss Aria! Miss Vivian has a pure heart. Do you want to push her to her death?” Vivian sobbed in his arms. “It’s not sister’s fault… It’s all my fault. I owe her…” Zane held her tighter, his eyes burning with anger at me. “Apologize to Miss Vivian.” I scoffed. “And who are you to command me?” Zane’s lips tightened, but before he could speak, I raised my hand and slapped him hard across the face. Vivian shrieked, “Sister, how dare you hit him!” My voice was ice. “I thought you were the expert on rules and etiquette, sister. Why can’t you control your own dog? A mere bodyguard, speaking out of turn to the eldest daughter of the house?” A flicker of rage crossed Zane’s eyes, but my colder gaze froze him in place. Kael, drawn by the commotion, arrived just in time to see it. He looked at me as if I were a stranger. I had no desire to waste any more time on these three. I pushed them out of my room and slammed the door. The next day, I was packing for a business trip, eager to escape the suffocating drama of this house. I had just finished dressing when my door was slammed open. Zane burst in, his eyes bloodshot and frantic. He grabbed my wrist. “What did you do to Miss Vivian? She ran out last night and never came back!” My face hardened. I twisted out of his grip, using his own momentum against him and kicking his knee, breaking his hold. “You are Vivian’s bodyguard. Her disappearance is your failure! Don’t come here taking your incompetence out on me.” “This is your fault!” Zane’s eyes were red with a desperate fury. “If you hadn’t provoked her yesterday, she wouldn’t have run off!” “Before our father finds out, you’re coming with me to find her and apologize!” The door was kicked open again. Kael rushed in. “Zane, the kidnappers just called. They have Miss Vivian.” Zane’s eyes narrowed, pinning me with a vicious glare. “The kidnappers want a daughter of the Smith family. You caused this mess. You will be the one to take her place.” “You’re insane!” I snarled, slapping him again. “Useless waste of space. You can’t even protect your own master, and you dare to lay a hand on me!” Zane spat out a mouthful of blood, his eyes dark with malice as he grabbed my wrist again, his grip like iron. “Forgive me, Miss Aria. Miss Vivian’s life is at stake. I have no choice.” He twisted my arms behind my back. “Kael, help me!” Kael hesitated for a split second before moving to assist.

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1 The day of my mother’s surgery, I was scrolling through my phone in the hospital hallway when I saw Leo’s post: [Mom had a little heart flutter, but thankfully our caring daughter-in-law was here to help.] The photo showed my wife, Claire, the surgeon who was supposed to be operating on my mother, gently taking the blood pressure of Leo’s mom. Her text from half an hour ago was still glowing on my screen: [High-risk patient just came in. I had Dr. Shaw cover Mom’s surgery.] After my mother’s operation ended successfully, I quietly arranged for her transfer to another hospital. Then I called my divorce lawyer. … It was one in the morning when Claire finally pushed open the door to the hospital room. The harsh light from the hallway sliced into the darkness. I instinctively shifted my body, shielding my sleeping mother from the glare. She stood at the door, still in her white coat. “Jake,” she said, her voice tired. “I just finished. Let’s wake Mom up, I’ll do a check-up.” I used to be obsessed with my mother’s health. Every time she felt unwell, I wouldn’t rest until Claire had seen her personally. It made sense; my mother was critically ill, and Claire was a leading specialist in the field. But now… I gently tucked the corner of my mother’s blanket, my voice flat. “That won’t be necessary.” Claire froze, a flicker of annoyance in her eyes. “Jake, Mrs. Davis’s heart palpitations today were serious. That’s why I had Dr. Shaw take over. Don’t get the wrong idea.” “Besides,” she added, her tone hardening, “Dr. Shaw told me the surgery went perfectly. Can you stop making a scene?” I wasn’t getting the wrong idea. And I wasn’t making a scene. “If there’s nothing else, you should go home. Don’t disturb Mom. She just had surgery and needs to rest.” A cold laugh escaped her lips. “Fine. Just don’t come crying to me later, saying I don’t care about your mother.” Care? A surgeon who walks out mid-operation. A daughter-in-law who prioritizes someone else’s mother. A “care” like that? We couldn’t afford it. Claire slammed the door on her way out. I gently smoothed the worry lines on my mother’s brow. She fluttered her eyes open for a moment before drifting back into a peaceful sleep. The next morning, I went downstairs to buy my mother breakfast and ran into Claire in the parking lot. “Jake,” she said, rolling down her window. “I made some chicken soup for Mom. Let’s go up together?” I was surprised. At this time, she was usually already at Leo’s place. Ever since Leo and his mother moved here three years ago, she had accompanied my mother to her check-ups less and less. At first, she said it was hospital meetings, emergency surgeries. I believed her. Until six months ago. I was with my mother for an appointment and saw Claire in the hospital garden. She was supposed to be in surgery, but there she was, carefully helping Leo’s mother on a walk. “Easy, Mrs. Davis, take your time.” “Oh, Claire, you’re more thoughtful than my own son.” So, it wasn’t that she didn’t have time. It was just that we were no longer worth her time. We had a massive fight that night. After that, my mother refused to let Claire take her to the hospital ever again. Even though divorce was now a certainty, the concern in her eyes looked genuine. I didn’t refuse, just sent my mom a quick text. As Claire opened her car door, my eyes caught a seat cushion on the passenger side, finely embroidered with the letter ‘D’. Hanging from the rearview mirror was a small, framed photo of Leo and his mother, dangling next to a silver charm. She noticed me looking, and her expression tightened. “Those are just some things Mrs. Davis left behind. I’m holding them for her.” Her voice became defensive. “Don’t make a big deal out of it.” The old me would have ripped that photo down and demanded to know who her real family was. But now, I just nodded. “That’s a nice charm.” She stared at me, confused. “Jake… you’re not angry?” Angry? Maybe I should have been. But all I felt was a vast, numb emptiness. This was such a blatant line she had crossed. Did she really not see it? Or did she just enjoy it? I turned away. “Let’s go. Mom will be waiting.” She pursed her lips and followed me, carrying the thermos. We hadn’t taken more than a few steps when her phone rang. The custom ringtone was Leo’s favorite piano piece. Leo’s frantic voice came through the speaker. “Claire! Where are you? My mom’s not feeling well again, you have to come back and check on her!” She didn’t even try to hide it. “I’m on my way.” Hanging up, she shoved the thermos into my hands. “It’s an emergency with Mrs. Davis. Tell Mom I’m sorry. I’ll see her another day.” In her haste, the thermos slipped and crashed to the ground. She didn’t even look back as she sped away. In the hospital room, my mother was quietly eating her porridge. I struggled to find the words. “Mom, Claire had… an emergency. She said she’ll come back…” “I know, son.” My mother’s voice was soft, her gaze calm as she cut me off. “Under anesthesia, you’re paralyzed, not deaf.” She took my hand. “The two of us… we just can’t compete with them, can we?” That evening, Claire called. She’d heard I was transferring my mother, and her voice was tight with suppressed rage. “Why are you transferring her? I’m the best doctor here, am I not taking good care of her?” “Or is this because I didn’t visit this morning? Are you really going to throw a tantrum over that?” “Jake, that’s your mother! You can’t play games with her health just because you’re upset!” “I have to stay with Mrs. Davis tonight. Since you think I’m doing such a terrible job, I won’t be coming home!” I listened calmly, then replied with a single word. “Fine.” Silence. She clearly hadn’t expected that response. She stammered for a moment before finally managing a, “You…” I hung up before she could finish. Five minutes later, my phone pinged. A message from Leo. [Hey Jake, sorry about all this. My mother hasn’t been well, and Claire has been a huge help.] [But you really shouldn’t have acted that way. You need to be more understanding. Claire is the best doctor in the city, of course she’s in high demand.] [Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her for you.] I read the message—less an apology and more a declaration of ownership—and then deleted it and blocked his number. This whole charade had been going on since Leo and his mother arrived three years ago. It started with occasional favors, then frequent care. Now, Claire was practically their private physician. Her call came again, moments later. “Jake! What the hell is wrong with you? Leo was trying to apologize, and you treat him like that?” In the background, I could faintly hear Mrs. Davis sobbing and Leo comforting her. I remained silent, listening to her vent. “How did you become so cold? Mrs. Davis is a sick woman! Don’t you have an ounce of compassion?” “I am so disappointed in you!” I ended the call, my fingertips cold. I’m the one who should be saying that to you. She was the one who kept putting others first. I hadn’t said a word, yet somehow, I was the one at fault. Back home, I started packing. The lawyer had confirmed that the division of assets from our marriage would be in my favor, more than enough to cover my mother’s medical expenses. My last hesitation was gone. I opened the closet. On the left were my mother’s simple, plain clothes. On the right, Claire’s expensive designer suits—most of them bought while shopping with Mrs. Davis. I remembered once my mother wanted a new coat. Claire had told her “next time,” then turned around and bought Mrs. Davis a cashmere one. We fought about it, and she promised to get one for Mom. That coat never appeared. Clothes, toiletries, my mother’s favorite books… I packed them all, box by box. When my fingers brushed against a wooden box deep in the closet, they trembled. I gently lifted the lid. Inside were photos from when Claire and I were dating. On top was a picture from her medical school graduation. She was beaming at me in her cap and gown. On the back, in her elegant script, she had written: [To my dearest Jake, wait for me. I’ll become a doctor you can be proud of.] My phone rang. It was Claire. Her voice was choked with tears when I answered. “Jake! Mrs. Davis took a turn for the worse, she’s in the ICU! If anything happens to her, I will never, ever forgive you!” I looked at the girl in the photo, the girl whose eyes used to be filled with only me. The girl who used to secretly text me during her night shifts to say she missed me. Now, for someone else’s mother, she was spitting venom at me. My thumb traced the smile on her face in the picture. “Do whatever you want,” I said softly. I hung up and fed the contents of the wooden box into the paper shredder. Claire didn’t come home that night. I didn’t call her, screaming and begging her to come back like I used to. I didn’t call Leo to curse him out for wrecking my marriage. Back at the hospital, my mother, as if by silent agreement, didn’t ask where Claire was. The cold war lasted for three days. Finally, my mother was stable, and the hospital transfer form needed the signature of her attending physician. I tried calling Claire, only to find she’d blocked me. I had no choice but to drive to Leo’s house to find her. When I started the car, the GPS, which had been switched to Leo’s voice at some point, gently reminded me to drive safely. I fought back a wave of nausea and typed in Leo’s address, only to see the saved location name pop up on the screen: “Our Love Nest.” Disgusting. Utterly disgusting. Claire was not only crossing every line, she was reveling in it. When I arrived, the place was empty except for a moving truck driver locking the door. I asked him for the delivery address. It was my house. The house I had bought for her. Our marital home. My hands tightened on the steering wheel. I turned the car around and raced home. From a distance, I could see the moving truck parked outside. Claire was directing workers as they carried an antique vanity into the living room. “What are you doing?” She turned, not a hint of surprise on her face. “Mrs. Davis is unwell and needs someone to look after her. It’s too much trouble going back and forth, so I’m having her move in with me.” “This is my house.” “What’s yours is mine, isn’t it?” she replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “The guest room is already set up.” I watched as the movers carried Leo’s suitcase into the room next to our master bedroom—the room we had planned for our future child. “Did you ask for my opinion?” Claire frowned, her patience wearing thin. “Jake, can you please be mature about this? Mrs. Davis is a patient…” “A patient?” I cut her off. “So that gives her the right to invade my home? To let you hand over the life I built for us to complete strangers?” Leo emerged from the house with a contemptuous smirk. “Claire is my mother’s devoted daughter-in-law. How is she a stranger?” How utterly ridiculous. My wife, standing with another man, claiming to be a family, making me feel like the outsider. Claire reached for my arm, but I stepped back. “Sign it.” I held out the transfer form. “Sign this, and you can do whatever you want with this house.” Claire’s face darkened. Leo saw the papers in my hand and sneered. “Everyone knows Claire is the best cardiac surgeon in the city. Transferring? Mr. Hayes, are you trying to get attention this way?” “Claire, forget it,” he said, his tone softening. “You’ve been with me and my mom all week, neglecting Jake and his mother. You should go check on them.” At his words, Claire’s expression eased. “Jake, do you have to be so childish? Using Mom’s health as an excuse? I know you’re upset, but you’re the one who stressed Mrs. Davis out and made her sick in the first place.” She pushed the form back at me. “I’m not signing it. And you owe Leo an apology.” I looked at her, defending another man, and suddenly, I didn’t even have the energy to argue. “Whatever.” Back at the hospital, Dr. Shaw was doing her rounds. Her name was Anna. She knew my mother’s case well. “Let’s transfer her to University Medical Center,” she said gently. “My mentor works there. He’s even better than I am.” The paperwork was processed quickly. On the signature line of the transfer form, in neat, elegant script, were two words. [Anna Shaw.] On the day of the transfer, the transport ambulance hadn’t arrived yet. I told my mother to rest while I took our bags downstairs. As I reached the entrance of the building, a familiar white car pulled up. The passenger window rolled down, and Leo smirked at me. “Really going through with it? Jake, what other hospital has a specialist like Claire?” “Can you even afford it? If not, you can always ask our Claire. She’s very charitable; I’m sure she’d help.” I stared at him coldly. “Don’t trouble yourself. Since Dr. Adams is so busy, we wouldn’t want to take up any more of her time caring for you and your mother.” Leo’s face instantly crumpled into a look of feigned hurt as he turned to the driver’s seat. “Claire, did I say something wrong? Why is he so angry?” Claire rolled her window down. “Jake, don’t take it too far.” “I’m taking it too far?” I looked her straight in the eye. “For a man whose wife is a surgeon who abandons her patients mid-operation, I think I’ve shown remarkable restraint.” Seeing her at a loss for words, I turned to leave. But I heard Leo’s snide remark behind me. “Some people just don’t know what’s good for them…” I ignored him. The ambulance still wasn’t there, so I headed back to the room. Before I even reached the door, I could hear shouting. I burst into the room to see Leo’s mother jabbing a finger in my mother’s face. “I’m doing you a favor by letting you switch rooms! My daughter-in-law is the top surgeon here! I’ll stay in whichever room I damn well please!” “Please show some respect.” I stepped between them, shielding my mother. “The hospital has rules. You don’t get to make them.” My mother tugged at my sleeve, her voice calm but firm. “Ma’am, there’s a thing called first come, first served.” “First come, first served?” Mrs. Davis scoffed, raising her voice for effect. “My daughter-in-law is Claire Adams, the top specialist in this hospital! What I say, goes! Who the hell do you think you are, trying to take a room from me?” My mother looked around at the murmuring crowd. “Claire is my daughter-in-law,” she stated, her voice quiet but clear. “You?” Mrs. Davis yanked on my mother’s sleeve. “Look at your cheap clothes. You think you’re worthy of being Claire’s mother-in-law?” I grabbed her wrist. “Let go of her!” Just then, Claire and Leo rushed in. Seeing them, Mrs. Davis cried “Oh!” and collapsed into her son’s arms, pointing at me. “Heavens! He’s attacking me! In broad daylight!” “Son, he pushed me!” Leo shot forward. “Jake, you laid a hand on my mother?” I laughed, a cold, humorless sound. “Laid a hand on her? Are there no security cameras in this hospital? You’re just going to stand there and lie?” “I was stopping her from harassing my mother. What about you? Do you just let your mother run wild and act like a tyrant in a hospital?” The commotion drew a larger crowd. “Well, I’ve seen it all now. People fighting over inheritance, over parents, but never over a daughter-in-law.” “Look at what that old woman is wearing. Doesn’t look like she’s related to a doctor. Maybe she’s just confused?” One of the onlookers asked curiously, “Dr. Adams, which one of them is your family?” All eyes turned to Claire. I stared into her eyes, my voice low and steady. “Claire. Think very carefully before you answer. Think about how Mom has treated you all these years.” Claire’s lips trembled, her gaze darting between us. Leo suddenly grabbed her sleeve and started to sob quietly. “Claire, you know… I never had a father. My mom is all I have in this world. If anything happens to her… I don’t want to live anymore.” Claire squeezed her eyes shut, took a deep breath, and when she opened them again, her gaze was filled with a cold resolve. “I am Mrs. Davis’s daughter-in-law.” She then turned to my mother. “Ma’am, I believe you’re mistaken.” The words hit me like a bucket of ice water. Eight years of marriage, and she publicly disowned her own mother-in-law. The room erupted in whispers and jeers. “What’s wrong with that old woman, claiming relatives like that!” “She probably saw they had money and wanted a piece of it…” “And her son doesn’t look like much either, just a pretty boy…” Rage flared in my chest. “Claire, have you lost your conscience? How could you say that…” Before I could finish, my mother stood and grabbed my arm. “Son, let it go.” She looked at Claire, the hope in her eyes slowly fading, dimming, until all that was left was a flat, empty calm. “I’m sorry, Dr. Adams. I’m just an old, confused woman. I seem to have mistaken you for someone else.”

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After we got back together, Sienna became unusually clingy. She had to report everything—what she ate, what she drank, who she saw. One day, she called, her tone testing the waters. “Lindsay’s bringing some younger guys to the spa resort. She wants me to go.” “Oh,” I said. “Have fun.” The line went dead. Twenty minutes later, she was blocking my doorway, demanding in a hoarse voice, “You’d really just let me go off with other people?” I took a step back under her gaze. “Isn’t this the ‘boundaries’ you wanted?” My words hung in the air, and she froze. 1 “Are you done? If you’re done, you can leave. I really don’t mind.” Worried she might misunderstand, I added helpfully, “Don’t worry. I’ll play along for your parents tomorrow.” Sienna’s face instantly darkened. “Caleb, you’ve got a real goddamn nerve.” She slammed the door and left. The commotion had completely shattered my sleepiness. I curled back under the covers and scrolled through my phone. At two in the morning, an unknown number sent me a few pictures. A young guy, wearing nothing but swim trunks, his pale body pressed against Sienna from behind. The air was thick with steam. His arms were wrapped casually around her waist, only a thin layer of fabric separating them. [Hey, man. I’m scared of the water, so Sienna was just helping me out. You’re so lucky to have such a caring wife~] I stared at the screen, considering my options. Should I get up and go catch her in the act? No, it was too late. My driver was off for the night, and getting a ride would be a pain. Well then… maybe write a long, scathing text to tear her apart? The weather was too cold; my hands would freeze. Maybe I could just copy and paste one of my old rants from our chat history. As I scrolled back through our old fights, I actually fell asleep. No wonder Sienna never bothered to read them. Once you stripped the emotion away, the words were just long-winded and tedious. Excellent sleep aid, though. The next day was New Year’s Day, and we went to the Vaughn family estate. I was chatting with the elders when the doorbell rang. I opened the door to find the same boy from last night’s photo, standing there, looking shy. He was clutching a bikini top. “This… was left at my place yesterday.” The style was bold and youthful. In this house, there was only one person it could belong to. The whole scene felt sickeningly familiar. The year we got engaged, another boy had shown up just like this. I’d lost it, grabbed him by the throat, and thrown him to the ground. Sienna had pushed me off, and without a backward glance, led the boy away, leaving me a pathetic mess on the floor. The estate was in chaos that night. No one had a happy new year. The old folks say you shouldn’t start the new year on a bad note. Sure enough, that was the year Sienna and I fought the most. The living room was silent. Everyone was waiting for my reaction. I immediately smoothed things over with a smile. “Oh, that’s my cousin. He grew up overseas. We were all together for the New Year’s countdown last night.” Sienna’s father breathed a sigh of relief, but her mother’s eyes were filled with suspicion. “Really?” “Absolutely,” I said, pulling the boy inside and shutting the door. The last flicker of hope in Sienna’s eyes died out. 2 On the drive back, I pulled the bikini top from my pocket and tossed it to her. She stammered out an explanation. “Last night wasn’t what you think. That guy is Lindsay’s brother, and I was drunk, nothing happened…” I tore open an antiseptic wipe and meticulously cleaned my hands. “Just drop me off here. Leo invited me for a poker game.” Sienna swallowed hard, her voice softening. “I can pick you up when you’re done?” “No need,” I said, pushing the car door open. “You do your thing.” I didn’t want to know what that bikini had been through. I was just afraid of catching something vile. A long, hot shower at Leo’s place and a change into the fresh clothes he’d laid out for me finally cleared the suffocating feeling in my chest. Leo watched Sienna’s car drive off, then raised an eyebrow at me. “So, how’d the battle go? What was the score? Why didn’t you call for backup?” I sank into the couch. “There was no battle. Scaring off the woman is one thing, but I can’t afford to scare off the money.” That New Year’s Day, the Vaughn estate had been a war zone. Several of the elders had been so upset they ended up in the hospital. As I lay on the cold ground, it was Leo who finally showed up and bundled my mud-caked self into his sports car. As he turned the key, he couldn’t resist a jab. “Living out your childhood dream at the Vaughn’s? Rolling around in a mud pit?” I opened my mouth to reply, but tears came out first. “Leo, how did it get like this?” He panicked, fumbling to wipe my tears, but he had no answers. No one could have imagined Sienna and I would end up in such a toxic mess. We were childhood sweethearts, practically knew each other since we were in diapers. I’d worked my ass off to get into the same university as her, waking up before the sun and studying long after midnight, giving it everything I had. The day I got my acceptance letter, my mom was amazed. “If I’d known you’d kill yourself studying for Sienna, why would I have spent a fortune on tutors?” Everyone assumed that Caleb Reed and Sienna Vaughn were meant to be. But just as we finally grew up, just as we no longer had to share a cheap slice of pizza from a food truck, she let go of my hand. She despised her family for controlling her future, for forcing her to give up her dream of being a musician to inherit the family company. And that resentment peaked when I agreed to our engagement. Back then, I was too blinded by my own happiness, too thrilled at the thought of finally marrying the girl of my dreams, to notice that the love in her eyes had long since vanished. After the engagement, she was never home. I’d wake up to my phone flooded with “updates” from well-meaning friends. Sienna just dropped a fortune on some new model. Sienna was surrounded by people at a yacht party. Sienna threw herself another wedding party somewhere else… Those messages were like mold in a damp season, impossible to wipe away completely. I used to scream, chase her for answers, go insane, making a spectacle of myself for everyone to see. All it earned me was Sienna’s deepening disgust. “Can’t you have some boundaries? You don’t like it? Fine, go tell my mother to call off the engagement!” Leo accurately described our relationship as less like a married couple and more like a rebellious teenager and their desperate mother. One was trying to escape, and the other was clinging on for dear life. I thought I would be tangled up with her like this forever. But one day, in the middle of a fight, I just got tired. Brothers don’t need words; a single look is enough. Seeing my unusual calm, Leo asked softly, “So, what’s the plan?” I took the warm water he offered. “The London project. My family and the Vaughns have invested a lot. I’m going to oversee it myself.” “For how long?” “Three years, for now.” He slung an arm around my shoulders, reluctant to let me go. “We’ll party hard before you leave. My treat.” I grinned and punched him lightly in the chest. “You’re not getting off that easy.” 3 I was woken late at night by the doorbell again. Sienna was leaning against the doorframe, drunk, her tie hanging loosely around her neck. I glanced at my phone. The Do Not Disturb mode had silenced over 99 unread messages from her. It seemed she couldn’t reach me, so she came in person. A year ago, I would have been ecstatic that she’d even come home drunk. I would have stumbled over myself to help her inside, get her water, and fuss over her half the night. But now, my hair was freshly washed and smelled great, my apartment was spotless, and I really didn’t want the stench of alcohol ruining it. Seeing I had no intention of letting her in, she asked in a raw voice, “You’re just going to leave me standing out here?” “You’re at the wrong place.” “This is my apartment from before we were engaged. Not our marital home.” “I’ll call someone to pick you up.” As I looked down to find a number, she shamelessly pressed closer. “Caleb, I’m craving the congee you make.” I took a deep breath, pushing down the last lingering sting in my heart. “Really? You’ll really leave after you have the congee?” She nodded eagerly. I opened a food delivery app and handed it to her. “Pick whatever you want.” She froze, the alcohol seemingly wearing off. “Caleb, you never let me eat this stuff…” She probably remembered how, right after we got engaged, I was determined to be a good husband. I hired a chef and learned step-by-step, starting from how to chop vegetables. But she never even glanced at the food, let alone tasted it. I’d secretly post pictures of my elaborate meals on social media, hoping that if she saw the likes and comments from our mutual friends, she might come home to try it. Instead, I only heard about her laughing with her friends at a bar. “If you had a lapdog like Caleb, you’d think my life was a tragedy too. Why would I eat his slop when I have gourmet food out here?” Amid their laughter, I went home and cried for three days straight. Leo was furious and heartbroken for me. “Dude, you’re the kind of guy who would rather starve than cook! Why are you learning to cook for a woman like her? She’s out partying, and you’re turning yourself into a ghost!” That was my wake-up call. I never cooked for her again. “My cooking isn’t even that good,” I said, pushing the phone towards her again. “Just order something.” She sighed and took the phone. As her fingertips brushed my palm, her other hand instinctively tried to wrap around my shoulder. I recoiled violently, my back hitting the door with a dull thud. In the dead silence that followed, she lowered her head and lit a cigarette. The flame flickered in the darkness, illuminating the features I was once so lost in. “Caleb, I’m your fiancée. Not a virus.” “Who can say for sure.” I took another half-step back. “I’m going to bed. I have work tomorrow.” I don’t know when she left. The next morning, when I opened the door, the ground was littered with cigarette butts. 4 On the way to work, while waiting at a red light, I suddenly remembered the night I’d tried to break up with her. Sienna had locked me out then, too. But that was at our marital home. She was partying with a crowd inside, had me locked out, and even changed the passcode. The deep winter wind cut like a knife. I pounded on the door, my hand instinctively protecting my stomach, my voice cracking. “Sienna, open the door… my stomach hurts…” It was the same boy from the spa, the one she’d been with last night, who answered through the video intercom. “Hey, the person outside,” he chirped. “Sienna said it’s the Vaughns who want to marry you, not her.” “You should go. She said you need to learn about boundaries.” I froze for a second, then started hammering on the door like a madman. The people inside must have found it amusing. They recorded it on their phones through the security feed. In the background, the boy’s syrupy voice asked, “Sienna, he says he doesn’t feel well?” Her drunken, impatient voice came through clearly: “Ignore him. He’s just playing the victim.” In the video, I was a hysterical mess, crying and screaming. Finally, I stopped, dragged my suitcase away, and disappeared around the corner. The video made the rounds in our circle. Sienna only found out after a full day of people looking at her with ‘you’re a real piece of shit’ expressions, and she finally, confused, clicked on the link. Honestly, she didn’t think it was a big deal. So what? She was having fun at home and didn’t want me to ruin the mood. But the Vaughn elders were furious. They said her actions were disgraceful and had brought shame upon both families. So she found me, with the reluctant air of someone forced to bow their head. “I didn’t know you would… leave alone so late. I saw the video.” She looked at me as if assessing whether I’d learned my “lesson.” “There are rumors spreading that I, Sienna Vaughn, drove my fiancé out onto the streets… Caleb, that’s enough. Come home with me.” She didn’t know what happened in the darkness after that video ended. And I had no desire to explain it to her. Lying in a hospital bed, I wearily turned over. “It’s not your fault.” After that, we seemingly reconciled. But from that day on, I stopped caring where she slept or if she ever came home. I quietly moved out of our marital house and back into my own small apartment. 5 Saying it wasn’t her fault was a lie. I’m no saint. Giving up on someone you’ve loved for so long is like tearing a part of yourself from your own flesh and bone. When the withdrawal hit, I’d lie awake all night, my chest feeling like a gaping hole, the bitter wind from that winter night howling through it. Besides, my family’s business and the Vaughns’ were already deeply intertwined. The consequences of a forceful separation were more than either side could bear. I knew better than anyone that our personal grievances were weightless in the face of family interests. Maybe the pressure from her family scared her. Or maybe she belatedly realized she’d gone too far. Sienna toned it down a lot. No more staying out all night. No more ignoring me completely. Instead, she started reporting her every move to me, in excruciating detail. One day, I was in the middle of a tense negotiation, finalizing the core terms of a multi-million dollar project, haggling over the last points of profit sharing. You could have heard a pin drop in the conference room. All eyes were on me, waiting for my response. And her messages just kept popping up. Something about an appointment with a famous wedding planner, asking me what style I wanted. When I didn’t reply, she started calling. One call after another. The buzzing of my phone was deafening. The other party said understandingly, “Please, take care of that. It might be urgent.” I maintained a polite smile, nodded my apologies, and ducked into the restroom before finally answering, my voice a low hiss. “What the hell do you want? Why are you blowing up my phone over something so trivial?” “It’s so annoying!” “Can’t you have some goddamn boundaries?” After the barrage of insults, the other end of the line went dead silent. I was the first to snap out of it, rubbing my temples tiredly. “I’m sorry. I’ve been pulling all-nighters for this project, I’m exhausted. The style… you can decide.” On the other end, Sienna was silent for a long time before responding, her voice dry. “Okay.” 6 I parked in front of the Vaughn Corporation building. I was here to integrate some resources before heading back to my own company. In the breakroom, I overheard some colleagues gossiping. “Did you see? Ms. Vaughn came in with him again this morning.” “I noticed! I heard she even left her bra at his place last time…” “What’s up with that? Isn’t she engaged?” “Everyone knows Ms. Vaughn can’t stand that Caleb guy. She’s always saying she wishes he would just disappear.” … Thanks to Sienna never publicly acknowledging our relationship at work, I, the aforementioned Caleb guy, was privy to all this gossip. I sipped my coffee, my eyes downcast, feeling nothing. This little tidbit was nothing. These people were amateurs. They’d never had a delivery guy show up late at night with a package containing a matching set of lacy lingerie. They’d never had to deal with the mountains of explicit late-night texts on her phone. They’d never been at a family banquet where some random guy toasted them and called them ‘brother-in-law.’ Sienna never said no to anyone out there. I was always the one left to clean up her messes. A bra left at someone else’s house barely even registered on the scale. I suppressed the urge to go out and say something. When I looked up, the subject of the gossip was standing right in front of me. The boy from the spa, the one who was scared of water, was draped over Sienna like he had no bones. Sienna saw me and frowned, telling him to stand up straight. I took a closer look. He had lasted longer by her side than most. The boy pouted and handed me a file. “Aren’t you the guy from Ms. Vaughn’s house?” I took the file and met his gaze. “And you’re the guy in the swim trunks from the spa who was clinging to her.” The breakroom went silent. His face changed, and he bit his lip. “Why can’t you just leave Ms. Vaughn alone?” I held up my hands. Don’t drag me into this, kid. I’m just trying to get my work done and get out of the country. In my haste, my voice rose an octave as I threw Sienna’s own words back at them. “You call her ‘Sienna,’ I call her ‘Sienna.’ What’s this about leaving her alone?” “Caleb.” Sienna’s warning tone came from behind me. “What nonsense are you talking?” I waved the file in my hand and turned to press the elevator button. “Sis, deal with your own private life. Don’t involve me.” The elevator doors slowly closed, reflecting Sienna’s furious face and the hurt expression of the boy beside her. Were they having another fight? Not my problem. I glanced down at the flight confirmation email on my phone. Twenty-four hours from now, I’d be gone.

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My new employer, an Ivy League grad who’d just returned from a stint overseas, told me that traditional parenting was primitive. She demanded I raise her child according to the instructions of an AI. “The AI says 30ml. You will not feed him 31ml.” “The baby’s crying? Don’t you dare pick him up. First, log the decibels and duration into the app, then select a tag for the cause. The AI will analyze if it’s an ‘unproductive cry.’” “Remember,” she said, her eyes sweeping over me with disdain, “you are here to execute commands, not to act on ‘experience.’” She added, “My son is destined for the Ivy League. His life must be managed with the utmost scientific and efficient methods from day one. I’m paying you top dollar, and it’s not to be his ‘second mommy.’” I looked at the tiny infant in the cradle, his small body yearning for a simple embrace, and for the first time, I questioned my title as a top-tier maternity nurse. But when I followed her AI’s instructions to the letter, I have to wonder… why did she come to regret it so deeply? 1. “He’s crying. Log it.” Amanda’s voice was as sterile and sharp as a scalpel, utterly devoid of emotion. I clenched my fists, my eyes fixed on the monitor where the decibel level of the cries was spiking violently. In the cradle, the baby, only twelve days old, had a face flushed a furious, blotchy red. His cries were piercing, punctuated by pathetic, ragged gasps for air. My heart felt like it was caught in a vise. “Amanda,” I pleaded, my voice barely a whisper—a first in my entire career. “From the sound of it, he has gas. Let me give him a little massage to help relieve it.” Amanda didn’t even look up, her fingers flying across the iPad screen. “The AI analysis concludes ‘attention-seeking cry.’ It’s classified as unproductive.” She swiped the pop-up away and issued a cold command. “The instruction is to ‘observe in place for fifteen minutes to cultivate independence.’” “Fifteen minutes?” The words escaped my lips in a horrified gasp. “He’ll cry himself sick!” Amanda finally lifted her gaze, her eyes holding the same look one might give a Neanderthal trying to explain quantum physics. “Sarah, have I not made it clear? You are here to execute commands.” “Your experience, your ‘I think,’ is worthless.” “I paid a fortune for this ‘Ivy Prep’ development system. It’s backed by the research of hundreds of child psychologists and behavioral scientists.” She scoffed. “You really think your folk wisdom trumps that?” She tapped the iPad. “This is science. Do you understand science?” The seconds ticked by like tiny, agonizing drops of water. The baby’s cries faded from sharp shrieks to a raw, hoarse rasp. His little body twitched and trembled. Every sound was a lash against my heart. I’ve been a premium maternity nurse for a decade, caring for over a hundred infants. Not a single one had ever been tortured so “scientifically.” Amanda sat on the sofa, sipping coffee, noise-canceling headphones clamped over her ears. She occasionally glanced at the timer on her screen, her brow furrowed—not with concern for her crying child, but with annoyance that the process was “inefficient.” “Fourteen minutes, thirty seconds… thirty-five…” I stared at the cradle, my own breath catching in my throat. At exactly fifteen minutes, an alarm chimed. Amanda removed her headphones, a flicker of satisfaction on her face. “You see? The command is complete. He cried himself out and stopped on his own.” But the baby in the cradle hadn’t stopped. His cries were just too weak to be heard, a faint, desperate mewling. He had exhausted himself completely. His face was turning bluish, his lips trembling. “Amanda, something’s wrong!” I rushed forward. Ignoring her protocol, I reached out to touch his forehead. It was clammy and cold, slick with sweat. “What do you think you’re doing!” Amanda’s voice was a whip-crack. She shoved me away. “Who gave you permission to touch him? Do you have any idea how many germs are on your hands? Try that again, and you won’t see a dime of this month’s pay!” She walked to the cradle and peered down, her brow knitting in confusion. “Why is he still whimpering? The system clearly stated he’d reached the ‘silence threshold.’” She poked his cheek as if testing a faulty machine. I couldn’t take it anymore. I darted around her and scooped the baby into my arms. Laying him gently across my lap, I expertly began to massage his tiny belly. In less than thirty seconds, a series of soft poots broke the silence. The baby’s tiny, tense body went limp, and he let out a long, shuddering sigh. The weak cries ceased. He smacked his little lips and drifted into a deep, peaceful sleep. The world was finally quiet. Amanda stood frozen, her face a shifting canvas of purple and white. There was no relief in her eyes, no gratitude for her son’s comfort. Instead, she fixed me with a look laced with venom. “Sarah, this is a flagrant challenge to the rules I have established.” “You are undermining my son’s foundational understanding of order.” “You think you’ve won, don’t you?” Cradling the warm, soft life in my arms, I said nothing. For the first time in my career, I didn’t answer my employer. All I could think was that this magnificent, gilded apartment felt as cold and unforgiving as hell. 2. The next day, a giant whiteboard appeared on the living room wall. Drawn on it in multi-colored markers was a “Performance Evaluation Chart.” My name, “Sarah,” was written at the very top, followed by a dense list of metrics: “Feeding Duration Variance (sec).” “Instructional Deviation (%).” “Non-Essential Physical Contact (count).” “Subjective Intervention (count).” Next to each item was a deduction amount in glaring red ink. “Well, Sarah,” Amanda said, holding a pointer like a stern headmistress, “since you seem to struggle with modern app-based management, we’ll use a more traditional method you might understand.” She tapped the whiteboard. “From now on, every action you take will be logged. Any deviation from the BabyAI’s directives will be quantified and penalized. One point, one hundred dollars.” She lifted her chin, a cruel smirk playing on her lips. “I’m going to let you see for yourself just how worthless that ‘experience’ of yours really is.” I stared at the chart, a wave of dizziness washing over me. This wasn’t a job. It was a sentence. At noon, the app prompted a 100ml feeding. As I brought the bottle to the baby’s lips, he turned his head violently and started wailing. I checked the nipple—it was the smallest size. The flow was too slow, and he was getting frustrated. “Amanda, he’s outgrown this nipple. We need to switch to a medium-flow.” “The app hasn’t indicated a change is necessary,” she noted, not looking up from her logging. “‘Crying Cause’ tag selected: ‘Feeding Resistance.’ The AI recommends a five-minute pause before retrying.” “But—” “No ‘buts,’” she cut me off. “Sarah, your job is to execute.” Five minutes later, the baby was frantic with hunger, his cries tearing through the apartment. When the bottle approached again, he screamed even louder, choking and sputtering as milk dribbled down his chin, soaking his collar. My heart ached. I reached to swap the nipple. Amanda’s hand shot out and clamped down on mine. “What are you doing? Another ‘subjective intervention’?” “He’s choking! He could get aspiration pneumonia!” I pleaded. “The app indicates the choking is due to improper breathing during a tantrum, not the nipple.” She pointed a manicured finger at the whiteboard, at the “Subjective Intervention” line. “That’s a five-hundred-dollar deduction. Think carefully.” I looked at her cold, impassive face, then at the infant struggling in agony. My hand, clenched into a fist, slowly went slack. I was forced to watch as the minutes ticked by, the milk in the bottle remaining untouched. Finally, Amanda logged the entry: “Feeding attempt failed. Reason: Executor failed to pacify infant effectively.” Then, on my performance chart, she drew a heavy, deliberate “-5.” That evening, Amanda’s sister, Jessica, came to visit. She was as impeccably dressed and radiated the same air of elite superiority as Amanda. “Mandy, this system is genius! He’s so little and already getting an elite education.” Amanda preened. “Exactly. It’s all about the starting line, you know?” She gestured to me in the corner, changing the baby’s diaper. “Look at the nanny I hired. Yesterday she was arguing with me. Today, she’s as tame as a lamb.” Amanda came over to inspect my work. She ran a finger along the diaper’s edge, and her brow furrowed. “Sarah, come here.” My stomach dropped. “The app’s standard tutorial specifies the diaper’s anti-leak guards must be extended outward by 3 millimeters. I’d estimate yours are at 2.5 millimeters. Substandard.” She picked up her marker, ready to make another deduction. Jessica giggled, covering her mouth. “Mandy, you’re being a little intense. It’s like you’re managing an IPO.” “Parenting is the most important project of my life,” Amanda stated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Any oversight, no matter how small, can lead to a deviation in the final outcome.” She turned back to me, her tone dripping with condescension. “Sarah, I pay you the highest salary in the industry, and it’s not for you to slack off. I know you were probably respected in your previous households, that people listened to you. But can those families compare to us? Can their children’s futures compare to my son’s? You need to recognize your place. You are a service provider. Act like one. Swallow that unnecessary pride and your so-called ‘experience.’ Only then can you truly improve.” With that, she deducted another point from my chart. I stared at the glaring red marks on the board, then at the patronizing, smug smiles on the sisters’ faces. A wave of nausea churned in my stomach. I said nothing. I just walked quietly to my room, reached into the bottom of my suitcase, and pulled out a small recording pen I hadn’t used in years. I pressed the button. 3. “Cry-it-out conditioning, Day Three.” Amanda’s voice, crisp and cold, came through the baby monitor. “Objective: Achieve over four hours of continuous, unassisted sleep. Zero intervention.” It was one in the morning. In the nursery, the baby had been screaming himself hoarse for two straight hours. I sat in my small room, listening to those agonizing, desperate cries. My heart felt like it was being fried in boiling oil. My door was locked from the outside. Amanda had said it was to “prevent my sentimentality from compromising the training’s efficacy.” I had begged her through the monitor. “Amanda, his throat is raw! He’s running a low-grade fever. We have to take him to the hospital!” Her derisive laugh crackled back. “Sarah, how many times do I have to tell you? This is a necessary phase for ‘resilience forging.’ The stress threshold was precisely calculated by the AI based on his weight and development. A slight temperature increase is a normal immune response to stress. Your alarmism will only create a weak, dependent mama’s boy. My son will one day be a titan on Wall Street. You think he can’t handle this?” I pounded on the door in desperation. “This isn’t resilience, it’s abuse!” “Abuse?” Her voice shot up, laced with fury at the accusation. “I’m investing millions in his future, and you call it abuse? What does a woman from some backwater town know about elite education? Say one more word, and you’re fired. Get out!” After that, the monitor transmitted only one sound: the baby’s cries, growing weaker and weaker until they were nothing more than the whimpering of a kitten. I slid down the door and sat on the floor, tears streaming silently down my face. I hated how powerless I was. I even began to wonder… was I wrong? Were my beliefs in love and experience truly outdated? Did this elite class really possess a secret formula for success that was beyond my comprehension? At 3 a.m., the crying finally stopped. The silence that followed was absolute, terrifying. My heart leaped into my throat, seized by a primal fear. I threw myself against the door, banging with all my might. “Amanda! Open the door! Something’s wrong! The baby’s not making a sound!” Several long minutes passed before the lock clicked open. Amanda stood there in a silk robe, her face a mask of irritation. “What are you screaming about? The training was a success. He’s achieved a ‘state of silence.’ You’ve woken me up.” I shoved past her and ran to the crib. The baby’s face was flushed crimson, his lips cracked and peeling. His breathing was so shallow it seemed like it could stop at any moment. I touched his forehead—it was burning. “We have to go to the hospital! Now!” I scooped him up and made for the door. Amanda blocked my path like a stone wall, her face a mask of crazed obsession. “You are not going anywhere.” “This is the most critical moment of the stress test! I need the complete twelve-hour data set! If you take him to the hospital now, the data will be contaminated. All of this will be for nothing!” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. She didn’t care if her son lived or died. She only cared about her data. “Get out of my way!” I tried to push past her, clutching the baby. She ripped him from my arms, holding him tight like a precious artifact. But she wasn’t looking at her son; she was looking at the camera of the baby monitor. “Stay back! You stupid woman, you’re trying to ruin everything!” While she was distracted, I grabbed a cup of water from the nightstand, trying to get a few drops onto the baby’s lips. The moment it touched him, she slapped me across the face, hard. The sting was fiery and sharp. “Who told you to give him water!” she shrieked hysterically. “Hydration levels are a core metric of this endurance test! You performed an unauthorized humanitarian intervention! The data is contaminated!” Right in front of me, she grabbed her iPad. With a trembling finger that held a strange, ecstatic energy, she typed a new entry. “Event Log: Executor Sarah performed an unauthorized humanitarian intervention at 03:15, contaminating the data for the ‘Endurance Limit Training.’ Assessment… Failure.” She looked up, her bloodshot eyes filled with a venomous hatred. “You destroyed my data model!” In that instant, looking at her twisted face, contorted with rage over “contaminated data,” looking at the tiny, dying baby in her arms being treated like a lab rat, the last shred of warmth I held for the word “mother” shattered into ice. I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth and slowly stood up straight. I looked at her, my expression as calm and still as a dead sea. Fine. You want data. I’ll give you the most perfect data you’ve ever seen. 4. The next morning, I was a different person. At breakfast, Amanda announced a new “punitive clause.” “Given your appalling behavior last night, your bonus for the week is canceled. Furthermore, to eliminate your subjective interference, from now on, you must request my permission before every action. Only after I approve may you proceed. Upon completion, I will sign off on the process log.” “I will make you understand,” she said, savoring her power, “who is the master of this house, and who makes the rules.” She thought this was a final humiliation, a way to break me. She didn’t see the cold, almost imperceptible smile that touched my lips as I lowered my head. This was exactly what I wanted. At 10 a.m., the app issued a command: “Initiate ‘Visual Tracking Training.’ Use black-and-white cards at a distance of 25cm from the infant’s eyes. Move at a constant speed for 3 minutes.” I held up the cards, moving them in front of the baby’s face. As a newborn, he couldn’t focus. His eyes were wide and vacant, showing no reaction at all. After one minute, I stopped and turned to Amanda. “Amanda, the baby is still weak from his fever. Continuing this will cause visual fatigue and could even lead to strabismus.” Amanda, in the middle of a yoga pose with a face mask on, didn’t even open her eyes. “The app says three minutes. It will be three minutes. Don’t make excuses for your laziness.” “Understood,” I replied calmly. I continued to wave the cards mechanically in front of the baby’s vacant eyes. With my other hand, I discreetly activated the recording app on the phone in my apron pocket. “Amanda, it is now 10:05 a.m. I have advised you of the potential risks of excessive visual training. Is it your directive to continue for the full three minutes?” A grunt of annoyance came from the yoga mat. “Yes.” “Instruction received.” I continued the motion until the three-minute alarm sounded. Then, I walked over to her with the logbook and a pen. “Amanda, please sign here. ‘Visual Tracking Training,’ completed for three minutes as per your direct order.” She scribbled her name in annoyance, not even glancing at me. At noon, it was time for a feeding. The app, having processed last night’s “failure,” had automatically adjusted the plan. “To correct risk of ‘overfeeding,’ current feeding volume is reduced to 60ml.” The baby, ravenous, screamed in protest. He drained the 60ml in seconds, then sucked desperately on the empty bottle, his little body trembling with hunger. Again, I approached Amanda. “He’s clearly still hungry. Based on my experience, he needs at least another 40ml.” “The app’s judgment is more scientific than your experience,” she said with a cold glance. “It has identified this as ‘suckle dependency,’ not hunger.” “Understood.” I turned on the recorder again. “Amanda, it is now 12:30 p.m. I have advised you that the infant is in a state of hunger. Is it your directive to adhere to the app’s 60ml limit and refuse additional milk?” “Are you always this annoying? Yes! Execute the command!” “Instruction received.” I walked back and pried the empty bottle from the baby’s mouth. His cries immediately filled the apartment. Amanda put on her headphones and blasted her music. I brought the logbook to her. “Amanda, please sign.” In the afternoon, during a diaper change, I pointed to the baby’s bottom. It was an angry, inflamed red, with tiny points of blood beading on the broken skin. “Amanda, he has a severe diaper rash. He needs cream, and the area must be kept dry.” The app’s instruction read: “To build skin tolerance, reduce use of chemical skincare products. Apply ointment once daily.” It wasn’t time for the scheduled application. “Then wait until it’s time,” Amanda said, her tone leaving no room for argument. Once again, I mechanically repeated my process: verbal warning, recorded confirmation, signed authorization. For three days. Three whole days. I became a machine—no emotion, no judgment, only obedience. I followed every one of Amanda and the AI’s absurd commands. I bundled the feverish baby in thick clothes to “sweat it out.” I fed him AI-recommended fruit juice while he had diarrhea. I allowed his diaper rash to fester into open sores. And every single time, I first offered my professional advice. Every single time, Amanda shot it down with a new, more cutting insult. And every single time, I would calmly record her verbal confirmation before having her sign her name to the log. My book filled with her arrogant, looping signature. Next to each one, I noted the time and the baby’s exact condition. The baby visibly withered. His initial roars of protest faded to whimpers, and then to silence. He lost the energy to even cry. He would just lie there, staring blankly at the ceiling, his once-bright eyes now clouded with a dull, grey haze. Amanda was thrilled. “You see, Sarah? This is what science looks like. His crying frequency is down 70%. His sleep duration has increased by 30%. He is becoming efficient and independent.” She gazed at her dying infant as if admiring a masterpiece. On the evening of the fourth day, Amanda’s husband, Mark, returned from a business trip. He was a gentle-looking man who immediately headed for the nursery. When he saw the tiny, sallow, lifeless creature in the cradle, he froze. “What… what happened? Leo… what happened to him?” His hand trembled as he reached for his son, but he recoiled when he saw the raw, broken skin on the baby’s bottom. “His rash! My God, what did you do!” Amanda walked in, a hint of annoyance on her face. “What are you overreacting for? It’s just a normal diaper rash.” “Normal? It’s raw meat!” Mark’s voice cracked as he pointed at me. “He was fine when I left! Was it you? Did you neglect him, Sarah?” Before I could speak, Amanda jumped in, her voice dripping with scorn and blame. “It has nothing to do with her. I’ve been scientifically correcting her outdated parenting methods. What do you know? It’s called ‘skin desensitization therapy.’ The process is difficult, but the results are worth it.” Mark stared at her as if she were insane. “Are you crazy? What kind of sick therapy tortures a baby like this!” “You’re the one who’s crazy! You’re a fool, trapped in your traditional mindset!” Amanda’s voice rose, and she jabbed a finger at me. “It’s her fault! This nanny has been whispering in my ear the whole time, trying to sabotage my judgment! She intentionally failed to follow my instructions because she wanted to prove me wrong! She can’t stand to see my child be superior! She’s a malicious, evil woman!” Stunned by her tirade, Mark’s suspicious gaze fell back on me. I stood my ground, my face a blank mask. Slowly, I lifted my head to meet his questioning eyes. “Mr. Collins, your wife is right. I am an executor of commands.” “Which is why, starting three days ago, I began video recording all of my procedures.” “Every feeding, every diaper change, every so-called ‘training session.’” “Especially the ‘optimized instructions’ that Mrs. Collins gave, which often contradicted the app.” “And every time, I recorded her signature of approval, along with her frequent mockery of my ‘stupidity.’” “I have it all on a separate phone. She said it was for my own performance review, so a ‘simple nanny’ like me could learn.” I calmly watched the color drain from Amanda’s face as I woke up my phone’s screen. “Which part would you like to review first? The ‘cry-it-out conditioning,’ or the ‘hunger endurance test’?”

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After the truth about the switched daughters came out, my only purpose left in the Preston family was to be married off to some degenerate heir from a second-rate family. My older brother, Alex, still cared for me. He arranged a meeting with Todd Rhoads. We had grown up together, and after we came of age, we’d been secretly dating for three years. But that day, Todd just leaned against the doorframe, not even bothering to step inside the private room. “I can’t marry you, Molly. It wasn’t possible when you were the true heiress, and it’s even less possible now.” Three impossibilities, severing every last hope I had. But three years later, he called me late at night, drunk. “Molly, I’m willing to marry you now. Will you still have me?” For the past three years, he’d been tearing up the world, a different party every night. He had no idea that two years ago, I had moved south and married a young master of the Norton family. … After asking if I would still marry him, Todd seemed to sober up from the shock of his own words. He mumbled, trying to backtrack, “Sorry, Molly. I’ve had too much to drink.” “It’s fine. Go to sleep.” With that, he hung up. I clutched the darkened phone, sleep now a distant memory. The mattress beside me dipped slightly, and a hand, warm and familiar, settled on my waist. “Who was that, so late…?” I snapped back to reality, put the phone down, and slid back under the covers. The arm behind me tightened instinctively, pulling me into a secure embrace. “No one,” I whispered. “Just a wrong number.” In the dark, every sense is magnified. Closing my eyes, the chaos of three years ago felt terrifyingly close again. I had just returned home after graduation, my luggage filled with gifts for everyone in the family. When I opened the door, I was ready to complain that no one had bothered to pick me up from the airport. But that door was like opening Pandora’s box. My family was gathered around the dining table, laughing and baking Christmas cookies together. My father, a man who lived in a perpetual string of meetings and was rarely home, wore a ridiculous Christmas-themed apron. My mother, always the picture of elegance in her jewels, was holding a perfectly shaped sugar cookie. Even my brother, Alex, perpetually in a suit, had a smear of flour on his cheek. And in the center of their adoring circle was a radiant young woman. I’d never seen her before, but her face was an uncanny echo of my mother’s. They all turned to look at me, their expressions freezing, as if I were a stranger who’d wandered in uninvited. Alex was the first to recover. He gently guided the girl, whose name I would learn was Ella, upstairs, shielding her as if I were some kind of monster. My father didn’t follow. He looked at me, his eyes assessing me like a piece of merchandise. “It’s good you’re back.” To this day, I can’t bear to think about that period. I was paraded around by my mother at an endless series of luncheons and high-society gatherings, then subjected to a dizzying array of arranged dates. My phone was taken away, under the guise of helping me “find peace.” The breaking point came at the third meeting, when I was sat across from a man old enough to be my father. The despair I had been bottling up finally erupted. Under the cover of darkness, I snuck into Alex’s study. With trembling fingers, I dialed the number that was seared into my memory. “Hello?” “Todd…” my voice cracked. “It’s me, I—” Before I could say another word, a hand pressed down on the disconnect button. It was Alex. He pinched the bridge of his nose, not looking at me. “Molly, the phones in this house are monitored.” “If you want to see him, I’ll arrange it.” “But only this once.” And so, I found myself face to face with Todd, looking utterly broken. But before the tears could even fall, he looked at me with a chilling calm, analyzing my situation as if it were a business merger. “Molly, you should trust your parents.” “I’m sure they’ll make the best arrangement for you.” He paused, a faint smirk on his lips. “What? Did you think I would marry you?” “That’s impossible, Molly. Don’t be naive.” 2 Loving Todd Rhoads was a special kind of pain. I grew up with him, filling three thick journals with entries about him. From the time he climbed a tree to rescue my kite when I was seven, to the time he rejected the most popular girl in school right in front of me when we were seventeen. He would affectionately ruffle my hair, take the blame for my mistakes, show up for every single one of my birthdays, and be the first to defend me if anyone dared to bully me. He was, in every way, perfect to me. But he always said he just saw me as a little sister. Later, when he went to college abroad, I studied relentlessly, all for the chance to get into the same university. The day I landed, the California sun was blinding. So bright that I immediately spotted him waving at me. And the girl on his arm. Todd was his usual lazy, charming self, an eyebrow cocked in my direction. “Well, look who’s finally all grown up.” “Molly, say hi to your new sister.” For the next few days, I was a ghost, trailing behind them. I watched him open her car door, watched the way his eyes crinkled and his lips curved into a smile when he bent down to listen to her. Todd’s apartment had a beautiful terrace. One evening, he and his friends threw me a welcome party there. I must have looked miserable, because his girlfriend put a concerned hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay? Feeling homesick?” Todd, propping his chin on one hand, idly toyed with her long hair. “Of course she is. Our Molly is such a homebody. I remember in elementary school, she’d have a bad dream during nap time and wake up crying for her mommy.” A wave of laughter spread through the group. My face flushed hot with embarrassment. All I could do was shrink in my seat and force a smile. His girlfriend playfully slapped his arm. “You’re terrible!” she said, then turned to me. “Hey, do you want me to sleep in your room with you for a few nights?” Before I could even process the offer, Todd shot up. “No way. I object.” Someone next to me nudged my shoulder, their voice full of playful teasing. “Careful, Molly. You can’t say yes to that. These two are in the honeymoon phase.” I just stared blankly up at Todd. He was acting like a giant puppy, burying his head in his girlfriend’s neck and nuzzling her. “My girlfriend sleeps with me, and only me. Molly, if you’re scared, just sleep with the lights on.” I heard my own voice, dry and hollow. “It’s fine. I’m just jet-lagged.” I don’t remember how that party ended. All I remember is the image of Todd and his girlfriend, fingers intertwined, standing at the door to see their friends off. They looked so perfect together. So perfect I couldn’t bear to look back. We were in different departments, and Todd was busy with his love life, cycling through girlfriends. Combined with my deliberate avoidance, I barely saw him for the entire semester. When winter break came, he sent me a rare message asking when I was flying home. By then, my parents had likely found their biological daughter, Ella, and were busy bonding with her. They made up an excuse and told me to visit my aunt who lived in France. Conveniently, I didn’t want to see Todd anyway. The moment my classes ended, I was on a plane to France. Todd wasn’t the type to chase someone who wasn’t interested. Our communication simply faded away. It wasn’t until my second summer in France that my aunt, complaining that a young woman like me shouldn’t be so listless, dragged me to a beach in the South of France. As I was sunbathing, the hat covering my face was suddenly snatched away. I opened my eyes, and there he was. Todd. 3 His features were as sharp as ever, his lips curled into a cold smirk. “Well, look at you, Molly. All grown up. If I don’t come looking for you, you’re just never going to talk to me again, are you? Do you have any idea how long it’s been since we last saw each other?” I dropped my gaze, unwilling to meet his. “You’re not my brother, Todd. You don’t get to boss me around.” For a split second, a strange expression crossed his face. But I was too lost in my own pain to decipher it. I snatched my hat back and stalked away. Todd grabbed my hand from behind. “Molly, what are you so angry about? It feels like you’ve been mad at me ever since you got to California. If you don’t tell me what’s wrong, how am I supposed to know?” It felt hard to breathe. A rush of rage shot through me. I spun around, my eyes burning with tears I couldn’t control, and screamed at him. “Yes! I’m angry! I’m angry that you were so good to me when you didn’t love me! I’m angry that you gave me hope just to smash it to pieces! And I’m even angrier at myself… because even after all this, I still can’t bring myself to hate you!” I stood there, defeated, wiping at the endless stream of tears. It was over. All my feelings were laid bare before him. I had no escape route left. But it didn’t matter. Keeping it in would have haunted me for a lifetime. Saying it out loud would only hurt for a few years. I took a deep breath and turned to leave. But a sudden warmth pressed against my back. Todd’s voice was a low murmur against my ear. “Then let’s give it a try, Molly.” And we did, for three years. We did everything couples do. He clumsily reined in his careless nature. He would drive across the city just because I offhandedly mentioned a craving for Chinese food. He would stay up all night with me when I was breaking down from academic pressure. Those three years were a dream. I never imagined that when he said “let’s give it a try,” he meant it literally. The man who had kissed me goodbye at the airport before I flew home was now looking at me with such chilling calm, saying: “I can’t marry you, Molly.” “Let’s just end it here.” The private room Alex had booked was soundproof. The only things I could hear were my own frantic heartbeat and my own hollow voice. “Oh. Okay.” “Then let’s end it here.” Todd’s unexpected call dredged up a night full of nightmares. I woke up with a throbbing headache. I had just sat down for breakfast when our butler approached with the phone. “Mrs. Norton, a call from the madam.” My hand, holding a spoon, paused. I took the phone. “Mom, good morning.” A warm voice came from the other end. “Molly, darling. An old friend of mine is visiting next week. She was ill and couldn’t make it to your and Ben’s wedding, which she’s always regretted. This time, she specifically asked to meet my daughter-in-law.” I smiled, my voice soft. “I understand, Mom. I’ll be there.” A few days later, at the Norton family estate, my mother-in-law’s friend was delayed, so she sat with me on the sofa, telling me embarrassing stories about Ben’s childhood. The friend was her dearest companion from her youth. One had married into a family in the north, the other in the south. They had both had sons in the same year and had made a pact for the boys to become sworn brothers. But the first time the two children met, they immediately started fighting, leaving each other with black eyes and bruised egos. After that, the would-be brothers, one in the north and one in the south, never saw each other again. Ben, who had been listening, had heard enough. He clicked his tongue and pulled me to my feet. “Come on, that’s all ancient history. Let’s go for a walk in the garden.” Watching his uncharacteristically flustered retreat, I saw the tips of his ears turn a tell-tale red. A rare mischievous mood struck me. I poked him in the small of his back. “Hey, was Mom telling the truth? You actually got into fights? Did you win?” Ben was incredibly ticklish there. He dodged and weaved, but his ears were now completely crimson, even though his face remained stoic. Finally, he’d had enough of my teasing. He spun around, capturing both my wrists in one hand and pinning them above my head. His voice was a low rasp. “What if I won? And what if I lost?” His sudden move made my heart skip a beat, but I wouldn’t back down. “If you won, it means you’re tough. If you lost… well, it just means you need to try harder.” He leaned in closer. “And does my wife think I need to try harder?” My face instantly caught fire. I aimed a playful kick at his shin. “Get lost, you shameless man.” When we first married, he would knock three times before even entering my room. Now, half of my walk-in closet was filled with his suits. Ben gently pressed his forehead against mine. “Being married to me is good, isn’t it, Molly? You’re my wife now.” I didn’t understand the sudden change in topic, but I nodded along. “Yes, yes, I’m your wife.” His eyes immediately filled with a triumphant light, as if he’d just won a great victory. Before I could ask what that was about, he released me and walked off to answer his phone. I watched his back disappear around the corner and shook my head with a smile. “Molly?” My body froze. I turned around slowly. “Molly, what are you doing at the Norton’s?” It was Todd. 4 He stood in the garden, a look of utter shock on his face. Three years, and he looked almost the same, except for a shadow of weariness that clung to his usually impeccable features. I never would have guessed that the little boy who had fought with Ben was Todd. Thinking of the man with the red ears just moments ago, I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. Todd smiled too, seeming to relax. The tension in his shoulders eased as he idly plucked a petal from a blooming rose. “Oh, right. Your brother, Alex, does business with the Nortons. It’s strange, though. I didn’t think he’d bring you to a business meeting. Where is he? I don’t see him.” Todd and his mother were my mother-in-law’s guests. It wouldn’t do to be rude. I forced down my annoyance and gave him a polite smile and nod. “Long time no see, Mr. Rhoads.” The smile on his face faded slightly. He frowned. “Molly, do you have to talk to me like that?” “Mr. Rhoads, is there a more appropriate way for us to address each other?” He was speechless, his eyes searching my face with a complex emotion. Finally, he ran a hand through his hair and gave a wry smile, holding up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, you win, Molly. But I’ve sent you gifts and postcards every single month for the past three years. Surely you can find it in your heart to forgive me, for the sake of all those miles I traveled for you?” He said it so casually, so flippantly, just like he used to when we’d argue and he was trying to charm his way out of it. But those outdated words, like his ill-timed gifts, belonged in the trash. I looked at the brilliant smile on his face and just shook my head. His smile vanished. Just then, one of Todd’s friends who had moved south walked over. I remembered seeing him at my wedding to Ben. That day, he had stared at our wedding portrait for a long time before asking me, “If I sent Todd a picture of you right now, do you think he’d fly back from the Serengeti on the spot?” I had just smiled and raised my glass to him. “No. Didn’t he just go public with that supermodel girlfriend? Their lovey-dovey posts are all over my feed.” The friend had looked at me strangely then, as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, he just downed his drink, clapped my shoulder, and said nothing. Now, his eyes darted between Todd and me, a look of pure mischief on his face. “Well, if it isn’t little Molly! Long time no see! Catching up with our boy Todd?” Todd’s face darkened. He shot his friend a glare. “If you don’t have anything smart to say, shut up.” From a distance, a housemaid gestured to me. Something had happened. I had no interest in reminiscing about a past that was eight hundred years old. I gave them a nod and turned to leave. Behind me, the friend’s voice was still loud. “Hey, Todd, you haven’t been in touch for so long. For all you know, little Molly could be married by now!” Todd scoffed. “Pigs will fly before Molly gets married.” “Aren’t you a little overconfident? The situation she was in back then… even I felt sorry for her.” “The Prestons might be ruthless, but they wouldn’t stoop to pimping out the daughter they raised. If Molly didn’t want to marry someone, no one could truly force her.” “And most importantly,” Todd’s voice was filled with a smug certainty, “she’s been in love with me for years. There’s no way she’s over me.” His friend seemed taken aback. “So, you just walked away like that? And spent the next three years gallivanting around the world?” Todd’s shamelessness was breathtaking. “I was young. You expected me to get married? Besides, I’m back now, aren’t I?” “Molly, married?” “No. Impossible.” “She loves me.”

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As I was trying on wedding dresses, my best friend, Jennie, told me she had a huge surprise for me. I asked if she’d won the lottery. She said it was even more exciting than winning five million. Curious, I went to find her. I had just pulled up to her apartment building and was about to get out of the car when a barrage of text scrolled across my vision, flickering wildly: 【Don’t get out of the car! Her “surprise” is that she found the daughter you were forced to have when you were kidnapped.】 【If you get tangled up with that little monster, you’ll be dragged back to the mountains! They’ll beat you to death in a cellar!】 1 The message left me stunned for a full minute, until Jennie started spamming me with voice messages. 【Hailey, are you not upstairs yet?】 【Seriously, I’ve run myself ragged these past few days getting this wedding gift ready for you, and you’re dragging your feet. Are you trying to insult all my hard work?】 Jennie whined dramatically. The familiar, affectionate tone was enough to convince me that I must have been seeing things. It was just me scaring myself. Jennie would never be that kind of person. The text on my internal screen flared up again, frantic this time: 【You poor, naive girl, get a clue! She’s a manipulative witch. She’s been green with envy ever since she found out you were marrying a rich heir.】 【She found this little girl to mess with you!】 【The worst part is, the girl is bait! Her human trafficker father is hiding nearby, waiting for you to fall into the trap so he can drag you back to the mountains to bear him a son!】 My face went pale, and I sank back into the driver’s seat. If what the text said was true, this wasn’t about whether I trusted Jennie anymore. It was about the possibility of being kidnapped again. I couldn’t afford to take any chances. The stakes were too high. Jennie called, and I ruthlessly declined it, sending a quick text back: 【Something came up. I’m not there yet.】 I needed to buy some time. I could go to the security booth at the gate and ask if Jennie had really brought a little girl home. But the text stopped me again: 【Don’t get out! Your backstabbing friend is downstairs waiting to ambush you! If you get out now, she’ll catch you red-handed.】 Jennie was downstairs?! I peered through the car’s tinted windows and, sure enough, I saw her weaving between the parked cars, searching. After checking a license plate, she would press her face against the glass, trying to see inside. A sense of unease washed over me. I had clearly told her I wasn’t there yet. Why was she being so pushy? It wasn’t like she was hunting a criminal. The text chimed in: 【Because she knows you’re already here.】 【You forgot, didn’t you? Before you left, she specifically asked you to share your location.】 I slapped my forehead and quickly found the location-sharing app to turn it off. The text then advised me to put my phone on silent, which I did. But a deep sense of dread remained. All signs pointed to something being very wrong with Jennie. The truth didn’t even matter anymore; I just had to get out of there. Fortunately, I had been out with a coworker and was driving her car. Jennie didn’t know I was in this vehicle. I was about to quietly start the engine and leave when the text flashed a red exclamation point: 【Too late! The area is swarming with tabloid reporters and bloggers, all here for the big scoop: ‘Mountain Girl’s Tearful Reunion with Long-Lost Mother.’】 【Your “friend” planned this all along. No matter what, she’s going to force you to acknowledge this daughter today!】 【Only by forcing a reunion can she nail you to the pillar of shame for being kidnapped and defiled.】 It was true. I could never acknowledge a child forced upon me by a human trafficker. Jennie must have known that. That’s why she’d tipped off the media, to use public pressure to force my hand. The text, seeing that I finally understood, started offering advice. 【For now, just stay hidden. Without you, the show can’t go on.】 “Jennie, what is this big surprise you have for me?” I typed, my hands trembling as I huddled under the dashboard. Seeing my response, Jennie immediately tried to video call. I declined and told her to text me. 【If I tell you, it won’t be a surprise anymore. I can only promise that you’ll love it. Where are you? I’m coming down to get you.】 “Just tell me, is it something to eat, wear, or use?” 【Eat,】 she replied instantly, then immediately retracted the message and sent a new one: 【Oh, just stop asking! I told you, it’s a surprise. Don’t spoil the fun.】 I closed my eyes. The text was right. I’d been on a strict diet for the wedding. I had zero interest in food. Jennie was lying. 2 There was a reason I didn’t want to doubt Jennie. In my junior year of high school, I was kidnapped. And I gave birth to a daughter. Because I was a minor, the only people who knew besides the police and my family were Jennie, my neighbor and best friend. During the year I took off from school, she was by my side. She even held herself back a year so we could graduate together. She knew better than anyone how much I loathed human traffickers, how desperately I wanted to forget that horrific experience. So how could she, without a word, bring that child here and expect me to acknowledge her? For me, this wasn’t a surprise; it was a nightmare. To pull this stunt the day before my wedding, to lure me here and arrange for the media to be present… she was leaving me no way out. The text chimed in again: 【Your best friend has been trying to steal your fiancé for ages. After he rejected her, she never gave up. She’s been looking for a way to ruin things for you.】 【Then she stumbled upon the little girl’s ‘looking for mom’ post online and knew she had the perfect way to torment you.】 【That kid has been raised to be a monster. If you soften up and take her in, you’re finished.】 【Hang in there, Hailey. When the traffickers can’t find you, your “friend” will have to deal with the consequences of her actions. See if she’s so quick to play ‘find my mommy’ for someone else again.】 【Exactly! Don’t you dare give in. In the other version, after you die, your parents adopt Jennie. Then she seduces your brother and lives a cushy life in your family’s home.】 So, the text had already seen another version of this story. One where Jennie’s plan succeeded, and my compassion led me to acknowledge the child. She got me killed, then took my place, winning my parents’ affection, marrying my brother, and living happily ever after? As much as I didn’t want to believe I could be so foolish, so weak… without the text, I never would have suspected Jennie. And then all of this… I shook my head, trying to banish the terrifying thoughts. I knew what would happen. I would not let myself be chained to the floor naked again, eating spoiled food, stripped of all dignity day after day. Jennie finally found my car. After checking the license plate, she pressed her face against the window like a pancake, trying to see inside. 3 By now, I had quietly crawled into the trunk space of the six-seater electric car. Thank God for my coworker’s vehicle and its privacy curtains on the third-row windows. Jennie could stare until her eyes popped out, and she wouldn’t see me. She seemed tired of searching. Leaning against the car to catch her breath, she sent me a voice message: “Hailey, what are you doing? Come on out. I know you’re here.” I carefully shielded the light from my phone with my clothes and texted back, “The wedding planner had an emergency. I’ve already left your complex.” That seemed to do the trick. Jennie kicked the car door in frustration, her anger palpable. My heart jumped with the impact. “What rotten luck! Well, how soon can you get back? I’ll wait for you. I’m not leaving until I see you,” she cooed, her voice laced with a pouty disappointment, as if she were still my sweet, considerate friend who would never get angry with me. If only she hadn’t followed it up with another hard punch to the car window. So many years of blindness. Only now did I see her for the two-faced person she truly was. “Ruby, you can stop hiding! Come on out!” “Aunt Jennie, didn’t you say you had a way to make her acknowledge me today? Does she hate me?” A girl’s voice, unfamiliar and sharp with a thick, rural accent, approached the car. The kind of voice that belonged to a defiant, difficult child. Then, several other sets of footsteps closed in. “What the hell? This was supposed to be a mother-daughter reunion. Where is she? I can’t interview a ghost.” “I’m not waiting anymore. Just give me the woman’s info. I’ll expose her. A lovesick fool who abandons her own child. We’ll ruin her reputation.” “Then she’ll have to acknowledge the kid. The public outrage will bury her.” Jennie’s voice cut in, impatient. “Quiet down! We can’t let this get too big. Her parents and future in-laws are not people you want to mess with. We just need to handle her. She’s timid and soft-hearted. When she sees how pathetic Ruby is, she’ll definitely take her in.” It seemed Jennie had painted me as a selfish, heartless mother to get these people on board. Of course. If she’d told them the truth, who would help the child of a human trafficker stage a grand, public reunion? Another male blogger, hot-tempered and self-righteous, spoke up. “I can’t stand irresponsible women like her. You may be scared of her family, but I’m not. Let’s see them try to shut me up for telling the truth.” “Yeah, let’s just expose her! See if she dares to not acknowledge the kid then!” “A woman like that doesn’t deserve any respect!” With one person leading the charge, the others chimed in. Ruby’s tearful voice joined the chorus. “Thank you, uncles and aunts. I know you’re just trying to help, but I don’t want to make my mommy angry. Please, just leave her alone.” “Exactly,” Jennie said, taking the moral high ground. “You all get your moment of glory by exposing her, but what happens if she’s pushed too far? What if she acknowledges Ruby and then abuses her? Can you take responsibility for that?” Ruby sobbed, “Please, I’m begging you, just wait for my mommy. I know she’s not the person you think she is.” Their little performance quickly quelled the brewing storm. “Now, all of you, go hide,” Jennie commanded. “Don’t scare her off again.” The text on my screen was practically vibrating with rage: 【Here we go again. I hate it when this little monster fakes crying and plays the victim. She’s just like her grandmother—a master of manipulation and deceit.】 【Did you see that? While she was hiding behind that tree, she was pinching herself, leaving bruises all over, just so you’d feel sorry for her.】 【You, in your kindness, acknowledged her, wanting to give her a better life. And in return, she conspired with her trafficker father to kidnap you from your own home.】 【She has no empathy. She used to clap and cheer when she saw the other kidnapped women in her village being beaten. I think she’s a sociopath.】 【What really gets me is that she told the police, with a straight face, that the disobedient women deserved to be beaten to death.】 【But I think the “friend” is even worse. To get involved with a human trafficker over a bit of jealousy… as a woman, how could she be so cruel?】 The horrifying words on the screen made me tremble with fury. This Ruby had inherited her father’s cruel, cold-blooded nature, and perhaps even surpassed him. I had already experienced the darkness of humanity once, but today I learned that evil had no bottom. Watching them act out their little play in front of me was sickening. I sent Jennie another message: “I can’t make it today. My mom wants me to stay with her tonight. She’s sad about me getting married.” 4 Outside the car, Jennie stomped her feet in frustration. But she didn’t give up. She said she would wait for me, no matter how late. “Just bring the gift with you tomorrow. That’s it. I’m busy,” I replied firmly. Realizing I truly wasn’t coming, Ruby’s face twisted into a snarl. “That bitch is so much trouble. When my dad gets her, he’ll break her legs first, then chain her up. Let’s see her run then.” Jennie quickly shushed her. “Are you trying to ruin everything? Do you want a mother or not? Remember, in front of her, you have to pretend to hate your dad. Tell her he beats you, that you had no choice but to run away and find her.” A chill ran down my spine. Jennie knew exactly how to manipulate me, how to play on my sympathy. At the same time, I wanted to slap myself. Until a moment ago, I had been making excuses for her, telling myself she was just naive and wanted to help a poor child, that she didn’t understand the true horror of kidnapping. But the truth was, this was a premeditated plot to throw me back into the fire. The realization was a cold blow to the heart. From this moment on, she was no longer my best friend. She was my enemy. The failed plan left Ruby agitated. She kept complaining about Jennie and cursing me. “Ruby, be patient.” Jennie’s fingers drummed on the car door, her mind clearly working. “I’ve been thinking, and Hailey’s reaction today is very strange. I checked her shared location when I came downstairs. It showed she was here. Then, suddenly, she turned it off and said she’d already left the complex. The location sharing is real-time, and this is a one-way street. To leave, she would have had to drive right past me, but no cars have left.” Jennie’s voice dropped. “Keep searching. Go see which cars have a warm hood.” “What about this one? The hood is warm.” Ruby had, at some point, made her way to the front of my car. My heart leaped into my throat. 5 Jennie reached out and felt the hood. “It’s a little warm, but not hot. It’s probably just from the sun.” I breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God she didn’t know much about electric cars and was expecting the heat of a gasoline engine. But then, she let out a slow, calculating smile. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll find her eventually. And on a 100-degree day like this, without the A/C on, I’d like to see how long she can last in there.” Damn it! I suddenly realized my back was soaked with sweat. My attention had been so focused elsewhere, and I’d been so nervous, that I hadn’t noticed the car’s A/C was running out of power. The air was already starting to feel thick and stuffy. A wave of regret washed over me. I wanted to slap myself. I had been too careless, too complacent. I thought that because I was in a new car, Jennie would give up when she couldn’t find me. What if she found me? Facing a well-prepared Jennie who knew all my weaknesses, and a manipulative Ruby playing the victim, I didn’t stand a chance. And with the media here, they would upload the videos immediately, and it would be too late. No, I absolutely could not get out of the car. Just then, the self-righteous male blogger came over to ask for an update. When Jennie told him she was certain I was in one of the cars, he grinned maliciously. “Simple. Electric cars have voice activation. Let me give it a try.” I was filled with a mixture of anger and panic. I curled up tighter, praying that my coworker had changed the wake-up command. The blogger squinted at the car’s logo. “So many new electric brands these days. I don’t even recognize this one.” But then he added, “I’ll just take a picture and search it online.” With the click of his phone’s camera, a bead of sweat rolled down my forehead. My nerves were stretched to their breaking point. “Found it! Let’s give it a try.” I was about to faint from fear. The text on my screen was a chaotic mess of panicked messages. I scanned through them and found a useful one: 【Contact your brother, quick! Last time, he was working nearby. When he heard about you acknowledging the daughter, he rushed right over.】 My hands fumbled as I tried to find my brother’s contact. “Hey, S—” The blogger had started to call out the car’s voice command. My vision went dark. Even if I messaged my brother now, it would be too late. “Hey, what are you doing? Are you the owner of this car?” Suddenly, a security patrol car pulled up, and a guard leaned out, yelling. A savior! I was on the verge of tears. Jennie smiled and walked over. “Oh, Officer Davis, it’s you! Working in this heat? Aren’t your bosses worried about you getting heatstroke?” The guard clearly knew Jennie and they exchanged a few pleasantries. Then he asked again if she was the car’s owner. Jennie put on a worried expression. “Officer, I can’t get a hold of my friend. I’m worried something might have happened to her in the car. I was just trying to see if I could get the window open to help her.” The guard asked, “Are you sure she’s in this car?” “Well, she switched cars today, so I’m not sure which one is hers. Hey, Officer Davis, were you on duty at the main gate about half an hour ago? Did you see this car come in?” It was over. The guard got out of his patrol car, walked over, and took a look. He scratched his head. “Oh, this car. Yeah, I remember it. It’s one of those new luxury electrics. It came in about 30 minutes ago. The driver was a woman.” 6 After the security guard left, Jennie stood by the car, her face grim, not moving. The male blogger was gleeful. “Well, what do you know? After all that searching, she was right under your nose the whole time. Isn’t that a coincidence?” Jennie’s face darkened further. He asked if he should try the voice command now. I clutched my phone, my knuckles white. Jennie didn’t answer him. Instead, she walked to the third-row window and tapped on it. “Hailey, you’re in there, aren’t you? Why did you lie to me? You know how worried I am.” Her voice was flat, but it held a barely suppressed rage. “That b—” Ruby kicked the car door hard. Jennie cut her off. “Mr. Chen, I’d like to talk to her for a minute.” The blogger looked confused, but he moved away. Ruby couldn’t hold it in any longer. “So she was hiding in the car all along, watching us run around like idiots! That bitch did it on purpose! Why are you still being so nice to her, Aunt Jennie?” My disgust for the child grew. Jennie kept tapping on the window and calling me. I stuffed my phone under the seat cushion and let it ring. I didn’t even dare to decline the call. “Hailey, you must have fainted, right? After all, it’s so hot today,” Jennie murmured to herself, staring at the window. Watching her expressionless face, a strange sense of dread washed over me. BANG! The car suddenly lurched. Then came Jennie’s enraged screams. “Hailey, why are you making me do this? If you have a problem, just say it! What’s the point of hiding? Do you enjoy seeing me make a fool of myself? I was trying to do something nice for you, and this is how you treat me?” I almost screamed. My heart was pounding like a drum. For a few seconds, I couldn’t breathe, and my vision went black. When I came to, the car felt like a sealed steam box. I had to tilt my head back and gasp for air, praying that my brother would see my message soon. “Hey, Siri!” she yelled, her voice filled with a desperate, crazed anger. She was done playing games. This was it. My breath caught in my throat as I watched the center console light up, the car’s ambient lighting turning on—but there was no voice response. Seeing a reaction, Jennie stood on her tiptoes, peering through the gap in the window, and yelled louder. After a few more tries, she had Ruby try. “You yell. A child’s voice carries better.” I finally got a clear look at Ruby’s face in the window. It was a chilling echo of that monster from my past. The sight made my stomach turn, and I quickly looked away. “Hey, Siri!” she shrieked, her face contorted, her eyes filled with malice. “Hey, Siri!” Her voice was raw by the time the car finally responded. “Vehicle is locked. This function is unavailable.” “Vehicle is locked. This function is unavailable.” I wanted to laugh, but I couldn’t. I was starting to feel weak, on the verge of fainting. My brain was being starved of oxygen. “Aunt Jennie, it’s not working! Let’s just smash the window and drag her out!” Ruby started pounding on the car, yelling and screaming. The car’s lights flashed and the alarm blared. Finally, the noise woke up the residents in the building. Windows opened, and people started shouting. “What’s all that noise? Are you trying to wake the dead?” “If you keep hitting that car, I’m calling the police! Who are you people?” Jennie tried her usual excuse, but the angry neighbors weren’t buying it. Some even started throwing water down. “I don’t care! If you’re worried about your friend, call an ambulance! What’s the point of bothering us?” “I’ve had enough of you! I bet you were trying to steal the car, and now you’re just mad you failed.” “You idiots think you can just shout at a car and it will open for you? Get off the internet.” “So brazen, in broad daylight! Thieves these days have no shame!” Jennie and Ruby, already frustrated with me, started yelling back at the neighbors. I was grateful for the distraction, but I was running out of air. My mind was getting fuzzy. Through the haze, I heard a man’s voice, running and shouting. “Jennie! Where’s Hailey? What have you done to her?” 7 The text on my screen was a blur of frantic messages: 【Hang in there, Hailey! Your brother is here! It’s our turn to fight back!】 【Don’t fall asleep! Your brother doesn’t know the real Jennie yet!】 【Wake up and expose her!】 I pinched my thigh, hard. Ouch! Jennie’s eyes widened in surprise, but she quickly recovered and rushed to take my brother’s arm. “Alex! What could I possibly do to Hailey? I was just worried she might have gotten heatstroke in the car. Why are you—” My brother was about to speak when the trunk of the car popped open, and I tumbled out, my face pale. “Alex—” “Hailey!” He lunged forward and caught me. “It’s the child from the village. Jennie called the media to force me to acknowledge her,” I managed to say before closing my eyes. My brother’s face hardened. Just then, the reporters and bloggers, smelling a story, swarmed toward us. My brother instinctively shielded my face with his hand. “It’s you people! You cornered her car and did this to my sister! If anything happens to her, you’ll all be held responsible!” He wanted to rush me to the hospital. “No, Alex, I can handle it,” I said, forcing my eyes open and grabbing his shirt. We had to clear this up now, before Jennie had a chance to twist the story. “But Hailey—” My brother looked at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of pity and conflict. I knew what he was worried about, but I nodded firmly. “I’m not afraid, Alex.” Just then, Ruby, trembling, tugged on my brother’s sleeve. “Uncle, my name is Ruby. I’m Mommy’s daughter. I’ve finally found you. I’ve missed you all so much. Mommy, I can do chores, and I don’t eat much. Please don’t send me away.” The media, who had been looking a bit guilty, were now filled with righteous indignation. “We were just trying to help a child find her mother, with the best of intentions. We didn’t know you would be so cruel as to hide from her.” “If you’re going to abandon your child, we’ll get a lawyer for Ruby and sue you for desertion.” The neighbors who had gathered around chimed in. “That’s right! You gave birth to her, you have to acknowledge her!” “Oh, look at that poor child. She’s obviously suffered so much, while they’re all dressed up so nicely.” “They probably just don’t want to be burdened by a child. Young people these days are so selfish. No sense of family, tsk tsk.” At that moment, Jennie, who had been silent, suddenly shouted, “Hailey, I’m sorry!” All eyes turned to her. With tears in her eyes, she looked at me sincerely. “It’s my fault today. I didn’t tell you beforehand, and I almost got you into trouble. But you told me you hated Ruby, that you would never acknowledge her, that sometimes you even wished you could kill her. You said she was your shame, that she ruined your life, that she should never have been born!” As soon as she said that, a chorus of curses erupted from the crowd. Jennie slowly moved closer to us, while my brother, his face a mask of fury, held me and backed away.

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I was selling old books on an app, but I messed up the price and accidentally added a few extra zeros. A second later, a notification popped up. “Your item has been sold for $1.8 million.” Stunned, I contacted the buyer to ask him to request a refund. Then I realized who he was: Thomas Thorne, the heir to a Manhattan empire. His message back was filled with grief. “Do you have anything else of hers? Of Zoe’s? I’ll pay any price.” “She was my late wife.” 1 While moving, I was cleaning out my bookshelf and found a huge stack of old college textbooks. On the principle of not letting a single penny go to waste, I snapped a photo and listed them on a second-hand app for $180. My boyfriend, Alan, laughed, telling me I was desperate for cash. “They’ve updated the curriculum a dozen times since we graduated. Those are basically just recycling. You’d be lucky to get $18, let alone $180. Who’s gonna buy that?” “My youth is priceless,” I shot back. “I’m not selling it cheap.” Truthfully, I didn’t have high hopes. I’d been out of college for seven years, which meant these books were from a decade ago. He was right; they were probably only good for scrap paper. But then, less than three minutes later, my phone buzzed with a notification. The item had been sold. I was ecstatic. I opened the app, my heart pounding. The next thing I saw made me rub my eyes so hard I thought they’d pop out. “Sold for $1.8 million?” What the hell? Did I accidentally set the currency to yen or something? I frantically checked my other listings. The dollar sign was right there, mocking me. Then I remembered. When I was typing in the price, my hand had slipped, and I must have hit the zero key a few too many times without noticing. And the buyer… he must not have looked at the price either. A wave of nausea washed over me. I mean, who buys something without even glancing at the price? He couldn’t tell the difference between $180 and $1.8 million. And how does someone that clueless still have $1.8 million sitting in their bank account? This was just too much. I clenched my fists, took a couple of deep breaths to calm my racing heart, and opened the chat window. I sent the buyer a polite smiley face. “Hi, so sorry, I made a mistake with the price. Could you please request a refund?” He replied instantly. “A mistake? What do you mean? You think it’s too little? Name your price.” I stared at the message. “?” Had the world gone insane? Or had the dollar suddenly become worthless? How could I possibly think $1.8 million was too little? Was this guy even speaking English? I clicked on his profile. The avatar was blank, but his username was three words that made my heart stop: Thomas Thorne. My pulse immediately went into overdrive. 2 Thomas Thorne. The infamous heir to a Manhattan empire. A man so wealthy and handsome he was practically a national treasure. It wasn’t just family money, either. He was brilliant in his own right, having founded a tech company a few years back that went public within a year. At the product launch, he’d stood on stage in a sharp black suit, all long legs and chiseled, icy features, driving the audience wild. People were screaming for him to ditch business and become a movie star. If it was him, then the crazy price suddenly made a twisted kind of sense. Moguls like him operate on a different financial plane. I typed back, my fingers trembling with reverence. “Mr. Thorne, I genuinely listed the price incorrectly.” Thomas: “What was the original price? And do you have anything else that belonged to Zoe?” “I’ll buy everything of hers. You can name whatever price you want.” I stared at the screen, reading his words over and over for three solid minutes. Zoe is me. I am Zoe. But how did that make sense? How could the Thomas Thorne possibly know me? He was a titan of industry, a prince of New York. I was just a nobody from Boston, grinding away at a 9-to-5. Our worlds couldn’t be further apart. When I didn’t reply, a voice message came through. “I’m sorry. I got a little carried away. I hope I didn’t frighten you.” He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was heavy with a sorrow that felt gut-wrenchingly real. “Zoe was my late wife. Anything that was hers… it means everything to me. If you have more of her things, I beg you, please sell them to me.” His voice was distinctive—a deep, magnetic baritone with a slight, almost imperceptible East Coast drawl. It was the exact same voice from the news clips. My mind went numb. My heart hammered against my ribs, and my brain felt like it was short-circuiting. My breath hitched, and black spots danced in my vision. Oh my God. What kind of cosmic lottery had I just won? I shared the same name as Thomas Thorne’s deceased wife. 3 Thomas Thorne’s love life was the stuff of legends. He was constantly surrounded by a flock of beautiful women—A-list actresses, heiresses, social media stars—all fighting for his attention. The one everyone thought he’d marry was his childhood friend, Seraphina Vance. She was his equal in every way, from a family just as powerful as his own. Their companies were deeply intertwined, and rumors of an impending merger through marriage were always swirling, causing their stock prices to jump. But then, the unexpected happened. The girl-next-door lost to a complete unknown. Thomas went on a vacation abroad and came back married to a local girl he’d met there. He announced the marriage but refused to name his bride. For months, reporters camped out, trying to get a picture, a name, a shred of background information, but came up with nothing. She was a ghost. Frustrated, they turned to Seraphina. In front of the cameras, she first confirmed that all their friends had, in fact, met Mrs. Thorne. Then, with a sly, pitying smile, she posed a question to the reporters. “Do you hide something you’re proud of?” The media went into a frenzy. The narrative was set: Thomas was hiding his wife because she was an ordinary woman, an embarrassment he couldn’t possibly show off in his glittering world. But that raised the biggest question of all: why did he marry her in the first place? It became the mystery of the year. Theories ran wild. Some said she’d saved his life and was blackmailing him. Others claimed it was a honey trap, that she’d gotten pregnant to force his hand. The most popular theory was that just before his trip, he’d had a massive fight with Seraphina. She had apparently done something unforgivable, and in a fit of rage and spite, Thomas had married the first woman he met. Everything that followed seemed to confirm this. He clearly despised his new wife. He never brought her to public events and refused to even mention her name to the press. At his own birthday gala, when asked to name the most important woman in his life, he’d said Seraphina’s name. Everyone concluded the marriage was a sham. Until three years ago, when Mrs. Thorne died in a car accident. And Thomas Thorne completely lost his mind. 4 His wife’s car had plunged off a bridge into a freezing river. They never even found a body. The police and rescue teams deployed massive resources, but it wasn’t enough for Thomas. In the dead of winter, he ripped off his suit jacket and dove into the icy water himself, searching for her for an entire day. He only stopped when he collapsed from exhaustion and had to be rescued. The moment he woke up in the hospital, he tore out his IV and tried to run back to the river, his eyes bloodshot and wild. His father had to order bodyguards to hold him down. The media swarmed the hospital. The man who had always been the picture of cool, arrogant control was now on camera, struggling against his restraints, his voice raw with anguish, like a cornered, desperate animal. “I have to save her! She’s afraid of the dark! It’s so cold in there… Let me go! LET ME GO!” They had to sedate him. Rumor has it his family kept him under strict watch, and he didn’t appear in public for six months. When he finally re-emerged, he was a different man. The charming, devil-may-care playboy was gone. In his place was a stone-faced, silent figure, his eyes holding nothing but the ashes of a fire long extinguished. People said he had matured. He was now brooding and profound, a tragic figure that was, impossibly, even more captivating. And now, that same captivating voice was filling my phone, laced with an urgent plea. “Please, trust me. I’m not a scammer.” “How did you get her things? Are there more? Can you send me pictures?” To prove his sincerity, he clicked “confirm receipt” on the app. And just like that, I watched as my account balance jumped by $1.8 million. One, eight, and five zeroes. I counted them again and again, then leaped into the air with a shriek of pure joy. Alan was at the door, pulling on his shoes. He raised an eyebrow, surprised by my outburst. “You actually sold them? Look at you, you’re glowing.” He smiled, a wide, happy grin that softened the sharp lines of his handsome face. A few strands of his dark hair danced in the breeze from the open window. My heart melted. “Alan, I’m rich! Listen to me, we’re rich!” I launched myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck. He grunted, stumbling back against the doorframe, his hands instinctively finding my thighs to steady me. I clung to him like a koala, tilting my head back to kiss his chin. “Alan—” “Zee,” he murmured, his breath a warm sigh against my ear. He bent his head, placing a gentle, restrained kiss on my earlobe. “I have a long day of surgeries. Don’t make me late, okay?” Feeling a certain… reaction against my leg, I blushed and hopped down. “Right, right. Go on, get out of here. I’ll tell you everything when you get back.” “Be good.” He ruffled my hair. “I’ll be home late tonight. I’ll bring you takeout.” Then he grabbed his bag and hurried out the door. 5 My phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. It was Thomas, sending a stream of voice messages, desperate to get his hands on my things. From what he was saying, his late wife and I didn’t just share a name—our handwriting was nearly identical. And what did that mean? A windfall. A life-changing, earth-shattering fortune. I shot up from the couch and bolted into my room, pulling out every notebook and piece of paper that had my writing on it. “This page has song lyrics I copied down. Is this okay?” I messaged him. “Yes. What’s your number? I’ll add you directly.” I accepted his friend request on a secure messaging app, and he immediately transferred me $500,000. He wanted the lyric book. My college class notes: $1 million. A handwritten recipe book: $600,000. A journal of quotes from books I’d read: $800,000. … The pile of notebooks on my desk grew taller and taller. I was a whirlwind of frantic energy, tearing through my apartment with a wild, crazed look on my face. I was on the verge of a complete breakdown. In the span of an hour, I had made millions. Thomas Thorne was spending money like it was fake. And he wasn’t exactly the sharpest tool in the shed, either. My handwriting was similar to his wife’s, sure, but I was selling him my high school yearbooks, for God’s sake. They were filled with messages that clearly stated my school, my class—all proof that I couldn’t possibly be the same person. He didn’t care. Seeing my handwriting was like finding a lifeline. Was he really that desperate to cling to the past, to find comfort in these random objects? No wonder they say true romantics are only found among the ultra-rich. Only someone with his kind of money could afford to be this sentimental. I stared at the long string of numbers in my digital wallet, my mind starting to spin. 6 To be honest, I was broke. Utterly and completely. I’d been in the hospital recently, and it had cost Alan a fortune. He kept telling me not to worry about paying him back, but we were just boyfriend and girlfriend. I couldn’t stand the thought of being a burden. Everyone said I was lucky to be with him. He was a Ph.D. from a top university, the youngest attending cardiac surgeon at a prestigious hospital—brilliant, successful, and devastatingly handsome. After a long day, he’d come straight home and cook my favorite meals. He’d spent years saving up to buy a beautiful condo in a great neighborhood and insisted on putting my name on the deed. The better he was to me, the more I wanted to give him something back in return. With this money, I could buy him everything he ever wanted. But… was this money really mine? Was Thomas drunk? What if he sobered up and demanded it all back? My anxiety spiked. I sent him a nervous message. “Mr. Thorne, I’ll have these shipped to you right away. You… you won’t change your mind, will you?” Thomas: “You’re in Boston?” “I happen to be in Boston for a conference this week. No need to ship them. Just give me an address, and I’ll send someone to pick them up.” “No, no, that’s okay! Are you at your company’s Boston office? I know the address for Thorne Industries. I can just drop them off myself.” After making that much money off him, the least I could do was offer good customer service. He didn’t object. “I’ll be at the office until 10 PM.” “Perfect!” After counting my balance one more time, I excitedly found a cardboard box, packed up all the notebooks, and went downstairs to catch a cab. In the car, my phone rang. It was Mark, Alan’s best friend. “Zoe, my God, you are something else.” He launched into a dramatic tirade, accusing me of being blinded by greed. “A few beat-up books for $1.8 million? Change the price back right now, or I’m going to be in deep trouble.” I knew it instantly. Alan had asked Mark to buy my old books for me, without telling me. Mark’s voice was dripping with mock envy. “He spoils you rotten. You’re so pampered you can’t even type in a price correctly.” “Don’t you dare tell him about this,” he added quickly. “He made me promise not to let you find out.” I burst out laughing. “Well, you might want to take another look. It’s already sold! For the full $1.8 million!” 7 Thorne Industries wasn’t far from my place. The cab ride was short, and I spent it joking with Mark, telling him the whole story. I was careful, though—I only told him about the first $1.8 million, not the millions that came after. Mark came from a wealthy family himself; he wouldn’t get jealous over that amount. But instead of laughing, a shriek came from the other end of the line. “Thomas Thorne?!” Mark’s voice was suddenly tight with panic. “Zoe, go home! Right now!” “You can’t see him!” “Why not? This is $1.8 million! Are you jealous? Don’t worry, I’ll treat you to a nice dinner.” I cradled the box in my arms as I walked into the grand lobby of the Thorne Industries building. The security was tight, and since I didn’t have an employee badge, the receptionist stopped me. Juggling the box, I quickly ended the call with Mark. “I’ll call you back.” After I explained the situation, the receptionist’s eyes widened. She told me to take the express elevator to the top floor, saying Mr. Thorne had already left instructions for me to go directly to his office. She handed me a key card, her voice a mix of awe and curiosity. “Which company are you with? Not just anyone gets to go up to Mr. Thorne’s private floor.” I gave her an awkward smile. She seemed to have a sudden realization. “Oh, you must be with Miss Vance, right?” She waved me towards the elevators. “You’d better hurry up, then. Miss Vance doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” Miss Vance… Seraphina Vance? So the tabloids were right. She and Thomas were still incredibly close. I’d heard rumors they were finally getting married, but who knew if it was true. Whatever. None of that had anything to do with me. I just needed to drop off my books and get out. 8 I shook my head, clearing it of gossip, and followed the signs to the restroom first. To be honest, as just a regular person, the thought of meeting the Thomas Thorne was making me a little nervous. I took a few deep breaths and set the heavy box down on the marble countertop. I slipped into a stall and had just closed the door when the sharp click-clack of high heels echoed on the tile floor. A young woman’s impatient voice cut through the silence. “Is he still looking for her? It’s been three years. There’s nothing left but bones by now. What is he even doing?” Another voice, softer and calmer, replied. “Just let him be.” “Seraphina, I just feel so bad for you! You and Thomas have been through so much. For him to keep stringing you along like this… what’s the point?” “That’s enough!” Seraphina’s voice was sharp, cutting off the other woman. “Cassie, this is between us. Stay out of it.” Cassie stomped her foot in frustration. “I just can’t stand him.” “What is wrong with him? When that Zoe was alive, he couldn’t have cared less. Remember that party? When we played that prank on her, he took our side. He even forced her to get on her knees and apologize to you.” “So why, the second she’s dead, does he suddenly decide she was the love of his life? Playing the grieving widower for everyone to see. It’s pathetic.” This Cassie was a real firecracker, rattling off complaints like a machine gun. I listened, completely engrossed. Five years ago, Thomas and Zoe had met in a romantic little town in France. At the time, Thomas’s career was in shambles. He’d made a catastrophic mistake on a major project and had been suspended from all his duties at the company. The project was a collaboration with Seraphina, and when things went south, she’d thrown him under the bus to save herself. Disillusioned and betrayed, Thomas had escaped to France to clear his head. And there, he met the warm, kind-hearted Zoe. It was a whirlwind romance. They fell hard and fast. Fueled by a desire for revenge against Seraphina and his family, and swept up in the intoxicating romance of a foreign land, Thomas proposed. They held a small, private wedding in a beautiful French manor. Cinderella had found her Prince Charming. It was a perfect fairy tale. Until they returned home. The moment her feet touched American soil, Zoe discovered that glass slippers shatter at the stroke of midnight. The sweet promises whispered under rose trellises crumbled into dust in the harsh light of reality. 9 Thomas grew tired of the simple, ordinary Zoe very quickly. She didn’t have a prestigious family name or an Ivy League degree. She didn’t know the first thing about fine jewelry or vintage wines. She was exactly what Seraphina had called her: a pretty, empty-headed doll, completely unfit for his world. He started to resent her. Her very presence was a constant reminder of the foolish mistake he’d made. So he let Seraphina and her friends torment Zoe. At a party, he watched as Cassie deliberately bumped into Zoe, spilling a full glass of red wine down the front of her own dress. Cassie had done it on purpose, but she shrieked and grabbed Zoe, demanding she pay for the ruined couture gown. Zoe’s face was beet red, her eyes wide with panic as she looked to him for help. Thomas turned his head and pretended not to see. Cassie smirked triumphantly. “This dress cost over a hundred thousand dollars! You couldn’t afford it if you sold your soul!” “Pay up now, or I’m calling the police.” Seraphina stepped in, playing the role of the gracious peacemaker. “Now, now, let’s not make a scene. We’re all friends here.” She turned to Zoe, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “How about this, Zoe? You get on your knees and apologize to Cassie, and we’ll call it even. Okay?” Zoe stood frozen, silent as a statue. Cassie kicked the back of her knee. “What are you so proud of? You think your apology is worth that much? If it wasn’t for Seraphina, no one would even bother listening to you.” Zoe stumbled and fell to her knees. Thomas calmly stood up and walked out of the room. Trapped in a world of wealth and power she didn’t understand, the naive young woman was completely defenseless. Reality is not a fairy tale. Cinderella gets her happy ending because she was a count’s daughter to begin with. But Zoe had nothing but a heart full of desperate, misplaced love. Seraphina could humiliate her with the slightest effort. A ruined designer dress, a slashed exotic-skin handbag, a snapped stiletto heel. All so expensive, yet so fragile. Just like Thomas’s love. Zoe could never measure up. 10 Cassie was still ranting. “Some piece of trash anyone could step on, and he’s up there mooning over her memory? What is he, brain-damaged?” “A bitch like that is better off dead. If she were still alive, I’d slap her silly. Doesn’t she know her place?” Lady, what you’re describing is called bullying. I was so angry I couldn’t help but shift my weight. WHOOSH. The automatic toilet flushed loudly. The conversation outside stopped dead. Cassie stormed over to my stall and started banging on the door. “Who’s in there? Spying on me? Get your ass out here right now!” Oh, crap. I hesitated for a second, then plastered a smile on my face and opened the door. “So sorry, I was just using the restroom. I didn’t mean to listen in on your—” “Zoe!” Cassie screamed. She stumbled back, her finger pointing shakily at my face as she turned to Seraphina. “Is that her? Am I seeing things? Seraphina, it’s Zoe!” The color drained from Seraphina’s face, leaving it a ghostly white. She grabbed Cassie’s arm for support, her body swaying as huge tears began to roll down her cheeks. “I knew it… I should have known. Thomas has been acting so strangely all day. So he… you two…” She was babbling, her words dissolving into sobs. Cassie, however, flew into a rage. She swung her heavy designer handbag at my head. “You just won’t die, will you? You damn leech, go to hell!” A primal wave of fear washed over me, so powerful it felt like being plunged into deep water. The world around me blurred, filled with the ghostly images of a mocking crowd. Their whispers and jeers crashed over me like a tidal wave, pulling me under. I couldn’t breathe. Then, a hand reached for me in the darkness. Alan’s gentle smile appeared in my mind. “Zee, don’t be scared. I’m here. No one can hurt you.” “Don’t hide in the closet. Please come out.” 11 When I first woke up in the hospital, for reasons I couldn’t understand, I had a severe stress response. I was terrified of crowds, of loud noises, even of light. I developed a habit of hiding in the closet, curled up in a tight ball. It was Alan who gently took my hand and led me out of the darkness. He told me I wasn’t weak or useless; I was just kind. And kind people, he said, would rather turn the knife on themselves than hurt someone else. Deep down, it was because I felt worthless, unloved—like I was the one who could always be sacrificed. Alan held me and told me, over and over, how much I meant to him. “Zee, you are the most important person in the world to me. When people hurt you, it hurts me, too.” “If your kindness isn’t respected, you have to let it grow thorns. Can you do that for me?” He took me to farmers’ markets and taught me how to haggle, how to argue with vendors. He taught me how to fight back. Sometimes, when we’d have a small disagreement, he would lean in close, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Go on, hit me.” “If you hit me, I’ll do whatever you want.” The first time he provoked me enough that I actually slapped him, he was so thrilled he picked me up and spun me around, promising me a huge reward. I had been trapped in an abyss. It was Alan who, step by step, pulled me out of the mud, nurturing me back to life with his love and encouragement. The Zoe of today was not someone you could just push around. A surge of courage flooded through me, and the suffocating despair vanished like ice in the sun. I let out a yell and threw a hard punch right at Cassie’s face. “Bring it on! Two years of Muay Thai weren’t for nothing, bitch!” Cassie shrieked, blindly swinging her purse. I switched my stance, bobbing and weaving, using her as a human punching bag, just like in the movies. Seraphina stared, stunned. It took her a moment to snap out of it. Her gentle facade crumbled, and she grabbed a broom from a supply closet and charged at me. I used the books from my box as projectiles, launching them at her. Two against one, and I was winning. 12 By the time building security arrived, alerted by the commotion, the scene was chaotic. I had Cassie in a headlock with my left hand, while my right foot was planted firmly on Seraphina’s back. Their perfect makeup was a smeared mess of tears and mascara, their designer dresses were ripped to shreds, and their underwear was showing. One of the guards gasped. “This is… Call the police! No, wait, call Mr. Thorne first. Didn’t he ask for this person to come up?” With security present, I figured I should probably stop fighting. I sheepishly let them go and started picking up the scattered books. “They started it,” I muttered. Seraphina lay on the floor, weeping dramatically. “I knew you were always faking it! I’m going to tell Thomas and expose you for who you really are!” Cassie clutched her bleeding nose and sobbed. “You broke my nose, you bitch! I’ll kill you for this! I’ll kill you!” Over their endless stream of curses, a tall figure appeared, silhouetted against the light at the end of the hall. He was incredibly tall. He wore a perfectly tailored black suit, and his sharp, buzz-cut hair complemented his piercing eyes and strong, sculpted features. He radiated an aura of command, an effortless authority that made you want to look away. My whole body tensed as I lowered my head. He walked right up to me, his shadow falling over me. I tried to explain. “Mr. Thorne, it’s not my fault, she—” The words died in my throat. Because Thomas Thorne bent down and wrapped his arms around me. He held me so tightly I thought my bones would fuse with his. I felt a dampness spreading on my shoulder, soaking through my shirt. My mind went completely blank. Was he… was he crying? “Zoe.” “Zoe.” “Zoe—” His voice was a choked whisper, repeating my name over and over as his entire body trembled.

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I was the definition of the “Unbothered Queen.” When I caught my husband and my best friend in bed together, I didn’t cry, and I didn’t scream. I simply dropped a cold, indifferent line: “You can have him. He’s trash anyway.” My friends praised my dignity. They called me the embodiment of a modern, independent woman—a heroine straight out of a novel. But reality didn’t follow the script of a satisfying revenge story. After a brief storm of public opinion, the two of them simply got married. The following year, my former best friend gave birth to twins—a boy and a girl. My ex-husband’s startup succeeded, and they became the picture-perfect, wealthy family everyone envied. And me? Shortly after the divorce, the facade of strength crumbled. I was consumed by the trauma of betrayal and the humiliation of being discarded. My belief in karma—that good is rewarded and evil punished—shattered. My career tanked, I couldn’t trust anyone to love me, and my life spiraled into the abyss. Living in a constant daze, I was crossing the street one day when a car slammed into me. As I lay dying, my ex-best friend came to visit. She looked at me with a mix of pity and satisfaction. “I knew you always prided yourself on being the ‘cool girl,’ Serena. That’s why I arranged for you to walk in on us that day…” I died swallowing a mouthful of regret and rage. Then, I opened my eyes. I was back at the door of the bedroom. 1 I was lying in the ER, fading fast. Moments ago, the doctor had somberly informed me that my injuries were too severe. There was nothing more they could do. Just as I was thinking, Fine, let it end, the sharp click of high heels echoed on the floor. Lyla walked in. She was dressed in designer silk, her skin glowing with the kind of health that money buys. She looked younger now than she did eight years ago when I caught her in my bed. She looked down at me, shaking her head with feigned sorrow. “Serena, I never thought you’d end up like this.” “Fate is funny, isn’t it? Round and round it goes, and somehow, I’m the one sending you off… Since we’re here, consider this a confession.” I didn’t know why she was here. I wanted to turn my head, to ignore her, but I couldn’t. I was dying. Lyla sat on the edge of my bed, sighing theatrically. “I fell in love with Ethan the moment I saw him.” “But for all those years, I had to watch. I watched you date, watched you marry. I watched your life eclipse mine. You’d buy a bracelet that cost my entire monthly salary without blinking. I couldn’t understand it. We came from similar backgrounds, went to the same schools, had the same looks. Why? Just because you arrived at that coffee shop ten minutes earlier than me, Ethan fell for you instead?” “So, I decided to correct the mistake myself.” “I found a way to get Ethan into bed. But when he woke up, he was so full of regret. He actually paid me to keep it a secret from you. And even though he couldn’t resist the second time, or the third, he hated himself after every single tryst.” She chuckled lightly. “That wouldn’t do, would it?” “I knew your personality. You were the ‘Independent Woman.’ You always said if a man cheated, you wouldn’t be like those desperate women who scream and cry. You’d divorce him immediately and never look back. So, I begged Ethan for one last time… and I made sure you walked in right in the middle of it.” I stared at her, my vision blurring, unable to process the depth of her malice. After the divorce, I realized that the “Cool Girl” persona was just a dam holding back a tidal wave. When it broke, I drowned. The trauma of betrayal by the two people closest to me destroyed my mental health. Watching them thrive—marriage, kids, IPOs—while I couldn’t even design a simple wedding anymore, felt like torture. I thought I was just unlucky. I thought I was weak. I never imagined it was a setup from the start. “Thank you, Serena! You didn’t disappoint. Your pride and your ‘dignity’ gave us dignity. It allowed Ethan and me to bounce back so quickly.” “Of course, I should thank myself, too. I worked hard. I mimicked your mannerisms to please him. I paid people to sabotage your jobs so you’d get fired. And…” She smiled, a cruel, beatific expression. “I went to a sperm bank abroad ahead of time. I picked a donor who looked just like Ethan and got pregnant with twins…” My body was failing, but my eyes snapped wide open. After I divorced him so cleanly, Ethan had refused to let go. He had knelt before me, swearing he only loved me, begging for another chance, promising never to see Lyla again. Until Lyla said she was pregnant with his children. “Anyway, after the twins were born, Ethan treated me better and better. He truly fell in love with me, bit by bit.” “Serena, I finally lived your life. I changed my own destiny with my own hands. The only regret was that no one knew how clever I’d been. Thank God fate gave me this chance to brag before you die. Don’t hold a grudge, okay? Rest in peace.” She stood up gracefully, her face glowing with the thrill of victory. “Oh, you must be wondering why I’m here? My driver was rushing to get to my favorite bakery before it closed. I’d hate for him to feel guilty about hitting you; it was an accident, after all. I’ll pay the compensation, of course. Though, honestly? The price of your life is less than one of my handbags.” She tilted her head, feigning distress. “But… you have no family left. Who do I even pay?” Laughing softly, she turned and clicked her heels out of the room. I died to the sound of my own soul screaming. … When I opened my eyes, I was standing at the door of the second-floor bedroom. Downstairs, I could hear the laughter of our friends. Inside the room, two naked bodies were entangled, the sounds of their heavy breathing filling the air. I froze for two seconds. Then, I raised my hand and slapped myself hard across the face. Sting. It hurt. Good. The next second, I gathered every ounce of air in my lungs and shrieked: “You shameless pieces of trash!” “Ethan! Lyla! You filthy animals!” 2 Two flushed faces whipped around in terror. Ethan saw me, and his pupils contracted to pinpoints. He shuddered violently, panic overtaking him. Lyla let out a gasp, then quickly pulled the duvet up to cover them, whispering in a hoarse, desperate voice: “Serena! Wait, don’t be impulsive!” “It’s all my fault! I seduced Ethan! Don’t blame him! If you want to hit someone, hit me!” In my past life, Lyla had said the exact same words. Back then, I was a successful wedding designer. To me, love and marriage were sacred. A flaw meant it was ruined. If a man was dirty, he was garbage. So, despite the anger and nausea, I had looked at them with cold disdain and said, “He’s all yours,” before walking away. This time, Lyla was watching me, eyes flickering, waiting for me to play the role of the dignified saint. Instead, I charged into the room like a bull. I grabbed the electric kettle from the bedside table—thankfully warm, not boiling—and hurled it at Ethan’s face. Clang! Water splashed everywhere. Ethan clutched his face, howling. I didn’t stop. I moved with the agility of a jungle cat to Lyla’s side. With my left foot, I kicked their pile of clothes under the bed. With my right foot, I braced against the bed frame, reached out with both hands, grabbed a fistful of Lyla’s long, luxurious hair, and yanked. That hair she was so proud of. Thick, long, perfect for gripping. She started this game. I was going to finish it. I twisted my wrist to lock her hair in my grip and dragged her halfway off the bed. Then, aiming at her flushed, terrified face, I unleashed hell. Slap! Slap! Slap! I delivered ten backhand slaps in rapid succession. When my right hand stung, I switched to my left. My movements were fluid, driven by a primal rage I had suppressed for a lifetime. Lyla was dangling off the mattress, her earlier seductiveness replaced by sheer terror. She stared up at the ceiling, letting out a continuous, high-pitched wheeze. In the dark nights of my previous life, I had regretted my “dignity” a thousand times. Why didn’t I make a scene? Why didn’t I ruin them then and there? I had played this scenario out in my head a million times. Nothing—nothing—felt as good as the sting of my palm against her face. When the friends from downstairs rushed up, drawn by my screaming, this is the tableau they found: Me, playing tug-of-war with Lyla’s hair. Lyla, naked and desperate, clutching the duvet for dear life. Ethan, one hand covering his bruised face, the other trying to tug the blanket to cover his groin. A perfect, chaotic deadlock. The crowd at the door stood frozen, jaws on the floor. We were at a weekend rental house with a group of friends. I wasn’t supposed to arrive until tomorrow, but Lyla had called me, lying that Ethan was drunk and needed me. I had driven through the night to get here. Lyla, hanging off the bed, her face swelling like a balloon, wheezed for help: “Help… somebody help me!” Nobody moved. Everyone wore expressions of utter disgust. It wasn’t like this last time. Last time, they didn’t see it. They only heard about it. Seeing is believing. The visual impact of two naked traitors is visceral. In my past life, when Ethan became a millionaire and Lyla a trophy wife, these same people had sighed and said, “True love really conquers all obstacles.” Not today. 3 “Serena… please… calm down…” Ethan’s voice trembled. From the neck up, he was lobster-red. The kettle had done its work; blisters were already forming on his handsome face. That day at the coffee shop, years ago, Lyla was late. I was working on my thesis. Ethan, sitting at the next table, had smiled and asked, “Design student?” By the time Lyla arrived ten minutes later, Ethan and I were already in our own world. I hadn’t noticed the jealous glint in her eyes then. Ethan was an exhibition designer. To the world, he was gentle, talented, and sensitive—the kind of man who carried cat food in his car for strays. But his “soft heart” was his greatest weapon. In my past life, he knelt and told me Lyla had threatened suicide because she loved him so much, and he only slept with her to “save” her. I had felt sick then. I just wanted to get away. I divorced him within a month. Now? I only regretted I didn’t have more hands to pop the blisters on his face. I knew Lyla’s plan. This was her one shot. If she escaped now, she might not get another chance to trap him. And Ethan needed to come home with me… “Calm down?” I glared at him, grinding my teeth. He shivered, shame written all over his features. “Serena, please let her go. Let us put on clothes. Please…” I laughed, a cold, jagged sound. “You want to be the hero? Fine. Lyla and I made a pact years ago. We swore that if either of us ever betrayed the other, the penalty was thirty slaps to the face. I just did twenty. I’m tired.” I pointed a shaking finger at him. “You finish the last ten. If you do it, I’ll let go.” Ethan shook his head frantically. “Serena, I can’t hit a woman—” “Do it,” Lyla sobbed abruptly. “It’s my fault. I seduced him. I drugged his drink! I’m a shameless homewrecker! It has nothing to do with him. Serena, please… my stomach… my waist… I can’t hold on…” Her voice was pitiful. She was playing the martyr for Ethan, but she was also telling the truth—she couldn’t hold on. She was pregnant with twins, after all. The friends at the door muttered things like “Don’t be rash” and “Talk it out,” but no one stepped in. They were enjoying the show. I thought Ethan would hesitate. He was the “gentle” one. But before Lyla even finished speaking, he shuffled over, wrapped in the sheet. Slap. Slap. Slap. The sound was crisp. One slap was a little light. I frowned. Ethan immediately hit her harder. Blood trickled from Lyla’s nose. She looked shocked, then resigned. She had planned for this, suffered for this. This was the price of admission. When the ten slaps were done, her face was unrecognizable. Yet, she managed to squeeze out a grotesque smile at Ethan. “I don’t blame you,” she mumbled through swollen lips, looking at him with the eyes of a tragic heroine persecuted by evil forces. Ethan turned his face away. He looked at me, eyes watering. “Serena, is that enough?” My expression remained stone cold. “Of course not. You gave me this disgusting green hat to wear. If I only hit the mistress and not the husband, people will say I’m a pick-me who only targets women.” Ethan nodded quickly, closing his eyes and lifting his chin, acting the part of the repentant sinner. “Serena, do it. Take your anger out on me. Just let us talk afterwards.” I looked at his blistering face. It looked like touching it would cause an explosion of pus. I changed my mind. I looked down at Lyla. “You do it.” She looked horrified. “No… I can’t!” Ethan suddenly roared, “Just do it! Hurry up! Anything is better than this!” And so, Lyla, in an awkward, twisted position, began to slap the man she claimed to love. “Are you two flirting?” I asked dryly. “Harder.” Ethan gritted his teeth. “Hit me harder!” When Lyla finally pulled her hand back, her palm was covered in sticky fluid from his burst blisters. The farce ended with the two of them crawling on the floor, fishing their clothes out from under the bed, wrapped in sheets like toga-wearing clowns. My rage meter had gone down by about ten percent. 4 Going crazy was satisfying. But it was just venting. Getting reborn required more than just a tantrum. Shame? Who cares about shame? Time washes everything away. Ethan was a talented designer. In the art world, this scandal would eventually become nothing more than an anecdote about his “passionate” nature. I knew Ethan well. The thing he cared about most in the world wasn’t women. It was his career. In my past life, shortly after our divorce, he secured angel investment from a major group and launched his own firm. He became a multimillionaire. Lyla became a high-society wife. The irony was that the design concepts he used to win that funding were things we were working on right now. Things we discussed. Designs I helped him refine. Being a “Heroine” doesn’t mean being a doormat who walks away leaving the gold behind. A true Heroine uses every resource available. I would use him. I would take his momentum and make it mine. I was going to rewrite fate. His fate. Lyla’s fate. And mine. … Ethan knelt before me for three days. On the third evening, I stared out the window and sighed, looking at him with tear-filled eyes. “Do your knees hurt?” He looked up, disbelief turning into hope. “They hurt. Serena… are you finally willing to talk to me?” That night, he repeated his script: he loved me, he only pitied Lyla, he slipped up because they were too close. I asked with red eyes, “Did she really drug you?” He nodded without hesitation. “Yes.” I was silent for a moment. “I’m going to resign. What happened… it makes me doubt love. I can’t design weddings anymore. I can’t look happy couples in the face.” Ethan looked distressed. “It’s all my fault. But don’t worry, I’ll support you. I’m talking to an investment group. I’m confident.” I looked at him and said slowly, “But I don’t want to give up design. If I can’t do weddings, teach me your industry. Let me help you.” His eyes lit up. “Of course! Serena, I’ll teach you everything. We’ll build the business together. It will be beautiful.” I lowered my eyes to hide the coldness. “Okay.” The next day, he transferred all his files, assets, and notes to me. I wasn’t lying—he was talented. By day, he worked and did all the housework to atone. By night, he poured his heart out, teaching me the secrets of exhibition design. We slept in separate rooms. He was understanding. “It’s okay, Serena. I’ll wait until you trust me again.” I didn’t forget about Lyla. She was working as a teacher at a public kindergarten. I took the recording from that night—specifically the parts where she screamed, “I seduced him! I drugged him! I’m a shameless homewrecker!”—and hired a composer to turn it into a catchy remix. Then, I hired someone to blast it from a boombox across the street from her school during pickup time. The tune was upbeat. Brainwashing. Parents hummed along before realizing the lyrics. Lyla had to sneak out the back door. She was fired the next day. She moved back to her parents’ house, but the boombox followed her there, too. Her parents wanted to call the police, but she stopped them. She was enduring. She was hibernating. Because she held the trump card. Ethan was raised strictly religious. He had told our friends many times that life was sacred and abortion was a moral sin. In my past life, before the car accident, a successful Ethan had visited me in my squalid apartment. “Serena, I still love you,” he had said, handing me a bank card like he was bestowing charity. “But Lyla gave me a son and a daughter. I can’t let my own flesh and blood grow up without a mother. I can buy you a house. I’ll spend weekends with the kids, but I can be with you during the week.” I had chased him out with a mop. Looking back, Lyla had played her hand perfectly. She knew she couldn’t win Ethan with love alone, so she used his “legacy” against him. One day, I came home to find Lyla sitting on my sofa. Ethan stood beside her, frowning and sighing. When I walked in, Lyla feigned terror. I rushed forward as if to hit her. Ethan blocked me. He looked agonized, gritted his teeth, and dropped the bomb: “She’s pregnant with my child!” Lyla sobbed. “Serena, I’m sorry. I had no choice. He’s the father. He had a right to know.” I looked at Ethan. “You believe her?” Ethan lowered his head. “I believe her.” “Why?” His face flushed. “Because… the first time… she was a virgin. I could tell.” Lyla suddenly dropped to her knees with a thud, swearing to the heavens. “Serena, we’ve been friends for years. You know I never dated anyone. If this isn’t Ethan’s child, may I be struck by lightning!” She looked at me, her tears hiding a gleam of triumphant calculation. She was provoking me. She wanted me to snap, to scream “Divorce!” and kick them out. The fact that I hadn’t divorced Ethan yet had confused her. So she played her Ace. She knew the Serena of the past would never tolerate an illegitimate child. Ethan knelt beside her. “Serena, I beg you. I will transfer every cent of my assets, pre-marital and post-marital, to your name. Just please… let these innocent lives be born.” I looked at the two of them kneeling on my rug. I covered my face with my hands, acting as though my heart was breaking. “I’m not a monster… If it’s come to this…” “Let her have the baby.” Lyla’s head snapped up, shock written all over her face.

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1 I am a Spirit Caller. I can summon the souls of those who died unjustly within 24 hours, granting them seven more days of life. In my past life, I returned joyfully to the Ashworth family as their long-lost son. But tragedy struck: my sister-in-law Elara died in childbirth, and my brother Julian, heartbroken, jumped from the hospital roof. He survived, barely. To save him, I offered to summon Elara’s spirit. But Aiden, the impostor son raised in my place, accused me of causing the death. My parents believed him. They destroyed my altar, broke my hands, and locked me in a scorching sauna where I died. Then I woke up—back at the start, the day I arrived at the Ashworth estate. An old man asked me to summon the soul again. This time, I refused: “You’re mistaken. I’m just from the mountains. How could I be a Spirit Caller? The dead don’t return. We shouldn’t believe such superstition.” Old Mr. Hemlock wasn’t fooled. A sharp glint shone in his cloudy eyes. “I could never be mistaken! Three years ago, when my wife passed, I was so consumed by grief I wanted to follow her. It was you who summoned her spirit for me, giving me seven more days with her.” His voice was thick with memory. “For those seven days, she was just as she’d always been. We did everything we never got the chance to do. She held my hand and promised she’d wait for me at the gates, that we’d be husband and wife in the next life, too. That’s the only reason I’ve held on this long.” He looked at me with profound gratitude. “I’ve been trying to find you ever since to thank you, but you vanished without a trace. I never imagined you were the Ashworths’ lost son!” He spoke with such conviction that the guests murmured amongst themselves. Everyone in the city knew the story of how he’d nearly died of a broken heart. But before I could deny it again, voices of doubt rose from the crowd. “Is old Hemlock going senile? There’s no way a Spirit Caller could be that young.” “Right? He’s a dirt-kicker from the boonies. I’d believe he was a carnival psychic before a Spirit Caller.” “I heard they found him running a fortune-telling stall under a bridge. He probably just used some cheap trick to fool Mr. Hemlock.” “He’s just a poor kid from the sticks. We all know the type—they’ll do anything for money.” All eyes turned to me, filled with contempt. Aiden shot a satisfied glance at his cronies before turning to me, his face a mask of fury. “Leo!” he boomed, his voice dripping with indignation. “Mr. Hemlock is a respected elder in this city! He helped the Ashworth family in our darkest hour. How dare you, an Ashworth by blood, prey on him with your scams? Get on your knees and apologize to him right now!” After his tirade, Aiden turned to Mr. Hemlock with a look of deep empathy. “Mr. Hemlock, whatever amount of money Leo swindled from you, the Ashworth family will repay it in full.” He sighed dramatically. “As you all know, I’ve never had a head for business. But with my brother in a coma and my father hospitalized with a heart attack, I have no choice but to hold this family together. I don’t want to make enemies with anyone. I hope I can count on the guidance of all you seniors in the future.” His speech was a masterful performance of grace and humility, earning him nods of approval from the older guests. I was the only one laughing on the inside. Just like in my last life, my welcome party had been turned into a funeral. My sister-in-law, dead from a hemorrhage. My brother, jumping from a building in despair. The best doctors and the most advanced technology had kept his body alive, but the hospital had already issued several critical condition notices. They said his will to live was gone. He needed a reason to fight. In my previous life, starved for the family I never had and moved by their tragic love story, I had offered my gift. I had revealed myself as a Spirit Caller to summon Elara’s soul. But the moment her spirit began to manifest, Aiden had shattered my altar, screaming that I was a fraud. The ritual was broken, her soul was damaged, and she became a vengeful spirit. In Julian’s dreams, she whispered that I was the one who had destroyed her. I tried to explain, but my parents had grabbed me and broken my hands on the spot. “A Spirit Caller? You’ve destroyed your sister-in-law’s soul! If we had known you were such a curse, we would have never brought you back!” When my brother eventually woke up, he subjected me to endless torture. “My wife told me it’s cold where she is,” he’d whispered. “Go keep her company.” My thoughts were shattered by a sharp force against my legs. A sickening crunch echoed as my knees slammed into the marble floor. Pain, white-hot and blinding, shot through me. Aiden loomed over me, his hand clamped on the back of my neck, forcing my head down toward Mr. Hemlock. “You charlatan! If you want to be part of the Ashworth family, you’ll kneel and beg Mr. Hemlock for forgiveness!” Two hulking bodyguards pinned my shoulders, making it impossible to move. Mr. Hemlock waved his hand, trying to protest and help me up, but Aiden cut him off. “Mr. Hemlock, the Ashworth family is facing a crisis from within and without, and now we discover this… this con artist in our midst! It’s a disgrace!” he declared righteously. “As the only man left to manage things, I have to teach Leo a lesson. I have to purge him of this corruption!” He sounded so noble. Anyone who didn’t know better would think he was a saint. I knew his true nature. I had already died by his selfish, cruel hands once before. This time, I wanted no part in their drama. Let them tear each other apart. Whether the Ashworth family lived or died had nothing to do with me. Before the guards could shove me down again, I pushed myself to my feet and spoke, my voice calm and clear. “There’s no need to teach me anything.” My words hung in the air. “The adoption ceremony hasn’t officially happened yet, has it? I’m not an Ashworth now, and I have no intention of ever stepping foot in this house again.” I spoke with a finality that left no room for doubt, no trace of longing. Aiden’s face flickered from confusion to a flash of pure, unadulterated joy. He quickly masked it with a wounded expression. “Leo, I just scolded you a little, and now you’re disowning the family? If word of this gets out, people will think I, the adopted son, bullied you into leaving.” He took it a step further. “You’re reminding me that I’m the one who should go, not you.” Aiden was really getting into character, his eyes welling up with tears. “Aiden is the child I raised for over twenty years! I’d like to see anyone try to make him leave!” The family matriarch, Mrs. Ashworth, finally emerged from a side room where she had been resting. Leaning on a cane, she looked at me. For a second, I saw a flicker of shock in her eyes at my resemblance to her husband, but her attention was quickly drawn back to Aiden. “Mother, Leo is your real son. Now that he’s back, there’s no place for me here anymore,” Aiden sobbed. “Father is in the hospital, my brother is on his deathbed… I shouldn’t abandon the family at a time like this, but some people just won’t have me.” He added, for good measure, “Don’t blame him. I stole his place as the true son for two decades. He has every right to hate me.” He was a better actor than any actress I’d ever seen, his performance dripping with false nobility. The guests, all longtime friends of the family, started murmuring in his defense. “It’s not Aiden’s fault he was switched at birth. He’s a victim in this, too.” “He just got here and he’s already throwing his weight around. Mark my words, if he ever gets his hands on the Ashworth fortune, he’ll run it into the ground.” “Exactly! When did these great families start caring only about bloodlines? It’s about capability! Aiden was raised for twenty years to be an elite. What does some kid from the wilderness have to compete with that?” Mrs. Ashworth’s expression hardened. “Leo, apologize to Aiden immediately,” she commanded. “Out of respect for the fact that you are my biological son, if you behave yourself and don’t cause any more trouble, I will guarantee you a life of ease and comfort.” Aiden’s lips twitched into a triumphant smirk, which he quickly suppressed. I had to laugh. A life of ease and comfort? Given the raw hatred simmering in Aiden’s eyes, I knew the moment he secured his position, he’d have me killed. I had yearned for a family, but I could live without one. As for their money, I had more than enough of my own. Before he could continue his pathetic act, I cut through the chatter. “You’re all right. The Ashworth family is far too grand for someone like me. I’ll see myself out.” Just then, a servant rushed in, his voice tight with panic. “Ma’am, Mr. Aiden, the hospital just called! The young master’s vital signs are plummeting! If we don’t do something now, he’s not going to make it!” The world seemed to tilt for Mrs. Ashworth. She swayed, her face ashen, and collapsed backward. “My son! My poor boy! Someone, please, do something to save him!” she shrieked, clutching at Aiden’s lapels. Her grief quickly turned to desperate, cold calculation. “Your father’s will! He stipulated that only a direct blood heir can inherit the Ashworth estate! Otherwise, everything—everything—goes to charity!” Her voice dropped to a frantic whisper. “Aiden, if your brother dies, and your father is too incapacitated to change the will… we’ll be left with nothing!” A stunned silence fell over the room. Someone, less tactful than the rest, spoke up. “But the Ashworths just found their other son, Leo, right? He’s Mr. Ashworth’s biological child. The fortune is safe; it won’t go to charity.” Aiden’s face showed no trace of relief. His eyes, fixed on me, were dark and venomous. Mrs. Ashworth, too, sized me up with open disapproval, her expression a mask of tragic despair, as if to say, Heaven truly wants to destroy my family. I couldn’t help it. I laughed. Seeing me smile, Aiden snapped. “Leo, wipe that smirk off your face! This was your doing, wasn’t it? With your voodoo and fortune-telling, you cursed this family so you could take everything for yourself!” he roared. “How else do you explain it? My sister-in-law suddenly hemorrhages, my brother tries to kill himself, and my father has a stroke, all at the same time! You planned it all, you despicable bastard!” A wave of understanding—or what passed for it—rippled through the crowd. Their expressions shifted from pity to outrage as they turned their furious gazes on me. “Of course! That’s why he suddenly gave up his claim to the family! It was all part of his scheme!” “How terrifying! Those street-corner mystics are the most sinister kind. He should be flayed alive!” “We have to break the curse! Mr. Hemlock, you managed to overcome your grief. Who was the master who helped you? Tell us, so we can save the Ashworths!” Mr. Hemlock, nearly ninety and white-haired, thought for a long, serious moment. Then, he pointed a frail, determined finger right at me. “I am not mistaken. The one who performed the rite at my home was Leo.” Suddenly, his eyes widened as they fell on the small, ornate bell hanging from my waist. “That… That’s a Soul Bell! The sacred tool of a Spirit Caller!” he exclaimed. “And look! There are nine coins hanging from the handle! Nine! Leo is a Master Spirit Caller, one of the most powerful there is!” Every eye in the room swiveled to my waist, a mixture of fear and awe dawning on their faces. Aiden lunged forward and ripped the Soul Bell from my belt. After a quick glance, he slapped me hard across the face. “Not only do you impersonate a Spirit Caller, Leo, but you dare to forge a nine-coin Soul Bell!” he spat. “Don’t you know that the Spirit Callers of the Appalachian mountains do not tolerate blasphemy or impersonation? You’re going to bring a cataclysm down on this family!” “When they find out, not only will they refuse to help us, but the spirits of our ancestors will never know peace! You’ll damn every Ashworth, living and dead!” With that, he threw my Soul Bell to the ground, stomped on it viciously, and kicked it into a decorative fire pit. “No!” I cried out, lunging to retrieve it from the flames, but Aiden grabbed my hands and held me back. The fire bit into my skin. The smell of burning flesh filled the air as my skin blistered and peeled away, revealing the charred bone beneath. Mrs. Ashworth, her face a mask of horror, raised her cane and began beating me with it, over and over. “You ungrateful whelp! Parading around as a Spirit Caller, bringing this curse upon us! You want to take the entire family down with you!” Aiden held her steady, his eyes burning with malice as he looked at me. “I may not be an Ashworth by blood, but I will not let you destroy this family! According to tradition, tie him to the front gate and bleed him!” he commanded the guards. “Then call a press conference. We will beg the true Spirit Callers for their forgiveness. When they see our sincerity, surely they will agree to help us!” My voice was a raw rasp. “The Spirit Callers live in seclusion. They rarely meddle in mortal affairs, and they are compassionate. What you’re doing is a deliberate, cruel act of revenge!” Aiden’s hand cracked across my face again. This time, he was holding something sharp. A thin line of fire traced across my cheek, and warm blood began to drip down my chin. “Bullshit! First you murder my sister-in-law with your black magic, then you endanger this entire family by impersonating a Spirit Caller. Am I supposed to just stand by and watch you destroy us all?” He gave a sharp nod, and several guards pinned me down, covering my mouth as a sharp blade plunged deep into each of my limbs.

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